Tell No Tales
CHAPTER FOUR: On the Lam
Dainin looked around, his expression filled with annoyance. Now where was that door to the blasted Relegation Room? He could never find that place, despite over seven hundred years of working for the Afterlife Administrations Bureau. Silently, he cursed Yamai for getting sick; it was the other demon's job to do this round, not his.
Sometimes, he got the feeling that Yamai did it just to mess with his nerves. That, or he was just trying to get out of a terrible job.
Ah. There it was. Right ahead of him, a giant red door that seemed to mock his previous inability to find it. He could almost hear the stupid thing shouting at him: "Hey, I'm over here you little blue idiot!" Yes, indeed, he would get Yamai for this.
Pulling open the door, he was greeted with the average Otherworld sight of yellow clouds and the zooming white wisps that were people's souls. He wished that he could go back to his old job; the scenery was much more interesting down there.
"All halt!" Dainin called, voice echoing clear and loud over the clouded expanse. Instantly reacting to the order, movement stopped. Or it did save for two wisps that ignored his presence entirely and continued to giggle and hop over each other. Dainin cleared his throat, and tried again. "I said, all halt!"
The two previously disobedient wisps stopped immediately, standing straight at attention, yet looking despondent. Or as despondent as they could without faces.
"Nothing to worry about, folks, just the routine rounds here. So if you'll all just co-operate . . ."
There was muttered confusion among the wisps, and the few souls here that still possessed bodies. With a sigh of exasperation, Dainin took off his horn-rimmed glasses, and rubbed between his eyes where he could feel a headache forming. This was why he hated this place so much. The residents always forgot him. Or at least most of them did. It wasn't really their fault, considering that the room erased their memories, but it was hard not to be annoyed by this. Yes indeed, how he missed his old job.
Putting his glasses back on, Dainin began once more. "Look, as I said, this is just part of routine rounds; if you all co-operate, things will go by very quickly. Now hold still, the lot of you."
Well, at least the souls here were only forgetful and not stupid. All stood perfectly still in a straight line, waiting for his assessment. Dainin took out his pocket computer, and waved it at the first in line. The computer gave the person's name, age, species, time and manner of death, and the reason that they were sent into relegation. And so on down the line, one after another, a skull-numbing, mindless, idiotic job.
Hours. That was how long it took. So many souls ended up in here, whether through computer error or confusion over multiple deaths for one soul. Dainin had a feeling that Lord Enma and the rest of the higher-ups were not as efficient as they demanded their lessers to be. Bunch of hypocrites. If he weren't so spineless, he would have half a mind to stand on Lord Enma's nose and tell the giant red demon to his face.
But that was generally an ill advised thing to do. They never had found the last guy who had done that.
"Okay, before I leave, I've got some good news," he said, keeping his tone official. "One of you gets out of relegation today." He punched up the file on his portable computer, and read off the name. "So if any of you remembers being named Son Gohan, this is your lucky day."
Just as hours before, there was muttered confusion. Both bodies and wisps alike talked and argued amongst themselves, some of them no doubt thinking that they were the party in question. But none of them stepped forward to verify.
"Come on, folks, I would like to get out of here sometime today."
Still no one came, and Dainin began to have doubts that anyone ever would. Muttering about how these forgetful shells couldn't do one simple thing for him, he typed the name Son Gohan into his portable computer to see where he had scanned in.
To his surprise, the answer came to him in bold red letters.
"Absent?" he said, reading the word off the screen. "Just great; must have a runaway." He glanced up at one of the bodies and pointed his finger at it. "You. Do you have any idea where this Son Gohan may have gone?"
The figure, a bluish green that offset Dainin's own skin tone, titled his head. "Son Gohan? Son Gohan . . ." the figure paused. "He had a body right? I can't remember."
Dainin glanced down at his computer screen. "Yes, yes, he had a body. Now where did he go?"
The bluish figure scratched his head. "Gee, I dunno. Last time I remember seeing him – I think it might have been him, anyway – he was with that strange little bald fellow."
