May 12, 767. South City.
Every Z-Fighter knew this date, and many of them dreaded this date. It was date of reckoning, the date where they'd find out if all their work was in vain.
Piccolo, Krillen, and Goku were flying solemnly towards ground zero for the presumed android attack. Each of the silent trio appeared anxious to the point of being neurotic, and none of them questioned this tension. All three were aware of it, knew the cause of it, and didn't want to question it.
Quickly closing in on the sprawling metropolis of South City, they swiftly came to the same conclusion: a new rendezvous would be needed. South City, as it was contained too many angles and ambush spots. If discovered, there would be significant pandemonium that would surely draw the androids before any form of organized resistance could be erected.
Their indecision on a new meeting point would be short-lived; they were distracted from planning a new spot by a symphony of whispers assaulting their ears. None of them being comfortable with the subtle pseudo-incantations disturbing their peace, they all subconsciously decided to track down the whisper to their central location.
Krillen, Goku and Piccolo listened to the chants of the voices to the pinpoint their location. Eureka, that massive mountain to the east of the city, that must be where their coming from. Now where on that mountain could they land?
As the motley crew approaches the mountain they see a plateau that would be suitable for landing. All three cut off their ki and lands on the plateau, only find out they weren't the only ones with this idea, and coincidentally the identity of original whisperers. It turns out that Bulma, Tien, and Yamcha were already waiting for them to show up and were chatting rather loudly out of impatience.
Tien immediately noticed something wrong with Goku in particular. He looked the same as he always does: Orange gi, black boots, blue undershirt, and the same black hair reminiscent of a palm tree. It was the undercurrent of his aura that was bothering him.
Anybody who ever knew Goku would know this: Goku would always give off an aura of jovial cheer. That nothing could go wrong, and everything will be all right in the end. That just didn't exist for whatever reason today.
However, who felt good about today? According to the stranger we'll all die today if Goku doesn't come through. I would feel a little bent out of shape with those expectation, too!
While Tien hyperventilated on Goku's aura, everybody else was questioning Bulma. These experienced fighters were all aware of the site of Bulma at a battlefield she shouldn't be at. By now it wasn't that surprising, but the baby carriage that Bulma carried most definitely was.
Krillen stumbles towards Bulma with a clear look of embarrassment on his face. He didn't know how to phrase this question, and he'd have to, judging by the look of confusion on Bulma's face. "Don't mind me asking, Bulma, but what's up with the baby. Is he Yamcha's kid?"
An indignant scoff courtesy of Yamcha dispels that theory, but not before he interjects his own comment. "He's not my kid." After averting his eyes, most likely to avoid the confused and stunned look on Krillen's face, he adorned a more solemn expression before finishing his comment. "Wait. Wait until she tells you who the father is."
With that being said, Yamcha walks away with his arms at his sides and shoulder low and sunken in.
Goku intervenes in the comment with an air of dramatic irony. "No Krillin," says Goku, then turning and looking in Bulma's direction. "Trunks is Vegeta's son, isn't he?"
Bulma's eyes momentarily flash with a dreadful menace, showcasing once again the power of a woman's ire. "Dang it, Goku! I was going to surprise people with Trunk's heritage!"
Goku's eyes Bulma sheepishly and slowly steps back, knowing courtesy of Chi Chi that when women he knew were angry, it was best to stay out of the blast radius. This momentary anger didn't last to Goku's delight and she calmed down.
Approaching the stupid scene, Piccolo towers over the lunacy and diverts the tension with a single sentence. "While we are on the subject, where is Vegeta?"
Bulma, looking at Piccolo shrugged her shoulder and responded. "I don't have a clue where Vegeta is. I really haven't seen him around lately. I know he was training to come here, but with the baby and all, I guess I must of lost track of him."
"He'll show. He wouldn't miss a fight!" was all Goku would say on the matter, and by the nods of approval so did everyone else.
Goku, supplicating for forgiveness, approached Bulma and looked directly into Trunk's stroller and tried to entertain the child by making faces. The only face that changed was his own, after Trunks hurled straight onto his face.
"Sorry Goku, I knew that I didn't do something before joining you guys," said an exasperated Bulma, picking up her child and started to gently burp him so that...calamity wouldn't happen again.
To Krillen, something was very wrong. He could begrudgingly admit that Bulma was here, but why bring her son into it. Didn't she know that this place would become a battlefield?
However, he could only whisper it to himself. He didn't know how to question her without coming into direct conflict with her infamous anger.
Not knowing how to word his question the right way, and not willing to be chastised for his nosiness, Krillen quickly came to the conclusion that discretion would be the better part of valor in this scenario.
Piccolo, overhearing Krillen's mumbling, had no such issues about questioning her parental decision making.
Piccolo yelled out at Bulma, who flinched upon hearing her name be belted out so loud. "Why did you bring your son into this mess? Do you have a clue about what goes on in these battles, they aren't games?"
