Dragon Ball Z 1. Separation

**To any and all of my readers. I would like to thank all of you personally for clicking on my fanfiction, and for trying to give it a chance. This is my second fanfiction and I'd like to know what I you think. Anything works: praise, constructive criticism, possible suggestion for later plot development. **

* * *

He didn't know what he'd done wrong. One minute ago he was playing with the friendly resident talking turtle, and the next he was being carried away by this bully claiming to be his uncle. However, he knew he was powerless in this predicament and completely at his kidnapper's will. So, he did what any fourth-and-a-half year old would do.

Cry. Cry a lot. Cry the entire time. His tears and wails echoed throughout the air and Raditz's increasingly abused ear drums, and he wasn't exactly appreciative of the kid's demeanor.

"Quiet, brat! So, help me if I have to land to shut you up," screamed Raditz, yelling over the air current and the brat's incessant dramatics.

The ear pulsing shout brought Gohan out of his crying trance, at least to be completely terrified for a split second. Once the abject terror had dissipated he started to cry again with at least twice the vigor and heartbreak. Needless to say (but I will), Raditz was more than a little glad to be back at his space pod.

Upon landing on the grassy field, the only thing Raditz could think of doing was dropping Gohan straight onto his butt, which he did with a vengeance. Of course, this caused him to only cry louder and harder from coupling a physical pain with his already debilitating emotional despair. Nevertheless, this was a consequence that just increasingly infuriated Raditz's chagrin.

Raditz had reached a breaking point; he couldn't handle the crying any longer. "Shut up, you disgraceful piece of shit!" and leveled a punch straight at the crying boy's left cheek sending him crashing into the dirt and out cold.

`Great. The boy is both weak and a sniveling baby.' Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, Raditz's grabbed the fallen "warrior" and threw him into his space pod so he could get some peace and quiet.

The thought of solitude Raditz's stomach went off showing off its own displeasure at the monotony of the days proceeding. `Maybe a little foraging wouldn't hurt,' thought the kidnapper as he stalked through the forest to find some sustenance.

Thirty minutes later, the alien invader returned to the grassy field carrying a bundle of exotic fruits that he was leisurely munching on. `Why is that brother of mine not finished with his purge? It's unacceptable! Nobody on this planet has a power level that exceeds three-hundred except for that green-man. It should be child's play wiping out the population of this planet. Might as well check my scouter and see if he's in route?' **  
**

Raditz pressed the button on the far end of his scouter, searching for any notable power levels in the area. The reading he received in the area was absolutely stunning. "A power level of seven-hundred and ten, inconceivable on this mudball; it's double the power level of my foolish brother and that green slug."

The scouter beeped, breaking Raditz out of his reverie. Apparently, judging by the arrow cursor, it found the location of this imminent threat approximately a couple dozen meters away from his current location.

Turning around to confront this new threat, his eyes nearly flew out of his head. The power level was coming from within his own space pod. The brat is the source of this fantastical power reading? That can't possibly be right. Must've been a stupid computer glitch, you just can't trust anything but yourselves these days.'

Despite his monologue, however he was curious about why it would provide such a scandalous reading. He would get to the bottom of this one way or another.

Pacing towards his own space pod, he peered down at the half-saiyan brat. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and snot was glazed around the nostrils of his nose, but beyond this sniveling appearance Raditz recognized an astoundingly high level of imbedded anger, the type that surrounds a cornered animal with nowhere to go.

At a distance, Raditz opened the door to his space pod curious to see what the brat would do.

The little boy launched himself out the space pod with strength he didn't know he had. Upon landing on the green turf of the meadow, he shifted into an intrinsic fighting stance and started to emit dangerous levels of ki that fluctuated violently like his anger.

Meanwhile, Raditz had left his scouter's power level scanner on during this entire interchange and was stupefied at what he was seeing. `A power-level of twelve-hundred! He's as powerful as me!'

A furious ripple of ki silenced Raditz's gawking. The boys power-level had stabilized at the twelve-hundred mark, but the volatile nature of the boy's countenance remained the same.

Out of the inaudible hiss and groans came one single phrase from the boy. "Leave me alone!" Unable to hold himself back any longer, he charged at Raditz faster than he could react, leveling him with a devastating headbutt to the solar plexus cracking Raditz's armor and causing the warrior to gravitate towards his abused mid-section.

Before Raditz could retaliate, Gohan placed his hands on Raditz's sternum and fired a massive ball of blue ki at point blank range. It was a blast so large that it ripped the top soil from the ground and engulfed everything including Raditz in a blast radius well over three body-lengths long. Upon detonation, the wall of energy combusted and formed a mushroom cloud of smoke and fire that disintegrated most forms of solid matter upon contact.

After the awe-inducing instinctual rage had led its course throughout Gohan's body, he collapsed onto the uprooted topsoil and fell back into a comatose state.

Unfortunately, the blast didn't disintegrate all matter, or more specifically the matter that composed Raditz. The saiyan invader was injured, but still very much alive, albeit his armor had been reduced to atoms and most of his chest and precious leg hairs looked like they went through a very bad Brazilian waxing session.

Miraculously, his scouter had survived the blast as well, and it was that piece of equipment that doomed Gohan's life.

Pressing the communicator on, Raditz flipped through numerous frequencies to find the one where Vegeta would be on. `Come on, come on. Where the fuck is he?'

Jackpot, he was at some obscure frequency that Frieza probably wasn't scanning. "What do you want?" barked out Vegeta, in his tactful as a hammer manner of speech.

"Yes, Vegeta, I've reached the Planet Earth—"

"Yeah. And," interrupted Vegeta, who was not so subtly telling Raditz to get to the point.

"Yes, I was going to tell you that I found Kakarot, but I think I found somebody more useful to our plans: his snot-nosed brat."

"So, why should I care about this…brat. Children aren't going to any use in the battles we have coming up, and especially not pampered pieces of shit that this kid seems to be."

"I know, Vegeta. I thought the same thing about this kid: he may be a brat, but if we get him angry he could be a very useful ally. I just did, and he almost killed me without any formal training whatsoever."

"Your point, Raditz. Any competent saiyan could kill you without batting an eye, what makes this kid any better if he couldn't kill you."

"Well, the point is that you sent me here to fetch Kakarot. Kakarot is far weaker than his untrained whelp, so much weaker it would be in our best interest to train the kid. He could be of use to us. Besides, if I'm so useless than why exactly do you still keep me around."

"Whatever, just make sure to not to screw this up Raditz; I think you know how much I _adore _failure. If we follow your lead, then you will bring the brat with you in _your _space pod."

Raditz's face blanched at the thought, stunned beyond belief by Vegeta's declaration. He, a saiyan warrior _share _his pod with that…baby; that ain't gonna happen in this galaxy, or any really.

"Surely you must be joking, Vegeta. Why can't we use the Kakarot's space pod to accomplish the task?"

Even on a radio transmission, the vein that bulged on Vegeta's forehead could easily be inferred. "Raditz, don't question my orders. I do not tolerate _insolent _and disobedient behavior. I swear to god if you talk to me like that one more time I won't hesitate to retire you permanently. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Vegeta, I'm sorry," replied Raditz, who had clearly forgotten how intimidating Vegeta could be when he wanted to be.

"Save it for somebody who cares. Now, if you really want to repent for your blasphemous tongue then follow these instructions: unlock the spare space pod and set the coordinates for Planet Argos. Once you've finished, return to the rendezvous with your brat."

Raditz fumbled through his outfit locating where he put that spare space-pod, which was in a storage device conspicuously like a standard Capsule Corporation capsule. Once activated, the space pod popped into existence with the universally recognized trasnparent wisps of smoke covering its fuselage.

The alien invader walked towards the vacant ship and pressed the enter button on the top of the ship, allowing the hydraulic doors to slid skyward revealing the passenger cabin. Without hesistation, Raditz stuck his hand into the empty cabin tracing the top of the ship to find its navigation module. Normally, all they'd have to do was yell out where they had to go, but if you wanted to go somewhere after pre-programming was set then you'd have to manually override the instructions in the command module.

Finally, Raditz's hand started to grasp the outer edges of the module. Smirking like a Cheshire cat he navigated his hand to the location override button, which was he could infer was completed due to a metallic voice being transmitted through the hull of the ship.

The automated voice was monotonous, but came with a very grating nasal inflexion in its voice. "You requested a location override; state your new desired location at the beep…beep."

"Planet Argos," responded Raditz, clearly scowling at how his day was going.

"Destination set. Departure immediately?" replied the ship's artificial intelligence.

"Not yet, the next person who climbs in will be the one sent to Planet Argos."

The module understanding the command given to it shuts down until said person arrives. Seeing that the computer is reacting appropriately, Raditz's removes his hand from the ship and closes the doors to the ship.

Failing to miss a step, Raditz walked leisurely in the direction of where the boy was last found: laying face first in a massive rectangular stretch of dirt resembling skid marks on asphalt after a car drifts around a corner.

In the center of this "skid mark" lay Gohan, enthralled in a deep penetrative somber. His green outfit had been ripped in multiple places, and his red-topped hat had been blown several meters away into the meadow. However, outside of the fact that his face looked eerily similar to a chimney sweeper he appeared to be fine.

The coarse alien clasped onto the back of the child's neck, lifting him off the ground with one hand. His cargo in hand, the alien returned to his own space pod and had the door flip open. He haphazardly placed the boy on the floor of his pod, not particularly caring if his knees pushed against the boy's face during their journey.

With all of the arrangements for their journey set, only a vocal command was needed to get the show on the road. "Computer, take me to Planet Meteora!"

"GPS coordinates confirmed: Planet Meteora. Please prepare for take-off," replied the ghostly specter that was the space pod's computer system.

Then, they were gone. The computer sent a message to the engine and before either saiyan knew it they were in space, never to return to that homily little planet in the North Galaxy.

* * *

`Ah, man he packs a wallop,' thought Goku, picking himself off sandy beach of Kame Island. He never expected any of this: he was an alien, he was responsible for Grandpa Gohan's death, or that he had a ruthless brother somewhere in a galaxy not so far away.

He thought it was going to be a fun day. He'd finally be able to visit his old pals again, especially now that he had a son of his own. He even got Chi Chi to sign her reluctant approval (of which he still couldn't fathom why) on the whole gathering. In other words, it would be a great day.

Now, he was coughing up blood after getting beaten in one punch; Krillen had been punted through a wall; Bulma was beyond scared; and to top it all off, Gohan had been kidnapped by the demon. Oh yes, it had been a great day for the Earth's protector.

To make his day worse, he felt another ki running right towards them and it wasn't exactly a friendly ki. Preparing to face another foe, Goku shifted into one of his patented fighting stances waiting for his nemesis to arrive on scene.

He didn't have to wait long. The dark ki—who turned out to be Piccolo—zipped through the air and came to a sudden stop right above the Kame House. It was apparent that he wasn't pleased, judging by the scowl on his face and his furrowed brow.

The mortal enemies didn't talk to each other, embroiled in their traditional intense stare down before any mitigating factors were brought up. However, neither were willing to be the one to initiate a conversion, and the confrontation became increasingly awkward.

Unaware of the green demon above him, Krillen climbed out of the pile of ruined plywood, shaking the sawdust off of himself and nursed a nasty abrasion on his shoulder. The daybreak sun glares directly above him, creating a shadow effect under the circle of his eyes and added impact to the wilted frown gracing his lips. "Goku, we have to go after that…monster, we have—"

"Don't make me laugh. None of you humans can even come close to this power, your just too weak," snickered Piccolo, who took great pleasure in seeing Krillen hang his head down in shame.

Goku could begrudgingly accept Piccolo's taunts on a normal day, but today was far from a normal, and insulting his best friend wasn't making him any less testy. "So what do you propose we do, Piccolo? I'd _love _to see your strategy to beating this…saiyan."

Piccolo's pleasurable mien at insulting Krillen quickly dissolved into an incoherent snarl, knowing that he didn't have a true comeback. So instead of admitting defeat, he changed the subject back to what was important. "Terseness aside, I actually do have a plan; not that your puny sized brain could ever truly understand it. Now, pay attention; I don't want to repeat myself once I'm finished. First, as much as I want to kill you, I'll need your help. To win we must team up or we will die. Second, we use ki sensing to locate that sniveling brat of your's. Third and most importantly, we ambush the rat and grab his tail. Once we have his tail we should be able to execute him with ease. Now, you got it?"

"Crystal," curtly responded Goku, "but how do you know my tail, or that it was weakness in battle."

Piccolo started to guffaw at the inquiry; it was always enjoyable seeing the confusion written on Sons face. "Let's just say that your one of your scientific enemies tipped me off to your former weakness. Of course, the man held no use for me, so I killed him after he stopped talking to me."

The earth-raised saiyan started to growl at the indifference the demon placed on another's life; it was like he didn't give two shits about anybody but himself? That didn't mean that he wouldn't agree to his proposal, though. "Sure, I agree to our…temporary truce. After all, I don't have much to lose if I don't."

"So it's settled. Me and Goku will team up and kill the new invader, while you idiots hide behind a wall," said Piccolo.

Goku didn't miss a second on replying. "Okay, hope you're ready Piccolo. Flying nimbus!"

At the beck of the command, the sprightly little golden cloud careened into the picture from exactly nowhere in particular to land right at the base of Goku's feet. With a deft leap, Goku landed on the cloud in the lotus position, beckoning Piccolo with a wave of his arm. "You think you can keep up?"

"Sure, if I couldn't keep up with that little…thing, I'd be better off hiding behind that house with the rest of the rats," responded Piccolo, not missing a beat in their battle of baits, and without fanfare launched himself into the air current with his nemesis nipping at his heels.

The tense peace of their initial confrontation reestablished itself almost immediately upon their entrance into the Earth's jet stream. Neither party barely could look at each other, as their mutual resentment of each other kept any talk pertaining to anything, be it pleasantries or strategy from formulating.

This equilibrium wouldn't last long, though. A ki, an enormous one at that, cut straight through the troposphere and for a moment dwarfed Goku's demented older brother's. Unfortunately, both Piccolo and Goku could recognize it.

"Go…han," uttered out Goku, whose voice was distorted by both apprehension and the altitude of their flight.

Piccolo's voice, on the other hand, was neither soft-spoken nor apprehensive in tone. "Were you ever going to tell me that your son had this kind of power?"

The wild-haired jackass just shrugged his shoulder at the demand, not truly taking his inquisitions seriously. "How could I tell you about the power of my son, when I didn't know about his power myself?"

"Useless in everything I see Goku, " snarled Piccolo, disgusted at his rival's cluelessness.

As the duo approached the grassy field where they felt the enormous ki, Goku shifted into a fighting stance on the nimbus cloud itself. Upon disembarkation at the sight, Piccolo deactivated his ki and Goku jumped off the cloud—both methods produced the same result: an abrupt landing.

The landing was not the least of their worries, nor was geotechnical surveying. Raditz was gone, vamoose, tardy, or any other adjective to describe somebody who was missing. This was all fine and dandy, only if he hadn't taken Gohan—which was an increasingly likely prospect at that moment.

However, their endeavors weren't completely fruitless. Piccolo, while carving the far end of the grassy plain came upon a strange object—a round pod that wasn't a perfect sphere nor elliptical in exact shape. It was just…there, nobody around to claim it or take it.

Piccolo's inert ki signature brought Goku to the strange sight, neither being able to figure out why it was there. That is until Goku had an unfathomable epiphany.

"Do you think that this…thing was what my brother came to Earth on?" questioned Goku, trying to keep his thought to himself. By the sound of Piccolo's snort, he quickly gathered that he blurted out his inner thoughts.

"You really are stupid, aren't you Goku?" snidely remarked Piccolo, not willingly going to let Goku's comment slide. "If he took this space-pod he'd be still on this planet and we'd be tracking him!"

Goku flinched at the snide jab and bristled at Piccolo's point. Did Piccolo even realize what was going on? Not that it really mattered in the end, he was going to get his son back; space, time and evil monsters be damned.

"Piccolo, don't tell me you're not thinking? That…monster came to this planet to recruit me to kill a race of innocent beings. I doubt that there'd only be one ship he'd bring, especially if it's as small as this little thing. No, this ship can take me directly to son—I know it will."

The namekian snarled at the "condescension" laced throughout his nemesis's comment. Unfortunately, he also knew that the wild son of a bitch was right on all accounts. So, he decided to let the irony of Goku calling anybody clueless pass this one time.

What he wouldn't let pass was his rival making a run at the space ship. Before Son could board the small ship, he fired off a blast of ki to vaporize the ship.

Meanwhile, the aptly named wild-haired son of a bitch had found the open button on the ship and was about to board the space-worthy vessel. Well that was plan, until he felt a ball of ki race forward from out of the corner of his peripheral vision. In a move of instinctual brilliance, Goku turned around and deflected the attack with his forefingers of his right-hand before his equilibrium was knocked off balance catapulting himself onto the outer surface of the space-pod.

Goku picked himself off the smooth exterior of the ship and glared at Piccolo, obviously cross at his enemy for the cheap shot. "What gives, Piccolo? What was that for?"

Piccolo smirked at the goofiness of Son's serious look. "You plans well and good and all, but that doesn't mean I'll let you go into space."

The earth-raised saiyan face changed from defensive to confused and finally to irritated. `Why does he care if I go into space,' thought Goku, clearly irritated by Piccolo's brash refusal of his objective. Still, it didn't prevent him from vocalizing his disapproval of his rival's intentions in one phrase: "and why not?"

"Because I want to see you suffer. I want you to know that your son has one of two fates: either he dies a gruesome death or he'll become _just _like Raditz. More importantly than that, you ought to remember it will be _all _your fault, due to your incompetence as a _person. _In the end, I will make sure this moment is your legacy, and that legacy will hold only one truth: failure, your failure."

As cutting as the namekian's words were, they were only a half-truth: Although, tormenting Goku with his failure greatly pleased him, his decision to prevent Goku's passage into outer space was about self-preservation moreso than sadism. The brat's power level was enormous, and in Piccolo's mind translated to a threat that he would never want to willingly deal with. So, he made the decision to never allow that possibility to ever emerge—damn what Goku thinks!

Goku's former indignation hardened into an almost feral fury, buried deep within his simian hide. `How dare that…bastard impede his mission for such an evil reason?' he screamed from within himself, his once dormant pride beseeching him to extract retribution by any means necessary. After a pseudo-eternity of white-hot anger coursing through his veins, our hero had conjured a devilish idea to use on the demon, and his aforesaid pride wouldn't let him keep the idea to himself.

"You're right, Piccolo, if what you said happens then I will be a failure in every sense of the word. My power, virtue and dignity will be all for nothing, I'll forever be nothing just like your father. The great demon king—the killer of thousands—reduced to nothing but ash by just a little boy throwing a justified temper tantrum. What a shame, but once a failure always a failure."

Piccolo couldn't just believe what he had just heard. The naïve, ignorant, but ultimately noble Son Goku had slandered his father's name straight to his face! Even the thought of the "world's protector" made the demon unconsciously snarl and his eyes shine with malice. That diatribe wasn't going to go unpunished.

"Consider our truce breached, Son. Prepare to die." Nothing left to say, Piccolo charged at Goku ready to lop off his head with a karate chop.

Goku was ready for the assault and caught the limb with his outstretched hand, followed by bending the hand backwards at an obtuse angle breaking the namekian's wrist. "I hope that wasn't the best you could do. I hope you've trained for this, I've gotten exponentially stronger since the Twenty-Third Budokai."

The demon staggered back nursing his broken wrist, his hate hardening at the determined look in his eyes and challenging demeanor. "Of course I have, don't count on anything else. You'll never beat me this time."

"I doubt that, Piccolo, but this will have to be settled by a battle. Let the second battle for Earth commence!"

* * *

Meanwhile, in a galaxy not so far away our favorite half-breed had finally woken up from his self-induced slumber. The sight of the child's face upon seeing the planet's granite colored sky would have been comical provided that he wasn't being kidnapped or if his life wasn't in danger, but sadly his predicament involved both terrifying variables.

The duo had landed on Planet Meteora without any complications, having arrived on the outskirts of their rendezvous: the great walls of the city of Varlaam.

Unable to control his undeveloped sense of despair, Gohan's eyes started to subconsciously water. Without his dad, mom, or any of their friends to help guide him through this problem, he knew that he was very much alone in this cruel and unforgiving world. And unfortunately, the only thing he felt like he could do about it was cry inconsolably.

That didn't mean Raditz would tolerate the waterworks. One vicious glare courtesy of the space pirate was all it took for Gohan to break through the haze of despair, albeit temporarily.

In this period of time, Gohan learned one pivotal truth about the "saiyans:" they didn't condone weakness, and specifically crying. To survive with his demented uncle, he'd have to grow out of his shy exterior and not back down from his look of contempt.

Only problem was that Raditz wasn't aware of this sudden change of attitude and took it upon himself to emphasize his point. "Brat get up. Nobody is going to tolerate your theatrics for even an iota longer. If you want to live, and believe me you want to live, then cut out the incessant crying this instance," he barked, while simultaneously jerking the boy to his eye level by the collar of his coat.

The little boy didn't even let out a sliver of a tear, but his terrified mien told a much different story. Raditz rolled his eyes at the raw fear still in his baby of a nephew's expression. `At least he stopped crying; it's a start even if it's slow one,' bemused the rapscallion. "Good nephew, but do try a little harder to act tough. Your fate is still up in the air as we speak, so if you want to keep your life here's a little advice: don't show your feeble heart on your sleeve, you'll live longer."

After concluding his speech, Raditz relinquished his hold on Gohan's shirt letting the boy catch his own fall. To his surprise, the boy didn't land flat on his ass but on one knee in a kneeling position looking directly up at his kidnapper.

"Aw, nephew, you've just stumbled on the second most useful tool you'll ever learn: how to kneel at somebodies feet. Memorize it; you'll be doing a lot of it," added Raditz, laughing with a bit of caustic amusement. His amusement disintegrated when he didn't hear any shuffling of feet behind him, provoking him to turn his head to find Gohan exactly where he was a moment ago. "Brat, get up and follow me—and don't you dare run away!"

The petrified boy complied with his uncle's "request," knowing what non-compliance will bring. He had to walk at a fairly fast clip to just keep in stride with Raditz's leisurely strolling pace and even seeing his filthy untamed waterfall of hair was getting hard to see among the crowd of aliens.

What the boy didn't know was this was a test proctored by none other than Vegeta. The premise was simple: if the sniveling brat couldn't even keep up with Raditz than he wasn't worth the hide he was born with. Failing this task meant that Raditz's new charge would be purged just like all the other locals. Of course, Vegeta was aware of the fact that the testing ground was a hyper dense cityscape with millions (if not billions) that would make any reconnaissance mission challenging. All it meant to him was that if the kid passed, he'd live to see another day provided he didn't do anything stupid.

So, with this test in mind Raditz meandered through the bustling city; strolled down wide thoroughfares, browsed through the cities grand bazaar looking for armor, or any other idea that made this test more arduous for his nephew.

Meanwhile, the aforementioned nephew seemed to be doing exceedingly well. Even if he didn't have a clue where he was going, he kept pace with his deranged relative. He was doing so well in fact that Raditz was almost considering making him their designated scout for a few of their later missions on weaker planets. Every unorthodox decision he made, the kid was right on his heels predicting the exact same motion and smoothly shadowing the rogue.

What Raditz didn't know was that Gohan hadn't merely been guessing where he was going, and his correct intuition wasn't the result of a series of coincidence. Although his mother was obstinate in her self-delegated assignment of preventing her firstborn from fighting, his father was equally steadfast that his son ought to be prepared if he finds himself in a dangerous situation. A situation not unlike the one he was in.

The difference was that Chi Chi was overt in her desire, while Goku was covert in his. The casebook example of Goku's covert behavior was how he took advantage of Chi Chi's implicit belief that Gohan truly wanted to be a scholar. In his mind, one honest glance in his son's eyes foretold a much different picture: his son didn't know what he wanted. With this tidbit of information in hand, he was able to get Gohan to agree to a little rudimentary training.

The covert aspect of Goku's actions was _how _he got Gohan away from his mother. In the morning before he started to train, he would convince Chi Chi to have Gohan's study session be one massive block of time throughout the morning to the late-afternoon. Once Gohan was settled in his room, he'd jump out the window and train with his father for two hours in the morning and two hours in the late-afternoon while Chi Chi was cleaning or cooking.

Looking back on those moments, Gohan wished he could have had a few more training sessions. Heaven knows what that little extra training could do for him. Still, what he did learn was keeping him alive: ki-sensing.

The technique of raising and tracking ki was the first thing he was taught by his father, who believed that the skill was an absolute necessity for survival. He didn't say why, just that it vaguely had something having to do with protecting his love ones. He learned other skills, but only his ki-sensing had come to any use with how bleak things were looking.

Only now did he appreciate his dad's insistence on him learning it. At the time, he was more interested in the more "cool" aspects of being a Z-fighter, such as flying, fighting, or blasting bad guys out of their hiding places. Most people—especially kids—hate having to learn the basics before getting to the fun part, now it was those same fundamentals that were keeping him alive.

That didn't make this game any less trivial, though. No matter what Raditz did to out maneuver Gohan, all the halfbreed had to do was sense his change in direction and adjust on his own accord. This easy game of cat and mouse quickly bored the hyperactive half-breed and his mind started to wander to his surroundings.

The city of Varlaam through Gohan's eyes was…big. Bigger and denser than anything his country eyes were used to. `There ar' so many people,' thought the half-breed, amazed at the perpetual motion of denizens of the city and the uniform flame red paint of each house.

However, what truly caught the eye of the inquisitive child were the scenes of family gatherings. These aliens, although they resembled anthromorphic leopards seemed to hold a strong concept of a nuclear family: a mother, father, two fairly young offspring, and some form of pet. To add to the strong dynamic, all the family members seemed to hold each other with a steady stream of affectionate gestures—everybody seemed to be blissfully happy.

These rather public display of affection dampened Gohan's spirit; the all-to-apparent scenes reminding him of what he had lost and how much he longed for its return. `Where are you dad? Where are you?' beseeched the boy, trying his best not to sob quietly from the encroaching loneliness pervading his mind.

Finally—after almost two hours of pointless wandering—Raditz got to his assigned rendezvous in the center of the city, which he and Gohan instantly deduced to be a trashy hovel.

This dark hovel had was adorned with dull red paint, clearly cracked and peeling off the smooth limestone base. The chairs that were organized neatly around the café were obviously in piss-poor shape and the smell of booze, urine, and…something else wavered throughout the air like a miasma. A hovel indeed. In two of these dilapidated lawn chair they both scouted the faces of Raditz's colleagues lounging around in the sun.

There were two of them and neither seemed to be bothered into giving their names for the time being. However, it didn't take a genius—which Gohan was for his age—to _feel _the condensing smirk on both of their lips, or the malice that spread from their closed eyes. Truthfully, the half-breed could barely decide where to begin describing the predatory faces of those two demons-in-disguise.

So, he chose the easier of the two: the hulking behemoth of a man facing the street. He may not have known his name, but everything else was pretty obvious: one, he was strong, judging by his girth and muscle tone. Second, if there was a personification for the word `stupid' then his face would be the example in the dictionary. Other than that, everything was useless gibberish pertaining to this warrior.

His partner was a much less clear-cut caricature. He didn't have a 'hulkish' frame like the behemoth next to him, nor the lanky build that Raditz was blessed with. Only, what he lacked in height and size was replaced in his facial expressions. Raditz and his friend were likes comic books; big, burly, dumb, and easy to read. Not their associate, he was more like one of his text books; menacing, stoic and deceptively disarming.

The "text book" slowly opened his eyes, almost sulking in the sunlight for a moment before getting down to business. "So Raditz, I assume that the brat was able to follow you here." Of course even his voice reeked of an enigmatic, but more importantly commanding undertone.

"Yes, the kid was able to keep up with me remarkably well considering he had no formal training," replied Raditz, somewhat proud of his nephews resilience.

"No formal training, Raditz? Then do tell why we are even considering him for this job; why not just kill him now to spare myself the misery?" chided Vegeta, not even attempting to mince his lack of regard for the child's life.

"The kid's got potential, Vegeta. When angry enough, the kid could probably kill me. If we could teach him how to use it, you may get a valuable ally."

"_We _teach the brat, Raditz. I think you're implying _I _teach the brat. After all, you're incompetent in all facets of battle and Nappa is…Nappa. Besides, you haven't even answered the main question: why should I waste my time on the son of a low-life clo—"

A fierce growl emanated from the tyke's throat, completely beyond his voluntary control. Gohan could handle being taunted himself, but _nobody _taunted his father to his face. Nobody. Not even this menacing meanie!

Meanwhile, our favorite prince raised his brow at the "response" of the child, lips curled with jeering smirk. "It seems that our visitor wants a say in our…arrangement. So, tell us boy, what will you do about it?"

The boy didn't respond to the verbal jab, opting instead to growl again before calming down enough to talk. "Don't talk about my daddie that way! He's going to rescue me and teach you a lesson, you mean—"

In a moment a brisk and violent movement of the Vegeta's palm smashed into Gohan's left cheek, leaving a red imprint for everybody to see. Without missing a beat, the prince picked up the "pauper" and held him up to eye level.

"Now, that's no way to treat your prince brat. I know you can't fathom this with your feeble mind, but you daddy won't be coming back and he will never find you. Even if he did, I'd just step in and slaughter him right before your eye. Understand that your my _property _now, you're my charge and I have unlimited jurisdiction over any and all of your actions. For now, you'll live, but never come at me with such contempt again. Do I make myself clear?" After getting the terrified tyke's reluctant approval, the prince dropped the half-breed back onto the ground.

Like the last time, Gohan caught himself instead of falling straight on his butt, but in the same position as last time: kneeling.

Of course, Vegeta would comment on this. "See brat, you're learning," snidely commented Vegeta, amused at the kid kneeling at his feet.

His smirk turned into a full blown grin when he sees the kid blush in perturbation, realizing dawning on him that he was kneeling beneath the feet of the prince. Quickly getting up on his feet to get out of kneeling position, he just blankly stared at the hot-head prince.

The arrogant prince swiftly changed his mood and returned to detached stoic self. Getting back to business, he squatted down and grasped at Gohan's neck and jerked it up, evaluating the brat's appearance and battle-readiness.

"Uh…hardened hide…functional tail…no major injury or apparent illness…below average muscle tone…above average amount of involuntary twitching," monotonously chanted Vegeta, to nobody in particular. Evaluation completed, the prince picked himself up and turned towards Raditz. "We have a lot of work to do to get this kid battle ready. Clearly, he hasn't been trained in anything remotely useful. In your opinion Raditz, why should I keep him alive?"

Gulp. That was the sound of Raditz swallowing copious amounts of saliva, panicking to find a way to keep his useless nephew alive. `Damn it. How do I justify my choice to Vegeta of all people? If he doesn't like my reasons I could end up like my brat: killed and thrown away in a thrash heap.'

"You see Vegeta…that brat has poten—"

"Were you going to say potential, Raditz? How about you say something that makes you not look like a retarded parrot," sneered Vegeta, predicting Raditz's comment long before it was uttered.

"Yes Vegeta, I understand," reciprocated Raditz, "but you should measure the brat's power level. It's twice that of his good-for-nothing father and at least the brat has a tail if we get in a bind. I know I've said it once, but here me out: if we train him, I honestly believe that we'll get a powerful warrior and ally for the future."

Gohan desperately tried to stop from scoffing at the remark. `Me become their ally; as if.' Thankfully for the disobedient boy, his captors couldn't hear his inner monologue or his life could've ended there and then.

Speaking of his captors, they were still deliberating his fate, or more-like Raditz's pleading and Vegeta scoffing at his sentiment.

"Come on, Veg— "

"That's Prince Vegeta, remember your place third class! A super elite doesn't need to have there decisions constantly poked and prodded at!" snapped the prince, having lost his amusement with Raditz's continued nosy behavior at his business.

"Sorry Vegeta but if you'd check your scouter, you'd see a power-level that may be of use to us."

"Raditz, if I check his miniscule power level will you finally shut up? Your voice is getting more aggravating by the minute," scowled the haughty, losing any sense of his patience by the repeating banter of the conversation.

"Yes, I will Vegeta," relented Raditz, who was feeling a bit more comfortable around Vegeta after he brokered the agreement.

Vegeta pressed the white button on the end of his scouter and aimed the reading at Gohan. "Umph, 1000; not really a big deal," he replied, a little intrigued by the fairly high reading.

However, Raditz was stupefied at the reading. `One-thousand! He was only at seven-hundred-and-ten only a day or two ago. How did he get that powerful in such a short time!' Now, he felt that killing him wouldn't be such a bad idea. After all, he was the person who kidnapped the poor kid in the first place; it was logical that if the kid flipped he'd be the first one he'd execute.

On the other end, Vegeta was now a fair bit interested in the reading. Sure, it was mediocre, but Raditz was visibly sweating and was clearly nervous at being in the same place. To the saiyan prince that meant the older saiyan was a little bit _afraid _of the younger half-breed. A perfect recipe for disciplinary action!

"Well Raditz. What have you done? You've disobeyed a direct order to bring your brother, you didn't purge Planet Earth, and have validated your existence as an abject failure for the umpteenth time since I met you. Now, begone while I induct our new charge." Vegeta then turned his back on Raditz and walked towards the boy.

"But, why Vegeta? You were just advocating killing him a minute ago," cried out Raditz, confused and perturbed at Vegeta's change of heart.

Raditz's iniquiry was brutally suppressed by one glare of Vegeta that was filled to the brim with pure malice, causing Raditz to stumble back in shock. "Don't think for a minute my decision to spare the kid is out of any compassion. No, it's about you. You didn't believe I saw that look of terror on your face, or how your attitude changed completely upon the power reading. No, I want you to live in constant fear of this new threat; I want you to understand this is what happens to pathetic individuals like you. Now, begone whelp!"

Whipping his head back into position, Vegeta non-chalantly paced toward the mute boy; his boots leaving deeper and deeper imprints into the porous dirt. The prince's gaze centered on Gohan's center who subconscious reciprocated the gesture by staring right at him absentmindedly, making the saiyan prince scowl in displeasure. That is, until the malicious enigma of a man just started to smirk.

"No fear; I like that," commented the saiyan leader before finishing his invitation. "Are you ready to pledge your loyalty to me: the Prince of All Saiyans? Perhaps, you may be of use to us unlike your uncle or that pathetic father of yours. No matter, you'll be living under my boot anyway," recited Vegeta, who had apparently rehearsed that little speech from memory; after all, he'd be ruler of the universe someday.

The `are you ready to pledge your loyalty' shtick broke Gohan out of inner reverie, now realizing what Vegeta was offering him: another (albeit bad) chance at life. It was an opportunity that left a clear fork in the road for the child: refuse and die, or live and become like these soul-killing monsters. If you would have asked him earlier the answer would've been refuse and die. Of course, that's easy to say when you're pre-pondering life in a study session in comparison to a life or death situation.

Nevertheless, that inner conflict was all about what he'd do with his "fellow" saiyans. The conflict about whether he wanted to live or not was simple in the mind of the little boy: he wanted to live. After Vegeta extended his invitation, Gohan settled for nodding his head up-and-down indicating his affirmation of the invitation—he knew his voice would undoubtedly fail him now.

Vegeta, picking up on the neurotic acceptance of his "hand" just smirked condescending at his new charge. "So, brat, here's your new comrades: the failure-at-everything uncle of yours, Raditz," pointing towards the aforesaid lanky saiyan. "The stupid behemoth to my left is Nappa. If I don't give you orders but Nappa does, then they are still orders. The only reason to not follow Nappa's orders is if I order you to do something, which takes inherent priority. As for your uncle, nobody follow his orders and neither should you. Any questions?"

Gohan—his voice still failing him—settled for nodding his head up-and-down again for Vegeta's apparent amusement and staying silent.

"Good brat, you've already learned the second rule of our trade: don't ask me any questions. Now, how'd you like to do some _chores _for us?"

"Do I have too?" Gohan couldn't believe he just said that, and in front of Vegeta's face no less. Hearing the word chore, it just made him illicit the response he was all to use to at home. Unfortunately, he wasn't at home and most certainly not with jovial company. `I hope they don't kill me.'

Meanwhile, Vegeta grimaced at the answer to his question. He kinda expected the response he got with the intonation that the brat used, but that didn't mean it was acceptable. Nevertheless, he'd let it pass this time, but not before a few more snide comments.

"Of course brat, you'll have chorus; here's the list: cleaning my boots, polishing my armor, cleaning the banquet tables, and many more "fun" things for somebody your age. That said, you need to learn the third rule of your new life: What I say, you do; no exceptions.**"**

Gohan let out a sigh of relief; he wouldn't be brutally murdered today at least. Turning to stare right into Vegeta's eyes, he tried to bring his most servile manner to appease the cocky bully. "I-is tha` anything I cou' do for yah-you?"

A chorus of guffaws erupted from Nappa's maw. The big oaf apparently found Gohan's stuttering to be quite amusing. "Hahahahaha, Vegeta. The kid's already frightened of you. Don't worry, kid we'll take _real _good of yah."

"Silence, Nappa. The only person who'll mock the kid is me. By the way, I ought to teach you some manner you brainless buffoon. I was clearly in the middle of business matters!" reprimanded Vegeta, not pleased at Nappa's little outburst. He may have been more useful than Raditz (and who isn't), but that doesn't mean that he wasn't expendable.

Sweat crept through every pore of Nappa's skin, staining his battle armor and glistened on his forehead. Pissing off Vegeta at any time wasn't a very good life insurance plan, and now he'd have to face whatever his manically violent sovereign had in store for him. `I just hope it's nothing too painful.'

Vegeta smirked at Nappa's rapid change in demeanor; he specialized in breaking up mirthful and mocking comments, while making the originator of the quote genuinely paranoid. It was one of his favorite perverse amusements.

Getting back to business, the arrogant prince turned his attention back to the nephew of the epic-failure. Apparently, the kid had the attention span of a gnat. Judging by the flabbergasted expression adorning the kid's face, he'd already forgotten the true topic at hand.

Coughing to alert the attention of the half-breed, Vegeta returned to the original topic at hand. "So, you want to know what you can do. Simple: survive." Before anybody could react, the prince was out of sight and almost out of mind.

Unknown  
to everybody, the prince had rematerialized in the center of the square that was adjacent to that mud-shack of a café they were lounging in. `Hundreds of people, infinite number of possible angles and countless secondary items. What to blow up? Who to kill? Fuck this trepidation! Just fire away.'

And fire he did. Out of the blue, the prince unleashed a volley of relatively weak ki blasts at every object that entered his line of sight. Granite, stone, concrete, plaster, or anything else: it didn't matter. Everything was shredded like wet paper and the debris mixed together into a consecutive string of smoke screens around the predator incinerating the square.

As the smoke began to clear, Vegeta's comrades began to approach the veiled square; all of them concerned for their own safety except for Gohan. He just peered through the smoke in a trance at the dark visage of his prince's shadow, which elongated at him subconsciously screaming `come hither.'

* * *

Back on Earth, the great second duel between Piccolo and Goku for the fate of the planet had been…underwhelming to say the least. Piccolo was simply outclassed this time around. For ever technique revealed another counter was devised by Goku; every power-up he made was countered by an even larger one. The namekian needed to find a way through his rival's defenses or all hope was lost.

Needless to say, Piccolo wasn't finding any exploitable weakness and it was showing by the disheveled chagrin contoured on his face. Now, even his rival was fanning the flames of his frustration by pressing his buttons.

"Come on Piccolo, what gives? I know you're stronger than this," chided Goku, with his face in his trademark clueless gesture plus the additional bonus of having his arm around the back of his head.

Without even thinking, the overly irate Piccolo shot his arm across the field towards Goku and cold-cocked him right in the face, uprooting him and shooting him across the starry plain. Not waiting for his advantage to disappear, the demon reckless charged after his temporarily disabled prey preparing to cave his face in with another brutal punch.

Unflinchingly, Goku tenses in anticipation for the unleashing of his rival's haymaker. Upon the release, the saiyan parries the punch with enough force to jar his foes arm up over his head and out of position. Using the recoil from the devastating punch, Goku tilted his body downwards and pushed his legs forward into Piccolo's shin, causing the green devil to topple over in mid-air.

With Piccolo's equilibrium breached indefinitely, his rival wrapped his arms around his body and began to twist and spin his body in an elliptical orbit around the falling warrior. At the zenith of the orbit, Goku tucked into somersault and slammed his foot into the small of Piccolo's back like a chisel burrows into stone.

The scintillating blow rocketed Piccolo hundreds of feet down directly into the porous turf of the field; the impact dislodging a cloud of dust and pesticides that enveloped the namekian's entire frame.

The explosive landing put a temporary halt to the ever-progressing rout of a battle; both combatants believed it was prudent to wait out the smoke than risk a blind attack. As the smoke cleared, each fighter scanned the other—of which, only one was badly reeling after the last attack—to look for any apparent weaknesses.

After finding none yet again, Piccolo recklessly vaulted into the sky trying to lop his nemesis's head off with one earth-shattering punch.

Expecting such a reaction from the demon, the saiyan side-shuffled to the left of the careening fist, while pivoting to face the back of the demon that just realized his punch just missed. Without warning, Goku started to charge a ki blast while waiting for the namekian to turn around. Upon the inevitable, our hero fired his charged blast at the sash of Piccolo's right hip. The explosion was so violent that it catapulted the demon king into the air, helpless to defend against Son.

The battle was over. Goku rematerialized and dropkicked Piccolo directly in the stomach, sending him flying into the ground unleashing yet another dust storm. Like last time, Goku chose not to charge back into the fray because of the prudence of avoiding blind attacks. This time though, he was confident that Piccolo wasn't getting up.

On the ground, the demon king was writhing in agony. The blast had eviscerated his left hip and seared all of his skin on the left side of his body from his navel to his mid-thigh, leaving nasty abrasions dotting him like craters on the Moon. His strength failing him, he dropped into the trademark kneeling position: both of his knees on the ground, one arm cradling his injured left flank and his head completely facing the ground.

Goku sighed at pitiful state of his rival. Beaten, broken and barely a scrap of dignity left after the pounding he had received. `Why, Piccolo? Why did you have to force me into fighting you? All I wanted was to get my son back. Was that really so much to ask?'

Unbeknownst to our hero, he failed to recognize that Piccolo's middle and index fingers were pressed deep into the center of his forehead with this head shielding the motion.

Our protector turned his back on his arch rival, silently walking away from the battle towards the spare space-pod. `I better get into space right now. Who knows where Gohan is and I don't have time to waste.'

"Get back here, Goku," roared the demon. Piccolo had enough of the disrespect. Beaten into submission he could handle; ignored like he was harmless fly he could not. "I'm not done with you yet, Son."

The primal roar brought back Goku's attention, eyes widening at the fury that was buried underneath Piccolo's normally cool exterior. He had remembered only one time that Piccolo was this infuriated—he almost got his stomach blown to smithereens. Nevertheless, a desperate Piccolo was something he'd need to watch out for.

"Why do you insist on fighting me, Piccolo? Look at yourself! You've been beaten before and it happened again. I don't want to hurt you, Piccolo, why can't you see that? Why can't we let ourselves the rest of your life in peace? Damn it, Piccolo; I don't want to kill you!"

Piccolo grasped the ground and lifted himself back up into a standing position, albeit with his back hunched over and head drooping down. "Peace, Goku. What part of _demon _king do you not understand? Peace? Love? Friendship? They're just mirages for weaker being to compensate for their incompetence. And Goku, you're the most incompetent. No being of your strength should be groveling at the feet of these pathetic organisms. Now, let me show you true power!"

The demon lifted his head back up into an erect position, letting go of the bidden energy inside of him. He paused to enjoy the feeling of pure power that letting go of the tumultuous pulse of energy meant to him. His attack was almost ready.

`What's going on?' questioned Goku, knowing that any conjured answer would be purely hypothetical. `It's like he's on fire and did I just feel his power level skyrocket?' Whatever he didn't know, he did know this: whatever happens, if his plan succeeded than there'd be no more Son Goku in this world.

The bright maelstrom of yellow energy tapered into a single spark on Piccolo's forefinger, who had been smirking with a look of untraceable irony. "This is the end for you Goku; your time as a hero is over! Makankōsappō!"

Goku braced to evade the spiraling beam, but then saw it wasn't even heading towards him. `What's his game? Wasn't he going to fire the beam at me?' If the dire reality of the situation wasn't so bleak, his trademark clueless gesture would've been plastered on his face. Then he realized where the blast was really going. `Oh no, not the ship!'

Without even thinking about the consequences, Goku blasted off towards the ship, hoping above all that he wasn't too late. `Come on body! Move faster!'

Ten meters to the space pod: the blast was moving closer and closer to detonation. Piccolo's smirk widen, and Goku's curled into a frown.

Five meters to the space pod: time wasn't almost at a complete standstill. Even the gods wanted to know the conclusion of this grand scene!

One meter to the space pod: Goku got there in time, yah! So did the makankōsappō, uh! Reacting without any thought, Goku braced a ki shield around his palm and prepared to catch the projectile.

Detonation: The beam pierced through the first of Goku's defenses: his palm. Fortunately, the beam was slightly off kilter in its release and the first ki shield afforded Goku just enough time to divert the beam into space away from the space-pod. That said, the heat of the blast melted the skin of his hand and nicked both the radial and ulnar recurrent arteries in his wrist. In other words, the attack may have been fatal after all.

Meanwhile, the green devil dropped to the ground. Maintaining that beam in his pitiful condition did more than a small strain on every cell inhabit his body, and he had reached his absolute limit. Nothing left to give; the titan collapsed in a heap and settled for mutely watching his rival bleed to death on the turf of battle.

Of course, fate had different plans and was prone to being unnecessarily dramatic almost all the time. Just when the light had faded from Goku's vision, when the harbinger of doom—who happened to be a very fat opera singer—was about to bring him to the light, fate flew into action.

At the very last second, a silhouette of shadows rained down on the battlefield. As each walked into the sun, their names became clear: Krillen, Master Roshi, Bulma, and Yamcha. Every single one of them—except Bulma—was ready to fight and end Piccolo's life on the button.

That is until they saw the face of their mutual best friend—it was almost too much seeing his severed wrist and the pool of blood conglomerating around him. His face was a pale white with a tinge of blue on his cheeks and his eyes expressed a despondent mien. It was like he knew he failed in some quest that he'd regret for the rest of his life and his entire afterlife.

Krillen had seen enough. First, Goku's son had been kidnapped and now Goku was on the edge of death himself. Deep down in his subconscious, Krillen snapped; nobody would face the threat of the demon king any longer.

However, that wasn't his main priority. Goku needed to be healed and healed now! He intrinsically ran his hand through his orange gi, praying that he hadn't ran out of the sensu beans.

Deep in the folds of his sash, he hit jackpot. One tiny miniscule bean, but a bean that meant everything would change. Pulling it out of his gi, the bald monk sternly told one simple directive to Bulma. "Bulma, catch this!" He then threw the miraculous bean straight at her.

Bulma, surprised by the sudden request wasn't ready to respond when she felt something hit her palm, causing her to clench down hard on the aforementioned hand.

"Bulma, give the bean to Goku! It may be the only chance we have left!" screamed Krillen, desperation clawing through his gut. They may have had their squabbles in the past, but they were brothers in all but blood. He didn't know what anybody would do without the glue that kept their group together. `You can't die now Goku, this whole world still needs you to protect it! We still need you to protect us!'

Meanwhile, Bulma had scurried towards the fallen saiyan; reaching out to touch his face which was already growing alarmingly cold. She quickly retrieved the sensu bean from her hand and placed it in Goku's mouth; hoping to Kami above that it would work. To the blue-haired scientist's surprise, the saiyan fought from the maw of death to swallow the bean.

The collective miracle occurred. Upon digestion, the magical elixir raced to Goku's bleeding wrist and sealed the wound, while mending the severed arteries in Goku's arm. He'd live; somehow he had defied death's firm grip for the umpteenth time to the joy of almost all.

"Haa-heh gua-guy's," mumbled Goku, who was clearly delirious from blood lost and was barely conscious in the first place.

Krillen breathed a cathartic sigh of relief. The fact that his best friend would live and that Piccolo was kept in check just a little longer worked wonders on the monk's mind. `Speak of the devil, where did he go?'

Unbeknownst to everyone else, Piccolo was seething with rage. Rage at the wild-haired son-of-a-bitch, rage at his midget of a best friend, but ultimately rage at himself. For once in history, the demon king had been abjectly defeated without even a hope for retribution. For now, all the green demon could do was sulk silently at this ironic change of circumstances.

Still, the namekian knew that there was nothing he could do about much of anything. He didn't even have a scrap of energy left, not even enough to move an inert muscle, let alone be able to get past any of Son's friends. Resolving himself to his fate, Piccolo just closed his eyes and waited to be found by one of fleet-footed Z-fighters.

He didn't have to wait long. Krillen turned around to find the mound of green flesh that composed Piccolo's being. The sight of the green devil brought a sick feeling in the pit of the monk's stomach; a feeling that he wanted to be rid of for good.

In a snarl of rage, the bald fighter extended his left arm as far above his head as he could, his palm perpendicular to his wrist like a waiter holds a tray. With a flash of light, a disk of light appears above the palm of the man's hand, sounding similar to the roar of a chainsaw about to bisect a piece of wood. "Goodbye, Piccolo."

Right before Krillen launched the disk at his unarmed adversary, a moan from clear-cross the battlefield startles the poor fighter, causing the disk to veer off direction and cut of the namek's hand instead of his head.

"Do-Don't do…it Krillen. Yo…u're bettah than that," groaned out Goku, trying to reason with the monk.

Krillen turns around to face the pleading look of his best friend and was stumped and frustrated on what to say. "Why shouldn't we kill him, Goku? Look at what he's done to you, or what he'll do to us without you! You've already given him a chance for redemption and look where's that gotten you; almost on death's door."

"I know Krillen. But, what has he done to the world since the Budokai? Nothing. The reason why is that he wasn't the strongest and he knew it, and now he knows he'll never be the either. Just let him live Krillen, for me."

Krillen stared pensively at Goku's countenance, looking for anything that betrayed that his thought contradicted his speech. Oh, how he wanted to find an excuse to end the green man's life. But he couldn't disobey Goku. Mouth curling into a frown upon finding nothing, Krillen responded. "Whatever you say, Goku. I just hope we don't regret this, I still don't trust him."

"Tha-Thank you, Krillen. I really appreciate it!" After hacking up a bit of blood, the stubborn saiyan slowly picked himself off the grassy plain, before trying to hobble around without the nauseating feeling of vertigo barrage his vision. Unbeknownst to his friends, his clumsy stroll had a final destination: the space pod lying haphazardly in the distance.

Unfortunately, Goku's clandestine purpose was quickly rooted out by Bulma, who had kept one of her eyes on Goku at all times. Needless to say, Goku's attempt to flee brought out her ire. "Just where do you think you're going, mister! Are you truly going to leave us all alone with that monster!" shrieked the blue-haired banshee, gesturing at the sunken form of Piccolo in the distance who had slipped into a comatose state.

Goku chuckled, albeit hoarsely at Bulma's characteristic accusations. She was right; he had tried to escape, but it wasn't how she envisioned it. He knew he'd have to confront them, so why not bait them out. "Bulma, my brother has kidnapped my son. Gohan, my baby boy is in the custody of those heartless monsters and I don't even have the slightest clue where he is."

Most of Bulma's haughtiness disappeared upon the realization of the direness of Goku's plight. That didn't mean she completed agreed with him, though. "You think you're going to be able to help him like that. Frankly Goku, I could probably beat you in a fight let alone Raditz. If you're going to do this, than it might be in your best interest to get healed."

Goku almost forget to respond to Bulma's rebuttal, as he was so close to the space ship. Close enough to have opened the hatch and climbed in. When his sanity (and eardrums) reminded him of her presence he alleviates her concerns the best he could. "I don't think I got time for that, Bulma. Gohan may be dead if I wait too long. This is a risk I must take, so I apologize if we don't meet for until sometime later. Sayonara." As a farewell, he weakly waved his hand as the ship closed its portal sealing Goku from the outside world.

The remaining of ensemble of Z-fighters were treated to the sight of Goku blasting off into deep space, progressing many light years away from the Earth and all he's ever known. They all knew he'd get into another phase of trials and adventure; a harkening for a new Son Goku. Just who will the new Son Goku be, and who would be around to enjoy it?

* * *

**Now, since you've got to the end of my first chapter, I think I'll answer a few questions on some of the basic parameters of my story. **

** First, the story has a highlighted focus on three characters: Goku, Gohan, and an OC that you'll meet later on. Vegeta, Frieza, Cooler, and many others share a smaller (but no less important) role.**

** The story is mainly action adventure with a large dash of drama at times. There won't be any form of romance; it's just frankly something I'm not interested in writing about nor would I be able to simulate it realistically. **

**Updates are in the range of 10-14 days. I, for some reason, can never average anything above 1,000 words per night during the school year. So the best you're going to get is a ten day update. However, it's also extremely rare for an update to take more than fourteen days.  
**

** My goal with this story is to write about five-hundred thousand words. Yes, that's a lot and will probably take me years, but I want to do it!**

** Finally, I was inspired to write this story by the fanfiction Cold World by jjgp1112. His story is the best of the `Gohan gets kidnapped by Raditz and gets inducted into their merry band' cliche by a country mile. If you haven't tried reading it, I strongly encourage you to do so. **


	2. Trials of Humanity

Gohan froze. He didn't even understand the travesty that was before him. That perfectly pristine square—all its fun loving people, all its nice orderly pseudo-Georgian style townhouses, even the immaculate condition it was kept in. All gone. In the middle of the rubble, lay it executioner: a punitive man with a god complex.

That aforesaid man had an all-telling smirk glued to his face. It didn't require much intelligence to figure out that he was proud. Every building had been stripped to its exoskeleton and all of its denizens had been eradicated. Now all there was left to do was wait for the initial militia to arrive and completely embarrass their warrior population.

Speaking of embarrassments, he noticed his "fans" gawking at him from the outer edge of his peripheral vision. He may have known his two adult subjects for his entire life, but that didn't make their trepid demeanor any less enjoyable. `Being feared is truly a feeling that will never grow old,' mused the prince, letting the smoke taper out of the atmosphere and reveal more of their apprehensive expression.

His eyes centered on the brat of that third class clown. Unlike his other two butt munches, the kid didn't appear to be afraid of him; he was in too much of a trance to be truly scared of the saiyan prince. The prince didn't know whether to scowl or smirk, wondering whether the brat's reaction to the imminent slaughter was going to be beneficial to him. `It seems that the brat will—oh wait, what is this that I'm sensing on those rooftops.' It turned out that Vegeta's perpetual judgment of his new charge would have to wait; his scouter just picked up forms of life on top of nearby rooftops.

Without flinching at the consequences, the haughty saiyan flared a low energy blast at the aforementioned rooftops. The only thing that was accomplished by this was the vaporization of perfectly usable stone masonry on those newly decapitated rooftops, for it seemed that Vegeta failed to account for those dark shadows jumping off into nearby alleyways a few second beforehand.

Not that Vegeta cared of course. He was more than pleased mocking the no shows for their cowardice. "What's wrong? So, you're all scared to die like warriors but you're more than willing to die like rats. Oh well, more fun for me when I finish wring your necks!"

In a mad reign of glee, Vegeta started to unleash another devastating round of blasts at all the tall building within the vicinity of his eye sight, delighting in how quickly the feeble structures collapsed under the stress of his might. Only in his haste he didn't see the slimy "insects" he wanted to kill get closer and closer to him, while he was quickly getting enveloped by the debris filled smoke he created.

Once Vegeta was close to finished cannonading the center of Varlaam, the warriors of Planet Meteora pounced on the arrogant warrior. The half a dozen or so warriors rushed through the fog, hoping to converge on the prince and kill him swiftly with a flurry of stabs.

It was a solidly thought of and executed plan. They just didn't think of one thing, and you know what they say: what'cha don't know is what's going to kill'ya.

That "tiny" one thing was the fact that Vegeta was a saiyan. Being a saiyan entitled him to a snout with the same number of olfactory cells as a standard chimpanzee. In other words, they were trying to get past a hungry blood hound with a sack of meat stapled around their ankles.

Vegeta quickly smelled out the fools and avoided the covert ambush by simply floating up twenty feet. The inaudible hisses and groans from the Meteoran warriors were music to Vegeta's ears, joyous in the knowledge they would die thinking that they almost killed him.

The wait to reveal himself to those pathetic fools felt like an eternity. He couldn't wait to there reaction. When the time came, the short saiyan let out a small pulse of ki that dispersed the smoke cloud revealing him to his victims. "Nice try, that ambushed almost worked. Provided I was both incompetent and blind like all of you. It's no problem, though; I'm more than happy to send all of you to the afterlife!"

Vegeta's enemies bristled, looking extremely fearsome in their collective uniforms. What were their uniforms? Well, they wore red shawls that were being puffed up by their bristling fur and that was about it.

Not like their presence affected their haughty adversary. To him their barks and hisses were just barking without a reliable bite. "Yes, yes. We get your displeased. Now, how about you tell me what you're going to do about it?"

Recoiling at the slight, the squadron of leopards leaped into the air like a great white goes for a low flying seagull. Everybody working in tandem to pry their mortal enemy back to the ground, where they could execute him for the injustices he had committed to their fair people.

Unfortunately, an experienced warrior like the prince of all saiyan's could decipher their sloppy attacks with effortless ease. Half a dozen leopards went flying into ruins of a nearby building, a couplet slammed back down into the center square, and an unlucky soul got gored on a jagged spike on one of those aforesaid buildings.

The temporary delay allowed the prince the chance to flick on his scouter, primarily to check if the power reading was a pathetic as he believed them to be. The reading just confirmed what Vegeta was thinking. `One-thousand. These blasted fools aren't even worth my time.' To save himself the later trouble, the prince launched a moderately powered ki blast at the fallen Meteoran's trapped on the building, evaporating any essence of the "soldiers" that came to fight the royal prince.

As for the fate of the last two Meteoran warriors? Let's just say that a dastardly idea interjected itself in the hothead's brain.

The prince averted his head, quickly isolating his vision towards his comrades who were doing a great impression of stiff boards. Aiming his gaze directly at the white of Gohan's eyes, an all telling smirk graced his lips. `Kid, were about to see if your actually going to be of use to us.'

Expanding his aura, the saiyan dropped down and slammed his boot down directly on the adam's apple of one of his foe's, crushing his trachea and rendering him unable to breath. His mad cackles filled the air as he heard his soon-to-be dead enemy sputter trying to get air that he just couldn't reach.

Once the mad spell of laughter dissipated, the hothead fazed out of the scene appearing behind his comrades to their surprise.

Nappa attempted to address his leader, but it was futile. Vegeta wasn't in any mood to talk.

Warning nobody, Vegeta swiped the trance-striken Gohan out of his perch and fazed out of the picture yet again.

As Vegeta reappeared on the battlefield, the somewhat stoic warrior threw Gohan down at the feet of the dead Meteoran, pausing to let the boy stumble a bit. The prince just stared at small chibi of a saiyan waiting patiently for the kid to snap out of his lull, and was growing increasingly more agitated by how much time it was taking. The brat was just too shell-shocked to be soldier!

He was out of time. The other Meteoran was starting to stir from his dirt nap, almost exuding grogginess in his attempt to get up. Of course by the time the Meteoran was awake, Vegeta had grown fed up with waiting and fazed away to level destruction somewhere else. The only thing the leopard warrior could see was an enemy surrounding his dead comrade.

* * *

The boy was quickly coming to the conclusion that Vegeta was a monster that no simple Grimm's Brother fable book could ever touch. He was so brutally swift, deviously cunning, and horrifyingly callous to all forms of life that he couldn't fathom why anybody chose to act like that. The exactness of how he murdered each individual animal-being forced Gohan's relatively innocent mind to shut down.

Then—in a cruel twist of fate—he was snatched up by the heartless heathen and in an instant placed in the epicenter of the conflict: on the chest of the dead Meteoran warrior. He couldn't articulate his fear due to the trance that was slowly suffocating everything. He wasn't thinking straight, his joints were locking up, and could barely even feel anything outside of his own body warmth.

Nothing could shake the panic. Not Vegeta's almost penetrative glare, the progressively colder and stiffer corpse he was clinging on too, or even the awakening of his ally. It was all just too much; the boy deep down knew he couldn't handle the barbarism he was seeing. `Why me? Do they expect me to kill like them?'

And then a jolt roared his consciousness back into the tumult of the hour. A roar echoed throughout the atmosphere, a roar so full of grief, longing, anguish, but most importantly disdain for the aliens before him that it genuinely shocked Gohan. It was such a shock that it snapped the chibi out of the trance that had enveloped him.

Only, the meteoran didn't see it the way that Gohan did. All he saw was a heinous child fiend clutching at his fallen comrade's torso, a child fiend that must die. With a roar of fury, the leopard socked the chibi saiyan in the face, sending him skidding across the stone pavement of the square.

Needing no incentive to take the initiative, the feral warrior charged the disorientated boy preparing to finish him off with one blow from his unsheathed claws. As he approached the demon child, the warrior snarled before attempting to rip the flesh off the chibi's face.

Gohan—once again—didn't know what he had done wrong. Why was this alien trying to kill him, when it was Vegeta who killed his friend? Like it mattered now; he couldn't even control his own pulse, let alone his behemoth of an foe.

That was until it was his instincts took over; mental lockdowns are entertaining and all, but something deep within him was yelling to break away. To stop moping around or acting like the frightened toddler he was. `Fight Gohan. It's all you've ever thought about, we both know studying was something you did to please mother. Do you want to die by the hands of some leopards when your dad and mom are still trying to find you? We all can still be a happy family, but you can't let this enemy win! Don't let him win!'

As eloquent as Gohan's inner beast was, it was too late to stop the leopard. He was already upon Gohan with his claws almost at the eye sockets of the young boy. In an instinctual display of brilliance, the kid tilted his head in the just the right direction to avoid getting his eyes gouged. Even more startling was that the chosen angle only caused the blow to only leave a nasty looking gash on his cheek. Sure he'd have a scar that would befriend him to Yamcha, but that was preferable to an eye.

Blood raced down his left cheek from the gash, gushing with vigor from the newly formed wound. The sight of blood—his blood—sprung something inside his mind. A renewed sense of horror of what was befalling him assaulted his mind, reminding him that this was _his _life. A life of death and pain awaited him on the horizon, and he was _powerless _to stop it.

He didn't even realize that he was mutely crying, the tears mixing with his blood on his already stained cheeks. First, his inner self had to taunt him with the images of his fading family, mocking him for his inability to get himself outside of this horror. `Why don't they leave me alone? I didn't do anything to any of them, so why do they keep forcing me to try to defend myself? What have I done?'

None of these questions could be answered and Gohan knew it. Deep down inside the lack of certainty was pushing him closer and closer to pure despair. Despair over his lost and powerlessness coupled with a growing rage, a rage aided by his anger towards finality. He didn't want the end to be here, not while he didn't even have the opportunity to fight for what he cared about. It wasn't until then did the boy snapped.

The pseudo-leopard could hardly contain his horrid dread over the cloud of energy that sprung forth from the boy, fluctuating as violently as the boy's state of mind. He couldn't believe the sight in from of him: where did that meek boy he was fighting only a second ago could have run off too?

The boy he was fighting now wasn't even a boy—he resembled a feral animal moreso than an intelligent being. Bared fangs, check. Skin and tail bristling more than a frightened porcupine, check. Feral eyes, check. Incoherent snarls and roars, check.

Not like the boy really cared. The power racing through him was intoxicating, much moreso than when it occurred against Raditz. He could barely even think any longer, but it was fine by him. What worth was thinking with a mind that was frayed alive by just neurotic behavior. No thought, just action; that was all he wanted right now.

In a roar full of pure menace, the boy charged the leopard intrepidly with a speed he shouldn't have been technically allowed to dream about. He was on the warrior before anybody could've predicted, ready to finish the job the leopard itself couldn't. In roundhouse kick, the angry little boy slammed down on the mutant's neck. It was devastating blow. It snapped the cervical spine upon impact and the force of the blow tore a hole in the esophagus and trachea respectively. The boy's anger was avenged, and his foe dropped down and died. Gohan had just killed somebody.

* * *

`So, this is what the computer said? Planet Argos they say. Well it sure is pretty,' said Goku, who had just landed on the decoy planet moments before. He had never seen something so mesmerizing before. The planet had a beautiful orangish-maroon sky and a white expanse of arid land that stretched for miles in any conceivable direction.

However, that was precisely the issue. This desert was so large and inhospitable that Goku couldn't sense a single soul for as far as his senses could reach. He was in a true no man's land, without food, water or even the slightest clue where he was going.

`So, what do I do now? I guess I could go searching for something, yah that's what'll do!' chanted the chipper saiyan in his head before taking off. Of course he didn't remember where he left the space pod, so strike one for the survival of the fittest.

Goku's flight through the white desert was like a ride through the sandy dunes of Saudi Arabia: very scenic but would require an expert in the study of arid biome's to tell you the differences from one mile to another, that is if there are differences in the first place.

Well that was the vast majority of his flight. By the four hour mark he was both swelteringly hot, but far more importantly hungry—we all know how Goku's like when he's hungry.

`Dang, where can you find a…burger in a place like this,' thought Goku, before starting to daydream of various dunes being gourmet meals prepared by none other than Chi Chi. As time went on, these `foods' Goku deliriously conjured became so increasingly inane that it would make even Android 16 sweatdrop from Goku's delirium.

That was until his famished mind locked onto one place into particular among all the culinary treasures. In his mind, he saw two pieces of prime rib…or was it a shish kabob. It didn't matter; Goku had to investigate for himself!

Unbeknownst to Goku—while it was most certainly not a gumbo size platter of prime rib—what he saw was in fact not a mirage in the desert. It was a temple of truly grand size. Four marble-gilded warriors guarded its colossal entrance portal with a stone-like concentration, mutely staring at any incoming challenger with truly royal levels of condescension.

All in all, if Gohan was there it would remind him of that long lost temple to Ramses II at Abu Simbel that was in the dominion of the magical land of Egypt.

Upon landing, the stomach of Son Goku was still in control of the mind of Son Goku. Now, the prime rib was gone, but had been replaced by the conjured front door to a buffet restaurant. Yelping from delight, Goku barreled through the "door" into the vestibule of the temple, not even thinking about what was on the horizon.

The reception room for the challengers of this mystical temple was a large, almost stadium-like center pit. The flanks were curved like a bean and the ceiling was plastered with symbols and character that were incognizant to Goku's untrained mind.

What Goku did know was that those symbols were somehow important. They were just imbued with excess ki, the kind that seemed to hold no purpose whatsoever at first glance. Goku rocketed up to get a close look at the unrecognizable kanji, hoping to something that he'd be able to decipher something from the enigmatic marking and wouldn't leave the spot until he did something. It was safe to say that he spent a long time staring at the unusual characters, at least long enough to get hungry again.

A booming voice without a body billowed threw the room, addressing Goku in particular. "Hey you, saiyan; you hungry? What would you say if I told you that those signs were pointing you towards a free all-you-can-eat dinner? All you'd need to know is how to read them. Here's the trick: use your ki and press it on the hieroglyphics. Their excess ki will mesh with yours and decode the message."

"Really? An all-you-can-eat dinner? That's the best news that I've heard since I've got here, I'm famished. Oh, what are you anyway?" If it was possible for an disembodied voice to sweatdrop, it most definitely would. Goku's voice was just too damn chipper for having just heard a ghostly specter.

"I'm your guide through this realm. Once you barreled through the door, it became my responsibility to guard your safe passage throughout our maze. Follow my word and you'll make it through. If not, you'll die," nonchalantly replied the specter, responding with an even tone even though he was lying through his teeth.

"Cool. Thanks for the help. What was I supposed to do again?" chimed out Goku, oblivious as ever.

`Christ, this is going to be a long day,' bemoaned the specter. He was already losing more and more patience with the clueless saiyan. `At least he isn't a power hungry mega-bastard just yet.' Nevertheless, he had a job to do and a quota that was woefully behind.

"Goku, I don't know how much I can help you if you lose your focus every other second. If you're going to have any hope of surviving these trials and tribulations then you have to remember what I say," chided the specter, hoping a mild chastising would provoke a more focused Goku. "However, this time all you need to do is press your ki onto those hieroglyphics. Your ki will interactive with them and decode the message."

"Okay. Sorry bout that," responded Goku, pressing his ki into the ceiling hieroglyphics.

The intermingling of ki had the desired effect on the hieroglyphics. All of the strange symbols started to glow and sizzle, not dissimilar to the way chemical react in an uncontrolled environment. At the zenith of the reaction, a monolith of a strange nature jutted through the ground beneath Goku's feet. He was barely able to get out of the way in time.

Once the monolith reached its maximum height, the reaction occurring among the hieroglyphic ceased and everything returned to normal. On the one side of the pillar, a phrase in the universal tongue was iterated: "Welcome to any soul who is willing to brave the journey. What you've got yourself into is probably too much for you, but rest assured that we'll offer condolences to all your love ones once all this is over. As for the inevitable coward with cold feet, it's too late to turn back now so you'll just starve to death in this antechamber. For the haughty, destroy this manuscript and continue down this foolish path of yours to your second test."

The declaration on the stone made Goku sweatdrop rather severely; not exactly sure what to really think of what he got himself into or how to respond to it. `Uh, okay,' he chimed out inside his head, with his hand behind his head in his patented clueless gesture.

Goku's hesitation had a different interpretation to his guide. What it saw was a soul that was wasting its precious time due to cowardice, rather than a soul that genuinely didn't have a clue what just happened.

"Goku, are you going to suck your thumb all day or are we going to get moving?" said the specter in the most strained monotone of all time. It was trying so hard to not sound frustrated, but with Son Goku that was much easier said than done.

The voice didn't realize that it was speaking right next to Goku's ear, startling the earth-raised saiyan immensely. "Yikes. Please don't try to yell in my ear next time! Oh wait, what was the original topic of conversation again?"

Another serenade of sweat beads ran down the back of the specter's head, proving that Goku's cluelessness could transcend the border of life and death. "Um, all you need to do is destroy the monolith, Goku. Please pay attention to what you read next time."

"Oh, okay then." Goku then kicked down the pillar of stone to reveal a rather predictably hidden passage way hidden beneath the monolith. The expansive staircase ran straight down into a labyrinth so deep that it couldn't be scene with the naked eye. The pitch blackness of the descent, along with unsupported stairway made Goku a bit apprehensive about trekking down the deep chasm.

Funnily enough, the specter could predict Goku's dilemma and interjected his own comments. "Don't tell me that you forgot you could fly Goku? If the horrible happens, you can just fly down the chasm. Now come on! I'm missing my soap's today to hold your hand, so don't keep me waiting!"

The specter's charge reacted differently than the disembodied voice thought he would. Instead of getting moving like the talking voice thought he would, the countenance of the palm-tree headed man elongated into an expression that was borderline between incredulous and confused.

The embodied man was too preoccupied with the concept of a non-living soul having an obsession with soap operas to notice the time. It was just too damn funny to the naïve saiyan! He just didn't get that he was taking an eternity with his thoughts, and as consequence, pissing off the impatient voice to know end.

And boy was that soul getting peeved. If it had a face it would be reminiscent of a bull seeing red. "Maybe you should just solve this puzzle on your own. You're wasting my time as it stands right now," said the soul, laced with a bitter resentment of Goku's complete forgetfulness of the circumstances surrounding them.

The reproach brought his charge out of his self-induced inner reverie. He had apparently forgot that he was holding somebody up, and was feeling a little bit bad about it. "Sorry about that. I'll try to not let that happen again.

"See that you do. Anyways, I'll see you at the bottom," replied the voice, descending down the cascading stair towards the next challenge.

Goku wasn't far behind the soul, keeping the same rhythm as the soul he could barely feel. He had to thank some deity that it was slightly colder around the disembodied soul; made tracking it so much easier if not simply possible. However, he was quickly growing bored going down this perpetually long stairway. Maybe the soul was up for some idle chatter. "So where am I?"

"You are in the magically conjured proving ground of the uyyasid race. The Uyyasidian are an extraordinary powerful fighting race on a planet many light years away. In fact, many of their techniques have been considered so useful that they've been adopted or replicated throughout the universe. This temple is home to their greatest secret, of which not even I have seen."

By the time that the specter had finished his lecture on the Uyyasidians, the stairway was encased in pitch darkness. It would require almost anybody's full concentration to avoid walking straight off the staircase, but Goku was certainty not most people.

"The uwahsimians?" It was readily apparent that Goku couldn't pronounce anything that had more than three syllables. Further aggravating, was that he had been screwing up their name for five minutes in a voice loud enough for the entire dark chamber to hear. Eventually, the specter needed to correct the clueless saiyan

"U (the Spanish pronunciation)-yah-SID-e-ins," asserted the voice. "If you ever encounter them in real life, don't butcher their racial name. They won't take that very kindly."

"Oh, okay. So, what am I supposed to do get to their sacred treasure?" replied Goku, who was obviously trying to divert the subject to something else.

"There's four main trials and you're close to finished with one of them, and before you ask that trial is the preliminaries. You still have the trial of the body, trial of the mind and the trial of the faith to go," reciprocated the voice, having a bit of fun bantering with the rather exhausting saiyan.

Of course, the Earth-raised saiyan was happy about completing one trial but confused as well; he didn't know what he did. "I've already completed the preliminaries. What did I even do?"

"The first trial is for weeding out the souls that don't stand a chance in getting the ultimate power of the Uyyasidian race. If you don't understand a few complex martial arts skills such as ki sensing and manipulation then you have no business trying to complete. The preliminaries where erected for the primary purpose for the challenger to prove they know how to use ki. All that being said, how you almost managed to fail the prelim's even with the use of ki is more than a bit baffling."

"Wait, how do you know if I would've—" Goku was about to finish his comment, but was startled to find that he had ran straight off the stairway. Regardless, it shouldn't have been a big deal—after all, he could fly— however, unfortunately the knucklehead had forgotten that little tidbit of information and was currently plummeting towards the blackened ground.

Meanwhile, the specter was chuckling at his charges abrupt halt to his comment. He knew that staircase would vanish—even though he didn't have feet—and his charge didn't! Nevertheless, he couldn't let the idiot die. "Dumbass, have you conveniently gotten your wings clipped. I thought you could fly!" Making sure the lovable lug could hear him; the disembodied soul had its voice boom across the chamber letting the acoustics take over.

The not-so-subtle piece of advice reached the saiyan, who immediately felt silly for forgetting that ability judging by the tinge of pink that graced his cheeks. Wasting no remaining time, the goofy fighter pulled his ki under him to stop himself from falling to his death. It worked with plenty of time to spare.

The warrior let himself levitate in the air for a few spare moments, calming down his racing heart from the transcendent panic that penetrated every pore of his essence during his needless fall. Unfortunately, such a relief wouldn't be forthcoming. You see, his ally was into phasing in behind people and whispering into their ears; what he wasn't into was taking other people into consideration.

"Why ya' standin there? We still need to head down and complete the trials!" loudly whispered the specter, smiling at the fidgeting that spread over Goku's body like a pandemic.

The twitching subsided almost in a flash and all that was left was a peeved Goku. "You know that wasn't necessary right? Knock it off," accosted Goku, who was visible displeased by the specter's mind games.

The accusatory tone—although correct—didn't settle well with Goku's guide. "How was supposed to alert you to the fact that we have to go down farther? Grab you by the neck and drag yah down?" fired back the voice, letting a false amused tone overshadow his deep set animosity over being questioned.

Its "playful" jab met no confirmation or denial from his charge, whom opted to just glide down the dark chasm like an fast-moving elevator. The descent wasn't infinite. Within half-a-minute of continuous descent the trial taker hit land suddenly, causing him to shrilly yell out his displeasure to the vindictive joy of his slighted guide.

Once his leg stopped giving Goku fits, the motley duo continued on their merry way. How'd they know what direction they were going? Goku was just following his guide, hoping he knew the way; things tended to get dicey when he didn't. Of course, said specter noticed Goku's new commitment to following its every move and didn't waste a minute in rubbing it in his face.

This rather delightful interchange was cut short once they got to something interesting. This something wasn't interesting in the center; just more blobs of pitch darkness. It was the outer ring of the dark wall that caught the eye. Like the corona of the sun, light was penetrating in a haloesque pattern around the dark center.

"What do you supposed that is?" inquired Goku, not knowing anything about what he was seeing.

"I gather it was it's the closed portal to your true tests. How do you think you are going to get through Goku?"

Goku may be a bit clueless, but he wasn't that stupid. In one "hi-yah" the monkey titan demolished the wall and walked into the mysterious corridor.

What made that passageway uniquely mysterious? Well for one, it was lighted in a chasm of darkness. That alone made it interesting to both souls. More interestingly was the fact that the light wasn't the product of candles or lanterns but high tech LED panels; quite frankly, it was an odd site.

Thankfully, that odd mystique didn't translate into danger as of yet. A long walk, yes, but nothing that would kill anybody of Goku's caliber. At the end of the passage though, the unique LED paneled highlighted melted into the more passé use of candles and lanterns when they approached a massive cavern.

The dim lighting of the hollowed space shrouded everything in sight, creating numerous mirages of what Goku assumed to be shadows. Upon further inspection of the space, the objects that were casting the litany of shadows were large organized columns of statues that surrounded the entire outer periphery of the room, leaving only the very center free of statues.

Our motley duo walked into the room, and in Goku's case tried to avoid breaking any of the statues. Once they got to the center, the dim lighting of the room seemed to be concentrating on one single point: a caption of some sort.

The inscription on the engraving was sealed like the rotunda of the temple's vestibule, emitting a shockingly high level of ki. Doing as he did before, Goku let his ki intermingle with the ki on the plaque letting the inscription decode itself. It read as follows:

_Praised be thee who come here,_

_prepared to fight for the right of the flesh._

_Only remember that it isn't brawn that kills,_

_it's execution, knowledge and sight. _

Needless to say, Goku was baffled by the coded message. Puzzles were never his strong suite. Equally confusing was that the message was recited out loud by some booming voice that he couldn't recognize, and to top it off the lights went off directly afterwards.

He didn't get the chance to ask his guide what was happening. One swift kick right in the back of his knee sent him directly to the floor, howling in pain from the sneak attack. More distressing was the fact he couldn't even sense the evildoer coming until they slammed their leg into his knee.

Goku groaned as he picked himself off the ground, feeling his abused knee give him fits in the process. To his disbelief, the perpetrator of his injury was nowhere to be found. `Where could have he gone! Darn, it's like he disappeared into thin air!'

Mental curses or not, Goku's nemesis didn't let up for very long at all. Coming swiftly from his perch, Goku's challenger dislocated his adversaries elbow before jumping back into the shadows. This routine of attack quickly became a pattern: Goku lets his guard down; adversary jumps in behind him; adversary strikes him in said weak spot; Goku falls to the ground; adversary disappears into the shadows.

So here was our hero: in the pitch dark nursing an accumulating stockpile of injuries while their inflictor was still adding more to the list. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before the adversary hit something fatal.

Fortunately, that would only be the case if Goku wasn't paying attention every time he was hit. No, Goku had already learned one thing about his enemy: he could only hope to catch him in the act. His ki signature just didn't exist once it got away. In Goku's mind, every new assault told him something new about who he was facing: what direction they tried to strike from, what elevation they came in from, or the type of blow they would attempt to inflict. After a few accounts of trial and error, Goku believed himself to be ready to rid himself of that "gnat" for good.

So, what was his strategy for eliminating his challenger? Simple: create a false opening. Our hero would exaggerate a weakness, and once our enemy took the bait he'd be pinned down by Goku. All in all, it was hard to believe that Goku could think of a plan like that one, either out of the fact that it required planning or that it was deceptive in nature. Honestly, nobody thought he was capable of such action.

The even greater absurdity was that Goku's not-so-farfetched plan actually worked. His enemy, sensing his hyperbolized weakness, jumped at the chance to trigger more pain against his stalwart opponent. As he approached the Goku's achilles heel—which was the back of Goku's knee yet again—he steeling himself to cripple the earth-born Saiyan once and for all.

Unfortunately for him, that's not how it played out. Once he had gotten close enough to strike out at Goku, his enemy pivoted to plant a deadly sidekick right at his head. At the last second, Goku's challenger jumped forward to desperately evade the otherwise—in his mind—fatal attack. However, the trajectory of his flight ran directly into the path of Goku's outstretched hand, who made short work of batched escape by grabbing his adversary by the neck.

"Who are you?" asked Goku, after having caught the rogue who made seemed to have made a living in brutally attacking people.

The rogue just giggled without sanity at his adversary's way of interrogating him, not hinting at much of anything with the way he was smiling. The sprightly black demon had been proctoring that test since eons ago, and one little punk wasn't going to change a single thing. It didn't matter that he technically passed, or that he was the closest challenger to success in this gauntlet in almost a millennia. No, the look of morally righteous fire in his eyes confirmed to the black mass that this fighter wouldn't survive the cleansing.

Nevertheless, the demon still had a job to do, and it wasn't his job to decide who goes farther in the test. "You pass," uttered the demon, in a strange nasally accent.

Once those words were uttered, the ground collapsed from under Goku and his guide. Using the distraction, the black mass phased out of Goku's grasp and left the saiyan to fight the next stages of the trials.

As the ground suddenly disintegrated, our motley duo dropped into a smooth metallic tube that was buried underneath the center of the cavern. In fact, it was so smooth that they couldn't even use there ki to slow down their fall. So, they continued to roll and flip down the laughably oversized slide from hell that lead to nowhere.

Then out of the blue, the tube opened up and spit them out at another cavern, this one larger than the last.

Poor guy; Goku couldn't even begin to articulate his confusion—although that didn't mean he wouldn't try. "Uh, what just happened?"

Just like it was typical that Goku to express confusion on pretty much everything, it was just as typical for his guide to reply. "When we completed the last test, that tube must've been how we are supposed to get to the next trial. Personally speaking, something a bit less spontaneous would've been very much appreciated."

"Oh okay," responded Goku, turning away from his guide to inspect this even larger room. There wasn't much to say; it looked like a larger carbon copy of the last room. Still, the process of looking over the new room made him think about what just happened. He didn't kill the black demon nor did he blow anything up, which made him wonder how he had passed. `Maybe my guide has answers,' mused Goku almost out loud.

"Um, guide. How did I pass that last exam?"

His guide started to sigh almost despondently. He really didn't want to answer that question, primarily due to being not sure itself. Regardless, it was its civic duty to answer even if it was only conjecture. "I can't say for certain, but I think that by grabbing that black rapscallion you proved the real point of the test. You could use your ki to track your enemies, plan a way to capture them and execute your plan in a way that makes you the winner. At least, that's what I believe."

Goku didn't want conjecture, he wanted facts; he also knew that his guide didn't have those facts. So, he'd have to accept what he had gotten and turn back towards the matter at hand: this cavern.

As mentioned before, the only major difference upon distance observations of the two caverns were their respective sizes. Only upon closer inspection did the motley duo notice the numerous differences. First was the fact that the chamber was lined with rock salt. The second was that another heading—of which Goku was learning to despise—graced one of the walls of the hollow.

Both souls gazed at the inscription on the wall, dreading what it may mean; neither forgetting their recent run in at the last trial. Decoding this riddle may just kill `em after all if they weren't careful. Shame it was a chance they'd have to take; starvation was equally as dire a threat as the trials.

A moment of indecision crept through Goku's mind, making him think about the consequences of his next move. Any consequences were weeded out, though, when the mere idea that he wouldn't be able to eat again was brought up. _No _existence was that bad.

Like the last time, Goku summoned his ki from within him and propelled it on the mute plaque before him. The intermingling process took less time than before, partially due to Goku's increased experience but also the simplicity of the imprint. In the eye of the saiyan it read something like this:

_Thou challenger, you hast made it far!_

_Farthest than thee or we fought capable of._

_Rest not, we've come prepared,_

_just prepare for the trial of the mind!_

At this moment, Goku fought that the lights would turn off and he'd be in mortal combat with another energetic black demon with a love affair with cheap shots. Alas, nothing of the kind was happening this time. Those devils behind these challenges must've wised up and added in something new.

What was really disarming for the peaceful saiyan was how static this cavern was. Unlike the last cavern where the change was swift and violent, here it was subtle. The cave looked a bit larger, maybe a bit more elongated too, but nothing that couldn't be due to a change in depth perception.

Thoughts quickly became jumbled, close to losing any relevant meaning that they once had. Vision started to blur, hearing became duller than a doorknob and Goku could just feel entire body start to ache. Something bad was happening and he had absolutely no answer for it.

"Goku, look at your skin!" shrieked his guide, using his loudest voice possible to coax a reaction from his charge.

The shriek did force Goku out of his stupor for a minute and knocked him subconsciously back into the plaque. After coming to, Goku saw his distorted reflection on the plaque: wrinkled skin, white hair and a frail complexion. There wasn't a doubt about what happened: Goku was older than Master Roshi now.

Once the realization dawned on Goku, he sat down on the gravelly floor lest he fall down in shock. `How did I grow up this quickly? If I don't find a way to reverse this soon, I won't be able to find my son,' he whispered to himself, perturbed at this change of events.

His guide wasn't going to let him sulk on the ground forever, not when their lives could be lost in the most laughable way possible. It had an idea; an idea that only Goku could do. "Goku, get back here; I have an idea that requires your help," shouted the disembodied soul, hoping to kami that his charge hadn't given up hope already.

He honestly should've known better. One miniscule cry for help could send Son running in their direction, let alone when that cry specifically addressed him for help, which was the case this time. It was safe to say that Goku was there in a heartbeat.

"Yessir doc? What do you need?" asked Goku, hoping to get the request that was desired of him.

"Goku do you see the inscription on the plaque," replied the specter, using ki to mark the position of the inscription. After all, you could never be too sure with Goku about whether he would be able to follow you.

"Yes," affirmed the happy go lucky saiyan, who was wondering what he was supposed to do about the aforesaid inscription.

"Good," responded the inanimate soul. "Look closer at syntax of the inscription. It's archaic at the beginning and modern at the ending, like it's a part of the passage of time itself."

"Syn-what?" blurted out Goku, not having a clue where his guide was going with this.

`Damn it! Expecting Goku of all people to understand what syntax means, what stupidity!' shouted out the inanimate soul in its own head. It took a breath of air to calm itself down before gathering the resolve to answer without strangling the asker.

"Whatever Goku, what I was saying was that the inscription probably represents the passage of time in the ordinary universe. Is this rapid aging normal? No, it's abnormal; unordinary. You want to also know what's also abnormal about this cavern? The fact there's a metal engraving in a chamber filled with rock salt. You can carve inscriptions with rock salt, so why engrave with metal? Simple: it's makes the plaque abnormal," chanted the specter, hoping that Goku was picking up on what he was saying.

Alas, the specters pleads were ignored by the cosmos. Goku had progressed too far in age to be able to form a coherent sentence, forget about aiding his comrade. Seeing how out of it his ally was, the disembodied souls realized it needed to forget about blowing its cover; surviving was much more important.

In a move crafted from the annals of pure haste, the soul ripped the engraved plaque from the walls of the cavern. Without flinching, the soul vaporized the metal engraving with enough ki to melt at least three diamonds, assuring its disappearance from the Earth.

Miraculously enough, the foolhardy plan actually worked. The specter was correct about the point of the trial of the mind; that it was about removing a normal cycle of events from an abnormal cycle of events, even if the cycle you normally follow was the one that had to be removed. For this, and this alone, they'd live to not die of hyperactive aging.

In a scene tailored from a children's fairytale book, everybody in the cavern felt the frailty of old age leave their bodies and the vigor of youth return. It was such a magical site that it could instantly end up in Disney's Vault.

Goku—as youthful as he ever was—had adorned a look of comical confusion. It appeared that the trial of the mind was just too much for him to handle even contemplating, but he wasn't complaining. Chalk dust wasn't on his list of things to become for quite some time. That didn't stop him from wondering about what happened, though.

Meanwhile, a fitting cliché was starting up once again. Once Goku got his youth again, the spot of the former plaque started to crack and break apart, tearing apart at their proverbial seams. The process didn't stop until a long narrow corridor became visible to the motley duo, inviting them to leave the cavern behind.

Neither Goku nor the specter looked back, nearly sprinting to reach the corridor first. The specter won (of course) but its small stature didn't infringe on Goku too much, so all was cool. Well, all would've been cool in the minds of both if two things actually happened: one, if they could out of this perpetually long and narrow pseudo-alley, and if Goku could finally get the ultimate prize of the Uyyasidians already!

At least getting one of the things you wanted is nice! The elongated channel dissolved into another hollowed out room, but this one was a stark contrast to the other two. In fact, were could either even begin to describe the differences. While the first two caverns were plain and bare, this cavern was rife with tapestries, ceremonial knick-knacks and gold, lots of gold. The first two caverns were so large you could host an army barrack in only half of the compound; here: everything was impossibly compact; you could barely host even one person without a feeling of claustrophobia coming over you.

You want to know what wasn't different: those darned plaques. They just didn't leave the motley duo alone, not for a minute. Only the location of the plaque was different in this room. Unlike the last two plaques—which were proverbially bolted to the walls or floor of the cavern—this plaque was the centerpiece of the entire collection of ceremonial knick-knacks. That wasn't the only difference; this plaque was gilded in glittering gold instead of some unknown variant of copper, tin, iron, or lead.

Goku sighed at the inevitability of decoding another of these stupid puzzles. He was really starting to despise them, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice in doing it.

Goku's ki made quick work of the inscription on the plaque, settling for watching the pseudo-puzzle descramble itself. After some time, the writing on the description became clear; only then did Goku start reading.

_Challenger: you've gone farer than we ever fought possible._

_You've bested foes of both physical and mental might,_

_but your fight is not over. We still want something else;_

_for this power necessitates a leap of faith. _

While our valiant hero was reading the message, a black hole materialized in the middle of the room, directly in front of the plaque. Its emergence wasn't a coincidence; everybody knew why it was there: you'd have to jump directly into its soulless maw.

The specter immediately recognized their game. `Jumping into pure pitch without even an assurance that you'd even exist is one hell of a risk. To do something like this would require faith, faith! That's it. They want us to trust them, no matter the circumstances—and what better way than jumping into a soulless chasm.'

Meanwhile, Goku may not have understood the significance of what the Uyyasidian's were requiring of him, but he did know one thing intrinsically about himself: he had an unflinching faith, even if he had nothing else to fall back on.

So they both jumped, praying to god that there faith would be rewarded.

* * *

Gohan couldn't believe what he was seeing, no, he didn't want to believe was happening. His opponent was dead. Stiffer than cardboard skin, no sensory perception, no pulse and a broken neck; it all confirmed what Gohan dreaded most.

Son Gohan was his murderer.

He dropped down to the ground, trying desperately not to cry. He didn't care what his captors did to him for his "supposed" weakness; all he could think about was his father and how'd he frown at his bad behavior. Goku's son: a ruthless murderer?

Deep down inside, his mind was trying to rationalize with his guilt. `You had to kill him, there wasn't any choice involved! He had die or you would have died! Sacrificing him is the only thing that makes sense.'

Guilt wasn't a thing that could be rationalized with. No matter how much sense—regardless of validity—was made; the kid's feeling of remorse couldn't be shaken. So there he lay, hunched over in front of the fallen warrior.

In the meantime—just as Gohan predicted—Raditz and Nappa were scowling at the sight. Sympathy and mourning for the enemy was asinine, if not blatantly dangerous for everyone involved. 'The kid needs to be broken out of this pathetic groveling. It's very unbefitting of a saiyan warrior,' internally grimaced Nappa, losing most of the little respect the brat gathered by actually killing the Meteoran in the first place.

"Nappa, the kid just needs to kill a few more people. His heart is far too large for the jobs he'll be demanded of. I'm sure once he gets acclimated to killing, he'll grow out of this unbecoming whimpering," said Raditz, still trying to convince his superior that the brat was worth something.

"I don't care what you do, Raditz. Just don't have the kid stealing my kills," replied Nappa, who cared very little for what the brat did.

"Rest assured, Nappa. He won't." Raditz smiled at his comrade, a smile laced with cyanide. "I'll be taking him to the local hospital; you know, to get him _checked _out," continued Raditz, who almost laughed at his really unfunny attempt at a joke.

"Whatever, Raditz, I'm just going to have some fun," replied Nappa, with his stupid oafish grin plastered on his face. It didn't take a nuclear physicist to determine what he meant by fun.

Half-truths were the greatest item in Raditz's arsenal. His fallback when his pathetic level of strength fell through on him, which happened constantly. To both follow directives and mislead his superiors was something he learned how to do well, and quickly. No, he had no intention of taking Gohan to a hospital, but he would get him checked out for sure. He just needed to pick the brat up.

Nobody was left in the square after Nappa fled, offering the opportunity the long haired saiyan prayed for. Raditz started to walk towards his nephew and the deceased warrior that lay in front of him. The boy had his face buried in the warm flesh of his kill, continuing a self-decided vigil over his fallen foe. Needless to say, the level of useless emotion was irking the kid's uncle immensely.

"Brat, get up," yelled the uncle, feeling nauseated by his laughable levels of grief the kid exhibited for killing one pesky warrior.

The brat refused to get up. More inert than a boulder in the desert, the boy stayed put. He couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything; he could only see that the death he frivolous caused by his wanton anger.

Problem was that waiting wasn't Raditz's forte at all. He reached out and grasped his nephew's cranium and threw him onto a vacant slab of concrete many body-lengths away, before waiting for the kid to pick himself up.

Once Gohan did as Raditz pre-emptively thought, a growl ripped its way through Raditz's mind. `Red spots around his eyes, sinus congestion and swollen cheeks. Damn it, the kid's been crying again. We really do need to beat that habit out of him. It makes us look pathetic and his life will be that much worse if he makes us look pathetic.'

"Follow me brat," responded Raditz, walking in the opposite direction of the square. Like last time, he wouldn't bother telling Gohan where he was going or what direction he was heading; that was the brat's job to figure out for himself.

Seeing no choice but to follow, Gohan followed his deranged relative out of the square and into a series of random alleyways that Raditz seemed to love dragging him through. By this time, Gohan's sense of life preservation had kicked in and his previous guilt was erased from his mind for the time being.

Free from the chains of his guilt, our favorite brat could more closely pay attention to the path Raditz's was choosing to drag him through. Quickly, he discovered there wasn't any path that was being followed, unless you considered "wherever the Raditz blowed" a path.

The monotony of Raditz's movements bored the half-saiyan to death, which once again let his mind wander wherever it wanted. Ultimately, it just returned to the subject of him being a murderer and the newly revealed fact that he left the corpse to rot in obscurity. Sniffling spasmodically from the almost virulent levels of remorse, the boy finally relented that he just couldn't shake that horrible feeling.

Trying to find any outlet to stop his stubborn fixated mind, Gohan looked for anything unusual too postulate about. Pretty darn soon, quite a list had been generated within the four-and-a-half year old's head. Questions such as `where are the rest of this planet's fighter? How come they aren't trying to kill us? Does Raditz even know where he was taking me?'

Turns out, Raditz really didn't know where he was going. It didn't really matter, provided that he was long ways off from the war path carved by Vegeta and Nappa. The Meteorans would be far too busy trying to contain his colleagues to even think about finding him amongst all the vermin of their planet. All that mattered was that his self-assigned task was completed; he could care less what happened here.

While he was thinking a gale of gust blew straight through the alleyway—cutting proverbial into the exposed skin of both saiyan—making their teeth unconsciously chatter and their hair blow back. Intrinsically moving away from the brisk wind, Raditz turned into another alley using the building as barrier from the wind. Of course, where Raditz went so did Gohan.

This move turned out to be a godsend for Raditz. At the distant end of the alley, a distinctive building jutted straight from under them. Although, neither saiyan had been on the surface of this planet for any length of time, they both knew what the structure in front of them was: a school.

That school brought a wide smile to Raditz's face, a smile imbued with an intoxicating level of cockiness and malice. `Oh, this is just too perfect!' snickered the long haired saiyan from within his own mind. `Everything just went according to plan!'

At present, both fighters were on the front walkway of the school. Gohan was hiding behind his uncle, and his uncle snorted at the cowardly behavior of his nephew. Nevertheless, he'd need his space. "Brat, stand back," shouted Raditz, not letting that incessant smirk leave his face for even a millisecond.

Reluctantly nodding his head, the puny half-saiyan slowly glided away from behind Raditz's back and onto the concrete of the street.

Raditz walked up the stairs of the school, approaching the large front door that was shoddily pad-locked from the inside. One swift front kick courtesy of the lanky long-haired murderer tore through the lock and knocked down the door. Signaling his young nephew to come hither, Raditz began to walk through the halls of the school.

Carousing through the halls of the education institution made Raditz almost giddy. `A school for brats just as young as my own; my day just keeps on getting better,' cackled the long haired villain, still convinced that luck was on his side. `Urchins everywhere, it's so hard to pick just one group!'

Indeed—oh how right he was. Thousands of little kids to pick from, and he only needed a dozen or so to prove his point. He couldn't even come close to specifying who he wanted to make an example of. So he did what any brute at heart would do: blast virtually everything into dust.

The thug started to launch a barrage of weak ki blast at everything he could see, and he meant everything. The walls, the ceiling, most of the floor; cut through like hot butter by the hostile blast waves. By the end of the long haired saiyan's mini-rampage, only one class room remained, which by process of elimination would become the sight of where Raditz's self-designed plan would come to fruition.

Breaking through the door, Raditz walked into a proto-typical class room: a small atrium between the teacher's desk and the front door; a phalanx of empty desks right in front of the atrium; and a counter top where the children were hiding in with their instructor. The look of unbidden terror on their faces was evident; they all heard the fireworks just a second ago.

Not waiting for the urchins to react, the long haired saiyan walked right towards the counter-top. Nobody was going impeded his path, not even the teacher who foolishly blocked his path. With a growl of indignation, the saiyan latched his palm onto the face of the teacher, forcing it back with a violent level of force. Within seconds, the teacher's neck was broken and soon tore straight off his head, leaving the bony vertebrae exposed for the entire traumatized class to see.

A chorus of cries erupted from the frightened toddler. They may not have even resembled humans, but it didn't take a particle physicist to figure out how frightened they were.

In the meantime, Gohan had walked in on the spectacle and was petrified to say the least. The terror and disgust that was raging through his system couldn't be described in words nor be hidden inside. But it wasn't like the pint sized half-saiyan's opinion on the matter actually changed anything. He wouldn't be able to stop what came next.

Raditz had cornered the little kids behind the desk, smiling his trademark sick smile at each and every single one of them. Refusing to let in any plea for mercy be considered, he moved his palm in front of his shadowed face and fired directly at the back of the crowd.

It was a sick sight. The blast detonated at the far end of the pack of toddler, incinerating many of the souls that were directly hit. The periphery weren't as lucky. The heat of the blast seared right through their skin, tore through any appendages in the blast radius, and cauterized their eyes. Gohan didn't need to know that their ends would be that grotesque.

The long haired saiyan casually walked amongst the rubble, trying to find a suitable victim for his charge. Finding one turned out to be an easy venture.

The victim was a boy, approximately five years old by human standards. His condition wasn't any different than most of the surviving victims; partially melted fur and skin sticking together plus cauterized eyes for good measure—all the essentials for a heinous death. Yet, through it all he was still breathing, he was still trying to live.

Raditz grabbed at the scruff of the boy's neck, pulling him out from under the countertop. He finished his callous action, by tossing the unconscious boy at the feet of the chibi half saiyan. He smirked at the flustered reaction that Gohan was telegraphing him; while he prepared a morbid response that the brat would be bound to obey.

"Kill him, brat. Smash his skull open," ordered Raditz looking sternly into Gohan's eyes, not-so-subtly telling him this wasn't up for negotiation.

The order locked Gohan in place. Why was Raditz forcing him to kill people? He didn't know, but he just couldn't feel himself do it; not now, nor ever again. So, his body just shut itself down.

Gohan's uncooperative reaction didn't set with Raditz. Closing the distance between them rapidly, the long haired saiyan clasped his hand on his charge's puny neck. "You will do as I say, brat!" he snarled, barring his adult fangs straight at Gohan's dilated eyes.

Frightened beyond words, Gohan still hung there inert in Raditz's grasp. By now he was crying inconsolably, beseeching anything to take mercy on him for this awful predicament.

However, Gohan's cries at a different reaction than normal from his bloodthirsty uncle, who he suspected would kill him for his babyish cries. Instead, he started to mirthfully chuckle at the chibi, letting him stew in confusion for a split second.

"Maybe, I should show you how it's done. Watch this!" smirked Raditz, before pulling his boot up to smash it down directly on the dying toddlers face. He removed his boot from the sludge of blood and brain matter, while dropping Gohan in the same motion.

"Now that you've seen how it's done, kill that Meteoran over there." Pointing towards the door, Gohan saw a miracle in progress.

He saw a female meteoran toddler that appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Now that wasn't the miracle; it was the fact that she just had scrapes and bruises on her persons. She was more than able to live a normal and fruitful life if given the chance. Now, he was being demanded to kill her. No longer in a state of frenzied panic, he stumbled over to her resting place with his fist held up high, shaking uncontrollably from the sheer repulsion of what he was prepared to do.

From the periphery, Raditz tried to give a little "encouragement" to his young charge to end this life. "Kill her, Gohan. It's either her or you and her. They will all die in the end. It's just a matter if you're going to die with them. So make your choice." With that, Raditz averted his body away from Gohan and the sleeping girl.

By now, Gohan was sobbing in spurt. His tears were sliding off his lubricated cheeks like a small brook in a Pennsylvanian forest onto the girl, inadvertently waking her up to see the judgment of her soul for herself.

It was so hard. Kill her or be killed himself. It was a decision Gohan knew he shouldn't have to make, but was forced into making. He always thought that he'd die protecting the good, and fight the bad until the end. It wasn't shaping up that way; his will to live was just so strong!

One final tear slide down his cheek, and he mutely put his head down at the girl's ear, whispering one final phrase. "I am so sorry," he finished, before slamming his fist down on her trachea.

* * *

**Hello, my faithful viewers. Much has happened since last time, and I hope you like the direction that the story appears (in your mind to be going). **

**Personally, I feel like I'll be doing a lot of editting on this chapter very soon. I don't know. The syntax is a bit choppy, I don't feel like it flows very well. However, to make any significant improvements would require at least another two weeks, which is time I don't have right about now. **

**Now, for recent changes and updates. On the next chapter, I'll be adding a progress indicator on my profile for the next chapter. What's a progress indicator? A bar at the end of my profile telling my reading how close I am to the end of the next episode of Cognitive Dissonance. **

**Speaking of the next chapter, it will be maybe half-a-week late. I have finals next weeks which will take all my time to write for at least the next week. Just thought you guys should know that. **

**Finally, I'll be updating this story biweekly from now on. Salted Ruins has been put on indefinite hiatus until I finish this project. **

**To clear up confusion:**

**I mentioned Cold World because it was my inspiration to write Cognitive Dissonance. However, our respective stories won't share to much in common after chapter six or seven.**

**Projected date of next update: December 17th. **


	3. Deluge

Bile. It was all he felt, coursing up his throat. He couldn't handle the scent of terror that was still wavering from the girl; his olfactory cells were spasming from the retched smell. In a violent paroxysm, the young boy vomited straight onto his victim.

How could he let himself do this? He wasn't a murderer at heart, but the crushed trachea and frightened eyes of his victim told him a different story—a story that he couldn't hide from even if he wanted to. Son Gohan had just killed somebody.

What was he thinking? He was just starting to rationalize an excuse to why he was forced to kill the leopard-warrior at the square! It was mistake, a result of his explosive temper and the frightening predicament he found himself in. Only he knew that finding solace for this killing wouldn't be so easy.

He wasn't in any danger or distress when it happened, he killed of his own free will.

Now he'd have to live with the guilt. There was nothing that could be done about it now.

Gohan averted his eyes from the corpse, trying to extradite himself from the horrifying site. Unknowingly, his eyes ran straight into the predatory gaze of his murderous uncle. The long-haired saiyan had an amused smirk glued to his face, clearly pleased that his nephew killed the girl.

Quite frankly, Gohan didn't know whether to steel his expression in front of the rogue or to quiver and try to hide. Stupid question really, but deep down the boy wasn't sure he would ever be desensitized to killing.

"Good job, nephew," snickered Raditz, letting a small genuine smile grace his lips. "I didn't think you had it in yah. Glad to be proven wrong for the right reason for once in my life."

Gohan stared straight into the eyes of his uncle, looking for any kind of facetious or malicious intent in his eyes. After all that Raditz had said, the boy was stupefied by his reaction. Only one second ago, the deranged bully was threating to kill him as he stomped on the head of a toddler. Now, he was trying to jovially banter with him. What madness was he living in?

"Y-you ah-are fah-fine with mah-me fah-throwing up?" stuttered the little boy, still frightened of the evidently moody fighter.

Raditz's reaction was even stranger than his former comment. He started to laugh; an uproar of obnoxious chuckling erupted from his mouth, which had only abetted Gohan's confusion. "No kid, puking on a dead brat is not an acceptable practice at any time during a mission; you'll need to knock it off and soon. However because you're a saiyan, your sense of smell is greatly enhanced. Warzone scents aren't pleasant things, and I'm not surprised that a pampered brat such as yourself hurled promptly."

Suddenly, the long-haired saiyan blasted a hole through the untempered window pane of the classroom. After letting the glass settle wherever it layed, the full-blooded saiyan hurdled out of the schoolroom and back onto the grassy lawn of the school, walking away from the building in the process.

The half-breed child was stunned for quick second by his uncle's abrupt choice. By the time he recovered, Raditz was on the lawn strolling away from the ruined school. Moving quickly so not to get left behind—or inevitably get verbally disparaged—the brat jumped and somersaulted out of the classroom, unexpectedly slicing his arm on a shard of glass. The gash hurt and was bleeding profusely, but Gohan wasn't going to be left behind. Not when his life was on the line.

* * *

`This is just too easy.' In Vegeta's opinion, truer words have never been spoken. Planet Meteora was like virtually every purge he had ever been on: long and tedious boring. Not even their "warriors" could give him even the slightest iota of pleasure, the pathetic beings that they were.

Since the massacre at the square, he had raced down the largest and grandest boulevard in the city. Oh and by "raced," we mean blow up everything that came into eye contact with the hothead. The asphalt of road, the Arabian-style villas and any unfortunate pedestrians passing by to witness the carnage; all vaporized before they knew what hit them.

Of course, Vegeta's one man stampede didn't stir well with the Meteoran army. None of the warrior leopards exactly appreciated the prince of all saiyans blowing up their main square, great chunks of the main boulevard or murdering everybody within ear shot. In their minds, Vegeta was nothing but a dead man.

So they held down camp at the far end of the grand boulevard, waiting for their prey to show himself while licking their lips in anticipation. Oh how they waited to dish out a can of whoop-ass on this newcomer.

As Vegeta approached the small squadron of Meteoran's, a sliver of a smirk graced his lips. The brashness of ignorant aliens was all too common, and his favorite thing to change. `More pretenders believing they can beat true royalty; At least I can laugh as I blow them to oblivion.'

Cutting off the ki that kept him airborne, the prince landed flatly on the center of the paved road. His piercing gaze and coy smirk intimidated some of the rag-tag group of Meteorans, but none fled with their tails between their legs. They were the super-elites of Planet Meteora—they didn't buckle to anybody!

Vegeta's smirk widened considerably. His mere gaze and smirk frightened some of these "fighters." They truly wouldn't be worth his time, so there was no point in delaying their deaths any longer. "You weaklings should've ran when you heard I was coming. No point in trying any longer, though. Welcome to the end of your life—and I promise it's going to hurt."

The prince's brash proclamation had no outward effect on most of the squadron, if baring fangs and hissing voices were some admission of defeat. Unfortunately, they couldn't hide themselves from Vegeta's nose; their fur was saturated with unrepentant fear of the cold soulless man before them.

At least, most of the squadron was afraid of the saiyan prince. A few were brazen enough to snort both spitefully and mockingly at their adversary. Vegeta quickly sniffed these characters out from their allies; their scents didn't mask any fear, just rage. `All the merrier when I humiliate them,' mused the prince, giving the thousand yard stare to the entire company of soldiers.

In a split second, half of the group of leopards disappeared into thin air to nobody's surprise—least of all Vegeta's. `No doubt to try to surround me. Like it will make a difference,' condescending remarked the prince within his one mind. `They're going to need to think of something a little more clever to actually surprise me.'

His unimpressed demeanor was just brushed off by his foes, thinking it was a shrewd façade. With a snarl, the foolhardy in their group charged the flame-haired saiyan, hoping to cleave him in two from the very get go.

Unfortunately for them, Vegeta's unimpressed countenance wasn't an act, merely his thoughts of their battle plan. Nevertheless, he'd let them have their fun for now; at least until they got close enough.

Indeed they did get close enough, almost to the point they graze lips with their murderous foe—then he was gone. Using his vastly superior speed, our favorite hothead phased out of the way of their attack and reappeared at the far end of one column of Meteoran warriors.

Leaving no room for error, the merciless saiyan nonchalantly blasted the entire frozen column of Meteoran's into space dust. He left no remains to be mourned.

Hopelessness. Vegeta sniffed it out of every single one of the remaining member of his "welcoming committee." Even their most patriotic and ardent supporters were now balking at the idea of fighting him now, knowing they didn't stand a chance against a foe that wiped out half of their comrades without even making the appearance that it was a difficult task.

To the shock of the remaining Meteoran's, their foe didn't take immediate action against them. All the enigmatic psychopath did was cross his arm in front of him and lower his head towards the ground, suffocating the light around his eyes.

Blue ki started to radiate out of the flame-haired saiyan, buzzing in sound and darkening in hue. The dark circles that enveloped Vegeta's eyes grew in size, creating an aura of mystique around the entire strange metamorphoses.

Jolting back upright, Vegeta flashed a downright evil sneer, illiciting a "scared shitless" expression from the warriors in front of him. By now, the ki radiating out of him had turned into dark blue aura that almost shielded him from the natural elements. That wasn't all though; the vast majority of the dark blue ki had pooled in the palm of Vegeta's hand, eerily shining through the saiyan's cupped hand.

Without flinching, the homicidal prince shifted his cupped hand into a position where his palm faced his foes; his fingers faced towards the granite sky. His evil sneer hadn't disappeared; in fact it had gotten wider. "Ready to die?" snidely asked Vegeta, feeling like taunting his foes before sending them to oblivion.

To his disappointment, his enemies didn't respond to his taunt; such a pity for them. Losing patience with the charade, the hothead fired the incendiary blast.

The destructive blast tore through the air, ready to fry everything in its path. The Meteorans didn't even bother trying to evade the explosive, not seeing the point in delaying their deaths. It was so close; the heat radiating from the orb could burn their skin. They just hoped that death would be painless and the God's would be merciful for their cowardice.

Their date with destiny would have to be delayed. Dramatic timing aside, a massive cloud of energy encircled the leopards, dissipating the ki in the blast into harmless emissions of light.

A vain bulged in Vegeta's temple; who had blocked his blast? Whoever it was, they would pay dearly for their insolence.

The insolence streak continued. Sneaking up on the saiyan from behind, a mysterious warrior swept his feet out from under him, flipped him over, grabbed him by the back of his head and proceeded to slam the saiyan's face into its knee.

With a pulse of ki, the mysterious warrior blew the reeling Vegeta into one of the ruined villas on the boulevard.

It didn't take Vegeta any time at all to climb out of the ruins. He looked a bit haggard, but nothing that would hinder his battle readiness.

Clairvoyance wasn't needed to determine that he was past the point of being angry, furious even. Livid probably wasn't an accurate description of the billowing hatred that rose in his breast. Sneak attacks were the cheapest, vilest and most disgraceful things that could be done in Frieza's army. They were low blows, which were another form of suicide in Vegeta's opinion.

The perpetrator of this "crime" smiled cheekily at the outraged saiyan, clearly not apologetic about her actions. Crimes have been committed against her people; taunting the one responsible was the least of what she'd do to him.

She—the ruler of her kingdom—was a strange figure. Unlike her soldiers, she was dressed in a magenta bodysuit with her face partially shrouded by a transparently white veil. The position of her body coupled with the bodysuit accentuated both her curves and deceptive fighting stance. In essence, she was playing the role of warrior and seducer with the same exotic fighting kata.

Sighting of her in public were extraordinarily rare; most of her subjects had never even seen her face before. The Royal Family of Meteora ruled in secret, allowing bureaucrats to dwell in the fame and scrutiny of the public. In the meantime, the royal's prepared for a case like this—when a megalomaniac made a run for what was theirs. Now, somehow, all the meteoran's knew that the queen had come to save them.

Vegeta—accustomed to the praise and fawning that came with being a prince—quickly deduced that he was dealing with alien royalty. Her unusual appearance all but confirmed it in his mind. "So, the queen came to fight for her subjects. You chose a bad time to grow a backbone."

"At least I have subjects to order around if I so chose," snidely informed the Meteoran queen. "Of course, you wouldn't know such a privilege. Be honest: you don't rule Raditz and Nappa, Frieza does and you know it."

"Quiet, you insolent wench! You'll pay for that remark with more than just your life!" all but shouted Vegeta, who had lost any semblance of verbal self-restraint. That _bitch _had the sheer audacity to use his continued humiliation against him. Mutilation wasn't far away on horizon, and he couldn't wait to tear through her.

His hardly veiled threat wasn't deterring her, unless licking your lips and purring counted as concern. She seemed more aroused by his proclamations than afraid, like she got off on that shit. At least that was what it felt like; she was releasing pheromones into the air like it was nobody's business. Safe to say, Meteoran tabloid's would be working overtime next week. Headlines like "Our Pussy isn't a Pussy" or "Our Queen: Danger Junkie" would be circulating through the market in no time!

Unwilling to let her slight's against his honor be left unsettled for a moment longer, Vegeta raised him palm into the air again and leveled a blast at her "Highness." In his mind, he fired so quickly and so suddenly that she'd have no way to retaliate before she became mortally wounded.

Yet again, Vegeta underestimated his opponent. Using her lightning quick reflexes, she erected another ki barrier around her persons; one strong enough to neutralize the blast coming her way. Now—with danger out the way—it was time to gloat.

"Nice try, Vegeta, but you'll need to _stretch _yourself even further to catch me off guard." Vegeta could just feel her falsely moan when he heard the stretching part.

"Cease your dramatic's women! If you don't stop talking, I'll rip your throat out," growled Vegeta, finding this woman close to insufferable.

Of course, this just baited her on. "Oh Vegeta, there's no need for threats; we haven't even gotten to the bedroom yet!" Everybody stared at each other incredulously upon hearing that statement.

In reality she wasn't so horny or lustful, and especially not towards a psychopathic mass murderer. However, she had did her research on the Cold Empire. She had looked into the bios of all the soldiers with the potential to take her down, and Vegeta was one of these soldiers. In this bio, it cited that Vegeta flies off the handle when innuendo is abused. Therefore, innuendo was abused just for him. She was using pure mind games, nothing more.

On the other end of the battle, Vegeta couldn't take it any longer. He was going to shut her up for good this time. Blasting off towards his foe, he aimed a devastating roundhouse kick that was supposed to slam down hard on her neck, hopefully breaking it.

Aim for her neck didn't mean he hit her neck, though. He aimed the kick at her neck, but she grabbed his leg by the shin before it could connect. Using his momentum, she twirled his body around and threw him into the ground twenty meters away. Disinclined to let an advantage slip past her grips, she bum rushed the crater in the ground where Vegeta was laying.

Regrettably, she didn't realize that the saiyan prince was fine; a bit dazed, but nothing that he didn't shake off immediately. Once he regained conscious control over his body, she was already bum rushing his position with a reckless abandon. `Oh, too perfect,' Vegeta's thought from within his own mind. Enemies that underestimated his recovery speed always got one hell of a shock.

She was close to him; she could almost smell his musk. Cocking her fist back, she prepared to level one hell of a haymaker right onto his left cheek, hoping to hope that was all she needed to send him into the bliss of unconsciousness.

The punch to oblivion never came. Right as she was about to pounce on him, he lifted himself of the ground using nothing but the forward force of his biceps. His careening girth was slow, but to nearby for his opponent to stop. His boots collided with her diaphragm, shooting her up into the troposphere.

Flipping himself back into a standing position, he launched a volley of ki blasts at his foe. Unlike the times before, they all hit they're target with one-hundred percent efficiency, blowing up in a grand symphony of fireworks.

The prince gazed up into the sky, trying to find the wench that dared mock him. Soon enough he located her smoking figure, dropping out of the sky like a falling comet. He powered up and blasted off towards her; he wasn't going to let her insults go unpunished. It behooved his pride not too.

He closed in on the target of his malice, preying on her from above. Tucking his body into a ball, he phased in front of her stomach and slammed his legs into her abdomen, sending her plummeting towards the ground.

The prince used the recoil of the attack to somersault in mid-air—similar in form to a springboard dive—to right himself for the killing blow. His prey in sight, he rocketed forward in pursuit of the falling women.

Before she hit the ground, Vegeta slammed into her abdomen yet again. This time was different. Instead of letting go, he stayed with her; on all fours with his elbow pressed into her neck.

Eventually, there was no more air that they could fall through; they both hit land with a sickening crunch.

Vegeta's plan had worked to perfection. Upon impact, his elbow slammed deep into her throat, before the recoil jostled it from being buried even deeper into her neck. He was delighted by the sound of the sickening crunch of her neck; it made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

He removed his arms from her comatose state, sadistically smiling at her corpse while crossing his arms. "Serves your right, bitch. You should have never pissed me off."

* * *

The black. The mesmerizing prism of black. A void so devoid of…everything that you can't see what it is or what we are because of it. What makes us any different than the black canvas before us? Especially, if nobody else sees you in the dark—crying out for recognition of your own existence? Is the essence of the sentient soul to think to validate identity? Cogito ergo sum. Is that all we are?

Humans and saiyans; aliens and natives; and warriors and Casanova's—we all want the same thing: recognition. Outward symbols to validate what you already know, but don't trust yourself to confirm. Do you truly understand yourself? Can you see past the black?

* * *

No more existential mantras would be developed tonight; the meaning of life's spirit would have to wait for another day. Neither the specter nor Goku could withstand the maddening sea of black that invaded their subconscious, eating away at their minds from the inside out. Both passed out promptly in the dark void.

It was over. Both slid out of the void, dead tired and hardly conscious—let alone cognizant. So they let their minds collapse in a proverbial heap, settling in to sleep off the ailment on the cold gravel floor. Goku couldn't even put two-and-two together! The specter no longer was even a voice, hardly would even been considered supernatural either. At least, as much as a pre-adolescent saiyan boy could qualify as outside the norm.

The specter stirred before Goku, waking groggily from his slumber. It wasn't in a good mood when it saw where they were. `What gives?' it practically screamed in its own mind, seeing the massive reception room they started in. `How are we back were we started?'

It was shaking angrily at the ceiling, as if expecting an answer to its demands. Getting nothing for its efforts, it averted its gaze haughtily towards Goku's still sleeping frame. It was so peaceful, almost obnoxiously so. Why could the clueless and naïve sleep so well at night, when others who know what's going on suffer? It must've been one brand of cosmic karma for snooping in places he shouldn't of.

Like the specter before him, the palm-tree haired man started to awaken unsteadily, rubbing his eyes to wring the sleep out of them. The specter almost began to panic upon the sight of Goku's awakening. He was not supposed to see its human form; not under any circumstances was that acceptable. It quickly flared its ki around itself, having it shroud its entire form in a powerful haze that blocked everything out but the color of its aura. Finally, it used even more ki to convert the ki shield into a transparent white color. Viola, he was invisible.

Once Goku regained full control over his senses, something amazing happened. The stucco that coated the ceiling started to bend and warp towards each other, pushing into each other like tectonic plates. This process continued ad nauseum for the longest time, until the only places the stucco was prevalent in was a mountain range of stalactites hanging from the ceiling.

This process wasn't a perfect process, and anything but a perfect process with stalactites made of stucco would be a catastrophic. Many of these inverted spire had improper proportions; some too thick others much too thin. The specter was by no means a renowned geologist, but it knew when something was going to break.

Unsurprisingly, these stalactites couldn't hold their own weight for much longer. Cracks had started to form at the base of most of these spires. The cracking started to become more endemic, reverberating spasmodically around the entire chamber. Sounds became more enticing, almost trying to bait them into staying around; almost beckoning them to wait and see what happened next.

At least the next part could be predicted. The fissures in the stucco had become too large to support them; structural failure was an imminent reality. It wasn't long until that structural failure was a reality; when the fissures became breaches and a shower of projectiles overcame them.

Goku was screaming "yikes" all over the place, twisting his body in a serpentine fashion to avoid the sharp pointy missiles coming for him. Unbelievably, his intrinsic behavior was actually working. He had avoided over half-a-dozen of the falling spikes and was showing no signs of getting gored anytime soon.

As for the specter, it just flared its ki to divert the stalactites into burying themselves into the ground just next to him. Altogether the specter's idea was a much more pragmatic, if the ultimate goal was to avoid getting impaled.

The rain of death started to trickle, then stopped completely in record time. `The uyyasidians must've not been able to cram any more of those death spikes onto the same ceiling. Pity for them,' thought the specter, amused that they foiled their plan.

Turns out that wasn't their plan at all. In the center of the room, lay another monolith; at least twice the size of the original. Only it was in pieces, most likely hit inadvertently in the projectile shower. Upon closer inspection though, it had been cut in an intricate series of geometric positions and angles. Such complexities couldn't have been cut by natural forces, only by the elaborate design of another sentient mind.

The intention of its creator became clear very quickly. Deep in the rubble of the broken monolith, something fantastic revealed itself. A water fountain, a water fountain made of solid gold encrusted with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, topazes and other assorted gemstones.

Our favorite duo approached the golden fountain, pondering what game the uyyasidian's were playing with them again. Clearly, they were in the right place; the infamous ki-inscribed lettering was ubiquitously used on the slender neck of the fountain. Goku didn't need to be told what to do about it.

Unraveling the message with his ki, the scribed writing sprung off the gold fountain and floated upwards towards the ceiling. Once the code was sufficiently broken, the translated text appeared to the duo in the form of a glowing hologram.

_Congratulation! You've come very far, warrior!_

_However, laurels ought not to be rested on._

_The real battle has just begun; the battle that matters._

_Are you prepared to fight for your soul, child?_

_Come and take your prize; the glory and downfall of the uyyasidians race._

The hologram then dissolved into thin air, rematerializing as an arrow pointed at opening of the basin at the top of the fountain. It was swimming with a black liquid, purer in composition than liquid water.

Goku advanced towards the basin of the fountain, peering into his reflection shaped by the unidentified black liquid. It was so strange to him; it wasn't like anything that he had ever seen before. What was he supposed to do with it?

"Drink it, Goku! Claim the prize you worked and labored over," answered the specter, firm conviction in his voice. He believed that was the right thing to do.

Goku peered even deeper into its murky depths, begging to know if he wanted to do this. Did he even want a battle for his soul? Would he fail to control himself, like he failed to protect Gohan from himself? Was that all he would be if he did? A freak on a thinning leash? `What do I do? What do I do?' Goku practically yelled out inside, beating himself up over this hard call.

A wave of unforeseen insight came upon Goku, crying out to him to ignore the voice before him. Somehow it woke up his inner spirit; his dauntless warrior spirit. `Stop being such a spineless coward! When have you ever denied a challenge, especially something this big? You have to try Goku; for your friends—if not them, than for your son.'

The pep talk jolted Goku out of his deliberations. He had chosen his path, and his path had chosen him. Scooping up a handful of the black liquid, he slowly poured the drink into his mouth, pausing before swallowing the black liquid.

Goku practically gagged while slurping up the foul substance; it tasted positively toxic to him. Throwing up sounded extremely pleasing to the dense knucklehead of a saiyan, but he held firm. He would accept the gift and just pray his trust would be reciprocated.

His trust continued to be violated. The toxic taste in his mouth dissipated, but moved onto his stomach. Fire spread through his veins, causing him to collapse on all fours. Sweat broke out like hives on the surface of his skin.

He couldn't believe how painful this was. It was spreading to his legs, his back, his everything. There was nothing he could do but scream out in agony, letting his power flare up around him.

The sight of his aura petrified him. It was lacking its normal blue color, opting for a brilliant blaze of orange in its stead. Not only this, but his hair was the same brilliant hue of orange; a fact he only knew because he could see his reflection on the ground.

Goku was groaning from the exertion, while attempting to hold himself together. The pain had radiated away from his flesh and bodily organs, apparently opting for a more favorable target: his ki coils. It waxed and waned, the pain. At times, Goku felt like his coils were going to explode from the pressure, and at other times the pain dissipated in lieu of the disturbing transformation he was experiencing.

The plateau in pain had a positive effect, though. He could clearly see himself gaining power, wildly so. A ten-fold spike in power was the barest minimum he had achieved. It was all surreal to him. Once the realization dawned on him, the crest's in his insufferable ordeal were over. The transformation was over. Goku had been reborn.

Meanwhile, the specter looked on introspectively at Goku's metamorphosis. Somewhere in its mind, it was wondering if it should regret its actions. Oh yeah it knew where this endeavor was going too lead, and as long as Goku survived the change everything was going to be fine.

The penultimate kaioken; that was the name of the uyyasidian's most prized fighting form. Why was it called that? Because the final kaioken ended up killing everybody foolish enough to attempt it, therefore the penultimate kaioken became the highest level of kaoiken. What all uyyasidian's tried to become: the greatest glory of their prestigious race.

Sadly, the dangers of the penultimate kaioken were ignored in mass. People didn't understand that the penultimate kaioken was only slightly less dangerous than the ultimate kaioken, which was a death sentence. Regrettably many innocent souls died cruel agonizing deaths, forcing the bureaucrats of Uyyasid to ban the penultimate kaioken forever.

Only the official version of the end of the penultimate kaioken wasn't exactly true. What they really did was purge an entire planet—far, far away—to serve as a proving ground for any soul thinking they had what it took to master it. Of course some figured out the bureaucratic ruse, but didn't survive the trials to acquire the transformation. All in all, it was a pretty solid contingency plan.

That was until the specter came to learn of the subterfuge committed by the uyyasidian bureaucrats. It all fit into the specter's plan, it fit perfectly. Finding reasons to force those same bureaucrats to grant it access was easy. After all, they didn't want to incite a lynch mob if the other bloodthirsty uyyasidian's learned of their ruse. So they told the specter everything. The plans and spects of every trial, the traits of a penultimate kaioken user and anything else the specter wanted to know.

So here it was, coyly staring down the saiyan with its jaundiced skin and bright orange hair. It was ironic. Goku had changed both mentally and physically from his grueling ordeal that it subtly convinced him to do, but it would be him that would change more radically.

Him? The specter was a him? That's right, a him. A person. He was tired of hiding behind a disembodied voice; his vision and spirit confined into a small black space doing nothing but bidding for time. It was time to be who he was! The change he had longed for, a light to fill the real world. A harbinger of a new world! Baden had finally emerged from his ethereal slumber.

Goku stared on in fascination at his ally, the specter. It had a body, and human-like one at that? Since when did this happen? It didn't make any sense.

The pre-adolescent boy twitched his tail and stared right back at him. He didn't look sheepish or embarrassed by his new form, just grim and determined. For what, the clueless saiyan didn't have any answer for.

He got his answer pretty darn promptly. A cloud of ki floated to the edges of the temple's reception room, preventing anybody from escaping without frying themselves. The boy's voice whispered across the room, echoing throughout. "The only way out of this chamber is through me, Goku. I'm afraid this is the end for you if you fail," retorted Baden, his voice much shriller than when he was a specter.

Goku growled in annoyance at the declaration. Who made it _his _choice to decide who goes through and who rots in here? "Tell me you must be joking? That not's fair, and besides you owe me an all-you-can-eat buffet!"

Baden smirked at the cross saiyan, making him even crosser. Folding his arms across each other, he let in a breath of fresh air. "Whoever said what I was doing was fair Goku. You of all people should know how that goes. As for that buffet dinner, I lied; simple as that. If you want out, you're going to have to fight me."

On a normal day, Goku would have tried reasoning, rationalizing or possibly begging instead of fighting to get out of a predicament such as this. He never truly felt comfortable beating anybody up. If it was a spar, sure maybe he wouldn't have a problem leaving an ally a bit bruised and battered, but any injuries incurred would have been made with good intentions. Life and death battles never played out that way, and since the finals at the Twenty-third Budokai, Goku had grown to truly despise them.

Alas, today was far from a "normal day." The sheer amount of unmitigated power coursing through his veins was overwhelming. It made him unnaturally aggressive, his dormant saiyan-side becoming more assertive in his new state. The pre-teen in front of him looked strong. He had a tail, a saiyan tail; it way have well been a walking billboard for "I'm strong enough to be a challenge." His stance was practically inviting him to fight him. It was too much for the pure-blooded saiyan.

Goku charged at the pre-teen, swinging his arm to practically lob off his opponent's head. Baden quickly ducted under the blow, smiling like a Cheshire cat in the process. Continuing the battle, Baden jabbed at Goku's sternum which was promptly blocked by the top of Goku's lower arm. Knowing that the momentum of Goku's counter would leave his middle exposed, the pre-adolescent planted his foot into Goku chest and pushed off, sending his foe sliding into the dirt.

Using the momentary reprieve to his advantage, Baden pressed the button on his scouter—that nobody knew he was wearing—on. "Hmph, ten-thousand. Fairly dangerous," mumbled the former-specter. He waited for Goku to pick himself up, holding his right middle and index together while flicking them together in a "come hither" gesture.

The kaioken laden saiyan needed no more urging. He flung himself forward, an arm cocked back to shatter the face of his adversary. Once he got close, the adrenaline fueled saiyan relinquished his hold on his cocked fist.

Baden was waiting for this; Goku's eyes practically spoke his intent. He chose to do nothing about it, letting his adversary continue the motions of his attack. Once sprung the pre-teen saiyan adolescent nonchalantly batted the attack away from his face, while using the palm of his hand to guide Goku's arm across his chest. Manipulating the leverage generated by Goku's botched attack, the former specter harshly speared the older saiyan in the cheek with his elbow, carrying across the chamber.

Sadly for Goku, Baden wasn't waiting around to let him recover this time around. Flying after the careening adult saiyan, the pre-adolescent launched a flurry of assorted jabs, uppercuts and hooks shots at the disoriented saiyan, who was in no condition to defend himself. Every blow to Goku's face and abdomen connected with a brutal level of efficiency and vigor. It didn't there, though. Once Baden was done roughing up his face, he interlocked his finger and phased behind the stunned saiyan. Not waiting for the suspension of disbelief to dissipate, Baden slammed his interwoven hands into the small of Goku's back like a club, violently propelling the older saiyan into the ground.

The strain of the vicious beating combined with maintaining an already taxing transformation was too much for Goku to handle. Unable to get himself off the ground, the saiyan fainted where he stood and lost control of his transformed state by consequence.

Baden slowly floated back to ground level, apathetically eyeing the comatose form of his pseudo-foe. He didn't want to hurt Goku, but it was vital for his plans that the events transpired as they were supposed to. Beating the shit out of Goku in his penultimate kaioken state was a part of that aforementioned plan. "Sorry I had to do that to you, Goku. Hopefully this makes Gohan's life a little easier, though. Thankfully, everything should happen according to plan; my plans do have a nasty habit of actually working, but I guess we'll have to see what happens though."

By the time he was finished with his monologue, the boy was at the feet of his former foe. The pre-adolescent slowly picked the older saiyan up, being careful not to aggravate any injuries he may've picked up during his beating. Oh yes, the plan required him to defeat Goku in battle, but it didn't require him to pick him up after the fact. That was just Baden's way of doing things.

In a blaze of blue, the pre-teen ignited his aura with so much flare and energy that it could have been seen from outside the temple's vestibule, permeating the air and giving the mystical temple an ephemeral and ethereal glow. Strangely enough, the acute effects of his vibrant energy didn't have any effect on Goku, of whom was stilling lying listlessly in his arms.

Goku was the only foreign thing unaffected by Baden's ki. Dust was being carelessly pitched around the room, stones the size of boulders were shredded into pebbles and mixed into the debris field. Baden's energy was destroying the temple, and Baden himself was doing nothing about.

