It was not without reason that Capsule Corps had some of the tightest security on the planet. It was annoying enough to get in with authorized materials. Sneaking in was borderline suicidal.
Of course, the other major tech corporations on the market, who had enjoyed a fairly stable joint monopoly before Capsule Corp came along, disliked the competition. What once was a bubble to which they could deny access to any and all who crossed them was now fast becoming Capsule Corporation's to control. As a result, many who had less than the average helping of morals decided to turn to crime to try to get ahead.
Theft of intellectual property was the first route that was taken. It failed, of course, and the lawsuits that followed destroyed two companies entirely. A variety of "legal" routes were also explored, such as accusing Capsule Corporation of theft as well. This backfired explosively as the rabid lawyer army that protected the patents belonging to the company smelled blood, and tore three more companies into dog kibble. The CEO of one (Borstvaught Innovative Designs) was thrown in jail for tax fraud, money laundering, and an illegal gambling ring which he ran on the side.
For whatever reason, the remaining companies saw this as unfair, despite the fact that they were the ones who were in the wrong. They wanted revenge, both for the indignity of being outperformed by a company that had been active for so short a time and for no longer being able to throw their weight around like they used to. The least scrupulous companies turned to the seedy underbelly of the internet to find those who might aid in disposing of this annoyance.
Three days had passed since Vegeta and Kakarot had taken off to Planet Namek to bring back those killed in the recent past. Nappa quite clearly remembered Vegeta's threat of dismemberment if he failed to provide adequate protection for those left behind, and as a result, he had become Bulma's de facto bodyguard. Despite his enormous frame, the blue-haired genius had insisted on getting him a proper tuxedo, which had to be custom made of a proprietary new durable and flexible fabric to accommodate the bulging muscles of the Saiyan general. Somehow, it made the hulking warrior look even more intimidating, yet professional and educated.
He did not like the way it looked, personally, but wearing it was better than listening to her irate voice grousing at him for wearing gigantic Hawaiian shirts to official board meetings, so he obliged.
On Sundays, Nappa discussed Bulma's meeting schedule with her secretary in order to scout out the areas beforehand. Each place was inspected thoroughly and any potential points from which danger might arise was planned for and dealt with if possible (this resulted in the mutilation of some many potted plants on the balconies of a row of apartments, unfortunately). If the possibility of danger was too great, he insisted that the meeting be held in am other location. Throughout the week, he accompanied her with savage efficiency, quickly (but harmlessly) neutralizing any paparazzi who dared to get too uppity (generally speaking, they simply ended up in trees with their cameras three or four branches above them). On the one occasion that a thief attempted to steal her purse, the man was turned into a human pretzel and handed to the police. Luckily for the man, he had been a gymnast at one point, so having his neck tucked behind the ankle on his right foot didn't break anything).
Bulma got to know more and more about the bald Saiyan as he watched over her. He liked to cook, surprisingly enough, though initially he was horrible at anything but meat. He was an excellent bodyguard, and she felt nothing but safe around him, despite his past. He was ruthless, yes, but a simple man nonetheless. Orders were orders, and he had long ago decided that the simplest way to live a relatively simple life was to go along with whatever life threw at him.
A Saiyan is still a Saiyan, though, and Saiyans know anger. They do not forgive. They do not forget. And they most certainly do not show mercy.
It happened two weeks after Kakarot and Vegeta had left. Bulma woke up in the morning, stretched, and yawned. Padding to the bathroom, she sleepily wiped dried tears from the corners of her eyes and lazily rubbed a bit of toothpaste onto her toothbrush, then commenced brushing. Her hair was a frightful mess, spraying out in an almost electric pattern around her head. She groaned; it looked like it was going to be "one of those days." She undressed and, after quickly taking a toilet break, hopped into the shower, cleaning herself for the day ahead. Her suspicions were confirmed when, upon towel-drying her hair, it sprang back out into a fluffy, coronal shape. "Ughhh, come on!" she whined, stomping her foot childishly.
Loud thumping footsteps rushed down the hall. Rolling her eyes, she shouted, "It's just my hair, Nappa. Kami's sakes, you don't need to be so protective." The footsteps ceased, then, much slower, retreated back down the hall. She giggled in amusement and went about the strenuous task of taming her hair.