Dainin longed to take off his glasses again and rub at his increasingly painful headache. "A vague description doesn't really help. Does this 'strange little bald fellow' have a name?"
"Well of course he has a name."
"Well," Dainin demanded, patience wearing thin. "What is it?"
The figure shrugged. "I dunno. But doesn't everyone have a name?"
Dainin barley kept himself from falling over in exasperation. But he managed to keep his dignity and his feet. "Yes, but . . You just . . ." he tried, but then threw his arms up in the air. "Augh! Never mind, never mind; I'll do it myself."
The process itself was pretty simple, just cross-referencing all Relegation Room inhabitants with a body, and imputing a partial physical description . . . Several matches came up, but Dainin knew that he had found the one that he was looking for. Beside the name Kuririn Chestnut, there was a set of bright red letters that spelled "Absent". Looking at the date of death, Dainin found that this guy was probably the newest member of the amnesia farm. Only three weeks had passed since he had been put in here. New one was causing trouble. It usually was the newer souls that did that, unable to accept their fate. Those impulsive children should take a lesson from their predecessors and just go with the flow. Made things easier for everyone.
Dainin reached down and grabbed the walkie talkie that hung from his belt. He brought it up to his face and spoke, "Administration? Administration, this is Dainin, doing Yamai's rounds of the Relegation Room" – he could not keep the venom out of his voice upon mentioning Yamai's name – "And it seems that we've got a couple of runaways on our hands. One Son Gohan, who had been scheduled for his hearing today, and one Kuririn Chestnut, newly arrived."
Dainin paused for a few moments as administration took in this information. When finished, they asked for instructions to remedy this matter.
"Well, what do you think?" asked Dainin. Why did these people outrank him when he had to do all of the thinking? "Send out Kyojin."
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"I see that you haven't gotten through yet."
For the briefest of seconds, Kuririn was beginning to regret bringing Gohan Senior along with him on his escape attempt. The old man had been a little less than encouraging, though Kuririn supposed that he could understand that much. Gohan Senior had not wanted to be here from the start. Still, he could have been a little more helpful.
"I'll get it. Won't take much longer."
The thing in question was a door. An ugly, yellow-green door that would have towered over just about anyone and was thus appropriately massive for the two standing before it. Space was visible all around the door, as if it had just been hung in the air and did not actually lead anywhere. But like so many things in Otherworld, looks were often deceiving and indeed often defied all logic. Conventional logic, anyway. Kuririn assumed that it became the normal standard for anyone who stayed here long enough. It was amazing the things a person could get used to.
For example, he had gotten used to flying, firing ki blasts, that a single creature could destroy a planet in one strike . . . Yep, he had gotten used to a lot, and he would eventually get used to Otherworld logic. But not until he had had a proper Judgement. He would not go through his afterlife a body with no memory.
"Just another minute, yes?" Gohan Senior countered. "You said that about ten minutes ago."
Well, that was true. But that didn't mean that Kuririn liked to be reminded of that fact. When they had first come upon the door, Kuririn had felt some sensation similar to relief flow through him; here, at last, after seemingly endless flight was a way out of the Relegation Room. Only the door had not opened for either of them when they had turned the gigantic knob. Thus the next logical choice had been to break it down. Over and over, Kuririn had tried – he'd told Gohan Senior to stand back – but he still had not managed it, even with all of his strength.
In a way, it reminded him of several incidences in his life. Incidences where he had tried his utmost only to fail miserably in the end.
"Look, I'll get it this time," Kuririn assured, an idea forming in his head. He motioned with one hand. "Stand back. Further; I really mean it."
He glanced back to make sure that his companion had listened to him, and nodded in satisfaction when he saw that he indeed had. Retuning his gaze to the door, Kuririn braced himself against the ground, hands cupped at his side.
Here went nothing.
"Ka . . .me . . ha . . ." he spoke the word softly, trying to focus his energy. Attempting to form a ki attack when one was no longer in possession of any discernable ki was quite the chore. But, with difficulty, he managed it, a blue-white ball forming between his curled palms. "Me . . . ha!"