Actually—come to think of it—Baden was doing something: destroying the temple. Nobody needed to know about the magic of the penultimate kaioken any longer, least of all the Cold Family. He shuddered to think what they'd do with a power of that magnitude. `Probably kill themselves! Nevertheless, that's a risk the resistance just can't take. There are already frightening enough,' mused the boy, pondering the result of…per se, Frieza attempting to get that power.

With a final powerful roar, Baden sent twenty modestly sized blasts into the support columns of the temple. They connected with perfect synchronization, detonating and eradicating every nook and cranny of the retaining wall that kept the temple standing. Erecting a ki shield around himself and Goku, the pre-adolescent saiyan boy watched the ceiling—and the rest of the building—cave in on top of them, which would have undoubtedly crushed them to death without the aforementioned ki shield. Even when the tremors stopped, he kept the ki shield activated; the dust was so thick that it was practically a miasma in the air.

Once the dust settled somewhat, Baden started to silently walk away from the rubble. Where he was headed, not even he truly cared all that much about. It didn't matter so long as he had two spaceships, which he did. Digging into the pocket of his trousers, the boy flushed out an intergalactic transceiver to radio in his ship. Within milliseconds, two small and sleek space pods landed smoothly onto the white sand of the planet.

Opening up one of these pods, he gently placed Goku into the fuselage, hooking him up to the medical module. "You're going to feel very groggy tomorrow; I ain't gonna lie to you about that. Getting pummeled never does." Baden started to swallow copious amount of saliva, trying to find the right way of saying what needed to be said. "I know that you'll probably feel like a failure for being unable to retrieve your son, but it's for a higher purpose Goku. Gohan's going to be a great leader someday; he has what it takes to be one. You ought to be proud of him, Goku. That is if you aren't already."

Flicking his fingers onto the navigation module, the nasally voice of the artificial intelligence sprung to life. "Destination desired sire?"

"Yeah, Planet Earth," replied the former-specter, still in morose mood.

"Coordinates set: prepare for takeoff," nasally replied the computer, shutting the door and blasting away off into the horizon.

Baden gaze lingered on the sailing ship; he was still unable to remove his eyes from Gohan's father. "You're a good man, Goku, but I wish to never see you again. For everybody's sake."

* * *

Vegeta was laughing, violently laughing. It spread virulently over the tragic scene. A young Meteoran queen—once full of life—lay unmoving in his grasp. The horrid stench of death was abetted by the frothing of spit and enzymes coming out of her mouth, like a rabies infected possum. And throughout it all, the mad saiyan prince was laughing.

He was more than happy; he was lividly ecstatic. Livid at her audacity when she dared to attempt to take his life, followed by ecstatic to have personally ended her's. Straddling her chest and snidely commenting at her decaying form had never been so much fun!

"Royalty, eh? If you consider pitiful fighting potential and a worthless planet worthy of true royalty, than you're more pathetic than I fought. Look at you—oh right, that crushed trachea of yours prevents you from responding to me. You should be honored; trash like yourself rarely ever is snuffed out by yours truly," scoffed the saiyan, not caring one bit about how this act of barbarity made him look. It was official, that monologue confirmed the truth: Vegeta had finally gone off the deep end.

Suddenly, without any warning, a hand sprung forth from directly underneath Vegeta's arm, and weaved its way around the prince's neck. The queen's eyes blazed open in a cold fury, wrathfully staring down the saiyan directly above her. "What's this about trash, scum!" she taunted, pushing herself out of his hold while keeping her grasp of the prince's neck in an iron vice.

She continued to push the saiyan backwards, not relenting until she was back on her feet and he was dangling in front of her. Her face was a furious snarl, the fangs of her teeth bared at flesh of his neck. All in all, her furious snarl and his livid scowl went very well hand-in-hand. Apparently, she had forgotten about the "seducer" part of her battle persona.

"You came very close to breaking my neck, saiyan. Too close. I won't let a megalomaniac like you commit any more genocides against my people. Are you prepared to die?" she inquired, not caring about his answer. He had caused too much heartbreak and indecision to even consider letting him live.

"Me…die," croaked the saiyan prince, straining to speak under the grip of her hand on his throat. In one swift action, Vegeta swung his feet onto the queen's forehead and leaned into a full body stretch. His legs were bending and he damn near separated his shoulder, but it was worth it. He could just feel her elbow dislocated and neck awkwardly bend; it made him smirk in amusement. He was begging to rub this failure in her face. "About that dying thing? How about, no!"

Finally the queen relinquished her hold on his wrist, content to let him flip and twist in mid-air before landing right-side up. Throughout the process, she swore that his smug cocksure grin never left his face; not when he was mid-air, not when he landed with his head facing the ground nor when he faced her afterwards with his arms interlocked across his torso in the standstill that came afterwards.

Yeap, she was right. His cocksure grin was still there, brighter than ever. She could just feel he was about to boast about it, and boy was she right.

"That was clever little trick; clever for a coward. What a disgraceful attack! Cheap shots, feinting dead; do you have any honor whatsoever?" snidely chastised Vegeta. Of course, her answer didn't matter. She was dead anyway.

"Honor," she bantered back, almost smirking back in return. "You speak of honor. Oh that's rich coming from you. Tell me, exactly how many of those that you have you killed today were completely defenseless in the face of your wraith? I'm expected to derive some sort of honor from that?" If she had no regard for Meteoran court etiquette, she would have snored in the foolish saiyan's face.

"No, you're not supposed to derive any sense of honor from killing urchins like your subjects. That's just part of the job description; take it out on my boss," smoothly replied Vegeta, getting a better and better idea on how to get under her skin.

"I think we've talked enough," growled the Meteoran queen. They were resorting to semantics, which was the tell-tale sign that nobody had a clue what to do next.

"Likewise," reciprocated Vegeta, having caught the same patterns of semantics and agreeing with her that stalling battle would be useless. Before he attempted to strike her, he pressed the power reader button on his scouter. Her power level was still very much of a mystery to him.

The reading made his eyes bug out and his fists shake. `Twenty-five thousand! That's inconceivable! It's makes her as strong as me,' thought the saiyan, knowing now that defeating this bug of a women is gonna take much more work to bring down than what he thought previously.

Our queen leered at the saiyan prince, her face telling him all he needed to know. He quickly deduced that she knew what a scouter did, and what he was doing with it. `Must've thought my reaction to her power-level was glorious or something! Well, she won't be thinking in such terms soon.'

With all of the battle prep work completed, the two adversaries charged at each other; fists cocked to level everything separating them from their foe. Their inevitable collision was one for the record books, an impact so tremendous only the all-mighty could have been left unfazed from such an event.

Both broke contact with each other as vigorously as they initiated it. Their sprightly forms danced across the surface of Varlaam, moving up and down and zipping left and right in pursuit of weak spots. Any advantage in a fight such as this could be the difference between life and death. Each fighter subconsciously assented their understanding of this unwritten principle by the probing nature of all of their attacks. It was as if they were just testing the waters of their respective styles.

Turns out, that was exactly what they were doing. Warming up, testing their limits, testing their opponents or whatever else you would call it. Vegeta and the queen were testing each other, searching for victory in unlikely places—bum shoulders, dislocated elbows and knees. Ki's essence may be equal, but the body that houses it most certainly isn't.

Vegeta was the first person to find one of these physical defects. A bruised bicep, courtesy of him driving his knee through it earlier, had grown black and blue over time. It was just beneath the surface of her fur, swollen and puffy in shape. The prince astutely picked up on it after some time, and when he did he berated himself for not finding the sore spot earlier. `Better late than never,' he bleakly replied to himself, still thoroughly disgusted with himself for being so stupid earlier.

Nevertheless, he pressed his discrete advantage. His attacks became more focused, more razor edged per se. They became honed in on that same bicep and the ball-and-socket joint that connected it to her shoulder blade. Eventually, he struck metaphorical gold. Her guard lifted for just a moment, enough time for him to bury his fist deep into her bruise.

The queen cried out upon being hit. She hadn't even known that her bicep was bruised, let alone targeted by that beast of a man until he struck it. The pain was sharp and agonizing, blinding her from everything surrounding her for a moment.

Being blinded for a moment hadn't proved to be wise for the queen. Sensing her weakness, the prince followed up his debilitating punch with a quick jab to the stomach, causing her to spit up blood directly into his face. He bashfully lapped up the blood with his tongue, looking at the queen with a faked visage of lustful hunger. The saiyan just couldn't wait to see her reaction to his expression.

Sure enough to his delight, she looked pissed; pissed enough to kill a herd of water buffaloes at the very least. Roaring with feminine fury, she jumped the haughty saiyan prepared to do him in.

Vegeta's expression quickly changed from lustfully coy right back into being brutally sadistic. Before she could attack him, he viciously smashed his elbow deep into the crest of her facial cheeks, forcing her to violently crane her neck away from his face. Unfortunately it didn't snap to Vegeta's displeasure, but all that meant was he could keep playing with her for just a bit longer.

However, his fantasies distracted him from the fact that the queen had already recovered from his elbow, or the fact he was gifting her with an opportunity to strike back. And strike back she did. Before it even hit him, she charged him like a harpoon; the "harpoon's" sharp tip being her elbow. It banged right into the tip of his nose, breaking it upon impact and causing him to groan in pain. Far from finished, she proceeded to sock him with a right hook into his left cheek, which caused him to take involuntary flight away from her.

She phased away from his sailing form, preferring to finish up her attack from above. When the time was right, she dived down at her foe like a peregrine falcon did with its prey. Contact was immediate and furious between the two adversaries. Her dive was stopped when her feet buried themselves in Vegeta's stomach, sending him tumbling down to the center of the City of Varlaam via falling through a high-rise.

The Meteoran queen gently floated back down to street level; back onto the same square where this conflict begun, ironically. She knew he wasn't dead. He wouldn't have died from such a simple dropkick, nor did she feel his ki vanish or mix in with the frightened population of her planet. Nope, he was still alive and kicking, and that's why she was going to stay clear of the skyscraper she punted him in. You never knew when he was going to break out of the rubble, and she didn't want to be there when he did.

Sure enough—in grandiose fashion—the Prince of All Saiyans blasted himself out of wreckage, while he basked lavishly in the blue light of his aura. He looked no worse for wear, albeit he had a few nasty lacerations on his forehead coupled with some contusions on most of his visible appendages. Overall though, any of these mild afflictions looked absolutely trivial in comparison to the grim determination set in his eyes.

"I underestimated you," he said, not trying to be clandestine in his approach to the subject. "No matter, though. I will still blast you to oblivion if it's the last thing I ever do. You reaped the day you ever met me, women."

The Meteoran queen appeared visibly taken aback by Vegeta's comment. It lacked any of the snide insults, haughty demands or ridiculous banter that permeated anything else that came out of his mouth. This statement had a tone of finality, that her opponent was finished playing around with her and things were about to get serious. `Very serious, indeed,' she mused.

The queen never had a chance to rebuke or reproach Vegeta for his comment. He plunged forward and head-butted her before she had the chance, transporting her clear across the square. However, she wouldn't land peacefully into some building, oh no. The aforementioned prince phased to her side and karate chopped her in the side of her neck, abruptly putting a halt to her lateral fall to earth for a more…direct fall into the heart of the square.

She hit the ground with a stunning level of force; the very ground beneath her buckled, breaking apart as she was propelled increasingly deeper into the ground. Before she even knew it, she was at the center of a very deep crater.

Scrappily digging herself out of the crater, the queen was perturbed to find out that Vegeta was nowhere to be seen. Advancing forward cautiously, she began to scan her surrounding environment, praying to find that stubborn megalomaniac before he could potentially kill her. Her search for him was becoming fruitless however; he just didn't want to be found.

Bam. She hit something hard, and was knocked to the ground by the resulting reactive force. The collision made her head spin; it surely had to have been made of adamantium for whatever it was to be so hard. Her eyesight returned to her and the secret force of the collision was revealed. No surprise, it was Vegeta; his impressive visage looking at her with a grim smirk.

"Miss me," he responded, his grim smirk widening just a smidgen. "I've missed you," he replied, before hammering her head with the bottom of his fist. "You are royalty after all!" the prince proceeded to pull her up to his eye level by clutching her neck with his palm. "Royalty over spineless weaklings!" he whispered in her ear, before throwing her into a nearby building.

A green pulse of energy erupted around him, pulsating erratically. "Are you ready to face me at full power? I'm waiting!" he practically screamed all throughout the dying city. After quickly generating an energy wave, he continued his mad monologue. "Say hello to me in oblivion!"

He fired his energy beam, letting it sail into the building where he last buried the queen. The energy beam ripped through the building, eviscerating any and all forms of matter. Well, except for the queen; another energy barrier had saved her from certain destruction.

She let go of her energy barrier, walking out to observe her opponent. Predictably, his countenance changed from grim determination to snarling insanity. Sliding into a defensive stance, the queen warily stood her ground.

Her guarded posture prompted Vegeta to break the terms of their self-imposed armistice, by charging at her brazenly. The resulting conflict exploded in size and scope, both the queen and prince resuming their bout of fisticuffs.

Unlike last time though, they weren't looking for weakness or chinks in the armor. In both of their minds, they've tried to discover enough of them to realize there just weren't that many. Instead, they were opting to create weaknesses; both trying to fight a war of attrition against one another.

Ultimately, a war of attrition could only be won by one of these valiant souls, and that final outcome would spell the end of Meteora. The saiyan body was designed for battles of attrition, where the fighters in question would trade blows back and forth for mini-eternities. The queen's diminutive frame just couldn't keep up for as long, and any hope of victory would be negated if their war came down to this.

So she planned one final last stand attack. It would be her everything; either she would come back to her people with his head, or he'd have hers to display as a trophy. There was no in between.

The queen ducked out of punch aimed at her head and deactivated her ki, letting herself descend back into the ruined city steadily. She shifted her eyes upwards, waiting for him to make the next move; there wasn't anything she could do until that time passed.

The wait was exceedingly short for the queen. Vegeta needed no prodding to dive after the retreating women, quickly generating another ki attack to blast her into nothingness.

Little did he know that was exactly what she wanted him to do: send her remains into a smoldering oblivion via the use of a ki blast.

Without even blinking, the aggressive male saiyan fired his destructive orb towards the stalwart queen. Baffling enough, she just stared down the blast that threatened to incinerate her. What was even more baffling was what was going on inside the spit-fire of a warrior. Her mind was … prancing around, doing a happy dance or some other inane activity. `This is all going to plan. I can't believe that idiot is going to let me do this!' she yelped happily inside, while preparing to turn Vegeta's finishing attack right on its head.

Incredibly, she charged directly into the maw of the blast. The blistering heat almost burned straight through her fur. Surprising everyone, she started to flare her own aura the closer she got to the blast. At the last second, she ducked under the orb but kept her ki aura where it was and waited for the blast to melt through the aura. The blast behaved as she expected it too, and because of that she could implement the next part of her attack.

Suddenly, Vegeta's ki blast stopped moving. It didn't hit the ground, it wasn't sent out into deep space nor did it explode from within. Eventually though, things began to change: the blast started to elongate, forming four separate but equal ki prods parallel and perpendicular to each other, connected by only a long staff-like handle. Needless to say, Vegeta was stupefied by what was going on.

Vegeta chose a very bad time to be stupefied into compliance. The Meteoran queen disappeared from his line of sight and reappeared directly behind him. It was too late to stop her, by the time he saw her coming she had plunged her prod directly into his triceps and hamstrings. That wasn't the dangerous part, though. Small wafers of ki start to wrap around his biceps and triceps respectively, binding him into place leaving him unable to move any muscle.

With the first part of plan done, she readied herself to execute the second half of her plan. Leisurely floating back into the city with an uncooperative Vegeta in tow, she hooked him to place in the center of the ruined square. Satisfied with the placement—primarily because almost everything nearby was beyond hope of recovery—of the genocidal saiyan, she blasted off into the sky to distant herself from her target, all the while pooling her considerably energy reserves for one last technique.

Eventually the bidden energy became too much for her mortal coils to handle. She moaned and groaned as she slowly expelled the excess energy from her body. However, she didn't let this residual ki just dissipate into the air. Oh no, she was just pooling it outside of her body in a contained space that was channeled by more of her ki. She was so close to finishing him off for good.

Vegeta could clearly see that the attack she was planning was far from ordinary. It was taking … animalistic features in aesthetic design. Quite frankly, it looked like a leopard. And this leopard wasn't just for show. He could clearly see its ki exoskeleton emerge from within the creature's artistic mien. When the creature unsheathed its claws, Vegeta came to very quick conclusion: he was going to get his face ripped off.

He started to feel drops of rain come down on his head, and then he felt the droplets of water come down in liquid sheets. `Maybe the heavens are holding some kind of last rites for me or something? Puh, fat chance of that,' reflected the saiyan prince, who was trying to remain defiant to the end.

The beast had completed its transformation and was just waiting to be unleashed. Its creator looked down on the beaten saiyan with a confident smile, betraying a more sick sense of accomplishment. "Any last requests?" she offered.

"Yah," he answered back, "go to hell."

"Why the nerve! To send your sultry mistress to hell; where are those manners nobility is known for?" she bantered right back, smirking at the look of constrained fury in his eyes. He was going to go down in a blaze. She could just feel it!

"But since you so _insist _on dying without last rites, I'm not going to stop you. Tezcatlipoca unleash!" she screamed, while simultaneously releasing the ki leopard.

The queen's ultimate attack barreled towards its prey, encroaching closer and closer to Vegeta's constrained state. The prince resigned himself to the end, not seeing a way out of this hopeless scenario. `My life: all for nothing,' he bleakly thought, seeing the artificial leopard's claws descend closer still to his face.

Out of nowhere he felt like his body was being unearthed from the ground, and carefully removed from the line of fire while still being suspended the energy staff that chained him to the Meteoran queen's mercy. Vegeta weakly tried to look over his shoulder to locate the soul that was trying to save his life.

The sight that Vegeta saw genuinely chilled him; a feeling that he never wished to feel again. He saw a man—a man with a hulk-like frame, bald head, a long moustache that curved down to the corner of his mouth and was only wearing black and dark yellow body armor. There was nobody else that this man could've been. "Nappa?" Vegeta weakly moaned, wondering what the hell his comrade was doing.

Nappa had run out of time; the artificial leopard was upon him. It easily cleaved through the staff restrained Vegeta, disintegrating the ki bonds that confined the saiyan prince. For all intents and purposes, the prince was a free man.

The same fate couldn't be said for Vegeta's partner. The queen's ultimate attack was a truly devastating weapon. The ki leopard easily ripped and slashed through Nappa's skin, creating a deep vertical wound that spanned from the corner of his lips all the down to his navel.

It planned to go even deeper into Nappa's flesh; to rip and tear its way through his entire carcass. Safe to say, that wasn't how things played out. A white glove implanted itself into the cheek of the energy-made being, a ki blast already formed in the palm of the aforementioned hand. The creature froze where it stood.

A manic burst of cackles flooded the square, courtesy of the man with white gloves and saiyan royal heritage. Suddenly, he started to whisper into one of the ears of the conjured being. "Why won't you die?" he asked, before blasting the leopard into oblivion.

With no pertinent threat outside of the queen incoming, the prince turned around and gazed into the gored remains of Nappa. His body looked like a bloody mess, no doubt being gored does that too yah. `You were somewhat useful, you big oaf,' thought Vegeta, not really knowing what to say about Nappa's death. The man may've been an absolute pain most of the time, but he was the best friend the young prince ever had. The prince quickly realized he was no good at giving eulogies.

Vegeta felt something very old and almost foreign invade his mind. It was a long buried trick that Nappa did with him when he was just a child, back when he still wanted some level of companionship. Even though it had become obsolete in Vegeta's mind for the longest time, he still had knowledge of how to do it. There was no doubt about what it was: his mental link. Nappa was trying to talk to him.

Opening the link on his end, Vegeta started the conversation. `What do you want,' he opened in a very brusquely manner.

`Yah … to tell you … I'm … sorry,' replied Nappa, his remorse was practically palpable by his way of speaking, even if it was understandably strained.

`What for you brainless oaf? You saved my life, how does equal an apology?' Nappa's response baffled the prince. So he did what he always did upon being confused: be blunt.

`For being … unable … to … protect you,' responded Nappa, trying desperately to articulate his sorrow to his prince.

`How could you protect me when I was stronger than you? What good could you have done by getting yourself killed?' Vegeta was getting extremely frustrated by Nappa's non-existent logic. There was nothing than Nappa could've done to protect him from anything, why couldn't he see that?

`It's … the job … of the … royal bodyguard … to protect … his prince … to the … very end. I've … failed you Vegeta. I've failed you … since you … were a boy, Vegeta. No … amount of … apologizes or hard work … can make up for … my failure. Please … consider this … as my apology … for my actions.' With that, Nappa closed the link and faded into oblivion.

Something snapped from within Vegeta's mind. Unlike the haughty anger, insane proclamations or grim sarcasm that usually dotted his mind, all he could was anger now. The truest and most genuine type of anger he could and would ever feel. It coursed through his veins and seared through his flesh. In a haze of fury, he made his decision: nobody inside Varlaam was going to survive.

He blasted off into the sky, high enough to tower over even the tallest of skyscrapers. He cupped his hands together, molding another ki blast in his cupped hands. He felt a nirvana from the tremendous amounts of energy he was emitting with this ki blast, he rarely used it and only in the most dire of situations. It was safe to say that Meteoran conflict fit both of those descriptions.

The ki blast began to expand past the size of Vegeta's hand, growing bigger and bigger each passing second. The dark pink ki beam was quickly getting out, but its maker didn't care. So long as Varlaam was wiped off the map, he truly didn't give a damn.

His eyes focused in on the Meteoran queen, who had only seconds ago just gotten back on her feet. He swiftly deduced that her leopard attack took all the remaining energy she must've had. Therefore, she was powerless to defend herself from this. The minute they're eyes locked into each other, his refined fury swiftly became unrefined.

"Bitch, say hello to my Galick Gun!" he screamed, thrusting his outstretched hand forwarding and sent the dark pink beam directly into the heart of the city.

The explosion was truly enormous. It was so large it engulfed the city, dissolving any matter that dared stand in its way. Sound came to a standstill; it was being overrun by the cacophony of the explosion. Soon enough, the largest mushroom cloud the world had ever seen enveloped the ruined city, shrouding it from eye sight. All that would remain to be seen or heard of Varlaam would be smoldering decay that remained behind.

* * *

**Thank you to all who have followed my story! This chapter was an absolute blast to write, and I hope you found it to be a blast to read. **

**Review Replies:**

** Ky111: Thanks for your support!**

** Goku Rules 98': Thanks for your support! Your kind words are greatly appreciated!**

** Death101- Fox Version: Your criticism is greatly appreciated. I've taken what you said about my character voice and tried to implement a more accurate portrayal of my characters. You may not read much farther, but what've already contributed is greatly admired. **

**Recent Narrative Announcements:**

** Due to some confusion over how I write internal discriptions and internal monologues, I've decided to clear this matter up now. This confusion is due to both pragmatic and stylistic concerns. **

** Characters in my stories describes things in two ways: the explicit form of mental thoughts and dialogue, and the implicit form of descriptive mental thought processes. What's the difference between the two? **

** The explicit form just deals with what a character is directly thinking. It's meant to be taken literally. Take `Oh you just love taking, do yah,' as an example of explicit mental thoughts. **

** The implicit form is much more tricky to grasp. This form describes the thought process that you subconsciously gather. Take for example when you walk in a room. You decipher that the color of the walls are yellow, there are two couches, a large flatscreen or some other fixture. Are you actually thinking of these facts when you walk in? Unlikely, and that's the beauty of implicit description.**

** Since this description is subconscious of the actual mind, I can use my normal well-cultured way of talking in the implicit description and revert to the explicit form that's more in tune with the actual characters way of speaking. That's how Gohan can change from sounding like a thirty year old to a four year old with lightning speed. **

** Finally, how you tell explicit form of description is by the use of single quotation marks (`') that would surrounded the explicit description. **

** Granted I know most people already know this, but I found it prudent to actually mention this. **

** The second major point I would like to point out is change in how I handle point of view. **

** Instead of using the third person unlimited point of view (omniscient pov), I'll be using third person limited. This leads to one problem: how do you tell where one point of view changes to where one begins in a scene. **

** If the character point of view changes, but the scene doesn't, means that I'll show the change in character viewpoint by double spacing. **

** If both character pov and scene changes, I mark this by a horizontal line break. **


	4. Paradise Lost

_Warning: Descriptions of mutilated bodies. Occurs around 8,000 words in. _

* * *

While Vegeta was throwing his temper tantrum, Raditz and Gohan were trying to evacuate the city. Of course, Raditz's idea of evacuating a city was to walk down the street and blast whoever came into contact with him. Therefore, getting to their objective was a slow and painfully grating process. Granted, most of the warriors left behind to guard the populace were pathetically weak; at least weak enough to be killed by Raditz.

In the meantime, Gohan was nursing his lacerated arm. It was swelling up and becoming a bit red around the edges—a telltale signs of an infection. He wasn't going to tell anybody, though. Doing so would only lead to mockery at best, death at worst. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

However, Gohan knew that all of the little things that Raditz and he were doing were irrelevant. The true battle for Meteora was being fought in the sky, very close to the square where this attack had started from. Their ki outputs were nothing short of mind-boggling to the chibi saiyan; both felt like they were on fire.

Suddenly, Vegeta ki dropped down significantly and the queen's ki rose significantly. It was pretty clear to the child saiyan that "his prince" was about to lose. `This isn't good. I better tell Raditz,' thought the boy. He didn't like the saiyans, but he wasn't a fan of becoming a prisoner to the people he killed. No, that wasn't going to be on his wish list anytime soon.

"Uh, Raditz," squeaked out Gohan, his voice stopping at an inopportune time. `You really don't know how to talk to them, do you Gohan?' asked his dormant voice, smirking at how lost he was.

"What, brat?" replied Raditz, not really in the mood for games or idle chit-chat. If the kid wanted something, he better spit it out.

"Vegeta's losing," the kid promptly spat out. He just hoped his demented uncle actually believed him.

"Really, kid?" snorted Raditz, never having heard of such a funny or ludicrous joke. "I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I'm telling the truth Raditz. If you don't believe me, check that thing around your eye," retorted Gohan, while pointing towards his scouter.

Raditz continued to snort in indignation, but if it meant shutting up the kid he'd do it. Pressing the button on his scouter, he was stunned to see what he was reading. The kid was exactly right; Vegeta's ki was significantly lower than his challenger.

Suddenly, both of them felt another power enter the battlefield and promptly disappear from the battlefield. Gohan and Raditz immediately recognized the vanishing power. It was the not-so-lovable lug by the name of Nappa.

Gohan didn't know how Raditz would react to his comrade's death. He didn't know if they had been close, if his uncle knew how to deal with grief or if anything he was thinking was actually accurate to Raditz's personality. As for himself, he didn't know what to think. He could barely even describe him properly, and that was only due to how uniquely huge Nappa was.

His thoughts didn't prevent him from surveying Vegeta's battle, though. It was clear that after Nappa died, that Vegeta was free. And boy was he angry; Gohan could feel his rage from all the way on the other side of the city.

It wasn't long before both sensed Vegeta far above the city, powering up his Galick Gun. Gohan had never felt a ki blast so powerful before, but it looked suspiciously like his father's signature attack—the Kamehameha.

Of course he assumed Raditz knew this information too, of which the long-haired saiyan most certainly did. At least it explained why Raditz was taking to the air to escape the city, forgetting his charge in his rush.

Gohan wasn't going to let his demented uncle forget him, not even for a second. "Are you going to just let me die here? I don't know how to fly!" screamed Gohan, in a voice louder than he ever thought was possible.

Raditz's snorted loudly at Gohan's request, and it didn't take a ventriloquist to figure out he was disgusted at the boy's capabilities. Nevertheless, he hadn't gone to all the trouble of getting the boy here to let him die. Rushing back to ground level, the lanky saiyan grabbed the chibi saiyan by the tip of his tail and flew away from Varlaam.

Gohan was wondering if dying in Vegeta's attack was preferable to this form torture. Raditz's grip on his tail was making him deliriously weak, so much so that he couldn't even move a single finger. Whatever Raditz was doing to punish him for weakness and potential insubordination was certainly working. He wouldn't wish this kind of agony on anybody.

It wasn't much longer until Vegeta's Gallick Gun detonated into Varleem, eradicating any and all life in its blast radius. Fortunately, Raditz and Gohan were far enough away by then to evade any possibly of physical damage from the attack. Regardless, the sight of the beam detonating like a kiloton nuclear bomb was something that was truly awe-inspiring to witness.

Gohan stared into the mushroom cloud that sprung forth from the explosion, reverting back into the trance he was in during Vegeta's assault on the square. `This is who I'm supposed to beat in battle to regain my freedom? How? How could I ever get the power to threaten a being like this?' he pondered, wondering if he was beginning to resign himself to this destiny.

Sadly, Gohan didn't have a clue about how he would ever get out of the conflict he was brought into. Deep down, he knew he wouldn't be the same regardless of the coming events. In essence, the boy he once knew was slowly dying and what was replacing him was a mystery.

He just hoped his new mysterious identity would be that of a good guy instead of a bad guy.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Raditz was in an awkward predicament. After living with the as-lively-as-a-stiff-board saiyan prince for two decades, he was accustomed to the prince's frequent silent spells. It wasn't uncommon for him to stop talking for days on end. He even remembered a time where the prince went silent for a month back when he was a young adult.

At least in those times he had Nappa around. He may've been an oaf, but at least he was amusing to talk to at times. Now, Raditz didn't even have that miniscule amount of company around.

The lanky saiyan sighed despondently; he really missed the companionship of the oaf. It was better than his brat of a nephew or the stony-faced prince. Of course, he'd shank anybody who insinuated that he actually liked the former general. They both had a job to do: protect the prince, and that was the only thing they agreed on.

Currently, they were in a clearing in a dark dank forest. The City of Varlaam housed the vast majority of the meteoran populace; therefore hunting down the residential communities on the fringe of society would be an easy task. However, they were all exhausted from purging Varlaam and none of them really wanted to continue on until sunrise the next day. So, they camped out in a woodland just east of the former city of Varlaam.

Tension immediately arose between Gohan and Vegeta in camp. Of course Gohan wasn't willing to inflame Vegeta's ire right about now, so that tension wouldn't be exacerbated any time soon.

That didn't mean either party wanted to look at each other. Once a fire was started, Vegeta promptly took the place by the fire and Gohan vacated the area in favor of the shadowed perimeter of the campsite.

Raditz slowly approached the darkened corner that Gohan had occupied. The sight of the kid sulking in a corner did nothing but repulse the saiyan. He swore he heard a bit of a weep. How revolting! It was completely unbefitting of a true saiyan warrior. Curling his lip in disgusted, he stepped forward into Gohan's field of vision.

"Kid, knock it off," he sneered, "the sulking I mean. Just accept that your never gonna leave us. So, you might as well join us. Maybe we won't think that you're such a sniveling brat if you do."

"What do you want?" answered Gohan curtly, not even trying to hide the annoyance and spite in his voice. "I doubt it was to tell me that I'm a brat!"

Raditz smirked at the half-saiyan. "You're developing a bit of a back-bone, I like that," he said, reaching out to wrap one of his hands around Gohan's chin. "I'm not going to talk about that though. No, what we need to discuss is your battle performance. It was pathetic boy. So reluctant to kill or injure, what kind of saiyan are you? Are you completely impervious to the lust of battle?"

Gohan snorted at his demented uncle, glaring into the white of Raditz's eyes. "So, I'm not a bully like you! I don't enjoy destroying things and killing people. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" Tears were practically in the corners of his eyes during his rant.

Raditz's started to glower at his brat of a nephew, enraged at the boy's disregard for his captor. "Do you want me to end your life, boy? If you anger me one more time, I'll be forced to rip your head off."

Gohan chose not to reply to Raditz's threats, opting to take the more passive approach to solving his problem: leaving. He picked himself up and started walking towards the shadowy forest, not even flinching or looking behind to see what Raditz would do.

It was a solidly thought of plan provided that Raditz would actually consent to having Gohan leave. Alas, that wasn't the case. Raditz phased right in Gohan's path, smiling smugly as he blocking his entrance into the forest. "Just where do you think you're going? We aren't done yet!"

"Yes, we are done. I don't want to hear your voice again. It's irritating me!" growled out Gohan, feeling more and more control slipping away. Why was Raditz blind enough not to see it?

"Aw, my voice irritates you. Exactly what are you going to do about it?" snidely informed Raditz, grinning perversely at the toddler. His baiting was working. Gohan's anger was coming to the forefront.

"Please stop, Raditz. I don't want to hurt you," pleaded Gohan, desperation breaking through in his voice. He was dangerously close to losing control, one more probe and he'd lose it completely.

"You hurt me?" said Raditz, laughing uproariously at the thought that crossed the demi-saiyan's mind. "How do you plan on even scratching me, when you have no training, natural ability or killer instinct to make me feel any bit threatened of you? Was that your idea of a bad joke? Oh, don't make me guess, you got it from that joker of a father you have."

That did it. Gohan's power exploded around him, evaporating the modest and prudent boy that existed before. In his place was a feral animal, devoid of any rational thought or understanding of the boy that lived prior to its unleashing. A predator in the truest sense of the word.

Fortunately for Raditz, the boy's wrath would never have the chance to be channeled towards him. Within seconds the boy collapsed onto the porous dirt, knocked out cold swiftly. In the boy's place was the enigmatic saiyan prince, who had just pulled away his fist from the boy's neck

Glaring at the unconscious boy, Vegeta grabbed his shirt and lifted him up into the air. Not wasting a second, he walked back towards the campfire and haphazardly dropped the boy close to the fire. Completing his fluid motion, he walked to the far end of the campfire and sat down on a log.

Raditz approached the scene by the campfire, more than a bit nervous after what happened. Vegeta was every bit as volatile as Gohan, but nowhere near as restrained. He would kill him without even a moment hesitation if he got out of line.

Vegeta could easily feel Raditz's apprehension about approaching him. To calm down the lanky saiyan, he flicked his finger together to beckon the weaker saiyan to the campfire.

Raditz approached the log and slowly sat down on the log, shifting around a bit to find the most comfortable place. Once satisfied with his seat, he tried to open his mouth to talk but soon found himself unable to talk.

"There's nothing to talk about, Raditz. Not anything that you'd want me to say anyway," answered Vegeta, listlessly gazing into the fire. He looked like as pale as a ghost, and twice as haunting.

"Anyways, I'm almost had forgotten," said Vegeta, his tone not wavering in the slightest. "You won't be accompanying us back to base. I'm sending you back to Argos so you can confirm that your useless brother actually did kill the inhabitants of the planet, and you better pray he has done what you think he has. I shouldn't even tell you how much trouble we'll be in if he hasn't. Frieza has never liked anything done behind his back."

"Okay…Vegeta. Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?" answered Raditz, kind of relieved by the news. He could delay getting his ass whooped for at least a few more days.

"Not exactly," Vegeta replied, while snorting a few times softly like the exhaust of a car. "I'm not sure you'd want me to hurt your…feelings." Raditz could clearly hear Vegeta's disdain for the word feelings, as if the word meant less than dirt.

Raditz just stared at the side of Vegeta's face, partially illuminated by the dim light of the fire. He was contemplating asking Vegeta about this error he had committed, but chose not to. Being accosted wasn't super high on his list of things to do.

Vegeta was acutely watching Raditz through his peripheral vision, scanning the features of his face for any clue in to what he was thinking. The prince immediately deduced that the older saiyan was curious about his thoughts, but too hesitant to confront him. Unable to hold himself back, Vegeta began to bitterly laugh.

His prince's reaction greatly confused the older saiyan, to the point where he forgot his former hesitation. This behavior was just too bizarre for the older saiyan to accept from his prince. It forced him to respond. "Why are laughing, sir?"

The prince's laughing ceased immediately; his grim countenance returning. Averting his gaze to stare directly into Raditz's eyes, his lips began to move. "I'm laughing because you are pitiful; pathetic in the truest meaning of the word. So this is what the saiyan race has become—a prince, a has-been and an untrained brat. Father must be rolling in his grave."

Raditz was stunned to say the least. It didn't take any time at all to realize that Vegeta didn't exactly like him. He taunted him mercilessly, while ridiculing both his heritage and his skills. Somehow, he had been able to convince himself that they were made in jest; they weren't indicative of what Vegeta truly fought of him. Vegeta's statement didn't have the same tone or feeling as before, Raditz knew it was genuine.

"I know I'm weak, Vegeta," said Raditz, hurt evident in his voice. "If weakness means I'm pathetic, then you're right."

"Raditz you're pathetic for one reason and one reason only, and that reason isn't weakness," replied Vegeta, pausing to gaze into the fire. "You're a coward, even moreso than the brat you brought in. You hate yourself for being weak, but you're too afraid and lazy to change your weakness. You're tame!" he scoffed, turning his entire torso around to glower at the other saiyan.

"How am I a coward, Vegeta? I participated in all of your purges and have taken as many beating from Frieza as you have. What about that makes me a coward?" Raditz was practically choking on his spit. A coward? Him? On Vegetasei, that was the worst insult anybody could ever hurtle at you. Why was Vegeta calling him one when he was clearly wasn't?

"Don't lie to me you sack of shit!" snarled Vegeta, baring his fangs at older saiyan. "You don't think I don't know how your mind works? You don't take beating for me or sign up for purges out of bravery or loyalty, only force compels you; like any other coward. And don't think for a second that I didn't notice you happen to _always _end up taking the easiest assignment on a purge. How does this not make you a coward?"

"Then why don't you kill me, then?" yelled out Raditz, causing Vegeta to flinch from pitch of his voice. "If I'm such a waste of space, then what's the point in keeping me alive?" Oh how he wished for the power to cold-cock Vegeta right about now. If only so he could salvage the last remains of his honor.

"And that's why you're a coward, Raditz. You want the easy out, the path of least resistance. No ambition, whether it be to kill Frieza or become the strongest in the universe. No path, goals or willingness to be better. This conversation is over." With that, Vegeta reverted back to staring into the fire, ignoring Raditz's increasingly burdensome presence.

Raditz stormed away from the fire, trying to rid himself of Vegeta's destructive comments. `There had to be some mistake. How could he think I'm a coward after all I've tried to do for him? Is Nappa's death somehow corrupting him?' Raditz mused. It was all so confusing; Vegeta's scathing. Where did it come from and why?

Ultimately, it was question he had an answer for. Vegeta was dead on; Raditz knew it moreso than even his prince did. His life was all a lie, and he knew it. All the people he killed, all the purges where he barged into towns and villages acting as if he was a god of death, they were all shams. He was merely a weakling killing weaklings, a true member of the reclaimed indeed.

The lanky saiyan looked skywards, hoping for a sign from the stars above to disprove his thoughts—anything to turn his miserable state of his mind around.

Of course, nothing in the sky was outside of the ordinary. Meteora was very much like Earth in this regard, well except for the granite color. The distant galaxies, nebulas and stars were like white specks in the background of a universal canvas. In the foreground though, lay what Raditz was truly mesmerized by.

One massive moon, not dissimilar to the Moon that orbited Earth was clearly visible in the night sky. Unlike all of the other stars, the moon wasn't completely visible; half of the moon was lit up and the other half shrouded in darkness. It was at an equinox, where the light and darkness were equal to one another. But would the moon wax or would the moon wane?

And that was a question that not even Raditz knew for certain.

* * *

Baden's plan had been a riveting success up to that point. He hoped everything to come went as smoothly. Convincing Goku to become a penultimate kaioken turned out to be an easy venture, regardless of how risky a plan it was at the time. There was a lot at stake if everything fell through; he'd most likely lose his head. Nevertheless, it was a chance he would take. He refused to be a passive slave for even a moment longer.

The pre-teen walked toward his space-pod, determined to enter into the next phase of his operations. He grabbed the remote control, and pressed the button to open the latch that held down the door. After slowly crawling under the hatch, he turned around plopped down on the leather seat while closing the door of his space-pod.

Once the airlock was properly shut, the nasally voice of the computer turned on. "What are the coordinates of your optimum destination, sir?"

"Planet Ruhr in the Teuton Galaxy," replied Baden apathetically. It was moments like these in which having robots that could read minds would be really swell. Of course the rebellion that would occur later wouldn't be, but alas, that was the problem with all sentient minds.

"Coordinates confirmed, master; prepare for takeoff," answered the intercom, blasting off before it was even done with its message.

`I pity the fool that isn't prepared for takeoff!' Baden reflectively mused. 'These Cold Family pieces of shit really are pieces of art.' Alas, it was true; the standard issue space pod commissioned by the Cold Family was a remarkable piece of shoddy craftsmanship.

Unimportant monologue trailed another unimportant monologue for the entire trip to Ruhr. Baden couldn't maintain a single train of thought for anything more than a few minutes. Secretly, he knew why maintaining concentration was so difficult; he was trying to avoid one thought that came back intermittently that wasn't wanted. He had already thought about it enough for one lifetime.

Thankfully, his pod docked onto Ruhr before he lost his mind. Ruhr was a planet of green forests, blue skies and brownish gray mountains. Does that description sound like Earth? Yes, but the Earth didn't have grayish-black dirt that covered the Earth's crust.

Pressing the button to open up the pod's hatch, the pre-teen saiyan cautiously ducked underneath the roof of the pod and walked out into the open.

Activating his ki, Baden blasted off from the landing zone in pursuit of real destination. It wasn't too far away; he was a couple hundred kilometers away at the very most. Very soon, Baden would be with the only allies that he ever really knew.

Soon enough, the settlement of his presumed allies became visible. It was an odd…place to say the least. Then again, if the rumors were true, it was for a very good reason. King Cold and Cooler had been on their tail for the longest time. Nevertheless, it was show time. Baden proceeded to walk on the main street towards the largest tent.

The settlement itself looked like it was cast by rejects from Cirque du Soleil. Hundreds of portable tents, large and small, dotted the landscape and blended in with the general theme of the group: nomadic travelers. It was all very surreal!

Baden's foray onto the main thoroughfare had caused quite a bit of commotion. The townspeople had started to gather on the edges of the street, practically creating an impromptu parade for him. How flattering a gesture that was!

Don't be mistaken, though. These people didn't ordinary parade a foreigner to the center of their city, which was a statement that was fallacious to begin with. Baden was hardly a foreigner to these people. In fact, most of the tribe did remember the boy with vivid detail, and that made his reemerging all the more troubling.

To anybody else, this hodgepodge of people had numerous similar traits—fair skin, obstinately spiky black hair and most peculiarly, a furry brown rod-like tail. To Baden, they were very familiar faces. Faces from his past—scenes from his unique and lasting memory. It was a shame that those memories didn't become his reality, but what was a saiyan to do.

His stroll down memory lane didn't obstruct his mind from the increasing spectacle that his return was becoming. The king's chamber was in sight and so was the king, who was leaning on a balcony. With a deft leap, he jumped down onto street level prepared to greet the newcomer.

Baden came closer and closer, not-so subtly encroaching on the king's territory. Soon enough, the two figures were meeting eye-to-eye, mano-a-mano. They scrutinizing stared at each other, as if they were trying to find imposters.

After being satisfied that there weren't any imposters around, the king spoke up. "Baden? Is that really you? What brings you here?"

Baden's smile was equally coy, like he about to make some grand spectacle of himself. "How have you been doing father?"

* * *

Picking off the stragglers of the Meteoran race was easy, just as Vegeta predicted. They lived primarily in isolated groups, clustered together for protection. Of course when your predator is Vegeta, you may as drop dead right away; you won't be getting away or fighting him successfully anytime soon.

The only thing of note from this "target practice" was that Vegeta forced Gohan into killing a few more Meteoran's. Very reluctantly, Gohan did as he was told. In the boy's mind, killing was getting a bit easier but was no less repugnant to his conscience. That being said, you did as you were told when Vegeta was breathing down your neck.

Soon enough they were back at their pods, rocketing back into the vacuum of space. To Gohan's surprise, he saw Raditz's pod veer off in an entirely different direction. He debated asking Vegeta about what was happening, but he quickly threw that idea out. Vegeta would mostly likely contact him if anything wrong was happening, and disturbing the pseudo-stoic prince was definitely not on Gohan's list of priorities.

It wasn't long afterwards when Gohan saw their destination come into view: S.S Frieza Starship CXV. To say that Gohan was shocked was an understatement. The Death Star he remembered from that "Star Wars" movie couldn't even touch the impressive visage of Frieza's star cruiser. He speculated that an entire planet was on that ship. Of course he was wrong. The real estimate was about ten planets.

Before the boy even knew it, they were docking in a hanger bay. It was dark blue in color and almost completely abandoned; nobody seemed to like using it for some reason. There was a ton of available space.

If Vegeta noticed the large amount of empty space in this hangar, he sure didn't acknowledge it. The elder saiyan simply got out of his pod and briskly walked out of the docking zone with Gohan keeping a moderate distance behind him.

Upon exiting the loading chamber, they entered one of the common decks of Frieza's ship. The deck was a truly interesting experience; an amalgam of species both humanoid and really exotic, were teeming from everywhere. It made traversing the halls and chambers of the ship a true multicultural experience.

Although hundreds of races and ethnic differences painted the mosaic that was crew of the ship, Gohan noticed one increasingly common similarity that they all seemed to share: they really didn't like saiyans.

You could literally feel the animosity that rolled of their forms, it was practically tangible. To Gohan, this was understandable. Gohan knew that Vegeta was far from a good person, and that he was capable of doing a lot of dastardly deeds. `Maybe Vegeta killed their families, and that's why the dislike us. I'm just guilty because I'm with him, right?'

Deep down though, he wasn't so sure he was correct. True, fear did mix with genuine hatred in the cases of many of these aliens, but they were only accounted for a slight majority. Where did everybody else's hatred come from?

A hint to Gohan's question came soon enough. Most of the aliens they encountered scowled, started to hush quietly to each other or attempt to bump into them. Sure they're attempts were a tad inane, but were nothing in comparison to the foolishly boisterous alien they would be encounter next.

The idiotic alien looked vaguely human. He looked like a classic fruitcake: yellow skin, pale pink hair, and almost neon purple battle armor. Questions about whether he played on the same team aside, the curled smirk on his lips was simply infuriatingly smug.

"Hey monkey, how are you doing? I was just seeing…." His train of thought ended when he noticed Gohan behind Vegeta's back. "Oh I see you have a baby monkey. What happened Vegeta? Did you blow your—"

Vegeta had enough of the weakling's babbling; it was an insult to his ears. The ruthless siayn swiftly came upon the effeminate alien, and violent wrenched the bastard's head straight off his shoulders. With his self-delegated task completed, Vegeta carelessly flung the asshole's severed head into wall opposite him and nonchalantly walked away.

This little episode was the final interesting occurrence until Vegeta and Gohan reached their final destination: Frieza's throne room. Like everything else Frieza did, the door to his private chamber was lavishly designed. Screw gold trim, gold leaf or gold gild. This door was made of pure solid gold.

"Who is in there?" asked Gohan, curious about the person they were going to meet.

"Frieza: our boss," answered Vegeta, not bother to hide the irritation in his voice. This was definitely something he did _not _want to do.

"What are we going to do?" questioned Gohan, still confused about what they were doing there.

Vegeta groaned pitiably, languishing under the brat's torrent of stupid questions. "We are going to report to him that Meteora has been properly purged, and then we will get the shit beaten out of us. Any more questions?"

To the prince's displeasure, Gohan did have a question and wasn't astute enough to catch Vegeta's tone around "any more questions." "Why would he beat the shit out of us? You did your job well?"

"Exactly," replied Vegeta, while pushing the dense door apart and walking proudly into the throne room.

The time of reckoning had come for the demo-saiyan; Frieza's throne had come into view. He slowly walked forward, timidly putting one foot after another until he was standing side-by-side with Vegeta. `I hope this goes well,' the kid bleakly thought, praying that Frieza wasn't as bad as Vegeta made him sound like.

Other than the overly decadent door, everything else about Frieza's audience chamber was surprisingly spartan. There were no chairs, no furniture, no tables or any desks. Outside of Vegeta and Frieza's two lackeys, there wasn't anything in the room. Only intangible space separated the saiyans from their tormentor.

Gohan's eyes then turned towards Frieza's henchmen. It was immediately apparent that they were no ordinary soldiers. Their power levels were as high as Vegeta's, if not a bit higher. `Most likely Frieza's right-hand men,' mused Gohan, looking over to his left.

The right-hand man on the left was a sight only a mother could love. Whatever he was, he was very exotic to Gohan's eyes. The alien was very stout; perhaps portly would be a better description. No, screw that, just fat would better. A double-chin, flabby cheeks, dark pink skin and small pointy spikes on the crown of his head and forearms completed his hideous appearance.

The right-hand man on the right was the very opposite. This alien strongly resembled the anatomy of a human, but had cyan skin and green hair that greatly distinguished him from any human he ever knew. The second thing that could easily be inferred from the alien's appearance was he was probably bettered suited to be sipping wine in the comforts of a wine cellar then dealing in intergalactic genocide. All in all, a neon sign with the inscription "flamboyant jackass" would have summarized this alien's demeanor nicely.

However, the lackeys were truly uninteresting in comparison to their landlord. In the middle of the room, orbiting in some kind of floating throne, sat their master. His head and shoulder were facing away from the saiyans, aloofly staring off into the vast chasm of space while casually tasting a glass of red wine. Although their rulers back was turn, neither saiyan was inept to the fact that Frieza was aware of their presence.

`So this is Frieza? I thought he'd be taller,' thought Gohan, surprised at how puny Frieza was. His throne really wasn't that big, maybe five feet at the absolute tallest. The mere fact that Frieza wasn't even that tall made Gohan feel a little less intimidated.

Unfortunately Frieza's size was about the only thing that didn't seem frightening. His very essence was pure black; the definition of malice itself. It was all encompassing and practically suffocated the air like a toxic miasma. Nobody could even hope to top it. Vegeta? Please, his evil may have well been frolicking in the meadow picking dandelions. That was how bad Frieza was.

A swirling sound broke Gohan out of his subconscious reverie, his head reorienting him to his surroundings. Frieza had been twirling his wine saucer incessantly, letting the red liquid spin obnoxiously within the glass.

"That was a delightful vintage Zarbon! Very exquisite taste! Do find the planet it was produced on and kill all the inhabitants but the owners of the winery. Such quality ought to be in my complete control," ordered Frieza, after having taking the last swig of his wine.

The ditzy green alien bowed to his lord, getting on one knee and staring at the ground. "As you wish, sir," he responded, while getting off the floor and heading towards the door.

"Splendid. Oh, before you go, I need you to take my glass. It's awfully empty," replied Frieza, holding his bare saucer in Zarbon's direction.

"As you wish, sir," reiterated Zarbon, walking up to Frieza's throne and gently pried the glass from the tyrant's hand. His task completed the flamboyant alien exited stage left out of the audience chamber, only to return in the next few minutes.

Gohan watched the interaction between Zarbon and Frieza with great interest. The more he heard Frieza talk, the more he wanted to blast a hole straight through his rotten soul. He talked of slaughter in such mundane terms; he was willing to commit genocide for a simple glass of wine. `Wh-what kah-kind of mon…ster am I di-dealing with?' the boy stuttered in his thoughts, cursing Vegeta more and more for putting him in this predicament.

Suddenly, Frieza's floating throne started to rotate on its invisible axis, spinning in the direction of the saiyans. Soon enough, Frieza's biological form came into view. It was…a horrifyingly unique site to the saiyan child. He looked like an anthromorphic lizard with pale pink skin and a purple chest guard.

The most intricate part of Frieza's appearance was his head, which vaguely resembled a bicycle helmet. Two razor sharp horns protruded laterally from the top of his temples and were fastened into his skull close to a dark purple gemstone that composed of most of his forehead. At face level, he had a box-like thing where his ears should be and his cheeks were half pink with horizontal stripes of black and the other half snow white; his eyes also gleamed with a magenta hue.

"Report," Frieza commanded with a sharp edge of authority. Gohan could decipher two things from Frieza's simple order: One, his voice was intolerably shrill. If the tyrant sang opera, he would probably shatter anything made of glass within one-hundred miles of his performance. Two, his tone was practically icy in coldness. Irony aside, the tyrant could probably deep freeze an iceberg with his voice alone. That was how cold the lizard's tone was.

Abruptly, Gohan felt himself being slammed down into a kneeling position, courtesy of an irate Vegeta. Equally as abrupt as the push, Vegeta's voice started to penetrate Gohan's mind frenziedly.

`Dolt stay there. Don't make me have to push you down again in front of him,' the enigmatic prince practically screamed. Rage was coursing through the prince's veins, but Gohan could sense it was aimed at Frieza moreso than him. Gohan could also feel…humiliation intermixed with the fury, which was not so surprisingly considering Vegeta's all-to-apparent pride.

"Lord Frieza, me and Raditz have done as you've requested. We've successfully purged Meteora within the two weeks you've allotted to us," Vegeta answered begrudgingly. His voice may've been steady and his stature may've been completely obedient, but his tone definitely needed a little work.

Frieza chose to ignore the tone that broke through Vegeta voice this one time; it wasn't like mattered in the long run. "Excellent. Such efficiency! There's no wonder I hired such capable monkeys!" the tyrant cackled, smiling maliciously at the unintentional growl that escaped Vegeta's throat. It was clear to each of them that Frieza's words were empty praise. Mind games and nothing more.

Frieza's eyes wandered away from Vegeta and towards the brat kneeling adjacent to him. The kid was nowhere near as composed as the prince, and it showed. Through the kid's indignation, the tyrant saw an opportunity for another torture session. "Oh Vegeta, I almost forgot. You did say that you would need another saiyan for this purge, but you never said this saiyan would be this cute. I never knew your standards for your cadets were so low?"

"Sire, unexpected complications have arisen from the mission that made the boy a more opportune acquisition than his father. Raditz's even confirmed this himself. He could be a very useful ally Frieza, given the right upbringing," answered Vegeta. Gohan knew this must be killing the proud saiyan. The boy could practically smell Vegeta's loathing for having to grovel to Frieza's every whim.

"Oh, speaking of that, where are your other lackeys? I don't see them with you," retorted Frieza, curious about Vegeta's reaction to this question.

"Raditz is scoping out the ruins of Argos to see if the locals have been disposed of yet. As for Nappa, he's dead," replied Vegeta, some of his bone deep ire starting to come to the surface. Of course, Frieza picked up on this almost before Vegeta did.

"Aw, I see; my deepest most heartfelt condolences to your ally, Vegeta. He was a good soldier, but you wouldn't know it by how you talked of him. What was it again? Oaf? Dolt? Pathetic? If you don't shut up right now, I'll send you to oblivion for good? I think that's what you said. Oh well, at least you won't miss him." Throughout his entire speech, Vegeta could practically see Frieza's obnoxious smirk get wider. Unfortunately, Vegeta could find no retort to his tormentor's accusations.

"Raditz will return soon, and you'll be able to interrogate him on the details about Argos. As for Nappa, I'd rather not comment," mutely responded the saiyan prince, for fear he'd completely lose it. Every single one of Frieza's comments were completely out of line, and it took everything Vegeta had not to try to blow a hole through his rancid soul.

"Fair enough. As for Raditz, I'm sure he'll find nothing. I'm sure that…Kakarot fellow did murder the entire planet of Argos, as you speculated he would in your plans. After all, he is a primate. That's all he's—"

"Will you ever shut up?" belted out Gohan, beyond the point of being able to control himself. This bully could make light of him? Make light of the horror he had been forced to experience? But insulting his father was drawing a line in the sand.

"What do you know about my daddy? He's a hero, he cares for everybody! He wouldn't even dream of killing anybody, even a people who deserves it like you! You're a monster; you kill people for even the most stupid reasons. Is there anything in your head that tells you that this is wrong?" Gohan paused to catch his breath and collect himself, giving himself a breather after launching that scathing diatribe.

In that short intermission, Vegeta broke into Gohan's mind using the mental link that they developed. It was easy to tell that he was far from pleased. `Kid, you have no idea what you've just done, did you? You've just given him a reason to beat you until you're black-and-blue!'

Regrettably, the time to recant or escape had long since pasted. Both saiyans heard a locking sound directly behind them, and turned their heads around. Standing in the middle of the doorway was Frieza, coyly smirking at the two disobedient cretins. "Aw, I think it's time for my show of terror to commence. I do hope you enjoy the show; wowing captive audiences is my specialty."

* * *

Goku careened back into Earth's orbit, feeling completely defeated for the first time in his life. His son wasn't on Argos, and neither were the saiyans. It was a complete dead-end and so were his chances of his son ever being back in his arms. What was he supposed to do? Search every corner of every galaxy in the known universe looking for just one boy? Even he wasn't so dense to gander that his son was probably lost forever. It was time just to settle down and move on with the rest of his life.

His ki pod landed smoothly into a dense forest just south of Kami's lookout on the far west end of Earth. He listlessly pulled himself out of the cramped fuselage of the pod and morosely floated into the sky for his long flight home.

His flight was a quiet one. The air current wasn't very brisk nor was it very abrasive, which was ironically bad today. He couldn't keep his distraught wife out of his mind; what would she say about Gohan's kidnapping. `How am I going ever going to be able to explain what just happened?' he reflecting, sighing despondently. Her reaction was probably going to explosive. She'd probably bawl and scream into his arms, beseeching him to go out and find her son.

`What have I been thinking? Giving up? That's not like me. Come on, get focused. You are going to get your son back. Just have some faith?' chastised his mind, for his temporary lack of faith in himself.

Too swiftly in Goku's mind, he saw the distant peak of Mt Paozu loom over the horizon. He started to descend down through the forest to the sequestered clearing where his modest home was located. The Son family home was the very picture of tranquility, as it blended in with the natural landscape in perfect harmony. The gentle stream of smoke wavering from the chimney just added to the place's quaintness.

Quietly, Goku walked into the kitchen of the house wondering where his wife was. "Hey Chi Chi, where are you?" he screamed out, hoping his wife would hear him from some obscure part of the house. No voice responded to his from anywhere, adding to his moderate level of concern.

The saiyan started to wander throughout his house, looking in every likely place his lovely wife could be. The laundry room, the bathroom, Gohan's bedroom, their bedroom and even the common rooms, they were all empty and without Chi Chi.

`Oh wait a minute, shouldn't I just sense her. I can sense ki remember?' he somewhat scolded himself. He couldn't believe he forgot something like that.

Goku closed his eyes and began to triangulate Chi Chi's ki signature, looking for her individual spirit. Nothing was there, not even a faint trace of her essence. Expectedly, this concerned Goku greatly.

He started to trace every other signature he knew; maybe hers was so faint he couldn't recognize it. He tried Krillin and got no results. He tried Tien and got no results. He tried Yamcha and got no results. He tried Master Roshi and—you know what, you get the idea.

Unexpectedly, he started feeling a familiar ki. What made this unexpected? It was Mrs. Briefs: Bulma's mother. `I wonder what's going on at the Brief Family. Mrs. Brief is rarely alone,' pondered Goku, not really understanding why Mrs. Briefs was the only person he knew that giving off a ki signature.

The anxious saiyan blasted off towards West City, sailing swiftly through the air. His heart was practically skipping a beat during the flight; he could just tell something was seriously wrong, and only Mrs. Brief would be able to tell him what it was. By then, the normally goofy saiyan's demeanor had been stripped to an unusual level of seriousness that the situation demanded.

Before he even knew it, Goku was already floating above the vast metropolis that was West City. A quick cursory scan of his surrounding pinpointed the distinctive dome of Capsule Corporation among all the other high-rises. After having found his target, our hero rushed towards the superstructure, praying that Mrs. Brief could help him.

The Earth-raised saiyan quickly descended onto the grassy field that was encapsulated by the Capsule Corp estate, keeping his eyes out for the abnormally cheery women. Swiftly, his nose sniffed out something that would make his bones chill: Blood. A trail of blood.

Goku followed the trail of blood away from the field and towards the house. Once he reached the patio the trail of blood ended concurrently with the revelation of Mrs. Brief's disheveled form.

The clueless woman was in very bad shape. Somebody had easily sliced through the flesh of her abdomen and perforated her liver and pancreas; probably did some small intestinal damage as well. Needless to say, medical supervision had not been contacted and she was left to die laying supine on her own patio.

Without even thinking, Goku started to kneel over her dying form and tried to jostle her awake. He needed to know how this happened to her. Who did it? Why now? Where was Bulma? Where was her husband?

Slowly and agonizingly, the clueless blonde slowly woke up and moaned pitiably. Nevertheless with her injuries, even waking up from her egregious injuries was a medical miracle. She tried to smile at the distraught saiyan, but the pain was too much.

"Mrs. Briefs? Thank god you're alive! Who did this to you? Where is your husband? Where is Bulma" shouted Goku in one single breath. Clearly, he was slowly feeling panic set in.

"He…took…Bulma. Killed…mah…husband," coughed out Mrs. Brief, feeling herself get drowsier by the minute. "Took…her…tah…Kame…ho—"

The normal delusional women suddenly faded back into unconsciousness, but this time she wouldn't be able to get back up. The dwindling candle that was her life had been snuffed out, just a burnt wick remained.

Goku eyed her dead form, feeling a few tears escape from his eye lids. This wasn't his first brush up with death, but he was already emotionally strained from failing Gohan to be able to put up with this shit. He was going to find the monsters that did this and put them in their place.

`But where would this monster be?' wondered Goku, who had a hard time hearing Mrs. Brief over his own feelings when she was dying. `Was it…Kame…ho—that's it. Kame's House. That's what she said. I hope this person hasn't gotten to Master Roshi and Krillin yet?'

The Earth-raised saiyan swiftly took flight again, racing as fast as he could towards Master Roshi's house. His sense of urgency had grown exponentially since he saw Mrs. Brief die right in front of him. He didn't know if the others were in the same predicament or if he dawdled in any way they'd be killed. So he flew rapidly through the air, like a careening missile. Through the forests, the plains, the rocky deserts and finally the salty sea that Master Roshi's abode was surrounded by.

From the air, the small island that Roshi lived on wasn't any different than it normally was. The small pink house stretched over the horizon, barely visible in the dusk setting. Cautiously, the palm-tree haired saiyan dropped down onto the silkily soft sand of the beach.

And the site he was greeted by would forever scar his memories.

The island was no longer a home for anybody. Not Roshi, not the turtle nor Krillin. Instead, it looked to be a makeshift requiem. There were at least half-a-dozen souls that were brutally murdered on the island, and Goku knew every single one of them.

On the top of the house—at the highest point as a matter of fact—layed the severed head of Tien; his body was nowhere to be found. The three-eyed warrior had clearly been decapitated and his third eye had been pried out of his skull. By the shocked and defeated expression on the corpse's face, it was clear that Tien had been bested in battle before he was killed.

Goku's eyes started to drift down from Tien's severed head to the dead body of his next friend: Bulma. The blue-haired genius was dangling helplessly upside-down from the roof of the house, and died from the resulting brain aneurism.

Closer still to Goku's position was the mutilated remains of Krillin and Yamcha. Both of them were executed in the same horrific fashion, with Yamcha on the left and Krillin on the right. Apparently, somebody though it was good idea to shove a spear through their groin and have it come out diagonally through their shoulders. Overall, it was an execution strategy that would be given the Vladimir the Impaler seal of approval.

The owner of the Kame House had been subjected to the goriest demise. The lecherous old man was still on his lawn chair with a porn magazine covering his face. From the chest up, the master martial artist was his usual self; from the chest down, well look up the term "disemboweled" in the dictionary. That adequately explained what happened to the old man.

As for the butt munches—who were known as Chiaotzu, Oolong and Puar. They just got bludgeoned to death and thrown into a nameless sand pit on the far end of the island. Their decaying remains were still there for all to see.

Goku looked on at this carnage with disbelief; his face was turning into a sickly shade of green just by viewing it. He started to press the bridge of his nose, trying to prevent himself from vomiting. This was all just too much for the peaceful saiyan to handle.

"Goku. Please help me," whimpered a voice, one of which Goku could recognize from anywhere. `Oh please, don't let it be her,' Goku cried out in his head, praying that what he was hearing wasn't true.

Unfortunately that voice wasn't a figment of his imagination nor could he have mistaken it for anybody else. It sang too deep in his heart for him to forget again. He could just faintly see her silhouette on top of the Kami House, shadowed by the last embers of a dying sun.

His eyes began to dilate, stripping away the glare and shadows that marred her perfect form. In a flush of color, the women came into view for all to see. Goku's wife and muse, the Princess of the Ox-Kingdom: Son Chi Chi.

The heiress was clearly petrified. She wasn't blind; the meaning of Tien's severed head just below her feet and the gored remains of all the others hadn't been lost on her. But she remained glued to her spot, refusing to move in any direction. Goku just didn't know why.

Seeing Chi Chi hitched to the roof of Kame House made Goku's heart skip a least two beats. This was both very good and very bad. Very good in the essence that she was alive, unlike everybody else he knew, but very bad because she was probably kept alive so she could be killed in front of his eyes. Nevertheless, this foe was a fool to think that he wouldn't try to rescue her.

Goku started to crouch, preparing to lunge onto the roof and retrieve his wife. After he had pushed off and was in mid-air, a long arm clasped onto his ankle and threw the anxious saiyan through the anterior wall of the Kame House.

Our hero quickly broke himself out of the broken pilings and two-by-fours back to where he once stood. He turned himself around to scout out who had done that, and his eyes froze at what he saw.

It was Piccolo. The green devil was standing on top of the roof with his wife just below him, who was crying profusely because of the undesired contact. `So it was you all along,' thought Goku, who really shouldn't have been as surprised by this turn of events as he should have been. Who else could this have come from? There were only two people capable of killing Tienshinhan: himself and Piccolo, and only Piccolo was on Earth or had the motivation to do so.

"Hello Goku, welcome home," articulated Piccolo, who was obviously sardonic in denoting what "welcome" really meant.

"Piccolo, stop this!" belted out Goku, the distress in his voice being just as obvious as Piccolo's sardonic tone. "We don't need to be doing this! Just please stop Piccolo."

The aforementioned green demon started to gruffly guffaw at what Goku was saying; it was just too much like Son. Almost too quickly, Piccolo ceased his boisterous laugh in favor of just smirking maliciously at his prey. "Stop this, Goku? I didn't go to the trouble of killing off all your friends to just release your wife at the end. What kind of fool do you take me for?"

Goku was too panicked to reply to Piccolo's barb. He would do almost anything to save Chi Chi and revive the others. He had failed them in every way possible by letting Piccolo do this too them. But how could he possibly atone for his mistakes when his wife was still being strung up by that monster.

"You're a failure, Goku!" roared Piccolo, devoid of any hint of sanity by the treble cleft his voice ascended too. "You've protected nothing. Not your son, not your wife, not you planet and most certainly not your friends and allies. Everybody is going to die today Goku, and it will be your fault!"

In the inner recesses of his mind, a surge of pride and anger raced to the forefront. It didn't matter that Piccolo was right or that he had truly failed the people he cared for. What did matter was that the person who was calling him out had no right to do so.

"What do you mean that it will be my fault, Piccolo? I'm not killing people or threating anybody's life. Why would I be at fault when it was you who would have decided to go on a killing spree?" answered Goku, that undercurrent of anger starting to break through the surface.

"Because you did nothing to stop me," responded Piccolo, his grin becoming wider by the minute. "You have had every chance to kill me, to stop any of this from happening in the first place. Krillin, Bulma, Tien and Yamcha, they all begged you to put me out of my misery, to silence me once and for all. It's a shame that they didn't have the power to really make that call, now isn't it?"

"So now it's a crime to see the light inside somebody. You weren't your father, you didn't have to make the same choices that he did," responded Goku, shaking in an unearthly rage. He had never felt this angry or confused. Not even when Tambourine had killed Krillin had he felt even remotely like this.

"I always thought you were an idiot Goku, but even I can't fathom the stupidity of that," chuckled Piccolo mirthlessly, his smirk remarkably having never left his face. "You thought I could change? That's rich Goku, very rich! I'm the Demon King Piccolo. I'm not the son of King Piccolo, I'm his reincarnation. We have been and always will be the same spirit, we are the same pure evil spirit!"

The demon king paused to take a breath and surveyed Goku's eyes, trying to gleam what he was thinking at that moment. Whatever he subconsciously gathered, it apparently wasn't enough for the green devil by the snarl that graced his lip. He slowly started to push Chi Chi closer to the edge of the house.

Goku tensed up, his eyes locking onto the sight of Piccolo pushing Chi Chi to the very precipice of the wooden cliff. "What are you doing, Piccolo?" Goku practically growled, his patience wearing very thin.

"What am I doing, Goku? Well, I'm doing you a favor. I'm going to silence any doubt about who I am," replied Piccolo, slowly pushing the upset heiress as close to the vertical abyss as realistically possible.

"Naivety, Son. That is why you've fallen from grace," finished Piccolo, pushing Chi Chi off the roof of the house.

Neither Goku nor Chi Chi were stupid enough to think that the Ox Princess would die or even get slightly injured from such a small fall. Maybe most people would be hurt by such a drop, but most people didn't have the fighting pedigree Chi Chi did. But why would Piccolo just push her off the roof? He ought to have known that she would easily survive?

Of course, Piccolo was also aware of this. It was all a ruse; to make Son think he would actually get to see his wife alive again. Unlike Son, he wasn't stupid enough to actually let her hit the ground safely. This was going to be the end of the line.

In the flash of an eye, a long string of ki was sent forth by Piccolo, racing towards Chi Chi before she could hit land. At the last possible second, it traced its way around her neck forming an iron-clad noose. With no slack in the line whatsoever, Chi Chi's neck was violently jerked upwards with a sickening crunch. And there she hung, dead and limp.

Sighing contently from a job well done, Piccolo released his hold on the vice grip around Chi Chi's neck, letting the dead women drop to ground in a heap. "There you have it, Goku. You have nobody left."

Goku's face was a pallid white, stunned at how quickly circumstances had changed in less than a minute. He wasn't anywhere near ready to accept the death of his wife so soon after their marriage, especially so now that it was coupled with the death of everybody else he loved. The smirk that shone through Piccolo's countenance did nothing but sicken the distraught saiyan; he wanted to rip that smile right off his face.

Why was it that all his enemies abused his merciful nature? First Emperor Pilaf, then the Red Ribbon Army and now his mortal enemy Piccolo. He tried to be a good person, to give everybody a second chance to redeem themselves. And each time he was greeted with backstabbing and betrayal. Would all his enemies be unwilling to repent for their actions?

Unbeknownst to Goku, his internal conflict was having external ramifications. All throughout the island, fine specks of sand were being uprooted from the beach and were rising through the air. The earth was starting to shake and rattle the Kame House, and under Goku's feet the earth was actually cracking and buckling under the tremendous force Goku was exerting.

The enraged saiyan could hardly notice any of these not-so-subtle changes. All he cared about was the amused leer that stayed plastered on his rival's face. It made him angrier, and for some reason that's all he wanted to be: angry, livid even.

Our hero could no longer hide his grief or his anger any longer. With a scream, he shot his power forth like a destructive wave, which barreled through the Kame House like it was made of cardboard, ripping apart any loose fragments of wood and nails and destabilizing the entire house.

At the same moment, Goku's newly acquired bright orange aura sprung forth from the debilitating level of anger coursing through his veins. The furious saiyan felt his skin start to jaundice and his hair start to glow. Instinctively, he felt himself start to transform again.

This time around the pain wasn't nearly so intense, at least physically. His body was more accustomed to the peaks and valleys of the transformation than when he originally experienced it.

It wasn't much longer until another rush of power surged through him, signaling the end of the transformation. Inevitably, another surge in strength meant another destructive wave barreled through the Kame House, which collapsed under the strain this time around.

Piccolo looked on in abject surprise at Goku's radical new look. He knew that Goku would be one heck of a challenge once sufficiently goaded, but he never saw something like this coming. Yellowed skin, orange hair that resembled fire or the bloodlust that gleamed in his eyes; it was all something completely unexpected for the demon king.

"What are you?" asked Piccolo, expressing his confusion in the most simple of terms. He was still very much stunned.

"What am I?" replied the new Goku, his face contorting into a completely uncharacteristic sneer. "I'm the dark that exists in the light! A fighting power that erodes instead of empowers! I'm the end; the death of a dream. Most importantly, I am your reckoning!"

* * *

**Thanks to all who got through this latest installment of Cognitive Dissonance. It was a pleasure to write, and I hope it was a pleasure to read and review (hopefully you do so on that last part). **

**Review Replies: **

** Goku Rules 98: Thanks for the kind words! Yes, I do admit that Gohan was a bit slighted in Deluge, but there is one thing I'd like to point out: once this story gets really moving, there will be so many characters with so many points of view that somebody will be slighted in every chapter. In Deluge that character was Gohan. **

** Ky 111: Thanks for the support! The penultimate kaioken will get more screen time in the chapters to come, and we all will learn more about its physical and psychological impact on Goku. As for the resistance, well Baden will talk more about that in the chapters to come. **

** Kaiser Night: Thanks for the encouragement! I hope you find the progression in Gohan and Raditz's respective personalities to be to your optimum pleasure. **

** Lucifvegeta: Thanks for the wonderful superlatives about my writing ability. It flatters me to no end. Remember though, I'm actually only a year older than you and I think I can help your writing as well. I think with the right guidance, your story could be improved immensely as well! **

**Important Narrative Announcements: **

** I hope that all of you didn't lose your lunch at how I described the corpse's of all the remaining Z Fighters. However, this is the time in the story were the M-rating really comes into effect. Starting next chapter, we will see a lot of...unsavory description and narratives and I will tell by word count were they will be.**

**That's all for now! Remember to review though, it does provide an extra incentive to work even harder on the story than I normally do, which means more updates. **


	5. Cataclysmic Meltdown

Baden silently followed the king into his private palace, which resembled a massive circus tent moreso than any mansion. Supposedly, the king opted for this style due to its mobility and its compliance with a nomadic lifestyle, but nothing could be said for certain.

The saiyan king had designed his place to be extremely irregular and highly confusing on the inside; its rooms and corridors didn't submit themselves to any geometric pattern. In fact, the only way to ever know where you were going was to simply memorize the blueprint, which every living saiyan that lived in the colony did. Overall, it was clear to Baden that this design was for some kind of tactical purpose instead of it being purely aesthetic in nature.

The king with Baden in tow continued his march, swiftly sailing and ducking through a series of progressively narrower and narrower corridors. Finally—as if at the end of a maze—the king's private audience chamber came into view.

"Quick, get in," the king spoke out, motioning Baden to come in hastily. To the pre-adolescent, it seemed that the king had a secret that he didn't want the rest of the clan to find out.

Regardless, Baden did as he was told and mutely walked into the audience chamber. From within, the audience chamber resembled more of an eighteenth century drawing room than a conference room as he original thought it would be.

The "audience chamber" itself was tastefully decorated with white walls with a series of vertical yellow stripes every five feet, a pair of black armchairs, a black sofa, an oak armoire and a mahogany desk. `I wonder if he's going to serve some tea,' thought Baden, looking at his primp and proper surroundings in amused contempt.

Sure enough, Baden's thoughts became a reality. "Would you like any tea?" asked the king, who had promptly settled into one of those aforementioned black armchairs upon entering the room.

"No thank you. I'll abstain," replied Baden, while slowly sitting down in the other armchair that was directly opposite the one the king was in.

"Suit yourself. Benson, get me some tea!" roared the king to his butler, who had been waiting inconspicuously in the corner of room by the door. "Be back on the double!"

According to the rules of polite conversation, after beverages have been offered then an icebreaker topic would be put on the table. Fortunately, Baden had a particularly interesting "icebreaker" when talking to his father. "So what's with all the secrecy out there? I know that you're not good at withholding information from your clan."

"Yes, I have my reasons for keeping this meeting secret. Granted, it's not necessary but I do want to keep things rather…clandestine, per se," answered the king, with an expressionless expression on his face.

"I see. Does it have to do with another one of King Cold's little "welcoming parties?" Baden replied, who was obviously using a double entendre when saying "welcoming parties."

You see, it wasn't any secret in the Cooler and King Cold sectors of the universe that the saiyan race was anything but extinct. A large colony of saiyans had survived the destruction of Planet Vegeta and have been nomadic wanderers ever since. Of course, they haven't been nomadic wanderers by choice either.

King Cold had discovered this remnant of saiyan civilization around twenty years ago, and promptly tried to destroy it. Unfortunately, the saiyans knew he was coming and had already evacuated that planet in favor of another planet. So an intergalactic game of cat and mouse had been waged between the two powers since that fateful day, albeit the saiyans always won in the end.

Why did the saiyans always win? Two reasons; one implicit in nature while the other was explicit in nature: the explicit reason was that King Cold could never do something like the extinction of the saiyan race surreptitiously. Oh no, an event of that scale required a cavalcade of truly immense size to decorate the occasion. And every single time he did that, the saiyan's had already caught wind of Cold and had evacuated some time beforehand. As for the implicit reason— do you think a saiyan colony would be left standing if Cold won even one time?

"Somewhat," responded the king in an almost lackadaisical manner. "More importantly, why are you here? I know that Cooler isn't dead nor have you been freed from captivity. Are you on official business for Your Arcosian Lord?"

"Hardly," riposted Baden, feeling nauseated by the mere mention of his master's formal title. "Nope, I'm here on my own behalf. I've came to offer a request for—"

"You what Baden!" roared the saiyan king, looking at his son incredulously. His son must've either been insanely audacious or insanely stupid. "You do realize that by being here without permission, you've committed one of the many examples of treasonous conduct; you're going to kill both you and the entire colony. It breaks our entire—"

"It breaks the compact that you signed off with Cooler on," finished Baden, glaring a hole into his father's face. "I wouldn't worry too much about him. As of right now, Cooler knows two things: I'm supposed to be purging Planet Gallipoli right now, and I'm due to be back within four weeks."

"So…have you purged Planet Gallipoli?" asked the king. He knew his question was inane to ask, but he had to be sure.

"Of course I did," snapped Baden, rolling his eyes like a typical pre-teen. "Cooler thinks that a planet with an average power level of four-hundred thousand actually fazes me. That said, his ignorance does give me ample time to put my plans into effect."

"So you have plans," responded the king, his eyebrows rising skeptically at his son's hubris. Did he really think he could usurp somebody like Cold or Cooler? The king doubted a rebellion was even possible and would have nothing to do with any plot to overthrow the Cold Family.

"Yes, I do have plans. And I need a favor from you for them to work," remarked Baden, looking directly into his father's eyes.

"Oh, so that's why you're here. Speak up then," replied Baden's father, while having the dreadful feeling that he would end up refusing Baden's desires. He just hoped that it wouldn't relations between him and his wayward son even worse than they already were.

"I need a half-a-dozen soldiers for paramilitary attacks and they must be under my complete jurisdiction. They must serve me and me alone; what I will require from them can't be done if they serve both me and you. Also, two more things: they all must have power levels over six-hundred thousand and must hate the Cold Family enough to be willing to die fighting against them. I have no preference on whose these soldiers must be," answered Baden, stoically observing his surrounding and waiting for his father's inevitable reaction to his demands.

"What you desire is unreasonable, Baden. We're surviving, but I can't afford to send six of my finest warriors on a suicide mission through the galaxies. You're going to need to find your elite squadron from somewhere else," accosted the colonies leader, his brow furrowing from Baden's request.

"I understand your concern," acknowledged the pre-teen, "but I'm not taking a no for an answer on this issue. You may be willing to dart from corridor to corridor, planet to planet looking for a sanctuary from the might of the arcosians, but I'm not. We will either live completely free or we will die trying!"

"That's not your decision to make Baden. I'm the leaders of this clan, not you!" growled the king, standing up and towering over his expressionless son.

Baden stood up himself and began to levitate so he could stare into his father's eyes with a predatory vigor. He was waiting for this moment. "You're the not the leader of anything father. You're a rat that scurries upon even a miniscule site of danger—a danger you couldn't even stop when it happened. Isn't that right, we both remember what happened last time you were put in a corner."

Pausing to recollect himself to continue his tirade, Baden released another volley of allegations straight at his father. "King Cold may've been a tried and true megalomaniac, but Cooler was an entirely different monster. While Cold is a slave for pomp and tradition—which made him easy to track and flee from—Cooler was pragmatic in approach. He came upon us at an inopportune time, disabled our defenses and razed our society to the ground. We were at his mercy; only one thing could save us: me. Cooler saw something in me that he could use, a primal power that he could unleash across the galaxies. Whatever it was, he wanted and was willing to spare the rest of you to obtain me willingly."

Suddenly, Baden launched his hand towards his father and clasped it on the other saiyan's chin. "You see father, I'm the only reason any of you are alive; for that alone you owe a debt of gratitude that you can't even fathom. Unfortunately, I'm tired of loyally serving my lord. If my plan doesn't work I'll die, and most likely you'll die due to a "breach" in your implicit agreement."

By then, Baden had bended his head to his father's side and was whispering his rant in one of the king's ears. "I wouldn't worry too much about Cooler, though. If you deny me my right for troops, that makes you a loose end. Loose ends aren't to be tolerated in my opinion; too many what if scenarios are derived from such sloppiness. I'll put you down myself if need be."

Reciprocating Baden's actions, the king twisted his head around Baden's and started to whisper into his son's ear. "Is that a threat, son?" asked his father, his tone suggesting a warning moreso than a question though.

"You can call it a threat father; I call it a matter of fact. There are so many little details that have to go right for my plan to work. One gabby little urchin could be the difference between me beheading Cooler or Cooler beheading me. Because of this, I refuse to let one possible loose end live, even if that end is my clan," replied Baden, his power level rising far past his fathers maximum.

Baden's little speech had no visible impact on his father, who had been scrutinizing his words with a vigor. "And what if I don't believe you what you're saying, Baden. You're not capable of slaughtering the only family you have left. I know that Cooler was going to change you when we gave you up, but I doubt you'd change that much."

Swiftly, Baden punched his father right in his adam's apple, sending him plummeting to the floor. He started to harshly wheeze, trying to bring air through his abused windpipe. Before he had chance to completely recover, Baden clasped his hand around his neck and pulled him right towards the edge of his mouth.

"Don't presume that you know me, father," snarled the king's son, his incisors gleaming with a dreadful menace. "You lost that right the minute you sold me. As I am right now, I have a dream and only one! For that dream, I'll do anything that needs to be done for that dream to flourish. If I need to subject myself or somebody else to murder, rape, torture or mutilation then it will be done. Don't underestimate the desperation of a forsaken soul!" With his ultimatum uttered, Baden released his grasp on his father's throat and crossed his arms across his chest.

The king broke out into a violent coughing spell, harshly spitting up a lot of phlegm and saliva onto the floor of the drawing room. Eventually, the wheezing and coughing ceased and the King lifted himself back up onto two feet, mutely staring into his son's resolute eyes. Sighing dejectedly, the king knew his hands were tied in the worst way possible. But he knew that there was only course of action that made sense: he would have to give in to his son's demands.

"Okay, I'll find you a strike team," consented the king. "However, I'll need about a week to find a suitable unit. Does that work into your schedule?"

"Very well," answered his son, looking straight into his father's eyes. "I have business to do on Planet Uyyasid anyway. See you in a week?" With that done, Baden walked out of the sitting room, through the palace, out of the village, and back to his pod. `Well time for the next phase of my operation to begin,' pondered Baden, as he blasted off into space.

* * *

While Baden was scheming, Raditz was nearing the end of his intergalactic voyage to Planet Argos. The lanky saiyan's space pod was nearing the orbit of the red-tinged planet, getting closer to its impending landing. Soon enough, Raditz felt the familiar pull of his pod being sucked through a planet's atmosphere, followed by a smooth landing onto the planet's crust.

Slowly getting out of his pod, Raditz began to glide smoothly across the white sands of the planet. The long-haired saiyan's flight was abruptly cut short when the sight of a small caldera graced his eyesight.

Deactivating his ki, the lanky warrior dropped down right at the edge of the small crater. At first glance, it wasn't anything to really look at. In fact, a simple sandstorm could have filled the depression easily; nobody would have even known it had existed. Miraculously, no such storm had appeared and Raditz could easily recognize the importance of this finding.

What was so important about this discovery? The coloring of the sand; there was a charcoal-gray residue that permeated the outer layer of sand in the crater which served as a stark contrast to sand's natural white hue. Only the oil residue of a space pod could have left such a mark on a planet's surface. But the real kicker was one crucial fact he gleamed from the intel he received from the data logs that the Planet Trade Organization had on Planet Argos. According to those logs, the indigenous population of the planet haven't been able to learn how to build ships that could traverse space.

With all these facts in mind, Raditz concluded that Goku had indeed gone to Argos.

Now that confirmation of his brother's presence on Argos was achieved, the lanky haired saiyan needed to confirm the final phase of their operation: had Kakarot purged the last remnants of Argos's population?

Clicking his scouter on, Raditz nonchalantly pressed the button that activated the power level scanner function of his scouter. Almost instantly, multiple reading came up from virtually every direction. It was clear that Kakarot had never killed even a single soul on this planet.

`Blast you, Kakarot!' thought Raditz, who was tempted to rip out his hair in frustration. In all reality though, he wasn't that surprised. The fool wouldn't have even killed a fly, let alone another person. This coupled with the fact that he was hundreds of thousands of miles away from any of these settlements and would've probably never had run into them. In fact, Goku's refusal to kill was even expected from his brother.

However, that didn't mean Goku's failure made Raditz's life any easier. Those indigenous people would still need to die, no questions asked. Sighing fruitlessly, Raditz rocketed back into the planet's jet stream while he traveled towards the closest of these indigenous settlements.

The indigenous people of Argos lived in small village-like communities that were completely separated from one another. In general, these pocket spaces were built around some kind of water source, whether it be an underground aquifer or a babbling brook; after all, water is more valuable than gold in the desert. Because of this importance, the retrieval of clean water was the paramount issue of these people.

These villages themselves were very plain structures. A large retaining wall encircled the villagers from the ripping winds of the frequent dust storms that graced the village, along with providing a minimal level of protection from foreign invaders along with a certain level of noise insulation as an added bonus.

Within the walls, the settlers built their beige colored houses in two opposite facing semi-circle configurations. Supposedly, they did this to limit traffic flow through the city and confine hostiles to one main choke point, but at the same time not restrict the mobility of the civilians who lived within the city.

Ironically, when Raditz finally came upon one of these walled citadels, their efforts just made him smirk. `Oh how thoughtful. They wanted to make my life easier.'

The sadistic saiyan plunged onto the top of the main barbican of the city he approached. Noticing a hole in the center of the roof, Raditz saw two men manning the entrance to the town. Without hesitating, the long-haired warrior jumped down into the gatekeeper's bunker, while startling the two keepers in the process.

"Hi," greeted the lanky saiyan, before smashing their faces into a stone wall that was directly behind them. With the guards immobilized, Raditz approached the lever that controlled the movement of cities main gate. Once orienting himself to the mechanics of the lever, Raditz brought down the gate to trap the denizens of town within the city.

From his walled perch, the evil saiyan could see every house, person and street in the town. Everything was just so ripe for the picking; he couldn't resist the attraction. Without hesitating, the evil saiyan began to launch a salvo of ki blasts, obliterating any and everything that was in his sight.

Once the smoke cleared, it was clear that Raditz hadn't got everything or everyone. In fact, some of the houses he had hit looked positively pristine. Growling from his frustration, Raditz started to charge two humongously pink ki beams in both of his outstretched hands—of which were clearly more powerful than any predecessor the saiyan had used before.

"Let us see if you like this? Double Sunday!" roared Raditz, thrusting his hands forward while discharging the weapon of mass destruction. The two beams soared on two symmetrical paths, crashing into the center of each semi-circle housing configuration with perfect synchronization.

Boom. A cacophonous sound erupted over the ruins of the entire village; a by-product of the engulfing explosion that had befallen the village. The sadistic saiyan really couldn't see the end result of his handiwork, but the prospects were very good—all-obscuring dust clouds were always pleasant sights!

Flicking on his scouter, Raditz was curious if anybody had survived his apocalyptic attack. To his bewilderment, there was a large outcrop of survivors on the main thoroughfare of the city. Sighing from the increasingly high number of hindrances to his mission, Raditz jumped down onto the aforementioned thoroughfare.

With his scouter still on, the evil saiyan began to complete the genocide he started. Whenever his scouter beeped, he fired at the general vicinity the scouter pointed towards. Fortunately, this trick seemed to be doing the job for the moment.

Sooner than he expected, the saiyan reached the heart of the city: the center square. Remarkably, it had thrived through all of Raditz's ki blasts and somehow had retained its structural integrity.

Set in the middle of the square was a squadron of argosian warriors. There were about half-a-dozen of them in number, and were facing the saiyan intruder in an armored phalanx. Of course, Raditz smiled when he came upon this merry group of vigilantes; they were just more fresh blood to be spilled.

"So who's going to be the fool who wants to challenge me?" inquired Raditz, relishing his feeling of omnipotence over these weak fools. At least he was brave against these odds.

Shockingly, Raditz's offer went untaken. The argosians may've been weak, but they understood how discipline worked under a phalanx: you don't move; your enemy does.

Cursing the steadfastness of his enemies, Raditz angrily snarled as he sent out a pulse of pure energy, pushing one line of argosians into the other line.

Sensing this momentary weakness, Raditz charged the disoriented hodgepodge of soldiers intending to finish them off in one disastrous blow. With his goal in mind, the lanky saiyan came upon the squadron with another far more devastating ki attack held high in his right hand. "Are all of you fools ready to die? Saturday Crush!" Raditz cackled, while bringing down his arm and letting the ki blast loose.

The dark pink blast burned right through the argosian phalanx, incinerating every argosian that came into contact with the blast. The blast didn't stop with the argosians; it continued on to plow through a row of houses and one large section of the retaining wall that separated the village from the outside world.

Stunningly, once Raditz's "Saturday Crush" had vacated the foreground, two warriors had survived and were in perfect condition no less. Their two twin smirks did nothing but infuriate the long-haired warrior.

The two survivors were clearly oddballs. First of all, they weren't even argosians. The two of them looked nothing like any argosian Raditz had ever seen. After all wrinkled skin, purple complexions nor a short and chubby body type would be a characteristic description of the typical argosian.

For the purposes of giving a better mental image, the two twins looked like anthromorphic raisins.

These obvious changes hadn't been lost on Raditz. He knew what an argosian looked like, and these urchins weren't anything like them. "Explain yourselves," Raditz yelled, glaring menacingly at the two warriors.

The two aforementioned urchins just smiled sedately at the enraged saiyan. "Yes, so you are Raditz," acknowledged the one on the left, who was indistinguishable to the other being on the left.

Raditz had quickly lost his patience with the two midgets. They were dillydallying and costing him time in the process; time he didn't have to begin with. Set on finishing them quick, the saiyan phased behind them and tried to sweep their legs out from under them.

The key word was tried. Both of the dwarfs simply hopped into the air to avoid the kick while twisting their bodies at the same time to come face-to-face with their attacker. Once back on the ground, they both jumped back several feet to distance themselves from the larger saiyan.

Somehow forgetting to check his scouter, the long-haired saiyan intrepidly charged one of the purple-raisin looking fighters, cocking a fist behind his head in the process. The lanky warrior didn't smirked when he saw his opponent do nothing. `This fool won't know what hit him.'

Back with our purple-raisin looking warrior, he was doing just as Raditz thought he was doing: nothing. However, that abruptly ended when Raditz flung his cocked fist towards the center of his forehead. Smirking coyly, the alien crossed his arms together at the crest of his head and allowed Raditz's fist to connect into his interlocked forearms.

Switching from offense to defense, the stout alien roughly uncrossed his arms and jumped right into Raditz's grill, nailing the larger warrior in the chin with a furious heel kick. The impact sent Raditz zipping through the air until the other purple-raisin re-materialized behind him and slammed his interlocked fists into the small of the saiyan's back.

The blow sent Raditz careening back into the ground—out cold and with a bleeding gash over his left eyebrow. Both purple raisins surveyed the unconscious frame of the saiyan warrior, checking to see if he was actually out cold. Once they were satisfied with their findings, one of them clicked on the "transceiver" portion on their pirated scouters.

"Yes," replied a voice, which was almost overpowered by the static on the other end of the line. Strangely the person seemed to know who was on the other end enough to skip normal pleasantries like "whose there?"

"We've retrieved the saiyan like you ordered," answered one of the purple raisins, of whom it was irrelevant to specify which one.

"Good. Get him back to the ship," tersely answered the other voice, cutting off the transmission from his end.

"Okay," mumbled one of the purple raisin, before looking over at the other purple raisin. "Brother, let's pick this guy up."

Neither spoke another word as they latched their short chubby hand around the lanky saiyan, both wondering why the boss was wasting his time with such a pathetic specimen of a warrior?

* * *

The power of the penultimate kaioken shined brightly on Roshi's mutilated island, radiating from its user in a violent maelstrom. Goku face had never shown such a torrent of emotions flow through it before; hatred, grief, longing, regret, melancholy and even the tiniest bit of happiness were all entangled in his inexplicable mess of feelings. Expectedly, such an amalgamation was the desired response.

Standing in the epicenter of Goku's tumult was Piccolo—the slaughterer of all he ever loved. The green demon was pensively smirking at his nemesis, relishing at the confusion, heartbreak, raw fury and the regret that shone brightest through Goku's essence. It was everything the green fighter had hoped for and more.

But that was precisely what was troubling Goku's rival. He knew he was taking a calculated risk when weighting the positives and negatives of baiting Goku in this manner. However, he never expected something like the metamorphosis that Goku had undertaken to have occurred—not even in his wildest of dreams.

`What does this mean, Goku?' pondered Piccolo, perplexed at the raw current of power being emitted by the enraged saiyan. Judging by the feral snarl that was plastered on his face, Piccolo could assume that somebody was going to die—hopefully, that somebody would be Goku.

In an instant, a gale of ki disrupted Piccolo's thoughts, pushing the stalwart fighter into the air unwillingly. Coming soon after, the kaioken empowered version of Goku swiftly socked the green demon on the left cheek, stopping the momentum of both fighters and forcing Piccolo to cough up some blood.

Using the temporary reprieve as a tactical advantage, Piccolo hyperextended his arm to sock Goku in the face, which was all a diversion to conceal his true purpose: to retreat away from the orange-tinged saiyan.

Goku wasn't falling for Piccolo's deception. Swiftly sidestepping the attempted blow, the saiyan quickly closed the distance between the two warriors with his vastly superior speed and speared the namekian with his elbow.

`Uh, I have to avoid getting hit like that again,' mused Piccolo, reeling after Goku's assault. `He's vastly more powerful than I thought he'd be. I'm going to have no choice but to use my special techniques. Just how will I buy the time?'

Any possibility of finding time to strategize for buying time got sent flying out the window. Our favorite pissed off saiyan was still right on the heels of the namekian warrior, pelting him with a flurry of punches and kicks that were simply coming too fast for Piccolo to block or dodge. After roughing up his rival, the sprightly saiyan finished up by phasing out of the battle only to rematerialize right above Piccolo and dropkicked him into the porous sand of Roshi's island.

Piccolo's crash landing was actually a blessing in disguise for the namekian. Like so many times in the past, any abrupt crash landing resulted in the formation of a massive dust cloud that shrouded the namekian. Unlike the many times this scene had played out before, Goku intrepidly charged into dust cloud hoping to strike out at his enemy again.

Why was this reckless action a good thing for Piccolo? In his predatory haste, Goku forgot to locate his target in the smoke, opting instead to just swing and club the smoke like a wild animal. Taking advantage of Goku's reckless action, Piccolo deftly leaped out of the smoke and slowly slid into the briny deep of the ocean.

As the namekian hide underneath the surface of the sea, the smoke that Goku was lashing out at began to dissipate. When the smoke completely faded away, Goku came to the startling sight of being the only person on the island and the realization that he let the green demon escape.

The orange-inflamed warrior started to squint his eyes across the horizon, hoping to find that elusive rival of his. Upon not seeing his rival on first glance, the confused saiyan ascended into the sky and started to scan the seas for any signs of life.

After what seemed like hours of deliberation, Goku threw caution to the wind and began to gather the energy necessary to blast Piccolo out of whatever hole he had crawled into. Once the saiyan had generated the energy, he proceeded to bombard the entire foreground of Roshi's Island with rotund looking ki blasts.

Piccolo's—who could still somehow see what was going at sea level from one-hundred feet down—grinned at Goku's rash decision. He was playing right into his hands! Son couldn't have set up a more perfect diversion for him!

Subtly—and with perfect timing—the green devil started to launch identical ki spheres up through the water and towards Goku, their paths being concealed by Goku's continuous volley of identical ki blasts. Soon enough, Piccolo had his nemesis surrounded by the round looking orbs that were poised to engulf him in an instant. However, Piccolo's gambit could've been all for naught if Goku moved anywhere. Sadly, the kaioken empowered warrior was too busy unleashing wave after wave of ki blasts to notice the orbs that his rival was using to surround him.

Eventually, the saiyan warrior got tired of sending out so many blasts with so few results; it wasn't tiring him out but he had to be more conservative in how he used his energy. After cutting off his steady stream of ki, the saiyan allowed himself to refocus on his surroundings. Immediately upon this "refocusing," he notices a line of yellow light shine through his peripheral vision.

Having turned around to see the source of the yellow light, Goku was astonished to see hundreds of ki blast surrounding him from all angles. There wasn't a single angle or pathway he could take that wasn't barricaded by one of those explosive little bombs. There was truly no way out!

"So what'd do you think of my little technique, Son?" queried Piccolo, leering at the backside of the surrounded warrior. Oh, how good did it feel for a plan to go right for a change!

Goku turned around swiftly, recognizing the dark menace of the voice instantly. Unremarkably, the voice came courtesy of the green devil that was devoting its life to mocking him and his way of life.

"What do I think, Piccolo? I think you're an unredeemable coward! You're actions make you out as more a rat than any warrior I've ever met!" yelled Goku, letting the fury racing through his veins speak for him.

A noticeable vein bulged on Piccolo's skin, but the stoic being masked that little reaction by an obnoxious deep guffaw. "Tell me, Son? What's with the animosity? It's so unlike you, I want to know where it came from." Obviously, the green demon knew why Goku was uncharacteristically angry, but he wanted the make the enraged saiyan even angrier.

Whatever Piccolo was doing, it was sure working. Goku was getting even more furious than he was previously, and his power was starting to flare involuntarily. "Fuck you!" the saiyan screamed, forgetting his own reservations about profanities in the process.

"I think it's time to destroy you now, don't yah think?" asked Piccolo, his stoic expression slipping into an insane grin. "Hellzone Grenade!"

The namekian powerhouse brought his arms down into a cross under his belt, which was the signal for all the ki orbs to converge on their target. They came down on Goku without remorse or mercy, exploding around him creating more smoke and causing his ears to ring from the din those blasts created.

However, once the smoke cleared there were four ki orbs still in existence and they didn't even look the same as the others. They were a sickly shade of green in comparison to the yellow orbs that surrounded him before.

Goku could see two of these orbs at his fingertips, pulling some kind of orange energy away from him. The saiyan tried to move up and down, left and right but to his surprise he found he couldn't move even an inch in any direction.

"It's ironic Goku, you condemned yourself to this fate," said Piccolo, speaking as if he was some kind of soothsayer.

"What's…ironic Piccolo," replied Goku, having difficulty with a word like ironic. "How am I to blame for being trapped by you?"

Piccolo's angry glare faded into more of an introspective stare. "After the Twenty-Third Budokai, I knew I'd never be able to match you in power. You grew too powerful much too fast for me to be able to keep up with. It became increasingly more obvious I needed a technique that could kill you without having resort to simply overwhelming you."

At that natural pause, the namekian took a moment to compose himself and explain more of his story. "I spent many days trying to perfect a technique that could kill you that wouldn't be solely based on power level. Eventually this dream became what you know as the Special Beam Cannon, of which you are already familiar with."

Same as the first time, Piccolo took another moment to catch his breath and continued his little monologue. "My Special Beam Cannon was a sufficient attack to kill you, but it had a fatal flaw: charging time. You'd never let me have the time to charge it, especially now that you know what it can do to you. So, I needed to find a way to restraint you for my finishing move to work."

Piccolo paused again, this time to manically chuckle at what he was going to say next. It was like even he didn't believe this wild plan would actually work. "I only knew one move that could pin you down for a long enough, but it required something that I never knew you had: hate and anger. The restraints that are binding you into place are being held together by your very own hate. A hate I fostered in you!"

Goku's eyes widened in realization, he couldn't believe he was root cause of his own ensnarement. Since when did he become a bastion for anger and malice? Even he didn't understand that question, regardless of the fact that it was a truth supplied by the neutral eyes of Piccolo's ki bonds.

"There isn't any more time for talking, Goku. Now, it's time for you to die!" snarled Piccolo, pressing his forefinger deep into his forehead, charging up his signature attack.

Almost in an uncharacteristic panic, Goku attempted to break the bonds that were around him. Mentally, he was thrashing around like a wild man cursing Piccolo's very nature; how he was bonding him to this fate. Unfortunately, his plan for breaking out wasn't working and he was running out of time. Piccolo's signature attack was very close to completion.

A burst of ki shot forth from Piccolo, signaling the end of his power up. Smirking maliciously, the demon began to part his lips again. "Die, Son!" he yelled, pointing his beam into the sky and sending it towards the ensnared saiyan.

Desperation started to creep into Goku's subconscious. His bonds were going nowhere, and he was all out of time. His loathing and bitterness was starting to fester in his mind like a case of the plague, making any possibility of escape that much harder. `Why can't I escape? Why won't these chains just let me go!'

Suddenly—right before Piccolo released his ki beam—Goku realized what he had to do to escape. He had to let go; let go of all that was holding him back. His vision started to fade and memories started to envelop his consciousness; memorizes of his mutilated allies. Quickly, his anger started to dissolve into moral righteousness.

He saw the beam of death bear down on him. Every ally he ever knew; they all were admonishing him for his lack of foresight, for letting his anger cloud the good in him, and most importantly for leaving them to die in vain. Deep down, he wasn't willing to let Piccolo get away with this; even if it meant letting go of the loathing that was sitting on top of his heart. And at the moment, Goku mind wasn't thinking about how much he wanted to kill Piccolo moreso than he was pondering on how he'd the save the Earth. The process was complete and the chains could no longer could him.

Soon enough, the chains that bound the saiyan disappeared. With a roar full of righteous menace, Goku flared his ki around him, diverting the lethal projectile beam from its fatal path. Sadly, Goku didn't come out unscathed from this encounter. The Special Beam Cannon couldn't be diverted far enough away to stop it from hitting the middle of the saiyan's knee.

Regardless of the pain though, Goku was satisfied that he defied Piccolo and would be able to prevent the demon from taking the Earth for his own wicked purposes. He was more than confident in his ability to finally end the cruel demon king's reign on Earth once and for all.

Lowering himself down to sea level, the saiyan relished at Piccolo's irritated expression. It was clear the namekian wasn't prepared to face the saiyan in his new transformation. Simply put, he knew he was a good as dead but was most certainly not going to show it.

"How did you escape from that attack?" growled Piccolo, still dumbfounded by how his insufferable idiot of an opponent somehow managed to break away from his attack. Nevertheless, he had to buy time to replenish his energy reserves before he even bothered trying to fight this ki-enriched vision.

A sliver of a cocky smirk started to rise on Goku's face, who delighted in how frustrated Piccolo was getting. He may've stopped hating him, but the morally righteous part of his brain was still happy that he was being put in his place. "You were an idiot, Piccolo."

The green demon started to recoil in shock from Goku calling anybody an idiot, least of all that he was calling him an idiot. Such a slight was enough to make him shake with rage. "You are the last person to call anybody an idiot, Son!"

"Yes I am, but that doesn't change the fact that you were an idiot. You were expecting me to be malicious for your plan to work. I don't have any way to hold any lasting ill will towards anybody, and you of all people should know that," cried Goku, scolding Piccolo earnestly.

Goku wasn't done yet, he just changed the tangent. "My lack of ill will won't save you, though. I'm the hope of the world; the savior of all being who cry out for peace. By allowing you to live, I was endangering every good-hearted citizen of the Earth and I didn't realize it until now. This is the end, Piccolo. No more mercy!"

Before Piccolo could offer a rebuttal, Goku was on the wayward namekian, leveling the demon's face with a forceful punch. The saiyan followed up his assault with a brutal knee to the solar plexus and finished up with a vicious side kick in the same place as the knee.

Not letting Piccolo get the upperhand, the last remaining member of the Earth's special forces placed both of his outstretched hands atop his head symmetrically with his palms facing outwards. "Solar Flare!" the saiyan screamed, letting the unholy wave of intensified light sear through Piccolo's eyes, buying him enough time to kill Piccolo for once and for all.

The saiyan warrior began to cup his hand together, pooling a massive quantity of energy in the confined space in between his palms. Soon after, our hero began to chant the iconic phrase in slow syncopated breaths. "Ka…me…ha…me."

In the middle of the chant, Piccolo's vision started to return to him. To the demon's horror, Goku was already almost finished with the Kamehameha chant. Acting impulsively, the green devil summoned all the energy he could muster and fired it at Goku. It hit his rival before he completed the chant.

Piccolo's destructive wave wasn't enough. He barely got past the aura, and it was clear that Goku wasn't harmed in the least bit by his last gambit. Instinctively, the namekian closed his eyes and waited for the end; there was nothing left that he could do.

"Ha!" belted Goku, thrusting his hands forward and firing the beam directly at his mortal nemesis. The beam rapidly engulfed the helpless namekian, easily overpowering the green devil and disintegrating his flesh. Piccolo and Kami were no more.

Goku jerked his interlocked hands upwards, curving the effulgent wave of light into the dazzlingly vacuum of space. Only in space could such a powerful attack taper out harmlessly.

Our noble savior watched that radiant wave of light he once commanded leave Earth's atmosphere for good, while sensing Piccolo's life force being snuffed out like a candle in a brisk gale. The Earth was peaceful at last. It just came at too high of a cost. Everybody he once loved was dead and he was going to leave them buried.

Just then he realized what he had done. By killing Piccolo, he also had killed Kami and with him any chance that his friends could be revived. `It's all for the best,' he pondered, interposing an optimistic thought instead of letting his mind go where he believed it would. After all, from a pragmatic point of view, what he had done was just. Piccolo was far too crafty to leave alive to collect the dragonballs; who knew what he'd conjured to kill him in the meantime. It would've been a stupid risk to take.

Still, it didn't make him feel any more noble or selfless. The only reason that his friends were killed was because he showed a monster mercy; an altruistic sentiment that demon clearly didn't deserve. In the bottom of his heart, he didn't want to see what the faces of the people he failed would look like.

Come to think of it, his inquisitive nature had always given him trouble. He started the feuds between Pilaf and the Red Ribbon Army, which put everybody he loved in danger for the umpteenth time in his life. Even when he initiated these conflicts, he could've disengaged at any time and secured safe passages for his allies but he didn't. The morally righteous blood in his veins burned too deep.

Somewhere in the depths of his heart, he knew he'd never change. Grandpa Gohan taught him a bit too well. A cry for help would never go unheard as long as he was around, and he'd end up getting in over his head like he always did. In spite of these circumstances, one of his friends would always follow him regardless of the consequences. Maybe—for their sake—it would be best that he leave Earth and for them to stay buried.

Unconsciously, the weary saiyan was flying back towards the woods where he left his space pod. It was as if his body was guiding him there beyond his sentient will; like it knew what he needed better than he did.

What was this need? To prove to himself that he could help a love one in some endeavor. That there was somebody out there that he wouldn't fail, no matter how the odds were stacked against him. If it meant throwing away his aversion to killing, then so be it! He was done being used and abused.

A flash of inspiration hit him. It was his four-year old son, staring at him with imploring eyes. Those shining orbs were practically asking him why he wasn't out there looking for him. They were so hopeful, his eyes; it was like he still believed that he would come and rescue him from his captors.

In that very moment, Goku knew what he'd do. Gohan would be in his arms again someday. Come rain, snow or shine nobody was going to stop him. His innocent and trusting son was all he had left; he refused to let anybody him down again.

Strangely, he came to this realization right when he descended through the forested canopy and into a rather large clearing where he had left his space pod. Without even thinking about it, the invigorated saiyan climbed back in and closed the hatch.

The navigation module of the pod beeped to life, requesting a final destination. "Planet Argos," responded Goku in an absentminded haze. It was the only other planet he knew, and there must've some reason the saiyans sent him there. Maybe the answer was still there.

* * *

Frieza sauntered around the sealed room, eyeing the two saiyan in a manner reminiscent of hungry shark glowering at a group of baby seals. Unlike baby seals, Gohan and Vegeta's skin was caked in a cold sweat; a fact that Frieza very much recognized. `This is going to be very fun,' sighed Frieza. Breaking in a brand new monkey was a delight that he wasn't prepared for; it was something to rejoice over.

"Vegeta…and what's your name, oh forget it, like it ever mattered." Frieza's bantering became increasingly jumbled, nobody—including Frieza—could understand him. Eventually, the eloquent tyrant became lucid again. "You see in my youth, I was a member of a traveling improv group. We did parodies, comedies and even tragedies without even the slightest bit of planning or forethought. It was fun, very fun. I want to start some reenactments again; this time I'll play the role of some drunken sailors and you'll play the role of baby seals."

In a violent sequence of actions, the megalomaniacal arcosian disappeared from the room and reappeared in front of Vegeta, viciously socking the older saiyan in the face.

After being socked in the face, Vegeta was uprooted from the ground and careened back into the ground a dozen yards away from the tyrant in his audience chamber. Cautiously, the prince began to stumble back up onto his feet.

`Well that won't do,' mused Frieza, contemptuously leering at the older saiyan. With a speed unheard of in the Planet Trade Organization, Frieza raced at Gohan and picked the boy up by his heel before he even knew what was going on. Acting quickly so Vegeta wouldn't get back up, Frieza chucked the younger saiyan at the older saiyan in a way vaguely reminiscent to how an indian would throw a hatchet.

The younger saiyan met the older saiyan in the most glorious way possible—in Frieza's opinion of course. By this he meant that Gohan collided into Vegeta head first, both of their heads crashing into each other violently at the same time.

`That's much better,' chirped Frieza happily in his head, leisurely strolling towards the two saiyans who were lying prone on the ground. Neither looked to be getting up any time soon, and that was probably Vegeta's doing. `That's peculiar, the brat isn't trying to get up; Vegeta must've told the brat that I'd just knocked him down again. He'd be right of course!"

Our favorite tyrant began to circle the two saiyans like the shark he was at heart. He was waiting for just the right moment to begin extracting pleasure in their agony. Pain that festered from unadulterated fear was always more joyous than merely being tortured.

Frieza didn't have to wait long before his moment arrived. If he was waiting solely for Vegeta to start to panic, he'd be there for a while. The prince was more obstinate then a bull when it came to refusing to show pain or panic. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't the only saiyan in the room. As mentioned before, Gohan didn't have Vegeta's resolve or experience when it came to dealing with Frieza and his incessant mind games. It was only a matter of time before the boy dragged down of them.

Not wasting any time, Frieza phased in behind both saiyans and shoved each of his knees deeply into both of their spines. Continuing his torture, the arcosian started to wrap his arms around each of their necks and slowly began to push upwards; the tryant's expression glowed radiantly when he heard the poor four year old start screaming from the painful bending and creaking of his back.

Meanwhile, Vegeta was showing no signs of duress. Of course, Frieza was aware that the prince was in agony; after all, his back was more rigid than the toddlers and he was being held in an even more acute angle because of the size difference between the prince and the tryant. This wasn't unusual for either participant. Vegeta would never willingly show any sign of distress to his superior, even with Frieza resting his knee on his spine. In fact, in his youth the prince had his back broken twice by his ruler in such an embrace. It looked like things were going to take such a turn today.

Sighing despondently, the tyrant relinquished his hold on both saiyans, letting the both of them lie on the cold floor of his audience chamber for a moment. Once he felt they had enough of a briefer, he picked up the brat by the scruff of his neck. "Dodoria, restraint him please," commanded Frieza, throwing the petrified boy across the room like a football.

Dodoria nonchalantly caught the traversing boy with one-hand, which he had wrapped firmly around the top of the boy's head in a style reminiscent of how somebody would grasp the top of a bowling pin. The pink alien looked at the pitiful monkey that he was holding obtusely with scathing malevolence.

Back with our favorite sociopath, Vegeta was lying motionless on the floor with the aforementioned sociopath staring ominously over him. Callously, the tyrant kicked the prince into a supine body position and placed his webbed feet directly onto Vegeta's covered crotch, adding a little pressure for his perverse pleasure.

A pathetic whimper assaulted Frieza's sensitive hearing. Turning around the tyrant saw the horrified face of the baby monkey, tear streaking down his cheeks in both terror and visible anger. It was all the despot ever wanted.

"Frieza…please…don't do this," squeaked Gohan, coughing roughly into the air while he was speaking. "He…didn't do…anything…to upset you!"

That was too much for the dictator to handle. He couldn't contain his obnoxious, virulent even, strain of laughter from bursting from the seams of his mouth. It was grating, back-biting and incredibly cruel, but that was just Frieza in general. You know what they say: what amuses defines us.

Eventually, Frieza's chest stopped heaving and the autocrat resumed voluntary control of his body. In response to Gohan's pleas for mercy, the arcosian just flashed his sickeningly sweet smirk at the distraught young boy.

"You see my young lad," began Frieza, that accursed smirk having never left his lips, "you weren't the only one to wound me today. Your dear prince is just as guilty of insubordination as you are, albeit in different ways."

Frieza cut off his speech for a split moment, primarily to sigh dramatically while feigning disappointment in their respective actions. "Alas, Vegeta is every bit as guilty of getting on my nerves as you did. It's such a shame that you weren't here when he disobeyed this one peculiar order. `"Very well, monkeys. You can retrieve that pet of brother of yours Raditz, but it must be him. Nobody else, got it?'"

In reality, what Frieza said was patently false. He never had ever given a fuck whom the saiyans brought back. As long as they purged Meteora and Argos, everything else was irrelevant. Of course, when they brought such a cute monkey to his abode he was surprised and beyond overjoyed. Breaking children was so much funnier than brainwashed adults. Their cries for mercy were like music to his ears. What better way to break this new simian than turn him against his allies; make him completely alone in this world.

"Now, don't get me wrong simian. I _will _be disciplining you for your injurious actions today," snidely declared the tyrant, his simpering expression becoming almost unbearable to everybody in the room. "However, that will come in due time. I think a demonstration is in order; show you the results of where insolent behavior will lead. I assume you agree with me, don't you Dodoria?"

"Yah, sure," responded Dodoria, smugly looking at the two pieces of simian trash that he was forced to bear with. If it was up to him, he would've simply obliterated those apes years ago; he wouldn't have let them reach the pinnacle of their strength. Alas, that was not his call to make.

"Excellent," said Frieza, his commanding overtone dominating his speech. It was time for the true fun to begin!

"Now, I'll show you why you don't disobey me," shrieked Frieza, losing his calm focused demeanor in an instant. Swiftly, the tryant turned around and kneed the debilitated saiyan prince in the groin and navel simultaneously with different knees. The prince's undignified groan brought a gleam to Frieza's eyes, which showed no inkling of real sanity left.

With not a real moment to waste, the despot became to just pummel his favorite real-life beat-up doll. Frieza didn't hold anything back, he unleashed all of his anger, spite, contempt, paranoia, indignation and undisclosed fear at the saiyan race straight at their last remaining hope. Would the tyrant ever stop—probably not.

Frieza just kept striking the helpless saiyan, his fist buzzing and rattling like a machine gun that refused to overheat. His hyperactive fists repeatedly burying themselves in sensitive regions Vegeta's body, whether these regions be his groin, solar plexus, nose, temples, neck or armpits. Wherever they were, Vegeta's cruel overseer made sure to hit these places with an exorbitant amount of vigor.

Throughout the torture session, one question hadn't popped into Frieza's head but was always residing somewhere in his mind. `What makes me detest the saiyan race with so much vehemence?' it would say. Now this voice didn't exactly trouble the Arcosian, but what made them so uniquely reprehensible was a question he had trouble answering? It wasn't their power; he was at least a thousand times there superior in that regard. It wasn't their haughtiness or false sense of superiority. It was a trait in many races, the arcosians especially. Granted, he inevitably exterminated most of these prattling races in due time, but he didn't feel any lasting hatred towards any of them; at least, not compared to the saiyan race. So what was it?

`Whatever,' snorted Frieza internally. Wherever the animosity came from, there was probably a perfectly just reason somewhere. After all, he was Lord Frieza; he was never wrong on any account.

Frieza's pounding hadn't ceased even when he was pondering his hatred of the saiyan race. By then, Vegeta could no longer hold internalize the pain; it had nowhere left to go. However when he tried to scream, barely a wisp or gurgled all could out. Apparently the Arcosian's repeated strikes on his larynx were affecting his speech.

Turning away from his broken captive, the tyrant refocused his glare on the sniveling baby being held in Dodoria's "embrace." He looked so…breakable, the temptation was simply too great for the cruel ruler. "Dodoria, please remove the armor off our dear boy."

"Any limits?" asked the ugly pink demon, an obnoxious grin creeping up on his face. He was waiting to partake in this glorious action.

"Nope. Do what you may wish to get his armor off," answered the despot, his icy lips curling in amusement that betrayed the ominous nature of his words.

"My pleasure," responded Dodoria, dropping the brat flat onto his ass. "Are you ready for the worst day of your life?"

Gohan took back what he said about Frieza. He wasn't just a miserable cretin, he was coldest, blackest and by unilateral consensus, the most evil soul the boy had ever the disgrace to witness in action. Goku's stories about the cruelties of the merciless King Piccolo were bad enough, but this guy would've made that pitiful namekian cower. No simile or metaphor was appropriate to describe the atrocities this Lucifer rejoiced over.

How Frieza roguishly extracted pleasure from torturing Vegeta was sickening beyond mere words to the chibi. Frieza may've been unable to hear how he was practically _grinding _Vegeta's bones into dust, but Gohan could. Safe to say, Gohan was glad he hadn't had anything to eat in the longest time; he would've been unable to prevent himself from hurling if he had done so.

Now let's get one thing straight: Gohan _did not _like Vegeta, he probably hated him with most of his heart. Only nobody deserved what Vegeta was getting from Frieza, absolutely nobody. It was maddening to the saiyan child how he could feel any sympathy for man like Vegeta, but he did. He hoped Vegeta would be able to get retribution for the crimes Frieza had committed on his person; that is, if he didn't get to him first.

Suddenly without any warning whatsoever, the half-saiyan found himself on the ground with the pink oaf's foot pressed firmly on his chest. He looked up at Frieza's henchman for mercy, perhaps he was a better man than his lord. He was wrong; the contempt on his face was practically set in stone.

"How would you like your armor removed? Do you want it to be done the easy way or the fun way? Personally, I prefer the fun way!" prattled Dodoria, amusing himself with his meaningless taunts.

Regrettably, Dodoria's actions were far crueler than his words if such a thing were possible. To remove Gohan's armor, he had devised a simple and really crude plan: just stomp on his chest until the armor broke from the force of his stomps.

Of course, it's the simple things in life that cause the most pain. For Gohan, this was no different. The armor he was wearing was nigh indestructible to many in the galaxy; it took quite a few stomps for Dodoria to put even one dent into his armor. However, the pink demon kept at it and it wasn't afterwards that Gohan's armor shattered like glass.

By the time Dodoria was finished, our favorite demi-saiyan was contending with an absolutely excruciating level of pain. The armor had padded the impact of Dodoria's foot somewhat, but had failed to mitigate the pain efficiently. Safe to say, the poor boy felt that his organs had been squished and crushed under him.

"Do hold him up, Dodoria. I think our new pet can't stand up; lets help him, shall we Dodoria?" cackled Frieza, seeing that the boy wouldn't be able to hold himself together for the next part of his torture.

"It would be an honor, my lord," replied Dodoria, conjuring a strange green type of ki in his palm. The pink oaf released the ki gradually, sending it towards Gohan. Remarkably the beam didn't singe or pierce any part of the boy's wrists, but instead had opted to wrap itself around Gohan's wrists like a shackle. Moving quickly, Dodoria—with Gohan hoisted up with him—leaped onto the ceiling of Frieza's audience chamber.

"He's all yours, my lord," exclaimed Dodoria, with a mock bow.

"Splendid," riposted Frieza, aiming one of his index fingers at the suspended child as if he was pointing a gun at him. "Such a pity. If only you were an obedient little monkey; I may've not had a reason to do this. Alas, you wretched apes left me no choice!"

At once, Gohan screamed in pain; fire was racing through his veins. The poor tyke could only watch as bright pink razor-thin beams sliced through his flesh, carving through solid bone at times and at other times using the heat of the beams to meld bones together that should've never been unified.

Frieza was merciless in how he treated Gohan. He blasted through one knee, then one elbow, then the other knee, followed by the other ankle. The tyrant proceeded to burst fire on Gohan's back, serrating his epidermis and damaging the tissues under his skin. Fortunately—although not out of mercy or remorse—Frieza was deliberating missing his vital organs, preserving the young saiyan's life for the time being.

Mentioning this factoid wouldn't have consoled the Earth-raised warrior in the least bit. There wasn't a single part of his body that didn't burn, bleed, ache, spasm or sharply sting due to Frieza's torture. It was so bad that the tyke wondered if he was going delirious or not. But it didn't matter; this insufferable tyrant could make him scream, quiver, cry and stutter to all his heart's content. As long as he had a life to lead, he would not break! When his father discovered him, he would _not _be a vegetable.

`This isn't working!' That was the thought that was racing through Frieza's head. His mutilation of Gohan's body wasn't going as well as the tyrant had hoped. Of course the child screamed and bawled like a…child, but the tyrant had an acute sense of when somebodies spirit was breaking. It was clear that his present form of dealing anguish wasn't working to his immense displeasure. `What's with these saiyans? It's like they have a precocity for pain. Even their babies are more obstinate than brick walls!'

None of this made any sense. By all appearances, the kid he was torturing was a pampered cry baby with no unusually high level of pain tolerance. The fact that the tyke didn't have any experience in dealing with him only abetted Frieza's confusion. So what made even him so obstinate? There were warriors ten times stronger than him that broke down and babbled like toddlers when subjugated to the same variety of torture.

Nothing could express Frieza's shock at what he saw next. An apparition it must've been—that was the only way to rationalize what the frost demon had seen. After all the torture, pain and mutilation he put Gohan through, the boy had the will to turn his head around and smiled at his tormentor. Now, it wasn't the fact that he smiled that shocked the emperor; no, many people smiled when they were interrogated. Most often it was some inane form of reverse psychology that the despot could simply laugh off. No this wasn't the same.

As mentioned before, his smile alone wasn't what threw Frieza a curve ball moreso than the _way _the boy smiled. It was dreadfully cavalier, like as if he were trying to goad the frost demon; boasting about the futility of the tyrant's action, screaming at him about he could never break him. He would wipe off that smile if it were the last thing he did!

With a roar, the tyrant sent forth not a small piercing beam but a blast at our valiant young warrior. Instead of slicing through him like all the others before it, this blast detonated on his back peeling off a great quantity of skin. All in all, the poor boy looked like burn victim that didn't even have the will or energy to scream any more.

You know what he did have the will for—in Frieza's mind of course: that infuriating smile? It was still there, wider than ever. The more often the tyrant tried to inflict pain the larger the smile would become. It was maddening to the demon. Even this little boy was full of unproven pride.

Wait—that was it. Pride. Pride was the answer to the saiyan riddle; why they in particular were so infuriating when so many others weren't. Nothing was comparable to the pride and dignity of even the most lowly saiyan.

Throughout his life, Frieza only had one goal: to become a living and breathing god. That he controlled all life and wielded all power; his will alone could break the spirit of any dissident. For the most part this was true already. Almost every race he had ever came across had submitted to the grips of his iron rule, both body and soul.

Sadly, one race hadn't subjugated themselves to his complete will: the saiyans. It was them alone of his subjects that viewed him as an equal instead of their lord. Predictably, this train of thought increasingly infuriated the despot to the point that he ordered the destruction of their planet.

Even when he rounded up and enslaved the scraps of that extinct race, they still wouldn't submit. Raditz and Nappa were loyal only to their prince; the brat was loyal to his father solely; and their prince was loyal to nobody. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was going to rebel against him someday, regardless of how much the odds were stacked against him.

Pride was the only explanation for any of these ludicrous chains of thought. Saiyan pride was nigh unbreakable it seemed, no amount of bodily torture, mind games or humiliation could make them completely subjugate themselves to his rule. Respect alone was the only thing that could make them fully obedient; their pride compelled them to accept nothing else. Alas, respect was something he'd never gain and he knew that. There must be another way.

A Cheshire grin flashed across his face. He just got a particularly nasty thought cross his mind, but it could hold the key to breaking them. `This just may work; it's either that or they will try to rebel immediately. In either case, I win.'

"Dodoria, please release the boy and put him next to his dear prince!" The pink beast did as he was told, placating his lord greatly. "By the way, I think Zarbon is waiting to come back in. Please open the door for him."

Once again, the pink behemoth did as he was requested and allowed the tyrant's cyan colored lackey back into the room.

"Oh how wonderful it is to see you Zarbon!" exclaimed Frieza, turning towards his right-hand man. "Do you like my handiwork?"

Zarbon was moderately impressed. Vegeta alone had gotten worse punishments than this, but how Frieza treated Vegeta was highly unusual and very well rumored. "You've done well, my lord," answered Zarbon modestly, kneeling in front of his master.

"Oh come now, Zarbon. No need for such meager terms. By the way, do you have any smelling salts? I'm not done yet and my…guest is incapacitated," probed Frieza, hoping the answer was a yes. Zarbon wouldn't be feeling well if he didn't have any.

Fortunately, Zarbon did have smelling salts. "But of course, my lord," he replied, throwing his master some of his private stash of the ammonium carbonate.

"Splendid job, Zarbon," smiled Frieza, while whiffing the smelling salt into Vegeta's nose. Predictably, the effect of the smelling salt was instantaneous; the prince violently came too, retching up a clot of blood in an intense paroxysm. A moment later, Gohan also came too under the same wretched circumstances.

Before the tyrant finished his nightmarish performance, he cast his eyes down on the two saiyans with a bleak expression. Pitiful—it was the only way to truly describe their broken down and bleeding bodies. It was clear that only the lingering presence of the ammonium carbonate in their bloodstreams was keeping them awake. Briefly the tyrant pondered on the prudence of keeping course with his plans; perhaps waiting for them to heal would be more beneficial. He quickly discarded that theory, it was now or never.

"I realize what you urchins get off on," accused Frieza, startling the two half-conscious saiyans as he strolled around their bodies.

"Pride: it's the ambrosia of saiyan growth. I've always wondered how simian trash such as yourselves have peaked my interest. To be honest, it boggles me how I didn't see it sooner. Pride…it's all you apes know! Nothing comes before it; not even your most esteemed lord. Submit...it isn't even in either of your vocabularies, isn't it?" he scathingly pointed out, the rage and insanity that was Frieza showing through once again.

"As long as your prides remain, nothing will change. We'll continue this dance until the end of eternity. Fortunately for you two, I'm a man of change. We're going to get to root of the issue right here and now. Vegeta, I know your achilles heel," snarled the arcosian, pouncing on both of them from behind, clasping hold of both of their tails.

"W..what ah-are you…do-ing?" gasped Vegeta, tears swimming in his eyes when he saw Frieza's luring eyes on his tail. He had an idea of what was to come.

"Simple you wretched ape!" hollered the crazed tyrant, his lips drew back in the most wicked smile that had ever graced the planet. "I'm going to deprive you of your pride; the last symbol of your race. And it won't be coming back!"

"Pah-please…do-don't…AHHH!" screamed out Vegeta, forgetting his former thought as his lord started to tug on his tail with all his might. His wail was only matched by cacophonous outcry of toddler next to him.

Both of them were entirely unprepared for this. The feeling of such a delicate appendage being slowly _ripped out _of you was nigh unbearable to either of them, especially Gohan because he hadn't acquired immunity to his tail's naturally high levels of sensitivity. Luckily enough, Frieza had used a sufficient amount of force for that part of the torture to end quickly. Carelessly, the despot chucked their tails haphazardly…somewhere.

Vegeta and Gohan began to cough and gasp frenziedly, their nerves clenched to hold back the tears of their shared pain and humiliation. If only they knew it wasn't over yet.

Frieza wasn't waiting around for them to recover; it was time to unleash the death blow. "Oh, stay with me you too. We are almost done," chirped the despot, conjuring two razor thin red claws on his index fingers in a way similar to a fiery torch.

Skillfully maneuvering his finger near the orifice where they're tails had once been, the tyrant allowed the thin wisps of fire on his fingertips pry within both of them, incinerating every biological structure that could allow either of their tails to ever grow again. The intense heat had either burned or melted the nerve endings, connective tissues and muscular tissues that joined their tails to their coccyx's, which was also irreparably damaged by Frieza's cauterizing touch. Nothing would be the same after this day; saiyan healing couldn't handle this level of internal damage.

Neither could tolerate the pain that was coursing inside of them. They both were overloaded; both had crossed their thresholds for pain. It was all over.

Frieza slowly got off his favorite monkey prince and headed for the door, briskly walking past his two butt munches.

"Should we carry them to the rejuvenation chamber?" asked Zarbon, not caring one bit regardless.

"Nah. Let them lie there tonight," answered Frieza, walking out of his audience chamber without even a single look back.

And this is where we leave our two friends. They will remains in there unquiet slumbers, sleeping amongst the quiet earth.

* * *

**Well, I hope y'all were satisfied with the fifth installment of my story. Poor Gohan and Goku, they're life really is falling apart! **

** 1. Review Replies: **

**Goku Rules 98: Thanks for the kind words! I'll eventually makes those edits and they've been implented for this chapter. **

**Full Power: Thanks man! I hope you like this chapter as well. **

**Power9987: Nice to hear back from you. Glad you enjoyed the twist and turns, there'll be many more to come. I hope(who I am I kidding, I got your approval) that the torture scene wasn't too gruesome for you. **

**supervegeta778: More updates are a' comin. XD. **

**Ky111: Thanks for the review! Don't worry, all will be revealed in due time. **

**pointer39: I admit I did overdue my Goku a bit, but he does do some smart things from time to time. He becomes more refined as time goes on. As for everything else, thanks!**

**Lucifvegeta: The intensity won't die down until the next chapter. Hope you enjoy what you see here. **

** Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: Thanks for the comment. Still not sure on changing the M-rated change; if your willing to review this chapter on that aspect it would give me a better idea of where to place the rating. **

** II. Important Narrative Announcement: I'm delighted to announce a new segment in my AN's that I'm doing for pure enjoyment. It's called explicate the allusion. Now, I know what some of you are thinking: what's the heck am I talking about? **

** We all have our inspiration, the reasons why we write what we write. Because of your respect for these sources, we put some iconic quotes like "it's over 9000," "welcome to the end of your life-and I promise it's going to hurt," or some other text completely away from Dragonball Z. We when quote these types of passage in a chapter, we call this allusions. **

** In this segment, I explicate the allusion of my choice. I'll start with this quote from my last chapter. Here's the excerpt: **

** "He was merely a weakling killing weaklings, a true member of the reclaimed indeed."**

**The allusion is only implied when the word "reclaimed" is used. By using reclaimed, what I was really doing was giving a small homage to the novella "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad. **

** In Heart of Darkness, Marlow (the main character) comes upon the scene a horrifying scene that occured routinely in the Belgian Congo. The site of dozens if not hundreds of Africans being used as slave labor for the extraction of rubber and other valuable elements. What was really interesting is that the person that was overseeing them was one of their own; a member of their own band. **

** You see, one common tactic that was used in concentration camps, slave plantations and other heinous activities was to place the whip in the hands of one of the other slaves and force them to whip the other slaves for disobedience. In this way, a lot of the misplaced anger of the slaves would be directed on the slave whipping them instead of the slave whipping them. Marlow refered to these "overseers" as the reclaimed. **

**By referring to Raditz as one of the reclaimed, I'm comparing the situation of Raditz to the one of these false overseers. As one pitiful slave reducing the humanity of another willingly. It was a parabole that I couldn't stop myself from writing. Regardless, it was a comparison I had to write. **

**III. Important Personal Announcement: **

** Alas, all things must come to an end. School's beginning again and updates will slow down from their nine to ten days. Now it'll take me about fourteen from now on. **

** Also, I'm a newly inducted writer/editor for Goku Rules 99's Sins of the Father. Believe me, if you like my work you'll like his. **

**Good luck and good night!**

**That's all for now! Until the next time!**


	6. Epiphanies of a Life Newly Given

`You two really can rile that asshole up, don't you?' It was a known fact that Vegeta got under Frieza's skin very easily, and when he pissed him off too severely, inevitably he ended up here: in the medical bay, under the supervision of Frieza's head doctor.

