Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Camouflage ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

It was the morning light filtering through the grime-streaked windows of the hostel that woke Yamcha before the others. Sore from his awkward sleeping position, he stretched before slowly getting to his feet. Most of the people in the room were still sound asleep. Piccolo and Goku had their backs to him, but Bulma was sprawled out on her back, one arm shielding her eyes from the sun that she subconsciously detected. So much like he used to find her in his own bed, back when things were the way they were supposed to be. Back when they could enjoy a day without fear or despair.

He allowed himself another moment of simply staring, searching for any traces of the old Bulma in the visage of this... stranger. Pieces of her -- that flamboyant girl -- remained, surprisingly. In sleep, the anger and guardedness was gone. The planes of her face seemed softer, he supposed. With a heavy sigh, he turned to leave.

But then he remembered something.

Quickly, without even thinking, Yamcha reached for Bulma's cloak, which lay in a puddle of dark fabric beside her. He extracted the hefty coin purse that they had pilfered the day before, pocketed a few of the valuable coins, and then returned it to the cloak. There was no telling what would happen to them at any given moment, and the bonds of friendship apparently meant nothing anymore, so it couldn't hurt, he reasoned. Besides, Miss Briefs had money-making... assets... that he did not possess. On a whim, he also swiped one of her little cigarettes.

Judging from the position of the sun, it was still fairly early; the others would not be awake for a few hours. Yamcha strolled into the streets, people-watching as the city's merchants began to set up shop for the day. Evidence of Vejita's control was ubiquitous; the royal crest of Vejita-sei was posted everywhere, and burly soldiers roamed the streets, seemingly looking for trouble. He pulled up his hood and made his way to one of the busier areas of this district. Even at this early hour, it was bustling with activity as people started their days. He lit the cigarette to calm his nerves -- he would never get used to having to constantly fear for his life.

It was in places like this very market that the Z senshi gained their news. It was vital to their survival to have an idea of what Vejita was up to; the Saiya-jin, admittedly, was an effective leader and made the rounds of the planet that was his base of operations every once in a while. It would be a catastrophe if he happened to show up in their area unexpectedly. Inconspicuously, Yamcha pretended to browse the wares of random merchants, eavesdropping on nearby conversation. The multitude of species that had shown up on Earth since Vejita's ascension sometimes meant language barriers, but over the course of the past three years the Z senshi had been able to pick up some of the Intergalactic Common language used by traders and diplomats. Funny -- prior to all of this, Yamcha couldn't even speak perfect English.

People were buzzing about Vejita's return to Earth still, though he had been back for several days now. The merchants seemed to think that he was concerned about something -- whispers of enemies on faraway planets making weapons or something like that. According to the people Yamcha listened in on, Vejita had gone into the 52nd district the other day and killed a few people out of pure frustration. That might have been plausible if Vejita had been somewhere where the common population were permitted to crowd him and whatnot, but the 52nd district was pretty exclusive -- it consisted of mainly townhouses for visiting diplomats, upscale bordellos, and expensive shops. If he had allowed himself to kill there, where word of his actions would reach first-class circles around the universe, then something must be very wrong indeed.

Yamcha suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. If Vejita truly was experiencing trouble with other planets, then he would naturally want to bolster his resources and eliminate the issue -- fast. And that, he knew, entailed finding Bulma. Bulma would give him the power to crush anyone who dared object to his absolute power. Vejita was not a patient man by any means; he would want to find Bulma as soon as possible. Trying not to look hurried, Yamcha started back to the hostel.

A couple of soldiers stood nearby; they were harassing a merchant who did not 'pay them the proper respect'. When Yamcha began moving away, they hesitated in their actions and watched him more carefully. To recover from his sudden departure, the human stopped at the closest merchant to him -- an orange-skinned man selling alcohol in large tankards -- and quickly selected something. The soldiers, not at all intrigued with shopping, diverted their attention back to their previous victim.

Clutching his heavy container of alcohol, Yamcha wound back through the allies and misty morning streets to the hostel. The others would not be happy to hear of Vejita's lastest grievance. Suddenly the tankard did not seem like that unwise of a purchase.


. . Piccolo . .

When Yamcha returns, I am waiting outside of the hostel entrance. The instant he left, I felt a powerful foreboding that something was about to go terribly awry. I wanted to catch him before he could go in to see the others and cause any trouble; I want to assess any damage that might have already been done. He is practically running towards the hostel, clutching a large container of something. I speculate that he did some pickpocketing of his own within Bulma's cloak while she was sleeping, but decide to not bring it up and cause unnecssary conflict. The sounds of the humans' voices when they are angry is irritating beyond belief.

Yamcha sees me and spares me the effort of initiating conversation. "Vejita killed some people in the 52nd district. There's talk of planets making weapons and rebelling --"

"We have to leave," I interject.

