Author's Note
Okay, I have a lot to go over. Call me paranoid, but I'm pretty sure there are some things in this chapter that will be questioned and I want to prevent that. You know, so we don't have to waste our time with another one of these on the next chapter answering those questions. :)
1. I know that the media fled prior to the Kamehameha Showdown. Just wait for the explanation to come.
2. Please note that this is too a drama, so not everything will be based on Gohan and Videl's bonding, though most of it will.
4. No Saiyaman. Sorry, but I don't want a repeat of Captain Ginyu poses. :3
6. Should I change the rating?
7. Did you notice 3 was missing? Haha...
Thank you for reviewing and the constructive criticism as well. Keep it up!
A fist clenched my stomach tighter and tighter to the point where I couldn't bear it anymore, but I kept my eyes glued to the TV screen. I had locked myself up in my room to gather clues. It had been years since I've dared watch the truth, but if you wanted evidence, you had to examine the body, right?
As it turned out, the disc I snuck seven years ago was in perfect condition to watch. Literally perfect condition; it never blacked out when the Delivery Boy's battle had drawn halfway. Instead it had recorded the whole thing, but for whatever reason, the reporter had announced in disappointment to the public that the data was lost in the destruction. Maybe my dad paid him a reward or something, I don't know, but that happy-go-lucky voiced man was Hercule's partner in crime. And when I was done watching, I remembered the demon of truth that had tore at my heart. That had been Dad's purpose of retrieving the camera, to bury its sinful secrets.
My focus bounced back on the television. The turning point of the Cell Games had just happened; a ball of furious golden flare had crossed the insect-like Cell. The camera didn't have time to zoom in on the dot in the magical energy-clouded sky from which the attack came, so it kept its lens pin-pointed on a distracted Cell that turned his head to yell at the dot. Through the explosion of abused debris, no one could make out what he was saying. Vegetable, maybe? I thought humorously that if the public had seen this bit, they'd think he was ordering some vegetables from the Delivery Boy.
The golden hero took this oppurtunity and vented every last ounce of the blue, magical wave. With a triumphant cry of vengeance, the front of their clashing beams inched closer to Cell. The border skulked to the point where Gohan's energy blast absorbed all of Cell in the shape of a half-sun. From within the deathtrap of blue fire, Cell was shrieking his last breaths. Lightning bolts writhed from the surface of the massive hemisphere of light and dust jet out in clouds UNTIL-
Click.
-until I pressed the 'off' button on the remote. My inspection was done and I had collected the information I needed. Just before the Delivery Boy stepped into the spotlight, someone had shouted, "You're on, Gohan!" This could've been just a coincidence even if a name with the meaning of rice was rare, but it was harder to dismiss when the boy on screen was eleven and seven years later, an eighteen year-old Gohan shows up.
I jotted notes down in my little black notebook and slipped it under my matress. Ejecting the disc from my DVD player, I hid it in the one place it could never be found.
Yeah, like I was telling you.
When you're not a morning person, you know the one biggest horrors of greeting the new day with a bedhead and tired eyes is...
Beep! Beep! Beep!
...The Devil's cry.
I slammed my fist of the snooze button, too tired to care that I almost smashed it to bits. The warrior grace in me was dormant as I rolled ungracefully off the bed and fell headfirst on the red carpet with a thud. You'd think the plush carpet would make it any better, but it didn't.
"Tired?" If I had the energy, I would've jumped and bumped my head off the ceiling at the sudden voice. I rubbed my eyes and when the sleepy haze cleared, Akane was standing in the doorway, holding the knob.
"Nah, why would I be? It's six in the morning," I quipped and picked myself up off the ground. "Do you honestly think you can come in my room?"
"I was just going to offer breakfast," she growled.
"What did you put in it? You know that if you want Dad's money you have to get a trust fund, insurance, etceterra first before you poision us, right?" Even I was amazed with my abundance of comeback on early rising.
She fixed a ferocious glare on me and started to turn away when I said, "What's that in your back pocket?" She was wearing incredibly short tan shorts and a wad of green was poking out of the rear pocket.
She spun around to hide it. "Nothing."
"Nothing my back pockets." I stormed forward before she could utter a squeak and uprooted a stack of hundred dollar bills bound in a rubber band from the pocket. "I don't suppose this came out of Dad's wallet?"
If Dad's money wouldn't support the roof above my head, I wouldn't have given a jack.
"I-I-" She was at a loss for words as her expression turned that of a ghost witness.
I smirked. "Hon, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that." I strode past her casually, planning to set the cash in Dad's room while he was still gone from this morning's early business trip. I wouldn't say a word of why it was tucked in one of his training boots. Back-stabbers like him deserved back-stabbing girlfriends, after all.
"Gohan."
Gohan looked up from his quiz. Jealousy clawed me when I noted he was halfway finished and I was struggling on the second page. But at least clauses were not beyond my mind's reach like the pi and equations in geometry. "Yeah?"
