DISCLAIMER:   After nearly a year and a half of not updating this epic, you'd think that I would have included a witty disclaimer…  Here it goes!!!

                        I don't own DBZ.

                        What did you expect?  Working as a lab technician has sapped what creativity I have left! *sobs* u_u

Authory notey bitty thing:  I could fill this section with all sorts of excuses… I've been working my arse off with study and jobs and all sorts of fun stuff like that… I lost interest in the story, gained it again, lost it again, worked on other stories, discovered more stuff about myself… on and on and on.  One thing I would like to get clear to all of you (Hello?  Are you there?)  Is that there is no way I'll ever give up on this story.  I can't!!  I've got another um… 20 or so chapters already written!! ^_^

:: Is me communicating with Obajeen ::
~ Is her communicating to me ~

Voices in Ones Head by `InSaNe`/Schizophrenic Eggplant

Part 3.  Chapter 22:  Carnival of Chaos.

Approximately three weeks later:

"Someone get in there and clean up that mess!"   The sensei ordered the sanitation crew; unhappy he had lost another student to a suicidal Saibaman.  The now-dead pupil had succeeded in killing off both, having mastered defeating one a couple of weeks prior, but he had failed to stay alive.  The green, red-eyed, spindly creature had latched onto the unfortunate lad, and then separated the hemispheres of its bulbous head, exposing a blinding white light brighter than any magnesium flare that exploded on contact with the air, somewhat inefficiently vaporising itself, and the youth of about ten years old, on contact.  The cleanup crew discarded solid, crumbly chunks of armour and bones into plastic bags, mopped the blood and gore off the floor, used a squeegee on the walls and windows of the sparring chamber, and dusted up the parts that had combusted, mostly charred flakes of clothing, skin and melted hair. 

As the miscellany of gruesome refuse was wheeled out on a trolley, in the opaque rubbish bags, and covered buckets in front of the other students waiting their turn.  Every face turned pale as the trolley passed, the contents of the buckets sloshing with each jarred movement, and the bags nearly full with something that young imaginations (that were now only working in a minimal sense), would be haunted by, just by guessing the contents.   As this imagery registers in the now slowly functioning recesses of the subconscious, nearly every pair of knees knocked together.

All except one.

Vegeta, standing a few feet from the cluster of others, flicked his eyes up briefly as the trolley rolled by, observing the others reaction and snorted disdainfully at their openly weak displays.

He'd changed so much it was almost too painful to watch.

"Come on Vegeta, that front you put up still gives nothing away.  Did you even SEE what was in those buckets?"   One of his rank-mates didn't believe the young prince could be so casual.

He never used to be like this.  He used to have at least some interest in other things.  It's like what had remained of his childhood innocence was stripped away.

"I KNOW what's in those buckets.  When they were here last time, I stole a look, but there wasn't as many as there are now.  That's only because there's more mess."  He shrugged, and remained staring straight ahead as if in a trance.

He used to be reserved sometimes, but never, EVER this distant. 

"I've killed one Saibaman."  He stated to no one in particular.  "I can just as easily take on two." 

"We've ALL beaten one Saibaman, Vegeta.  That's why we're here.  No-ones beaten two yet, it's impossible."

"You'll die with that attitude, and I don't really care."  The other pupil was speechless.

He could be a morbid little kid, but not all the time.  Not like this.  What have they done?

"Prince Vegeta of the Saiyajin! You're up next!"  Sensei summoned from inside the room.  Vegeta smirked, and his little brows drew downwards in a cocky scowl.

"Been nice knowing you, Vegeta."  An older pupil muttered in contempt, secretly hoping that the young prince's confidence would be his downfall.  Vegeta swished his cape, held his head up high with his little nose in the air, and strode into the room on stubs of legs.

"Are you ready Vegeta?  This isn't as easy as the last time." Sensei warned him, taking his cape and armour, leaving only his jumpsuit.

"I was born ready."  Vegeta replied without hesitation, and his bright beady eyes took in every part of the room. 

Born ready?  Yes, maybe there was a bit of truth in that, him having blasted his way out of the womb and all, but with this?  'Brainwashed ready' would have been more accurate.

