CHAPTER ONE: RUMBLE IN SATAN CITY
The dark depths of space have always been a fascination to the human species. Ever since they could think, the sky has been something to strive for. Objects that float in it were revered as gods; the sun, the moon, the stars and planets became gods in ancient pantheons. Myths surrounding this phenomenon, that envelops our little world entirely, have gradually been debunked, until the theories surrounding its whither-tos and why-fors have become a thing of science, and at that state everything in the heavens above our heads that inspired our sense of God was thought to be lost in the holy books that we wrote millennia ago. For ages, we have thought that we lived our lives on a flat plane, a halo that had an outer edge, and that anything that ventured beyond this edge would be lost forever, even the very water that made up our oceans. The heavens, for that matter, were thought a dome atop of our heads, engulfing our plane like the glass sphere of a snow globe, our atmosphere locked within. Back then, the sky was an insoluble marvel, and the obsolescent ideas about heaven and earth formed a vital cornerstone of our religions, the same religions that forced in the dark those few great minds that would dispute these views. People like Galileo Galilei and Johannes Kepler were some of these minds believed linked to the early Illuminati; scientific minds as well as philosophers with innovative theories concerning unorthodox sciences; minds forced underground by the overwhelming influence of the Catholic church. Earth's flatness was the first thing to be disputed, Earth's centrality the second, as a concise model of the solar system was created, with the sun at its center. From this point on, the heavens seemed to have lost most of their charms. With each axiom founded and each theory proven, they lost a bit of their magic; eclipses were no longer signs of things to come, but were reduced to a careful play of planetary shadows, night and day and the phases of the moon itself reduced to an intricate labor of multiple heavenly bodies and their gravitational pulls. Our knowledge of the solar system and what lied beyond increased immensely over the last five centuries of mankind's existence until finally all pretenses were shattered when for the first time, a flesh and blood human set foot upon the moon. We live in a world where we can predict when eclipses occur, when planets are where, and even when an asteroid would hit. We have observed. We have compared. We have put microscopic science to use in a macroscopic environment, but for all the millions of heavenly bodies that we have discovered, tagged and researched, the only place we know for sure that life exists is here on Earth. Is there life anywhere else in the universe, or are the evolutionary conditions that start the process in which life giving molecules are built, occurring only here on our green Earth?
A sigh could be heard, the sound of an office chair creaking as one continually shifts one's weight, the soft tapping of the heel of a shoe against the carpet. A minute or so after the sigh, a grunt came and a hand slapped down bluntly upon the edge of the wooden desk. Son Gohan had a glare on his face that indicated a mixture of boredom and flummox, that single tuft of his short, spiky black hair flopping around very lightly in front of his face. He clearly did not know what he had to do. He slightly lunged to the front in order to place his elbow upon the table, and the palm of his hand came to carry the weight of his head. "Pfff." An exhalation was slightly forced between clenched lips, creating a slightly deflating sound, the outline of his fingers slightly pressing up his cheek against his lower eyelid, before his free right hand relinquished its hold upon the computer mouse and moved towards his cup, which was filled with a sweet, aromatic coffee with brown sprinkles of mocha floating gently atop of the cream colored espresso layer. He lifted the cup to his mouth and took a thirsty gulp; it was half delicacy, half necessity; the sun had already fallen below the horizon and he was getting tired. It had been three hours already, and this was all that he had managed to type up. Another sigh escaped him, wondering why it was so hard for him to do this thing.
In his inability to concentrate his thoughts upon the task at hand, his attention had floated away from the computer screen in front of him. He looked out of the window now and then, enjoying the view of the trees close by, the sounds of the wind and the animals outside. He thought that at one point he heard Icarus' cawing, at which point he had almost lunged himself off his chair in order to hunch out of the window himself. Icarus. The poor creature had become so venerable; good natured Son Gohan had frequently bought him visits, bringing him food and caring for him as Icarus wasn't the youngest anymore. He knew that the creature would die soon, but somehow, he wasn't really sad. After all the fun they had together and all the hardships they've been through, he would not mourn. Icarus would go to the other world, and there he will be able to rest his wearied soul. Son Gohan, again not paying attention to the white screen, seemed to be taken hostage by his own roaming thoughts again. He was twenty-one now, if you would count the two year-long days that he had been training with his father Goku, within the Lookout's hyperbolic time-chamber. Young Gohan had all grown up, now a sophomore of Sociology to the University of Satan City, studying hard like his mother Chi-Chi intended. From the looks of him, one could hardly believe that he was still living with his parents and much younger brother under one roof. He was a very muscular lad, although the abundant tone often went lost underneath the spruce clothing that he wore in public, which often consisted of an ensemble of black or brown pantaloons with a white, crème or blue long sleeve blouse and black shoes polished to the point of shining. You are not the clothes you wear, that he knew, but it didn't make him try less. At home, however, he often chose to slacken his wardrobe to a more loose and fitting uniform; he has often taken to wear his father's choice clothing, which was the ubiquitous orange gi with blue underclothing and sash, as well as the comfortable blue boots that were great for walking and jumping around in. No doubt that these pieces of high performance footwear had their roots in Saiyan equipment technology. This outfit of choice what was he was wearing now.
