Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z is the creative genius of Akira Toriyama.

Summary: Vegeta's going mad, and it's up to Bulma to save him.


FALLOUT
—Chapter Two: Descent—

By Ascendo Tuum

With a resounding sigh, he stood up, breathing slowly. He had finished his routine of doing six thousand push-ups, and was now in the process of wiping off the sweat that had collected on his forehead during the strenuous exercise. The air in the gravity room was stale, and Vegeta wrinkled his nose at the torpid odor.

Blinking, he went over to a step stool Bulma had left behind after a recent repair to the machine. He sat down, refusing to think of comfort, and surveyed the damage around him.

Broken tiles, pieces of plaster and the wall, and nuts and bolts were scattered about the room. He had attempted the elusive 890G, and had succeeded, with the minor casualties as mentioned above. He was closer now, closer to achieving 1000G. He felt a rush of pride go up throughout him and Vegeta's mind tingled with suppressed delight.

His mind finally slackened off a bit, and moved towards an old, haunting train of thought.

Here he was, a Saiyan Prince of a dead planet. And here was Kakkarot, a third-class Saiyan warrior who rejected his vicious birthright and heritage in favor of the peace-loving Earthling heritage.

All his life, Vegeta had trained for the faint prospect of killing the very being that had obliterated his planet, his people. Frieza. The name brought not fear to the souls of the dead, but only a bitter remembrance. The lizard-like demon was dead, but killed not with the thought of vengeance for the destroyed Vegeta-sei, but for Earth, for peace.

Angered, Vegeta brought his hand against the wall, and felt with satisfaction the reinforced plaster giving way into a gaping hole, in an effect alike to the silly cavern the humans idolized, the Grand Canyon. An admired rocky hole in the fabric of the planet. It was utterly idiotic, to ooh and awe over some chasm, when there were better things to do. Things like training and striving.

It should have been me, he thought caustically. I should have been the one who destroyed Frieza. Not some emotional Saiyan human who has renounced the very Saiyan blood in his veins! The savagery, the feeling of power, the warring force within… Given up, to live the pathetic life of an enhanced Earthling who happily defended his pitiable planet and friends.

What a waste of potential.

It was simply sickening, especially for a Saiyan, to desert the truest calling of his ancestry. To protect some pathetic planet in lieu of destroying all life for the next buyer over a silly bump on the head. To have feelings, a major hindrance in war, because of the incapability to understand of some human mate and half-breed child. For surface Earthling friends.

It took all the self-control Vegeta could muster to not transform into Super Saiyan and damn the planet to hell and over. Even then, he could not achieve that coveted goal. His only desire, his only reason for training.. to become a Super Saiyan and he was nowhere close to his objective. There had to be some sort of key, so that he could rework his training into a schedule that involved the key to transforming.

But as of now, he hadn't an idea. All he knew now was that the fool Kakkarot could transform and he couldn't. The irony!

Why!

The agonizing thought repeated itself excessively, like some melancholic sort of chant.

Why.

Why.

Why.

A strong burst of vibrant blue ki flared from his outstretched palm, and destroyed the machine he had dedicated practically forever to since his existence on Earth. An earsplitting explosion tore through the metal dome-shaped ceiling, and Vegeta watched coldly as pieces of wreckage fell about him, flaming and distorting as they writhed to a stop on the damp ground.

He leaned his head against the oddly cool wall, and wondered as to why he had to be so troubled, mocked. What had happened to all the regalia he had been accustomed to, as a young boy on his home planet? The worshipping, the idolizing? The murmurs and promises of a great destiny, committed to fighting. Ill had come of it, of all of it. He had nothing left, except his lingering memories.

There was nothing left he could attach the last fragments of his understated soft side to. Within a clench of his hands, he lost all remaining hopes of common sense.

elsewhere...

Hearing a loud detonation, Bulma darted off her seat in her lab and rushed towards the window. The sight below her dismayed her and worriedly, she ran out the house. Vegeta, she thought despondently, please don't hurt yourself.