Worthy of Legends
By Moonraker One
A/N: I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but again, I was busy.
CHAPTER FIVE
A pair of prisoners-en-route stood out amongst the large gathering of almost thirty-three other soon to be inmates. The cramped confines of the dingy, musty prison transport ship affected all, with the possible exception of Broly and Sauzaa, as the young Saiyan was still under the ki-concealing effects of the death poison, and the slightly older Pienorian had transported prisoners before. He knew from experience that all ships of the prison transport variety had the uniquely detestful aroma of old urine and mildew. The youthful Saiyan, looking thirty years aged due to the ill-treatment by his handlers, shook his head as a rusty-sounding cough echoed through the small transport and he pulled harshly on his chains; he hated being unable to utilize the ki he had worked his life to attain. Few things made him feel more worthless.
Broly stared at the floor. "I'm sorry Sauzaa," he mournfully confessed. "If I hadn't been weak, you'd be free right now."
"Free?" the French-accented Pienorian scoffed. "I hate Cooler. The idea of serving him; nothing in the universe is less free." Sauzaa knew what he was talking about; every time he'd lead a planet clearing, he'd torment himself with cuts and use harsh soap to remind himself of his sins. Maybe, he thought, prison might actually lessen his sentence in hell later on.
A ragged breath came to Broly as he gathered his thoughts. "But, you begged for my sake, and paid for it." He thought of how horrible it was for his friend to have to suffer a similar fate as him. "I hate myself for what you're suffering."
"Hey!" Sauzaa sharply answered. The last thing he wanted from an otherwise normal kid was despair; it meant his will was breaking. "You did NOTHING wrong. God'll give you a reward for your suffering." He had always believed that the kid would get rewarded in death, as he never had taken part of the massacrings that the rest of Cooler's troops and he did.
The pre-teen warrior mulled the idea around in his head as a fly landed on his nose a moment. "I sure hope so."
From the guard in charge of the small militia-like gathering of inmates came a bark of a laugh. "Ha," a horrific-looking prisoner barked. "Hate to disappoint ya, kid, but there ain't no God."
"Maybe not for you," Broly fired back. Also not where there was Cooler or his brother, he quickly thought. He had every reason to be doubtful; his future had been mostly taken away for a young bastard son of King Cold to justify a planet's destruction.
The whirring, hiss-like hum of the transport's engines slowed, making an eerie downshift sound like a record slowing gradually. The repeating pattern that made up the walls of the final tunnel before the large blast door entrance had a near hypnotizing effect on some of the prisoners. "You assholes better learn to like this place," the main guard announced, " 'cause once you're here, you stay a long time." He'd done this job for twenty years; he'd see young and old, male and female, rich and poor, smart and damn stupid. The variety that was the inmates never ceased to astound him.
As it would every time, the ship creaked slowly until it got to the docking bay, then slammed to a stop less than a foot from the entrance bay, frightening the majority of the prisoners beyond their wits. The guards and the pilot conducted a quick inspection of the restraints, then led the inmates out of the transport and into the main entrance way. Several of the guards cocked their pulse rufles for added psychological effect. "Right this way, motherfuckers, an abnormally disfigured subordinate guard droned unenthusiastically. Inside a series of scans identified the pilot and the huge blast doors grumbled as they slid open. Absolutely none of the inmates believed what they saw just behind them.
"So THIS sorry bunch of shitheads is going in my prison," a feminine voice called out. It belonged to a tall, leggy Cardarian female in an energy-proof set of armor that hugged her hips and flattered her chest. Had her power level not been on the level of her brothers, she possibly would not have been taken seriously.
A guard cleared his throat. "Lady Chillita!" he said, surprised. "You're…looking healthy!"
She rolled her eyes. "Fuck you," she uttered, waving him off as an afterthought.
"Leave that to me," an inmate joked, and was promptly jabbed in the gut by the girl in question.
"Any more jokers!" she shouted, as the prisoner fell flat on his face, unconscious. Predictably, no one spoke up. "Good. You're all in enough shit already." She waited for all to stand at attention before continuing. "Here's my rules. You kill an inmate, we stick you with knives in places that hurt like hell but don't kill. You rape an inmate, we take you to bottom level near the core." She sharpened her tone for the next statement. "It's always so damned hot down there, and the men down there haven't had a woman in, possibly sixty years. So think a bit before you have 'fun.' Fights are staged in the gym once a month. Winner gets a month off their sentence, loser gets to fly. Calaq, explain."