Malaka had no idea why he bothered associating with the last remnants of the saiyan race. Maybe he pitied them, perhaps he was equally as disgusted by Frieza's megalomania as they were or possibly it was some kind of loyalty to the race that saved him from certain death many years ago. Regardless, the connection between the two now was slowly giving the poor doctor an ulcer.

To his left was Zarbon: the effeminate bastard. Apparently—the doctor couldn't imagine any other reason being valid—Frieza had ordered his right-hand man to watch over his favorite petulant prince and the brat that followed like a groupie. Of course, Zarbon couldn't just stand there quietly.

"Are they ever going to come out?" whined the henchman, hoping that they'd come out soon. If rumor had it, the overtly flamboyant warrior had his hair styled every other week on Saturdays; today happened to be a Saturday and Zarbon hadn't had his hair styled in two weeks. How Malaka ever heard about this was something he'd never talk about—even under the threat of torture.

"They'll wake up when they wake up. If you were so concerned, maybe you should've tried reasoning with Frieza," replied Malaka, not taking his eyes off the computer monitor that…monitored Gohan and Vegeta's vitals. Of course, when those words slid out of his mouth he instantly regretted them.

"Psh, I'm not interested in my own funeral," scoffed Zarbon, throwing a derisive glare at the doctor, who was still not bothering to look at the green alien's agitated mien.

"Perhaps, but I know Vegeta wasn't immediately here upon being grievously hurt. Wounds don't become infected instantly you know," retorted the doctor, adding more pain medicine to his central IV line.

"Your insolence is intolerable, Malaka," growled Zarbon, turning towards the doctor. "Do remember that I'm your superior—I could kill you and nobody would stop me."

"Come now Zarbon: be reasonable. We both know that my position is interminable until another doctor comes along willingly to heal the saiyans after Frieza's little torture fests," replied the brown lizard, still doing his job unflinchingly.

"Touché," huffed the effeminate alien, embarrassed to have lost a game of wits to the doctor.

Suddenly the rejuvenation chamber started to beep to life; bubbles began to brew in the soothing salve of the chamber, signaling Vegeta's awakening from the folds of unconsciousness.

"Au revoir," proclaimed Frieza's right hand man, rushing out of the room and barreling through a least five lackeys. Now that Vegeta was awake, he didn't actually have to watch over him now. He could see his stylist, but he'd have to hurry to make it on time.

Acting quickly, Malaka typed a few commands into the computer that monitoring the rejuvenation chamber nursing Vegeta's injuries. After signing a few automated consent forms, the doctor activated the drainage function of the medical machine.

Soon enough, the healing liquid was drained out of the machine completely, freeing the Prince of All Saiyans from his benevolent captivity. With a deft leap, the adult saiyan jumped out of the chamber and moved towards the changing room. His armor looked more like rags right now.

"Vegeta wait!" exclaimed Malaka, feeling it would be prudent to just tell the bad news to the horse's mouth. It was better than waiting for him to inevitably find out when he began changing his clothes.

"What are you doing you blithering clown," growled Vegeta, really getting fed up by all the distractions that seemed to be assaulting him at once.

`Oh god, he really isn't in a good mood today. I hope he doesn't take the bad news out on me,' mused the doctor. Just because he bailed out Vegeta countless times before when he got hurt didn't matter much to the snooty pseudo-royalty.

"I'm waiting!" snarled the hothead, about to lose his cool once again. Delays were not exactly something he liked.

"Sorry, Vegeta. On the behalf of myself, I would like to say we did everything we could to save your tail. But there was nothing that could be done," reluctantly replied Malaka, hoping the saiyan was happier on the inside than what he was showing on the outside.

"What are you talking about!" snapped the saiyan, cornering the doctor in front of the computer station he was working at, looking visibly ready to shank the doctor if he didn't start talking. "Tell me now!"

The reptilian doctor started to feel his lungs become constricted by Vegeta's fearsome presence, words became harder to utter. Nevertheless, he felt he had to try uttering out those loathsome words. "Frieza…burned…the nerve ending and…the corresponding tissue…that allowed your tail to regrow if ever cut off….It will…never…grow back again."

Our favorite prince didn't respond to Malaka's declaration, his eyes widening incredulously at the statement. Desperately, the hothead tried to wag his non-existent tail fruitlessly in the air, trying to convince himself that the appendage was still glued to his backside.

If such a thing were possible for a reptile, Malaka would've been sweating bullets as his beady eyes darted from left to right. Who knew what Vegeta would do once the denial wore off?

"Oh damn it all!" roared Vegeta, pushing the doctor into the computer and storming off in a huff towards the changing room.

Once Vegeta had vacated the room, Malaka breathed a sigh of relief while dusting off his lab coat. With the danger clear, the doctor returned to his post and began to monitor the bodily condition of his other patient.

`Kid I hope you aren't as violent as your elder when you come out of there,' groaned the physician. `Or else this is going to be a very long day for all of us.'

* * *

Planet Uyyasid wasn't an ordinary planet and the uyyasidians weren't an average people. In their glory days, their society was one of the strongest in the entire universe; only the arcosian were a real match to their power. Alas, much time had passed since then and the uyyasidians were only a fraction of what they once were. Granted, even now the uyyasidians were a fighting race few would even dare try to cross.

Frieza and his family were well aware of the existence of this mega-power planet, and its age old history with the arcosians. To many scholars and military tacticians, the decision to not purge and destroy Planet Uyyasid for the continued protection of the Cold Family was a baffling choice. Why did the Cold Family, with all of their omnipotent power, not purge a rival warrior race with the same vehemence as they did with similar warrior races like the saiyans.

The reasoning was simple: laziness. Unlike the arcosians, the uyyasidians were never all that imperialistic. As long as they had a couple planets for themselves, they would stay out of your way. However, there ultimate salvation came from the fact that they were in Frieza's sector of the galaxy. Quite frankly, Frieza didn't have any soldiers in his army that could come close to purging a warrior race of their caliber. Of course, Frieza being lazier than a tortoise, didn't want the massive burden of doing the chore himself. So instead he did something that was completely unheard of since the Cold Family took control of the universe: the tyrant had signed a voluntary compact with the uyyasids. Frieza allowed their unobstructed existence as long as they pledged loyalty to him and agreed to pay some kind of tax to their overlord.

Unfortunately for the uyyasid's, Baden was one of the few warriors in the universe that had sufficient power to truly purge their planet if he so choose.

Baden's space pod landed softly on the outskirts of Planet Uyyasids largest city: Susaylon. The Susaylonian nation was the de-facto rulers of the entire planet, as no other faction of uyyasidians were even comparable to their political and military might.

Susaylon itself was a rather eccentric capital in comparison to other great capital cities. In many ways, it would've been an ideal nineteenth century town—an era in which the rich and elite conglomerated on the fringe of society and the dregs were stuck in the middle. Because of this fact, Baden's space pod hadn't just landed on the outskirts of Susaylon; it landed in the middle of the Susaylonian king's private training ground.

Swiftly, the king and his private guard surrounded Baden, whom was still stuck in his pod laying down with his eyes closed. `Of I wonder what I did to piss them off this time?' pondered the saiyan, smirking at how they were reacting to his reaction.

Baden popped open the hatch of his pod and jumped onto the ground right in front of the king. Moving rapidly, he disarmed every single members of the royal guard and threw their weapons in an assorted pile hundreds of yard away. "Miss me?" asked the cocky pre-teen.

"Oh it's you," responded the king, sheathing his sword behind his back. "What do you want this time?"

"Tell me: why the hostility? Was it something I did wrong?" asked Baden, trying his damnedest to feign innocence. He was failing miserably.

The king snorted loudly at Baden's proclamation, motioning his guards away while doing so. "What'd you expect? Blackmailing me is not exactly the best way of getting my favor."

"True that, but I wasn't looking for your approval. The only thing I want is your cooperation and that alone. So don't blame me for your lazy bookkeeping; it was only a matter of time before somebody with a brain actually saw through your ruse. Just be glad that knowledge of where the temple was located was all I wanted that time," scoffed Baden, jeering at the king's helplessness.

"What do you want?" reiterated the monarch, the irritation in his voice shining through. "I doubt you're here just to chat. That would be unlike you."

"Indeed it would," riposted Baden, his patented douchebag smile plastered on his face. "I think this would be a discussion more fitting for your throne room, don't you say?" The pre-adolescent's smirk just got wider watching the Susaylonian monarch's crestfallen expression. "Shall we walk?"

"After you," he signaled, walking in pace behind the saiyan as they walked back towards the royal palace. Soon after, they were in his throne room and the conversation began anew.

"Begin, Baden. We both know you don't mince your words nor is any demand too big for you to request. So, spill it: what do you want?" demanded the king, getting tired of beating around the bush.

Baden scoffed at the king's brevity, but the king was very right about him. He didn't mince his words nor did he ever get embarrassed by the audacity of his requests. "Remember when I said `"just be glad that all I wanted was the location of the temple.'" You see, I was being a bit fallacious when I uttered that line. I'm positively sure that you were curious about what I did with that information, am I correct good sir?"

"I don't like where this is going, Baden," answered the monarch, feeling more and more perturbed by the nature of his guest's oratory. "I doubt I want to know either."

The king's natural feeling of concern made Baden chuckle slightly to himself. Nevertheless, the boy pressed on in his oratory. "Upon investigating the Temple of the Penultimate Kaioken on Argos, I used a proverbial guinea pig to test its effects. Of course, this "guinea pig" wasn't a uyyasidian but a member of another warrior race. Remarkably, the "guinea pig" survived the transformation and was able to best me in battle to escape from his confinement. I would like to apologize personally for such negligence of such a power, but I've found a way of redeeming myself!"

Fury. Raw fury was glinting in the king's eyes. It was clear that the monarch was beyond livid with the rapscallion standing in front of him. This kid really had no idea what he was doing, and now the he was making him pay for it. "This better be good, Baden. You've been a thorn in my side for much too long as it is. Now I have to wonder about this new mega-fighter—a new user of the penultimate kaioken."

"Rest assured, my plan is good and thoughtfully sound. My guinea pig wasn't chosen at random, but somebody I picked out because of their…peculiar qualities. One of these qualities is the nobility of his heart, and the sound devotion he has towards his family. I sincerely doubt he'll hurt you or any of your subjects unless you have given him a reason to do so," narrated the pre-teen, while motioning the king to reply.

And reply the king did. "I'll need more than a faulty character analysis to feel comfortable about a penultimate kaioken user roaming throughout the universe. There better be more to what you're talking about than that."

Baden smiled at the skeptical countenance of the monarch, whom still had no about what he was going say next. "But you're wrong when you said it was a faulty character analysis. I know how the penultimate works better than the penultimate does. I could tell you everything that you would ever need to know about him. Fortunately for you, I've already written a dossier on how we're going to handle this situation."

Walking up to the Susaylonian king, Baden handed the king a large pile of documents and personal photographs. When the king opened the box, his expression immediately darkened.

"Let's get this straight: you have the ability to steal from one of the strongest beings in the galaxy, and not implicate me or yourself in the attempt? Somehow, I doubt you're that good. After all, I know you don't work for him," replied the king, feeling more and more uneasy about what the pre-teen was going to do. If either of them were caught, they were as a good as dead.

"Your concerns are understandable, but unfounded. My plan is full-proof and it will happen regardless; all the leg work has been done already. Frieza will be entirely ignorant of my plan if it's executed correctly." This was it. Baden tensed up when the king's eyes met his, probing for any sense of doubt or indecision.

The Susaylonian ruler sighed in defeat, not coming up with any better idea about how to rectify the situation himself. "Okay I agree, but I will find a way to put your head on a platter if this plan doesn't work. Do you hear me!" consented the king, his threat hanging in the air. "You won't be blackmailing me into submission again!"

"Positive," retorted Baden. "Oh, by the way, our penultimate is a very morally righteous person. When I retrieve what you've consented me to do, don't abuse your advantage because of your helplessness. I know you like control over things under your jurisdiction, but you have none and that's the way it's gonna be. Good luck in your future endeavors!"

"You're making me want to kill you more and more with each passing day, Baden," scowled the king, his eyes digging into the teen's apathetic eyes. "Someday, I'll make you pay for these consistent embarrassments!"

"Of course you will," proclaimed Baden, feigning confidence in the king's declaration. "Alas, I've got to go; other business to tend too and other monarch's to piss off. See you in two weeks with my delivery!" With that, Baden walked out and left the king tend to his many other matters.

Flying out of the royal palace, Baden made his way back to his pod and clicked on the navigation module. Predictably, the anally retentive voice started its ritual demand once again. "Where would you like to go, sir?"

"Planet Ruhr," responded the teen, closing his eyes and activating the stasis spray to knock himself back into a dreamless sleep.

"Coordinates set: prepare for takeoff," commanded the voice, blasting off for the saiyan colony once again.

* * *

A flushing sound aroused Gohan from his medicated slumber. Just like Vegeta, the boy was brought to the rejuvenation chamber almost half-a-day after Frieza's soulless torture session, which gave his unhealed wounds enough time to become infected. Fortunately, the rejuvenation chamber purged the source and residual effects of the infection before any permanent or lasting damage could take hold.

Gohan's eyes slowly flicked open, only for him to discover that the liquid surrounding him stung badly when it seeped into his ocular cavity, forcing the inquisitive brat to close his eyes once again to prevent any such agony from occurring again.

Suddenly the boy recognized the tell-tale sound of liquid being sucked down through a drain, the liquid receding past his head, then his shoulder, followed by his waist and finally seeping past his feet. Once he felt it was safe to open his eyes, the boy did so.

Light buffeted him from all sides, not-so-subtly advising the kid to shut his eyes again until he got used to the blindingly white light of the room. Once he had done so, he could hear a strange almost throaty laugh billow throughout the room.

The boy opened his eyes again, now much more adjusted to bright lights of the room than before. This time around he could gander the image of the holder of the throaty laugh he had heard earlier. He was definitely an interesting sight.

Malaka in Gohan's eyes looked like a rather small anthromorphic dinosaur with brown scaly skin. He wore a surgical gown from his chest down that was attached to a sturdy black chest guard. However, even with this armor, the alien didn't appear to be all that intimidating.

"Tell me, young warrior. What's your name?" questioned the dinosaur, smiling at the saiyan. It had been awhile since he saw a baby saiyan before. It brought back old memories.

"Aw…Gohan," mumbled the toddler, who was kind of embarrassed to be called out like he was. He was never that good at introducing himself to people he didn't know.

"Well Gohan, I'm sorry to inform you that there was nothing I could do about your tail. Unfortunately, it will never grow back again," Malaka declared, while swallowing a lot of spit. He just hoped the brat was more amicable about the whole debacle than his prince.

"Is that all?" questioned Gohan, who wasn't really sad or happy about the news. His tail was something he was always at least slightly fond of, but losing it wasn't a devastating blow to him; not like it was too Vegeta.

"Umm…yes, that is all. You may leave whenever you desire," replied the dinosaur, stepping out of the child's path, while pulling something out of his gown. "Oh, before I forget, here's your scouter."

The dinosaur extended his arm and offered the piece of technology to the kid, whom graciously accepted the gift. During the exchange, Malaka bent his head around one of the kid's ears and gave him a hint of advice. "If you want to bathe, best do it now. I'm going to have to report to Frieza that you've recovered soon, and he'll shut off all the hot water to the showers. Make it hasty too; I'll stall Frieza as long as possible."

"Thank you!" beamed the child, glad to have found someone who at least somewhat cared about him in this god forsaken place. He needed a bath very badly too; the combination of a very messy purge, vicious beating and the chlorinated water of the rejuvenation tank was making him feel very grimy.

Passing away from Malaka and out of the room, Gohan approached the private bathroom that was used exclusively by the saiyans. Now, the saiyans didn't get a private bath quarters out of any garnered sympathy from Frieza. In fact, the only reason they weren't stuck with the grunts was because Frieza had a much more ghoulish plan that was going on.

Turns out, the despot had specialty pipes brought in to channel extremely cold water to the saiyans private bathroom, making any form of bathing very unpleasant to say the least. Ironically though, the technician who also installed those pipes accidentally tied the cold water vein to Frieza's own bathroom as well. Of course, this technician was killed for his negligence but the damage had been done by then. Karma for Frieza could be very petty at times.

Gohan slowly sat down on a wood bench and opened an unlocked locker, scanning for a place to put his ripped and tattered uniform. Surprisingly, the locker had already been filled with an assortment of towels, washcloths, a bar of soap and one brand new uniform. Sighing from discontent, the boy shut the locker and kept looking for a bare locker.

The boy tried another locker barely an arm's reach away and was delighted to find that it was indeed empty. Unlike Vegeta, who had just put on his new unvarnished uniform and left without a sound, Gohan intended to get the dirt and grime off his body. Perhaps a shower would also calm his frayed nerves; heavens know he needed that.

Without any further ado, the boy began to strip off the rags he was wearing and started to store them in the vacant locker. First he removed his scholarly boots, then his socks, followed by shirt, pants and undergarments while grabbing one washcloth and towel from the storage locker. By the end of his unraveling, the boy was stark nude from head to toe.

Instinctively knowing the way to the "public" shower, Gohan walked through the portal into the dark stone-gray shower room. Overall, the dingy place resembled the gas chambers he saw in his history books just as much as any shower he had ever seen.

Intrepidly moving forward, the child turned on the water faucet and stood under it. He practically moaned when the hot jet of water slid down his sore back. When the water slid under his groin and down his legs, his joints started to spasms and he was forced to sit down directly under the drain.

After waiting a minute to allow his joints to settle, Gohan commenced the arduous process of trying to stand up once again. Remarkably this little endeavor met very little resistance from his body, as the initial shock of the hot water had already been long since pasted.

With nothing impeding him any longer, the child soldier began the task of washing off the muck from his light-peach skin. Slowly maneuvering his arms and legs away from the jet of water, Gohan slowly began to suds his aching appendages, making sure that he didn't scrub his aching body too vigorously. After cleaning his arms and legs, the boy proceeded to scrub and wash away the dirt and grime that caked his torso and his head.

Throughout the cleansing ritual, the blue water that hit his head would become some combination of black, brown and red when it trickled down the drain; a fact that he was most certainly privy too even when he was washing away the soap from his eyes. It was like the disgusting sight was trying to make the boy ponder the circumstances of his recent enslavement.

`I got far dirtier than I originally thought?' mused Gohan, trying to laugh or scoff at the sight of the animal blood and coal-black soot that stained his person. As long as a thought or action could distract himself from the gravity of the predicament he was in, of which was only beginning to reveal itself to him, he was happy. Unfortunately, his conscience wasn't going to give him a reprieve from his thoughts at all.

Gohan started to clutch at his head; he could feel a migraine coming on. The heat—which was once something he wished to drown himself in—was wreaking havoc across his body. It made his head hurt, it made his heart flutter uncontrollably and was making his mind vulnerable to self-persecution by weakening the conscious barriers he had erected around it.

Vivid memories abruptly started to assault his mind, and his vision fading away into a nightmarish dream. Both his eyes and sinuses started to swell, and his knee buckled and quickly collapsed out from under him. Before he had even known it, the boy was kneeling on the shower's tiled floor and breaking out into an inconsolable sob. Tears started to glide out of his eyes, down his cheeks where they interspersed with the equally transparent droplets of water. Only the red around his eyes and the stains on his cheeks would have given anybody a subtle indication of what he had doing while he was showering.

His mind began in the most unlikely of places. He was back in his room, dutifully studying at the behest of his mother. Back on Earth, studying was something that he learned to loathe—now it had a different meaning. His room was a place of warmth, perhaps even solace in comparison to life here. His cozy little space, the idyllic surrounding and his loving—albeit overbearing—mother. Now he was subjugated to seeing those happy times stare right back at him, reminding him of what could and would not be. The warmth and comfort he would never know again.

His solitary life on Earth faded away to the brutal battlefield of Vaarlam: a place he wished never to revisit again. A wish that had his mind chose to deprive him of. The place looked absolutely _ravaged_, as if some unknown force had drilled more holes in the place than a block of swiss cheese. Looking even closer at the horrific scene, an even more chilling sight froze him to the bone.

A mass of people were stampeding out of the city, running away in the same direction with an unholy uproar. Suddenly the entire herd of people were vaporized in the blink of an eye and not even their ashes remained to mark where they died. Only the cackles that erupted in the air tipped off the boy that something had actually happened. Gohan flew towards the source of the sick laugh and he couldn't stop his lip from curling when the killer became something more than a black silhouette in the air.

In essence, he was staring at his own reflection; a harbinger of what he would become. This other Gohan looked no older than six, but he was already fitting the part of a genocidal pirate with a natural ease. Strangely this other Gohan was staring back at his counterpart apathetically, not bothering to rationalize or provide an excuse for why he killed these people. They had to die; what else was there to say on the subject?

Presumed reality switched again, moving back to his memories once again. Two figures popped up in his mind at one time—the two meteorans that he killed mercilessly. Their heinous deaths at his hands running split screen in his mind. No matter how hard he tried to forget his repulsive actions, his mind refused to relent to his demands; it was like his mind had a vendetta out against him that he couldn't repay in any way.

The Meteoran nightmare vanished from his mind almost as abruptly as it began, transitioning to the final and most horrifying vision he had yet encountered in his sick and disturbed mind.

He was back in Frieza's audience chamber, watching the tyrant torture another helpless boy right before his eyes. The mad despot's shrieks of pleasure and euphoric cries drowned out the screams of hatred and agony that arose from the helpless child and his inaudible shrieks.

Hatred arose for the first time in Gohan's breast; all he wished to see was Frieza _dead. _He didn't care how or who did it as long as his ass was snuffed out like a candle in the wind. In reality, nothing else truly mattered to the boy now.

Frieza continued on merry way, whipping the other boy like there was no tomorrow. The tyrant had tunnel vision; he was feeling nothing but the joy he received from the wanton violence. Gohan had seen more than enough to give a verdict on Frieza's fate.

Swiftly moving into the picture, the valiant young boy socked the tyrant in the face and pulled the other boy out of harm's way. When he gazed into his face, his heart practically stopped again for the umpteenth time.

The boy he had rescued had turned out to be none other than his evil alter-ego, whom glared at his savior with a scornful derision. His face was scrunched and twisted together ghoulishly, as if his very soul was tainted with demonic whispering.

Gohan stared at his virtual doppelganger bewilderedly; his face taking on an ashen hue at the sight of his demented other-self. `Is this what I'm going to become? Will living with Frieza make me this way? Is this what my father is going to see when he comes to rescue me?'

Back on the outside, Gohan's sobs became roars that echoed across the stony room. "Why! Why! Why! Why!" the boy screamed, pounding his fist hardly into the tile floor. He didn't care that he fracturing the tiles beneath him or that he was bleeding from his frenzied blows. As long as he was left in the dark with no certainty about his future, he felt that his actions were perfectly reasonable.

Without warning, Gohan was jolted out of his trance by the sudden rush of cold water that splashed against his bare body. Evidently Malaka couldn't delay Frieza forever, and the rush of cold water was going to come inevitably. Fortunately for Gohan, it provided him the distraction that let allowed him to escape from the prison within his own mind.

Sensing that it would be best to leave, the boy shut off the shower and left the room. Once he was back in the locker room, he dried off and donned his new uniform. Without another word, the silent half-saiyan returned to the callous world he had been inducted too.

* * *

Goku's second trip to Planet Argos went by much quicker than his first, or that's at least what he felt as he traveled through space. However, the why of his previous statement escaped him. He couldn't explain why he so preoccupied with his thoughts in comparison to when he first went to Argos, but he was. Perhaps it was due to his train of thought, of which was stuck on his recently deceased loved ones. Maybe it the anticipation he felt about continuing his hunt for his lost son. Hell, it could be just getting used to the rigors of intergalactic travel.

Whatever the case, his space pod was back in Argos's atmosphere, descending down towards the planet's largest desert. Upon landing, the normally chipper saiyan crawled out of the vessel's cramped fuselage and started to stretch close by. While he was stretching his left arm, the automated voice of the ship's computer sprung to life, shocking the saiyan in the process.

"Emergency: Cold Family Space Pod #2512345 is out of fuel. All systems will be shutting down to conserve power and avoid a catastrophic meltdown. Do not try and manually restart the system, as such an attempt may result in fatal consequences. Good day!"

`Okay,' thought Goku, while tempted to scratch his head in confusion at the computer's curt way of speaking. `I wonder what I'm going to do now?'

"I guess I'll just look around," pondered Goku out loud, leaping into the air deftly at the same. There was no reason to stay around and dilly dally around his broken ship any longer.

Goku wandered aimlessly around the infamous white desert of Argos, looking for nothing in particular in his personal quest to find his son again. It wasn't that he was less focused on his goal than back on Earth, moreso than not really knowing where to look. Should he be focusing on finding Raditz and beating his location out of him, or ought he be looking for the place that they must've stashed his son. To be truthful, the Earth-raised saiyan didn't know even where to begin. His son was very small; the universe was very very big.

After three more hours of flying in the monotonous surrounding that defined Argos, the former student of the Turtle School of Martial Arts had grown more skeptical of the planet he was flying over. `Why would Raditz send me to planet that had so few people? I haven't even met a soul and I've been running at full speed for over half-a-day.'

Almost instantly upon stating that he hadn't met a single soul, a large settlement of argosians became visible over the dying horizon of Argos's day. Nobody was happier about this turn of events than Goku, whom was ready to call it day and begin again in the morning. He finally had the chance to meet new people, get some sleep and a bite to eat, and maybe even find out where his son was being held. Who knows, he may even get some new friends from the whole ordeal.

As soon as the intimate details of the argosian town became revealed, any dreams that Goku had about the settlement became dashed. Warzones rarely welcomed new visitors that weren't carrying a boatload of lead.

Like the town that Raditz "frequented," this village was designed in two semi-circle configurations that encouraged the presence of a major thoroughfare and central square. Also like the town Raditz "frequented," every building had been leveled to the ground by a vicious cannonade of ki blasts, and most of the settlement's militia had been slaughtered on the village's thoroughfare.

Tolerating senseless carnage had never been Goku's forte. Seeing innocent people be tortured and killed always riled him up, like it would for any just and honest person. His skin started to jaundice and his hair began to turn bright orange as he followed the town's main street towards the center square. He had a bad feeling that he wouldn't like what he was about to see.

Once the saiyan finally reached the square, he couldn't help but snarl at the sight he beheld. Over a dozen bodies lay in the center of the square—all of whom were alive, albeit theirs legs were clearly broken. Standing over them was this strange looking man with a very malevolent ki; it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was the one that crippled them. Instantly, the blood that raced through Goku's veins began to boil; his instincts were howling for retribution.

"Stop this!" Goku billowed, getting the fiend's attention as he walked in his direction. By the time the saiyan stopped walking, he was standing face-to-face with the monster that was terrorizing the argosian town.

The man who was terrorizing Argos wasn't an ordinary being; in fact, according to the blueprints that created him, he wasn't a being at all. The only things that could define this homicidal weapon of mass destruction was that it was a robot, had chrome armor, spoke less than five words per day outside of responding to orders and his artificial skin was dark red and deeply wrinkled. All in all, you'd never find somebody else like him anywhere else in the world.

Goku peered into the robot's eyes, which were giving the saiyan no glint or hint to the inner working of its mind—if anything there at all—to the saiyan's obvious frustration. Suddenly, the machine turned away from his adversary and continued on going about its duties, which in and of itself was a euphemism for unmitigated slaughter.

Cacao—or the given name of the bot who Goku was facing—began to charge an energy blast, of which was clearly meant for the decrepit pile of argosians laying in the center square. The heartless monster didn't cackle, mock or attempt to humiliate them; all it did was raise its deadly arm against them, preparing to end their lives mercilessly.

Right before the killing blow could be delivered; one of Goku's ki-inflamed arms shot forth from behind Cacao and restrained him. The two embattled warriors locked eyes once again, where one set of eyes were full of feral fury while the other set of eyes exhibited soulless apathy. Wordlessly, the mutually engaged parties broke their hostile embrace and continued their stare down from a respectable distance away.

"I'll give you one chance to leave. Be gone!" warned Goku sternly, feeling his sanity slip away yet again into the delirium that was the penultimate kaioken. If this monster provoked him now, he'd be destroyed completely and utterly. The Piccolo debacle would _not _occur again; there would be no armistice this time.

The silent giant inanimately stared into his oppenent's eyes, fishing for any holes in his foes technique or any wounds to exploit. Having found none in his cursory scan, the machine chose to create holes and wounds of his own. Even the thought of retreat hadn't been calculated into his design; retreating and regrouping wasn't an acceptable option.

With crisp precision, the AI's chrome plating rocketed onto the edges of his arms, a small series of missile silos replacing the relatively useless chrome armor. Without pause, the machine shelled the enraged saiyan with nuclear missile heads, and every single one of them scored a direct hit on its stunned nemesis.

Goku took the cheap shot like a man. The stubborn son of a gun refused to flinch or cry out in pain when Cacao's bombardment made impact. In fact, it barely even hurt it all. If that was all this soulless monster had, well…he'd be in the scrapyard pretty soon.

Satisfied with a job well done, the cyborg jumped in the air and tried to extradite himself from the town. He had about another twenty towns to purge; killing some fool who didn't know how to hold his tongue was just part of his job description.

"Hey where do you think you're going?" yelled a voice, converging on the bot from behind. By the time Cacao turned around, his opponent had already speared him in the stomach with his elbow. Quickly following up his assault, the saiyan jumped up and leveled a devastating uppercut to the robot's chin.

After thoroughly thrashing his opponent, Goku phased out of the picture and reappeared dropkicking Cacao into the ground. Using the momentary reprieve to his advantage, Goku grabbed the few remaining argosians and stashed them somewhere safe. They would _not _become a casualty in his battle against this evil being.

Once the cyborg came too, Goku had already reappeared in the square after having relocated the few surviving argosians. The saiyan was levitating inertly in the air, doing nothing but glowering at his robotic adversary; subconsciously telling the machine to give up by his body language.

"I'll give you one more chance. Leave. Leave now. Never harm another innocent again, and you and I can live in peace!" barked Goku, scowling derisibly at the soulless machine. Deep down, he wasn't sure that he even wanted to live by his statement. He wondered if his new resolve to kill was already being strengthened by this intoxicating form.

Goku wouldn't have to worry about going against his declaration. Cacao—as stated before—was a slave to his programming. And his programming was clear. Cacao ought to take no prisoners and Cacao may notretreat; even if the force that Cacao was facing was superior, of which in this case was proved by the reading on its scouter.

Wasting no more time, Cacao fired his strongest energy wave directly at Goku—he put all of his power in it. If it failed, well…Cacao would be no more.

Goku chose to let the machine's attack hit him straight on. He knew that the beast had used all of its residual power in that desperate attack, and he also knew how much it hurt to know that your best meant nothing. This monster deserved to know that its best meant nothing.

As the saiyan had willed, Cacao's energy wave detonated on Goku's face and concealed the unharmed saiyan in a veil of smoke. The robot scrutinized the form within the toxic fog, its scanner telling the machine that his opponent was unharmed. Although Cacao didn't admit the reality—due to the fact that his programming explicitly forbade such admissions—the machine easily could perceive that it had been bested. Its fate was at his enemy's mercy.

"You're finished," declared Goku, glaring crossly at the bot as he descended through the thin wisps of smoke. "There is no point in drawing out your end any longer. I've seen what you're capable of, and I will not allow you to kill even one more thing. Say goodbye!"

Almost instantly, the flesh and blood warrior appeared behind the droid and kicked him into the air. While the droid tried to turn around, Goku pulled his hands back and started to chant the iconic phrase. "Kame…hame….HA!"

Quickly thrusting his hand forward, the former protector of Earth relinquished his hold on the bright blue beam he conjured in his hand. Without any further ado, the effulgent laser engulfed the machine and disintegrated its mechanical essence. Cacao had been wiped off the map entirely, right down to its robotic core.

A crisp westerly wind swept over across the plaza, weaving through Goku's silky black hair and passing out of the scene just in time for another westerly wind to come into the scene. Piece by piece, each refreshing gale carried away any trace remains that Cacao left behind.

Breathing contently, Goku felt the euphoric rush that came with the penultimate kaioken burn away pleasurably from within himself, returning him to his normal state of mind. With the intoxicating energy gone, so did the anger and prejudice that tainted the otherwise beneficial power up.

It was not a secret why Goku spared so many people, even villains that didn't deserve such acts of clemency. Secretly, the Earth-raised man had grown to fear the effects of death, which was a very bad affliction for him. The people around him tended to die with extreme regularity. It first happened with Grandpa Gohan, then Krillin and Master Roshi. All of these tragedies kept on piling up until his most recent tragedy. Each new death brought on new and progressively darker epiphany: people have died because of his curiosity and moral righteousness; people who deserved to live their lives in peace and harmony.

But would he be in the right to discard it? He doubted anybody would blame him if he did. Who had done more for the Earth than him and gotten so much ingratitude in return? In the end though, he was extremely hesitant to make any serious culminating changes for fear of the road he may travel down if did so. Evil is a path that is forged by regret and self-loathing.

`Why do I feel so indecisive?' thought Goku, who had become more and more frustrated by the train of thought he was chained too. He wanted to find a moral line; a demarcation of black and white. Something he could label as good and something he could label as bad. It didn't even matter if he was the black in the equation. As long as he knew what he was, nothing else really mattered. Unfortunately, life was rarely a game of black and white sides, and Goku just didn't know the shade of gray he had stumbled into. Just what was he?

Goku was so preoccupied with his internal crisis that his body began to take flight on its own, soaring through the skies like a satellite in Earth's orbit. Suddenly, a spherical object glinted in the distance, almost blinding the naïve pseudo-earthling.

The piercing light gave Goku enough of a distraction to break out of his reverie, and for that the saiyan was eternally grateful. He dropped down to inspect the object only to find that…it was another space-pod.

Without warning, the pod popped off and the computer's intercom system turned on. "Welcome back, Raditz. Preparing coordinates to return to Frieza's star cruiser?"

`This is Raditz's ship? But I didn't sense my brother on this planet.' Goku was confused; was this some kind of overly elaborate trap? How was his brother hiding from him, especially since he doubted that his brother knew how to sense energy?

"Pod closing in five…four…three…two…one," declared the computer, not detecting anything wrong with the situation.

"Yikes," Goku billowed, jumping into the pod before the door could close, and effectively hijacking Raditz's pod. After all, wherever Raditz was—so was Gohan.

* * *

In the belly of Frieza's flagship, shadows danced in rhythm and lashed out against the air. Their sinewy limbs connected to one dark mass that intrepidly moved from place to place with an impassioned vigor. The scene zooms closer in and the light starts to transpose the dark, revealing a stoutly-build man. He moved with grace, skill and deadly precision; as if he were a jaguar stalking its prey through the bush.

Then everything changed. The thin lanky sinews of his arms bulked up considerably, and his power exploded throughout the room like a nuclear shockwave. Without an inkling of self-control left, the man started to punch and stomp the floor incessantly with more than a hint of madness conveyed through his body language. This man—who at one point in time was a graceful jaguar—became the very essence of an enraged gorilla.

Using the term gorilla became extremely ironic when the scene zoomed in again. What was once a blurry picture became more sharply defined and pronounced. All the little intricacies of an individual's appearance were noted, and his identity was established. The Prince of All Saiyans had remerged from his slumber, stronger than ever.

After losing his tail to his mortal nemesis and almost killing one of his few allies, the prince stormed off in a huff. He had so much pent up aggression build up within himself, and the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to purge any unlucky soul was slowly eating him alive. Words could not express how jittery he was nor could any confession express how damaging Frieza's influence in his life had become.

`Really, what has become of my race? When did we all become spineless and weak because of some freak? Mark my words Frieza, you will pay for this!' growled Vegeta subconsciously, cursing his overlord with his entire soul.

Vegeta was a soul of great ambitions and very little real motivation. He wished to have power over all, but he didn't really want it. Royal heritage and the birth right of an empire was the only reason he even bothered with his ambitions. It was his destiny as a prince to rule, and he was as much a slave to fate as the next guy. What business was it to him to interfere with his destiny?

Yet destiny had a very cruel way of depriving him of his birth right. Serving hand and foot for a tyrant that consistently chipped away at his pride, and whom strained the very limits of his honor just for his malicious amusement. However, things would change one day; his fate would turn around and he'd be the ruler of the universe.

It would be a day of glory; a new beginning for the saiyan race. Just as the immortal phoenix dies and comes back again stronger than ever, so would he. He would crush Frieza's pathetic little soul and the might of the legendary super saiyan would begin anew. Vegeta—the second coming of the great saiyan legend. It had a nice ring to it.

And that single hope was the only thing he lived on. Nothing else really mattered to the prince but his dream.

While the prince shadow boxed to the anthem of his last will and testament, Gohan snuck into the room. After melting down in the shower room, he had been running around Frieza's immense star cruiser looking for his only ally. The brat immediately deduced that his stiff and haughty overseer was probably training somewhere. Of course, the little boy was right but that wasn't much of a consolation. Millions if not billions of people lived on Frieza's flagship, and most of them were warriors employed by the Cold Family. Finding one training room was like finding one needle in every haystack in Iowa: it was dang near impossible.

Gohan roamed through hundreds of corridor and traversed through large swathes of Frieza's grunts and plenty of false alarms looking for his prince. Every time he noticed a map hanging in some distant corner, he was the first to check the map; who knows what he could find. Maybe Vegeta was in some obscure training ground out in the sticks? Wherever he was, he was doing a dang good job of staying hidden. At the rate he was going, it would take a miracle plus five lifetimes to find the other wayward saiyan.

And the boy got his miracle, but it came at a price. As he was scouting through one of these training grounds, the boy ran into a very unsavory character that went by the name of Zarbon. When the two figures ran locked eyes, their mutual disgust of one another shined through.

"Where are you going, brat?" asked the effeminate alien, moving his recently styled hair away from his bangs.

"What's it to you," Gohan fired back, already fed up by with all the incessant bull that he was being forced to deal with. He seriously underestimated how hard it was to get a straight answer in this hell of a joint.

Zarbon closed the distance between the two in an instant, hauling the impudent brat up to his eye level by his armpits. "I'm your superior officer boy! You will treat me with respect, even if it kills you! Now tell where you're going?" snarled Frieza's right-hand lackey, glaring daggers into the boy's eyes.

"I…don't know…sir," rasped Gohan, trying to breath over Zarbon's killing intent. `I really need to learn how to control my mouth. These people don't take kindly to smart-talk.'

"What do you mean `you don't know?' You do realize that a grunt such as yourself isn't allowed the privilege of free roam?" Subconsciously, the cyan-skinned man started to push the brat into the wall of the corridor. It took everything in Zarbon not to shank the boy and be done with the trouble, but Frieza wouldn't take kindly to that. His lord had wished for another baby monkey to play with for years, and now he had one. Killing his master's pet would most likely make Frieza angry, and that was something Zarbon didn't want to experience.

Without even thinking, Gohan started to sputter uncontrollably from the pressure Zarbon was exerting on his arms. If the coquettish man applied any more pressure on his bicep they'd probably fracture. "I…didn't know," muttered Gohan, trying to speak over the pain.

Fortunately for the young lad, Zarbon heard his victim's barely audible muttering with perfect clarity. Although he found it pathetic to hear some demi-saiyan try to plead for his life, there was nothing he could do to escalate the situation without getting court-martialed. And just letting the brat go wouldn't work either; not unless he had free roaming privileges. If the boy got caught again, his ass would be on the line. There was nothing he could do but escort the child back to wherever he came from, which was nowhere just yet.

In a matter of seconds, his moral dilemma was answered in the most simple of ways. Right as he about to interrogate the frightened child again, Gohan intercepted his next series of inquiries with a simple statement. "I was just trying to find Vegeta! I swear it!"

`So that was what he was doing. Can't say I'm that surprised. Monkeys like the company of other monkeys,' mused a rather annoyed Zarbon, who dropped the half-saiyan onto the ground.

With a contemptuous snort, Zarbon started to walk away from the demi-saiyan. "Brat, I'll take you to Vegeta on one condition: under no circumstances are you allowed to tell anybody I helped you. Also, don't you dare try and run away from me!

And that was how Gohan got to Vegeta's private training chamber. The effeminate alien abandoned the child at the door to the facility, and briskly walked away from Vegeta's humble abode. Not because he was scared or anything; he just didn't want to damage his hair after getting it styled.

Vegeta quickly spotted the boy walk in while he was shadow boxing. But that matter wasn't relevant to him, not as long as he could continue training unabated. It wasn't very often that Frieza gave him any time to get stronger, and when he did Vegeta didn't take it for granted. After all, power was all that mattered and training was the only way to get truly powerful.

It was for that precise reason that he was perturbed by his new charge. Once walking into the room, all the boy had done was stare at him while he trained. Where was the boy's initiative? Why was he just watching him like a simpleton? Granted, he didn't expect much power or ability from one of such low birth, but this little brat wasn't even trying to do something. How'd he expect to get strong without trying?

Pausing after completing a set of kata's and conditioning, Vegeta turned his back towards the inert boy before speaking to him. "Boy, what are you doing? Are you content to fawn over me until the end of eternity? Speak!"

"No," whined Gohan, before lowering his head in embarrassment at what he was about to ask next. "I just didn't know how to ask you for help."

"And why would I help you?" fired back Vegeta, turning around to face Gohan; his usual contemptuous smirk in full force. "Why should I give a damn about some third-class runt with no fighting pedigree? Training you seriously would be a waste of my time!"

"Perhaps so I wouldn't get you tortured again. Regardless, if you didn't give a damn, then why are berating me," retorted Gohan, snorting rather loudly at Vegeta's accusations.

Vegeta's face turned red and encroached on Gohan's personal space, but he didn't lash out or get into his face strangely. "A true saiyan doesn't fear pain or torture, brat. Best remember that."

"Okay," replied Gohan, his face flushing red from embarrassment. "I'll try to do better at not showing pain next time."

Vegeta groaned at Gohan's naivety; this conversation was just pissing him off. "It's not about not showing pain; it's about not being an idiot. What did you think was going to happen when you back-talked Frieza? A friendly slap on the back?"

"I realize that what I said was stupid. But I couldn— "

"You couldn't help but defend your pitiful fool of a father," finished Vegeta, fiercely scrutinizing Gohan's feeble appearance. "That doesn't matter now, kid. You have no father now, and nobody will be coming back for you. Learn how to live in the insanity, embrace it too. Logic and nobility died the minute you walked in these walls."

"Why should I throw away everything I've ever been taught?" exclaimed Gohan, lifting his head back up into an erect position. "If I throw away something that precious to me, I won't be myself. Everything will have changed, and I don't want myself to change.

Once again scanning the kid's appearance, the Prince of All Saiyans sighed frustratingly at the confusion and doubt that glinted in Gohan's eyes. "Nobody said this was going to be easy, but it's something that needs to be done. There is only one path for the morally righteous here: the path straight to hell."

"So I become a monster, huh?" growled Gohan, starting to feel his bidden energy rage to the surface. "I'm destined to be a heartless murderer like the rest of you? Is that what you're saying?"

Strangely, Gohan's words of defiance brought a smile on Vegeta's face rather than a scowl. Granted, it was a sickening smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Good, let the hate burn deep. Let it overwhelm you. Maybe then you will be useful to me."

"Shut up!" roared the boy, his pupils dilated and his wrathful glare became fully disclosed. He was breathing deeply with a rapid pace, like he was on top of a large mountain that didn't have enough breathable air. Static electricity started to spark across his body, while a tide of pure ki burst forth from within him.

`Oh, I made the little brat very angry! Let's see if he has the power to back up his words,' mused Vegeta, turning on his scouter and having the shoddy piece of technical craft record Gohan's power level. `Umph, he's much stronger than when I first met him. Around three-thousand, give or take one hundred. How perplexing? I must know how his power rose so exponentially.'

Suddenly, Vegeta was forced to duck under a surprise attack courtesy of the enraged demi-saiyan. If he was even a bit slower, he would've been cold-cocked. `Dang that was close. I underestimated the kid's speed.'

Fortunately, no matter how enraged the half-saiyan was, Vegeta was still overwhelmingly stronger, faster, more powerful and experienced. After the prince's close encounter with Gohan's right fist, the boy wasn't be able to lay finger on him.

And that was precisely what happened. Gohan tried to follow up his punch with a heel kick, but Vegeta caught his bony ankle with one of his hand and tossed him across the room with one full body twirl.

"Atta boy, brat. You're learning the main rules of battle. You've already got the first one right: back down to no enemy! Unfortunately, the only way you're going to learn the rest is through consistent beatings. Prepare yourself: I only state each rule once," proclaimed Vegeta, his depraved smirk growing in size.

"Rule one: engage with an objective," declared the haughty prince, before vanishing into the air to Gohan's abject shock. The boy rotated his eyes back and forth and shifted his eyes left and right, looking desperately for his infuriating target.

Almost instantly, a Vegeta popped up less than ten feet from him. He looked distracted and clearly not focused on the pissed off boy he could practically touch. Obviously, it was a pitiful ruse but the poor boy was too clouded from his all-consuming anger to see it.

Like a rabid dog, Gohan charged at Vegeta whom after-imaged seconds before contact could be levied. Reappearing behind the boy, the prince cleverly put the boy in a full nelson before continuing to mock him. "Rule two: Distraction and deception—use them. They're your best friends." With that, he threw the boy lightly into the air and side kicked him into the ground.

Vegeta put three of his finger into the air and started to cackle insanely. "Rule three: never fight fairly. Anything that you can use to your advantage, ought to be used," proclaimed the cackling saiyan, who disappeared seconds afterwards and punched the child squarely in the adam's apple.

The poor child's knees started to buckle from that crippling cheap strike, of which forced him to get on his hands and knees pathetically.

Practically on cue, the Prince of All Saiyans broke out into a violent paroxysm of mocking laughter; the ring of his obnoxious guffaw further humiliating the enraged demi-saiyan. "What's wrong brat? Cat got your tongue?"

Once he settled down, Vegeta's expression darkened considerably. "Final rule for the day: do not mess with me brat. Next time you won't live to regret it." The brat didn't nod or acknowledge his threat due to his throat almost swelling shut.

"As much as I like watching you further ridiculing your charge, I'm going to have to put an end to this." In a blink of an eye, Zarbon reappeared in Vegeta's private training ground with a cross expression that betrayed his normally suave body language.

"You talkin to me, Zarbon? What do I owe this displeasure," sneered Vegeta, glaring holes into the eloquent alien.

Scoffing at Vegeta's discourtesy, Zarbon flicked one of his recently styled locks of hair out of his eyes. "Frieza requires our presence right now. So I would recommend that you pick your monkey buddy off the ground and go to Frieza right now."

"Fine, just get out of my face," snarled Vegeta, ready to blow Zarbon's head clean off his head for that monkey comment.

"So be it," answered Zarbon apathetically, while turning back to walk to Frieza. "Don't be late; this is important assignment. Pay attention for failure will result in imminent death."

* * *

**Welcome to the end of the sixth installment of Cognitive Dissonance. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, albeit good part of it was filler. As mentioned in the last chapter, my updating speed will slow to about eleven to twelve days per update due to the reemergence of school and my editing/writing commitment with the writer formerly known as Goku Rules 98. **

**I. Review Responses. **

**Full Power: Glad you enjoyed chapter five so highly. I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. **

**EpicJesusRidingADragon. Well, your definitely the first person to comment on my story with an innuendo. I guess their a first for everything, I suppose. XD. No seriously, thanks for the praise. **

**Supersaiyaninfinitygohan. Glad your enjoying my work so much. Due note though that Baden will goes psycho more often than you can imagine. Believe me, wait until I get really into this story. **

**Goku Rules 98. Thanks for the superlative compliments! Baden's plan is one that is extremely intricate and well thought out, but you know how those types of plans work. If they fail, they fail hard. As for Raditz, wait for chp. 7. More on that will be determined their. **

**Ky111. I hope this chapter gave you a little taste of Gohan and Vegeta's minds post-torture. Both scenes were a pleasure to write. **

**Lucifvegeta. Thanks for the superlatives! **

**Tail supporter/Guest. Since you commented on the same thing, I'll supply the same answer: Neither Gohan nor Vegeta will ever see their tails again. I didn't just rip them out, I had Frieza burn and cauterize the root of their tails, destroying any chance of it returning. You can't squeeze blood out of a turnip, and you can't regrow something from nothing. **

**Important Narrative Announcement: I've changed the rating of this fic from M to T. Know I'm not exactly comfortable with this, but do want more visitors if I can help it. However, if any of you think that the content of my story is crossing the T boundary, feel free to comment and I'll change it back in an instant. **

**Good night and good fortune to all of my readers. May life bless us all!**


	7. Tributary

Vegeta and his battered and bruised charge briskly walked out of their training ground, navigating swiftly through the narrow confines of Frieza's ship back to the tyrant's audience chamber. Having completed this task the two saiyans approached their overlord, and for a brief moment stood face-to-face with the tyrant before lowering themselves down into a kneeling position, head tucked down towards the ground.

"Good day, gentleman," welcomed Frieza, bringing out his most toxic levels of false-friendliness to the table. "I do hope you both forgive me for my conduct the last time we met. Disobedience does need to be corrected, does it not? Thankfully, I know both of you won't harbor any…ill will. Will you not?"

"No," tersely answered Vegeta, trying his best to at least appear to be cordial. Vehemence and insolence were things that Frieza didn't tolerate well, which was extremely ironic because the tyrant dished out such feelings towards others constantly.

Speaking of the tyrant, the deviant was reading the faces of each of his favorite monkeys. What really caught the despot's eyes were the light bruises that covered the brat's face; marks that Frieza knew he didn't make. "Oh I see you've been…breaking in your new partner Vegeta. Do tell me young lad—what do you think of your new line of work?"

Shyly moving his head even closer to the ground, the boy muttered some unknown phrase before quieting down completely, amusing the arcosian to no end in the process.

"Still shy, I see," responded Frieza, watching the child squirm and wiggle wearily with great amusement. "Perfectly reasonable my young lad, but I do hope you revise your opinion over time. I'm confident that you will find me to be very _affable _when you come to know me better."

"Can we please get on with this?" interjected Vegeta, losing patience with the inanity of his overseer's mind games.

Swinging his eyes from Gohan to Vegeta, the tyrant gasped obnoxiously. "Such enthusiasm! You really are ready to go, aren't yah?"

"Yes, Lord Frieza," muttered the prince, lowering his head closer to the ground like the boy. `I walked right into that, damn it!'

"Splendid," quipped the arcosian, before getting back to the manner at hand. "Due to the negligence of one of my planet brokers, who has been disposed of in the meantime, one extremely valuable planet has been left under the table. Now I've got to snatch up this extremely powerful planet without being able to put my best man on the job; so I hope you understand why I'm so miffed today. Consider this my olive branch for how I treated you last time we met. Do you accept?"

"We do," answered Vegeta, his blood-lust laced smirk on full display. It had been a long time since he had been this excited about one of Frieza's petty purges. He had a feeling that he would be getting significantly stronger by the end of this mission.

"The planet you will be purging is called Zoon," declared Frieza, probing into Vegeta's eager expression scathingly. "Average power level: approximately fifteen-thousand. No known space fleet or intergalactic modes of travel as a species. You have a month to complete your assignment; no zoonian shall be left alive once your purge has been completed," reported Frieza, who seemed to be almost bored reciting information that could be said in almost any dossier in the universe.

Before Vegeta and Gohan could leave the room and head for the hanger bay, Frieza intercepted them with one last comment. "Oh, I almost forgot," mentioned the arcosian. "I'm almost positive that Cooler will have heard about this planet as well. He's probably sent somebody powerful to inspect and conquer the planet. Be ready to murder his expeditionary force; he won't be getting his grubby little hands on land in my territory. Failure to stop Cooler will result in death, if not by his men then by me. Do you understand?"

"Crystal," replied the prince, understanding Frieza's command explicitly.

"Very well then," proclaimed the tyrant, gesturing them to his private arsenal bay. "Take what you need. I want you off my ship in less than two hours; pods are already waiting for you in hanger bay number ten. Farewell."

Without any further ado, Frieza left his two favorite simians to rummage through the finest of his weaponry and protective gear. Intrinsically knowing what he wanted, Vegeta subconsciously moved right to the where the armor was located and began to hunt for a royal blue bodysuit without those bothersome shoulder guards.

Quickly finding his preferred outfit amongst all the other sets of armor, the prince threw on the bodysuit over his training gi. After having did that, the haughty warrior threw strapped on a matching chest guard to his…chest.

Meanwhile, Gohan was in the "weapons" section of Frieza's private armory. The young boy was enamored by the fascinating array of tools and gadgets that his overlord had at his beck and call. Did he want to take the ki sword? Did he want to take the ki gun. Regardless, he should get Vegeta's approval before he did anything.

"Hey Vegeta, should I take any of these thing?" asked Gohan, pointing towards the weapons rack.

Vegeta scowled at Gohan, partially wanting the boy to shut up and leave him at peace but also wanting to berate him for such a disgraceful request. He chose the latter of the two options. "A true saiyan doesn't need any gadgets or gismos to win in battle, kid."

"So I should just use my hands and fist instead?" inquired Gohan, trying to figure out whether he should obey or disobey his comrade.

"If you were anything but cannon fodder, then I would forbid you from carrying weapons. But as you stand now, just take something. Without some kind of pathetic advantage, you won't last less than two seconds and I haven't gone to this much trouble for nothing brat." With that, Vegeta turned his back towards the boy, entertaining no more questions from his charge.

Getting nowhere with his superior officer, the boy randomly selected one ki sword and one ki sniper rifle from the weapons rack. After holstering both weapons to his waist, the boy suddenly grabbed something that was flung towards him. Once the suspicious object was in his hands, the boy noticed that the aforementioned object was another bodysuit with a corresponding chest guard.

"Brat, here's your new set of armor. Put it on—we don't have all day for your lollygagging," barked the saiyan prince, his tone leaving no room for argument or protest.

"Okay," mumbled the young boy, slipping the form-fitting synthetic garb over his head while pushing his arms through its sleeves.

"Then get moving," pressed Vegeta, who was already agitated by all these little intermittent delays. If he wasn't allowed to kill something soon he'd probably lose it.

Unwilling to wait around any longer, the haughty prince sauntered away from the armory, letting his charge run to catch up with him. Soon enough, the aforementioned brat scampered towards him, almost hiding behind his toned calf as he walked out of Frieza's privates quarters.

Vegeta knew that Frieza was a very crafty little crustacean. Throughout the years, the prince became perceptive of his overlord's continual ruses. As Raditz once said, "When Frieza says there's good news—assume one of three things: lies, damn lies and faulty statistics." Granted, Raditz was hardly any scholar—the guy was barely smarter than Nappa, and that wasn't saying very much. But he may've had a good point in that respect.

This Planet Zoon affair reeked of faulty statistics. An average power level of ten-thousand? What kind of horse-shit was Frieza trying to feed them? Planet Zoon was nowhere near that weak. Only the most weak and decrepit zoonians had such pitiful fighting potentials. In fact, most zoonian warriors had power levels that were in the hundreds of thousands, and this wasn't even giving a side note to their fearsome king. Legend had it that he was as powerful as Frieza.

So what was Frieza's game this time? Only an idiot would think that he and his sniveling brat of a partner could take down Planet Zoon, and Frieza was certainly no idiot.

None of this made any sense, but the circumstantial evidence was irrefutable. By signing their names off on this mission, their overlord was effectively signing their death warrants. Without the power of the great oozaru—which was a power his favorite arcosian had the courtesy to deprive him of by ripping his tail out of his hind end—he didn't stand a chance.

"There's something rotten on Vegetasei about this, brat. Best keep sharp," alerted Vegeta almost too himself, startling his faithful pupil in the process.

"Hey Vegeta, what's Vegetasei?" asked Gohan, never having ever heard of the place before. It sounded important by the emphasis his prince subconsciously placed on the aforesaid word.

`Oh god help me,' groaned Vegeta internally, having half the mind to punt the kid through the hall like a football. Couldn't that kid ever shut up? Even for a few seconds?

"Nevermind," snapped the older saiyan, scowling fiercely into Gohan's peripheral vision while not breaking stride at the same time. He would not be entertaining any more discourse on his home planet now or ever again.

Both parties agreed to keep the peace until they reached the hangar #10—or the hangar of death according to the grunts whom were stationed there. Only the roughest and most powerful elites in Frieza's army were privileged to even grace these doors. In fact, there were only five soldiers who used the hangar of death consistently: Ginyu, Burter, Jeice, Recomme and Guldo. Why? Is that necessary to answer?

"Is everything prepared for takeoff?" barked out Vegeta rudely, glaring from one distracted, flustered lackey to another. One more delay and he _would_ blow somebodies head clean off.

"Yes, my lord," answered one of these lackeys, who scurried to the closest control desk and started to rattle off a consecutive string of computations and consent forms. "Just one moment monsieur."

"Fine," grumbled Vegeta, pacing towards his pod and sitting down on the tarmac his vessel was resting on. Suddenly, a beeping sound emanated from behind him, causing him to leap back and attempt to lash out at his adversary. Upon discovering it was just his ship, the prince let down his guard.

"Sorry about that," clarified the grunt, who was still typing command into his computer incessantly. "Should warned yah about that."

"You should of," admitted Vegeta, looking crossly at the bumbling buffoon of a lackey. "But I don't have the time to deal with your incompetence right now."

With his insult quota met for the day, the prince climbed into the cramped confines of his padded pod. Once the door was locked, he tried to relax as the distinct and familiar voice of the pod's computer beeped into life.

"Coordinates set for takeoff: prepare to leave the atmosphere," responded the machine, unaware of the fact that each discourse on leaving a planet was slightly different than the last.

`Whatever,' mused Vegeta, absentmindedly looking over the physical coordinates that were sent to his screen.

`Wait what is this?' muttered the saiyan within his own mind. `This isn't the code for Zoon. I've got to—'

Suddenly, a white bang went off in his pod, disorienting the older saiyan terribly. To make matter worse, as he was being distracted, some clear liquid was sprayed into his mouth, eyes and nose that instantly knocked the prince out cold. He would never get the chance to phone in for help.

And that was the way the people who orchestrated the ruse wanted this to go down.

* * *

Back on Frieza's warship, Malaka was furiously scribbling down commands into his computer's terminal. Everything went according to plan, but the scheming doctor still had to cover his tracks. One wrong move and he'd be executed without his non-existent right of habeas corpus.

Checking to see if they're was anybody around that could overhear him, the dinosaur slowly flicked on the transceiver part of his scouter. "Is this line secure?"

"Of course it is," responded the mysterious voice on the other end. "I wouldn't be talking to you if I had even the inclination that we were being eavesdropped on!"

"I see," muttered the doctor, continuing his incessant typing on his end. "Any chance of Frieza catching wind of our ruse?"

"Hardly," scoffed the other person. "Frieza's too prideful and arrogant to bother verifying the Planet Zoon situation. He's going to be as blind as a baby. Anyways, did you sabotage the coordinates for the Zoon mission?"

"Yes," reported the dinosaur. "When are you going to arrange my extradition? I'm not comfortable staying under Frieza's nose continuing my treasonous activities."

"Soon, very soon," assuaged the voice, trying to smooth the legitimate worries of his subordinate. "Any complications I should know about?"

"Vegeta figured out that he had been duped," replied Malaka in a serious tone. "I hope that isn't a serious issue?"

"Not at all," affirmed the other speaker. "I kinda expected Vegeta to figure out what we're doing, but he'll be too late to do anything about my plans. Good work, Malaka; I'll make sure your put in no more danger. Goodbye." With that, both conspirators ceased their conversation.

* * *

"My lord, your guest is waking up," yelled Rasin, saluting his leader with his right hand. "Permission to bring him in sir?"

"Given," replied Turles anxiously, while messing with his hands to mask his state of visible excitement. "Be back on the double."

"Yes, sir," answered the meddling warrior, running back to the hangar bay to retrieve the other saiyan.

Turles had been almost stunned into silence when the news of Raditz being captured was brought to his attentions. For all intents and purposes, he and his Crusher Corps were only on this planet to test something important. Just recently, he had been able to track down one of the few remaining seeds that remained from the Tree of Might—a legendary bio-organism that was said to be created by the gods themselves.

Quite frankly, how he was able to procure this seed was nothing short of a miracle. After weaving through at least two asteroid belts getting to where this treasure was kept, he and his Crusher Corps were forced to evade ten patrols of demonic warriors that were at least double their strength. Fortunately though, their stealthy efforts were successful and they were able to escape with the seed undetected.

Since then, Turles had used the tree's extract to revive Lakusei and Rasin while consuming the fruit that the tree reaped to feed himself and his lackeys. In all reality, there was only one explicit purpose for their existence on Argos: to plant another Tree of Might.

When Raditz was brought aboard his docked ship, Turles couldn't express his shock. The presence of this second saiyan changed every single one of his plans—and in a good way. With the Tree of Might by his side, along with a competent sidekick, who knows what they could do? Take over the universe? Sure. Resurrect the glory of the saiyan race? Certainly.

Suddenly, a voice chimed through Turles's thoughts, abruptly ending Turles's internal monologue. Whoever this voice belonged too; it was smart enough to halt its speech until his master's attention was refocused.

Once Turles attention had been focused, Lakasei—the name the voice belonged too—continued speaking. "Sir, we've found Raditz. May we bring him in?"

"Yes you may," affirmed the space pirate, who nonchalantly dismissed his lackey to bring in their prisoner.

Lakusei did as he was told and brought Raditz into the room with his brother Rasin there as well for an added bit of security. Not like the two of them were actually needed if Raditz became hostile.

Peering into his fellow saiyan eyes, Turles could immediately deduce that Raditz hadn't been having a good day, week or month. It seemed that there was a large black cloud hanging over his head judging by the dreariness of his countenance and the haggardly way he composed himself.

"Kakarot?" mumbled the long-haired saiyan, gazing straight at the other lower-class saiyan absentmindedly. The poor fool couldn't even see the forest from the trees.

"I'm not your baby brother, Raditz," stated Turles, who was still observing how his fellow saiyan was waking up after having been ambushed by two of his most trusted lieutenants. "I'm Turles, remember. Another lower-class warrior that was sent off planet before Planet Vegetasei blew up."

For whatever reason, the pale saiyan's suave tone was able to jolt Raditz out of his delirium and back into the reality that he lived in. What were once blurry images became sharply defined pictures and at once Turles's hidden identity became clear.

"So brother?" inquired Turles, lifting his hand into the air and waiving it across the entire room as if he was holding the entire world in his hands. "What do you think of what I've done? Impressive isn't it?"

"How'd you survive?" asked Raditz, gawking inattentively at his surroundings without wonder or any form of belittling condescension. "Didn't you die on that mission?"

"Frieza would think I did, that scoundrel," muttered the rogue, glaring angrily into outer space in the general direction of where Frieza's star cruiser was. "He knew that sending me to that planet with just twelve other men would be a suicide detail. And he was right, except for one little detail: I didn't die. That's going to be a mistake he won't live to regret!"

"You intend to kill Frieza," scoffed Raditz, turning his attention morosely towards his fellow saiyan. "None of us have the power to kill that demon. You'd be wasting your life foolishly by doing that. Survive, survive while you still have the chance to live."

Turles snort contemptuously at Raditz's self-depreciating drivel; just what kind of crap had the Cold Family been feeding him all these years. "Tell me," Turles began, drilling the other saiyan menacingly. "When did Frieza make you so spineless and weak? Where's your pride and honor, my brother? What kind of self-respecting saiyan speaks like that?"

"You don't understand!" growled Raditz, feeling anger radiate out from within himself. Why did he have to be so weak and pathetic when it mattered most? "He'll laugh as he kills you and soils your dreams. Direct confrontation is impossible; not until Vegeta becomes a super saiyan."

"Vegeta," sneered Turles in an amused fashion. "That little brat doesn't understand true power or leadership. As long as you follow him, you'll be destined for a life of bitter resentment and hellacious servitude either under Frieza's foot or his own if you continue to believe this inane notion."

"So I mutiny then," scowled the long-haired saiyan, his left hand pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I join up with you and go after Frieza on a suicide detail. With all due respect, I don't think you know who you're dealing with."

"Come with me, Raditz," sternly advised Turles, his tone giving his pseudo-ally no room for argument or protest. "There's something you should see," added the space pirate, beckoning the other saiyan to leave the room and follow him somewhere by the resolute wave of his hand. Seeing no way out without using force he didn't have, Raditz consented to Turles's demand.

As the fellow low-class saiyans walked through the halls of Turles's main star cruiser, the rogue saiyan started to speak once again. "Did you read the dossier on Argos before being sent here?"

"Yes," muttered his lanky consort. "Wasn't this place supposed to be full of rainforests and massive rivers?"

"Correct," affirmed the rogue space pirate, flashing a bloodthirsty smirk at his pseudo-comrade. "Argos was a very luscious planet before we arrived. It was a perfect environment to plant the Tree of Might."

The former soldier of Frieza's army lifted his eyebrows up in surprise and skepticism at Turles's confident words. "Tree of Might? Is that a variety of flower?" mocked Raditz, dearly hoping this wasn't some form of joke.

Turles growled at his consort dangerously; he wouldn't be disrespected on his home turf. "The Tree of Might is not a run-of-the-mill weed, Raditz! Best give the Tree of Might the respect it has earned before I make you!"

Thankfully for Raditz, this portion of their conversation occurred right before they reached the ship's viewing platform. Once the orange-tinged hue of Argos was spotted on the horizon, Turles forgot all about his threats; who could remember such petty details when a dazzling sight like the Tree of Might was on display.

Whatever pre-conceptions Raditz had of the infamous tree were snuffed away when he saw the tree for himself. The organism transcended massive; it was so large that it jutted out of even Argos's orbit. Even from the sky, its underground root network could be noticed by the fissures and cracks that it left on Argos's crust. The Tree of Might was a very surreal thing.

"Do you see now, Raditz?" cackled the rogue. "With the power of the Tree of Might we can do anything. Look at its power; ponder what we can do with it. The universe is up for the taking as long as we wield its power."

"It's…big," stated the lanky saiyan seriously. "But Frieza could vaporize a planet with his pinkie. Where are you getting this 'rule the world' thing from?"

"You still don't get it, do you?" scolded Turles obnoxiously. "The beauty of the Tree of Might isn't in its immense destructive power; it's from the fruit it reaps from the land it deprives life from." Pausing dramatically, Turles tossed a piece of fruit at his fellow saiyan that he had stashed in his outfit.

Raditz nonchalantly caught the wayward piece of fruit, while staring at his comrade bewilderedly. What was he supposed to do with it?

"Eat it," commanded Turles, watching his prospective ally like a hawk. "Take the piece of fruit as a sign of good faith. Believe me—you'll thank me for it later."

An awkward pause settled over the scene. Raditz genuinely didn't know if he ought to take the offering; it wasn't an easy decision. Part of him was curious to know about the effects of the fruit, along with Turles's intentions that came with this olive branch. But another part of him was shouting at him to chuck that piece of fruit as far away from him as possible.

Ignoring the loyal, cautious part of his mind, the long-haired saiyan dug into the fruit, tearing through the skin and sucking its juicy nectar into his mouth. Almost instantaneously, the former weakling felt his power swell and explode from within, rising to exponentially high levels. In all reality, he had never felt anywhere close to this powerful in his entire life.

A beeping sound knocked him out of his triumphant reverie, coming courtesy of a smiling Turles. "A power level of ten-thousand. Congratulations, you're the third strongest saiyan in the universe now. How does it feel?"

"It feels amazing," stated Raditz, still in shock of the nirvana running through his veins. "I've never felt so powerful, so in control…."

"So in control of your surroundings," finished the rogue saiyan, smirking like a Cheshire cat. "That you're a warrior of refute, a true man in charge. Did living with Frieza ever give you this sense of power and importance?"

"Well…." Raditz was drawing a blank about even finding a time where his services were appreciated by any of his superiors. Nobody had ever given a farthing about his growth or potential; he was just their grunt to push around and he had begun to accept that fate unconsciously. What kind of saiyan was he?

"And yet you maintain some piddling sense of loyalty to your prince. Think about what you could be if you joined my crew? Think about the power you could wield and the respect you can gain. Maybe you will progress to be my partner instead of my subordinate, and we could rule the world together. Two former peasants become intergalactic rulers. That has nice ring, doesn't it?" assured Turles, trying to coax the power-hungry nature out of his visitor.

For all his life, Raditz had been a nothing soldier. No poor adjective could describe his disgraceful behavior. Calling him cowardly, dopey or pitiful were nowhere even close to sufficient enough to convey the travesty that was his life. But why did he feel so inclined to resign himself to this fate of failure and inevitable disappointment?

Here he was: given a new chance to make something out of his life and he wasn't chomping at the bits for it. Any self-respecting saiyan would've jumped at this opportunity: to make their own name and become feared throughout the universe for _their _merits. He would bet even that sniveling brat of a child would've taken this opportunity without hesitation. At least he was a chained bird that would jump at the chance to be free.

Raditz began to snarl outwardly, but his mind was still obviously in a war of wits with itself. Turles smiled at his visitor's inner struggle. `One more push and he's mine.'

"Vegeta is an arrogant fool, Raditz. He only cares about living up to his royal title, and will sacrifice anybody—including you—at the slightest hesitation if you diverge from his desires by even an iota," stated the rogue, feeling Raditz's resolve starting to tear asunder. "He'll keep you as his nothing; the boy who'll lick the sole of his boot without even thinking twice about it. I've given you more in five minutes than Vegeta has in your entire life, remember that!"

What was once clear and set conviction had been eroded into a ragged precipice. When he was first dragged into Turles's throne room, the long-haired saiyan believed he could resist any form of torture to protect the dignity of his prince. Now, on the other hand, things had become much trickier. Turles was right on all accounts about Vegeta. The guy was an arrogant prick who cared only about his ego. But why was it so hard to just take the plunge?

But Raditz's mind was set in its path now. As long as he was corruptible, he would go with wherever the power went. And if that meant switching sides then so be it.

"I agree to your conditions," replied the long haired saiyan, eyeing the other saiyan seriously. Just because he agreed didn't mean he wasn't weary of his new ally.

"Good, you won't regret your wise decision," assured Turles, putting out his hand in a friendly gesture. "I'll make sure you get a high ranking in my Crusher Corps. Once you get really powerful, maybe you'll be second-in-command someday soon I hope."

Suddenly, Rasin and Lakusei barged into the scene and bowed down to their lord hastily. Their nerves were on edge and their eyes were sharper than a dagger. "Master, something urgent has come up!" they both yelled in unison.

"Can't you see I'm busy with another saiyan," growled their leader, who wasn't exactly appreciative of being interrupted.

"Cacao has been killed, my lord," shouted Rasin, trying to keep his cool. Whoever was responsible was going to probably hunt them next, and neither he nor his brother wanted to be catatonically frozen again anytime soon.

"Oh really," replied the rogue, turning towards his new comrade. "It looks like you've got your new mission, Raditz. Are you ready to roll?"

"Yes," stated Raditz, who was sweating bullets inside. There was only one other outsider that could've possibly did this, but it made no sense. He couldn't have done this; it would defy logic, rationalization or even logical possibility. `Baby brother; don't tell me you didn't stir up the hornet's nest? You may've just doomed us all!'

* * *

Back at the citadel of nomadic tents, Baden was waiting in his father's personal drawing room once again. Having disembarked on Ruhr, the pre-teen had quickly stampeded through the planet's pleasant atmosphere towards his family's pop-up city. For one of the first times in a long time, the pseudo-genius was actually excited. He couldn't wait to see his new comrade in person, and evaluate their competency. Maybe if they were really good, he could start enacting some of his more audacious plans. Regardless, it would be nice to not be as alone as he normally was. Loneliness can do some crazy things to yah.

The boy turned his head swiftly when the doors to the sitting room swung open, revealing the strolling form of his exasperated father. The poor king had bags under his eyes and his face looked haggardly and disheveled; it was like he hadn't gotten any sleep in a week.

"You look like shit father," Baden pointed out, before turning his gaze back to the floor. He had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going to lead.

The king snorted half-heartedly at Baden's proclamation, and took a seat beside his son. "Finding your consort was much harder than I expected. Most of my men don't want to be led on a suicide detail, and especially one not lead by me personally. Ironically, there were only six…warriors that fit your requirements that were even interested."

"But they agreed right? Why are you being so dramatic about this father?" asked Baden, genuinely curious about his resigned posture. "You've sent men on suicide detail before? I know it's hard, but you'll get over it!"

Baden's father couldn't help but scoff at Baden's accusation. He had no idea how hard this was on him, but Baden wouldn't understand why for at least another decade. "They're leader is waiting outside this room, Baden. Do you want me to send for him in to join us?"

"Bring him in," assented the pre-teen. He was curious about who his father had selected as leader for his strike force. Hopefully, the pre-teen wouldn't have to immediate revoke his selection though. His father wasn't always the best judge of character and talent in his military meritocracy.

"Very well," responded the king, raising his hand in the air. "You may come in…my son."

Whomever Baden was expecting to be nominated for his squadron clearly wasn't there. In fact, the pre-adolescent was stunned into silence by even the mere sight of the warrior his father had chosen for him. He wasn't expecting a warrior of Putzen's caliber.

In the saiyan army, there was only one person that could outrank Putzen: God himself. Nobody else—not even the king—ever defied one of his irrevocable decisions. And that was good because he was right ninety percent of the time; the other ten percent of the time was somebodies else fault.

The really startling fact about Putzen's meteoric rise to fame was that he was barely a man, and that is only if you consider seventeen year olds men. Many claimed that Putzen's only claim to fame was his royal name, and that he was both too inexperienced and too weak to be the leader of the saiyan army. After three months in office, they were all quieted; some by force, others by bribery and a select few by genuine respect. Whatever the case, Baden never expected a truly ambitious soldier like Putzen to volunteer for what was most likely a suicide detail.

"May I sit down?" Putzen asked, his Athenian facial features exhibiting a certain degree of cold politeness towards his superior officers.

"Yes you may," responded the king, getting out of his chair and offering it too his other son. "You can use my chair. I've got other work to do so I'll be retiring to my private study. You can find me there if you need me."

Neither Putzen nor Baden bothered trying to start another conversation for some time. The two ambitious youths mutely scrutinized each other, their eyes racing across each other's form looking for any physical defects or abnormalities, nervous twitches or tells that could be useful in a political pinch. After doing this for almost ten minutes, the two parties began to get down to business.

"So who are the other members of my task force?" inquired Baden inquisitively. If Putzen was on his squad, he was almost excited to find out who everybody else was.

"Hmph, let's see," replied Putzen, pulling out a briefcase and flicking it open. Casually grabbing a piece of paper, he began to recite the other names. "Interesting. This pamphlet states that are other members are Spiesen, Machen, Traje, Erinnern and Merken. That's quite the family connection, don't yah think?"

"No kidding," Baden muttered, whispering a small apology to his father for his callousness. "Every single person on that list is either my brother or my first cousin in Spiesen's case."

"They all wanted to rectify a wrong Baden. Most of the royal family has been hostile to your father since he gave you up, and this animosity spread to most of the children and teenagers in the royal family. You've developed quite the fan-club."

"If you say so," answered Baden, not caring one way or another if he had garnered sympathy for his plight amongst his own people. "But that doesn't explain you. I refuse to believe that you'd fight for me without an ulterior reason."

"And what makes you say that, Baden," rebuked Putzen, smirking like a politician that had been kept in the loop. "How can you say for sure I'm not joining for the same reason?"

"Banter like that may work on most fools Putzen, but not on me. You need to find a better excuse," retorted the pre-teen, snorting loudly in the process. "Let's be honest, Putzen: you're ambitious and pragmatic, but not altruistic. There must be a reason you went on this detail, even after attaining the highest position in the saiyan army. What is it?"

Biding his time a bit to Baden's frustration, the other teenager then started to smile hungrily at Baden. "Ambitions don't die when you start attaining them brother, they just keep getting stronger," responded the general, his stern expression almost giving a hint of a warning rather than a proclamation. "I've already outlived my ambitions with our little colony; there's nothing left to grab. Now I'm compelled to spread my legacy even farther; expand my power and influence throughout the galaxies. With you in control, I feel I'll have the ability to do just that."

`Well, that wasn't an answer I wanted,' mused Putzen's brother, scowling internally at his brother's reason. `I can't say I'm surprised by them though. Overthrowing Frieza, Cooler and Cold would be one hell of a way to advance your legacy and real-life power.'

"Anyways," muttered Baden, crossing his legs and hunching forward to cup his chin around the inside of his right palm. "Who are my other allies?"

"Spiesen, Traje, Merken, Machen and Erinnern you mean," questioned Putzen, trying to piece together Baden's request in a coherent fashion.

"Yes," clarified the pre-teen, groaning from the obviousness of what he was implying earlier. `Putzen better have been pulling my leg with that comment.' Truthfully though, he thought Putzen was dead serious.

"They are all competent if that's what you want to know," stated Baden's brother, his countenance turning crest-fallen for just a second. "But I think they're over their heads. Quite frankly, they don't know what living like fugitives is like and I fear that will come back to bite us in the end."

Baden's expression shifted from thoughtful contemplation to deathly serious in less than a second. Every single one of his plans needed almost an inhuman level of precision, and any flaws in his soldiers needed to be expressed. "Start talking, Putzen. I need to know who I'm dealing with!"

"Fine," fired back Putzen, exhibiting no change in emotion from Baden's voice fluctuating in its tone and pitch.

"Machen is a competent warrior; he does as he's told and is great diversionary target during covert missions. But he had two fatal flaws: one is his libido and the other is his propensity for alcohol," recited Putzen, as if this wasn't the first time he had to explain Machen's faults.

"There have been multiple jokes circulating about Machen's exploits with the fairer sex, or the lack thereof to be more precise. He attempts to flirt and ends up getting slapped for his troubles." Almost a sliver of a smile slid up Putzen's face. Watching his brother get turned down time and time again never got old.

"The poor guy; he must be hornier than a three-balled rabbit," joked Baden crudely. "But I don't see how this is much of a problem. Granted, we'll need to do something about his raging sex drive if it becomes a liability on a mission."

"Unfortunately that isn't the real issue," stated Putzen with a great deal of conviction. "It what happens after he's rejected. I've seen this story unravel more than once: he feels depressed, he goes to his favorite bar and gets hammered drunk, and then spills his guts about everything that going on in his life."

Putzen paused to catch his breath before completing his character assessment. "When he starts talking, he also revealing any valuable information we may have given him. To be honest, I didn't know about this flaw until I was caught him in the same bar I was drinking at a few months ago. Safe to say, I berated him endlessly about it and demoted him from being a brigade to a company commander. I can't empathize this enough to you Baden: he can't be trusted with valuable intel. You will regret it."

"Good to know," replied the pre-teen, his eyes focused on the matter at hand. "I'll make sure he doesn't learn anything valuable until right before we move."

"See that you do," responded the other teenager, who was staring back at Baden with an equal level of concentration.

Baden scoffed at his friend, rolling his eyes like a bratty child. "Done and done. Let's start talking about the deficiencies of everybody else, albeit I wouldn't mind hearing a typical story of how my other brother gets slapped. There isn't enough cheap comedy in the world these days."

"Perhaps another day," answered the general, his tone flat and dead. "Anyways, on to Traje. Next to me and you, he's the most powerful warrior in our group, and that isn't even mentioning that he's probably the smartest. I'd reckon—"

"You're not making any sense," interrupted the impatient eleven year old, while hoisting his right leg onto of his left knee. "Power and intelligence are good things Putzen; what could be wrong about this picture?"

"Laziness. Traje is very smart and powerful but he doesn't ever desire to apply it. To get him to do anything, you need the written consent of a superior officer along with an appropriate probable cause. Even then, you only got a fifty-fifty shot at convincing him to work alongside you. The kid is a living headache," replied Putzen, choosing to ignore the irony that he was calling somebody who was only two years younger than him a kid.

"He sounds like a pain in the ass," muttered Baden, "but I'm not concerned. I've always got probable cause and I am the superior officer. Anything else to add?"

Putzen's smirk just got wider after hearing Baden's unwavering arrogance; he didn't know who he was dealing with. "As a matter of fact, I do. Even when he does consent to doing something, it's rare that it isn't half-assed. I'm sure you know how dangerous a quality such as that is."

"Your right—he is a pain in the ass. I guess you'll just have to accompany him whether he goes on a mission to close up any of his loose ends—cover up his shortcomings, per se." If Baden's triumphant grin would've been any more demeaning, he would've been a good carbon copy for Frieza. The pre-teen couldn't believe that his contemporary had forgotten rule number one of political rhetoric: be careful with your words or they will come back to haunt you.

"So be it," sighed the former general. `I'm going to find a way to make you pay for this, Baden.'

Baden's not-so-silent victory in political banter was very short-lived. More work had yet to be finished. "Anyways, what's wrong with Spiesen?"

"He's a fat-ass—that's it," answered Putzen, jerking his head around in a circle due to a progressing feeling of boredom he felt about this conversation. Reciting information he knew by heart was very boring.

"That's…it," uttered Baden, stupefied by the seriousness Putzen used to hammer out this point. Of course being morbidly obese was bad, but some layer of girth was actually somewhat useful depending on the style of fighter you were.

"That's it," reiterated Putzen, after ceasing to spin his head around on an invisible axis. "You would have to see him to believe it."

Choosing not to comment on Spiesen any longer, the pre-teen commander continued on to the topic of his final two charges. "Merken and Erinnern. What do you have to say on them?"

"Nothing that you wouldn't gander at first sighting," muttered the former saiyan general, who seemed to be shying away from the subject.

`Oh this seems to be good. Time to pry a bit deeper,' mused Baden, sensing a little weakness or hesitation in his ally's expression. "Oh what do you mean by 'nothing that you wouldn't gander at first sighting?' I'm dreadfully curious about your intent when you said that."

Putzen scoffed rather loudly at Baden's accusation; not liking how his partner was wording it one bit. But it wasn't his call to protest it. "They are barely older than me if you combine their ages; the only thing could really be a problem is their experience. Other than that, Merken and Erinnern have very few flaws. In fact, their growth and development is remarkably similar to—"

"Tread no farther, Putzen. There has not and never will be somebody like them again. Don't utter such blasphemy in front of me again!"

"Whatever," rebuked the other teenager, subtly rolling his eyes at his "superior." "None of my business anyway; that is if you want to make your personal issues my business. Nevertheless, regardless of the path you choose, here's a hint of advice: you can't keep burying the past. One day it will bury you."

The other child chose not to verbally answer Putzen's warning right away. Instead, the hyperactive pre-teen leaped out of chair and encroached on his ally's personal space. "Burying the past is my prerogative; you won't dictate when or if I forget such a traumatic memory."

"I never said I would," muttered the other teenager, feeling his lower body sink farther and farther into the padded cushion of his seat. He closed his eyes and let out of relaxed breath, dissipating some of the foul tension in the room. "But I won't recall my suggestion; it is something you need to consider doing."

Baden crept closer into his brother's unfazed face, glowering at the stalwart teenager as if he was trying—and failing—to intimidate him. "Don't preach on something you don't understand. What happened those years ago is something that should be _never _forgotten, not by you, me or the rest of the saiyan race."

By then, the temperature in the room had dropped by as much as the tension had exponential increased. Baden could practically see the whites in his brother's eyes, that is if Putzen's eyes were actually open, which they were not. Suddenly, the former saiyan general flicked his eyes open and lifted his head up so he could touch his younger brother's nose. "Personal space, brother. I'm sure you don't want our first verbal correspondence to end on such rocky shores. Such belligerence is very unlike you."

Consenting unconsciously to Putzen's warning, the eleven year old distanced himself somewhat from his older brother. But that didn't stop him from glaring mercilessly at the saiyan general. "I agree, Putzen. Just don't compare Merken and Erinnern in such a manner again and an engagement like this won't happen again."

"I suppose that's an agreement I can get behind," smirked Baden's older brother, getting out of his comfortable lazy-boy. "How about we meet the others? They ought to know their first assignment before we proceed any farther, don't you agree?"

"I guess so," conceded Baden, while shrugging his shoulders to give his approval—or apathy; nobody really knew how to differentiate the two. "Lead the way I guess."

Putzen grabbed hold of his brother's arm and teleported out of the room, only to reappear in a room inconspicuously similar to the one they left in the first place. Thankfully, for Baden's sanity, Putzen was correct in regard to the whereabouts of all of Baden's other underlings. They were all sitting—or sprawling in the case of Traje—down on the sofa and chairs of the room.

Upon first sight, Baden's little strike force was quite the eclectic bunch. Convincing anybody that all of these eccentric souls were related would be a hard sell, but alas they were and that was how it would stay. One big happy, dysfunctional pseudo-family.

Like one big happy, dysfunctional pseudo family, everybody—with the exception of Traje and Putzen once again—started to pester Baden for questions.

"Baden, what's working for Cooler—" chimed in Spiesen, interested in knowing what life was like in Cooler army before he was cut off. Was starvation used as tool? He sure hoped not!

"How'd you get so strong?" chirped in Erinnern, amazed by the power he was sensing from his brother. He couldn't even fathom how he had gotten so strong so fast.

"What'd do you need from us?" quipped Erinnern's brother, exhibiting a reasonable level of caution toward his wayward brother's plan. After all, their father had been coerced into eliciting their support. There was a good chance that this was going to be a dangerous assignment.

"Did you get any—" Well in Baden's mind, the pre-teen was glad that he interrupted Machen's question before he could finish. It was either something humiliating or erroneous…most likely both though.

"Hey guys, one question at a time," gesticulated the overwhelmed eleven year old, trying to lower both the volume of everybody's voice along with number of questions each person fired off rapidly.

Meanwhile on his patented armchair, Traje spoke up, stunning everybody in the room. "Come now fellas. Let the guy have his space; nobody likes a volley of bothersome questions."

All the din and clamor over Baden's arrival immediately halted after Traje uttered his strange declaration. During the silence, Baden scanned through the room, dissecting and psychoanalyzing his cadets.

Baden's eyes almost instantly locked onto Spiesen's blimp-like form, and what a unique form it was. Justice had not been served when Putzen mentioned his weight as a possible detriment; he wasn't just a bit chubby or stout, he was morbidly obese. The poor bastard looked like he wouldn't be able to move up a flight of stairs, let alone fight against one of the strongest beings in recorded history.

`How…does that happen?' muttered Baden to himself, still flabbergasted by what he was seeing. Saiyans weren't exactly known for their slow metabolisms, and becoming that portly should've been impossible for a battle-ready saiyan. Quite frankly, how Spiesen had become so fat was nothing short of a medical miracle; a phenomenon that could never be explained.

Swinging his eyes to the far right, Traje came into Baden's sight. Although his appearance wasn't nearly so shocking as his cousin Spiesen, the lazy bastard could definitely stood out in a crowd. After all, very few saiyan's actually could claim a Mohawk hair style.

Machen was the next person that was unknowingly scouted by Baden's merciless eyes. For somebody who loved to flirt and screw around, the young male sure looked like a spaz. Spiky mullets had not nor ever been popular with the fairer sex. Unfortunately, it was doubtful that the dolt had ever been notified about that factoid, judging by the constant wavering of cologne from his persons.

Erinnern and Merken were the final two to be judged by Baden's scathing glare. At first glance, Baden could find nothing wrong with either of the two. Yes they were both young, but not younger than him when he was first employed by Cooler. From a battle perspective, they both looked skillful and deadly.

But for some reason that Baden didn't fully understand, the pre-teen commander just knew he was going to dislike those two.

Pressing his finger into the bridge of his nose, Baden cleared his throat rather loudly to get the attention of every other saiyan in the room. Once he had their full and undivided attention, the pre-teen commander began his welcoming speech. "Well, let us begin."

"To begin, I would like to thank all of you with the deepest conviction in my heart about volunteering for this grand and glorious enterprise. Hopefully, your faith will be rewarded handsomely when all of this is said and done, but I can't promise you that—and I doubt you expect me to be able to either."

Suddenly, Traje interrupted Baden's welcoming interception with a disgruntled groan. "Nobody cares about these pleasantries, Baden. With all due respect, please get to the point."

"You're out of line, Traje!" barked Putzen, intervening on his superior's behalf. "It's not your jurisdiction to dictate how Baden chooses to deliver his introductory speech."

By the time Putzen was done lambasting Traje for his disrespect, the aforementioned Mohawk adorned lad was already feigning sleep in his lazy boy. Needless to say, just about everybody in the room sweatdropped rather severely by the apathetic boy's antics. For a split second though, Traje opened his eyes again and muttered a "whatever" at Putzen's stern warning.

Using the distraction to his advantage, Baden silently went over the second part of his speech before verbalizing it. Once he was satisfied, the pre-teen continued his thankless endeavor. "The saiyan race is almost extinct; only living in fractured clusters on the fringes of existence. We all live on a razor's edge; one tiny mess up could mean the difference between the life and death for everybody that we love."

"Is this any way to live!" roared the pre-teen, his cheeks flushing red from the amount of embattled passion that was coursing through his veins, urging him to continue onwards. "Every day we live in fear of what the future will become. Our lives have become a continual game of cat and mouse, where failure has become a synonym to imminent death. Intergalactic society has reduced us to the role of a pariah, condemning us for acts that we've never committed. They've decided to punish us for a world that we had little hand in creating."

`Damn, I'm on a role!' smirked Baden from within himself. His well of inspiration was just gushing forth, supplying him with an inspiration speech that was both enthralling and empowering. Except for Traje, everybody seemed to be falling into a delusional fervor.

"Gentleman, we stand here at dawn of a new day. The Cold Family would like us to believe we are powerless; that we don't have any power or control over our destinies. And unfortunately for most souls, they're correct. But we are different. With enough spirit and devotion, we have the ability to change the world; to make the world a more hospitable place. By our hand, we can and will be the downfall of the entire Cold Family regime! When the next dawn comes, the world will be a better place!"

A brief round of applause ran its course through the room, and in the case of Erinnern and Spiesen in particular, hoots and hollers. Baden looked on at the scene contently, like he was relishing the reception his rousing speech got. He had a feeling that this would be the first of many great successes in the very near future. If these souls were worth even half their reputation, Cold, Frieza and Cooler would be dead within half-a-decade.

"Yes, yes Baden. That was inspiring and all, but what are we supposed to do?" inquired Traje rudely once again. He really wanted all of this prompt and pleasantries to be over. Getting his job done quickly was all he desired. Was that so much to ask?

`Somebody has got to teach Traje manners. One day, he's going to say something disrespectful to the wrong person, and then we will all be screwed,' mused Baden, staring at his dull-faced brother critically. "Nothing much; today was mainly going to be an introductory meeting anyway. Nevertheless, I've got to meet the king of Uyyasid again on a political issue. He's going to need my help."

"Pardon my nosiness, but why are you rendezvousing at Uyyasid?" asked Putzen, looking at his superior office skeptically. "What is there that warrants your attention to that degree."

"Important business," replied Baden, who was getting more and more annoyed by being questioned constantly. "Anything else you wanted to add, I've got—shit why is my pager beeping!"

The abruptness of Baden's declaration threw every other saiyan in the room for a curveball. What could cause their leader to shriek so unexpectedly? Putzen probably said it best. "What just happened, sir?"

Almost quicker than the speed of light, Baden plopped down a portable computer on the room's main table, turning the machine on and started to fly through a litany of password encrypted screens and security firewalls. The boy started to sweat profusely, and his eyes were glued to his portable screen. Soon enough, Baden started to cuss out loud when he realized what was going on.

"Oh eff this shit. You got to be kidding me!" he snarled, almost willing to throw his laptop out of the room. "This could potential derail everything!"

"What's wrong Baden?" inquired Merken, waltzing through a plethora of his brother's into the foreground of the scene. "Maybe I could be of assistance?"

"I just got a page from one of my contacts in Frieza's military. Raditz's ship just blasted off without any kind of notarized consent, neither by Frieza nor any one of his numerous lieutenants'. That idiot is going to get himself killed!"

"Raditz," muttered Merken, pausing to dissect the scene for the problem that Baden was freaking out about. "If my memory serves me correctly, isn't he that saiyan runt that works as Frieza's whipping boy? Why is his loss such a blow to you? Surely there are other fighters that could take his place?"

"Merken," growled Baden, glowering at his young charge furiously, "Raditz isn't in that ship. My contact all but confirmed it when he conducted a cursory scan of the entire ships fuselage. No, the situation is far direr than that!"

The younger boy shrugged his shoulder and cocked his head to the side like he was confused. "Then what's the issue? I'm not seeing the necessity in freaking out over this yet."

"If my suspicions are correct, and they always are, the person who stumbled onto that ship is integral to my plans. Without him, everything becomes at least one-hundred times more complicated. Eff your naivety Goku!" cussed the pre-teen, cursing both the idiot saiyan and his computer for not being able to track his location.

"Do you need me to find him?" requested Merken, while putting his hand on Baden's shoulder, like he was trying to placate his superior. "I'm kind of a whiz kid as far as technology goes! Maybe I could find him for you!"

Baden immediately vacated his computer and gestured his younger brother to his impromptu seat next to his laptop. "Knock yourself out. I'm not good with computers; they irritate me like nothing else."

"Okay dokie," smiled the young soldier, taking Baden's invitation with a child-like earnestness. Quickly hacking through at least ten interfaces, twenty firewalls and a dozen antivirus programs, the kid finally brought up the interface that regulated the transportation logistics of Frieza's army. "Tell me the manufacturing number on Raditz's ship. I should be able to root out his final destination along with the hangar he'll be redirected too."

"The manufacturing number of his pod is #3245098. Does that satisfy you?" recited Baden snidely, still in a very bitter and anxious mood over this entire debacle. "Are you done yet?"

"Hold your horses, I'm almost done," retorted Merken, who was typing in the pod's manufacturing number and triangulating its final destination in the same motion. "He's heading for Frieza's main star cruiser; hangar bay #27 to be exact."

Baden let out another chain of curses before shutting up again. Things had not been going well for him today, and he couldn't do shit about it. He had to be on Uyyasid in a week; there wasn't time for this shit.

"My plan's ruined," sighed Baden inconsolably. "That idiot is going to be captured and killed like a dog, and the news will surely make it back to Uyyasid. All of my clever planning, it's going to be all for naught if I don't find a way out of this shit quickly!"

Merken and Putzen approached their panicking brother from both sides, each of them placing their hands over Baden's densely packed fists and speaking in perfect synchronization. "Slow down Baden. You're speaking in riddles; nobody knows how to help you until you get ahold of yourself."

Quickly averting his gaze towards his two rather brazen siblings, Baden raised one of his eyebrow above his furrowed brow, expressing his dual feelings of skepticism and confusion with that simple gesture.

Sensing his brother's discomfort, Merken removed his hand from Baden's shoulder and return the wayward hand to his side. "Baden, you should tell us what's wrong. Until you do, we can do nothing to rectify this situation for you. Let us help your endeavors Baden."

"I suppose so," muttered the pre-teen tersely, feeling himself calm down somewhat. He knew he was at the verge of another panic attack, but he couldn't let himself fall into such a state again; not when his entire plan was hitting a crucial phase. There was no time for a screw up of epic proportion now.

Baden toke a deep breath and exhaled slowly, contemplating trusting his comrades the vital intel that this mission demanded. If there was even one mole in this room, they were all doomed. But he needed their help now; he couldn't withhold information. "At this time, I'm trying to recruit a potentially strong ally to our cause. Unfortunately, I've just learned that this ally's father is the one in Raditz's space pod, heading for Frieza's star cruiser where he will be surely executed. My client holds his father in extremely high regard, he'd drop our cause in a second if he learned his father died due to our negligence. This is not good."

"So what's preventing you from retrieving him?" asked Merken, who was still confused by why Baden turned so jittery so quickly.

But that wasn't the response Baden was looking for, and his over-the-top feelings of desperate anxiety pushed him into another conniption fit leveled straight at his younger brother. "Do I have to repeat myself again? What part of `I have to be at Uyyasid' did you not apparently understand?"

"Calm down," answered Merken sternly, moving his hand up and down in a calming gesture to cement his point. Once Baden had calmed down somewhat, the younger boy turned towards Putzen and muttered to his former commander. "Do you have an idea about how to help Baden retrieve this `figher?'"

Putzen simply smiled like he was a part of an inside joke. "Of course I do, but that doesn't mean that I'm not privy to the fact that we are thinking of the same thing."

"Planning without all the fact is dangerous, Putzen," snarled Baden, glowering at his two associates angrily. Being kept of the loop was not something that Baden enjoyed, especially by the soldiers that were under his command. Mutinies and dissent were the only things that came when underlings were allowed to conglomerate without their leader's approval. After all, that was what Baden was doing against Cooler. He knew best.

"You need us to retrieve this fighter, correct?" snapped Merken, who didn't exactly appreciate having Baden snarl at him without just cause. "If not speak up. We need to know if you want us to do something about it!"

In a fit typical of a pre-teen, Baden rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "Not correct," he muttered. "I need him to just escape the compound alive. I couldn't give less of a crap where he goes; his presence just better not be felt or rumored about. Happy?"

"Yes," smirked Merken haughtily, staring at Putzen with his classic knowing smile. "Make sure I'm hearing this right: this Goku is vital to our leaders plans. As we speak, this "Goku" is heading towards Frieza's spaceship and there is nothing we can do about redirecting his path. To make sure Baden's plan stays on course, we need to provide a distraction so large and all-encompassing that nobody in Frieza's star cruiser will even see this "Goku." Putzen—you thinkin what I'm thinkin?"

Throughout Merken's abridged summary of the mission, Putzen couldn't help but snicker at where Merken was leading. Blood was going to be spilled, he could just feel it. "I think I do."

"What in the name of God are you talking about?" roared Baden, almost all out of patience with his younger brother and his conniving older brother.

"Nothing at all," smiled Merken, while trying to feign ignorance terribly. Dramatic irony was a beast that was very hard to tame at times. "I just figured out how to solve your little dilemma for you."

"Oh have you?" sneered Baden, posing his taunt in the form of a question. "How exactly are we going to prevent one billion people from seeing one man?"

Unfortunately for Baden's frayed nerves, his growls and sneers were just goading Merken on. "Simple really. Goku needs a distraction; six extremely powerful warriors attacking your space ship is one hell of a distraction."

* * *

"This is bad!" If there was either an understatement in the world, that was it. After having been gassed, both Gohan and Vegeta had awoken in unusual surroundings. Wherever they were, it most certainly wasn't Planet Zoon.

Even more mysteriously, there were no signs of a crash landing or any technical issues going on with their pods. Just one moment doing Frieza's bidding, and the next moment ending up on some backwater hellhole with no way out. Not exactly the start that they were envisioning for their important solo mission.

But deep within his own head, Vegeta had very legitimate doubts about Frieza's intentions. Beyond even his feigned-politness and his manic underlying hatred, Frieza was a coward. Unnecessary genocides were committed everyday solely to eliminate the possibility of even trivial uprisings amongst species with no fighting ability. For somebody so powerful, Frieza was besieged by more fear than most of the subjects that lived under him. Abandoning some of his best on some backwater planet wasn't beneath him, and Vegeta knew it. `So this was Frieza's ploy. He's preventing us from completely our mission, and then he's going to use this fabricated proof to execute us. That's just like him.'

"Brat, get your things," barked the prince, yelling over to his comrade, whom was still lying in the dirt patiently. "We are getting out of here now!"

"Okay," chirped his charge, before rummaging through his pod looking for his ki weaponry. Once the weapons were re-holstered, the boy walked to where his prince was stationed. "I'm ready sir."

Vegeta snorted contemptuously at Gohan's politeness, taking it as a form of unnecessary flattery. "Good. Be ready to move now."

The two allies blasted off into the sky with almost perfect synchronization, soaring through the planet's troposphere like hawks looking for a piece of prey. Unfortunately for the two predators, the planet's orange expanse of clouds shrouded the ground very well, masking the cities and settlements of this world from their predatory eyes to Vegeta's rather blatant frustration.

After having conducted his tenth cursory scan with his scouter, and finding nothing each time, Vegeta was practically coming unglued from the frustration of not finding anything on this barren moon of a planet. "Why would Frieza abandon us on a planet with no people to kill? None of this makes any sense!" Apparently, Vegeta had already forgotten about Frieza's ploy already.

Unbeknownst to the two frustrated explorers, their presence on the planet had already been noticed; appropriate precautions had been implemented to curb their influence. And as the two saiyans kept on flying, two shadows trailed them like peregrine falcons from above, haunting their every move.

Hours past and Vegeta and Gohan were at standstill. It was growing dark and they had found nothing of interest on this planet. So Vegeta unilaterally chose to find shelter for the night, lest he lose his mind trying to find something in the dark. Wordlessly signaling his comrade to descend, the two saiyans descended through the cloud cover and a startling site befell them.

It was city, and one of the largest ones either saiyan had ever seen. Granted, Frieza's star ship was thousands of time bigger, but the sight of a city this big was a good sign. The chances of them being able to procure a ship were extremely good. For once in the last god forsaken week, Vegeta had a reason to feel jubilant.

"Brat, stay behind me. We're going to rifle through this town," smirked the prince haughtily. He was finally going to be able to kill something. Dreams do come true after all!

Suddenly, a voice resonated through the clouds spooking the two uptight saiyan warriors. As the voice descended through the cloud cover, it revealed itself to Gohan and Vegeta in equal kind. "You will do no such thing!"

The being that was impeding their path was didn't resemble anything Gohan had ever seen before. Every single crack and crevice of its skin looked a shattered glass window pane, and the skin that wasn't noticeably cracked or fissured was almost translucent in how it reflected light from its smooth aqua-green hue.

"Oh, what are you going to do to stop me?" taunted Vegeta, easing into a fighting stance. He wasn't expecting a challenge so soon or so menacing. His saiyan blood pulsed and raced oxygen to his extremities, adrenaline keeping the hothead alert and ready to fight. This was going to be a lot of fun.

The glass-paneled being cocked his head to the side before flashing a smirk. "Nothing, but I recommended that you watch your head. You never know what's just above you."

Without warning, another of these glass-paneled beings raced down towards Vegeta and smashed his descending foot into the base of Vegeta's neck, propelling the saiyan prince into the ground. Vegeta's body was already unresponsive before he hit the ground.

Equally as quick, the original glass-paneled being closed the distance between himself and Gohan and wrapped his hand around the poor child's slender neck. Following his comrade in arms, both sudden combatants descended back down towards the ground to pick up Vegeta's out cold body. As they approached the surface of the planet, another strange being greeted them and this being wasn't exactly in a somber mood.

"What in the name of myself is going on here!" this strange roared. This was the second time in a week his private training ground had been the sight of an impromptu confrontation, and by now the charade had gotten old.

The two glass-paneled beings quickly got onto their knees and bowed to this strange, both hollering in union. "We're sorry, your majesty. These two vagabonds were discussing destroying our capital and we were forced to intervene. I humbly apologize that this use of force must've occurred on your property; it was a travesty."

"Whatever," mumbled their king, glowering at his two prisoners wrathfully. These two saiyans didn't look like much; one was a toddler who couldn't have been older than six, and the other was knocked out cold in one kick. Neither were threats to him, so why was he looking at them so fascinatingly. Then it hit him.

That kid fit the dossier Baden gave him perfectly, right down to his silkily black hair and charcoal eyes. `So this was the captive that Baden ordered me to treat as a royal family member. Baden, I'm going to find a way to kill you one day for these perpetual mockeries.'

"Abdullah, throw the older saiyan into the prisoner of war camp. We'll let his little friend decide his fate," ordered the uyyasidian king, still exhibiting a rather abnormal level of unmitigated anger. He hated being forced into anything, especially when just about everybody he knew worshiped him as a god. "Release the brat, Abdullah; I'll deal with him from now on."

The other uyyasidian did as he was told and released Gohan from his hold, gently. The kid ran into pocket of space in between the two and tensed up his guard, ready to fight or flee at a minutes notice. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing," responded the king, scowling seriously at the child during his rebuttal. "Welcome to Planet Uyyasid kid. Your life with Frieza is over."

* * *

**Thanks for reading the seventh installment of Cognitive Dissonance. As always, reviewing gives me the inspiration to churn out these chapters faster, so if you enjoy I implore you to review. Anyways, I do have to admit that things haven't been the best in recent times; just going through the motions. I just hope that you can't sense this via my fanfictions. I'm definitely in the dog days of January. **

**I. Review Responses: **

** Super Vegetarott: thanks for the constructive criticism. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as the last. **

** VLS: being compared to Cold World is a honor. I hope you come to enjoy this story almost as much. **

** Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: the robot in chapter six is not related to C47; I think you'll learn his real identity in this chapter. As for Vegeta's Zenkai, I'd say he's about Zarbon pre-monster form, give or take a couple hundred. **

** Ky111: I hope some of your questions have been answered now. I hope you enjoyed chapter seven! **

** pointer39: chapter four does have one heck of a twist at the end.**

**That's all for now. By the way, I've left a few quotes in this chapter. See if you can find them. Tally-ho!**


	8. Alea Lacka Est

The great dual between Goku and Cacao left behind one heck of crime scene for Turles, Amond, Diaz, Rasin, Lakasei and Raditz to comb over. Shambles were all that remained of the once proud, pristine argosian town. What was once the largest city square in all of Argos was just a pit of blood and burn marks now; only the black oily residue staining the otherwise red spattered soil gave any indication of Cacao's presence in this hellacious pit. But the identity of his assailant was still left unsolved.

"There's no doubt about it," declared Turles, looking at a patch of oil infused ground. "Cacao was killed here. The rest of you: disperse and find any clues to whom did this. No hostile action comes without retribution!"

"Yes sir!" saluted Rasin, Lakasei, Amond and Diaz in union, before blasting off in separate directions to investigate the rest of this dingy settlement, leaving Raditz to fend for himself in the process.

Turles scowled at his second-in-command, implicitly warning him to get a move on it. Raditz immediately caught the implication and started to apologize profusely for his lackadaisical performance, of which Turles ignored and ordered him to just start looking around.

The long-haired saiyan ran off north on the town's main thoroughfare, running through a perpetual field of dismembered corpses and crumbling buildings; remnants of the ghastly holocaust that had besieged this humble little village less than a week ago. Argos was a hellhole that very few places in the universe could even hope to rival.

Frozen in time this place was. After living under Frieza and Vegeta's malevolent, iron-fisted rule, scenes resembling this level of ruthless barbarity had become the trade standard over the years. You got somewhat used to it, or there were two places you ended up: an insane asylum or the morgue. Personally, Raditz preferred neither.

Nevertheless, even after decades of purging planets for a living, the long-haired saiyan had never grown to love the art of murdering innocents. That wasn't to say that he didn't revel in being feared by the weaklings he encountered, but the actual act of killing them always left him a bit squeamish. Trash killing trash always reminded him of his own place in the world. One day, he would be just like them; on the edge of death, fighting to live, but just not strong enough to save himself from destiny's cruel fist.

Dog eat dog—there was no way to escape it. Death and tragedy was simply the way of the world; the strong prevail and the weak were left to die in a cesspool. The only real question was whether you wanted to be weak or whether you wanted to be strong. Raditz certainly didn't want to remain weak, and living under Vegeta and Frieza was only making him weaker and more complacent. Burning bridges with such influences were necessary; it just took another saiyan to get him to realize this. Choices had been made from what once was an unavoidable dilemma, and now there was no way to go but forward.

Cutting swiftly through the thoroughfare, Raditz had started picking up on some…interesting patterns. On the outer perimeter of the sandy street, clumps of dust and gravel seemed to have clustered themselves on the rocky sidewalk. Now if these clusters were very small, perhaps if they only covered sidewalk itself, then the long-haired saiyan could neglect their presence. But they weren't. It looked like cyclone had flashed straight through, pushing all of the sand and dust away from its cylindrical path.

Cacao couldn't have done this. By all accounts, the bastard probably didn't have the time or finesse to just barrel through well over one-hundred soldier smoothly like the dust pattern was indicating. No, it must've been his challenger; the culprit who killed Cacao. At least he was on the right track anyways.

Suddenly, the wall of sand and dust veered off course, turning away from the edges of the boulevard and into a building with a major perforation in its side. `I wonder what my `little friend' was doing,' mused Raditz, jumping into the room.

Noxious odors almost immediately bombarded Raditz's nostrils upon his entry into the room, while loud shrieks and groans shelled his ears. At least six to twelve argosians were lying in the room, their mangled and gored bodies barely visible, shadowed by the dim sunlight that was filtering through the room. There were probably pits of hell that were more hospitable than this wretched chamber, and ironically everybody was both awake and responsive to enjoy it.

Striding forward, the lanky saiyan knelt down in front one mangled argosian and rolled him onto his back. Cautiously treading forward, the long-haired demon slowly put his knee into the argosian's wound, smirking cruelly as the poor bastard could do nothing but scream. "I'll make this all go away," snickered Raditz, applying more pressure to the wound. "If you tell me who put you here."

Coughing violently, the argosian warrior tried to maintain a steady, rhythmic pattern of breathing. Maybe, just maybe, he and his comrades could live to die another day if he divulged the truth. If not, their passage to the afterlife would be assured—without any further pain.

"He…looked like you. Large, spiky hair, orange gi, blue undershirt and black boots were what he was wearing. We were being slaughtered by this...foe, and he just came out of nowhere and rescued us—only to leave us to die in this hellacious hovel!" rasped the alien, his voice thin and scratchy; close to death as it was.

`Theory affirmed,' beamed the wannabe detective from within, secretly glad to be able to tell Turles the good news. Hopefully, the fact that the assailant was Goku would cause no issue with his new boss. Things had hardly started to change; he didn't want to his life to return to the way it was.

"Good," coolly answered the saiyan on the outside. Quickly his stretching his hand outward, the world destroyer flashed a calm smirk, feeling his new found power course to the center of his palm. "Au revoir." And then he fired.

"So Kakarot did this?" inquired Turles, his coy smile beaming radiantly at his concerned allies. "He seems strong; maybe he'd consider joining us. Someone who can kill Cacao could be very valuable to us."

"Hardly," scoffed Raditz, his worry beginning to fester within himself again. "Kakarot most likely hates me for abducting his son. He'll hate you too for fostering me amongst your gang."

"Is that so?" muttered the other saiyan deceptively, letting his true intentions for this revelation stay hidden for just a moment. "I would greatly appreciate seeing his `wrath' in person. Powerful opponents invigorate me; I assume you feel the same way?"

`Drat,' mentally cursed Raditz, feeling himself become entrapped by his leader's charged question. Either he admitted to not fearing this new Kakarot, which he most certainly was, or he'd have to withhold information and pray Turles would never find out. Mercy didn't seem to be in Turles's vocabulary, like it shouldn't be for any true blooded saiyan.

"Earth," muttered Raditz, praying that the word would hold no significance to the other saiyan. Heaven knows he needed some luck to go his way right about now. The less Turles asked the better for the both of them.

Misfortune's icy grip over the long-haired saiyan continued its long reign of tyranny over him. "Pardon me," pressed the rogue, mutely probing Raditz's eyes for any sign of deception. "I don't know what this `Earth' you're talking about is. Care to explain?"

`Curses,' muttered the lanky saiyan, knowing he had to tell the truth now. Maybe fate had some good karma awaiting him when he returned to that abominable mudball. "The Earth is the surrogate home planet for Kakarot—or Goku as they call him. Any search for Kakarot should start there. If he isn't there, then you're out of luck."

Finding no traces of lying or half-truth coming from any of Raditz's tells, the other saiyan had another smile crawl up his face. "Well, I guess the Earth is where we are going. You heard your second-in-command, let's get off this shithole!"

"Aiye!" saluted Amond, Diaz, Rasin and Lakasei, racing back to their ship to begin the preparation for disembarkation. Engines needed to be started and electricity needed to be rewired; there was a lot of work to do.

"Ready to leave?" asked Turles, retaining the presence of his uniquely saiyan smirk. Sometimes Vegeta and his new leader weren't really that different; birth looked like the only thing that divided them, but in saiyan society that meant a lot.

Raditz shrugged his shoulder in the air, snorting indifferently to the question.

"Good," remarked the rogue saiyan, before he and his newly installed second-in-command returned to their ship and prepared to blast back off towards Earth.

* * *

"Brat follow me," snarled the king, turning his back on the chibi saiyan and started strolling back tensely to his palace. Foul didn't even come close to describing the amount of agitation and vehemence that coursed through his veins. Although he reiterated the same line over one-hundred times to himself, the truth of the statement remained the same. Baden was going to die, and he was going to be the person to do it.

Gohan briskly pursued his new overseer across his estate, gazing in awe of the strange rock formations and obliquely shaped hills that dotted and cratered his enormous training ground. Uyyasid, although a desert, was very dissimilar to the white desert that traversed Argos's crust. Sands and dunes could hardly be seen in any direction, and the soil was harder than a rock. Breathing was becoming a very difficult endeavor; the boy could practically choke on the dust particles that were inhaled through his windpipe.

Suddenly, the king flared his ki around himself, channeling it to his feet and using the kinetic energy to lift himself off the ground. Almost as he was prepared to turn on the jets and get back home on the double, a shrill not-so-faint cry disturbed him.

Turning around swiftly, the Susaylonian king could hardly contain his feelings of both disbelief and slowly rising frustration. There was that brat, standing still, just crying out to him. Was this kid really that helpless?

"What is it?" growled the king, baring his teeth menacingly at the young boy. He really hoped that this was good.

"I…don't know…how to fly," muttered the half-saiyan, feeling both shame and embarrassment over having to reveal this deficiency to somebody that clearly didn't like him. Alas, he had no choice; he be left stranded and alone if he didn't speak up now.

"Liar!" roared the Susaylonian monarch, descending back into the ground harshly. "My servant clearly apprehended you _while_ you were airborne. Mind explaining that?"

Sulkily plopping himself down on the ground, Gohan started to curl his body toward his right foot while wrapping his hand around the bottom of his boot. Deftly removing something from the sole of his shoe, the boy then proceeded to throw what he had removed at his captor.

Skillfully catching the slow moving projectile in his fist, the uyyasidian ruler promptly unclosed his balled hand and stared at object Gohan had thrown at him. `Oh you've got to be kidding me!'

The object lying in his fist was essentially a ki propulsion system, or something like rocket boots per se. They were something really simple to use: slip them onto the sole of your shoe and channel a slight amount of energy into them. In essence, they were used by people who could channel ki but didn't know how to fly.

"Kid, get on my back. Your guardian will kill me if I let you die," relented the king, seeing no other way but letting the kid piggy back on his…back. And in that very instant, the monarch's hatred toward Baden rose to an unseen height.

"Okay," replied Gohan, leaping onto the flat of the king's back, gripping onto the king's shirt like how a bullrider grips a raging bull. "I'm ready!"

The Susaylonian King just grunted in response. In a burst of light, the monarch was engulfed in his majestic royal purple aura, channeling the energy derived from his power up directly to the soles of his feet. Predictably, the next move the uyyasidian did was to get himself airborne.

Slowly but surely, the two males were drifting through the air like a nimbus cloud, crisscrossing through what felt like thousands of miles of Susaylonian farmland. Flying was a beautiful thing in Gohan's mind. What took days if not weeks by land crossing could take just hours if not minutes in the air. Granted, the kid was still practically a civilian in terms of strength and speed, but the wonder of flight was still there.

Soon enough, darkness came over the once great planet. Dusk became night and the wonders of flight became greatly diminished. After all, half of the amazement of flight was seeing what was below you. Unfortunately, without the hauntingly beautiful surroundings of Uyyasid below him, the kid felt himself being forced back into another bout of painful memories and thought-provoking introspection.

Tonight would give birth to grand new day. Here he was; relatively free with the protection of group of people who were clearly stronger and more influential than Vegeta and his former cohorts had been. Rejoicing was what he should be feeling; a sense of elation over finally breaking free of the Frieza's icy malediction and Vegeta's cruel plans. But he simply wasn't experiencing it.

Too much remained up in the air. Clearly this "king" didn't like him at all, but he was still helping him get back to his home. Why? Why hadn't he been thrown in prison just like Vegeta. Quite frankly, none of this made any sense, and as long as it didn't, he felt that he was condemned to live on a shaky wire.

Then there was his "guardian." For whatever reason, this king used his guardian's name almost like an epithet. It was obvious that this king held his protector with a great deal of disdain. Gohan didn't understand the bad blood between them, but he could only dread to think what would happen if this hatred exploded into violence. Something told the young child that it wouldn't end well for him. That much was clear.

Speaking of his guardian, just why was he going to the trouble of harboring a weak child? Here he was: alone without a friend in the world—about to breakdown from all the confusing and stressful messages that buffeted him constantly. And then, out of the blue, he was alleviated from all of his troubles by somebody that didn't even know him.

There was no chance in hell that somebody would do this without some kind of cost or recompense in return. There was no way someone would go to all this trouble with no strings attached. Inevitably, this "guardian" of his was going to ask for something…and he didn't know if he could accomplish whatever this guardian would require of him. What would happen then? Would he be killed and thrown in the trash like a piece of vermin if he couldn't live up to his new overseer's expectations?

Shaking uncontrollably, a rivet of tears started to splash down his cheeks and leaped onto the king cyan colored gi. A heart wrenching sob broke out of his maw, before tapering off into a consistent whimper. All he wanted was his daddy; somebody who would accept him into his life without any string attached in return. Was that so much to ask?

Meanwhile the Susaylonian king was also in deep thought. Like Gohan, he was contemplating the nonsensical action his mortal nemesis was making. By all accounts, this kid was next to useless. He didn't know how to fly for God sakes. But Baden's orders were explicit: he would harbor the kid amongst his own family, regardless of how much he detested it personally. Hopefully though, the child wouldn't drive him into committing homicide.

Unfortunately for the monarch's anger management, it at that exact moment was when Gohan started to meltdown. The rivet of tears that slid down the half-saiyan's cheeks dropped down onto the king's gi like a miniature waterfall, staining the otherwise usable outfit.

`What the hell!' thought the king when he felt the boy's tears seep through his clothes and glass-like skin. Not only was this kid weaker than a newborn baby, but he also cried like one too! `Baden…what in God's name are you planning? Wait a minute, I know: trying to find a way for me to commit suicide!'

Regardless of Baden's ulterior motives, Gohan and the uyyasidian king's journey had come to an end. At the most opportune moment imaginable, the king's immense palace came into view, beckoning the two weary travelers like a moth to a flame. Overjoyed by the sight of his palace, the Susaylonian monarch started to haul ass, closing the distance between himself and his home in a matter of seconds. It was safe to say that he was glad to be rid of his new charge, if only for a couple of hours.

Gohan, on the other hand, felt differently about the incoming sight of the king's royal estate. For him, the king's palace signaled the end of his former captivity. An end of an era per se. When the dawn light shined on Uyyasid tomorrow, he knew that everything would be different. Better or worse, come rain or shine, his life had made another drastic turn; in which way though was the question.

Time for introspection had also rapidly came to an end. By the time he had finished his thought, the king was already at his window ceil, his back to his house, gesturing to his charge to get off his back at that very instant. Quickly getting the message, Gohan jumped off the king's back, pivoting on his foot upon impact to spin towards his royal overseer.

Sighing from the imploring manner that defined Gohan's stare, the king lifted his arm into the air and pointed towards the hallway directly behind the half-saiyan. "That entire hallway is for guest bedrooms. Select the one you desire."

"Kay," chimed the half-saiyan, butchering the word okay while trying his best to be both obedient and exuberant towards his new king. God knows that he didn't want to have another Frieza-esque encounter again. Meetings like that weren't any fun.

Fluidly moving through the hall, the demi-saiyan eyed each room in the hall, looking for a room that looked hospitable to him. So far he had found nothing that really appealed to his preferences. Apparently, this king liked large, foreboding real estate that was both plush and ominous at the same time. Speaking honestly, immense suites weren't what he was looking for. A small, cozy little chamber with a small bed and fire would be absolutely ideal to his tastes right about now.

Then, at the very end of the long corridor, the kid found what he was looking for. The room was very small and confined with a certain homey feel to it. Although there was no fire crackling in a fireplace, the room was pleasantly warm; the kind that relaxes both the mind and body at the same time.

Yawning like only a four-and-a-half year could, Gohan approached the bedside of the room and started to strip off the armor and weaponry that was holstered to his persons, throwing the assorted battle gear into a neat pile on a patch of the floor that was facing away from the door. Quickly getting up, the boy proceeded to walk to the room's armoire and jerked the elegant piece of furniture open. Selecting a flannel pair of pajamas from the armoire's collection, the half saiyan proceeded to dress himself in that particular piece of cloth.

With his final task completed, the baby saiyan collapsed into the smothering embrace of the bed and let himself drift into a deep, solemn slumber that wouldn't be disturbed until the next morn.

* * *

"Preparations are finished on my end. Are they on yours Merken?" muttered Putzen through his ship transmitter, patiently waiting for a response from his co-conspirator. After almost half-a-week of continual planning, judgment day was upon them. Within less than an hour, Goku would be arriving at Frieza's star ship.

Upon deciding on the course of an all-out assault, Baden had to vacate the premises almost immediately for two reasons: one, he had to go to Planet Uyyasid. Two, so he could say he knew nothing about the specifics of their plan. In his analytical mind, this assault on Frieza's space ship was his crew's first test. Could they execute a well-thought out plan, even under the threat of certain death if caught in the act? Regardless of the outcome though, Baden knew he found out what his allies were capable of.

Once Baden had left the building, Merken quickly established a leadership position in the planning phase of the assault. Having already hacked into Frieza's main computer interface, the technological whiz kid swiftly flushed out the eta for "Raditz's arrival."

To the shock of the entire paramilitary squadron, the eta that was predicted was in less than a week. They had virtually no time for a complex, well-thought of diversionary plan. In reality they had to be on a ship, heading for Frieza within less than half-a-day. Only something really simple and easy to understand could work under that time frame.

So Putzen and Merken devised a simple, but effective plan of attack. Merken, on his own, would infiltrate Frieza's headquarters and take control of the central command. Using his technical prowess, the annoying twerp of a soldier would lower the telekinetic shields of Frieza's ship, allowing his compadres to sneak past Frieza's computer-based sentries undetected. But after having done this, he wouldn't be rejoining his comrades in the real assault. Instead he would monitor Goku's movement, making sure that no meddling little grunt ever caught sight of their target. If some foolish little lackey even so much as glanced at their target, they'd be shot straight to hell courtesy of the ship's turret system.

Meanwhile, Putzen was coordinating with the ground crews on the optimum places to launch their surprise attack. Having already swiped the schematics of Frieza's ship, Traje, Putzen, Erinnern, Machen and Spiesen poured over the map, arguing over the best place to begin their attack.

After almost an hour of discourses and petty arguments, Putzen found the perfect spot for an ambush. It was a lower level mess hall; only petty officers and the most average grunts used it—the perfect cannon fodder for their attack. Even better than the targets was the location. From a geographical point of view, this mess hall was about as far away from Frieza's personal quarter as you could possibly be while also keeping a large distance between themselves and the dock where Goku would land.

The horizons were almost as bright from a tactical point of view. There was no clear pathway in or out of this mess hall. Frieza and his officer couldn't just race down one path and get there. No, they'd have to traverse a mini-maze of corridors and elevators to even hope to get there in time. And that was only if they were able to catch Baden's crew before they escaped like rats through the maze-like alleys that surrounded that particular cafeteria.

But neither of these little facts were what really made this place special. No, the piece de resistance was the fact that this mess hall had a window facing outer space. They didn't have to sneak in like rats! They could just barge in and start killing people indiscriminately. And when they had their fill, they could just sneak back on their ship and leave in a huff. That was the real beauty of their chosen spot. There was nowhere else on Frieza's gigantic ship that had anywhere close to the tactical and geographical advantages of that one lone spot. It was like it came from god himself. Real intelligent design even!

Nevertheless this plan was extremely risky, even if you put the ideal location into consideration. For one, they were still barging into somebodies personal property with no real solid idea of "real-time" changes that occur prolifically on a ship the size of Frieza's biggest vessel. Frankly speaking, the entire ship was put together very shoddily. Endemic laziness on the part of the engineers who designed it, along with the slothful behavior of those responsible for inspecting it, all but sealed the ship's fate the minute it set out for its maiden voyage. Practically every day there was about one-hundred to a thousand people who died due to the poor construction quality, and entire decks at a time could be closed off with almost no notice. Safe to say, the schematic's that Merken pulled of Frieza's interface could be hopeless out of date by the time they launched their raid. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a choice but to proceed with caution; they were out of time as it was.

However, the real fate of this impromptu plan resided with Merken. Our favorite whiz kid was the pivotal clog in the machine; without his control of the entire ship's automated defense system, there was no assault for well over a dozen reasons. It went without saying that Putzen needed to know what was going on with Merken during this attack, and that was why he was pressing the child for status updates about every five seconds.

Back in real-time, Merken shrugged his shoulder and muttered a reply through his transceiver. "Everything went well. Sneaking in through the ventilation ducts were kinda hairy, but actually taking control of the central command was pretty easy. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"Are you positive that nobody knows that you're in there?" inquired the former general, trying to control his erratic breathing. It had been awhile since he entered a meat grinder of this level before. He was excited but also a little nervous. Company commanders were always a little bit concerned about the welfare of their squad, unless they were tried-and-true jackasses.

"Positive," affirmed the other boy, his tone implying that he held a true conviction about his cover not being blown. "You'll hear back from me if my position has been compromised. Are you guys ready to move now? I'll let down the barrier if you are."

"A few minor technical difficulties here and there, but nothing that is going to delay us from getting to our objective in a prompt manner. Spiesen was having a very hard time adjusting his mask so that it wouldn't reveal his double chin. Other than that, we are good to go," confirmed Putzen before taking a breath. "I'll take the assumption that you are wearing full cameo, and your head is completely concealed by your mask. Am I correct?"

"Yes I am," murmured Merken, rolling his eyes like a haughty teenager. "Even a two year old knows to keep themselves completely covered Putzen. Why do you have to tell me that? I'm not stupid, you know."

Identity to a rogue was like gold to a hoarder—it was very rare and something you don't want to throw around willy nilly. Frieza's empire wasn't like the Wild West, where you could commit crimes and just disappear across the fading horizon. Forensic technology could follow you from planet to planet, solar system to solar system, even galaxy to galaxy if it so chose without skipping a beat. Leaving behind any trace clues of your existence was a very fatal danger. Many a clueless Neanderthal had taken to pirating…and had been rooted out and killed quickly because they gave away their identity at a crime scene.

Professional rogues, like Baden's crew, were far more cautious with how they preserved their identities in comparison to their idiotic brethren. Purchasing the most high-tech battle suit that you could find on the black market was the _expectation _for an ambitious saiyan warrior, not just a consideration to keep in mind. And of course, just like anything else nobles and the middle class tried to flaunt throughout history, you could bet that the royal family would up the ante per se; battle equipment was no exception to this ever-present rule.

Black. If you were one of the unfortunate souls any of these saiyan ran into on a mission, that would be all you see before they'd slit your throat. There would be no visible eye socket, no slots for the ears to pop out from, nor a perforated slit just in front of the mouth to breathe from. No, all that existed was one massive, writhing black mass—the very essence of a black enigma.

However to imply that there was nothing in that black mass would be both nihilistic and fallacious. This monster didn't need eye slits because it had surveillance cameras where its eyes should've been, it didn't have ear slots because it had audio sensors where its ears should've been, and there was no need to capture outside air when you had your own air supply. In reality, the only truly black thing about this creature was the shadow that came from the man, not the machine. The dark that lies behind us all.

"I'm going to send you the schematic of this mess hall and the corridors both opposite and adjacent to it," declared Merken, uploading the sensitive documents to the computer interfaces of his ally's. Another nifty feature of their high-end battle suits was that they had at least three computer monitors that within the helmet allowed you to toggle between screens while in battle. You could fight, plan your escape, and watch Yamcha hit a homerun for the West City Titans all at the same time!

Putzen snorted through the transceiver, amusing Merken rather largely. "I don't know how you zip right through all that computer jargon, Merken? Keep it up though."

"Rest easy in your conviction that I'll always be a computer whiz," assured Merken jokingly, savoring the last moments before his friends were swallowed up by the hounds of battle. "As long as I'm around, your greatest enemy will always be vanquished." That part, unfortunately, wasn't a joke. For as powerful and intelligent as Putzen was, he sucked using any kind of tech. In all of his nine years of existence, Merken had never known anybody else who didn't know how to get a calculator to work correctly. Granted, it was a graphing calculator, but a calculator nonetheless! Putzen was not to be trusted in front of a computer; it just wasn't a good idea in general.

"Sure I will," fired back Putzen in good humor, not letting the boy's jests get the better of him. Merken was very skillful in coming up with come backs; he didn't really need to give the brat any more ammo. "We are encroaching on the mess hall on our end; how long will it be until Goku touches done?"

"Patience my friend; hold on a minute." Cutting off his feed for a quick second, Merken toggled to the screen where Goku's estimated time of arrival was. Scribbling the time down quickly, the incognito soldier quickly reestablished his com link. "About five minutes. Better get your troops ready for a rapid disembarkation. Once you're on the inside, I'll be able to provide you with more accurate and up-to-date intel."

Suddenly the connection started to short out, static appeared on both ends. Pre-emptively guessing Putzen's response, Merken started to yell out assurances about how normally a condition that was. "Don't worry about the static. The signal of the ship is just being frizzed out by the ship's own wireless network. As y'all get closer to the ship, I'll make sure you've got a secure line in Frieza's main computer network."

"Good," replied Putzen through the static connection, his voice barely audible over the harsh, discordant wall of sound. Internally though, the former general was concerned. Merken was a very competent soldier, but an unreliable com system could be the difference between success or failure, even life and death in many cases. Alas, regardless of the com's importance, there was nothing he could really do to make things better. Faith was the only thing he could rely on, and he hated that.

Soon enough though, the connection started to become clearer and the background static simply vanished, proving yet again Merken's technical competence. Of course, this meant somebody very brattish was going to start bragging.

"What did I tell yah, Putzen? I did what I said I would, didn't I?" Boasting, though, left a very sour taste in Putzen mouth, especially when the boaster had an acceptable reason to be boasting. It was simply infuriating to the other saiyan, but alas he owed it to the brat not to rebuke him too much. He did, after all, just save their asses.

"Come and get your medal then," Putzen answered snidely, knowing that Merken was going to catch onto the sarcasm quickly.

"Pretty soon, I'll do just that," bantered back Merken, enjoying this last war of wits greatly with his older brother. "Oh, by the way, Goku just arrived in hanger #27; better start your invasion soon my friend."

A snarl erupted from Putzen's maw. He was clearly a little unprepared to go in, slightly worrying his younger brother. "Need me to stall those fools in the hangar bay for a few minutes? That can definitely be arranged if you need my assistance."

"Definitely," responded Putzen earnestly. "Delay them for a few minutes. We'll all be ready by then. Good luck on your end."

"Roger that," replied Merken, confirming his acceptance of Putzen's pseudo-request. "Be ready my friend, alea lacka est!"

"Alea lacka est." And the com link between the two went dark.

* * *

Dawn light filtered through the Susaylonian palace, slowly awakening Gohan from his rather blissful slumber. Granted, the hollow chamber was by no means his cozy former study back on Earth, but it felt infinitely better than the cramped confines of his space pod.

Groggily stretching away the exhaustion from his limbs, the boy got up and put on his army issued uniform. Yes, he was learning to feel a sense of disdain for Frieza and everything around him, but that didn't mean he trusted his new "family." Although the fact had been preached on multiple times, these people had been forced to take him on against their will. Relationships based on coercion rarely ended up ending peacefully.