Yamcha nods and goes inside to tell the others, still carrying the tankard which I now assume contains alcohol. The implications of this piece of news will be mutually understood. If Vejita felt angry enough to cause such public damage, then the issue must be critical. He will need Bulma now more than ever. His previously intensified search will now be that much worse with extra inspiration behind it. With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes and attempt to get an inkling of what might be ahead of us. Though this news is bad in itself, the foreboding seems to overshadow it; there must be something else...

Nothing comes to me at first; I experience the strange resistant feeling that is associated with the future that I am not permitted to see. Then, a flurry of fleeting, random images barrage my mind.

A flagship bearing Vejita-sei's crest hovers above the city, surrounded by smaller crafts, which rain blue fire down on the streets... Goku sobs, his entire body convulsing with emotion, clutching at a tattered piece of fabric... Blood creeping out from underneath a doorway... "Don't leave me---"... Bulma, clothed in nothing but sinister red light, levels a seductive look at someone from behind a delicate paper fan... The stars flickering out before my very eyes... Vejita lounging on his throne, practicing some sleight of hand with a bloodied dagger, surrounded by bones...

Grimacing, I attempt to make sense of them all, to string them together into some sort of sequence, but all I can glean is a common feeling of hardship. Big fucking surprise. When I come out of my trance, Goku is leaning against the wall beside me. He has been watching me with wary eyes. Sometimes I think that the less-than-brilliant Saiya-jin is aware of much more than anyone gives him credit for.

"You don't look very happy," he says. "That can't be good for us."

"Things are never good for us these days," Bulma interjects, emerging from the hostel, cloaked and ready to go. I note how much longer her hair was in my vision than it is now -- I must have been seeing events relatively farther into the future than I usually do. "Let's get out of here. I don't think anyone can argue the fact that we have to find a better place to hide."

"I am lonely."

"You will always be lonely."

I push the intruding dialogue from my mind; I often hear random snippets of conversation from the past or the future, but without accompanying visions, it is almost impossible to decipher them. Besides, Bulma is charging ahead, set on getting as far away from this place as possible. With a sigh, I move to follow the others, but not without one more interruption...

The dungeon is dark, damp, and gloomy; just as one would expect. It was the horrific sounds of pain and agony that truly gave the place it's evil atmosphere; that, and the scene of gore nearby. I attempt to focus in on the blurry image, but to no avail -- I am not meant to see the details of this situation.

"Make him say it." Vejita's eyes are red with bloodlust... bloodlust and something else. He looks deranged. A shiver goes up my spine. I have never seen Vejita reveal so much of what he was feeling before -- whether this was a good or a bad thing, I do not know. "Make him say it... or you will have to."

Bulma clutches a mean-looking instrument, clearly intended for torture. She is stricken with emotion, and she appears to have been tortured too. Her excessively thin body is smeared with blood, contrasting with her fine clothes and ornate jewelry. "I... I..." she stammers, but cannot seem to come up with a reply.

The blurry figure strung up before them screams as Vejita barrages it with ki blasts, meant to inflict pain but not sweet, merciful death. I struggle to make out the figure's identity; something about the screams strikes me as familiar. My effort is to no avail.

"Ah," Vejita moves to stand behind Bulma, hissing into her ear in an unsettlingly intimiate fashion. "Then I suppose you are the one who must suffer..."

"Piccolo!" Yamcha's annoyed voice breaks the vision, much to my frustration. "Are you ready? Bulma's already turned the corner!"

I try to grasp onto the last vestiges of the vision, but its already gone. With a heavy sigh, I quicken my pace to catch up with the others.


Vejita started his morning with a bottle of absinthe -- the one Earth drink that he could actually tolerate -- and a long line of a neighboring planet's enhanced version of cocaine. Radditz watched him from the entrance to the emperor's chambers, trying not to betray his misgivings. If Vejita were starting his day in this fashion, then everyone in his vicinity was bound to be miserable. Drugs and liquor only amplified the Saiya-jin's hostile personality; he used to unsettle Frieza himself when he was under the influence. Just the other day Vejita had gone on a rampage in the 52nd district after consuming an unhealthy amount of alcohol. Radditz cleared his throat, attempting to get his prince's attention.

"What the fuck do you want this early in the morning?" Vejita snarled in response. Carelessly, he threw the empty bottle over his shoulder, where it shattered into thousands of little pieces which fell to the floor like rain. "If you are here in regards to the 52nd district, then remove yourself -- the fools should not have approached me while I was in such a mood." He smirked to himself, his eyes feral like an animal's. "And their blood was so satisfying..."