After the third and final sigh lift his lips, he had enough. He righted himself, then slumped himself down on the office chair again, no longer wiggling about making light. He clenched his hands very gently around the armrests and shifted his weight until his back was fully supported by the leaning. Then, he rode the five-legged chair forward as to tightly secure him behind his desk. He hunched over the desk, slightly to the side of his computer monitor, and grasped from a shelf at the wall in front of him a book called The Alien Controversy. He started to page through it, while occasionally glancing around the room. Son Gohan had a very tidy room, the floor was wood, with carpet over it, a small, slightly curved chamber – due to the curvature of the house itself. His bed, which was fully made and smelled of fresh flowers, was standing against the wall, the door into his room was next to the foot end of this bed. The bed itself was fairly tall, as underneath it there were three cupboards with two horizontal sliding doors. The one that was open at this time contained several pairs of shoes, of a shiny brown and black, as well as shoe polishing kits for either color sitting against the side. Next to the head end of his bed there was the left side of the wooden desk he was sitting at, with an adjustable reading light standing on top of it. His computer mostly graced the mid of the desk; a grey keyboard and a 17 inch tube monitor taking in quite a bit of space, an optical mouse resting at the right hand side. The rest of his desk was empty save for a few books that he had neglected to put back in the many shelves that were suspended against the wall above the desk. To the right of the desk was a window, beneath which he had put a couple of potted plants. The other side of the room contained several closets for his wardrobe, and as no one was perfect, one of the closets, with its door slightly ajar, played host to a myriad of junk that was piled unceremoniously within. A small end table was standing in the last corner, on top of which a reasonably sized tube television was standing. On this television, there was a hat he wore as a little boy and the four star dragon ball still stood on top of it, almost majestically. The darkening evening cast its last glimmer, which reflected against the dragon ball's surface, and destracted him again. As he brought his hand out to his coffee and tasted it, he lurched and almost fell over backwards, complete with chair.
"Blimey, it's gone cold! How long have I been musing here?" he asked himself out loud, his benevolent, dark eyes turning towards the window fully, a calm, slightly chilly breeze entering through the open window and causing the curtains to bulge inwards. The corners of his mouth slightly flinched as he gently kicked back his feet against the ground, rolling the chair out from under the desk to allow him to stand to his feet. He stretched out his handsome length and raised his hands upwards, rooting out the tension from his body. He had been sitting for far too long. He was quite sure that Goten had already been put in bed. Looking back at his wasted coffee, he slightly pouted and grasped around the mug's ear, walking to the door and opening it. As he wanted to start moving again, he was startled by Chi-Chi's frame, standing in the doorjamb. He quailed and opened his mouth in a comedic manner, especially due to the woman's pertinent, often demoralizing stares. It was unknown how, but she had a degree of power over him that had nothing to do with her being his mother. But it was mostly her very sudden words that had shocked him out of lethargy.
"How's your work, Gohan?" she asked with a sceptic gaze. "I do hope that you have studied hard today. After all you are still awake, while you were planning to go to the city early tomorrow."
"Yes, I…" he replied, but was soon interrupted in his words.
"Can I see the fruit of your labor so far, sweetheart?"
"Eheuh... heh… Well I…" he answered a little bit sudden, but then his face drooped a little, "…I haven't managed that much today, mom," he continued calmly.
"What? How come? You aren't ill, are you?" Chi-Chi's hand came forward to feel Gohan's forehead, immediately checking for a fever, scrutinizing every inch of him, even going so far as to take her son's wrist and feel his heart rate, which of course was healthy and steady.
"Mom…Just…My mind kind of wandered, I guess, okay?" Gohan answered vaguely, and quickly interjected by putting up his finger in an 'oh, but' kind of fashion. It was merely to shut Chi-Chi up, though.
"…and this assignment is stupid. Really… I mean, if only…"
"If only what? Do you think you can finish your study with if onlies, young man? University professors know what they're on about!"
Gohan, getting a tiny bit frustrated, moved his hand towards an assignment stencil on his desk, showing it to his mother, his voice slightly starker this time around. "Aliens, mom!"
Chi-Chi didn't really know what to make of this. Maybe it was one of his ramblings, having been with his mind all over the place. She gave him a confused, rather goofy gaze, one of her mouth corners slightly twitching.
"I went to study sociology, and the very first assignment I'm getting is writing an essay and giving a seminar about the widespread demographic effects of belief slash disbelief in extraterrestrial life forms. How the concept of aliens impacts on our society, and all that jazz. We can't pick out the topics. The topics are simply picked out for us and of all the people on this world I got stuck with this one!"
"But, it's just an assignment sweetheart," Chi-Chi answered mildly worried, "Even if it's not all that fun, you still need to do it," she said to him, her soft and motherly voice returning as she slightly frilled her tunic with one of her hands.
"Oh mom it's hardly that. It's…" Gohan replied with a sigh and looked straight in his mother's eyes.
"How can I spoon-feed my classmates this nonsense?" he said, quite strongly, but something in his voice was always gentle. "I have to spend forty-five minutes speaking to a seminar hall, packed solid with students, about UFO sightings, ball lightning, photoshopped photographs with weird lights or objects in them! I can't do that! It'd be a lie! Piccolo's a Namek, Freezer was a changeling, dad is a Saiyan and I'm half extraterrestrial myself! And they expect me to talk to them straight-faced about the conundrum of aliens? No way!"
When Gohan finished speaking, Chi-Chi gently put her hand upon his broad shoulder and would smile a bit. The touch of a loving mother made everything better, or so the saying goes.
"Sorry, honey, I haven't thought about it like that. What date are you scheduled?"
Gohan raised his brow in wonder and thought for a moment, then double-checked his schedule, paging through the weeks to come. "October 7."
"So, then, you have all the time in the world, haven't you Gohan?" Chi-Chi would let out a rather blithe giggle at that point.
"A month and a half is a long time, honey. You just now go and have a nice drink and then go to bed, okay? You wanted to get up early tomorrow." She moved on her tip toes and leant against her strapping son, to plant a kiss on his cheek. "You're my big man. You'll get it done. Just take it easy, okay?"
