[ D E V O T I O N ]
warning: language, and "not nice-ness". watchout.
It was good to be back
Montgomery Robert
Vejiita arched his back and rotated his shoulders. He permitted a small smile.
Yes, it was definitely good to back. It'd been a while since he had been
allowed full motivity of the body. Vejiita had been feeling stable enough lately
to execute these frequent planet purging missions. He supposed he owed part of
his reemerging to the one called Chester. Then he shook his head. No, that bum
deserved nothing but a kick in the butt.
He gazed out at the fiery
landscape, a rare, almost peaceful expression lighting his eyes. He had an
excellent view from his vantage point of this high ledge. He'd worked hard
today. He worked hard, and fast, enjoying what he did and not regretting a
moment of his dreadful activities. And why should he? He gave instant death,
little or no suffering. These people didn't ever have time to sit and cry about
the dead ones or the inevitable destruction of their planet; they were history
before the nerve-endings could connect.
Mont snorted, shooting a random
ki beam and lighting a pile of debris on fire. Staring into the flicking blaze,
he decided that, if anything, these stupid people should have been
thankful for him coming and ending their futile lives so quickly and
without regrets. Who'd want to die slowly in a bed, helpless and despairing? He
was born in chaos, lived for - and in - chaos, and, if it should ever come to
it, he'd like to die in chaos. He'd go down swinging.
"Hey, monkey!"
someone catcalled from behind him, snapping Mont abruptly from his musings. He
looked behind him askance. "Are you just going to sit on your ass all day or are
you going to work?" he screamed. Mont didn't even blink. "Get up, Vejiita. Don't
stop working just because you finished off one little city." The soldier spat in
his direction before storming off.
Mont was pissed. Who did this person
think he was? He was not Vejiita! He looked a bit like him, but was not. He
would have been flattered had it not been for the scorn in the speaker's voice.
He stood up. He summoned his ki from the deep recesses of his mind and
body, and flung the plausible ball of his very being at the fool. The departing
soldier just barely swerved out of the way in time. Montgomery scarcely knew
what he was doing - only that he was angry.
"Fucker..." he seethed, his
voice coming out low and husky. The soldier froze in midair, staring at the
fuming Saiyajin boy in panic. "Go to hell...," he made out, enunciating each
syllable on a separate breath. His breath hitched and he made eye contact with
the soldier. He found himself unable to look away. A strange light gleamed
maliciously in his eyes, and a twisted smirk distorted his features. He made a
quick movement and blasted up to his victim. He blew his head away without a
second thought.
Mont landed near the headless corpse and thought about
what he had just done. He hadn't planned it; it was almost reflexive. He had
seen the fear in the other's eyes, the fear that immobilized him to the point
that he couldn't even down-talk the Saiyajin again. He reacted to fear. He
strived on fear. The afraid needed to be culled, and destroyed. Again,
Montgomery had done the universe a merciful favor.
And the other guy
deserved it, after all.
He kicked the body till it fell over the ledge
he'd been resting on. He'd tell the rest of the soldiers who had accompanied him
on this mission that he had been killed in battle. He didn't need any grief from
his superiors.
Not that he was afraid of his superiors or anything. He
was never afraid. It just wasn't part of him. His scouter beeped loudly in his
ear; it was an order from another soldier on the planet to move on to another
area. Mont didn't bother replying to it; just complied and took off. He ignored
the insistent gnawing in his mind, triggered by thinking of fear. His refusal of
wanting to acknowledge what was eating at him made him pissed; his gathered his
ki and rocketed through the air in a desperate attempt to escape that part of
his life that he denied belonged to him....
^^^^^^^^^^^^
He was
going to be late. It was like a mortal sin in his family, to be late, and the
intensity of that sin was only compounded when he was late for an appearance in
front of family. His heart was pounding in his chest, his pulse deafening him.
His throat was sore, but he swore he wouldn't cry. He swerved between legs and
around bodies of people standing in the walls, making the journey to his
destination all the more difficult. If only he wasn't so late.
The
three-year-old finally came to the door, and with a clenched fist pounded on it
until it opened. Then he went in, trying to act as composed as possible.