"Uh, no, I am not here because of that, Your Majesty," Radditz replied cautiously. "I am here because one of your advisors has important news. He refused to speak of it to anyone but you."

Vejita wiped the traces of fine white powder away from his aristocratic nose and rose from his seat. "Send him to the throne room. I shall be there within the hour."

Radditz bowed and exited the room, all too happy to escape being in the presence of his superior while he was in such a state. Back in his chambers, Vejita blinked furiously to clear his mind after the initial effects of the substances he had consumed, striding towards the stairs that led to the top of the tower that housed his private suite. The advisor did not have to tell him what the news was about -- Vejita already knew. With a growl, he ascended the winding staircase which led up to his private balcony.

The city was bustling with activity even at this early hour, and a gray haze hovered over the streets. The pollution was a result of how busy the planet had become, what with it being his 'home' planet, but Vejita was not concerned over the issue. When it became unbearable, he would relocate to another planet -- somewhere tropical, perhaps. The Saiya-jin commenced his regular routine by sweeping his senses over the masses of ki that resided on the planet, searching for familiar signatures, but none were to be found -- for now. Frustrated, he headed back down to his room.

Though he knew the general gist of what the advisor was going to tell him, he could not simply brush the terrified little person aside. His informants, the existence of whom he kept secret in case he needed information on one of his own people, had told him the other day, before he had murdered all those people. The planet that had been developing weapons of mass destruction had not been doing so simply for their own motives; they actually belonged to a burgeoning alliance formed to oppose his empire. It was unclear as of yet just how many planets had joined so far, and who had orchestrated the movement, but he meant to find that out soon. And then make anyone and everyone involved wish that they had never been born.

This last bit of information settled it; he would go out and search for the Briefs girl and the Namek as soon as possible. His soldiers, including Nappa and Radditz, seemed unable to handle the job themselves. A ridiculous Earth saying about doing things yourself tickled the edges of his brain, but he stubbornly pushed it back. He had been in the company of ningens for far too long -- it was time that he started reverting back to his normal Saiya-jin ways.

He decided that he would start with Bulma and her little friends, just as soon as he found them.


. . Bulma . .

After traveling until dusk, we decide on a spot bordering on one of the many red-light districts in the city, where countless travelers pass through without any sort of recognition or rememberance that they had even been there. Its a perfect location, but as I soon discover, not a very comfortable one. Even with my hood up, men in this area tend to assume that I myself work in the brothels. I do my best to ward them off without shedding any blood, but it is extremely tempting to forget all decency and give them each a little something to remember me by. Kind of like what Nappa will have to look at every day for the rest of his life.

Night is falling, and much to my disappointment there are no nearby roofs to escape to. With a heavy sigh, I put out my umpteenth cigarette and head back into the empty building that has become our temporary home. It is a ramshackle, abandoned apartment complex that has definitely seen better days, even before it was abandoned. Goku built a small fire on the floor of one of the rooms, where everyone has gathered to savor the precious heat. Piccolo is meditating in the corner, predictably, but Goku and Yamcha are laughing about something. The tankard of Kami-only-knows-what sits on the floor between them, conspicuously open.

"I could use a night of just getting completely shitfaced," Yamcha was saying, looking like he's already halfway there. "And there's no better place to do so than right where we are. There are probably fourteen brothels within a stone's throw from here!"

"Brothels?" Goku repeated, looking less-than-sober himself. "Uh, I don't think that's a good idea..."

I watch as they each take another generous shot, straight from the tankard. After a moment, they finally notice my entrance. The tankard between them beckons to me -- despite my less-than-friendly relationship with Yamcha as of late, I have to agree with his words. Forgetting about all of this for just a few hours sounds like heaven... too good to be true. Worth a shot, at least.

"Goku's right on that one. Vejita probably has informants in places like those. Hell, his soldiers themselves are all probably there." I move over to the fire and swipe the tankard, taking a shot for myself. The alcohol is strong, but unfamiliar to me. Right away, a warm feeling envelopes my entire body. "I'm not even going to ask what this is."

"See? I told you!" Goku rubs in Yamcha's face.

"Whatever," Yamcha slurs. "A decent blow job probably costs more than month's worth of food, anyway."

We pass the tankard back and forth until the large container is empty. Piccolo remains in his trance, probably just to avoid us -- not that I blame him. Yamcha gets up and stumbles to the door of the room. Goku, cracking up, follows, almost falling on his face. I try to stand, but the alcohol has affected me more than I thought. I feel as if the room is spinning around me -- I wonder if the booze was laced with something else, as aliens seem to prefer.

"Where are ya going?" I manage to spit out. Finally, I am able to stand. I hurry over to them. Goku grabs my arms to steady my swaying body, even though he is having balance problems himself. Offhandedly, I note that it would take an extremely potent substance to effect a Saiya-jin. Why am I not passed out, or dead? I shrug it off -- I'll probably be one or the other very soon.

