[ Traumatized ]

DBZ © Akira Toriyama, Bird Studios, etc.
Excerpt of "Hell is for Children" © Pat Benatar
FanFiction and characters Onian and Egnaro © Stef-chan

They cry in the dark, so you can't see their tears
They hide in the light, so you can't see their fears
Forgive and forget, all the while
Love and pain become one and the same
In the eyes of a wounded child

Chapter One – Insufficiency


"Get up."

The single ceiling light swung back and forth, its luminosity dimming and reappearing in a cycle of slow, mournful unsteadiness. It flickered once—a split second of brightness that was bright enough for an actual face to be seen. Flickering once, and then dying to pitch black before the inefficient light bulb lit back into its dull glow. It failed to stress the action that was taking place below it; a small figure stumbled into a corner where the light failed to illuminate.

A sudden, sharp blue irradiated from the other side of the room, forcing the figure to naturally respond to the contrast of luminosity and throw his forearm in front of his squinted eyes. He would've looked away. He should've. But he didn't dare. He wasn't weak. He wasn't scared. He had enough dignity in his eight years of youth to tolerate the person in front of him. But he failed to do more than the attempts to get his eyes adjusted to the person's radiating ki.

How else are you to respond to an angry madman that was stronger than you?

"I said get up!"

He opened his mouth to whip out his usual sarcastic, sharp-tongued response, but he failed to speak. He tried not to touch the purple and green shades spotting his throat. There were five spots in all, one for each finger on the hand that had wrapped around it and had lifted him up a good height above the ground. It's happened before, though in the past it hadn't been bad enough to leave him mute.

He wished he could speak. He wished to infuriate this man just to piss him off, even though that was the stupidest thing one could possibly do in a situation like the one he was in right now. So he sat there, his eyes squinted, his arm shielding, and his other hand fisting tightly.

"GET UP!"

Something hard hit against the side of his face without any sign of warning at all (though he knew deep inside that it was soon to happen) and was not at all surprised when he was thrown against the other end of the closed room. His head hit against the stone wall and immediately heard a sharp cracking sound from the wall that resembled a violent clap of thunder. He reached behind his head, trying to still the murderous earthquake inside his head, and felt a warm wetness that he labeled all too familiar.

His eyes were adjusted to the light by now, though really, all he could see was a dark black that dimmed on and off, causing him to wonder if the dimming was due to the insufficiency of the light bulb or his very own eyes. But this time, despite his fading eyesight, he made the effort to stand on his two feet without swaying, as if he meant it to be a slap on the face to his abuser. Hurt me all you want, his pose seemed to dare. You'll never hurt my pride.

There was another blow to a head, though this time, he was fast enough to duck and counter the attack with his own. Not that his attack would've caused any harm, but it was worth a try anyhow. The adult evaded the boy's weak attempt and thrust a fist, his fingers tightened into a ball in such a way that his knuckles could inflict the highest amount of pain, into the boy's stomach.

And that was the end.

The child stumbled onto his hands and knees with the sound of a vague, but at the same time an awfully distinct, snarl sounding from the background. Shame overwhelmed him at the sound of the deep voice that lashed at him, enough so that his chest tightened and constricted his heart.

"Weakling," he heard in the gruff voice that often tore away his sanity late at night. "It's what you get, boy, for being such an insufficient failure! Never again will you humiliate me and jeopardize my empire! You, you weak excuse of a son… If you are to idiotically pick a fight with one of Lord Frieza's men, at least do it in a fashion so that you will not embarrass me in the way that you did."

The palms that were flat against the ground curled into fists. His head was bowed in disappointment for himself. What his father said was the truth. What in hell's name had possessed him to fight one of the members of the Ginyu Force? Sure they had sneered at him and poked fun of him, prodding and dully stabbing his ribs with the butt of the hand-held weapon that they did not necessarily need… But was that really a good reason to stand up to them and risk irritating Lord Frieza?

The light finally failed to work and flickered into darkness.

"As your punishment," the voice continued. The boy knitted his eyebrows closely above his bruised eyes in understanding as if his father need not go on. "You are refined in here for a week without food."

No other words were spoken and the finale of the entire entertaining display was the slamming of a door and the click of a lock. The last that he did before he lied down exhausted, was scream with frustration and shed the very shameful and uncontrollable tears.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"That was a little harsh, sir," Nappa said slowly, eyeing the closed door with a devoted bodyguard's concern before he quickly looked straight ahead and led the king out of the lowest floor of the grand palace. The entire floor was for confining the Saiya-jins' captives and the more extreme criminals, and on the far left wing was the deserted hallway with only one single room at the end of it. That room belonged to a certain crowned prince, whose scream he could hear just now.

