A/N: Welcome to my DBZ fanfic. I have been working on this story for nearly six years now, ever since I first got into Dragon Ball. I hope you enjoy it as I've put a lot of time and energy into it and I think I've now gotten it to nearly perfect. Regardless, a bit of a 'warning' I suppose that this is a slightly AU story so there will be some changes to characters in terms of backstory, motivation or even appearance, nothing major and also lots of OCs. I enjoy writing original characters and I do my best to make them as dynamic and interesting as possible.
With that, dear reader, I hope you enjoy.
Volume 1: The Lost Boys
Part 1: Day and Night
Chapter 1: The Boy That Time Forgot
The green plantain truck trundled through the lonely fields towards the main building of the farm. It was a hot day; the air was sticky with moisture and scorched by the oppressive sun.
The two men inside the truck were grateful for the shade the roof of their vehicle provided as well as the breeze created by it swiftly twisting through the long-leafed plants as they escorted the proceeds of their plantain and banana stands at the edge of the property back to the main building.
However, their peaceful ride was suddenly interrupted by a loud bang and the crunch of metal buckling under extreme pressure. The two men both jumped, the one in the passenger seat reaching for the gun hidden in the glove compartment. They glanced up to see the roof of their car had slopped violently downward as though something very heavy had just landed on top of it.
"¿Que?" one of them whispered, unbuckling his seatbelt, so he could lean out the window.
But, before he could do so, a face suddenly appeared in the front windshield of the car.
The two men screamed; the driver jerking the wheel, and the car swerved violently off the path, tires screeching as it mowed down a whole row of banana plants.
Despite the harsh turn, the person on the roof remained firmly planted in place, his face plastered against the glass, so the two men in the car got a good view of long, tussled red-brown hair and bright golden eyes.
The boy chuckled, tugging down an blue scarf he had tied around his face, "Sheesh, who taught you how to drive?"
Both of the men shrieked in fright; the one in the passenger seat fired his gun. There was a 'bang' as the bullet went straight through the windshield, splintering the glass into a spider web of deep-set cracks.
The face disappeared as soon as the gun went off, not reappearing even after the bullet vanished into the fields.
The two men glanced around them, perturbed by the silence.
Suddenly, the already smashed in roof was sliced right down the middle as a large black and yellow boot crashed between the two men, nearly stomping on both their heads.
"Mind if I cut in?" the boy inquired.
The two men gaped as the foot was slowly retracted; following it with their eyes. Their mouths fell open as, with a mechanical whine, the metal of the car roof was bent back as easily as tin foil, producing a wide opening for the boy to peer through.
"I believe this is yours," he said, dropping a small, silver object back into the car. The men watched the bullet fall between their seats, landing with a slight 'ping'.
The boy flashed them a toothy grin as their attention returned to him, their jaws practically at their feet and whole bodies shaking with fear.
"Now, to coin a phrase: show me the money."
The two men howled in terror as they both threw open the doors to their now destroyed car, crushed in several directions like a tin can in a trash compactor, and bolted for the trees. Whooping and crying, they sprinted amongst the crops, vanishing into the foliage.
The boy watched them go, his expression unamused as he heard their words echo throughout the open plane.
"¡El Bandito Mono! El Bandito Mono!"
He frowned, "Cowards."
The boy then climbed down into the car and twisted his body around to climb into the backseat. After a moment, he found the leather briefcase. Clenching it in his fist, he kicked open the back door to the car, causing it to fly off its hinges and smash into a tree several feet away, snapping the trunk in half.
He dropped to the ground, laying the suitcase out before him. He opened the clasps, and his smirk returned as he laid eyes on rows and rows of clean-cut bills.
"Gracias," he grinned as he closed his fist around a particularly generous stack.
As he observed his latest haul, a brown, monkey-like tail lazily waved about behind him.
The sun was just beginning to settle amidst the leaves of the uppermost branches of the trees as El Bandito Mono made his way back to his encampment nestled in a thicket deep in a remote forest. He moved at a feverous pace, sprinting through the trees at a speed that would make any normal man dizzy, but then again, he wasn't normal as evidenced by his wild brown hair and matching furry tail swinging behind him. He wove through the dense foliage, taking long strides as the bulging briefcase containing his latest spoils bumped rhythmically against his knee.
