[PROLOGUE]
Groaning and rubbing his throbbing head, a boy no more the age
of thirteen slowly picked himself up from the blackened ground. He sat upright
for a moment, not moving a muscle, concentrating on just trying to bring his
surroundings into focus through the ringing in his head. Finally he stood,
pleased that his weak knees did not give out from under him. He sighed, dusting
off his hand on his side. He felt inexplicably.... tired.
His ears
pricked at a sudden sound-- someone was yelling. "Vejiita, dammit! What the
hell...?"
Vejiita studied the speaker. He was a companion.... no -- a
fellow purger on this particular mission, one whom Vejiita had never met before
and whose name he hadn't caught.
The other was looking around in dismay,
with what must have been disbelief rounding his wide eyes. Vejiita followed his
gaze dully. All around him, as far as he could see for miles was.... nothing.
Just burnt, smoking flats. His gaze slid to his hand: dirty, specked with
blood... glowing with the aftermath of large amounts of ki be exerted through
it, the flesh not yet cooled from the heat it produced. Rarely did his skin
flush like this; he kept his ki in check, and now that he was older, his skin
had gotten used to being heated like this. How strange. Had he done this?
Just as strange was the ache in his arms, his legs, his back. The
obvious explanation was that he had been fighting on this mission. But fighting
wasn't very necessary for this trip; the occupants of this planet were of
average strength at best. He knew that. He hadn't fought that much -- or at
least he hadn't used ki with the exception of simply destroying things. Not
opposing people. This planet was to be kept in good shape. He knew that too. As
a matter of fact, they had ben given clear orders not to use an abundance of ki.
Vejiita wasn't planning to do this. In fact, he didn't even remember doing this
sort of damage. The last thing he remembered was having a verbal fight with a
native of this desolate place, being accused of the obvious murder and
destruction he was executing and being ordered to stop at once. Vejiita, who
wasn't feeling so great in the first place, and therefore was short tempered,
was beginning to loose his patience at him.
Then everything.... well, he
didn't know. He didn't remember what he said back to the native, what he did. He
just didn't remember, period.
He tilted his chin up, trying to get a
better view at the wreckage. No use in seeing anything differing from the
blemished landscape engulfing him. He slowly became aware that the nameless man
had gotten over his shock and was now demanding an explanation for this horrible
thing that Vejiita had done. Vejiita didn't have an answer for him. He looked
over his shoulder, and spotted Radditsu, who was also assigned to this planet.
He was staring at Vejiita and had a look of pure terror on his face.
"Hey, hey! I heard you went bezerk out there, man." He pounded
on his back. Vejiita didn't reply. He didn't want to talk about it. Not to
anyone. Especially this guy. He dared a quick glance in his direction. Yes; his
roommate Craig look exactly how he expected him to look: eyes wide and sharp and
alert, staring intently at the side of Vejiita's face, ready to pick up any
phrase or remark and store it for later use when he wanted to say something of
importance to one of his many "fans". He was a horrible gossip. Even if he did
want to talk about it (whatever "it" implied) he wouldn't be able to tell him,
anyway. He couldn't.... He didn't know.
He felt himself visibly wince.
It rather hurt to think that; that it was possible for him to totally blank out
something as big and involved as what he had done on his mission. It was very
easily possible for someone to pass out after such stressful activity, but the
unconscious would be a direct result happening after the activity. Not while it
was happening. Never. It was unheard of.
He sensed that Craig was about
to say something. Vejiita doubted that he was about to express his concern;
Craig rarely noticed things like other people's discomfort, and if he ever did,
he didn't often say anything. But Vejiita didn't find out. From down the hall
there was a scream, followed by peals of laughter and loud hoots. Craig grinned,
his head swinging around. He looked back at Vejiita, slapped his hand on his
shoulder. "Hey, later, okay?" He hesitated, as he always did, the end of his
confident farewell rising up in a question, almost as if waiting for a proper
dismissal, or even acknowledgment of his departure. It was neither; it was an
invitation. The lingering hand was silently coaxing, "Hey, come on, this time,
please let's go!"