Gohan found this soft rebuttal rather surprising, but he immediately caught himself, bringing up his hand as to scratch contemplatively behind his head, ruffling his neatly trimmed fingers through his spiked hair.
"Yeah, I will. Oh, by the way, talking about taking things easy… Where's dad?" he asked, slightly shrugging his strong shoulders as he moved to put his assignment stencil and his schedule book on the tidy stash next to his computer and leaving it there to lie for the day.
"Well, you know your father…He ate and ate, and now he sleeps and sleeps." Chi-Chi smiled. One could almost hear the sound of fulfilled snoring from here, but then suddenly, her facial expression pivoted around a full 180 degrees in worry. "But you haven't eaten. You must be hungry. You know I managed to save some for you. It's in the fridge, hun. Just put it in that micro-thing."
"Hah, cool. Thanks mom. I'm really famished. I kind of forgot about eating."
"Hhuhmm…" Chi-Chi stifled a yawn by flexing her jaws and slightly moved her hand in front of her mouth. "I'm going to bed, too. I'm tired. Please put out the lights when you're done downstairs." She smiled, and with that, she moved down the hallway and into the next room to the left. A deep snore was heard when she opened the door, and as it closed with a gentle thunk, the snoring was again muffled.
Son Gohan's footsteps carried down the slightly arched stairway and reached the modest living room, a beacon of family warmth in all its facets. The walls were of a warm creamy white that borderlines yellow and the floor and furniture was an also very warm, dark wood. A solid table was the center of the room, with two vases, a saltshaker and several magazines on it as four chairs were pulled up against its bulk. A couch was propped against the wall, in front of a wide window, where those who would sit upon it received a fresh spot of air during the day. There was no TV corner to be found here, as there was generally little need for a television. There was always the one that Gohan had in his room, which was then frequently watched by Goten. There was however a comfortable hearth, which was the source of the thick smoke that playfully curled out of the chimney when the winters came. An overabundance of potted plants really made the living room come alive, and the place was separated from the kitchen by a counter, behind which the tiled floor and the almost antique kitchen cupboards and the old cast iron furnace could almost be interpreted as a vivid blast from the past. All in all, this little house had always been cosy, and the love of the inhabitants for one another made it a true home. Gohan felt the sleep coming into his eyes as well and he brought up his hand to rub his right eye. He shuffled calmly to the refrigerator and opened the door. As Chi-Chi said, a large ceramic bowl with plenty of delicacies had been saved up for him. He licked his lips rather enthusiastically and smiled, hunching over into the coolness of the fridge to take the bowl out carefully. He turned around and put it down upon the counter and gently tapped the fridge door with the heel of his foot, causing it to close with a muffled thump. The fridge exhibited a generous number of tiny little dents from exactly this type of behaviour not only from Gohan, but probably from Goku and Goten as well. Gohan removed the cellophane from the bowl and brought his face close to the food. Sashimi… mmm… His nose wiggled as he took in the smell, before putting the entire bowl in a quite large, white Sunbeam microwave oven, which unwittingly distorted the rather picturesque interior with its almost art deco design elements. Punching in the numbers and pressing start, he turned about in order to lean against the counter while the loud whirring of the apparatus started to warm up the food. Four minutes thirty, that should do it, he thought. It was at that exact time that a sudden sound against the front door caught his attention. He lowered one of his brows in a sense of wonder, but when he heard it again, he was pretty sure that someone was there. He calmly, but alertly walked towards the door and as he suddenly yanked it open to look who was there, surprise caught him.
"Icarus!" he exclaimed happily, although he immediately reminded himself to keep his voice down as everyone has hit the hay. The venerable, flying little dinosaur gave a tired cawing sound as he rested against the side of the house. Gohan stepped outside fully and put the doormat over the doorstep, then went to crouch in front of the creature, bringing out his hand to gently pet Icarus on the head. A smile was pasted on his face now. He looked back inside up the stairs. Goten might have wanted to see Icarus too.
"How are you, you old bird?" he would playfully ask, at which his hand received an obstinate nudge from Icarus's thick forehead, his large bulging eyes defiant as if saying that he was still young as a teenager. Being just as old as you feel also went for animals, that much was certain. Gohan pulled back his hand gently, but immediately brought it back to stroke behind the old dino's ears. It seemed that they were flicked upwards and opened to their full, a logical response to the odd hum coming from the microwave oven inside. Gohan looked back and forth between Icarus and the microwave and then laughed lightly. "I guess my food will be done soon. Hey, don't worry; I'll get you some as well."
With that, Gohan had moved back inside of the living room, walking rather energetically towards the refrigerator. He crouched even deeper than before in order to open up the large transparent grocery bin on the fridge's floor, where his hands found their way to a crop of lettuce. He sniffed it and tested if it was still fresh, and then stood back up again, closing the fridge with his free hand this time, moving back out to where Icarus was anxiously awaiting the promised food. He cawed quite happily when his big eyes were laid upon the lettuce in Gohan's hand, and he brought forth his head in a speedy movement in order to lock jaws with the vegetable. Hungrily, the dinosaur munched away at the lettuce, and after two bites, his sharp beak came so close to Gohan's fingers that he accidentally dropped it by reflex, He would laugh profusely, not unlike his father often did, coming to fondle the back of his head again. The sharp ping from the microwave brought his eyes up again, though, and his mouth opened wide to unleash a rather profuse yawn.