Without seeming care or inclination, the boy finally came to a stop in the midst of a small clearing nestled a good distance from the road. The inky shadows had stretched long across the coarse grass as the thief made his way over to a ramshackle lean-to reclining against a large tree across the clearing.
He set down the briefcase, tucking it carefully out of sight inside the tent before tugging off his clothes, muddy from the day's escapades. He set his outfit beside a bucket of water, collected from a nearby stream, consisting of a baggy white T-shirt, a pair of tan pants, black and yellow boots, a blue kerchief, and a brown vest tied off with a piece of rope for a belt.
The thief then dunked each article of clothing into the water before wringing them out and draping them over one of the tree's lower hanging branches. Satisfied, the boy then pulled out a strip of grey blanket and wrapped it around himself to form a tunic, tying it off with the bit of rope. Now clothed for the night, the bandit sat down in front of a pile of sticks, striking a match to set it alight. He then settled into a meal of roasted plantains he'd gathered from the field as the night crept steadily closer.
Before long, he was asleep just inside his lean-to.
The dreams the night brought took him back to his first memory, a memory not as old as the boy might seem for it was only four months ago that the supposed teen had been 'born'. He awoke in the middle of nowhere several miles from his current position with no recollection of who he was or where he came from.
His first memory was fire.
He remembered the flames licking hungrily at his bare flesh, scorching him in an array of yellow, gold, and red.
He'd yelled in a mixture of anger and agony as he'd burst forth from the point of his birth, and stepped out into the dark, lonely word.
He'd stood naked amongst the darkness, his skin felt raw and exposed in more ways than one. The world around him was as black as ink with not a soul to be seen. The darkness pressed in around him, threatening to consume him.
It had been a hollow feeling that had stung worse than any burn might have. He was saddened, angry, and afraid all at the same time. It was enough to make him feel like he was about to explode, so he took off running.
Tearing desperately through the trunks and branches as they snatched at his hair and scratched at his bare skin as though they were clawed hands trying to pull him back down into the darkness. The idea only made the boy run faster.
He didn't know how long he'd run through the dark void, but any longer and he might have been driven insane. However, something flashed in the corner of his eye that made him stop dead in his tracks. He'd arrived at the edge of the very clearing he now slept in: an abandoned campsite that looked weather-beaten and not the least bit inviting aside from the distinct golden glow of a single plume of fire dancing about before the tent and other discarded supplies.
For a reason he couldn't quite explain, the boy thief found himself transfixed on the dancing flames as he slowly made his way over towards the campfire. Not taking his eyes off the blaze, he settled down before the flames, now oblivious to his fear or the sting of his burns and scratches. The fire had brought pain to him mere moments ago, but now it gave him…comfort.
It was the single shard of light amidst this dark new world, and it was a world he would seemingly have to face alone.
And alone he had been.
He had been on his own in the northern region of Mexico for the last four months, with little to no contact with other sentient beings and therefore left to dwell on his own thoughts and continuously try to wrack his brains for any semblance of a memory regarding his origins.
The most he could come up with had been a single word: Zhard.
Said word did not appear to have any meaning in his new environment, so he eventually assumed that the word was his name and adopted it as such. Although, not many people he came into contact with referred to him by it.
To all others, he was known as El Bandito Mono or "The Monkey Bandit". Zhard had learned the hard way from his early acts of theft that most of the locals didn't understand the language he was speaking, but he adapted to Spanish quickly enough, although he preferred whatever tongue usually left his lips in an effortless fashion, but he could speak Mexican Spanish quite fluently in a pinch.
Although, language didn't seem to be the only thing Zhard appeared to be adept at. He was nearly certain that he wouldn't have survived had it not been for his seemingly innate skills of combat and mixed martial arts. Zhard was big, over six feet, but could be intimidating in more than just size. He was strong, quick, and skilled in combat.
It was how he managed to snatch what he needed (and wanted) from any unsuspecting famers or townspeople.
His first act of theft had been stealing some clothes from a local hermit, but such an endeavor had only sparked from necessity. However, it didn't take Zhard long to figure out how this new world worked or that such things as shiny jewels or slips of paper could buy him far more food and supplies than he could have ever caught on his own.