Craigie was always so exuberant, so peppy. He could
never sit still. He was a nice change from the cold shoulders and threatening
glares a person of Vejiita's age and stature usually received. Open, friendly,
lively, laid-back, all at once. But Vejiita had to reject his offer, no matter
how successful a stimulant Craig was. He had too much on his mind to go
rollicking with Craig's friends. He frowned and adjusted a bandage wrapped
around his elbow. Again, he dared a side-long glance.
Vejiita felt ill.
His injuries, fortunately, were slight compared all the energy he lost with his
explosion, but that had nothing to do with feeling unwell. It wasn't his body or
anything bothering him. His throat was sore, and his head, although it was no
longer ringing, and wasn't really throbbing anymore, something felt off. Or
missing, maybe. It was almost as if some unwelcome entity had gone into his head
and, with precalculated movements, adjusted everything there just enough to be
more than irritating, but not enough to locate the true problem.
It
wasn't just that he felt strange. It was that didn't remember.
It had happened before, he dimly acknowledged, his bearings
coming back. Being told he had done something he did not remember doing. Usually
he'd let it slide off his shoulders, telling himself that they were
wrong; he hadn't done those terrible things of which they spoke. He was
beginning to dimly acknowledge that they were not crazy. They were right. He had
completely destroyed a huge chunk of valuable land on his mission.
There
were other instances, as well. One day, just a few weeks before this last
mission he was surrounded by strangers, all yelling and shouting and whacking
his shoulders. He had been feeling useless and tired for a long period of time,
and wasn't quite sure how to react to this sudden attention. He wasn't even sure
what the commotion was about. They were congratulating him about killing
someone, he recalled. You killed Tanako, they told him. That bastard was killed
by Vejiita!
He didn't know what to think. Craig confirmed their
proclamations. Vejiita had murdered Tanako, an older soldier of Freeza's army
who occasionally came down to the old dormitories where other's Vejiita's age
lived. He was no good, but no one did anything about it. Until Vejiita did.
Weeks after incident, Vejiita eavesdropped on snatches of conversation where
either his or Tanako's names were mentioned. He pieced together what happened.
Tanako had dropped by, unannounced and unexpected as usual, talking shit and
kicking people. The kids usually just took it, holding their breathe until he
left. But Vejiita got pissed. It happened in under twenty seconds, he was told.
He didn't remember a thing of the alleged fight.
Other times, a
higher-ranking official of the army would suddenly round in on him, demanding in
loud angry voices why he hadn't turned up for a mission or failed to appear at
some random assembly. Long ago Vejiita had stopped replying to these accusations
with: "What mission? What are you talking about?" Thinking that the young
Saiyajin was playing around, they would get upset and he usually ended up
getting hit. So he just tried to think up a good excuse in the five seconds he
was given to speak.
He rubbed his eyes and turned on his side, looking
around the dark room miserably. Such a mess, he noted vaguely. He thought he
should shovel out the junk some day, then decided that the messy room was not
even worth the thought. He tried to sleep. But with his eyes shut the noise from
down the hall seemed even louder. That was Craig's crowd. Loud, fast, and young,
two dozen or so teenagers, all on one floor. A stupid system. As far as Vejiita
knew, he was the only one who was regularly assigned to missions. Certainly his
roommate didn't. Why, he had no clue. If someone had grabbed him by the throat
and taught him to fight and to kill, he'd be forced to go on these planet
purging missions with Vejiita.
His thoughts lingered on the planet
purging subject. He had been doing this for about six years now. Unnervingly, he
had executed his mission without the knowledge of his departure and later, no
knowledge of ever leaving. He had never brought it up. What would he have said?
"This may sound strange, but could you tell me where I am? Can you tell me what
we're doing?" Absolutely not. Adding to the fact the people just simply didn't
loose their minds, Vejiita was aware that he had probably been purging planets
in such a fashion for a while. He was on a sub-elite team, he noticed, looking
at the others. He would not have been placed on such a mature team the first
time out. He had finished his job without thinking.
He felt a darkness
slipping over him, so much more intense than the darkness of the room. Then he
knew nothing.