"Hhahhh…" he grunted as he rubbed his chin, before giving Icarus one last look, and petting him on the head once more. "It's time for me to eat, and after that I'll be sleeping. Got a long day tomorrow. Goten and I are going to Capsule Corp. Bulma has been fawning so much about this new 'ultra sharp' telescope…" Of course, it was hardly the telescope alone that made him anxious to go. He hadn't seen Bulma or Vegeta in several months. He especially missed the spunk of Trunks as well; with him, you never had a boring moment in your life. Goten was the icing on the cake, though. Put them boys together and things went ballistic, but Gohan didn't mind a bit of excitement right now. He gave his final greetings to Icarus and moved to close the door behind him. Time to eat until his stomach bulged and then time to go to dreamland. The momentary cool air relief from outside had made him forget how enormously tired he was, but it all came back to him at the end of his meal, as he stacked the bowl and the plates that he used upon the kitchen table. He really had no stomach for doing these dishes right now; he was sure Chi-Chi would understand. Gohan flicked out the light, ascended the staircase and took the door right ahead into his room, closing it behind him. The only things he did was kicking off his boots and setting the alarm clock for 8.15 in the morning. To him, that was a late time to get up. It was then, that he simply let himself lose balance and flopped down upon the soft bed face down, then angling his head ninety degrees to lay himself on his cheek. It took seconds for him to be fast asleep, his torso mildly moving at his serene breathing.
The morning sun shone already quite brightly through between the curtains of his room, causing the light to hit his face every once in a while as they were blown apart a little bit by the wind. It seemed like Son Gohan was already busy waking up; his eyes had stopped their R.E.M. movement and he started to wiggle around on top of his bed rather profusely, as if he was shaking a bad dream; in fact, it was only his body struggling fruitlessly against the encroaching sunlight. It was only moments later though, that the alarm clock that stood on his desk next to his reading light started its atrocious loud beeps. Only a handful of these beeps were needed to bring Gohan back to the waking world, rather suddenly even as he not as much woke up as sat up quite strongly. The gi that he was still wearing ruffled around his muscular figure, and he brought up his arm in order to wipe about his eyes, wiping the sleep away.
"Hah." A semi-laugh came onto his facial features as he rather excitedly propped up his legs and swung them down over the side of the bed, a maneuver that caused him to straighten out and land his feet with a slightly dull thump on the ground. Now standing, he brought about his hands and worked out all the tension in his body, stretching his muscles, unloading their pent up energy for a little while. A grin came onto him as he grasped his blue boots, with those characteristic orange stripes from center to the tip of the feet. He simply hopped up energetically and landed with his feet into his boots, putting the pantaloons of his gi inside of his boots; it was nice and warm. Then, he tied his shoes tightly and jiggled his legs about a little, standing with one of his feet on the ground, rather comically. He went to crouch with his legs wide and grasped hold of the tips of his boots, stretching by arching his back, grunting lightly and then suddenly marching out of his room, the slightly loud closing of the door meaning that he was well and truly gone.
The living room was, at this time, bustling with activity. Goku was sitting at the table still, buried in a bowl of rice, rapidly spooning large amounts of breakfast into his mouth complete with the accustomed sound of someone literally engorged in food. All one could see from his face was his wild, gravity defying hairdo with its characteristic shape. Goten was in a corner, playing with a couple of dinky toy cars, rolling them around and crashing them into one another, as always a slight goofy smile pasted on his face. Chi-Chi was, at this time, doing the dishes and sighing at the rate with which she was supplied with new plates. A few annoyed grunts escaped her, but she seemed to liven up a bit when she caught sight of Gohan.
"Good morning, Gohan," she smiled gently, and Goku, who was listening in, lowered the bowl that he was spooning empty and look upon his eldest son with rice and sauce over his face, his cheeks bulging with a large quantity of food still in his mouth.
"Hew Gowan, vit down, ve wife if gweaf!" he exclaimed, causing Gohan to rather comically raise one corner of his mouth and start laughing.
"Have a seat, dear. I'll fix you up with some breakfast as well," Chi-Chi interjected.
"No, that's okay, mom. I'm going to train a bit, and then I'm on my way to the city. I'm going to have breakfast with Videl," he smiled quite widely.
"You two have gotten pretty close over the last year, haven't you?" Chi-Chi narrowed her eyes in a smirk, inciting a reddish blush over Gohan's cheeks.
"Yeah, haha, I eh… guess we have."
With that, he would wave towards his mother and stampeded towards the door, but as soon as his hand was laid upon the handle, he heard his father's voice, now a lot clearer. Obviously, he finally managed to swallow.
"Training, eh?" he said with a rather playful grin. "Do you think you're up for a spar with your dad?"
"Boy, am I ever!" Gohan answered excitedly and gave him a hand gesture, coupled with a grin. "Bring it on, dad."