Sensei left the room, sealed the door, and watched through the window at the small boy's posture before he let the Saibamen in.  Vegeta was completely alert, looking around almost everywhere at once were that possible.  His fighting stance was nigh on perfect, and continuously moved rather than just standing in one spot.  With Saibamen, remaining stationary is a big no-no.  They like to run and jump and grab.  Sensei nodded with approval, before releasing the Saibamen with a press of a button.

The Saibamen, although short, were a lot taller than Vegeta, and their eyes were completely red, with a small black pupil.  They lunged insanely at him.  He dodged one, then the other, giving him some room to do what he planned.  Again they sprang towards him, and this time he was ready.  With a shout he released his ki, just like he did when I first showed him how.  That seemed like such a long time ago. Through his training, he's learnt to control it more efficiently, even the intensity, to a degree.  His power level has gone up as a result – 2500 since I last heard, but that is hush-hush material among the ranks, and still no-where near the 5000 that he reached all that time ago, although I think that secretly Vegeta wants to harness the ability to go there.  He'll be quite dangerous when he does.

The two Saibamen were ripped apart on contact with the small but vicious yellow dome, pretty much like the first one two weeks ago, so I heard.  I wasn't there to see that… I was away, uncovering something I had been searching for, that I had finally found.

The young prince dusted his arms off with a gloved hand, and walked out of the room to the awaiting teacher. Wide-eyed, Sensei held out Vegeta's cape and armour, not quite sure if the display he just witnessed really happened or not, it was so quick.

Once fully dressed, Vegeta stepped out into the corridor where his classmates waited out their potential demise.

"You… you… beat them?"   A student spluttered in disbelief.  Vegeta paused regally and turned to address him.

"Of course.  You doubt my ability as a warrior?  I'd kill you for that now, but I'm confident the Saibamen will take adequate care of you."  He faced the rest of the class of recruits, most of which he'd known since he arrived on the ship.  "I'll be surprised if I see half of you at Mental tomorrow."  He stated coldly and briskly departed.

He wasn't wrong.  The numbers at mental training had rapidly diminished over the 27-hour period.  This time I followed Vegeta directly from roll call, never losing sight of him and the rest of the decidedly small bunch, about to observe not only the audio-visual-neural equipment, but also what they were like in action.

Vegeta sat himself in his allocated seat, number 43, in booth number six.  I had no idea where that creepy Slisseth fellow was; all I knew was that he controlled these devices.  There were two other students in this booth other than Vegeta, leaving five other seats free.  The other students who usually take up these seats were most likely dead, or in rejuv at least.  I sat down in the seat opposite my ward, and for a split second he hesitated as he put the headset on, then shook his head as if he was seeing things.  Then with a self-reassuring smile (no he wasn't hallucinating), he placed the headset on in a way so as not to disturb his hair.  The others promptly followed suit.

I could have put a headset on.  No one in here would see me, because they would be occupied.  But that didn't mean there would be eyes anywhere in the soundproof compartments; eyes that will spring to alert if they see a headset floating in mid-air.   I hoped the device in front of me was on.  By the way I observed Vegeta and the others jerk suddenly in their seats, and looking back at the blank device in front of me, I saw that my hope was futile.  I had to get closer, and that could only mean one thing.  I had to see it through their eyes, since they are the only ones with working equipment.  After readying myself, I slipped into the body of one of the others.  I couldn't hear their thoughts, but I felt their heart(s) beating through my body, and almost every other metabolic function.  I found it more than slightly off-putting, so I settled for leaning over the chair with my head overlapping with theirs.  There wasn't as much activity in their brain than what is in their body.   What I see before me shocks me to the core.

Graphic scenes of battle raged across the dual eye-screens.  There was a lot of blood, viscera, organs and bones.  Dismembered bodies littered the landscape of a dying planet.

"This is your life now."  A smooth, coaxing androgynous voice seduced.  "You love your life.  You had nothing before.  Now you have everything."

Eerie repetitive music played over the top.  There was something about both the audio and the visual that was immensely hypnotising.  Frieza's visage was seen floating above the scene, edited in.