He stood near his brother. He didn't look up at him, just kept his
attention on his father, who was pacing anxiously. This made Vejiita uneasy. He
couldn't be sure if he was on time and his father just hadn't said what he
called them to say yet, or if he was late, and his father was silently
seething.
In either case, he wasn't saying anything. He wished he would,
say what he called them to say and do what he felt like doing. The sooner he
did, the sooner he could leave.
His father spoke. Before he had even
finished his first word, Vejiita knew it he was just keeping them up to date on
what was going on recently: Freeza's demands growing too great; local rebellions
becoming more than just a nuisance; the boys' training habits. Vejiita did not
like this last subject. He knew he wasn't concerned with his brother's
training habits. His father obviously favored his older brother over him, so
Vejiita could do nothing right. And you just don't make mistakes in front of the
King.
But it appeared that the King was too tired or too distracted to
dive into the depths of that particular subject, and a relieved Vejiita soon
stopped paying attention. After what seemed like a long time later, they were
dismissed. Vejiita sprinted towards the door and was gone. His brother caught up
with him.
Even though Vejiita knew his brother was favored over him, he
felt no hostility whatsoever for the older boy. Rafe was the only one in his
family who was nice to him, and treated him like a real person. It was Rafe who
took care of him and let him sleep in his bed when he was a baby. It was Rafe
who consoled him after being berated by their parents. Rafe was the one who told
him that even though the life seemed to be futile, there would always be the
good spots that made you want to dance. Rafe saved his baby brother's childhood
from being over far too soon.
Vejiita had left his father's room in high
spirits; he hadn't been hit once! When Rafe came up behind him and patted his
shoulder, he did not respond to Vejiita's idolizing smile as he usually did. He
smiled as he always did, but the smile lacked spirit, and his eyes seemed
distant, brooding.
"Otôto," he said softly, "best go back to your room."
*
Vejiita was surprised. He was planning on going with Rafe to his room,
or follow Rafe to wherever he was going. He didn't want to go to his room. He
had nothing to do, and when he was idle, was told to get off his lazy ass and go
train.
"No," he said, just as quietly. He didn't like to contradict his
brother.
"Yes. Go." They had come to an intersection in the hall, and
Rafe shoved the three-year-old towards the direction of his room. Then he
twisted around and strode a different way.
Vejiita watched his brother
run off until he was out of sight. He was going to their parent's quarters, he
realized. Their father might be there, resting after a day's work. His mother
might even be there, at this hour. Why was Rafe going to see them? Why wouldn't
he bring Vejiita? Maybe their father said something while Vejiita wasn't paying
attention to which Rafe objected.
Any child of three has a short
attention span, curiosity to spare, and makes foolish, if rash, decisions.
Vejiita ran after his brother.
As he came nearer to his parent's room,
he slowed. He didn't remember being in this room since he was an infant. It
wasn't forbidden to go there, but there was never a reason to, so he always
avoided it. No need to earn more attention than was necessary. He heard loud
yelling, and jumped, becoming nervous. This was loud yelling, angry, stubborn
yelling. Bad yelling. There was suddenly a bang as a door was thrown open, and
Vejiita's father stormed out. He was so preoccupied that he didn't even see his
youngest son, crouching and obscured in the shadows. He was the one who was
yelling, Vejiita knew. And he was pissed because obviously yelling did not get
his point across. Yelling at Rafe?
Vejiita slowly peered around the door
frame. Yes, there he was! Rafe! But he didn't dare make a sound; he crept into
the room silently and stood a bit away from Rafe. His brother's features were
drawn and controlled, his eyes distant and his arms shaking. One fist was
clenched around a shiny metal object so hard his knuckles were turning white.
Vejiita concentrated on the object. His eyes widened. A pistol! He recognized
it; it was the pistol their uncle had given them before his last mission as a
memento.
Rafe, a boy of ten, could already manipulate ki expertly. At
the time, Vejiita couldn't imagine why Rafe would use a pistol instead of his
own resources. He saw the pistol as just decoration. He later learned that the
pistol was symbolizing something, something even more than a dead uncle. But he
never learned what, for Rafe suddenly raised the gun to his mouth. As he pulled
the trigger and murmuring a few harsh words, he cast Vejiita one last look; a
look full of sadness, a miserable look that begged for Vejiita's forgiveness and
love even after he pulled off this terrible stunt.