Like that it was, that father and son, both incensed with the fighting urge that laid deep in their Saiyan genes, excited from the house through the front door, and there, in the patch of grass in front, close to the walkway towards the dirt path that leaded to the closest by village, the sounds of their fighting resounded. A steady flurry of punches and blocks could be heard, both fighters being in pro forma. As Gohan's boots hit the ground, he sunk in a crouch and grinned, his hands clenched into fists as he brought forth his left shoulder by twisting his upper body. It was beside him that his hands met in order to channel a decent amount of energy in between, a slight speck of light at the center of his cupped hands quickly bulging outwards to gain the size of a football. He would jubilate as he made a full 360 spin and unleashed said energy upon the flying shape of his father. Goku widened his eyes and the jocular expression on his face as said ball of energy high-tailed it towards him was instantly turned into a look of concentration. He simply rotated in the air, arching his back and arching his head upwards as far as possible, causing the energy to ruffle past his chest and chin, missing him by a hair's breadth. "Haha, good one, son!" he yelled, continuing his rotational movement in a backward somersault and landing with both feet square upon the ground. Crouching, he diverted the power in his legs into the ground, causing indentations within the soft grass and flinging up patches of soil as he powerfully lunged forward to his son, and with the air of disappearing entirely due to excessive speed, Gohan's eyes widened a tad, although his left closed in reflex as the next thing he felt was being caught on the cheek by his father's elbow. Gohan's skill was apparent though, as his left arm was already halfway up towards his face. He seemed to have anticipated and he acted out of reflex, but his countermeasure wasn't quite up to speed. Gohan's body bounced against the ground with his shoulder, then his back, before he regained control over himself and brought his knee down against the grass to stop his momentum, leaving a mild scrape in the grass where his knee had pressed and angling the foot at the end of his other leg against the ground to stem his movement. His hand came down as well, then, to support his frame.
"Ouch, you got me there, dad. Damn." The grin on his face had disappeared, but as soon as he was done rubbing the sore, he smiled and stood back up to his feet.
"You got plans for today?" he asked his dad as he put up both of his hands behind his head, the look on his face at least half-serious. That was enough contrast against his father's often whimsical expression.
"Well, not really, I suppose. I was planning on training a bit, have a rounder or two with Goten maybe. Get some wood for the hearth. Our stack of firewood has almost run out. Ha Ha I don't really have a schedule."
At that moment, young Goten came jumping out of the doorway and closed the door behind him, walking up to the two. He was so much like his father that they were hard-pressed to find any discrepancies between the two of them, despite the opposite difference in size and build. Their hair was exactly the same; they had the same aptitude for smiling almost inanely and they possessed the same gentleness towards all living things, not to mention the fact that Goten wore exactly the same combination of clothing as his father.
"Heeeey Gohan! I'm ready to go!" little Goten yelled, his face enlivened by the wide, goofy laugh. Goku's response was one of surprise, adlibbing 'huh', but Gohan seemed to have anticipated this to the extent that he was downright counting on it.
"Of course you are, little man. Let's get going." Gohan was about to turn around and push himself into the air after having petted his young brother on the head, a mild aura of energy seemed to rush about him as he prepared to fly, but looked back towards his dad as he spoke.
"Where are the two of you going?" Goku asked.
"Capsule Corp. I haven't seen Trunks, Vegeta or Bulma in a month or two. I was kind of looking forward to. And Goten here seems to be anxious to test himself against Trunks again." Gohan grinned, Goten nodded with a laugh and Goku rubbed below his chin with a firm smile.
"Come to think of it, I might make a trip to Kame House today," Goku answered, "Krillin must be wondering whether I'm still alive by now. Ha ha ha. And I have a gift for Master Roshi too." He gave a playful wink.
"Yeah, one can only guess what that might be," Gohan raised his brow with a slight grin and took a hold of Goten's right arm, smiling as he took to the air and looked back over his shoulder. "See ya, dad!"
"Bye daddy!" Goten jubilated, as both of them flew off in a mild wake of a whitish energy, their forms accelerating through the air until they disappeared behind the tree canopies. Goku smiled rather satisfied as he watched them leave. Thinking about his two boys seemed to always warm his big heart. His peace of mind was suddenly, abruptly shattered at the yells of his wife.
"Gokuuuuu! You were supposed to put up the laundry!"
"Eheuh!" Goku suddenly lost his composure, one of his feet slipping away from under him as if stumbling over an invisible obstacle. "I was going to, Chi-Chi, I promise." He said with an apologetic look, his hands drawn out in front of him as to keep her at bay. Needless to say, it would not work when faced with Chi-Chi's overpowering persona.
"But I was planning on going to Master Roshi and Krillin, you see." He was caught completely off guard when a large jar filled with clothespins was being flung his way. He yelled out in surprise and turned about to catch it, several of the clothespins spilling out and falling into the still slightly moist grass. Chi-Chi smiled almost seductively as she held up one last clothespin between her right thumb and middle finger. She flicked her thumb, causing the object to make a nice arc through the air and land right in the open jar. "Get to it, hero."
Goku sighed and nodded. "Yes, Chi-Chi." With that, he walked back indoors and moved through the house, coming out the back door where the clotheslines were suspended. He put down the jar and grabbed the two bloating baskets with fresh clothes in order to commence his duty. He sighed, but couldn't help but bite off a smile. None of the enemies that he ever faced managed to make him feel this powerless.
The large punching bag in the center of Hercule Manor's gym was jouncing around rather profusely as the kicks and punches of the short haired girl smacked into the leather surface. One could hear the seams cricking and popping now and then, a few grains of powder trying to find its way out from its hold at every time. Videl, the daughter of the famed Mr. Satan, was anxiously hitting away; one had to stay in shape. Plus, even though it had been so for quite some time, her thoughts about Gohan got stronger and more ubiquitous by the day. They were really growing close to one another. She could barely believe that Gohan came into her class looking like a scrawny nerd, and now he was a regular, muscular Adonis. It must have been the ordeal with Buu that changed him; there was more of him to look at. She would giggle rather playfully as she moved closer to the bag and simply grabbed hold of it, hanging onto it with half of her weight as she was thinking. She wanted to do something romantic with him soon. The cinema was the first thing she thought about, but she easily dismissed it. Videl wasn't one for the cinema. What was romantic about sitting in a dark hall and looking at a movie being played in front of you? It does not matter with whom you go, you're reduced to a witness of an event. No matter how introspective or how resonating of one's own life the movie can be, it gives one a feeling of detached observation and before you realize it, you've come to focus wholeheartedly upon the picture and have forgotten everything about the person with which you went. She sighed. She wanted to do something that would make them feel truly together. Maybe a dinner would be nice; the restaurant doesn't have to be expensive, it just has to have an enjoyable atmosphere. Nah, she thought. Not special enough.