"Frieza is your lord, your master, your God.  Obey Lord Frieza, obey… and you shall live this wonderful life."

Messages blinked sporadically during the show, covering the gruesome scene, taking the brain away from concentrating on it and latching on to these less harmful words.

OBEY.  FRIEZA.  KILL.  DESTROY.  ANNIHILATE.  FOR HIM.  LIVE.  FOR HIM.  DIE.  FOR HIM.

The killing scenes didn't stop, they only got worse.  Whoever constructed this form of media had obviously done their research, like a volunteer had gone into battle with a camera on their head, and filmed over two dozen of the most violent battles and purging missions ever, and occasionally Frieza appeared, his pale face smiling, laughing, looking benevolently out of the twin screens, into my own eyes, and into the eyes of the subject who it was meant for.  To me, those eyes were anything but friendly. 

For half an hour I watched this horrifying pantomime play out in front of me, until it looped.  I was certain that the student viewing this would probably not have noticed the subtle transition, back to the beginning.  I could feel a slight change in his brainwaves, shifting frequency, absorbing this forced information, and it would continue so for six whole hours.  Having had enough, I stepped back into reality, and held my head.  I now knew why these people were like zombies in the evening on the last day of the week.

Vegeta wasn't like a zombie though.  I dread to think what he would be going through.  Glancing over to him, I saw that his body was rigid, and sweat poured off his little face.  Frieza had mentioned to Slisseth about doubling the intensity – tripling it even.  Three times of what I had been witness to would fry anyone's brain.

I knew I had to do it.  Going into Vegeta's body was different than the other student, partly because he was the reason why I am here.  I had no problem with his body's processes swirling around inside my own, although they were quite tense, and it didn't take me long to figure out why.

The music screeched at unbelievably high pitches and the words flickered faster than the one I had seen previously.

OBEY FRIEZA.  KILL, DESTROY, ANNIHILATE, FOR HIM.  LIVE FOR HIM.  DIE FOR HIM. 

The androgynous voice remained the same speed, the same deep, clear words.  It was beginning to feel impossible to resist.  I realised that was fighting it and it was almost too much to bear.  One loop of this was enough to not quite be hurtled into serving Frieza.  That would be a bad, bad move indeed, not just for me, but the entire universe.  The pictures of death and destruction were becoming implanted even more in my mind, because everything was happening at a different, subliminal level.  I swear I heard Vegeta's brain screaming as it took on all this information. 

I for one couldn't take it anymore.  I yanked out of the mesmerising grip, half way through the second loop of madness, and shook my head to remove the ingrained images.

:: It was like a Merry-Go-Round out of control. ::

~ A what-go-where? ~

:: A Merry-Go-Round, a Carousel.  Like this. ::

An image entered my head, as if someone was drawing it slowly.  There was a flat round disc, then stripy poles reached up and the whole thing was topped off by a decorative round ceiling that sloped downwards from the centre.  The roof was joined to the bottom with vertical supporting beams, with wrought iron filigree set into corners at the top of each beam.  Four-legged creatures with long graceful heads and necks, and flowing tails and manes were held up off the ground by poles that skewered them through the belly and out the back.  There were diagonal stripes on the poles, bumpy and ridged, so that hands could hold them.  The whole object was like a big wheel, and in the centre was a hub, the outside of it lined with mirrors.  Actually there were a lot of mirrors around the entire thing, but I'm sure it was a minor detail. 

~ What purpose does this serve? ~

:: You'll see. ::

It started to rotate slowly, while music began to play, a wheezing, churning melody, with deep huffs and higher squealing, forming itself into a tune.  It was hauntingly catchy, reflecting some form of childlike innocence mingled with the foreboding of rundown fairgrounds.  I still had no idea of what most of those words meant, my brain was still a bit of a mess after watching that brainwashing propaganda.   I could see a figure on one of the thick-necked, long-snouted quadrupeds on the merry-go-whatsit.  My sister can't get enough of playing around.  It increased its speed slightly, the creatures…

::Horses::

The horses bobbed up and down alternately like lazy pistons, by means of a camshaft for each pair.