Kuririn pushed his hands forward, bringing the ball of blue-white ki with it. The ball shot forth in a brilliant torrent of light, striking the door. Right on contact, the door blew apart, splinters forming, but not travelling far before being vaporized by the outskirts of the blast.
When the dust finally cleared, a hole through space itself was revealed. A strange swelling of orange against a blue sky. Not an inviting colour for the sky to be, but considering that it had to mean that he and Gohan Senior were on their way out of the Relegation Room, Kuririn took it as a good sign. The Kamehameha Wave had saved his life more than once, and here it may have yet saved his soul.
He glanced back at Gohan Senior, who was just lowering his arm away from his face. "See? Just another minute. Let's go."
Gohan Senior nodded, moving to follow him. A bemused expression came upon the old man's face. And with it came a curiosity, which likely prompted him to say what he said next. "That was quite a move. What exactly was that?"
Kuririn shrugged, though he could not help but feel a little proud of himself. It was not often that his power impressed people. "Just a ki manipulation. Called the Kamehameha Wave. Not that hard to do once you get the knack of it."
"Yes . . ." Gohan Senior began, sounding thoughtful. "Once you have the knack of it."
Kuririn was surprised at this tone for a moment, but did not dwell upon it for long, as the scenery about them abruptly changed to something a great deal more interesting. "Would you look at that? I guess we're out of relegation."
And indeed it must have been true. The sky had taken on a reddish orange hue, like the sky at sunset, though there was no sun. A plain of lush green grass stretched out before them, the occasional hill popping up. And in the distance, he could make out some kind of tall, thin structure, but he could not discern what it was from here. Still, it was a welcome sight considering the featureless area that had been the Relegation Room.
Gohan Senior nodded. "Yes, I would think that we are. Nicer scenery, I must say."
The old man sounded a fair bit more co-operative now, if not exactly enthusiastic. Which was a relief in itself, though perhaps they could work on the latter. Who knew what weirdness they were likely to encounter next? Having a bit of help at his disposal hardly sounded like a bad thing.
And perhaps the way to bring some enthusiasm out was for Kuririn to jog Gohan Senior's memory a bit. After all, if the old man knew what he was missing . . .
"So," Kuririn began lightly, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder at his companion. "Care to learn anything about your grandson?"
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The printer buzzed in its usual annoying manner as a document came through it. A giant red hand pulled out the one-page report, sent from Administration itself. With a quick read, the red demon sighed, and called over to his companion, "Hey, Goz! We've got a memo from Administration. Get in here so I don't have to yell it out to your thick head over there!"
With another sigh, the red demon went over the memo again. Goz was such a pain to work with, always taking a few too many liberties with the souls down here in Hell. Not that he himself was opposed to having a little fun, but Goz went above and beyond in this regard. Honestly, why he hadn't reported the demon was a mystery. Perhaps, in some sick way, he enjoyed the punishment that was working with him.
The floor shook under his feet, prompting him to lift his gaze. Sure enough, standing before him, was the hulking blue form of Goz, sweat slightly staining his tee shirt. Likely, he had just been involved in one of his games. And to see his face, it did not appear that he appreciated the interruption.
"What is it, Mez?" the blue demon asked irritably. "I want to get back out there, so this memo better be important."
Mez nodded. "Well, of course it's important! Why would I have called you in here if it wasn't important?"
"To ruin my fun."
"Grgh . . " Mez growled. Patience, he reminded himself. He needed patience with his muscle-bound, thick-headed partner. Finally, he was able to continue. "Well this one really is. There was a breakout from the Relegation Room. Nobody knows how long ago it happened, but all Otherworld divisions are to be on the lookout for the two escapees." He handed the memo over to Goz. "Got their descriptions right here."
Goz took a moment to read the paper. "You called me in here for this? Aw, well. Maybe I can have a little fun with these guys if they end up here."
Mez rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well at least wait until they go through Judgement for that. Wherever these two may have been going before, they're likely to end up here now, after the stunt that they're pulling."