Bulma tried to respond with a fiery tirade, but couldn't find a fault in his statement. She just settled for snorting loudly enough for everybody to hear her.
A tense peace swept through the amalgam of fighters and heroes; all the small talk topic's had evaporated and everybody's mind drifted to the same place. It was disturbingly obvious how much he was stilled missed in moment's like these.
Tien wasn't going to interrupt the theatrics of Bulma, but he noticed what was amiss. Goku was here, yet Gohan wasn't.
Assuming nothing was wrong; in fact he knew nothing was wrong. Nevertheless, he would press the question. "Goku, not to be rude, but where is Gohan? Is Chi Chi not letting him come?"
The tense cordial peace centered on Tien. Goku's eyes changed from mildly amused to duller than a butter knife. Krillen looked up to the sky with a solemn expression which Bulma soon mirrored.
Piccolo half-heartedly growled a curse in his native Namekian. He was still especially prickly about the affair, and it wasn't going to go away soon.
He swallowed his anger he muttered. "Now isn't the best time to speak of such matters!"
Goku intervened on Tien's behalf. "Don't worry, Piccolo. I don't mind his question, he doesn't know what happened."
Turning to the left to level himself with Tien's eyes was all the time that was needed for Goku to collect himself.
"Tien...Gohan is...dead," Goku mumbled out of his maw of his mouth, with an alarming level of remorse and regret. This attitude was completely foreign to the Goku that Tien remembered befriending years ago at the Second Budokai.
Tien was floored at this revelation. What could kill a kid before he even truly began living? Tien's mind was a convoluted mess. What happened? How did he die? Was it a murder or illness? There were simply far too many questions to ask.
Piccolo, now that the hare was out of the hat responded to at least one question. "Gohan died of a heart virus that was supposed to kill Goku. We did what we could, but nothing could be done."
Tien saw Goku's expression appear even more crest-fallen, however didn't see him turn around and face the city. Judging by his still demeanor he was reminiscing of the death of his son.
It was a beautiful autumn day. Most of the foliage lay flat on the ground with many columns of bare trees, and at the center lay Mt Paozu buried to the hilt with snow.
It should have been an average mundane type of day at the Son's household. The preparations for the Androids were hitting their final conclusion; just polishing already existing techniques and the usual physical conditioning.
This never ceased to perturb Piccolo. He never understood Goku's logic on...almost anything. Nothing fazed him for any reason, even if it should have fazed him.
However, if he couldn't get Goku to agree with the dire straits of their condition, Gohan probably would agree.
Piccolo dropped from the sky and knocked on the door. The door swung open almost being ripped off its hinges. In the doorway stood an exhausted and irate Chi Chi, whose eyes twitched at the sight of the green alien.
She was obviously exhausted and her mien seemed to characterized this. Noticeable sacks had developed under eyes, while her hair seemed a bit frazzled and her reaction time was failing. He should know, it was the first time in forever he didn't have to duck from a flailing fry pan at first entry.
"Oh, Piccolo is that you?" she responded after almost half a minute, still not registering the exchange completely. "What are you here for?"
"Yes, it's me, is Gohan in a willing mood to train," said Piccolo in an almost obtuse manner. He needed to get Gohan's training regiment started again, he was conspicuously absent for almost half a week.
Whatever exhausted mannerisms Chi Chi was being hypnotized by disappeared after that sentence. All powerful adrenaline coursed through her system and her eyes blazed back to life. Piccolo, like Goku before him took a step back when he saw her reach for something out of his line of sight.
Chi Chi, not finding what she wanted apparently, decided to be verbalize her displeasure through blunt speech. "Piccolo, I'll have you know my son is not going to be training today. In fact, he won't even be studying today. So you will not come barging onto my porch demanding my son," she raged with only a partial adrenaline-induced insanity raging.
Piccolo was more than incensed at this proclamation. Something was wrong with Gohan and his family, or at least Goku, wouldn't talk to him about it. If Chi Chi wasn't pressing studying than it was more than a bit serious.
Piccolo in his normal gruff manner pressed the issue. "What's wrong with Gohan?"
As soon as it came, Chi Chi's adrenaline induced anger disappeared, signaling the onset of her all-to-common hysterics. She gripped the coat rack close to the door and started to sob uncontrollably. Piccolo waited for her to stop her antics before he preceded to interrogate her for the solution to his question.
She slowly calmed down and started to talk at her own volition. "We...don't know. It started so soon and so swift. He was playing like a normal kid with Icarus and then suffered an unfathomable blackout at three hundred feet. Goku caught him before he We put him to bed and he was in a coma for almost forty-eight hours, and when he woke up he was screeching in horrific pain. Neither us nor Bulma can figure out what's wrong, and he fading fast."