:: OK, this is about normal speed.   It's enjoyable even.  In my world, these things have been around for over one hundred years.  Now, observe. ::

Gradually, the pace quickened, and so did the music, the complex wheezing becoming more frenzied.  The mechanics of this apparatus revved higher, creating a whine only just audible over the music.  This 'fun' ride was turning into a nightmare before my eyes.  And still it sped up.  What was the lowest pitch of the music before was now hurried squeals, accompanying the higher pitched screaming of the leading melody, which ran together in a time signature surpassing presto.  At this stage, centrifugal forces would have triumphed over even the strongest hands holding onto the poles, flinging them off the usually docile ride.

:: Despite everything, the whole system is still under control.  Picture this as Vegeta's brain if this treatment is continued, or to offer a more pessimistic perspective, if it is like this even now.  Time to throw a spanner in the works.  A spanner is only a small, usually harmless tool, just like certain words or actions are under normal circumstances.  Project the words "Hi, how's your day been?"  or a simple pat on the back onto a mind which represents this constant ticking time-bomb of instability. :: 

The image zoomed into the engine, which was a series of gears and belts, obviously not designed to run at such a frantic pace.  A loose screw became shaken from its housing, and detached, getting lost among the inner workings.  There was a graunching sound from within, as the screw got lodged in between some of the cogs in the gears, upsetting everything.  The engine struggled with the interference; the rubber belt becoming stretched taut while friction from the working cogs fought against the malfunctioning ones caused smoke to rise from the machinery.  A hose burst, spraying gouts of hot oil everywhere.  The stubborn belt finally gave way and flapped uselessly about, and a shower of sparks spewed forth from the ruined motor, igniting a fire in a puddle of oil that had formed on the ground.  Part of the engine seized while the rest kept running on a supernatural form of inertia.  The fire grew in intensity…

::  Zooming out now. ::

Outside, it was chaos.  Some of the horses had come off their poles because the turning cams that made them bob up and down had broken in the disruption.  Some were lying on the ground, still and lifeless, impaled by the poles and the others that remained half-intact were buffeted around, their resilience becoming weaker until they too were thrown off at frightening speeds. If anything was standing in their way they would have been crushed and killed.  Only a few steadfast horses stayed, whirling in a fog of smoke, their plastic eyes wide with wild fear, their nostrils flared, and mouths forever open, lips pulled back, moving hundreds of times faster than they would if they were real.  The fire had had its fill of the inside, and began to play on the manes of the horses, the flames becoming reflected fifty times over in just as many mirrors, flickering in a strobe effect.  The music crackled, slowed and ceased suddenly, but the whine was more pronounced and unhealthy, enhanced by the broken components.  It built up and built up, and reached a peak, and just as it did, the flames made their way to the power source, whether it be fuel or electrical, and the whole insane wreck exploded in a ball of flame.

~  I see what you mean.  Not a completely inaccurate analogy, although words would have done just the same as visual metaphors. ~

::  Yeah, I suppose so.  But it was just something that I had to explain in pictures, it works so well.  Besides I find it easier explaining things this way.  It's something I can't do in my world, telepathy not existing and all. ::

~ The message has got across to me anyway, and I understand.  It is not in our best interests for Vegeta to fly off the handle due to unnecessary stress placed on his young mind due to all this brainwashing nonsense? ~

:: Exactly.  ::

~ So, any ideas on what we can do to stop it? ~

::  Hells, I don't know!   I kinda thought you'd come up with an idea, now we're on the same wavelength and you don't think that brilliant example was a random waste of time.  You're the one with the powers aren't you? ::

~  I thought, that with the 'brilliant' show you put on just now, that you'd be a few steps ahead of me in that respect… But, I'm sure we'll come up with something.  I just need to think about it for a while.  ~

What I didn't reveal to her is that my 'while' can take up to a few months.  If things were different – if Vegeta could still see me and acknowledge me, it would be much easier.  Whether or not he'd listen to me would be another obstacle to attempt to hurdle over.

To be thoroughly honest, I had no idea where to start.

Next chapter:  Since I haven't written it yet, I'm not too sure.  Obajeen will try to reach out to Vegeta…  will she succeed?