Chapter 6 - Total Recall
"In the twelfth case this month, a child has been found brutally slain in the city's sewer system. So far, by speculation by the police, it is believed to be connected to the several other vicious killings in the city, which includes the mayor's wife, Akeme Hiramoto. All of the victims were found in isolated parts of the city, and were sadistically gutted to death. Still, no suspect has been named in the killings. There does not even seem to be a clear motive either. The killings, as the police say, seem to be completely at random. There have been no leads, or clues, except with the likelihood that all killings were done by the same person. Police urge you not to travel alone, day or night, and to stay away from secluded areas at night until the killer is apprehended.
"In other, more lighter news, Capsule Corp. stocks soared."
"Have you heard about this?" Bulma typed into her instant messenger
"What, about the murders?" her friend typed back.
"Yeah, I'm kinda getting freaked." Right now, it was too early to start breakfast, so Bulma was having a little munchie for herself to try and kill time, hoping her headache would go away. Right now, she was talking to her favorite pen-pal.
"I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. You have that world famous husband."
"Yeah, world famous for 15 minutes."
"I guess. Hard to believe a guy that nearly destroys a city can be forgotten so quickly."
She explained to him a million times, so she just typed ,"Don't be a jerk."
"j/k". She thought he was an asshole for that, but quickly forgave him. "But seriously, isn't he some sort of fighting champ or something?"
"He never won anything, but you can say he's good."
"Well, just stay near him until this all blows over."
"It's still a little spooky."
"I guess it would be. I'm glad I live in Kyushu so I don't have to put up with it."
"Just consider yourself lucky!"
"Yeah yeah. Well I better sign off. Gotta go to my healthcare receiver specialist job."
"K, same time tomorrow?"
"As always."
"K, then cya."
"l8r-----cookie42rules has signed off"
Bulma signed off as well, brought up Winamp, and began to play some smooth jazz. She went into the kitchen, still able to hear the music, and poured herself some coffee, straight black. She leaned over the kitchen sink, sipping her coffee, and looked out the window. The sun was beautiful coming up. It lit the sky a brilliant orange and the clouds a deep purple. The sight just made her think about just an hour or so ago. She knew what it was about because he wasn't like this before he left for purge. He was arrogant, proud, confident, but now he was timid, quiet, and depressed. He was still Vegeta, the man she loved, but.not. What could have happened up there?
"Are you ok?" he asked from behind her, hair still wet, but with dry clothes on.
"Yeah, it's just a little scratch. I'm fine."
Vegeta still couldn't come to grips with what he did. She could see it in the way he acted. It was hard for him to look her in the eye, and he was biting his under lip and shaking his head. He sat down at the kitchen table and seemed to start thinking.
"Really, I'm ok. It doesn't."
"What's for breakfast?"
Vegeta needed a smile at this point. "Bullshit and snot."
"Wha?", he sounded like he was still half asleep.
"Eggs and French toast."
"Oh," Vegeta had a confused look in his eye as he lip-synced words, knowing he heard something different the first time. After a second or 2, he shrugged it off.
"Did you hear some kid was killed last night?"
"I just woke up." He was shaken. And it wasn't what happened a few hours ago, it was Purge. He never used to wake up like this. He always seemed to look like a car wreck. Before he left, he was up like someone gave him an adrenaline shot to the heart. But now, something was gone from him. He seemed to force himself up now, not having the same ambition about the day. She wished he would free the weight off of his own shoulders and just tell her before it kills him.
"Well, the poor kid was butchered. They think it has something to do with the other murders recently."
Vegeta didn't care. He had something else on his mind, so he spoke up.
"Bulma, I'm going to the mountains today to try to clear my head. If you can, can you do something for me?"
"Sure."
"I need you to contact those resistance fighters that you came across on your way to Namek, and ask them if Freeza's men have regrouped."
"Huh?"
"It may help me get over this if you get an answer. I'll tell ya more about it later."
"Yeah sure. I'll have to do it when I get back from the city though. Me and Chi-Chi were gonna do a little shopping."
