Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Rebirth ❯ A New Job ( Chapter 5 )

Private Sandler was having second thoughts about his desire to enter the Special Forces. He had always been very sportive; he had played basketball, football, baseball, and he had been one of the best wrestlers in his high-school team. But all of that didn't seem to matter now, because this training was beyond tough.

They were woken up at 5 a.m. by the annoyingly loud voice of their drill sergeant; then they had to jog for an hour in lock-step. At 6:30, breakfast was served, and afterwards, they divided up into several groups. Some had to go to the shooting stand, some had to learn how to clean a machine gun, some had to do an obstacle course, some had to practice hiding and sneaking up on the enemy without being seen, and so on. There were two blocks à two hours before noon, and two blocks à two hours in the afternoon with only thirty minutes break in between. The teams were going from one place to another, so everybody had to do four different tasks in one day. Sometimes, a group had to stay at one place for two blocks, and that was what had happened to his group.

At the moment, Private Sandler was desperately trying to follow Sergeant Azuma's instructions on how to attack and defend yourself without any weapons, but he couldn't concentrate properly anymore because he was very tired. It had been a long day for him; he was physically and mentally exhausted, and he didn't think he could move any muscles even if his life depended on it.

"Alright, you little pieces of shit! Which one of you weaklings has the guts to demonstrate the next technique with me?", Azuma shouted.

Everybody looked either down to the grass or up into the sky or to his neighbor, because none of them wanted to be the test subject for Sergeant Azuma. He was a very violent man, and many volunteers had gotten injured during his demonstrations.

"You worthless bunch of pussycats! You want to be in the Special Forces? You will never make it like that! You have to be strong and tough! Now, one of you come up to the front right now, or all of you will have to do a hundred push-ups!"

Still, everybody was too scared to move, even if it meant some more physical exercise. But Private Sandler started to think. If he would volunteer and he got injured, then he could stay in the medical ward for a few days and get out of those hellish training sessions. Just as he had drawn together enough courage to volunteer, Sergeant Azuma pointed right into his direction and his resolution evaporated as fast as dry ice under the hot sun.

"You! With the punkish black hair! Yes, I mean you! You don't seem to be doing anything useful, so come up here, or are you too scared to do so?"

Private Sandler heard a menacing growl behind him that made a chill run up and down his spine. What kind of man could produce such a feral noise in his throat? Nonetheless, he was infinitely relieved when he realized that the sergeant had not meant him. He could not turn around because the whole group had been called to attention, but he soon saw the person the instructor had meant when he pushed past Private Sandler.

At first, he didn't want to believe his eyes, but a second glance assured him that he had been right indeed with his observations. That person was a wiry young man who wore only some black spandex pants and a white bandage around his chest, but none of the two clothing articles did any to hide the many muscles clinging to a lean frame. His tanned skin was marred with many scars, he moved with cat-like grace, and he exuded a dark, angry feeling.

But that was not what had astonished Private Sandler so much. It was the coal black hair that stuck upwards like a flame that caused his confusion. This man could not be a soldier, because all soldiers had to shave their heads until the hair was no longer than half an inch at the most, and he did not wear an army uniform.

Private Sandler felt pity for the man Azuma had pointed out, because Sergeant Azuma was known throughout the base for his sadistic streak. There was no way he could match Azuma's skill, and he delighted in mocking and hurting those who were unfortunate enough to face him. Azuma was a master in most Eastern fighting disciplines, like karate, judo, taek-won-do, Kung Fu, etc., and he had won many illegal tournaments by brutally beating his opponent into submission. The black-haired man could only hope and pray that Azuma would not harm him too badly, because the instructor was in an especially bad mood today.

When the man reached the front, Azuma started taunting him about his appearance:

"Ah, so you have been in a couple of fights yourself, but those scars look to me as if you had always been the under-dog. Can't stand against a full-sized man, can you?"

Even from his place in the last row, Private Sandler could see how the man narrowed his eyes to very small slits, and suddenly, he wasn't very sure anymore which one of the two seemed more menacing. Azuma always had an air of deceitfulness and malevolence around him, but the other one had an overwhelmingly dark presence that broadcast his power and his superior strength. And the most curious thing was that although he clearly was very angry, his face showed none of his emotions, and his voice was deceptively calm and smooth.

"You know nothing about me, so you better shut up before I have to show you my fighting abilities. I promise you that you'd have to be lucky to survive them. Now, why did you call me?"

That was one of the most stupid things the man could have said. Private Sandler winced in sympathy because he knew what was going to come. Unless you were suicidal, you should never insult Sergeant Azuma. That had been the very first lesson he had learned here.

"So you think that you are better than me?"