Piccolo's ire was almost at full boil. Gohan was close to death and they didn't warn him of this. It was inexcusable that he wasn't made aware of this sooner.
Still, getting angry was not going to help him, Chi Chi, or Gohan in the least bit. That didn't mean he wasn't willing to threaten her if he wasn't admitted to see Gohan's condition for himself.
"Then take me to him Chi Chi," said Piccolo, his patience already thin and more than an undertone of menace laced under his words.
Chi Chi was considering delivering a tirade about his manners, at least until another voice interrupted her thoughts. "Let him in Chi Chi," said Goku, appearing from out of the corner of the hallway adjacent to Gohan's room.
Chi Chi relented under Goku's request and unobstructed herself from the doorway, giving Piccolo access into the house. Piccolo's loud footsteps were heard from all over the house, even from within Gohan's room.
Piccolo walked calmly through the kitchen and entered the room of his young charge. It was only then that truly understood the dire condition Gohan was in. Gohan was laying supine in bed, his torso and legs obscured by a thick layers of blankets and sheets. Only his head was clearly visible from any distance.
He approached the bed and crouched down to Gohan's level. His eyes mingled over where Gohan's body would be and eventually returned to focus on his face.
Gohan's tan skin was almost bleached white. Sweat was easily seen on both his forehead and cheeks, that were clearly sunken in. He was shaking and moaning from what appeared to be an abnormally high fever.
However, it wasn't just Piccolo that was observing this exchange. Gohan, slightly delirious from the sense of vertigo, rasped out. "How...are you...doin...Mr...Picoh...lo," was all he could whisper before his sensory perception faded to black.
Piccolo, before he left the room, placed his index and middle finger on the bridge of Gohan's nose and whispered: "Don't worry kid, you'll be alright," before disappearing from the room and returning to the kitchen.
The kitchen was a scene of overall tension. Goku was leaning on the kitchen counter top while Chi Chi paced nervously.
Piccolo's entrance into the room broke the couple from their stupor. Both approached him inquiring about their son's condition, and more importantly if he needed anything.
"He's asked me if I was okay and promptly passed out," said Piccolo with his normal voice. This was all that was needed for Chi Chi to lose it.
"My baby passed out. This is terrible, somebody call Bulma, the hospital, call somebody," was what she called out, before ripping out the microwave from it's socket and tossing it through the window shattering the untempered glass of the window.
Goku, ducking from the flying projectile went straight to the phone. Bulma was already aware of Gohan's fading condition, but she needed to be aware of this new complication. He waited for the ringing to subside to speak to Bulma.
"Hello, this is Bulma," said Bulma, through the receiver holding a cup of coffee in her hand.
"Hello Bulma, this is Goku. Gohan has taken a bad turn for the worse within the last few hours."
"Is he still conscious Goku?" Bulma's ever present anxiety was clearly showing to Goku's sensitive ears.
"No," Goku replied, he fainted only a few minutes ago.
"Fuck Goku, why didn't you tell me that he fainted sooner," her voice however betrayed more of a sense of panic than anger. She had some medical experience and when somebody fell into a coma, it was never anything good.
However, panic would serve no purpose now. Gohan's life was at stake and they didn't have any time to waste. Swallowing some of her fear, she replied to Goku: "Can you move him into the Capsule Corp Infirmary? We can identify the issue and see if it isn't too late for a cure or even a treatment."
Goku, although still uneasy was more than willing to comply. "If it's for my son's welfare than I will deliver him to you right now."
"Good Goku, I will prep the infirmary for investigative scans. I'll see you and Gohan soon," before she disconnected the receiver and put down her cup of coffee.
Goku hung up the receiver and walked into Gohan's room. He lifted up the covers revealing his emaciated frame. Gohan for most of the week refused any food and couldn't be forced to eat, because of this and his saiyan metabolism he looked literally skin and bones.
Holding his frail unresponsive body in his large welcoming arms he retreated into the kitchen.
Chi Chi at the sight of the progression of her son's illness fainted herself.
Goku sighed in exasperation at Chi Chi's behavior, but didn't have time to waste. He teleported directly to Bulma's location.
The moment he rematerialized he felt an hand slammed down hard onto the top of his head. It swelled almost immediately into a nasty bump at the top of his cranium. He twisted his torso around muttering, "Hey, who did that?"
Bulma's voice then echoed throughout the sterile chamber. "Is that you Goku? You almost gave me a heart attack," she lambasted as she turned to face Goku and his unconscious son. She was sporting a white lab coat and her custom made eye glasses.
The first impression that Bulma had gathered from the sight of Gohan's sickly frame was an increased sense of anxiety and alarm. Like Piccolo, she to recognized his pale white skin, sunken cheeks, and abnormally fast breathing.
Bulma knew that Gohan would not live much longer fading to this degree, and she was aware that time would not be an ally. She needed to get an internal diagnostic and quick.