"Please do it whenever you can. I should be back in time for the game tonight."
"Ok."
* * *
She took the subway into town as usual. She never drove into the inner city because parking was horrendous, she never took a bus because they were slow, and never took a taxi because, well, some of the drivers were down right weird. The subway was perfect, in matters of transportation. There always seemed to be a terminal within blocks of where you wanted to go, the stops were short, and they weren't nearly as crowded as the media portrayed them to be, half of the time. The subways themselves were a different story. They were dark, dank places littered with graffiti, the wall paint was chipping off, some of the advertisement posters had been there for years and were faded and torn, and the last time they were renovated was probably 1962. Yet, Bulma had some sort of weird infatuation with all of that. She found herself strangely attracted to all of its impurities, which almost made it an adventure every time she rode. Most people were repulsed by the subway's dark, claustrophobic feel, but Bulma welcomed it.
She was sitting at the single seat next to the window, as usual. She enjoyed looking at the pitch black outside the well lit train. A light from the subway would pass every seconds and illuminate the street art that littered the subway walls. Attempting to decipher the jig-saw like letters of the talented artists was amusing to her, despite the fact that she knew it degraded the place, and that the artists were usually street punks that would not hesitate to rob her at gun point. Sometimes, the messages would make her laugh out loud, but most of the time, it was somebody's name; their somewhat ignorant, yet futile attempt at fame. Some of the messages made no sense at all. It was these kind of messages that bugged her the most. They lingered on like an itch on her back that she couldn't scratch.
The train slowed and a recorded voice came over the intercom. "53rd Street." The darkness outside the window turned to light and the train soon came to a stop. The recorded voice came back on "Doors are opening." This was her switch-over. She had to get on a different train. She got up and exited the door that was ten feet behind her. Almost immediately after she got out, she heard "Doors are closing." The doors closed behind her and the train took off, disappearing into the darkness. The station was slightly crowded. The occupants range from the common office worker, wearing a brown trench coat, newspaper in both hands with thick rimmed prescription glasses, to the "wannabe" bad asses made famous in 1980's movies, wearing black leather, chains, and multi-colored spiked hair. She knew where she was going, she had been this way many times before. The subway line she needed to get to was a short walk away. She went up a flight of concrete steps to the upper level. Up there, it was like a mini-mall: restaurants, pharmacies, convenience stores, things of that sort. Not every terminal enjoyed the benefits of having these clusters of stores, several major lines intersected here. She didn't bother to stop, she didn't need anything there. She proceeded to walk towards the other side of the terminal. This area was heavily populated. The uninterruptible sounds of scores of people talking dominated her ears, numerous nameless faces walk left and right in front of her, then disappearing from vision, a man propped up on a wall at her 10 o'clock playing his guitar with the case open on the ground containing an assortment of silvers and green paper, and a young fellow with the front of his body leaning against a pillar with his hands behind his back with a black man wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a goatee repeating the lines that were all too familiar in cop TV shows, and holding his wrists with something wile a man in street clothes was next to them babbling number codes into a walkie-talkie.
A narrow sign that read "Vine Street Express Line" hung over a small tunnel at the corner of the terminal. That was her exit. It was a small crevice that stank of urine and the yellow paint on the walls had faded to yellow. Nobody was in it though, most people picked up the line at the beginning or end. This was only one of it's three stops. It was mostly made for getting from one end of the city to another. It was crowded at times, but only during rush hours. She made her way out of the tunnel and into a smaller terminal. She turned left and went down a flight of steel steps that were barely wide enough for two people. At the bottom was the train platform. A few people were down there waiting. A father and his daughter, a man in a business suit, a rather shady woman that looked like she had something to sell, and three teenage that looked like they had something else on their minds other than catching a train. They were Caucasian, ebonic speaking young men with baggy jeans that sagged well below their waist, exposing their underpants, white spaghetti-string like tank tops, all with either crew cuts or bald heads, except for one who wore a bright blue hat curved side ways and tilted backwards. Bulma rolled her eyes at the mere sight of them. She had only been there a minute when the tree of them jumped down onto the tracks, a good ten feet below them, crossed over to the other line, ran down the subway, and disappeared into the darkness, laughing and swearing to each other all of the way.