I checked to make sure no one was listening; everyone was focused on quizzing. I opened my mouth to tack off the list of questions and facts I had reserved for him when a familiar ring sprang from my watch. Heads turned in my direction.
"Ms. Bertrand?" My finger hovered over the receiver button.
"Zuf course, Videl," she replied from her desk.
I felt Gohan eyeing me strangely as I pressed the talk button and said into the watch, "Report, Chief."
The police chief's panicked voice broke through. "Videl!" You see Gohan? I'm not crazy. "We have kids and staff held hostage in Orange Star Elementary by the Dokueki gang! Help!"
"Them again?" I recalled that they had been responsible for the last bank robbery, too. When would they learn? "Alright, Chief. I'm on my way." With that I practically knocked over my desk jumping out of it and bolted out the door, ignoring Ms. Bertrand's cut short protest.
I arrived after climbing a mountain of stairs at my usual place-the roof. It was vacant, it was high up, and so it was perfect to launch my capsule right then. A cloud of pure smoke erupted and faded to leave my yellow jet-copter adorned with the bold text of Satan on its front in view. I climbed in, set my GPS and I was off.
I didn't need the GPS to tell me I had arrived at my destination. From the air, I could see the stocky school building's belting parking lot was overcrowded with flashing police cars. The cops themselves surrounded the school, but none dared come in close contact. I landed the copter just outside the parking lot, aggravating the wind with its slowing propellers. I hopped out and recapsulized it-just in case. Cops were taking awareness of my presence and already they were cheering, confidence boosted.
My stomach knotted, but I'd adjusted to the source of it. Yes, they were probably loaded with guns and I was risking my life. Yes, it's going to be tough. Yes, this probably went against my claim of sanity earlier but hey, I'm used to it. This is a crime fighter's life.
"Great to have you, Videl!" a policeman greeted when I walked up beside him. The burly yet baby-faced cop was kneeling and his gun in aimed at the entrance doors of the school.
"What's the ransom?" I asked curiously.
"You don't wanna know," said another cop, sighing.
"Didn't think so." Not wanting to waste any more time, I ran straight in, but found myself inching the double doors closed behind me. I had to be cautious. For all I knew, there could be an armed man lurking just around the corner. Which was why I evaluated the area. The school walls were crafted from white marble and the ceiling supported by casual columns. The floor was tiled with blocks of red and white. I tried to resurface the childhood memories to know what room was behind what door, but I couldn't for the life of me. It seemed a century ago that I was a grade schooler.
I felt helplessly lost when I heard an eruption of voices far down a hall bending to the right. With my back against the wall, I slinked closer and peered my head around a corner when the wall curved again. Three of them were huddled. One with a displeasing dark beard, another lanky one with his back turned, and a short blonde one that didn't seem to belong there. They were all armed.
"-said Videl was sposta be comin'," said Weird Beard gruffly.
"Has she?" the lanky one asked.
"Well I dunno, I dun see no tough girly runnin' 'round."
"So what if she does? What'd Makoto say we do?" asked Shortie.
Makoto. I'd have to remember that name.
"We goan blow'er head off, imbecile. What else?" Weird Beard snapped. "Oh, and ta spread out. Three o' ya'll ain't bein' one place, so go somewhere else." Just as he rounded the corner, his face met my fist. With a crooked nose he fell backward, crying out in startlement. I was about to show him to unconsciousness when a hail of bullets forced me to press back against the other side of the corner. I heard a bullet chip the marble.
An idea hatched. Ducking, I dove and took Weird Beard's silver Revolver in my hand and pointed at his head. Of course I wouldn't kill anyone, I'm a productive member of society, but I hoped they would take the bluff. Both their fingers froze on the triggers. The lanky guy, now facing me earned a nickname as Pinnochio. His nose extended like a bird's beak.
"Empty the guns boys, or he goes down," I hissed.
"Frikka empty 'em 'fore I die!" Weird Beard cried. He reached for his gun, but one kick to the face and he gasped, retracting his hand.
His partners exchanged glances. "Should we give up amo for that goofball?" Shortie asked.
Pinnochio shook his head. "Naw, one loss hurts less than a bunch of bullets."
Shoot! No pun intended.
Bullets chased me like a plague of buzzing mosquitoes as I darted for a door standing against the wall. I opened and slammed it as quickly as I could. The bullets exploded outside and neared. Heart pounding in my ears, I looked around the classroom, which had baby blue walls plastered everywhere with stick figure paintings and shelves stacked with art supplies. An art room, I figured.
But it wasn't empty. At least five gang members were lounging at the smooth black art tables, puffing cigarettes and guns in their laps. They caught me right away, fixing haughty or hostile looks and readying their weapons. I had turned the silver knob to back out the door when it suddenly swung open, flinging me to the floor. I caught myself just in time and flipped flawlessly to my feet, growling. I looked behind me and there stood Shortie and Pinnochio, panting up a storm, guns trained on me.
I was surrounded.