The king growled and lowered his ki. With the lack of light, Nappa held up the torch a little higher so that he could light the dark hallway.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Nappa," the Saiyan King responded sharply, warning the teenager that if he was ever to voice his opinion aloud ever again, he would get a beating similar to the one he just laid on his son. "Vegeta is none of your concern whenever I am present. You, you dumb fool, will keep your mouth shut whenever the boy receives his punishment."

Nappa winced as his response.

The rest of the stairs were ignored when both levitated into the air and flew their way up to the top, where they were now standing on the ground of a more cheerful, brighter surrounding. The young bodyguard waited until the king took out the key from the pocket of his uniform and locked shut the last sturdy door. A click. Nappa hated the clicks, more so after his prince had once confessed his fear of "clicks" to him when they had been training.

The beating was not what Vegeta was incapable of tolerating, but rather the conclusions of his punishment, which consisted of seclusion, neglect, silence and the darkness of his confinement. It "tamed" the boy far better than any beating, for after a beating, a Saiya-jin was always capable of becoming stronger; and because Vegeta was obsessed about his strength, he welcomed the beating.

But the seclusion, which consisted the lack of light, exercise, companionship, as well as the lack of food—ESPECIALLY the lack of food—was the worst punishment one could possibly give to a Saiyan.

"Nappa, you are dismissed," the king finally said when he slipped the key back into his pocket. "You know the rules. I will not tolerate you sneaking down there EVER again to give the boy something to eat. He is confined from food until the end of this week, is that understood?"

The tall teenager, who was much taller than the king himself and actually towered over the rather short man, swallowed hard and nodded.

Then the king left, and he was all alone, giving him the opportunity to eye the closed door one last time. He pitied the prince. It was not like he was buddy-buddy with the young Saiyan, but he understood his situation far better than anyone else ever would since he was the only one that was completely loyal to him (which was really actually just a part of his job as a bodyguard) and kept things confidential.

It had not always been like this. Not really. At least, not until six years ago when the cursed Lord Frieza started harassing the existence of Vegeta-sei. Fearing for the worst, the king became obsessed about perfection and pleasing the powerful alien's every wishes. Yet Vegeta, a boy who had been raised for two years to be defiant (and who was naturally just like that), had caused some trouble, which permanently convinced the king into thinking that the boy was the cause of every problem.

"Put me before Lord Frieza," he would say one day, and then another it would be, "Lord Frieza comes before anything." "Be strong and defeat him," another common response, which would be countered by, "Respect Lord Frieza at all times! Do not defy him!" Then there was the usual high expectance of his child which included reaching the level of the Legendary Super Saiyan and becoming the next king, though for the most part, he believed that the day his son reigned would become the day his kingdom would fall apart.

In the king's eyes, Vegeta was a failure, and failures, especially ones that carry the honor of holding the royal crest, must be punished into perfection. He would never tolerate insufficiency.

"I do not approve of the way the king treats the boy," said a voice, and Nappa quickly turned around and ended up facing Dr. Briefs, the newest replacement technician and mechanic from Earth. "He will not shape the boy into perfection, but something very opposite from it."

Nappa snorted.

"You think I don't know that, old man?" Nappa questioned with a frown, and continued with, "I'm not as stupid as I look", which Dr. Briefs did not take too seriously. Nappa squared his shoulders, making the feeble man look much feebler than he really was, as he waited for the technician to continue.

"The Saiyan King is creating an unstable future ruler," Dr. Briefs said sternly while stroking his gray-lavender mustache. "Child abuse is a rather forbidden thing back on my home planet. They claim it leads to insecurity, future violence, low self-esteem, trauma, mental disorders—"

"I don't know what you're talking about but the prince will be just fine," Nappa hissed. He never quite liked the old man very much. "Prince Vegeta is strong."

Seeing no point in arguing with the dull-minded Saiyan, Dr. Briefs nodded in agreement and walked his way, but not after taking one final glance at the large, locked door. He could almost imagine what terrors might befall the mind of the young prince, and thinking such possibilities caused him to frown. He had a daughter of a similar age that he had left behind on his home planet with his wife, and he thought about how much his daughter was being spoiled and pampered this very moment.

He shook his head and left Nappa's presence by turning around the corner. Perhaps work would get his mind off of all of this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"I really don't know why I try to put up with you monkeys," said a nonchalant voice in his usual cool, conservative temper. His black, beady eyes followed the Saiyan King's movements as he entered the room with his head bowed in respect. "You're all weaklings—insolent weaklings—that do not deserve to take up so much space in this universe."

"My apologies for my son's behavior, Lord Frieza," King Vegeta said, his eyes lowered and his head still bowed. Even though he did not dare look his superior in the eye, he knew very well that Frieza was relishing on his usual glass of red wine while sitting on the grand chair of his throne. Bordering the room were his own higher officials, humiliating him thus further that their king was incapable of sitting in his own chair. His fists clenched—Frieza saw, but took no thought of it.