A loud bang echoed
for what seemed like forever in the spacious room.
Vejiita stared at his
brother in horror. He had fallen over backwards, making a horrible crunching
sound as the back of his blown-apart skull hit the concrete. Blood dribbled from
the corner of his mouth to the puddle rapidly growing under his head. Vejiita
couldn't look away.
His mother, who had been standing dreamily on the
other side of Rafe, suddenly took action. She stepped over her dead son's body
to the living one, grabbing his arm tightly and dragging him out of the room.
She tossed him out and smacked his head, hissing, "Get out of here, boy." Then
she called someone to "clean up the mess".
Vejiita did not leave. He
could not. Didn't she understand that he had just watched his brother kill
himself? Didn't she realize he was just a little kid? Did she know he had just
lost the only person in the universe who liked him?
My brother
is dead. My brother is dead. The words ran through his head day and night,
for weeks after Rafe's suicide, but it took a while for them to click. When he
did, he nearly cried for the first time since he was a baby. He tried to ask his
father what had happened, why had Rafe done it, but he wouldn't even look at the
boy anymore. He asked his mother. She replied, "What brother? You've never had a
brother, you idiot."
Vejiita understood. Rafe committed a terrible act,
and was disowned, never to be mentioned again. He was more of a failure than
Vejiita was, in their eyes. Now Vejiita had to deal with the entire Saiyajin
empire without Rafe by his side. And that was a lot to deal with.
Vejiita never did find out what had drove Rafe into committing suicide,
not even as an adult, but he had theories. A time after the incident - about a
year and half - Vejiita was sent to Freeza, without even a word of what was
happening. Rafe had been ordered to go at first, he was certain. He would have
had none of it. So would the King with his son's indolence. But if the King
wanted Rafe to go, he would have been powerless to stop him. Rafe knew that
well, so as soon as his father had left, he pulled out his sleek pistol. He made
a stand, he challenged his father. Instead of actually attacking him physically,
he blew his own brains out with a crude, metal contraption and no one with any
amount of ki could have stopped him - including the King. Rafe was defiant.
Others would call him cowardly: he'd rather die that stand up to his sire.
Vejiita admired him. To be disowned was a horrible taint on one's memory. He was
scared of his father up to the very end and still shuddered at the thought of
him.
And he had every right to. Vejiita was the third born, preceded by
an older sister who up and left before he was born, and Rafe, who was seven
years his senior. After Rafe died, he imagined his parents gave up all hope on
raising a successful child and neglected him. Vejiita knew that - Nappa had
mentioned it once, but then again, he was not sure whether to believe the older
man. After all, he worked under his father, and had been sent to watch out after
him during his stay with Freeza. That much had been enough to make Vejiita
distrust him.
Vejiita had barely been "sent" to Freeza. His opinion on
the subject wasn't considered, his questions were ignored, and he had been
abandoned before the tyrant, the last words from his father being, "Don't ask
questions and don't be a bother." He didn't console his only son that he would
return home shortly in the future. He didn't even bother to say farewell.
Vejiita used to wonder that if the home world hadn't been destroyed, that he'd
be demanded back. For a while he thought: of course they'd want me back. Later,
due to Radditsu and Nappa's mannerisms towards him (not so much Radditsu, was
kinder and more a comfort, being closer to Vejiita's age), he began to doubt his
earlier resolution. Even older, he thought, Who the hell cares?
The
arrangement by which he was sent to Freeza also supported his theory: Rafe had
had time to rebel against this; Vejiita had not. Of course, he was much younger
than Rafe, but age was not relevant. He understood what home was and that he
would be leaving it. If only someone had told him. Things could have run much
more smoothly.
For years, Vejiita complied to his father's last order to
the tee. He trained when he was ordered to, he did as he was told, he kept his
mouth shut, and avoided everyone. Order are orders, and he had been raised to
obey. To remember the family honor, the pride that, no matter what happened, he
was the son of the King, was a prince. He kept up this lifestyle of honor and
hope and pride and self-confidence - and to a point - love, until he was eight.