Five minutes later, the train came by and picked up the passengers. Bulma took her usual seat that was universal to all trains and sat down. It was amazing to her how she just got out of the wreck that was the 53rd Street Terminal, and walked into a train that looked like it just came out of a Sci-Fi movie. All of the trains were like this, even the one she just came from. But the astonishment was in the comparison of where she just was and where she was at now. In here, it had a nice color scheme of grey, silver, and blue, the floors were spick and span, the seats were totally padded, the windows didn't have a streak or scratch on them, and best of all, there was no odor. It really showed where the transportation authority was putting their money.
She looked out of her window. She was just staring out, day dreaming as usual, when for a split second, she saw over on the other line the three teenagers from the platform. They were all facing the wall; each with an aerosol can in hand. And just like that, they were out of sight. But what got her more was what she saw two lights down. She was still looking out when she saw something over where the far subway wall meets the ground. It wasn't illuminated very well, which may have been why it confused her so much. It looked like some sort of large animal running on all fours in the opposite direction of the train. It looked like it had a long tail that curled over it like a backwards "C" with an arrow head at the end. She almost jumped out of her seat. It didn't look like anything she had ever seen before. And in a blink of an eye, it was gone. She turned her head to see if she really saw something, but the train was moving too fast. What ever she saw, it couldn't have been a real animal. Nothing like it existed. Maybe she was seeing things.
* * *
The blood was rushing to Vegeta's head. This was about the 250th tree he had done this on. He was getting slower, but that was excusable since he had been climbing up and down 100 foot high trees and hanging upside down. He was doing it non-stop since 7 a.m. He really needed to get his mind off of certain things. He was near the top of this one. He had to get back in the habit of training extensively; he was loosing it. He used to be able to do this exercise in two hours less than it was taking him now, and with fewer mistakes. He had fallen once today, flat on his face from 20 feet up. After that, he left a crater the size of a football field where he screwed up. When he finally finished his last one for the day, he threw himself high into the air, and threw a ki blast like a baseball at the tree's trunk, which split it like an axe.
He was finally done for today. The sun was setting and the sky was turning orange. It was getting late and he had a date to keep. He would have to come back tomorrow and be more creative with his exercises, something that would work out more that just his arms. He lightly landed close by where he put his stuff down. He walked over to his bag, opened it up, and took out a towel and wrapped it around his neck. He sat down and leaned his back against a tree. He reached over to a thermos and drank from it. He had to cool off before he left. He wasn't gonna put his shirt back on until he was about to leave. He was really kicking him self in the ass right now. He was getting rust. It was horrible. He hadn't trained in months or anything. He had to get back on track. He reached back in his bag and turned on the F.M. radio.
He was hoping Bulma remembered to contact that resistance. It bothered him that Freeza's army might had regrouped. If they did, and what he read in that journal was true, than what happened on Purge could happen anywhere, even on Earth. If it was wrong, maybe it was just a freak accident that they got in that prison. He was hoping for the later. He had no intention of encountering anything again soon, especially in his "condition".
Vegeta began to pack up and walked over to a nearby stream to splash some water on his face. He neglected to turn off the radio. Vegeta was out of ear shot when the music cut off and a voice came on.
"Breaking news. Three teenage boys have just been found slaughtered near the 53rd Street Terminal moments ago."
Author's Notes
Thank you, everyone, for you overwhelming response to my last chapter. You guys are my life blood. My reason for writing. I hold all of you criticism dear to my heart, bad or good. Please, always let me know what you think. I love to here from you guys. Thanx again to everyone for their undying support. I hope to hear from you all again soon.
Oh, and everyone go read Emy's "Horsing Around". I'm turning that into a full length movie next year and I would like to know what you guys think of that (the story). It's a CSI murder/mystery drama that I am gonna turn into an original film with an actual budget unlike my last film. Please go read and review her story.