Abruptly, a voice was heard coming from the portal of his door. "Good you're up." Gohan turned around to find the source of the disturbance, and when he did he couldn't but help but look a little shocked at who he saw.

In all his life, he had never seen an uyyasidian child. And in reality, they looked only partially like adults. They maintained the same glass-like gloss on their skin, yet they also lacked the cracks and fissured that marked an adult's skin. In Gohan's opinion, the children looked more presentable than the adults.

"Hello I'm Gohan," Gohan chirped, extending his hand out in friendship to the other child. Perhaps he would finally meet a real friend in this brave new world.

The other child looked at the humanoid inquisitively, like he didn't know what shaking hands implied. Regardless though, the uyyasidian reciprocated the gesture, enthusiastically gripping and shaking the hand of his peer. "I'm Amir."

Both parties broke their engagement quickly, looking at each other awkwardly for different reasons. For Gohan, he just didn't know how to be sociable with somebody his own age. Chi Chi was not exactly the firmest advocate for normal interaction between toddlers. As for this other child, his reasons for the maintaining the tense moratorium on their conversation was far more ulterior.

"Um, I'll need you to pack your things," mumbled the uyyasidian kid, practically spitting out the words as fast as he could. Telling anybody that they were being kicked out of what they thought was their room was hard thing to do.

"Huh?" muttered Gohan, shocked by what he was hearing; the content of the message completely stumping the humanoid. Nothing about that statement any sense. Why would the king go to so much trouble to bring him to his palace one day, and just send him sprawling out onto the street the next? And why would be send a child hardly older than him to do it?

"You s-see," stuttered the other boy, trying to find the right wording so as not to offend the saiyan. "The-this is ack-actually mah-my room. Yah-you're go-going to have ta gah-get out." His stuttering, however, was making it almost impossible for Gohan to comprehend the true meaning of the uyyasidian's message.

Gohan's mind immediately went to the worse scenario, his feeling of dread quickly converting to panic, which in turn allowed Gohan's mind to abandon any sense of rationale or logic when it came to dissecting the scene. "How could this be? I talked with the king yesterday!"

"H-he did?" Both children were now completely confused, neither realizing that the other was even on the same wavelength when it came to an objective understanding of the request of the other. Gohan thought he was being kicked out, and Amir thought his father had given away his room without his consent.

Of the two, Amir was the more baffled. This Gohan fellow seemed to be taking this eviction notice far more seriously than he expected; I mean how hard was it to move across the hall—especially when all of your mortal possessions were strapped around your back? Amir didn't think he was asking for the moon, but that was apparently what he was asking for by how this other kid was reacting. "Ya-yah, we c-can ta-talk to mah-my dad."

Beckoning his consort to follow him, the two boys fled away from Amir's room and walked down the adjacent hallway into the one of the royal antechambers where Amir's father—who was actually the king—was waiting patiently for breakfast to begin. Although the monarch looked in better humor today in comparison to yesterday, the wrung-out man still looked pricklier than the world's largest porcupine.

"Hello son," groaned Amir's father, practically grunting out his response. Judging by the look of confusion on the other brat's face, it was safe to assume that Amir had still not learned how to convey any sort of order or command with any kind of authority. Hopefully the kid would learn soon; he may be the heir to the throne now, but it may not stay that way if things continued the way they were.

Taking a surprising amount of initiative, Gohan stepped forward bravely trying to look unafraid of the uyyasidian ruler. "Am I being kicked out?"

"Out of your room, yes," answered the king, disbursing the confusion that existed between the two pre-pubescent children in one sentence. "I accidentally forgot to mention that my son resides in the room on the far end of that hall. My apologies for that blunder; new accommodations of a similar ilk have been made for your arrival."

"Oh, okay," chirped Gohan, who stepped back into line with Amir, whom was blushing profusely by how badly he butchered his order. Of course, the other kid wouldn't know that he actually lived in that room. How could he have not put two and two together about that?

The king motioned his flustered son to sit by his side, while gesturing the other boy to one of the red velvet armchair adjacent to him. Once the two chibi's were comfortable accommodated in their respective spots, the ruler just sighed languidly at the two of them.

"What's wrong?" murmured Amir, picking up on his father's troubled sigh in an instant. Very few souls knew the king of Susaylon quite as intuitively as his son, whom was the only soul, outside of Baden for entirely different reasons, that could persuade his father to do very much of anything. This persuasion, apparently, also held true for airing out personal grievances.

Snaking one of his hands around his son's small slender neck, the king muttered his reply. "Nothing really." It was a load of bull at absolute best. Amir knew that his dad was feeding him a bunch of crock, and now he was doubly as curious as before.

"Tell me, father! I want to know!" chirped the king's son, in a manner not dissimilar to another certain child in the room. Catching this peculiar likeness in tone almost instantly upon being uttered, the king could do nothing but sigh at his son.

Placing one of his large, cracked hands on the top of his son's head, the monarch started to lightly brush through his son's golden locks, playfully twirling one end with his forefinger. "You know, I can just tell that you and that other kid are going to be the best of friends."

Silence immediately followed the king's declaration. Neither Gohan nor Amir really knew what to make of the enigmatic message, but there were some clearly negative connotations in his tone that implied that the king personally was against such a friendship.

"We don't have to be dad!" stated Amir with an inflamed passion. An uyyasidian child would do virtually anything for their father's, short of taking a bullet for them of course. Amir was no different in this regard.

But the king was far from convinced by Amir's brash statement. His son was a young buck, a lad with no concept of any inevitable fate and destiny. A soul that believed itself to be free of the chains that tethered most to the ground beneath them. Ironically though, it was these "free souls" that were the most firmly bound. Yes, Gohan and Amir would become good friends in this life, and that thought sickened the withering king greatly. "Appeasement is the path of the fallen, Amir. Remember, no varnish can hide the grains of the wood."

At the most opportune moment imaginable, the doors of the sitting room flung open, a sultry looking figure with a kitchen apron strapped to his waist sauntered into the room with a haggard look. Sweat was practically gushing down the poor chef's cracked face, and two large wet blotches were easily seen in the region of his armpits.

"Monsieur, your breakfast is ready to be served," stated the chef, who was making the concept of eating unappetizing courtesy of his noxious body odor. Except for Gohan of course; saiyans were hardly ever deterred from eating when they were truly famished.

"Lead the way," replied the king indifferently, motioning his chef to escort them to his royal dining room. Hopefully, when that stinky chef left the room their appetites would return. If not, this was going to be a very miserable feast.

The "culinary" party swiftly evacuated the sitting room, curving out of the aforementioned room into a large ornate hallway with a blue marble floor. Quickly traversing through the overly ornate hall from end to end, the large imposing portal into the dining room came into view at the far end of the hallway.

Upon entering the dining room, a furious kaleidoscope of colors encircled the eye. Very few places in the world had such a tasteful display of colors as this room. The blue marble floors were sculpted beautifully and the wall were painted in a rich blend of the color red, but both the walls and floor were darker in hue and far more saturated with color than the faded, withered pigments that stained the halls linking the dining room and grand salon.

Gold leaf was gilded over the entire surface of the ceiling, shining poignantly over the fantastically colored room with its vibrant energy. Nobody who ever saw the gild work escaped looking at it without a look of awe plastered on their face. Gohan was no exception to this unspoken rule.

However, everything else was just the entrees before the main course. The dining table itself was something magically in and of itself, a phantasmagoria for the eye. Made from an amalgamation of infused diamonds and covered with a fine layer of obsidian glass, there was no other table in the world that was even as close to as ornately molded in all the galaxies…or more expensive to commission. Rumor had it that half of the uyyasidian gross domestic product went into furnishing that table the year it was created. But, in the eyes of the royals, it was well worth the obscene cost.

Outside of the table itself, the bouquet of flowers on the table were almost as impressive. Each vase was encrusted with an assortment of rubies, sapphires, emeralds and other gemstones that appropriately described the bouquet of flower that they were sheltering in their grasp.

Beside every red-satin chair was an assortment of opulent eating utensils. The silverware gleamed brightly, and the porcelain, gold-leafed plates reflected that brightness across the already dazzling room. Overall, all things considered, there weren't many places more amazing from an artistic point of view. Beautiful would've been an insult to say the least.

Motioning his guests to sit down next to him, the king lowered himself into the chair at the end of the table; the one closest to the main exit. Breakfast in Susaylonian society were usually short, prompt affairs that took very little time at all; today would be same as always.

Soon enough, plates upon plates began to pour out of the kitchen, some going to Amir and his father but most going to their new guest. The king was knowledgeable enough about the saiyan race to know that they were even fiercer eater than battlers. And that was saying something profound.

Gohan, though, didn't know that the king knew about how much he ate at a sitting. Most people who had meet either his father or him eat before were absolutely flabbergasted by the sheer volume of how much crap he could cram down his gullet. For somebody to just keep on placing trey after trey of food at his plate was a little suspicious. "Um mister, why are putting so much food on my plate?"

"Yes, father," added in Amir, clearly disturbed by the massive amount of food that he was shoveling onto their guest's plate. Was he trying to get him sick?

"Ugh," muttered the king, scowling seriously at both of their inquisitiveness. "I know you're a saiyan kid. Just leave it at that. I'm not a Neanderthal like the fools you knew back on wherever you came from."

"Oh okay," chirped Gohan, satisfied by the king's retort. After his early bout of hesitation, Gohan jumped into the fray, shredding one plate of food and proceeding to another rapidly. Before long, massive piles of dirty dishes were starting to be piled towards the ceiling, and Gohan was looking nowhere even close to finished yet.

Amir and his father looked on at the spectacle, almost completely slack-jawed at the spectacle that was before them. Yes, Amir's father knew that saiyan's had a voracious hunger but he didn't expect _this. _This was maddening, how did anybody find this much food to satisfy themselves daily? It must've been a logistical nightmare during battle. Thank god that Baden was only asking him to feed one of these black holes. Anymore would be overkill, even if he was filthy rich.

Almost quicker than the feeding frenzy had begun, Gohan stopped shoveling in food and let out a content sigh. "I'm full." That practically made the other two uyyasidians collapse out of their chairs in pure shock.

"Good," muttered the king, disgusted by having to relive the sight of the kid stuffing himself in his own head. Just how his stomach did not rupture did from inhaling ten pounds of food was a mystery he didn't even want to know about.

A rather awkward silence settled other the three males, nobody either willing or knowing how to continue on a conversation. Suddenly, after probably five minutes of almost nothing being said, Gohan blurted out something he really wanted to know about. "What's going to happen to Vegeta?"

`Baden, I _really _hate you,' mused the king, showing no signs of internal anger in his outward expression. "Fate had dignified you as his judge, jury and executioner kid. Use it wisely."

That statement stunned Gohan. What the heck did the king just say? He could've sworn he heard that he was being put in charge of Vegeta's fate. "What do you mean, sir?"

`Oh, lord help me,' groaned the king internally, feeling his exasperation creep into his expression ever so slightly. How did this boy _not_ realize his implication? Oh well, he was going to have to dumb this down. "Your new master has put you in charge of whether Vegeta lives or dies kid. You choose what happens to him."

Suddenly, a specter appeared at the table, smirking rather haughtily at the king. "I don't recall ever uttering those words, senior. But thanks for the idea! I like it a lot!"

* * *

Remain in stasis. Control your breathing. Relax. Simple words that became astounding difficult to execute in practice when you were heading headlong into a hornet's nest, especially when destination you were going to was a complete mystery. What was going to be on the other side? More space pirates probably; another batch of wretched souls that would scoff at his futile offer of clemency for their crimes and misdeeds. Honestly, there was only one thing that Goku was confident in saying about this endeavor: wherever he was going, he was closer to reuniting with his abducted son. And that alone was making this desperate gambit worthwhile.

Artificial light filtered in through the incandescent bulbs just above him, aggravating his eyes and keeping him in this grey zone between the conscious and unconscious world. Zombie-like per se would be a more appropriate way of describing him; desperately needing sleep to come to him but inexplicably escaping him, leaving him to wallow in a state of deathly exhaustion.

Finally, after a day of no food and water, Goku's body gave out. Sleep finally came to his weary bones, allowing him to escape into a world of dreams for the duration of the monotonous flight to Frieza's star cruiser.

Days came and went as Goku lied in this catatonic state, kept alive by a steady stream of vital nutrients emitted by the pod once it recognized its host had finally drifted out of consciousness. Time lost all meaning during the voyage, and the only thing that remained constant was the distance traveled by the pod. Closer and closer they came to approaching the end, separated from their target by the most mundane of dimensions: length. Soon everything would change.

A blaring beep aroused Goku from his slumber with a sudden jolt, his motor functions and sensory perception coming back to him soon afterwards. Disembarkation was going to be soon upon him, subconsciously urging him to ready himself before the gates of hell were blown wide open.

Baffling. Whatever was on the outside was nothing short of incredible. Goku could feel thousands…no _millions _of hostile energy signatures completely surrounding him. Granted most of these warriors were weaker than the rats that lived underneath his house, but the few that were truly powerful were mind-bogglingly so. There wasn't even a faint chance at survival if he came into contact with even a single one of them.

Reality's ever fierce stranglehold on him continued to crush him beneath its grasp. Just because he had gotten cold feet about storming Frieza's star cruiser didn't change the fact he didn't have any options about doing so. His path had been forged already and the only thing he could do was follow it wherever it went.

The moment of judgment had arrived. In an instant the doors of the hangar bay slid open in there gratings, screeching out a whooshing sound that alerted Goku to his final descent into the mouth of hell. As his pod crept into the room and came to a slow stop, so did he.

At once the pod's hydraulic hatch popped open, blinding the dazed saiyan momentarily in a haze of blue light. As the saiyan writhed in his pod, distinct blurs with hardly visible outlines entered the fuzzy realm of his eyes. Unfortunately, his eyes hadn't recovered enough from the glare to truly picture his new foes in any meaningful way.

Meanwhile, the technicians that were looking at Goku's crunched up form were equally as baffled by their newcomer. Most of them knew the saiyans enough to know that this guy wasn't a part of their group. In fact, they were hundred-percent positive that he wasn't given permission to come here. So why was he here? Didn't he know that hijacking a Cold Family space pod was a crime punishable by death? Oh well, whomever he was, it wasn't like it mattered. He was as good as dead anyway.

After having gotten rid of the blinding light that buffeted his vision, Goku stepped out of pod and towered over the puny urchins whom worked in the hangar. Goku, although not the most awe-inspiring fighter they've ever seen by any measurement of the imagination, inspired a lot of fear into the puny techs. His wide imposing frame coupled with his dreadfully serious countenance served the keep the motley crew of weaklings on edge. They just knew that something tragic was going to come out of this encounter.

Skipping pleasantries completely, Goku walked up to who he considered the leader of their group and growled. "Where's my son!" he sternly asked, his facial features bared in menacing manner.

"Who?" blurted out one of the techs in a joking manner, not having a clue about this fighter was taking about.

Instantly closing the distance between himself and the loud-mouthed soldier, Goku hoisted the man up into the air and pushed him into the wall. "Where is my son? I want him back. Tell me where he is?"

"We don't know," shouted another tech desperately, trying to save his comrade from the jaws of death. "Maybe we could help you find him! Would that be something you'd like?"

Goku dropped the disrespectful grunt onto the ground and averted his eyes to the other tech. "Yes, that's what I want. Can you do it?"

"I don't see why not," replied the other tech, letting a disarming smile creep across his face. He had no intention of reuniting father and son. Releasing a soldier from his captivity without a notarized consent spelled certain death if you were caught in the act. No, he was just going to have to alert the authorities to this intruder. Hopefully, he wouldn't catch his deception until it was too late.

Fortunately for the mischievous grunt, Goku was as susceptible to trickery as he had always been. Nodding his affirmative, the merciful saiyan dislodged his fist from the other tech's throat and walked away; giving the other grunts the space they needed to fulfill his demands.

Moving quickly to the phone, the Judas of the techs dialed the number for a terrorist emergency. After waiting about half-a-minute on hold, he was patched through to a military consultant.

"Yes, who is it?" muttered the voice apathetically, not caring which urchin he was really talking too. Nobody but lowlifes and simpletons ever dialed this branch of the department of terrorism; it was a _really _boring job.

"It's Frieza tech #148932 calling. We have a situation down here that needs immediate assistance," barked the tech, not caring how unprofessional or demanding he sounded. His life was as good as done if he failed here.

The consultant sighed through the phone's tranceiver, not even bothering to hide the exasperation from his voice. "What is the nature of your emergency sir?"

"A_ saiyan _is trying to find his son," snipped the tech, empathizing the saiyan part of the sentence gratuitously. Even mentioning the saiyans in most parts of Frieza's empire really got the rumor mill swirling. This clueless fool would be no different than his litany of predecessors.

Like in the past, there was a distinct change in tension when the subject of a saiyan was brought up. The consultant immediately perked up; you could just feel how much more upbeat he got through the phone. "Oh really, a saiyan you say? Maybe this just may be worth checking into. I'll send a dozen of my finest men; you better not be lying to us."

Smiling like the rat he was, the tech closed the conversation. "Be sure to come quickly. Who knows when our guest will get _suspicious _about this call, and try to read into what we are saying. Come extremely quickly; I can't guarantee our safety for very much longer."

"Roger," muttered the consultant, the smile adorning his face being visible practically over the phone. "Help will be there in five minutes. Good luck."

"Good. Over and out," sighed the tech, turning around to see what Goku had been doing in the meantime. The sight he was blessed with practically sent him into a spasm of laughter. `Just who is this guy,' he mused within his own mind.

Slumped down on the floor with his upper back and head resting on the wall behind him was Goku, whom looked to have succumbed to the temptation of a light nap. All the technical mumbo-jumbo those techs were ranting on and on about made no sense to him. He tried to listen in to their conversation, but the techno jargon quickly lulled him to sleep. And it was there he lied—sleeping like a baby.

No exaggeration or hyperbole could properly describe the look of shock that was etched across each tech's face. Baffled or bewildered just didn't cut it when Goku's irrational behavior was account for. Was there any man in the world stupid enough to rob a place and then fall asleep before the job was even complete? It was an act of idiocy that could single-handily disprove the entire theory of sentient evolution!

Thanking the gods for their good fortune, all of the techs assembled on the other side of the room, begging their "savior" to fill them in on what he said on the phone. Who did he call? Who was coming for them? How was this spiky-haired nuisance going down? Nobody was going to be reeling in their excitement anytime soon. Events of this magnitude rarely occurred in the boondocks of Frieza's star cruiser, and they were just blessed to have seen something like this happen for themselves.

Flushing furiously, the tech that was gathering all the undue attention energetically tried to answer each of his comrade's questions graciously. Fortunately for him though, most of their question would be answered in less than a second.

Right as the informant tech was being grilled by his peers; a local militia sent by the consultant barged through the front door of the hangar bay, eliciting a startled yelp from both a newly awakened Goku and all of the techs on the other side of the room.

"What's going on?" probed Goku, holding his hands high above his head, trying to calm down the racing tension and the pushy behavior of the soldiers that he was facing. "Can't we just talk this out? I just want to see my son!"

Any and all of Goku's pleads were met with deaf ears by the organized front line of the unnamed militia, whom encroached closer and closer into Goku's personal space with an intimidating group mien. It had been since eons ago since they had a good battle; they wouldn't be backing down to some clown in a hideous orange gi.

Goku lowered his arms to his sides, signaling that he was done trying to negotiate with these hopeless souls. Raising his power ever so slightly, the saiyan eased into a fighting stance, staring ruthlessly at his stalwart foes with a deadly derision.

But this was a battle that wasn't meant to be. As soon as the foes locked eyes, something spectacular happen. A loud, discordant roar echoed through the room, shattering tempered glass and stunning every living being into still complacency. Concussive explosions rocked through room, uprooting entire segment of the militia and throwing them around like confetti in the breeze. Before any unfortunate soul could even hope to get their baring straight, they were silenced by the ever present rattle of machine gun fire.

Gas lines started to rupture everywhere in the vicinity, spraying the room in a cloud of flammable gas. Fires started to burst forth along the walls of the hangar, gaining more and more force when their fearsome path came into contact with another tank of interspersed jet fuel. Soon enough, the only thing alive in the room was Goku, cloaked in a shield of translucent ki as towers of fire surrounded him from every angle.

Suddenly a voice boomed through the room, amplified solely by the ship's speaking system. Although Goku didn't know what the voice may be, the saiyan could just tell it was brimming with authority, resonating with a swagger that was utterly uncommon in this strange dissolute world that he had wandered into. Whatever it was, it was worth listening too.

"Son Goku," the voice snarled, not hiding the growl that ripped through its vocal cord. "You've made one huge mistake by coming here. Are you prepared to face the consequences of getting back out?"

* * *

**Thanks to any and all that read the eight chapter of Cognitive Dissonance; one of my all time favorites. Things are really starting to pick up, and I think we all will enjoy what is to come. One of the longest set piece battles in the story will show up now. **

**I. Review Requests:**

** Super Vegetarott: No problems man. Take the time that you need. **

** FinalFlashX: Thanks for all the kind words. I do have a habit of slipping into the omniscient POV though. **

** VLS: Well, I'm glad your enjoying yourself! XD**

** Full Power: Good to see that you are back on your feet. I wish you well in all of your endeavors as well. **

** Sirens of doom: Well that's way of looking at what's going to happen. XD**

** Kazuma Bushi: I hope by this story's conclusion that your questions will be answered. As for the 16 comment in chp 2, that was just tongue-in-cheek. Still shouldnt have said it though. **

** Gohandominates: Hope you enjoy the next chapter.**

** Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: I find your comment ironic. Baden has a Terminator vibe per se. That's interesting because I've never watched the terminator. **

** Ky111: Hope you enjoy the next chapter. **

** II. Important Personal Announcement. **

** I've decided it for the best to leave the SotF team. Personally speaking, it was infringing too much on the never ending circus of work at my university and that isn't even including I've had a litany of personal emergencies recently. Both me and Rott are still in touch though, so this won't be a rocky divorce. **


	9. Declaration

Frieza's Star Cruiser

Cafeteria #731

AD. 761. November 11th.

Life was very normal for the denizens of Cafeteria #731 that day. Years of continually raping and pillaging hadn't done anything to deprive the hovel of its sense of brutish cheer. Hundreds of rough, unrefined men dotted the room, shoveling bland, tasteless food into their mouths or telling vulgar jokes or anecdotes to their cohorts. Of course, these crude jokes and lewd stories were passed around each table, spreading virulently from one place to another. Predictably, the cafeteria was a hive of unsophisticated testosterone-laden activity.

One table in particular stood out amongst the throes of undignified muck. At the very edge of the room, facing the window was the table where the leaders of each merry band were gathered. Although thousands if not millions of men lined the room, only about thirty of these middling men had the authority or jurisdiction to be seated at that particular spot. It was truly a pantheon of elite standards—at least in the eyes of the grunts that surrounded them.

Waves of sorrow radiated from that "elite" table. Neglecting their status in comparison to the other denizens of 731, most of the commanders were wretched and miserable. Like any ambitious young soldier or adjutant would've known, being delegated to a "leadership" position in meager units like 731 was a virtual death sentence. You simply didn't come back once you were put there; you just got used to the fact that you weren't desired or needed in the upper echelon of Frieza's society.

Unit 731 was, in essence, Asphodel—a dreary land sculptured by the monotony of daily life and the unknown story of the nameless soldier. Individuality meant nothing and neither did you. In fact, not even their imminent sentencing after their deaths would have been considered individual. As in life, all they were was a puffy cloud that let one day float on to the next without a trace of their presence left to be adored. Upon their death, nobody mourned and nobody remembered.

Wait? Unit 731 was dead? Yes, it happened almost moments ago. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and then it just…came. Everything was like it normally was. Grunts were laughing jovially with one another and the officers were huddled together trying futilely to devise ways of ditching their grunts and climbing the ranks of Frieza's military ladder. Everybody was none the wiser of what came next.

As the commanders were dining on their regular grub, a dark shadow crept closer to the portal that separated the immense space cruiser from the shadowed object. Soon enough, the camouflaged ship had its blasters pressed on the paneled glass of Frieza's cruiser, ready and prepared to blow holes into the ship more than a mile wide.

And then the carnage ensued. Undaunted by the sheer audacity of their assault, the encapsulated saiyans opened fire on the unsuspecting soldiers of Unit 731. The blasters of the cloaked machine shredded through the window separating themselves from the grunts like wet paper, stunning the weaklings that were glued to their seats in the room. The shrapnel from the explosion got sent flying through the room, oftentimes lodging themselves in the neck of numerous grunts.

Wasting no time, the hidden ship unleashed a torrent of machine gun fire on the rejects below them. Bullets whistled through the air, ripping Unit 731's frontline apart in a second flat. Once the first wave of grunts had been thinned out, the mysterious vessel carefully eased itself into the cafeteria, shelling any and all conglomerations of soldier that had pooled since the initial surprise attack.

Immediately upon finding a finding a LZ the ship's hull opened up, revealing the terrifying visage of three heavily shadowed figures. Quickly the three figures walked out towards the other grunts, their black bodysuits gleaming in the dim light, almost foretelling doom to the injured unit.

Each grunt reacted differently to seeing these three black beings. Some cowered behind one another, trying to make themselves scarce without avail. Others joined in amongst one another, forming a line of defense against this new threat. Arrogantly smirking at the three harbingers of doom, these souls looked on at the harbinger of their deaths with an incredible amount of disrespect and condescending scorn.

On the other side of the confrontation, Putzen, Traje and Machen were observing their prey. They weren't disappointed by the look of terror on the faces of the majority of the cowardly soldiers. Cleaning them up would be just too easy. As for the fiercer of their breed, they too would be purged extremely quickly.

"Look at these fools," Machen mocked, scathingly glaring at his opponents with a cruel derision. "Aren't they cute? They actually think they stand a chance against us!" Of course, the boisterous fool made sure that he announced his thoughts to everybody in the room.

"There's power in numbers Zhao," warned Putzen, intentionally calling Machen Zhao. Who knew would be listening to these tapes once they were done eradicating these jesters. After all, their identities were almost more important than their lives. None of them could risk having their cover blown.

"Oh please," scoffed Machen, glowering at everybody in the room. "These suckers are like condoms. Cheap, proliferated and easily disposed of upon being soiled. Unfortunately, killing these fools won't be nearly as pleasurable as having sex. They just aren't skilled enough to be any fun."

Rolling his eyes within his helmet, Putzen could only groan at Machen's statement. That male really did have a one track mind. "Remember what I said: there's strength in numbers."

Back with the remnants of Unit 731, Machen's disparaging comments didn't exactly set well with the grunts. Most were holding their ground at the three, snarling furiously at Machen's insinuation. One stupid bloke even thought it was a good idea to outright jump Machen, his claws unsheathed and ready to rips the monkey's face off.

But it didn't come to pass. In mid-flight, Traje intercepted the brash attack and rammed a dagger into the intrepid lackey's neck, severing the grunt's spinal cord in one strike. Traje then proceeded to glide the blade down the minion's spine, letting the blood and cerebral spinal fluid spill out like a working oil derrick before ripping the dagger out of the fool's back in one fluid motion.

As the stricken alien dropped to the ground dead, Putzen and Machen looked at their comrade in astonishment. Traje was many things, but one to take the initiative he was certainly not. What changed? That was the million dollar question.

"Revving to go, Traje?" joked Machen in a good-natured manner. Seeing his younger brother take down a foe with that kind of vigor was an unsuspected treat. Once in a lifetime rare; it deserved to be acknowledged upfront—to the boy's face.

The mohawk-haired boy rolled his eyes at his compatriots, almost bemused by their antics if it wasn't for the fact that they both were being big pain in the asses. "Hardly, this entire affair is troublesome. I just want this to be over and done with. Then I can go back and do something more interesting."

All the while, one of the comrades of the soldier Traje gored was slowly creeping up on Machen. Nobody killed his friend and lived to tell the tale! Of course, the hapless fool was completely unaware of the fact that each of the three black terrors could feel him creep closer to them by sensing his rapidly fluctuating ki and poor footwork. Machen and Putzen knew they could just take the motherfucker down anytime they chose, but they wanted to wait and see what the cocksucker would actually do.

They weren't disappointed. Once the idiot had actually begun to believe that he had maneuvered himself into a hidden striking position, the fool leapt into the air brandishing a ki saber while screaming like a banshee from hell. "This is for my friend you bastards!"

Machen didn't even turn his head towards the insufferable dumbass. His "silent" approach couldn't have been any more obvious, not even if he was wielding an out of control jackhammer. Secretly lifting another knife out of his suit, Machen waited for the idiot to get closer to him.

As soon as the idiot believed himself to be ready to plunge his saber into the saiyan's heart, he felt something enter and leave his body for a split second. Suddenly, he collapsed onto the ground pitiably, bleeding out from a hole where his heart should've been. Unremarkably, the poor bastard died within minutes of the sneak attack.

"Like I said," mocked Machen unflinchingly, boring into the heart of every grunt derisibly. "Easily disposed of—just like used condoms."

Putzen groaned painfully at Machen's assertion, prediction his exact rebuke to his very vocal inflexion. Why did the bastard have to mention sexual innuendo every five minutes? Frankly speaking, Putzen had no clue. "Let's just get started clearing house. We don't have all day to do this."

"Fine by me," replied Machen, snorting playfully at his younger brother. "Lead the way boss!"

"It's about time," muttered Traje through a sigh, still in the same place where he gored the first soldier. He just wanted to kill these urchins and be done with this. His insufferable brothers were preventing him from doing what he really wanted to do—which was nothing.

"Okay then let's get started, shall we?" offered Putzen, knowing damn well that his subordinates would take his offer like an order. "We have a lot of work to do today!"

Traje snorted while firing a ki ball at the belligerent line of meddling troops, eradicating most of their center line in one move. "Whatever, let's just get this assignment over and done with. I'm getting a migraine listening to you two."

"Touché," murmured Putzen amicably, walking towards the spot where his lazy younger brother and the insolent batch of Frieza's grunts were having their stare-down. At least these idiots had guts if nothing else; if watching over half of you die in one paltry attack didn't faze you, then you were stupid, heartless or incredibly brave. Probably all three though.

The newly reformed line of grunts had already recovered from Traje's original blast; new more invigorated soldier having taken the place of the soldiers that had fallen before them. Every single one of them looked like they were ready and willing to start a fight, regardless of the stupidity that would be composed from the initiation of such an act against superior warriors.

"Hey, you idiots!" shouted Machen, grinning smugly at his prey. "Are you ready to die?" And then he disappeared into the air before reemerging in the center of their formation. "Because I know I've been dying to kill you!"

Chaos then ensued, and the barbaric depravity of war ruled the day. Summoning an immense vein of ki from within himself, Putzen erected an explosive barrier around himself before detonating it like a kiloton bomb, exterminating well over one-hundred soldiers in one moment.

Using the sudden explosion to his advantage, Putzen and Traje charged the left and right flanks of the enemy line, cleaving through the distracted front line like confetti and advancing inward at a torrid pace. Soon enough, all three warriors found themselves surrounded by the never-ending hoard of their enemies.

Yet none of them looked even the faintest bit concerned about their predicament. Granted if their foes were even the tiniest bit skilled then maybe they had the cause to be a tad concerned, but this rabble wasn't even providing a slight challenge to their warrior prowess. It was beneath warriors of their caliber to be killing such trash!

The unadulterated slaughter just kept being carried on without abatement. One soldier after another jumped into the fray against the three demons of destruction, and each soldier found themselves butchered in an entirely new way before any of them could hope to react against their mutual enemy.

"Mofo's," sneered Machen, dropping his bloody dagger down onto the floor while putting his hand up like a boxer. "I don't even need a weapon to brutalize you; my hands will do just as well."

Taking up the cocky saiyan on his offer, another heap of grunts charged the impudent warrior with their weapons unsheathed and expressions bared and dangerous. Gaining ground quickly on the surrounded saiyan, all of the hoard cocked their swords back and prepared to deliver the killing blow on the devilish warrior.

`Fools. So predictable,' mused Machen, seeing their "well-thought of" plan coming a mile away. Nevertheless, he'd let them have their fun for now.

Time and space slowed down precipitously as Frieza's minions approached Machen, their weapons now tucked beneath their sides, ready to be sprung at a moment's notice. Each side swore they smelled blood as each grunt pulled their weapons forwards, attempting to skewer their foe from a multitude of angles.

But their attack never got to their target. Right as they were about to pierce Machen's flesh, a super-heated geyser of energy erupted around him that was almost ten-times hotter than the surface of the sun. The pulse of super-heated energy shot upwards violently in the air, melting through both the sword and the outstretched hand of the sword's owner in one go.

Machen smirked cruelly as each grunt buckled down onto their knees, screaming unrepentantly as they nursed the melted stump where their forearm had once been. Snorting contemptuously the twenty year old saiyan extended both of his arms out at a diagonal angle, infusing the appendages with another clump of his potent energy. "Au revoir."

Not hesitating in the slightest, the older saiyan launched his small blood red fireball headlong into the two writhing masses of grunts. He couldn't even help but cruelly sneer when the incendiary orb came into contact with the unrefined rabble, roasting them alive like the animals and trash they were deep inside. Their shouts and pleads for mercy falling on deaf ears as the hellishly hot flames burned through their innards and began to torch their very soul. Half-a-minute. That was all the time it took to completely eviscerate every single one of them.

Deriving no more sadistic pleasure in watching his foes perish, Machen subconsciously ignited the center of each scorching hot orb, detonating them in one furiously destructive display of fireworks. The explosions crisscrossed around their creator as if they respected him, while indiscriminately destroying everything else in their fearsome path.

Eventually the flames of war subsided and the smoke and fire left the room, leaving behind the massacre that had taken place there for the entire world to see. And in the shadows of at least two dozen corpses were the bloodied visages of his allies. "Hey Putzen and Traje. What'd you think of that?"

"Whatever," muttered Traje, walking toward his brother apathetically. He had to admit though that his eldest brother's boasting and compulsive love for creating explosion was a good trait. It made less work for him when everybody else was to focused on his show-off of an older brother to be focused on stopping him. And to be honest, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

"You've been working on your fire-elemental abilities haven't you Machen?" asked Putzen through a smirk, walking out of the shadows as well. Needless to say, he already knew the answer to that question.

"Of course," smirked Machen, mock bowing before his "superior." It wasn't like Putzen would've fared any better than any of the merc's he had killed if he was caught in the same attack. For some inexplicable reason, Putzen had chosen not to build up a resistance to attacks that were based in elemental ki usage.

"Get up," murmured Putzen, embarrassed by his older brother's age-old antics. There was just something in his face that Putzen just wanted to shoot. Something deep down. "We need to split before any of these other fools learn to get a clue."

"Fine by me," replied Machen, haughtily smiling at his flustered brother, applying more and more awkward tension to the conversation. If there was anything you could say about Machen, douchebag would've been the first thing to come to mind.

"Good to know," stated Putzen, trying to reign in his temper lest he assault Machen in that very room. And that wouldn't be a very good idea when reinforcements were surely on the way. It was time to disappear into the shadows like little rats they were. "It's time that we leave."

And so they did. The three bringers of destruction fled into the tunnels flanking the room, leaving the deathly chamber to fester and rot by its lonesome. When the reinforcements arrived, they ran right into one of the most morbidly disgusting sights they would ever see. Hundreds of corpses littered the ground, their entrails and severed body parts sprayed across every bench, smeared across every window and soaked into every piece of tile that graced the floor. No horror story could describe the nightmarish condition of the requiem nor could any account ever fathom the hollow cries of the damned, screaming for another chance at life as they roasted in hell. War's ever cruel grasp had claimed another victim in its perpetual state of conflict.

* * *

Baden advanced into the room, locking eyes resolutely with the Susaylonian king, making sure the king didn't try anything funny. "Smart. You were going to make me the 'scape goat when the time came for Vegeta to die. I'll admit that was clever; it would've worked if I hadn't actually had been in the room. Alas, that is your idea and I won't be taking the credit for it. No my friend, the laurels and the pitfalls for your little order are going to fall on you."

The king sighed dramatically at the boy's proclamation. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't want to plunge a dagger straight through that brat's heart. `Well aren't you the little rebellious twerp! Ugh, I hate those types.'

"What do I owe the displeasure?" stated the king, thoroughly fed up with having to deal with the other infuriating saiyan.

Easily sensing the bidden irritation just underneath the monarch's mien, Baden decided to extend the pleasantries just to annoy the flustered ruler. "What's up doc? Has the brat been getting on your nerves yet?" You could practically see the carrot stuck beneath the mischievous saiyan's teeth.

"You're making me homicidal Baden," muttered the king underneath his breath, masking the statement in a coarse growl. His temper was about to come to a boil, and if that happened a fight would be inevitable. Hopefully the pre-teen wouldn't catch on to the comment.

No such luck. Apparently the king had already forgotten about the insanely good hearing a normal saiyan possessed. Finding no difficulty deciphering the king's hidden message, the boy decided to press onwards and get the king even more riled up. "Homicidal, that's what you think of me? I thought you liked me."

`Agh!' cursed the monarch, feeling himself being pushed into a corner that he couldn't back himself out of. Why did this particular saiyan have to be so impossible? Why couldn't he just leave him in peace for five bloody minutes? But externally, the king went to his go-to response upon being pushed into a corner. "Whatever."

`Good, I got him angry. Now it's time to start exploiting it.' Baden knew people extremely well. Over the years with Cooler, he had learned one crucial reality about interrogation and information gathering: people only divulge their secrets when they are vulnerable. Arousing somebodies insecurities almost always made them easier to break down. Most either confessed their "sins" or they became so wildly emotional that they couldn't lie to save their lives. The trouble lied in what made somebody vulnerable. Being a pest worked in some cases while in others being a friendly confidante worked better, but neither necessarily worked all the time. Guessing wrong sometimes had devastating repercussions. Fortunately, finding what made the king vulnerability was quite easily.

For all his strength and skill, the king had one easy flaw: he did not like being questioned, which in reality was a common flaw for every divine right monarch he had ever had the displeasure to know. Start questioning one of them and watch the hissy fit fly. It was an exhilarating sight to behold.

"Tell me: what do you think of your charge? Was anything in my dossier incorrect? I'm always looking for some constructive criticism!" Baden's grin got even larger when one of the king's veins bulged involuntarily. Pestering people was just _too _much fun.

"He's a whiny brat with no sense of dignity or self-respect. Nevertheless, he does have potential; I think I know what you see in him," remarked the king, burying his former feelings of irritation underneath a coy smile.

Shock was completely etched across Baden's face; he was genuinely dumbfounded by the fact that the king responded to his loaded question without looking disturbed or angry. He knew this king. He _knew _that this king would hate Gohan the very minute that he graced his halls, and that Amir would endear himself to the brat almost as quickly. He _knew _that the king would invariably fall back to his political way of answering questions, and the anger underneath his apathetic expression would expose any lies or half-truths that he would utter.

But like the best laid plans of mice and men, Baden's theory didn't hold up in execution. The monarch's words were heart felt; his tone giving away nothing if his response indeed had an ulterior motive. What was once a clear cut case had gotten significantly more problematic to the pre-teen.

"So you know my plans for the boy?" alleged Baden, his knowing expression laced to his face before walking around the table, approaching Gohan from his flank before coming to a halt in front of the king. "Mind elaborating."

"No," acknowledged the monarch, squinting his eyes at the pre-adolescent like a Bengal tiger about to pounce on its prey. "All you need to know is that I'm going to do everything in my power to stop you from achieving your dream."

Baden loudly slammed his palm into the black obsidian table, cracking the fine black glass where he imprinted his palm, sending the small razor-sharp shards flying in all directions. The pre-teen slowly lifted his wide, feral slitted eyes directly into the king's horror-stricken gaze. "Remember who you're talking too. King or not, threaten my dream one more time and there won't be any kingdom you'll rule ever again."

Tension flew through the room like an airplane taking off, soaring exponentially higher each second while everybody in the crossfire buckled in and took cover. Baden and the king's non-verbal confrontation continued unabated, their killing intent's interspersing with each other and adding to the already claustrophobic environment.

"My table," muttered the monarch hoarsely through a syncopated series of growl. He didn't even notice his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms, slowly tearing off increasingly larger patches of epidermal skin from the crevice of his balled up fists. "You broke…my table!"

Neither Baden nor the king knew how close they were to killing each other. Like two bulls about to gore one another, only their wounded pride and testosterone-influenced hormones were egging them on to continue their self-destructive game. And frankly speaking, that was all that was you really needed to rile those two up.

Cocking their dominant fists back, both alpha males took their best swings at one another. Their fists flew towards one another clashing forcefully upon impact, negating each other like they were equal and opposite forces they were. The resulting shockwaves pushed the two powerhouses back, and the heavy tension that existed between the two superpowers returned.

"I'm going to be taking Gohan for the rest of the day. Capiche?" instructed Baden, keeping his biting undertone tame and subdued. Getting into a proverbial bar fight with a very reluctant ally was not on his list of priority right about then.

"Crystal," murmured the monarch, exhibiting a lot more difficulty in keeping himself composed. That table was the ultimate relic of his family; nobody besmirched it and got away without losing their life. Far too much had been lost in its construction for even a scathing comment to be tolerated, let alone what Baden did. Retribution was going to be on the horizon.

Baden ignored the king's scathing glare, knowing the infuriated man had the power to do a whopping total of jack squat to him. Turning to his charge, Baden flagged Gohan to come closer to him, waving his left index and middle fingers back and forth. "Kid, come here."

While Baden and the king were engaging in their pissing match, Gohan and Amir were huddled beneath the table, trying to hide away from escalating conflict. Neither really could contain their shock. This was all moving too fast, revolving far too quickly to really sink in. The calm rather restrained air of the room had out of nowhere formed into a raging inferno of tempers, which then tapered out seconds later. It was all too confusing.

Gohan wasn't a fool, even though he was a very naïve four year old. Saying that Baden and the king didn't like each other was an understatement; seeing them in action only solidified the gut hunch that he had already gathered when the king spoke of his new master. Yep, those two were going to come to blows eventually; the real question was just whose side would he be on when that happened.

Hearing Baden talk to him on the other hand was an entirely different. His manner of the speech when talking to the king originally was very biting, like he was poking and prodding the other man for clues and secrets. But that same bite disappeared for some reason. When he addressed him, Baden's voice was far smoother, jovial perhaps? He probably could disarm Frieza with his lulling voice.

This all brought him back to the real unsolved question: what was his purpose in all this? Baden didn't seem to be a person who did something out of the good in his heart. Oh no, there must be some ulterior motive; he just prayed he that this motive was rational. Living under another Frieza would be really bad, especially after having just been released from his captivity. But it wasn't like it mattered; he had to obey whatever Baden said and that included `coming here' as Baden had just said.

Compelled to follow, Gohan awkwardly strode closer to Baden, eyeing the other saiyan expectantly. He really didn't know what he was going to do with him. It was concerning to the say the least.

"Follow me," ordered the pre-teen, walking past the half-saiyan while heading for the door. Right before he passed through the portal, the full blooded saiyan stopped for his charge to catch up to him before advancing completely out of the room.

"Sir?" muttered Gohan, before cutting off his statement lest his stuttering completely derail his point. Hopefully, his new master wouldn't catch his little mess up.

Gohan would have no such luck. Baden, like any saiyan warrior, had a remarkable sense of hearing. Eavesdropping on the muttering of somebody less than ten feet away from him was something he could do with the simplest of ease. "What is it, Gohan?"

With the hat out of the bag, the demi-saiyan tried to articulate his confusion to the older pure blood. "Why did you save me? What do you want from me?"

Contently snorting at the flustered child, Baden let the kid stew in silence for a few moments before explaining his situation somewhat. "What do I want from you? Nothing. Yes, I have my plans—don't we all. Yet, none of my plans that involve you work without your say-so. Could I force you into doing what I want? Absolutely, but that would be impractical. They aren't effective for what I want."

If Gohan was confused by Baden's motives before, then he was doubled confused now. So his master's plan required his unsolicited cooperation, but his master could force him into doing whatever he wanted? What.

So he chose an alternative mode of questioning. Apparently he wasn't going to get a straight answer out of his new guardian right away. Maybe a less intrusive manner of queries would warrant a clearer picture; something that was simple and easy to answer. He was still curious about Vegeta's ultimate fate, and he had been implicated in the ultimate decision regarding his fate. "What's gonna happen to Vegeta?"

Baden didn't even flinch when he answered. "You're gonna decide whether he lives or dies. I have no use for him in my plans nor is he really a dangerous loose end that I really need to silence. In all reality, you and you alone would be the only person here with a real legitimate grip with him. Where I'm from, that means you get to decide what happens to him."

An unanticipated tumult of mixed emotions stormed the young boy, blitzing through his mind and seizing his subconscious. Was he really going to be put in charge of Vegeta's fate? Had he gone from prisoner of war to an arbiter of fate? Whatever his choice was going to be, he was putting somebodies life at stake. Granted, it was Vegeta's, but his life meant something too.

"Don't worry about Vegeta just yet Gohan," added Baden, bring the kid back into the world of the living. "You and I have a lot of work to do and not much time to do it in."

"What do you mean?" asked Gohan wondering about his guardian's intentions intently. Something told him he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear.

Guffawing melodically, Baden flashed his charge a toothy grin—the kind a predator gives off when its prey is in view. "I'm going to train you. After all, you're only as useful as the power you wield. Unfortunately you aren't even capable of defeating a newborn infant as you stand right now, let alone the legions of seasoned warriors that you'll inevitably face when you're living the life of a rogue."

Gulping fearfully, Gohan nodded his head. He had endured many abhorrent things since he had been abducted, but training hadn't been one of them up until now. Of course, he had rationalized in his mind that this was going to be inevitable. Neither Vegeta nor Frieza had gotten to where they were sitting on their asses, and he too would have to attend a few seminars at the school of hard knocks before he could even think about approaching their level. But that didn't mean he didn't cringe when the subject was brought up, partially out of the fear for his own health along with the ingrained fear that his mother's constant accosts had built within him since he could form words in his mouth.

Yet in the depths of his soul, in a realm so deep that what it uttered couldn't be anything but the truth, he was relishing this opportunity. He had always been enamored by his father, whom had always been a beautiful fighter to behold. His crisp, fluid movement had intrinsically fascinated from the moment his eyes recorded them into his memory logs, storing them for later playback. Even back then a powerful, animalistic urge had been compelling him to follow in the footsteps of his father; to take up the mantle that his father made his own. Maybe eventually he would become a hero just like him. Sadly he kept those feeling under wraps for his mother's sake, who would've thrown a fit of truly grand caliber.

Now though there was no restraints, no accosting look to hold him back. Perhaps he could transcend his father and become something grander—savior of the universe sounded big enough. His father had only been able to free Earth after all.

Suddenly, the boy was knocked out of his mental soliloquy by the sound of doors being flung open. Turning to his keeper, he could swear he saw a sliver of a smile grace the pre-teen's face before his solemn, serious expression returned. "Ready to begin?"

* * *

At Frieza's command and control center, Merken was furiously toggling between multiple screens, observing and keeping tabs on his both his allies and their objective. Internally though, he wondered why the hell they were here. Raiding Frieza's flag ship even under the most ideal of condition was a very stupid risk, which was putting their gambit in the most positive light he could muster. Whatever Baden wanted so badly better be worth all of this trouble and strife.

Curiosity had always been his main weakness. It was his Achilles heel and throughout the years it was something he had never rectified. Why should he? Curiosity was the driving force of how he learned—how he became an experienced warrior in record time. Intel in matters of soldiery was just as valuable as knowledge in academic pursuits, and knowledge was the very essence of power. Merken loved to learn even if it came at the expense of his others, and this inquisitiveness had gotten him into more trouble than he could ever care to count.

This entire affair hadn't helped him break his compulsive need to pry into other people's business. Baden's behavior right before they had decided on this all-out assault plan had been downright perturbing. Albeit he had never met Baden in the flesh before, but every confirmed rumor or story about his older brother didn't match up to the panic he exhibited back on Ruhr. Merken was expecting a calm, cocksure warrior that was steady under pressure with rock solid resolve. Skeptical wasn't a powerful enough adjective to describe the rift between these stories and his brother's real behavior. And when Merken doubted something, he was compelled to snoop in places he had no business being in.

First though, he needed to remember _why _they were here. Baden was really unclear on this fact, and how he was panicking back on Ruhr wasn't helping him any now. What was their purpose here? Son Goku—who was he? Why was he important? Those were question he needed to answer before he could get to the root of all of this.

Starting first in the computer itself, Merken opened another screen to pilfer through the empire's birth records. Surely any warrior or man of any account would be in there somewhere? Typing in the mysterious warrior's name, the child saiyan waited for the results to process.

`Strange. There is no record of Son Goku anywhere in the data register.' That in and of itself was troubling. Yes, Frieza's empire was not known for having stellar bookkeeping, but that name should've been listed somewhere if he was of any importance. Frieza always kept tabs of anybody who could be even a slight threat of his rule. Needless to say, the suspicion Merken felt towards this mission grew exponentially. Alas, he needed more information before he could do anymore digging lest he draw suspicion from Frieza's other techs.

And then Son Goku descended out of his pod and confronted the techies. By then he had already given Putzen and his cohort the go ahead to just obliterate Unit 731, which in turn implied that his focus was all on the interplay between Goku and his enemies. But when he saw Son Goku just one time, everything made sense.

From the very instant Merken scrutinized the warrior, it was readily obvious that Son Goku was a saiyan. Merken may not have been in the room, but he could just tell when he was looking at one of his own kind. His spiky black locks and the wild look in his eyes was practically a dead give-away. This changed everything.

Merken toggled back to the birth register and refined his search, looking up everything under the word saiyan. One name immediately caught his eye—he hardly was expecting what he saw.

Son Gohan. Age: somewhere between four and five. Height: three-and-a-half feet. Weight: forty five pounds. Power level: approximately thousand-five hundred including his most recent zenkai. Registration number: 14081791. Location: in transit to Zoon. Altogether he was very unremarkable.

Yet there was no way that this 'special person' that Baden was talking about could be anybody but this Gohan. There was nobody else in Frieza's whole wide empire that fit the ideal profile that Baden had mapped out other than this kid. At least now he understood who Baden was tracking.

What Merken didn't understand about this was why. Why was Baden, a shrewd warrior, putting so much time and manpower to protect a little kid who was neither powerful nor held any special value. He couldn't be even be bartered if things got rocky on a mission! There was no gain to be had in this, especially when the risks associated with aiding his father were so great? It was a really befuddling conundrum.

In the end though, Merken didn't have the time to really be doing any more digging. He had a job to do.

Toggling back to the camera feed that was tracking Goku, the child soldier practically cursed when he saw the predicament Goku was in. There he was surrounded by a piecemeal militia that looked like they wanted to take a bite out of him, while the palm-tree haired warrior was holding his hands in the air trying to appear cooperative. Lovely.

Kicking into action, Merken set off the timers that were attached to the rigged explosives in the room. Without hesitation the incendiary devices exploded immediately, triggering a cataclysmic sequence of events. As predicted the bombs combusted, igniting the jet fuel that was already lying haphazardly in the room, making a bad situation worse. Flames shot up into the air and a wall of fire spontaneously surrounded the entire death chamber, frying the henchman alive. Goku was only spared because Merken ordered the computer to enshroud him in a veil of carbon dioxide, which smothered the flames of the encroaching fire. It was really fortunate for Goku that he was immune to the effects of carbon dioxide poisoning, which right about then would've been very undesirable.

Flicking on the voice scrambler, Merken began to directly address his unsuspecting client. "You've made one huge mistake by coming here. Are you prepared to face the consequences of getting back out?" Unremarkably, the orange-wearing titan remained silent even after his ultimatum.

But Merken continued on undeterred, tapping into the motivation speaking spirit that had endeared Putzen to many of the other saiyans of their colony. "Son Gohan, your son, is not here. You've came here for absolutely nothing, unless your real aim was suicide. Such a shame, your son may never know his father because of his dad's intrepid nature. Pity."

"What do want?" rebuked Goku, baring his razor sharp cusped's at the disembodied voice, keeping himself on high alert.

"Nothing," stated Merken, his tone polite and impersonal but still retaining its authoritarian edge. "Gohan means as much to me as he does to you. Frankly speaking, I can't afford to let you die on this blasted ship; therefore you are going to do exactly what I say. Believe me, I want to kill you for sending me into this hornet's nest, but orders are orders."

Goku didn't respond to Merken's demands immediately. Could he trust this voice? There wasn't really any reason why not. Gohan at least appeared to be value to it as well. Just maybe he could work with it. It didn't help that he was lost with no real clue on how he was supposed to get out of this massive ship. "Okay. I'll do what you want," relented Goku, sighing morosely.

"Perfect," replied Merken, his tone smoother and less harsh than it was before. "Stay put for a quick second. I need to get you out of this inferno."

"Fine," answered Goku, waiting patiently for his prospective ally to pull him out of the sauna of a room. He felt he was about to overheat from the insanely high temperature. Sweat had already thoroughly coated his clothing, and promptly evaporated within seconds leaving his clothes caked in dirt and grime. And along with this his throat was dry, his heart was fluttering and his head was spinning.

"Okay Goku, I'm ready to get you out of that nightmare. Slowly walk forward, tread carefully in a straight line," warned Merken, slowly released another vein of carbon dioxide gas into the atmosphere, carving a straight line away from the circle Goku was standing in to the door of the hangar.

"Beware Goku. As a precautionary measure Goku don't inhaling anything until you're clear of the room." Goku followed the kid's advice as he took a daring step forward, slowly pacing himself out of the fireball and into the hallway that led out of hangar.

Immediately collapsing to the floor, Goku violently expelled one wad of soot and saliva after another. It seemed that the heart wrenching paroxysm that he was suffering through was carrying on perpetually, crippling the normally healthy saiyan.

Merken couldn't help but snarl at the scene. Outside of direct intervention, there was no way he could get his fellow saiyan up on his feet before the next patrol came, which was going to be there any minute now. `Putzen: now would be a very good time to a make scene!'

Thankfully, Goku's incapacitating coughing episode ended almost as suddenly as it began. Weakly getting himself back onto his feet, the saiyan started to feebly smile at the incorporeal voice that was guiding him. "This is bad, isn't it?"

"No crap," retorted Merken through a snort. That patrol was rapidly closing in on them, and it looked like he would have to fend them off. Goku looked like he couldn't even combat a cold right about now—forget about one of Frieza's patrols. If god was merciful, this patrol better be nothing but weaklings.

Quickly activating the ship's turret system, Merken sat still, waiting for Frieza's little peons to find his client. Soon enough, that moment came and it came swiftly.

Another random assortment of henchman turned the corner and their eyes bugged out comically when they saw the weakened intruder practically lying in the hangar's doorway. And this amusement was only heightened when they saw the trail of smoke and fire that coming from the hangar perpendicular to the vulnerable saiyan.

Delusions of power, money and prestige came over the pitiful lackeys. Although each little sucker was a failure of truly pitiful caliber, they were in the know enough to recognize a saiyan when they saw one. Frieza would pay them a big bonus if they brought him another monkey to play with—or so they hoped.

And so they charged, and so they got slaughtered.

Without even blinking, Merken gunned down the fearless grunts. The wave of gun fire from the turret tore through each one with a malicious vigor, reducing the entire patrol into one bloody mess that was altogether unrecognizable.

Eyes widening at the abrupt slaughter, Goku couldn't help but shudder slightly at the carnage. Yes what Piccolo did to his friends was far more ghastly, but that didn't mean that the normal benevolent saiyan liked seeing anybody being ripped to shreds. Alas, that choice wasn't his to make.

"Can you walk?" muttered Merken through the transceiver, clearly worried about having to protect Goku again. He couldn't risk letting loose like that again, not with tensions being so hot half-way across the ship. One wrong move and he could have half the effing Planet Trade Organization army on his ass.

"Yes!" muttered Goku loudly, almost making one of the ears of his guide ring.

"Good," responded the chibi saiyan smugly, wrapping his arms around his back. "Here's what you need to do: see the slain bodies? Head towards them and start digging. Pull the earpiece out of one of their ears. Put this earpiece in one of your ears."

"Gross," whined Goku, making a mountain out of a molehill. He really didn't want to wear something that was in a dead guy's ear.

`Dear lord, I don't have time for this,' complained Merken, not in the mood to deal with yet another hypochondriac. Trying his best not to chastise the clueless buffoon too hard, Merken proceeded to ball beat the saiyan. "Goku we don't have the time for you to be squeamish. Put that transceiver in and follow my instructions."

"Okay, okay. Sheesh," bit backed Goku, slowly putting the filthy earphone into his own ear with an unrestrained grimace. "I'm not hearing anything but this crackling sound; it sounds like something's frying."

"Great," answered Merken through the transmitter, his voice far more shrill than before. "We need to do something about those bodies. We can afford not to let some snooping grunt find them by accident. Toss them into the fire will you?"

Goku on the other hand was uncertain about doing this. Of course, he knew he was running out of time but he wasn't sure about doing something like this. Desecrating the dead usually didn't offer you any favors from anybody. "Are you sure about this?"

"Without a doubt," affirmed Merken, not even twitching. "Dump the body. It's only a matter of time before somebody is going to find it."

And the palm-tree haired saiyan did as he was said. Grabbing each corpse, the normally chipper saiyan began the tedious process of tossing each soul into the fuel fire that was directly behind, watching the anonymous souls incinerate without a word.

"Now what?" murmured Goku, sighing as he straightened his back and got into an on guard position. It was time to leave this wretched place behind him.

"We proceed onwards down the hall—into the unknown."

* * *

The royal family of Uyyasid may have been very decadent in how they furnished their living space, but they were equally spartan in their work place. Upon entering the battle hall, Gohan and Baden immediately noticed that the room had hardly any light fixtures and the room lacked windows. If they weren't alone, they would've sworn they were being thrown into a cold, gray stoned dungeon.

Walking into the center of the room, Baden began to stretch his extremities. Wrapping his left-arm across his head so that his elbow rested on the top of his head, the pre-teen clasped his left hand to his right and slowly pulled his left-hand farther to the right. He then repeated the process, using his left-hand as the applier of torque that time around.

Gohan looked at his guardian skeptically. Yes his father _always _stretched before training, but that didn't mean he understood why. If you asked him, he'd tell you it was a waste of time. Of course, Goku thought differently on the matter but he never really did explain why.

Finishing his initial stretch, Baden looked at his partner and his eyebrows widened when he saw the kid doing nothing. Fluidly moving into another warm-up exercise, Baden addressed his concerns to his inexperienced charge. "Why aren't you stretching?"

"It's a waste of time," muttered the demi-saiyan, looking crossly at his guardian for browbeating him for something so pointless. God he didn't understand why everybody was so insistent on stretching; it made no sense.

"No! It isn't a waste of time," rebuked the pre-teen, the volume of his voice lowering while the intensity magnified. "You think it's a waste of a time. Honestly kid, it's that kind of lazy thinking that gets people maimed or in some cases killed."

"How so?" questioned his charge, skeptically looking at his keeper like he didn't believe him. You could get hurt by not stretching? That didn't sound possible.

Baden sighed at Gohan, empathizing with his charge's thinking. Most novice fighters always had an issue with stretching at first; it was just something that most didn't understand until it bit them in the ass. Sadly, he couldn't shy away from the fact that he too had to learn that particular lesson. It was just one of the many things he had learned going through the motions of being a warrior.

"Come at me then." Lowering himself into a basic fighting stance, the pre-teen flicked his fingers together and attempted to bait the other saiyan into coming closer. "Fight me then. Let's see if not stretching is actually useful."

But Gohan wasn't going to be conned into becoming an example so easily. Although the boy may've been sheltered and naïve, he most certainly couldn't be qualified as dumb. Baden was going to have to try a little harder to embarrass him. "No."

"No," reiterated Baden critically, his eyes growing wider than saucer and a sliver of a grin began to crawl up his face. He had dealt with many people before Gohan, but very few were ever nearly so openly insolent. Yet unlike many commanders throughout the universe, Baden didn't treat the brat's insolence as an affront that deserved corporeal punishment. Oh contraire, it invigorated him; fueled him to teach the brat where he was wrong. Not necessarily in a malicious way like how he normally dealt with open insolence, but rather an informative way. Show the kid what he did wrong and why he ought not to do it again.

Pulling himself out of his offensive stance, the pre-teen shifted in a defensive position. "Humor me, Gohan. As an olive branch, I won't attack back. Take as many swings at me as you want; let go of some of the aggression that has _surely _built up after having to deal with Frieza."

Gohan was still left unmoved by Baden's offer, knowing that it was all sweet nothings that his guardian was telling him to get him to attack. Still, what Baden said did ring true: dealing with Frieza made him want to punch a wall hard. Why couldn't he just get a single second of peace? "I don't want to be a fighter. I want to be an…orthopedist."

"An orthopedist?" questioned Baden, evidently amused by the demi saiyan's statement. "You expect me to believe that? You're a saiyan kid; you possess the same blood I do. Fighting is just as much a part of your blood as it is mine."

Sinking his head out of view, the boy tried to shy away from his fellow saiyan. For the umpteenth time since he had been abducted, Gohan was left bewildered and confused. As much as he wanted to deny Baden's words, he was at least partially right. Deep inside himself, he was being compelled to move forward. Defend his honor, pride or some other such nonsense, even in spite of the fact that was what Baden was hoping him to do. And pulling him equally in the opposite direction was what he had endeared himself too: his humanity.

Transcending the mortal plain, Gohan knew he was straddling a divide greater than he could ever comprehend. On one side was his mortal life: calm, tranquil and passive. Content to let each day pass on like a perpetually long scroll, all the while letting the words on the scroll just writes themselves independent of his influence. In essence, he was just a small, harmonious part of the background.

Yet there was a burning fire ablaze deep within him; locked away in a void so dark and impenetrable that he couldn't even fathom how it got there. Underneath his tranquil appearance, this void brimmed with raw fury that threatened constantly to tear through his mortal soul. It plead—no begged—for him to be more. It wanted to be something more than just a cog in the machine; it wanted to redefine the machine itself. Carve a niche of its own making—become great there. Become legendary there.

From the very day he was born he had struggled with this. Being abducted had not changed a single thing; it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface of his mind. Ready to persuade him to change his ways, or even coerce him if such an action was needed. His abduction simply made this process far easier. Vulnerability had a habit of creating rapid and drastic change.

As his life had progressed, this demented voice had grown louder and more demanding of him. Mysteriously the only time it seemed to be quiet was he when around Goku, watching or participating in his grueling training. Only in those small, inconsequential moments did he ever feel at peace with himself. And for every moment of harmony, the schizophrenic conflict in his head was magnified when he was studying, which this part of him really didn't appreciate.

Although being kidnapped hadn't created this conflict, it would've been fools talk to deny how much it had affected his crises of identity. Back on Earth, life was peaceful and morality was at least somewhat intact. Sating his inner beast would've been deplorable abuse of power.

The same could not be said for the callous world he had been inducted into. Murder was encouraged instead of abhorred and civility was all but non-existent. His very survival was dependent on how many souls he could slay, instead of how many souls he could save. In this world, he had no choice but to find some peace with his inner beast, no matter how abominable it may be. And that was a fate he had submitted to the minute he had crushed that poor Meteoran under the sole of his foot.

Uncertainty still cut through his soul like a cut made from a katana. Coming to terms with his personal demon did not change his stance on killing; the act still made him want to spill out all the contents of his stomach. And that was where he was left with Baden: a murderous fury storming his mind while his conscious besieged his mind, telling him that forsaking his beliefs was a mistake he would never forgive himself for. In the end, today wasn't going to be the last day of his silent suffering. He was still very much at the mercy of his own cognitive dissonance.

On in the literal realm, Baden knew something was wrong. For whatever reason, watching his charge lower his head melancholically didn't provoke his naturally sarcastic and goading personality. Vague hints of concern were found on his countenance, contemplating the confounding sight. Had he erred? Was he wrong about this kid? Had his intuition for once deceived him? More information was needed.

"What's wrong?" asked Baden in a mellow tone, doing his best to be as soothing as possible when asking the question. It just came across as a curious inquiry rather than an entreaty to his mild disgust.

"I'm na-not sure if I-I wa-want to fah-fight." Baden could barely understand the kid over his distressed stuttering, which just raised his level of anxiety. Apart of him wondered if interjecting his own comments would help assuage the situation or inflame it. There were subjects that he knew a lot about, but talking somebody through their problems wasn't one of them. Nevertheless, the pre-teen had always been more of a doer. Letting somebody just handle their issues wasn't his style.

Walking closer to the distraught boy, Baden placed his hand over the top of the boy's silky crop of hair. "You're a saiyan kid. No amount of interbreeding or hellacious circumstances ever takes away the thrill of the fight, neither for you nor for me."

Sputtering spasmodically, Gohan tried to raise his head up into the air without shame or fear at the older saiyan. Upon seeing the other saiyan's imploring eyes, he immediately dropped his head out of view. "I…understand, but I can't let it…out."

"Why can't you?" pressed Baden, edging Gohan closer and closer into a full disclosure. Without a doubt, Gohan was the most pivotal cog in his plan. He needed to know everything about the kid, especially about obvious traumas like the one he was being subjected to right now.

"Monster…beast," responded Gohan, feeling himself slip further and further into another full blown meltdown. And this time he didn't have the comfort of being completely alone. Why couldn't his guardian just leave him alone to his thoughts? Wasn't it evident that he didn't want to be bothered?

"Who is this beast?" Now Baden was actually intrigued by what Gohan was saying. Living his whole life as a full-blooded saiyan, he had gathered only a partial resistance to the impulses of his race. Bloodshed was a natural response to just about every problem a saiyan ever encountered, and unless the circumstances were really extreme, Baden was every bit saiyan. And if there was anything that was invariable with saiyans—regardless of intelligence, social status or gender—it was that the first response to problem was the annihilation of the problem. Perhaps this natural impulse was different in hybrids.

Gohan's ever present series of twitches and tremors abruptly intensified; the skin around his eyes already showing signs of being red and puffy on the verge of more waterworks. `God how embarrassing is this? Breaking down in front of a complete stranger—get a hold of yourself Gohan!' Yet his increasingly fragile mental state just kept on freefalling.

Reacting swiftly to the progressively worsening situation, Baden placed on of his hand onto Gohan's shoulder and straightened the kid's posture while lifting up the demi saiyan's face up to his eye level with his other hand. "Tell me: who is this monster Gohan?"

Dormant tears lying within Gohan's tear glands burst forth from his eye lids, flooding the young boy's stained cheeks with the transparent fluid. What were once faint murmurs that hid his inner turmoil became open sobs of regret. Yet even under those strained circumstances, the demi-saiyan couldn't control what he would say next. "Wah-what I'll be-become."

`A serious case of self-doubt and self-loathing,' mused Baden, watching the tremors stabilize somewhat. Getting something like that off his chest probably helped him, albeit not nearly enough. The kid was a bigger wreck than he had predicted, but he wasn't that alarmed just yet. Saiyans were remarkably resilient in the face of trauma, and not even a pampered one like Gohan would break completely so quickly.

Playfully massaging the dome of the distraught boy's head, Baden flashed the kid a half-hearted eye smile. "The world creates a lot of monsters kiddo. There are quite a few people in the world who consider me a monster and I don't blame them; my past is very ugly thing to say the least." Pausing a second to remove his hand from the his charge's head, the older boy started to bitterly chuckle at the memories that flew through his mind, some of which were pleasant and other not so much.

Surprising revelation were always very hard for Gohan to accept. Ever since he was young, he had judged ever person he had ever met by his initial impression of them. The concept that they could be hiding something from him never even crossed his thoughts. Yet it seemed that his first impression was wrong, and now he wanted to know why. "Why are you considered a monster?"

"Many reasons, none of which I'm particularly proud of," commented the pre-teen, his eyes becoming duller by the minute. "Murder, extortion, robbery, fraud, corruption—take your pick. I've probably committed every crime under the sun at least once."

Gohan couldn't help but gasp quietly at what his guardian was telling him; the shock so profound that he was having a hard time finding the right words to say. Baden seemed nice—no he was nice to him. How could somebody who went so far out of their way for some lonesome brat be a cold-hearted killer? But he didn't disbelief his keeper for even a minute. Even in his distraught form, the kid could recognize when somebody was being honest.

And it was that calmness that Baden kept himself under that intrigued him. "How do you live with yourself? How do you live with the guilt?"

"How do I live with the guilt?" asked Baden, rewording the question to make it easy for him to comprehend. "You learn to forgive your faults. Although I've done many atrocious things in my past, none of them were truly my fault. Like you, I was either forced by my own rulers or they were just unforeseen casualties of an inevitable conflict. Trust yourself to carry on from day to day without harboring regrets from the past. If you've truly erred, do what you can to make amends. Rolling in the muck is no way to get clean."

Baden's speech marked the climax of Gohan's turmoil, which had been ravaging the young boy internally for some time before. The demi-saiyan was listening to his keeper with an abnormal amount of vigor. Breaking free from the mental agony that was slowly killing him off was all he wanted.

Listening to his guardian though turned out to be very therapeutic. Even though the panic was still engrained in his muscles, the boy's mind was starting to calm down and take in the older saiyan's words. And as his keeper rambled on, the boy became more and more transfixed by the small speech that was being orated for him. Subtly all of the tension left his body, returning him back to normal, albeit still somewhat shaken up mentally. Deep down though, Gohan knew this was going to be just one of many periods of doubt he would have as he would grow up in outer space. Hopefully they would be resolved as simply as this one.

Toothily smiling at the younger boy, Baden stepped back somewhat and lowered himself into a defensive crouch, body locked into position like a marble statue. "Ready to start? Anxiety has only one great enemy kid: exercise. Want to learn that great reality for yourself?"

Unlike last time, Gohan tried to replicate one of his father's offensive stances, although he was clearly unsure of his footing, arm placement and balance. There was a lot of work to do. "Okay, I'll do my best."

"You better," responded Baden somewhat playfully, letting the mild threat hang in the air to coerce the kid into holding up his word. "Let this battle begin."

* * *

**The ninth installment of C.D is out and I hope to hear back from my faithful readers, along with maybe a few new ones I hope. First of all, I want to congradulate myself for passing the 100K mark with C.D; believe me, it's something I'm really proud of. Anyways, on with the show! **

**I. Review Responses: **

** Super Vegetarott: development chapters are always a bit slow, especially when I write them. Pseudo-filler + purple prose writing usually make thing drag on a bit. I hope this next chapter has a bit more conflict for you. As for the homophones, I do my best; oftentimes it isn't enough. **

** Ky111: I'll state one thing because its kinda impertinent for the rest of the story. Vegeta will not be training Gohan in any way from this point onwards. This is a spoiler I have no problems eliciting. **

** Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: I agree that I probably added a bit too much to the description of the Uyyasidian palace. When I think something a bit too long-winded, it probably is. Though I wouldn't say nothing got done, but that could also just be me. **

** Kazuma Bushi: I hope you enjoyed the answer you were given (or some of the answer maybe). **

** pointer39 (chp 5.): I'm very tempted to turn off all the light, turn on a flash light, hold it up to my chin and say: "or is she?" **

** FinalFlashX: (chp 4/5): thanks for both your analysis and praise. I hope to solicit more feelings of the same in the future. **

** LucifVegeta (chp 6.): thanks for the review. We've already discussed the criticisms (somewhat). **


	10. Treading the Treacherous Trail

Even though dialectic chaos was exploding everywhere around him, Goku's sector of the ship had remained fairly quiet. As Merken had planned, every garrison in the region was running like chickens with their heads cut off; all of their attention either being spent on stopping Spiesen's renegade ship or Putzen's strike force. With Frieza's troops both disorganized and panicked, certain sectors of the ship were left unguarded and completely vulnerable. It wasn't a coincidence that Goku was unknowingly being guided through the ship via these unguarded spheres of influence.

Breathing rapidly, Goku braced himself against a metal wall, crawling along its side until he reached a hairpin turn. Doing as he was instructed, the orange-adorned warrior poked his face away from wall and down the vacant passage. Satisfied by the emptiness of the adjoining passageway, Goku pulled his head out of the opposite hallway. "There's nobody there."

"Excellent," stated Merken through the transceiver that was stuck in Goku's ear. "Tread carefully into the hallway. Stay alert and keep to the edge of the wall: you don't want you getting caught by some hapless rookie."

Adjusting his ear piece, the spiky haired man on the other end of the line followed the orders that he had been instructed to do. Snaking around the wall, he cautiously paced from one end of the passage to the other. Right as he was nearing the end of the corridor, the palm-tree haired man heard voices coming towards him from the hallway perpendicular to him.

Easing himself away from the wall, Goku laterally moved to the other wall that bordered the corridor before kneeling down on the ground. Waiting patiently, the saiyan kept himself crunched down in the shadow of the wall as the voices came into view crossing the hall before fading out of view almost as quickly.

"Good Goku," congratulated Merken, letting the praise sink in for a minute. "Now swing a left and walk down that hall. You will eventually reach a massive room—try not to be scared shitless when you see what you've walked into."

Unfortunately, for as well planned as their raid was, there was one hurdle that Merken couldn't avoid. Although Frieza's forces were dangerous thinned, there was no hangar bay that Goku could access without crossing at least one hot zone of activity. After hours of time alone in his pod scouting routes, the child warrior had discovered one particular route that he believed successfully minimized the possibility of a full blown engagement between his care package and Frieza's henchman. With a healthy amount of luck, Merken believed he could navigate Goku around the chokepoint with no incident.

It was almost time. Up until now, guiding Goku across one abandoned hallway to another abandoned hall had been easy. It was supposed to be; practically nobody of importance was there. No, the real challenge began now. Goku didn't know it, but he was charging headlong into a tiger's den.

Obediently carrying out Merken's orders, Goku swung out of his hiding spot and advanced swiftly through the corridor, approaching the entrance into the massive auditorium the farther he walked down the pathway. Stealthily entering the massive room, the palm treed hair man could only gawk at what he saw.

Thousands of men lined the chamber. Grouped and ordered in tight formations, bodies tense and rigid from standing still for a long awaited command. Goku may not have been the best judge of character throughout his life, but it was obvious to him that these warriors were bad news. Bloodlust practically came off of them in waves, radiating throughout the room like a suffocating miasma. Fortunately for him though, each of these bloodthirsty souls were too singularly focus to notice him enter their realm.

Taking cover under a piece of scaffolding, Goku dropped out of sight, waiting for the disembodied voice to tell him what to do. He may've had a tremendous amount of experience in combat back on Earth, but sneaking around was something he was always dreadfully bad at. Escaping from this place would require some finesse.

"I know what you're thinking, Goku," responded the voice, acknowledging Goku's plight frankly to the older saiyan. "But by no means is this undertaking impossible. If you adhere to my commands precisely, then you should be able to get out of this pit without any incident."

"Okay," muttered Goku, keeping his voice muffled and head down low so as not to attract attention. One wrong move now could spell his doom. "What should I do now?"

"Hold it," advised Merken, warning the hyperactive saiyan to reign in his horses and remain in place. "These idiots will disperse on their own pretty soon. Watch and see."

Goku pointed his head towards the center of the room, astonished to see that there was another figure standing up front addressing the crowd. Unlike the other lackeys in the room, this distinguishable alien had an air of heightened self-importance about him. Like his life was far more valuable than any and all of his comrades that were serving under him.

Yet Goku could also feel that this warrior could back up his feelings of cocksureness. Up until then, Goku had never met a being with a higher power level then this monster. Yes, he could sense radically higher power levels in the vicinity, but all of them were merely shadows without names. Nameless beacons without identities that Goku could pinpoint. No, there was only one warrior here who was real and he was staring him straight in his face. Everything else was surreal. `Who is this guy!'

"His name is Cui," mentioned Merken, as if he was reading Goku's mind. "He's one of Frieza's highest ranking lieutenants. Beware though: the guy is a first class suck up—pest extraordinaire if you ask me, but that may just be me. Nevertheless, he is to be avoided at all cost. Not only does he hate saiyan's with a vehemence unmatched by all except Frieza, but we are also in a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' predicament if he somehow spots you. If we kill him, an internal investigation _will _happen and I won't be able to defend you from that. If we let him live, then the weasel will cry and bitch to Frieza about us like a spoiled child."

Goku's slid his head back under the scaffolding and chuckled a bit too himself, making sure to keep the noise quiet and on the down low. This didn't look good. How in the name of Kami was he to escape unseen from this? "Damn. How are we going to get out of here without being spotted?"

"Leave that to me. Await my commands and be prepared. We may not have much time to react at all." Shifting away from Goku, Merken toggled back to the ship's automated defense system and requested an infrared scan of the hot spot and the adjoining halls. His eyes subtly started to glower when he saw nothing was coming in or out of the room. And Cui appeared to be nowhere even close to stopping his address. If a distraction was going to happen, he'd need to be the one to create it.

Wrapping his left hand around the entirety of his face, Merken crunched his eyes tightly shut and began to brainstorm a quick way to guide Goku out of the room. Cursing softly to himself, the child soldier couldn't even think of a single thing to help his far older charge. Oh damn this shit!

And then an idea straight from liege lord of hell stormed through his mind, demanding to be acknowledged by the boy's subconscious. A sliver of a smirk ran up the boy's face, exhilarated by his rapid thinking and quick problem solving. His plan was a risky one and there was no room for error whatsoever, but if the plan worked like he thought it would, he would deserve no less than an Oscar nomination for his screenwriting.

Deploying one of the ship's automatic turrets, the boy ordered the turret to start firing on the front of Cui's crowd. Comprehending its orders perfectly, the machine burst fired on the stunned army, shredding through at least two solid rows of soldiers before advancing closer to the podium that Cui was standing on. Not hesitating for even an instant, the turret began to fire on the purple skinned alien.

Reacting without thinking, Cui erected a barrier around himself, causing the bullets heading towards him to just bounce off the shield harmlessly. Incensed by the abrupt interruption, the asexual alien lowered the barrier enveloping himself and fired a low intensity ki blast at the dysfunctional turret. The blast collided into the turret, silencing the foul piece of machinery forever. The only tangible trace of its existence that remained was a long line of smoke that was produced from the explosion.

Goku, on the hand, knew exactly what was going on. After having watched Merken ambush at least six patrols with that insufferable weapon, the Earth-raised warrior had become somewhat used to the distasteful din of machine gun fire.

Out of nowhere, Merken's voice started to roar within his ear, stunning the saiyan in the process. Clutching his ear and massaging his outer lope, the older saiyan waited for his other cohort to abuse his ear drum again.

"Are you there?" barked out the voice impolitely, which was somewhat unusual for it. Prior to then, the disembodied voice in his ear always had held a civil, almost amused tone. Like it was unfazed by anything he was being put up against; like what he was dealing with was inconsequential. At that moment though, the voice was almost as panicked as he was.

"Yes," muttered the older saiyan, trying to get up slowly once he thought the coast was clear. Of course, it was at that moment when Cui's blast struck the turret, sending a massive tremor through the room, knocking Goku back flat on his butt.

A tense peace broke out over the room. The smoke that had once filled the room was slowly advancing forward, receding in volume every step of the way. Eventually the smoke had gotten far enough away that Goku could clearly see the balcony that was sitting on the other side of the chamber.

"You see that balcony?" grilled the voice, clearly indicating that this wasn't a question that he could screw up on. Whatever the voice had been planning, it was clear he had just lollygagged into its most pivotal phase.

"Yes," affirmed the saiyan, gazing at the other balcony from his perch and more than a bit concerned at what the voice was thinking. Was the voice thinking along the same lines as what he was thinking?

"Good." Unlike how he had been talking to the Earth-raised saiyan in his latest series of inquiry, Merken's tone then returned to its former tone of address: calm and bemused. "Look at smoke. Now back to the balcony. Look at the soldiers directly below you. Now back to the balcony. Look at the smoke. Wait! There is no smoke! Jump now motherfucker before it's too late!"

Moving purely on instinct, Goku catapulted himself towards the balcony on the other side of the room. Miraculously, even though the smoke was barely thin wisps in comparison to the impermeable cloud of gray it once was, the saiyan was able to jump to the other side neither seen nor heard. Somehow, despite the odds, he had been accomplished what many could not: escape an entire army without anybody even knowing he was there.

Or so he had thought.

* * *

Eras can and went with the ticking of the clock, chiming on from time immortal to that fateful day. One must never underestimate the cruel hand or fate, nor should anyone doubt the haste in which fate acts. Moments—that's all it really took for life as I knew it to end.

For millennia's Zoon was an unchanging orb that burned brightly in the night sky, frolicking throughout space without the omnipresent eye of fate foretelling her inevitable doom. She knew not what I know now. A once proud race of warriors had been exterminated, except for me: their king.

Somewhere deep down this wasn't unexpected. The zoonians race were a very ambitious species of sentient life—never content to let their existence just run its course. Always we were challenging ourselves to break down the barriers that chained our forefathers to the ground. Progress was as legendary as strength, and there were very few things that were as valuable to a zoonian as strength. After all, how did I become king without the strength I wielded? Soon enough, our inquisitiveness would have became our downfall. I just never figured it would happen so soon. Granted it didn't cause my downfall, so I guess my rambling really doesn't mean much.

Taking up the mantle of Zoon was by far the hardest endeavor I set myself up to do, but the time in my life I look to with the most fondness. There was never a time where I was so happy, so in command. Many great battles were won during this time, and eventually what I so wanted became mine. Zoon was my kingdom to treasure.

Settling down had been a very hard thing for me to do. Leading in times of peace was a skill I was always woefully bad at. Judicial and legislative responsibilities were something I always resented, and grew to abhor as time went on. Action in my dull, dreary life was needed. Imperialistic fervor slowly began to overtake me, compelling me to take action like the glory seeking general I was.

Planet after planet fell to my wrath, and before long my exploits started to receive some universal fame. And expanding my kingdom's boundaries also lent me some additional knowledge of the world I was entering. It was by the information given to me by my dear scouts that I learned of the Cold Family.

I never had the opportunity to meet any member of the Cold Family when I was ruling Zoon. From what I had heard, they were ruthless planet brokers that reveled in genocide and cruelty of the most gruesome kind. They were tough, take-no nonsense rulers that held their subjects under an iron curtain and an even harsher fist. In other words, they were leaders that were to be admired; rulers that I set out to emulate.

Respect though was a two-way street. Frieza and his family never even gave me the time of day. It mattered not that I tried to establish a partnership between our two empires, or that I wanted an audience with him myself. My approaches were dismissed without even a hint of consideration.

Anger courses through veins when I think about that cowardly man. Did he not understand who I was? What I was capable of doing? 530,000? Every substantial report ever uttered about Frieza pinpointed that measly number to be his maximum power level. Compared to me, that was utter child's play. He had a lot of gall to refuse my requests.

Nobody ignores me. Nobody. If Frieza wanted to ignore me now, then the fool was going to pay the consequences for his passive betrayal. He was going to understand what pissing me off really entailed.

Dust particles blew past my exoskeleton, sliding down my elongated skull like a very flat slide as I walked through Frieza's ship. Part of me was wondering why a ship would have an air current, but I chose not to dwell on that fact for very long. Frieza was an arcosian after all; the bastard probably liked the cold judging by the biome of his home planet.

Thinking of Arcos reminded me of my home, or the lack thereof. Looking back on those days, I can only imagine what Zoon would've become. By then, the Zoonian army was truly immense. Every planet in the galaxy that Zoon occupied was somehow connected to my army—either by annual tribute or by the conscription of their entire male population. Don't make any mistakes: Zoon was more than ready to war with Frieza if things went that far south.

Lashing back at Frieza's army of goons was surprisingly easy. Although in terms of pure size we were sorely bested, most of Frieza's army couldn't take a piss without some kind of assistance. Slicing through most of Frieza's rabble was simply far easier than I had originally planned.

Yet these simple, almost unimportant memories just reinforce my utter disdain for Frieza and for everything under his touch. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Although I've known that maxim for most of my life, only now do I feel that I truly understand it.

I knew Frieza was eventually going to try and get retribution against me. It was what I wanted after all. It was all so simple: he would storm out against me, proclaim my inferiority to him and then I'd humiliate him like the fool he was. His humiliation would have been complete. Only now do I realize what a fool I had been.

Frieza wasn't any warrior, he was a coward. A coward without any sense of dignity or shame for what he does. It matters not to him how he strikes at a person nor how despicable or shameful his tactics may have been. As long as it creates a bleeding heart, he's all too happy to comply.

The corridor I was walking through got progressively narrower and narrower the farther I advanced. As I progressed forward through the hall, a small streak of light beckoning me forward, closer and closer into the abyss of the ship. An innumerable number of bodies lined the walls around me, warning me of the danger that I was encroaching on. Every former shade I passed tried to talk to me; pleading with me not to take up such a foolish action. Fighting against such forces was foolish they said. But these corpses weren't me. There were grave penalties for not facing your demons.

I was conducting business when it happened. Insurgents were occupying one of the planets at the fringes of my empire, threatening to spread like a plague across all of my territory. Brigade after brigade were sent to suppress these rebels, but time and time again they were sent back in body bags. Morale was at an all-time low in that sector; many started to wonder if I could truly contain the revolt? Some planets even mutinied against me. Fools. They forced my hand. Nobody questioned my authority.

After being forced into action, I made short work of those insurgents. None of them ever figured that the situation was going to escalate to the degree it had. They begged and pleaded with me to spare their lives. According to them, all they wanted was self-determination or some other equally stupid rubbish. I laughed as I exterminated them like the rats they were. For good measure, I also took the liberty to blow up their planet. I wanted no trace of their existence left.

Transport back to Zoon was very routine. Nothing out of the ordinary really happened, no sudden or unexpected excitement really spiced anything up. It was all so very droll.

And then I saw the remains of my former home planet. What was once the capital of a vast intergalactic empire had been reduced to a pile of dust and gas particles floating aimlessly away from the Zoon's former orbit. It was all over in an instant, and so did my dreams of empire.

Who could have done this? Deep down, it was pretty obvious; there was no doubt whatsoever. Denial though, plagued my mind. I didn't want to believe what I was seeing or who I knew did this. Only one logical choice sprang out in my mind, one I could not ignore forever. There was one and only one person responsible for this: Frieza.

Given time, I resigned myself to this knowledge. The denial eventually seeped out of my bones, leaving me caked with anger. Red hot rage tore through my soul, engulfing me in an inferno that came close to burning my very mortal soul. There were no words to describe my anger, my utter vehemence. Hate was nowhere near enough of an epithet to describe the emotions that stormed through me. At those moments, I would have gladly sold my soul to enact my revenge.

Time and space lost all meaning the days succeeding the loss of my home planet. Days flowed into other days like a river of fine wine winding its way through a valley of seamless vineyards. Yet though each day was more and more monotonous, my brooding fury only was starting to truly fester.

While I was drifting throughout space in my ship, outlets for my frustration began to pop up everywhere. Without even knowing it at the time, I had wandered into Frieza's sector of the universe. Seeing the insignia for Frieza's empire on some random planet for the first time made me explode.

In one cataclysmic bout of unadulterated rage, I completely ravaged the unfortunate planet I was on. No stone was left unturned and there was no sanctuary from my wraith. One by one, I hunted down every single inhabitant of the unnamed planet like the prey they were deep down.

My debauchery though wasn't absolutely pointless; something did come out of it. Confronting their king was very informative. The hapless fool gave away everything he knew before I gutted him. Granted, most of what he knew amounted to nothing but there was one little piecemeal particle of intel that was truly interesting: Frieza's flagship.

According to the dethroned ruler, Frieza resided on what was easily the largest vessel in recorded history. If his claims were even half-way true, the mechanical monstrosity was easily the size of a medium-sized planet, housing billions if not trillions of men. Although I had doubts about the true scale of Frieza's enterprise, there was no doubt that he was telling the truth. Detecting lies were another one of my special skills; nobody was able to deceive me for very long.

Having already outlived his usefulness, I dispatched the disgraced ruler and fired a blast straight into the planet's core, ensuring the planet's demise. Upon getting back to my ship, I gracefully observed the barren rock explode and fracture into one million pieces.

A sliver of a smile slid up from the corner of my mouth, my yellow lips arching upwards before I started to howl with delight. History was going to repeat itself soon; only Frieza would be helpless king and his pride and joy would be his ship. Everything would fall to me in the end. That's simply the way of the world.

Light poured through the corridor, becoming brighter and more intense the deeper inside I trekked. Nothing was going to stop me now; not when I had spent day after day looking for my prey. I had waited in agony long enough for this. Today was going to be a marvelous day for me and my lost followers. Today on was the day where the universe learned the wraith of the being that they had unleashed on themselves. Today was judgment of Frieza and all of his followers. Today was the day I ascended from being a mere mortal to a legend. Today was the day I would dine on Frieza's rancid carcass.

The light that blinded me eased up, letting me walk freely out of the corridor into the cold, barren room. In the center of the room I eyed a trio of warriors standing peacefully amongst a throng of dead henchmen. Suddenly the man on the far left raised his hand and smiled at me condescendingly, like I wasn't worthy of being in front of him. I leveled his smug grin with a scowl of my own; nobody lived once they disrespected me.

My name is Pui Pui and soon the world shall pay for its transgressions against me.

* * *

Taking a step back, Gohan awkwardly eased himself into one of his father's training stances. Although he never understood the point of all the funky positions and poses, the boy still tried to replicate his father to the best of his ability. In all his life, Gohan had never known a more skilled and fluid fighter than his father. Hopefully his father's spirit would guide him through this trial and tribulation.

Baden's right eyebrow involuntarily boosted itself from his brow line. Like his brother Traje, Gohan didn't look to be the type to take any initiative, albeit the reasons why were totally different. Whatever the case, he was going to have his work cut out for him if he was going to reform his new pupil in a prompt manner. His footwork was awkward, his body position and overall center of balance looked to be very cumbersome and it was clear that his focus and concentration was inadequate for a life and death battle. Yep, quite a bit a work was needed.

"Ready?" warned Baden, making sure that his mentee was fully prepared to spar. Where he was from, the first spar upon being given a promotion was a humbling fight. Most soldiers who got to the "next level" were often either feeling like they were on cloud nine or—even worse—they thought that they were hot shit. By consequence these souls made mistakes that—at times—took the lives of their more powerful and experienced squad mates.

Because of this consistently repeated paradigm, a military tribunal ordered that every newly promoted soldier must fight their new squad leader on their first day on the job. Oftentimes, this spar would end with the flunky getting the absolute shit kicked out of him by his superior. The logic behind the law was pretty simple: by humiliating the hot-shit rookie on his first day, he'd learn that the world he was entering was far more dangerous than the world he had just left. Of course, this tactic hadn't always worked in the past. Some personalities just couldn't get a clue, but Baden suspected that Gohan wasn't one of those deluded souls.

Back at the training ground, Gohan was shaking like a leaf. He wasn't at all prepared to fight, but he didn't have a good excuse not to. Excuses probably weren't gonna cut it anymore. Not in this world at least. "Yes."

"Then we can begin," stated Baden, raising his power level just slightly past its reserve levels.

Muscles clenched and fist tightened, Gohan charged the older boy with his hand enclosed, coiled and ready to strike. Upon getting within body length of his target, the inexperienced boy flung his fist at the other saiyan.

In an instant, Baden dematerialized away from Gohan incoming punch and reappeared on the other side of the room with the coyest smirk on his face. The kid's dumbfounded expression was just too much. "Hey, I'm right here."

Gohan swiftly turned around when he heard Baden's voice coming from a distant part of the room, only to find to his disappointment that his teacher had vanished into thin air yet again. Feeling his senses heighten involuntarily, the confused five year old tried to frantically find his foe that was hiding from him. He tried looking left, looking right and looking above to no avail. Yet he didn't look in the most obvious spot: behind him.

In a matter of seconds, the boy felt something lightly press itself against his back. Assuming the worst, the young boy ducked for cover, dropping down into a prone position to avoid a direct attack to his blindside. After almost ten seconds of nothing happening, the half-saiyan rolled onto his back to get a better view of his assailant.

Baden hadn't moved a single muscle since coming up from behind Gohan, not even his eyelids. A coy, off-kilter grin was just plastered on his face. At that moment, Baden didn't even resemble the fierce warrior he met in the king's dining room.

"Remember orders and commands kid." Sighing dramatically, the older saiyan rolled his head elliptically, stretching his neck for a quick second while muttering to himself. "Sorry about that. I've had some kind of pinched nerve in my neck that's been giving me issues lately. Long voyages in a cramped space pod don't treat me all that well."

After slowly picking himself off the cold stone floor, Gohan couldn't help but lift his brow up to his bangs. This Baden character was a really strange bird; he was better than Vegeta though, but that wasn't saying all that much.

"Anyways," muttered Baden, beginning to ramble for a quick second regardless of Gohan's actual will to listen. "I guess I should call this your first lesson. Listen to your orders and follow them well. It may seem obvious, but you don't know how many discard their orders the minute they are uttered. Understand this Gohan: neither I nor my associates want to get you killed. Although you may find this very hard to believe, and I don't blame you for not believing me, but you are more valuable to me than you could imagine. We don't want you dying on us and we mention these orders so that they keep you alive. You just need to trust us enough to carry out our orders."

"Okay," murmured Gohan, his voice still slightly skeptical of Baden's motives. Everything still sounded too good to be true, and it probably was if history was going to repeat itself. If there was anything he had learned while suffering in space, Gohan had learned one thing: nobody did anything for free.

An uncomfortable peace settled over the training ground. Gohan was expecting to get hit and Baden was waiting for Gohan to attack. After a couple of minutes, Baden was done dealing with the inactivity that had settled over the two fighters. If Gohan wasn't gonna attack then he would. "Dodge."

Vanishing into thin air yet again, the pre-teen raced across the room and rematerialized right behind Gohan again, driving an elbow into the younger boy's clavicle.

Collapsing like a bundle of sticks onto the ground, Gohan laid flat on the ground for half-a-minute before promptly picking himself off the ground. Although he looked very cross, he appeared to fine in any case. "That wasn't fair. You said you wouldn't fight back!"

Snorting amusedly, the older saiyan raised his left palm into the air like he was taking an oath on a stack of Bibles. "Deception is one of the greatest weapons in any fighter's arsenal Gohan. Learning how to properly distract and deceive an enemy in battle is a skill that's far more valuable than any fighting style or energy beam you'll ever learn."

Narrowing his eyes at his self-appointed teacher, Gohan bared his baby teeth at the other saiyan. That was the second time he had heard somebody talk about deception like it was viable tactic. Forthrightness didn't seem to be acknowledged at all—not in this world it seemed. Honesty and honor were virtues that just kept on being dragged through the mud at all times; they weren't even given a passing level of respect.

Maybe he had been ingrained with too much integrity for his own good, but Gohan knew he couldn't let himself cheat or deceive anybody—no matter how evil or crooked they were. Fighting fire with fire just didn't seem right to him. All an eye for an eye did was make the world go blind. Countering deception with deception just made the truth of the matter even harder to find, and in his mind fighting for the truth was all one needed to win. He would _not _cave to the world on this.

"No!" shouted the little boy, his voice wavering slightly but keeping the same intense tone that was running roughshod in his mind. "You can abuse me, force me to kill but neither you nor Frieza can change me!"

The raw amount of energy racing through Gohan's voice truly shocked Baden. He never suspected talking about something as trivial as battlefield deception would elicit such a passionate response. Reacting as he usually did, the older male lifted his brow questioningly and chuckled softly to himself. `Poor kid is as pure-hearted as I thought. Life is gonna be tough for him if he keeps that viewpoint, but I doubt he'd want it any other way.'

Crossing his arms across his chest, Baden licked his lips like a predator about to snag their prey. "Change you? Whoever said I was going to do that? No, you are going to change on your own kid. Nobody can be forced into subverting their will kid—nobody. Anybody saying otherwise is belaboring a point that was false to begin with. Morality's death gets blamed on a lot of things kid, but they are all rubbish. You and you alone choose the path you follow. The only real question is whether you have what it takes to weather the treacherous higher road."

Detaching his left hand from his right forearm, the pre-teen began to stroke the bottom side of his chin soothingly. "Are you ready for this to become serious Gohan? Coddling you isn't doing you any favors, not here. Come at me, and show me the value I saw in you!"

A trail of sweat ran down the demi-saiyan's temple, staining the inside of his uniform with the secretion. Alarm raced through his body and locked his muscles into place, trapping him in a state of stationary shock. Baden's raw, predatory eyes narrowed in on him menacingly, undercutting his will to fight against the older boy. If Baden chose to kill him, he would be powerless to stop him.

Snarling out of shear frustration, Baden dematerialized and swept Gohan's feet out from underneath him before plucking the unfortunate half-saiyan out of the air by his ankle, leaving the poor boy hanging in mid-air.

"Fight back, Gohan! You don't need to learn how to kill, but fighting is an entirely different matter. Only one type of rule matters out here: the rule of the sword. Ram yours straight down my throat!" His ultimatum given, Baden tugged his arm back and hurled Gohan well over twenty feet into the air.

Spinning and revolving uncontrollably in the air, Gohan slowly felt himself reach the apex of his ascent within seconds of being launched upwards like a ragdoll. Vertigo overcame the boy as he descended back to Uyyasid, his mind disoriented and his body stalled. And then, like so many times before, something just clicked.

Unconsciously righting himself in mid-air at the right moment; the boy back-flipped onto the stone floor of the room, his legs making contact in such a way that it would've shattered bones provided that he wasn't a saiyan.

Raw power started to burst forth from within his frail, humanoid body. The volatile power enveloped him, slamming into the chamber's walls and breaking apart the masonry directly beneath his feet. Howling in pain, the boy felt more and more power pour out of his body like a ruptured artery. The almost interminable well of energy just kept on flowing out of him, burning brightly around him without his conscious control or consent. Unlike on Earth or Meteora, the energy flooding out of him was simply too much; his coils couldn't withstand it for much longer unless they were enlarged.

His eyes, once innocent and vivacious, were dangerously glazed and unfocused. There wasn't a single body part that didn't throb. There wasn't a single vein that wasn't helplessly locked up, powerless to accommodate the blood that was undulating throughout his body mercilessly. Inch by inch, more and more Ki flowed through his veins, straining his normally calm ki pathways far past their operative limit. Similar in principle to a growth spurt, the Ki—without a proper method of dispersal—began to press itself against the walls of his veins, coercing the vessel to stretch itself against its will.

Fortunately for the pain-besieged boy, the all-encompassing displeasure was over almost before it had begun. Succumbing to the pressure of his unruly ki, the boy's coils quickly expanded past their former capacity, allowing his spiked levels of energy to flow without obstacles.

Yet by then it was too late. Unaccustomed to pain of that magnitude, the calm rational side of Gohan's brain forced itself to shut down. By the time the pain had finally receded, only the raw animalistic side of the boy was left to relish the power that was left behind.

Baring his baby teeth at the older saiyan, the brat leapt at his tormentor, seeking to bury his fist in the other boy's face.

Reacting instantly, the older boy leapt out of Gohan's line of sight, sailing out of Gohan's warpath before contact could be made. Lifting a throwing knife out of the satchel tied to his waist, Baden gripped the weapon by its handle and flung the projectile precisely into the flat of his charge's foot.

Roaring in pain, the demi-saiyan grabbed the dagger and dislodged it from the top of his foot. Without hesitating, the enraged fighter flung the weapon back at the predicted place of Baden's descend before charging towards the same location.

Blocking the projectile with his metal greaves, Baden pivoted on the heel of his left foot to narrowly dodge Gohan's ambushing form. Thinking quickly, the far more powerful saiyan seized control of his mentee's right bicep and pulled on the muscle, using the torque of the maneuver to straighten Gohan's posture before burying a crippling punch to the boy's solar plexus. Croaking pitiful, the boy faded into unconsciousness—left to dangle in Baden's merciless grip.

Dropping the boy back onto the ground, Baden gripped the smaller child by his armpits before fling him onto his shoulder. Leaving the training ground, something within Baden was telling him that today was a euphoric success.

Meeting Gohan was definitely an interesting experience. During his life, Baden had met many different types of saiyans. He had known some saiyans to be lazy clods, others to be crude and vulgar and most to be complete psychopaths. Gohan though fit a profile that up until then Baden had never truly seen before: the pacifist.

Although he didn't hold Gohan's view in contempt, Baden did know that he was going to have to at least partially break his charge of his viewpoint. Life under the Cold Family was dehumanizing—there wasn't any way of avoiding that. Keeping steadfast to complete pacifism was simply idiotic, however noble the conviction laying behind the ideology was. Certain people needed to die for the rest of the world to go on living—thing didn't get much simpler than that. For his dreams to become fulfilled, he'd need Gohan too.

Rebel rousing was often a tricky business. Societal judgment of a revolt was very unpredictable at best, downright manic at worse. Oftentimes, only one piece of criterion mattered in determining the success of a revolution: whoever won in the end. Legacies were made and tarnished by the end result of revolutions; nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of the conflict. If there was one thing Baden cared about, it was his legacy—because it wasn't his that he was guarding anyway.

Regardless of Gohan's pacifism though, the day was a success. Although Gohan was far from being a competent fighter, potential was clearly there. Despite his lack of a fluid fighting style, the boy did have a natural fighter's intuition and could clearly be a viable asset if his talents were refined. Hopefully the kid would be a fast learner; he would need to be.

Slowly shuffling down the vacant halls of the Susaylonian palace, Baden eventually reached Gohan's make-shift room. Entering the bedchamber, the pre-teen approached the bed and laid his student down on the plush mattress. Smiling softly to himself, Baden left the room, letting Gohan get his beauty sleep. He'd need every wink of it; things were just going to get significantly tougher from here on out.

And that was a sentiment that Baden knew more about than anything.

* * *

Military insurrections were one of Frieza's most displeasing type of events. Along with bad haircuts, they represented one of the vilest insults anybody could ever hurl at him. Simply saying it was a mistake to challenge his authority was a grave understatement, and any fool who ever knew Frieza was aware of this. He was god damn it! He ought to be revered as one. What made him any different than the grim reaper: the arbitrator of true fate? His will alone could sentence _entire _galaxies to rubble if he so chose, of which he often did because he wanted too. Had any mythological deity done that throughout history? Thought so! Yet the deluded reverence he so wanted constantly eluded him.

"Lord Frieza," addressed Zarbon, dropping down into a kneeling posture, hiding his face from his uncaring lord. "We have a predicament over in Unit 731 that requires your urgent attention."

"What is this predicament?" asked Frieza apathetically, not caring in the slightest for the plight of his pitiful henchman. Able henchmen were like light bulbs; they could easily be found and replaced at a moment's notice. Their deaths wouldn't be mourned.

"There was some commotion and then something decided to slaughter all of 731 without hesitating," muttered Zarbon, hoping Frieza wouldn't hear him clearly enough to send him into the killzone. Anybody could slaughter some lackey's; that he wasn't all that concerned about. It was the tale of the tape that truly frightened him.

Upon being sent the pictures of the massacre, Zarbon found on closer inspection one _very _peculiar spot. Looking closely at the center of the room, the effeminate alien saw a depression in the floor that looked to be clearly melted through.

Ki attacks did _not _liquefy metal. Yes, obliterating metal was easily doable but melting metal required elemental control. Fire elementals oftentimes weren't some flunkies that could be snuffed out easily. They were usually elite killers—fighters of a higher caliber. Most likely, there were only a handful of people on the ship that could suppress this revolt successfully. Zarbon was not one of them.

"Really, Zarbon?" questioned Frieza, looking away while swirling another glass of red wine with his left hand. "Unit 731 has been completely destroyed?"

Smugly smirking, the tyrant ran his right index finger over the ridges on the side of nose; stroking the underside of his chin with his thumb in the meantime. "What have you done to retaliate against this breach in courtesy?"

Sweating bullets internally, Zarbon tried to think fast. He wasn't going to tell Frieza what he actually knew. Giving away what he had learned would've been tantamount to volunteering for his own death. Deflecting criticism and suspicion had always been one of his strong suites—hopefully it would carry through now. "Appropriate reinforcements have already been sent to the crime scene. They should be more than enough to suppress this revolt."

Sliding his index finger down his face, Frieza coyly grinned at his right-hand man. Relishing the opportunity to watch the sycophant squirm around unpleasantly, escalating the tension between them for no reason whatsoever. Unlike most rulers, Frieza adored his personal collection of flatterers. Sure they had tongues of silver and couldn't be trusted, but what harm were they? Zarbon followed his orders to a T and treated him like a consecrated object. That was all he really wanted.

"And who are these reinforcements Zarbon?" inquired the tyrant, boring holes into his head lackey's head. He had no intention of removing the effeminate alien from his side, but that didn't mean he wouldn't play around with the idea. Especially if this threat turned out to be more imminent than what he had originally thought.

Keeping his posture still and his body stiff and expressionless, the cyan-skinned alien responded to his master's address. "Units thirty five and one-hundred-and-two in their entirety my lord. By averages they are stronger than the late Unit 731 was. I find that they should be more than sufficient for such a menial task."

Lifting his right index finger into the air, Frieza snorted at his head man, expertly playing off Zarbon's insecurities. "There's one problem with that response, Zarbon? Why aren't you on it?"

"Me?" blurted out the green alien, genuinely surprised by Frieza's insistence on him partaking in this particular expedition. Granted, Frieza was prone to sending him into dangerous purges from time to time—everybody did dangerous purges every now and then. Nobody could become fat and complacent when living in under the fearsome might of the Planet Trade Organization. Your life was entirely dependent on your usefulness. Once that was lost, you were discarded like used toilet paper. But this was different; Frieza knew _nothing _about this mission. What was compelling him into sending him onto _this _mission? "If you don't mind me asking, why do you want to send me onto this mission?"

A thick sheet of snobbish anger rose through Frieza's veins. Although he could control himself quite competently on the outside, inwardly he was steaming. Zarbon of all people should've known that counter interrogating him was not going to be the answer to his problems. Wait that was it!

Devilishly sneering at his cowardly subordinate, Frieza kept himself subdued enough to not reveal his true intention. "You'll be joining Unit thirty two and one-hundred-and-two in their pursuit of these insurgents. Bring them back to me alive; I want to enjoy their pleads for mercy myself."

Zarbon's skin almost instantly bleached itself white, a small sliver of fear shone through his eyes to his master's delight. "Master please don't do—"

Suddenly a hail of gunfire broke through the room, shattering the window that separated the terrible duo from the vast vacuum of space. Hundreds of mini-projectiles entered the room unimpeded, crashing into every surface imaginable with the exception of a stunned Frieza and his equally floored enforcer.

Then came the shot that changed the world. In the vast realm of space, one warrior fired a razor thin beam straight at the room. Within an instant the beam passed through Frieza and collided into Zarbon, beheading the sycophant before he ever saw the shot coming. His head rolled off his shoulders and his body collapsed into a heap; dead before it ever hit ground.

Frieza swiftly turned around to see his fallen comrade slouched down in a dead heap. This little rebellion had gone on long enough and had cost him enough as it was. He was just going to have to settle it himself.

And that was exactly what he was thinking when he leapt into space—ready to meet the challenge of his intrepid foe.

* * *

Space travel was always a drag. Wasteful at best, downright insufferable at worse, there was nothing fulfilling or productive about that it. Merely mentioning the cramped confines of his pod could make Raditz shudder in horror. If it was in his power, he would never set foot in one again.

Although space travel with Turles was infinitely more accommodating, the long-haired saiyan always felt antsier than a hyperactive kid on the mother of all sugar highs when he was compelled to stay on a ship for any indefinite length of time. At least here though he didn't have to activate stasis to prevent himself from falling into a violent psychosis, which would've been undesirable considering that one wrong impulse could have resulted in him tearing up his own ship. Dying out in space wasn't on his to-do list. With Turles he could at least train or find something to do outside of sleeping or thinking. He wasn't much of a contemplator; he was a fighter: nothing else and nothing more.

Eventually the blue skies of Earth reappeared on the bridge of the ship, shining radiantly below the crew of space fighters. It was strange seeing a planet for a second time; it practically never happened in the past. Outside of any planet Frieza happened to be on, Raditz knew that Nappa and Vegeta always made sure that every planet they purged was completely destroyed if their orders dictated them to take such an action. Now that he thought about it, wasn't he supposed to have purged the Earth when it became clear that Kakarot failed to do so? Not like it mattered anymore: he didn't work for Vegeta or Frieza any longer.

Descending into the planet's atmosphere, the long-haired saiyan was astonished to see that they had landed in the same bloody field where he had abducted Gohan.

Son Gohan. That name didn't bring back fond memories at all. When Raditz dwelled on his nephew's name, all he could see was his pathetic whining and intolerable crying. How any saiyan, no matter how young, could make that much of a racket so effortlessly perturbed him. Nobody should be that dependent.

Setting foot on the grassy plain, Raditz sighed at his surroundings. Apparently nothing had happened since he had left, which disappointed him greatly. Somewhere deep down, the pristine nature of his surroundings did nothing but disgust him. His brother, his contemptible brother, was the defender of this mudball. Shameful wasn't enough of an explicative to describe Raditz's humiliation.

"Lovely planet," stated Turles matter of factly, his tone implying a sort of utilitarian purpose. "Healthy soil, vast quantities of water and a decent mixture of sunlight and shade. What a perfect place for the Tree of Might! Anybody object to me planting another Tree of Might on this planet?"

"Whatever," muttered Raditz, not caring about what Turles did with the Tree of Might. He could plant that tree under his mother's grave, provided one actually existed, and he wouldn't have had much of a problem. At least Turles would do what his brother was supposed to do.

"Okay. It's settled then," retorted the head saiyan, a sliver of a smirk crawling up his face. Even if Raditz's daft younger brother wasn't found, he could at least get something useful out of this little detour. Planets this fertile were beyond rare, and a biological organism like the Tree of Might would just lap a place like this up. "Once we flush out Raditz's wayward brother, we'll unleash the Tree of Might on this world. Split up and find this bastard. Report back to me when you find him."

"Aiye, sir," saluted Diaz, Rasin, Lakasei and Amond in synchronized succession, blasting off into the sky in separate directions to scour the land in hopes of finding the rogue saiyan.

Powering up slightly, Turles ascended into the air, scowling at Raditz from above. "Follow me. Kakarot will be too powerful for my run-of-the-mill grunts to handle. I'd rather find him before my men do and you are the only one who knows anything about him."

Shrugging his shoulders, Raditz elevated himself into the air as well. "I don't know how much help I can be. There's only place I know he's been to for a fact."

"Then lead me there. Stop stalling," barked Turles, getting a little fed up with Raditz's never-ending stream of excuses.

"Okay," consented the long-haired saiyan, turning on his green scouter so he could track his contemptible brother. "There's nobody here. My scouter is picking up nothing."

"Oh how could you have guessed that," sarcastically replied Turles, sneering at his compatriot. "Your brother knows how to conceal his power-level; only a fool relies on those readings that much."

Gasping a bit, Raditz was dumbfounded by Turles's statement. "People can hide from a scouter? How is that even possible?"

Rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, the leader of the pirate gang replied to his hopelessly ignorant squad mate. He was starting to doubt the competency of his new running mate. Raditz was always the runt of the litter though, even back before the destruction of Planet Vegeta. "Any fool with a bit of practice can learn how to hide their power levels at will."

"Oh." Feeling like an idiot, Raditz decided to silence himself lest he become even more of a joke than he had been before. What was that maxim about voicing an ignorant opinion? Better to keep your mouth closed and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt. Yeah that sounded right, but Raditz knew that he wasn't an idiot. Ignorant at times perhaps, but certainly no fool. "Are you ready to leave?"

Clearing out of Raditz's path smoothly, Turles motioned the saiyan to lead the way. "Say the word and we'll head out."

Failing to hesitate, the long haired saiyan blasted off into the planet's atmosphere, accelerating at a breakneck pace. Sailing through the clouds directly behind him leisurely was Turles, whom was apathetically staring over the ever-changing surroundings.

Passing over the sea, the duo felt the salty winds of the ocean buffet them from all angles, entering their nostrils and crawling through their mouths. As the salt sucked away water from his body, Turles grew increasingly more parched while passing over the never-ending sea of water beneath him. Yet he was no fool; salt water would only exacerbate his dehydrated condition. Perhaps it would've been prudent to have hooked himself up to some intravenous fluids before disembarkation, but there was no point in thinking along those lines now? What's done is done.

In many ways, the universe was a lot like an ocean and intergalactic piracy was similar to the pirates of the high seas. Pirate really weren't that different. Galactic or planetary, it didn't really matter. Both had ships, circumvented vast, immeasurable vacuums in the hopes of finding a tiny parcel of land that could be considered valuable. And most often, those strips of land were usually about as useful as the flab of skin under their elbows.

Flying furiously over the briny deep, Turles was feeling himself grow increasingly more anxious about following Raditz's lead. Saiyan or not, the man was still something of an enigma. Who knew what he was thinking or planning? He could be leading him straight into a trap for all he knew. Vegeta could just be over the horizon; his infuriating smirk on full display—body primed and ready for combat. Of course, if such a thing happened, Vegeta would easily be killed and so would Raditz. Deep down, Turles knew he was strongest saiyan alive. Nobody else came even close, especially now that he had the Tree of Might.

Surviving Planet Vegeta's destruction was one of the greatest things to ever happen to him. As a third-class runt in the saiyan army, he had been given no respect or any opportunity to become stronger. Although every saiyan was extremely prideful, Turles's pride was legendary even back then. No commander could ever tame it, and no beating ever impeded it. King Vegeta tried everything in the book to restrict his insatiable pride until he chose the coward's way out. Instead of dealing with him head-on, he chose to simply deny him the opportunity to grow stronger, thoroughly content to have him languish in obscurity for the rest of his days.

It was during that period of inactivity that Turles began to despise the King Vegeta and all his kin. Like a festering infection, his vehemence grew more and more profound as the years ticked by. Even more infuriating was how the king kept on harping on and on about honor and dignity like they were words that he lived by. The scoundrel!

But his hatred of the royals didn't impact his feelings about the saiyan race. In his mind, the saiyans were an army of lions led by a sheep. The true glory and prestige that the saiyan race so desired wouldn't be forthcoming until the Vegeta's were given their pink slip. Yet as the months faded into years, Turles slowly was beginning to doubt that he would ever be freed from the spineless grip of King Vegeta.

Frieza's wanton destruction of Planet Vegeta couldn't have came at a better time. While the tyrant was busy destroying his home planet, he was putting the finishing touches on one successful, off-the-books purge. As the disgraced saiyan was about to come home, his scouter started to beep erratically. Clicking on the insufferable piece of machinery, the disgraced saiyan was surprised to see that the transmission coming in was an emergency SOS.

The content of the message stunned Turles into silence. It read: "Planet Vegeta has been destroyed; the last remnants of saiyan race are being herded into slavery. Escape while you still can."

Taking the note seriously, Turles abandoned the rest of his purge and procured a space ship amongst the rubble of the planet he had purged. Using what little knowledge of the overall universe he had, the genocidal pirate ordered the ship to send him to a planet in the Northern Quadrant of the universe with a weak general population. Doing as it was supposed to, the ship compiled the necessary data and formulated a landing spot that was suitable to Turles's specifications. From there onwards, everything was simply uninteresting history.

Yet even after almost twenty-five years, Turles had not forgotten that day nor had he forgotten the person who had warned him. Without that person, he would probably be rotting under Frieza's pesky thumb. Words could not express the gratitude he felt about avoiding that fate, even if he didn't acknowledge his feelings up front. Back then, he promised himself that he would find a way to repay his debt to the person whom saved him. Someway, somehow, he would find a way to redeem the efforts of his fellow comrade.

Now, he could consider that debt paid in due.

The identity of the person whom saved him was never the problem; it was always about how to get close to him. Frieza kept him under lock and key for the most part, trapped and sequestered in such a way that he could never get close without exposing his identity. Up until he had procured the Tree of Might, he simply couldn't take such a risk. Things were different now; he could afford to take risks now that he never could in the past. Plans were already in the works to free him when he just showed up on Argos unannounced.

It was really hard to believe at first that Raditz of all people was the person to warn him at first, yet the evidence was pretty unmistakable. It was his voice after all on the intercom. Even back in the day the boy was cowardly by saiyan standards, a disgrace to his humble birth and parentage. Still the runt had managed to survive when so many before him had failed miserably.

"Turles. We're here!" yelled out Raditz over the deafening air current. Turles could barely hear his compadre, but he did get the message nonetheless. They were finally hitting the homestretch.

On the faintest edges of the horizon was a small dot of land; barely a speck when compared to the vast network of water encircling it. Closing in on the speck, Turles wasn't surprised to see a small, harmless looking white island grace his vision. Chuckling mirthlessly, the genocidal pirate commented dryly on the sight. "Is that where this Kakarot lives?"

"Perhaps," muttered Raditz, descending a bit to prepare for a gentle landing onto the humble isle. "This is where he was the last time I met him."

Smoothly landing on the sandy surface of the island, Raditz barely could contain his shock when he saw the metamorphosis that had taken place since he had last left. Unlike Goku though, the depraved man smirked at his ruinous surrounding.

Kame's house hadn't fared well after the epic clash between Goku and Piccolo. Rotting body parts dotted most of the landscape; corpses were falling victim to nature's most unnerving and squeamish process: decomposition. The stench from the sight was positively nauseating.

Raditz may not have known Kakarot for very long, but he recognized many of the slain souls that littered the ground. The bitchy blue-haired women was lying face first into the ground; a cord or rope wrapped around her ankle that was slowly shriveling away into sinewy threads. The two insolent human warriors were hanging limply from a post and the old man had been clearly disemboweled.

Huffing mutely, Turles averted his eyes from the scene and addressed Raditz. "You have any clues on who did this?"

Keeping his eyes glued to the scene, Raditz barely registered Turles's comment. Once the message had been processed by his mind, the long-haired saiyan shrugged his shoulders. "Probably Kakarot. I did tell him to kill one-hundred Earthlings if he ever wanted to see his son again. Shame his son was more valuable than he was; maybe then their deaths wouldn't have been in vain.

Suddenly a booming voice resonated through the small island, alerting the two saiyans to its menacing presence. "I'm afraid I can't let Goku take credit for these killings. Those rights rest solely on one person and that person is me!"

* * *

**MAJOR EDIT: Due to the fact that two people have misinterpreted the relationship between Pui Pui's emergence and Zarbon's death, I feel compelled to step in a clear the misunderstanding. Pui Pui did NOT kill Zarbon. Pui Pui was on the ship (as proved by the dust particles paragraph) while the shot that killed Zarbon came from outer space. Therefore, the assertion that Pui Pui killed Zarbon is illogical. I apologize for the confusion that has surrounded this. **

**Hello all. I'm hopeful that you enjoyed this chapter of Cognitive Dissonance. I put a lot of effort into this chapter, and I can't wait to hear any of your opinions on it. Oh, to my silent viewers, I would really appreciate it if you said something. Any and all feedback you can give is appreciated and considered to the best of my ability. **

**Now, for Pui Pui: I know I'm breaking one of the cardinal sins of narrative writing, but Pui Pui will no longer be told in the first person point of view. The reason why I choose to introduce him in first-person was that I felt it was more of an intimate way of getting to know him before you perhaps knew it was him, although I also recognize I gave some pretty blatant clues to his identity (the zoonian—who else is zoonian in DBZ?).**

**Review Replies: **

**Kazuma Bushi: **

**I hope you enjoyed the Raditz part of this chapter. Vegeta will be referenced next chapter. Regardless, I'm glad that you enjoyed Declaration. **

**Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: **

**Thanks for the kind words. The reason why Baden and the king stopped so suddenly was because they realized that they were taking things too far. It was in neither of their best interests to kill each other at that point. As for the other point, I was running out of ideas by then. XD **

**VLS: **

**Elemental ki becomes extremely important later on. Just I won't put too much time into for now though. Glad you enjoyed the chapter. **

**Ky111: **

**Glad you enjoyed things. And yes, Merken will be one hell of a pain in the ass in the future. **

**Full Power: **

**Hope you enjoyed your Raditz fix. XD. Glad you enjoyed the chapter. **

**Super Vegetarott:**

**I put more effort into editing this chapter; if you find things that are wrong, know that I didn't half-ass editing this time around. **

**FinalFlashX: **

**Baden is the catalyst of the action. Outside of Gohan, he's probably the most important character in the story. Don't worry though, he has more than a few ugly traits. They just will take some time to flesh out. Other than that, I'm flattered that you think so highly of me.**

**Pointer 39: Glad you enjoyed. I think you'll be surprised by Goku as the story progress. **

**Power9987:**

**Glad to hear back from you; your critiques are always a treat. That was a hilarious error though about the cervical fluid. XD. Anyways, I hope this chapter meets your tastes; even if they are probably a bit dark. **

**That's all folks. Stay tuned for next time! Things get really good. **

**Important Narrative Announcement: **

**I apologize for the late announcement, but something has came to my attention that needs to be nipped in the bud. Pui Pui during this chapter was in the space ship approaching three cloaked fighters. These fighters WEREN'T Frieza or any of his goons. Due to the fact that at least two people have misinterpreted that scene, I fell compelled to step in and clarify. **

**Zarbon was killed by a rifle shot that was fired from outer space. Because of the context clues that are given in Pui Pui's 1st person narrative, he can be inferred to be within the confines of Frieza's starship, rendering him incapable of firing that shot. I will reveal the real culprit next chapter. I apologize for this rather strange misinterpretation. **


	11. Dangling Over the Abyss

No plan survives first contact; be prepared to improvise. Erinnern knew this saying like the back of his thumb. Every strategy, no matter how brilliant, never goes completely as it was intended. Today's ambitious quest was repeating this all-to-common paradigm to a T.

Putzen's strike force was slaughtering grunts wholesale, Merken was doing his job expertly and Spiesen was making a career out of being an overall pest within Frieza's airspace. Yet for all of their individual greatness, nothing was going according to plan. If they stayed to course, their efforts would die in flames.

Somewhere in the planning process, Merken and Putzen had overestimated Frieza's humanity—if such a thing were possible. Whether it was laziness, misinformation, incompetence or good ole' sadistic pleasure, Frieza was doing little to nothing to counteract their intrusion. Entire garrisons were returning to their stations, unintentionally boxing in Goku. If that happened, not even Merken's guidance could save him. Needless to say, something had to happen and happen soon.

It was all up to him to right this mess. He was the only one who could, the only one whose hands were free enough to ignite another foxhunt. And this time, Frieza wouldn't be able to ignore him.

He didn't warn or advise anybody of his intentions. Signaling Spiesen to maneuver the ship towards Frieza's throne room, the boy opened fire before anybody could scream at him to stop. Unfortunately, the boy's aim was just slightly off. Instead of tearing through the room and wounding Frieza, the surprise attack cleaved through Zarbon's effeminate head, effacing his pristinely maintained face.

"Spiesen, I'm going to play with Frieza. Do you mind?"

"Of course I do," snapped Spiesen, a little ticked that his younger cousin didn't tell him what he was doing. His false playfulness could get them all killed, and his knack for irrational decision making wasn't making him any less apprehensive. "You decided to attack Frieza without warning any of us. Did you expect that to go over well? Nevertheless, you don't have much of a choice now do you? So go out there and kick his sorry arcosian ass."

Muttering to himself, Erinnern ignited a jet of ki in front of his palms and pushed his hands forward, using the jet of ki as a form of backwards propulsion. Gracefully sliding backwards, the boy deactivated the jet of ki as he approached a city-block sized asteroid. Hovering for a split second in zero gravity, the boy maneuvered himself closer to the rock and then grappled onto its surface. Without hesitating, Erinnern began to climb up the rock slowly, his hands and feet clinging to the rocky surface like a spider clinging to a wall.

Ascending towards the heavens, the chipper boy quickly scaled one small precipice after another, deftly moving towards the top of the mountainous rock in a barely recognizable blur. After finally reaching the summit of the asteroid, he decided to merely wait for Frieza to come barging into the asteroid field.

Sure enough, the pissed off tyrant came storming into the field guns blazing. HIs eyes were blazing; his expression was livid. Words could not express the distorted snarl that marred his dark red lips nor could they describe the insane glint in his furious eyes. Simply put: there were very few things more terrible than Lord Frieza when truly angered. Killing Zarbon had definitely angered him.

Drawing his sniper rifle from the its holster, Erinnern clutched the weapon in his hands while crouching down on the very top of the asteroid. Flicking off the safety, the boy slowly began to aim down his sights.

Frieza never truly understood the true power of technology. Compared to the tech of the worlds governed by Cooler, Frieza's tech was woefully out of date. Maybe it was technology's interconnectedness—maybe it was its subtle strength, but Frieza reacted to the onset of the information era as he did any other outbreak: he ordered the massacres of the men responsible.

Getting out of Dodge quickly, most of Frieza's competent and able-bodied engineers, scientists and lab techs escaped out from under him and fled to the relative safe confines of Cooler's empire. Upon sneaking into Cooler's empire, the skilled ensemble of laborers were greeted with a cordial, albeit cold reception by the older Arcosian's self-appointed assemblage of bureaucrats.

Safe and out of the stagnant backwaters of Frieza's rule, these tech savvy grunts began to produce weapons and other equipment for Cooler's army at a torrid pace. And to add a spice of irony to the equation, it was these grunts that had designed the weapon that Erinnern was holding in his hands.

Rifles, especially the long-distance sniping kind, were the specialty of most of the engineering grunts that Frieza tried to exterminate. Because of Frieza's brutish mentality towards combat, most of the soldiers under him had taken the same stance as their lord regarding firearms. This tragic fact was even more prevalent amongst the strongest in Frieza's army, whom were both the closest to Frieza personally and didn't actually need weapons themselves. Personally speaking, Erinnern believed that Frieza would've changed his tune if he had heard of a ki charging rifle.

What was a ki charging rifle? Well the premise was simple: one ki-laced shot, one kill. Instead of having a cartridge with hundreds of rounds, every soldier had simply one shot to kill the enemy.

Sounds stupid? Admittedly, it does sound somewhat inane at first. Why would anybody sacrifice one-hundred shots at an enemy for one shot? Simply put: pure, unadulterated power. Just a single bullet, provided it had been saturated with enough power, could reach a threshold of twenty million units in of pure energy! One shot—one kill.

Ki-saturated bullets weren't proliferated commodities. The list of metal alloys in the world that could harbor extremely high concentrations of ki weren't very large, and understandably the metals that could were extremely valuable. Every shot had a dollar sign. Thousands if not millions of dollars were at stake every time a trigger was pulled. Failure simply wasn't an option when dealing with materials that precious. But the price was well worth it. One shot—one moment could change the entire course of—

"Show yourself!" Snarling violently, the enraged arcosian fired off a cascade of Death Beams into every asteroid in the surrounding area, including the rock that Erinnern happened to be on.

Exploding furiously, the space rock violently fragmented, breaking apart underneath Erinnern's body. His thoughts interrupted and stalled, the boy sucked his gut in and squeezed the trigger before the rock caved-in on him completely.

Within a fraction of a second, the gunpowder inside the gun ignited and propelled the bullet out of the rifle's barrel. Careening towards its target without friction obstructing it, the ki-infused projectile slammed into Frieza's chest. In an instant, the bullet imploded and a truly immense ki blast sprang forth from within the compressed confines of the former gunshot, sending smoke sprawling throughout space and pushing Frieza back into the ruins of one of the asteroids he had already partially destroyed.

Reacting instinctually, the inquisitive boy conjured up another jet of ki and propelled himself closer to the thickly veiled smokescreen. Hoping against hope, Erinnern observed the thick clouds of gray fog slowly recede. Erinnern may've been an idealist at heart, but even he wasn't stupid enough to believe that Frieza would be killed by such a paltry blast. Still, he wasn't trying to kill Frieza—just slow him down.

As the smoke completely dispersed, Erinnern practically cursed when he saw Frieza. The tyrant barely had a scratch on him except for some trivial flesh wound on the backside of his hip. Dread rose inside Erinnern's gut, reminding him of just who he had pissed off. Once you burned a bridge with Frieza, you generally didn't live to rise up against him again.

"So you're the weasel huh?" Contorting his features into a grimace, the prideful arcosian glowered at the young warrior who dared challenge him. "I hope you aren't expecting mercy because you're a brat, kid? Death is the only certainty after challenging me."

Smiling childishly at the infuriated ruler, Erinnern raised his hand up into the air and responded to Frieza through a telepathic connection. Space was not really the best medium for conversation, primarily because sound had no medium to pass through. Truthfully, you couldn't hear a thing, so that rendered telepathy as the only option for communication. "I need no mercy—I have all I need to accomplish what I set out to do right here."

Raising his brow skeptically, Frieza laughed at the kid's self-confidence. "Accomplish what you set out to do? If by that you mean arrange your own funeral, then by all means job well done. Ready to die?"

Placing his index finger on the grooved side of his nose, the childish soldier grinned slightly at the tyrant, welcoming the challenge of facing one of the strongest warriors in the known universe. Every saiyan had dreams of dethroning the person who laid claim to the title of world's strongest; it was the driving force that compelled every saiyan—except Traje. Traje didn't want to do anything for any reason.

"No." Thrusting his hands forward, Erinnern propelled himself backwards with another stream of energy before landing on another asteroid softly. Looking up, the saiyan was shocked to see that Frieza had all but vanished.

Phasing out of the picture, Frieza reappeared above the asteroid that Erinnern landed on and sliced the barren rock in two with a Death Beam. Sensing his opponent stumble, the tyrant dived down and slammed the top of his foot into Erinnern's chin, sending his nine-year old foe flying back out into space.

`Dang, Frieza packs a wallop.' Righting himself almost immediately, the chipper child lowered his arms and propelled himself upwards with another blast of ki. Scanning his surroundings, Erinnern immediately noticed his foe on the periphery of vision looking for him.

Deactivating the jets of ki emanating from his palms, the sprightly boy phased behind Frieza and whispered in his ear. "You're going to have to try a little harder."

Instinctively ducking underneath Frieza's sudden arm sweep, the boy buried his fist into the tyrant's stomach and mule kicked him away. "You missed me."

Sliding backward smoothly, Frieza somersaulted off the surface of an asteroid and fired a barrage of ki blasts at his annoying foe upon straightening out his body. The hail of beams burst forth from his fingertips, accidentally pushing the tyrant back into another rock that just happened to be behind him.

Narrowly dodging at least three beams, Erinnern saw another laser careening towards his center mass at supersonic speed. Waiting for the right moment, the boy swung the broadside of his left arm outwards, smacking the piercing beam away from his body.

"Yow," muttered the nine-year old, futilely trying to nurse the broadside of his left wrist. Even trying to deflect those infernal beams was painful; he could only imagine what actually getting sliced by one of those beams must've felt like.

Glowering at Frieza contemptuously, the nine-year tried to bare his teeth at the sadistic arcosian. He did not appreciate having to nurse his wrist. "That wasn't very nice."

"Oh dear me!" Snorting obnoxiously, the tyrant continued to mercilessly taunt his younger adversary with a series of bitter snickers. Calming down somewhat afterwards, the fiend countered the young boy's glower with a scowl of his own. "Just you wait and see. Only then will you understand how "mean" I can be."

In a flash, both combatants reengaged each other with a furious bang. Cocking both of their fists back, both warriors fired off punch after punch at one another only for their fist to collide into one another in mid-air and cancel each other out.

Breaking away from their intense clash, Erinnern summoned another stream of ki and fired it at the arcosian, forcing the tyrant to dodge while he was allowed to glide away harmlessly.

Drawing his sniper rifle as he slid backwards, the nine-year quickly reloaded the weapon and started to aim down his sights as Frieza drifted upwards endlessly. "Hey Frieza. You really need to learn how to move in space. Did you honestly think that just knowing how to survive was enough?"

Snarling incoherently, the enraged fiend dematerialized and reappeared trying to bring his elbow down on the crown of the insolent brat's head. Following Frieza's movements to a T, the nine-year old wordlessly parried the tyrant's elbow and used the recoil to spin his right leg around and leveled the older male with a devastating roundhouse kick straight to the diaphragm.

His momentum pushing him backwards, Erinnern quickly locked his sniper rifle into a firing position and no scoped Frieza before the tyrant could break free of his frictionless glide. The bullet effortlessly moved through the vacuum and crashed into the bridge of Frieza's nose, exploding aggressively while spraying shrapnel throughout space.