An hour and a half and three bottles of hairspray later, Bulma's hair finally admitted defeat, for the most part, and surrendered most of the space it had once occupied around her head back to the air, though it was ever so slightly bigger than it usually was. She beamed at herself in the mirror and began to carefully apply makeup. Not too much, mind you, as she was definitely pretty enough without it, but just enough to look a little more intense and fiery. Once that was done, she selected the perfect outfit (a button down slip-on dress that wouldn't mess up her finally-tame hair) and a matching set of comfort heels (an innovation created by the heiress herself after a painfully long day spent in the highest of heels at a party that resulted in a twisted ankle, three hairline fractures, and blisters the size of walnuts). She inspected herself carefully in the mirror, adjusting her ample bustline, and smirked as she imagined the men on the other side of the negotiating table tripping over their tongues.
Out she flounced into the hallway, rolling her eyes yet again as Nappa took up his spot next to her, his guarded gaze scrutinizing every possible threat and analyzing it with the speed of a supercomputer. "You sure do take your prince seriously," she half-groaned, half-giggled.
"He isn't the type to idly give me orders, and I'm fairly sure he'd dismember me if anything happened that he told me to prevent, so this is just as much an exercise in self-preservation as it is in bodyguarding," Nappa replied. "I'll be flying as usual, I guess?" Nappa was...a little too big for most vehicles.
Bulma grinned. "We just got a new limo in. This one can fit you too!" She delicately began walking down the stairs to the kitchen. "It's got seats big enough for you and a door that opens and rolls to the side instead of swinging out. It should be just right."
Breakfast that day consisted of mountainous heaps of fluffy, buttery pancakes, topped with a perfectly aged pure maple syrup. It was, as always, delicious, and Mrs. Briefs was delighted to see her food so appreciated. Once the food was finished, Nappa helped in putting the dishes away, careful not to get anything on his perfectly pressed suit. Then it was to Bulma's workshop, where the scientist used the unfortunate Saiyan as a pack mule to carry much of the items needed for the demonstration. Into the back of the limo they went, along with a Capsule containing a fairly large lunch for Nappa.
Today, Bulma was heading to a meeting to discuss a merger between another tech conglomerate and Capsule Corp. They had been playing cat-and-mouse for some time now, trying to extract a better severance agreement for the exiting higher-ups, but at the last meeting, Bulma had given them an ultimatum: come up with a final offer by the next meeting or a hostile takeover would be initiated.
On the drive there, Bulma took out some papers from her briefcase and began shuffling through them, looking for a particular stack of papers. After several minutes of rifling through the pages and pages of documentation, she finally got the ones she wanted and carefully stacked the others back into a semi-neat pile, stuffing them back into the case. She waved the papers around in Nappa's face. "So this company has been trying to pull a fast one since the day acquisition talks began. Here's a series of emails from them, dancing all around what they wanted."
Nappa carefully took the papers and thumbed through them. A fast learner, it had taken the Saiyan less than a month to learn how to read fairly fluently and even less to write, though occasionally he did accidentally drop letters from other languages into his writing. "Hmm... I'm not an expert in public relations by any means, but it seems like they're stalling for time."
Bulma groaned and ran her hands through her hair, flopping back into her seat. "I know, right? They're milking it for all they're worth."
The driver suddenly piped up. "Mrs. Bulma? It looks like there's an accident up ahead - "
The man's sentence was violently interrupted by a loud chattering, and his head exploded in a shower of red. Bullets peppered the interior of the vehicle. Time slowed down for Nappa as his soldier's mind took over. He immediately grabbed the Capsule Corp heiress and pumped his ki through his body, blasting the pair through the roof of the car, grabbing the briefcase just before it was sprayed by a.other hail of bullets. He heard a fearful shriek from Bulma right in his ear as he blasted off onto the roof of a nearby building and deposited her onto it, pushing the case into her trembling hands. She looked at him, panic evident in her eyes. Shock was setting in. "Stay here, and stay down. I'll be back for you," instructed the Saiyan sternly. She just stared blankly at him, and Nappa realized she wasn't hearing him. He lightly slapped her with both hands, bringing her back to reality. "Stay here, and stay down! Now!" With that, he took off to the men who had just now realized that Bulma was no longer in the car, so fast had Nappa's exit been.