She grunted and moved her hand to her hips. She was wearing a pair of black shorts that reached to about halfway down her thighs. Her upper body was dressed in a long sleeve T-shirt that was probably one or two sizes too large, her slender, but muscular and streamlined form had all the space to move around in. She found this comfortable. As she left the Satan dojo, which was conveniently built into the side of the Manor, she moved through a door which brought her back in the hallway of their home itself. She wondered if her dad might have a good idea of where she could take Gohan, but he was still extremely obstinate about the whole deal. He wanted someone stronger than him to court to his daughter. Videl knew better at this point. There's no such thing as realism behind the camera. Hollywood is not something bona fide. The Cell Games had not been a bad WWF recap. Her father was not the man that he portrayed to be. And yet they loved him with their hearts and souls. Fraudulent as the cantankerous fool may be, he did earn the right to be called a hero. He could come off his high horse for once, though, and give Gohan the green, she thought at the moment that she passed a painting with him holding above himself that vaunted championship belt that he seemed to carry around everywhere. Hmf.
Her eyes widened slightly as she got an idea. She turned around forthwith and moved towards the dojo wing again. This wing was open to visitors and had a rather large reception. She entered this reception through a hallway coming from the back, her slightly squeaky Converse All-stars thumping and peeping at every step against the smooth ceramic tiles that made up the floor. There were several tables here which were littered with magazines of any kind, from children's comics to fashion to soft porno. The chairs and couches behind these tables were fluffy and gave every impression of being extremely comfortable. Hercule knew how to please people as well. After all, happy people were loyal people.
She looked up against the wall. Again, you wouldn't go 10 yards in this house without coming across at least one image of Mr. Satan in some ostentatious pose or other. There were several people waiting on the couch across from the room; one of Mr. Satan's 'star pupils' would come in a moment to receive the two and put them in a martial arts group. The woman behind the reception was busy answering phone calls almost at all times. The sound of water churning and bubbling in the large jug atop of a Glacier Water Cooler in one of the corners of the reception pierced the silence, as one of the waiting moved back to his seat with a cup of cool water. Videl's eyes were on a plastic tray that was hanging from the wall by a couple of screws, in which were displayed several small event ad flyers and catalogues. She paged through them. There had to be something between here. A nice dance floor. A concerto. Maybe even an opera. Pretty much to her dismay, a lot of the events that were listed were rather erotic in nature. Ladies night at the Red Rose, Male Stripper Extravaganza. Erotic Lifestyle Grant. And so on, and so on. She smiled slightly, though, as she saw one of the last event papers. Woodcrock; Golden Earring on Stage, October 12 thru. 15. 200 yards off Moraine Street; Tickets on sale wherever tickets are sold: Telephone: 0448-267 172 32 (free of charge) or e-mail coord.GEoSSatanCityFestibal.scd for further information.
That would be so cool, she thought, her exhilaration getting the better of her. She stuck that little flyer within her pocket and simply dropped the rest on the ground without thinking, one or two people following her movement; as the daughter of the champ, being recognized was highly likely. She ran back the way she came, her footsteps resounding through the empty halls as she made her way for her dad. She was starting to loathe this place; it was so big, it had no soul. Having no idea in which of the fifty something rooms Hercule would be, she rolled her eyes and brought her hands on either sides of her mouth as to carry her voice further. She inhaled to call out, but before she had the chance to, the watch on her left wrist made a beeping noise. She blinked and stopped in her movement, bringing forth her both legs to screech to a halt with a very loud squeak from her sneakers. She looked at the watch; apparently the guys from Satan City PD had stumbled upon a hurdle that they couldn't straddle once again.
"This is Videl," she spoke into the watch, her face was now in serious expression, the soft light from the liquid crystal display illuminating her smooth face.
"There's serious activity in Gossamer precinct. There have been massive sightings of violence on the street. Vandalizing, gunfire, the streets have been emptied out. All evidence points to a fight between two of the major gangs. Members of the Ironskulls have been sighted. More reports will be filed when more of the accomplices are recognized."
Videl's eyes slightly widened at this news. The Ironskulls were quite dangerous, but her surprise would turn into determination.
"I'll be on my way."
"Should I notify Saiyaman, Ms. Videl?" That question made her think for a moment, before a slightly cocky smile came to her lips.
"No, that won't be necessary. I can handle this on my own… I have some frustration to work out."
"Very well, Ms. Videl. Coordinates are sent now."
She pushed a button on the watch, and as the data transmission was received, a GPS mini-map of the city popped up on the LCD, with on it a flickering circle. She narrowed her eyes.
"Hmh. You may be the martial arts champion of the world, dad, but you're not the boss of me. I'm taking Gohan to concert and that's final." She grinned to herself and with a bit of concentration, she let herself hover out of the window and tapped another button upon her watch; a gift from Bulma, from when they first teamed up to make the city a safer place. A slight electric current seemed to flow through her body from top to toe, and with technology comparable to the Capsule Corp hoi poi capsules, a different set of clothes appeared in a puff of smoke, supplanting her old ones. The underlaying mesh seemed to approximate the blue jumpsuits that were incorporated within the Saiyan armor that Bulma manufactured at Capsule corp. She was now wearing white boots with yellow padded toes as well as white gloves, but from there the similarities ended, as over it she wore a light-blue tunic that was held to her waist by a white utility belt, and from the shoulders of her clothing an orange cape sprouted. As a finish, her head was adorned by a white helmet with a dark blue visor, Gureeto Saiyaman Ni-chigo to the rescue.