Using another burst of ki, the saiyan shot himself upwards so he could be more level with the massive trail of the smoke that marked where Frieza was. `700,000.' That was the power of that last bullet. It was the most powerful piece of ammunition he had at his disposal. And those pieces of ammunition weren't even for use against Frieza! Honestly, there was no contingency plan for engaging Frieza; no stratagem or piece of tactical brilliance to truly knock him out of the fight. Looking back on those moments, it was a truly large lapse in oversight. Seriously, how could he and his brothers have not been prepared to engage one of the three most powerful warriors in the galaxy? Uh!

As the line of smoke continued to retreat into the nothingness of space, Frieza's disfigured face shined through the ever thinning cloud of gray vapor. Unlike the first shot, this shot had done damage that Frieza hadn't been able to completely shield himself from. The bullet sailed through the air so quickly that the tyrant hadn't had the time to completely defend himself. Fortunately for the evil overlord though, he had been able to erect a makeshift shield around his face right before the blast would've done permanent damage to his eyes and nose.

He didn't get away unscathed though. Although he had escaped permanent injury, the concussive blast had violently shoved his head back and left his ears ringing and eyes bleeding. Along with that, there was one black patch of burned skin right below his brow line where the bullet actually buried itself.

Beyond livid, the vain tyrant was practically growling at his stalwart foe. It had been a long time since anybody had the audacity, or the power, to hurt him. Usurpers were a dime-in-a-dozen, but usurpers with power levels that could actually harm him transcended rare.

Steaming over, the heinous fiend was rifling through his mind trying to find an appropriate form of execution for such an insolent adversary. Frieza had a very simple rule when dealing with rebellions: the graver the threat, the more violent the response. A god couldn't be questioned nor could he allow the urchins below him to start doubting his omnipotence.

Violent executions had always been a great diffuser of dissidence throughout the ages. You wanted people to stop doubting your power; hang a couple in the main square. Want to show a rival you meant business: abduct and murder his comrades or his family. But the more powerful rebels ought to be treated with the most disdain. How you treated _them _set the tone for how you rule. Hanging a leader always resonated more than hanging a grunt. Gruesomely murdering a leader always demoralized men more than gruesomely murdering a grunt. And because of these little patterns, Frieza had deduced his simple little law about revolts.

An obnoxious chortle brought the tyrant out of his reverie, awakening another bout of fury from within him. That contemptuous fool was _laughing_ at him like he was joke. He would show him! "What are you laughing at?"

Grinning at the smoldering despot, the nine-year couldn't contain his amusement when he saw the black blemish on Frieza's face. The juxtaposition between his furious snarl and his comical facial appearance was just too much for him to handle!

"What happened, Frieza? Boyfriend miss you mouth?" That really did it.

Without even thinking about, the tyrant fired another Death Beam at his black enshrouded adversary. Nobody made comments like that and lived. Nobody.

Swatting the attack away effortlessly, the saiyan sneered at the cruel arcosian. "Something wrong? Didn't know you were so ornery, Frieza."

"You little brat!" roared the tyrant, his fuse completely blown. "For what you've done, I'll make you pay hundred fold—no, one thousand fold. You hear me!"

Snickering at Frieza's barely controlled rage, the boy continued to goad on the bastard. "One thousand fold. And here I thought you liked me." You could practically visualize the fake look of dejection on Erinnern's face.

In an instant, the fractured remains of Frieza's armor were sent flying in every conceivable direction. Standing in the epicenter was the arcosian, his body shining with a radiant red glow. "I'll rend you flesh, you hear me! You think you can play games with me! Lord Frieza! Let see what you think of me now!"

Suddenly, most of Frieza's upper body bulged exponentially, expanding at an alarming rate. The bright red aura around him intensified, almost appearing to solidify as it started to press itself into Frieza's glowing form.

Howling in pain, the tyrant felt his hands grow and wrist protector enlarge themselves against his will. The pressure his massive upper body was exerting on his relatively feeble lower lumbar region was slowly killing him. His head was also spinning as his protruding horns seemed to curve upwards against the forces of gravity until all that remained was two L-shaped pillars atop his head.

With another roar, his legs, pelvis and lower back swelled just as his upper body had just a moment ago. Growing almost four feet in one fell swoop, the crazed tyrant let the reins that shackled his aura to his body free. No longer constrained, his thick, blood-red aura expanded exponentially around him, incinerating any asteroid matter around him.

Screaming jubilantly, Frieza's body became encased in an ephemeral fog of red energy, shining brilliant as it coated Frieza's frame for its very minute existence. And when it time was done, the red energy simply disappeared with a pop, leaving Frieza's second form to bask in all its glory.

Raising his left hand up, the tyrant smirked as he flicked his left index finger into the air. "I hope you realize that any trifling thought of winning this little…scrap has just gone up in flames. Do know that my power level is now well over one-million."

Countering Frieza's smirk with one of his one, Erinnern commented on his foe's rather flamboyant metamorphosis. "You mean to tell me that you invested that much effort just to double your power? That's kind of disappointing?"

"What kind of blasphemous blubbering are you going off on now?" growled Frieza, his voice both deeper and far more menacing than in his former form. Being candid, Frieza detested the voice he was given in his prior form. It was far too shrill in his opinion; he could practically hear the nails on a chalkboard every time he cackled gleefully. After a long time, it became a bit annoying.

"Nothing significant," retorted Erinnern, keeping his voice calm and collected. "Just wondering why you went to so much trouble for such a measly gain?"

Veins bulging, the tyrant simply snarled at his enemy's response. "I think the time for talking is over."

"I agree," muttered Erinnern, his normally playful demeanor disappearing as his voice and countenance became more grim. "Let the real battle begin."

* * *

Hoards. Frieza couldn't call his army a war machine; they were nothing but one big, bad ole' hoard. No discipline, no technique, no skill. All they were was overwhelming numbers and pure ferocity and nothing else.

Putzen had to admit though that sometimes having just numbers at your side could work. A never-ending onslaught was usually very demoralizing, and deflated soldiers often made really stupid errors. The kind that could get your entire squad killed in one fell swoop if you weren't careful.

Sadly, such tactics weren't going to work on his squad. They were simply too powerful for this collection of worthless henchman.

After escaping from the cafeteria, Putzen and his allies had been in one skirmish after another within the tight corridors surrounding the massive mess hall. None of them had been a challenge at all; they just made for really good target practice and the occasional meat shield.

Eventually, the saiyans spotted a massive military quarters on the horizon that seemed to be crawling with soldiers of an above average caliber. Deciding unilaterally that simply breaking down the door wasn't a good idea, Putzen gathered his troops and started formulating a simple plan of attack.

"Okay, men," muttered the seventeen-year old, getting the attention of his cohorts. Their meeting ground was an abandoned hallway just south of the room's back door. "Do any of you have any recommendations for how we should go about this?"

"Yah," joked Machen, practically laughing at the words that were about to slither out of his mouth. "Break down the door and kill them."

Sighing painfully, the former general put his hand over his face and groaned loudly from his makeshift podium. Machen's response to his request was expected but still really annoying. "Anybody else have any better ideas?"

Noticing Traje's hand slowly raise, Putzen quickly addressed his lazy brother. "What did you want to say, Traje? Any ideas for how we should go about doing this?"

"Yah, break down the door and kill them." How Traje was able to say that with a deadbeat tone was one of the world's greatest mysteries. But honestly, all of this planning was giving Traje a headache. Was it really so bad to hope for a quick, painless end to all of this bullocks? It wasn't like any of these "soldiers" really warranted any form of serious planning.

Loudly smacking his hand directly into his forehead, Putzen felt like pulling out his hair and assaulting his two brothers. He probably would do so if they weren't behind enemy lines, but that was beside the point. "You two are really going to make me do all the work, are you?"

"I don't see the need for all of this caution," retorted Traje, sighing languidly like he was getting more and more depressed by just talking. "It's a waste of time. Regardless of what we do, they are going to die one way or another. Being this watchful is just wasteful."

`These jackasses are going to be the death of me.' Moaning pitifully, the seventeen year old consented to the demands of his brothers but not before getting a word in edgewise. "Okay, we'll play this your way. But when somebody snakes around your flank and castrates you, don't go whining to me. Traje cover Machen's six. Machen…do what you do best."

"Aiye captain," chuckled Machen, getting back on his feet while combing through his long, silkily smooth mullet with his right hand. His thin, angular face contorted away from his normally jovial demeanor. "I'll make sure none of them ever see the light of day again."

Amused, Putzen snorted at Machen's bold proclamation. This fight was far from over, but at least the jackass had fighting spirit. Getting up from his perch, the former general smiled at his partners. "That's good. Harness your contempt and let's show Frieza what we can do! Let him rue the day that he ever crossed the saiyan race!"

With his entire party at their feet, Putzen slowly marched his strike force closer to the back door of the barracks. Secretly encroaching on their territory, Putzen sneaked past Frieza's sentries and placed a massive block of semtex on the front of the barrack's front door. Quickly getting out of his vulnerable position, the teenager swiftly took cover behind a small bulwark that was facing away from the massive compound. Flicking on his transceiver, the stoic boy tried to address his other brother in central command.

"Merken, you there?" asked Putzen, trying to get a signal from his younger brother. Damn he'd need him now more than ever. "Are you going to respond?" The seventeen was practically spitting mad when all he was hearing was static on the other line.

Suddenly, a voice broke through on the other end, clearly distressed and in a panic. "Yes, Putzen. What do you need?"

"What's going on Merken?" pressed Putzen, wondering why his other brother was acting so funny. First, it had taken him forever to respond, and then when he did it was evident that something bad was happening. Whatever was troubling him needed to be communicated though. Everybody's lives could be at stake if the wrong information was given.

Snorting angrily, Merken responded to Putzen's inquiry. "Erinnern really jumped the shark today!"

"What do you mean?" Knowing Erinnern's impulse nature, Putzen was quite certain he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. It was probably something like killing Dodoria or something.

"I was giving my brother some status updates, and he must've concluded that Frieza hadn't been doing enough to suppress this revolt. Before I knew what happened, Spiesen came roaring through my intercom saying that Erinnern had killed Zarbon and was engaging Frieza as we spoke."

`Dear lord,' mused Putzen, shocked by how badly things had been spiraling out of control outside of his own tightly knit group. Looking back on it, Putzen couldn't believe he had assigned Erinnern to be running point on this mission. Traje would've been a much better choice, and Erinnern could've done Traje's job just as well as Traje himself. Damn, what a fool he had been!

"This ain't good Merken; your brother really screwed the pouch on this one," stated Putzen, feeling himself break into a cold sweat. None of them were even close to being able to match Frieza outside of his containment forms. Hopefully, Erinnern wasn't enough of a fool to let him get past his third form. "Unfortunately though, we can't worry about him. He made his bed; hopefully he won't have to lie in it."

Snorting contemptuously, Merken rejected Putzen's bleak prognosis. "That easy for you to say: he's not your twin brother. I'll survey the situation from here for now Putzen, but know this: I will consider Erinnern's health and wellbeing before I consider yours. If he needs my help against Frieza, I _will _intervene and damn any consequences that we incur because of it. I hope you understand what I'm saying?"

"Understood," murmured Putzen, not really in the mood to hear his brother give him an ultimatum about prospectively disobeying him. Soldiery was all about obeying orders regardless of personal sacrifice. Merken was still too young and idealistic to truly understand that truth yet. "Keep a close eye on that brother of yours."

"Will do." Exhaling roughly, the nine-year old cleared his throat and returned to his work. "You said you needed something before I interrupted you with my personal issues. What exactly did you need?"

Scanning the walls of the barrack for incoming sentries, Putzen ducked down and responded quietly to his brother. "I'm at the barrack just north-east of the killzone. I need the schematics for the compound and a rough estimate of the number of foes we'll be fighting. Can you get that for me in about three minutes?"

"Not an issue." Quickly hacking his ways through the computer's interface, the boy gleamed the information his brother needed and uploaded his findings to the computer monitor in Putzen's bodysuit. "Here you go. Hope that was prompt enough for you."

Chuckling slightly at Merken's assertion, the teenager responded before bringing their discussion to a halt. Signaling Traje and Machen to meet him at the walls of the barrack, Putzen patiently waited for his allies to circumvent the waves of sentries that guarded the walls of the barrack.

Upon his comrades finally getting to his partially concealed location, Putzen began to rattle through orders. "Okay men, we are going to follow your lead somewhat. On that door is enough semtex to bring down the walls of Babylon. From there, take the alleyway that loops around the perimeter of the compound and let me provide covering fire. Walk around that alleyway until I give you the go ahead to charge the center of the compound."

"Roger," replied Machen, comprehending his job perfectly. Boy was this going to be a lot of fun. "Who's going to be running point on this assignment? And where will you be during the mission?"

Drawing the trigger to the semtex, Putzen pulled down on the trigger and initiated the detonation sequence. "Machen you run point; Traje covers his six. I'll be on the ramparts raining death from above. Don't stray from course unless you're given explicit permission from me personally. Let's move."

At that exact moment, the door violently exploded, pushing massive chunks of metal in every conceivable direction like a makeshift grenade. Taking advantage of the chaotic din, Machen and Traje charged the front door while Frieza's foot soldiers were dazed and confused. Reaching the entrance to the barracks, Machen quickly plowed through three stunned grunts before beheading them viciously while accidentally letting one grunt escape his grasp. Swiftly shuffling his body laterally, the twenty year old behemoth nimbly avoided a sword thrust by the last grunt and grabbed hold of the henchman's arm. Breaking the fool's wrist, the feral saiyan speedily wrestled control of the lackey's sword and plunged the plebian weapon straight into the fool's heart.

Using Machen and Traje's forward assault as cover, Putzen charged the walls of the compound and hastily scaled the smooth partition within less than a second. Jumping over the top of the barrier, Putzen quickly heel kicked one unsuspecting grunt off the rampart and down into the compound fifty feet below.

Upon getting back on his feet, the fleet footed warrior parried another blow from a soldier trying to cut him in half with a sword slash to his left side. Blocking the blow with the metal greaves that were tied to the posterior side of his wrist, Putzen used the recoil of the strike to dance inside the reach of the more bulky grunt. Without any way of properly defending himself, the bodybuilder of a henchman was unable to stop his significantly more limber foe from slicing open his neck. Powerless to stop the bleeding, the brainless oaf simply bleed out while collapsing into a disheveled heap.

Ruthlessly staring at his defeated opponent, Putzen turned away from the carnage and refocused his attention to the interior of the military installation. Pulling his hands back, the seventeen year old began to draw more and more power away from his center as he surveyed his targets from afar. Everybody else was too busy dealing with Traje and Machen to notice him there. By the time anybody was alerted to his presence, it would be too late.

Locking onto the mission style building in the center of the complex, Putzen began to concentrate the power that was being channeled through his hands. In an instant, the outpour of energy slowly solidified itself in the contained space between Putzen's palms, expanding at such a torrid pace that it forced the seventeen year warrior to pulls his hands apart and form two separate balls of ki.

Strangely, unlike many other ki-based attacks, there was no light show or levitating pieces of Earth to alert anybody to Putzen's actions. Although most of Frieza's battle-tested grunts had a passing familiarity with ki-attacks, none of those blasts could claim to be as subtle as Putzen's signature attack. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't a single henchman that was astute enough to recognize Putzen's intentions.

As the twin blasts weaned and matured in his hands, the seventeen year old general felt a blood curdling smirk grace his lips. These fools were going to be in for one major surprise and there was nothing they could do to stop him now. Raising his hands into the air, Putzen aimed down his targets while screaming the name of his attack.

"Hell's Din!" Launching the first blast high into the air, Putzen left the shining orb dangling in mid-air while grabbing hold of the attention of every soldier in the barracks. Smiling spitefully, the former general crossed his arms and had the ball implode, showering the ruined complex in an eerie light.

But the blinding light was only a distraction. As its names implied, a deafening sound erupted around the room as soon as the ball burst, forcing henchman to collapse to the ground and feebly try to cover their ears from the furious sound.

Yet it was all in vain. The bomb was so loud and the frequency was set to high. There wasn't one single lackey that could shelter their ears or brain from the deadly sound. Piercing through each of their individual ear drums, the sound permanently destroyed their hearing and scrambled their brains. They were all dead before they hit the ground.

Sneering at the tragic sight, Putzen hurled his second blast into the base of the mission-like building. Almost instantly, the blast collided into the building main façade and exploded upon impact. Within seconds, the edifice and its adjoining buildings were sent spiraling towards the Earth along with the rest of the destabilized complex.

Jumping off the rampart, Putzen sailed through the air and landed in front of his blood-soaked allies. Peering down the long avenue, the seventeen year old smiled when he saw the rows of bodies that littered the battlefield. "That just about takes care of them."

"One of these days Putzen you're going to kill one of us with that attack?" Sighing languidly, Traje desperately wanted a cigarette right about then. Everything was giving him a headache, especially his brother and his infernal helmet. "Be thankful that we had our helmets on or we would've been just like them."

Snorting at his indolent brother, Machen rebuked Traje's plead for caution. "Then you'd deserve to die for being so careless. Any idiot with an ability to sense ki should've seen that attack coming. Just because you don't like exerting effort doesn't mean nobody else should."

"Whatever." Turning away from Machen, Traje brushed his right hand through his lazily maintained mohawk. "Why did we even have to slaughter all of these people?"

"You really don't read the dossiers, do you Traje?" mocked Machen, sneering at his apathetic squad mate. "Merken and Putzen practically spelled out why we needed to take this fortress. The only usable extraction zone located in this sector can only be reached by going through this complex. Damn Traje, do your reading before you start complaining!"

Turning his head back towards his older brother, Traje simply shrugged his shoulders at Machen's demands. "I think you're the last person on Earth Machen who should be preaching about the wonders of reading. What was the last book you've ever read? I'm sure it must've had a lot of pictures."

"Why you—"

"That's enough!" barked Putzen, getting tired of his squad mates bickering like a bunch of school children. "Traje—read the dossiers. You're endangering my life by not being prepared to head to war, especially on such a sensitive mission. Baden wouldn't stand for it and neither will I. As for you Machen, nobody asked for you to defend me. Don't engage in matters that are of no concern to you. If Traje needs to be disciplined, I will handle it. Not you!"

Rolling their eyes, Machen and Traje simply turned away from their lambasting in unison, both muttering underneath their breath. At least their little hostile confrontation was over.

Satisfied that his allies had reluctantly decided to get along, Putzen stepped forward and broke away from his two men. "Follow me this way. It's time to get back to the ship; Spiesen is going to need us."

"What'd the fat-ass do this time," joked Machen, moving forward briskly towards Putzen, gaining ground on his younger brother steadily. "Surely operating the ship wasn't too much of an issue for him I hope."

Snorting amusedly at Machen's insinuation, Putzen closed his eyes and exhaled forcefully. "I'm afraid it's a tad more serious than that and for once Spiesen didn't cause it. The blame for this screw up falls clear on Erinnern."

"Oh really?" His eyebrow lifting involuntarily, the eldest saiyan of the trio was greatly intrigued by what was happening. Flexing his rather taut biceps while they were walking, Machen averted his gaze from Putzen and spoke up. "What exactly is going on?"

The leader of the trio shrugged his shoulder, not really in the mood to discuss matters that he couldn't control. Nevertheless, he knew that Machen would pester him to the end of time to know and he didn't want to deal with that. "Erinnern impulsively killed Zarbon and is in the process of engaging Frieza as we speak. We don't really know why he went so off the wall."

"Lucky bugger," muttered Machen, grumbling over not getting a real challenge like Erinnern was. None of Frieza's soldiers were even worth getting out of bed for—damn he was starting to sound like Traje! And now he learned that his overzealous twerp of a brother was having the time of his life out in space. God damn it all!

Turning towards his elder brother, Putzen snorted at the older male's retort. Machen had always been a little too testosterone-driven; you could practically smell it if you had a good nose. Fights like the one Erinnern was going through were just up his alley, regardless of the risk associated with them. Yet bruising brawlers like Machen rarely ever perceived danger, no matter who they were facing or how outclassed they were. Maybe it a side effect of being a scrawny runt all of his life, but Putzen never understood their mindset; he thought it was inane way of viewing the world.

"Frieza isn't a run-of-a-mill garden pest, Machen. Erinnern is going to need help getting out of this conflict, and I don't let squad mates die without my say-so."

Laughing softly to himself, Machen and Putzen were interrupted from their conversation when they came into contact with the remains of the former mission-style building at the center of the ruined complex. Bending over, Putzen grabbed a piece of rock and chucked it through the massive pile of crumbling stone. Satisfied by how the rock pierced the pile, Putzen lifted himself back into a standing position and turned to Machen and Traje.

"Stand back. This pile is very unstable," warned Putzen, waving his hands back to accentuate his point. Doing as he said, Machen and Traje slowly eased themselves away from their brother and let their leader take charge.

Jumping into the air, Putzen charged another massive blast of energy, this one far more powerful than the Hell's Din technique that ruined the barracks before. Finally getting to let loose, the seventeen year old didn't hold back. Expanding the size of the blast far past normal levels, Putzen simply let the massive orb just get bigger and bigger to the shock of his brother's below him.

Satisfied by the immensity of the attack, Putzen brought his hands forward and relinquished control of the ball. Descending rapidly, the humongous ball of energy burst upon getting into contact with the ruined structure, disintegrating the ruins within seconds and leaving a massive hole where the building once was.

Plunging back to Earth, Putzen turned towards his two shocked teammates and smiled at them viciously; their looks of pure astonishment bringing out the ugliest side of Putzen's ever developing personality. There was no need for such a powerful blast, but the former general chose to do so for one reason: to send a message.

But the message wasn't meant for Putzen's enemies, it was meant for Traje and Machen. It was a display of dominance, power and control that they needed to see. For some reason, the former general was starting to doubt the obedience of his subjects. Traje questioned him at every turn, Machen was becoming more and more insolent and to top it off Erinnern was fighting Frieza and Merken was threatening to desert his post if something happened to him.

What happened? How did things spiral so far out of his control? Why were his men, his soldiers, ignoring or dismissing his commands at every turn? When did he let this happen? Whatever the case, it was time to remind them just why he was put in charge of them. He knew he could do it; this wasn't the first time he had too.

Saiyans were a very plebian species at heart—brutes for the most part. Most saiyans respected power above all, but when an accurate reading wasn't available most resorted to very basic metrics to gauge the men around them. Stuff like height, girth, muscle mass generally. Unfortunately, Putzen from birth didn't really possess any of those traits. He was thinner than a pencil, about five foot five in height and was just flat out scrawny.

Throughout his life, Putzen learned the hard way that respect was much easier to obtain when you were almost seven-foot with a wing-span longer than a condor. In spite of his power and prestige, it usually took an awe-inspiring demonstration of strength for his peers to hold him in the same regard as his more burly kin. No matter how far up the saiyan hierarchy he scaled, the same general reverence towards brawn had somehow always remained. Only power was able to change anybody's mind.

As time progressed, Putzen began to be more and more fascinated with power. From wielding it to understanding how men reacted to it, the concept of power began to slowly invade his mind, turning him into a one-track personality. As his meteoric rise to prominence fed his fame, the power that came along with it intoxicated the seventeen year old. What started as a natural reaction towards a lifelong struggle with inadequacy had become an obsession bordering on lunacy.

Satisfied by the look of shock and bewilderment on faces of his allies, the power-mad saiyan turned away from his allies and to the hole he created. "Follow me. This hole leads down to the hangar bay."

Undaunted by the enormous hole, the former general leapt down through the opening, landing into another cavernous room that was littered with fresh corpses. `Probably just some fools that were too close to barracks when it was destroyed,' mused the power-mad saiyan as he surveyed his surroundings.

Putzen's eyes then locked onto a strange signal coming from a corridor just south of the center of the room. Growling to himself, Putzen felt the immense ki head straight for him. It was so enrapturing that the former general didn't even feel his squad mate's jump down right next to him.

Feeling his heart pound harshly, Putzen practically had a seizure when his target came into view. He didn't look like much. Just like him, he was a runt with virtually no muscle mass. The only thing that was really peculiar about him was his really elongated cranium which vaguely resembled a children's slide. Well that and his really yellow lips

Sneering at his foe, Putzen reached in for a knife and smiled when his foe snarled like him and drew for something as well. Before either knew it, both Pui Pui and Putzen charged at each other.

* * *

Susaylon was by no means the perfect society. Like any other intergalactic empire, the dark underbelly that Uyyasid cast over the worlds around them was ghastly and appalling. Warrior races all shared this common flaw: the illusion of power and glory they gave off hid a much more insidious truth that lurked beneath the surface, waiting to be exposed.

For all of their strength, the engine that fueled Susaylonian civilization could only be found—not in Susaylon—but in the mines and concentration camps that dotted the landscape of Planet Uyyasid. It was in these hellacious surrounding, encircled by smokestacks, mine shafts, watchtowers, barb wire and soot covered brick buildings that Vegeta had been welcomed too upon being captured.

Baden had given the King no instruction on how the Prince of All Saiyan's was supposed to be treated. In the pre-teen's mind, Vegeta was simply collateral that went along with the ride. Whether he was left to die, be set free or condemned to live out the rest of his life in a concentration camp was a question that Baden didn't know nor cared to know about. In essence, the boy had left the male to the hands of the king.

Showing no sympathy to the cruel saiyan, the Susaylonian king had the genocidal prince sequestered in the most violent maximum security concentration camp operated by the Susaylonians. Cast off, the prince was immediately shackled with ki restraints and sent with the other POW's to work in the mines.

The Susaylonians may have not been very imperialistic, but they were fiercely territorial over what they owned. Invading even the tiniest sliver of their land meant an all-out war that the instigating side almost always lost. And when that inevitably happened, the entire losing race was enslaved. The warriors of these races—or POW's if you will—were sent to these maximum security camps, shackled like Vegeta and forced to fend for themselves.

"Umph." Knocked down by another masked prisoner, Vegeta dodged a flying palm thrust and latched his hand around the inmate's entrenched fist and kicked himself up, intentionally burying his foot into the man's stomach in the process. Looking around him, Vegeta was almost surprised to see the man fly clear across the room.

Suddenly, a burly guard strode over to break up the commotion, more than willing to use excess force to prove his point. Taking out his club, the brusque man bludgeoned Vegeta with the weapon, smacking the saiyan in his right hip. Falling to the ground, Vegeta was unable to defend himself from the flogging the uniformed man was giving him.

And then it was all over. Within seconds, a creepy yellow light smashed into the sadistic bouncer, apparently killing him as he collapsed to the ground. To Vegeta's feigned shock, the perpetrator of the attack was none other than the prisoner he had just kicked off of him. Striding forward, the man held out his hand and implicitly offered to pick the saiyan up.

Accepting the offer, Vegeta grabbed hold of the convict's hand and was swiftly yanked back onto his feet. While he was slowly getting adjusted to the crippling pain of his flogging, Vegeta felt a massive upsurge of energy pour through him. Looking at his wrist, the prince was almost shocked to see no ki restraints latched to his wrists. Suspecting the culprit, the saiyan turned his head around to face the prisoner again. Smirking, the prince addressed the conspirator. "Good work, but I still think you guys are suicidal fools."

Smiling cruelly, the masked man ripped off the covering that was obscuring his face and dangled the keys that he procured from the guard high in the air. "Men—victims of Susaylonian might—this is the dawn of a new day. No more will be bound to be the mindless slaves of an uncaring foe. Fellow uyyasidian dissenters, yardratians or any other race captured by Susaylon, this is the moment we take the fight to our oppressors. Today we will not pause. We will not falter. We will be free—or die trying!"

Roaring with applause, the chamber reverberated loudly as if it was accepting the lingering sentiment that was uttered by the formerly masked man. As one by one each man was unshackled, Vegeta averted his gaze to reflect on the situation he had somehow walked right into.

Here he was: stuck over a mile down into the earth with a bunch of belligerent nutcases that were only loosely classified as warriors. Groaning in pain, the saiyan turned to the wall, letting the dim lantern light reflect its eerie glow on his face. Weakly turning back to the scene, the prince barely paid the rabble any attention; satisfied to simply let them rile themselves up.

`Blundering fools!' In all of his wildest dreams he could barely fathom the depths of lunacy these men had succumbed too. Discontent, longing and unconcealed hatred had been brewing in these mines for years before he arrived, threatening to erupt at any moment. But the fact that the gravel met the road only days after his arrival wasn't any coincidence.

Jabbar—their leader and the formerly masked man—was a very charismatic figure. Even Vegeta would begrudgingly admit to that much. The bastard could rally people around him as if he was a magnet and they were metals. According to him, he and the other leading prisoners of war had been planning an all-out jailbreak for months. One last daring attempt at freedom before they surrendered to the unwieldy might of time. Unfortunately, they knew every plan they concocted wouldn't work unless they had one unbelievably strong distraction. Alas, neither Jabbar nor his associates had anybody like that. Until now.

For all of their dashing behavior, Vegeta viewed the rebels as mad fools who couldn't see the forest from the trees. Upon his entrance into their abode, Jabbar had displayed an unconceivable amount of delusional ignorance pertaining to the unleashing of an oozaru. It matter not how many times Vegeta barked at Jabbar to shut up about the great ape, the fool continued to ramble on about how it was the cog in their plan. The distraction they were looking for.

A part of Vegeta wanted to see this rebellion out to the end—just to see the look on Jabbar's face when he realized that he truly couldn't transform without his tail. Yet deep down the prince was thankful to mad man. An all-out jailbreak was one hell of a distraction; one man could easily squeeze through the cracks and emancipate himself. And that alone was the only reason the prince was even following Jabbar's lead.

"Come brothers!" shouted Jabbar, his voice firm and resolute as he called his fellow inmates into action. "Let's take the fight to our oppressors!"

Charging forward swiftly, the organized rabble practically stormed through the mine shaft, their footsteps echoing for hundreds of feet in every direction. Slowly pacing himself alongside the throng, Vegeta watched as the hoard raced through the tunnels like a convoy of rats, cornering and devouring any ill-fated guard who was on patrol at the moment. As Vegeta and Jabbar turned out of the mine shaft, the passageway they entered was both larger and more occupied by the swarms of revolting jailbirds that were pooling in from every direction.

The situation got even more perilous when the insistently trampled ground started to blow coal dust into the air. Suddenly, the smoke and excess ki use ignited the flammable resource alongside the walls of the mine, blowing Vegeta off his feet abruptly, sending the weakened man skidding into the clutches of a guard who somehow had escaped his initial persecution.

Reacting out of habit, the prince tried to blast the guard into the next dimension with a ki blast. But to his absolute shock, the prince felt nothing escape from his hands. When he say the veiled guard lift his club up into the air, the prince gnashed his teeth together and closed his eyes, resigned to letting himself get hit for the time being.

But the strike never came. Opening his eyes, Vegeta was half-surprised to see a bullet hole in the bridge of the guard's nose. Collapsing onto Vegeta like a dismembered log, the dead man pinned Vegeta's legs to the ground. Looking out over his shoulder, the hothead prince saw Jabbar smiling while pointing a small revolver where the guard once was.

Jabbar from a physical perspective was a very unique being in Vegeta's eyes. Frieza's empire had no shortage of races, but service in Frieza's army was voluntary for uyyasidian's because of a provision in the non-violence compact between Susaylon and Frieza. And because none had too, none chose to.

Like any other uyyasidian, Jabbar's skin was cyan in color with a very glassy sheen. But unlike most uyyasidian adults, Jabbar's polished skin didn't have any noticeable fissures or cracks in it. In terms of size, the man was well over six feet tall—a very uncharacteristic divergence from the normally petite appearance of the average uyyasidian.

"Sorry about that," muttered the prisoner, kicking the dead man's corpses off Vegeta's legs while offering the saiyan a hand up. "You have to be a bit more careful for now. None of us are anywhere close to full power, and ki attacks are all but out of the question for somebody of your power level."

Rejecting the uyyasidians hand, Vegeta chose to pick himself up off the ground. "Don't patronize me. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself!"

Snorting at the prideful saiyan, Jabbar ran on ahead, daring the prince to catch up to him. Taking him up on his implicit challenge, Vegeta quickly readjusted to his weakened form and closed the distance between himself and the school of revolting convicts in a blink of the eye. Upon getting to the elevator, the proud saiyan was surprised to see the entire crowd had parted ways, granting him passage to the platform.

Hastily walking through the group into the lift, Vegeta's felt his brow furrow when he saw Jabbar and the other revolt masterminds standing in the shaft at the very back. In front of them was a mass of cannon fodder that was clearly there to just die for their cause.

Nonchalantly walking up to them, Vegeta stopped and crossed his arms across his chest, emulating the ensemble of warriors precisely. As the grated door to the elevator swung down and locked itself, the entire party felt the shaft slowly ascend towards sea level. "You guys put in a lot of effort just get yourselves killed, you know that?"

Rotating his head towards Vegeta, Jabbar snorted at Vegeta's declaration of defeat. "Victory requires sacrifices Vegeta. Perpetually bonded souls know this truth more than anyone."

Tempered somewhat by the charismatic uyyasidian, the saiyan prince was almost shocked to see the platform grind to a halt. As the door lifted, one hulkish figure in the front of the collective slowly approached an unsuspecting guard that had his back turned toward the elevator. Wielding a pickax high in one hand, the brute swung the weapon down and then up like a pendulum, burying the weaponing into the back of the man's neck.

"I present to you Qadir: the monster of Isfrahan!" shouted Jabbar, smiling sadistically when the hulk-like figure hoisted the dead sentinel above his head, pickax and all, and roared like a mad beast.

Advancing out of the mine shaft, two more guards turned around to avenge their fallen comrade only to be struck down by bullets to their foreheads. Briskly getting out of the center of the hallway, the charismatic uyyasidian motioned the hoard to break down the metal door separating them from the outdoors.

The last out, Vegeta approached Jabbar as he was quietly pilfering ammunition from the dead henchman. Turning away from Vegeta, the uyyasidian walked towards the wall situated on the side of the metal door. "You may want to get back. Things are about to get bloody and I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

True to his word, the moment the rabble's combined force blew through the door, the hapless mass was greeted to a most unfortunate reception. As the legions of men stormed outside, they were met with a haze of machine gun fire. One by one, within a split second, the entire assortment of soldiers fell to the ground dead: riddled with bullet marks.

Smirking sadistically at the sound of gun fire, Jabbar motioned Vegeta to press his back to the metal wall and creep closer to the door. Holding his hand in the air, the uyyasidian implicitly halted the increasingly more on edge Vegeta. "Not yet. Wait for it."

Sure enough, the overuse of the machine gun caused the weapon to overheat. Sensing his opportunity, Jabbar sharply turned through the door and out into the open. Not to be outdone, Vegeta and the other leaders followed shortly after.

Taking shelter underneath an armored coal cart, Jabbar beckoned Vegeta to take up the spot right beside him. Without hesitating, the hothead raced across the open and slide behind the coal cart as the rest of the powerful convicts took up positions around the wagon.

"Be careful," stated Jabbar, his smirk curving downwards into a frown. "None of us are strong enough yet to take a hail of machine gun fire. Stay behind this cart and you should be fine; it's reinforced to withstand these kinds of attacks."

Drawing his pistol, Jabbar shouted out to his associates. "Come on men, talk to me. Where is the enemy? How far away are we from cover?"

"There's two machine gun nests. One on a black catwalk about fifty meters in front of us and another about two-hundred yards away to the right! There's no cover in front of us and the closest point out of this no man's land is fifty meters away," shouted one POW on the outer periphery of the coal cart.

As soon as the POW had ceased shouting, the telltale prattle of machine gun fire burst back into the group's collective eardrums. Scurrying out of the line of fire like rats, many of the nameless rebels quickly took cover behind Vegeta and Jabbar and some even jumped into the coal wagon to evade death.

"Okay men, push!" yelled Jabbar, getting out of the way of his panicked men while drawing his pistol. "Vegeta: keep an eye out. Tell me which flanks these fools are coming from!"

Frustrated by the menial grunt work he had been given, Vegeta snarled at the uyyasidian but did as he was told. Looking out over the no man's land, the prince started to address his "commander." "Two men are coming at us from the left at a.…nine o' clock angle!"

Using the moving coal cart to angle his shot and defend himself from counter fire, Jabbar quickly fired at the incoming wave of grunt, cutting down the mob of men before they got close to the convoy. Vegeta then barked that men were coming from the right and then back to the left, and then the same process renewed itself. And while all of this was going on, everybody was kept on edge by the repeated bouncing of machine gun shells off the outer coat of the coal chart.

Suddenly, when they were about ten feet away from the machine gun nest above them, a massive RPG flare was sent careening through the air, colliding with the black bridge that was practically shadowing the band of soldiers. In a flurry, the industrial catwalk was set on fire and collapsed to the ground below, bringing down the machine gun nest with them.

Doing the same thing with the other machine gun nest, the mystery warrior jumped out of the coal cart wielding a bazooka. Apparently, the coal cart was carrying more than just coal and mined minerals.

Smiling at the jackass, Jabbar pressed his gun forward ordered his men to charge forward. In a sudden flood, men from both behind the coal cart and through the front door of the mine started to run across the former no man's land towards the hospital complex on the other side of the corridor.

"Why did we have to hide out behind a wall like weaklings?" growled Vegeta over the stampede, more prickly than a porcupine after being used basically as a spotter for the entire duration of the day. He was a battle-tested warrior, not some scouting reject!

Entering the infirmary, Jabbar slowed his pace down to a crawl and allowed Vegeta to get close to him. "Those shackles were useful for more than one reason. Not only do they deprive you of your energy, they also prevent your body from erecting a wall of energy around you. Without this wall of inert ki, all projectiles, no matter how small, can penetrate your skin and tear you asunder. Exposure to machine gun fire then would've killed you—regardless of how many bullets you could dodge beforehand."

Growling in response, Vegeta hardly noticed a henchman creep in behind Jabbar and hand the masked man something. Taking something from the grunt, Jabbar ordered the lackey away and turned back to Vegeta. Before the prince could offer a word of retort, the uyyasidian gently tossed something at the saiyan.

Catching the substance out of habit, the saiyan prince looked down to see what exactly the rebel had given him. To his shock, it looked like a very small syringe loaded with some kind of strange fluid. Looking at the uyyasidian incredulously, Vegeta couldn't believe that this man was expecting him to shoot up like some wannabe junky. "What are you up to?"

Snorting at Vegeta's suspicions mutely, Jabbar quickly silenced the saiyan's doubts. "It's the antidote. Take it. It's either that or I can force you onto the frontlines. Believe me, you wouldn't last a minute out there without your full strength."

Scowling at the rebel suspiciously, Vegeta was beginning to question whether following Jabbar and his merry band had been a prudent decision on his part. Perhaps the time to break away from the mad man was already upon him? He needed a little more information to make a definite decision.

And then the uyyasidian did something he didn't expect. Stretching out the underside of his arm, Jabbar took the hypodermic needle and slowly slid the syringe into his vein while pressing down on its top, injecting the intravenous fluid directly into his bloodstream. Almost instantly, the man's muscle bulged and his posture and demeanor changed. Maybe he wasn't joking after all?

Trusting his eyes more than his mind, Vegeta repeated the bold action that Jabbar had initiated just a moment ago. Suddenly a flood of energy raced through him, far more powerful and potent than anything he had ever known before. He may not have been able to sense energy, but even he knew that he was significantly stronger then than he had ever been before.

"Getting used to being twice as powerful as you were before?" Whirling towards the sound, the saiyan prince wasn't surprised to see that the only person around was Jabbar. "The nice side effect of ditching those troublesome shackles is that they double your power once they are released."

"How?" In all his life, Vegeta had never experienced a power-up of that degree. Throughout his entire life, after years of torment, the concentration of energy swelling within his muscles was almost too sweet. It was an insurmountable moment to the power-deprived man; it was like the weight of the world on his shoulders had been fleetingly relieved.

"You feel it don't you?" Eyeing Jabbar, the prince raised his brow as the rebel leader continued to ramble. "Imagine how much more powerful you can be when you become the mighty oozaru!"

"You don't seem to be capable of comprehending this." Instantly being reminded of the Jabbar's delusional belief, Vegeta couldn't help but sneering at his foe. "I don't have my tail. I can't transform without my tail. Get the fact that I can't transform through your head. Repeat after me: I can not transform."

Disappearing behind the saiyan, Jabbar whispered into the stunned saiyan's ear. "I know." And then the world went black for the saiyan.

In an instant a door whipped itself open and a masked man walked through the portal, his orange hair blowing in the air past his disguise. "I see you've gotten me a distraction—such an intriguing choose."

Smiling at the masked man, Jabbar lifted both of his hand into the air and stretched the appendage by wrapping his arms around his head. Pulling out of the stretch, the rebel responded. "I've done as you've required, Doctor Myuu."

* * *

**I would like to thank all of my readers for getting through chapter eleven. This chapter was fun to write and I hope that all of you felt that while reading. I also hope that I righted some of the confusion that had settled over my audience since then. Also, if any of you want to talk to me about the story or just personal stuff, I can be found on the Neo Z Fighters forum or by PM. I also hope some of you review because they really do brighten my day. Anything will do (and you may get a review in return). **

**I. Review Replies: **

** 1. Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: the suddenness of my disengagements is something I'm trying to break. Still it does happen every once in awhile. Forgive me for that. XD **

** 2. Power9987: although I answered practically nothing in this chapter and deprived you of both Baden and Gohan, I do hope you enjoyed this somewhat. **

** 3. Kazuma Bushi: I hope you find this chapter to have its shocking moments.**

** 4. Full Power: Yah...it is. XD **

** 5. Super Vegetarott: I've already responded to your criticisms. I hope this chapter is more satisfying, but we'll see. **

** 6. FinalFlashX: I've already responded to you on the forum. Thanks for all of the praise. **

** 7. LucifVegeta: Thanks for the praise. **

** 8. pointer39: responded to you via p.m. **

** 9. Jason9000: Thanks for reviewing all ten chapters. I hope this chapter lives up to the other ten. **

**That's all folks!**


	12. Ensnared

The conflict had exploded out of nowhere. Due to the nature of their work, engagements such as this were facts of life. Generally though they didn't last long—which was a testament to the dog eat dog world of being a professional warrior within the confines of the Cold hegemony. Battles were usually prompt affairs, not because of tradition or some other type of pomp, but because of skill. Perfection was the standard a warrior must keep to survive because mistakes meant death. Nevertheless, Machen and Traje were absolutely flabbergasted by how much Putzen was struggling with this new foe.

They didn't know this guy's name; they didn't know that this guy even existed. Other than his porcelain-colored white exoskeleton and sulfur-colored lips, their next challenger didn't look to be any different than the legions of other battlers they had faced before. If Putzen hadn't engaged their foe first, Machen just knew he would've—just for the thrill of the kill.

Shock didn't properly describe the first moment of their entanglement. Phasing out of position, Putzen tried to karate chop his adversary in the neck with a strong swing. To everybody's collective bewilderment, the mute warrior parried Putzen's hand effortlessly and speared his elbow into the teen's ribs savagely.

Before he could properly react, Pui Pui pivoted on his back foot and twirled around, finishing his revolution with a roundhouse kick to his flustered opponent's side. Rocketing into the air and through at least two hover ships, Putzen flipped out of his treacherous glide and landed softly on the metal floor of the room.

Recognizing that his opponent was going to require him to act more seriously, Putzen readjusted his stance and began to power up. In a sudden flurry, the entire room began to gleam with a fiery azure blaze. Encircled by blue fire, Putzen pushed more and more energy through the room, destroying vacant ships and blowing out light fixtures. Shrouded in the dark, only the blue light that radiated from Putzen's aura remained visible.

Undaunted by the light show, Pui Pui countered Putzen's ostentatiousness with an equally vivid display. Joining in the act, the zoonian let his own brilliant shade of golden ki effortlessly intermingle with the blue that surrounded him. Piercing through the blue fire with ease, the yellow ki danced around Pui Pui form, only going as far as its master commanded. Satisfied with their mutual displays of dominance, Putzen and Pui Pui rechanneled most of their ki back into their ki coils.

Getting back into the groove of combat, both parties charged at each other again. Waiting for Pui Pui to lunge at him, Putzen eyed the other fighter, simply biding his time for his adversary to reveal an opening. Predicting his opponent's lunge at just the perfect time, the saiyan hurdled over Pui Pui's head and vaulted onto his foe's back.

Jumping off of Pui Pui's back, Putzen righted himself in mid-air and immediately blasted the stunned zoonian while he was still floundering behind him. Direct hit. The blast hit the brazen man long before he was able to spin around and meet Putzen's blow, sending him skidding across the smooth metal floor.

Not settling for just letting his opponent get back up, the angry saiyan flew straight at Pui Pui, another ki blast in hand ready to pulverize the zoonian once again. Just as Putzen had done before, Pui Pui timed his foe's lunge at the right time and juked out of the way. Using his superior positioning to his advantage, the lizard-like being grabbed Putzen by his wrist and tugged the young-adult towards him. Completely vulnerable, the zoonian didn't hesitate to bury his fist into the saiyan's gut.

Discontented with just a single punch, the zoonian kept on digging his knuckles into Putzen's abused midsection, pounding the boy's torso like he was tenderizing beef. But he had pressed his luck for much too long, and in the process had given Putzen enough time to recover and retaliate.

Grabbing the zoonian's fist with his unrestrained hand, the teenager roared hatefully at his foe, his eyes glinting with an almost feral level of refinement. Powering up yet again, buffering winds interlaced with his uncontrollable ki began to blow past the saiyan and create a tunnel effect through the hangar, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.

Breaking their unintentional stalemate, Putzen decked the zoonian with a titillating left hook, forcing his adversary to let go of his other hand and cruise out of the picture. Refusing to allow his foe to smoothly crash back to Earth, Putzen rocketed into the air in pursuit, closing the distance between the two superpowers in a fraction of a second as he floated above Pui Pui like a falcon ready to dart at its prey.

Clasping his hands together, Putzen dived down at his kill and brought down his fist directly into his foe's sternum, sending the man plunging straight down to the ground. Crashing into the ground at what was normally terminal velocity, Pui Pui felt the metal floor cave in on him and promptly collapse. Falling through the floorboards, the former king immediately righted himself in mid-air and blasted back into the air at his foe.

As he ascended back to eye level with Putzen, the dwarfish saiyan was muttering to himself bewilderedly. `What the hell is going on here? Who is this guy? Where did come from? He's far too powerful to be one of Frieza's flunkies, but who else could he be?'

"What's your name?" snarled Putzen, thoroughly disgusted with himself for not planning to run into this guy. How could he have overlooked a fighter with a power level that exceeded 530,000? This simply made no sense.

Snorting at frustrated saiyan, Pui Pui started to obnoxiously laugh at his puzzled foe. Quickly snapping out of the fit, the demented soldier smiled at his enemy in a cocky manner. "You don't deserve to know my name. Just know that whoever raises their weapon against me dies!"

Unfazed by the bold proclamation, Putzen countered the alien's dismissive retort with one of his own. "Since you aren't eager about telling me your real name, I'm just going to invent one for you. Are you partial to Frieza's bottom bitch?"

Machen started to laugh virulently at the insult, his former trepidation around his ally forgotten during the episodic spasm. Apart of him was laughing at the fact that he didn't think of it and the other part because it actually rang true to Putzen's personality.

Putzen wasn't one to insult somebody without a purpose. Unlike him, Putzen didn't slight somebody just to rile them up solely. Oftentimes, he was digging for information. Pieces of the puzzle that would reveal answer to questions like who they were? Who they worked for? Why were they there? Stuff like that. Hiding the probes in insults was usually very affective; most people don't recognize deception when they feel personally slighted.

Reacting to the slight just as Putzen had intended, the zoonian snarled at the saiyan and launched himself forward at his target. Maneuvering out of the way smoothly, Putzen dodged the incoming charge while mulling over the information Pui Pui had unintentionally given him. `Mentioning Frieza seems to cause him a great deal of distress. He probably isn't working with him…but then why is he here?'

Unable to speculate any farther, Putzen forced himself to concentrate his efforts on a more practical matter. More specifically, not getting himself skewered by a raging zoonian. Dodging another bull rush at the last moment, Putzen pivoted in mid air and planted the top of his foot into the small of Pui Pui's back as he blitzed by.

Propelled forward by the sudden boost, Pui Pui somersaulted off the wall he was running into like an Olympic swimmer and rushed in towards Putzen again. Surprised by Pui Pui's abrupt recovery, Putzen wasn't prepared to counter his adversaries charge and was left completely vulnerable to Pui Pui's advance.

Tackling Putzen like an NFL linebacker, Pui Pui followed through with his shoulder, forcing Putzen even farther into the air than he had been previously. Trailing the stunned saiyan, the zoonian swopped in and slammed his fist into the back of the teen's head as if he was judge slamming down his gavel.

Tumbling towards the ground, the seventeen year old was able to successfully flip onto his feet before landing on the metal floor. Crashing harshly, Putzen pre-emptively buckled his legs as he banged into the ground, assuring himself that he wouldn't succumb to some rash or preventable injury from occurring.

Straightening his legs out, Putzen mutely stared at his foe as his foe descended back down to Earth. `What is that fool doing? Why is he acting so nonchalant?'

Softly landing on the metal turf, the zoonian coyly smiled at his frustrated opponent. It was about time that he finished this little charade. There was no point in dragging this little children's skirmish out any longer. Throughout his life, Pui Pui always had a thing about defeating opponents when they were at their most frustrated. Only then were truly weaned to be bested was one of his "motto's to live by."

"Good, I've got your attention," cackled the former king, his laughter hitting an octave that rang through Putzen's ears incessantly. "For such an insolent pest, you've been very disappointing. All bark and no bite. Such a shame, your best was just not good enough."

Pui Pui was forced to deflect a ki blast before he had even finished uttering his final line. Putzen's temper had truly came to a boil. Every saiyan had a nasty temper, every single one. Even Traje had a temper if he was provoked long enough. The only difference lied in the trigger; what caused a normally demure saiyan to fly off the handle and start throwing proverbial machetes? Was it biological? A reaction tempered by saiyan pride? Was it cultural? Warrior races generally didn't like to be insulted where it hurt most.

Charging at the zoonian, Putzen tried to deck his opponent into the air like a mad bull. Sidestepping the impudent saiyan effortlessly, Pui Pui parried his foes swinging fist effortlessly and ducked underneath Putzen's reach and jabbed at his stomach, scoring two direct blows. "You should never have challenged me! You should have never raised your hand against me!"

Juking to Putzen's left side, Pui Pui grabbed hold of the teenager's bicep and twisted the appendage across his back. Pinning the appendage to his back, the zoonian planted his foot onto the dwarfish saiyan's back and pushed off. Collapsing to the ground, Putzen was unable to stop his foe from binding him to the floor completely.

Traje and Machen quickly tried to run to Putzen's aid, but both were silenced by one mad glare courtesy of Pui Pui. "If either of you even step forward another inch—your buddy gets it!"

Backing down meekly, Pui Pui smiled at his constrained prisoner, relishing his shame and humiliation. "This is me at full power, fool—the power that you've done the disservice of pissing off. I hope you feel ashamed, humiliated and even resentful over this. Struggle. Resist. Give me everything, just so I can slap it all away again. You're nothing compared to me! Nothing!"

Sighing upon hearing no rebuttal, the lizard grabbed the black blur he was fighting and hoisted him into the air by the back of his shirt. Sensing his opponent try to fling a ki blast in his face, Pui Pui knocked the thrashing limb away from him long before any damage could be done. "Wily. I like that."

Throwing Putzen into the air, the crazed zoonian dematerialized away from view. Reappearing above the saiyan, Pui Pui dropkicked the seventeen year old before he even knew what hit him. Grabbing hold of the teen's legs before they evaded him, Pui Pui lifted Putzen above his head and only then did he launch the poor boy back to Earth.

Crashing onto the metal floor head first, Putzen felt his helmet break on contact, scattering into an innumerable amount of pieces. With his head now clearly visible, Putzen belted out a string of curses. In all of his years of service, he had never met anybody outside of his family that had left a dent in his helmet. The fact that this no-name _shattered _it left the teen very confused and more than a little pissed off.

"So you're a saiyan, huh?" questioned Pui Pui, recognizing the subtle clues of Putzen's racial lineage almost instantly. As the former king of Zoon, he had kept a dossier on every race that could've been a threat. The saiyans were among them. Although he held a passing respect for their ferocity and generally fighting physique, Pui Pui's opinion on the saiyan mentality was very similar to Frieza's: they were just beasts with no refinement whatsoever. No real leadership potential at all.

Muttering another string of curses under his breath, Putzen nodded his head to confirm Pui Pui's theory. `Now I can't let this guy live. He's a security risk.' Of course, at this point, the seventeen year old was not registering that he was being beaten.

Phasing out of the picture again, the lizard like being rematerialized behind Putzen before the teen could react to the attack. Seizing a tuft of the boy's silky black hair, the zoonian roughly tugged the tuft back, knocking the teenager down. "I bet this _really _hurts your pride!"

Kneeing the young adult in the back of the head, Pui Pui cackled madly as he repeatedly slammed his knee into various parts of Putzen's backside. His neck, the small of his back, his shoulder blades—anywhere he really wished. Putzen was powerless to stop him, although he wondered how he started off on equal footing with this lizard and was now getting the shit kicked out of him. He was confident that the power he was using would be sufficient; it was all he felt he had the liberty to use. Because his helmet had been destroyed, his identity was now out in the open.

Unleashing what he could really do was too dangerous. Without any proper way of diffusing his ki signature, anybody in the freaking space ship could sense him provided that they knew how to sense ki. As mentioned before, your identity preceded even your life. Frieza, Dodoria, Cui—all of them would know that the secret was out. Somebody in some dark, dingy room monitoring power levels would see his spike, which would then be reported to everybody in the army ad nauseum. Everybody would know the saiyan race had lived on, far more powerful than what the tyrannical lizard could've even thought possible. And with their existence out in the open, the greatest foxhunt in intergalactic history would begin anew.

"Look at you! Disgraceful—reduced to nothing in comparison to me. Where was that smug face of yours before? Where was that pride? I don't see it now!"

"Shut up," muttered Putzen, very close to damning the consequences of raising his power and breaking free of Pui Pui's clutches. "Don't force me into making you regret it."

"Oh really," sneered Pui Pui, almost howling at his captive's indignant remark. "What can you do to me? You have no control over me; no power over me. I have all the power, all the control!"

And that was all that was needed for Putzen to snap.

* * *

Battlefields were Erinnern's specialty. Of course, such a claim could be said about just about any saiyan in the universe. No matter how old, strong, class or gender the saiyan was, Erinnern never knew one of his kin to not accept the thrill of war with an unhealthy gusto. Raised into a world where combat was the predominant force of cohesion, the nine year old knew that conflicts like the one he was in now were inevitable. Frieza, Cooler and King Cold were the enemy; a confrontation with them was only a matter of time. Erinnern felt…dignified knowing that he was the first person in over a century to openly challenge Frieza, albeit he was only supposed to be stalling him.

Having lived most of his life in Cooler's sector, Merken's brother knew how powerful the Cold family was. Cooler never bothered to constrain his power under measly "containment" forms like his brethren. To most that didn't make a lick of difference. After all, most of the universe hadn't learned how to sense ki. But he did. He felt the enormity of Cooler's ki almost wherever he went, its overwhelming power almost like a signal fire throughout the galaxies, marking his dominion and daring usurpers to resist. Erinnern knew that he couldn't even fathom the power that Cooler wield, let alone how to find a way to get to that level. The task seemed insurmountable.

Yet, knowing this, why did he so recklessly instigate battle with Frieza? Frieza may've been weaker than his older brother, but not by much. Surely fighting such a foe, even as a mere stalling tactic, must've been foolish endeavor. Not in Erinnern's mind.

Frieza locked and chained his power underneath a wall of regressive transformations; techniques that inhibited instead of facilitated his growth. For what reason Erinnern did not know, but he was thankful that the lizard ruler had done so. If Frieza was at full power then he may as well commit suicide—at least things would be less painful that way. As long as he found a way to prevent Frieza from reaching his final form then he should be alright.

Theorizing no longer, Erinnern summoned another jet of ki and charged the tyrant, closing the distance between him and the ruler faster than even he expected. Hardly used to the frictionless speed of his lunge, the veiled boy hurdled over Frieza's shoulder instead of trying to deck the ruler in the face. Rotating his legs upwards and body downwards, the boy swiftly smashed the heel of his left foot into Frieza's temple before twirling out of the awkward position.

That method of attack was probably for the best; Frieza had already gotten his guard up by the time the boy was upon him. The tyrant was unprepared for his foe to simply hurdle over him and attack him from behind. Incensed by the cheeky display, the tyrant pivoted around and fired a Death Beam blindly at where he assumed his prey had wandered off too.

Accurately predicting Frieza's actions, the nine year old conjured up another burst of ki and propelled himself away from the deadly beam. As he ascended upwards, he grimaced when Frieza hulkish form honed in on him, horns up and at the ready. Positioning his body just right, the boy let the behemoth charge him with the intention of skewering him. To the tyrant's shock, the boy's body passed through the space between the tyrant's horns. Latching hold of Frieza's black horns, the nine year old proceeded to knee the arcosian right in the mouth and again in the eye.

Satisfied with the damage he caused to the vain emperor's face, the boy readjusted his grip on the man's head. Pushing his legs up into the air, the nine-year inadvertently performed a handstand. Removing his right hand from its perch, the boy fabricated another ball of ki and blasted it Frieza at point-blank range.

It took less than a second for the incendiary technique to hit its target. Upon impact, the blast seared through some of the skin atop Frieza's head and violently ejected Erinnern from his spot. Howling in pain, the tyrant quickly moved both of his hand to the top of his head, attempting without success to salve his inflamed cranial membrane.

Screaming incoherently, the tyrant used his telekinetic abilities to retaliate against his accursed foe. Setting off a chain of ki attacks, the arcosian was still clutching his throbbing head as he became enshrouded in a ring of smoke.

Narrowly avoiding the deadly ring, Erinnern righted himself and ascended out of the blast radius just in time. Approaching an asteroid from behind, the intrepid boy rapidly bounced off of the barren rock and sailed back to where Frieza was wildly thrashing around.

Summoning a massive pool of ki from within himself, the raider pulled his hands back and started to charge another beam. As the beam grew exponentially bigger a sliver of a smirk crawled up his face. `I wonder what Frieza's going to think about this.'

Thrusting his hands forward, the black-haired humanoid screamed out as the beam slipped out of his hand. Propelled towards the arcosian overlord, the boy smiled as the shell of the initial attack burst into four separate ki blasts of different sizes and intensities.

By that time, Frieza's head was no longer spinning and he was thinking somewhat clearly. As the blast got closer to him, Frieza leered at his challenger's inanely conceived blast. Prepared to merely flick the beam away from him, the tyrant was not prepared for the projectile to burst into five at the last minute.

Acting instinctually, the tyrant deflected the two lasers coming in towards his head with his arms and the lasers going towards his feet with his legs. However doing so meant that his middle was completely exposed to the fifth and most powerful blast, which was unimpeded in its reckless assault upon the overlord's stomach.

Pushing into the god-like alien forcefully, the yellow beam miraculously kept itself intact as it shoved Frieza into an asteroid almost ten miles away. Upon the collision with the rock, the beam exploded, vaporizing the rock and damaging Frieza.

As the smoke enshrouded the damaged arcosian, Frieza started to mull over what was going on. It had been eons ago since he had been pushed into combat at all, especially against opponents who weren't even arcosians. He knew that he kept his sectors weaker than his brother and father, but not even in his wildest dreams did he imagine that they were harboring fugitives that were this strong. When this was over, he was going to have a _pleasant _chat with both of them. As much as he loathed anything to do with his family, this needed to be aired out. The family couldn't let dissenters this strong live for long. They were a security risk.

Encroaching on the veiled pseudo-monarch was the saiyan. Erinnern knew that his attack wouldn't be strong enough to kill a foe such as Frieza. Still, he was prideful of his special attacks—especially about the shock value that they induced. He really liked breaking patterns of behavior, particularly when they became expected. For some reason the boy couldn't fathom, every warrior of note that had a special attack just _loved _to announce their love child to the world. Personally speaking, Erinnern found the tradition funny. It spoke out to him like this: `I'm going to display something really dangerous that could kill you, and I'm going to just blare it out there with a megaphone. Damn any possibility that my foe may foil my plans because of my boisterousness, that's just preposterous!'

As the smoke was pulled away into the vacuum of space, Frieza's hampered form became visible in the inert space. Grimacing in slight pain, the arcosian slowly rubbed a flesh wound that had reopened on his hip. Catching sight of his annoying pest of a foe on the horizon, the tyrant scowled as he approached him. But he wasn't going to engage him just yet. He needed just a bit more time to gather the energy required to move into his final form. Although he despised the brat he was facing, Frieza was honest enough with himself to recognize what he had was not going to cut it forever.

"I do hope that isn't the best you got," taunted the lizard, trying to bait his challenger into a war of words. Insults were generally his preferred method of slowing down a battle; they were what worked for him.

Chuckling to himself, the black enshrouded saiyan snickered at Frieza's insinuation. "Not at all. We've just started this little game."

`Oh, you don't know how right you are,' mused Frieza, enjoying his little mind game immensely. "I agree. The fun is just beginning!"

Snorting at the mad tyrant's proclamation, Erinnern placed his hand firmly on his hip. "Fun for me perhaps. For you, I doubt it."

Frowningly mildly at the impetuous warrior, Frieza reached up to scratch the side of his nose. "We'll see about that. I didn't get to become the emperor of the universe by being a façade."

"Could've fooled me," taunted Erinnern, sticking out his tongue at Frieza from within the confines of his helmet. It was a useless action. Frieza couldn't see the gesture, but it just felt natural at that moment.

`Just a couple more minutes,' muttered Frieza internally. If he wanted to go into his third form he could, but he doubted that would be enough. The power of that last attack all but affirmed that in Frieza's mind.

"Bored now," declared Erinnern, yawning dramatically for good measure. "Going to start attacking you now."

Murmuring "drat" underneath his breath, Frieza retreated backwards allowing his foe to charge him in pursuit. Easily catching up to the withdrawing tyrant, the nine year old threw a haymaker at the lizard of which was promptly parried by his foe's forearm.

Sneaking in underneath Frieza's reach, Erinnern used the recoil of the repartee to slide foot first into Frieza's diaphragm. Colliding with the muscle, Frieza gasped as his chest compressed itself involuntarily from the crippling blow. Miraculously though, he still found a way to retain the energy he had been pooling up to transform into his final form.

Once he was back to normal, the arcosian tried to pin his wily enemy in between his arms and his chest in a suffocating embrace. His plan failed though when Erinnern simply descended out of range for his arms.

Finding his elusive enemy quickly, Frieza fired a death beam at him of which was predictably evaded. Firing another Death Beam at where Erinnern was going, Frieza quickly dived down with his legs stretched forward in an attacking posture. Just as he thought, his lithe foe nimbly evaded the beam only to walk right into his kick. Slamming into the boy's left cheek, Frieza's bony foot pressed itself into the boy's skin before launching him backwards for hundreds of feet.

Righting himself immediately, Erinnern conjured up another jet of ki and ascended back up to where Frieza was. "Good shot, I'm sure you devoted all of your thinking power into it. Didn't yah, Frieza!"

Instead of retorting to Erinnern's mocking, Frieza dematerialized and swept the boy's feet out from under him. Pulling his hand together above his head, the arcosian immediately clubbed the pint-sized warrior as he was sprawled out.

Dematerializing again, Frieza appeared behind his small adversary and punted him forward like a football. Teleporting to where the boy was heading, Frieza pulled his leg back and swung at the boy, nailing him with a furious roundhouse kick straight to the temple which sent him back to where the violent sequence had begun. And then reappeared in the place and pulled his arms back again, attempting to reinitiate the pattern he had set a second ago.

Foreseeing Frieza's actions, Erinnern let himself glide close enough to Frieza for the fool to think that he was helpless. Just as the bastard was about to lower "the boom" so to speak, the nine year flicked his wrists up and blasted himself forward at the last moment. Passing through Frieza's cupped hands, Erinnern twisted in mid-air and turned around while Frieza was left dazed and confused. Lashing out at Frieza while he was vulnerable, the child buried his right foot into the crook of the arcosian's neck.

Throwing his hands up into the air, the saiyan conjured up a blast that sent him foe sliding downwards. As he passed over Frieza's foot, the boy grabbed hold of the male's heel with both of his hands. Pulling his hands behind his head while sucking in his gut, Erinnern threw the tyrannical arcosian over his shoulder and into a massive asteroid that was directly below them.

Not wasting his momentary advantage, Erinnern hoisted both hands above his head separately like he was about to bow before somebody. But instead of lowering his paws, the boy's hands became to sparkle with ki discharge, the appendages tinged blue by the hue of the excess energy.

Howling desperately, the boy began to pour more and more energy into his hands. This was it. Unlike what Frieza may've been thinking, Erinnern knew what the tyrant was doing. He was pooling enough energy to transform into his final state. Needless to say, the boy knew he couldn't just let the despot do whatever he so willed. Once Frieza had completed his metamorphosis, it was game over.

Perhaps it was stupid to use so much energy into one attack. What would he use to defend himself if he failed? In Erinnern's mind, that question didn't matter. If Frieza was anything like his father of brother, then this was his last and only chance to truly damage Frieza again. He couldn't let an opportunity like that just waste away!

By the time that his attacks had formed and solidified, Erinnern had already depleted half of his remaining residual energy. Roaring, the boy lowered his arms into a firing position and the blasts grew in size yet again. "I hope you enjoy this Frieza!" And he fired.

The two twin blasts careened towards their target, spinning and orbiting around each other as they slowly approached one another. As they twirled around each other, the blast began to coalesce into one, fusing into a considerably larger blast as they got closer to their mark.

One hundred yards: the blast became visible to Frieza as the tyrant cleared away the smoke that had veiled his vision.

Ten yards: the blast was almost there and Frieza braces himself for contact with the massive blast.

One yard: Frieza could practically feel the heat of the attack bounce off his face, his features contorted painfully from the searing heat.

Impact: out of nowhere, a cloud of blood red ki exploded around Frieza's frame, rising like a thick miasma that wafted in the airless vacuum of space. Coming into contact with Erinnern's blast almost immediately, the high ki content of the aura dissociated and dissolved the blast before it could do any temporary or permanent damage to Frieza's exoskeleton.

Shouting jubilantly, Frieza pushed even more energy out of his body, speeding up his metamorphosis into his final and true form. But before he was enveloped by the haze of blood red ki, he took one long look at his stunned enemy. And as his vision faded into red, the villain could only smirk in triumph.

Because he knew that he had won the match.

* * *

Goku rolled out of his jump and began running the minute his foot touched the linoleum floor. He couldn't believe that he had somehow sneaked by almost two-hundred soldiers and didn't get caught in the act. It was almost hard to believe; Goku knew that stealth wasn't his forte. Surely somebody must've spotted him.

Shuffling his feet, the man turned around a corner and hid behind some exposed pipes on the left side of the corridor. This turned out to be a wise decision when a small patrol of guards strolled by, unaware of his presence in the adjoining hall.

Sensing his foes leaving the proximity, Goku leaned his head out of his hiding spot and checked to make sure that the coast was clear. Satisfied by the emptiness of the space, the adult saiyan got back onto his feet and prepared to cross the intersection promptly.

Right as he was about to make his move, his transceiver starts to ring and buzz incessantly in his ear. Getting out of the open again, the palm-tree haired saiyan inspected the device to see if it was on. Seeing that it wasn't, the clueless male took the earpiece out of his…ear and began to fumble around with it. Even after all this time he didn't know where the "start button" was.

Finding the power button by pure accident, Merken's shrill voice pierced the naïve male's ear drum, forcing the man to cover his ear instinctually while muttering underneath his breath. `Was that really necessary?'

"You were spotted!" exclaimed Merken, his voice both panicked and frightened. Barely registering the shout, Goku rubbed the back of his head with his dominant hand, not exactly sure how to respond to Merken. "What happened? I kinda spaced out."

Coming unglued, Goku could hear a discernible "bang" before the transmission picked up again. Merken, with a fresh red mark on his forehead, began to growl over the wire. "Some underling spotted you, dolt! Cui knows about you now. You have maybe a few minute before they corner you!"

"Oh," murmured Goku, crouching back down into his hiding spot, trying to put on his thinking cap. Judging by the tone of his guide's voice, he wasn't getting any ideas. Things were pretty bleak overall; the only image that Goku was getting was that of a monkey banging two cymbals together rhythmically. Yah, the clueless male was beginning to figure that he was screwed.

Scavenging from the barrel of his mind, the child saiyan opted to consider the most unconventional and irrational strategies he could think of. During his time in service, the boy had learned that when a logical plan couldn't be theorized then shock and awe was the next viable option. These men were looking for Goku; their muscles would likely be tense and their minds far too singularly focused on their target. Swift and sudden action under those conditions would give them a notable advantage of surprise, and that may be all they need in this engagement.

`Where are you Goku?' pondered Merken in his own mind, trying to triangulate his position in coordination with the hive of soldiers around him, all of whom were buzzing with excitement. Rooting out the naïve male's location; Merken quickly formulated a hasty plan of attack.

"Goku can you hear me?" cried Merken, getting Goku's attention rather unexpectedly.

"Um…huh?" muttered the Earth-raised saiyan, entirely unprepared for Merken's sudden address.

Taking Goku's "huh" as a yes, Merken continued to command the older male. "You are hiding behind an exposed hedge of pipes, correct?"

"Um…yes," mumbled Goku, his voice almost inaudible over the thrashing of footsteps that seemed to coming from every direction. "Are those really loud footsteps coming for me?"

`Drat. They're almost upon him,' thought Merken, his mind growing more and more jumbled. Praise god his hasty, unrevised plan had already been finalized before Goku spoke up. If it wasn't then he would've lost his train of thought completely.

"I'm afraid so, Goku," advised the youthful soldier, his tone weary and downcast. "Sad to say, but we don't have much time to spare or errors to spar. Understand?"

Nodding his head over the intercom, Goku lifted himself up into a kneeling position. Even though he never could read thoughts or actions all that well, he did have a good understanding of context and situation. Somehow, despite his rather underdeveloped cognitive traits and inhibitions, the man just had an instinctual understanding of the increasingly more perilous conflict that was homing in on him. He subconsciously knew that his readiness now was absolutely essential, even moreso than normal. "Okay."

"Good," stated Merken, trying to keep his tone clear and sedate. He had a feeling that Goku was not somebody who could follow orders when they were uttered under duress. "Okay listen closely, I'll only say this once. Cui is too powerful for you to face; you won't be able to kill him on your own. You're going to need me to kill him for you."

"To do this, I need you to get to what we call a skybridge—what a skybridge is should be fairly explanatory. This should give me enough space to properly…dispose of Cui. I'll be honest with you here. I can't help you get out of this one. You have to get yourself out of this mess."

"Okay," replied Goku, unsure of whether what Merken was talking about was a good idea. Relying on him to get out of a sticky situation was usually a very bad idea, unless you didn't mind having an entire army giving chase. And that looked to be exactly what was going to happen if he was put in charge of his own escape.

Coughing loudly through the intercom, Merken recaptured Goku's attention as he was about to give him his final directions. "But before we split apart, I have two prerequisite conditions that must be followed. You must head towards the center of the command, which is situated both above you and to the north. Secondly, it's vital that you remain at a high power level during this part of the escape. If I can't sense where you are, how fast you're travelling or which direction you're going in, then I can't plan or adjust where I'll be to accomplish my end of the object. Do you understand these conditions?"

"Yes," responded Goku tersely. They were running out of time; he could practically see the thin, elongated shadows of a fighting party about to turn the corner into the hallway. He was out of time and out of options. If he was going to follow through with the voice's plan, it was now or never. Yet he was wondering if he should follow through in the first place.

Goku had heard the same song and dance since he had journeyed away from Mt Paozu all those years ago. He was too naïve, too trusting. For most of his teenage and young adult life, he neither understood nor wanted to understand why that was a bad thing. What was the harm in believing people? What was the harm in placing his faith in other people? Piccolo was the first person in his life that had made realize why that mode of thought was asinine.

When he saw Piccolo hang his wife, he subconsciously made a promise to her and all of his old friends that he'd learn from his mistakes and became a bit more…stringent on whom he followed and whom he gave mercy too. Needless to say, that vows hadn't been faring well in recent memory. He probably gave Cacao a second chance he didn't deserve and now look at what he was doing. There wasn't even a guarantee that Gohan was on the other end of the line. Why did he trust these complete strangers like they were his next of kin?

Old habits die hard he supposed. Whatever the reason, he was cornered and had to decide what he wanted. He had two choices: follow the voice into the unknown and pray that he didn't lead him into the lion's den or surrender and hope that Gohan's captors would be merciful.

It took him all of five seconds to decide on following the voice. As much as he resented just blindly following every incorporeal being he came across, what would he be if he just gave up and surrendered? What kind of example would he be setting to his son, whom was probably worse off than him, had he decided to give up? That was a fear that was stronger than his rather small amount of resentment.

Interrupting the conclusion to Goku's inner decision making, Merken made himself known for the last time. "Before you embark on your own run for your life, I do have one suggestion: break the pipes in front of you as you flee the room. They will flood the room in a vaporous smoke that will give you a small head start. Don't underestimate how important that can be in a chase." And then the com went dead.

Acting quickly, Goku fired two ki blasts into the walls both behind him and in front him, taking the advantage of surprise away from the encroaching might of Frieza's army. Stunning the patrol, Goku took flight and fired another ki blast into the exposed hedge of pipes as he busted through the roof of the passageway.

In a second, the gaseous vapor in the pipes ignited and set the corridor ablaze, incinerating the first responders that were pouring into the passage. The second responders were slightly luckier than their predecessors. Some were far enough away from the blast that they could evade the expanding wall of fire before they could be engulfed, albeit they did suffer some second-degree burns on their arms and legs. As for the third responders, they didn't suffer any damages whatsoever. Unfortunately for Goku, Cui was a third responder.

Crashing through the roof of the burning hall, Goku ascended into another much larger hallway that was teaming with grunts. Powering up to full strength, the naïve adult felt himself grow into his penultimate kaioken form for the first time since fighting Cacao. Relishing the intoxicating power of the transformation, Goku enlarged his aura and pushed back the horde of soldiers about to attack him into the walls of the hall, sending many of the worthless maggots into a solemn slumber.

Guessing where north was correctly, the saiyan propelled himself north alongside the hall, hoping that he'd get to this "skybridge" soon. Cui's power was unreal; he knew that it would require both speed and skill to evade him for any length of time and he probably didn't have the ability to evade him for very long.

"Oh and where do you think you're going?"

Slamming on the brakes, Goku almost ran into the dreaded purple alien who was standing straight at him with a smug expression. Damn he thought had more of a head start than that. Now he was left gawking at the man, wondering how he got there so quickly.

Wrapping his right hand around his pudgy chin, the harbinger of doom smiled coyly at the flustered saiyan. Recognizing the telltale signs of Goku's race almost immediately, the asexual alien started to laugh obnoxiously. "So there are more of you simians in the universe? Well I always did enjoy 'whack the monkey.'"

Immediately beginning to dislike the obnoxious purple alien blocking his way, Goku bared his well-developed fangs at the smug soldier. Easing himself into a defensive position, the immobile saiyan let Frieza's forces surround him from all angles.

Lifting his non-existent brow line up, Cui took Goku's defensive mannerisms in stride. "Riling for a fight already? You truly are one of your race, aren't yah? Just hanging out on a limb waiting to fight me?" Laughing at his rather lame joke, Cui uncoiled his arms from around his waist and eased himself into his own fighting position.

Taking Cui's posture as a legitimate threat, the seasoned saiyan warrior quickly generated a ki blast and fired it at Cui before the purple alien could properly act. Using the temporary halt in the action to his advantage, Goku flared his ki around his body and cleared away some of the grunts that had started getting too close to him. Taking flight, the reckless Earth-raised warrior moved laterally into the wall on his right side, plowing through the structure with his shoulder.

Crashing through the wall and into an adjacent hall, the saiyan halted his lateral momentum and changed body position upon landing on the linoleum floor. Pushing off of the floor, Goku converted his lateral momentum into forward velocity and launched himself across the relatively vacant corridor.

After almost ten seconds of relative quiet, Goku was starting to think that he had given Cui the slip. Smiling to himself, the naïve male started pooling more and more energy into outrunning his foes and getting across what his guide had called a "skybridge."

His path had remained free and unimpeded for the most part. Of course there was the occasional pack of grunts that tried to fire at him or run away, but their attacks never got past his aura and their bodies were flung into the walls of the chamber when he flew by.

And then the wall to his left blew apart unexpectedly, revealing Cui's lithe purple form amongst the greyish metal debris. Dashing straight at the saiyan, the alien officer lunged at Goku like a tiger leaping at an antelope. Snagging the heels of both of Goku's feet in one fluid move, the asexual alien pinned his foe's legs together and then proceeded to twirl the man like an inverted merry-go-round until they both hit the floor, landing hard on their sides.

Having taken less damage in the fall, Cui picked himself off the floor far quicker than his shell shocked adversary. After a brief couple of stretches and reflex tests, the man casually strolled towards Goku's sprawled out form.

Smirking cruelly when he saw his feeble foe try to pick himself up, Cui swiftly kicked Goku back on his back. Putting his foot on the man's thigh, the wannabe tyrant quickly applied exorbitant amounts of pressure on the limb, taking a great amount of delight from Goku's whimpers and moans of pain and disapproval. "So much for wanting to fight—where is that fighting spirit that you monkeys are so proud of?"

"I'm not a…monkey," stammered Goku, his heart racing and his yellow eyes burning crossly. With the exception of Piccolo, there wasn't another being in the world he wanted to blast to oblivion more than this pig of a soul in front of him. Damn, he was starting to sound like his brother with all of the threats and maledictions running through his mind.

"On the contrary," rebuked Cui, his infuriating facial expression never leaving his face. "You're feeble attempts to escape are so common amongst your _kind_." Removing his foot from Goku's quads, the man smirked when he slammed his foot hard into Goku's stomach, relishing how his foe's chest heaved up.

Sputtering involuntarily from the crippling blow, Goku coughed up blood onto the top of Cui's boot and even a little on the soldier's exposed ankle. Scowling in disgust, Cui rigorously tried to shake off the foul fluid by waving his foot into the air. When that only got rid of some of the fluid, he resorted to trying to scrap the dried portion of the blood with the side of his other boot.

Turning his attention back towards the saiyan, the purple alien's glower grew in intensity. It was clear that the man was done screwing around; he was prepared to finish the job he started. Aiming his foot so that the sole was directly above Goku's face, Cui ominously stared at his soon-to-be-dead foe from above his hoisted foot. "I think it's time to end this, don't you agree?"

Apparently it wasn't time to end this. Right as Cui brought down his foot, Goku rolled out of the attack and clipped Cui's feet out from under him. Grabbing Cui's ankle as he was falling to the floor, Goku pulled back and flung the disgusting alien straight into the wall again. Quickly picking himself up off the floor before Cui got himself up too, Goku blasted off into the air again, trying to get to this "skybridge" that his guide had been talking about.

Sensing his opponent get up and blast off, Goku spotted an intersection in the distance and turned into the other hallway. After going about one-hundred yards the man suddenly ascended upwards, plowing through at least two ceilings in his two story climb.

Pulling his hand back, Goku launched a mediocre ki blast into the hall facing directly at him, blowing the metal structure to smithereens. Satisfied with the destruction he had created, the Earth-raised alien decided to drop back down the hole he had formed originally. Detecting Cui's enemy encroach on him, Goku propelled himself forward and slithered around another adjoining hallway before lowering his power level to its barest minimum.

Just as he got out of sight, Goku felt Cui ascend up the hole he created and try to scout his position in the adjoining hall. Clenching his ever beating heart, Goku prayed that Cui would find nothing and just ascend up to the next level and leave him be. As if god himself was trying to test him, Cui gave the room one long final look before ascending upwards.

Keeping still, Goku collapsed onto the floor and chuckled to himself mutely. `That was far too close for comfort.' Lifting himself back onto his feet, the saiyan started to run again, making sure not to raise his power too much lest Cui recognize him.

Strangely, the hall he was in was vacant. Nobody was there. Considering that he practically swarmed just half a minute ago made the situation even more surprising to the saiyan. It wasn't something he'd complain about though. Fighting off a hoard of grunts wasn't on his to-do list, not when he had yet to reach his ever elusive objective.

Speaking of that spectre, it was very fitting that it was at that moment that the skybridge came into view. Sparkling on the horizon, the small cylindrical glass shelled structure shined in Goku's eyes as he got ever closer. But at the same time, a small pocket of dread welled up in his chest. He hoped that his guide would hold up its end of the bargain.

Passing through the transparent cylindrical structure, Goku felt a foreboding energy directly above him. Looking up, the saiyan's heart practically stopped when he saw Cui staring at him from above. Howling madly, the purple alien charged at Goku, his fist already cocked back—armed and prepared to tear off the saiyan's face.

Powering back up to his maximum, Goku channeled all of his energy towards his legs and propelled himself farther down the clear tube, desperately trying to outrun the livid soldier before he could get to him. `Crap, crap, crap. Whoever you were on the other end, please hurry!'

As if Goku's plead was answered from a higher power, just as Cui broke through the tube that Goku was running through, something almost microscopically small buried itself into the purple alien's skull. Without any further ado, the projectile exploded within Cui's brain and tore the soldier's head clean off his shoulders.

Turning around to see Cui's decapitated body crumbled to the ground and collapse lifelessly, Goku moved his hands behind his head and chuckled mirthlessly. `I guess you came through whoever you are.'

Suddenly the transmitter in his ear buzzed back to life and his guide's voice came through. "Good job. You definitely made thing more dramatic than I thought they'd be, but in the end you got the job done. Now let's get you out of here."

Pivoting away from the skybridge, Goku left the scene. "Yah, let's get out of here."

* * *

To both die and remain alive was such a strange feeling. Your body—it doesn't know what's going on or how it should react. Should it bleed? Should it feel pain? Should it feel the sinewy threads of its own muscle tissue disintegrate in a massive cauldron of blue fire? The only thing that didn't keep him from continuing his train of thought was the searing pain atop his head. Goku had improved his aim and reaction time since his younger days, albeit not enough to prevent his hatching.

Goku had always been a one-track soul; never capable of comprehending what was straight in front of him. He was always "fight this" or "eat that." No real rhyme or reason for his actions, he just did whatever he chose to do. Sparing "father" originally could have very well been example A. In all likelihood he probably regrets that, understandably so too. Slaughtering somebodies entire family and small group of close friends rarely earned you any favors.

Apart of him was telling him he was different than his forefathers. History need not repeat itself once again. King Piccolo and Piccolo were simply misguided souls that strayed too far away from righteous path, if there was such a thing as a "righteous path."

Deep down he agreed with this part of him somewhat. Not necessarily on the "leading a virtuous life" part, but on the idea that he was…different. Every time his forefathers resorted to escaping death by the use of their little egg trick, they had laid the seeds of an entirely new being. And each new being was less and less tethered to the ambitions and inhibitions of his former self. Instead of being the "demon incarnate," he was merely the heir incarnate: the only soul capable of taking up his predecessor's former work.

Yet that didn't seem right. Heirs don't just inherit the memories of their former lords, let alone their thoughts as well. He didn't need to ponder about how he had been born, he simply knew. Nevertheless, he felt the compulsive need to reflect.

Goku had his forefather on the ropes—dead in the water, no pun intended. And after Goku powered up his Kamehamaha, the Piccolo before me knew he had no chance of life left. Channeling most of residual energy left towards his open palm, the former demon leveled the saiyan with his strongest blast straight to the saiyan's face.

But the attack was never meant to kill or even harm him; it was volleyed for the soul purpose of hiding his "birth." Even now, this new Piccolo could feel himself as an egg churn up his forefather's esophagus, only to be driven into the sea upon being coughed up. It was only shortly after having been hatched did he feel his forefather succumb to the might of death, if there was such a fate for him.

Goku's disappearance was even more confusing to him. Perhaps he thought he was dead, which could've very well have been the truth. The silly oaf's Kamehameha had grazed the upper crown of his egg, which was coincidentally where the searing pain atop his head was centered at. As he lay adrift in the ocean for his first moments of life, it wouldn't have been a lie to say he was edging the border between life and death. It was only after he had rolled up on Roshi's beach did any chance of recovery become probable.

Namekian healing abilities were really neat. Fatal injuries to an average human could easily be healed, repaired or at worse regrown. Although the first few days left him groggy and in a lot of pain, he quickly was able to shed the physical remains of the trauma and regain both his full power and his immaculately preserved form.

For the first few days after his "miraculous" recovery, he would spend a part of the day meditating over the small sea engulfing Kami's Island. And each day, he would awaken to see his reflection in the water. His thoughts on the image were very similar to that of the Piccolo before him. He looked…small and puny. Like a namekian equivalent of a child if there was such a thing. After being accustomed to being over seven foot tall with a tremendous wingspan, the change was very jarring. He couldn't claim to like it either. You're judged by your stature, even if you don't want to be.

Soon enough, he started becoming adventurous enough to power up and flesh out other power levels in the vicinity. Now, he didn't intend to kill anybody…yet, but he did want to know if there was anybody else on this planet that could be interpreted as threat. It at least would give him a starting point for whom he would have to flesh out on a later date.

Disappointed. Of all the power levels on the azure blazed planet of Earth, only two really were noticeable to him: that assassin borg from the Twenty-Third Tenkaichi Budokai and Kami himself. Neither were worth killing, one because of obvious reasons and the other because he was too much of a coward to truly challenge him.

Kami's existence alone also made the situation even more ambiguous. The old coot could only remain alive if King Piccolo was alive, and somehow that old coot had remained alive. What did that mean if anything at all?

Speaking of the old guardian, he was another thing that seemed really…strange about rebirthing himself again. It was like his hate for the old man was…lessening. Becoming more gradual per se. As said before, King Piccolo was Kami's dichotomy; the dark that rivaled the other's light. As mutually hostile elements, saying that they hated each other was a tremendous understatement.

Piccolo Jr, although he never admitted it, simply disliked Kami. He thought the old man was simply a senile old coot that posed very little threat to him and wasn't worth too much thought. Of course, if Kami tried to screw with his mind he would give the old man an ear full, but his distaste for the old namekian was nothing when compared to King Piccolo.

But this new Piccolo felt…pity for the old man. It was his energy and his power that torched the world that he grew to love, and it was his choice to unleash it upon the world inadvertently. Piccolo couldn't imagine the dread and powerlessness that Kami experienced everyday knowing that he played a part in bringing the world he was charged to defend to its knees. Still, he wouldn't have it any other way—that was just how Piccolo rolled.

When Raditz arrived, Piccolo for a split second thought that Goku had resurfaced and was revving up to hunt him down again. It took him all but a few seconds to realize it wasn't Goku but his sadistic older brother. Piccolo was almost surprised that the bastard returned, but he really didn't care that much either way. What he was really surprised about was his power. Raditz was strong enough the first time they met, and compared to now he may have well been an ant. If his senses were up to snuff, he swore this new Raditz was about as strong as Goku in that orange transformation of his.

And then he felt that something that made his blood run cold. A second power: one so strong that Piccolo could hardly fathom what he was feeling. It made everything he felt before, including himself, seem somewhat insignificant. Like droplets of water in a reservoir in fact.

At that point in time, Piccolo realized that his life was in their hands. If fate was on his side he could probably hide away from them, but his pride would tolerate no such thing. He may not be the demon king, but some of the demon's old traits still were prominent—pride being the most dominant.

So he waited for them to arrive. Piccolo wasn't a fool. Raditz found Goku on this small island; it was the only logical place for them to retrace their steps towards. As long as he stayed here, he would run into them.

Soon enough, the two mega warriors landed on the pale white sands of the beach. Peering into the ruins, they smiled at carnage that his forefather had created. And for some reason, they attributed it to someone they called Kakarot.

Immediately deciphering the identity of Kakarot, Piccolo felt compelled to defend his forefather's actions. Or at least make sure that Goku didn't end up taking credits for them. This was a mess he created; this was a mess he would take credit for.

The cat out of the bag, Piccolo walked towards the two saiyans with his posture erect and proud. If they chose to kill him, he would die with his boots on so to speak. Pacing forward, Piccolo halted his progression when he felt he was a respectable distance away from the two space pirates. "Kakarot as you call him wouldn't kill his own friends. The person you're wondering about is me."

"Oi, green bean," taunted Raditz, his long mane of hair swaying in the breeze rhythmically. "Didn't see yah. I thought you were taller?"

Ignoring the puerile saiyan's taunts, Piccolo let silence reign in over the atmosphere until the two could collect themselves and stop wasting his time. Needless to say, that got on Raditz's nerves.

"Hey, what's taking you so long to respond? Speak up!" shouted Raditz, thoroughly frustrated by his stoic foe. If it wasn't for the fact that Turles was standing right next to him, he probably would've blasted Piccolo to smithereens. He was still debating it though; he just doubted that his new boss would appreciate the lack of restraint.

Snorting at the saiyan's lack of composure, Piccolo chose to throw the saiyan back a bone. "I don't give idiots my time of day."

"Why you—"

"Silence!" roared Turles, fed up with having to deal with the pointless bickering. "Namek. Explain now!"

"Namek?" muttered Piccolo out loud, not entirely sure about what Turles was talking about. Namek? What was a namek? He never even had heard of such a thing in his life, but he was pretty damn sure that the saiyan was referring to him when he said that.

"He doesn't even know his own race. How cute," quipped Turles, smirking coyly at the flustered namekian across from him. Like so many other saiyans, Turles loved to play with his prey so to speak. Taunting his adversary about his heritage was as good as any other pre-battle conversation. "Now tell us: where is Kakarot?"

"Beats me," stated Piccolo, countering Turles's smirk with a smirk of his own. "He came here and ran into this massacre. We fought and he won. In the end, I think he ran after that brat of his that you abducted. Wherever he is, he ain't here."

Turning towards his comrade, Turles glowered at Raditz, surprised to hear that revelation. "You kidnapped your own nephew and had him serve hand and foot for Frieza?"

"Uh…yes," admitted Raditz, about ready to snarl at Piccolo for vocalizing that little tidbit of information. He was probably on shaky ground with Turles as it was, he didn't need something like kidnapping his own nephew to be thrown into his face. Although he resented his nephew's weakness, no self-respecting saiyan remaining would ever condone kidnapping one of their own to service a scumbag like Frieza.

"As much fun as it is to watch you two bicker, getting to the point would be heavily appreciated," mocked chibi Piccolo, annoyed by their unintentional stalling. Perhaps he was angering them excessively, but it probably wouldn't matter. He had one real piece of information that could save him. If that didn't convince them, it was all over. He would dead before he even had a chance to live.

"Can we kill this guy yet, Turles? He knows nothing!" Stepping forward threateningly, Raditz conjured up a ki blast and was prepared to swiftly take off Piccolo's head. He had created more than enough problems for one day.

Staring into Raditz's eyes blankly, Piccolo turned towards Turles and responded to the threat upon his life. "I would heavily recommend not killing me. It would be a great disservice to the both of you."

Raising his brow skeptically, Turles called off Raditz's advance and stepped forward as well. "And how would it be a "disservice to me" to kill you. This I gotta hear!"

Turning back to Raditz and then back to Turles, Piccolo took one long, deep breath and recited his declaration. "Tell me: do either of you have any interest in immortality?"

* * *

**I hope you all have enjoyed the twelth installment of Cognitive Dissonance. I have to say that the period between chapter eleven and twelve has been noteworthy. Not only did my story finally breach the one-hundred review threshold, but it also reached ten reviews per chapters for the first time. I would like to thank all of my loyal readers and reviewers for allowing me to get to this milestone. I couldn't do it without you. **

**Another thing I would like to address is a poll on my profile. Since I've turned down the content to T I've had a few doubts about whether that was a smart idea. I've talked to a couple of people a few chapters ago, but I want to know what my readers in general think. Answer honestly though. Nevertheless, I would greatly appreciate you voting in that poll. **

**Now with that out of the way-on to review responses: **

**I. Review Responses. **

**FinalFlashX: **

** (1): The rifle concept will be discoursed more on when Gohan actually learns how to use on. They will explain the concepts and why they can do the amount of damage that they can there.**

** (2): The tactics used by Putzen where to divert their attention and allow him to kill everyone without using too much pyrotechnics. They are very close to the vacuum of space after all. Of course, thing didn't quite pan out that way, but it was the idea. **

** (3): I didn't go to the trouble of introducing Pui Pui to kill him off in a split second. **

** (4): I guess you'll find out next time about Dr Myuu and his reasons for being on Uyyasid!**

**Supersaiyaninfinitygohan: **

** (1): You're correct. The opening part of Vorkuta was directly rewritten in the first scene. **

** (2): The reason why the saiyan's don't, as you put it, "Leroy Jenkins" the Cold Family is pretty simple: they don't have the power too. As for Frieza's containment forms, he's still protected from attack by another little concept I'll explain later on. **

**Full Power:**

** (1) I'm glad you like my multi-variable plot lines. They are a lot of fun to write about. **

**VLS:**

** (1): Glad your enjoying my concept and my impending fights. **

**Guest(Ky111 most likely):**

** (1): Yes a lot is going on. Hope you enjoy what's to come!**

**Jason9000: **

** (1): Already covered in a previous review. **

** (2): Cold family relationships and ruling strategies will be covered in the future. **

**Super Vegetarott: **

** (1): I'm not entirely sure what is wrong with that sentence you used in the grammar section? **

** (2): Glad I caught your interest and that you think my writing is lucid. **

** (3): Call of Duty is one of my main inspiration for some of my sequences. My reply to Supersaiyaninfinity should go a long way to proving that. **

** (4): We've covered this earlier. **

**LucifVegeta(chp 8): **

** (1): I've put more effort into my editing process post-chp 9. I hope you see the improvement as well. **

** (2): I'm glad that you like my paragraph structure!**

** (3): Merken really doesn't fit the profile of the average saiyan, but he does have some of the basic characteristics. Anyways, when I created my little group, I wanted to create something that was unique. Saiyan OC's that don't have any peers to relate them too. In some ways I've probably succeed and in others I failed, but that was my intention. **

** (4): I'm glad your enjoying how my plot is thickening. As for the Uyyasid part, I could cover that with you back on the forum some time. **

**Power9987: **

** (1): Why the saiyans(OC's) are so powerful will be covered in future chapters. **

** (2): I agree with the fact that the Vegeta scene was the high water mark of the chapter. I'm glad you enjoyed it, especially considering Vegeta isn't one of your favorite characters. **

** (3): Whenever you finally publish your part 2 of your series, I will definitely comment. **

**Pointer39(chp 8):**

** (1): I'll take what you have to say into consideration. **

** (2): I'm glad you can see the lighter side to some of my writing. **

**Ultimate Black Ace (1/2): **

** (1): If I remember chapter one/two correctly, 710 is when he's frightened and alarmed and it goes to 1,000 when that is translated to rage. Can you point me towards that passage? **

** (2): Kinda irrelevant. Goku's fully healed by the time he lands on Argos. **

** (3): I understand. Chapter two is my worst chapter by a country mile. **

**Perfect Carnage (1/2/3): **

** (1): I'm not what the criticism with the stuttering was on. Can you pm what you were trying to convey? **

** (2): I'm glad that you liked all of my fight scenes and that my pace was appropiate. It means a lot. **

** (3): Killing children always make things more brutally(savagely) poignant. Doesn't it?**

** (4): Again I'm not sure whether you dislike the Goku in a temple or if you liked it. I'm not entirely sure. **

**Ultimate Black Ace (3/4/5): **

** (1): Yep that was brutal. **

** (2): Yah, it they did, it won't help them now. **

** (3): The Queen and Vegeta are supposed to be equals in power. Again, I would like to see the passage and where it implies that they are inequal in strength. **

** (4): Yeah, the Penultimate does carry quite the similar between that and the Divine Water. **

** (5): I'm glad you liked the conclusion to Vegeta's fight. **

** (6): Yah, I needed to bring Raditz down a couple of notches for the story to progress onwards. Still I liked doing it. **

** pointer39 (9): **

** I'm glad you enjoyed Mache. He's definitely a hoot. **

**That's all folks. **


	13. Inadequacy

A brisk ocean gale blew over Kami's island, ruffling the spiky leaves of Roshi's palm trees as it passed on by. Sweeping across the ocean, the stiff breeze cut through the water, leaving only small minute ripples in its wake. As the water rippled, the waves pounding the beaches of Kami's island started to slosh, adding more background noise to Piccolo's standoff. His ears pricked and eyes vigilant, Piccolo couldn't help but be slightly distracted by the gentle yet intense chirp the waves gave off. It was like they were just as invested in this confrontation as he was.

"Immortality? Are you off your rocker, green bean?" scoffed Raditz, ready and equipped to kill Piccolo before he could babble onwards. "I've heard a lot of excuses and pleads for mercy in my life, slug. Name me a sob story or ridiculous offer I haven't heard one time in my life. I can tell you right now that you won't be able too."

Snorting at the haughty saiyan, Piccolo turned towards Turles, trying to get a picture of his thoughts. Piccolo wasn't an idiot, he knew that Raditz had no say in whether he lived or died. Whoever this other saiyan was, it was him who would be his real judge, jury and executioner.

"Speak," commanded Turles in a sober tone, not betraying any of his real thoughts on the matter that is if he was thinking of anything at all.

"So be it," assented Piccolo, shutting his mouth and collecting his thoughts. Exhaling one last time, the namekian began to speak. "This planet has these things called dragonballs. There are seven in all and they are located in various locals around this planet. Upon being collected, the eternal dragon can be awoken that can grant any one wish within its power. I know for a fact that the dragon can grant you immortality."

Laughing obnoxiously, Raditz clutched at heart and tightly clenched his eyes shut, trying and failing to stop his chuckling. "Of all the stupid bullshit I've ever heard, that ought to take the cake. You mean to tell me that if we run around like idiots and collect these balls, that a magical dragon will out of nowhere pop out and give us anything we want. And you expect me to believe that!" If it wasn't for the utter seriousness of the situation, the long-haired saiyan would probably been rolling on the floor laughing at the insinuation. It was just too preposterous!

Not even giving the plebian saiyan his eye contact, the newly hatched namekian scoffed at Raditz's remark. "It's not my problem if you don't believe me. Just know that killing me will deprive both of you of any chance of eternal life."

Getting himself back under control, Raditz cracked his knuckles and strolled closer to the namekian threateningly. He was tired of this little side-show; this…warrior was not worth their time to even humor. "You will find it to be your problem when I'm crushing the life out of you."

"Halt, Raditz," ordered Turles tersely, watching his incensed teammate out of the corner of his eye. "Don't kill him, yet."

Stunned and confused, Raditz did as his leader commanded and backed off. Glaring at his leader, the long-haired saiyan didn't understand what he was doing wrong. What was the point in dragging this out any longer? It was obvious that this green man knew nothing.

"There may be some truth in what he's saying," answered Turles, reading Raditz's facial expression like a book. Averting his gaze towards Piccolo, the relatively silent saiyan bared his teeth menacingly at the namekian, as if he was daring him to try to steer him away from what he wanted. "Is there any recorded evidence of the existence of these balls before you came around?"

"Nope," affirmed Piccolo, satisfied by the look that Turles was giving him. It seemed that his offer was being heavily considered.

Recognizing the same thing as Piccolo, Raditz was absolutely flabbergasted by Turles's caution in regards to this weak namekian. Was he seriously considering Piccolo's statement? `You've gotta be kidding me. He's actually taking this seriously.'

"Don't tell me you're actually taking this guy literally?" roared Raditz over the crashing of the waves, getting both Piccolo's and Turles's attention. "He's just trying to barter with you to spare his life."

"Silence," growled Turles, staring derisibly into Raditz's skull, daring the man to tread even one more step forward. "I know what I'm doing here, and apparently you do not. Personally speaking, I think he's telling the truth."

Before Raditz could rebuke, Turles had begun talking again. "Under normal conditions, I would be thinking the same thing Raditz. But these aren't normal conditions. Strangely enough, I've heard of another place with things called dragonballs. You know where this place is, Raditz?"

Pondering his thoughts quickly, Raditz almost gasped when the image he conjured popped up. `Oh you gotta be kidding me.'

Smiling at Raditz's realization, Turles continued his rant. "Planet Namek hosts a very similar legend to what this guy is saying. And I find it very doubtful that they could be in cahoots; not after you consider the fact that we are out in the middle of nowhere. No, I think this is something worth looking into."

Grimacing internally, Raditz couldn't help but agree begrudgingly after hearing Turles's reasoning. He didn't trust the namek at all, but what was the harm in looking into this he supposed? It wasn't like they'd lose anything valuable except for perhaps time. And the reward would be just too sweet if it came true. Immortality—how many beings could claim themselves to be true immortals?

"Oh, one last thing," added in Piccolo, frowning at the two scheming saiyans as they turned their attention back to him. "The dragonballs only work if I'm alive; you kill me and they don't work."

Scowling at the insinuation, Turles knew he had been given an ultimatum. For his immortality, he had to keep the namek alive. Deep down, he wasn't surprised. He just knew a catch like that was coming. It was only a matter of when it was going to be uttered. Now he had a little deliberating to do.

To kill the namek or not to kill the namek: that wasn't the question. It was whether he wanted immortality or wanted to kill the namek. Turles honestly didn't know what to do about the situation. He never liked leaving potential enemies alive just for the possibility that they may try to strike back at him. Still, most weren't offering something as precious as immortality in return. Just was he telling the truth about his life being connected to them? Would killing the namek deprive him of his chance for immortality? Whatever the case, that was a chance that he wasn't willing to take.

Silently communicating his intentions to Raditz, the two saiyans swiftly turned their backs on the namekian. "We'll humor you on this, green man. You better not be lying to us."

Coyly smirking at the two killers, Piccolo slowly floated into the air and waited for them to take to the air as well. Once that happened, the motley trio blasted away from the island on what was perhaps the last hunt for the dragonballs.

* * *

Energy just came rushing out of Putzen body like a rupture vein, spilling out wildly without any control. Rising in the air like a foggy vapor, the power clouded around Putzen body, partially obscuring the young man from view. Shielding themselves from the explosive display, Machen and Traje watched with wonder when a myriad of glowing lines started to weave and wind around Putzen's body.

Eventually the saiyan duo became accustomed to the blinding wall of tangible energy engulfing Putzen. Undaunted by the display, they encroached on his space, getting close to their brother to get answers to their questions. Why did they questions? Their brother looked like a fluorescent glow stick.

"Oh fuck," muttered Traje off hand, recognizing what Putzen had done and the potential consequence of the teenager's recklessness. `Damn it. It seems like flying off the handle is becoming a family trait.'

"What?" Rolling his head in Traje's direction, Machen stared into Traje's eyes like he wanted to know why his younger brother looked so concerned about this. Look at Putzen! Does it seem like he's in any position to lose!

Reading his older brother like a book, Traje sighed languidly and massaged his temple softly. He really didn't want to explain this and probably didn't have too if he didn't want too. But it would be really bothersome if Machen kept on pestering him for the next ten minutes on what the bloody hell was going on. "Machen I want you to think long and hard on this one. Observe the placement of the shining lines dotting our brother's body. Tell me, what are they on top of?"

Doing as Traje directed, Machen looked at the placement of the glowing lines etched into Putzen's skin. It didn't take him long to figure out what Traje was alluding too. "It's his arteries and veins that are glowing. Is that what you trying to say isn't it Traje?"

"Precisely." Sighing again, the fifteen year old soldier put his hand around the left side of his face. "Do you know _why _his veins and arteries are glowing, Machen?"

Snorting contently at his younger brother, Machen crossed his arms around his chest. "Not even the faintest idea. I never cared much for those anatomy and physiology lessons back in the day. They cramped my style."

Bemoaning Machen's "cool-guy" attitude, Traje grunted at his older brother's display of flamboyance. "Can't say I'm all that surprised, you always were the dull tool in the chest."

"Why you—"

"Putzen doesn't have the bodily infrastructure to withstand the power coursing through his veins," stated Traje, intercepting Machen before he could go on his own petty little tirade. "He told me so himself. He acquired power that he couldn't use because he couldn't expand the size of his ki coils to accommodate the larger amount of energy."

Mulling over what his lazy younger sibling had said, Machen turned away to look at the battle. Putzen looked terrible on closer inspection. His eyes looked bloodshot, his skin looked very sunken and sallow and he could practically hear his brother's heart pound from almost where he was standing. He didn't need to be cardiologist or a general practitioner to figure out that his blood pressure was probably through the roof as well.

"He found a few ways around to skirt those limitations though. There are numerous ways to manipulate your body to push past the limits of you ki infrastructure," continued Traje, interpreting Machen's thoughts perfectly. "But most come at a very grave cost. Your body doesn't like you trying to bypass its own limitation and for good reason. You risk ki poisoning, coma and even death doing this. This guy must've hit one heck of a nerve for Putzen to resort to this."

"No shit," commentated Machen, almost in awe of the power emanating from Putzen's body. It was almost mystifying; Pui Pui was dominating him so completely a second ago. Now he had so much energy that he neither knew what to do with it nor how to contain it. When did Putzen's power spiral so far away from his?

Failing to look at his shocked sibling, Traje ended his little oratory with a final statement. "Putzen has made his choice, and now he must reap both the fruits and sorrows of his actions. Let's just pray that his actions don't mark his grave."

On the battlefield, Putzen's mouth was practically foaming. The power pounding through his veins, undulating coarsely throughout his entire body was unreal. He rarely experienced anything truly like it, a true feeling of power and adequacy that he so richly cherished. Breathing deeply and rapidly, the teenager tried to get more and more oxygen to his limbs along with his other extremities that needed to be replenished by the life-giving element. After all, what was the point in power without the necessary components to unleash it?

Calmly putting one foot in front of the other, Putzen strolled closer to Pui Pui, his face cloaked by the thick wall of pure qi blazing around him like a corona. Without even pausing, the dwarfish saiyan disappeared from view to the zoonian's shock.

Reappearing behind Pui Pui, the small saiyan intentionally grazed his thigh on Pui Pui's back, getting the male alien's attention. Dropping back an inch, Putzen grabbed the zoonian's hand the minute the former king turned around and tried to lash out at his gut again. Snapping the zoonian's wrist like a twig, the enraged saiyan placed the sole of his foot on the zoonian's waist and pressed downwards at a diagonal angle.

Collapsing helplessly to the ground, the former king coughed up blood when his waist was used a cushion between Putzen's entrenched foot and the metal floor. Smirking at the wounded man, Putzen removed his foot from the former king's side like he was actually thinking about the concept of giving him mercy. And then in a cruel twist of fate, Putzen smashed the tip of his foot into the lizard's chin.

Having had his head violently wrenched back, the former ruler was entirely unprepared for the same foot to come slamming into his gut again. Left gasping for air yet again, all Pui Pui could do was glare hatefully at his insanely strong foe. "I'll make you pay for this, I swear it!"

"You…said…that I had…no power. No…control," muttered Putzen, his ability to form words almost gone. To wield the excess ki rampaging through his system, the teen needed to transfer more and more oxygen away from his own mind and towards his blood vessels. Ki was in many ways like oxygen. Not only was it pumped throughout the body and imbued every muscle in the human body with the ability to do work, but the metalloproteins that carried oxygen through an average saiyan's circulatory system were also remarkably similar to the hemoglobin that bind oxygen to the red blood cells of a complex organism.

During his training, Putzen had learned that a warrior could  
manipulate the number of courier proteins in his body that transported his energy. Naturally, if he couldn't expand the size of his coils than he had to increase the amount of energy his body could transport at one time. And the miraculous thing about this discover was that it worked, but at a grave cost.

As with almost any biological organism or process, there was a reason that his body only manufactured that number of "ki transfer" proteins. In his quest to circumvent his body's natural limits, he learned the hard way that some things were not meant to be messed with, and generally speaking the body has its reasons for its own limitations. "Ki transfer" proteins were merely parts of cells, and an overabundance of cells leave wastes and impurities in the blood. Under normal conditions, these toxicities could be properly purged without fanfare and nobody would think a thing of it. But obviously that wasn't happening and more toxins were being put into Putzen's body than what was being cleansed out. With nowhere to go, these toxins could wreak havoc across his body and in certain cases trigger a condition known as sepsis or blood poisoning. Without immediate and sufficient aid, the mortality rate for the average sufferer of this condition was fairly high.

Unfortunately, Putzen learned about those side effects the hard way. After being practically carted into a rejuvenation chamber, the teenager had, if rumor held, sworn off manipulating his body in such a way again. Obviously, that promise wasn't ringing true now. And even worse than then, there wasn't a rejuvenation chamber in sight this time around.

The slurred speech was the first sign of the incoming poisoning. To counteract the increasing number of toxins running through his blood, Putzen had to divert more and more oxygen from his brain towards his bloodstream. For the first five or so minutes, the only real side effect would be a moderate case of intoxication; the kind that would be eerily familiar to most chronic drunkards after drinking large quantities of alcohol. Provided that the manipulation of the cells stopped then and there, only bed rest would be needed to successfully recuperate the sufferer of this condition. Alas, Putzen had no intention of stopping.

Back on the battlefield, Pui Pui bared his teeth at the poisoned saiyan, not giving the teen a dignifying response. Whipping his hand up, Pui Pui fired a blue orb directly at his hated foe, waiting agonizingly for the telltale explosion to be set off.

To the zoonian's disappointment, Putzen countered his foe's sudden attack by rapidly flaring his aura, engulfing the attack and disintegrating it before it could hit his sickly skin. Shining with mad zeal, Putzen's eyes gleamed when his aura pushed into his adversary's skin, catapulting the fiend into the air helplessly.

Disappearing yet again, the intoxicated warrior reappeared right behind the zoonian, flying backwards at the same speed and direction as the zoonian. Whispering silently, Putzen moved to Pui Pui's side beside the man's ear. "No…pw'er."

Bringing his balled fist up, Putzen savagely slammed the bottom of his fist down on the dome of Pui Pui's elongated head. Snarling madly at the distressed man, the saiyan lowered himself down and grabbed hold of the zoonian's ankle. "No…co'rol"

"W'o…has cont'ol now!" Without hesitation, the mad saiyan hoisted his prey behind his head and flung him into the wall of the hangar. Giving chase, Putzen opted not to give his enemy any opportunity for a break or reprieve. As soon as Pui Pui crashed into the wall, the impudent teenager was already at his heels literally. Already on a crash course with the fallen zoonian, the former general lifted his leg into an attacking position and struck at his foe's bruised oblique.

Successfully doing more damage to the already battered muscle, Putzen jumped off of his wounded prey and stood tall over him menacingly, his shadow darkening the crumpled posture of his defeated enemy. Grimacing in pain, Pui Pui shot proverbial daggers into Putzen's head, his loathsome feelings towards the teen starting to overflow out of him.

Cringing internally, the former king of Zoon pressed his right hand into his abused side and tried to massage the pain away while retaining the intense glower he was giving Putzen. He only needed a few seconds to recover and after that he would make him pay.

After almost half-a-minute of nothing, Putzen suddenly whipped his right leg around and tried to roundhouse kick the former king of Zoon viciously in the temple. Predicting the action, Pui Pui lunged forward underneath Putzen's leg and tackled the power-imbued boy to the ground. On top, the furious zoonian tried to strike out at Putzen's forehead with a furious haymaker.

Growling insanely, the power-mad saiyan grabbed the zoonian's hand before it could be driven through his skull. Pushing the appendage out of the way, Putzen flared his aura around himself again, jostling Pui Pui's legs out from underneath his own. His legs free, the former teenage general rolled his body into a ball and then shot up like a slinky due to the recoil. Intentionally aiming his body towards Pui Pui, Putzen's legs pushed themselves directly into the former king's stomach, hurling the alien into the air after the teen relinquished his hold on the zoonian's hand.

Teleporting so that he was just below Pui Pui's helpless ascent, Putzen powered up a massive beam of ki as he waited for his foe to reach the apex of his climb. As the former king arched back down, Pui Pui gained control over his fall and was able to halt his descent back towards the Earth. The problem was that he didn't notice Putzen gathering energy into until it was too late to stop him.

Thrusting his hand forward, the crazed teenager smiled rabidly at the strange alien, the light pooling in his hands shining like a strobe light, emitting a beam that was so blindly bright that it forced everybody to shut their eyes lest their eyeballs start screaming in pain.

Dazed and clearly loony, Putzen screamed as he fired the blinding projectile at where he assumed his foe to be. Quite frankly, the seventeen year actually couldn't see where Pui Pui was. He was blind to the trajectory of the beam if the criterion was sight alone. The brightness of the orb, the facet of the blast that made it so extraordinarily unique, was somewhat of a double-edged sword. Along with blinding Pui Pui, it also blinded him, making his own vision unusable for an indeterminable amount of time, which depended on a variety of factors including distance, luminosity and time. However, unlike his opponent, Putzen could feel out ki signatures: a skill that was ingrained so deep into his subconscious that no amount of energy intoxication could knock it off-kilter. When Putzen finally relinquished control of the blast, there was only one trajectory that it would be lead too: right towards Pui Pui head.

Thinking quickly, Pui Pui erected a forcefield around himself. Feebly trying to evade the blast, the zoonian lowered himself away from the center of the beam's trajectory towards its lower periphery. Alas though, the former king was unable to completely escape as the laser engulfed him before he could properly duck out of the kill zone.

One second in: the engulfing beam exploded around him, battering the walls of his ki shield. The heat was insufferable; the temperature was well past one-hundred degrees Celsius, and the zoonian could already feel some of his skin start to crack and chafe already.

Five seconds in: his barrier could withstand no more. Breaking apart fantastically, the shield left the zoonian bereft of protection as the cauldron of blue fire encircling him. Subconsciously moving his energy to protect his eyes, ear and throat, the zoonian's body had surrendered his skin to the mercy of the merciless laser.

Ten seconds in: it was all over. Only smoke surrounded him now. Quite a bit of his skin had peeled off, and he had lost well over half of his power—but he was fine. At least he thought he could still fight anyway, but he was going to take his time about getting back into the fray. He needed a bit of time to collect his thoughts along with his breath.

"This doesn't look good," muttered Traje, watching the fight from his spot on the sidelines. Just as he predicted, Putzen was thoroughly dominating the fight, but Traje was already starting to notice the telltale signs of the "poison" spreading. `Putzen doesn't have much time left if he truly wants to kill this guy.'

After the blast had finally exploded, Traje easily could flesh out his opponent hiding in the smoke. Since the guy obviously wasn't hiding his power level, he was fairly easy to identify in the smoke. Moving his head towards Putzen, Traje was alarmed by the fact that Putzen didn't seem to be retaliating. `Is his mind so scrambled that he doesn't even notice that his opponent is still in the smoke?' Judging by the dull, blank eyes of his brother, Traje could assume that much.

"What were you saying, bro?" asked Machen, watching the same fight with a different perspective. To Machen's eyes, Putzen looked to be completely owning this alien. It didn't even appear to be a fight!

Turning towards Machen, Traje gently shook his head side-to-side and sighed. "Things ain't lookin good for our brother."

"Huh?" Looking quizzically at his brother, whom was holding a deadpan expression, Machen started to snort softly at his brother's ludicrous claim. Was he watching the same fight that he was? "What are you talking about? Putzen has this completely under control! The guy is reeling."

Rolling his eyes at Machen's lack of perspective, Traje sharply pointed at Putzen's haggardly form. "He may have the power, but he won't have it for much longer. Not when he is already showing signs of the poison spreading. At the rate he's going, he has maybe a minute…perhaps two before he goes unconscious."

"No shit," replied Machen, in an almost pleading tone. It was like he didn't want to know the real truth behind his wording. Machen may be a jackass with more than a few issues, but he was smarter than he was given credit for. Traje knew that Machen was seeing the same thing as him; it just took him a little longer to connect the dots, and when he did they generally fragmented before anything productive could be done.

Turning towards his brother, Traje stared at him while expressing nothing in his body language. "No shit."

* * *

At that moment on the battlefield, Pui Pui's form became visible amongst the thin trails of smoke covering him. He looked to have been put up hard and left out to dry. His porcelain white skin had been charred in multiple places and he wasn't breathing well because of the smoke that crawled down his windpipe, slowly choking him while still inside the raging inferno. All in all, he looked to be almost as damaged as Putzen. Remarkably though, he still looked to be ready and willing to fight.

Lowering himself to the floor, Pui Pui slowly descended downwards, leaving a trail of smoke marking his former footsteps. Landing on the greyish-black floor of the room, the two mad warriors stared at each other with mutually contemptible glowers and grimaces on their faces. Without hesitation, both warriors charged one another and threw their best punches at one another.

Colliding into another, Putzen's power-laced punch easily cleaved through Pui Pui's feeble offensive strike, which caused the saiyan's punch to veer slightly off course. Nevertheless, the powerful punch did hit its target explosively. Sent reeling from the explosive haymaker, Pui Pui was forced into the air from the force of the blow. Righting himself at just the right moment, Pui Pui flipped out of an attack Putzen tried to make as the saiyan reappeared behind him.

Nimbly avoiding disfigurement, Pui Pui twisted and flipped himself back onto the ground with no resistance offered by Putzen. Using the momentum gathered by his fall, Pui Pui generated a ki blast in his right hand and tossed the projectile like a discus, propelling the disk straight into Putzen's flank.

Putzen stared at the disk as it smashed straight into his side. He smiled when it hit, feeling absolutely nothing from the futilely launched blast. He was on the ultimate high right about then. The power he was generating still felt absolutely incredible; he felt like he was on a cloud nine that simply couldn't be matched. Nothing Pui Pui did could stop him; there was nothing he could do to even _slow _him down.

Growling out of frustration, Pui Pui launched himself backwards, trying to create distance between himself and his target. If he wanted to take him as a joke, then he was going to pay for it. One way or another.

Seeing his opponent flee, Putzen smiled like a crocodile about to stalk its prey. Unwilling to let go of his advantage, the predator vanished and ambushed its prey from behind again using its vastly superior speed.

Stunned by the quick change in circumstances, Pui Pui ducked underneath a high roundhouse kick and charged backwards, clipping the teen's legs out from under him in the motion. Sensing an incoming attack come from the disoriented saiyan, the zoonian nimbly dodged a ki blast thrown by Putzen as he was still flipped upside-down in the air.

Feeling an opportunity present itself, Pui Pui lifted up his leg and plowed right Putzen's chest with the appendage, knocking his foe flat onto his back as he was still in mid-air. Bringing his foot up again into Putzen's back, the zoonian smiled as the teen's body was slowly lifted up right up into position to meet a downwards elbow thrust right in the stomach.

Crashing back into the floor, Putzen picked himself up within the blink of an eye. It was clear that the boy didn't have much time left. He could barely breathe let alone put up a fight, even though his ridiculously high levels of energy were still being generated around him. His fall was inevitable. Everybody was beginning to see it.

Charging forward again, Putzen flung a fist into Pui Pui's face sloppily, his technique degrading significantly. Seeing the telegraphed move coming from a mile away, Pui Pui tilted his head to the side and evaded the assault. Pushing the stretched limb out of his way, the zoonian ducked underneath the teenager's reach and hit the saiyan in the chest with an open palm thrust. Using his momentum to his advantage, the former king swung his hips around and planted his foot in the same place as his hand was just a second ago.

But instead of being sent flying off into the air, Putzen simply skidded back on the ground about ten feet. Smiling feverishly, the former general smiled at the zoonian, trying and failing to show to him that he was unharmed.

Suddenly, Putzen's body began to shake uncontrollably; a tremendous series of spasms began to break out in every single nerve and muscle in his body. Locked up and unable to hold himself up any longer, Putzen's muscles started to give way, buckling until he hit the floor head first. In an instant, the powerful aura surrounding Putzen's body dispersed and so did the former general's tremors. The boy was out cold, incapable of defending himself from the toxins that were spreading through his system or the incoming threat on the outside.

"So the little punk didn't have it in him, hmm?" remarked Pui Pui, strolling to the teen's prone body. "What a pity. I wanted him to be awake when I humiliated him for what he did to me."

At the edge of the boy's form, the zoonian lifted up his arm menacingly over his head. "Such a shame, but everybody falls to Pui Pui in the end."

Instantly, Machen appeared in front of Pui Pui and behind Putzen, bridging the gap between the two superpowers. Smiling obtusely at the infuriated former ruler, the twenty year old raised his arm into a defensive posture. "I wouldn't say that yet, Pui Pui. Not while I'm still breathing."

* * *

They say that the wait for death is worse than actually dying. Although Erinnern had not died yet to truly make the comparison valid, he could understand where people could be coming from by saying that. For most of his life, Erinnern was an alpha dog: a warrior without much of an equal to compare himself too. Granted, he knew that he couldn't beat let alone harm Frieza, but he thought that stalling Frieza was well within his capabilities. Now though that decision made him look like a fool, which he very well could've been for the stunt he had just pulled.

Dread flowed through his veins, colder than the icy-cold eyes that were staring straight at him. Frieza wasn't any average mortal, he was far, far worse. A porcelain skinned grim reaper; the real harbinger of damnation. What in the name of god made him think that he was any match for such a dark deity? What made him think he could dominate such a being, even before they truly revealed who they were?

It was only now did he realize that Frieza was never in any danger from him, regardless of his former success. He could make him bleed and howl, but he was never capable of really harming the dark lord. It should've been obvious even back then that Frieza's power was beyond his comprehension, but somehow it escaped him. When he thought about it, Frieza's ki shield should've given him a clue.

Ki shields were tricky concepts and for the most part irrelevant. Most beings are simply too strong for their ki shields to really be important battle metrics. Nobody in their right mind tries to wage war on somebody who's over ten times their superior. Reckless wouldn't even be enough of an epipthet to describe that kind of stupidity, yet that was somehow what Erinnern had just done.

To make a long story short, Ki shields were an inert wall of energy directly underneath the skin of every sentient being. Provided that an attack was under ten percent of the being's maximum power level, the ki shield would neutralize the attack before any major or minor internal trauma could be dealt. Minor superficial wounds were generally allowed to bypass the shield, but such wounds were utterly trivial and wouldn't win anybody any fight. And the only wounds that Frieza had were those kind of petty, superficial wounds. Erinnern knew now: he wasn't even ten percent of Frieza's max.

"I don't know when the last time I had to revert to this form was." Turning towards the blackish blur that was his enemy, Frieza lowered his head out of view morosely. "Quite frankly, I forget how powerful I really am at times. I guess being surrounded by weakling and fools all the time makes me overlook how powerful I really am. Shame that only a dead man gets to view this form. You should feel honored. Not even my most trusted lieutenants have ever seen me in this form."

Crossly staring at Frieza, Erinnern shrugged his shoulders at his adversary's proclamation. "I'm seeing it because you need it to beat me, not because of honor or some other type of praise. There's no need to play these silly mind games, Frieza. We all know what you really think of me, so just get on with it."

Narrowing his eyes at the impudent little brat, Frieza put both of his hands on his hips and muttered to himself. "As you wish."

Vanishing behind the saiyan, Frieza karate chopped the boy right in the neck, launching him into an asteroid. Pressing his index and middle fingers together, the tyrant lowered his hand and fired a razor thin beam straight at the asteroid Erinnern crashed into.

Rolling onto the surface of the barren rock, the nine year old was able to gain proper footing on the sphere before pushing himself off of it before it was blown to smithereens by Frieza. `I could barely even see him move.'

As if he was trying to prove Erinnern's inner thought, Frieza reappeared straight in front of the nine year old and punted him to the outer perimeter of the asteroid field. Landing harshly on a dry boulder, Erinnern felt blood crawl up his throat and out his mouth as he collided with the rocky surface. Slowly gathering himself, Erinnern pushed himself up onto his own two feet. Looking up, he wasn't surprised to see Frieza hovering just above him.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Frieza stood still in deep space as his simmering expression bored into Erinnern's eyes. For some reason, transcending his containment forms and ascending to his true form had offered him a sense of…serenity. Peace within himself from his own doubts and insecurities. It was to him proof of his omnipotence: his over-arching power over all that he so desired everybody to witness and believe. Nobody challenged him in this form, nobody even dared too. And judging by the eyes of his former enemy neither did him.

"I see it in your eyes," stated Frieza, his stoic expression keeping Erinnern from deciphering his next phrase. "You're done. Defeated. No will to fight me left: a convict waiting for his sentencing. And I think you already know that there's only one sentence I give out."

Pulling his arm back and summoning a massive ball of blackish-red energy on the fly, Frieza lifted up that arm and held the blast up with one hyperextended finger. Smiling maliciously at his foe, the tyrannical lizard tossed the massive black orb directly down on the asteroid Errinern was on. "Death!"

Watching the deadly blast approach him ominously, Erinnern slowly summoned another jet of ki towards his palms to direct himself away from Frieza and the slowly incoming sphere of imminent death. Using the immense bomb as a screen, the boy propelled himself farther and farther away from the blast, staying out of eyeshot of the grim reaper until he maneuvered behind another asteroid. . After all, he wanted Frieza to think he was under that attack.

Suddenly, the massive ball of ki struck into the surface of the barren rock he was formerly on. Exploding vividly, Erinnern tightly sealed his eyes from the vibrant display. The boy did not wanting to incur damage to his eyesight by sticking his nose out at the wrong time. But even then, he could practically see a swath of yellow and red stain his vision even when his eyes were shut.

Feeling safe enough to open his eyes, Erinnern looked over his shoulder to see what happened. He was shocked to see that there was no asteroid shielding him any longer. What was once a mighty boulder had now been blown into fine granules of dust or tiny fragmented pebbles of stone! And straight ahead in the distance was Frieza: the grim reaper himself.

Powering up desperately, Erinnern panicked and assumed that Frieza had spotted him. It was a reasonable assumption. Frieza was staring straight at him even if he was almost an immeasurable distance away. It wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that the porcelain-skinned tyrant had taken notice of his small, evasive prey. Still though, Frieza didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything.

Against his better judgment, the nine-year old flared his ki and pushed himself backwards with a jet of ki. Cursing when he saw Frieza accelerating forward as well, Erinnern knew that his actions had been noticed. Now he just hoped that he could outlive, or better yet, outrun the predacious alien that was giving chase.

Well out of the asteroid field by then, Erinnern felt himself get closer to Frieza's massive, Death Star caliber ship. Although most remarked about the cruiser's absolutely immense size, most didn't know that the thing was capable of exerting its own gravity field. Even more didn't know that the gravity field it exerted had more power and force behind it than a small planet. And because of this, the ship was more than capable of exercising its influence on Erinnern's body when the boy got close enough.

Feeling the familiar feeling of gravity push down on him, the nine year old soldier deactivated the jet of ki and resumed his normal technique for sustained flight. He wasn't a stranger to interspace combat, but he never enjoyed it. His body was always so wily and rebellious—it was hard even trying to throw a punch in that climate. And that wasn't even mentioning the rather nebulous lack of friction. You move in one direction and you'll slide in that direction forevermore. It was a strange feeling and he meant that in a bad way. He was glad to be under the influence of gravity once more.

Not far off behind him was the snow-white arcosian, whom was thinking along the same lines as his prey about the reemergence of gravity. They may've detested each other in every conceivable way but at least they agreed on one thing: zero g fighting sucked.

Turning so he was flying parallel to the outer perimeter of Frieza's ship, the saiyan lifted his head up to scout for Frieza's position. It didn't take him long to find him; he was directly above him, making steady ground. `Drat. That rat bastard is closing in on me.'

Yawning, Frieza was contemplating putting this game to an end. This was getting boring quick. It didn't appear that his adversary was going to be in any condition to make this game of cat and mouse really interesting. Still, he wasn't going to die until he understood the ramifications of his behavior. Nobody crossed a god and lived to tell the tale.

Darting forward undaunted, Frieza closed the distance between him and the impudent saiyan in less than a second flat. Firing a Death Beam from directly above the boy, Frieza smirked when the boy deftly avoided the beam by sharply moving to the right towards the ship.

Continuing his slide to the right, Erinnern spotted a gorge running straight through the center of the ship coming in just behind him. Swerving leftwards on a very sharp arc, the boy entered the ravine and hoped to lose Frieza amidst the hairpin turns and obstacles that would surely be plentiful in such a narrow canyon. After all, Frieza didn't understand how to sense ki. He wouldn't be able to flush him out if he lost track of him.

Veering off into the open channel as well, the first thing Frieza did was fire a blast straight ahead into the first watchtower he found. Blowing apart the tower, the despot smirked as his air traffic controllers fell out of their perch into open space. Sometimes wanton killing was necessary, especially when their deaths accomplished a higher purpose. Rooting out the usurper was all that mattered to Frieza; he would have that brat's head on a pike if it was the last thing he would do with his life. They should feel honored that they were killed for such a purpose.

Hiding in the shadows, Erinnern witnessed everything. His suspicions were correct. Frieza didn't know how to sense him amongst the shadows of his own ship and that probably saved his life. He could feel the power that resided in that blast. He didn't need to be an Einstein to figure out that it would've kill him if he was hit. Still seeing what Frieza did was chilling.

Frieza was a monster. Erinnern knew this—just about everybody, saiyan or not, knew it. Tales of Frieza's megalomania had spread like wildfire throughout most of the universe, horrifying virtually all but coldest of souls. Still, Erinnern thought most of the stories were exaggerations. It may seem hard to believe coming from a saiyan's mouth, but Erinnern wasn't entirely sure of who the arcosians were. What were they really like? If he had the power to do anything he wanted to them, what would he actually do? He would probably kill them, but that was beside the point. At the end of the day, Erinnern liked to think that he was a good boy. He only killed when it was necessary, not just because he damn wanted too.

Now though, his blood was curling at what he saw. Perhaps he should've put more weight into the rumors; they certainly didn't seem to be excessive hyperbole now. Disgust was hardly apt descriptive for what coursed through his veins when his foe slaughtered his own people. Something in him felt defiled, like some kind of ancient warrior rite or law had been burned to the ground and the perpetrator then had the gall to piss on the ashes. He felt like a devout believer that had just witnessed a sacrilege performed before his very eyes. Whatever it was, it made Erinnern sick.

`God you were an idiot.' Erinnern's mind wasn't going to relent on his stupidity. What was he thinking by engaging a being like Frieza? It was a death sentence and he should've recognized that long before now. Unfortunately, it was probably too late to fix his blunder.

Watching all of the dead men that Frieza killed fall into the abyss of space was hard to gaze at. Death was a spectacle that Erinnern both knew and remained ignorant of at the same time. Killing was a necessity of his job; it was a condition he inflicted more times than he could ever care to think about. As a master of his trade, the boy knew more ways to end life than words he could utter. But he didn't understand its effect. What happened when you died? What goes on in the mind of somebody who is about to die? Do they shame? Remorse? Regret? Whom did the dead man leave behind to mourn for him? What became of them in the end?

Apart of his uncertainty came from his own station in life. His father and mother, as royals, made sure that he wasn't put in too much harm's way much to his chagrin. Like any other saiyan, Erinnern cherished opportunities to demonstrate his power. To be given the chance to assert his prodigious abilities. There had never been a saiyan stronger than him or his brother Merken at the age of nine in history. Their reputation had spread like a pandemic throughout the colonies, fueling Erinnern's ego far past what was healthy. Praise always brought out the worst in Erinnern, especially when he felt trapped and confused like a caged bird of prey. He was prone to doing irrational things to prove that he wasn't just another overhyped paper tiger without the ability to hold up to the lofty reputation he had accrued. Frieza seemed to be another chance to prove himself at the time.

Challenging Frieza though wasn't just irrational, it was suicidal. No matter how he rationalized his choice in his mind, the final verdict was always the same: he had made a grave tactical error. And more likely than naught, he was going to pay for it with this life.

Looking into Frieza's eyes from his hidden vantage point, Erinnern pondered the entangled destinies of the rest of his "crew." What would become of them now? Would they even look back and feel sorrow for his fall? Deep down, he knew Baden, Putzen, Machen and Traje would probably get by just fine. None of them were all that acquainted with him, and knowing their personalities Erinnern doubted that they'd be stricken with much grief at all.