"It is not your son's behavior that disappoints me," the salamander-like alien hissed. He took a sip of the wine in his slow, patient time before he continued. "It's rather his weakness. Never have I seen such a weak little creature. Couldn't even defend himself from Captain Ginyu's plastic gun."

The boy's fault. It is ALWAYS the boy's fault! The king growled inwardly, mentally taking a reminder to confine Vegeta in the cell for an extra week. He knew Vegeta would cause the decline of the Empire! He knew Vegeta would annoy Frieza!

"Now, now, don't blame the poor boy," Frieza said with amusement as he eyed the fist that clenched and unclenched and the vein that protruded and disappeared on his forehead. "It isn't just the boy's fault. Your entire race is a joke. You know very well of my mission to demolish and set clear of all foolish, weak races. Yours, unfortunately for you, is one of them. You have failed to find me suitable Saiyans that are worth becoming a part of my group of elites and you have failed to produce new weaponry."

"But Saiyans fail to do well with technology and—"

"Which is why you are all the more useless! I should destroy this place right this very second!"

King Vegeta clenched his teeth. Make that three weeks for the boy! Under the gaze of Frieza's disapproval and the threat of having his entire existence demolished just at the fingertips of this invincible creature, he suddenly felt his cape three-hundred times heavier and his heart beat ten times as fast. A migraine began pulsating, and, despite the pitying stare of his own royal court, he couldn't think to do anything else but get on his knees and beg.

How humiliating.

"Please Lord Frieza! The previous set of technicians have been punished and killed! We have a new set of scientists, led by Earth's very popular Dr. Briefs. He, surely, will not fail to meet your standards. Just spare the life of this planet for just a little while longer and we will have the improved scouters completed."

Frieza relished on watching this proud, honorable king sit on his knees with his head bowed. It made him feel all the more superior and stronger and powerful, and because he enjoyed this feeling of supremacy, he found no harm in meeting the king's wishes. Besides, he had heard of Earth's brilliancy and he really was in need of more effective scouters.

"Very well. I will return in four years for the list of my expectations to be met. This includes the scouters, the shields, updated completed programs, and a fleet of strong Saiyans that could actually meet the strength of Zarbon. Is that clear?"

King Vegeta nodded, and bowed one more time with gratefulness while ignoring the soft murmurs of the Saiyan crowd. He watched with both relief and frustration as Frieza left to aboard his ship and depart. He had four years and all of this, from the Saiyans' "weakness" to their incapability of intelligence to even the four years of labor ahead, was Vegeta's fault.

The boy was becoming the source of all his problems.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Why won't the bleeding stop?

His eyes fearfully wandered from corner to corner, for he memorized the exact location of such things, as he was confined in this room more often than he visited his bedroom upstairs. His heart, though his body seemed to slow down and shut off for the time being, seemed to race faster and faster and his breath quickened into unsteady gasps.

He quickly looked to his left, thinking that he saw some movement in that direction, but closed his eyes and blinked away the vision while ignoring a pearl of salted liquid leaking out of the corner of his eyes. It was crazy to think that there was another being in this room, for there was no detectable ki anywhere; but when confined in this prison with nothing but the thunderous sound of his stomach to company him, he could not help but think that there was more to this room than just emptiness.

He swiped his forearm across his eyes. It was a shameful thing to do. To cry, that is. And he had been crying much too often as of late. No wonder his father was so furious at him. Whoever heard of a crying Saiyan prince? He could not blame his father for thinking that once he inherits the crown, he would cause the decline of the Saiyan Empire. Everything would be his fault—and everything, already, was his fault.

Another movement.

A low growl escaped his throat and he powered up his ki high enough to illuminate the room. But sure enough, the cell was empty. He had only imagined it, just like how he often imagined the voices he heard when falling asleep and the faces he saw when sitting in the corner all alone. He powered back down for he could only keep the room lighted for so long before collapsing out of exhaustion.

He might as well get used to the darkness and the movement and the voices and the faces. That's what a real warrior would do, and a warrior he definitely was. A Saiyan warrior feared nothing (except Frieza and his men, anyway) and would be disgraced to be afraid of mere hallucinations…

…Which was why he was just that much more insufficient.

He groaned and rested his head against the wall, ignoring the sting that followed it. He closed his narrow eyes and tried to picture himself in a more comfortable setting with a satisfied stomach. It was the most pleasing way to handle this entire ordeal; just forget and live in your mind's world as reality's refugee.

He, being much too young and too inexperienced, had no idea that he was slowly developing a split personality. He, being much too naïve despite himself, had no clue that his mental stability was deteriorating. He, the Saiya-jin no Ouji, knew of nothing but the titles his father would throw at him: Insufficient, weak brat.

You were never meant for anything greater.


To Be Continued…