Therefore, such things became his primary focus. Zhard enjoyed being lavished by the locals, who soon grew to fear his presence as his notoriety spread throughout the region. However, despite the fact that Zhard could quite literally have whatever he wanted, he never indulged himself in civilization for long. No matter how successful one of his daily pillages might be, he always eventually packed up whatever he could carry (which was usually a lot) and made his way back to the same little campsite he'd come across on the first night of his 'life'.
Zhard wasn't certain of many things, but he did know for a fact that he was not a normal human, least of all due to his extreme strength and speed, and more obviously justified by his furry, monkey-like tail which had led to his local nickname.
Zhard wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the tail; it came in handy on occasion such as when he was catching fruit or fish, but it was also exceptionally sensitive, and he had to be careful not to let anyone near it. It was also one of the main causes of the looks of disgust and contempt that he got from passerby even before he attempted to rob them.
He saw it as his primary reason for staying away from humanity despite all of the lavish assets they could afford him at their expense, but Zhard couldn't help but feel he'd find himself retreating into the shadows of his humble and solitary home even without the tail.
No matter what, Zhard felt a pull away from the humans of the world, their repulsion pushing him further back into the darkness from whence he came. He often privately compared it to being like a square block trying to be shoved into a circular hole.
He just didn't fit.
So, for the time being, he'd sit by himself in the late hours of the day, watching the shadows grow longer and longer as he'd slumber away, retreating up into the heavily laden tree branches whenever a steady rain would start to fall through the otherwise arid region.
Dripping…Dripping.
Wet.
Warm.
"Huh?"
Zhard's eyes snapped open, instantly awake, and his whole body immediately seized up when he found himself staring straight into the crazed yellow eyes of a very hungry looking wolf. It was standing directly over him, jaws poised to strike, lips pulled back to expose two rows of huge fangs, the saliva of which was steadily dripping onto Zhard's face.
The wolf snarled; Zhard gave a yell and rolled to the side onto his stomach. He scrambled to his feet just as the wolf pounced, teeth and claws poised to strike.
Zhard scrambled backward and swung his arm out just as the animal was a mere hair's length from him. The wolf let out a high-pitched yelp as it was knocked to the side and sent careening into a tree at the edge of the clearing. It hit the trunk with a loud 'crunch' before falling to the ground in a heap where it lay still.
Zhard scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily as he tried to quell his pulsating adrenaline from the less than savory wakeup call.
After a moment, during which he made certain the wolf was dead, Zhard turned back to his supply camp only to have his heart drop into his stomach at the sight. The wolf had ravaged everything: the tent had fallen in, all of the food stores had either been smashed or eaten, the few remaining embers of the fire had been stamped out, but most importantly, the dozens of paper bills Zhard had stolen the previous day were all torn to shreds.
Zhard dropped to his knees in dismay, running his fingers through the pile of paper shards, but there wasn't anything salvageable.
The young thief sighed as he straightened up and gazed about him; the night's dense curtain was just beginning to lift and the barest inklings of dawn were slowly perking up on the edge of the horizon, so, if Zhard started now, he would most certainly make it to the nearest village by the time the sun was fully in the sky.
In the meantime, he decided to eat the wolf out of spite.
Zhard made his way to Cerdo Pueblo, which was best as it was the closest village to his now abandoned encampment (and the people also spoke his language).
He arrived just as the sun was reaching its highest point in the clear blue sky. He stood in the center of the entryway, the gate flanking him on both sides was made of painted white stone, which matched the low houses lining the singular dirt road.
He surveyed the area nonchalantly, his tail swishing lazily back and forth as he did so. It didn't take long before someone noticed him.
"Hey you!" Zhard turned towards the direction of the speaker to find a man in a wide-brimmed hat standing beside a food truck. He recoiled in horror when Zhard turned to face him fully, recognition shadowing his features.
"¡E-El Bandito Mono!" he stammered, attempting to put on a brave front as he brandished a small handgun and pointed it at Zhard's chest.
The young thief arched an eyebrow, suppressing a sigh at the man's wasted valor. With a shrug, he crossed the threshold into the pueblo.
"D-Don't come any closer," the man stammered.
Zhard glared at him. "Or what?"