Spiesen and Merken were an entirely subject. Of all the people in the world, those two were his "family." His comrades-in-arms—his brothers, both literally and figuratively in Merken's case. Spiesen would be crushed, that much was certain. As for Merken, Erinnern didn't even want to reminiscence on that train of thought. If Merken loved him anything like he loved his twin, it was going to be an ugly affair. And if he had to apologize to anybody for the ramification for his actions, Merken would his first and only choice. God bless his soul for having to carry on after he was gone. He knew he probably couldn't.

"Found you." Erinnern leapt out of the way of the blast before it could collide into the grey facade behind him, caving in the exposed edifice and creating a massive hole in the hull of the planet-sized ship.

Veering around a corner, Erinnern rapidly ascended above Frieza before the tyrant blazed around the corner himself. Approaching a skybridge, Erinnern deftly leapt onto the surface and crouched down on the side of the shingled causeway, hopefully out of view of the rampaging arcosian.

Blitzing across the gorge in a blaze of purple, Frieza didn't notice his foe take refuge over the rather uniformly standard catwalk straight in front of him. Blindly charging forward, the tyrant had no clue that he was heading straight into a trap. Thankfully though, the despot opted to smash straight through that particular skybridge instead of ducking underneath the span like any sane warrior would've done. Disoriented and discombobulated, Erinnern was in no position to defend himself when Frieza spotted his lithe form amongst the debris from the collision.

Breaking on a dime, Frieza shifted his body position and lunged in the direction he had been going away from just a second beforehand. Sliding in behind the crumpled saiyan, the tyrant lifted both of his hands high in the air. Clasping his fingers into a one club-like construct, Frieza dropped his interlocked fists into the small of Erinnern's back like he was chopping wood with an axe.

Rocketing downward at an acute angle, Erinnern found a way to plant his feet lightly onto the outer walls of the ship before launching himself back into enclosed valley. Navigating himself away from another Death Beam fired by Frieza, Erinnern widely arced himself around the incoming explosion that the evaded beam would cause.

Twisting around so that he and Frieza would be standing face to face, Erinnern kept dodging any attacks Frieza threw at him. But he felt he wasn't going to last for much longer. Each blast was getting closer and closer to making contact with him, and Frieza looked to be only marginally concerned with his evasive maneuvering. Come to think of it, the bastard was probably just baiting him. Frieza _did _have a history of playing with his food so to speak. Probably was just giving him false hope for survival. `Clever ploy, asshole!'

As if he had heard Erinnern's insult himself, Frieza fired a perfectly aimed Death Beam straight into Erinnern's kneecap. Shrieking in pain, the nine-year was forced to slow down to the mad arcosian's delight.

Generating a far more powerful energy wave in his hand, Frieza lifted his hand into the air and then hurriedly swung the ki-infused hand downwards, releasing the slab-like blast like he was bowling. Propelled downwards linearly, Erinnern wasn't fast enough to evade the explosion before he was hit square in the face.

Careening straight into an oriel, Erinnern rubbed the dust of the collision away from his eyes before patting the coarse powder off his bodysuit. Looking up after the veil of dirt particles had cleared, the boy gazed with resignation when he saw Frieza holding up a truly immense blast.

Big blasts were psychological weapons for the most part. Although stronger than their brethren for the most part, it was the amount of ki in a blast that truly determined power instead of pure mass. What immense size really did was take advantage of the natural concept of "bigger being better." They were really nice attacks to use when you wanted your opponent to do a good rendition of a gawking parrot, in spite of the irony that he was essentially being a gawking parrot himself.

Glancing to his left and right, Erinnern knew that he wouldn't be able to escape a blast of that size even if he tried. `I suppose that's another use of those behemoths. Well, I guess my time is up. The well of life must've sprung dry in my case. Oh well, we can't all grow old I guess.'

Grinning sadistically, Frieza held the orb of death in one hand high in the air. The monster looked…somewhat serene—at peace with his violent actions and frightening megalomania per se. Nobody could say that he was all bark though. His bite could compete with the best of them.

Saying nothing—his face told the entire story—Frieza lowered his arm straight down and let the bomb he controlled descend down straight on Erinnern. Powering up to his maximum, Erinnern erected a forcefield around his frame. Meeting Frieza's expression with one of his own, Erinnern smirked defiantly at the tyrannical overlord, pleased with himself for depriving Frieza of what he wanted most. He wasn't just going to go down and die like a dog.

Thrusting his hands forward, Erinnern waited for the blast to grasp at his hands and push him into the ship. Despite being defiant and all, the nine year old knew that resisting this attack was a futile venture. For all his fight, he simply didn't have the energy required to evade or negate this attack.

Just as he surmised, once the fearsome blast hit his open palms it immediate began to push him into the ship, all the while not detonating just yet. Pushed inwards, Erinnern flexed his muscles while trying to find a way to gain traction vainly against the forces being exerted on him. Buckling to the ground, the nine year olds knees gave way and he was forced to the ground, feebly keeping up his shield up until he was out of energy. Feeling his grip slipping, the shield partially broke.

In a fleury, the sphere of energy raced to engulf him. Right as it had swallowed him up, he felt something graze his back lightly. And before he knew it, his world went dark.

* * *

Always finish what you started. Don't ever "half" do something. Do or do not—things are much less complicated that way. If you want to plunder an entire people and steal their kingdom, better make sure that you eradicate them off the face of the Earth first. Apparently, the saiyan race wasn't aware of that little motto.

Planet Vegeta, the name his home planet was given after their extradition, was a very prosperous world. Myuu was a very young boy before the War of the Moon. Strangely, the name given to the conflict between the tuffles and the saiyans was recorded after the war. But it was fitting; the moon was the centerpiece of their defeat. Namesakes should always tell at least the conclusion of the story.

Thinking back on those days, Myuu could hardly remember a thing. It was eons ago practically. The tuffles may've lived on as nomadic wanderers, but they floundered and struggled mightily without a world to settle down on. His race was "civilized." Civilizations don't survive without a solid foundation, and the tuffles post-The War of the Moon just didn't have what it took to survive. Most died out sadly in the coming decades.

Myuu was one of the lucky ones. Unlike most of his brethren, he had skills that were considered valuable to multiple intergalactic dominions. Although he spent plenty of time during various odd jobs, his crowning achievements were always in the field of robotics. It was something he always knew how to do well. Whether you wanted a quality bot or just a shit ton of bots, Myuu was your number one choice to consult with, especially if you wanted to keep your exploits on the down low.

As the years rolled by, Myuu grew older and older. After almost one-hundred and fifty years, the man was diagnosed with a terminal illness that would kill him off within ten years. It was to be a sad and painful end to one of the world's most profound geniuses.

Looking back on his biological life, Myuu realized something. He had accomplished nothing of significance in those fleeting years. For most of his existence, he had been languishing around wasting time he truly didn't have. Upon facing the shadowy figure of death himself one night in those trying times, Myuu came to a conclusion: he couldn't die. Not until he atoned for his egregious misuse of life.

With new resolve, the good doctor started to pour himself into his robotic works. But this time it wasn't for some mad warlord that wanted a new toy to play with. No, his goals for this one were going to be far more grandiose. His mission: mechanical immortality—eternal youth through gears and bolts.

For most mortals, his mad pursuit for extra time would've been baffling. Nobody could escape death, especially senseless old men who spoke meaningless drivels. But this wasn't some generic sibyl that uttered worthless prophecies, this was Myuu: the greatest mind of his day, at least in his opinion. Unlike the average being, he knew how to create "thinking" robots: bots with the ability to think and act like flesh and bone beings. Granted, there was a difference between developing a robot and preserving life via robotics, but where there was a will there was a way in Myuu's case.

Long before Gero ever thought of the idea, Myuu successfully turned himself into an android. On the outside he didn't look much different than his one-hundred-and-something year old self, but his innards were a stark contrast to what they once were. There was no fatal illness ravaging through his body anymore; his lifespan was indeterminate: wholly dependent on infrequent maintenance and outside forces.

He had never felt more alive. His bones were strong and his motor functions were like they were when he was young. It was like that old saying: youth is wasted on the young. Only now he could appreciate the gifts of his renewed "youth." There wasn't a moment in his life that he felt so in control, so on cloud nine. What could he do now that he was going to live?

The first thing that his mind could gather was what he _wasn't _going to do. And that was to fade back into obscurity. God gave him his epiphany at that moment, and he wasn't just going to forget his realization right after the he had achieved what he had set out to do. So what was he going to do?

Settling down and becoming a famous scientist didn't seem right. It was too easy and there wasn't any glory or power in it for the most part. What was the point? What was in it for him? No, he wouldn't be content to live out his days as an over glorified bot. Something far more compelling was beckoning to him, drawing him in.

Like most megalomaniacs, Myuu soon found his calling. Power. He wanted control—all of it. Dominion over the cosmos in their entirety was the barest minimum he sought to obtain. To reclaim superiority over the entire universe to the forgotten tuffle people. That was what he wanted.

Things were rough at first. To take power, you need minions willing to fight for you, willing to die for your goals. Armies won wars, not single individuals. Granted he didn't necessarily need them to like him, just hate the other bastard they were rebelling against more than him. Nevertheless, Myuu found the task of compiling armed forces fiendishly difficult. Most weren't all that impressed by a "deluded" sibyl with dreams of grandeur. Demonstrating his talents weren't enough, and he found himself floundering around for many a year before giving up on that endeavor.

But that didn't mean he gave up. No, he just changed his approach. After a long sojourn, Myuu realized what he needed to do. If he couldn't rabble rouse his way to an army, he would have to make one. Bots did as you commanded much better than people.

And so that was he had been doing since present day. Building his army piece by piece was painstaking work that required immense secrecy and patience, but things were going well. He was confident that it wouldn't be much longer, but he still wanted to add a few more attachments and powers to his elite machines. The kaioken intrigued him; he wanted to test it. See if it could be an ability he could incorporate into his machines. Jabbar and the rest of the leading conspirators offered him the chance for his experiment provided he cooperated with their revolt and he accepted. Now here he was.

Walking to the edge of the room he was in, Myuu stared into  
the dulled eyes of his captive. Vegeta was very much of an unexpected treat to the good doc. Although he hid his surprise well, seeing a blood-born descendent of the race that extinguished his race was very shocking experience for him. Finding out that he was their prince was even more amusing to the scientist. `Oh how the mighty have fallen.'

Strapped and bound to a metal table, Vegeta couldn't even move or express his disapproval of Myuu nonchalantly strolling over to him. Flicking his index finger onto Vegeta's forehead, Myuu smiled when the small brush of contact jolted the prince out of his stupor. "I see you're awake."

"Huh…what," mumbled Vegeta, still a little out of it. After being given a couple of seconds, the saiyan returned to his senses and started to capture the predicament he was in. `Why am I bound to a table? Where the hell am I?'

"The modifications to your form are complete," stated Myuu like Vegeta actually knew about what he was doing to the hothead while he was in a comatose state. Saying that Vegeta was a little bit alarmed by that term would've been an understatement.

"Modifications. What the hell are you talking about? What the hell did you too me!?" screamed the prince with all the strength he had thought he had left.

Shrugging his shoulders dismissively, the orange hair man turned his back to the saiyan, giving the flustered man no respect whatsoever. "Nothing that you wouldn't have wanted me to do to you."

Even more enraged, Vegeta tried to break out of the shackles that chained him to the table. God, he wanted to kill something now. First he had been betrayed in the most cowardly way possible and then he was experimented on like an effing guinea pig. "What did you do to me!?"

Snorting at the petulant man, Myuu scoffed at the prince's demands. The saiyan was in no position to start ordering anybody around, let alone him. "The evidence of what I've done to you is out in the open. Look at your left arm."

Rapidly swinging his eyes to the aforementioned limbed, the immobile saiyan practically growled when he saw a smooth metal contraption nailed to his left bicep. The strange device buzzed and vibrated gently on Vegeta's upper arm, barely audible to Vegeta's super sensitive hearing. The only really discernible feature about the gadget was the strange, impermeable neon green light that it emitted over his skin. It was really eerie. "What is this thing!?"

Smiling softly at his increasingly more alarmed patient, Dr Myuu approached and placed the pads of his fingertips on the hyper alert warrior. "It's your masculinity; it's your pride: the glory of your race."

"What in the blithering hell are you talking about, old man!?" growled the prince rabidly, almost prepared to lunge out and bite the tips of mad doctor's hands with his mouth. "What do you know about me!? About who I am!? What do you know about my race!? Answer me!"

Ignoring the hothead's tirade, Myuu lowered his face and poked out his eye defiantly at his restrained foe. "I know more than you think I know, saiyan. More than you could possibly know, considering the fact that your race died out when you were but a mere child."

Delving into Myuu's eyes, Vegeta began to put some of the pieces together into compiling his foe's identity. And boy did he not like what he found. "Don't tell me that you are….you are."

"A tuffle," finished Myuu, backing up a little while squinting the right side of his face together. "Don't tell me that it took you that long to figure it out."

Staying silent, Vegeta chose not to respond to Myuu's slight dig on his intelligence. That didn't matter much now. Still, it served to greatly increase the saiyan's anxiety. Being taken prisoner by a species that you all but extinguished was definitely not a position you wanted to be in willingly.

"Rest assured saiyan that I don't hold any ill will for what happened so long ago." Accurately predicting the prince's train of thought, Dr Myuu backed up even farther and gave the prince even more space. He wanted the prince to feel slightly comfortable for this part, but it didn't matter much regardless. "Nevertheless, I am curious."

Raising his eyes so that they bored directly into Myuu's, Vegeta stared and said nothing. Due to his own life experiences, Vegeta thought that Myuu's proclamation of no ill will was utter bullshit. You don't forget the wanton slaughter of your people and don't try to take vengeance. Any concept to the contrary rang hollow in the prince's ears. "Oh really, what are you curious about?"

Firing at the ceiling of the cold grey room they were in, Myuu broke through the roof of their interrogation room and let the natural light from the sun filter through. "I'm curious about the power that destroyed my people."

Out of nowhere, the gadget on his arm started to beep and Vegeta felt his body surge and heart palpitate abruptly. Feeling his power start to overflow out of his body, he started to shake and moan pitiably until the shackles that tethered him to the table broke into a million fragments, freeing him from their confinement. Knowing what was going on, Vegeta turned towards Myuu but the doctor only smiled at him cheekily.

And then without further ado, Vegeta felt the familiar power of the oozaru overwhelm him.

* * *

**Well, the thirteen installment of Cognitive Dissonance is over and I hope you enjoyed. Apart of me was...apprehensive about premiering this chapter. I thought it would be more...climatic originally than what it turned out to be. Still, I have an idea factory in my head that makes me change plot lines almost on the fly. Still, I hope that your tentative feelings of enjoyment have made my feelings of apprehension seem unfounded! **

**I. Review Replies. **

**Q: And the Piccolo scene? Awesome. My one qualm is I feel the new Piccolo might be a little OOC by feeling pity for Kami, but we only saw a little bit of him so I can't really call it OOC. (Full Power). **

**A: Remember that Piccolo III isn't the same as the Piccolo that was established in canon. He's free to form opinions that are blatantly contradictory to the views of his forefathers. Think of it in this way: did Piccolo have the same viewpoint as his father King Piccolo? He didn't and therefore expecting Piccolo III to be a carbon copy of Piccolo would be unreasonable. **

**Q: Note- you might want to include the content of the question/comment you're actually REPLYING to in your review response/author note section. It would help a lot; that way I don't have to dig through my review for the content you're replying to. (Super Vegetarott)**

**A: As you can see, I've edited my form of review redress. I hope this works better. **

**Q: It seems that a lot of stuff is happening but right now the Saiyans are seeming quite OP. I mean, where did they get all this power from? Was there some store where they sold Tree of Might Fruit and Senzu Beans? (Supersaiyaninfinitygohan). **

**A: There's two reasons for the saiyan gang's absurb strenght. One is that Frieza's system is a closed circuit environment where power levels are greatly supressed. And the second is that the saiyan colony had gotten into bed with some extremely powerful figures and by consequence made extremely powerful enemies. To survive, every saiyan on Ruhr had to become vastly stronger than their brethren on Vegeta or in Frieza's sector in general. These factors aren't solely it, but they are the too biggest reasons that won't be stated in the story for a long while. **

**Q: So did piccolo hatch an egg? Is that piccolo like piccolo jr jr? Maybe I misread. Can you elaborate please? (supervegeta778)**

**A: You got the general idea. Piccolo did the same thing as his forefather did in Dragonball: transfer his "essense" into an egg to escape certain death. **

**Q: Anyways, the fight was still good and I'm kind of glad that Pui-Pui was beating the crap out of Putzen, but then you demeaned that by more or less saying Putzen wasn't fighting seriously. Why not? Pui-Pui's power level is already sure to have set off alarms, so why not fight at full strength. I'm also a little tired of the members of the Saiyan Gang more or less being more powerful than any challenge they face, only being beaten like here when they're "holding back". I want them to fight someone that actually pushes them physically, not "ruins their plans" by slightly disrupting them and forcing them to actually and messing up one of their calculations. (FinalFlashX)**

**A: I have to apologize for the section about Putzen "holding back." Now that chapter thirteen has been published, I think it's clear that the reasoning was kinda fallacious. I'll probably re-edit that scene for that particular reason. I don't want to spoil somebody else enjoyment like I have yours. **

**Q: Why is E just stalling Frieza when he is dominating the fight and why doesn't he just completely destroy Frieza now before he transforms? It makes no sense really. (FinalFlashX)**

**A: I hope my explanation of ki shields has sated your skepticism. If not, perhaps another back and forth via P.M would be sufficient. **

**Q: That brings me to my point on this whole Ship Invasion Arc as a whole, what is the point of them coming here? To get Goku? If that was the case, why didn't they just bust in, grab him, and then leave. It's not like anyone could stop them except for potentially Frieza. They could just blast through into the hangar that Goku landed in just like they did that mess hall and then leave. If that's not their plan, than what is it? Also, I just feel like this whole Ship thing has dragged on and ON and ON. You've before yourself that you didn't expect it to get this long, and it really shouldn't have taken this long. So far, no one's really accomplished anything in this whole endeavor and they've been doing this for like 4 or 5 chapters now. It's just gotten a little bit ridiculous how long they've been on this ship and they haven't really done anything except kill a bunch of henchmen and blow up shit. Not to mention piss Frieza off. By now, if the purpose of this mission was said before, I sure as hell don't remember what it was. (FinalFlashX). **

**A: I can understand your weariness in relation to the length, but the ship invasion arc will still be relevant for about five chapters at the very least. Hopefully though, it's going to have a significant change in direction soon. Let's hope that their new motives will make for a more riveting experience! **

**As for some of the claims, I do have answers for some of them. **

**The reason why the "gang" didn't just jailbreak Goku from the start is two-fold. One: they are on a strict deadline and they don't want to ferry Goku to some unknown world out in the boondocks. Two: Baden (and them) don't want any connection or contact between themselves and their "care package." **

**As for why Putzen and Co. are just dicking around, I have another reason for that. Baden and the rest would rather Goku escape the ship undetected. Think about it: some saiyan barges through your ship, carrying a similar ideology and biology to a certain four-year we all love? I think Frieza would connect the dots. It's doubtful that any scenario where Frieza knows of their connection would be a pleasant one for Baden. **

**So he needed a massive distraction to subvert attention away from Goku's breakaway. Que Putzen and his strike force. However, they start "wandering around" is because of all of this actions goes by fairly quickly. They need to get to a proper hangar to get back on the ship and get the hell out. As for Merken, that will be revealed in due time. **

**Q: I doubt that Piccolo will allow them to actually achieve immortality: that would not benefit him at all. I'm getting the vibe that Piccolo has an alternate strategy in all of this, but I guess I'll find out in later chapters ne? (Power9987)**

**A: What Piccolo and Co. will do in the coming weeks is a closely guarded secret. But I'm glad you're asking these questions, it keeps me thinking of situations. **

**Q: Loved** **the fight scenes in this chapter! So the Arcosian society is still alive and kicking? Will we see their planet later on? So Turles and Raditz have the Tree of Might and Dragon Balls now? That's one hell of a combination. (VLS). **

**A: Yes, arcosian society is flourishing. More on that later. As for Turles and his multiple "assets," they all will come into play soon enough. **

**Best of luck to all of you. Good day. **


	14. Transitory

Gliding through the air somberly, Piccolo felt the smooth surface of the wind bend and slide down the contours of his back. Lulled by the soothing feeling, the child-like namekian found it difficult to keep alert but he forced himself to remain vigilant nonetheless. Danger was everywhere; threats were around every nook and crevice. And there weren't any more troubling threats than the rogues he had just "befriended."

Taking up the rear behind the two titans, the former demon had both of his eyes fixed on their posteriors—or their backs to be more precise. He wasn't going to let either of them suddenly lash out and take off his head when he wasn't paying attention. It went without saying that he didn't trust them whatsoever, and the pressure of knowing he was powerless to stop them was eating him alive.

Although he and his forefathers weren't one and the same, he shared their mutual adoration towards power and control. Becoming deprived of the ability to power his destiny was a great blow to the pseudo-boy. Speaking earnestly, it was the first time he had ever felt the feeling before. He didn't like it.

Passing over the sea and onto dry land, Piccolo closed his eyes for a split second to soak in the rejuvenating feeling of flight. For a moment back on the island, Piccolo wondered if he would ever see the mainland again. Facing Turles and Raditz was a draining experience; akin to staring the grim reaper straight in the face and saying "not today!" In the depths of his mind, he thought he was going to die back there. Now that it was over though, anxiety still ran roughshod in his veins. He didn't want to have to deal with another confrontation like that one again.

Having "died," then having been resurrected and almost killed again within the duration of a month was a very…surreal experience. Piccolo could neither explain nor understand how such thoughts were changing him. As the "evil" half of Kami, the green warrior had virtually no equal for most of his existence. His power was unrivaled and his name could unnerve entire nations. His influence bordered on omnipotence, and that was exactly how he liked it.

Within the last five years, he had seen himself being beaten, humiliated, killed, and to top it off, written off. Saying that his pride was wounded would've been an understatement. He had gone from all-powerful to inconsequential in a matter of weeks.

Looking back on his forefather's goals, Piccolo realized that such conquests would be easy now. Conquering and ruling Earth for the rest of time? Provided the Saiyans let him live, he could destroy all of man's armies in a matter of months. Nothing on this planet could stop him now that the Z senshi was dead.

Yet that was exactly what was plaguing him. What was the point? Where was the challenge? Where was the ambition? He defied the odds and became the ruler over all of humanity. So what? Who truly gives a damn? Over time, Piccolo realized how humble his former ambition was. He was a big fish in an infinitesimally small pond. Outside of his irrelevant home world, nobody cared about his exploits and his legacy would count for less than nothing. To the green man, that was unacceptable.

Reacting to Raditz and Turles's sudden drop in elevation, Piccolo landed softly in a vast meadowland with gently inclined slopes. The verdant green hills and moors seemed to stretch on forever, merging into one calming panorama that stretched for hundreds of miles in every direction. But for all of the associated similarities in the landscape, Piccolo could easily recognize the particular stretch of green he was standing in. The sight of frayed grass and earthen craters immediately reminded him of his second great defeat to Son Goku.

Standing in the center of the picture were four rather…comely characters. None of them were particular easy on the eye, but Piccolo wasn't stupid. He knew that each and every single one of them were extremely powerful—more powerful than him he might add. And the scary thing about them was the fact that Piccolo had a very good idea about whom they had pledged their allegiance too.

Getting down onto one knee, Amond bowed his head away from Turles, exhibiting his respect to his overlord in the only way he knew how.

"Report," ordered Turles, entirely unimpressed by the pomp and pageantry that his second-in-command had bestowed upon him. To be honest, he didn't really care all that much. As long as they obeyed his directives and gave him a healthy amount of respect, Turles didn't really give a damn about excessive displays of loyalty. Getting down on one knee was unnecessary.

"We found nobody of importance on our runs, my lord," stated Amond, his voice firm and resolute. Turles could immediately deduce that he wasn't being deceived. "But we did find something…that may be of interest to you."

Snorting out of habit, Turles lifted his hand and caressed the right side of his face with the aforementioned paw. Gently scratching the side of his cheek with his fingernails, the space pirate blankly smiled at his running mate. "Oh really…and what do you have to show me?"

Turning his head towards Rasin, Amond subtly commanded the purple raisin to move his butt and find this object that he had been blubbering about. Pivoting back into position, Amond dropped his head out of view. "My apologies for the wait, my lord."

Retrieving the object and then doubling back to Turles, Rasin approached his head commander and got onto one knee, presenting the mysterious artifact like how a waiter would serve a platter of delicacies to his royal clientele.

From his direct vantage point, Piccolo found the dwarfish alien's awkward shuffle somewhat amusing in a rather cavalier way. But when his eyes shifted to the object caressed in his hands, the former demon found it very hard to contain his astonishment. In the grubby hands of the henchman was the Four Star Dragon Ball.

Turles, on the other hand, was unimpressed by the unusual relic. He could admit that it was…odd, but hardly something valuable. Looking at his henchman derisibly, Turles quickly crossed his arms across his chest. "And what is this `valuable object,' Rasin?"

"It's a Dragon Ball," interceded Piccolo, answering Turles's question himself. Approaching the ball, Piccolo lifted the orb out of Rasin's hand and inspected the relic closely. After a split second, the green man handed the ball off to Turles and grunted gutturally. "It's genuine."

"You mean to tell me the key to immortality is smaller than my hand! Don't make me laugh, green bean!" scoffed Raditz, drilling Piccolo with a very unnerving stare. Retracting his fist, the long haired man began to channel energy toward his open palm.

Turning to Raditz, Turles raised his eyebrow at his subordinate's belligerence and silently commanded him to halt. Once he realized his newly designated deputy wasn't following him, the other third-class saiyan chose to more…openly call him off. "Halt, Raditz."

Knocked out of his stupor, Raditz averted his gaze and bared his teeth at his commander. "What the hell are you doing, Turles? You mean to tell me you actually believe this clown? He's just been telling lies to keep himself alive!"

Sliding into Raditz's grill, Turles slid his arm up and snagged the collar of Raditz's undershirt. Tugging downwards, the pirate pushed the taller saiyan directly into contact with his cold, merciless eyes. "Not another word of dissent. Not another. Got it?"

Sighing as his partner nodded his head sycophantically, the smaller saiyan shoved his rather underwhelming teammate away from him. Perhaps he shouldn't have held his comrade in such high regard, but he was growing less and less fond of him with each passing day. Then again, he had to wonder why he had rather high expectations in the first place. Raditz was always a runt. Why would that change now that he was an adult?

Averting his attention back to the original subject matter, Turles gently tossed the ball back to Rasin. "Put that thing on the ship immediately. I don't want anybody to so much as look at it until it's in a safe location. Understood?"

As the midget toddled off to complete its assignment, the leading saiyan shifted his head towards Amond. "Where did you find this Dragon Ball? I don't recall asking you to go hunting for exotic relics when we had something far more pertinent going on."

Swallowing a copious amount of saliva, Amond muttered and broke off eye contact. "Master, we just stumbled on it. By simple good luck I might add. We didn't shirk our duties one bit, my lord!"

"That's good to hear. I really didn't want to be forced into…dealing with disobedience right now. Not when the chance for immortality is so close. I'm sure you feel the same way as I do, I would at least hope so!"

"I admit that I'm enjoying how you're making your henchman squirm, but I recommend we get back to business," interrupted Piccolo yet again, seeing the conversation get derailed for the second time in the last five minutes.

Shrugging his shoulders non-committedly, Turles eyed his "guest" from out of his peripheral vision. "If you say so, Namek. What do you say that we do next? Do you have a plan already in mind?"

Snorting at the Saiyan's pinpoint tact, Piccolo scoffed at how Turles worded his two loaded questions. "In fact, I do. The Dragon Balls are far from a myth to many. Every day, dozens if not hundreds of people search for them futilely. Unfortunately, they are scattered across every nook and cranny of this planet, found by only the most resourceful searchers. Without a way to track them, you could spend the rest of your life trying to find them."

"Skip the filler, Namek. Get to the point!" barked the smaller saiyan, fed up with all the pomp that Piccolo was using when talking about the Dragon Balls. He didn't give a damn about any of that; all that mattered to him was that his obligatory burden didn't waste his time on trivial nonsense.

Calmly exhaling at Turles's terse address, the Namek lowered his left hand so that it rested atop his stomach. "I remember that one of Goku's friends had a way to locate the Dragon Balls. I think they called it a Dragon Radar if my memory serves me correctly. Without such a device, we could spend years tracking these things. If you want to do this while you're still young, I recommend we retrieve this device."

Eyeing the Earth-raised Namek suspiciously, Turles shrugged his shoulders and snorted. "Fair enough, I suppose. Do you happen to know where this "radar" is?"

"Not off hand, no," stated Piccolo, pausing to take a breath and continue on before Turles would fly off-the-handle preemptively. "But the person who created it lived in West City, a metropolis somewhere…northwest of here. If we are going to find it, it will be in her lab amongst her other gadgets and gismos."

Taking a deep breath to control his dual feelings of contempt and exasperation, Turles crossed his arms and flung his head backwards so that he was staring at his Crusher Corps. "You men move back to the ship. Your presence is no longer needed here." Swinging back to Piccolo, the saiyan took another breath to calm himself lest he maul the green man right then and there. "Alright, Namek. We'll go along with this. I hope, for your sake, that you aren't lying to me."

The flight to West City was extremely dull—just the way Piccolo liked it. He preferred it when nobody said a word; it gave him an ample opportunity to simply reflect and meditate—one of the few activities that he truly enjoyed.

But for most of his existence, he had never understood why precisely he resorted to meditating so…naturally. It had become like his "go-to" response to every complicated problem that ever confounded him. King Piccolo had never been a known meditator, so why did his "offspring" take to the habit so excessively?

Thinking back, Piccolo never could exactly pinpoint the obsession. He had his suspicions, but they were all unfounded. Then again, any conclusion he would come up with would be unfounded. What he felt couldn't exactly be quantified. Because of this, he had found the task of finding solid rationale for his behavior excruciatingly difficult.

Fortunately for his mind, the massive dome of the Capsule Corporation building beckoned his mind away from derailing into another waxing crisis of identity before it could fully develop in his mind. Now refocused, he, Raditz and Turles descended out of the clouds and onto the Capsule Corp estate.

Landing softly on the pristinely maintained lawn, the terrifying trio swiftly strolled through the sprawling garden towards the back door of the compound. However, the serenity of the picture had been interrupted by the sonic roar of numerous unseen sirens booming all around them. Covering their sensitive ears from the incessant racket, the two warriors suddenly stopped their advance.

Raditz turned to Piccolo and snarled at him, practically spitting on the stoic warrior. It seemed that encroaching on the green man's personal space had become a hobby for the Saiyan. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I don't have a clue!" exclaimed the Namekian, his voice terse and loud. He was having enough of a time trying to deafen the jarring sonic boom enveloping him. He didn't need to be yelled at by one of his "allies."

Sauntering away from the Namek haughtily, the long-haired Saiyan let the matter drop. His ears were already ringing; the only thing that mattered now was getting away from the jarring sound. Pausing out of habit before continuing their respective stroll, the now heavily annoyed trio eventually got to the back patio of the Briefs Estate. And it was there that they got their answer for the sirens.

Under a beige awning, shadowed by the mid-day sun, were almost a dozen forensic investigators. Surrounding the perimeter of the scene was at least another two dozen policemen with their weapons already cocked and their posture tense and alert.

The gears in his mind grinding fluidly, Piccolo abruptly realized why they had stumbled into a place that was buzzing so frantically. "Yeah, I kinda forget about those two."

Sighing when his two compatriots averted their gaze towards him, Piccolo gathered that they were going to demand that he explain. "I took…care of some rather important people here a few days ago. Apparently the sight…or the smell of them had gotten somebodies attention."

Piccolo was right. The slain bodies of Mrs. and Mr. Briefs had quickly begun to decompose in spite of the light freeze that had been blanketing West City in those coming days. Despite the wintry conditions, somebody had eventually caught on to the fact that something terribly wrong had befallen the Briefs. For one, Mr. Briefs never been known to have not shown up to work. It was entirely out of the man's character. Anybody who knew the man could tell you this: the man never short changed his work. Never. Not in sickness and not in health. It was all a matter of time before someone went looking and found him.

What was really strange was that it had taken them this long to come. Now the Briefs, disregarding their charming and pleasant demeanors, were known to be rather reclusive. With the exception of Goku and his commune of misfits, Mr and Mrs Briefs rarely ever permitted visitors to intrude on their property willy nilly. As for servants, they didn't have any. Mr Briefs built his cleaning crews using his prodigious skills in all matters of robotics. Still, it had been over a week. Did nobody even _think_ that something could've gone amiss in that span of time?

Back with the Saiyans, Piccolo turned around and his lip curled when he found Raditz's snickering. What was even more pathetic was that the buffoon was trying, and failing, to contain it. Annoyed, Piccolo couldn't help but throw a barb. "What are you doing moron?"

Instead of scowling or snarling like he normally did, Raditz just kept on snickering. Sputtering like the exhaust system of an outdated car. Eventually calming down, the long-haired man grinned cheekily at the confused Namekian. "I didn't think any of you pathetic earthlings could get your hands dirty. Nice job, green bean!"

But before Piccolo could say a word in edgewise, Raditz darted out into the open and revealed himself unexpectedly to the human soldiers guarding the passage inside the complex. Smirking obtusely, Raditz could feel the bodies of his soon-to-be victim go rigid with shock—their already taut and tightened muscles recoiling involuntarily under the impromptu duress.

As the bestial smirk that adorned his face faded, the long-haired Saiyan extended his left arm forward and fired a routine blast straight into the awaiting arms of the investigative crew. Following its course precisely, the blast crashed straight into the assembly and blew them all to smithereens, pitching a massive cloud of dust into the atmosphere while doing so.

Taking the lead instinctually, Raditz casually waltzed through the smoke and debris like he _hadn't_ just slaughtered more than a dozen people just a second ago. Roaring from within the veiled screen, Piccolo and Turles were greeted to the sight of the smoke rapidly disbursing into the air courtesy of a _slight _pulse of Raditz's ki. Turning their eyes away from their audacious comrade, the two other world wreakers were almost surprised by the ten foot perforation that had been cut straight into the compound.

"Idiot," muttered Piccolo, observing how unflinchingly his rather reluctant ally was willing to throw around his weight. This mission required a bit more brains than brawn, and it seemed that all Raditz could do was wantonly break things. Not exactly an admirable trait—that is if you weren't a Saiyan.

Neither impressed nor mortified by his foolhardy ally, Turles walked past Raditz and jumped through the hole in the side of the building. Beckoning his two cohorts to follow, the terrifying trio now took their spree of terror inside.

"So, where should we start looking?" inquired Turles, who was already on edge by the number of voices he was hearing inside the complex. He did _not _want some goody-two-shoes earthling accidentally stumbling on this "radar." Not while he was still mortal anyway.

"Heck should I know," replied Piccolo in a taunting manner. "I don't know anything about this woman. Just that she build and kept this radar around here somewhere."

`Just great,' muttered Turles internally, not at all happy about Piccolo's insinuation. Nevertheless, he was certain about Piccolo's honesty. How he said it practically affirmed this thought in the man's head.

Turles had a rather…peculiar system for determining lies and judging people. When scrutinizing somebodies words, he almost didn't even pay attention to _what _somebody said. At least not in comparison to _how _it was said. Did the person stutter? Did the person's pitch change? Did the person talk faster than they normally did? Did the person talk slower than they normally did? Did the wording feel awkward or forced? Each—and any more—of these qualities were dissected and analyzed ad nauseum in his mind before he came to a judgment about the subject's honesty, confidence or value in the statement when said person had uttered it.

Good lies, though, are far more about their execution than their content. Turles's methods, although adept at finding novices or exploiting highly emotional people, would have very little effect on a good liar or manipulator. Sadly everybody acquainted with Turles, except for the Saiyan himself, knew about this flaw and how to use it to their advantage. For the most part, this abuse was strictly benign. Things like getting out of possible disciplinary action and other such things. Provided that the content of the message wasn't completely absurd, anybody or anything could get past Turles's scrutiny and those types of flaws practically invited nefarious, underhanded deals.

"Okay then," murmured Turles begrudgingly, accepting Piccolo's terse answer as a fact. "If she's a scientist, then she must have a lab somewhere around here right?"

"I suppose so," replied back Piccolo, straining his neck upwards to get a better view of the signage that would lead them to the laboratory. Then again, he had to wonder what the use was. He was for all intents illiterate. It wasn't like trying to decipher those weird glyphs would make an result in something substantial.

Suddenly, as they rounded a sharp corner, their ears were buffeted by a series of piercing cracks and pops. As they moved in the direction of the cacophony, the trio were pelted with a volley of lead that simply bounced off their skin harmlessly. Snorting at the futile display, Turles whispered something in Raditz's ear that made the man cackle gleefully.

Reacting instantly, the former PTO soldier sliced and diced his way through the soldiers that fired at them. Dancing away out of the picture, Piccolo could only snort amusedly at the man's antics. "He's going to bring this entire place down."

"Now let's find this "radar" before Raditz turns this place into a parking lot," grumbled the other Saiyan, sauntering back into the hall to continue their search.

After all but ransacking the halls of the compound for over a half-hour, Turles and Piccolo had finally found the doors to the Briefs's personal lab. Smiling triumphantly, Turles kicked his leg into the air and planted the aforementioned foot into the door, forcing the portal open.

Filtering into the sterile white lab, neither Turles nor Piccolo were prepared for what they saw. Standing in a phalanx formation was over half-a-dozen little "blue" saibamen-like creatures. Sure, they weren't exactly saibamen but the similarities were almost impossible to ignore. And even more disturbingly was the strange device in the lead "blue man's" hand.

Pointing towards the midget in the front, Piccolo craned his neck up to Turles. "That one in the front is in possession of the Dragon Radar."

Scowling seriously at the situation, Turles disappeared from view. Reappearing in the middle of their little formation, the angry saiyan extended his arm behind his back and fired a blast straight into their back line, incinerating any unfortunate "blue-man" that happened to be situated there.

Refocusing his attention on the urchins in the front of him, the pirate captain squatted down and slid his leg on the ground in a sweeping motion, tripping any "blue-man" that happened to be in his path. Pursuing his advantage, the man stomped on each of their heads before they got back up, caving in their skulls and rendering them lifeless.

Saving the best for last, the ornery male cornered the final blue-midget before it could scuttle away. In the blink of an eye, Turles had grabbed hold of the warrior and hoisted said sprout into the air. Snarling menacingly at the mindless grunt, the Saiyan lifted the radar out of the thing's hand and then ripped a hole straight into the thing's heart.

Dropping the mindless beast onto the ground callously, Turles remorselessly plowed his foot through the corpse while tossing the radar at Piccolo's pint sized form. Catching the radar with one hand, Piccolo deposited the piece of tech in the sash of his outfit beside his waist.

"Those things were powerful by your pathetic standards," muttered the Saiyan, moving back into the hallway neurotically. "Trash in comparison to me, but more than powerful enough to kill most of the souls that reside on this backwater planet."

"Your point is?" remarked Piccolo, turning around and craning his neck in case Turles tried to throw a punch at him.

Laughing softly, the saiyan didn't respond for a couple of moments. And once he did, he still refrained from giving his Namekian ally any eye contact. "There's somebody—somewhere on this planet—that thinks that taking away my immortality is a good idea. Somebody with the desire and ability to deprive me of my right. My point is…that we aren't alone, now are we slug?"

* * *

Merken had to admit: he had thought it was all over when he learned that Cui had caught onto Goku's trail. Not trying to be mean, but Goku was nowhere near strong enough to face off against somebody like Cui and not get killed, even with the penultimate kaio—whatever or not. And without that crucial strength advantage, he didn't think Goku could get himself out of that kind of mess. Frankly speaking, a two-hundred story giant probably could attract less attention than Goku when he wanted too.

On his end of things, the nine year old had been preparing for extradition. Abandoning his post, the child torched the central computer and set fire to the entire command and control of Frieza's ship. Granted, it wasn't the only computer substation on the vessel, but it would cripple Frieza's response efforts in this sector for quite a while. The chaos, if all worked well, would allow him to escape without any real issues whatsoever.

Thinking back on those fleeting moments, Merken was flabbergasted about how easy it was to simply infiltrate the most secure sections of Frieza's ship and do what he will without any military response. Now, in their defense, he had done his best to make his intrusion clandestine in approach, but that was no excuse for the fact that nobody checked for his presence for well over one-quarter of a day. Were Frieza's technicians this lazy? So apathetic about their jobs? Apparently so, but it wasn't like he had anything to complain about. It was that level of laziness that made his job easier.

Fleeing the area, the nine year old easily traversed the spaces between patrols and lone sentries while executing any soldier that got too close to him. Before long, the pint-sized soldier was waiting under an overpass, suspended by almost invisible ki chords. The vantage point was great for sentry duty, as with all spots that could overlook a deep ravine that dropped into the very depths of space. Zooming closer still on the depthless valley, the nine year old could faintly see the distant image of two spans crossing the deep channel.

Pulling out the sniper rifle, the boy closed in on the structure and the sight of the dual sky bridges greeted him expectantly. Smirking softly, the boy tensed his muscles and waited for his prey to come—provided that his prey came at all. Deep down, the small warrior dreaded that very real possibility.

It was a criticism that he had heard spewed about him almost more times than he bothered to count: he cared too much. He made friend too easily, and he found breaking apart even the pettiest attachments to be almost insufferable under the best of conditions. Combined with his curiosity, this led to a potent, and often dangerous, mindset. Sometimes he just didn't have the heart to bear some of the…harsher realities of war and wanton injustice. His body and mind screamed out of him when he felt something wrong, which was almost constant, and his meddling always resulted in him getting into hot water. But he couldn't help being himself, and he had no intention on stopping. Not even under the threat of death.

That being said, when Goku reappeared and Cui charged forward to end their game of cat and mouse, Merken did what any good little soldier would've done. With a single, well-aimed shot, the boy had put down one of the most lauded yes-man in Frieza's administration.

Reactivating his radio link between him and Goku, Merken took a few seconds to congratulate Goku on his accomplishment. Most people, especially when they were weaker, never escaped from Cui's clutches when they were spotted. Goku had done something, even if he had help, that most would never even fathom accomplishing. But when the superlatives dried up, the duo had to return to business before the rest of the army found a way to sidetrack them again.

The final part of their guided journey was extremely anti-climactic. No pissed off alien generals, no uncivilized mass of meat to slaughter nor any death defying displays of acrobatics or pinpoint skill. Nope, just a leisurely stroll down an empty corridor to an empty hangar.

Drifting into the hangar, Goku was greeted to the sight of five spare space pods lying in the center of the room. Following Merken's directives to the letter, the saiyan rattled off another quartet of blasts at the machines, making short work of all but one individual pod. As his guide issued his final instructions, the palm-tree haired Saiyan looked up into the ceiling and tried to smile contently. Still, he was disappointed that he didn't find his son.

"Well, this is the end, Goku. I'm sorry you didn't find your son. But believe me, he isn't here. I've done scans of every nook and crevice in this god forsaken ship to make sure." Sighing morosely, Merken felt sad knowing that he had to be so edgy when saying goodbye. What he had said had been the truth, but that didn't change the fact that he was leading somebody astray. Somebody he actually taken somewhat of a liking too. It hurt knowing he was consciously choosing to get in the way of somebody's happiness.

Popping open the hatch of the small space ship, Goku slowly sat down in the tiny thing's fuselage. But before he closed the latch and activated the launch sequence, the man wanted to know something. "Where is this thing going to take me?"

`Oh shit,' cursed Merken internally, letting none of his agitation show outwardly and tip off Goku to his cluelessness. He couldn't believe he had been so short-sighted to not even ponder the possibility of where they would send Goku after the mission. What in the name of god had he been thinking? How could he have been so stupid? Fortunately for him though, he found a rather plausible excuse for his negligence quickly.

"Hmph, the location is irrelevant. As long as you're away from Frieza's clutches, you're safer there than you are here. That and besides, neither you nor me can afford to traverse another hot zone looking for another hangar. There are people on this ship that make Cui look like nothing. We can't risk running into one of them."

Unsurprisingly, Goku took Merken's bogus explanation as a solid, absolute truth. The man may've learned to be a bit more vicious against blatant hostiles, but the man still couldn't see the forest from the trees when somebody was outright lying to him. Fastening the hatch of the pod shut, the naïve male simply chose to stand back and let the ship dictate where he'd end up.

Merken closed his radio transmission with Goku when he heard the screeching roar of engine thrusters launching the other male into the sky. Satisfied with his work, the young boy immediately went back to other matters. First things were first. He had to contact Putzen and get the all clear to leave the ship. There was no need to be on this hellhole any longer. It was time to regroup and move on to bigger and better things.

To the boy's shock, not only did Putzen not respond to him but the other boy's com was just flat out dead. No static, no buzzing, no nothing. Silence. Under normal conditions, using normal coms, these issues were rather common. Communications went dead all the time; it was no cause for alarm. But the speakers in their black suits were entirely different animals. The fact that Putzen ran into somebody powerful enough to disable, if not destroy, Putzen's com was more than enough to put the little boy on edge.

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder blade, the nimble male removed the restraints keeping himself still while dangling over the abyss. Floating back onto the relative stability of Frieza's cruiser, the boy immediately became to run parallel to the massive black ravine carved into the very surface of the ship.

Mindlessly leaping and climbing from space to space, Merken quickly let his mind shut down and his muscles take over completely. Free running was numbingly easy to the limber boy, although he was exceptionally good at it. There was no challenge and any game he tried to play with himself would become dull within moments upon conception. In spite of his power, the boy's mental endurance for withstanding boredom was next to nil. Without a definite task on his plate, his concentration would evaporate and he'd start moving without thinking about the consequences of his actions. He became an animal: driven purely by instinct and muscle memory. Easy prey for somebody who had the power to capitalize on this flaw.

Fortunately, such a foe wouldn't be forthcoming. Merken's march was for the most part predictable, even though the boy only had a vague clue about where he was going. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure about where Putzen was; all he could remember was simple generalities.

As his mindless drift continued, the still atmosphere of the black canal settled Merken into a period of introspection and pointless worry. Some said that he worried too much for his own good. Others believed it was alarming that a nine year old could have so many chronic doubts and long periods of constant anxiety, but the boy really couldn't help himself. Nobody was to blame for why he was this way nor had anybody invested all that much effort into changing him. It was just one of those realities—everybody accepted it but nobody particularly liked it, especially him.

`What irony,' mused the young warrior from within his own mind. `When this mission become so chaotic and fraught with bedlam?' During the embryotic stage of its planning, he had been given probably the most pivotal part: the eyes and ears. The omnipresent onlooker who kept his brothers safe and alive behind enemy lines. Now, it seemed that anarchy had descended over the entire mission. Putzen and Traje weren't responding, Spiesen would be of no use, and he didn't want to think about how the hell his twin was doing in his absence. Everybody was more in the loop than he was, and that positively frightened him.

Anxiety and worry were the defining traits of Merken's mind. Even though it had already been affirmed, Merken's need to be "in-the-know" was rooted in this thought process. It was the reason why he spent so much time learning technology and volunteering for recon assignments. Perhaps it was a bit patronizing, but he _always _wanted to know what his posse was doing. Just so he could rest assured that he could find a way to assist his allies in any way he could anytime they needed him. It was simply how his mind worked and he had no intention of rectifying it.

But that semblance of knowledge had been blown to dust now. Everybody knew more about what was going on than he did. Whatever Putzen and his strike force were dealing with, they most certainly weren't telling him. As for Erinnern, well he was the centerpiece of his anxiety. Merken knew how powerful Frieza was and he also knew that Erinnern was impulsive to the extreme. If Frieza was allowed to transform to his final stage, he may as well start scavenger whatever remained of his dear twin's body. Quite frankly, he wanted to focus his mind on other things and not even acknowledge where his mind was taking him.

Providence wasn't so forgiving. As Merken felt Frieza's ki spike to inconceivable heights, a pit of sheer horror and ice cold dread became to grow in his stomach, freezing him where he stood. `No…it couldn't be!'

Yet it was. Frieza had just ascended—finally brought out his true self. Merken's eyes started to water slightly, knowing the ramifications of what he had felt assaulting him mercilessly. Erinnern was as good as dead and he could _nothing _to stop it.

"Oh, I finally found one of you bastards!" chuckled a voice, whose identity was nestled away in some undisclosed location. Immediately alerted by the beast's guffaw, Merken instantly refocused his attention and halted his run on an unsupported platform. Saying nothing to his concealed foe, Merken let himself be content with trying to sniff out his hidden challenger.

However, that self-delegated task became moot when the foolhardy fighter jumped into view confidently. Letting out a soft sigh of relief, Merken was happy knowing that he was facing nobody threatening.

Floating in the air ten meters away was Frieza's right hand enforcer. What was his name again? Dodo? Doduo? Aw, Dodoria. That was it! He really shouldn't have been surprised too about running into him. It was only a matter of time before the fat ass would go out hunting for the raiders that were terrorizing his master's ship.

"So you're one of those bastards, huh?" snidely commented the buffoon, stretching his arm and its adjoining shoulder socket. Wickedly eyeing the rather small black child, the nave smiled at his prey unscrupulously. "I expected you to be taller."

Merken said nothing to Dodoria, as was his custom when it came to riling people up. Every single one of his brothers had a different method for pissing people off. Machen had a tendency to comment on the virility of his male challengers. Putzen was known to critique his fellow challengers scathingly before sending them to Otherworld. Traje had the habit of saying that they bored him, which was often a true statement. Merken settled for just saying nothing at all. It was what worked for him.

And in this case, his method was particularly effective on Dodoria. Flustered and furious for being ignored, the behemoth slammed his chubby fist into the ship's hull and ripped through a solid hunk of metal before dragging his fist back out into space. "You little punk, answer me!"

Continuing to aloofly ignore Dodoria's little temper tantrum, Merken lightly shut his eyes, nearly sending his bewildered foe into a conniption fit. However, his "eyes shut" gag was only meant to be an illusion of apathy. No, the boy was just waiting to pounce on his foe until after the "man" had started blowing his gasket.

Precisely timing his move, the boy vanished into thin air before the oaf knew what hit him. Reappearing behind his foe, the boy flicked his fingers straight into the back of the pink terror. Smiling like the predator he could be when he wanted too, the boy sneered icily at the flustered blob.

Turning around frenziedly at the strange contact, Dodoria's eyes bulged when he saw the strange black blur of his opponent practically in his grill. Growling like a cornered animal, the man threw his best haymaker at his pint sized opponent.

Effortlessly catching the attempted blow, Merken's enshrouded form bristled involuntarily upon contact with the bulging fist. Pushing his hand forward harshly, the boy forced back Dodoria's fingers at an acute angle, before chopping off the limb at the elbow with a surgically precise ki blade.

"Oww!" roared the beast, his other hand running straight to the severed appendage while trying to futilely stop the bleeding. Panicked and distressed, the man almost looked at his harbinger with a visage of terror. "Please."

Merken remained stoic at the pitiful sight of his opponent groveling at his feet, his ire and indignation racing to the surface. Perhaps he was the marauder in this battle, but it didn't matter much to him about his past acts. What he did know was that he was facing an animal. A soul with a conscious akin to that of a crocodile. This wasn't going to be his first kill, but at least he knew that he'd sleep easy about killing a waste of space like this wretched being.

"Please…help me," muttered the pink behemoth helplessly, pleading for another chance at life anyway he knew how. "Give me…a chance. You…and me are alike, you know? We both…kill for a living, don't...we?"

Instantly back in front of the dying buffoon, the boy buried his fist into the behemoth's gut savagely, knocking the man into the wall. Not even caring about the blood that splattered onto his uniform from the attack, Merken closed in on the beast and pinned him into the partition. "Don't ever compare me to you again!"

Chaining the disgraced warrior to the fragile wall with ki bonds, the Saiyan couldn't help but snarl at Dodoria. Being compared to such a wretched excuse of a life form had really set something off in him. And these feelings of loathing were simply overpowering. "You and me couldn't be any more different! Tell me: how do you get your kicks? Huh! I'd _love_ to know!"

Slamming the outside of his hand across the beast's face, Merken practically could feel his skin shiver from the rage within him bursting forth, just waiting to be unleashed on this unwitting idiot. He was Frieza's most trusted _lieutenant_.How could he even dream that they were in any way alike? After allthat he had done—after all that he _enjoyed_. It was an insult that he couldn't even fathom ever hearing.

"Who do you think you are asking mercy from me," muttered Merken, the ugly resentment and anger coiled in his veins taking form. "If I asked mercy from you would it be given? Of course not, because it's all about you!"

Terror shone through Dodoria's eyes, and his breath escaped him. He could feel the anger radiate from his enemy, burrowing right through his chubby skin deep into the marrow of his bones. Dread pooled in his gut; he suddenly knew that his life was coming to a close and in the most violent and grotesque way possible.

But Merken wasn't even close to done yet. "All that matters to you is you! Where you're next bout of pleasure comes from—that's all you can think about, is it? Whom will entertain you before you tire of them and their life? What about them—the people you discard like trash! You never bother to ask these questions because it's all about you!"

"I may be a killer, I may stomp on dreams like you do," stated Merken, clenching his teeth hard to alleviate the tension racking through his system. "But there isn't a single day where I wonder about the destruction _I've _caused. The souls whom have had their lives _stolen _by me. What would they've become? There isn't a day that goes by that these thoughts don't come and torment me!"

Snorting derisibly, Merken turned away from Dodoria so that the oaf could only see half of his veiled face. "The only thing you are is a parasite. All you do is take and contribute nothing, and that's all you want to be. Keeping somebody like you alive is a slap in the face to all those whom you've killed and whom may be killed by you."

Stepping forward with his hidden hand pulsing with energy, Merken smirked when he saw Dodoria's eyes pulsate fearfully. It was exactly what the deranged boy wanted from his deserving victim. "I see that look in your eye. It's so full of life, so full of hope. You desperately want to live, don't you? To see another day and go back to your vices? That's all you could ever want, isn't that right?"

Weakling nodding his affirmative, Dodoria was starting to get confused by this warrior. Just a minute ago he was practically going to sign his death warrant and now he was simply confusing him. Would this actually end?

"But you see," continued Merken, the ball of energy lying in his open palm growing in intensity. "What you ask for is impossible. You want to live…and that just won't happen. Not as long as your will wants to live…and mine doesn't!"

Without flinching, the boy flung his blast straight into the face of the pinned monster, killing the man instantly. As the pitched smoke from the explosion faded, the boy shivered when the only thing that remained of the buffoon was an ash gray outline of his obese form. That little episode was just so unlike him.

Now that he had nothing to keep his mind occupied, the boy continued to run down the channel, trying to get closer to either a hanger or where Putzen and the rest of his group were fighting. But unlike last time, now he couldn't shake the feeling that what he had done to Dodoria was positively awful.

Merken was well aware of the fact that he had many flaws and deficiencies in his characters, but the most prominent to him was his inability to control his temper. Injustice angered him, it turned him into a monster that most of the people he killed would be shocked to see from such a demure little boy. A dark entity thriving in the depths of his ever growing shadow.

Merken was no stranger to death. No Saiyan really was, at least any that he could remember. As a member of an infamous warrior race, it wasn't uncommon for him to be ordered to send entire civilizations to their knees. And for the most part, he had done so and with awe inspiring efficiency. He detested the role with all his heart, but he also didn't have much of a say-so regardless. Not unless he wanted to forsake his family and leave them to their own devices.

Sometimes though being of royal birth did help him. His general distaste of purging was very well known, and his parents had obliged his unconscious request to the best of their ability. It was one of the reasons he spent so much time in scouting and reconnaissance. You didn't kill as many people in those roles, and those you did were generally hostile anyway. Unsurprisingly, Merken was far more partial to those kinds of missions than he was to purging assignments.

What he did to Dodoria though was so…unlike him. Perhaps it was because the pink blob was, in essence, a savage beast without even a mustard seed of good in him. Still, he had to consent to the fact he sounded like an unchained monster himself. It was really chilling, and it was something he didn't want to see in himself again.

But as he turned the corner, all thoughts about his barbaric murder of Dodoria faded from his mind, obliterated by an unanticipated event of immense consequence.

Rounding the corner, Merken was greeted with a sight that chilled his blood to the core. Out of nowhere, he saw a massive orange orb of energy burst into the sky, both dazzling and threatening at the same time. Gulping audibly, the boy desperately tried to sense out where his brother was. Hoping against hope that the disturbing thoughts plaguing the recesses of his mind weren't coming true—that he could successfully lie and deny the conclusion that he was rapidly coming too.

Reality though was far harsher than his denials. Directly under the lethal ball was his twin brother, almost all out of energy and, pretty soon, life. Without even thinking of the consequences, the reckless boy raced as fast as he could towards his ailing brother, praying that he wouldn't be greeted by ash.

Dashing through the channel at maximum speed, Merken cleaved through the still atmosphere of space at an almost unfathomable rate, distress propelling him faster than even he could've conceived. Leaving little in reserve, the young warrior's heart nearly gave out as his brother's struggling form came into view.

Although his mind was frenzied and discombobulated by his panic, it didn't take much processing power to realize that Erinnern was in dire straits. The veins and arteries surrounding his muscles were practically etched into his skin and his ki was weakening with every passing second by the humongous blast bearing down on him, pushing him deeper into the Earth. Suddenly, Merken sensed his twin buckle down and give into the strain of fighting against the inevitable. Within seconds, his brother was swallowed by the blast.

Subconsciously refusing to accept his dear brother's death, the heedless boy ran straight into the maw of the explosive blast. The only way this thing was going to kill Erinnern was by going straight through him first.

Shielded by a temporary force field, Merken stormed through the blast looking for his brother's ever dwindling ki signature ever so frantically. His heart felt like it was going to crescendo and give way at any second. There was no way that he could go on for much longer!

And then his brother's pale form came into view, barely visible but still alive and well. Anxiety reaching a fever pitch, the boy appeared behind his brother just as the shield around the boy gave way.

Knowing that Erinnern wouldn't have the energy to defend himself from the encompassing blast, Merken placed his hand on the center of the other boy's back and transferred his shield to him. Completely exposed to the lethal blast, Merken had to think fast before his body was dissolved by the terrifying attack. And there was only thing he believed that could save him.

His hand still on Erinnern, the boy's brother smashed his index and middle finger straight into the center of his brow line, not caring if he jammed his fingers in the process. With that task complete, the boy tried to think of a place. Any place. Anywhere that was not where he was. Suddenly, a picture came to his mind and the technique did its job. Both disappeared right under Frieza's nose.

* * *

Jolt. Gohan sprung out of bed in a cold sweat, his clothes stained and extremely sticky. Another night, another nightmare; this second hallucination was vastly worse than the first. Apart from brief considerations of madness, the child wanted to simply escape his mind and find something to do to keep himself from sleeping, even if he was still tired.

Stripping off all of his clothes, the boy placed the still moist garments in a laundry hamper before advancing into his on-suite bathroom. After a couple seconds of opening cupboards and cabinets for washcloths, the boy finally opened the right drawer while grabbing a bar of soap at the same time.

Climbing atop the sink, the boy turned on the water faucet and put the white piece of cloth under the roaring torrent, dosing the porous fabric with water. Once the material was nice and oversaturated, the boy turned off the faucet and rinsed out the excess water from the textile. Grabbing the bar of soap, the boy began to rub the bar of soap into the cloth hardly so that the soap would sink into the cloth nicely.

With all the preparations made, the boy began to grind the cloth onto the sweatiest parts of his body. His chest, his armpits, his inner thighs—anywhere that was itching or plain uncomfortable at the time. He could've taken a shower or bath to have done the same thing, but he didn't want to risk having another shower scene.

Taking another wash cloth, the boy then began to dry off his body. Satisfied by his job, the boy dropped back down onto the floor and returned to his room. His eyes aimed in at the closet, the boy made a b-line there, hoping that he wouldn't have to stroll around nude until somebody found him. That would be a very embarrassing predicament, even though neither he nor his dad were that modest about their bodies. Fortunately though, such a scenario wouldn't come to pass. There were about a dozen uniforms in there, all about his size. What luck!

Removing the frock from its hangar, the boy immediately began to dress himself. Wasting no time, the boy slid each article of clothing onto his bare body in rapid succession with the soul exception of his sash. That required some dexterity that took some time to get correctly.

Properly dressed, the boy sat down on the top of his bed and sighed languidly. He really had no idea of what he was going to do, both now and in the future. Two months ago he was just a normal, happy little boy. Now he had been through a planet-wide genocide, a horrific torture and now, to top it off, had been abducted again.

Peering down at his body, the boy couldn't help but feel nauseated in the worst possible sense. He felt sick, physically and emotionally. His nightmares were intensifying sharply, his fears were becoming more diverse in scope and his sense of justice was just out of whack. He didn't know what to do? He didn't know what to say? He didn't who to talk too about his problems, or even if there was someone. The boy was so conflicted in so many ways that all he wanted to do was roll up in a ball and try to block out the world.

Worst of all though, was how much he thought he was changing. Although he had reiterated the same thing numerous times, the boy was really apprehensive about his future. What made his nightmares so powerful was _he _was the one causing the panic. The death, the distress. He was becoming to become what he truly loathed and despised in others. But that wasn't the scary part. No, the real scary part was that he beginning to have similar thoughts as his demented alter ego. The same pure, unadulterated Saiyan wrath was beginning to grow like a wildfire in him. After what Frieza and Vegeta had done too him, similar thoughts of embittered anger were beginning to fester within his own breast. And he was terrified of them.

But another part of him said that there wasn't nearly as much to worry about now. Surely this Baden character couldn't be as bad as his former master. The mere thought of Frieza's wicked eyes brought a shiver to the boy's face. He would be content to simply never see the Arcosian again. Hopefully though, life with Baden would be much more just than the society he had left behind. The four-in-a-half year old didn't know what he would do with himself if that wasn't the case.

For the moment though, he didn't really know what to do. Staying in his room wasn't helping his rather distraught frame of mind, and the boy could feel himself grow more and more neurotic due to his anxiety and gnat-like attention span.

Feeling a migraine coming on, the boy began to deeply massage the left side of his head rhythmically. He needed to find something to do before he went officially mad. Squinting his eyes shut, the boy tried to think of something without anything coming up that was all that appealing. The only thing that came to his mind constantly was training, and he felt too sore to do that.

Still without a clue on what he wanted, the boy jumped off his bed and advanced out of the room in a contemplative trance.

"I'll tell you, this is the beginning of the end," rambled the Susaylonian king, who was pacing back and forth in his opulently decorated reception room like a mad man. News of the exploits of Vegeta and Jabbar had traveled fast through his kingdom. Within almost an hour, the king's personal herald had been given the misfortunate duty of alerting the king of the increasingly more perilous situation.

Unsurprisingly, the monarch came unglued when he heard the news. Reacting hastily, the man ordered his finest assault squadron to advance on the prison and exterminate everybody. The insurgents, their fellow prisoners, even the guards. Everybody involved was going to die for allowing such a miscarriage of justice to happen so close to the capital city.

But things weren't going so well. Even though his finest fighting force was making significant progress, the uyyasidian ruler was scared by the news he was receiving. If his contacts were speaking truthfully, the prison revolt wasn't playing out like some badly laid whim nor did it seem that the prisoners were conspiring against one another. From what he was gleaming, these insurgents were a united force and that frightened the king to no end.

"Why are they so unified?" growled the ruler to himself, practically burning a hole in the Persian rug beneath his feet with his frantic pacing. "When did this happen? How did this happen? How was I not aware?"

On normal days, the king wasn't nearly so paranoid about potential revolutions. These rebels were heavily outnumbered and outgunned. It wouldn't be hard to suppress them, but it was the principle of the matter that bugged the ruler. Who was to say that there weren't equally as insidious plots going across his kingdom as he spoke? Ones far more threatening than the one going on now? This was absolutely unacceptable! Somebody was going to lose their head for this gross negligence!

"What are you squawking about now?" grumbled Baden irritably over on one of the king's plush sofas. Putting his feet up on the armrest, the boy slid back and put a feather pillow over his head and stared at the ceiling.

Snorting at the disrespectful boy, the king turned around to see the soldier conked out on one of his couches. Snarling at nothing, the monarch turned away from the scene. If that boy was anybody else, he would've had him publically disciplined and perhaps killed. But Baden wasn't a normal asshole, he was a special one. Not many had blackmail of epic proportions on a person like him. And although he couldn't speak for all, the king preferred to keep his important enemies where he could keep an eye on them.

"You want to know what your problem was?" offered Baden, his eyes shut and body in some kind of meditative trance. Normally he wouldn't offer information or advice so readily to somebody who was still a prospective enemy, but the boy wanted to make an exception in this case. The uyyasidian could be a valuable ally if they could get past the blackmail thing. It was very possible that this olive branch would get him nothing, but it was worth the attempt. That and besides, he wanted to talk.

Raising his brow skeptically, the king scoffed at Baden's admission, dismissing his notion as some kind of pre-pubescent boasting. Granted, Baden wasn't an uyyasidian but pre-teens were always the same no matter where you went. Always jackass, know-it-all's that thought they were hot shit when most often they weren't. "Oh really, mind explaining?"

"Certainly." Opening his eyes slothfully, the boy yawned slightly before moving his head so that it was level with the king's eyes. "Have you ever witnessed a mass extinction before? I mean when an entire race or civilization gets wiped off the face of the cosmos within like a week?"

"Psh," muttered the ruler underneath his breath. "Yes I have."

Picking himself out of his supine posture, the boy slid his legs onto the ground while maneuvering his back into an erect position. Resting his head on his open palm, the boy sighed languidly. "I'm not sure if you know this or not, but purging is one of my many duties and responsibilities. As an exterminator, I have seen how people rise up against an insurmountable foe more times than I care to count. During these times, I've learned a lot about how sentient civilizations work."

By then, the king had sauntered over to where Baden was, somewhat intrigued by what the boy was getting at. Perhaps he wasn't completely full of shit, but that would be a verdict he would save to the end.

"At first, my arrival is taken apathetically. Most of the time, I don't make an exaggerated or flamboyant entrance unless something goes wrong and can't be avoided. People either don't know I'm there, which is often the case, or they are too busy infighting to take notice of their imminent demise. Scouting from afar, I always take notice of how the factions in each race operate. Who likes who? Who doesn't like who? How can these rivalries work for my goals? How could they backfire on me? Granted, this is an absurd oversimplification, but it gets the job done."

Taking a deep breath before continuing, Baden let a poignant pause settle over the sitting room. "There's no point in boring you with the specifics of each purge—it would accomplish nothing and get me no closer to my point. That being said, one…peculiar little quirk seems to keep popping up with every race that I've exterminated."

"Upon facing extinction, every race was united—singularly committed to one simple, unalterable desire. Factions? Feuds? They are all bullshit at the end of the day. Merely constructs created by people with far too much time on their hands. When faced with a threat that transcended dire, all of these petty grumbles and disagreements accounted for nothing. All men are brothers when staring down the eyes of death, never forget that. _I _became the enemy, the force that unified those people.

Smirking offhandedly, the boy slowly picked himself off the couch and walked closer to the king. "You enslaved those people. You dehumanized those people; pushed them into uniting _against _you. Whether you do or do not want to hear this, the circumstances that _you _imposed on those people is what unified them. Now all I'm hearing is bitching and whining about something that you should have seen coming all along."

Contrary to Baden's prediction, the king didn't react violently to his scathing critique. To the boy's astonishment, the king managed to keep quiet for well over a minute. And then the king responded. "Supposing you're correct, what is to be done now?"

Sitting back down on the plush sofa, the pre-teen lowered his head out of view morosely. "Sadly not much. You've radicalized these souls to the point I doubt much could be done but put them down. Learn from this mistake, that's all I can say on the subject. Destabilizing an entire population is always a murky proposition at best."

Before the king could offer a word in rebuke, the two warriors heard a faint knocking on the door to the room. Turning to the king, Baden got off the couch and walked to the door. "I got it."

Pulling the door open, the boy was greeted to the sight of air. A little confused, the pre-teen shifted his head from left to right, still not seeing Gohan's head directly below his upper chest. After almost five seconds, Gohan got tired of waiting around.

"I'm down here," the boy muttered peevishly, getting Baden's attention.

"Oh," murmured Baden, a bit embarrassed that he didn't even think to check below him. Small children did inhabit this part of the royal palace after all. "Anything I can…do for you? Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

Closing his eyes, the four year old sulked a little bit about his presence being treated with suspicion. "Couldn't sleep. Is it possible to come in?"

Turning his head, Baden silently asked the king if he would allow such a thing. Interpreting the non-verbal inquiry accurately, the ruler shrugged his shoulders. "Fine by me, I guess. Just make sure he doesn't break anything valuable."

Nodding his head, the eleven year old moved out of the doorway and allowed his charge to walk into the room. Gohan, still feeling queasy from the blood loss he had sustained during his training, immediately took a seat on the sofa softly.

Upon Gohan's entry into the room, Baden and the king ceased their conversation on the rebellion. Each had come to the conclusion that the debate on necessary extermination was not one for a four year old to listen in on. It wouldn't have been the brightest of ideas.

That being said, without a conversation to keep them occupied, Baden and the king felt the tension and anxiety in the room escalate sharply. In both of their minds, the air was so thick in the chamber that it could be cut by a knife. Nevertheless, neither felt that they could simply retire for the night. Whatever the reason, each had an intuition that something big was about to go down and neither wanted to be caught unguarded when the news came.

Blissfully unaware of the tension existing in the room, Gohan was finally beginning to relax since his traumatic nightmare. No longer alone and vulnerable, the boy's eyes began to dance around the room, making judgments on what he saw as he went along. Most of these observations were simple, one-sentence statements, but some of these observations were a bit more complicated than that. Baden was one of these…enigma's.

At first glance, the eleven year really didn't look to fit the part of a warrior. For one, he was small. Barely five-foot in height at most. And his frame wasn't imposing or bulky in any sense of the term. In many ways, he was less of a warrior and more of a scrawny little runt.

Despite this though, Gohan could see some imposing features. Despite being small and pencil-thin, the pre-teen seemed to have a bit of muscle on his bones that added to his physique. Nothing too impressive, but noticeable if you were truly being observant. Along with that, the pre-teen's silky black hair stood up on his head like a free standing mountain, adding to the teen's rather unimposing figure in a positive manner.

But what really stuck out to Gohan about the other boy was his face. There was something there that looked…withered about it. The deep contours on his cheeks, his angular jaw line and nose, his bushy eyebrows and arched brow, the randomly disbursed patches of darker hued skin. Although his body had remained tethered to his boyhood, the teen's face was all adult.

Creeping up even closer, Gohan attempted to stare into the eyes of his guardian. At first, the boy found nothing there. On first glance, Baden's black as night eyes were dull and blank. No meaning and no inhibition could easily be seen. Despite the saying about the eyes being the windows to the soul, Baden's eyes told Gohan nothing about who he was personally.

Underneath that though was something…mad. Gohan couldn't comprehend it, but he felt its presence burrowed in his guardian, etched straight into the fabric of his being. Somewhere so deep that not even Baden himself was cognizant of its presence. And it was powerful. Extremely so. Whatever it may've been, it was not something to trifle with willy nilly.

Boom. Out of nowhere, Gohan's concentration was wrecked by an escalating power level from far away. One so powerful…and so familiar that the boy could hardly believe it if he hadn't been sensing it for himself. `Is that…Vegeta?'

Jumping off the couch, the boy toddled to the window that faced in the direction of where the power was emanating from. Reaching the window, the boy was met by the king whom had also felt Vegeta's astronomic rise in power.

"What the hell just happened!" yelled the overlord, ready to throw a piece of something through the window. This wasn't supposed to be happening. When did the rebels get such a powerful ally and how? Whatever the case, it appeared that he was going to have to step in personally and handle the issue. This…beast that had been unleashed was just too powerful for his elite strike force to handle.

Amused by the king's overreaction, Baden knew exactly what happened. He was a saiyan after all. He knew when one of his own had just turned into a giant monkey. But this time around, he was going to let the uyyasidian find out for himself. "Well, isn't this a surprise. Now you have respond personally. I don't recall anybody but you having a power level exceeding half-a-million, am I correct?"

Drilling the pre-teen with an enraged glower, the king returned to the window and began to power-up slowly. These rebels had forced his hand, and now they better hope that they had brought a good plan B. `If these guys want a fight, then they are going to get one that they will never forget!'

Using telekinesis to fling open the window, Baden silently baited the king to jump out of his palace and go forward and kill the rebels. He may not have had a clue about what was going on, but the pre-teen was curious about what the fabled king of Uyyasid could really do when he set his mind to do something. Who knew? This kind of information could be pivotal in determining what the boy would do with Uyyasid in the coming months.

Heedlessly following his pride, the Susaylonian king barreled out of his palace and off into the horizon towards the prison. He had been humiliated enough for one eon, and these fools weren't going to get away with underestimating him and playing him off as a fool. It was time that they understood why he was the king of one of the most powerful races in existence!

Smirking at the monarch's brash exit, Baden turned to his charge and grinned at the boy. Frowning at how unnerved the boy was, the pre-teen closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Um, what's going to happen?" asked Gohan, not entirely sure of what had just went down. The poor boy had been kept so far out of the loop that he didn't even know that there was a loop to begin with.

Lifting his brow, the pre-teen shrugged. "Not a clue. I guess we'll have to wait and see what this king is really made of."

* * *

**Well there you have it. The fourteen edition of Cognitive Dissonance is complete after the longest waiting period yet. I apologize for that, but I hope that the even longer length than usual satisfied you. **

**I must start off this author's note with an apology. I didn't intend to take this long for an update, but a combination of overflowing anxiety and a firestorm of work impeded my efforts on this chapter. That being said, I should be able to return to my old system now. This shouldn't happen again. **

**Review Response: **

**Q: "I don't remember that from GT, so I'm assuming that you made that up in order for that to fit in with the whole Vegeta-Myuu part. (Full Power)"**

**A: This is actually one of the few cases where I literally thought he was Tuffle. After doing some research, I found that my initial assumption was a bunch of bull. XD Nonetheless, I'm going to keep Myuu a Tuffle just because I think it's a good plot device. **

**Q: Though I do wonder, will Piccolo III be stronger than his previous incarnate like Piccolo II? It will be fun to see that is for certain. This story and arcs are seeming to come along well, but for being a main character, we haven't seen much of Gohan since the Invasion Arc (Supersaiyaninfinitygohan).**

**A: As far as strength is considered, they both have the same potential for growth. But, I can assert that Piccolo III will become stronger just by the virtue that he's still at the same power level that Piccolo II had been before his passing. He can only go up. **

**Q: It needs to be stated; like Flash, I'm really not a fan of all these OC's just springing up with very little detail and descriptions. To be honest, until I see more depth on them all, I barely remember their names. In fact, I hadn't even known "Erim,nem"'s name was...(Scrolls back up to find the name)... Erinnern. (Super Vegetarott)**

**A: Perhaps this because I'm the writer, but I'm having a hard time really seeing how I can implement criticism that I feel that I've either addressed already or will be expanded on very soon. I can't help you see things I think are there to be seen, especially with Putzen. I can admit to some misgiving towards Erinnern and Merken. I've done nothing to describe either of them physically. **

**Q: Now... the ship arc. I won't lie; I'm really not interested in it anymore. It's become far too stretched out and annoying, and I'm only reading it to have the information on the story. While the battles are entertaining, the rest of it is not. Like you've been known to do, I'm hoping you "re-vamp" this plotline, because I've personally given up on it from an interested standpoint. I'm only now reading it because I want to be able to understand everything when it happens. (Super Vegetarott). **

**(This response covers all the questions relating to pacing and the general criticism over the ship invasion arc). **

**A: While I'm slightly saddened that most of my readers have misgivings about the Ship Invasion Arc, I can't many give out any concessions to any of my readers on this point. I feel this arc is necessary for the development of my OC's and I feel any alteration to what I've drawn out will result in something detrimental to CD as a work of literary quality. **

**Rott: haven't the last two chapters of the ship invasion arc been nothing but battles? That part confused me it seemed kinda contradictory. **

**Q: I was hoping to see some Goku/Gohan scenes in this chapter. Loved the technique that Putzen used. It fits his personality. Wanting more power, consequences be damned. It seems, as though Errinern was saved by presumably a technique that works like Instant Transmission (VLS).**

**A: Goku has unfortunately hit a section of CD where he really has nothing to do and therefore will drop out of the story in the very near future. However, he will come back better than ever soon. As for Gohan, he's beginning to resurface as a major character in the coming chapters. **

**Q: Well a very nice spiritual successor to Cold World. I'm glad that you made Goku a secondary protagonist. I like how tongue and cheek the story can get. Cold World and plenty other stories get really dark and it's enjoyable, but DBZ has some light hearted times too and even if it's only Goku's portions, I can appreciate it more than just being dark dark dark all the time (FoolsGil).**

**A: I'm glad that you enjoyed the lighter sections. CD is an extremely dark fiction for the most part, but I do try to insert some witticisms or amusing comments when I feel they fit into the tone I'm conveying! **

**Q: Good example could be Picolo Jr: it surprised me, a bit, how you've approached his behavior, after his second defeat against Goku, I wouldn't say that, based on what we know from DBZ, that he would turn to "the dark side" after such a loss. However, you were right at one point: at this stage, he was still a blank sheet, a child with no "rasion d'etre" other than beat Goku. Psychologically, he could turn out for both sides, now, in DBZ he did have Gohan to socialize him, in order to make him realize he was able to care for another being, in "Cognitive Dissonance" he was left with no dependant being and words from his rival. Without a good ethical/philosofical background, I'd say it would be reasonable to assume he would just turn out as a vilan, since he would gain much more from that, behaving as sociopath, and thus, even causing its descendant (Picolo Jr Jr) to take a good luck into his "father" actions. However, I do have some scepetcism as perhaps you are over stretching the growing rate of this new kid Picolo, although, I couldn't be sure, even taking by cannon sources of how much time Picolo took to grow up and how much as passed since Goku got out of Kame House and Raditz and Turles appeared (Kaiser Viriathus).**

**A: Interesting points. Piccolo III (the name I'm adopting for my third gen Piccolo) is at an interesting crossroads in his development. I do admit to taking some literary liberties with the original Piccolo (making him more of a King Piccolo-esque figure) to be able to flesh out this new "blank" Piccolo now. Although I admit to not having a solid idea about the direction this new Namek will take with his morality, my main objective is more to explore how these "renaissances" alter him psychologically, and, along with this, how these alterations would affect him in a more humbling and dehumanizing environment. **

**Q: It was a bit too sudden, how did Baden knew about Gohan and his potential, to the extent of the faith he is showing in him? (Kaiser Viriathus)**

**A: Ain't that the million dollar question. It will come in due time. **

**Q: Fighting scenes: I think that those are good, you tend to focus on a tactical point of view (they make perfect sence, and as a fighter I do understand them), and adapt it regarding the characters, however, please note that even thought Vegeta, Goku, or Baden, might be just like this, many characters would lack such ability, and I am interested to see you develop the fighting scenes in that particular extent (for example: Broly, a big power-house, lacking any tactical/stategic abilities). (Kaiser Viriathus)**

**A: Thanks for the reminder on this point. I do have a tendency to be a bit to methodical in how I write some battle scenes. When (or if) I use people someone like Broly in the future, I'll be sure to remember this. **

**Q: Summarizing: all in all, this is great work! I strongly urge you to keep up with the good work, and, if you get the time, start to think on your own book! I certainly see potential in here, and I hope that you will continue to give us, readers, your own texts, with interesting twists and witty remarks! ;) (Kaiser Viriathus) **

**A: Believe me, this is very flattering to me. I'm honored that you think I could publish my own book someday. I'll be sure to put some thought into it when the time comes. **

**Q First off, when you say "namekian" or "namek" the "n" should be captialized in both cases. It's just like with Saiyan how you have to captialize the name of their race. It's strange I know, since we don't captialize human, but it's how it's presented in all of the source material so that's how you should use it in your story. Along the same lines "dragonballs" is actually a proper noun and, in fact, two seperate words and therefore should be written as "Dragon Balls". (FinalFlashX)**

**A: Flash, would mind showing me some proof of this. I'm not saying that I don't believe (after all, I did do the revision for this chapter) but I would like to see this source work if at all possible. **

**Q: In conclusion, I thought this chapter was BY FAR one of the best, if not the best, chapter in the story so far. From the beginning with my always favorites Raditz, Turles, and now Piccolo III to the explanation of why Putzen was "holding back" and his further development as a character and the good fight between him and Putzen to the beautiful characterization of Erinnern that really made me change my mind about him along with the amazing imagery of that entire scene, to the insight into a new player like Dr. Myuu; this chapter was absolutely amazing and a joy for me to read! As a final note, I like your answers to my questions. I thought they were reasonable and made a lot of sense even if I don't entirely agree with a concept such as Ki Shields, I respect your logic behind having them in their and the fact that you have a logical argument to back it up. All in all, excellent chapter Phoenix and I hope to see more of the same in upcoming chapters! (FinalFlashX)**

**A: Thanks for the superlatives, Flash. I'm glad that you noticed a lot of the subtle ways that I was characterizing my OC's in this chapter. Believe me, this review was beyond useful in getting me to pick myself up and continue writing after that rather rough week. Believe me, thank you. XD **

**Q: We here at Cognitive Dissonance do not condone child violence. We do however find it useful as a plot device. (Tepheris): **

**A: There is only one thing I can say about this: XD! **

**That's all folks. **


	15. Costly Victories

Turles wasn't in a good mood. Not at all, not one bit. Yes, he had been successful in finding the Dragon Radar, but only by the narrowest of margins. What would've happened if they were even five minutes late? Not only would they have probably lost the Dragon Radar, but he probably would've lost his shot at immortality too. Those things knew what they were doing, and that didn't set well with the pirate.

The even more confusing question though was _who _commanded those sprouts. Like Saibamen, he doubted that they were acting of their own free will. Somebody must've been controlling them. But who? And where? How powerful were these challengers? What could they possibly want? He didn't have answers to any of his pertinent questions, and that frustrated the man to no end.

Smoldering anger aside, it was time to leave. They had gotten what they had set out to obtain. Now it was time to tuck in their tails and pursue their competition. Thrusting his hand skyward, the ornery Saiyan fired a blast straight through the roof of the compound, which made contact and exploded brilliantly across the West City skyline.

Ascending through the gap, Turles scowled as Piccolo floated up beside him as they both exited the complex through the perforated roof. As the two aliens huddled in the smokescreen, the third member of their trio blew through the roof as well and joined them in their opaque veil.

"So, did you get this Dragon Radar?" asked Raditz before covering his ears abruptly. Their little explosive escapade had brought even more sirens and buzzing helicopters to the scene, and boy did they have an effect on Raditz's ears. The poor boy just couldn't handle the din!

Ignoring the caterwaul to the best of their abilities, Turles and Piccolo bobbed their heads up and down affirming their success.

After another thirty seconds of awkward silence, each member of their trio had grown tired of being sonically bombarded from every conceivable angle. Without even having to communicate, the crew of warriors charged through the smoke and jettisoned themselves away from the sights and sounds of the bustling metropolis.

Free and unencumbered by the furious clamor, the armada of aliens kept their torrid pace as they advanced back into the open plains to the east of West City. Dragon Radar conveniently at his side, Turles slid his hand over the gadget and slowly lifted the thing out of his pocket.

Stopping on a dime in mid-air, the lead alien began to tinker with the toy. There was so much the Saiyan didn't know about it. Things such as the where the start button was for instance. How could he expect himself to become immortal if he didn't even know how to turn on an over glorified watch?

"What are you doing?" grumbled Piccolo, annoyed at his warden's lack of concentration. He and Raditz had been moving so fast that Turles's stop almost went right pass them. The Namek really didn't like having to sharply turn unexpectedly at full speed if he could help it. And neither did Raditz apparently judging by his fuming glower.

"Trying to find the Dragon Balls," coolly answered Turles, still all-but-ignoring his lackeys. "But this thing is not working!"

Piccolo looked at Turles inquisitively, like he wasn't believing what he was hearing. These Saiyans were a real bunch of dumbasses, every single one of them. He thought Goku could be a knucklehead, but this moron couldn't even work the Dragon Radar. How hard could that be, being honest?

But the revelation did perturb him. His life was still very much on the line. If the idiot didn't figure out how to work that piece of junk, then he may just give up and blame him for wasting his time. And Piccolo didn't need to guess at what the ramifications were for wasting this guy's time. He may just have to step in and show this buffoon how it's done.

"Give it to me," offered Piccolo, praying that the Saiyan would just give him the radar and let him figure this out. He probably could do this better than the oaf—in half the time too.

Roughly shoving the infernal device into Piccolo's hands, Turles bared his teeth at the Namek and stepped aside passively. He was never much of a technical genius, but that thing was absolutely ridiculous. Whoever designed it deserved to die! Nevertheless, he didn't appreciate having his pride wounded, even if the infringement was minor, by some green slug. "Knock yourself out."

Grasping the device with two hands, the Namek looked at the object skeptically. Unlike Turles, the green man was entirely unfamiliar with technology of any kind. Not even an iota of experience. At first, all of the strange grid work on the screen looked absolutely foreign and confounding. What the hell! The heck was he supposed to be doing with this piece of scrap metal!

Smugly grinning at the Namek, Turles desperately wanted to bait the former demon for his buffoonery. And by wanted, he really meant would. "Not so easy, now is it?"

Hiding his indignation well, the Namek eventually settled down and grazed his fingers around the top of the device. Discovering a well hidden button, the inquisitive creature pressed on the grooved surface, trying to see what it would do.

Beep. The sound of the device coming to life was music to the Namek's ears. Flashing a smug smirk of his own, the green boy turned his wrist and showed Turles the working radar. The former demon couldn't help but grin at his overseer trying to coolly play off his accomplishment.

Switching back to the fiendish little gismo, the green boy immediately turned his eyes to the screen and tried to locate the Dragon Ball. Judging by the figure on the screen, the ball was moving in on them rapidly.

"I'm spotting a Dragon Ball entering our area," stated Piccolo, gesturing to his right towards the sea. "I recommend we start cutting him off before he gets away or senses us coming."

Without even having to issue an order, Turles's platoon was off again, heading south at a torrid pace. Turles was not going to let this ball escape him. As for Raditz and Piccolo, they were hoping not to get left behind again by the vicious pace that their ally was setting.

Upon reaching land's end, Piccolo zoomed out on the radar and indicated to the group that they should be heading east towards the Diablo Desert and Mt Paozu. Whatever they were chasing, it must've caught onto their encroachment. This beast had been going in the opposite direction no less than ten minutes ago.

As the alien trio chased down their target, they were becoming more and more frustrated by the lack of success they were experiencing. Whenever they thought they were getting close, Piccolo checked the radar and learned that whoever had the ball veered off course and was even farther away from them than before.

As they reoriented themselves and continued their pursuit, Turles realized their problem. They simply weren't going fast enough. Whomever they were chasing was going faster than them, and was acutely aware of their presence.

Turning around, the saiyan couldn't help but bare his fangs. Judging by how deeply the Namek was breathing, the child would be able to go no faster. Nevertheless, Turles felt compelled to continue on at a much faster clip if he was going to catch this rat. And to do that, he needed the Namek around to guide them.

"Slug, get on my back. We don't have until the end of eternity to get these things!"

Scoffing, but relenting, the former demon grabbed hold of a tuft of Turles's shirt, his hold on the garment firm and unshakable. Shifting his head to the side, the Namekian gave Raditz the cue to speed things up on his end as well.

Smirking heinously, Turles began to channel a vast amount of energy towards his feet. He was not going to let this idiot get away for a fifth time. "Namek, where is this fool?"

Expertly moving through the radar, the child pointed towards the North. "He's going in that direction."

In an instant, the two Saiyans stopped holding back. Barreling through the skies at obscene speeds, the fearsome duo rapidly gained on their prey at an almost unfathomable rate. There was no way that Turles was going to let this fool get away, not one more time!

Eventually, Turles's relentless dedication paid dividends. Whomever had been evading them was no longer able to weasel themselves out of their grasp. Not this time. After almost ten minutes of dead sprint flying, the fearsome trio had cornered their target in an old growth forest directly south of the soon-to-be-named Satan City.

Dropping down and pinning the behemoth in place, the two Saiyans almost recoiled in shock and disgust at the "man" that had been evading them. Whatever they had been expecting, this was not it.

For starters, this being made Dodoria look anorexic. And to make its morbid obesity look even more grotesque, its skin was a sickly shade of yellow. No `yo mama' joke could ever do this thing justice when describing its gut. But that wasn't the only comparison to Dodoria that was relevant. In addition to its morbid obesity, the beast had a cluster of protruding spikes adorning the top of its head and forearm.

"Holy hell!" shouted Raditz, completely repulsed by the uncouth creature. Now, the cowardly Saiyan had not nor had ever subscribed to any notion to the type of condescending civility that Zarbon had so often threw in his face. In fact, the long-haired Saiyan was very endeared to the savage barbarism that defined his actions. It was what inspired terror in his foes, and the Saiyan in him greatly relished that. That being said, he couldn't help but feel culturally superior to the tub of drooling lard standing right in front him. This thing defied nature and decency at the same time.

Equally disgusted, but far more subtle about pointing it out, Turles snorted derisibly at the grotesque creature. Whatever this…thing was, it was going to pay for getting in the way of him and his immortality.

"Hand it over," demanded Turles, ordering the fat blob to hand over the Dragon Ball. Smirking when the beast refused his command, the Saiyan lowered himself into a fighting stance and readied himself to take the ball using lethal force.

Comprehending the aggressive posturing, the orange monster bared its teeth at the Saiyan and clumsily put its foot forward in retaliation.

Before anybody even knew what was going on, the small Saiyan and the massive creature were at each other's throats. Under the behemoth's reach, Turles pulled his fist back and struck the blob right in the stomach. But to the pirate's shock, his punch just sank into the blob's blubber while diffusing the power behind the blow.

Unfazed by the attack, the behemoth retaliated by jabbing at his foe's head with his pincher-like hand.

Catching onto the creature's ploy at the last second, Turles somersaulted under the titan and latched hold of its ankle. His foot swept out from under him, the fat giant was reduced to a flailing mass of lard as Turles twirled him around like a discus.

Smirk adorning his features from one end of his face to another, Turles relinquished his hold on the beast and swung him right into the trunk of a tree. Chuckling audibly at seeing the dumbass try to pull itself out of the conifer, the Saiyan prepared a blast for when the idiot actually succeeded in getting out of its…little predicament.

As assumed, the obese creature eventually pulled itself out of the tree trunk and tried to turn around and face his enemy combatant. The operative word was tried. As soon as Turles saw the plump giant pull himself out of the hole, the alien fired his blast at the back of the behemoth.

Plowing into the creature mercilessly, the yellow beast was blasted through the tree and sent skidding through the forest. Sluggishly lifting itself back upright, the yellow titan was ambushed by Turles who had speedily maneuvered behind the creature during that time.

Ducking under an arm swipe, the manic Saiyan grabbed the limb with one arm while kicking the creature down onto one knee. Glowering malevolently at the beast, Turles grabbed hold of the titan's other hand while jumping up and landing right onto the bases of thing's neck.

Smirking offhandedly, the pirate started to tug upwards. As the beast whined and groaned, Turles smiled and pulled harder until he heard the sweet sound of its spine snapping into two. Not even thinking of relenting, the Saiyan pulled even harder on the oaf, using his full strength to its maximum.

Eventually, Turles got what he wanted. No matter how stretchy the titan's skin was, it just couldn't withstand being constantly contorted; something had to give and give it did. Upon reaching the apex of the oaf's elasticity, the sadistic saiyan was greeted by the sound of ripping skin and the sight of a severed torso.

Inspecting the dead body contemptuously, Turles was almost surprised to see that what he had been fighting wasn't even alive at all. Judging by the black residue staining the forest floor and the gears sticking out of the corpse, it was clear to all that they had facing a machine. Granted, it wasn't the first time that he had killed a machine in the past, but he was always surprised by their presence. Generally, where there was one powerful machine there were at least another ten somewhere else.

And that perturbed him. The Earth was _not _a progressive planet on the cutting edge of…anything. By popular sentiment, everything in this sector of the galaxy was muddy backwater entirely unsuitable for intergalactic civilization. How did such powerful machines end up on a planet like this, and who could've possibly designed them? Inevitably, it was the designer that was the true target. And it was this "maker" that was impeding his right to immortality. Whatever was to be, Turles had no intentions of leaving this guy alive.

Turning to his cohorts, Turles squinted his eyes at them and pointed to Raditz. "Get the Dragon Ball and let's go. We don't have all day and I doubt that guy is alone."

Scouring for the ball, Raditz found it amongst a bed of duff beneath a clove of trees. Picking up the ball, Raditz growled to himself for being reduced to an errand boy. He was warrior not some second rate courier!

As he handed the ball off to Piccolo, the long haired Saiyan was surprised to see that the eyes of both of his allies bulged monumentally. Ignorant of the reason, Raditz balled up his fist and glowered at the two of them. "What are you two doing?"

Neither Piccolo nor Turles responded. Both were too glued onto the fact that they were staring at the _Four Star _Dragon Ball. The same one that they had given to Rasin and Amond back at the ship. What the hell happened and how did it end up here? How?

"Back to the ship now!" ordered Turles, his eyes fierce and tone uncompromising. There were times where Turles could be reasoned with—this wasn't one of those times.

But before Raditz could verbalize his confusion, Turles had already grabbed hold of Piccolo's bony wrist and was off into the air. Not willing to be left behind, Raditz blasted off and was immediately on Turles's tail as the ambitious Saiyan cleaved through the air. The long-haired Saiyan didn't understand the need for the urgency but he went along with it because he had no choice.

Turles's mind, on the other hand, was so jumbled and frantic that he wasn't even cognizant of his rush. All of his thoughts were occupied on how the Four Star Dragon Ball had gotten into the clutches of such an insipid being. What happened? How did he know where it was? Turles didn't know, but there wasn't a single explanation that he came up with that didn't chill him to the bone.

"What's going on?" shouted Raditz, screaming over the roar of the winds. Now that they were zipping through the skies, the long-haired Saiyan assumed that Turles was ready to explain what the heck was going on.

"The Dragon Ball that ogre had was the same one we recovered back near the ship," yelled back Turles, raising his voice over the din of the jet stream.

"So!" roared Raditz, not entirely sure about why Turles was acting so strangely over that. Apparently, the long haired Saiyan hadn't understood the big deal about it. The direness that Turles treated this with confounded the simple minded man. They got the ball back; what was the big deal?

Choosing to ignore his ally lest he go ape-shit on the fool, Turles refocused his attention on just getting back to the ship. Although he tried to deny the dread running through his veins, the man was very well aware of the gravity of his discovery. The chance that they were walking right into a requiem was disturbingly high.

But not for one moment was he thinking about the lives of his crew. Their safety and wellbeing was the farthest thing from his mind. No, Turles was unnerved by something far more puerile and selfish than that: his ship. Yes, his star cruiser carried far more value to the power mad Saiyan than any member of his crew.

In some ways though, his concern was justified. His ship was his passport off the Earth. If it had been damaged in any way, there went his ticket off the planet along with any hope of subsequent glory. His dreams of grandeur and empire were practically screaming at him, telling him to rescue his ship before any damage could be done to it.

Soon enough, Turles and his comrades were back in the vast meadowland where they rendezvoused with his Crusher Corps earlier in the day. By then, it was dusk and the sun was slowly fading away into the west. As the dying embers of light were slowly suffocated by the encroaching tendrils of darkness, only two things illuminated the land that they stood in: the finals sinews of light receding across the night sky and the orange blaze of an oil fire.

Just as Turles had dreaded, the scene they had walked in one was nothing but a massacre. Whoever was responsible for this destruction had been extremely thorough. Diaz, Amond, Rasin, Lakasei—they were all dead. Their remains scattered around the bloodied meadow, either laying haphazardly on the burning ship or on the muddied ground next to it in their eternal slumber.

Turles and Raditz looked on at the scorched remains of the site with depressed visages and sunken brows. They were too late and now were forced to reflect on their failure with an air of unabashed austerity. There was no mistake about it; both of their prides had been wounded severely. And worst of all, there was no way to rectify this fiasco.

Cursing to himself, Turles didn't really know what he was going to do. What was the point of immortality when you were exiled to some no-name planet, forever destined to live out the rest of your life in abject obscurity? What is a name without a legacy?

As the fire swallowed the ship whole, Turles looked up into the cosmos and scowled bitterly at the circumstances befalling him. Those stars were his, dangling tauntingly over him, ripe for the picking. But now, when he was so close to jumping up and securing his prize, fate had bludgeoned him back into line just like he was some ordinary, insignificant soul.

Turning back to the fire, the pirate peered deep into the wafting flames. Deep inside, he felt rage and humiliation at what happened. His tittered and tattered pride screamed out at him to make this right, to make the culprit of this travesty pay with more than just their life. Nobody treated him like this; nobody should even dare too.

And as his eyes roared to life, he realized that not even being stranded was going to stop him now.

* * *

"Traje get Putzen out of here!"

Machen was pumped. Exhilarated in fact. Like every other Saiyan he had ever met, Machen relished every chance to test his strength against powerful opponents. It was what gave his life real meaning. When the stakes got high, so did the thrill that ran through his body. And the stakes couldn't be any higher than they were right now.

Pui Pui wasn't impressed. Unlike Frieza, the Zoonian had an acute knowledge about power levels and who was strong and who was not. The last opponent he fought was, begrudgingly, strong. This clown was not. "Oh, so another lamb wishes to run to the slaughter. I was going to kill you anyway, but I do appreciate people making my life easier!"

"Hmph." Snubbing Pui Pui's jab, the young adult stretched his neck and cracked his knuckles. Returning his hand back parallel to his flank, the male licked his lips in anticipation. "Then let's see what you got, pretty boy!"

Pouting at the disrespect, the two ceased their banter and commenced the fight. Going immediately for a haymaker to the head, Machen immediately sidestepped his way out of a knee strike when his punch missed to the left.

Grabbing the extended knee, the young adult hoisted the Zoonian over his shoulder and into the far wall. However, the Saiyan wasn't prepared for Pui Pui to right himself in mid-air and bounce off the wall like how helium molecules bounce off the inside of a balloon and careen back towards him like a boomerang.

Vulnerable, Machen was unable to defend himself from a vicious left hook courtesy of the former king. Sliding onto the concrete, the young adult found himself pinned to the floor by his adversary, who had his fist posed menacingly into the air.

Tensing his hands, the Saiyan crossed his arms just as Pui Pui attempted to cave in his face. Using the recoil to roll to the left, Machen incidentally knocked the Zoonian onto his side as he sprung back onto his feet.

Noticing his adversary sprawled out on his side; Machen powered up a blast and leveled the ground right in front of the former ruler, spraying rock and other projectiles right into the path of the other warrior.

Reacting just before being skewered, Pui Pui erected a force field around himself before the needle-like rocks turned him into a pin cushion. Smirking at Machen's look of minor disappointment, the man slowly picked himself up and dusted himself off. "You're going to have to try better than that."

"You know what, I was thinking the same thing!" bantered back Machen, raising his hand and goading the prideful warrior. "Hit me with your best shot!"

Both were on one another almost immediately, aiming their best shots at each other's heads. Dodging symmetrically, the two began to trade blows while spinning around in a circle at dizzying speeds, creating a vortex like effect around them.

As time went on, the engagement between the two titans intensified. The visages of Pui Pui and Machen had long since phased away from view, replaced by two dark blurs that danced and lashed at each other in harmony. Then suddenly, the conflict between the two reached its peak as the twin blurs lunged forward and their power-laced fist collided into each other straight on.

Light burst forth from the climatic blow, exploding vibrantly and expelling the vortex. Forced back from the strike, Pui Pui and Machen were ejected from the vortex and landed hard onto the metal floor at the same time.

Leisurely getting back up, Machen smirked smugly as his foe got back up. Yes, he was aware of the pressure on him to win, but he was just having too much fun fighting this battle. Granted, he didn't hold any delusion on who was the better fighter. If Pui Pui hadn't been so thoroughly damaged by Putzen beforehand, he would be surely getting his ass handed to him. Of course though, the adult Saiyan was not going to express _that _opinion.

"Oh, are you getting tired?" taunted Machen with an amused countenance. "Pity, this was just becoming fun. I guess you just don't have what it takes."

As predicted, Pui Pui was not amused by being written off. There was nothing in the world that he despised as much as that. "Wretched monkey, you stand no chance against a being like me. The other primate fell to my hand—you'll be no different."

"Sounds like somebody is angry," responded Machen jeeringly, biting lightly on his tongue as it slid out of the corner of his mouth. "Anything wrong? Penny for your thoughts?"

Mouth devolving into an angry grumble, the Zoonian lunged at his opponent like a Bengal tiger about to pounce on an antelope. Still infuriatingly smug, Machen sidestepped the swipe and grabbed hold of the cultured being's hand while parrying the Zoonian's other fist with his forearm. His expression darkening, the Saiyan harshly squeezed on the former ruler's hand, eliciting a yelp of pain. "That primate was my brother, punta!"

Sweeping his foot in a wide swinging arc, the top of Machen's foot slammed straight into Pui Pui's groin, eliciting a pitiful groan from the Zoonian. Not even near finished, Putzen released his hold on his foe's hand and grabbed hold of the lizard-like creature by his flanks as the man kneeled down. Hoisting the creature into the air, the adult Saiyan smiled as he thrust Pui Pui's head straight into the floor with all his strength.

Jumping back and surveying the aftermath of his attack from afar, Machen almost cursed when Pui Pui launched himself back onto his feet and snarled at him. "Only bastards rely on cheap shots to win battles, Saiyan. I will make you pay tenfold for that humiliation!"

"There's no such thing as cheap shots in battle," stated the Saiyan, his expression becoming more and more stoic as the battle truly settled in. "The future does not speak of men whom let themselves be limited."

Pointing at the twenty year old, the Zoonian laughed. "Truer words have never been spoken, ape. For once we can agree on something!"

Closing his eyes for a second, the young adult gradually put his hands back into a guarded posture. "I suppose that is true. Now, let's see which one of us will have the chance to be remembered."

Snorting exultantly, Pui Pui chuckled lightly at Machen's zeal. "Oh contraire, my dear boy: that door was sealed the minute you little brigands ran into me."

With nothing left to banter with, the twin titans renewed their dual. Slamming into one another at the forearm, both parties began to push against each other, trying to win their little game of tug of war. Groaning and panting, the two warriors threw more and more energy into trying to break one another, clawing for the straw that would break their foe's back.

Suddenly, Machen's forearm found some leverage and pushed Pui Pui's out of the way. His inertia carrying him into the Zoonian, Machen smirked when he tilted his forearm a bit and speared the lizard-like being in the gut with his elbow.

Coughing up blood involuntarily, Pui Pui snarled at Machen as he bent down and cradled his abused midsection. How was this happening? How was he being beaten? This was making no sense. This disgraceful simian was nowhere near his equal in all matters relating to the martial arts. Yet here he was: being pummeled. "I will make you pay for this, Saiyan. I swear I will."

Tapping his index finger on his cheek, Machen laughed cruelly at the Zoonian, entertained by how the idiot was trying to save face. "Keep telling yourself that. No really, do so. It makes no difference to me—just some good mindless entertainment that never gets old."

His face contorting grotesquely, Pui Pui planted his foot hard into the ground and pushed off with all his force. Taking Machen by surprise, the former king got in behind Machen's reach and banged his head hard into the Saiyan's, sending both of them straight to ground.

Getting up faster than ever, Pui Pui pounced on Machen's supine form, ready and primed to deliver the killing blow. But at the last second, Machen shifted his head to the right, avoiding the fatal blow by the merest of inches. Coiling his wrist around Pui Pui's entrenched hand, Machen rolled himself into a ball and sprung upwards, nailing the Zoonian straight in the chest as he flipped back onto his feet.

Just as predicted, Pui Pui reoriented himself in mid-air and landed on his own two feet as well. Without any hesitation, the two charged at one another again, neither willing to relent in their duel for their very survival.

"Why can't I hit you?" barked Pui Pui, parrying an uppercut aimed towards his chin with the front of his forearm. Sensing an opportunity arise, the lizard-like being jabbed at the front of Machen's exposed chin.

Feeling out Pui Pui's intention, the adult saiyan blocked the attack at the last minute with his bicep before spinning around to the Zoonian's back. "Simple really: you're just not fast enough to hit me. Maybe you should drink more: it may make your attacks less repetitive and boring. Unpredictability is a valuable skill on the battlefield, you know?"

Swinging around before Machen could plant his boot straight up his ass; Pui Pui lashed out at Putzen's head with his arm extended and brimming with a fine, razor thin layer of ki.

Reciprocating the technique, Machen swiped his arm at Pui Pui's as their forearm banged into each other like two swords. Upon contact, both soldiers desperately wanted to shelter their ears from the buzzing sound that emanated from when they banged their arms into one another like they both were wielding lightsabers. Although, ironically, the technique they were using resembled those toys extremely well.

Placing their inactive limbs behind their backs, both warriors disengaged and retreated a fair distance away from one another. As the two warriors stopped moving and readjusted their position, both warriors raised their sabers and adjusted form to reflect that of twin fencers about to repartee on the grandest stage of the sport.

Slowly advancing towards each other, the fencers employed a complex series of bobs and feints with their ki sabers, each trying to stimulate a reaction from their opponent and spook them into making a mistake that would cost them dearly. However, neither Machen nor Pui Pui were novices in the art of swordplay and those common ploys failed to bait either of them into attack or withdrawing unwisely.

Eventually, the period of tense silence and feint attacks faded into obscurity when the two finally commenced their real assault. Slashing, cutting, thrusting—Machen and Pui Pui used every possible combination of attacks to ward off their enemy and or deliver the killing blow. But all to no avail. Every slash, cut and thrust—all met by a blade of equal power.

Growing frustrated by the charade, the two sportsmen became incensed by the restrictions that they were playing with. Raising the stakes, Pui Pui and Machen formed another blade of ki with their weaker hand behind their backs. Waiting for the right moment, which was the same for both parties, the two sportsmen sprung the concealed weapon at each other at the same time to the bafflement of the other.

Fortunately, although neither were able to defend themselves from the hidden attack, the two blades incidentally were aimed at the same place on the same trajectory. Clanging straight into one another, the weaker blades bounced off one another and the dual to the death continued on renewed.

Now with two arms instead of one in the fray, the fighting became even more frenetic and reactionary. Strategy and thought tactics had been completely thrown out; there was no time to even think when all you could do was act.

To make matters more chaotic, the rules of competitive fencing that they were following originally were now an afterthought. Everybody was moving, adjusting angles of attack, keeping one hand attacking and one hand consistently on the defensive. The form, grace and beauty of their original battle had devolved into an absurdly competitive free-for-all: the only thing that mattered was getting blood of their enemy on their blade. Nothing else meant anything.

Yet, even though the noble beginning of their fight had degenerated, the beastly war being raged now had its own beauty. Perhaps it wasn't as crisp or refined as the start of their dual, true, but as the two winded their way through the hangar like a free flowing river, it was easy to forget the pageantry and pomp that made up normal swordplay. Like two animals fighting for something beyond sentient comprehension, the devolution of the battle had its own mystique all its own.

Miraculously though, in spite of the speed and energy of the engagement, neither "swordsmen" were able to get a solid hit on the other. Every thrust was pushed away and every slash was met in the no man's land between the sabers. They were embroiled in the mother of all stalemates; no matter what force or trick they used to gain an edge, it was met and negated with the same precision and power by the other. And to make the indecisiveness of their clash even worse, neither looked to be remotely fatigued by the energy that they had exerted. At the rate they were going, they could still be swinging their weapons until the end of eternity.

Eventually though, the decisive blow was going to happen: it was the inevitable result of their clash. Frustrated by the impasse, Machen did something so monumentally stupid…and got so monumentally lucky that the act would've gone into the annals of history provided a scribe would've been around to record it.

Seething inwardly, Machen was growing more and more tired of their fruitless draw. Parrying another two slashes aimed at his torso, the young adult jumped back and let the two slashes whizz past his wiry frame. Immediately noticing that Pui Pui's stomach was vulnerable to attack, Machen jumped back into his former position and attempted to, of all things, side kick the Zoonian in the stomach.

But the twenty year old didn't notice Pui Pui's right hand hovering right above where his knee would've been, posed to amputate the Saiyan right then and there. Smirking ghoulishly, the former king swiped downwards—prepared to sever Machen's leg and win their little duel.

And that would've been exactly what happened…if Machen didn't gaff.

As he spun, Machen's pivot foot slipped and the gaff knocked him off his center mass, leading him to fall straight on his ass. Fortunately though, Pui Pui hadn't predicted that Machen would screw up and his preemptive slash was met with nothing but air.

On his back and a bit panicked, Machen channeled the energy composing his blades into a blast and fired it at Pui Pui at point blank range, which the Zoonian wasn't prepared to defend because of the shock of his decisive blow actually missing. Unable to set up a viable defense in time, the incendiary explosive hit the former king straight in the face and propelled him straight into the walls of the hangar.

Getting back onto his feet once again, Machen had to chuckle slightly at that…strange turn of events. It didn't take him long to acknowledge how lucky he got. Being imperfect at times had its benefits—it saved him from losing a limb today. `Note to self: never try to use your legs when in a saber battle again.'

Refocusing his thoughts and adjusting his posture, Machen settled into a natural pose before sneering at his opponent, whom had just gotten back onto his own two feet. He could already feel it. Pui Pui's energy was falling at a much sharper rate than his own. That last blast had sealed the deal. Unless he did something catastrophically stupid, there was no way in hell he was going to lose now!

The Zoonian didn't know what to think. Unlike Frieza and his megalomaniacal kind, Pui Pui knew that he had been bested. There was no blind delusion obscuring his sight from the depressing truth internally. Perhaps if he had encountered these Saiyans when he was still king his mind would be thinking differently. At this point in time though, he wasn't the same as he once was. In the past he had been an exulted general: a man who could do no wrong, either at war or at home. Nothing obstructed him for very long; he didn't know failure, he couldn't even comprehend it!

Now he had lost everything. His people, his empire and now the thing he held most dear: his pride. Was he really so puny in the grand scheme of things? Had he always been an intrepid guppy confusing itself for a mighty great white? It took every scrap of his dwindling egotism and vanity to deny this growing feeling of disillusionment. In the end though, he had not reached rock bottom. `No, this couldn't be! It was inconceivable!'

"Give up! You're no longer a challenge to me," taunted Machen, jeering at his frustrated enemy. But unlike any one of his brothers, he had no intention of coming to a swift conclusion to the battle. Machen, from a metaphorical standpoint, loved to play with his food. He loved to prolong things, savor each second of whatever he was doing. He loved life—his life mind you, nobody else's—and never tried to do something he didn't find enjoyable. Tormenting Pui Pui was very enjoyable.

Unlike Merken or Putzen, Machen wasn't at his most dangerous when angry and desperate. Machen was most dangerous when he was confident, overly so. When he felt he had the ability to tear you apart in any way he wished. His resolve was extremely fickle—it was greatest ally in the best of times and his worst enemy at the worst of times. And when he felt in the zone, per se, he was prone to letting his emotions get the best of him.

After watching Pui Pui almost kill Putzen and himself, Machen had swiftly grown to abhor the pesky Zoonian. He wanted to see the impudent little bug fall and fall hard. And now that he had the power and the momentum, he was going to make his thoughts turn into reality.

"Shut up!" roared Pui Pui, completely losing his composure. Breathing deeply from prolonged battle fatigued, the man flashed his aura and brought his dukes back up to chest level. "If you want to dance monkey, well then let's dance!"

"Words truer have never yet been uttered," stated Machen ominously, the shadows over his eyes elongating and expanding. Flashing his own aura, the two titans began the final act of the great fight.

Dodging a ferocious punch to the head, the Saiyan jabbed at the Zoonian's stomach with both of his fists, connecting on each blow. Sensing the former king had shrugged off his attack and was about to attempt to put him in a stranglehold, Machen jumped up and delivered a jaw-cracking uppercut to the other male's chin.

Coughing up blood involuntarily onto Machen's face, Pui Pui's expression devolved into disgust when the uncouth monkey licked up the red splatter like the savage beast he was. "I swear to god, primate. You'll pay for—"

Machen's fist was faster than Pui Pui's mouth. Chuckling at the Zoonian's expense, the young adult then swept the former ruler's feet out from under before the male could react to the punch. Reaching out, Machen caught Pui Pui's flaying form by the male's heel and neck and hung on to him like how a bass fisherman displays their prize haul. "I'll pay for…what exactly? Nice try, freak! The only person making anybody pay today is me!"

Removing his hold on the man's neck, the Saiyan violently swung his arm up and down, forcing the maniacal alien in his clutches to eat dirt. "All that's been coming out of your mouth today has been `monkey this, monkey that.' Well tell me: if a monkey humiliates you, what does that make you?"

"Curse you…trash," growled Pui Pui, his voice close to sputtering from the shear amount of rage in his system that was about to boil over.

"Trash?" questioned Machen, his smug smirk plastered on at full display. "At least you're becoming a bit more inventive with your insults at least. Perhaps I need to comment on your manliness as well. Maybe then you'll come up with something worth my time. Then again, ridiculing your manhood is probably impossible. I'm willing to bet you're a chick for whatever species you belong too!"

"Agh!" roared Pui Pui, fed up with dealing with Machen and his petty barbs. Feeling Machen's iron clad grip falter slightly, the lizard like alien violently shook his legs, breaking the hold the adult Saiyan had over his frame. Channeling most of his remaining energy to his dominant foot, Pui Pui turned around fired a devastating low kick straight at the Saiyan's Achilles heel.

His inner groin.

Collapsing to the floor, Machen crumbled pitifully and slouched over as if he was trying to hide his shame from view. Snarling incoherently, the humiliated Saiyan bared his teeth at the perpetrator of the cheap shot—he was going to make that impetuous fuck pay for this!

"So who's the girl now? I assure you that I'm more male than you," jeered Pui Pui, his spasmodic laughter interrupted by an involuntary bout of coughs and wheezes.

"I'm going to castrate you for this!" growled Machen, his voice rising in pitch. Getting back up on his feet, the man lunged at the anthromorphic lizard, shoving him into the ground with a shoulder ram. Going back down onto the ground, Machen landed on the older male's stomach, pinning him in a fixed position. Raising his fist ominously, the enraged Saiyan prepared himself to the ecstasy-inducing task of caving in this bastard's face.

Weakened by the Putzen fight and out of usable energy, Pui Pui was unable to dodge or block the beating he was about to endure. He had fought valiantly, with all the vigor in his soul, but it hadn't been enough!

`What happened? How?' These two questions ran roughshod over the lizard's mind. How did he fall so far, so fast? All of his life, he had convinced himself resolutely that nobody could match him—nobody could even come close. Yet here he was, about to face a gauntlet of abuse that even he was helpless to prevent.

The events leading up to this had set him up for this ultimate humiliation. The destruction of Zoon was the beginning of his downward spiral, prepped by the gods themselves for this very moment. Up until now, he could lie to himself and say that he was strongest in the world; the people-in-power were just cowardly urchins afraid to face the wrath of men like him. Now, he could only look up and realize how meaningless his conquests actually were. If some worthless Saiyan could kill him, imagine the might of an Arcosian. Oh the horror! He didn't even want to ruminate on that thought.

His mind was flooding with thoughts that he just could not handle. These thoughts were merciless, attacking his conscious from every angle imaginable. He could relent to the assertion that he had been bested, that his life had amounted to nothing in the grand scheme of things. Ultimately though, there was one thing that Pui Pui _would not _tolerate: the thought that this was going to be the end. His soul was simply too special to be allowed to end underneath the hind of a beastly man.

Death was something Pui Pui could _n_ot handle. Passing over to the other side was an inconceivable thought to him, something he had never pondered on much. What was the point? Nobody could kill him and no illness could even begin to stop him! No matter the direness of the situation, the Zoonian could not even _imagine _himself nearing his death. That was just too much for the former empire builder. Yet here it was: staring morbidly right at him, unnerving him even if only in his subconscious mind.

Fist hovering threateningly over his form, the Zoonian was entirely unable to even delay the incoming barrage. Pelting him with almost a primordial fury, Machen flung vicious jab after vicious jab into the man's face. As the bombardment continued, the crazed Saiyan barely noticed his enemy's face swell and bleed; how the man's face became a messy portrait of contusions and abrasions.

There was no break and no hope for a let up. Pui Pui could barely think straight as his head was repeatedly targeted by his barbaric adversary savagely. One hit after another, even though Pui Pui couldn't for the life of him figure out how he could keep a train of thought, the man saw his tormentor grow increasingly unstable.

"You thought you were superior to me, didn't you?" shouted Machen, his deep, baritone voice starting to break pitch and become more "scratchy" like it was in his younger teenage years. "Didn't you? That your _civility _and _sophistication _automatically made you a higher being than some drunken lout like me, didn't it?"

Although Pui Pui had never made a claim about his sophistication, he would've been inclined to agree with Machen. Monkeys had no place in enlightened society, and today's event had done nothing but reinforce that mindset.

"I may be a Saiyan; I may be a barbarian that cares for only booze, women and brawls, but that doesn't give you the right to condemn me!" bellowed the young adult, his frame shaking with apoplectic rage. Unbeknownst to the Zoonian, the former imperialist had incidentally portrayed himself as an aristocratic snob. And if you knew Machen, you knew that wasn't smart.

Looking past Machen's frequent occurrences of intoxication, womanizing and fits of violent rage, the young adult was very much a rebel without a cause. Anybody who knew Machen knew that he and the  
"establishment" had unresolved issues. Problems that didn't seem to be going away anytime soon. But these weren't the normal problems most liberal rebels took issues with when it came to objecting to a current government. Machen had no issue with issues like slavery, war brothels, wanton executions, unchecked imperialism or endemic corruption, nope he either wholeheartedly endorsed these institutions or taciturnly ignored them.

Hypocrisy was the issue. Machen had no issues with unrestrained vice, it was the higher up's who pretended to be disgusted by their uncivilized behavior that he took issue with. It was those types of people who really riled him up. They were the ones who employed him, ordered him to commit the acts he did (even if he enjoyed them), and then they admonished him for his crudeness? It was that kind of gall that made the soldier in him want to gore and skin something. Aristocratic snobs were what really set his blood a boil.

It was this loathing that made him join Baden's crew. The Saiyan race, for the most part a vulgar species, had no short supply of aristocratic snobs. And to make matters worse, these elitists were in positions of extremely high power. Hell, his own mother and father were members of their ranks, which caused him to be disowned at a fairly young age for his incessant insubordination and disobedience. To this day he hadn't forgiven them for their betrayal.

Baden's plea resonated with him for two reasons: one, it was his chance to escape from the clutches of the patrician niche that embodied many of the upper caste Saiyans that had ruled his life. Two: the plea to drag down the Arcosians resonated with him. What could he say? He enjoyed destruction and insurrection as much as the next Saiyan!

Lip curled grotesquely into a frown, the dashing rogue continued his frenzied onslaught. Flurry after flurry continued to batter against the durable skin of the Zoonian, slowly breaking through the man's sturdy exoskeleton. But what Machen didn't understand was how fragile his control over his foe was. As his fists keep chiseling away at Pui Pui's life, his hold on the man's spirit became more precarious.

Never underestimate the will of man facing the shadow of death. Not exactly a known maxim, but fitting for the hole Machen was digging for himself. Men don't really know who they are until the projection of death pays them a visit. For Pui Pui, it had one unflinching verdict: this fool was not ready to fall.

Power erupted out of the trapped lizard, hurling Machen off the wannabe-Arcosian before tossing him across the room like a ragdoll. Springing up like the undead, the disfigured and desecrated man kept digging into the interminable well of energy surging through his body. He didn't know where it came from, but he really didn't care. The barely sensible male, barely aware of his own identity after his bludgeoning, only stared at his brutish enemy with a glazed expression. All he knew was that this figure had to be beaten, by any means necessary!

Pumping more of the magically conjured energy into his hand, the former empire builder grinned emptily as the blast forming in his hands took shape. Extending his arm forward, the ball of ki in his hand solidified, reaching maturity as Machen got back up and formed a blast of his own.

The dual coming to a fitting climax, the two titans aimed and fired their most powerful attacks at one another. With nothing left in the tank, neither could protect themselves from the backlash that would come if their blast failed. Ultimately, as like everything else in the entire battle, the last ditch blast proved to be indecisive. Both lacking the power to dominate each other, the two blasts exploded in unison when they collided.

Unable to brave the aftereffects of the dual explosion, Pui Pui and Putzen were flung into the walls of the chamber and knocked out cold. Their battle had ended in a draw.

* * *

`Where am I?' It was a really stupid question. He knew exactly where he was after the initial shock had faded, but what he didn't know was what happened to him. Yes, Vegeta wasn't so stupid to not have recognized that he was in his Oozaru state, but how was he in that state in the first place. No Saiyan could transform without their tail—it was an immutable fact!

Well at least it _was _a fact. Not anymore. Vegeta didn't grasp how it had happened, but the reality was there nonetheless. Despite the apparent impossibility, here he was: a lovable, fifty story great ape.

The first thing to come back to him was his motor functions. He started with moving his hands left and right, then his feet, then his head. Slowly but surely his mind came back to him, and so did the recognition of how clunky and awkward his Oozaru form was.

Now, Vegeta wasn't anything like Zarbon. The Saiyan could care less about grace, refinement or any other prissy mumbo jumbo. That being said, his immense girth did pose an interesting—albeit troublesome—juxtaposition to his normal fighting style. It was no secret that he had always been on the small side, and his fighting style reflected this with its inherent speed and agility. Fifty story gorillas generally lacked the necessary agility and speed to accurately replicate the form he normally used in combat. Regardless, the power he was imbued with in this form more than made up for any intrinsic flaws in its use.

The next thing to come to his mind was the landscape surrounding him. Maximum security prison indeed. Enmeshed in a web of barb wire, guard towers, and glum, dingy grey buildings, the complex practically welcomed its infamous reputation. Vegeta scowled at the camp, ready to level it asunder. It was strange how much less intimidating it was now that he towered over it than when he came in there shackled like any normal prisoner.

Power—unremarkably—was the next thought in his ever changing frame of mind. It had been awhile since he had felt this…incredible. He felt like a giant amongst ants, which he was for the most part. Euphoric rises in power made him feel great, jubilant even. It made the many years of suffering, degradation and ever present humiliation all seem worth it, even if just for a moment. The brief stretch of time where he truly believed he had entered the pantheon of greatness: that he had learned what true power was.

Unsurprisingly, the prince was well aware of the fact that he was still under attack, giant monkey or no. But those feeble attacks were only fueling his ego. Their efforts didn't even amount to a bug bite on his thick girth and hide.

Roaring menacingly, Vegeta turned the fight on his captors. Lifting up his leg, the King Kong-esque being slammed his foot down on the bulwark separating the prisoners from the guards, crumpling the wall like it was made of tissue paper. Adding to his assault, the beast brushed his hand across the boundary of the camp, bisecting each and every single guard tower in front of him mercilessly. Finishing up his triumvirate of terror, the behemoth flung his head forward and fired a mouth blast into the mountain adjacent to the concentration camp. Uprooting tons of rock from the massif, the falling rocks slammed into the fortification, burying the perimeter of the compound underneath the avalanche.

Turning his wrath elsewhere, the beast tried to root out the ole doc and that treacherous scum Jabbar. Needless to say, the prince wasn't feeling very charitable after being betrayed by his allies and turned over to the good doctor. Granted, he did end up getting more powerful out of the deal but that didn't excuse the betrayal. Both of their heads were going to end up on a pike if he had anything to say on the subject.

A quick cursory scan of the area rendered no desired finding. Myuu and Jabbar had dropped off the face of Uyyasid it seemed…or maybe they were just so puny that Vegeta couldn't see them. `Oh well,' murmured Vegeta, discontented by his failure. He wanted so badly to break them apart, but alas, it wasn't in the cards for the moment.

But the powers-that-be weren't sulking in the meantime as Vegeta roamed aimlessly through the penitentiary. It wasn't long after Vegeta's awakening when the elite strike force sent by the king made landfall in the ruined compound. Naturally, they weren't expecting what they were seeing. Fifty story monkeys were not on the menu when they had been ordered on a routine riot suppression mission. Nevertheless, they were neither were elite nor paid to freak out when things went awry. Just like everything else they had encountered in their lives, this obstacle would be met and defeated by the end of this ordeal.

Powering up in unison, the strike force combined their ki and fired a massive beam attack at the wandering gorilla. Slamming into the Oozaru, Vegeta was thrown from his feet and into the mountainside adjacent to the reformatory.

Unharmed by the sneak attack, the prince barreled out of the versant and landed back in the center of the complex. Roaring with indignation, the gorilla thrashed around, furiously looking for the bugs that had tried to attack him when his was guard down.

Eventually, the perpetrators of the cowardly assault came into view. Predictably, the prince didn't think much of them. Like all other Uyyasidians, they were rather stout with the same blue-green sheen and glossy yellow hair. In truth, the only really differing thing about the group was their heights and complexion, both of which couldn't be seen from afar.

For all Uyyasidians, the glass-like crack patterns on their skin were all unique and made each member of their race distinguishable from the next. More importantly though, the cracked patterns were a sign of prestige, and the more cracks you had the more prestigious you were. Strangely though, this physiognomic perspective had a solid basis in fact. The cracks in a Uyyasidian's glass-like skin came from repeated and intensive usage of the Kaioken technique. Because of the inherent causation between power and the Kaioken, these cracks became a status symbol among Uyyasidians.

Naturally, Vegeta remained ignorant of this and took an irrespective position towards his foes. If they wanted a fight, he was most certainly going to give them one—one they'd never walk away from.

Beating his fist into his chest like a gorilla, the monkey man grabbed the severed remains of a tower and chucked it at the squadron. Scattering like a hive of insects, Vegeta locked his eyes on the largest Uyyasidian and tried to catch the trooper with his open palm. The attack failed though when the fly-like fighter passed through the Oozaru's finger and behind his back.

Firing a blast at the flustered ape, the pesky Uyyasidian was forced to duck when Vegeta lashed out with a swinging arm, almost taking off the other warrior's head. Fortunately for the pest though, two of his friend bailed him out by attempting to dive bomb the enraged Saiyan.

After that though, it was the two dive bombers that would need help. Catching their descent out of the corner of his eye, Vegeta brought his enlarged hand up atop his head and tried to snatch the two Uyyasidians like how a venus fly trap would swallow a fly. Recognizing this action, one of the yellow haired fighters maneuvered out of the way of the monkey's fist while his friend met a very different and much less desirable fate.

Tightly enclosing his hand, Vegeta attempted to crush the insolent hostile in his clutches. Succeeding (or so he thought?), the giant ape hollered sadistically before hurling the broken man into a damaged building.

His friends, in the meantime, had rendezvoused above the fuming ape's head. Raising their arms in unison, the two elites conjured up another ki blast and shot it at the unaware behemoth. Banging into the ape-man unexpectedly, Vegeta was thrown from his feet and landed face first into the prison yard.

"Shit," grumbled one of the elites, noticing the "beast" get back on its feet and shrug off the blow like a minor annoyance. "This thing can sure take a hit. We put a lot of power into that!"

"You call that power?" guffawed Vegeta, appearing behind the two soldiers speedily. "Let me show you what real power is!"

Opening his mouth, the Saiyan let loosed a massive purple beam. Shaking with awe, the two "elites" were unable to move as their death careened ever closer to their flesh. Fortunately though for them, their squad leader, who had been watching the battle from afar the whole time, was less paralyzed by the beast's fury than they were. Powering up a ki wave, the man sent a massive shock wave through the air that pushed his teammates out of the attack's fearsome path.

Turning to the buzz kill, Vegeta tried to jab at the Uyyasidian with one of his immense hands. Jumping up over the attack, the squad leader landed on the limb and ran straight at the fearsome gorilla. When he felt he had got close enough, the Uyyasidian fired a miniscule blast straight into Vegeta's eye before jumping out of the way.

"Aw, my eyes," growled Vegeta, covering up the sense organ with his massive paw. "It's always the eyes."

Descending down the monkey's back, the lead Uyyasidian tailed off and propelled himself forward, charging straight into the monkey's calf like an NFL linebacker about to hunt down a half back. Putting in more and more energy into the tackle, the puny man shoved as hard as he could until he felt the limb start to bend upward and eventually force the Oozaru off balance. Smiling softly, the man unlatched himself from the extremity and dived right into the beast's gut, toppling the animal.

Unharmed by the sequence of attacks, Vegeta jolted back upright and went after the lead Uyyasidian. "You are going to pay for that with more than just your life!"

Moving at a speed that was unfathomable to comprehend from such a massive beast, Vegeta interwove his fingers together and slammed them down on the head Uyyasidian's back like a club, rocketing the man into the stone quarry below.

Turning to the man's cohorts, Vegeta felt like laughing insanely as they cowered. The prince knew underlings well. When they saw their lord get thrown around like a ragdoll, they became petrified lambs. "Don't worry. You'll join your dear leader, soon."

Aiming a punch at the two understudies, Vegeta wanted to curse when the two made themselves scarce before the fatal blow could be dealt. Pivoting around, the Saiyan roared gutturally to exhibit his frustration. "You can't hide from me, forever!"

"Who said I wanted too."

Gazing above him, Vegeta was shocked to see the lead Uyyasidian up and still being a pest. More importantly, the special attack gathered in the unnamed chap's hand looked to be dangerous. But it was too late to do anything about it by the time he realized this.

"Sick freak!" snarled the Uyyasidian, angered by the insolence of their foe. "Let's see what you have to say about this!

Flinging the special attack at the foot of his enemy, the sick look of glee on the Uyyasidian's face increased ten fold when the attack scored a direct hit. Unfortunately, that same look of triumph dissipated into profound horror when he realized his last ditch move had done nothing but give the monkey a flesh wound.

"I'm going to kill every single last one of you!" shouted Vegeta, thoroughly frustrated by the lack of progress he was making with a mere outcrop of urchins. This had gone on for far too long already! These idiots were not going to get away with making him look foolish!

Shaking off the attack, the Saiyan warded off the pain and flung himself into the air. Intent on finishing the fight in one deft move, the Saiyan closed in on his fly-like enemy and sent him sailing right into the path of his allies at frighteningly high speed.

His eyes locking onto his enemies, the fearsome Oozaru opened his mouth and prepared the blast that would finish these insects once and for all. Smirking sadistically when the gathered enemy was ready, the beast thrust his head forward and arms back and relinquished his hold on the beam.

The three Uyyasidians that had been smacked into each other looked on disillusioned when they saw the lethal blast bearing down of them. They knew no denial about the fatal nature of the wave. If they couldn't evade, which they couldn't, they were as good as dead. Closing their eyes, the three simply waited for death to spirit them away.

And nothing happened. Almost afraid to welcome the eerily nothingness of death, the trio opened their eyes and found themselves back in the same spot they were in before. Only this time they weren't alone, they were surrounded by what seemed to be a blazing orange aura burning brightly. Shocked, the three almost didn't recognize their savior…no their sovereign lock eyes with their tormentor.

It was time to see who the king of Uyyasid really was?