Azuma's voice had changed into a purring tone dripping with malice and suppressed anger. Private Sandler noticed that all recruits had started trembling slightly from the hinted promise of pain, and he was no exception. But the black-haired man did not seem to take notice of that at all. Instead, an evil smirk slowly spread over his face.

"I don't think so. I know so."

Azuma's features were morphing into a mask of utter rage that could make anybody piss his pants, and his voice had sunk to a low hiss.

"Care to show me your skills?"

The other man was either immensely stupid or had complete control over his facial expressions, because he still did not seem impressed. On the contrary, he rather seemed bored.

"I do not fight against weaklings like you."

With those words, the man turned around. Private Sandler almost covered his eyes because he did not want to see what was going to happen, but some kind of morbid fascination held him safely in place. He couldn't do anything but watch how Sergeant Azuma lost control, charged the other man, and prepared to strike him in the back, a very dishonorable move.

Sandler wanted to shout out a warning, but before he had opened his mouth, the black-haired man had already whirled around with a snarl on his face and caught the punch safely in his palm. If Azuma was surprised, he didn't let it show but immediately hurled his leg upwards to kick the other one into the bandage that surely hid a wound. The black-haired man also evaded this strike, and each one of the following dirty tricks Azuma tried. He always kept on the defense, and after several minutes, Azuma got irritated and drew away. The sergeant was panting and sweating, and he asked in a snide voice:

"What's the matter with you? Too weak to attack?"

The other just stared at him with a look of disgust on his face, but otherwise completely unharmed. He had not even worked up a sweat yet.

"If you value your life, you should not challenge me. You have no idea of whom you are messing with."

"Hm, let me think about it. A weak pansy? A scared pussy-cat? A banana-eating monkey?"

The growl that cut him off was one that was purely animalistic and devoid of any mercy, and for the first time in his life, Azuma seemed to be scared. The features of the black-haired man were suddenly shaded with darkness and feral rage, and he hissed between his teeth like an angered predator:

"Do not say I haven't warned you…"

With one swift jump, he had covered the distance that separated them and started a rapid succession of kicks and punches, all of them going through Azuma's defenses as if they were non-existent. How the hell did that guy do that? Private Sandler had never seen such a display of perfection before.

A powerful sweep with one leg made a loud crack resound. Azuma gracelessly fell down to the floor with a cry of pain, and he collapsed into a boneless, sobbing heap with one of his feet bent at an unnatural angle. The man knelt down to Azuma and stopped only when their faces almost touched. Private Sandler could not hear what he said, but he saw that it left a look of utter fear and horror on Azuma's face.

When the black-haired man smirked, got up again and dusted his hands off, there was a spontaneous applause for him as all recruits were glad that finally, somebody had bested the arrogant Sergeant.

Suddenly, a loud, deep voice from behind made the noise die down very fast.

"What is going on here?"

-----<<<<<>>>>>-----

Astonished, I am staring at those humans in front of me who are cheering and clapping for me. Then, I look down at the limp male on the grass. They are really cheering for me? They are cheering because I have beaten up somebody?

Suddenly, I realize the similarities and I start feeling really sick to my stomach. This is the exact role reversal. Usually, I would be lying limply on the floor, and the crowd would cheer that cold bastard on. I would be the injured one, and the son of a bitch would receive the praise.

Have I really become so much like him? That I am enjoying the attention I get from beating down on somebody infinitely weaker than me? But where is the difference between that and purging planets, or fighting? Have I already become like that bastard without even realizing it? This concept is horrifying to me, and I have to do everything to not double over and vomit onto the grass.

Suddenly, a cool, controlled voice penetrates the haze of self-accusation around my brain.

"What is going on here?"

That must be somebody with a lot of authority over this place; he sounds used to everybody obeying his command. Still struggling with what I have done, I straighten slowly and make use of the stony mask I have put on so often. I will not show them any weaknesses, although I feel quite empty, probably having gambled away my chance of integrating into society.

Well, it isn't as if I had never been on my own before, and there should be absolutely no problem in surviving on this weak planet; though I would be stuck on a puny mud-ball, never able to return and achieve my revenge. But first, I will hear what this commander wants. He is looking around for an answer, but nobody is moving.

"Somebody tell me. You!"

He points to a tall male with very short, blond hair in the very last row.

"What is your name, recruit?"

"Private Sandler, Sir!"

"What has happened here, Private Sandler?"

This 'Private Sandler' seems to be quite jumpy and nervous. I wonder why, he isn't the one who has done any thing. Still, he looks scared out of his wits.

"Sir, we were training weaponless combat with Sergeant Azuma, and he wanted to show us a new move. Nobody volunteered though, so he picked out this man. I think, this man was just passing by, because he does not belong to our group; anyways, Sergeant Azuma started insulting him, and then they fought. The man had warned Sergeant Azuma several times to not challenge him, but Sergeant Azuma didn't listen, and he was defeated quickly. Then you came, Sir."