It was supposed to be an easy job. A small team would set up a fake roadblock a few streets back, filter out all cars except the Capsule Corporation limo discreetly. That had gone perfectly, and the prey had fallen into the trap.
The driver had been executed first, but suddenly, the heiress had disappeared, along with the hulking man who appeared to be her assistant/bodyguard. Winton and his team were inspecting the wreckage with bafflement when a loud thump came from behind them. They wheeled around, guns blazing.
The guns chattered like squirrels on caffeine. Flashes of fire and sparks illuminated the overcast street. The bullets tore enormous holes in the once-pristine suit the man wore.
Not one of them pierced his skin. The man was, simply put, intimidating. He was well over 6 feet tall, 300 pounds of pure muscle. His eyes were cold. No mercy existed in those flinty orbs.
The guns stopped, gradually, as, one by one, the men realized they had no effect. Fear, primal, massive in its scope, trickled into their minds. The hulking bodyguard stalked closer, like a lion hunting his prey. One man pissed himself, legs trembling. He turned to run, as did two others.
They made it all of two feet before their spines were crushed in the hands of the giant. He threw them aside like broken teddy bears, and turned towards Winton. The third man beside Winton screamed and threw a grenade at this terrifying man, then fell back and scrabbled backwards, trying to get away. The man caught the grenade and crushed it in one hand before it could detonate, then threw the remains at the fleeing assassin. It tore painfully into his flesh, making him shriek in horrible agony.
It was at this point that the sniper, stationed three buildings away, took his shot, the crosshairs aimed directly at the massive man's neck. The bullet folded like paper on his skin, and the sniper's eyes widened as he saw this. The man grabbed Winton and hurled him in the direction of the shot. The sniper barely had time to beg God above for forgiveness before he was decapitated by Winton's leg.
No mercy was ever expected of Saiyans. None was ever shown. If you tried to hurt a Saiyan, or someone they were told to protect, you had better hope you could run faster than them, if you were weaker than they were. Otherwise, you were better off killing yourself.
Nappa picked up the man he had thrown to eliminate the sniper. Amazingly, despite his leg being shattered beyond repair once it had decapitated the sniper, he was still alive, though the screaming was annoying. He made a ki ball and blasted the man's broken leg off. The screaming abruptly cut off as the man passed out from the intense pain. He secured his grip on the man's arm and took off, landing back on the roof of the building that he had left Bulma on.
He threw the floppy body of the final assassin on the cement and carefully picked up the still-shocked Bulma, preparing to take her back to Capsule Corp. Upon second thought, he grabbed the arm of the man as well, and took off through the sky. He dropped Bulma off with her father with a quick explanation, then flew off with the man to one of the more secluded sections of the compound, warning Dr. Briefs to direct all employees to ignore sounds coming from there.
Winton woke up in agony and in the dark. He groaned helplessly, and stopped cold. He heard breathing in the dark. A rustling. He wet his lips fearfully. "H-hello?" he called out into the darkness. Silence.
Then, a deep voice spoke. Calmly, untroubled. "Who hired you?"
Winton looked fearfully around him. Faint light bled through a crack under what looked to be a door. He scooched towards it, suddenly aware that he was missing a leg. Despair crashed down on him like a tsunami, but he still wriggled towards the light.
"Who hired you?" the voice again asked, in the same unnervingly calm tone. Winton wildly looked around, but the shadows surrounding him refused to share their secrets. He scooched even faster.
Again, the voice. "Who hired you?" Winton screamed in fear and frustration as he reached the light and found it to be a metal rolling door...locked with a padlock at the bottom. He hurriedly backed himself against the cold metal surface and continued trying to find the source of the voice, despite fearing what he would find.
"Who hired you?" This time, the voice was accompanied by a slight sound of rushing air, then a very faint thump against the ground. Slow, ever so slow footsteps came from the darkness. "Who hired you?" They stalked closer, closer, still at the same pace. "Who hired you?" Terror coursed through the veins of the hired killer. This was not how it was supposed to turn out, he wasn't supposed to have had this kind of thing happen to him, he had never had issues before!