CHAPTER FOUR: On the Lam
Dainin looked around, his expression filled with annoyance. Now where was that door to the blasted Relegation Room? He could never find that place, despite over seven hundred years of working for the Afterlife Administrations Bureau. Silently, he cursed Yamai for getting sick; it was the other demon's job to do this round, not his.
Sometimes, he got the feeling that Yamai did it just to mess with his nerves. That, or he was just trying to get out of a terrible job.
Ah. There it was. Right ahead of him, a giant red door that seemed to mock his previous inability to find it. He could almost hear the stupid thing shouting at him: "Hey, I'm over here you little blue idiot!" Yes, indeed, he would get Yamai for this.
Pulling open the door, he was greeted with the average Otherworld sight of yellow clouds and the zooming white wisps that were people's souls. He wished that he could go back to his old job; the scenery was much more interesting down there.
"All halt!" Dainin called, voice echoing clear and loud over the clouded expanse. Instantly reacting to the order, movement stopped. Or it did save for two wisps that ignored his presence entirely and continued to giggle and hop over each other. Dainin cleared his throat, and tried again. "I said, all halt!"
The two previously disobedient wisps stopped immediately, standing straight at attention, yet looking despondent. Or as despondent as they could without faces.
"Nothing to worry about, folks, just the routine rounds here. So if you'll all just co-operate . . ."
There was muttered confusion among the wisps, and the few souls here that still possessed bodies. With a sigh of exasperation, Dainin took off his horn-rimmed glasses, and rubbed between his eyes where he could feel a headache forming. This was why he hated this place so much. The residents always forgot him. Or at least most of them did. It wasn't really their fault, considering that the room erased their memories, but it was hard not to be annoyed by this. Yes indeed, how he missed his old job.
Putting his glasses back on, Dainin began once more. "Look, as I said, this is just part of routine rounds; if you all co-operate, things will go by very quickly. Now hold still, the lot of you."
Well, at least the souls here were only forgetful and not stupid. All stood perfectly still in a straight line, waiting for his assessment. Dainin took out his pocket computer, and waved it at the first in line. The computer gave the person's name, age, species, time and manner of death, and the reason that they were sent into relegation. And so on down the line, one after another, a skull-numbing, mindless, idiotic job.
Hours. That was how long it took. So many souls ended up in here, whether through computer error or confusion over multiple deaths for one soul. Dainin had a feeling that Lord Enma and the rest of the higher-ups were not as efficient as they demanded their lessers to be. Bunch of hypocrites. If he weren't so spineless, he would have half a mind to stand on Lord Enma's nose and tell the giant red demon to his face.
But that was generally an ill advised thing to do. They never had found the last guy who had done that.
"Okay, before I leave, I've got some good news," he said, keeping his tone official. "One of you gets out of relegation today." He punched up the file on his portable computer, and read off the name. "So if any of you remembers being named Son Gohan, this is your lucky day."
Just as hours before, there was muttered confusion. Both bodies and wisps alike talked and argued amongst themselves, some of them no doubt thinking that they were the party in question. But none of them stepped forward to verify.
"Come on, folks, I would like to get out of here sometime today."
Still no one came, and Dainin began to have doubts that anyone ever would. Muttering about how these forgetful shells couldn't do one simple thing for him, he typed the name Son Gohan into his portable computer to see where he had scanned in.
To his surprise, the answer came to him in bold red letters.
"Absent?" he said, reading the word off the screen. "Just great; must have a runaway." He glanced up at one of the bodies and pointed his finger at it. "You. Do you have any idea where this Son Gohan may have gone?"
The figure, a bluish green that offset Dainin's own skin tone, titled his head. "Son Gohan? Son Gohan . . ." the figure paused. "He had a body right? I can't remember."
Dainin glanced down at his computer screen. "Yes, yes, he had a body. Now where did he go?"
The bluish figure scratched his head. "Gee, I dunno. Last time I remember seeing him – I think it might have been him, anyway – he was with that strange little bald fellow."