He took another step. The man staggered back, still holding the gun in his trembling hands. "Stay back! D-Don't take another step, or I'll shoot."
A smirk appeared on Zhard's thin lips. "Will you now?"
With that, he dropped his posture and lunged forward in a manner not unlike the wolf from earlier that morning. The man shrieked, squeezed his eyes shut and fired the gun. Three loud bangs filled the air, directing the attention of the other villagers.
The man reopened his eyes in time to see Zhard's much larger body fill his view, shoving his fist into the frailer human's chest and slamming him against his truck, causing the vehicle to creak loudly against the impact.
The man gasped, gawking loudly as Zhard unfurled his other hand and let the three bullets from his gun fall to the ground between them.
"Nice try."
The man let out a choking scream as Zhard applied more pressure against his chest.
"Oi!" another bullet whizzed past Zhard's ear. He flicked his head to the side to see a large portion of the village had gathered around them. The man that had fired the latest round was standing at the forefront: a big, red-faced, muscly character holding a still loaded shotgun.
"Let him go," the man barked.
Zhard rolled his eyes, letting the first man fall, trembling, to the ground.
He then swiftly spun on his heel and dove towards the new challenger with the shotgun. The man cried out in surprise and attempted to fire his weapon again, but the gun stalled as Zhard closed his fist around the end of the double barrel. The man gawked, his ruddy face now going very white as Zhard clasped the end of the shotgun, thin wisps of black smoke curling between his clenched fingers.
The young thief smiled before yanking the weapon from the other man's hands and swiftly kicking the man in the stomach. He gasped as the wind left his lung. As his opponent was sent flying backward and smashed into the opposite wall, Zhard flipped backwards and landed neatly on the ground amidst the now trembling villagers.
Two more attempted to rush him from either side, now seeing bullets would do no good. Zhard stopped one with the now bent shotgun, handling it like a club while knocking aside the other with his free arm. A third man attempted to get him from down low, but Zhard kicked him in the head. All three men were sent flying to meet the first man in a heap by the far wall.
Meanwhile, Zhard remained unmoved, surveying the crowd for any other challengers that might present themselves, knowing he could swat them like he did the previous men just as easily. However, no one had come forward.
These people learn quickly, Zhard mused, satisfied as he turned back to the man with the food truck, who was currently using it for support as his legs were shaking.
"You!" Zhard pointed a finger at him, causing the man to let out a squeak and nearly fall over again.
"Y-Yes?"
"I'm hungry."
Zhard propped his feet up on the table with a satisfied smile as he picked his teeth with a fingernail. The spread laid out before him, now surmounting to dirty dishes, had once been a bountiful feast of every confection the pueblo had to offer all lavishly displayed on the grandest table in the biggest house, which was the home of the town mayor. Said mayor, who was a squat, fat man with a bushy moustache, was currently trembling to his left while his daughter stumbled over on his right, carrying on a tray a glass of purple liquid.
"H-Here, Señor Zhard," the girl whispered, her face gleaming with sweat as she presented the drink to him.
Zhard grinned. "Much obliged," he took the glass and downed it in one gulp. A moment later, his face turned red, and he spat the liquid out all over the white tablecloth. "Blegh! That's vile; don't you have anything a little stronger?"
The girl squeezed her eyes shut, shaking like a leaf as she clutched the tray to her chest, preparing for the worst, as did her father, who's own face was whiter than milk.
"I-I'm sorry, Señor," the girl whispered.
"No matter," Zhard replied, waving his hand dismissively as he got to his feet. "Now," his smile widened as he rubbed his hands together, "What potential riches are you hiding in this lovely little home of yours, Mayor?"
The man's face went from white to a sickly green. "Oh, please, do not take the valuables from our home. They're family heirlooms!"
Zhard scoffed, repulsed by the man's simpering. "Would you rather I do to you what I did to your bodyguard?" Zhard pointed to a large, bald man lying face down on the floor in the middle of the room with a large vase broken over his head. "Or your daughter, perhaps?"
The Mayor whimpered. "Please, take whatever you want, just don't hurt Maria."