Thanx again guys!!!
"In the twelfth case this month, a child has been found brutally slain in the city's sewer system. So far, by speculation by the police, it is believed to be connected to the several other vicious killings in the city, which includes the mayor's wife, Akeme Hiramoto. All of the victims were found in isolated parts of the city, and were sadistically gutted to death. Still, no suspect has been named in the killings. There does not even seem to be a clear motive either. The killings, as the police say, seem to be completely at random. There have been no leads, or clues, except with the likelihood that all killings were done by the same person. Police urge you not to travel alone, day or night, and to stay away from secluded areas at night until the killer is apprehended.
"In other, more lighter news, Capsule Corp. stocks soared."
"Have you heard about this?" Bulma typed into her instant messenger
"What, about the murders?" her friend typed back.
"Yeah, I'm kinda getting freaked." Right now, it was too early to start breakfast, so Bulma was having a little munchie for herself to try and kill time, hoping her headache would go away. Right now, she was talking to her favorite pen-pal.
"I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. You have that world famous husband."
"Yeah, world famous for 15 minutes."
"I guess. Hard to believe a guy that nearly destroys a city can be forgotten so quickly."
She explained to him a million times, so she just typed ,"Don't be a jerk."
"j/k". She thought he was an asshole for that, but quickly forgave him. "But seriously, isn't he some sort of fighting champ or something?"
"He never won anything, but you can say he's good."
"Well, just stay near him until this all blows over."
"It's still a little spooky."
"I guess it would be. I'm glad I live in Kyushu so I don't have to put up with it."
"Just consider yourself lucky!"
"Yeah yeah. Well I better sign off. Gotta go to my healthcare receiver specialist job."
"K, same time tomorrow?"
"As always."
"K, then cya."
"l8r-----cookie42rules has signed off"
Bulma signed off as well, brought up Winamp, and began to play some smooth jazz. She went into the kitchen, still able to hear the music, and poured herself some coffee, straight black. She leaned over the kitchen sink, sipping her coffee, and looked out the window. The sun was beautiful coming up. It lit the sky a brilliant orange and the clouds a deep purple. The sight just made her think about just an hour or so ago. She knew what it was about because he wasn't like this before he left for purge. He was arrogant, proud, confident, but now he was timid, quiet, and depressed. He was still Vegeta, the man she loved, but.not. What could have happened up there?
"Are you ok?" he asked from behind her, hair still wet, but with dry clothes on.
"Yeah, it's just a little scratch. I'm fine."
Vegeta still couldn't come to grips with what he did. She could see it in the way he acted. It was hard for him to look her in the eye, and he was biting his under lip and shaking his head. He sat down at the kitchen table and seemed to start thinking.
"Really, I'm ok. It doesn't."
"What's for breakfast?"
Vegeta needed a smile at this point. "Bullshit and snot."
"Wha?", he sounded like he was still half asleep.
"Eggs and French toast."
"Oh," Vegeta had a confused look in his eye as he lip-synced words, knowing he heard something different the first time. After a second or 2, he shrugged it off.
"Did you hear some kid was killed last night?"
"I just woke up." He was shaken. And it wasn't what happened a few hours ago, it was Purge. He never used to wake up like this. He always seemed to look like a car wreck. Before he left, he was up like someone gave him an adrenaline shot to the heart. But now, something was gone from him. He seemed to force himself up now, not having the same ambition about the day. She wished he would free the weight off of his own shoulders and just tell her before it kills him.
"Well, the poor kid was butchered. They think it has something to do with the other murders recently."
Vegeta didn't care. He had something else on his mind, so he spoke up.
"Bulma, I'm going to the mountains today to try to clear my head. If you can, can you do something for me?"
"Sure."
"I need you to contact those resistance fighters that you came across on your way to Namek, and ask them if Freeza's men have regrouped."
"Huh?"
"It may help me get over this if you get an answer. I'll tell ya more about it later."
"Yeah sure. I'll have to do it when I get back from the city though. Me and Chi-Chi were gonna do a little shopping."