The day might still have been young, it being Saturday 9.30 AM, but the criminals of Satan City were no slackers this time. It was at a crossing with a restaurant on one corner; the patrons had been forced on the ground as a bullet hails have perforated every square foot of the building. The windows had exploded in a shower of shards, half of it laying inside and half out; the forensic textbook example of bullet to glass. The crossroad was bordering a large industrial area, the opposite corner was cut off from personal infringement by a wire fence, where an old factory ground had been excavated with the purpose of putting in the foundations of the buildings that were planned to be built there. Basically, it was a large gaping hole, where construction ramps with metal stairways were covering the edges. Reinforced concrete already covered the bottom, mean-looking, reddish steel rods pointed right up from the concrete mass in a grid formation; anyone that would fall there had a high probability of impaling themselves on at least one of those. Fortunately, the site was unmanned, the only sound that came from the place was one of the gangs taking up refuge there, and discharging their weapons anxiously at their attackers. The police was already on the scene, numerous of law enforcement vehicles having taken position at every street leading from the crossroad. Both gangs had the quite unsettling task of fighting off both the police and their enemies all at once. The policemen cowered however; the torrent of fire was almost random at times, and though some officers returned fire, others simply remained hidden behind their cars.
"God damn Ironskulls! Die!" one of the cornered thugs screamed at the top of his lungs as he aligned his Ingram towards the enemy, most of whom seemed to be ducked behind vehicles. The entire street was a mess. Bullet holes were everywhere, entire building edifices were blown out by clumsily crafted, but powerful pipe explosives. A barbershop owner was screaming within the audio pitch range of a soprano as a rain of machine gun fire went right over his head, causing his hand to powerfully flinch and take out a pretty big gap of the customer's hair with the electric shaver he was fine tuning with.
"Oh it is 'orrible! Vat have I done? I've ruined your hair! Diabolik! Diabo.. Auugh!" An exploding vehicle caused the outer wall of his barbershop to cave in, causing a cluster effect of brick pieces that came inward. His eyes were wide and his face was covered in bruises. "Zees ies too much for me…I should have stayed at Chanel…Oh Coco, forgive me." with that, he rested his head on the rubble.
Outside, the sound of gunfire was overwhelming enough to make any war veteran have a flashback. The nameless crooks returned fire, mostly with those Ingrams that fired short, inaccurate bursts – some of them used large, heavy silencers to keep their aim from veering and increase accuracy. The Ironskulls were mostly bald men with a tattoo of a skull on their forehead, although many had a lot more over the rest of their body. Almost none of them wore upper body clothing, and they had a large variety of different weapons. As the fire was returned, most of the Ironskulls ducked behind vehicles or the edge of a building. Some took shelter within the buildings themselves; a duo stumbled back away from the widespread rain of bullets and dove through the shattered windows right on a dinner table of the restaurant and on the two plates of half finished food that were still resting atop of it. A very long, rather skinny figure rolled off of the table immediately and landed upon the ground, the sound of shards crunching against the ground. His partner was a rather fat black man with long dreadlocks and kind of resembled a black Andy Fordham. His fat arm was grabbed by the large wiry hand of his partner, who pulled at him quite powerfully. A grunt escaped him as his heavy body shoved over the table; one of the legs gave out and he suddenly lurched forward, landing his flab upon the other's skinny form, quite fortunately as bullets whizzed past where the fat man had just been. "Git offa me, you idiot!" A wild growl left the cavity of the skinny thug's mouth as he raised himself to lean upon the broken table top, grasping at the window sill and cutting himself on a piece of glass.
"Ouch, god damnit!"
He raised himself in a kneeling position and brought up his MP5. He fired non-specifically at the building site where the opposing gang had fled to. One volley, two volleys. Three, until his rifle produced an audible click and he suddenly moved to crouch down, grinning as he grasped a magazine from his utility belt and clicked it in place.
"Huh? What the…" He looked upon his fat partner, who was engorging himself in what was left of the food. "This be right chawin, ah be baaad…" His fat cheeks wobbled as he spoke in his highly slurred Jive, snorting between bites, until he let out a yell of surprise as he was smacked over his bald head.
"Will you get up off your flabby ass and SHOOT AT SOMETHING?"
These kinds of things were going on practically anywhere where the Ironskulls took refuge from their enemy's fire, alternating their retaliatory fire between the coppers and the opposing gang members, until with a loud, crashing thud, a huge foot came down upon the ground. And another. The policemen widened their eyes as they stumbled over one another. Now also the more hardened seemed to take refuge behind their own vehicles. "Oh yeah." The skinny thug grinned as he looked at the rather enormous figure. The feet belonged to a ten feet grunt with limbs as thick as Dorian columns. He was the only one that didn't cower from the shots; all he did was put his free arm in front of his face, and just waited. His form ate plenty of bullets, but none of them permeated him deep. He was just eating them up, grunting deeply and laughing. Painful as it must be, he enjoyed it.
"Get them, Bulldog!" several of the thugs yelled from their cover.
His enormous cargo pants had dozens of holes in it, and not all of them were bloodied, which showed that this huge, muscle bound figure has done this before. Like his size, another thing that wasn't rivaled by anyone currently shooting their guns was his plain ugliness. Veins throbbed on top of his massive muscles, a build that seemed to be sustained by enormous amounts of steroids as it had clearly surpassed the humanly possible. The source of his name was the massive bulldog tattooed on his bared chest; a piece of art that reached from his belly button up all the way to his pectorals. His large nose had its bridge pierced by three steel pins from side to side, his nasal wall pierced by a large ring. The only effects of clothing that he wore beside his cargos and boots were two braces, one on each arm, but the most eye-catching was the weapon that he held within his huge right hand.