I quickly have to suppress the urge to raise an eyebrow. The way this male is telling the story, it sounds as if I was not to blame for the incident at all.

So you can twist events that way, too. Furiza had always blamed me for everything, and he was a master at making me responsible for things I never came in contact with. It is quite refreshing to hear that the same trick can be pulled the other way round. It will be interesting to hear what that commanding male has to say.

"And why did all of you applaud, Private Sandler?"

The male is turning red in his face which I have learnt to recognize as a feeling of shame and insecurity. He is stuttering and stammering.

"Erh, Sir, Sergeant Azuma has got some … personality traits… that make it … difficult to like him, and as he always was so convinced of … his fighting abilities…, it was … nice … to see that there are some who are … at least as good as him. We applauded because you don't get to see everyday how somebody of Sergeant Azuma's skill is defeated, Sir!"

So they did not cheer because they enjoyed the sight of torture? That is quite a new concept to me, and I can't quite grasp it yet. While I am pondering over this issue, that commanding male is thinking, too. Finally, he addresses me.

"Did you defeat Sergeant Azuma?"

I simply nod, not knowing what else to do. I have no clue of how they address any members of their society, so I try sticking to the minimum.

"How badly did you hurt him?"

"A few lacerations, a bruised rib, a cleanly broken shin, and he is knocked out."

The commanding male is drawing his eyebrows together and states in dismay.

"That is going to take almost three months to heal. But we need an instructor for the weaponless arts, and I am not sure where to get one on such short notice."

A short pause forms which that 'Private Sandler' interrupts timidly.

"Sir, why can't that man teach us?"

What? I am supposed to teach those … weaklings!?! I hope that this is just some sick joke of them, and that their commander is not going to agree to such. I sincerely hope so. But that would be a way to integrate, to become a part of their world… The human takes that decision out of my hand. Funny, but for the first time in my life I actually hand over control. And that to a weak human…

"Please follow me to my office, I don't want to discuss this openly."

Astonished, I am walking behind him, still surprised at the quick turn of events. A few minutes ago, I had thought they would try to punish me, and now, they are practically offering me a place in their society. What a weird species…

-----<<<<<>>>>>-----

He is sitting behind a big, black desk that seems to be made of wood, the resource that is so abundant on this small planet. I never knew you could make those things from simple plants, because on Vegeta-sei, we used stone for our plain huts, and we didn't need any thing else. On that bastard's ship, everything was made of cold metal, so no woodwork there either. He is motioning for me to sit down, so I lower myself onto a chair that is so soft that I sink deeply into the cushions.

What is the purpose of those cushions? Rendering me immobile? If somebody would attack me now, I would be at his mercy because I could never get out of this chair in time to fight. Trying not to show my uneasiness, I wait for him to start the conversation for which I don't know the rules.

"You are not a recruit, you don't have any military rank, and you don't belong to the staff. Why are you here?"

"I was in the woods, and there I met one of your recruits, Private Smith, I believe. She was injured and I helped her. The next day, Sergeant Miller found us, and Private Smith insisted that I come with them because I had been hurt. When we arrived here early this afternoon, a blue-haired doctor stitched the wound together. She didn't tell me where to go or what to do, so I just stayed here."

That was a very short version of my story, and I deliberately did not elaborate how I got that wound. Furiza would have killed anybody who dared to venture into his base, but the human seems satisfied with my explanation and doesn't seem to be inclined to end my life.

"Why were you at the practice field of Azuma's group?"

"I had been bored, so I started wandering around."

Still the truth, but I never mentioned my training in the hangar. Doesn't seem to be wise at the moment, but don't ask me why. After a while in that hot building, I had managed to get my ki under control again, and I had been curious on how they trained their soldiers on such a weak planet. Needless to say that I was thoroughly disappointed. They even need weapons to kill each other.

"Where did you acquire those skills in weaponless combat?"

Shit, I can't say anything about me being a Saiya-jin. They live on a back-water planet, so they surely have never heard of any other races nor would know how to recognize an outsider.

"My parents have given me to a trainer as soon as I could walk, and I have changed my instructors several times over the years. When I had been able to defeat most of my … trainers a few years ago, I had started developing and improving my technique on my own."

I hope he doesn't pick up on the fact that I am being so evasive and that I never mention any names. Really, 'trainer' and 'instructor', what nice names for those bastards who had mercilessly beaten me into oblivion…

"How did you receive those scars?"

Now, I am really tense and I hope he will swallow the answer I give him.

"One of my teachers believed in enforcing his lessons by … hurting me every time I did something wrong."