Dainin longed to take off his glasses again and rub at his increasingly painful headache. "A vague description doesn't really help. Does this 'strange little bald fellow' have a name?"
"Well of course he has a name."
"Well," Dainin demanded, patience wearing thin. "What is it?"
The figure shrugged. "I dunno. But doesn't everyone have a name?"
Dainin barley kept himself from falling over in exasperation. But he managed to keep his dignity and his feet. "Yes, but . . You just . . ." he tried, but then threw his arms up in the air. "Augh! Never mind, never mind; I'll do it myself."
The process itself was pretty simple, just cross-referencing all Relegation Room inhabitants with a body, and imputing a partial physical description . . . Several matches came up, but Dainin knew that he had found the one that he was looking for. Beside the name Kuririn Chestnut, there was a set of bright red letters that spelled "Absent". Looking at the date of death, Dainin found that this guy was probably the newest member of the amnesia farm. Only three weeks had passed since he had been put in here. New one was causing trouble. It usually was the newer souls that did that, unable to accept their fate. Those impulsive children should take a lesson from their predecessors and just go with the flow. Made things easier for everyone.
Dainin reached down and grabbed the walkie talkie that hung from his belt. He brought it up to his face and spoke, "Administration? Administration, this is Dainin, doing Yamai's rounds of the Relegation Room" – he could not keep the venom out of his voice upon mentioning Yamai's name – "And it seems that we've got a couple of runaways on our hands. One Son Gohan, who had been scheduled for his hearing today, and one Kuririn Chestnut, newly arrived."
Dainin paused for a few moments as administration took in this information. When finished, they asked for instructions to remedy this matter.
"Well, what do you think?" asked Dainin. Why did these people outrank him when he had to do all of the thinking? "Send out Kyojin."
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"I see that you haven't gotten through yet."
For the briefest of seconds, Kuririn was beginning to regret bringing Gohan Senior along with him on his escape attempt. The old man had been a little less than encouraging, though Kuririn supposed that he could understand that much. Gohan Senior had not wanted to be here from the start. Still, he could have been a little more helpful.
"I'll get it. Won't take much longer."
The thing in question was a door. An ugly, yellow-green door that would have towered over just about anyone and was thus appropriately massive for the two standing before it. Space was visible all around the door, as if it had just been hung in the air and did not actually lead anywhere. But like so many things in Otherworld, looks were often deceiving and indeed often defied all logic. Conventional logic, anyway. Kuririn assumed that it became the normal standard for anyone who stayed here long enough. It was amazing the things a person could get used to.
For example, he had gotten used to flying, firing ki blasts, that a single creature could destroy a planet in one strike . . . Yep, he had gotten used to a lot, and he would eventually get used to Otherworld logic. But not until he had had a proper Judgement. He would not go through his afterlife a body with no memory.
"Just another minute, yes?" Gohan Senior countered. "You said that about ten minutes ago."
Well, that was true. But that didn't mean that Kuririn liked to be reminded of that fact. When they had first come upon the door, Kuririn had felt some sensation similar to relief flow through him; here, at last, after seemingly endless flight was a way out of the Relegation Room. Only the door had not opened for either of them when they had turned the gigantic knob. Thus the next logical choice had been to break it down. Over and over, Kuririn had tried – he'd told Gohan Senior to stand back – but he still had not managed it, even with all of his strength.
In a way, it reminded him of several incidences in his life. Incidences where he had tried his utmost only to fail miserably in the end.
"Look, I'll get it this time," Kuririn assured, an idea forming in his head. He motioned with one hand. "Stand back. Further; I really mean it."
He glanced back to make sure that his companion had listened to him, and nodded in satisfaction when he saw that he indeed had. Retuning his gaze to the door, Kuririn braced himself against the ground, hands cupped at his side.
Here went nothing.
"Ka . . .me . . ha . . ." he spoke the word softly, trying to focus his energy. Attempting to form a ki attack when one was no longer in possession of any discernable ki was quite the chore. But, with difficulty, he managed it, a blue-white ball forming between his curled palms. "Me . . . ha!"