Bulma's trepidation was not lost on Goku, if Bulma was serious about something then it meant the cause was very grave.
After what seemed to be almost an hour of suspense, Bulma finally found what she wanted to say. "Goku, I'm not going to mince words with you. I think whatever he's suffering from an ailment that could kill him, and I don't know what it is. However, before you and I panic over this let's find out what it is. We have X-Rays, EKG's, and MRI's machines in the infirmary. They should be more than adequate for telling us what we are dealing with."
"Then tell me where to go," was all that Goku mentioned of the request.
They spent the next hour running numerous diagnostic test, blood works, x-rays, and anything that could help explain the cause of Gohan's illness.
She then sent Gohan and Goku home telling them she would personally tell them the results of the lab work.
The wait for the Son household was excruciating. Gohan had gotten no better, in fact he was fading even faster. Everyone wanted that one sliver of hope that Gohan's condition was abnormal, but not fatal.
This was tempered by most of the other's finding out. Krillen and Yamcha, sensing the fading ki of Gohan visited the Son's to inquire about what was happening. Once they did, neither decided to leave. They all wanted to know what would happen.
Everyone immediately perked up at the sound of a helicopter with its blades twirling in the distance. Immediately fleeing outside they saw Bulma's figure jumping down from drivers side of the helicopter.
Bulma, for some reason even she couldn't figure was baffled at the reception. Still, the news probably wouldn't be best told on an open plain. "I think it would be prudent to go inside for this."
As the entourage came inside she wiped the sweat off her brow. She didn't know how to deliver news of this caliber. Gossip she knew something about; not telling a family that their son is terminally ill.
Nevertheless, she knew she had to come out and say it. "Well, Goku before I say what's wrong with Gohan can you tell me: what is Gohan's favorite place in the world?
Goku, clearly confused at this route of questioning replied. "I don't know, by the lake I don't know?"
Bulma had to tread carefully, most of the others were on to her. "Where you son appeared to be the happiest."
Goku, pensive in thought, came out with this thought. "I think down by that lake where we used to fish with me, Krillen, and Icarus. He really loved that place."
Gulping some of the saliva that was beginning to submerge her mouth, Bulma hastily spat out the devastating news. "Then Goku, I want you to find the most beautiful or idyllic part of the lake. I want you to get a shovel and bury him there."
At this declaration we see many responses. Krillen and Piccolo were spouting a solemn expression. Yamcha was showing one of general sadness. Chi Chi was sobbing uncontrollably using Goku as her support.
The problem with this was that Goku's reaction was the most profound of all. He looked like a figure of complete dejection and desolation. His face described the one thought process many believed Goku didn't have a concept of: disillusionment.
Bulma paused to catch her breath and unscramble her thoughts. "The diagnostic tests revealed that his heart was inflamed with multiple pathogens. I think the infection was viral, but in any case it's already spread to the point that any hope of recovery is lost.
The scene permeated a sense of general mourning and laments. This sight was to much for Goku to handle. Unable to stand being in the room, he got up and left through the front door before vanishing from view.
He reappeared at the Capsule Corp Infirmary at the foot of Gohan's hospital bed. The sight of his son's vitals being monitored was almost the breaking point for Goku.
He walked towards the bed where his comatose son lies and begins to whisper. "I know how you admired me like a hero, you said so yourself. `I love you dad. Goku, my dad. I understand what Vegeta said came true after all. The legend. My father, a super saiyan.
Goku stops his dialogue to lay his forehead on Gohan's forehead. A lone tear falls down Goku's face onto Gohan's.
"What's a super saiyan or any hero without control. What's the point of desiring power when we all succumb to this destiny by the end of our lives? I'm not an immortal; in fact, I'm only a man. I can't call myself a hero if I can't save you from this. That I couldn't stop the impossible when I needed to the most. That I watched you die as helplessly as you saw me die and fade to ash," then Goku got up, wiped the tears off of his and Gohan's face, and faded from sight.
Gohan died within the day, confirming the worst fears of all the people at the house. Still, like father like son, his body was spirited away by the stars themselves. He was going to the highest realms of heaven; where all good boys reside for the rest of their days.
Most of the Z-fighters have died before and they knew this fact, but they didn't know how it would be to lose somebody that wouldn't come back. What they did know was that Gohan was in a better place, and for this reason the funeral was a short prompt affair. The funeral was a quick heartwarming episode. Not a bad word was spoken about the young hyper half-saiyan, only his good qualities were mentioned.
He was buried by the lake he so cherished. Bulma had somebody inscribe a tombstone with this inscription: "to the heart that carries on."
They needed Gohan's heart and determination. It was only six months until contact, and they didn't want to join Gohan that soon. In all that time they didn't outwardly question what happened; nevertheless, they knew what caused Gohan to die: the heart virus.