* * *

**Welcome to the fifteenth installment of CD. At this point, I really have nothing to say. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, I guess. XD **

**I. Review Replies. **

** 1. This is another good chapter and I can see it picking up again. Now, maybe I should have been clearer to what I meant by too draggy as an arc for the Ship Arc: It wasn't the content, and it wasn't the battle, it was the excessive detail. I mean, spending two to three paragraphs on how someone died a gory death or how someone's attack incinerated a room is overkill, so while the content is enjoyable, the descriptions went into overdrive. (Supersaiyaninfinitygohan). **

** A: Noted at least in generalities. I'm pretty sure I didn't kill anybody in chapter thirteen off the top of my head and that room that was incinerated occurred in chapter twelve if I remember correctly. **

** 2. I am still interested in how you will have Piccolo age/grow. It took canon Piccolo about four-five years to reach adult size, so it is kind of funny imagining Gohan taller than his meant to be mentor :) (Supersaiyaninfinitygohan). **

** A: True, that is an amusing thought. As for Piccolo's growth, it will be very subtle. Me and time skips have something against one another and CD is going to go on for awhile. **

** 3. Piccolo III isn't "speaking," so personally, I'd cut that out and re-work the sentence as such: (SuperVegetarott)**

** A: I see your point (although I may use this construct in the future) and have refrained from using this style in this chapter. **

** 4. Pardon me for asking, but didn't Piccolo II slaughter Bulma along with the rest of the Z-Fighters back when Goku was on Earth? I seem to remember that being the case. (SuperVegetarott). **

** A: You presume correctly. Although Piccolo (the original) did leave her entire lab untouched (which could be inferred XD). **

** 5. Okay, I promised myself I wouldn't comment on the ship arc, but I think this is necessary: why the hell is Goku being sent away from the spaceship?! I could've sworn that this mission, if it served any immediate purpose, would be to retrieve Goku from Frieza's ship and flee with him. Now that that's not the case, I'm absolutely stunned at that. Now, at first, I thought this would set Goku up for something else, and I was formulating ideas for that while I read through the rest of the chapter... however, you smashed that potential theory with these words:**

** A: You fundamentally misunderstood the purpose of the mission, Rott. It was never about fleeing WITH Goku. If so, I would've implement the ideas that Flash criticized me for two chapters(and of which I refuted in chapter thirteen). I've already explained my reasoning why, so I'm not going to repeat again. If that doesn't suffice, we can talk about it on our own.**

** 6. I'm really bothered that you voiced that, Phoenix. I think you could've left that to our imaginations and let the story play out without it. While it's VERY unlikely that a character is killed off-screen(for example, the fake-out of Goku's death in BoD), it leaves so much more to be explored. Using BoD Goku again, we get to wonder what exactly happened to him. Getting these subtle little spoilers is honestly a tad on the perturbing side and ruins the whole idea of 'speculating' upon what happened. (SuperVegetarott)**

** A: As already stated, it was probably a tactical error to have admitted that although you will soon see that it is indeed true. Regardless, I'm utterly certain though that you DON'T know what actually happened to Goku. That and besides, the entire mission was to get him off Frieza's ship. After that's done, why would he be needed?**

** 7. So Frieza's by himself since the Ginyu's are out somewhere. If by some miracle Frieza did live through all this and nothing else happens. Would he pick new henchmen or just be alone? (Jason9000)**

** A: That will be a story for a different day. **

** 8. I want to see Vegeta kick some ass next chapter... fulfill my wishes XD. It seems like he's had a rough go-around lately, and him dominating some competition would be fun :P. (LucifVegeta). **

** A: XD. Whether he "dominated" in this chapter is a bit subjective. But at least he's back for this fleeting moment! **

** 9. I find it interesting how Turles and Raditz could possibly come across both the Tree of Might and the Dragon Balls... that could be dangerous for the good guys. I was really surprised with the blue Saibamen, and I must say that I am perplexed. I guess we'll find out later who they are!**

** A: Easy: pure luck. XD. As for the blue Saibaman, I just left another hint in this chapter. **

** 10. Wow, another chapter that starts of with everyone's favorite trio: Turles, Raditz, and Piccolo III! I really think you've found a recipe for success here in starting out chapters with these three because reading about them just puts me in a good mood and really sets the tone for the whole chapter to be good; also, this scene was absolutely fantastic. I was very appreciative of the length of it, since usually we only get around 2,000 words of these three but this time we got a nice long scene about them. (FinalFlashX). **

** A: Yah, I've found writing about those three puts me in a good mood to do the chapter too. And yes, I'm glad you liked the length. **

** 11. Nice inclusion of yet another under-utilized villian that no one ever thinks about with Bio-Men being at Capsule Corps to attempt to get the Dragon Radar as well. I like that your including yet another villian that alot of even big-time DBZ fans didn't catch here. I'm not going to say more about how it is, because I do know who your using, but I don't want to give it away for anyone that hasn't figured it out yet. Nice job there with that twist there Mr. Perfect, I honestly did not see that coming. Great, GREAT work on this scene.**

** A: Winner, winner chicken dinner. XD jk. Good work, Flash. You may have been the first one to get it (or at least publicly acknowledge it). **

** 12. One moment, he's commenting on how much of a kind and friendly guy he is and getting to attatched to people and the next he's blowling up Dodoria ruthlessly. I can understand what you're doing with him though, it's nice to see a character in conflict with himself. (FinalFlashX). **

** A: Yah, Merken is a bit of canonball. For the most part, he is as he described himself-but if he doesn't like you generally you end up like Dodoria. **

** 13. Oh look, Gohan's finally making another appearance in the story! It's been awhile, hasn't it main character of the story! I'm just kidding, I understand why you would draw off focus on him and Baden for awhile to introduce the reader to the rest of the supporting cast for the story. Competely understandable. (FinalFlashX)**

** A: And he's gone again. XD **

** 13. OUCH! POOR Gohan! Great job showing Gohan's horror and trauma at being forced to kill. Raditz is a pretty rough character in this one. Looking forward to seeing what more you come up with! (Daughterofrisingsun). **

** A: At chapter two, Gohan's slow fall begins. As said before, I'm interested in what you think after my first two dreaded chapters. **

**That's all folks. **


	16. Beneath Torrid Waters

Nobody spoke that night. As the dim light of the oil fire died away, Piccolo, Raditz and Turles took different posts around the dead campsite and remained fastened to the spot for the entire night. Not necessarily because there was an implicit gag order, but because nobody really wished to speak of the calamity. It meant something different for each person.

Piccolo didn't know anything about the disfigured people who had been killed, not even their names. Unsurprisingly, the young Namek really had nothing to comment on about the carnage. It wasn't the first time that his eyes were witness to a massacre and he doubted it would be the last. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to respect the solemn nature of the site.

That, in and of itself, was shocking to the green man. Respect for the dead was a sensation that made no logical sense to him—there was no historical precedence for the feeling in his past. King Piccolo reveled in chaos, pillaging, and all around malicious mischief. Any concept of mercy, remorse or compunction to respect hallowed grounds would've been entirely foreign to the great demon. His nearest offspring, the Piccolo before him, wasn't too much different. He may've been more reserved about whole scale manslaughter, but he would've been more likely to scoff at such a scene of abuse than venerate the place like he was doing. Given this information, the young Namekian demon was hopelessly confused.

Raditz's thoughts were obviously different than Piccolo's. Full blooded Saiyan's didn't think like Namekian's, they were entirely dissimilar species with many contrasting views that clearly served to demarcate their societies.

Raditz's relationship with the Crusher Corps was very impersonal and detached. He knew their names but very little else, and even now he really didn't regret his inaction. In the end, their lives were worth very little and never really would've gained any importance regardless. The sad fact was that their lives weren't worth mourning.

Still, he could empathize with their plight somewhat. For the vast majority of his life, the long-haired Saiyan had been nothing but cannon fodder—a grunt probably worth less than they were just a week before. In the brief and unforgiving landscape of the ordinary soldier, this type of scene was all-too-common. Years of work, years of pointless training and merrymaking—all for nothing but a blank death in the end.

Of the three, the most profoundly affected was Turles—but not for the reasons you might think. Out of the three soldiers, Turles had been the least afflicted by the death of his comrades. Guilt, remorse, regret, preponderance of existence—none of those common sentiments were experienced by the man whom knew those dead souls best. It was the principle of the matter that bugged; it was that feeling that grated the man the most and he wouldn't stand for it.

His finest subordinates were status symbols and so was his ship. Whatever they did or did not do was reflected upon him. Their successes and failures rested on him and him alone. In essence, they were nothing more than property to him. Slaves in the truest sense of the word.

Property to men like Turles, obsessed with notions of loyalty and obedience, were a representation of their own masculinity. The compliance and potency of his subservient forces were an indictment of him and his own abilities. And in return, he offered consequential military and political patronage for their benefit.

When his "Crusher Corps" were killed and his ship turned to ash, the perpetrators of the attack didn't just kill his men. They had also burned down and desecrated the _patron-peon _relationship he had developed with his subordinates. Any attacks on them were meant to go through him first, and his failure to live up to his end of the bargain caused him to become bereft of the dignity of an honest man. By attacking his men, they had also attacked him and in the process dishonored him. And by attacking him in the way they had, they had also ignored him. Nobody ignored him and lived to tell about it.

In the dark of the night, the embittered Saiyan made a vow to himself: he was going to regain his stolen dignity one way or another. Stranded or not, he was going to make sure that he redeemed himself. He didn't know how, but he was going to do so.

Throughout that solemn night, not a peep was heard from anybody. Everything was almost eerily quiet. And as everybody came to different conclusions, the midnight oil burned on, approaching the end of its wick.

Soon enough, the cool dawn air swept over the grassy plains, jolting the trio from their individual trances that had been occupying their thoughts during the night before. True, they could've done something productive during that time, but nobody really felt like it honestly.

Turning to each other, the three survivors got up and flew away from the hallowed site. It was a new day; the sun had just awoken from its transient slumber. Although nobody could really count the day as a new beginning, it did give the trio the chance to start again on their quest for the Dragon Balls.

Unbeknownst to them though, they were being followed from afar. Entirely mechanical in nature, these spies were unlikely to be caught by a roaming ki scan as they sailed through the skies just above the trio. Cool and emotionless, the eyes of the twin machines locked onto the convoy, scanning the threesome for the Dragon Ball that they had "acquired" from their other colleague.

Responsible for the massacre back at the ship, the two machines had been ordered to wait in the shadows by their creator. The moment that Turles and his company had wrestled the Dragon Radar from their collective grasps, their designer had to rewrite and redo all his plans. The immediate goal was to get one Dragon Ball—any Dragon Ball. They had to make sure that whoever wished to chase him for the Dragon Balls would have to eventually go through him as well.

The most obvious Dragon Ball to collect was the four star one. They knew where it was and it would also deprive their foes of the relic as well. Along with this, it was only a matter of time before the holder of the radar would return to the sight and this allowed for an excellent opportunity for an ambush. If executed well, their designer had presumed that they could, as they say, kill two birds with one stone.

Just as predicted, the grunts in charge of protecting the ship and the relic where no match for their robotic might. They gave a valiant effort, but it just wasn't enough to stop them. Following the dirty work, the machines proceeded to ransack the ship for the Dragon Ball they eventually found. Handing the artifact off to their obese ally, the two other machines were ordered to stay at the scene of the crime and prepare the ambush.

Unsurprisingly their boss, who had been keeping a very close eye on their progress, was alarmed when the trio with the Dragon Radar turned course and killed one of his three prize machines. Granted, that machine was by no means his best, but he wasn't willing to take a chance with his other two until they knew who they were dealing with.

Ordered to merely observe for the time being, the two other machines abided by their master's request to a T. During the night, while the three were calmly meditating or keeping vigil—an action that puzzled the machines; they weren't entirely sure about what they were up too—the two spies kept themselves busy. First, they took well over a hundred different pictures of their foes and sent them to their boss via a wireless interface. Secondly, they began to analyze their targets for things like height, weight, body type, background info, dominant hand, etc. Anything that may give them an upper hand for the moment when they would fight this other group in the future. And finally, they began to scan for the Dragon Ball itself. After all, it was what they were hunting for again.

Back with the aimless trio, the pursuit for the Dragon Balls had begun anew. It was daybreak and the noon sun was bearing down oppressively over them. By that point in time, Turles had rationalized his indignation and was almost obsessively driven to find the rest of these "Dragon Balls" and make his wish for immortality. In those blank hours of flight, the Goku look-a-like had come to the impression that if he tracked down the Dragon Balls then his foes would be forced to show themselves eventually. And then, when they were desperate to deprive him of his entitlement, he'd rip them a new one. It would be glorious!

"Where's the closest Dragon Ball?" asked the obsessed Saiyan, the tone in his inquiry implying more of a demand however. Piccolo knew it would be foolish not to give the man what he asked for.

"Three-hundred miles to the north," responded Piccolo dryly.

"Splendid," quipped Turles, a mad smile crawling up the corner of his mouth. It was time that something had actually gone according to plan for once.

"Hmph," muttered Piccolo, not entirely convinced that these two knew what they were doing. So far, they were a lot of muscle but very little brains. That seemed to be a distinctly "Saiyan" trait it appeared. A brain dead moron could've figured out that you never leave behind something as valuable as a Dragon Ball in the hands of incompetent grunts. This wasn't rocket science!

Still, it wasn't like he was that much better. Although Goku and his kind were all dumber than a doorknob, provoking them on his part was equally stupid. Looking back on the massacre, he realized that what he had done was tantamount to a suicide he didn't intend to commit. Not really that smart at all.

Regret. Yet another feeling that was entirely new to him. King Piccolo never regretted anything, not one destructive bout, not one apoplectic fit. The king's offspring wasn't much different than his father either. He may've been more reserved and introspective, but he never regretted his actions at all.

As for him, he didn't know what he thought of his actions towards Chi Chi and the rest of Son Goku's friends. Predominantly, he was still moderately content with his choice. He wouldn't claim either way that his actions were a great achievement nor an egregious error. Nevertheless apart of him was very confident that if given the same chance to kill those warriors again, he doubted that he would've done so. Even more peculiarly, his pragmatic rationale just wasn't cutting it when he tried to justify his change of thought.

That being said, he didn't have the time to focus on that train of thought for very long. It wasn't very much longer after those views had invaded his mind that they were forced back by external events. In laymen's terms, Turles was getting close to another Dragon Ball.

In prior ages, the hunt for the Dragon Ball's was a game of heedless abandon, endless perils and numerous displays of testosterone-laden masculinity. There was a competitive mystique to the sport, and the fact that only the elite of the elite ever succeeded added to the legend's reputation.

Now though, that competitive mystique had been completely annihilated. What was once an almost impossible task was now just a trite, uninspiring trek from one place to another mindlessly. There was really nothing to it any longer.

The Dragon Ball they had been hunting for had been wedged precariously in a notch on the side of a steep-inclined precipice overlooking a swiftly moving river. Approaching the stony cliff, Turles stepped forward and tried to carefully lift the ball out of the wedge without disturbing the ball's support lest it give away and carry the orange sphere away in the surf. To the man's relief, as he scooped the orb out of the slope, the notch remained firm.

The third Dragon Ball was found in a remote village on the far western side of the planet. Funnily, the three's selfish pursuit for this particular Dragon Ball may've saved some people. See, this Dragon Ball had came into the hands of one of the local militias that had been terrorizing the population of this no name village for quite some time. Apparently, the superstitious rabble had placed some kind of value in the ball and had…taken possession of the ball via…intense negotiation. Unfortunately, the only value a Dragon Ball would have to men like them was a death courtesy of an overzealous Raditz. But in doing so, the three also relieved that oppressed village from their suppressors. Sometimes being overly greedy helped people!

Alas, for every good deed you commit a bad one has to come thereafter. In the case of the fourth Dragon Ball of their pursuit, it wasn't a paramilitary force that had obtained the magical orbs. Nope, this time around it was a bunch of orphaned children on some remote peninsula. And to Turles it didn't really matter whom he was facing: if they had a Dragon Ball, they were going to die.

Piccolo had opted out of that particular massacre. Something about it unnerved him, made him feel both repulsed and revolted. With the sole exception of those militiamen, these children were the first beings that he had saw be snuffed out. And unlike those other vermin, these orphans were still principally innocent souls. They didn't deserve to die, and especially not in the gruesome way that they had succumbed too.

Empathy coursed through his veins. To some degree, he could sympathize with their existence. Like them, he had been born with nothing and nobody to rely on—left alone to brave the elements alone. And it was only by the grace of fortune that he hadn't joined them in death. Not everybody was pivotal in bestowing immortality to unrighteous clients.

Leaving that sad chapter of their journey behind, the Fifth Dragon Ball they had gathered required no bloodshed. All that was needed was a really good set of lungs and a willingness to get wet. As could be assumed, this sphere was in the middle of an ocean trench deep underneath the ocean floor. Provided you could breathe underwater and brave the crushing pressure, the ball would be easy to get too. Since Piccolo had declined to participate in the last purge, he elected to dive into the briny deep. Needless to say, it all went smoothly.

Continuing their quest, the sixth Dragon Ball was found in the middle of the vast Diablo Desert. Unlike the other balls, finding this one required some intelligence, which Turles and Raditz were sadly bereft of. Upon getting to the site, both became immediately flustered when they just couldn't find the Dragon Ball anywhere amongst the massive dunes. Luckily though, Raditz eventually threw a temper tantrum and accidentally uncovered the ball from its sandy tomb.

With only one to go, the little trio of Raditz, Piccolo and Turles had grown more adapted to one another. The tension that had existed back when their ship had been blindsided had dissipated significantly, even if nobody completely forgot. Nevertheless, the lack of…resistance in their quest had made them…complacent. Vulnerable to attack. Somewhere along the line, they had neglected the very real reality that anything was going to happen to them.

Oh how gullible they were.

The two spies trailing them were still hot on their heels. Through every petty accomplishment, they were watching from afar—recording and sending evidence back to their master. For the moment, they were content to just wait and keep on playing the role of espionage agents. But soon, both robots knew that their dear leader would command them to retrieve the Dragon Balls and return back to base. And because of this, the two AI's and their master had been quietly analyzing their three foes.

Of the three, they only knew the identity of one of them. Although he looked far younger than the dossier said he ought too, the green toddler looking thing had to be the feared Piccolo Daimio. There really was no other good explanation for why it had a green body with pink scaly underarms. Overall, the three had come to a consensus that he should be eliminated from any prospective fight quickly.

Turles and Raditz were much harder to accurately gauge. With no information on hand, they could only go by what they had done so far, which was nothing. That being said, it didn't take them long to figure out that Turles was a considerably larger threat than Raditz. His mere presence was just more…threatening you could call it. Raditz's demeanor didn't really convey to them that he'd be any serious threat.

By the time that the three men had collected six of the seven Dragon Balls, the droids knew that the time for action was upon them. What the trio of Piccolo, Turles and Raditz did not know was that they were allowed to collect the six Dragon Balls they had acquired. The reason why was simple: the other orange orb was in the hands of their master. Now that those foolish aliens were done doing the dirty work, they could swoop in and take all of their hard earned work for themselves.

The time was close upon them. As predicted, Turles and his little group were fast approaching their ice caked hideout and the opportunity for an ambush was going to leave them soon. If they were going to get a hold of those six Dragon Balls and run back to their master, then they would need that approval back promptly.

Soon enough, that approval came from the good doc. Their expression steeling, the two quiet observers immediately tensed up and ascended so that they could set up their full proof ambuscade in a bluff of icebergs in the path of the threesome.

And when the trap was ready, the twosome simply let their herd of prey wander straight into the lion's den.

* * *

Gohan was entirely confused by the day's events, which seemed to be a running frame of mind recently. Nothing made much sense, and the world must've had some expectation that he had a pre-established fluency with this craziness. He was a sequestered four year old raised on a quiet, tranquil planet far far away from all of this. How, and more importantly why, was this all happening now? Had he not studied hard enough and this was his punishment?

"Mister…" stammered the demi-Saiyan, forgetting his new guardian's name if he even had a name in the first place.

"Baden?" replied Baden, lifting his brow questioningly at the boy. If the context of the child's stammer was any clue, Gohan must've not known his name. At least that was what he presumed when he answered.

Nodding his head lest his nervousness betray him yet again, the four year old shivered and opted not to ask Baden what was going on. Approaching the bannister, the curious child tried to lift himself over the guardrail to get a look at where the king had ran off too.

Accurately predicting the motive of Gohan's actions, Baden walked up to the climbing pseudo-toddler. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up. If you want to know what happening, all you had to do was ask."

Jumping back down onto the floor, the hybrid lowered his head and whispered out his question. "What's going on?"

"A bunch of "bad men" have broken out of jail and are causing trouble," answered the pre-teen, keeping the issue fairly black and white. Gohan did not need to know the fact that they were slaves breaking away from a sadistic penitentiary system. Nope that wouldn't benefit him one bit.

Looking up at Baden with his curious black eyes, the boy knew something was amiss with the other boy's answer. There was something about it that made no sense. "Then why is the king getting involved?"

`Astute kid,' mused his guardian, knowing that a charged question like that would require at least some degree of truth. "The situation got out of hand and Vegeta transformed. Nobody but the king is a match for Vegeta as he stands right now."

"Oh." Moving his head back down due to his shyness, Gohan licked his lips and tried to hide his shock that Vegeta had been sent there. Now, it wasn't that he was surprised or saddened too much by the admission. Vegeta was by no means a good person; his conduct was unrepentantly evil and imprisonment was something that Gohan could foresee happening. That being said, the prince still had given him a chance at life that he doubted anybody else in his position would've, so he had a farthing of loyalty to his prince for that.

Then a question came to him. Vegeta transformed. Since when? This piqued the boy's ever insatiable curiosity. "Mister Baden, what transformation? You said Vegeta transformed."

"Yes, he turned into a giant monkey, so?" responded Baden, befuddled mentally by Gohan's lack of knowledge over his own anatomy. Every Saiyan he had ever met knew about the transformation, even the ones not in contemporary Saiyan society.

Shocked by that truth, Gohan had to keep pressing for more. "How does that happen?"

Getting frustrated by his ward's never ending gauntlet of inane questions, Baden had to pinched the bridge of his nose and tightly clench his eye lids lest he lose his cool. "Saiyans transform during the full moon, but that's only if their tails are completely intact."

"But me and Vegeta don't have tails," added the child, disproving Baden's normally true sentiment. "They were ripped out by that bully."

`Typical Frieza,' mused Baden, before the true meaning of Gohan's childish rebuttal came into his mind. If Vegeta didn't have his tail, how in the name of god could he have transformed? It was physiologically impossible for any Saiyan to transform without their tail. Frankly, there was no logical scenario to explain this. No version of the truth that could really be comprehended.

"That's…interesting," stated the pre-teen, hiding his bafflement well from his ward's perception.

The conversation after that quickly went to hell. Neither Baden nor Gohan really were great conversationalists, and Gohan had subconsciously picked up on the fact that Baden really was in no mood to answer any more questions. Naturally timid, the tense air surrounding Baden was not something the son of Goku had any intention of setting alight.

Appreciative of the silence, the bony pre-teen calmly closed his eyes and focused his attention on the air being filtered through his hair. It was a rare sensation for him. He was always so busy, so driven in his pursuits that he often forgot to appeal to his more…juvenile instincts and insights. Sensation was a rare thing, something he was woefully insensitive too. Relaxing and just letting things pass through just wasn't in his vocabulary most of the time, for better or for worse.

It wasn't until the battle between the king and Vegeta had hardly begun that Baden had grown tired of waiting around. Like all Saiyan and eleven year olds, he had more energy than he knew what to do with. Most of the time, he could find something to do that could benefit him and his ambitions, but that wasn't really the case for the moment. Antsy really wasn't a good enough descriptor to describe the amount of pent up energy he needed to burn off. Honestly, he was bored enough to do just about anything provided somebody asked nicely.

As if he was a mind reader, it was at this exact moment when Gohan began to mumble to himself. Back on Earth, most little boys almost always had some kind of innate fascination with flight, and he was no different than any little boy in that regard. Unlike them though, he knew he could fly with the "birdies" so to speak. He was aware that it was more than possible and that frustrated him. How come, even after almost months of servitude, had nobody even offered to teach him how to fly. It seemed to be a prerequisite to doing anything out in space.

Unaware of Gohan's mental quandary, Baden raised his brow when the boy's lips began to sputter like a slightly leaky water faucet. Crossing his arms across his chest, the older boy craned his neck so that it directly hovered over the younger boy. "You wanted to say something to me?"

"Oh…I…wanted—nevermind," mumbled the four year old, not sure how to address the issue he wanted to press forth. He desperately wanted too but his nerves betrayed him by choking his tongue and slurring his words past any chance of coherency.

"Come again?" asked the eleven year old, trying to get past the wall of gibberish his ward was sputtering on about. "You wanted to say something to me?"

Taking a deep, calming breath, Gohan closed his eyes while his mind tried to get him to voice his wishes. `Come on—you can do this!'

"I…would…like to know how to…fly," stated the demi-Saiyan, while his muscles tensed themselves up as if they were already braced for a humiliating rejection. "Please."

"Sure," accepted Baden, lightly chuckling at how spooked his ward was. In a way, it was highly disturbing that he was that frightened, but the eleven year old got a cruel laugh out of deal so he didn't really care that much.

"Huh," mumbled the half-Saiyan, entirely surprised that his humble request was actually being taken seriously. Surely he was going to be chastised for his weakness or something like that, wasn't he?

"Sure, I got nothing going on at the moment," repeated Baden, adding in a bit of his reasoning to help calm the boy's nerves. Judging by the boy's shaking, his assuaging tactics weren't working that well.

Hurdling over the bannister and into the air, Baden leisurely floated around so that he was facing opposite Gohan. Smiling cheekily, the bony pre-teen lightly flicked his fingers forward, signaling the other boy to approach the guardrail.

"I want you to climb onto the top rail," commanded Baden, his tone as gentle and soothing as he could make it.

Doing as he was asked, Gohan slowly climbed to the top of the railing and looked down. Intimidated by sheer drop off, the boy's muscles locked themselves into place yet again and his vision started to swim with tears. What in the name of the lord had he gotten himself into?

"Welcome to the first lesson about flight, kid." Snickering quietly, the eleven year glued the other boy into place using a basic telekinesis technique. He wasn't going to let the kid jump down or fall to his death just yet. "You must unlearn any fear of heights you may have. Unless you're willing to take the plunge, risk your life per se, there isn't any chance you are going to get this."

His sight glued to the perilous drop, Gohan felt his throat constrict painfully. Air was badly needed, and his body had no intention of giving him any. Honestly, his crippling fear was rendering any lesson Baden was trying to teach mute.

Recognizing that his charge wasn't going to get anything out of hearing him talk, the other boy decided that more drastic measures were going to be needed. With a gentle psychic nudge, the eleven year old knocked Gohan off kilter and over the rail.

Plummeting down at close to terminal velocity, Gohan felt absolutely petrified. Five feet, ten feet, one-hundred feet, it all didn't matter as he neared closer and closer to a premature death. The wind bite through his face, his body felt like it was being suspended by frayed chords and his mind was hopelessly locked up by his own fright.

But that was then. Before anything serious would happen, Baden reactivated his psychic pull on the young child and pushed him all the way back up onto the guardrail, in the same place no less!

Dazed and startled, Gohan felt himself compelled to stare straight into Baden's ever composed mien. There was something about people that were ever confident that inspired him, even though he was ignorant of the fact that it was that same person that had caused his fall in the first place.

"There's nothing to fear, Gohan," stated Baden, the resolve in his voice breaking through. "Fear is a crippling thing, a shameful thing. Of all enemies, the enemy within is the most grave. The more you tell yourself you can't, the more that you will believe it. Fear is the natural enemy of accomplishment and failure's best friend, Gohan. Never forget this."

"Flight is a wonderful thing. It's a nirvana ground-bound beings will never cherish. But there is no flight without the plunge, no attempt without the belief that when you jump you will _not _fall. You're probably not of age to understand this, but to live in this world you must abandon all fear. Fear of failure, fear of death, fear of…anything. Your very legacy depends on this."

Brushing through his hair solemnly, Baden lightly closed his eyes and kept the features of his face inert. Slowly reopening his eyes, the eleven year sighed languidly. "The first step towards beating fear is facing it, whether you'd like too or not. I sensed that fear in your eyes when you stared down, and I knew that you wouldn't be able to conquer flight as long as that fear existed."

A pause broke in Baden's speech directly after that. Baden wanted his words to sink in for a moment and truly fester in Gohan's mind. But when the boy's mouth began to move, Baden moved back into his oratory. "Yes Gohan, I was the one that _nudged _you off into the air. You know why I did it? To show you what your fear amounted to. Nothing. Nothing at all. Fear in the end amounts to nothing. That's what you need to understand."

Smirking, Baden began to slowly lick his lips hungrily. "Of course though, one close encounter with death won't cut it. You need to free fall quite a bit more before your fears dissolve. How long will that be, I don't really know. That's entirely up to you, now isn't it? How about we try…let's say one-hundred times and then we'll see what you think about your fears."

Gohan could only gulp meekly at what those words meant for him. It was going to be long day.

* * *

The gates of heaven are very much a mirage. Blinding white with a hint of yellow; a portrait of calm serenity and the lingering sound of soft music—it was all so transcendent, and then it's gone and you are left to ponder what you've seen.

This was the reality that Erinnern was facing. Death was but a shade away and then, at the last moment, he was pulled away and left to live on once again. In some ways, he was happy about the development. Most beings, regardless of species, are preprogrammed to endure and live on. Survive and carry on their genes to the next generation of themselves. In this sense, the bestial one, Erinnern was very pleased to be alive.

Sentients though, unlike all other types of animals, have a perception that transcends instinct. Life has extra meaning when you're aware that you're alive. This extra awareness though isn't always so positive and flowery. Mortal challenges all seem so…insignificant when the afterlife is locked lips with you. There's a grandeur there, one so strong that a soul can become intoxicated by it. This is where your soul will reside for most of its life, not in a conduit trapped in an evanescent universe surrounded by petty issues and mortal qualms. Sometimes you just want to be judged and carry on, without the uncertainty looming over you like a coming plague.

Whatever Erinnern's personal reservations about life were, he was very much alive. His life was very much in his hands, and he had no compunction to commit suicide. What really bugged him though was how he had lived in the first place. When Frieza's blast swallowed him, he was on his last legs. The only energy he had left in the tank was entirely piecemeal; nowhere near enough to stop the blast bearing down on him. How he had lived was an utter mystery to him. Who saved him?

A shrieking cry put his suspicions to rest.

Bundled up in a ball on the other side of the room, Merken was clutching his arm and screaming like a hyena. After evading death, he felt an agonizingly sharp pain radiate from his arm that took complete hold of his attention. Unable to tolerate it standing up, the boy collapsed to the ground and clutched the limb fruitlessly, trying to sooth the pain any way he knew how. It just wasn't working however.

Racing over to his fallen brother, Erinnern was entirely confused by Merken's presence. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who saved him, obviously, but how he did it was another story. Merken, to his knowledge, wasn't a teleporter who could just appear somewhere and whisk somebody away from certain death. At least in the past he wasn't.

That being said, his brother safety and health was far important to him at the moment than the thought of how he had gotten there.

"Brother, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" inquired Erinnern, squatting down and patting his twin on the back. Merken was screaming like a madman and he wanted to know if he could do anything about it.

"My…arm," muttered Merken meekly, tears starting to roll out of the corner of his eyes. The pain was absolutely debilitating, he could practically see stars floating around in the corners of his vision. Merken wasn't a stranger to injury—he had broken a couple of bones in his past—but he had never suffered an injury that was even remotely comparable to this. He was entirely unaccustomed to pain of the magnitude that he was experiencing.

Needless to say, Erinnern was very alarmed. His brother was one tough cookie. Hearing his twin sniffle like he was _crying_ agitated him more than a bit. Something must've gone extremely awry. "Let me see your arm."

Biting down hard on his lip, Merken looked up pitifully at his twin brother. He just wanted to stew in his pain alone; he'd rather not let Erinnern uncover what he was dreading to see. Nevertheless, providence just wasn't on his side these days. Complying with a noticeable level of reservation, the boy snaked his arm out and waited for Erinnern to undress the appendage.

Peeling the sleeve away, Erinnern was not prepared or ready to handle what he saw. It was enough to make him gag. In fact, he started feeling stomach acid slowly begin to crawl up his esophagus at the mere sight.

Merken's recessive arm was the very picture of grotesque. To start with, the entire arm was a mesh of black third degree burns and flaming red second degree burns crisscrossed in an interconnected web of swollen skin. In all honesty, Erinnern couldn't even see one unharmed swath of skin on the entire limb; everything was either charred or hideously inflamed. Even more alarmingly, some of the larger more open second degree burns were showing early signs of susceptibility to infection. Just how long were they out cold for anyway? He doubted that something this hideous could occur this quickly.

Another thing of note was the stench. It was positively gut wrenching, and his hyper developed sense of smell wasn't helping him keep his lunch any easier. And to top off the proverbial smorgasbord, the healthy nine year old could see bits of his brother's shirt grafted into the burned appendage. How lovely.

"How did this happen, brother?" squeaked Erinnern, his voice failing him. He may not be a medic, but the healthy nine year old knew how grave an injury like this was. His brother could very well lose the limb…or worse. And if his suspicions pertaining to _why _Merken was in this condition were correct, well…he didn't want to know how he'd live with himself.

Chest heaving painfully, Merken weakly raised his head so that he could look his brother straight in the eye. "I don't know. You were in trouble, close to death…and I reacted. I don't what happened to my arm…I felt fine at the time."

Those words were like a knife straight though Erinnern's heart. It was him that caused his brother condition. He had a strong suspicion that he was the cause, but the fact that his brother jumped into the line of fire to save him confirmed his fears. If had been able to contain his hubris and refrain from fighting Frieza, then his brother wouldn't be looking at possibly losing his arm.

`Nice going, hotshot,' thought Erinnern, his darker inner muse commenting on the mess he made. `Have fun getting out of this one.'

"Can you walk?" asked Erinnern, wondering whether he'd have to carry his brother on his back to the nearest medical bay. Then he realized the stupidity of what he said. `Look at him, genius. Does he look like he's in any state to walk?'

Mutely shaking his head no, Merken bowed his head back down to the floor and relaxed his shoulders blades. Faintly looking at the ground, Merken felt his eyes widen involuntarily before his body went numb and his consciousness collapsed unto itself. The boy was out cold before his head hit the ground.

Staring morosely at his brother's unresponsive form, Erinnern got down on one knee and snaked his arm around the nook of Merken's undamaged limb. Transferring his force upwards, the relatively healthy boy jolted up and hoisted his sickly brother up with him.

That had proved to be an unwise decision for the impulsive nine year old. Disregarding his brother's situation, Erinnern was not in the finest condition of his life either. Exhausted both physically and mentally, it took all of his useable energy to just to keep his brother on his shoulders upright. That being mentioned, Erinnern felt he had no right not to soldier on. Merken had given him an extra lease on life, at the possible cost of his own life. It would've been unpardonably disrespectful not to abide by his unspoken request.

Adjusting his position so that his brother's waist could be slung onto his shoulders, Erinnern steeled his arms around Merken's back, ensnaring the injured boy in his hold. He wasn't going to let his concentration slip and send his sibling tumbling to the ground like a wet noodle.

Putting one foot in front of another, the exhausted nine year old was finding his self-delegated task harder than he thought it would be. First of all, where was he going to go? Third degree burns were extremely serious injuries. Without proper medical supervision, death wasn't out of the realm of possibility and neither he nor any of his brothers were medics of any quality. Yes, they had a healing tank but a rejuvenation chamber wouldn't be able to carve out all of the dead tissue coating the boy's arm. Stabilize him it may do though.

`Come on, Erinnern. Get your mind out of the gutter!' barked the boy to himself, trying to jolt himself into executing some kind of plausible action. He didn't want his brother merely to be stable; he was looking for him to be healed. Although he also realized that he couldn't dilly dally when they were still being hunted like animals through the ship. He had two choices: get him healed now and risk capture or hope he survives transport to a hospital on some far away moon.

Deciding to go with the former option, Erinnern started scouting for a ship directory. Rejuvenation chambers were so commonplace you could find one at the end of every hall, but a full blown medical bay could take hours to find if you didn't know where to look. Nevertheless, the task of finding a fully operational surgical wing was excruciatingly difficult because the distressed nine year just couldn't find a single directory in the whole god forsaken ship.

Luck though finally went Erinnern's way after almost a quarter hour of fruitless searching. Having evaded a gauntlet of sentries and patrols, Erinnern accidentally stumbled upon a sign to an infirmary that was actually within walking distance. What fortune!

But that wasn't the good part. Stealthily guiding himself towards the sickbay, Erinnern's eye gravitated to one of the poor doctors on call. Eyes lighting up hopefully, the nine year old recognized their main liaison in Frieza's empire—the doctor Malaka—attending to a patient.

Crouching beneath a steel wall in a secluded location, Erinnern desperately tried to locate Malaka's ki signature. He needed to establish a confidential mental link with the lizard doctor if he was going to get help discretely. Smiling coyly at his almost instantaneous success, Erinnern quickly reverted back to his composed demeanor. He would need to be cool and collected when Malaka interrogated him about why he was invading his mind.

`Who's this? I don't recall many people trying to strike a conversation in my own mind.'

`It's one of Baden's crew. We ran into a serious mishap and one of my associates needs immediate medical help. He won't make it without you.'

`Uh. You guys are going to give me an ulcer one of these days,' grumbled Malaka, frustrated that yet another complication was being thrown on his plate. The surgical wing was almost over filling as it was due to the vast influx of injured soldiers coming in from the assault. Now he was going to have to justify this. Uh!

`Yah, yah. I don't really care. Just get here and the sooner the better.' Erinnern really wasn't in the mood for playing games if you couldn't tell. He didn't care what he had to do; so long as his brother survived he was content.

'Okay, okay. Hold your horses, will yah?' griped the old man, before he swiveled through an army of scrambling docs and out into the hallway discretely. Deactivating his mental link when Erinnern's pale form came into view, the middle-aged alien strode over to Merken's limp form to diagnose the wound.

Blanching severely, Malaka held a tight grip on the appendage and turned to Erinnern. "How did this happen? I was told that you guys were professionals despite your age."

"We are, but I wasn't a match for somebody like Frieza." Scoffing, Erinnern did his best to not snarl at Malaka for his terrified expression. After all, he couldn't risk insulting the only man standing between his brother and a crematorium.

"Why in the name of _God _were you fighting somebody like Frieza?" His mouth practically wielded shut, Malaka so wanted to scream his frustrations to the heavens. Some professionals they were; even a toddler would know not to meddle with Frieza.

"Not important," barked Erinnern, his infamous impatience and impulsiveness starting to break through. There wasn't any time for such impertinent questions, not now. "All that matters is my brother could be mortally wounded if you don't start doing your job!"

Nodding his head fearfully, the general surgeon began to inspect the wound. Like Erinnern, the curmudgeon quickly began to close in on the multitude of nasty third degree burns littering the boy's arm. Inspecting these wounds with an extra amount of alacrity, the man cursed silently to himself.

"There's no chance in hell that he's going to keep this limb, sorry," stated Malaka apologetically, although at a rate that was almost imperceptible to comprehend. Unfortunately, Erinnern was already accustomed to anything going at super speed by this point, which included speech as well.

"Damn." Erinnern really wanted to hurt something now, most of all himself. A loss of limb wasn't just a scar, an unobtrusive reminder of a past failure. His stupidity, his folly, was going to cost his brother his arm at the very least. This was going to be a bitter pill to swallow. "What can be done?"

Laying the limb down carefully, Malaka closed his eyes and sighed languidly as he turned to face Erinnern. "First of all, how did he end up like this? I doubt that Frieza would just let you saunter in and grab your brother and let you be on your way."

Scrunching his face with a contemplative visage, the mentally distressed nine-year desperately tried to scavenge how his brother could get this grievously hurt and he could not. Finding no plausible scenario, the boy shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "No clue. Before you even ask, I was actually the person in distress and about to die against Frieza. I was out of energy and Frieza had fired this humongous ball of pure ki at me. I couldn't dodge or negate it, so I was swallowed up whole. When I thought my suit was going to blow up, I felt somebody nudge my back and before I knew it I was gone."

"Hmph," murmured Malaka, entirely at a loss of what to think about the supposed truth that had been preached to him. "Then how did you not get as badly burned as your brother? You know how farfetched that sounded, right?"

"It's the truth," replied Erinnern peevishly, although with a strange air of truth that only a young child could muster unconsciously. "I was fighting him. I was about to be dissolved by a blast. Then I woke up in the middle of nowhere with my brother on the verge of shock."

"Interesting." Musing out loud, the doctor began to examine the boy's charred clothing, especially the melted fragments glued grotesquely to the boy's burn wounds. "This is high quality fabric. Must be one of those infamous black market body suits that claim to be resistant to even Arcosian might."

"Although that last part may've been false, these suits are tough. I'm sure it could've withstood a barrage by Captain Ginyu at least," commented Erinnern, resisting the urge to sigh. He really hoped that Malaka wasn't wasting his time with that question. Was he trying to imply that his attire saved him? What hogwash?

Ripping off a section of cloth by its seams, the lizard doctor began to test the fabric with his ki. Unsurprisingly, the cloth remained inert when the almost invisible waves of ki traversed its surface. "Tell me: when you're attacked with ki, how does your suit react?"

"It flashes white for a second and disappears? Why?"

"Just as I expected," mused the doc. "Your brother's suit was malfunctioning or a knock-off. I don't know whether it was one or both, but that's what happened."

"What?"

"The protective qualities of your suit come from a patented product that traps some of the energy you emit in your aura," lectured Malaka, his tone becoming drier. Although he made his living as one of the chief doctors and medical correspondents to Frieza, the man had an interest in bodysuits and other tech that could save lives when qualified medics weren't around. "Each time you flare your aura, the system traps some of energy you emit and stores it like a makeshift shield. For whatever reason, your brother's bodysuit either never had those products or they had been fried prior to the mission. You didn't end up like him because your suit held on for just a moment longer than his did."

"So that's it, eh?" complained the nine year old, breathing deeply and rapidly to contain his temper. "Faulty technology is the reason my brother is such a mess?"

"I'm afraid so," affirmed the lizard doc, his mood darkened along with his facial features. "Shit like this has happened before; this isn't entirely uncommon. The tech behind those shields is still fairly new."

"Whatever," retorted Erinnern, his desperate urge to fight something reaching a near boil. So his brother was on death's door because some techy didn't do their job competently or some sleazebag salesman was selling false merchandise? God, if only he could get his hands on the screw up? "So, now what?"

"As said before, he's going to need surgery," reiterated the lizard doctor, his tone becoming more morose by the minute. "Provided we get him in now he should be fine; I could do this operation if it qualms your nerves. I'm afraid though, that there are some other issues we are going to address first."

"Oh, and what are they?" snarled the Saiyan, keeping his voice low but his tone menacing. He really wasn't in the mood to be bartering for his brother's life.

"He looks far too much like the invaders that have been running roughshod over here," clarified the doc, keeping his tone neutral and unbiased. "One of my superiors will catch our ruse and I'll be hanged and your brother will die. Before we can do anything, we need to eliminate any chance that his identity could be linked to this attack."

"Fine," grumbled the child peevishly, trying to calm his nerves. The long wait for his brother's treatment was making him more and more neurotic. "Let's just get this over with."

Having taken position in front of his brother's face, Erinnern began to remove the black armor encasing his brother's face from view. Peeling off layer after layer, it wasn't long before the entire outfit had been disassembled and Merken's flesh was completely in view, tail and all.

Catching the appendage jutting out of Merken's posterior, Malaka almost had to do a double take. "Baden never told me that he was sending Saiyans to this fight. I didn't even know there were even more Saiyans in existence. Regardless, this is a problem."

"Oh, what now!" moaned Erinnern, his patience dwindling with all of these problems mounting by the minute. Was his brother's surgery going to happen or not?

Pausing to collect himself for the bitching out he was going to get, the brown reptile slowly exhaled, savoring the moment for just a little while. "Being a Saiyan here is almost worse than being an insurgent. Like his link to the attack, his heritage is going to have to be completely eliminated if we are going to do this without raising suspicion. I'm sorry, it has to be done."

Erinnern slowly gulped. He and his siblings may not have had the same infectious pride that tainted their brethren on Vegeta—circumstances had tempered their collective hubris in that regard—but that didn't mean they weren't proud of their race. They were, arrogantly so. Desecrating a Saiyan body like they were about to do was practically a crime, and the fact he was going to do it to his own brother was enough to make him sick.

"I'll do this," muttered the boy, his voice choking up while the bags underneath his eyes starting to glow red beneath his mask. "This was my fault; I'll bear the punishment."

Grabbing hold of Merken's tail with one arm, Erinnern placed his recessive hand on the boy's hip and yanked hard upwards, ripping the rod-like appendage straight out of Merken's backside. Unsurprisingly, after that sudden and violent action, Merken elicited a sharp and painfully wail before his mouth could be smothered by his brother.

`I hope you can forgive me, brother,' the conscious boy pleaded, hoping that Merken's subconscious could hear him. Turning to the boy's clumped and matted hair, Erinnern conjured a blade of ki and removed all the clumps that would protrude out and become spiky once again. Finally, the boy dug into his own pockets and retrieved a vial of a strange looking cologne.

Opening the lid, Erinnern slowly applied the strange salve to his brother's armpits, forehead, groin and other areas of the boy's body that routinely produced a copious amount of sweat. "Saiyan's carry a natural scent that may tip somebody off if they are sniffing in the right place. This balm I smeared on Merken should be enough to neutralize that scent for your operation."

"Okay then," replied Malaka, closing his eyes tranquilly. "You should go now. I'll need to alert my people and prepare for his surgery. Don't worry; I'll make sure he's in good hands."

"Make sure of that," answered Erinnern, his tone stern on the subject. "I'll be awaiting the news of my brother's health shortly. Best of luck."

"Best of luck to you too," responded Malaka, waving the Saiyan out of the area with a flick of his hand. "Oh yah, make sure your buddy's tail and hair are properly disposed of. We can't let some nosy underling stumble upon it."

Sighing, Erinnern complied with Malaka's wish before vanishing back into the vast confines of the ship. For a while, he had so much to do. So much to accomplish. Like any other Saiyan, his ambitions were nearly unlimited in scope. He wanted to be the best and he wanted to prove it too. Besting Frieza in his first three forms was, in his opinion at the time, the best and quickest way of garnering the reputation he so dearly wanted. Without any events going on, only now could he realize the true gravity of his stupidity. Of his unpardonable hubris.

Merken loved him; he was willing to throw his own life away just to give him a chance he didn't deserve to have. And what did he do in return? He vandalized his heritage and removed things that should never be parted. Yes, he did it to give his brother another chance at life, but that didn't help the pit solidifying in the bottom of his stomach. Merken should've never had to make the choices that he had too. And he wouldn't of if he had just done his job faithfully.

Oh, he knew he _thought _he was doing the best thing at the time. That's all it was. An _opinion_. A belief with no justification or evidence whatsoever; a concept entirely fueled by his own warped need for respect and admiration. Reality becomes so warped when you view things with a conjured lens. What prevents you from seeing the forest from the trees?

Continuing through an inconspicuous alley, the distraught boy felt his chest constrict and his sinuses swell up embarrassingly. Helplessly, a small couplet of tears cascaded down his cheeks down onto the floor as he stopped on a dime. `Brother, I'm sorry. I'm so _so _sorry.'

* * *

"Stand down, soldier," commanded the Uyyasidian king, his aqua-green face cocksure and confident. "This is my battle to win. These insolent peasants should've thought harder before they wanted to take me down."

Laughing gutturally, Vegeta smirked at the newcomer to the scene, blindly assuming that the man he was facing now was just going to roll over and flee like the others. "Another lamb to the slaughter, eh? You idiots just keep on crawling out of the woodwork like pests."

"Big talk coming from an overgrown ape," fired back the Uyyasidian king, his conceited demeanor not faltering for even a moment. "Hot shots who think they know shit don't frighten me."

"Oh you should be very frightened," commented Vegeta, his lips moistening and expanding hungrily. The beastly man looked less in control every passing moment. "Not many people insult me and live to tell about it."

"Then I'll be sure to mention that when I'm talking of today's events in my living room tonight," proclaimed the Uyyasidian king, enjoying how easily it was to rile up his adversary. Repartee's that didn't result in him losing his cool were always fun to participate in.

Growling primordially, Vegeta lifted up hairy arm and clenched his hand into a fist. "Enough, fool. You're about to learn of the might of Prince Vegeta!" And in an instant, the threating fist was crashing into the ground.

Narrowly avoiding the falling limb, the king kept himself out Vegeta's vision and appeared above the man's head. "_Prince _Vegeta. Must've been an unimportant kingdom. I've never heard of it before."

That did it. Swinging his mouth up to the skies, Vegeta opened his maw and fired a devastating mouth beam straight at his insolent foe. Feeling confident about the attack, the man opened his posture to begin gloating. "What's the matter? Have to insult my heritage because you can't defend your own?"

The Uyyasidian's response was almost instantaneous. Rematerializing almost out of nowhere, the sovereign skidded feet first directly into the ape's stomach, causing Vegeta to cough up blood. "Oh contraire, Saiyan. You are the last person in the world who should talk about defending your heritage."

Somersaulting out of the ape's belly, the monarch channeled a stream of white energy into his left arm as he reoriented himself into a prime attacking position. Attacking solidifying into a trident configuration, the sovereign laughed manically as he cocked his arm back. "Let's see what you have to say about this: Glass Trident!"

Hurdling the projectile straight into Vegeta's upper arm, the Uyyasidian royal smirked as he signaled the special attack to implode as it was lodged into the beast's limb. Shattering from within, dozens if not hundreds of mini glass shards were sent flying into various parts of Vegeta's iron-hard hide. For the most part, none of them got really past the Saiyan's natural defenses. A few did though, and these did create a few nasty gashes and flesh wounds where they landed to Vegeta's immense frustration.

"What is up with you cockroaches?" yapped the ape, his bidding anger rising to the surface. "Kill one and another stronger than the last shows up to take its place. I didn't know this place needed an exterminator so badly?"

"Laugh while you still can, ape," mocked the king, his amusement with the insurgent dwindling by the minute. Things weren't as peachy as they seemed. From what he could infer, he and this bastard were around equal in ability, with him having the advantage in power and defense while he carried the speed and tactical edge. That said, he couldn't let the battle become a war of attrition where endurance would become the deciding factor. A lasting battle would only work in the beast's favor. No, he needed to end this sooner rather than latter, and what better way than goading the beast into doing something stupid. "When this is over and done with, it'll be you being exterminated like a bug."

Powering up simultaneously, the two lunged at each other, only for the king to veer off course at the last minute over the monkey's head. Unlike last time though, Vegeta was prepared for the monarch's ruse and already had his arm ready to intercept.

The Uyyasidian wasn't prepared for the arm's upwards sweeping motion, and he was sent sailing straight through the penitentiary into a holding cell. Picking himself up, the man barely caught the glint of Vegeta's foot hovering over the ruined building threateningly. `This is going to hurt.'

Lowering his body into a weight lifting position, the inhuman looking alien braced himself for the hairy foot that came barreling down on him. The sudden contact with the sole of the simian's foot almost made his back creak, but the king wasn't going to let himself be trampled to death by an ill-mannered savage.

Diverting most of his strength into trying to lift the crushing limb, the king felt his body abruptly start to buckle, particular his knees, as he desperately scrambled to save his hide. Feeling that death was imminent without immediate action, the king cursed. `Well there's goes delaying the inevitable.'

"Kaioken!" roared the sovereign, newfound energy bursting into his limbs as his cyan hue became intertwined with bright orange streaks. Smirking like a Cheshire cat, the man readjusted his grip so that his hands were wrapped around his adversary's toes. With an effortless heave, the man rocketed up as his foe was yanked upside down by the recoil. Bending his back, the royal hurdled the barbarian over his back and into the mountain slope adjacent to the prison.

Not even close to finished, the man brought his hands forward and started to shell the same mountainside with blasts. He was going to hurt that damnable shit if it was the last thing he did! By the time he thought that enough was enough, the once imposing massif was but a soft mound of rocky mulch.

The lethal force in those blasts didn't do anything to Vegeta. No matter what the king seemed to throw at him, the petulant ape seemed to grin and endure it like it was only a minor inconvenience. Smoke wafting off his frame, the King Kong-esque being glared hatefully at his stubborn opponent. "You're going to pay for this with more than just your life, I swear to god I will."

Unhinging his jaw, the angry Oozaru launched yet another mouth beam. Standing his ground, the glassy skinned sovereign flared his aura to life in retaliation to the blast. "You think that intimidates me? Think again, savage! Ring of Fire!"

Just as the name implied, the former circle of ki around the Uyyasidian's body ignited into a…ring of fire. Smirking knowingly at the Saiyan's attack, the ruler put more energy into the defensive measure as his foe's assault bore down upon him. Within seconds, Vegeta's purple tinted beam had reached him.

Meeting the king's flaming nimbus, the attack immediately reacted to the flames and exploded brilliantly. Blinded and pushed back by the detonation, the alien ruler remained steadfast in his hold over his technique. Pumping more energy into his defense shield, he felt the flames expand and intermingle with the energy left behind by the attack. Without needing any prompting the shield swallowed the energy and integrated the residual power into its own girth. In other words, the flames got bigger.

Shocked by his adversary's resistance, Vegeta powered up another blast and attempted to attack his enemy again. Like his significantly larger blast, the orb was blown apart and its energy was sucked in like a vacuum cleaner.

Sweating internally, the king knew he had to attack Vegeta then. The Ring of Fire was an amazing power that only got stronger the more somebody threw energy at you, but it required an input of energy that was borderline insane to use for any realistic length of time. Not to mention it did require a little build up to reach full effectiveness. Yah, it wasn't his preferred technique.

Converting the flames into pure ki, the ruler was almost surprised by how much energy was trapped inside those flames. 'Hmph, maybe I've underestimated my arsenal of techniques over the years! Brute force isn't always the best way to go about things, I suppose.'

"Saiyan, let's see if you can try this on for size!" yelled the man, tossing the absorbed energy back at its maker. Unfortunately, like all the other attacks that had occurred that day, all it did was singe some leg hairs and make Vegeta even madder.

"Damn, does this guy even have a weak point?" snarled the king, his temper starting to reach a boil. He was dominating the fight; Vegeta hadn't been able to touch him. Yet he knew that if he didn't think of something fast, he would be on the wrong end of their battle. Nothing he did really put a dent in him.

Privy to the king's curse, Vegeta thought that the time to gloat was upon him. "So you've finally realized how useless your efforts have been, haven't we? Why don't you just lie down and make this easier for me?"

Facial features darkening, the alien king powered up another blast. He had to end this sooner than latter; attrition wasn't a state of battle he could afford being embroiled in. There had to be a weak point, there just had to be!

Looking over the ape's form, the royal almost wanted to face fault when he realized what he should've done all along. `Eureka. How did I not see this sooner?'

Extending his ki-imbued hand forward, the glassy skinned alien allowed a sliver of smile grace his lips. "I'm _very _interested in what you have to say about this." And with that, the blast was fired.

Surprisingly, just after it was fired, the blast appeared to have disappeared. When it actually, it had stretched itself into an almost impossibly thin chord that was undetectable to the naked eye. Speaking of eyes, guess where the blast was aimed at?

Predictably, Vegeta howled and cursed when the devilish blast made contact with his already sore ocular organs. Steaming mad, the ape started to thrash around rabidly while throwing around more epithets than a gangsta' rapper.

What Vegeta didn't know was that the attack on his eyes was just a clever diversion. The king knew that without a painful distraction, what he was about to do was effectively suicide. Nevertheless, it was all he could think of that would end the fight.

Dashing straight at the monkey, the cracked-streaked fighter swiveled past Vegeta's defenses and approached the man's mouth. Pushing the Oozaru's lips down, the Uyyasidian channeled a tremendous amount of energy to his biceps for the soul purpose of prying Vegeta's mouth open. Still dazed and unaware of the king's strategy, Vegeta wasn't in any position to deny the king access.

Hurdling into the Oozaru's oral cavity, the man prepared another blast aimed straight at the back of the ape's mouth. Hopefully, if all went well, the blast would rip through the beast's medulla oblongata and render the ape lifeless.

Fortune wasn't completely on his side. Vegeta, at the most opportune time imaginable, finally connected the dots of his plan. Reacting faster than he was thinking, the man lifted up his tongue so that it blocked the entrance to the back of his mouth. Curling forward, the tip of the giant's tongue planted itself right at the back of the titan's teeth, pinning the puny Uyyasidian in a fleshy cocoon.

Hesitating for a moment too long, the serpentine muscle pushed itself straight into the sovereign's back, shoving the man down causing him to lose his blast and slide under the free moving body part. Coiled back like a hissing rattlesnake, the pink appendage lunged forward and collided straight into the royal, sending him on a crash course out of the beast's mouth.

But the king wasn't done just yet. About to be propelled out, the king conjured as much ki as he could get his hands on and fired a blast straight at the top of the monkey's palette. Connecting like a boomerang, the attack sent Vegeta's incisors flying and split the man's lip into two grotesque fragments.

Feeling his Kaioken vanish, the Uyyasidian was left unable to prevent himself from sailing straight into the ground.

Meanwhile, Vegeta had left the throes of the mad and straight into the throes of the livid. Sputtering outwardly and seething inwardly, it took everything the man had to not completely loose it and kill everybody right then and there. "You…insufferable…."

The Saiyan was so angry that he didn't notice his power spike controllably or his muscle bulge and swell painfully. He was so wrapped up in his feelings that he wasn't even recognizing that he was enduring yet another transformation. And all he saw was red, literally.

* * *

**Hello, and I apologize for another super late update of Cognitive Dissonance. College has gotten absolutely insane for me lately due to my freaky trimester schedule. Fortunately though, it will only be a week until the end and (hopefully) more time for me to write for you guys. No promises though. The next forty days are pretty crazy for me.  
**

**Also, another note: for this chapter, and this chapter only, I will reduced this story back to a T rating. By next chapter, the story will be back to an M-rating again. This note is less about an increase in my stories violence, and more about making sure some of my viewers know about this development. Rest assured, I will not intentionally add anything more gut wrenching into CD than I would've when the story was at the T-rating. **

**1. ****Review Responses. **

**Q: ** **Also, Turles is kin of making a bit of a deal out of nothing. If he can get the DB's he can wish for a new ship, wait for a year and then get his immortality. Or do it the other way around. (Supersaiyaninfinitygohan)**

**A: True, you raised a good point that I've tried to address a bit more in this chapter. As for using the Dragon Balls twice. It may happen, just depends on how lazy I get. **

**Q: They'll either A) Find the Namekian ship that brought Kami to Earth and use that one or B) They'll team up with Dr. Gero and he'll build them a spaceship either through force or he'll want to go with them to use his Androids to conquer the whole universe. The idea of Option B is making me tingle just at the thought, I really hope it's that one XD. (FinalFlashX). **

**A: Interesting ideas. Can't deny that I haven't thought about both of them at some point in time—as for whether I use either, I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when he get to it. **

**Q: First off, how does Pui Pui know that they're Saiyans? I thought that they were wearing those black masks that completely obsucured their faces and their DEFINETLY wearing the body suits that would hide their tails right? I think I noticed this last chapter as well with like Dodoria being able to see Merken's face or something. The only person that's lost his mask thing was Putzen I believe so how is this still happening? I don't think Putzen said he was a Saiyan either during his battle with Pui Pui either so how does he know that they're Saiyans? (FinalFlashX). **

**A: Technically he didn't (even if he was correct). He just assumed that Machen was a Saiyan because Putzen was one (whom he also knew was a Saiyan due to that scent Erinnern was going on about in this chapter). Shoulda made that more clear, but it's also a little extra character development I guess. **

**Q: I don't think I've ever seen arm "lightsabers" ever used before in DBZ fanfiction so good job there making this fight extremely unique in that regard and fun to read. (FinalFlashX). **

**A: I actually got that from the movie Cooler's Revenge where Salza uses a similar attack. Nevertheless, I needed to do something fun in that attack. **

**Q: I think it was funny at the end there where Machen was talking about how he hated the High-Class people and Hypocrisy because he himself is a member of the Higher Class! (FinalFlashX)**

**A: Believe me, the number of subsidized anarchists in the world is staggering. Hypocritical Machen is, but unique he is not. **

**Q: ****You know, I do find it a little ironic it was the Four-Star ball that they found, but that's not too much of a surprise (Full Power). **

**A: That wasn't so much iron—moreso logical deduction. Remember, that the ball was found in the field that Gohan was abducted in. **

**Q: It was a definite surprise how they defeated all of the Crusher Corps (predictably easily?) and the part about the 4 star ball was easily my favorite part of the chapter (LucifVegeta).**

**A: Yah. Those biomen in the movies easily cleaved through Goku for a major time period. Because of that, I assumed they could do that to Rasin, Amond and the rest of them.**

**Q: ****Pui Pui notices that Machen is much weaker than him. Is that his narcissism talking, or was that true? If so... how did they draw? Regardless, nice Star Wars reference XD.**

**A: Somewhat both. Remember that Pui Pui is stronger than Putzen who is stronger than Machen. Provided both were at full power, Pui Pui would've handed Machen his ass. That being said, he wasn't and the result of the battle was a draw. Our favorite zoonian underestimated how damaged he was. **

**Q: ****Goku being stealthy, that's something new! I Lol'd at this: "Good Goku," congratulated Merken. May as well said "Good boy! If you make it out alive you're getting a treat," Even though that was unintentional, it was still a pretty funny way to see it. (pointer39)**

**A: XD. Yah that is one way of looking at that passage. **

**Q: ****However, I'm surprised that Frieza didn't notice that one of the only planets that could be a threat to him was being assigned to Vegeta. He might be lazy and do little himself, but he's still not a moron (Ultimate Black Ace).**

**A: Well, the power of the Zoonian king (which turned out to not be a legend) was simply a myth to Frieza. But regardless, he sent Vegeta because he didn't have anybody else remotely qualified outside of himself. And he didn't view them as a big enough deal to get involved. This was some reasoning I didn't talk about in the chapter and for that I apologize. **

**Q: Interesting insights into Raditz's character. Although, if your Raditz is squeamish about killing, why would he go out of his way to kill the injured soldier? Or did he consider it as a mercy kill? (Ultimate Black Ace)**

**A: As said in my PM, it was less about mercy and more about being a good soldier. He didn't want to risk any of them surviving and the rest of Turles's corps accidentally discovering them. Slacking off on your first day on the job is no way to get an impression.**

**Q: ****Hey good story so far just can you please put the power levels of Badens crew and how strong is goku with the penultimate kaioken? (DtotheZ)**

**A: I don't really like doing power levels so I'm afraid they won't be in CD. As for your questions, all of Baden's crew are somewhere in a spectrum of power between one and ten million. As for Goku with his penultimate power-up, he's approximately ten thousand. Yah, our hero has some catching up to do. **


	17. Ambuscade

The battle at the prison hadn't stopped when Vegeta was tranquilized nor did it reengage when Vegeta transformed. Although Vegeta's ascension to mega-monkey was most definitely the turning point, Jabbar and the others had been very hard at work during that time. Prison riots aren't exactly calm things, somebody needed to be around to consolidate inmates and make sure disorder and chaos wasn't invading the front-lines. They stood no chance unless they were completely unified.

Vegeta's ascension though had changed their strategy immensely. For starters, the Saiyan in about ten seconds had taken out fortifications and defensive bulwarks that had hampered their efforts immensely beforehand. No longer did they have to cower from machine gun nests or game plan to storm a building. They did have to cower from a rabid monkey, but that was slightly different.

Another thing of note was that the definition of the phrase safe distance had to be redefined. Towering well over every building in the complex, Vegeta was able and willing to destroy everything in his sight. Once safe havens, many of those same fortifications became the first things to fall once Vegeta became fully aware of the power of his wrath. It became immediately clear that no one place was entirely safe.

Well except for one. And, unremarkably, this was where Dr Myuu and Jabbar had decided to take residence during Vegeta's rampage. Having unified his people well before Vegeta's ascension, the man was already bunkered down when the climatic event occurred. Now the man was patiently waiting for Myuu to weave through the danger zone and join him.

Soon enough, the Uyyasidian heard a knock on the door. Getting up and approaching the portal, the inmate grabbed hold of the doorknob and pulled open the door.

Sauntering in stoically, Dr Myuu casually slammed the door to the insulated room shut. Moving his head slightly to his side, the mustached man addressed his fellow conspirator. "I assume this hideout is in a secure and well hidden location, correct?"

"Yes," stated Jabbar, having personally selected this room to bunker down in while all hell broke loose on the outside. Virtually unknown to all but the highest officers in charge of the prison, the room Myuu and Jabbar were in was only meant to be used in case of an extreme emergency—such as what they were dealing with now. Built within a secret mine shaft underneath the executive office building of the penitentiary, the vault-like room they were quartered in was designed to avoid detection and be entirely self-sustaining during serious insurgencies. Having reviewed the schematics of the room before their meeting, Myuu had deduced that the site was sturdy enough to sequester him.

"Hmph," replied Myuu, walking over to a leather couch and taking a seat. Noticing an open bottle of cognac on an oak table, the doctor grabbed the bottle and poured the clear fluid into a champagne glass. Taking a swig of the alcohol, the male leaned his back onto the leathery couch and slid his off hand across the side of the sofa.

Approaching the oak table, Jabbar also poured himself a bit of the cognac for himself as well. Like his colleague, the Uyyasidian also took a drink, although he opted to remain standing while doing so. Savoring the refined taste of the liquor for a moment, the man closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. "What exactly did you do to him?"

Myuu didn't need to ask who Jabbar was referring to. "That is none of your concern. I made the modifications to his anatomy that I felt were necessary. You don't need to know the specifics of what I did for you to do your job."

"Fair enough," responded the former prisoner, bending down to retrieve the remote that also happened to have been placed on the same oak table. Flicking on the television monitor in the far corner of the room, the man toggled through the external inputs and pressed on an input that showed a split-screen projection of the battle raging outside via a closed circuit network of camera feeds interspersed throughout the compound.

Sitting down besides the good doc, Jabbar sipped his beverage as he and Myuu kept their eyes on the television. Vegeta's performance up to that point had been disappointing, but sufficient. He certainly didn't know how to stay on his feet for sure, and this was against the king's personal lackeys. What was going to happen when the cavalry came?

Once the king entered the fray, Jabbar couldn't lie and say that a bead of sweat didn't roll down his back. So far he had been underwhelmed by the mighty Oozaru, and he couldn't afford having the Uyyasidian king win this battle. "Surely there must be more to Vegeta's power than this?"

"Of course," answered Myuu, unperturbed by Vegeta's apparent struggles up to that point. "Not naturally, but there is more to Vegeta now than even he knows."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, the man slowly shook his head. Vegeta wasn't fairing too well, and…was the Uyyasidian in his mouth. Yah, he didn't like this. "Well, he better activate this power soon. He's getting his ass kicked otherwise.

Pulling out a remote from one of the pockets of his jacket, the blue-skinned doctor pressed the button on the center of the device. Almost instantly, Vegeta's fur became to burn red and his power skyrocketed. Seeing Jabbar's shocked face out of the corner of his eye, the doctor smirked. "You could say though, that Vegeta isn't entirely Saiyan now however."

Jabbar, like Myuu before him, didn't need to ask what Myuu meant by wasn't entirely Saiyan. The reddish-orange hue of the monkey's fur resolved his confusion.

* * *

Traje sighed. That in and of itself wasn't puzzling. Complaining and useless fretting had always been one of Traje's consistent idiosyncrasies. Even he admitted that he alienated people with it, but it wasn't like cared much one way or another. Maintaining a vainglorious reputation was bothersome—it required too much work.

Looking around the ruined hangar, the lone Saiyan yawned languidly. Peace and quiet, finally. Machen had even done him the service of knocking himself out. What luck!

Alas, all good things had to come to end sooner rather than later. During Machen's feud with Pui Pui, the spiky-haired Saiyan had messaged Spiesen to get his butt over here and prepare for their return. Given the time elapsed, the lazy alien presumed that his quiet environment was going to be interrupted.

Savoring that very last moment of serenity, the Mohawk-adorned lad sauntered over to his comatose brother and picked him up by his arm. Throwing the limp male's weight onto his back, the lazy Saiyan secured his brother in place by sliding his arm around the back of the other male's waist.

As predicted, it wasn't long after that their ship made an appearance. Breaking through the hangar, the sleek cruiser stopped on a dime and hovered in place for a split second before cautiously lowering itself onto the floor. After a couple moments of tense silence, the ship's hatch opened and out walked Spiesen.

"Damn, you guys really did a number to this place," remarked the ship operator, his eyes scanning through the entire room as if he was searching for something. "Must've been one hell of a fight."

"It was," stated Traje, not really interested in summarizing the comings and goings of the battle. It wasn't his job to do that, and he had no interest in doing things he wasn't being ordered to do. Shifting his position and hold over Machen, the spiky-haired teen handed his older brother off to Spiesen. "He's your headache now."

"Okay then," muttered Spiesen crossly, not exactly happy that Traje was curbing his issues onto him. He wasn't surprised though. History did say this was in his cousin's past. Traje was an excellent delegator—very good at distributing work in way that allowed him to contribute nothing personally.

Leisurely strolling back into the heart of the room, the Mohawk-adorned Saiyan quickly weaved his way through the battlefield to where he had left Putzen. The seventeen year old was definitely a sight for sore eyes. Poor kid was so acutely ki poisoned that Traje had to wonder if the rejuvenation tank was going to be enough. It had to be though; it wasn't like there were doctors in the area that could treat him. `This is what happens when you try to do too much.'

Hoisting the sickly male onto his back, Traje casually walked all the way back to the ship. Spiesen, having already deposited Machen somewhere on the ship, was already waiting on standby when Traje got back. Together, the two royal's boarded the ship and prepped their rejuvenation tank for its needy visitor.

Once they were done prepping Putzen, the two placed the other boy in the tank and let the healing salve work its magic. And with that final task completed, the Saiyan gang was ready for extradition.

Moving back to his normal post, Spiesen engaged the thrusters and turned on the ship's engine. Within moments, the cruiser was off the ground and spiraling away from Frieza's death ship. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to ever do this again.

Almost eight hours had pasted and the foursome was out of harm's way. Deep in a neighboring asteroid belt, Spiesen had landed his ship on one of the immense space rocks and was confident that they could avoid detection for the time being. Security concerns answered for the moment, the crew could turn and distract themselves with another issue.

What were they going to do about Erinnern and Merken?

Neither of the two had contacted them for the longest time. Erinnern was somewhat plausible. The nine-year old was a headcase that had a track record for biting off more than he could chew. Attempting to fight Frieza may've been recklessly stupid, but it was up to par with his past decision making. It was very likely that they'd have no way to contact him. Therefore there was no point in worrying about him too much.

Merken was a different story. He was a very cautious, careful person. Not very likely to do something impulsive and get himself in a position he couldn't handle. For Merken to go dark, something very bad must've happened.

From there, the gang could deduce only two courses of action: leave their younger family members to fend for themselves or return to the lion's den and try to get them back by any means necessary.

Unsurprisingly, feelings were divided over what to do. Traje was adamant about leaving Merken and Erinnern to their own devices while Spiesen was just as stubborn about returning and rescuing them. Machen, who had woken up a couple hours ago with a migraine and a possible concussion, was entirely clueless on what he wanted. And as for Putzen, he was still in the rejuvenation tank. Cursory scans had proven that the ki poisoning was gone but the other three Saiyans had elected to keep him there so he could regain his full strength in case they needed it at a later time. Therefore, he had no vote on all this. Needless to say, the conversation got a bit heated.

"What do you mean just leave them be?" asked Spiesen, his wording extremely sharp even if his tone was somewhat subdued. He wasn't going to take no for an answer on this. "Are you recommending that we abandon your brothers behind enemy lines?"

Traje was not unnerved by Spiesen's blunt rebuke. He was not going back into that mess regardless of what Spiesen thought. "Sadly, yes. It would be far too dangerous to return into that mess the way things are now. Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good."

Raising his eyebrow skeptically, Spiesen felt an undercurrent of anger built up in his veins, threatening to burst out. He knew Traje's real reasons, and they were by no means as altruistic or as practical as his cousin was claiming. He wasn't going to simply let Traje take the moral high ground without a fight. "Greater good? What a load of bullshit and you know it. You just don't want to get involved again."

Snorting derisibly, Traje began to scratch behind his ear for a moment before returning to the debate. "Of course I have selfish reasons for wanting to let them figure out their own mess. You do too if you couldn't figure it out. The difference is that what I want won't endanger us all. Erinnern and Merken aren't the only people on this ship, you know. A foolhardy attempt to rescue those two will also compromise my safety, your safety, Putzen's safety and Machen's safety. Two lives aren't worth the lives of four, do the math."

"So that's it, huh?" questioned Spiesen, his temper almost reaching its boiling point. "You'll gladly throw away two lives if it means four lives _might _die. I'll be sure to remember that when you're in their position. After all, I'm sure you'd approve of us leaving you to fight to the death while we scramble back to god knows where with our tails beneath our legs."

"Hypothetical scenarios like that will never come to pass," stated Traje, rolling his eyes like the teenager he was. "Unlike Merken and Erinnern, I never put myself in positions where my life can be taken from me. Therefore, I don't see how such a comparison is valid."

Rolling his eyes in return, Spiesen wanted to slam his fists straight through the oak table. Thankfully though, he was still in control of himself. "Oh please, don't flatter yourself Traje. There's a reason why Putzen and Machen always accompany you on missions. You're sloppy. You make bony-headed errors because you can't be bothered to invest any real work in what you do. And you've never even tried to change this. In fact, I'm willing to wager my life that you never checked to see if the enemy Putzen and Machen almost died against actually died. One of these days, those mistakes _will _come back to haunt you."

Silence filtered through the room. Although Spiesen's ad hominem attacks were biting, they were very true. Traje never did look to see if Pui Pui was dead. He just assumed he was. But it wasn't like he was going to admit that and concede the point. "Whatever, you're just evading the point. We don't have a clue where Erinnern and Merken are. We don't know if they are dead and thereby wasting our time. Whether they've already found alternate means of transportation thereby wasting our time again. Without any real knowledge of what's going on, charging in guns ablazing will accomplish nothing and risk everything."

"Fair point," conceded Spiesen, his tone lowering a bit. But that didn't mean that he was close to being calm nor about to surrender his argument. "But all you're doing is making excuses. Information can be retrieved if you know where to look, and I think you do. Yet again though, why aren't you? It requires work. Heaven forbid that you actually have to put in some effort. Now that just isn't your style, now isn't it Traje?"

"Forgive me," countered Traje sarcastically, his normally blunt manner of speech becoming even blunter than normal as a trace of agitation reverberated through his voice. "I didn't realize saving children from themselves had become my responsibility. You'll have to pardon me for my neglect." Spiesen didn't need to be told that Traje's apology was insincere.

"Stop beating around the bush," accused the thirteen year old, his face becoming redder and crosser by the minute. "You won't help because you're too lazy too—there's no other reason and you know it. Sarcasm can't mask that."

Snorting dismissively, the fifteen year Saiyan turned away from his accuser and looked down at the floor. Leveling his head again, the humanoid scoffed bitterly. "So? You're going to need to try harder if you're going to make me budge."

"Who said I was trying to convince you?" replied Spiesen haughtily, dismissing the notion with a symbolic flick of his wrist. Aiming his other index finger straight at Traje's face, the obese male smirked. "Nope. You've misread me again, Traje. I only have two objectives: one, to bring you down to reality. If you want to leave behind Erinnern and Merken, you're going to have to accept your notion was _entirely _centered in self-interest. Pure selfishness and nothing more. And number two: to convince the other Saiyan in the room that my beliefs are just.

Throughout the heated argument between Traje and Spiesen, Machen had been sitting as well nursing a migraine. Pressing his fingernails into the bridge of his nose, the twenty year old tried futilely to alleviate the pressure and pain ringing through his head. And the heated discussion exploding around him wasn't helping much to contain his headache.

"Shut up, the both of you," growled out Machen, slamming his head straight into the desk hoping that the contact would distract him from his current issues. He wasn't well enough to contribute to the pissing match as he normally could sadly.

The heated debate ceased shortly afterwards. Emotions were at an all-time high and nobody really wanted to piss off Machen when he felt like shit. That just wasn't a smart idea.

Returning to his normal post, Spiesen reactivated the thrusters and prepared the ship to take off again. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, the mere sight of Traje's lanky form was enough to infuriate him. He and the abnormally spiky-haired boy had a rather tumultuous history together; one that had been budding long before their current argument. Granted, it was nothing too dramatic—fairly petty really—but neither had ever really gotten along. He was like water while Traje was like oil. They just couldn't be mixed together.

Looking at his reflection through the mirror, the thirteen year old sighed bitterly. Obesity was a confounding thing to Saiyans, especially him. Saiyan metabolisms made unhealthy conditions like obesity entirely inconceivable. And when people don't understand why somebody is different, the first thing they do is attack.

He had put up with a lot of abuse during his younger days. Connecting with other children, who were often obsessed with conformity and being uniform, was hard when the differences between yourself and them were that stark. Needless to say, common playground insults were more than once flung in his direction on more than one occasion. Fortunately though, his noble status also provoked enough fear that nobody was willing to escalate their actions past petty insults.

Not like that mattered much. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words could never hurt you? What a bunch of crock. Words could, and in the wrong hands, certainly hurt. However, what was once a bitter thought after a humiliating rejection now was something he lived by. His claim to fame.

As he grew older, Spiesen grew a harder hide and an even sharper tongue. Although no slouch in combat either, the fat Saiyan realized that his true skills were based in persuasion and psychological warfare. Given enough time and motivation, along with a more than generous amount of coercive force, he earnestly believed he could break or change anybody in any way he so willed. At least so far, he had never run into a person he couldn't convince to do something since he had mastered his craft.

Glancing at Traje for a quick second, the thirteen year old sighed again. Traje wasn't very expressive but Spiesen could easily discern that he partially shaken up by his tirade on his person. Taking a deep breath, the thirteen year old warded off a small nudge of remorse for his older cousin. He really didn't like resorting to the tactics his former bullies used on him, but he saw no other way for Traje to see the forest from the trees.

As he was about to finish his thought, Spiesen was jolted out of his reverie by a call coming through the ship's transceiver. Knowing the implications of the call implicitly, Spiesen quickly moved the call to speaker and answered. "Erinnern? Merken? Are either of you there."

"Yes, it's me Erinnern," replied Erinnern, his voice sounding rather off. If Spiesen was forced to guess, he'd assume the younger Saiyan sounded both hoarse and winded simultaneously. Understandable given he somehow survived a fight against Frieza. "Where are you? And do you know where Merken is?"

"Spiesen, I don't know where I am!" exclaimed Erinnern, willing his voice to blow past its hoarseness. "And Merken had to be hospitalized!"

"Calm down, Erinnern," hushed Spiesen, trying to keep his voice low, gentle and soothing. The thirteen year old could practically fell the dread and anxiety flowing through Erinnern's maw, paralyzing the young boy. He needed to regain control before they could proceed any farther, and shouting down the clearly frightened nine year old wasn't going to do him much good. "Now, tell me what happened."

Trying to keep himself from becoming too unsettled, Erinnern took a long, laborious deep breath, hoping that the exercise would stop him from boiling over. It did the trick for the time being. "Me and Frieza were fighting, and I foolishly let him transform into his final form and beat me into the ground. Satisfied with my defeat, the tyrant powered up an immense finishing attack—one surely to finish me off once and for all. I had nothing to counteract this attack and I was swallowed up. Right about when I was going to be dissolved, Merken comes out of nowhere and spirits me away to god knows where."

Having recited his impromptu narrative in almost one full breath, the disturbed child took the natural pause as a nudge to breathe. Taking another deep breath, Erinnern recommenced his narrative after the action. "But that wasn't the bad part. When I woke up, all I could hear Merken's screams and I discovered that his arm had been grievous injured. Willing myself onto my feet, I grabbed my brother and scurried away to scavenge around for a doctor that would be willing to heal him. I did, but he said Merken would have to lose his arm. He's going to lose his arm, Spiesen!"

"Erinnern, get yourself together!" interrupted Spiesen, speaking more assertively this time. He couldn't let his cousin lose himself to his troubles, not yet. "Who is this doctor? And where was he stationed."

"Malaka," squeaked out Erinnern, his tone feeble and trembling as his self-incriminating thought pattern began to buffet him from all sides. "And I don't remember where this medical bay was."

`Good lord,' complained Spiesen internally. Trying to dig information out of Erinnern the way he was now was like pulling teeth. "Can you get me this information, Erinnern?"

Muffled but audible, Erinnern accepted Spiesen's request. "I'll do what I can. I'll message you when I find thw infirmary." And with that, the two broke off communication.

Turning his chair around, Spiesen grinned smugly at Traje, hoping to unnerve the male a little. "What'd you think about that? Now that we will soon find out where they are, what's your next excuse?"

"But you don't know," accused Traje, keeping his tone placid. After the last argument with Spiesen, he really didn't want to get in another. For one, he never liked doing much of anything. Arguing with somebody like Spiesen was mentally exhausting. Two, he really wasn't in the mood to get verbally hailed again. "Until we hear back from Erinnern, we're still flying blind."

Spiesen smirked. Although Traje was still refuting his points, there was something…appeasing in his tone. Like he wasn't meaning to offend or push the envelope. He knew such behavior well. It was common when people were unsure and destabilized. When they're questioning their entire way of life and whether they needed to rethink whether the life they were living was an honest one. They were distressed and vulnerable.

And it was in these moments predators like him preyed on their targets. Jumping out of his seated position, Spiesen crossed the bridge of the ship and approached Traje. "You and I both well know that Erinnern is a professional. If he could survive the wrath of somebody like Frieza, he sure as hell could find out where he is. As said before, if you want to find an excuse to justify your cowardice, apathy and betrayal, then you're going to need something a bit more convincing."

Spiesen was almost shocked to see the borderline smoldering look that Traje was giving him. Even more remarkably, he was trying and failing to hide it. For the normally lazy Saiyan to be having a hard time controlling his temper, he must have been extraordinarily upset. "Betrayal, Spiesen. Really? Erinnern dug his own grave by appeasing his hubris and challenging Frieza. He made his bed and he either needs to sleep in it or jump out while he still can."

"Merken's situation, although tragic, is still not our problem. He, by his own actions and decisions, _chose _to risk his life and spare Erinnern from his own stupidity. I doubt he'd want anybody else risking their life to save him," declared Traje, a twinge of disdain hidden in his voice. Pride, especially hubristic pride, annoyed him. Not enough to actually do anything about it—heaven forbid that. Nevertheless, decisions that were rooted in self-conceit troubled him. They were in essence making him work to please their own need for glory, power or greed. And Traje abhorred work that only aided others in spite of himself.

Any feeling of remorse Spiesen felt for what he did to Traje before died away, replaced by an immense budding ire. Despite the age difference, Erinnern and Merken were his closest friends. At times, they were the only people standing between him and his own self-depreciating frustration. He could bear a brunt of personal attacks on his own person, but the minute Erinnern and Merken were thrown in, he felt no compunction to hold back.

"First of all," commented Spiesen, his voice low seething with explosive volatility. It was clear an eruption was imminent. "You don't know Erinnern or Merken nearly as well as I do, so don't you dare pretend to patronize me on people of whom I know infinitely better than you. Erinnern and Merken are people I've spend time with, people I've gotten to know. Traje—I sincerely doubt you've spent even five minutes with either of them; you wouldn't have insulted them as you did if you had."

"Erinnern makes mistakes, Merken makes mistakes. Your point? Perhaps they did something stupid, perhaps they compromised us in a way that makes _you _uncomfortable. But you know what Traje? People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. We have to compensate for your shortcomings far more than your younger brothers combined."

By this point, Spiesen's face was puffed up and colored like a piece of raw meat. Dramatically pausing, the thirteen year old slammed his fists into the table, making a marked indent in the piece of wooden furniture. "You don't care about anything Traje, and it shows. Do you have any clue how often we have to disregard good plans, plans that could have prevented catastrophes such as this, because we can't trust you to do your job?"

Still on the attack, Spiesen strolled over to his frozen brother side. Turning, the sadistic thirteen year gave the older male a rather sick smirk. "Do you know why Erinnern was given the position he was, Traje? Because we couldn't trust you to not fuck it up. Your track record with posts where somebody isn't around to babysit your screw ups is putrid. And you want to know what is truly disgusting? These mistakes are because you don't care enough, not because you're incompetent. In the end, you're just a prodigious waste of space: good for nothing because you are content to _be _nothing."

Giving his apathetic cousin the evil eye, Spiesen scoffed at his cousin's statue-like reaction. "But I know you don't truly care. That's you gig, isn't it Traje? You don't care, about anything really. There no limit to how much you'll make others _suffer _so long as it means less work for you. You're nothing but a parasite that leeches off the hard work of the others around you. And I'm positive you don't have a problem with that."

Traje didn't physically react, but Spiesen knew better. His cousin's chests seemed to alternate between almost between being inertly suspended and heaving hard. Feeling out his blood relation's spirit, the interrogator sensed that his cousin's ki felt skittish and anxious. It was very clear he wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Probably to conserve whatever remained of his beliefs and set of moral customs. If he was going to knock Traje off his pedestal permanently, now was the time.

"Traje, as you stand right now, you are a wretched person who is willing to sell the soul of his brothers just because you're too lazy to help fight for them. That's the depths of your ignoble apathy, your own particular type of greed. If that is what you want to be, then nobody can help you but we most certainly can stop you. I will not stand by and let a lazy slacker with no aspirations sell the souls of his brothers! And if you have a problem with it, you will say it to my face right now. Do you have a problem with this?"

His heart practically stopping, Traje just couldn't find the conviction to say no. "Do what you want."

Smirking, Spiesen reciprocated. "Perfect."

* * *

The Uyyasidian king couldn't help but observe Vegeta's second transformation in abject horror. The fiend's power level just kept rising, along with the plume of red ki that wafted up into the atmosphere, darkening the orange horizon. The intensity of its metamorphosis was so destructive that the tendrils of its ki broke apart the stone masonry of the prison, crushing apart the rock into a fine beige powder that billowed into the opaque sky.

"Rah!" Thrusting his hands upwards, the sovereign had to shield his eyes when the bubble of ki insulating his foe burst, ejecting a wave of energy that washed over his form like a tidal wave. Pushed back by the force, the ruler slowly slid his hand back away from his face to scan the situation as the smoke obscuring his massive foe's form dissipated.

It didn't take a genius to figure out something had changed. The monkey's fur was reddish-orange for Christ sake. Evidently something rotten had happened, and it didn't require a brilliant mind to realize that the ape was vastly stronger now than it was before, which was very bad for him and his people. Uyyasidian extinction was not a cataclysmic event he wanted to be remembered—or forgotten—for.

Even more shocking was the eminent source of the new energy. He was the Uyyasidian king, the most advanced user of the Kaioken in recent history. He knew the signs and he knew the ki trail, and it was clear to him that the monkey was using some perverse form of it. But how the Oozaru gained the ability confused him. With the soul exception of the penultimate Kaioken, there was no way to properly learn the Kaioken unless you had some Uyyasidian blood. At least from what he learned anyway, and it was clear that he wasn't facing anybody with even a drop of Uyyasidian DNA. The issue confounded him.

Regardless, he didn't have time to sort through enigmatic power-ups. Ostensibly, the monkey did know the technique, and it wouldn't need much else to win if he didn't find a way to survive the brunt of its incoming onslaught.

Sifting through his pockets, the sovereign grabbed a small, unlabeled carton. Opening up the container, the glassy-skinned being swallowed the potion inside the vessel and instantly felt his energy swell back to maximum strength. Experience had proven to him that going into battle without a way to replenish your energy at least once on the fly was foolish. And today had done nothing but affirm his view on the subject.

Flaring his ki in retaliation, the monarch ascended into the air and remained content to let his bulky opponent make the first move. Kaioken's, regardless of the mystery surrounding its presence, were always strenuous techniques that took years of training and honing to sustain for long periods of time. For the moment, the Uyyasidian was willing to admit that he was the weaker party, but he was confident that his foe would eventually tire out and then he would go in for the kill.

"You're going to pay for that with more than just your life!" boomed Vegeta, swiping at his pesky fly of an enemy. Dodging to the left, the wiry royal ducked underneath the hairy arm and grabbed hold of one of the beast's fingers.

Dangling by the edge of the appendage, the man held on for dear life as his much larger combatant tried to shake him off its finger. Sensing a clear pathway emerge during the monkey's foundering, the king let go of the finger and charged underneath the brawny ape. Gathering energy in his palm, the king opened fire on the monkey's armpit, scoring a direct hit.

Roaring contemptuously, Vegeta flung his hands up and flared his ki around him, blowing his tiny enemy away from him. Swinging his arm back, the pissed off Saiyan brought his fist down and lowered the boom on his pesky rival, sending the royal flying straight into ground forming a small crater into the rocky soil.

Poised to end the fight then and there, the giant ape lifted his leg and tried to stomp down on the king's prone body. However, in the nick of time, the king rolled out of the crater right before Vegeta flattened it. Ascending back into the air, the king maneuvered himself away behind Vegeta's back and blasted away at the small of the ape's posterior.

Growling at the petty assault, Vegeta spun around and tried to knock the Uyyasidian right out of the air with an arm bar. Flipping away from the initial attack, the cyan hued fighter wasn't prepared for the beast's other palm to collide face-first into him, propelling him into one of the adjoining mountainsides.

Opening his mouth, Vegeta fired a massive mouth beam at the victimized mountain, hoping to shred through his foe for once and for all. Unable to see clearly through all the rubble in time, the royal looked on hopelessly as the beam neared him…and missed.

As it turned out, the mountain caved in almost immediately after it received its unexpected "visitor." Predictably, when tons of rock collapse under immense strain, a plume of dust and debris rise to obscure the impending ruin from sight. Assuming that his prey was still trapped at the top of the mountain, Vegeta fired his beam towards the tip of the mountain, unaware that his assumption was going to let the Uyyasidian escape unharmed.

Thanking whatever deity he believed in for his good fortune, the Uyyasidian sovereign cleared the rubble off his body and silently escaped through the smokescreen unseen and unheard. Uninterested in returning to the battle immediately, the alien opted to shelter in the ruins of the prison and wait out his enemy's bloviating.

Vegeta, like the big blowhard he was, made sure that he rubbed in his "victory" well. The burly ape made sure that every conceivable insult, degrading remark and taunt imaginable was bestowed upon his dead foe. It would be a lie to say that the Uyyasidian was pleased. He wanted to wipe that smug smile off the beast's face so badly, but even he knew how stupid it would be to reveal himself now. He had both the element of surprise and a rare opportunity to rest and replenish his energy in the heat of battle. Only a fool would blow be brazen enough to reject such an opportunity.

Observing his brusque foe from a distance, the king was surprised by how easily Vegeta seemed to be maintaining its Kaioken form. Shock pertaining to the monkey even knowing it not withstanding, it was very unsustainable even to a master in it from the species that created it. Nobody, especially not some mangy ape, should've been capable of wielding its power with such ease. There was no logic in what reality was telling him.

Tired of waiting for his opponent to falter, the Uyyasidian ascended out of his hiding spot and reappeared above the ape. Summoning an orb of ki, the man volleyed the sphere straight into the scruff of the beast's neck.

"Rah!" roared the ape, taken by surprise by the sneak attack. Twirling around, the ape looked positively floored when his dead enemy appeared to have risen from the dead. "What? I killed you!"

"Not quite," bantered back the monarch, his own smug smirk on full display. Disappearing from view, the alien rematerialized on top of the ape's head and whacked the beast straight on the dome of its noggin. Disbelievingly though, Vegeta wasn't even fazed by his puny foe's assault.

"Is that all you can do? You're pathetic!" ridiculed Vegeta, his smirk on full display.

Flying away hurriedly before Vegeta could swat him off his body like a fly, the king fired another blast into the monkey's temple as he accelerated away. Hitting directly, the alien royal couldn't have been more disappointed when the attack practically bounced off his foe, doing no damage whatsoever.

Incensed by his apparent helplessness, the king stopped trying to retreat and charged in and began to pummel the burly ape with his fists. Punch, punch. Kick, kick. The ruler tried every imaginable combinations of attacks—anything that could even make the Saiyan falter or stumble. But he was going nowhere. Vegeta wasn't even responding to his attack, just allowing him to futilely try and harm him unsuccessfully.

`Damn, what am I to do to combat this thing. If only he'd—' Just as the ruler was about to finish his thought, the beast's hand came down upon him and send the native male tumbling into the ground again.

Right as the king was about to pick himself back up, Vegeta fired a blast straight at the ground to his side, blowing the ruler the helpless fighter cross the ruined prison into a stone wall. Bouncing off the masonry, the nobleman heaved up a clot of yellow blood on the disheveled ground.

"So this is all the fight you got?" jeered Vegeta, staring down at the weakened man contemptuously. Howling savagely when the man puked up blood, the monkey crossed its arms across its chest. "God, you're so weak."

Nursing his ever growing migraine, the king slammed his fists straight into the ground. `How in the name of god am I supposed to fight this thing? How? No matter how hard I hit, or how much energy I throw into my blasts, there's nothing I can do.'

"Here, let me help you up!" cackled the ape, swooping down and picking up the glassy skinned royal. Bringing the male up to eye level, Vegeta sneered as he wrapped both of his hands around the man. Applying pressure to the helpless Uyyasidian's back, the ape howled as his foe began to scream unrepentantly.

"And you thought you could compete with the Prince of All Saiyans!" taunted Vegeta, applying more pressure to his enemy's back so that his enemy would scream even louder. With a sickening crunch, the monster roared when his foe's back broke. "Well, I guess you found out how deluded you really are."

Cocooning the broken man in his palm, Vegeta chucked the man through a severed guard tower and into a stone gray prison yard. Back broken, the king was forced to lie in the open field as his foe loomed over him, prepared to euthanize him then and there.

Fate was a tricky thing. The king didn't know when his entire life had seamlessly unraveled. When circumstance had conspired to take him down. He could remember just talking to his son no less than a day ago about the inevitability of fate, but he didn't truly understand the helplessness of it until now. What happened? And why did it deem that his time to go was so soon and so sudden?

And these answers were ones he'd never contemplate. For in a forth moment, the world went dark for him. Permanently.

* * *

`There's something wrong here.' Weaklings didn't survive long by being stupid; that was a well-established fact in Frieza's empire. Coward he was, but Raditz had lived through enough life or death engagements to know when something was awry. Surrounded by canyon like bluffs of ice, Raditz was unnerved by the tense atmosphere. This was the perfect place for an ambush, and he more than remembered the fact they had rivals. Strong rivals.

Keeping his thoughts quiet, Raditz opted not to tell Turles of his suspicions. He may've been a coward, but he didn't want to give Turles the impression he was one. Regardless, he was confident that nobody would try something as long as he was being extra vigilant.

Oh how wrong he was there. Oh how he wished that he hadn't kept his thoughts to himself.

It happened almost before the long-haired Saiyan could even blink. One diving down from the top of glacier while the other sprung up from the arctic water, the motley trio were hardly prepared for the ambush.

Uncoiling his yellow whip, the green sprightly alien lashed out at Piccolo, striking the dwarf and electrocuting him. Unconscious instantly, the Namekian was sent plunging straight into the glacial sea.

The suddenness of the assault jolted Turles into action, causing him to divert his attention away from the pack that contained the Dragon Balls. Smirking absentmindedly, the pink machine swiveled off course and snatched hold of the pack to the Saiyan's brief bewilderment. Taking advantage of his foes involuntary flinch, the brutish machine extended its hand forward and unleashed its finishing attack. But instead of launching an apocalyptic fireball of doom, like so many other final blows were, the only thing to come out of the bio men's hands was a thin icy breeze.

Exposed to the chilling wind, Turles soon found himself being coated in ice. Yet unlike normal ice, Turles soon found that the solid chunk of water had completely immobilized him. He couldn't move; he couldn't even breathe. Despite his best and for the most part non-existent effort, the man soon found himself up to his eyeballs in the stuff, literally.

Both machines turned to strike Raditz next. Whip and ice attack at the ready, the fearsome duo prepared themselves to the finish the job.

Raditz was having none of it. Having recovered from the initial assault in record time, the long-haired Saiyan encircled himself in a ki-made force field and braved their assault. Snarling openly, the Saiyan released the attack in a display of explosive brilliance when he felt the coast was clear. Blowing back the two ambushers, the explosive release sent Piccolo and Turles's stiff forms deep into two opposite facing ice bluffs.

Pink machine communicating non-verbally with the green one, they both came to conclusion that the pink one had to get the Dragon Balls back to the master. Without pomp or fanfare, the pink bot powered up and attempted to get out of Dodge.

Raditz let him. Knowing that pursuit would leave him open to a counter attack, the tall male simply let the taller attacker go. Resolving himself to the hunt later, Raditz glared hatefully at the other green bot.

"You are going to pay for this," growled the hairy-Saiyan, his face contorted and angry.

Registering Raditz's threat as unsubstantial, the green machine strafed around Raditz while ascending in height. Keeping himself up to eye level with his pesky foe, Raditz waited patiently for a moment to strike out. Pissed off or not, the man still knew that one wrong move and he'd get electrocuted just like the green bean.

Leveling off, the smallest bio-men retreated onto the ice bluff and then stopped. Lifting its head up, the conjured being began to wait patiently for his opponent to make the first move.

He certainly didn't have to wait long. Winding up his arm like he was about to throw a baseball, Raditz generated a palm-full of lethal purple ki within almost a half-a-second. Glowering demonically, the long-haired Saiyan quickly solidified the blast and pitched the thing at his foe as if it were baseball. "Saturday Crush!"

Aimed specifically at the slab of ice beneath his foe's feet, the special attack hit that exact spot with lethal precision. Breaking apart the supporting slab within nanoseconds, the blast knocked Raditz's foe off its equilibrium and, to make matters worse, the subsequent cloud of water vapor created by the explosion obscured the fiend's line of sight.

Seeing a chance present itself, Raditz darted through the smokescreen and slide tackled his off kilter foe deep into the icy mound. Powering up a series of blasts, the former PTO soldier proceeded to shell the crater his adversary made when it was sent barreling into the bluff.

Volley after volley, cannonade after cannonade, shot after shot. Raditz cared not how much energy it took to kill his foe as long as he did. He cared not if he was expending too much energy or if his efforts were putting Piccolo, whom had been blown into the icy crag, in unnecessary danger. If he could prove to himself that he could win, that he could prevail, then nothing else mattered.

A half-minute later, Raditz ceased his bombardment. Slightly winded, the Saiyan looked on at the smoking crater with a look of nervous excitement. He wanted, so desperately needed, to have his shot at glory.

The smoke cleared. The bastard didn't look to be badly hurt. `Drat,' muttered Raditz to himself, reigning in his emotions so that they wouldn't be expressed on his face. He couldn't let this bastard get to him.

Lowering his stance, Raditz sunk himself into a defensive position. He couldn't afford to wage another ineffective assault again. If he could just parry blows and dodge attacks, he assumed that he could actually regain some of his lost energy.

Planting its foot hard into the ice, the green bot pushed off on its entrenched foot and pounced on its much larger foe. Whipping out its charged whip, the bot cocked back its arm and prepared itself to fling the belt into Raditz's chest.

Hopping out of the lasso's range, Raditz quickly stomped on the whip and ducked below the machine's punching range. Capitalizing on his foe's vulnerability, Raditz flung his fist directly into his opponent's nose. Sensing another opportunity, the Saiyan fluidly slid in front of the imp's flank and pushed down on his stunned enemy's back while simultaneously clipping its legs out from under it.

Crashing into the ground, the stoic bot wasn't even given enough time to process anything clearly before a large boot was pressing itself into its skull. Turning its head upwards, the imp was greeted to a cold smile courtesy of Raditz as the behemoth applied more pressure to the dome of the green thing's head.

"Had enough, yet?" questioned the soldier, his sickening grin still on full blow display. Feeling his opponent squirm even more, the sentient animal applied even more force onto his adversary's head. "Apparently not, am I correct?"

Mustering a bit of leverage on its cat o' nine tails, the imp flicked its wrists and sent the belt on a crash course with Raditz's calves. Maintaining its stoic visage, the machine—as much an unfeeling machine could—hoped for its deception to go unnoticed.

Sensing the distortion in the wind at the last possible moment, Raditz elevated himself over the lethal weapon like he was jumping rope. Now vulnerable in the air, the long-haired behemoth was unprepared for the midget to jolt up and lash out at his heel, flipping himself upside-down in the process.

Upright and in the position to counterattack, the imp pulled its foot back and nailed Raditz square in the back with a brutal roundhouse kick.

Rocketed backwards, Raditz vaguely out of the corner of his eye saw his opponent give chase with that infernal whip. Adjusting his body position slightly so that his body was only just off the ground, the seasoned warrior abided his time and waited for his foe to wind up its little "toy."

Predictably, that was exactly what the bot did. Timing as tight as ever, Raditz suddenly planted his hands straight into the ground and pushed upwards, flipping himself right side up as he twirled just over the switch that indented the spot where his hands had been just before.

Locking eyes for half a second, the two warriors, out of reflex, fired ki blasts at one another from point blank range. On the same path, the two attacks collided and canceled each other out; but that wasn't before sending them both tumbling to the slick turf.

Upright almost immediately, Raditz and his insentient foe were back into each other's faces. Fight transforming into a melee, both discovered where their individual advantages lay. As a brawler and longtime energy user, Raditz held distinct advantages over his foe in close range and long range situations. Provided he could keep out of that infernal whip's way, he surmised that this fight was his.

His unfeeling enemy quickly read this fact as well. Its only advantage was the fact if it could score a direct hit with its whip, then his opponent was as good as dead. Calculating that staying mid-range of Raditz was the best option, the machine made great efforts to neither get too far away or too close to its dangerous foe.

Back in the battle, Raditz had been forced to duck underneath one of his foe's flailing whips. Seeing a clear path open up straight to the imp, the long-haired Saiyan charged into his smaller foe, ramming the midget in the process with his shoulder pointed like a spear.

Out of automated instinct, the green bio-men flipped out of his fall and cartwheeled away from a battle-finishing punch from his adversary. On his feet, the green machine flung his whip forward in a low sweeping arc.

In the trajectory of the whip, Raditz desperately tried to elevate himself over the fast-moving rod, narrowly avoiding the thing by a mere fraction of an inch. However, his actions had left him completely vulnerable from above and his foe wasn't going to let him get away unscathed.

Teleporting above the bulker man, the imp lifted his foot up and axe kicked the Saiyan in the small of his back, rocketing him back into the icy bluff. Analyzing the descent path of his sailing foe, the machine raised its hand and began to generate a blast with the same electrical qualities as its whip. If this blast struck, the bio-man was confident that the resulting electrocution would defeat if not kill his foe.

Pitching the blast, the machine wasn't prepared for his enemy combatant to right himself and evade the sphere altogether. Charging forward recklessly, Raditz summoned a blast of his own and was going to stop at nothing to see it detonate on his foe's face.

Pooling the orb on the underside of his hand, the long-haired Saiyan cocked his hand back and tried to lob the makeshift explosive straight into the imp.

Stretching its neck to the side, the bio-man let the attack pass right past him. Stoically watching his enemy's eyes twitch involuntarily, the machine conjured up another series of blasts and began to volley the attacks at the Saiyan.

Noticing the action, Raditz countered his foe's volley with his own. Flying into one another, each blast exploded and pushed their makers back. Undaunted in the least, both warriors kept on pouring the pressure on, hoping that somebody would slip up soon.

After almost thirty seconds of experiencing their blasts negate each other, both Raditz and his foe disengaged and charged through the smokescreen. If a blast struggle wouldn't break their stalemate, hopefully a melee in the middle of a smokescreen would.

No dice. Just like their blasts, their blind brawl devolved into a series of assaults that negated each other perfectly. At the rate they were going, nobody was going to win this war.

Powering up, both speedily flew out of the smoke and began to melee. Bodies a blur, the two streaked across the skies and slammed into each other at spontaneous intervals, their collisions reverberated through the icy archipelago hollowly, rocking the massive glaciers nearby gently.

Tired of the engagement, Raditz retreated away from the fight and descended down onto a rather uniform looking ice sheet. Agreeing subconsciously to the armistice, the green bio-man lowered itself to Raditz's eye level.

When the two crossed eyes, the imp broke their cease fire and tugged its whips straight at both Raditz's ankle and his neck simultaneously. Cleaving through the air, the midget suddenly realized that it had miscalculated the range of its whips, allowing Raditz to escape the attack unscathed.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Raditz sprinted into the machine's grill before it could provide an adequate defense. Spearing the machine with his elbow, Raditz's smirked when his opponent tried to regain control of its whip and retaliated with a low sweep of the chord as it was falling back.

Jumping over the leg swipe from the machine's whip, Raditz charged forward and attempted to plant a haymaker on his adversary's cheek. Suddenly, just as he swung the limb, his foe dropped back and lashed out with that hellish belt. After sensing that he couldn't pull his hand back, the Saiyan, out of instinct more than sound strategy, flared his ki and blew the whip back.

`Eureka,' thought Raditz, jubilant that he found a way of counteracting his foe's only weapon. If he could flare his ki at strategic times, he could both disengage that damnable weapon and his foe's defenses at the same time. How did he not think of it before?

Of course, that was only what Raditz's mind was surmising. What Raditz was actually doing was side-kicking his insentient foe into the ground. Pleased with his efforts, the Saiyan crossed his arms and waited for his helpless foe to make the next move.

Getting up at a moderate pace, the green machine suddenly tried to crack its whip straight into Raditz's temple. But to the machine's astonishment, Raditz flared his ki at the last minute and blew the weapon back helplessly.

Starting to see his stoic foe start to squirm uncomfortably, Raditz smirked cruelly at the idiot. "You're a one-trick pony, am I right? Without that whip, you amount to nothing. Fool."

Hopping into the machine's range, Raditz low-kicked the imp straight in the center of its waist. Body position caving in involuntarily, the imp left its head vulnerable to a skull-cracking roundhouse kick courtesy of its pissed off Saiyan enemy.

Snarling menacingly, the angered alien fired a blast straight into the ground just in front of the machine, sweeping the dwarf straight off its feet. "Get up!" hollered the Saiyan, the sight of the black smoke accentuating the crazed man's threat.

Getting up promptly, the machine was swiftly put back down on its butt by an elbow that came jutting out of the smokescreen. Chuckling ghoulishly, the long-haired Saiyan disbursed the black cloud and aimed his piercing stare at his foolish foe. "Not so fearsome now, aren't yah?"

Not resigning itself to defeat, the machine lunged at Raditz to no avail. Grinning like a bully, the man grabbed the machine's hand and flared his ki to…dismay his opponent from even attempting to use its bloody whip.

Struggling to wrestle control of its hand, the machine was entirely unprepared for Raditz to conjure a blade of Ki and sever the appendage. Eyes widening horrifically, the machine turned to its foe and shuttered.

Callously eyeing the wounded machine, Raditz smiled as he sliced the machine's other hand off like a butcher carving out a slice of meat. Finishing up the bloody action, the vagabond kicked the fool down onto its knees. Malice turning to scorn, Raditz averted his body position away from his enemy. "Without that rod of yours, you couldn't even hurt me even if I had my back turned."

Smirking when his foe did nothing, Raditz flipped around and planted the top of his foot right into the imp's chin, knocking the machine onto its back. "Right."

Beginning to growl like a rabid animal, the powerful Saiyan summoned another powerful blast to appear in the cup of his hands. Walking leisurely towards his prey, the man's pure disdain became clear by the look of pure malice shining in his eyes. Years of pent up frustration, humiliation and dehumanization raged to the surface, boiling over like torrid water. "It was no mistake that I was left unharmed by your sneak attack, right?"

Appearing in front of his shaken foe, the enraged man slammed the back of his hand into his foe's temple, knocking the bot down. "Right! Don't you dare deny it you sack of shit."

Flaring his ki fearsomely, the long-haired Saiyan couldn't help but shout the next part. "You and the rest of your little conspirators thought I wasn't a threat. The weakest link in our little group, huh? Why does this always happen? Every time something happens, everybody assumes that I'm of no use—of no value. That I can be disregarded and unaccounted for like some useless civilian. Even that fucking green toddler gets more respect than me!"

Pushing his ki outward, the pissed off Saiyan had created a vortex of energy so powerful that it chipped and melted the ice beneath his feet. "Listen up: I doubt this will be the last time I'll say this from now on. The cowardly weakling that once permitted scum like you to unnerve me is dead. I didn't swear off my comrades and my old life to obediently swallow shit like some content lackey wading through pile after pile of shit. My tolerance with fools whom write me off is non-existent!"

Power flowing to his hands, the tall humanoid let his deadly maelstrom ravage his surrounding for a couple more moments; however long it was until his twin blasts were matured and lethal. When the time came, Raditz could wait no longer. Bold declarations amounted to nothing without bold actions to go along with them.

"This is the end, fool! Double Sunday!" shouted the Saiyan, thrusting his hand forward and launching the special attack. Merging together almost immediately, the twin beams coalesced and struck Raditz's foe in complete unison. Unable to resist the finishing attack, the green bio-man was swept into the beam's maw and was utterly disintegrated by the assault.

Watching his foe violently melt away, Raditz averted his eyes and refocused his attention to his left when he heard the sound of light applause. Turning around, the Saiyan was shocked to see his fellow comrade standing unharmed on an icy pillar, his face amused as he lightly clapped.

"That's more like it, Raditz," praised the other Saiyan, although his applause was more patronizing than genuine. "The honor of the Saiyan race is a fragile thing, you know. Cowardice demeans us all. I've heard quite a few…disrespectful rumors about your abilities—I can't say they didn't make me wary of you somewhat. Good to know that's all they were. Vigor like that is something I can use."

Snorting amusedly, the long-haired Saiyan flew towards his comrade. "How did you get out of that ice block? And why didn't you try and help me?"

Rolling his eyes condescendingly, the Goku look-a-like shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "You underestimate me if you think an ice block is enough incapacitate me." Although his statement was true, Turles wasn't being honest about how close to death he was. It took a _lot _of energy to break out of that icy tomb; he came damn close to asphyxiating while trying to break out. "As for why I didn't help, no true Saiyan asks for help in a battle. You should know that already."

"Right," acknowledged Raditz, sighing a bit under his breath to express his discontent silently. Nevertheless, he wasn't interested in lowering Turles's opinion of him after working as hard as he had to gain it. Doing so just wasn't that smart.

Chuckling softly, the lead pirate turned around and started barking orders. "Now that you've solved our little…problem, it's about time that we round up the Dragon Balls and finish this."

Swallowing some saliva, Raditz wasn't really sure how to tell Turles of the bad news. He'd have to though. "Um, sir, I think the pink one took the Dragon Balls from you."

Bracing for his new commander to turn around and start cursing and hollering like a sailor, Raditz was surprised when all that he did was turn around and glare at him maliciously. "And you didn't stop him?"

"Sir, there wasn't anything I could do," pleaded Raditz, his tone trying to convey his plausible inability. "Before I knew what was going on, the pink one disappeared and I was left to fight the green one."

Lips and brow curling downward, the lead Saiyan sternly pointed his hand down at the icy bluff beneath Raditz's feet. "Then be useful and dig our "ally" out. We're going to need him if we are to have any chance of rectifying your blunder."

Frowning at the accusation, the long-haired Saiyan relented and descended through the bluff looking for the hole that Piccolo was sent through. Finding the perforation easily, the long-haired man gently glided through the opening and swiftly plucked Piccolo and the Dragon Radar out of the cavity and gravitated back towards Turles's feet.

Dropping both onto the ground, Raditz stepped back and permitted Turles to do what he will with them.

Squatting beside the Namekian, the Saiyan rummaged through his outfit and grabbed a pair of smelling salts. Placing the sleep blockers in his hand, the soldier slipped his hand underneath Piccolo's nose and let the smelling salts do the rest.

The noxious odor of the salts quickly infiltrated the Namekian's nostrils, and it wasn't afterwards that Piccolo was jolted awake by the elixir. Sputtering on the ground for a moment, the green child-like being had to wait a few moments before he became completely conscious of his surroundings. Everything coming back to him at once, the former demon clutched his head as he picked himself up slowly.

"He's awake," stated Turles, picking up the radar and shoving the device into the Namekian's hands. "Now get this "whatever you call it" working before something happens."

Groggy from being jostled around like a rag doll, Piccolo swiftly took the gadget out of Turles's hands before the cranky Saiyan could really make his ears bleed with his angry racket. "It looks like our six balls are heading straight for the seventh. We have maybe five minutes before all seven are reunited."

Powering up, Turles quickly seized hold of Piccolo's hand, almost dislocating the Namekian's shoulder in the process. "Then we don't have much time to dilly dally, now don't we?"

Without any further ado, the motley trio were off in the air again. Unlike last time though, Turles was moving so fast that Raditz needed to hitch a ride on Turles's leg as well. By that point in time though, Turles really didn't care. Thoughts of immortality slipping through his fingers were so pervading that Raditz's undignified behavior didn't even cross his mind.

Suddenly, a golden stream of light plowed through the atmosphere, lighting up the polar night. Heart racing at almost a million miles per hour, the Saiyan could practically feel his quest for immortality being reduced to nothing. He didn't need to know what that stream of light really meant.

Unsurprisingly, the golden stream of light didn't just dematerialize. It took form and shape, becoming the mystical dragon that the legend said it would become. Turles may not have been in earshot of the great beast, but the man felt almost in awe that Piccolo's words came true after all. And they would serve somebody other than him.

"No! No! No! If I can't have immortality, then neither will they!" yelled the furious man, unwilling to accept defeat gracefully. Summoning what was easily the largest blast of the day, the irrationally prideful man cocked his hand back and flung the blast forward. Sailing forward at an insane velocity, the blast slammed straight into Shenron's flank, exploding brilliant across the entire dragon's body.

And at that exact moment, Turles and his enemies were greeted to the most spectacular moment either could ever claim to see: the slow destruction of Shenron.

* * *

**Welcome to the seventeenth installment of CD. I got really nothing to report so I'm just going to review replies. **

**Q: Oh oh, Vegeta can't be fast tracking to Super Saiyan 4, can he?**

** A: This one I can answer. Nope. **

**Q: Also, isn't it a bit of a copout explanation because Malaka just happens to know the basis of suits based on nano-technology.**

**A: I admit the connection is a bit too coincidental, but I also needed a way to explain why Merken got injured and Erinnern did. That and the fact that I've hyper extended Malaka's role in the workings of Frieza's empire. **

**Q: I was also somewhat puzzled on the concept of "ki coils", presumably the source of energy within the body. Are these your own invention, or borrowed from canon or fanon? Is there some explanation for their existence as an organ, their location, et alia?**

**A: Ki coils were meant to be a concept similar to the chakra circulatory system used in Naruto. I've somewhat discarded them in later chapters though. **

**Q: Interesting chapter. So Turles, Raditz, and Piccolo are about to confront Dr. Gero I believe. Can't wait to see how that rolls over. Looks like Vegeta just lost whatever reason he had left. I feel a little sorry for the King. Although my big question is where has Goku gone? I can't remember if you stated where he was going or you haven't revealed it yet.**

**A: Yep, the king probably feels a little sorry about now. XD As for Goku, I say something on that in chapter fourteen's author's note I believe. **

**That's all folks. **


	18. What You Thought Would Happen

A loud yank woke me up. Too weak to move, I could only sigh as I was dragged away from my wall to god knows where. As some scribe said years ago, victors get to decide and losers get to abide. Without choice, my disheveled form slid across the linoleum floor, led against its will to an undisclosed location.

Vision refocusing itself given time, I recognized who was dragging me. It wasn't that wretched Saiyan nor his foolish friend. Nope, to my great disgust, I was being led away by some common, no-name grunt. And to think I wasn't even strong enough to resist this dolt.

Defeat was an entirely humiliating shock, a shame that inflamed every drop of blood and sinew of muscle in my body. An ape, a mangy flea-bitten ape, had beaten me? Beaten me outright! And left me to be carried away like some pack-animal fit to be slaughtered! What horror! What disgrace! What audacity!

Sighing languidly underneath my breath, there was nothing I could do to rectify my irreversible folly. Brushed aside like trash about to be crushed, I could only be led away to face death by my lonesome—without retribution, without rightful vengeance for both my failure to myself and my people.

Unable to move a bone, my limp form swiveled into another room and before I knew it I was being locked into a stockade. Looking up, that same no-name soldier was donning executioners garb and approached me wielding some brutish pick-ax. You'd think that after almost a hundred millennia of intergalactic civilization somebody would've thought of a more eloquent way of slaying you. Guess not.

Swinging the heavy weapon onto my neck, the foolhardy grunt was surprised when the weapon clanged off my form like it was made of rubber. I could barely form a smirk—damn I really was weak. Not only did I not seem to remember my skin was impervious to weapons wielded by lesser souls but I couldn't even rub in my apparent strength in the lackey's face.

Utterly baffled by my natural defenses, the clueless minion repeated the motion again with a harder strike, getting the same result with a bit more recoil. After that, he tried everything. He tried to chop through my arms, slash through my knees and thrust through my heart, all to no avail. Bewildered but coherent, his increasingly more irritated demeanor and desperate attempts to end me didn't fail to entertain my fatigued state of mind. Clueless idiot could be here till the end of time and get nowhere. And that appeared to be where we were going.

Then the buffoon called in his friends. All of them were equally as weak as he was though; therefore I really was in no danger. Actually, scratch that. I was in danger of dying from boredom. Still too loopy to resist, I simply let the stooges have their way for the moment.

Suddenly the stockade was opened and I was being hauled away into another room unwillingly. Judging by the sterile whiteness of my surroundings, it wouldn't have been unreasonable to assume we were in a recovery room. But why? Surely they weren't stupid enough to heal me?

Apparently they were that stupid. After rigging me up to the machine, they walked off and stood in front of the machine and smirked. Once the chamber was bolted shut, the appliance began to hum to life rhythmically. Eventually the machine began to spew out the slush I thought was supposed to heal me.

And then I felt it. Consciousness jolting back to me, a scream tore through my hoarse throat. What the fuck was this? Why was my everything feeling like it was on fire? Looking down, I could barely gulp when I saw this fiery red goo begin to entomb me.

Nerves flaring all over the place, I began to thrash and sift aimlessly in my sealed cage. Did they throw me in a den of fire ants or something? God, what sorcery was this? Apparently they did know what they were doing when they sealed me in this torture chamber.

Unbeknownst to myself, my power and vitality were returning to me. Every vigorous tug, every neurotic twitch—each laced with more power than the one before it. The pain distracted me so much that I could hardly feel my well of power return to me, caress me in its tight embrace. For some reason that to this day I can't fathom, I couldn't quite understand this when I was strapped into that torture pod. Why would such a hellish salve actually heal me?

Nevertheless, it was only after I tugged at my respirator so hard that it tore off that I finally understood. For fear of swallowing the gunk, I powered up as much as I could and attempted to blast my way out. To my astonishment at the time, my kneejerk reaction actually worked. Breaking through the relatively weak seal with disturbing ease, the salve poured over my shoulder and made an audible splash onto the smooth floor.

Covered from head to toe in the slush, I slowly walked over to my tormentors whom looked to be very tormented themselves. Normally I'd play with such cowards, kill them after they completely lose their dignity and proceed to beg for their lives. Today wasn't one of those days, not because I developed a conscience for such brutality but due to time restraints. Swiftly I picked the two apart and rushed out of the room.

Entering back into the room of my intended execution, I promptly dispatched the rest of the brigands whom dared assault me. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I knew I couldn't let them live and alert anybody to my existence.

Now that I had escaped from custody, there were a number of affairs that needed to be sorted out. First of all, and most importantly, was what I was going to do? Reclaiming my race's honor was out of the question now. If I couldn't beat some trash-talking asshole what hope did I have against a foe like Frieza? Yet again, would there be a way for me to mend my pride if I permitted myself the chance to flee with my tail between my legs? Could my pride handle such a disgrace? Would I lose any bastion of dignity or esteem attached to me if such a thing were to happen?

Anger and objectivity dueled in my mind, in my soul as I raged over my dual options. Fight and die or extract my revenge when the time was right. Zoon. What a planet she was. And what people too. So powerful, so prideful—and I was there ruler imagine that. All of it snuffed out on the wistful wishes of a mad man. A people, a race exterminated much too soon, called out to me and shouted their desires for vengeance to me. A release and redemption I could not deliver for them. But if I depart now, after all of my solemn pledges to redeem us, then would all of those promises be made empty and hollow?

Martyrdom. Back in the day, it wasn't something I thought of much. What was there to die for? It wasn't about dying for the cause you believed in, it was making the other bastard die for his. You could say that the path to kingship is built on the steps of martyrs too. The more people willing to die against you, the more your own reputation spreads and the more fearful respect you can command.

Then it hit me. By dying against Frieza, the only thing I'd do would be adding to his mystique. Zoon wouldn't be redeemed if I foolishly died, it would become another token example Frieza has made of countless other places. With my death, Zoon would be downgraded to the status of just another nameless martyr posterity would never remember. Simply a forgotten world. That simply will not work.

And I made my mind up. I was going to have to live so Frieza would come to regret his decisions later on.

First things first, though. How should I get off this damnable ship? It wasn't like blasting my way through the ship was a viable option. On second thought, it was viable course of action just not a desired one. I had the power to do such things but making a spectacle of yourself is never advisable. No, it would be better to leave discreetly.

Shifting my gaze to the dead urchins, my expression lightened. `Eureka.'

In the space of a few minutes, I had fastened the clothing of each of them to my persons. Although it was strange to adorn the look of my dead challengers, their attire ought to allow me to escape unscathed. It wasn't like anybody was going to question me if I was wearing this?

Strutting out of their lair, it became immediately noticeable to me that the halls were eerily vacant. Nobody was anywhere it appeared. This would've been strange normally but it wasn't hard to guess that all the commotion of today's events had shaken the casual grunts up. Whatever was really going on at the moment, it made my life easier.

Approaching a skybridge, a voice deep inside me was screaming at me to keep extra vigilant. Telling me that something extremely important was coming along the bend any minute now. I tried to discard the message, or rationalize the thought as trivial, but this train of thought would not be shaken off. My body began to shiver uncontrollably and my eyes began to dilate in spite of my conscious mind's pleads for serenity. For a moment, I thought madness had invaded my thoughts until it happened.

A black blur. Barely visible, but enough so that my heightened senses caught it flying by. Judging by its attire, I knew that this "blur" was in cahoots with that wretched monkey and his friends. They were wearing the exact same thing.

Reacting almost out of habit, I gave chase to the blurry figure. Defeat had not emboldened me, but it did make me ravenous for information on them. Dirt you could say. If this idiot could give me anything on his brothers unwittingly, then it shall become more power to me when we face off again. Only next time, I'll be the one wearing the shoe. Not them.

Saying that it was easy to follow my prey dart from one alley to another would've been foolish to declare. These Saiyans, if anything, were crafty and fast. Keeping up, while at the same time not blowing my cover, required a balance of pursuit and retreat that I had grown rusty at utilizing throughout the years. Still, I'm Pui Pui: that merit alone was all I needed to validate my legitimacy for the task.

Eventually, my target stopped—and of all the interesting places on the ship, next to an infirmary. Interest piqued, I waited silently as a scrub-wearing reptilian walked out. Even more strangely, but not surprisingly, the two knew each other and began to talk.

One advantage of being myself is my almost uncanny sense of hearing. A common saying amongst my people was that only three people knew about your deepest darkest secrets: you, your God and me. And God was unverified. Needless to say, eavesdropping on these two was a piece of cake to me. Content to wait things out, the topic of conversation turned out to be a rather juicy one.

"How's he doing?" asked Erinnern, keeping his voice hushed so he could evade any possibility of arousing suspicion. Malaka was busy man on a fairly tight reign, he couldn't afford to make any commotion and draw attention to himself.

Putting his hand on the nine year old's shoulder, the brown doctor sighed bitterly. "We were able to save him but the arm had to go. There was nothing anybody could do about that I'm afraid," declared the reptilian.

"Fuck," mumbled Erinnern, hoping that some of his exacerbation didn't rub off in his tone. He was by no means staggered by the ramifications of his brother's treatment, but the blow was still a very hard pill to swallow even if it only cemented what he already knew.

"Need anything?" offered Malaka, the civil servant in him speaking. He was by no means a psychologist or a person of equal order that was qualified to advised Erinnern on what he was feeling. That didn't mean he couldn't do what was in his power to alleviate his troubles. Altruism was one of the reasons he had gone into the medical field, although the truths of the system did leave him jaded at times. In spite of the issues of the system though, he liked to help most people when given the opportunity.

Rejecting the help non-verbally by lifting Malaka's arm away from his body, Erinnern slid his off hand onto the bridge of his nose. "Not much. What's Merken condition? Has he been stabilized?"

"Good," commented Malaka, brow lifting slightly. He did not exactly like where this questioning was heading. "The arm was chopped off before any serious infections could begin festering. For the moment, he's stable but I'd like to keep him overnight and watch him."

"I'm afraid I can't let that happen," calmly stated Erinnern, feeling sick to his stomach because he was jeopardizing his brother's safety by partaking in the action he was about to do. He hoped that this was truly the only action he could take. "My brothers and I need him back on our ship asap."

"Are you crazy?" hollered Malaka, his mouth agape with shock. Of all people, he expected Erinnern to have more concern for his brother's safety after all those emotion theatrics he had been showing off earlier. Medical evacuations were often only used in extremely perilous situations, where imminent death was usually the only other option. This could hardly be considered as dire. "Tell me you must be joking?"

Biting the bottom of his lip, the nine year old was forced to shake his head no. "I can't let him stay here, Malaka. My allies won't wait around for him to fully recover. We need to be out of here before everybody gets their heads out of their asses and makes this place the impenetrable fortress it was meant to be."

"But…your brother might die if you follow this course of action," muttered out Malaka, hoping against hope that his Saiyan ally would come to his senses and cease this nonsense. "Surely there must be another way to make them change their minds. I can't lobby you hard enough to halt this foolish endeavor, young Saiyan. Don't risk throwing the life of your own brother away."

Slapping his hands hard over his face, Erinnern slowly tugged on his skin, distorting his facial features in a strange elliptical fashion. "There's nothing I can do, Malaka. Believe me, there isn't. I won't risk leaving him here to become Frieza's new bitch. That's a fate worse than death for us. Please, just ready him for extraction if at all possible."

Sucker for heart-felt pleads, Malaka was compelled to oblige Erinnern's request even if he still didn't agree with it. Face lightening up, the old reptile smiled halfheartedly at his distraught colleague. "I still think what you're doing is stupid, but if you feel it's necessary who am I to get in your way. I'll do it. Anything else?"

"Only an idea of where we are in this labyrinth of a ship," remarked Erinnern, letting one arm dangle by his sides as the other fished for something in his pocket. "My comrades need to know where we are to make this extraction as smooth and painless as possible."

"We are at a medical bay in the center of the ship on the right side of Canal Frieza Number #432," replied Malaka, iterating the information to his younger associate like a parrot. "The closest hangar to us is Hangar Frieza Number #66, which is directly opposite us on the channel."

Nodding his head to accept the information, the nine year old extended his hand as a friendly gesture. Interpreting Erinnern's action accurately, Malaka extended his own hand and they slowly shook hands before Erinnern gave his farewell address. "Thanks. Thanks for everything."

"No problem," accepted Malaka, before turning around. "Now get out of here and wait for your friends to arrive. I can't really stay around here any longer and not potentially incriminate myself."

The two disappeared shortly thereafter. By that point, I had no interest in following the black-clad twerp. Nope, my undivided attention was completely on his liaison: that traitorous doctor. What a snake in the grass indeed.

But my intentions were not to simply stalk the man like a shadow. Nope, my interest went beyond just a curiosity over this man's role. I just knew he was withholding something, and whatever it was could not be considered trivial. My gut also told me that shadowing him wouldn't get me the answers I desired; therefore I concluded that something more…dastardly would be needed.

Waiting for the man to enter a dark walkway, I jumped out of my hiding place and quickly wrapped my right hand around his mouth before he could yell out. Thinking fast, I scanned my surroundings and barged into a broom closet that happened to be conveniently placed nearby. Locking the door behind me, I flared my ki and insulated the room, creating an air tight seal that effectively soundproofed the chamber.

Pushing the reptilian into the wall of the closet, my hand conscientiously slithered down the man's neck. "So you're the snake in the grass, am I correct?"

Applying pressure to the man's neck, I didn't expect to get much of an answer from the doctor with my hands firmly entrenched on his windpipe. Slapping him with the back part of my hand harshly, I waited for the man to haggardly turn towards me again.

"Good, I've gotten your attention," I announce, drilling my stare into the frightened man's eyes. He should, no needed, to know that there was no room for bargaining or deception in what was to come. His life had one, and only one, purpose: to provide me with the answers I wanted.

"You were working with those Saiyan rats, were you not reptile?" I snarled, my anger and disdain towards the rat in my clutches growing. Any ally of those wretched monkeys was an enemy of mine, and nobody could say I've ever been that cordial towards traitors, no matter their allegiance.

Coughing through my choke hold, the sound the poor doctor made could barely be heard. Softening my hold on the bastard's throat, I implicitly allowed the man the privilege to breathe again. Of course, my benevolence wasn't altruistic moreso than methodical. A man can't tell me anything if he can't even breathe after all.

"Now, you'll tell me what I want." I let my threat linger thereafter. The fool knew the consequences if he didn't faithfully obey whatever I asked of him.

"Sure, sure," stammered the traitor, flailing his arms desperately as if he was trying to ward me off. "I'll give you whatever you want, just please don't hurt me."

Posture haughty, I pushed the man deeper into the wall of the room, caving in the flimsy structure a bit. Detecting a slight bend in the wall, I eased up on the pressure so that I wouldn't send him falling into the hallway opposite us. "Okay then, who are you and what connection did you have with Frieza?"

"I was one of Frieza's chief doctors and medical correspondents," squealed the petrified lizard, the alarm practically ringing through his voice. Weaklings…they are so submissive when faced with death. No spine whatsoever. "Nothing else, I swear it."

Snorting dismissively at the alien's proclamation, I chuckled when a bead of sweat came slithering down his forehead. He was bullshitting me something awful; that bead of sweat all but proved it. Fear compromises all façades, the worst ones especially. "Oh really, now. If I had a penny for every time I heard that phrase throughout my time, I'd be able to buy Frieza's entire empire two times over. Now try and think harder. Be warned though that lying to me again will result in your premature extermination. Tsk tsk."

"That's what I am to Frieza!" replied Malaka, a real vein of emotion bursting forth. Something told me that I was going to get what I wanted. "I'm one of his doctors, medical advisors and former head of the PPP. That's all."

"PPP?" I muttered questioningly, before shoving Malaka's neck through the wall roughly. "Explain! What's PPP?"

"Personal Preemptive Protection," murmured the lizard in a manner that made me think I was getting warmer. "It was an initiative to design and build better armor for Frieza's elite troops about a year ago. What about it?"

Intrigued by this "PPP," I knew there must be more to the story. My satisfaction wasn't satisfactory with the textbook definition given to me by prisoner. "Tell me, doctor: why were assigned to this position? And how did this post lead you to commit treason. Collusion with vermin like those monkeys couldn't have come from just donning scrubs all day!"

His subsequent answer did satisfy me partially though. "Because I'm one of the only people around here who cares if somebody actually dies. That's why I was given the post. Most of the original prototypes were wholly ineffective and there were no engineers who could properly build any serviceable drafts that were produced. Eventually a dead-end was reached and no acceptable final designs could be passed through. Obsessed with the project, my desperation to see it through lead me to contact a former associate of mine living within Cooler's empire. As it turned out, it was this contact that led me to the Saiyan."

Making sure to keep my eyes shadowed and expression ruthless, I barked at the man to carry on. He was not going to stop when things were just getting juicy. "The orchestrator of these attacks was the patron of my contact and answered me personally. He was willing to help me complete this project, and without Cooler's knowing, if I agreed to meet him personally. I accepted his invitation and we met on a remote planet on the borders of our empires. Having brought a squad of engineers discretely to facilitate the design's construction, it wasn't long afterwards that the proposal was completed in record time. Satisfied with the end result, I wasn't prepared for the final draft to be nixed because of some stupid excuse like funding."

Eyebrow rising quizzically, I nudged the reptilian to go on. Apparently, he was going to make this as difficult as he possibly could. "Go on? What happened next? If you're going to sell me something, you better finish it if you know what's good for you."

"I was distraught; I was neurotic and uncharacteristically angry. Frieza had willingly sacrificed the lives of his soldiers just so he could save a few bucks that he didn't even need to pinch. I knew the man was soulless, but not to the depths he really was. Somehow, this Saiyan was aware of my distress and used it to build an impassable rift between me and my former lord. Somewhere along the line, I became an associate of his that openly conspired against Frieza."

Chuckling softly, I slithered my hands around the poor doctor's shoulders and flipped him around so he no longer faced me. Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching. No doubt Malaka's disappearance had made a few eyes rise. I didn't have much time. "So now, traitor. What is now to stop me from killing you?"