"I wanna see what all is here," Yamcha says, a lot louder than was necessary. "I'mma exploring."

I look over my shoulder; Piccolo has come out of his trance and is watching us. He does not betray a reaction save for the anger that is constantly etched on his face. I figure that if Piccolo doesn't see a problem, then there isn't one -- its nice to not have to have the final say in something for once. Yamcha had a great idea. I follow the men out of the room, into the dark hallway. Yamcha wanders into the first room that he comes across. I pause at the entranceway, but do not see anything of interest. Goku has contined on ahead. I follow him for reasons that I do not know, quickening my pace so that I can keep up with him.

"I want to go all the way to the top!" he exclaims, that childish, exuberant look that he used to constantly wear making a reappearance. He starts up the rickety stairway at the end of the hallway, jumping excitedly up each step. I follow a bit more cautiously, occasionally tripping over my own heavy boots.

"Maybe we can go on the roof," I reply. The stars will look so amazing right now -- they'll spin like the baby mobiles people used to hang above their children's beds. Did humans even procreate anymore? How many humans are left, exactly? Am I the only one who remembers those minute traditions? "Hurry!"

Suddenly, Goku trips over a step and collapses onto the metal stairs. I am not able to stop myself in time, and fall as well. My drunken mind registers that I am very close to Goku and that he is very, very warm. He tries to focus in on my face, his brown eyes intense but dopey. His movement is making me sick; I grasp his face to keep him still. His reaction is immediate. He kisses me, tentatively at first, then gradually more intensely.

His body is hard and strong as I move to lay on top of him. I close my eyes and just let the moment take me over. Goku's hands explore my body desperately, like this is the last minute of our lives. I feel so important, so desired, so... perfect. His need for me is blatantly obvious -- even the almighty Saiya-jins cannot hide their arousal, especially considering that the ones that I have encountered are much more well-endowed than human men. I rub against him in the way that I instinctively know will excite him. I revel in his undisguised obsession.

My influenced mind finds absolutely nothing wrong with comparing him to Vejita; hell, doing so doesn't even bother me like it usually does. His physique is well-formed and his hands strong, but in an entirely different way than his prince. Vejita's muscles are compact and bulging, whereas Goku's are long and lean, like a runner's. Goku would be a different kind of lover entirely, I suspect -- someone who makes sex a gentle act of love, not the hot, borderline animalistic experience that Vejita gave me. Vejita was so unpredictable, so dark... He holds me down, his ki surrounding his body and mine in a searing blue light; I can feel his powerful muscles rolling beneath his dark skin as I dig my nails into his back, terrified yet enthralled with what was happening to me all at the same time... Goku's hands slip beneath my shirt, and I gasp. This part of me has not been awakened in so long... so long.

Awkwardly, hardly able to support even his own weight, Goku carries me up to the next floor, where we sprawl out on the floor in the hallway. He is on top of me and yet not assuming any semblence of control. Did Chichi always initiate sex in their marriage? I guide his hands to where they should be; he drunkenly struggles with the ties of my pants. It hurts but is the most intense pleasure that I have ever felt. His Saiya-jin canines shed my blood with the tiniest amount of pressure. I want to cry, but all I can manage is a scream: his name, just what he wanted to hear... Goku stops suddenly. He kind of falls off of me, his face devoid of all color.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, moving towards him. "Come back over here..."

"Goku," he stammers. "My name is Goku. Not Vejita."

I can only stare; this is about as alert as I can get while there is so much of that strange alcohol running through my veins. When did my memories blend into my reality? Calling Goku 'Vejita' at that moment was probably the worst thing I could have done. All that I am able to do is emit a small noise of protest as Goku stumbles over me and back down the stairs. I am alone. And drunk. Very, very drunk.

Rather than try to get to my feet, I crawl on my hands and knees to the stairs, where I maintain a death grip on the rusty railing as I climb. The roof -- I have to get to the roof. That's where the stars are. That's where I could make sense of it all, if there was anything to make sense of. My thoughts are blurry, running together like paints and turning into a stream of darkness.

After what seems like forever, I reach a door where the stairs end. I push it open with my entire body weight, which causes me to fall to the ground when the door gives way. Cool night air greets me -- and the stars. A sky full of bright stars. I crawl to the center of the roof, the concrete of the ground rubbing my hands raw, though I cannot feel the pain. Finally, I settle onto my back, watching the heavens as they spin in slow circles far above me.

"Oh, pardon me," a voice behind me says. "I was not aware that this roof was taken."


..............



[A/N]: The wait for the next chapter will not be nearly as long -- I apologize once again. Please review!