Calaq, an older guard, spoke up. "We attach thousand pounds weights to ya, and toss you from the top balcony. If you live, great! If you hit the lava at the bottom, oh well."
"You work in the factory building whatever the hell we tell you to,' Chillita continued. "Don't get any ideas of escape. We've got more security than your mothers have STDs. Now you all will be sent to your living quarters. If you have any complaints, the guards will be sure to take down your comments, then kill you. You bitch, you die. End of story." Upon a wave of her hand, a violent shove threw the line forward, with everyone headed to the same booth to get assigned. It was a very short walk down a dim hallway to the main guard's desk. He looked at the duo of Broly and Sauzaa, and almost laughed at the absurdity that was the juxtaposition; the younger was a tall Saiyan, and the older Pienorian stood almost a foot shorter.
"You two look like you come out of a damn circus," he said, assigning them to a dual cell ten thousand floors up from the core. They were then sent to the shower station.
A rather imposing mountain of a guard stood outside the open, eight-man shower room. With his back turned to the steam-filled chamber, he stood and listened unflinchingly—almost vengefully—for awkward sounds. Variety, while the spice of life, added hostility to the sauna-like atmosphere; Saiyans were not liked in Cardarian prisons. Sauzaa kept his gaze moving about the room, as he felt it was his duty to protect his young friend from sexual predators. Towering over the other inmates, Broly had little option save for attracting unwanted attention. "Whatcha in for, kid?" Neither of the two warriors kenw from whom the question had been uttered, but the main guard struck a metal pipe, generating an ear-rattling hum that oscillated throughout the chamber.
"You shower, you shut up!" he angrily boomed, instantly commanding attention from the showering inmates.
The water lasted only a few minutes after, then all were dried by exposure to high-frequency sound waves. A large waterproof crate sat immediately next to the entrance to the shower room. Each prisoner searched for his or her set of clothing then dressed themselves as quickly as possible. It was then up to them to go to the teleporter to be sent to the floor of his or her cell. Each floor had twelve teleporters, as the prison was carved into the very interior of the planet itself and had quite a few floors. As they stepped into separate teleporters, they immediately materialized on the floor, sixteen cells away from their own. Sauzaa knew what was coming next as several guards came quickly towards them. One of them shoved a thin, long needle into Broly's abdomen, injecting a hot orange liquid into his muscles.
"What the hell are you doing!" screeched the tall young Saiyan, as the needle hurt going in and out.
"Calm down, kid," one of the guards uttered. "We just gotta make sure you don't begin to rot from that poison that keeps you from using your ki."
Use of the word "rot" obviously frightened the young Saiyan. Sauzaa understood the rationale, because he had known about the use of the various types of death poisons that were used on especially powerful inmates. For some—Saiyans in particular—the more powerful versions were needed, and if a kind of booster shot wasn't administered every so often, the person would begin to rot through lack of ki activity. "Don't worry, Broly," the twenty year-old Pienorian advised. "This's just to keep your ki active so your body won't begin to deteriorate."
The uglier of the two guards sneered. "This is also another reason why you shouldn't think of escaping. If you try to run, you won't be able to get the stuff out of your system and you'll succumb to the rotting."
"Don't pay them any attention." Sauzaa looked down for a moment. "I'm just glad they didn't say anything mean or I would have had to bust them open." The cell which was theirs slid open the moment they came to it, so they didn't have to search for it at all. Stepping in, the Pienorian warrior was impressed; the accommodations were slightly less dirty than he expected. As they sat down, Broly noticed a depressed look on his friend's face. Sauzaa noticed this and wiped a tear from his eye. "Broly, I want you to promise me something."
Broly, lying down on his cot, looked up at his best friend, who forced a fake smile to avoid betraying his emotions, but it was too little too late. "What kind of promise?" inquired the tall Saiyan.
"I want you to promise me that you'll never submit to Cooler's will. I never want you to be the kind of murderer that I was…promise me!"
The tall Saiyan forced a challenging grin. "Is that a challenge? Fine! I accept!"