Craning his head upwards, the lizard peered into my eyes and strangely his own eyes widened exponentially. Disturbed, I jostled the man roughly by shaking him. "Come now, work with me here. What is to stop me from killing you?"

On the outside, I suddenly heard knocking on the door. My time was nearly up, it was now or never. Thankfully, it was now of all times that my hostage had decided to answer me up front or so I thought. "You're not any soldier of Frieza."

"Oh and why not?" I ask, before I hear the door behind us start to buckle uncontrollably, being stretched against its will. My sense of impending doom was starting to siren off in my head, and it wasn't because the walls of the room were coming down.

Hands shaking fearfully, the lizard man pointed his scaly hands at my chin. "You're the…king of Zoon. How did you escape your planet's demise?"

Large cracks and fissures starting popping up in the center of door frame, telltale signs that the thing was on its last legs. My heart rate accelerated. Nobody else up until now knew about my exulted position, but why it was this traitor? Time to finish this game. "Oh, so you know who I am? Now I just can't let you live at all."

Waving his hands back and forth in the air, the reptilian being feebly shook his head defiantly over my verdict. "No, please don't do that. There's more to this you don't know: realities that you are not yet privy too. Let me live and I'll tell you everything." Malaka may've believed in Baden's cause, but he wasn't willing to die for it. Very few things were worth that, and he wasn't one of them.

The door broke and those poor blokes were coming in like the hoard they were. "Out with it, already. You're as good as dead, if you don't."

"It was the Saiyan that destroyed your planet!"

The reminder of my home's callous destruction set me off. I couldn't contain myself or my bidden rage any longer. Powering up subconsciously, my fiery aura exploded outwards, engulfing and inflaming everything around it.

The first to fall to my fury was the grunts pouring into the room. Bursting forward at the absolutely worst moment, the only glory or fulfillment they received was a prompt disintegration by the vacuum of energy leaving me.

The initial power up complete, my compulsive power-up continued on with an even stronger intensity. Billowing ki exerting its will on everything, it became immediately clear that the structural integrity of the entire area had become compromised. Within minutes of the first flare-up, even the roof above of us was coming down. I, fortunately, was imbued with so much undulating energy that no metallic debris coming down around me would ever touch me: it would be carried away long before it could ever make contact with my form.

Malaka wasn't so lucky. The supports to roof caved in and collapsed on his neck, killing the idiot quickly. Personally, he should be happy because it was a merciful death in comparison to what I would've done to him. Nevertheless, what was done is done.

Drifting out of the room, the task of reigning in my power proved undoable. My emotions, my rage was just too tumultuous. It took everything I had to not have the very ground beneath me and the roof above me collapse in unison. Even then, I soon realized that even I couldn't contain this anger.

Subconsciously moving forward, my motor was running on cruise control. Ki streamed around me chaotically, knocking over any retaining walls and partitions in the area. Along with this, the almost solid layer of ki hugging my contours no longer had anything holding it back anymore. Given no resistance, my energy made short work of the flooring below me, practically melting the composite material like dry paper. Passing through the hall leading to the infirmary, no structure or edifice could stand in my way. Everything fell before me, casting me in the shadow of a spiteful god.

Upon reaching the infirmary, my eyes only had the attention of one lone black blur resting in the back of the bay. The kid looked to be napping serenely, his bandaged limb set on the boy's flank. He looked so serene, maybe at peace or simply resigned to what fate had in store for him. It didn't matter. Knowing that the black-clad child could only be a Saiyan, it was my duty to my people that he be exterminated.

Raising my hand against the child, the only thing I could think of as I was about to fire was not my power, my anger or even my need for retribution. All that I could think about was my failure. These Saiyans had not just stolen my people and my birthright, they had also swiped my peace of mind. Even if I kill this runt, even if I escaped and lived to kill another day, I could not claim that I was the strongest. I could not assert that I was important. My life meant absolutely nothing. I was going to get that piece of mind back, one way or another.

Firing the blast, I was stupefied when the attack was intercepted at the last moment. The runt's savior, the healthy brat, looked up at me and snarled. "Nobody is going to be killing my brother today. Not over my dead body!"

* * *

Practice makes perfect. What a novel idea! To perfect anything, hours upon hours needed to be logged in towards honing your abilities and making oneself comfortable with numerous sets of skills. Flight was one of these skills, although basic remedial use could be picked up with a fair degree of ease.

Baden was no stranger though to the deception of practice makes perfect. In the rigid, inflexible world of planetary purging, excessive time was considered a great luxury. Most soldiers were not given the time to honestly improve themselves all that much. Conspiracy theorists the universe over have asserted that this policy had been intentional. After all, an army of low-level thugs was much easier to control than an army of hubristic mega-elites. Frieza, obviously, was the man most often accused of this policy and nobody really disbelieved the rumors. It was pretty obvious when the man's second-strongest fighter was not even one-thousandths of his overlord's power.

Debates about the ethics of the inequality of training time aside, it really was mute for Baden and Gohan at the time. All they really knew was they had down time and they were going to us it to develop Gohan's abilities. His baptism of fire was going well, even if the four-and-a-half year old was scared witless most of the time. Baden, even if he had a natural antipathy towards all forms of fear and shyness that Gohan exhibited, knew that he had said his peace and there was no point in chastising his charge over what he was trying to control. It was up to the boy now to break his own fears. He could not do that for him.

Thankfully, Gohan had surprised him. Perhaps he had underestimated the boy's resolve, but the child was extremely resourceful and naturally astute with his ki. Maybe he had become more desensitized to heights after being flung from the palace window well over a dozen times? Nevertheless, not only did he not show the same kind of fear as he did at first, but he was even beginning to show signs that he could even fly unassisted. For a toddler to go from ground-bound to sky-compatible in only an afternoon was somewhat impressive. Baden had seen better, but he would take what he could get.

Back in the present, Gohan could be found tippy-toeing the ledge while Baden was gently hovering just beyond the precipice opposite him. Having shaken off some of his initial fears, Gohan's countenance had shifted from being paralyzed with fright to being downright happy and chipper. Childlike enthusiasm was remarkably resilient and pretty dang contagious too. Even Baden found himself being a bit happier around his charge. That being mentioned, it was back to business. "Okay, Gohan. Up to this point, I've been _assisting _you over the ledge. But now I feel you are ready enough to try and fly on your own, without my aid."

"Really?" asked Gohan, scratching the back of head like his father while sporting a derivative of his father's trademarked grin. "Well, I'll try my best!"

"That's all anybody expects," assured Baden, before hopping back farther and giving his apprentice some space to work with. He had found in the past that breathing down people's necks had not given him the results he normally looked for. Therefore, Baden tried not to be a micromanager although at times his zeal got in the way of that.

Gohan, in the meantime, lowered his head and looked down at the vast orange and brown portrait below him. Immediately he regretted doing so. Taking the plunge was far worse than the plunging itself, and the fear of falling that he originally felt had begun to paralyze him once again. However, unlike previous episodes in his life where he let his fear dictate his actions, he wasn't going to shoo away from the task. Not this time. With a loud "yippie," the boy jumped off the cliff and into the sky.

Barreling down at close to terminal velocity, the four year old calmly tried to rush energy from his center towards the soles of his feet. Power pooling in his extremities, the boy intelligently used the gathered energy to propel himself upwards against the pull of gravity. Succeeding in his intentions, the Saiyan gently glided back up to eye level with Baden. Of course, Gohan had not mastered the art by any useful criterion: he was slower than molasses in the middle of January and could not move laterally to save his life. But as said before, he showed remarkable talent for somebody who had only been learning for perhaps two to three hours of time.

Things weren't completely flowery and full of roses. Gohan's development may've been at the forefront of his thoughts, but the king's battle with Vegeta still clung to the back of his mind like an ominous black cloud: one dangerously close to relieving itself on some poor, unsuspecting soul.

Like the king, Baden was not at all expecting Vegeta's form to change yet again. Oozaru's only could multiply there power levels ten fold, not the one-hundred that Baden was now sensing. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. He knew that he, and he alone, was capable of taking on Vegeta as he stood now. In fact, an encounter between the two was virtually inevitable unless he was willing to sacrifice the entire Uyyasidian race to Vegeta's might. Needless to say, Baden knew that he was going to have to intervene sooner or later.

The real question though was whether the king would be alive or dead by the time he would get there. Baden was no fool. After blackmailing, threatening and unscrupulously digging himself into the royal family, the pre-teen knew he had made an enemy out of the man. Prideful and clever, Baden had to wonder whether keeping the king alive was a good call. Perhaps if the man succumbed to fate's end now, it would save him some heartache in the future?

Then again, he could also think of good reasons to keep the man alive. First of all, he was predictable. Baden was confident, no sure, that he was capable of being two or three moves ahead of the old noble and keep the man draped around his pinky finger. Susaylonian society after his death wouldn't be nearly as predictable, if there would even be a civil society at all. Amir would probably be toppled in a coup d'état and he'd be back to square one trying to blackmail, threaten and dig himself into another royal family of monarchs. Also, if the king somehow survived without his assistance he would strain his relationship with the monarch probably past the point of no return.

Deep down in his heart though, Baden knew that his already shaky relationship with the king was going to fall apart sooner or later. And when that happened, he was going to have a revolution he'd need to suppress and stamp out. It was better that he resolve strife like this now rather than when he could afford no gaffs.

In that moment, Baden had made his decision: he would do nothing to save the king from the mess he walked himself into.

It wasn't long after Baden had made his decision to kill the king via immoral neglect that the terrible deed had been completed. Vegeta had finished the job that Baden had permitted him to do. But now that he was the last bastion of defense for Uyyasid, the pre-teen Saiyan knew that it was his time to take the field now.

Turning to Gohan, who had perched himself precariously back onto his favorite corner, the pre-teen eyed the boy stoically. Poor kid looked to be shaking; no doubt he also possessed the ability to sense ki. "Gohan, I want you back in your room now and get some sleep. There's something I need to do, and it would be for the best if you didn't try and interfere in any way. Got it?"

"Uh-huh," mumbled the child, nodding his head up and down to communicate what his voice was botching. "Okay."

"Good, now run along," ordered Baden, clearly amused when his four-year old student toddled off innocently to god knows where. Kid still had that adorable exuberance about him, not completely jaded by the murky world of political intrigue and military slaughter that shined brightly in the foreground of the intergalactic world. He had a strength about him that many would kill to have. That was for sure.

Face darkening, the pre-teen blasted off to the mining camp. Facing Vegeta wasn't going to be easy, but it wasn't his opponent that unnerved him more than the damage he himself could cause.

All Saiyans needed either a full moon or some artificial equivalent to transform. That was a given, irrespective of class, gender, size or location. Obviously, there wasn't a full moon out therefore some artificial substitute had been used at some point or another.

The real issue lay in the fact that like Vegeta, Baden knew he had a fully functional tail. It wasn't just a showpiece after all. Unless he could find and destroy the ball they were using to maintain Vegeta's transformation, he would ascend as well. And that is where things could get dicey.

Surprisingly or not, Baden had never truly learned to control his Oozaru form. When or if he transformed, the young Saiyan knew that he'd most likely go berserk and kill everything in his sight. He had an assortment of reasons why he didn't learn to control the form: for one, he never needed it. Cooler never strained his abilities to the point that he needed to resort to his Oozaru form before. Number two: like Vegeta, his fighting style really didn't translate well to the form. He was finesse fighter, not a fighter who relied on brute force. Period.

The third reason was something that Baden would never admit to anybody. He was somewhat intimidated by the form. It was so raw, so primal, so uncontrollable that the pre-teen was almost scared of it. Fighting for control of his own body was one of his biggest fears; he loved control, he needed it to function properly. The Oozaru was one big symbol for reckless, untamable fury. It embodied the very sentiment that Baden always lived in fear of. Therefore, since he didn't want nor need it, he simply ignored it. Now he surmised that he could live to regret his neglect.

Of course, he knew a simple solution to his problem. He could cut off his tail and rid himself of the burden. Problem was that Baden was a Saiyan, and no self-respecting Saiyan would ever willingly remove their tail. Sorry, that just wasn't going to happen.

Nevertheless, he was going to have to live with the possibility. Regardless, considering his overwhelming power advantage, Baden was confident that even without the possession of his faculties he could still wipe the floor with Vegeta. Even if he transformed, he'd probably just kill Vegeta and destroy everything around him. The prison was off in the boondocks, it wasn't like any victims of his plausible wrath were actually important.

Keeping his eyes glued to the ground, the mountain range harboring the prison complex came into view. Wordlessly scanning the ground, the pre-teen kept his ears pricked for the sound of the beast. If he could get a lead on where the beast was, he could also get a lead on where the ball was that allowed the transformation to happen in the first place. And if he knew where the ball was, he had a better chance of destroying it.

Soon enough, Baden's ear drums became rattled by a loud cacophony of howls and hollers. Not having much to deduce, the boyish male dived down, almost touching the ground before leveling off, as he entered the mountain plateau that housed the prison. Even from his distant vantage point, Baden was a bit surprised to see how just how large an Oozaru really was. He knew he was giant, but he knew he never felt like one when he was in the form. It was probably just a matter of perspective.

Trying to retain a low profile, the pre-teen flew into a ravine that ran adjacent to the prison plateau. Tracking the beast from his concealed location, Baden effortlessly glided over the ridge and landed on the top of the ravine towering over the complex. Hugging the ridges of ravine like a baby in the cradling arms of its mother, the complex stood in majestic ruin. And within the confines of the compound was Vegeta in all his humongous glory.

Although Baden could see Vegeta, Baden didn't expect Vegeta to see him. How did Baden knew that Vegeta saw him? Well the answer was simple: he had to jump over a purple mouth beam almost instantly after landing on the crest of the precipice.

Floating closer to the burly ape, Baden suddenly felt his tail curl and posterior clench involuntarily. He hadn't gotten enough of a dose of the radiation to force a transformation, but he knew he had to find that damnable ball and fast. His arms were starting to twitch too.

"And here I thought you weren't going to surface? But your pathetic attempts to hide from me were futile!" taunted Vegeta, eyeing his new foe derisibly. Having killed the king, the giant ape had decided that the ransacking and demolition of his former "home" was the best use of his time. Myuu and Jabbar had to be found after all. And then came this fool through the mountains. Unbeknown to literally everybody but himself, Vegeta had picked up on the existence and application of ki sensing from Gohan and perfected the art while in prison—there really wasn't much else he could do without his power available to him.

Baden really wasn't paying attention to Vegeta's prideful banter. All of his body was jittering uncontrollably, spasm after spasm hitting every one of his muscles in rapid succession. Wave after wave of power was beginning to spill from his form; the only thing left was an eyeful of that moon for the dam to burst and his bidden form to be unleashed.

And right at that moment, Baden saw something that made his heart run cold. Directly above him, a white, luminescent moon hovering over the entire complex came within eyeshot. Eyes fixed on the haunting object; the final installation necessary to reprogram him was complete. Not even an act of god could prevent him from releasing his hidden beast now.

* * *

Glacial ice caps. Far North. Planet Earth. This almost infinitesimally small section of the universe was bearing host to one of the spectacular sights in recorded history. The fragility of the Namekian wish-bearing dragons was an unknown reality that almost seemed paradoxical. How could a being with such power be so helpless to defend itself? Many theories had been proposed, but none will ever be truly confirmed. What can be established though is at that exact passage in time, Shenron became an object of myth and legend, literally.

Turles. Raditz. Piccolo. Dr Kochin. None of them could've ever predicted the sight that was unfolding around them. Blast slamming straight into Shenron's green scaly flank, the blast-wave radiated through the dragon's entire body. Hue changing from verdant to gold, the dragon's scales began to practically melt off its skin. Golden scales dropping into the climbing seas and wading ice, the explosive mix of ice and fire set off a stream of steam that encircled the entire sight and melted the surrounding ice sheets at an astonishing rate.

Shenron's final swan song was nowhere near completion. Skin exposed, the dragon's form began to elongate, stretching out to full length. Spanning almost ten full sized football fields, the spectacle of Shenron uncoiling himself was a new degree of awe-inspiring. Words could not do it justice.

That definition of awe-inspiring would have to be edited again. Just after Shenron strained himself to maximum norm, the mythological reptilian began to revolve in a stationary spiral. At first, the twirling motion went slowly like an inverted tea cup ride found at any local amusement park. Then it got faster and faster. Soon enough, Shenron's body itself became one shiny blur that moved faster than any eye could perceive.

In fact, the only real proof of Shenron's existence in that vortex was yet another color change. As the dragon's revolutions went quicker and quicker, the golden layer of pure energy coating the beast's skin began to gravitate towards the edges of the rotating vortex as a thick white sheet began to grow in the center that marked Shenron's skeletal structure.

Devolution complete, the rotation nature of the blur began to oscillate at the same speed. Suddenly, at maximum oscillations per second, the former dragon's tucked itself inwards and formed a strange discus like form. And in an instant, Shenron and the Dragon Balls tethering him to the mortal plane exploded brilliantly.

Shielded from the fireworks, everybody could only look on in shock at the stunning turn of events. Dramatic asides, everybody, like always, had different perspectives on what they had witnessed.

Raditz was stupefied; his jaw was pretty much left ajar during the whole demonstration. No less than a week ago, heck a day or two ago, he would've been scoffed at the notion that such a thing was possible. Seeing that such things were true, the long-haired Saiyan was mystified about how such things could be kept secret for so long. Rumors, especially of the mythological and paranormal sort, spread like wildfire throughout camps the universe over. And the lower down on the totem pole you went, the more likely you'd hear of such superstitious jargon. When nobody cared whether you lived or died, it paid, for your sanity's sake, that you believed that at least something gave a damn about you.

Dr Kochin. At this point in time, the world hardly knew his name. They may never know it now. Having spent an almost unfathomable amount of time entombed in ice, the good doc had to praise fortune for his timely escape along with his prized bio-men. Unfortunately, his revered colleague, Dr. Wheelo, had not been granted the same fortune. Distraught and driven to relieve his beloved associate from his misfortune, the man gathered his troops and began a hunt for the Dragon Balls. Although he didn't expect to run into complications of the caliber of Turles and his crew, the man did succeed and summoned the mystical dragon. His dreams were so close to being fulfilled. So close.

The man was shaking like a leaf. His dreams, they were in shambles. He was close. So close! One more moment, and he and Dr Wheelo would've been reunited. Surely, under the steadfast leadership of his maestro, they would've beaten these goons and reclaimed the Earth for themselves. Now though, the genius of Dr Wheelo would never be realized and they all would die in brutal obscurity. For shame!

Piccolo's reaction was less straightforward. Identical to many of the situations he had found himself in since his renaissance, the toddler was very conflicted about his feelings. Shenron was created after his split with Kami. The only connection he held to Shenron was the one of death. If he died, so did Shenron. And that was it.

To understand the complexity of Piccolo's feeling, you'd need to know the feelings of his predecessors. King Piccolo's feeling towards Shenron were very loathsome, as with everything else Kami had made after their split. His closer forefather, the direct spawn of the original demon king, had an attitude of indifference about Shenron. To the older spawn of King Piccolo, matters relating to his connection with Kami were met with distaste and apathy.

Following the paradigm to a T, this latest Piccolo felt he had lost something when Shenron had become a thing of the past. Although Shenron's life depended on him, his didn't rely on Shenron's. Watching his alter ego's austere accomplishment simply cease to exist brought a certain degree of melancholy to him. In a strange, confusing way, he felt he had lost apart of himself.

Turles though had the most interesting reaction to the destruction. Since he had first learned of the existence of Dragon Balls on Planet Earth, he had made a solemn vow that he'd get his immortality. When he saw his minion slaughtered, the vow he pledged got an even deeper vindictive meaning. No personal assault on him went unchallenged and unmolested. Heads were going to roll.

Shenron's destruction was sickening to the prideful Saiyan. His vow, his promise to himself, went all up in smoke and became meaningless in the end. Failure was not something Turles knew well, not even in the harsher and vastly more unforgiving circumstances that had arisen when he acquired the Tree of Might did the alpha male feel a blow this big was dealt to him. It was foreign, despicable and completely unacceptable. And as Shenron continued his spectacular spiral to its end, the dragon had become a symbol of his resignation, his failure.

What was done could not be undone. Turles knew he would have to live with the shame of his fiasco, but that didn't mean retribution wasn't there for the taking. Wounded Saiyans, especially of the fit variety, were extraordinarily dangerous and dastardly opponents. Twice as enduring, thrice as stubborn, and twenty times more sadistic—they were not enemies you wanted to meddle with. In Turles's mind, the only way Dr Kochin and his cronies were leaving this frozen battleground was in a body bag. He owed himself and his fallen comrades that much.

Thoughts complete and resolute, the aftermath of Shenron's destruction began to leave the minds of the people stranded on the icy coast. No longer was there any time for silly banter or gawking, the battle Turles was waiting for was about to come to fruition.

Landing in front of the elderly doctor, the male Saiyan crossed his arms together and scowled bitterly at the decrepit old man. He expected something more climatic than this. Beating this walking bag of bones would be the equivalent of whacking a living piñata, just blood and guts would come out rather than candy. It almost wasn't worth his time and most certainly wouldn't wash the frustration he felt away. How did he lose out to this senile old fool? It made no sense. Nevertheless, his disappointment wouldn't stop him from killing the senior.

"I hope this was by intention," commented Turles, his voice fainter than the whoosh of a ghost. "Because if it was not, I hope you don't expect mercy."

Stammering like he was senseless clod, Dr Kochin backtracked and babbled on like an idiot. As pegged by his fierce looking adversary, he really had no plan B—no contingency plan whatsoever for this scenario. He was as good as dead and he knew it. Didn't mean he wouldn't try and put up a fight. "My creation, rid me of this scum."

Complying with lethal prompt, Kochin's final bio-men, the pink humanoid looking thing, charged his opponent. Closing in on its inert prey, the pink thing cocked its fist back and lowered the boom on his adversary.

Turles didn't even flinch. Taking the assault like a man, the Goku look-alike calmly removed the offending appendage from his face and smirked coyly. Staying silent, the Saiyan shifted his stance so that he was prime attacking position. "Now that your henchman has given me his best shot, it's time to see how well it can take a punch."

Even the machine was unnerved by the venom Turles used in his voice. The bio-men had no interest in taking on such a foe on their terms. Dropping back, the mechanical weasel extended its hands forward and fired its trademark finishing attack.

Predicting the ice attack's reemergence, Turles knew that he would not be fooled a second time. Vanishing in a cloud of energy, the vengeful Saiyan reappeared behind his foe. "You know, you never gave me the chance to strike you. That's very discourteous considering I gave you that opportunity. I guess I have nobody to blame but myself for that. Expecting weasels like you and your creator to have a semblance of honor or pride was probably foolish to assume."

Before the machine could get a word in edgewise, the bot soon found its stomach cavity ripped open by a piercing thrust of Turles's fist. "I suppose I know why now. You really couldn't take a punch after all."

Fear shining in the droid's eyes, Turles retracted his arm and pushed his foe onto its knees. Still squirming helplessly, the unforgiving Saiyan cackled as his foe leaked out oil and other miscellaneous fluids onto the white surface below them. They both knew that this bot had no chance against him now. Its demise was inevitable.

Low kicking the fallen bio-men in the face, the rogue smiled as his all-but-dead enemy landed on its back. Embedding his foot into the machine's upper chest, the heathen simply scowled as he pressed down. "Now to finish you."

Powering up a sphere of energy, the Saiyan fired the lethal blast right at his fallen foe's head. Without any measurable way of defending itself, Turles's opponent immediately found that the attack he brunt was lethal.

Not even looking at his beheaded enemy, the Saiyan turned away and realigned himself straight in a line at Dr Kochin. "Now that your bodyguard is dead, how do you expect to beat me?"

Sweating through his shirt, Dr Kochin staggered back waving his hand placidly. The fear and anxiety racing through his form was simply overwhelming. "Now, now there's no need to be threatening. Just let me go; I'm no threat to you. Killing me will give you nothing."

"You waste my time, you have your minions kill my crew and trap me on this barren rock and you deprive me of any chance for immortality. And now that you've got no defenses left, you expect me to spare you," stated Turles, keeping his voice deathly calm and bitingly fierce. He was furious but he was doing his best not to show it. "Don't disgrace yourself. Once you dig your grave, you should lie in it with some dignity."

"Come now," pleaded Kochin, sensing that his life was slipping further and further away from him. This Saiyan meant business; he needed to find something of value soon or he was as good as dead. "Perhaps I could be of service to you. I made those machines that challenged you, surely more of them would be valuable to you?"

Turles remained unconvinced. Although his pragmatic side viewed the offer as enticing, he knew that Kochin could not be trusted under him. "Your talents mean less than nothing to me. I don't trust you, and I allow nobody I don't trust to serve me. There's no way you'll escape from here alive. Just accept it."

"Uh-uh," stammered Kochin, backtracking right into a mound of ice. Nowhere to move, the man could only stare in horror as Turles's hand began to pulsate with energy again. Eyes more predacious than a tiger, the Saiyan fired his blast straight at his cornered prey.

Options running dry, all Kochin could do was clench his eyes and scream as the blast seared through his skin and fried his organs before barreling out of him smoothly. Boring into the icy knoll like a cannonball, the sphere didn't stop until it was deep inside the icy massif. And then suddenly, an explosion, one which was far more powerful than the blast that had been unleashed, shattered the dune.

Dr Kochin was no fool. It didn't prevent his untimely demise, but he didn't just select any random spot to call forth the legendary dragon. Nope, he had chosen the exact spot where he and his crony Dr Wheelo had been frozen solid for all those years.

Shenron's destruction had proven vital to Dr Kochin's ultimate cause without even knowing it. One of the golden scales of the mighty dragon, superheated by its own combustion, dropped right onto the massif housing Dr Wheelo's cryogenically frozen frame. The heat radiating from the scale was so great that it reactivated Dr. Wheelo's brain even if his exoskeleton was still immobile and trapped under well over a hundred feet of ice.

What Shenron started Turles finished. Firing the blast straight through Kochin, the blast bored through the ice unpinning the behemoth from its icy hold. Heat lubricating the mad doc's limbs, the unshackled beast was ready to strike back at his freer.

Ironically, Turles's final action had actually given Dr. Kochin what he wanted all along. In death, Wheelo's associate would be happy to know that his death had contributed to the new rise of the mighty Dr Wheelo.

And nobody knew how well that decision was going to turn out.

* * *

**And once again, I'm very late. This time though I have an excuse: I've spent over two-and-a-half weeks in Scandinavia sightseeing and generally having a good time. For whatever inexplicable reason, I just didn't have the drive to update when my time was alternating between leisure and intense in almost a blink of the eye. **

**However, I do bring some good news. I have been feverishly writing during my off-periods and have been able to write my way through chapter nineteen and a good bit of twenty. Since I've planned all three of my arcs to end on approximately chapter twenty-one, there's only one-and-a-half chapters left for me to write. **

**Considering my pre-writing and some interesting coincidences, I have decided that I'm ready to set a schedule for the end of this arc. The estimated release date of the climax (chapter 21) is going to be on August 3rd, 2013. In the meantime, chapter nineteen will be published on July 20th and chapter twenty on July 27th. Or, in other words, weekly. I can't lie to you and say I'm not excited. **

**Regardless, I hope you've enjoyed my eighteenth installment. It was a lot of fun to write. **

**Onto review responses. **

**Q: I hope you soon reveal how Myuu knows Jabbar.**

**A: It will be revealed. The likelihood in the super near future is pretty bleak though. **

**Q: I particularly enjoyed the part where he created a sort of correlation between his pride and his soldiers... for if they were made fools of, it was a direct attack on his own character. I thought that was interesting; most other Saiyans wouldn't care if their subordinates were killed, but Turles did. Does that mean he was so afraid of showing weakness, enough so that he was afraid people would see his soldiers getting killed as weakness on his part? Who knows, but I look forward to seeing more about this aspect of his character. (LucifVegeta). **

**A: Turles, like every true Saiyan it seems, has an ego that is simply infinite. Although, admittedly, I've had to take some liberties with him, I've inspired him with two all arcing personality trait that make him himself: hubristic ambition and a pragmatic obsession However, it's the union of these traits that make Turles unique. What this mean I'll leave up to you. **

**Q: I loved how you made such a distinction between the three Piccolos of your universe and how they changed over time, each becoming more and more different, and of course how none of it made sense to our poor toddler Namekian/demon child. (LucifVegeta). **

**A: The common motif of Piccolo and his ancestors is something I use commonly to empathize the point that he is neither King Piccolo nor Ma Junior. Whether it can be interpreted that Piccolo III (his adopted name) is the canon Piccolo though I will leave up to discourse as we go through. Piccolo III will be by no means a static character. **

**Q: As for Malaka, I wasn't really a fan of some of his dialogue... he seemed to lack the kindhearted wisdom that I remember his canon self having. Especially when he used "shit"... it just seemed off to me. (LucifVegeta). **

**A: Yah, writing dialogue for Malaka was excruciatingly difficult. However, at least that nagging work is over with now. **

**Q: General English: While your English is far above the general FFnet standard, you are still making a few mistakes. First one is the infamous your/you're, they're/their/there and its/it's. I know that this is an older chapter so you might have rectified these mistakes since (if so, feel free to ignore this part), but for the record: (Ness Frost). **

**A: Yah, I can't lie and say that won't be a recurring issue. Homophones and silly errors have, and always will be, my bane. Admittedly, I've been told that they've been reduced significantly in later chapters, but I'll leave that up to your eyes to see. **

**Q: On the other side of the spectrum, we have Gohan. I may sound like I'm being somewhat hypocritical here, due to my treatment of SotF Gohan and SotF Goku in Chapters 1-11, but he needs more screentime. He's the main character of this story, correct? Well, these past few chapters(especially considering that you write 10,000 words at minimum a chapter) haven't really proven that to me. It's not a problem if you rectify it on the sooner side, but I feel as if he's being heavily slighted- too much so, to be honest. I really recommend you try to show Gohan more in this next few chapters. (SuperVegetarott). **

**A: Yes, I agree that I've slighted Gohan far too much. Nevertheless, up until now at least, I just don't know a way to put him in this story that wouldn't be forced. That being said, his role should increase quickly soon. At least I hope so. Same with Goku. XD**

**Q: As for my other comment... I don't know who originally voiced this(If I remember correctly, it was pointer who brought this up), but Raditz's terminology is a bit too... I suppose I'd say "advanced" for him. Pointer brought up Raditz saying "au revoir," and I'm bringing up "Eureka." Somehow, I can't see Raditz saying this. (SuperVegetarott). **

**A: Yah, it was pointer who brought up the point originally. And you both are right. I sometimes let my own vocabulary loose with characters who don't have such gifts. That's why most of my character are fairly well educated most of the time. I'm the greatest person in the world for characterizing simpletons. **

**Q: -I know you were focusing mostly on Gohan and his thoughts as he met the Saiyan team, but I would have liked to have had a window into Raditz's thoughts as Vegeta was incessantly insulting him. (Roseblade). **

**A: Keep reading. There's a reason every Raditz after mine has been compared to mine on the NZF. XD**

**Q: "Man, I really wish Baden were around the 16-18 age range so it would make sense the way he acts." I mean, that's the age that the rebellious teen/thinking they know better than everyone really comes out. At 11, the kid hasn't even hit puberty yet and doesn't even know he really is yet. I know if had this complaint before, but I thought I would bring it up again because it is a major roadblock for me whenever I try to like Baden's character but I know there's nothing you can do to fix it now. Besides, I can't just praise you all the time can I? XD (FinalFlashX).**

**A: Yah, Baden does have a rather strange personality for one his age. However, you won't really know the real Baden until we go back to his work place/new home. There's multiple sides to him, just like any real life person. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. **


	19. Death Spiral

Fate could sure throw curve balls. One moment you could be standing on top of the world and the next you're being flung from that very spot. Vegeta was no stranger to this feeling. His life was very much the essence of the phrase. Life was just a succession of blind hairpin turns to the prince, all leading to an unknown end. At times, these ends were good and at others they were bad.

Good luck to Vegeta was a fairly foreign thing. In little over a month, his power had more than tripled from what it once was. And now, well damn, he was stronger than Frieza! After years on top of years of serving that tyrant's every whim, the prideful Saiyan felt he was ready to make his move. He could finally dethrone Frieza and take the universe for himself!

Yet, in all of his jubilant reverie, the gleeful man had forgotten one of the many golden rules of fate: what comes up must also come down.

Baden's entry to the battlefield was most intriguing to the haughty primate. He didn't seem to be much stronger than his last enemy, but there was…something about him that kept his attention. Like there was a connection between he and him that transcended the rational. Granted, it wasn't going to compromise his composure or ferocity, but the ape was curious about this new challenger that was coming to greet him.

Lips curling downwards upon sensing Baden turn into the ravine, the beast prepared himself to blast the sneaky bastard out. Those tactics may work on idiots and knaves, but most certainly not on him. Of course the beam missed, to Vegeta's immense displeasure, but at least he was able to flush out his moronic foe.

And then fate turned on him. Whatever tricks he expected Baden to have up his sleeve, they certainly weren't anything as mind-shattering as what had just begun. Once Baden had looked up into the moon, all Vegeta could do was stare helplessly in awe.

Another Oozaru. Another Saiyan. What madness was this? Vegeta was fairly, no completely certain, that only four full-blooded Saiyans and that hybrid brat had survived his home's destruction. Although all of the records and census data was destroyed in Vegeta's demise, the prince had been confident that only he and his two compadres were the only ones to make it out alive.

Unsurprisingly, time had proven more than once that his obstinate beliefs were wrong. First when Raditz spilled the beans about the possibility of his feeble brother's existence. Then with that half-breed brat that Raditz spirited away to him. Now…well he didn't even have a clue about who this Saiyan was. All he knew was that he had long lost kin.

Intense curiosity became to circulate through Vegeta's mind. With Goku and Gohan, at least there was a semi-understandable reason to why they existed in the way they had. The Saiyan he was facing now didn't have that sheltering reality. His existence and past whereabouts were an utter mystery, something that Vegeta had not the faintest answer too. Who was this Saiyan? Where did he come from? How did he get here and were their others with him?

Nevertheless, the kid's lineage would not garner him any special favors or sentimental feelings. If he resisted in any way, Saiyan or not, he'd be cut down just like any enemy he had faced before in his past. "Since your one of us, I'll give you one chance: stand down and kneel before your prince. Pledge your loyalty, and I'll pardon your insolence this one time."

For better or for worse, Baden's head was off in another place. Literally. Just as he surmised, his metamorphosis had left his mind under attack. A war for his faculties had erupted within the seconds of his ascension, subduing his outer comprehension and rendering him unable to process the information coming in from his sensory organs.

Perceiving Baden's internal war as a simple dismissal of his proposal, Vegeta snarled at his pubescent challenger. Extending his hand forward, wrist jutting up perpendicular to his arm, the man began charged up a ki blast. "So be it. Can't say that I didn't give you a shot." And he fired.

Immobilized and preoccupied by the more important battle for his sanity, Baden was unable to get out of the way of Vegeta's blast. Shockwave rattling the adolescent monkey, the aftershocks of the sneak attack had given Baden's inner beast the upper-hand it needed to gain control of his host's mind. And Vegeta probably wasn't going to like that.

"RAH!" Grabbing a piece of a severed guard tower, the enraged ape tossed the masonry straight at his equally enormous adversary.

Evading the massive block with pristine grace, Vegeta felt a trail of sweat run down his back. That throw had _power _in it. Pure, savage energy unlike anything he had ever witnessed with the sole exception of an extraordinarily pissed off Frieza. He wasn't entirely sure he could compete with something like this.

`Get yourself back together,' he snapped back at himself, admonishing his former amazement of his enemy. So he was a bit more powerful than originally assumed. So what? He was no slouch now either. Titles like the Prince of All Saiyans were not honorifics, and Vegeta wanted to make that point personally.

Adjusting his posture, the prince began to eye his enemy for weaknesses and holes to exploit. After almost a couple of seconds, the prince was compelled to smirk. Whether or not he was stronger or faster than his foe, he was sure that he wielded far more control over his frame. As long as he didn't do anything stupid, Vegeta was confident that he could dance circles around his beastly foe and have his way with him in any way he wished. What was power without the will to unleash it with lethal precision?

Approaching his fellow ape cautiously, Vegeta sized up which angle of attack would be most likely to increase his chances of getting multiple hits on his foe. Sensing an opening arise almost instantaneously, the prince ducked beneath Baden's burly arms and buried his fist right in the adolescent's solar plexus. Following up the motion like a well-oiled machine, the older Saiyan plastered Baden's chin with a tantalizing uppercut. Finishing up his combo, the more experienced fighter banged his elbow into his opponent's temple like he was slamming a door in somebody's face.

Staggering back, Baden instinctually planted his foot into the ground to halt his slide. Roaring like a beast, the out of control simian beat his hairy fists against his chest defiantly. Vegeta was going to have to do far better.

Vegeta planned to do better. Appearing right in front of the other ape, the hothead tried to bludgeon his rival's face with his fist. Unlike last time though, Baden parried the blow, albeit sloppily and with no technique. Recognizing his foe's sloppiness, the prince subconsciously closed in even further and swept Baden off his feet with a low arcing kick.

Righting himself upside-down in mid-air, Baden performed a handspring and cartwheeled away from Vegeta before the man could stomp on his face. Even if his mind was pretty much out of commission, most of his fighting skills remained due to the extensive time he committed into perfecting his abilities and binding them to his unconscious retention. Muscle memory didn't take holidays even if your mind did.

Still, active cognition is superior to mindless reaction. Knowing that Baden would eventually flip out of his handspring, Vegeta patiently waited for the other male to flip himself right side up. Detecting the slight signal of reorientation, the prince generated as much power as he could and fired it straight on, confident that the blow would be decisive.

Beam striking Baden dead on, the tween was helpless to break free of his slide. Flung forward like the tip of a comet, the boy's momentum carried him straight through the side of a mountain before the beam detonated and eradicated the mountain he had been buried under. Fortunately, neither the slide nor the explosion had done much too truly damage Baden or his resolve. If Vegeta wanted to kill him, he was going to need to try a lot harder.

`Damn it!' cursed Vegeta, furious that his energy blasts produced practically no noticeable results. What did he need to do to put a dent in that piece of shit? Although he by no means had put everything into finishing the fight then and there, he had put in a considerable amount—his foe shouldn't have just been able to shrug off a direct attack. But he did and that was reality.

Baden was tired of being on the defensive. Moving with light-surpassing speed, the out of control ape lashed out at his attacker. Taking the other predator completely by surprise, the juvenile Oozaru socked the adult male straight in the face.

Pain jolting through his face, Vegeta desperately moved his palms in to appease the throbbing body part. Unfortunately, the action left his middle completely susceptible to attack. Not one to look a gift horse in the eye, Baden took his chance and pelted Vegeta's middle with blows.

Eyes bugging out, Vegeta growled in pain as his mid-section took the abuse. Each punch felt like he had been hit by the world's largest freight train. He would never admit it, but he had to consent to the fact that the kid could punch. If he took too many of those shots, then he was toast.

Luckily, Baden's attacks were still clumsy and awkwardly thrown—easy to intercept if you had an opportunity and even a fraction of your enemies strength. The Prince of All Saiyans fit both qualifications. Identifying an opportunity to intercept his challenger's combo, the older Oozaru parried the attack and regained the edge.

Pressing after being on the defensive, Vegeta put his foot forward and pivoted with his hip. Turning around, the older male brought his elbow into a striking position and speared the younger male right in the temple. Extending the offending hand, Vegeta used his striking hand to grab Baden's wrist and twirl the adolescent straight into the dirt.

Back up in a flash, the tween dived through the prince's range and clashed heads with the grumpy man. Having the harder head, the blow affected the prince far moreso than his adversary.

Bleeding from the gash on his forehead, the haughty prince countered back with his own headbutt in return. Sadly, Baden's head was still harder and Vegeta ironically was the party worse off from the attack.

Having barely felt the contusive blow, the amped up monkey returned fire on his "prince." One punch to the middle, another to the chin—Baden was not going to stop until his fill was sated, which in his feral state would be never.

Concluding his barrage, Baden spun around on his heels and elbowed his fellow straight in the back of the neck. Body going temporarily limp, Vegeta's massive body buckled, forcing him onto his knees as arms dangled flaccidly by his sides. Staring hatefully at his apparently stronger foe, the man just wanted to shout out his frustration to the world. How was he supposed to beat something that could topple him in seven blows?

`No, that can't be right. There's no way it could be true.' Vegeta was not a fool prone to over exaggeration. He didn't freak out nor act like a frightened little girl when things got dicey. Still, he couldn't shake a sense of dread about this fighter. There was something about him, deep down inside, that Vegeta was scared to admit what may be true.

To understand Vegeta's plight, any normal concept of fear or phobia must be discarded. They didn't accurately convey his thoughts on the matter. Throughout his entire life, from the time he was an infant on, he had no equal. Peer or not, he was always a step (or mountain) ahead of every one of his subordinates. Sure his father was stronger, but his mystique was very much grounded in authenticity.

The destruction of his home world ironically cemented his mystique. The real universe was extremely stratified. You were either mind-boggling powerful or mind-boggling weak. And like every other ecosystem in the universe, the strong prey on the weak. And as the cycle continued, the apex predators gained both prestige and inspired a level of fear that was almost god-like in intensity. Super-elites such as himself were definitely apex predators in the grand scheme of things.

Yet, there was a problem. Apex predators—like sharks, lions and crocodiles—may all be prime predators in their own realms, but all bowed before one almost omnipotent predator. Just as he did. While man presided over animals, so did Frieza over him.

Many theorems had arisen over the treatment of Vegeta and his squadron within Frieza's empire. Oftentimes, the theorem you believed varied on what you thought of Frieza and his methods. Those in favor of the lizard generally downplayed the Arcosian's sadism, especially for brutish species like the Saiyan's and their ambitious leader. In fact, one of these believers dissertated that Frieza actually liked Vegeta and wanted to mold him into a mini-version of him. The mere fact somebody like Raditz, an utterly mediocre warrior speaking kindly, was allowed to report personally to Frieza was evidence of this.

Others, generally in interest of overthrowing the Arcosians, spread other ideas about Frieza's treatment. That he was an overzealous sadist that had a compulsive need to torture and antagonize on regular basis. Because of the Saiyan's peculiar history with the Arcosian, they were often cited as evidence to their expositions. However neither the group in favor nor against Vegeta could make any true claim to validity. Since neither had any contacts within Frieza's inner sanctum, all that their opinions amounted to was hearsay.

Regardless, neither interested party really understood what truly plagued Vegeta. Whether he was the personal slave or pet of the tyrant, their obsession with the physicality of Frieza's abuse was what truly undermined any attempt to understand what Vegeta thought. Physical abuse was something he was pre-conditioned to tolerate. A mark of a powerful Saiyan was their ability to withstand bodily agony and grow stronger from it.

Certainly he was tortured, oftentimes to the point that he couldn't even let out a blood-curdling scream due to the pure exhaustion he felt. Sure, many times he was brutalized for pretty much no reason. Nobody mentioned though that most of time, he was beaten on his own intent.

Contrary to what was sometimes thought, Vegeta's behavior wasn't masochistic in nature. However it was a symptom of his much more dire suffering, which proved to be far more constraining than any physical mutilation. He would rather die than reveal what he often thought behind his bravado.

Disillusionment. Living with a being like Frieza practically breed the condition. How could it not? Even without the useful ability to sense ki, it would take an idiot not to realize the almost impassable gulf between Frieza and everybody else. Not even a fool was stupid enough to entertain a thought that anybody was comparable to the might of Frieza's omnipotent reach.

It took years to ferment, like a poisoned wine, but eventually the prince came to realize what his new world really thought of him. All he could be was subservient in this world; a knave with no will of his own to live out. He was just another ant, albeit a highly ranked one, in the colony.

The story of his planets destruction didn't help his bidden feelings of inferiority. His planet was destroyed by a meteorite? A meteorite. How pathetic. Was the people whom revered him so weak that even a wayward rock could exterminate them? What was the point in taking pride from the opinions of weaklings?

Coming from power, the worst thing about this slow realization was the futility of his predicament. Sure, he knew his ailment, but what was to be done? In many ways, living with Frieza was like living on the banks of a perpetually long fjord. On the other bank stood prosperity and the water represented Frieza. And no matter what he did to cross, he always ended up back on the original bank feeling wet, cold and miserable.

As time went on, Vegeta became more and more aware of the fact that he just didn't have the tools to cross. Was his fate just to wander around discontented on his little bank, damned to look to the other side longingly? But his pride wouldn't let the matter drop; there had to be a way to pass the water, someway somehow!

Super Saiyan. For the first couple of years of his confinement, it wasn't a topic he thought of much. During his formative years, it only meant that he was destined for great things. Which at the time, he was. However, in the present, the concept fascinated him on a much deeper level. Was there a state, beyond his comprehension, that could truly fulfill is long desired need for validation. Could this Super Saiyan phenomenon be the bridge needed to cross the chasm?

As time went on, Vegeta became convinced that this was indeed the case. An ascension to Super Saiyan, and only Super Saiyan, was the key to the puzzle. He was the Super Saiyan that the legend had foretold, and he alone would break through and reclaim the honor of both his race and himself.

Meeting Baden made had thrown a monkey wrench in that theorem. It was easy to say you were going to be the legend when you only had Nappa and Raditz to compare yourself too. Hell, he was an order of magnitude stronger than every Saiyan he had ever heard of up until now. Naturally, given the quality of his challengers, the exulted honor of becoming a Super Saiyan would be given to him first of course.

Could he same now though. All the realities of the situation certainly favored his enemy, of whom suffered from every traditional disadvantage. For one, he was obviously not in control of his transformation, therefore it was clear his foe was only relying on complete animal instinct to fight. Unless you had an utterly overwhelming power advantage, such a strategy would break apart in five seconds flat. The mere fact that not only was this monkey holding own, but completely dominating the fight led Vegeta to conclude he was weaker than his foe.

Even more disheartening was the fact that his foe was significantly younger than him. From what little he saw, the contemptuous brat hadn't even reached puberty yet. Just how much more powerful could this kid become if he reached his prime? What if he was the legend instead of him?

Every blow he suffered stung twice as bad. Frieza's foolish attempts to harm him amounted to nothing in comparison to this barrage. Not because they were more painful, but because each attack cemented a new found doubt in the marrow of his bones. Perhaps he wasn't what he thought he was? Maybe he was destined to wallow forward on his bank until the end of time? Was this all he was meant to become?

`No!' Feeling his energy creep back to him, the older monkey picked himself up and faced his enemy. Conviction, straight from the bottom of his heart, raced to the surface and burned through his blood. He didn't care about his life, not as long as this filth was still standing. Either he was going to prove once and for all that he was the Super Saiyan the legend foretold, or he'd kill himself trying to prove it. No more reservations, no more restraints. There was no middle ground, no land to twiddle your thumbs or sit on the fence. Either do or do not. One way or another, there would be only one Saiyan leaving this battlefield today.

Why did everything have to be so troublesome? Seriously, was there some conspiracy instituted to make his life harder or something? Since when did Spiesen, silent Spiesen, have a tongue made of barb wire? Traje hadn't a clue, but his helplessness to defend himself from Spiesen's attack left the fifteen year incensed. Even the laziest people have things they were proud of, and Traje was no exception to this universal rule. In his case, his ability to reason and debate were the things closest to his heart.

Needless to say, having pretty much his entire way of life come under fire wasn't a pleasant experience. However, if Spiesen's goal was to convert him, the thirteen year old would have to try much harder. People don't just change all of the sudden because some charlatan claims they should. Sure, he capitulated. The only reason why was that his argument was shot, and he was forced to concede victory. During his army tenure, such unpleasant circumstances had arisen more times than he could ever care to count.

The reversal off course happened almost instantaneously. Spiesen wanted to be heading back into the fray as soon as possible, and Traje, as the loser of their game, had to oblige. Of course, both of them were in agreement that they wanted to do this operation clandestinely. Or, in more simple terms, not charge in guns ablazing. Machen disagreed about this, but he got overruled decisively.

To accomplish their directive, they both, along with a begrudging Machen, had to make a few modifications and adjustments. For one, Putzen had to be revived. There was no way in hell anybody was entering Frieza's bee hive again without everybody on deck ready to fight. Number two: Spiesen set the ship in "stealth mode," which effectively camouflaged the ship against the backdrop of space. Number three: in the case of being spotted, Spiesen set the ship's shields to maximum. Unless Frieza paid them a personal house call, it would take one something pretty extraordinary to pierce the hull of their ship.

As for Traje, he was bolted atop the ship's bow in Erinnern's former post. It was the best spot for him at the moment.

Suddenly, like rounding a hairpin mountain turn, Frieza's awe-inspiring ship returned to view. Steeling his nerve, Traje turned on his radio transmitter. "We are almost there. Ready for final approach?"

"Affirmative," answered Spiesen, his demeanor a complete contrast to the emotional fireball he was during their feud. As he could as well. Professional soldiers had a unique ability to completely turn off and on their quirks when they saw it fit. You had too or you'd lose your sanity, your life or both.

"Okie-dokie," responded Machen, whom like him, was stationed outside on the wing. Bastard had no fear of death. Whether it was from bravado, genuine fearlessness or pure stupidity had yet to be determined. If you questioned Traje on the subject, the lazy ass would probably respond that it was stupidity.

"Whenever you are," replied Putzen, whom was placed opposite Machen on the other wing. Having recovered from his bout with Pui Pui, it was clear to any passerby that the teen was sullen and upset. As like any Saiyan, the fact he had been defeated was a very bitter pill to swallow. One he wasn't prepared to accept. Hearing Machen ended up finishing what he started made that bitter pill turn sour. It went without saying that his feelings of shame and embarrassment were acute.

Together, he and his brothers made a neat final line of defense. And only line of offense now that he thought of it. It wasn't like the ship's weapons were much of anything in comparison to even one round fired by either of them.

"Approaching Frieza's airspace," informed Spiesen, alerting them to the fact they'd have to lower their ki levels to nearly untraceable levels. For almost all ships of any real size, there was an invisible field that marked the airspace they were allotted. However, this was only a guise for a warlord such as Frieza. What the airspace truly represented was a power level scanner. Bastard didn't like super powers like them entering his ship without his say so. But since hundreds of thousands of grunts came and left Frieza's ship on a regular basis, nobody really paid the comings and goings of weaklings with much forethought. A fatal mistake when dealing with people that could alter their power levels.

Sailing straight through the invisible traverse line, the ship sped up a tad as we passed by. Knowing the time was close by and they would soon run into hostiles, all three Saiyans drew their sniper rifles from their holster and pressed them into their shoulders.

Approaching the first guard station, Traje signaled his allies off. "Changing to non-explosive rounds. This guy is mine," stated Traje, reloaded the weapon with a specialized type of ammunition. Peeking in through the zoom, the fifteen year old maneuvered the reticle so that it was staring dead-on at the gate guard. Poor fool didn't even know that his time in this dimension had run dry.

Slowly squeezing the trigger, the rifle expelled the bullet while recoiling slightly. Unsurprisingly the bullet hit dead-on, silencing the sentry forever to Traje's passive delight. "Tango is down. I repeat tango is down. You're clear to move on, Spiesen."

"Roger that," replied the thirteen year old, passing through the blockade swiftly when the coast was clear. "How long until you think the idiots figure out they've been invaded again?"

"I'd say about five to ten minutes," specified Putzen, interrupting the conversation between Traje and Spiesen when he saw it fit too. They were on a very strict time-table, not a second could be wasted. "I recommend that you step on the thrusters a bit. We have to be in the canals before these idiots are breathing down our necks."

Rolling his eyes, Spiesen knew that Putzen really didn't know what he was talking about. Frieza's bureaucracy was piss poor about dealing with all problems, except one: the defense of the megalomaniac himself. For that one particular task, his soldiers were more alert than an owl and more vicious than a hyena. They really had no time at all.

Flooring it, the obese male replied coyly to his seventeen year old cousin as his squad mates braced themselves atop the ship. "Read yah loud and clear. Hope this is fast enough."

`Sadistic asshole,' thought Putzen, getting onto one knee so that he could steady his rifle and begin picking off ships. Flicking off the safety, the teen slammed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder with a hard thrust while practically shoving the scope right into his eye. Yep, he really wasn't in a good mood.

The same could not be said for Machen. The young adult was happier than a clam, then again he always was when mindless killing was on the menu. "It's showtime, folks. Let's do this!"

"All of you are going to give me a migraine," complained Traje, lamenting the fact that he had to deal with so many troublesome personalities. Whether it was Machen and his constant boisterousness, Putzen and his flamboyant fieldwork or Spiesen and his viper-like tongue, Traje hadn't the faintest clue how he tolerated any of them. They all cramped his style in their own unique ways.

Looking up into the horizon, all three Saiyans saw a platoon of red, firefly like beings storm out of the planet-sized star carrier. Immediately, every single one of them knew that the time for battle had come again.

Ever hesitant to start off the theatrics, Machen fired straight at the lead "firefly." Having "accidentally" forgotten to change to non-explosive rounds, Machen could gaze on at the destruction he caused with a gleaming face. A glee he couldn't keep to himself. "Welcome to the jungle, we got fun and games. We got all the things you want, honey we—"

"We got it," interjected Traje, not about to let Machen's really bad karaoke singing invade his ear drums. The bastard was enough of a handful when he wasn't amped up and feeling like he had a table reserved on cloud nine. "Now can it." All Traje got back was a growl in return.

"Shut up, the both of you," snapped Putzen, who had already blown at least half-a-dozen of those fireflies out of the sky before Traje and Machen had finished with their spat. "In case either of you hadn't noticed, we are under attack. Support would be _real _nice right about now."

Both offended parties snorted briefly before they recommenced their battle. Sadly, the battle was less of a repartee and more a grandiose fireworks display. One after another, Traje, Machen and Putzen sniped mechanical birds straight out of space. For now, their brutally efficient offense was proving to be quite the impenetrable defense. Their aims couldn't be more precise, and nobody could even hope to get close enough to touch them. Idiots can't damage your ship if all that remains of them are a flaming trail of smoke and leaking rocket fuel.

"Entering the canals," stated Spiesen through his intercom, before tilting the ship ninety degrees to squeeze through the narrow corridor. The process though was very disorienting to the three Saiyans out actually fighting. In truth, the only reason why the three Saiyans were not flying now were because their boots could attach themselves magnetically to the floor. It was pretty nifty technology! Nevertheless, acting like a limb on the trunk of a tree wasn't exactly any fun nor was it really practical for the battle.

Overriding the magnetic effect of their boots, all three of the embattled Saiyans broke free of the ship and began to maneuver to different sides to protect the vessel from any angle of attack. Machen took the top angle because he was the most likely to get tunnel vision and miss crucial flanking maneuvers. Putzen gave himself the hardest job of covering both the bottom angle and both the flanks. As for Traje, he chose to follow along from the front, where he was most likely to encounter no resistance whatsoever.

"Five tangos coming in straight at your twelve o'clock," Putzen calmly detailed, picking off ship after ship in rapid succession as they came through the narrow chokehold. Fighting in canals was always much easier than fighting out in the open. Less room to maneuver meant more direct assaults, and well…that was suicide unless you're name was Frieza.

"Gotcha," answered Machen, firing a couple of potshots at the incoming escort. As predicted, the blast hit straight through three of the ships and the ensuing chaos took care of the other two. Satisfied, Machen popped up the mag only to notice he had completely ran out of ammo.

Growling, the pissed off Saiyan chucked the stupid piece of equipment into another bowling pin configuration of ships. Like the last grouping, the center group was sliced to ribbons and the outward cluster were ripped apart by the succeeding explosion. Looking on at the carnage with gusto, the young adult turned around and yelled as he thrust his fist into the air triumphantly. "Boo yah! Strike, bitch."

"That stuff costs money, you know," whined Putzen, keeping his tone neutral as his comrade completely lost his composure. "We are still in an active warzone if you couldn't tell."

"Oh screw you," exclaimed Machen, but in the jovial joking kind of way rather than the truly offended kind of way. It was going to take a lot more than a simple admission of cost to darken his day. "It's not like my lack of armaments is going to do us in." Meanwhile, Traje could only sigh at the topic of their banter.

"You two can arrange your wedding later," butted in Spiesen, a little annoyance hidden in his voice. "In the meantime, I'd recommend you get ready for me to turn this thing. We are getting extremely close now."

Having given his warning, the thirteen year slowed down before drifting into the next channel. Like a cohesive unit, the three warring Saiyans silently moved in unison with the ship as if they were water hugging a rock as it slid through a winding river. Getting out on the other end, they immediately were greeted by another procession of fireflies flying straight at them.

"Got to love these fools," stated Machen, firing shot after shot into the incoming squadron. One ship down, then another, then another after that. Before long, the entire area was engulfed in a flash of yellow light matched only by a long trail of ashy smoke that was jutting out of the ravaged canal like a disfigured tail. Bemused by his self-caused theatrics, the young adult began to proudly boast as he continued his reign of devastation. "Lemmings, bow before me! I'm your god, I'm your destroyer!"

In the interim, while Machen was busy playing vengeful god and Putzen was picking off any stragglers whom escaped his elder's exuberance, Traje saw their landing strip start to materialize over the horizon. Somehow though, the fifteen year was very anxious over this new development. This mission couldn't have been _this _easy. After all the devastation, all the insanity, that they had caused, how were they just waltzing into this bastion? Sure, they encountered resistance—but nowhere near enough. Was this the suicide mission he really thought it was?

"ETA to landing: two minutes," informed Spiesen, inadvertently adding more to Traje's little musing. Continuing where he left off, had he really been wrong? Was he really willing to throw the lives of his brothers for not doing _this_? Could he have been really this wrong in his assumptions?

Ironically, the very second he came to that question, Traje saw something that made his blood chill. In that moment, all he could see was porcelain skin, purple shoulders, menacing Arcosian eyes and a matured ray of light aimed straight at their ship. The creature said nothing, revealed nothing. And in the blink of an eye, all of their hopes for an easy extradition melted away like ice on a hot summer day.

Traje had fled the minute he saw the Arcosian's hand wavering resolutely in the air. Suddenly, he heard an explosion behind him and turned around to see that their ship had burst into a flaming cauldron that was careening straight at him. Without the room to dodge, the flaming wreckage slammed straight into Traje's body and pinned him to its underbelly as it veered off course.

Path left to arbitrary fate, the downed ship crashed into the side of Frieza's massive carrier. The collision was so violent that it ripped a hole into the metal alloy that coated the carrier's skin. Sliding into the interior of Frieza's vessel, the ruined craft tightly squeezed through the hole it created and stopped there when its momentum was all used up.

The violent nature of the crash sent Traje flying across the vacant hall the ship had torn through. Colliding into the retaining wall, the fifteen year old bumped his head roughly on the barricade before dropping to the ground in a heap. Feeling loopy for a second, the lazy male rubbed the back of his head to sooth the dull ache coming from the back of his head. "Yeesh."

"Damn."

Turning his head to his side, Traje was almost surprised to see all three of his comrades beside him. Dang, it seemed he really couldn't get rid of them even if he tried. Oh well, what else is new.

"What in the name of God happened there?" hollered Machen, entirely taken aback by how quickly things had went south. A second ago they were just cruising around slicing through things like hot butter, and now they had just got sliced through like hot butter.

Spiesen had only one word of rebuke. "Frieza." It was sufficient answer to Machen's question.

As always, the reaction to Frieza's emergence were different. Machen was angrier than a bull in a china shop. Putzen was frustrated and wasn't exactly sure about how he was to lead his brothers out of this deathzone. Traje sighed at the negative turn of events, even if he already was aware of Frieza's actions. As for Spiesen, the boy looked…resigned.

"So…what are we going to do?" asked Putzen, at a loss for how to act. Due to the time and nature of their decision, they really didn't have a contingency plan in place for Frieza playing an active role in resisting them.

"There's not much we can do," replied Spiesen, closing his eyes and sighing in despair. "Frieza will not permit all of us to escape here alive. He'll sooner blow up this entire area than let that happen."

Snarling like a pissed dog, Machen banged his fist straight into the retaining wall, leaving an indent in the conformable structure. "So we're just going to die like dogs? Is that what you're saying?"

"Not precisely," answered Spiesen, the dark bags under his eyes growing in size. "If we all disappear out of the blue, Frieza will grow incensed and level the entire area. Most likely, we will either be all killed in the fireworks of we will be flushed out and murdered personally. However, if one of us was to come out now and meet him, the others may escape. There's a fair possibility that he'll be too preoccupied with that person to remember the rest of us. In other words, we need one person to stay behind."

An awkward, tense air settled over the stranded Saiyans. They knew that facing Frieza alone now was tantamount to suicide. And that was probably being generous about their odds. But this strategy had one flaw: who was going to be the fool who volunteered for such an assignment. Even if there was a person in the group that was suicidal, there were numerous, far less painful ways of offing yourself rather than inciting Frieza's wrath.

"Since we don't have much time to deliberate, I'll make this quick," commenced Spiesen, before stretching out his head and neck. "I'll volunteer for the task of stalling Frieza."

Spiesen's quick acceptance of the task took almost everybody aback. The others had expected an argument to erupt between them over who was going to be forced to most likely give up their life. Although Machen, Putzen and Traje were by no means lobbying for the task, they were curious about why Spiesen accepted it so readily. Putzen was the one who verbalized this confusion. "You do realize the implications of your declaration, right? Are you ready for such action?"

"Of course I'm not," snapped Spiesen, incensed by the foolishness of the question. What thirteen year old honestly wants to die a horrible, gruesome death. Okay maybe a few, but he certainly wasn't one of them. "That doesn't change the fact none of us are. I'm just the most resigned to the reality. I'm not cool with it, but what can you do."

Turning to Putzen, the thirteen year old closed his eyes. "Putzen, I only ask one thing: get Erinnern and Merken back. We didn't come all of this way and fight so hard to come up empty-handed."

Suddenly, all of them could hear a loud bang. Apparently, Frieza wasn't so stupid to have deduced that they had died from such a minor collision. And now that Frieza had grown impatient, just like Spiesen predicted, the tyrant had settled for leveling the entire area to draw them out. Knowing that time was all but gone, Spiesen waved his comrades away. "Go, go now. Flee while you still can!"

"Gotcha." Signaling Traje and Machen onto their feet, the three Saiyans bolted down the hall and hopefully out of sight. Now by his lonesome, Spiesen sighed and mustered the will to meet his maker. Finding that will, the coming of age youth summoned most of his energy to the surface. There was absolutely no need to hold back; not when you had no expectation for survival in the first place.

Powering up to his utter maximum, Spiesen relished the moment he had to completely lose himself. No need to control his energy, no need to conserve for a battle of attrition. If he was going to die, he would enjoy his last moments to the fullest. Though, for as much fun as Spiesen had, he did a number to his surroundings. With no restraints or barriers to the damage he could cause, Spiesen's energy destroyed everything in its path. It caved in the roof, uprooted the floor, and popped the hull of their ship out of its hole like a cork of a champagne bottle.

Everything around him destroyed, Spiesen slowly hovered out of the hall and back into the canal. Looking up, the thirteen year old saw the icy-hearted Arcosian lord glare daggers into his flesh. Swallowing a wad of spit, the teen locked eyes with the deranged man.

And in that moment, Spiesen realized that he was going to die.

Clouds as thick as sand settled over the icy plain. Turles hadn't realized the unforeseen implications of his actions. In his mind, the quest was over. There was nothing else to be done, even if he felt ashamed of his failure to acquire immortality. At least, that doctor and all his cronies had paid for their transgressions. Or so he thought anyways.

Confident in his thoroughness, Turles turned around and crossed his arms across his chest crossly. Glowering right at Piccolo, the man conjured a small ball of energy in his hands to appear more threatening. "Now that you no longer have the promise of immortality binding you to me, tell me what else you have to interest me?"

Piccolo, despite the fact that he was pretty much bartering for his life, was not fazed by Turles's implicit threat. "There are a couple of things: one, I have the ability to make more Dragon Balls. It will take a while, but you won't be leaving here for quite some time too. Two, I happen to know where another ship is. Three, it looks like you'll need some help now that all you're henchman are dead."

A bead of sweat ran down Piccolo's brow. He may not have lied about anything, but he did leave out quite a bit that would've damaged him personally in two of his reasons. For one, his knowledge of Dragon Ball production were solely based in hazy memories he had at his deposal from the time he was joined with Kami. It was one thing to have rustic memories of an event, and an entirely other thing to replicate the art. The ship was also somewhat of a deception. Sure, it existed and he knew how to get it, but he conveniently neglected to mention the fact that it was in a state of disrepair. And it wasn't like Piccolo knew where to get it fixed.

Regardless of Piccolo's personal anxiety, Turles remained unconvinced. Brow lifting ominously, the man laughed at the Namekian's proposal. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass. One hunt to nowhere is enough for one lifetime. I presume that's all you have to offer?"

Piccolo said nothing in return. His eyes were simply widening at the figure standing straight behind his self-delegated executioner.

"I would be more worried about your own life right about now!"

Turles didn't even know what hit him.

Dr Wheelo's surprise attack came in quickly and with frightening brutality. Elbow poised hostilely over the rogue, the freakish robot speared its elbow straight into Turles's clavicle before sliding its other hand onto his foe's back and firing at point blank range.

Falling forward into the dirt, Turles growled as he picked himself up—not at all pleased that his job was not yet done. That attack actually hurt, which was surprising considering the quality of fighters he had faced so far. Perhaps there was challenge on this planet after all.

Inspecting his new challenger, Turles wasn't surprised at all that it was another bot. The other three were, but at least this guy made no pretense about it. Judging by how hard it punched, the metal protecting it was a strong metal alloy. Contributing to the machine's admittedly striking appearance was its form. Freakish height, a wingspan generally reserved for a charter plane, crab claws and dinosaur-like feet. But the most telling part of the challenger was his head. Located atop the machine's dome was a casing that housed a brain, a working brain. This beast wasn't just a mindless robot, but a sentient being capable of acting outside of a rigid thought process that confined most bots. If their power levels were in the same ballpark, this thing was a dangerous.

"I must say I didn't expect to thank my enemies for freeing me, but your loss is my gain. We all can't be winners, after all."

Keeping up the intensity of the banter, Turles beefed up his chest and attempted to measure up to the freak of a machine. "Enjoy your freedom while you still can. Pretty soon the only feeling you'll feel is the texture of my boot on your face."

"Oh contraire, human," bantered back the mad doctor, remaining completely still as Turles's posture got more and more aggressive. "Somehow I very much doubt a scenario such as that will come to pass."

Incensed didn't really convey the steaming anger wafting through Turles's mind. Like virtually all Saiyans, his pride was much too great for his own good. Being compared to the spineless sect of humanoids spanning this planet was simply insulting to the overly ornery alien. It was an utterly humiliating insult, and it was not something he'd take lying down. "Human. I'd rather not be compared to such vermin."

Staring deadpan at the Goku look-a-like, Wheelo couldn't help but cock his head slightly to the side. "Your anatomy and bodily characteristics imply you're a human or at least a close relative. No matter though, you'll soon be dead."

"We'll see about that," responded Turles before settling down into an attacking pose. Sensing his opponent retreat into a defensive posture, the Saiyan began to look over his newfound enemy for weaknesses.

That task Turles soon found was harder than what he bargained for. Dr Wheelo's armor looked to be absurdly hard and more than a bit dense. Definitely not a part of Wheelo that he wanted to invest much time in if he could. Since he wasn't interested in attacking areas where the metal was extremely prevalent, such as the torso and head, the man started to look at the connecting joints around its neck, elbow, waist and knees where the metal was either much thinner or just not there whatsoever. Decision made for him, the man smirked. `Hmph, that'll do it.'

Darting forward, the man pulled his leg back and flung the limb at the machine's knee with the hope that the mad doc would be forced down onto one knee so he could arrange an even more brutal attack.

Wheelo was no novice though. Knowing that Turles would attempt to prey on the weaknesses of his hard exoskeleton, the man raised his leg so that Turles's shin would collide with his own instead of getting hit in the knee. This turned out to be a wise decision because Wheelo hardly felt a sting from the collision while his ever persistent challenger yelped in pain from the furious clang.

Using the recoil of the blow to spin back into a stable position, Turles jumped up and fired a small ki blast straight at the sentient machine's waist. Unfortunately, Dr. Wheelo saw the attack coming and deflected it with a disturbing level of ease.

Landing smoothly, Turles began to strafe around the machine. Accelerating steadily, the rogue started to dance circles around his unmoving foe, hoping his blistering pace would disorient the massive machine and allow him to capitalize on a brief moment of surprise.

The tactic worked. When his movement was but a blur, Turles chose the correct time to pivot towards Wheelo and hit the lanky bot's legs as he slid on by. Having tackled through Wheelo, Turles once again pivoted so that his face was facing Wheelo's form. Bringing his arm back, the male Saiyan generated another ki blast and chucked the thing straight at the mad doctor.

Discerning the potential danger he was in exposed to, Wheelo reached out to the ground and performed a handspring to flip himself right-side-up just as Turles's matured blast was barreling at him. Reacting out of habit, the man erected a ki barrier around himself and not a moment too soon. Hitting the barrier instead of Wheelo, the blast bounced off the shield like how a rubber ball bounces off a brick wall.

Lowering the barricade, Wheelo fired back at Turles just as the Saiyan had. And just like him, the Saiyan conjured a ki barrier that prevented his attack from hitting. Impressed by the fortitude of his wiry foe, Wheelo thought it was a good idea to congratulate the man. "Bravo. I've met absolutely nobody before you that could even fathom this form let alone fight me as well as you have. I could use a body like yours."

"Then consider a whore because they are used to having their bodies used. As for me, don't dream about it," reciprocated Turles, the venom and disgust in his voice positively palpable. No Saiyan would ever even consider a proposal like that. It wouldn't even be on the table more likely.

"Touché, but think about it. Your body and my mind; there's not much that could resist such a combination, don't you think?" asked Wheelo, trying to bring the very best of his persuasive abilities to the table. It would be a shame to eradicate such a fine physical specimen, but that would be very well the case if his foe wasn't willing to look at this objectively.

"As said before, consider a bitch because you ain't getting such a deal from me. That and besides, why should I give up my more powerful body just to sate your inferiority?"

Laughing like only a robot could, Wheelo eyed his stalwart foe inquisitively. "Don't think too high of yourself. You're only useful to me because of your potential. This body offers no ability to improve, not like the body of a real flesh-and-bone being. I'm as is, which is unacceptable. It's all about being stronger in the long term, and for that I'll take a minor reduction in might in the short term."

Veins throbbing and blood boiling, Turles summoned a massive wave of energy and volleyed the fearsome explosive at the behemoth. Engulfing the doctor, the beam collided both into and around him as he stood his ground fearlessly.

Beam eventually passing through like a hurricane passing through a port, Turles found to his dismay that Wheelo didn't look to be very injured at all. The beam had melted clear through some of his outer coating of metal, but it just melted off the bot rather than compromise something important. At least he may be easier to hit now.

He wouldn't get the chance to find out. Wheelo was tired of standing around and taking things like a lost puppy. Appearing behind his prey, the robot swung the blunt side of his crab claw at Turles's already bruised clavicle.

Wheeling around at the last minute, Turles caught the bone breaking blow with the top of his bicep before locking the claw into place by latching his hand onto his shoulder blade. Sensing that his opponent was about to do the same thing, Turles brought his other bicep up and repeated the same motion when his foe brought down his other crab claw.

Hands thoroughly locked into place, the sentient machine desperately tried to wrangle his arms free of their air tight restraints. Frustrated by his failure to overpower his foe, Wheelo began to frantically flail and wiggle in Turles's grip to the Saiyan's immense amusement.

"What's wrong, Jeeves? Can't handle an opponent with even an inkling of skill?" taunted Turles, putting a muscular squeeze on the vice grip he held Wheelo too. As the struggle continued on, Turles's expression got darker and the shadows around his eyes grew in size. "I killed those three bio-men and their pitiful excuse of a leader. What makes you think that you're any different?"

"Those urchins were simply henchman to my genius. They are nothing in comparison to me!" roared Wheelo, upping the effort in his pursuit to be free. But Turles was holding firm and was not backing down whatsoever. Growing even more irritated, the robot was so angry that his arm shook. "How? How does a rotten pile of flesh such as yourself find the will to resist me so persistently?"

Turles could only laugh demonically at such an admission. "Why? Why you ask? For something so basic that even a Saiyan toddler could understand it: pride!"

Moving both of his arm locks up, Turles twisted arms around so that his arms were weaved across the machine's wrists. Using the energy gathered in the prior move, Turles swung straight into the Wheelo's center with enough energy to topple the lanky beast.

Backflipping back onto his own two feet, Turles planted his foot into the ground and lifted off, striking Wheelo straight in the chin with his outstretched knee. Blow forcing the lean machine to land on its back, Turles chuckled as he landed back on the ground and approached Wheelo. "I don't care if you think you're tougher, or if you can take more punishment. Even if you were stronger than me, it wouldn't matter. By my own honor and the pride of my long suffering people, I will not only destroy you, I will eradicate you!"

Realizing that there was no chance that he could convert Turles to his cause, Wheelo shifted his intentions from damage to destroy. Turles was simply a lost cause that he just couldn't help. Oh well, his lost.

Phasing in front of the Saiyan with an elevated level of speed, Dr. Wheelo karate chopped the insolent Saiyan in the temple, sending him through at least one full-sized iceberg. Soaring above the flesh-and-bone alien, the mechanically-embodied brain ordered its body to sling a blast at the iceberg Turles was launched into.

The heat radiated from the blast instantly vaporized the glacial ice composing the massive iceberg. Steam wafting off the decomposing structure, Wheelo dived down like a falcon into the hazy white veil in search of his prey.

His decision however turned out to be very unwise for such a prodigious doctor. By swooping in, he had given up his advantage to Turles who had gotten away cleanly from the iceberg before it was cooked. Seeing his foolhardy foe enter the screen, the Saiyan found it fit to taunt the conduit as it scrambled aimlessly in the fog. "So you have a bit more bite than expected, eh? Good—more fun for me when I bring you back down to size. You know what they say: the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

Mist dissipating, the two warrior stood still as they found each other one again. Now that neither was no longer holding anything back, exploiting weaknesses in technique had become even more important. The sheer scale of this battle could not be underestimated. Not only were they fighting for their lives, they were fighting for hegemony over the entire Earth. Although this added layer of importance really only mattered to one of the parties, both knew that this symbolic significance gave the fight an even more furious quality to it.

However, it was Dr Wheelo who slipped up first. Unlike his opponent, the mad doc was not a professional fighter. He had nowhere near the experience that Turles did and it showed. Noticing a gap in the behemoth's posture, Turles's put one of his legs forward in an attempt to incite his enemy.

It worked like a charm. Pulling his leg back, the Saiyan feinted to the right before cutting to the left and under the conduit's arm. Sweeping his taller adversary straight off its feet, the Saiyan scooted over a little and kneed the behemoth as he came back down to Earth before finishing off the combo with a titillating side kick to the doctor's flanks.

Reappearing in the doctor's flight path, Turles tried to get a good sock to the face to connect. Unfortunately, and in this case in reverse, Wheelo recovered in enough time to catch the Saiyan's wrist before the jab connected. Chuckling darkly, the titan snatched the monkey's other arm before he could protect it. "Angry that the shoe is on the other foot, now?"

Instead of acting angry or sullen about the ironic turn of events, Turles shrugged. "Not really." Before Wheelo even saw it coming, Turles unleashed an explosive barrier at point-blank range. Ejecting the giant away from him, the smaller humanoid chased after his prey, ascending above him at equal over greater speed before diving back down. Aiming his trajectory just right, the bestial man clubbed his nemesis over the head, sending the tin can right into the ground.

Halting his motion, Turles found himself content levitating over Wheelo's icy crater. The brief interim in the action had left the man feeling extremely cold, frigid even. He was fighting in a massive, sub-zero temperature environment after all. And pretty much without any clothes on! It wasn't like he was fighting on some sunny island in the tropics; the conditions did play a minor part in the battle. To prevent frostbite or other related cold-based illnesses, the man had to continuously sap energy to heat himself. Granted, the amount of energy was very small but he needed every bit to fight somebody like this monstrosity.

Back onto more important matters, Dr Wheelo sure didn't take his sweet time getting back up. Rocketing out of the hole he had been hammered into, the conduit went straight for his opponent's jugular. The attack was blocked by Turles, albeit ineffectively while leaving a major opportunity for a return strike on the table. Ever the vulture, the mechanical imbued man stabbed his crab claw into Turles's gut.

Coughing up a wad of blood, Turles quickly regained control of himself just as Wheelo was pulling his hand out of his gut. Reacting more out of instinct than skill, the Saiyan latched onto the fiend's arm and tugged back.

Unprepared for his opponent to retake the initiative so quickly, Wheelo didn't have enough time to prevent himself from being pulled forward by Turles to the Saiyan's immeasurable delight. Falling right into Turles's lap, the massive conduit found its face jerked up by a knee strike and then down again by an equally vicious elbow strike. Phasing above the goliath, the primate drop-kicked the machine into the ice as if an anvil had landed on doctor's back.

`Now, no more dicking around—this guy has got to go down,' mused Turles, knowing that his opportunity to win this fight was closing fast. From an energy standpoint, they were even. And unless that contemptuous pile of scrap metal was hiding more power, it only held a distinctive advantage in strength and endurance. Nevertheless, it was those attributes that mattered when a battle became more about attrition than devastating skill.

Fortunately, Turles was more than used to dealing with opponents whom held these advantages. And he knew the way to bring down the Walls of Babylon if you get his drift. Special attacks. Land one of these suckers on an equal adversary, and they were as good as dead. Either because they literally die or because the energy wave will knock away the parity between the dueling parties. They were risky gambits, and you better hurt the person if they are to be used, but they almost inevitably change the tide of the battle.

"Let's see what you think of this. Kill Driver!" Lifting his arms into the air, the Goku look-a-like summoned a massive yellow ring of energy. Almost instantly upon inception, the attack's size increased exponentially and the buzz of electricity coming off the hollow disc did as well. In fact, the technique had grown more than Turles had deemed acceptable. Normally this finishing move was used exclusively on foe's that were much bigger than him. And if its killing circle was too big, his enemy could just fly right through without sustaining a scratch. And that would be disastrous putting it lightly.

But if the attack did hit, it would most certainly end the fight. Not only did it pack one hell of wallop, the Kill Driver was great at disturbing electrical signals and impulses. And against a foe that relied on such things exclusively, the impact of such a move could not be underestimated. Whatever the risks, the rewards were enough of a justification for Turles to use it.

Wasting no more time, the Saiyan winded up the attack and pitched it at his foe. Although he had been able to constrict and compress the attack's hollow radius somewhat, providence now was the only thing that could grant him success.

Fate's verdict on the attack was mixed. On one hand, Dr Wheelo had not recovered in time to avoid falling prey to the attack. Unfortunately for Turles though, the mad doc did have enough time to summon his own special attack. If the power-crazed Saiyan wanted his opponent to die, he was going to have to supply more energy.

And supply more energy was exactly what he did. Powering up his own brand of special energy wave, the Saiyan fired the attack with the aim of meeting his opponent's beam head on. Remarkably, when the two beams were joined together in one big tug of war, Turles's Kill Driver had stood both above and below the mighty beam clash—its electrical energy magnetically attracted to the power radiated by both beams equally.

The presence of the Kill Driver at the very center of their conflict greatly complicated the struggle. The hollow area in the center of the ring-based ki attack was pretty much full. Both Wheelo and Turles knew that they really couldn't add any more energy unless they wanted to detonate the Kill Driver then and there. Needless to say, maintaining the status quo was excruciatingly hard for both parties.

Turles found this conclusion unacceptable. His energy stores were just a little bit weaker than Wheelo's now that he released two major energy attacks. Granted, he could go on for awhile but so could Wheelo. Eventually though, he would tire before his enemy and he would be toast. There had to be a way to end this thing now.

Looking over at his inert Kill Driver, a light bulb went off in his head. If he could supply just enough force to break the forces tethering the ring to the beam, he could effectively slid the thing right into Wheelo's lap. And if he could just hold on in the beam struggle, this battle was as good as his.

Pulling one of his hands away from his energy wave, Turles summoned another invisible wave of energy to act upon the ring. Once again, providence gave the Saiyan a mixed bag. The energy he supplied into the Kill Driver did break the thing free. And without any resistance coming from Wheelo, the thing did very well end up in his lap. Unfortunately for Turles, the reason why Wheelo didn't offer that resistance was because he was beefing up his ki blast, leaving Turles overwhelmed and unable to stop the beams from colliding straight into him.

Each of these climatic events occurred within picoseconds of each other. Naturally, the explosion that came from this finish was truly awe-inspiring. It engulfed the entire ice sheet, melting virtually everything in its path. Global warming had never happened so quickly in all of Earth's history as it did in that one moment. But the real question about the Earth's survival was undetermined. In the dust of the explosion, the fate of Dr. Wheelo or Turles was still very much a mystery.

* * *

**I apologize (yet again) for my slight tardiness on being a day late for this update. In my defense, I had some rather urgent and taxing business yesterday that greatly complicated my day and made the publishing of this chapter very impractical. But that was then and this is now. It shouldn't happen again and everything is still on schedule thankfully. **

**Now onto review replies. **

**Q: Okay I'm sorry to keep nitpicking at this, but sometimes your vocabulary is really an issue for me. I understand that you want to convey emotions and thoughts and situations the best way, but there is such a thing as too descriptive. I'm speaking about Pui Pui rage quitting specifically. A simple explanation that he blew everything up would have sufficed, but two whole paragraphs on how the ship collapsed around him really makes it hard and somewhat boring to follow. I'd really work on toning down some of the description (Supersaiyaninfinitygohan). **

**A: No problem. However, I have noticed an interesting paradigm to when you comment on my over description. They all tend to happen in places where I was frustrated about my impotency to describe the scene. Pui Pui's rage was not a place I was particularly proud of. **

**Q: I sincerely enjoyed the showdown between Turles and Kochin. I loved how Turles almost patiently went over everything with him before he killed the panicking doctor. I really felt it was a very "Turles" thing to do. The fact Raditz, Turles, and Piccolo are now going to have to fight Doctor Wheelo however, is unlikely to be good for the three of them. (Drakthul). **

**A: Yah, awakening Dr. Wheelo definitely falls under the realm of "unforeseen consequences.'**

**Q: There were a few portions where I thought it was a bit rushed, specifically in the last portion of the chapter where Shenron was destroyed. (LucifVegeta). **

**A: I write almost 1,000 words on the destruction of Shenron again in chapter eighteen. Happy reading. XD**

**Q: As far as Raditz went, I was a little ambivalent (I know it's shocking XD). I don't really know if I believe that Raditz would openly acknowledge his previous cowardice and weak power... honestly, I feel he would be the type to be in denial over his cowardice, hence his guise of arrogance and power when facing weaker opponents.**

**A: I can see your point of view on this, and under normal repartee and conditions, I'd agree. But you have to remember that Raditz is also equally rash and easily frustrated. Eventually, after having been written off for like what, the twentieth time, he reached his boiling point. And when that happens, his rashness overwhelmed his normal denial. **

**Q: If it is really a form of the Kaioken, I sort of feel ambivalent towards more breaking away from canon's version where King Kai created the technique. (LucifVegeta). **

**A: I've been trying to find a way to get rid of that connection for like ten chapters by now. But I just can't find a way without just flatting out saying it in an author's note. XD It's probably my biggest mistake I've made as far as plot elements in my opinion. **

**Q: Turles destroying Shenron uses the canon concept of the dragon being as strong as its creator, but I find myself wondering why nobody in canon thought to destroy Shenron, so I don't know if it's possible.**

**A: The real question is why would anybody want to destroy Shenron in the canonverse? There's no real need. **

**That's all folks. **


	20. Unions and Divides

Gohan was not known to be an anxious person. Like any adorable little boy, he had heroes and idols that he revered or at least was confident in that eased these worries. His daddy was a perfect example! There was nobody in the world that he felt more comfortable with than him; that could protect him from danger better than him.

Then again, his daddy wasn't here and the circumstances surrounding him were anything but ordinary. In his father's absence, it had become obvious quickly that he needed somebody that could help him. At first, he suspected this person to be Vegeta. Sure, he knew he was fooling himself somewhat—especially after the events of Meteora. Nevertheless, he would never trust Raditz and Nappa was just an oaf. Vegeta got the maligned position by default.

Baden's emergence changed his outlook. He genuinely seemed to care for him, even if the reasons why still escaped the four year old's mind. Regardless, it wasn't like whatever Baden wanted could be any worse than what Vegeta had planned for him. Even the thought of that little girl he had killed haunted him. It was so against everything he had every learned, everything he considered true. How he would've survived in that environment was beyond him.

Now in his room, the four year old was laying prone on his bed with a pillow over his head. This was one of those times were ki sensing was more of a deficiency than an asset. He could feel everything. Baden's primal rage and Vegeta's doubts both bombarded him without even a hint of a respite. It was all so encompassing that all he could do was smother himself and hope that the sounds would stop.

However, the battle erupting between his current and former guardians unnerved him in strange ways. One thing both Vegeta and Baden apparently lacked in comparison to his father was control. Daddy never let things go over his head. Daddy never lost his wits. Baden apparently didn't have this enviable trait. His power was always changing, always shifting. Like an uncontrollable tsunami, Baden's energy could surge and overwhelm anything in its path. But this ferocious power had very little control. It could very easily turn on him after Vegeta. And that wasn't a fate Gohan had any intention of visiting.

But what could he actually do about it? Absolutely nothing. This had been his problem since day one. He was so useless—worse than even a non-factor. And that was against common foot troops, let alone titans on the level of Baden and Vegeta. Against them, he might as well be a flea sitting on their hides praying not to be crushed. Was it his fate to just watch and not act?

No! There had to be something, anything he could do. All this waiting around and hoping was just too much, he couldn't stand it and he wouldn't. If he died because of his fearlessness, then so be it. Jolting up, knocking away the pillow suffocating his face, the boy sprung to life. Hopping out of bed, the child exuberantly bolted down the hall back into the sitting room where Baden had ordered him into his room.

Running through the room, Gohan jumped onto the balcony and then froze. Before he could leap off, the boy did the stupid thing of looking down. Vertigo immediately overtook him. Boy was that a long climb down. He was as good as dead if he couldn't force himself to fly. Did he trust himself enough to take the risk? Was he ready to stare death in the face?

His limbs began to shake and his eyes began to water. No matter how hard he tried to will himself off the ledge, his body just wouldn't budge. He had promised himself that he'd be brave, that he would get off his ass and do something. And yet that just wasn't happening.

Why was he such a _coward? _Seriously, why was he so spineless? When Raditz abducted him, why didn't he try to put up some kind of defense? Vegeta did say he was about as powerful, so what prevented him from acting if it wasn't power? Then he didn't have the spine to resist in Meteora. And the cycle just went on and on. The same old song and dance got annoying after a while.

Without even knowing about it, Gohan's mental cyclone was having an outward effect. Like all other times he was put in a corner, whether it come from external or internal distress, his power level started to spike and his control began to falter. Outward manifestations of his distress soon became apparent. A surge of energy ripped itself out of his body, signaling the incoming breakdown on the horizon.

Finally, a bridge was crossed. There was no way back now, the point of no return had been reached. The former surge of energy dissipated as another gush spilled out of Gohan like a levee on the verge of collapse. The boy was no longer home for the fireworks. In his place was a vacant inhibition: a reminder of the conflict that overwhelmed his conscious mind. He would not fail again. And then, the damn broke.

A plume of red-hot ki burst forth from Gohan's frail form, disintegrating the bannister and breaking apart a section of the sitting room. Taking his forced cue, the child pushed off and became airborne. Without even thinking about it, the boy swiveled in mid-air and veered off towards the still imminent battle being waged by his fellow Saiyan's.

The boy hadn't a single clue what he'd do when he got there, but he would be damned if he sat on his butt and did nothing.

* * *

Erinnern couldn't believe how close that was. If he had even been a fraction of a second late, his brother would've been sleeping with the fishes. But what, or more pertinently whom, was so wicked as to kill the boy in his own bed?

Averting his eyes from his comatose sibling to his aggressor, Erinnern felt a vein of rage burst forth to the surface as his onyx eyes hardened. What gall did this asshole have to assault his brother just after he had suffered through an amputation? Being honest, Erinnern didn't truly care to know the answer. In the end, the transgression was unforgivable and he was more than willing to let his inner Saiyan loose on this crooked perp.

Meanwhile, Pui Pui looked on at the scene with morbid amusement. Yes, he was a bit saddened that the blow had not connected. After all, the only good monkey was a dead monkey. On the other hand, it did give him the chance to slaughter two monkeys in comparison to one. He really couldn't complain that much.

"I see monkeys are like cockroaches? You try to kill one and two pop up," morbidly joked Pui Pui, taking pleasure in the vicious snarl that his younger foe adorned. "Oh well, every ship needs an exterminator."

Erinnern couldn't be bothered with a snide retort. Lunging at the Zoonian, the Saiyan's explosive speed caught his combatant off guard. Colliding into each other, the force of the impact pushed both of them through the wall of the infirmary and into an operating room adjacent to the complex.

Walls coming down, Pui Pui and Erinnern landed quite suggestively into the surgical quarters. On his back with Erinnern straddling his chest, the Zoonian was forced to sway his head left and right to avoid two haymakers courtesy of Erinnern, whom left noticeable imprints into the hard metal floor.

Winding up another blow, Erinnern was not prepared for Pui Pui to catch the strike and coil up like a spring. Jolting upwards, Pui Pui's bony legs hit Erinnern straight on, sending the boy straight into the ceiling.

Having regained the advantage, Pui Pui wanted to make short work of this mangy asswipe of a foe. Calling forth a sphere of ki, the Zoonian fired the orb at where he predicted his falling enemy would be.

Sensing the attack coming, Erinnern scrapped enough energy to erect a barrier around himself. Barrier and blast meeting each other, the result of the interaction pushed Erinnern back through the wall into the infirmary and harmlessly to the other wall.

Deactivating the ephemeral bulwark, Erinnern breathed in heavily as his adversary calmly walked through the door and into the sickbay with a confident swagger. Although both were very exhausted because of their respective battles, Erinnern was clearly the worse for wear. Not only did he have significantly less energy than Pui Pui to begin with, he also had not the fortune of being partially healed, albeit in a torturous manner.

It had taken Erinnern everything he had to even keep up with this demented man. And this vein of energy wasn't sustainable for very much longer. Haggardly breathing, Erinnern felt his muscles scream out at him to cool it a bit. But if it meant keeping Merken and himself safe, then his body was just going to have put up with him.

Picking up on his foe's growing weakness, Pui Pui started to obnoxiously laugh again. It seemed like the first step towards vengeance was going to be so easy. "You pests really didn't expect to live, now did you? Not after what you're filthy species was responsible for? Don't be preposterous; offend and defile an exulted being such as myself and this is the only way out."

`Is he mad? What's he on?' pondered Erinnern pensively, confused more than anything about what the hell Pui Pui was going on about. After what his species did? What exactly did they do? Pui Pui's logic made just as much sense as putting a saddle on a cow. Nevertheless, his confusion really didn't amount to anything substantial. His enigmatic enemy was still obstinate in his quest to eradicate them, and that was all he truly needed to know. It wasn't like reasoning with this bastard was going to get him anywhere.

Channeling his effort, the boy crouched down and began to slowly circle his opponent whom stayed still and smiled at him flippantly. Erinnern knew that he had to take this situation with the utmost caution and trepidation. He couldn't outlast this enemy; he couldn't outgun him and hell he couldn't even outrun him. Explosive force was now the only thing that could save him. If he could pool all his energy into one earth-shattering secession of blows, then perhaps he could end the fight now. A desperate gambit to be sure, but his survival was ultimately dependent on it.

Necessity aside, using explosive force is easier to consider than execute. No element of surprise was to be had; therefore Erinnern's only hope really was in a major lapse in concentration, a titanic screw up would be needed to say the least. Time was also a factor. His adversary wasn't going to twiddle his thumbs forever, and he didn't have energy to waste. Unfortunately, and this was the cold hard truth, he was going to have to take the first chance he could get and manufacture his victory from there.

And that chance came. Seeing his opponent flinch, Erinnern charged his foe.

What his youthful exuberance missed was that he had run into a trap. Power was never something Pui Pui had prepackaged in him, even if he claimed it was from time to time. Crafty thinking and quick problem solving was what propelled his rise to power, not some born-into connections or divinely inspired luck. Experience was a great teacher, and you didn't even need to be completely sane to use it.

Pui Pui was well aware of his advantageous position—he was cognizant of the fact his opponent needed to catch him off guard. Since he wasn't exactly keen on wasting time, Pui Pui simply faked a vulnerable opportunity, hoping that the Saiyan would take bait. And by golly didn't he.

Coming in attempting to strike Pui Pui's gut, Erinnern knew he was screwed when his adversary slyly dodged at the last second. But he had to continue on, regardless of both the stupidity and futility of his choice.

Getting off the ground, the nine year old feebly sent off flurry after flurry of punches at the unfazed Zoonian. And one after another was dodged or repelled by an amused Pui Pui who still kept up the charade. Heck, even to make it seem believable, the man even let a few insignificant punches through.

Expending energy at an alarming rate, Erinnern decided that a blistering melee barrage was going nowhere. So instead of continuing, the boy naively backtracked and directed all of his remaining energy towards one awe-inspiring finishing move. Thick red in color, the attack bore a strong resemblance to the piercing ray attack used by Frieza and the other Arcosians and the principle of the attack was similar. With one difference: once the attack bore through a surface, and only after that, it would explode and burn through any foe that somehow survived.

Aiming the lethal ray straight at Pui Pui, Erinnern was about ready to fire when his opponent closed the distance between them and tackled him into the wall. His grasp on the ray loosening, Pui Pui's sudden and violent assault forced him to lose control of the matured ki attack. Without any force keeping it together, the finishing blast intertwined itself with the air and dissipated out of anybody's use.

Mercilessly clenching Erinnern's throat in his ample palm, the former emperor sneered at his captive. "Pathetic ape, did you really think that you could catch me off guard? I've heard that monkeys such as yourself were foolhardy and clueless beasts, but that is over glorifying you and your worthless race. Any last words?"

Instead of eliciting a fearful reaction from the pinned child, the boy just stared through Pui Pui and scanned his surroundings, apparently comforted or at least disburdened by what he was seeing. Incensed by this calmness in manner, Pui Pui roughly shoved the boy deeper into the retaining wall and lighted the ki blast that would extinguish him from the mortal plan of existence. "You're about to die, boy. I urge you to take that fact more seriously; it will make your passing so much less painful."

Once again, Erinnern's mind was somewhere else. Pui Pui was not exactly appreciative of this.

Veins bulging involuntarily, Pui Pui threateningly shoved the lethal ki attack at Erinnern before stopping right before the boy's face. "This is not a joke, brat. But it doesn't matter now; I'm through with you and your entire mangy race. Time to say goodbye!"

"Be-hin-de you," garbled Erinnern, the pressure on his throat leaving him unable to articulate the phrase coherently. Oh well, it wasn't like he was going to lose anything. Pui Pui was though.

"What!" shouted the Zoonian, before his hand was violently yanked away from Erinnern's face. Still shell shocked, his unknown assailant was not anywhere near finished. Just as the former emperor spun his head around, he was met by a vicious punch right in his mug. Stunned, the mysterious challenger lifted his elbow up only to bring it down on Pui Pui's bicep. Not able to withstand the force of the blow, Pui Pui's hold on Erinnern buckled and the boy fell and landed onto the ground in a heap.

Done being dazed, Pui Pui snarled at the asshole that interrupted him. Instantly recognizing him, the Zoonian couldn't help but growl. At least he wouldn't have to spend a lot of time hunting them down though.

Shadowing Pui Pui was one of his newer mortal nemesis's: Putzen. The stuck-up teenager sternly eyed the man, his disdain for the lizard matching that of Frieza and his cohorts. "I don't recall that we finished our fight."

Signaling Machen to come and get Erinnern and Merken away from the battlefield, Putzen snorted as the rebel rouser zipped through and emancipated the two nine year olds from Pui Pui's grasp. Out of harm's way, the young adult decided it was an appropriate time to comment on his foe's durability. "Damn, I've seen cockroaches that can't outlive you."

"I must thank you for coming out here," stated Pui Pui, picking himself up while trying to keep his composure. "It makes my life so much easier. Now, I don't have to go out of my way to hunt you fools down."

Snorting dismissively, Putzen eased himself into a fighting stance and awaited his foe's reprisal. Sensing that Pui Pui was catching onto his aggressive posturing, the Saiyan smirked as he tensed up. "Be careful for what you wish for. You just may get it."

Without even flinching, Pui Pui conjured a ki blast and pitched it at Putzen. Not even trying to get out of the way, Putzen let the blast strike him. As smoke engulfed him, Pui Pui looked on smugly thinking he had done something to him. Imagine his shock, when the veil lifted only for Putzen to be standing without even a scratch on him.

The shoe was on the other foot now. Putzen was more fit than either Pui Pui or Erinnern, and he was letting that fact stand for itself. Of course, Pui Pui didn't like this one bit. Powering up another blast, the Zoonian pitched it at Putzen, and then he threw another one and then another one after that. Pretty soon, the man's arms were but a blur and Putzen's form couldn't be scene past the smoke cloud coming from the volley.

Eventually growing tired of getting buffeted, Putzen flared his ki and blew Pui Pui off his feet, silencing the diminutive character as he was carried away into a wall. Countenance darkening, the seventeen year old readied himself for his own ultimatum. "I've had enough. This ends now."

Powering up to his full power, the entire room shook as Putzen brought all of his energy to the surface. Bathed in a blue light, the teenager let his energy run amuck as lifted his hand up like he was wielding the hand of god. Wrangling in energy coming from his aura, the adolescent rapidly solidified the force, turning it into a lethal weapon. "The game is up. It's over for you!"

Not willing to go without a fight, Pui Pui powered up as well, preparing his own finishing attack. Eyes steeling, the two superpowers aimed their attacks dead on each other. Preparations complete, Putzen fired his attack.

Pui Pui's never came. Right after the seventeen year old fired the attack, Pui Pui, instead of returning fire, just vanished into thin air. The bastard knew he didn't have the power to fight Putzen, so he figured that a tactical retreat would be the best option to eventually get his revenge. Perhaps it was cowardly, but he'd rather win in the end personally.

Putzen and the rest of the Saiyans though, were floored when his opponent pulled a Houdini. It was very rare for a power-hungry megalomaniac to just up and leave. Conceding victory was a very rare trait for one of them, but it made him more dangerous. Nevertheless, he was gone and they had over things to do.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Machen, whose question spoke for the thoughts everybody in their little group had.

"Not a clue. Probably imagined that he was beat and turned tail?" replied Putzen, uncertain over whether his interpretation of what they had seen was accurate. This type of behavior was unusual and he really didn't know anything past basic speculation.

"Damn, that cockroach comparison really was apt," joked Machen, amusing himself over the thought of Pui Pui as a cockroach. It really wasn't as ludicrous as he originally surmised, both figuratively and literally.

Shrugging his shoulders with a hint of exasperation, the seventeen year old turned to face his two still functional brothers. "Speaking of fleeing, we really should be getting out of here. It's unlikely that Spiesen will be able to stall Frieza for all that much longer. You two take the brats, and let's go."

Doing as ordered, Traje and Machen grabbed their youngest brothers and slung them on their backs. Keeping a close eye on Putzen, the two silently followed the seventeen year old out of the room towards the hangar adjacent to the sickbay.

Meeting no resistance, the walk to the hangar was a very somber one. They had completed their objectives, done everything that was required of them. Yet, none of them could claim that their little escapade was anything less than a complete failure.

It was all supposed to be so much simpler, so much safer. A rudimentary diversionary plan. Complications of the scale they faced were not even fathomed, let alone planned for. In the end, they succeeded but the cost was beyond grave. One of them was not going to make it home now.

What was the point of all this shit? Thinking back on the hazy days when the plan was drafted, it was about guiding this "Goku" through this minefield. But who was this "Goku." None of them knew anything about him. Why was he so important that Baden viewed it necessary to risk this much for him. Baden had a lot to answer too once all of this was said and done, that much was for certain.

Passing through the gate to the hangar, the three Saiyans walked into the main causeway where all the ships were. And boy was there a lot of ships—of all sizes and shapes too! So this was how powerful and wealthy Frieza was. And to think that only a snippet of this went to anybody else. Undoubtedly, with so many options, there was slight dissention over what ride to hijack.

Putzen nipped the dissention in the butt quickly. No matter how much all of them loved luxury, there was only way they were leaving this place: in the cramped confines of a space pod. Yes, none of them liked to, but it was the only way that they could escape without attracting suspicion to their activities. Nobody was going to think twice about a couple missing space pods.

Throwing Erinnern and Merken into two separate pods, the threesome went to work tearing off the transmitters and trackers on the separate pods. They couldn't afford being followed to where they were going. Since all of them were extremely familiar with the outdated technology, they were able to deactivate the sensors with clinical ease, except Putzen who needed help.

The next task was much more tricky. As a clever way of discouraging the common practice of tampering, any tweaking resulted in the voice activated command system to shut off. If they wanted to reprogram the ships to take them to Uyyasid, they'd have to do it manually with the appropriate coordinates.

Knowing that his two older brothers were not good with technology, Traje volunteered to do the work. Not because he wanted too, but because he could do it in half the time without the possibility of a mistake. It was a pain, but what could you do?

All done with the work, the lazy fifteen year old communicated his results to his brothers. Nothing left to be done, the three boarded their ships and closed the hatch. Suddenly, all of the ships turned on and their engines began to roar. Before anybody really predicted, the ships were space-bourn, and they were out of harm's way.

But before all was said and done, before they were out of harm's way, the ship arc had one final surprise. Out of nowhere, all three Saiyans were forced to avert their eyes when a massive yellow flash blinded their vision. Averting their eyes, all three at once knew exactly what it was and the ramifications of what the explosion meant. And as they raced away, the air they breathed took on a real solemn air.

Because with that blast, they all knew that Spiesen was dead.

* * *

Outrage reaching its pinnacle, Vegeta's eyes began to glow with pure malice. There was only one alpha male here, and that alpha male was him. Respect for his power was mandatory. Humiliating or insinuating otherwise, regardless of intent, was an automatic death sentence. Vegeta wanted to make that point very clear and well enforced.

Showering himself with ki, the matured ape hoped that the display would trigger at least an inkling of doubt. Perhaps it may be stupid to expect that from a foe of equal power, but the boy wasn't in control—his instincts were, and grandiose displays caused fear amongst simple minds.

Validity of the statement aside, the older Saiyan's hypothesis turned out to be wrong. Baden wasn't entirely cognizant of the display, but it didn't elicit any fear or anxiety in him. All it was to the monkey was a clear act of aggression.

"RAH!" shouted the monkey, beating his chest again as he raised his ki in an equal demonstration. In the feral mind of the teen, Vegeta's act of aggression warranted a response of identical might. As an alpha male, even without a concept of the term, Baden was not willing to let Vegeta emasculate him and swipe the psychological advantage right out from under his nose.

Sensing that his tactic wasn't working, Vegeta cut off the power going to his aura and powered down. Snarling like a rabid animal, the Saiyan lunged at his younger challenger, hoping to get an attack in before the other ape could react.

Catching the attack in the palm of his hand, Baden instinctively lashed back at the restrained fighter with a punch of his own, which was caught with equal ease by his adversary. Hands locked into place, the two parties attempted to break through by pushing against one another. But instead of breaking through, their forces cancelled each other out and an epic tug of war between the two parties arose.

Neither gaining any considerable traction, the two warriors were left in limbo vainly trying to push or pull against one another as their hands remained meshed together in a clump at the center of the conflict. Growls and barks could be heard by each monkey as the engagement became more heated and taxing, but giving up was not an option.

Then suddenly, Vegeta felt his arms buckle and then shoved away violently by his adolescent foe. Defenses completely vulnerable, the prince could do nothing as Baden took his best shot at him, nailing the older beast with the most brutal blow he had ever endured right to the noggin.

Yet, like everything with Baden it seemed, the blow was far less about the real pain and more about the mental anguish. Unlike his former attacks, he had put everything conceivable into that tug of war. He thought he was winning, and out of nowhere he was overpowered in seconds flat by this newcomer. Dang, what was needed to bring this scum down!

Upon closer inspection though, Vegeta found something alarming. Baden had been radiating _a lot _of energy needlessly. Entire plumes of the stuff—at least enough to raise an eyebrow. It was a problem that Vegeta had when he first was learning the transformation.

Although the transformation claimed to increase your power level by ten fold, that was only the maximum output that could be achieved. Limiters abound that could hold back the transformation. To truly exploit its full potential, the Oozaru must be in full control and have the internal logistics to handle the multiplier. If both conditions weren't completely met, then the ape couldn't meet its maximum potential. And that looked to be what was plaguing Baden.

What did that mean though? Essentially, all it meant was that power the brat was showing was a fraction of what he could do, and that was very sobering since he had a small mental crisis about his impotency before he even realized this. Of course, Vegeta had no intention of repeating that crises though. Epiphany or no epiphany, it was his duty to resist—to banish all resignations of defeat to the deepest recess of his mind and stand for honor of his race. It was unbecoming of royalty of his status to wallow in self-pity.

Getting his mind back to the fight, Vegeta's mind swiftly began plotting for a new strategy. He needed to find something, anything that could level the playing field and give him a fighting chance. It was clear that straight up duking it out was a one-way ticket to the morgue, and the prince was by no means ready to die. `This brat has to have a weakness, some deficiency to exploit somewhere. Now if only I could find it.'

As it turned out, that Achilles's heel was pretty much shouting 'hi' to him. Vegeta when he found it he could barely believe it. It was so obvious that he was almost ashamed it had taken as long as it had to find. How in the name of god could he have forgotten Baden's tail? That he could forget the single fact that cutting off a Saiyan's tail reduced their power dramatically? Utterly inconceivable to the hothead.

Now it wasn't as easy as it seemed. All Saiyans were almost religiously paranoid about their tails, heaven knows Vegeta was protective over his. Under normal conditions, going after a Saiyan's tail was like going for somebody's head, which would be very stupid for somebody weaker than their opponent to try. However, considering the fact that Baden truly wasn't in control of his faculties, maybe, just maybe, he had a shot.

For the first time since the battle had truly gotten serious, Vegeta honestly believed that the tide of the battle had swung to him. Hope was something that he no longer needed to completely scoff and write off. Sneering at his `out of the know' enemy, the prince settled himself into a fighting stance and waited for the right moment to recommence the fight with his new objective in mind.

Unaware of the new development, Baden charged in recklessly hoping to catch Vegeta by surprise. He didn't. Before the pre-adolescent even knew it, the older, more seasoned fighter had side shuffled him and stood poised to take off his tail then and there.

`Strength isn't always the only thing to determine a fight,' Vegeta smirked. Even he didn't expect that it would take this short a time to reach his objective; he may as well have been handed the game right then and there. Now to finish it. Hand sheathed in a razor thin layer of ki, the Saiyan brought his hand down to slice off the other Saiyan's tail.

Baden's tail never came off. Say what you will about wild out-of-control Saiyans, but the protection of their tails is very instinctual. Subconsciously understanding Vegeta's objective at the last moment, the pre-teen tugged at his body to flip over just as Vegeta brought down his 'saber.' Fortunately for the younger Saiyan, the blade cut through a non-vital part of his thigh instead of his tail.

Landing on the cracked concrete, the pre-teen had to shield himself as Vegeta, still irate about Baden's last second heroics, pinned him to the ground. Translating that frustration into violence, the prince started to wail on his captive audience, of whom was deflecting and dodging punches at an insane rate. Growing further frustrated by his impotency, Vegeta upped the rate and added even more venom to his assault—hoping that just one blow would break through on his significantly stronger opponent. But all the increase in speed did was turn their engagement into a really perverse game of whack a mole.

Eventually though, an opening did arise—for Baden instead of Vegeta. Not one to blow opportunities, the male flared his ki and pushed Vegeta off of him. Rolling back upright, the pre-adolescent ape roared angrily at his rival, subconsciously promising retribution for that last scuffle.

Generating a blast, the younger Oozaru flung the thing straight towards his adversary. Growling when the attack was parried nonchalantly, the monkey charged directly at Vegeta yet again in the same exact fashion he had done a minute ago.

History wouldn't repeat itself though, even if Vegeta didn't know it then. Smirking mockingly, the seasoned ape side shuffled just as he did last time and prepared the same attack he used originally to cut off Baden's tail. Except the kid's tail wasn't in view, but the pre-teen himself sure was. Latching hold of his hand, Vegeta found himself helpless to defend himself when Baden used his other hand to score a gut-busting punch right to the diaphragm.

The gut punch knocked the stuffing out of him, but that was just a tap in comparison to what was to come. The prince wasn't even close to ready to handle the haymaker that was in his future. Sensing a chance to finish things once and for all, the Saiyan tucked his arm in and drove it straight up into Vegeta's chin with such force that how the other Saiyan didn't break his neck was still a mystery even to this day.

Collapsing to the ground, Vegeta struggled to get up. But the effort was too much on his first try and his body gave out on him. In all his life, only Frieza threw harder than this kid and that much was infuriating to him. Apparently, he would have another name on his black list when this was all said and done. If he made it out alive that is.

Sulking a bit before trying again, the Saiyan with a great heave brought himself onto one knee. It was a great victory, at least until Baden caught wind of what he was doing. Just as he was about to get back onto his feet, the pre-teen instantly reappeared and kicked him back down onto his back with a hard thud.

Sitting down on his stomach, Baden pinned the older ape to the ground. Roaring with delight, the savage began to wail on Vegeta just as the other Saiyan had did to him just a short time before. Déjà vu aside, Baden's vicious strikes proved to be much more effective breaking through Vegeta's defenses and scoring direct hits.

The power disparity between the two couldn't be ignored now. Having outsmarted and outmaneuvered his foe up until then, Vegeta could do nothing but take this onslaught. Each blow, packing in more and more energy than the one before it, slammed into his foe's face with more and more vigor. Vegeta's face, once a picture of roguish appeal, was slowly changing from that charming picture to something far more disfigured and ghoulish. Lesions and bruises dotted his face, swelling up hideously beneath the Oozaru's thick fur. Gashes also abounded, bleeding gashes that spilled out a small trickle of blood onto the cool ground. Vegeta's face was a far-cry from what it once looked like.

Easing off on the accelerator a little bit, Baden got off Vegeta and threw his hand up into the air victoriously. Accentuating the gesture with a loud, decibel piercing roar, Baden looked on at his opponent triumphantly. Like how a young lion would look after dethroning the older lion and claiming their pride for themselves.

And it would be this scene that Gohan would wander himself into.

While Vegeta's grasp on the battle was going further south, Gohan's rage had slowly dwindled as he flew. By the time the boy had reached the mountains, it had all but disappeared. Needless to say, a lot of Gohan's fear returned full force. Nevertheless, now that he was airborne, the boy had no intention of heading back. He had made his bed and nothing was going to stop him now.

Swerving steadily through a multitude of mountaintops and narrow ravines, Gohan thought it was pretty amazing that he was picking up on the art of flight so quickly. Sure, he needed a lot of work so that the skill could become battle-ready, but he seemed to be getting the basics down.

Amazement over his skill aside, Gohan did have to question whether it would be prudent to use that skill and turn tail and run. Sure, his verdict had been self-determined, but his resolved was weakening every step of the way. The sheer scale of the power levels he was sensing was dazzling, almost insurmountable to the young Saiyan. The type of power that you don't even delude yourself into thinking is obtainable. What was he but a fly on the wall in such an environment? What use could he be of possible service against such combatants? His presence would probably be more of a nuisance than a help for either of them.

But before his doubts could talk himself out of his actions, the boy rounded through the last clove of mountains into the plateau housing the ruined prison. Even from his lookout a great distance away, Gohan could vaguely see the distant silhouette of Vegeta and Baden duking it out. Dear lord, what happened to them?

Unaware of the Oozaru trait, the child remained perplexed by the "King Kong" like beings emitting the ki signatures of his two guardians. Since when did people transform into fifty story monkeys when they wanted too? This warranted a closer inspection.

Approaching even closer to the scene, not only did Gohan see that they were indeed fifty story monkeys but he also noticed the varying disparity in power and control. Vegeta's ki seemed no different than it was when he was human, but Baden's ki felt wild and unrefined. More like an animal's ki than a human's.

Soon enough, Gohan realized that this distinction in ki was very _real_. Baden was acting like a wild animal and Vegeta was…well himself. Even more interesting was that Baden, even without possession of his faculties, was absolutely taking the fight to Vegeta and the frustration and bewilderment on the prince's face was evident. To the four year old, this was a very alarming reaction. Vegeta, even during the time he was tortured, never looked bewildered; never seemed to be at the end of his rope and out of options.

That was only half of the alarm though. The other was the sheer ferocity Baden was exhibiting. Beyond anything else, Baden exuded control. You felt comfortable around him because he always seemed to be in control of what's happening. He would let nothing bad happen. Could Gohan say the same thing now? Absolutely not!

Landing on a ruined guard tower with a vivid view of the conflict, Gohan remained at odds of what he was about to do. Baden had really gone off the deep end and was now thoroughly demolishing Vegeta's face. Gohan desperately wanted to do something; it pained him to see anybody hurt, even Vegeta. He also doubted that this was Baden's intention, judging by how out of control he was acting. Yet, in spite of this, his body was still glued to its perch. And he was forced to continue watching the depraved sight.

That wasn't only thing tethering him to the spot. Another realization had dawned on him, one that he hadn't thought of. Both Baden and Vegeta were supposed to be his guardians, but he hadn't exactly affirmed who he was going to follow. By intervening on either side, he was endorsing his own allegiance. Choosing once and for all, where he was going to hedge his bet at. And if that person actually lost, then he would be surely killed.

But Gohan was his father's son. His daddy would never run away from a fight, he would never stray from a tough decision or choice. And neither would he, come what may. Rushing out before he was forced to reassure himself again, his emergence to the field startled both of the massive onlookers.

Bridging himself between Baden and Vegeta, the kid's arrival caused the pre-teen ape to prematurely cut his celebration and for Vegeta to raise his brow skeptically. Adding to the drama of the moment, the four year old put his arms out and cried for Baden to halt his beastly actions. "Stop! Stop it! Please don't do this, mister. Please don't."

Shockingly, Gohan's feeble cry partially broke through the haze separating the beast from the tween, reawakening Baden from his slumber. Cognitive resistance starting to rebuild itself, Baden's sane mind began to push back on its feral occupier. Now that his mind had been reawakened, maybe there was hope that he could expel the animalistic interloper from the forefront of his mind for once and for all.

This turn of events stunned Vegeta, even if he didn't look it did. Shocked didn't even come close. Had he really been saved from death by the naïve prattle of a four-year old? More importantly, why was his enemy listening to him? Whatever the case, the adult Saiyan heaved himself onto his feet. Lady luck had granted him another shot and he wasn't about to blow it.

Meanwhile, Gohan became confused when his guardian began to roar and violently claw at his own head. Despite conquering his fears of confrontation, he didn't put too much forethought about what he was going to do once he crossed that threshold. And being stuck in the confrontation had him drawing even more of a blank on what he wanted to do. All he could really think of was holding his ground and hoping for the best.

Fortunately for him, his unforeseen blunder had not cost him dearly up until now. Docile and harmless while engaged in his mental war, Baden remained in his stationary spot. Now, it was no longer just Vegeta in danger if he lost. Gohan was now, and unlike Vegeta, he was not a casualty his plan could withstand. Regardless of his past, whatever his doubts or insecurities about the transformation were, they didn't matter. Overpowering his feral side, Baden finally felt his human side take control.

Ironically, it wouldn't matter. By then, Vegeta had maneuvered around Baden and this time not even a miracle was going to stop him from taking off the brat's tail.

* * *

Sonic shock waves raced across the Earth in every conceivable direction, heralding the explosive clash to unmoving landscapes as they passed through. Aftershocks rattled ground zero, pitching and breaking apart ice as a thin cloud of water vapor settled in to mark the location of the cataclysmic event.

Calm somewhat returning to the furiously disheveled site, omnipresent eyes shifted towards the outer recess of the scene, where the first signs of life were heard. Solid blocks of ice being thrown back to accommodate their reentry, Raditz and Piccolo jumped out of the ice bluff they had been buried under. Eyes still glued to the center of the blast zone, the two temporary allies looked on solemnly as two black silhouettes emerged amidst the fog.

Although the dramatic explosion did not seem to be lethal or decisive to either combatant, any man with an eye could tell that both parties were looking pretty worse for wear. Turles's bodysuit was pretty much shredded during the explosion, with the sole exception of his underwear and metal chest plate left so that his form wasn't completely in the buff.

Damage could be readily seen. Turles was bleeding everywhere. From his forehead, his arms, his legs—literally anywhere that could bleed it seemed bled. Scratches were prevalent everywhere as well, but what was more alarming was the fact that his arms had sustained serious burn marks. If he was human, they would be the kind of thing people could be hospitalized for. And worst of all, his energy reserves had been dealt a massive hit from the sheer number of ki attacks he had dished out.

Dr. Wheelo really hadn't fared any better. Although from a power standpoint the Kill Driver lacked the same kind of "umph" that the beams did, the electricity emanating from the Kill Driver technique had done a nasty number on his circuitry and had weakened him significantly that way. Of course, the special technique also packed a wallop but the electricity thing was more important.

Fog leaving and winds settling, the two warriors simply let time stand still so that they could catch their breath unmolested. Tension rising throughout the desolate field in those spare moments, Turles ignored the pressure upon him to continue the battle. Dr. Wheelo would get what's coming to him, but why kill yourself doing it after all?

Dr. Wheelo, disregarding his inability to pant or bleed, needed the same breather. His reasons were also very similar. It was more about getting his circuitry and electrical systems to rework themselves—which was machine speak for wanting to take a few.

"I'm surprised you made it this long," probed Wheelo, which was a claim that had some honesty in it, even if hidden in layers of condescension. "A blast of that magnitude should've left you but a speck of dust."

Chuckling at the puzzled robot, Turles grinned triumphantly at the mad doctor to the other man's irritation. Serves the fool right for pretty much disrespecting his fighting ability and a good amount of his character. "I'm sorry—did you expect killing me was going to be easy?"

"Yes," responded Wheelo with a hint of nonchalance in his tone, knowing that such a statement would greatly gall his enemy. Maybe even spur him back into the action, which would favor Wheelo since he no longer needed his "breather."

Instead of blowing a gasket and recklessly diving back in, Turles kept his composure and crossed his arms over his chest smugly. That comment was an inciting ruse, and Turles knew it. Now to turn the tables on the 'good doc.' "Then, I guess you're not as smart as you think you are, aren't yah?"

Like Turles, Wheelo didn't go for the bait. Snickering devilishly, the man raised his hands up high in the air and smiled. "Perhaps, but you're still dumber." Before the statement was even finished, Wheelo had his arms back down and a massive beam was coming out of his massive claws heading straight for Turles.

The suddenness of the action left Turles no time for thinking. Reacting without putting in any forethought whatsoever, the Saiyan dived out of the way of the blast, narrowly avoiding the thing by the tightest of margins.

What the rogue could not avoid by the narrowest of margins was Wheelo's foot. Slamming into his stomach, Wheelo's cold steel kick lifted him farther off into the air—in perfect position to be plucked by his enemy's hovering crab claw.

Latching onto the male Saiyan, the mad doctor howled when he applied pressure to the man's wrist, causing the man to scream out unrepentantly. Satisfied with the light torture he forced his captive to go through, Wheelo harshly threw the other man away into a drifting iceberg.

Pausing to watch the collision, Wheelo stood still as Turles crashed into the block. Stoically observing the crash site become inundated with a thick white fog, the mad scientist slowly lifted his gaze as Turles ascended up through the mist.

There was no breather this time around. Instantly lunging at each other the minute they locked eyes with one another, the two warriors began a blistering exchange of blows. At first, the high speed concerto of punches, kicks, blocks and dodges could be easily observed. Thought and tactical ability still had some importance in the battle. But those moments of visible confrontation and decisive thinking were fleeting as the tempo increased and increased, until the two were nothing but a blur. Now, there were only two lords of the battle: muscle memory and reaction time.

As a machine, Wheelo carried both advantages. After almost a minute fighting in the chaos, Wheelo scored a blow to Turles's temple that ended the flurry. Reacting with devastating fury, the conduit cocked its other arm back and buried the claw right into Turles's gut, eliciting a groan from the injured Saiyan.

Recovering in the blink of an eye, Turles kneed the conduit straight in the chin. Not stopping, the driven Saiyan pulled his left foot back and struck Wheelo's in the neck with a furious roundhouse kick. Riding the recoil from the strike to spin three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, Turles tucked his arms above his head and slammed them down on the mad doc's neck.

Freefalling to the ground, Wheelo caught control of himself and landed with ease onto the ice sheet. However, before he could turn around and reengage, he was pelted with a pod of ki blasts. Forced onto one knee, the only thing the machine could do was brace himself and brave the shelling like a man.

Turles was offering no reprieve, no rest. He saw his opportunity and he took it with an unhealthy amount of gusto. There was not a moment to waste, and not one slip up that could be afforded. Not against an opponent of this caliber. One shot became two; two shots became four, and things just went spiraling on from there.

Sentient animals though, no matter their dedication, screw up. Eventually, Wheelo got his chance to break the siege and that he did. Summoning a massive vein of ki, the conduit erected a massive shield around himself to guard against any remaining ki blasts coming his way.

Irritated that the party had to come to an end, Turles stopped pumping energy into his brazen, and now ultimately futile, barrage. Momentarily content to watch whatever his cunning foe was doing, Turles hovered over the man and silently surveyed his every move, which was nothing.

Out of nowhere, instead of attacking, Dr. Wheelo questioned Turles. "What are you going to do when your feeble body gives out on you? Surely you must realize that you can't maintain this performance."

Wheezing a bit, Turles laughed scornfully at the very insinuation. "You should be more concerned with what my body's going to do to you once I win. As long as you have a pulse, I have a reason to go on. Your very existence is blight to my skill and a mockery of my pride."

"I don't have a pulse; I guess you just don't have a reason to go on then." Snickering at the foolish bravado just streaming out of Turles's mouth and his own lame joke, Wheelo was getting more and more excited to finally show this haughty man his place. Polluted rivers didn't spew as much shit as this guy. "But I could make you lose your pulse, if you should desire that instead."

Deciding not to reply, Turles rushed in rashly at the machine. Prepared for his brash enemy's theatrical boldness, Wheelo shifted to the side before extending his arm and swinging it into Turles's incoming path.

Nailing the Saiyan as he charged by, the blow knocked Turles off his balance and flat onto his back. Sensing a crippling blow about to come, the power-mad humanoid tucked and rolled away right as Wheelo's talons came flying in. It was a very close call.

Still, Wheelo was persistent. Stalking his humanoid foe's every move; the mad scientist was ready for the time when his foe began to get back on his feet. Intercepting the action, the conduit dived forward and planted the sole of his foot right into the primate's belly.

Spitting up blood, Turles coughed as his hands involuntarily came together and wrapped themselves around the ankle of Dr. Wheelo. Breaking out of his pain-induced daze, the Saiyan realized the advantageous position he had inadvertently found himself in. Smirking softly, the man reset his stance and began to twirl the conduit.

Revolving around against his will in Turles's grasp, Wheelo couldn't do a single thing about his precarious condition; the vertigo binding him to complacency as Turles flung him around like a discus. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on perspective, the dizzying revolutions came to a halt when Turles heaved and released the mad scientist from his hold.

Skirting into the ground, Wheelo's momentum caused him to rock and roll across the slippery surface until he came to a finish on his side. Rolling onto his stomach, the degenerate genius lifted himself back upright and scowled at his mangy foe. "Is that the best you got?"

Growling out of habit, Turles lunged forward but soon found that his foe had vacated the spot. Scanning around for where his enemy had ran off too, the simian sadly didn't look in the one place his opponent happened to be: above him. And Wheelo wasn't about to play nice about it either. "You're getting slower—best sharpen up and quick."

Viciously swinging his head upwards, Turles found that his enemy disappeared once again. Regrettably, his foe would reemerge—just with actions rather than words. Appearing behind the Saiyan, the robot hurled his shin right into Turles's lumbar region, eliciting a blood-curdling shout from the prideful Saiyan.

Collapsing to the ground like a sack of potatoes, Turles was forced to observe the indignity of Wheelo slowly pace around him gloatingly. True, that strike hurt like something else, but there was a mental aspect to the spine-rearranging that stung far worse. It was the confirmation of something he had been slowly feeling since their beam struggle. And it was terrible.

He may not be able to beat Wheelo alone. Exactly as he dreaded, the battle had turned to one of attrition—the one form of battle that would surely lead to his demise. His energy was falling far faster than his opponent, and pretty soon so would his body. And if that happened, he would be toast.

Grim odds aside, Turles wasn't going to throw in the towel. Damn his body, damn his mind—he was going to win and there was nothing else to it but that. His pride would not allow him to accept any other conclusion.

Summoning up most of his remaining power, Turles screamed as he let it out, pushing Wheelo away from him as if he was just a speck of dirt in a whirlwind. Energy bouncing around his form dynamically, the Saiyan felt his muscles bulk up and features become more sharp and rigid. Eyes steeling, the power-mad Saiyan gave his foe a silent message before going on to give him the verbal one.

"I don't care if you think you're stronger, or hit harder, or withstand more! You hear me! As long as don't make it out of here alive, that's all that matters to me. I'm down with you!"

Flying straight into Dr. Wheelo, the savage Saiyan kneed the degenerate into the air before intercepting his helpless flight to punch the mechanized man away from him. Teleporting just above the scientist, Turles dived in and dropkicked him into the ground. However, before the inevitable crash, the enraged simian appeared below the conduit to knee him in the stomach before double axe handling him into the ground.

As a coup de grace, Turles fired a single purple beam at the floored machine. Upon contact though, the blast ignited an even larger blast that erupted almost from within Wheelo.

Looking on at the devastating move with a smug expression, Turles shook his fist triumphantly. That had taken almost everything he had, but the look of shock on that miserable urchin's face made it all worth it. "What'd you think of that!"

Suddenly, like a zombie climbing out of its grave, Wheelo rose out of the purple flames engulfing him. Striking Turles mercilessly, the power-mad Saiyan was lifted off his feet and sent back hundreds of feet. Landing on his back upon touching back down to Earth, the humanoid slid through at least a football field size track of earth before friction grinded his retreat to a painful halt.

Nonchalantly walking on the track of dirt Turles made as he slid, the conduit eventually approached his weakened prey. Jeering at how badly Turles was squirming and writhing to get back onto his feet, the mad doctor silently plucked the man off his feet. "Did you honestly expect this fight to go any other way? That eventually this wouldn't be how thing would end up at in the end?"

Applying pressure, Dr. Wheelo smirked as his pincers began to squeeze against Turles's chest. Constricting hold tightening, the grin on the conduit's face brightened as he heard the telltale sound of ribs breaking. "Pathetic. It boggles me how you expected to win when you can't outmuscle me nor outlast me."

Throwing the helpless Saiyan into the ground, Wheelo quickly pinned Turles in place with his foot as he conjured the blast needed to finish off the man once and for all. Scowling as the power-mad Saiyan glowered at him from his ensnared position, the conduit opened up his hand to show off the lethal orb brandished in his hand. "This was the only way this was going to end. You should've listened to me when you had the chance. Now, there's only one person to blame for your death: yourself."

Raising the flaunted finishing move into the air, Wheelo's behavior became more and more crazed. No longer was the true nature of the mad doc's hubris shrouded by his mechanical nature and soft scientific eloquence. His real, sicker nature was finally coming out to play. "This is the end for you!"

But it wasn't the end.

Right as the conduit was about to finish what he started, a mysterious force swept him off his feet. Not entirely sure of what was going on and completely exposed, Wheelo was left unable to dodge a vicious mule kick straight to the sternum. The only thing he remembered from this encounter was the long-hair of his new challenger and his black boots.

Touching down on the ground in a heap, the conduit quickly gathered himself and returned to battle ready form. Riled about suffering such a cheap shot in the way he did, the mad doctor swore too himself that the perpetrator would get a particularly violent death. Turning around to face the new face, the man almost groaned when he saw Turles standing up and his long-haired crony beside him. "You two are going to pay for that."

Raditz wasn't fazed one bit, excited to finally get some action after all the drama of the earlier fight. Mediocre threats were not going to turn him into a coward this day. "Somehow I doubt it, tin can. Once we are done with you, you'll need a magnet to put you back together again."

Unimpressed by the really bad joke, Wheelo casually strode closer to the two simians. Features unmoving and uncaring, neither Turles nor Raditz could make anything of the advance. Both tensing up and settling into a fighting stance, the two awaited whatever their unexpected alpha enemy was going to do. Then the robot stopped dead in its tracks and waited.

Confused by the action, Turles took the safe route of watching the inert machine like a hawk. Speaking to Raditz without actually looking at him, the Saiyan really had to voice his disapproval over his actions. "You really shouldn't have interfered."

"If I didn't, you'd be dead," countered Raditz, cross that somebody would admonish him over saving their life. He was actually a bit proud of that. In Vegeta's crew, he was effectively useless. The sad part was in little over a month with Turles, he had already accomplished more of note than the decades he had spent with Vegeta. Pride, a sensation that he was largely deprived of with Vegeta, was coming back to him in massive surges now. And when pride becomes more prevalent, prickliness emerges over any criticism of the things you were prideful of. Raditz was not an exception to this rule.

"Doesn't matter. It was my fight to fight and my fight to die if need be. Nevertheless, that's all well and done with now. Since you have interfered, let's just make sure this tin can dies, okay."

Chuckling a little, Raditz put up his fisticuffs. "Now there's a plan I can get behind."

Getting their attention back to Wheelo, both Saiyan found it shocking that the conduit was nowhere to be seen. Feeling something behind them, Raditz and Turles looked over their shoulders and saw the infamous doctor. And at that moment, they realized the fight was on.

* * *

**Thank you for reading the twentieth installment of Cognitive Dissonance. It has been an eventful chapter and I hope you enjoyed it. The next one is the final chapter of all three of my major arcs, so I'm excited to finally see this thing through. As always, I'm interested in hearing what you think and what you feel could be improved. **

**Review Responses: **

**Q: I do have one main issue with this chapter though, and that's Frieza's lack of being. as charasmatic as usual. I enjoy his little speeches about how strong he is and how hopeless it is for others, and just having a quiet Frieza blowing stuff up is kind of disappointing.**

**A: Frieza really wasn't meant to be a main character for chapter nineteen. But rest assured, he and his condescending rhetoric will be in plentiful supply for the final chapter. **

**Q: Don't worry little green, I'm sure Turles will eventually not kill you. **

**A: My name is Piccolo. Anyways, Piccolo is safe for moment-but for how long is the question. **

**Q: Vegeta is way stronger at this point in time than canon. Interesting.**

**A: He actually isn't around chapter three. Regardless, Vegeta's strength at this point in the story is really of minor consideration. **

**Q: Although I'm still uncomfortable with the thought that a random teenaged Saiyan and his allies during this time period could be stronger than any cannon or movie Saiyan.**

**A: True, they are stronger than every other Saiyan at this point in history, but that doesn't seem to be helping them much when everything is blowing up in their face. **

**Q: Okay, so the reasons for Piccolo's actions are clearer - but he actually told Goku what he was doing, giving Goku time to figure out its weakness and counter it? Still goes against Piccolo's intelligence, as far as I'm concerned. He's more of a pragmatist than that**

**A: Well, in Piccolo's minor defense, nobody really expect Goku to weasel his way out of attacks that require some brains to get out of. Nevertheless, I've never been a fan of this fight and that was one of the reasons for it. **

**Q: I'm still somewhat fuzzy as to Baden's people, where they came from, how they survived the purge, and what their long-term plans are. A lot of what they were saying was pretty vague - though that might have been intentional on your part.**

**A: It was intentionally vague. Eventually, you'll come to know Baden's motives and how his sect of Saiyan's escaped the purge. However, it may take awhile unfortunately. **


End file.