The Z-Fighters for all that they claim to represent, haven't realized what they are protecting nor how it has changed them throughout the years. What was once just a amalgam of misfits have turned into the defenders and symbols of the society they inhabit. They have embodied the virtues of the "civilized society:" community, identity, and stability.
Community. The conglomeration of people into packs for an expressed or implied purpose. Identity. Who you are and what you'll be; most often expressed in your selected communities. Stability. The pursuit, creation and upkeep of an equilibrium that is in your advantage.
I can't pretend that this doesn't concern me. For everything they stand for, I'm the polar opposite. They will fight and scout in groups and depend on each other for support and protection, but I don't. I know the only person you can depend on in battle is you. If they understand who they are, then my identity is a hopeless mosaic of thoughts and designs. Most importantly, the stability that they so cherish disappeared the moment I stepped on their land. Orders is their guide, mine is has and will always be chaos. Complete, unrestricted, unabated chaos.
However, don't twist what I say to mean something else. For all their faults, if there is a side for me it's with them. If not them it's Gero, and I refuse to work under another megalomaniac. Been there, and done that.
I wonder what will happen when the inevitable happens. I can't keep hiding from them forever, not with the threat that Gero carries, but what will be our reactions? Chaos and order have been enemies for years, and I doubt that will change. E
Even more troubling for me is that their isn't a malicious undertone to Goku or most of his friends. The only flaw is that they support a colony of rats. Calling humans rats! Blasphemy, I know, but don't take it the wrong way.
Rats are wonderful things! Rats will wade through the worst muck to feast on the most unbecoming of foods. If a society has any form of success, you'll be sure to see them try to feast for themselves. I endear myself to rats because in many ways we are like those four legged vermin.
Most sentient beings will either subjugate themselves or create muck to please their superior's, all for the hope that something good may come to them if they do. If, for whatever reason we don't get what we like, we move to another society where are needs will be supplicated.
Every city in the world will have its rats, both metaphorical and literal. However, if you want to see the true nature of human rats, you'll have to see them where they shine the most and where I happen to be right now: in a traveling group.
In the packed confines of city streets you can see hundreds scurry around. The site would look like an open-air Bokanovskied factory line. It's a constant rat race to get where they want to go, and preferably sooner, heaven knows what will happen if they are late. Conditions with this much stress usually bring out the worst in people.
Albeit, the main thoroughfare of any city is a circus at any time of day, but morning rush hour is the worst. The cold concrete of the sidewalk, the irritating honking of car horns, and the hundreds of people that crowd the sidewalk that unintentionally bump into you are just examples of the inconvenience that rush hour provides. Most of these incidents come from human rats who are distressed and scurrying around in the open.
What's even more hilarious is the double row of trees and general greenery that separates the sidewalk from the cold asphalt of the road. Were the architect's trying to represent some kind of tranquility or peace?
It's also a rather amusingly ironic that this mass exodus to the city center is through long streets filled to the brim with dilapidated houses. I could even smell the stench of rotting wood, the broken roofs with cracked shingles, and lawns overrun with weeds.
Now, I'm probably being a bit cynical, but everyone finds time to judge everything that comes their way. Most of the time these arbitrary judgments are non-descript or stereotypical, but it they will always be prevalent. Everyone will always make a judgment on you or your possessions the moment their eyes find the subject of their focus.
It's even more of a bothersome venture because not all judgments are kept to themselves. Most people are unable to mask their reactions to unusual appearances, nor can they mask their judgment when I'm present.
It always happens, it never ceases to fail. The iota of a second that my face is revealed in the mid-morning sun, which reveals my...unique look to every passerby on this grand boulevard.
The minute changes in their countenance never seem to be uniform. It's always something different, even if there unremarkable differences. Many look by with morbid curiosity, some with indignation, others with abject horror. I've resigned myself to the fact that these variegated looks will come with my demeanor for the rest of my life.
I can't say that I blame them, though. After all, when was the last time you've seen a seven year old boy stroll down the street wearing military attire?
As I approach the end of boulevard it breaks open into a noticeable square. This square was laid with brick mortar and lined with innumerable number of souvenir shops, street peddlers, and open-air cafes.
Squares are the microcosm of society. I see every type of person represented in some form: the pushy salesmen, the nervous wreck, the let-time-go-by cafe hopper, and my personal favorite being the gossiper.
Gossipers are my favorite type to represent all sentient forms. Often they are right in what they accuse, and much more often are wrong in what they accuse. Nevertheless, they symbolize the unwarranted judgments of humanity: what we all envy, admire, hate, like, and what is petty in all sentient beings.
Universal gossipers have some kind of fixation about me. Perhaps my pride is showing up unjustifiably, but I do admit that many people are rather envious of what I am. My power and reputation have changed the course of intergalactic wars. I'm a feared killer throughout the universe known for an unpredictable wrath. Due to this unpredictable, I've noticed most societies will not do anything that will arouse my ire.