"Please do it whenever you can. I should be back in time for the game tonight."
"Ok."
* * *
She took the subway into town as usual. She never drove into the inner city because parking was horrendous, she never took a bus because they were slow, and never took a taxi because, well, some of the drivers were down right weird. The subway was perfect, in matters of transportation. There always seemed to be a terminal within blocks of where you wanted to go, the stops were short, and they weren't nearly as crowded as the media portrayed them to be, half of the time. The subways themselves were a different story. They were dark, dank places littered with graffiti, the wall paint was chipping off, some of the advertisement posters had been there for years and were faded and torn, and the last time they were renovated was probably 1962. Yet, Bulma had some sort of weird infatuation with all of that. She found herself strangely attracted to all of its impurities, which almost made it an adventure every time she rode. Most people were repulsed by the subway's dark, claustrophobic feel, but Bulma welcomed it.
She was sitting at the single seat next to the window, as usual. She enjoyed looking at the pitch black outside the well lit train. A light from the subway would pass every seconds and illuminate the street art that littered the subway walls. Attempting to decipher the jig-saw like letters of the talented artists was amusing to her, despite the fact that she knew it degraded the place, and that the artists were usually street punks that would not hesitate to rob her at gun point. Sometimes, the messages would make her laugh out loud, but most of the time, it was somebody's name; their somewhat ignorant, yet futile attempt at fame. Some of the messages made no sense at all. It was these kind of messages that bugged her the most. They lingered on like an itch on her back that she couldn't scratch.
The train slowed and a recorded voice came over the intercom. "53rd Street." The darkness outside the window turned to light and the train soon came to a stop. The recorded voice came back on "Doors are opening." This was her switch-over. She had to get on a different train. She got up and exited the door that was ten feet behind her. Almost immediately after she got out, she heard "Doors are closing." The doors closed behind her and the train took off, disappearing into the darkness. The station was slightly crowded. The occupants range from the common office worker, wearing a brown trench coat, newspaper in both hands with thick rimmed prescription glasses, to the "wannabe" bad asses made famous in 1980's movies, wearing black leather, chains, and multi-colored spiked hair. She knew where she was going, she had been this way many times before. The subway line she needed to get to was a short walk away. She went up a flight of concrete steps to the upper level. Up there, it was like a mini-mall: restaurants, pharmacies, convenience stores, things of that sort. Not every terminal enjoyed the benefits of having these clusters of stores, several major lines intersected here. She didn't bother to stop, she didn't need anything there. She proceeded to walk towards the other side of the terminal. This area was heavily populated. The uninterruptible sounds of scores of people talking dominated her ears, numerous nameless faces walk left and right in front of her, then disappearing from vision, a man propped up on a wall at her 10 o'clock playing his guitar with the case open on the ground containing an assortment of silvers and green paper, and a young fellow with the front of his body leaning against a pillar with his hands behind his back with a black man wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a goatee repeating the lines that were all too familiar in cop TV shows, and holding his wrists with something wile a man in street clothes was next to them babbling number codes into a walkie-talkie.
A narrow sign that read "Vine Street Express Line" hung over a small tunnel at the corner of the terminal. That was her exit. It was a small crevice that stank of urine and the yellow paint on the walls had faded to yellow. Nobody was in it though, most people picked up the line at the beginning or end. This was only one of it's three stops. It was mostly made for getting from one end of the city to another. It was crowded at times, but only during rush hours. She made her way out of the tunnel and into a smaller terminal. She turned left and went down a flight of steel steps that were barely wide enough for two people. At the bottom was the train platform. A few people were down there waiting. A father and his daughter, a man in a business suit, a rather shady woman that looked like she had something to sell, and three teenage that looked like they had something else on their minds other than catching a train. They were Caucasian, ebonic speaking young men with baggy jeans that sagged well below their waist, exposing their underpants, white spaghetti-string like tank tops, all with either crew cuts or bald heads, except for one who wore a bright blue hat curved side ways and tilted backwards. Bulma rolled her eyes at the mere sight of them. She had only been there a minute when the tree of them jumped down onto the tracks, a good ten feet below them, crossed over to the other line, ran down the subway, and disappeared into the darkness, laughing and swearing to each other all of the way.