"Done deal," Zhard replied simply before exiting the dining hall and moving into the living room, which was adorned in a variety of antique finery. He smirked at the sight, despite having just eaten, he couldn't help but salivate slightly as he moved over to an ornately carved set of drawers and began rifling through its contents, pocketing huge handfuls of jewels and other valuable items.
The Mayor and his daughter watched in dismay as he robbed them blind.
This place is a veritable gold mine! Zhard gleefully thought to himself as he tore through each drawer at a frantic pace. Why didn't I come here sooner?!
His thoughts and actions were abruptly interrupted when he opened a new drawer and found that it housed nothing but what appeared to be a glass orb about the size of a baseball; the sphere was bright orange and had six red stars speckling the center of its face.
Zhard scowled at the seemingly inferior object, tugging it out of the drawer.
"What is this?" he demanded, shoving the sphere into the Mayor's face.
The man jumped back in terror.
"T-That? It's nothing, just an old heirloom that's been in our family for generations. That's all!"
Zhard quirked an eyebrow. Was he being passive aggressive?
"No matter," he proclaimed, shoving the ball into his pocket, "It's old, so it might fetch a good enough price. Now then…"
The Monkey Thief was about to finish his ransacking of the living room when there was a loud crash from outside.
Zhard whipped around while the Mayor and Maria cowered in the corner, hugging each other tightly.
"What was that?" the former demanded.
"I-I don't know," the Mayor wailed, "Just please go; leave us be! You've already taken more wealth then you could ever possibly need."
Zhard regarded him with a look of disgust. "You're a pathetic excuse for a leader; at least your subjects put up a fight."
Another loud noise from outside, closer this time.
"Okay, seriously, what is that?" Zhard thundered in annoyance as he swiftly exited the living room and moved through the dining area back out to the courtyard of the house, the Mayor and his daughter scuttling behind him.
When they arrived outside, the sight before them startled even Zhard.
A group of villagers, having recovered from the initial assault, were now getting wasted by a short, pudgy boy in a blue martial arts gi; he had a round face, big black eyes and a messy nest of spikey black hair jutting out from all sides of his head.
He was beating back the group of villagers with a large red bo staff that seemed to grow longer at his command.
Cowering behind a feeding trough was a teenage girl with blue eyes and turquoise hair wearing a red jacket and baseball cap with something akin to 'bloomers' written across it in yellow.
"Goku! Stop antagonizing them; you're making it worse," the girl called to the boy, who continued to swing at the townspeople with his staff.
"They started it!" the boy called Goku retorted.
"Señor Mayor!" one of the guardsmen rushed over to us, "El Bandito Mono has brought reinforcements. We're besieged!"
"What? I didn't bring reinforcements, you moron!" Zhard yelled before the mayor could respond, "Why would I need something like that?"
The man stopped, faltering under the look Zhard was giving him. "Oh, I-"
"Call your men off immediately," the young bandit commanded, "And don't make me ask twice."
"Y-Yes, Señor," the man stammered before rushing back over to the growing crowd currently getting their asses handed to them by the little boy with the bo. "Stop! Stop! Please, if you want to live then stop!"
Almost immediately, all of the upstart attackers fell into line, quickly retreating once they caught sight of their superiors' nervous expressions and Zhard's look of contempt.
The boy called Goku just looked confused.
"That was weird."
"Greetings," Zhard called out to him, clearing his throat and putting his hands into his pockets in an attempt to be civil.
The smaller boy turned to look to him, still visibly perplexed, "Oh! Are you these guy's boss?"
Zhard fought to suppress a laugh. "I guess you could say that. Now, what the hell are you?"
"I'm Goku; I'm hungry, and that's Bulma," the younger boy gestured to the girl peeking out from behind the feeding trough. The way she was looking at Zhard left little to the imagination of what was going on in her head; she was practically salivating. "She's hungry too."
"I can see that." Zhard chuckled. "Well, even if I wanted to treat ya to a meal, I couldn't. I'm afraid I've already cleared this place out."
Goku's grin instantly faded. He scowled, "You meanie! Why'd you do that?"
Zhard grinned, "Because I can. I can do whatever I want."
Goku looked bemused, but any questions he might have had were cast aside by the girl called Bulma.
"Oh, I'm sure you can, handsome," she interjected loudly, bounding over to Zhard and bumping up against him, her half-lidded eyes suggestive. "Now, if you can do anything like you say, why don't you help a pretty girl like me find what I'm looking for?"