Regardless, my reputation means nothing on this planet. My odd attire and demeanor not withstanding, how many seven year olds are that threatening at first glance?
All that these people would be able to glimpse was what they would see on the outside, which wasn't too much. My obstinately spiky hair with gray streaks, the alabaster hue of my skin, and my eyes that resemble a dark storm cloud. Pretty non-descriptive, but that's how I look.
If you ask me though it isn't how I look that attracts stares moreso than my dress. As I've already stated, you attract attention by wearing military attire.
The fact that I wear military attire that looks antiquated doesn't exactly help my cause. Steel vambraces and greaves adorn both my arms and legs respectively, a black epaulets on both shoulders, and easily inferred steel chest guard under my synthetically created uniform.
What's these ignorant people judge me for is exactly what they don't know. They don't know that all my armor is ki-treated neutralizing most damage from rudimentary ki attacks. As for the epaulet, it's an insignia for the aforementioned fact that I'm a feared killer throughout the universe.
By the time I finished my sentence, it was evident that I was no longer in the square. Instead, I was half-way across another boulevard, but this one was different. It was pedestrian only and surrounded by neon-coated high rises. This must be where the human rats change from genuine scourge to almost a systematic pest. Judging by the tacky neon lights, these people have never learned the most important tip for civilization: civilization is sterilization.
What's funny about every race of rats is that they think they are special. Unfortunately for them, the people of this planet are like any other. There's hundred's that are commuting or in the process of working, many are grabbing food from the local food vendors, and there are even some praying in the local house of worship.
These human beings go throughout their lives in the same schedule, the same routine. Wake up, eat, commute, work, eat again, entertain/be entertained, and sleep. Most humans do this almost intrinsically, without thought or speculation about their actions.
In spite of the insignificance of their pursuits and work, they still arrive and obsequiously serve their bosses and superior's.
Meandering through the boulevards of this city also brings me into contact with another strand of humanity. You know these types of humans as "tourists." These human beings go to capital cities like South City, the city of my inhabitance for the moment, like vultures. They take pictures of monuments of insignificant "leaders" that they adore or abhor. Tour palaces that are supposed to represent the decadence of an earlier age, and conglomerate outside their temples to god's they don't even believe in.
All for the reason that they believe these places made a difference. That they are witnesses to the remains of an all-important event, something to take pride in seeing for themselves. Provincialism is very much alive, don't ya think?
In the end, both strands of humanity don't understand how little they mean to the rest of the universe. Neither group understands how little their contributions matter to anybody outside of their own group of people. Humanity hasn't achieved anything to be of benefit to any person residing on or out of the fringe of their own collective sphere of ignorance.
As I finish my soliloquy, I see a squirrel jutting through the street with a nut in it's mouth. What's even more of a revelation is how nobody is impeding the path of squirrel, unlike a rat, on it's self-guided quest. Why is that? Why isn't somebody trying to stop it?
Answering that question turns out to be easy. The squirrel isn't threatening or valuable. It's such a mundane and weak creature that nobody feel threatened by it, nor do they believe they can use it to their advantage. Since, squirrel's lack both use and fear they go through live with relatively few challenges.
In the context of the universe, Earth and it's denizens are like rat's with a fear factor of a squirrel's. Earth, being in the northern quadrant of the universe is surrounded by galaxies with next-to-no value. Earth, of a above-average value is not worth purging for the cost it will occur to get there.
The average human power level also is somewhere in the vicinity of five, a measure that even the most lame and inept soldier could purge without assistance. Until Goku arrived there, nobody possessed any sort of power to garner any sort of threat to the order of the universe.
Just like squirrel's, Earth has slipped through the universe's path without any form of obstruction or obstacle. I can't say I'm not a bit envious of that kind of luck.
What's truly sad for Earth is that those days may be ending. Most of humanity doesn't even realize what today will mean for them. Without the interference of somebody, today will be their judgment day. If these people don't have a hero to fight for them today, it will become their Armageddon.
The question is who will this hero be? Will it be me: the reluctant anti-social murderer? One of their more traditional heroes. Perhaps, even somebody that none of us could foresee.
Oh well, it's their funeral if somebody doesn't save them.
Goku was broken out of his reverie courtesy of a Piccolo's booming voice pointing at a dot on the horizon. Apparently, keeping your voice low wasn't in Piccolo's list of vocal expressions.
Goku, squinting at the dot he could see a gray-blue hover-car moving at a frighteningly fast speed. As it approached, Goku could hear the car's breaks press against tires the closer it got to them.
It came to a complete stop at their rocky plateau and a door sprung open. The nameless driver turned out to be Yajirobe: Korin's errand boy and resident pest.