Kuririn pushed his hands forward, bringing the ball of blue-white ki with it. The ball shot forth in a brilliant torrent of light, striking the door. Right on contact, the door blew apart, splinters forming, but not travelling far before being vaporized by the outskirts of the blast.
When the dust finally cleared, a hole through space itself was revealed. A strange swelling of orange against a blue sky. Not an inviting colour for the sky to be, but considering that it had to mean that he and Gohan Senior were on their way out of the Relegation Room, Kuririn took it as a good sign. The Kamehameha Wave had saved his life more than once, and here it may have yet saved his soul.
He glanced back at Gohan Senior, who was just lowering his arm away from his face. "See? Just another minute. Let's go."
Gohan Senior nodded, moving to follow him. A bemused expression came upon the old man's face. And with it came a curiosity, which likely prompted him to say what he said next. "That was quite a move. What exactly was that?"
Kuririn shrugged, though he could not help but feel a little proud of himself. It was not often that his power impressed people. "Just a ki manipulation. Called the Kamehameha Wave. Not that hard to do once you get the knack of it."
"Yes . . ." Gohan Senior began, sounding thoughtful. "Once you have the knack of it."
Kuririn was surprised at this tone for a moment, but did not dwell upon it for long, as the scenery about them abruptly changed to something a great deal more interesting. "Would you look at that? I guess we're out of relegation."
And indeed it must have been true. The sky had taken on a reddish orange hue, like the sky at sunset, though there was no sun. A plain of lush green grass stretched out before them, the occasional hill popping up. And in the distance, he could make out some kind of tall, thin structure, but he could not discern what it was from here. Still, it was a welcome sight considering the featureless area that had been the Relegation Room.
Gohan Senior nodded. "Yes, I would think that we are. Nicer scenery, I must say."
The old man sounded a fair bit more co-operative now, if not exactly enthusiastic. Which was a relief in itself, though perhaps they could work on the latter. Who knew what weirdness they were likely to encounter next? Having a bit of help at his disposal hardly sounded like a bad thing.
And perhaps the way to bring some enthusiasm out was for Kuririn to jog Gohan Senior's memory a bit. After all, if the old man knew what he was missing . . .
"So," Kuririn began lightly, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder at his companion. "Care to learn anything about your grandson?"
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The printer buzzed in its usual annoying manner as a document came through it. A giant red hand pulled out the one-page report, sent from Administration itself. With a quick read, the red demon sighed, and called over to his companion, "Hey, Goz! We've got a memo from Administration. Get in here so I don't have to yell it out to your thick head over there!"
With another sigh, the red demon went over the memo again. Goz was such a pain to work with, always taking a few too many liberties with the souls down here in Hell. Not that he himself was opposed to having a little fun, but Goz went above and beyond in this regard. Honestly, why he hadn't reported the demon was a mystery. Perhaps, in some sick way, he enjoyed the punishment that was working with him.
The floor shook under his feet, prompting him to lift his gaze. Sure enough, standing before him, was the hulking blue form of Goz, sweat slightly staining his tee shirt. Likely, he had just been involved in one of his games. And to see his face, it did not appear that he appreciated the interruption.
"What is it, Mez?" the blue demon asked irritably. "I want to get back out there, so this memo better be important."
Mez nodded. "Well, of course it's important! Why would I have called you in here if it wasn't important?"
"To ruin my fun."
"Grgh . . " Mez growled. Patience, he reminded himself. He needed patience with his muscle-bound, thick-headed partner. Finally, he was able to continue. "Well this one really is. There was a breakout from the Relegation Room. Nobody knows how long ago it happened, but all Otherworld divisions are to be on the lookout for the two escapees." He handed the memo over to Goz. "Got their descriptions right here."
Goz took a moment to read the paper. "You called me in here for this? Aw, well. Maybe I can have a little fun with these guys if they end up here."
Mez rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well at least wait until they go through Judgement for that. Wherever these two may have been going before, they're likely to end up here now, after the stunt that they're pulling."