It was the climax and finale of his childhood. He had dealt with many
traumatic events in his short life, both back home and here under Freeza's
command. But this case was the most traumatic, most vile and degrading thing
that had happened to him yet. He never would have considered it happening. He
wouldn't have believed it had even been happening when it was had the pain not
been so... intense... so personal. But it had.
It was a stranger, who
did it, someone Vejiita had seen once or twice before. He wasn't sure what about
him caught his attention, or what he did to deserve this. He was just scared.
Even just as eight, he had gotten his fair share of beatings, but this
particular incident didn't end as it had with his father, in the past. He was
beaten till no shirt could cover the bruises, then was kicked to the floor.
The stranger sat on his legs. He tore off the boy's clothes. This
affirmed the accumulating feeling of "wrongness" of this situation. He felt the
hands smooth across his sides and his back and down his legs. He suddenly felt
something cold and sharp pressed against his skin. Panic rose in his chest, and
he screamed for the first time since this started when the blade was stabbed
between his shoulders.
Then the stranger -- Vejiita wasn't sure at
first, just that there was pain, a far more fiercer, vindictive pain that the
once from the blade. Only when the first thrust was completed did Vejiita
realized he was being invaded.
The knife sliced through his skin as
easily as the stranger tore into his once-virgin body. The man twisted the knife
in his side. He slammed into the boy harder, ripping him apart. Vejiita howled,
he cried, he tried to fight back. The cold blade was just dragged dangerously
deep across his thigh, the man hissing huskily for him to be quiet, that it
wasn't necessary for him to be alive... An undetermined time later, Vejiita felt
a final, brutal thrust, and then all was still, except for the throbbing in his
head and the pain burning his veins.
It was never over. Even after he
had gotten off and had left, it still wasn't over. The incident went through is
head over and over again as he lay there. Perversly, he thought of his father.
I have failed you. Then he contradicted himself.
But why did
my punishment have to be so severe? I'm not that bad...
A wave of
fury suddenly wracked Vejiita's abused body. Fine, father, it is so clear
now. You hate me. If you felt any less than hate towards me, you would not have
allowed the circumstances to be set up for this to happen. You would have made
some sort of attempt to keep me safe.
I hate you.
Then he blacked out.
But what Vejiita didn't know, was that the
moment those three words rang through his head, Montgomery Robert was born.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Mont shivered, unable to shake off the tingling
feeling that crawled over his skin. He both hated and loved that day. When
Vejiita had silently sworn hatred towards his father, Montgomery had finally
decided to take over the body. It wasn't that he couldn't before -- he
just didn't want to; there had never been an appropriate time. He had to defend
his father. He honored his father; he understood that his father was long-dead
and could have hardly prevented it from happening. It was not his fault -- if it
was anyone's fault, it had to be Vejiita's. He should have been more careful.
Vejiita had fallen apart then. If Montgomery hadn't taken over then,
Vejiita would have been killed one way or another. Montgomery was a Saiyajin.
There was no way he was just going to let himself wither away!
He shook
his head, bringing himself back to the present. He did not want to think about
that. Contrarily to his earlier proclamation of not giving a damn and letting it
slide, the whole predicament still made him sick. He looked around, hoping to
find something else to focus his attention on, and found a landscape similar to
the one he had just left, wrecked buildings and patches of fire and all. He must
have landed and cleaned out this area without really paying attention. He
shrugged and declared the day seized and headed back to the sanctuary where the
pods were kept. No one else was there yet, so he just leaned against one of the
pods and waited. His thoughts wandered.
Indeed, he, Montgomery, had told
himself he had gotten through the rape. He had moved on within the week, where
as Vejiita had only stopped dreaming about it recently. Or, at least he liked to
believe he had moved on. Deep inside, he hadn't, not at all. He, too, still had
the occasional nightmare about it, that kept him from getting to sleep anytime
too. Both he and Vejiita had also developed an intense fear of any kind of
blade.
The fear of knives, he knew, had not originated during the rape.