Showing his trademark jubilation at his old friend, greeted him with the best of his old trademark hospitality. "Hey, you came to help us fight the androids!"
Yajirobe expressed complete confusion, then later profound disgust at that concept, nevertheless he decided to hand out the bag of sensu beans and make a comment on the idiocy of Goku's comment. "No Way! I Just brought these sensu beans from Korin."
"Thanks a lot," said Goku, taking the beans from Yajirobe. "Make sure to thank Korin for me!"
Yajirobe wasn't listening because he walked right to his ship, shut the door, and flew back across the city.
It's clear though he didn't follow his common sense. It was already past ten o'clock and he was flying across South City where the androids would be.
When you don't follow your common sense, bad things tend to happen. Yajirobe was no different. An imperceptible attack blew up his car and propelled him hundreds of feet down into the ocean.
The Z-fighters looked at the scene in horror. Where did it come from? Who did it?How obvious was that second question?
Finding the culprit turned out to be easy. Piccolo, still trying to be aware yells out. "You guys! It's the android, up there, I see them!"
Once everyone figured out where they were, the android's decided to drop down into the city.
"Where did they go? One second they were in the sky and then...poof, they just vanished. I didn't even sense their power level," said Goku, quivering out the sentence with distressing alarm..
"Well, they're both androids aren't they? So maybe we can't," said Tien, holding his fear with a facade of brevity.
"That's crazy! How are we supposed to find these androids if we can't even sense where they are?" replied Yamcha, who couldn't hide his fear with a mask of brevity.
"Well if we can't sense their power levels, we are just going to have to do them the old fashioned way. With our eyes," said Piccolo, shrewdness being his forte.
"Right! Spread out you guys. Bulma, take care of these," Goku interjected, while throwing the sensu beans at Bulma.
With that objective taken care of, all Goku needed to do was address his group. "Now remember, if you come in contact with the androids don't engage them. Flare you ki, wait for the others to come and assist you!"
Goku eyed Krillen before responding address him specifically. "Krillen, go after Yajirobe. Make sure he's okay and get him out of the general battlefield."
The battle cry of "let's go!" from Piccolo was all the group needed to start their search. Everyone knew what to do, took to the skies in different directions trying to scope out the androids location on their own.
I was on the north-west side of the main marina when I heard the explosion of the hover-car. I was well aware of the significance of the explosion and the dire position I was in.
I was surrounded by skyscrapers that gave my enemy vantage points from all sides without sacrificing their visibility. To make matter worse, I couldn't even use the surrounding streets to flank my adversary. I was dead in the open. This wasn't good.
Then I stopped, took a deep breath and realized the absurdity of my panic. The androids and Z-fighters couldn't track me, my ki is undetectable unless I will it. That isn't even considering that they aren't looking for me, they're looking for their each other.
Closing my eyes to center my focus on the task at hand, I remembered the six step plan to any successful assassination or hostage rescue/capture mission: Set the main diversion, secure vantage point for observation, execute diversion, locate target, assassinate target/retrieve hostage(may be more complicated due to extra objectives), and exfiltrate.
It's never should be easy to complete any step in the six step formula; always expect that you will run into complications. Nevertheless, this place was too perfect for a diversion. There were so many angles of site from so many places, you couldn't go forward(due to the marina), backward, or to the left without being in plane view. If you did go right then your entering my element: tiny, narrow alleyways and convoluted street patterns.
Now, to set my diversion. Conjuring with pure ki what appeared to be almost microscopic particles of C4, but with much more destructive potential in a larger blast radius. It turns out that the compression of these explosives help their destructive potential, most likely due to them being more tightly packed with their explosive material.
To disperse these mini-explosives all that needs to be required is a target proverbially painted with my ki and a small gale of wind. The ki target was support structures of three skyscrapers in my direct line of sight, plus simulating a gale of wind with ki is pretty rudimentary control exercise.
Part two proved to be a much more difficult task. Their were dozens of skyscrapers in the downtown region, and none gave him an optimum angle.
I was muttering under my breath about ideal vantage points, subconsciously dissecting possible choices. My mind was made up the minute I saw what was across the marina.
The building itself was very...recognizable. It was actually three building thats were connected together at the top by one slab of stone that was carved in the shape of a boat. However, it was only one spot on the boat that interested me: the bow.
It offered multiple advantageous opportunities. One, it was crowded with people, most likely being tourists that would suppress any sound I'd make. Two, it offered a view of the battlefield with significant lines of sights at the marina and the corresponding road around the marina. Three, if I needed to escape I could disappear through one of the ocean-side balconies into the main building.
Wasting no time, I used the Instant Transmission technique to teleport myself directly to the bow of the pseudo-ship.
My first impression of the bow was that it was wide open, crowded with people, and hardly an ideal location for an assassination. It held all the check marks for a touristic observation deck. I needed these denizens to extradite themselves from the premises immediately. Simple task. The minute they see my diversion the last thing any of them will be looking at will be me.