His arm raised, the enormous muscles of his biceps and lower arm stretching and contorting like steel cables as he pointed forward a giant minigun, which was linked to a rather large backpack he wore; that thing carried the massive belt that fed the weapon by a delivery system that was built along his right arm. As he raised the minigun towards the construction site, the rivaling gang members scattered like wildfire, some taking refuge behind the digger, the concrete mill, and a number of thugs tried their luck down the ramps within the foundation pit. A diabolic laughter came from Bulldog as he clenched his massive hand around the weapon, the six barrels starting to turn around with a whir. The minigun discharged its heavy fire with enormous speed, dozens of bullets plowing into the scene every second. The wire fence was breached like spaghetti and the bullet impacts created a quickly evolving trail of smoke puffs. Gargled yells could be heard as the unnamed gang cowered at this display of force, a war over turf degenerated in a struggle for survival. Two of the thugs who had been hiding behind a bulldozer were perforated by the endless minigun fire, as the reinforced bullets plowed straight through its metal scoop.
"That big dude is unbelievable! He's bringing the entire place down!" an officer shouted over the sound of the fire, and had apparently gotten Bulldog's attention. With a sickening grunt, he coiled his massive shoulder and stepped to turn. He swung his minigun arm all over the place without releasing the trigger, almost undiscriminating of the other Ironskulls, as if the entire fight had been brought back to survival of the fittest. It was like a wave of destruction carried forth wherever he pointed, the storm of bullets punctured the restaurant again from end to end, causing splinters of bricks and concrete to fly about. Pieces of doorframe and shattered sidewalk tiles danced around in its wake, the large barricade of police cars was jolted and fragmented by the bullet hail in a rain of windscreens, pieces of chassis, wheel hubs and spark plugs. All that the policemen could do was lie down on the ground and hope that they were spared.
It didn't take long for the enormous Bulldog to lose himself in the thrill of his carnage, his laughs echoing around the entire city block. Even the other Ironskulls had fled in every direction and some had even surrendered to the police freely.
"Little maggots crawling in shit!" Bulldog said with his deep voice that sounded a bit like two heavy rocks grinding together. "Worthless little husks of meat! Stop cowering behind your walls and vehicles and be pulverized like the trash that you are!"
He had barely finished that last sentence, or from his open mouth, a grunt of pain could be heard, two white boots clashing quite heavily with the back of his huge bald head. The force imparted upon Bulldog's ugly head was enough to cause Videl's figure to ricochet off, and she skillfully vaulted backwards in a flip, landing on the asphalt with a grin on her face, her stance widened and one of her arms brought out with the fingers of her hand in a claw formation. She was ready to fight.
"Fine by me, murderous lowlife! I'll kick your ass all the way back to Sunday!" she yelled and streamed forward, towards Bulldog's left leg, coming at him with quite a bit of forward momentum and jumping up to ram her leg right into the pit of his knee. The still standing behemoth had received a massive blow to the head, and before he knew it, this second attack was aimed to have him lose balance completely. His left leg gave away and he fell down towards his side, natural reflex turning about his massive torso and causing him to ram into the asphalt back-first. The sheer weight of the guy caused the asphalt to crack and a grunt of pain coupled with his excessive saliva was emitted from his mouth, his pungent breath colliding with the air.
Videl had of course sidestepped this falling monster, and stood about 5 yards away, admiring her own handiwork and putting her hands to her hips in a self-satisfied stance. The grin on her face was quite apparent, and as the first head popped out from behind the heavily ambushed police blockade, a sudden jubilation reached her ears. Yes, Ms. Videl had saved the city again from degenerates and criminality. She brought her hands up together in front of her, stretching her fingers with a few soft pops and taking a few poses, looking away from the lying giant and up towards the sky. It was almost uncharacteristic of Videl to act so much like her father. Maybe it was a bit of healthy mocking. It however kept her from realizing that the giant behind her stirred, and its massive back lifted itself from the ground.
"Miss Videl, look out!" one of the policemen yelled. The minigun came forward with surprising velocity as it was not used as a ranged weapon, but as a blunt object. As Videl turned around, she widened her eyes and doubled over from the hit to her chest. Eyes bulged almost out of her sockets and her mouth opened wide, letting out a gush of saliva. She flew through the air in a tumbling arc and looked behind her, to the ground below, one of her eyes half-shut. She turned her body around with all her might to keep herself from landing headfirst. She smacked into the tarmac with her shoulder and bounced once, hitting the ground with her hip for the second time and grinding to a halt, leaving a rather ugly scathe on her side. She had her teeth gritted. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! She couldn't stand herself right now, and her entire body quivered as it tried to find the might to stand up to her feet. She pressed up with her hands and managed to turn her head around to look over her shoulder, her eyes widened in a mixture of fear and rage. The minigun's six barrels were pointed right at her. She had no where to go. If the 10 feet baboon would depress the trigger, she was mincemeat. A tear welled up in her eye as she was completely paralyzed as the fear of imminent death locked her in her movement. The policemen that were watching were looking on, the blood disappearing from their faces.
"That was a strong attack, you little brat!" Bulldog yelled enraged. "Now die!"
Videl's eyes refused to close as she knelt there, looking at him over her shoulder. She could only speak out one last word, her hands tightening against the asphalt. "Gohan!"