Vejiita had dealth with blades when he was even younger, back on Vejiitasei.
This was a unique kind of fear, different from other kinds of fear. This was one
of suspense, of betrayal. Of loss.
He'd recall being held down,
restrained by cruel hands or by stiff belts. Flat on his back or his stomach on
a freezing metal table. Of knifes, small, straight, and narrow, slicing into his
skin. Opening up his stomach, sometimes his spine. He would never rest while he
saw these shiny scalpels flashing before his eyes. He was always afraid that'd
he'd open them up to see a bloody soiled one in its place. He wasn't permitted
to rest, anyway. With his father or mother hovering over him, Vejiita would
watch the blade be pressed into his flesh. He'd feel it cutting away at his
insides. He felt his hot blood running down his sides onto the operating table.
Sometimes, even, to his absolute horror, they'd take things out, or put
things in. That sense of invasion again, an imposter within him.
Mont
slipped deeper into the memory, almost reliving it. The first time Vejiita had
been tied down on the table on his back. The knife cut his abdomen open. They
operated on him. They sliced his stomach open. They cut something out. They
later put it -- or something else, most likely, for it was shiny and unlike
something that should be in a living body -- back in place. He was wide awake
and well aware the entire time, not one drop of anesthetic in his body.
The autopsy, this sick harvest of a boy's body, was done right under the
father's nose. The prince of the Saiyajin was being picked apart and examined by
the fundings of his own empire -- with the approval of his father, even, the man
coming to watch when he had a rare free moment.
Vejiita still had the
scars across his stomach and back. Scars of dissection scars of the rapist's
blade. Long, straight and controlled versus sporadic and deep and savage.
Neither was less immoral than the other. Both made him want to pitch forward and
vomit.
Nevertheless, Montgomery harbored no ill-wished feelings towards
his father. It was simply not proper for a Saiyajin -- especially a
prince -- to disrespect his father. That simple. He was Saiyajin. That didn't
mean much to anyone anymore, being Saiyajin, but to Montgomery, just reminding
himself of that helped him move on. He shoved the subject of the autopsy into
the back of his mind. Don't think of it. It means nothing. It never did.
A whistling sound caused Montgomery to withdraw from his memories. The
other two on this mission had returned. The commander studied him for a moment,
but didn't say anything. He merely signaled for them to prepare to leave; the
job was done. He said nothing about their dead team mate or about Montgomery's
loitering. Mont smiled crookedly. This guy was smart.
He boarded his
pod, his mind wandering again. He concentrated for the moment until they were
free of orbit and heading back to headquarters. He had a very good work day
today. Apart from his annoying reverie, he had measured up to his own standards.
Now that the day was through, he decided now would be the appropiate time to let
his mind wander again. It went straight back to his father. Strange, how much
the man was on his mind today. He'd best not let it become a habit.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Vejiita came to later during the jouney home. He
was overwhelmed with nasea and disarray. He glanced at the console before him.
Home? When did he leave? Where did he go? He glanced down at himself, hoping
vainly for a clue. Dusty and bloody. He had been purging again. He hoped he
didn't do anyting stupid this time. He sighed and looked out the small porthole,
washing his hands of the situation as best he could. He didn't feel too tired so
it was probably just a routine purging. He stopped thinking about it.
He
wet his lips and concentrated on a spot on the wall before him. He'd tried not
to think about anything. He may have dozed off a few times. Mostly he tried to
stay awake. He knew he had lost time again.
When they landed Vejiita
headed straight towards the showers. He was still feeling sick, and hoped that
just a cool shower would snap him out of it a bit. But Craigie, who must have
been waiting for him, intersected him and guided him towards the cafeteria.
Vejiita had grown very close to Craig, who seemed to take more of an interest in
him overnight. Vejiita, who ordinarily viewed everyone who was not a friend as
an enemy, such was his up-bringing, was shocked at Craig's motives, but not at
all upset. He was a brother. He was someone to fall back on. Vejiita sat next to
him in the cafeteria and happily delayed his shower and rest for this strange
Saiyajin.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Chester was ecstatic.
Montgomery
was proud. Vejiita was growing up.
*Otôto means younger brother
in Japanese.