"How did he hurt you?"

His questions are really starting to annoy me. He has no right to pry so far into my personal sphere and make me think about my worst hours. What I have endured is not meant to be heard by weaklings like him; he would piss his pants if I told him half of what I have suffered through, so I only give a heavily censored answer.

"He possessed a set of big, sharp claws that he would rake through my back. Sometimes, he also used …" Shit, I have almost wanted to 'ki-beams' for a moment, "a heated knife to slash me repeatedly."

Looking at his reaction, I am satisfied. Hah, I have manage to severely gross that human out, and that was only a tiny fraction of what I have gone through. Damn that weakling for making me remember it.

"Ok, that's enough. I am sorry that I asked. Have you ever tried teaching your skills to anybody?"

"My … brothers", well, I can't say that they are the last remaining members of my race, so they are going to be my brothers. "I was the one who taught them how to improve their skills."

"How good are your brothers?"

"Were. They are dead. They could have easily defeated the guy I have defeated today, but they were never able to take me on."

"Any other living relatives?"

"All dead."

Yes. They all died on that one fateful day that made my race almost extinct. And all of that it is the fault of that cold bastard because he blew up my planet.

"Current address?"

"Don't have any. Since my brothers died a year ago, I have been wandering around on my own."

"Then I take it that you neither have a job nor any other secure income?"

I just nod, storing the information away for further use. So they are working with a monetary system. I can dimly remember that we had one on Vegeta-sei, too, but that had been so long ago … and on the star-ship of that bastard, the daily need had been provided. Well, not exactly, you could earn yourself everything by kissing that bastard's ass.

"Do you have any education?"

Huh? What am I supposed to say now? What do they consider 'education'? And all those questions are starting to annoy me, hasn't he already asked enough?

"I can read and write."

Yes, their writing differs only a little bit from the standard Universal, so I should be able to perform both of those tasks with only little mistakes.

"Why would you like to have that job?

Has he gone completely insane? I am not the one who needs something, he is the one who wants to have a replacement for that pathetic excuse for a fighter.

"The question is, why do you offer this job to me. I don't know any of your motives for choosing me, but if I can earn some money by doing what I am best at, then that is fine with me."

"Then write down your name on this line."

He hands me a thin, white sheet of an unknown material that is covered with black printing. That is quite strange. They seem to be technologically quite advanced, they even have a very basic version of computers, but they still use those white things to write everything down. It says something about a 'contract of employment' and the line he has pointed to has a subtitle 'signature'. I raise an eyebrow towards him and ask:

"Is this supposed to mean that you want me to teach them weaponless self-defense?"

He just nods, and I am happy that he doesn't ask me any more questions. If he had kept on, I don't know what I would have done. But before I agree to the 'contract of employment', I want to ask some questions of my own.

"How much am I supposed to teach them?"

"There are four different groups of recruits here. Three groups want to become regular army soldiers, so you've got two months to teach them basic self-defense. The other group wants to become a member of the Special Forces, so you will have to train them harder. You've got four months to teach them as much as possible, self-defense, attack, anything to be useful when they are unarmed."

They are never going 'to be useful when they are unarmed'; they are much too weak for that. And they will never be able to harness their pitiful ki, but perhaps they can do some damage to those who are as weak as them. I think I will give it a shot, because this is a good way to discover their physical and mental limits.

Taking the strange rod the man has laid on top of the white sheet, I slowly write my name on the line provided. I am completely amazed that the rod leaves a blue mark on the white thing when I touch it, but I don't show this and finish my signature. He takes the sheet as soon as I am finished writing down my name, looks at it, and nods.

"I will call in Doctor Briefs. You have already met her, and she is going to show you around and tell you what you need to know. Any other questions, Mr. Vegeta?"

"No."

"Good. You will start tomorrow morning. You are dismissed."

No pathetic human is going to simply dismiss me! I am the king of all Saiya-jin! How dare he…

But I quickly slam a lid over my anger and leave the room before I do something I would regret. Outside, there is already the blue-haired female waiting, quite angry, and she immediately starts ranting.

"I told you not to overexert yourself, and what do you do? Picking a fight with Sergeant Azuma. I swear, if you have managed to aggravate your wound, I am going to chain you down on a bed for the rest of this weak! Come with me, I will check you through to see how your healing is progressing."

She is storming out of the room, and I have no choice but to follow her. When it concerns her profession, she has quite a fiery temper and fights well with words. Perhaps she is not as weak as all of those other pathetic humans - at least mentally. But, on the other hand, exceptions prove the rule.

A/N: Well, what do you think? If you know any way to have a great romance (mind you, not just plain sex) without having too much fluff (I hate fluff, and Vegeta just isn't the type to like fluff), please tell me!

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