Zhard sized her up, not at all minding her close proximity; although, he didn't say this out loud. "And what would that be?"
"A Dragon Ball," Bulma explained, "My radar said there was one near here."
Zhard blinked. "The Dragon's what?"
Bulma's face fumed, instantly losing her charm. "No, you idiot, not like that!" she thundered, causing Zhard to recoil in disgust, "It's a magical orb that's orange with stars on it."
Zhard raised an eyebrow at that. "You mean this?" He fished around in his pocket and pulled out the strange sphere he'd found in the Mayor's home.
Bulma's eyes instantly lit up. "Yes! Yes! That's it exactly," she exclaimed, making a dive for it almost immediately, but Zhard held it out of her reach.
She faltered, looking disappointed and then mockingly hurt. "Oh, come on, big boy," she pouted, pushing out her bottom lip and fluttering her lashes, "Won't you give it to me?"
But Zhard wasn't listening. "Magic, you say?" he murmured thoughtfully, tossing the ball up in his hand, "Hey, Mayor!" he barked to the still terrified man, "Why didn't you tell me these things were magic?"
"Why would I?" Zhard raised an eyebrow as the small man seemed to put on a brave face, "A monstrous terror like you doesn't deserve to have such power."
Zhard's expression darkened, "What did I tell you about talking back?" With that, he swiftly backhanded the Mayor across the face, sending him skidding across the yard to smash into the gate. Maria screamed, and the other men scattered, all of them retreating to a safer distance, fearing for their lives.
Bulma staggered back, no longer interested in Zhard as she instead regarded him with horror.
Goku, meanwhile, looked infuriated.
"What'd ya do that for?!" he demanded, brandishing his pole, "I get it now; you're nothing but a big bully!"
Zhard chuckled at his remark, "You've got a lot of nerve, little boy."
With an air of nonchalance, Zhard let the Dragon Ball fall from his hand and alight on the grass at his feet.
Seeing an apparent opportunity, Bulma attempted to make a dive for it, scrambling forward on her hands and knees.
However, Zhard stopped her cold; placing his boot over the sphere to prevent her from taking it. He bent down to meet her frantic, wide-eyed gaze.
"Now," smiling softly, Zhard gripped her chin, "Why don't you tell me more about these 'magic balls'."
"Get away from her!" Goku's cry was followed by the resounding 'crack' of his red pole hitting Zhard. However, it was merely his palm as he caught the staff neatly between his palms.
Zhard smirked, "Nice try, kiddo, but you're not going to get the drop on me that easy."
Goku scowled before managing to yank his pole out of Zhard's grip. He flipped backward before tossing the staff aside and assuming a fighting stance.
Zhard smiled in amusement at this. "Oh, are you actually going to fight me?"
"If I do and beat you, will you let these people go and give us the Dragon Ball?"
Zhard made like he was pondering the idea. "That's a tall order, but I accept."
How could he not agree? He knew full well that he was more than capable of beating this shrimp, even if he'd knocked the Mayor's guardsmen around like they were bowling pins. Zhard had never met anyone stronger than him.
"Well then," He paused to loosen the rope tied around his waist and took off his vest; the garment full of stolen jewels and other rarities clunked heavily as it hit the ground beside Bulma, who had resumed her cowering. However, he did put the Dragon Ball into the pocket of his jeans to ensure he still had it close to him.
Zhard dropped into a fighting stance, "Let's begin, shall we?"
A/N: Well, that's chapter one and it brings the introduction of my first OC of this story: the Saiyan teen Zhard. Figured, it was obvious what his origins are, but exactly who he is and how he came to be on Earth are a mystery that will be uncovered as this story progresses.
In terms of appearance, in relation to the canon show's style, Zhard has tanned skin, the black eyes of a Saiyan and dark brown hair that is styled in a similar fashion to Super Saiyan 4 Gogeta. I hope that gives you all a good visual.
As for his name, in homage to Toriyama and his love for puns, I kept with the Saiyan vegetable theme and it is a pun on 'chard'.
So, that about wraps up the first installment of this story. I hope you enjoyed. Be sure to review. Over and out!