A dull glow began to emit from the darkness, surrounding a tall, muscular figure. Horrible, gut-wrenching fear almost made Winton lose control of his bowels as he realized that this was the monster who had so quickly and efficiently dispatched with the entire team. The tall man's eyes glowed in the steadily growing light. He raised a hand. A glowing ball appeared in it, bringing the full figure of the man into view. He was dressed now in some sort of armor, with a strange brown belt cinched around the waist. His left leg was entirely mechanical in appearance, but he showed no hitch in his stride as he stalked closer. Suddenly, the belt twitched, and a jolt of primal terror flickered through Winton's veins as he realized exactly who he was dealing with.
The man who had nearly destroyed an entire city.
The man who had eliminated armies and armadas in mere moments as though they were nothing but playtoys.
The man who, through it all, showed not the slightest hint of guilt, remorse, or restraint, instead displaying radiant glee at the suffering of his victims.
The man stopped inches from Winton and stood for a moment, relishing in the terrified whimpers of horror being uttered by the captured assassin. Then he knelt, slowly and deliberately. Winton felt heat emanating from the floating ball the man held.
"Who hired you?" the man asked with a malicious grin, in that same tone. "Tell me, and I will let you leave this world without pain. Refuse and..." The man shrugged, as if considering something, then jerked his other hand out and grabbed Winton's right hand, slowly inserting his index finger into the glowing ball.
Winton screamed shrilly as his finger burnt. He thrashed about, trying desperately to free himself from the iron grip of the demon before him. He pulled, tugged, beat relentlessly at the metal of the door, shrieking for help. "PLEASE! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY! HELP ME FOR GOD'S SAKES! AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"
It did no good. The grip did not loosen. The pain did not lessen. No one came to help.
The man spoke again. "Who hired you?" Winton just screamed incoherently in response. The muscular man released his hand and the burning of the finger stopped, finally. Winton pulled what remained of his finger in towards his gut, doubled over in agony, groaning and babbling nonsense. The man let the glowing ball fade, and stepped back into the darkness. The chantlike repetition of the same phrase resumed. "Who hired you?"
Despair, complete and total, seized Winton. There was no escape from this... he was in Hell.
It was not long after that Winton broke completely and told Nappa everything. Fortunately, only a few hours had passed since the incident, and during that time, the Briefs family had managed to get Bulma mostly back to her usual self.
Nappa sat the three Briefs at the breakfast table and calmly, clinically explained what he had found out, but not how.
"The company that you were going to the meeting for today, SoroVestrin Tech, hired the assassins. They never had intentions of selling the company; all they were trying to do was get you into a time and place where you could be taken out with a minimum of fuss. After that, the plan was to stage an accidental crash following your funeral or memorial service, to remove your parents as well. While your deaths were still causing the company to reel, SoroVestrin and a number of other companies were to pool funds and buy out the now-beheaded snake. I've confirmed this beyond a shadow of a doubt. Do not ask me how!" he said sharply, raising a hand as questions were about to be asked. "You do not want to know, and I will not tell you."
Bulma, still in the grasp of her mother, sniffled, and took a deep breath. "I'm pretty sure I know how you got this information, and I can guess that the source isn't alive anymore," she said grimly. "I'm also pretty sure you're going to turn this back around on them?"
Nappa nodded. "I've already tagged locations likely to have the perpetrators. If it makes you feel any better, I'll promise to not kill them, but I won't guarantee they will want to live."
Bulma let loose a bark of humorless laughter. "You sure take your job seriously."
"As always."
Dr. Briefs looked furious that someone would dare to harm his beloved daughter, and for the first time since he had arrived on this crazy planet, Nappa saw Mrs. Briefs' eyes. They were not in any way kind, as he had imagined at one point. She took a shaky breath, and fixed him with her steely gaze. "Protect my daughter," she said simply. And suddenly, the iron lady disappeared, replaced by a concerned mother. Nappa half-smirked, then stood up, stretching as he did so. Sitting for as long as it had taken to explain the situation had left his joints stiff.
"I'll be back. Don't leave the house, and get some extra security while I'm gone. Call that bald fellow, actually, he might be useful."
Bulma laughed, genuinely this time. "His name is Krillin, and yes, I'll call him." Nappa nodded and walked towards the exit.
Mrs. Briefs piped up behind him. "Be back in time for dinner!" she chirped. Nappa chuckled, then took off into the heat of midday.
Try to figure out the name pun in this chapter!