Five minutes later, the train came by and picked up the passengers. Bulma took her usual seat that was universal to all trains and sat down. It was amazing to her how she just got out of the wreck that was the 53rd Street Terminal, and walked into a train that looked like it just came out of a Sci-Fi movie. All of the trains were like this, even the one she just came from. But the astonishment was in the comparison of where she just was and where she was at now. In here, it had a nice color scheme of grey, silver, and blue, the floors were spick and span, the seats were totally padded, the windows didn't have a streak or scratch on them, and best of all, there was no odor. It really showed where the transportation authority was putting their money.
She looked out of her window. She was just staring out, day dreaming as usual, when for a split second, she saw over on the other line the three teenagers from the platform. They were all facing the wall; each with an aerosol can in hand. And just like that, they were out of sight. But what got her more was what she saw two lights down. She was still looking out when she saw something over where the far subway wall meets the ground. It wasn't illuminated very well, which may have been why it confused her so much. It looked like some sort of large animal running on all fours in the opposite direction of the train. It looked like it had a long tail that curled over it like a backwards "C" with an arrow head at the end. She almost jumped out of her seat. It didn't look like anything she had ever seen before. And in a blink of an eye, it was gone. She turned her head to see if she really saw something, but the train was moving too fast. What ever she saw, it couldn't have been a real animal. Nothing like it existed. Maybe she was seeing things.
* * *
The blood was rushing to Vegeta's head. This was about the 250th tree he had done this on. He was getting slower, but that was excusable since he had been climbing up and down 100 foot high trees and hanging upside down. He was doing it non-stop since 7 a.m. He really needed to get his mind off of certain things. He was near the top of this one. He had to get back in the habit of training extensively; he was loosing it. He used to be able to do this exercise in two hours less than it was taking him now, and with fewer mistakes. He had fallen once today, flat on his face from 20 feet up. After that, he left a crater the size of a football field where he screwed up. When he finally finished his last one for the day, he threw himself high into the air, and threw a ki blast like a baseball at the tree's trunk, which split it like an axe.
He was finally done for today. The sun was setting and the sky was turning orange. It was getting late and he had a date to keep. He would have to come back tomorrow and be more creative with his exercises, something that would work out more that just his arms. He lightly landed close by where he put his stuff down. He walked over to his bag, opened it up, and took out a towel and wrapped it around his neck. He sat down and leaned his back against a tree. He reached over to a thermos and drank from it. He had to cool off before he left. He wasn't gonna put his shirt back on until he was about to leave. He was really kicking him self in the ass right now. He was getting rust. It was horrible. He hadn't trained in months or anything. He had to get back on track. He reached back in his bag and turned on the F.M. radio.
He was hoping Bulma remembered to contact that resistance. It bothered him that Freeza's army might had regrouped. If they did, and what he read in that journal was true, than what happened on Purge could happen anywhere, even on Earth. If it was wrong, maybe it was just a freak accident that they got in that prison. He was hoping for the later. He had no intention of encountering anything again soon, especially in his "condition".
Vegeta began to pack up and walked over to a nearby stream to splash some water on his face. He neglected to turn off the radio. Vegeta was out of ear shot when the music cut off and a voice came on.
"Breaking news. Three teenage boys have just been found slaughtered near the 53rd Street Terminal moments ago."
Author's Notes
Thank you, everyone, for you overwhelming response to my last chapter. You guys are my life blood. My reason for writing. I hold all of you criticism dear to my heart, bad or good. Please, always let me know what you think. I love to here from you guys. Thanx again to everyone for their undying support. I hope to hear from you all again soon.
Oh, and everyone go read Emy's "Horsing Around". I'm turning that into a full length movie next year and I would like to know what you guys think of that (the story). It's a CSI murder/mystery drama that I am gonna turn into an original film with an actual budget unlike my last film. Please go read and review her story.
Thanx again guys!!!