Now to find that ideal angle. I knew that the center of the bow wouldn't be a good idea, too much chaos would reign after my diversion. After I shuffled my way through the crowd towards the outer perimeter, probably erected to prevent some idiot from wandering their way straight off of the cliff, was all it took to find my location.
Finding it was easy, but it would take some...dexterity to get comfortable during the reconnaissance and assassination in that position. I would be required to lock my legs together and dangle off the observation deck similar to the way a bat clings to position in a cave.
Nevertheless, it was only a matter of waiting for an ideal opportunity to execute my diversion. Once that step was clear, well then it would just be come what may.
Chances are also very common occurrences. This case wasn't an exception by any means, but exactly the rule. I noticed one of the human Z-fighters ki dropped drastically, and to me that was enough of an excuse to execute my diversion. Send both the Z-fighters and the androids running directly into each other, while sparring that human weakling.
Not even wasting a second of time, I released my ki hold on those mini C4 explosives. These timed explosives would explode and send those skyscraper screeching to the ground.
It would become self-evident that it was time to see if this city would rise from the ashes, or fall in a torrent of flames. Everyone ones of us, both my allies and my enemies know it is time for action, nor was it a time for anymore hollow words.
Yamcha was like everybody else. He was lost and didn't possess a clue on how to find these androids. After blowing up Yajirobe's car they just vanished and didn't leave a trace behind.
He had look almost everywhere in his district of the city, and always ended up in this heavily crowded square.
Exasperated, but not going to give up without a fight. He looks both ways in the square for any abnormalities. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary he simply chooses a direction to run to.
This direction takes him towards an alleyway that looks completely empty. Now showing visible frustration he exclaims. "This is nuts, I don't even know what I'm looking for."
However, Yamcha clearly forgot one of fates golden rules. The more you wish for something, the more likely it's something you won't get it or will regret it later on. In Yamcha's case, it's the later of the two.
After clearing the alleyway, he hears an absolute deafening scream. Clearly, assuming it to be the androids, he runs off into the direction of the voice.
Once there, it becomes obvious that the androids were responsible. An innocent pedestrian was laying at the base of the building out cold, most likely due to the collision with the building where an crater had formed almost ten feet above.
He saw another person clearly harmed by the androids. He had beaten until he lost consciousness and was laying supine on the sidewalk with blood pooling out of his head.
In the street there was a car with an obvious hole under the driver seat. It didn't take a genius to figure out that somebody was ripped through the car's roof and tossed haphazardly somewhere. The car's engine was also outside of its usual place, and instead was in front of the car on the street.
The evidence was all around him, but he still needed to witness to confirm the location of the androids.
Yamcha notices a human being hiding rather poorly behind a gas station dispenser. Trying to get his attention fails; he runs off before Yamcha can even address him.
Yamcha turns towards the damaged building and identifies two people staring out the window. "Hey, you two."
Both of the two nameless witness's recoiled under Yamcha's words, neither particularly understanding why they were addressed.
Yamcha, having not heard their incoherent muttering continues his questioning. "Did you see what happened to these people? Who did this?"
Waking up from their stupor, both nameless witness's reply to Yamcha's question.
"Their were two of them," said the first witness, but before he could get any farther he was interrupted by the second witness.
The second witness, visibly flustered replied. "They just came out of nowhere, and just zapped everybody...and then just disappeared."
"Just disappeared," was all Yamcha could mutter, easily perturbed by this revelation.
Quickly catching his bearing, he looked across both sides of the street trying to catch the location of the androids. He however didn't look in the most obvious location: above.
"I must have just missed them. I better go back and tell the others," said Yamcha, not liking what he was seeing.
Unwisely calming down, he questions his former panic. "Hey, wait a sec. What's the point in telling the others? I haven't found them yet."
At that exact second, he hears footsteps just behind him. Turning around he sees two more figures staring at him blankly.
Having not figured out who they were, he attempts to communicates to them. "Hey, be careful you two. There are a couple of androids on the loose and they mean business!"
After looking at their appearance he realizes the truth. He swiftly back up and screams, in vain, " I found them!"
It was to late for Yamcha to defend himself. Just after he flares his Ki one of the androids latches his palm directly on Yamcha's mouth. Yamcha, feeling himself grow weaker tries futility to remove the android hand. It doesn't work, the android is simply to strong for him.
However, right before all is lost for Yamcha the diversion is executed.
I have re-formatted my story to make it easier to follow along with a more riveting start. Starting off with a long existential monologue was probably not the smartest decision, nevertheless here is the edited version!
"Happiness is pretty squalid in comparison to over-compensations for misery. People aren't interested in inert tranquility moreso than a good ole' battle against temptation, fate or anything else. In short, happiness is never grand. "
