Disclaimer: Don't own it, never will.
Warnings: Evil... As well as a lot of very, very graphic violence.
Goku had his eyes closed as the police gently tried to press information out of him about the event those nights ago. He could tell they were getting irritated by his lack of acknowledgement of their very presence. Of course it would irritate anyone if he was being completely ignored for half an hour. To their credit, these two officers were very persistent, but the lady with them – she must be the one who does compositions of criminals from eyewitnesses, judging from the sketchpad and pictures in her tote – yawned heavily, not even trying to cover her mouth. It looked like she was ready to give up on the famous Son Goku, but the officers would have none of that.
"Mr. Son, are you awake?" Maybe if he kept this up, they'd leave him alone. His time was much better spent trying to figure out how to get this youkai spell... infection out of him. Inside his clamped mouth, Goku's tongue grazed over his canines. They kept growing and sharpening by the day, just as his eyes grew lighter. The fighter had hoped that as the changes became more dramatic that people would be able to see through the illusion cast over him that things were out of place. No such luck.
As Goku kneaded his teeth over his taste buds, he gave a slight shiver when he remembered how he nearly punctured a hole into his own tongue while he was in the hospital. "Mr. Son?" Damn, they noticed that.
As Goku opened an eye to look at the officers from his casual slump in the leather armchair, they were struck by how... lucid he looked, wearing the straight jacket as easily as a Brooks Brother's sport jacket. He even seemed sane as he calmly asked, "What color do my eyes look to you?"
The younger red-haired officer answered uncertainly, "Uh... black?" Behind him his partner winced.
"Then I have nothing more to say to you," the saiyajin growled harshly as the very edge of his body went from slack to rigid anger.
Fortunately for the younger officer, Wells, his partner was a professional negotiator used to dealing with uncooperatives and bonafide lunatics. Apparently Son Goku fit into both categories. "Mr. Son what my partner meant was that your eyes look black because of the light. What color are they really?"
Oh, the man was good, Goku noticed in interest. There was no condescending manner in Wells' speech, as if he were merely chatting with a stranger he met at a bar. The polite conversationalist. Even if Goku knew his game plan, he couldn't help but lighten up a little to the officer.
"What do I have to do to make you go away?" he demanded harshly.
Just a little.
"We only want to help you," Wells explained. "This man is a criminal and he needs to be caught before he can hurt you or anyone else ever again."
Once upon a time, he might have believed that they could actually help. But cynicism was a loathsome virus that there was no vaccine for. Goku snorted and muttered unpleasantly, "You're only wasting your time."
Wells shrugged. "Maybe, but it's always worth it to try."
The phrase hit the former saiyajin hard. Wells and the officer both tensed at the sudden god smacked expression on the fighter's face. The older officer was confused – had he pushed the wrong button?
Silence. And then – "What do you need?" Goku whispered, his gaze kept down to the patterns on the carpet.
A surge of relief washed over the negotiator as he quickly motioned the napping woman to come over. "This is Elaine. Just describe the person who assaulted you to the best of your ability and she'll make a composite of his face."
Elaine squelched a yawn as she came over to the small table in front of the saiyajin. "Okay, Mr. Son. What do you remember being the most distinctive part of his face?" she asked as she started taking her tools of the trade from her tote.
Piercing gold. It seems like they're boring into him, now more than ever before. His fists clenched tightly in the sleeve of his jacket. "His eyes..."
Nearly an hour later.
"You still have the ears wrong."
Elaine's grip tightened about her ruddied pencil. "I apologize Mr. Son, but I'm not an expert on pointed ears," she said in harsh sarcasms. Perhaps you should consult the tribal of elves to help you, the frustrated artist thought angrily, Wells' cold expression keeping her from speaking her mind.
Goku's scowl grew worse as he heard this, his yellowing eyes flashing in anger. Tribal of elves! This is what he got for telling the truth!
"No one is perfect," Wells cut in, sensing and hoping to distill the rising tension between the patient and Elaine. In truth he was getting angry as well. He was going to have to come down hard on Elaine's professional conduct once they were safely back at headquarters. "I think that this will be fine, Mr. Son," he said as he picked up Elaine's sketch pad.
Wells couldn't help it, but a cold shudder came through him as he looked at the picture. The "youkai," this Vegeta... It – he was some kind of beautiful monster... The ears, the vampire-like fangs, the cold golden eyes...
"Don't worry, Goku! We'll catch that fag, no matter what!" the younger officer declared, throwing up a fist of pure enthusiasm, pulling Wells out of the trance the picture pulled over him. Behind him Elaine was sighing a breath of relief as she packed up her things into her tote.
Goku gave the younger officer a dull, unimpressed look. "...Right..." Unfortunately it didn't put the kid off in the slightest.
Wells was back to his professional manner. "Thank you for cooperating with us." Absently, he tucked the picture under his arm, cradling it as though it were glass. The fighter's keen eyes didn't miss it. "Don't worry, everything's going to work out," the officer assured him.
However, Goku sent him a bone-chilling glare. In a moment of alarm, Wells thought he saw a predator, a murderer behind those light brown, no, black ebony eyes. They say you can see a man's soul through his eyes. He repressed a shiver, clutching the picture more tightly. "Come on let's go," Wells said to the other two and quickly exited the private visitor's room.
They were already gone when the attendant came back to check on Goku. "You have another visitor," he said gruffly.
"I don't want to see anyone!" the ex-saiyajin erupted, his eyes stinging with hot, salty tears. "Let me go to my room!" His tail thrashed violently behind him.
Goku froze.
A tail... He slowly turned and saw the long, sinewy length coming from where... his tail bone was supposed to be. It struck against his chair constantly, conveying its master's anxiety and agitation, though it was out of Goku's control.
Yowling in fright, Goku stumbled over forwards nearly tripping over the very chair he was sitting in. The attendant jumped to his aid and steadied him into the seat. Taking a quick glance around, the white uniformed man attempted to calm the saiyajin. "There, just take it easy. It's okay."
As soon as he sat down, Goku jumped up with a pained shriek. His newly acquired appendage was thrumming with agony where he sat down on it. God damn! The thing was as vulnerable as a dick! His groins ached in sympathy as he thought of what would happen if that thing got slammed in between a door!
The chubby attendant said in alarm, "I suppose it is best if you don't have any guests right now."
Goku snapped viciously, "Gee, you think!" as he started carting the patient out of the visiting room as quickly as possible.
"Someone needs a sedation!" the man threatened. Struck aback, the fighter couldn't believe that in the middle of the busy hallway. Goku looked around to the doctors about, but they didn't even pay them any bother at all!
Grinding his teeth, the saiyajin stilled his outward frustration and let it simmer inside of him. Goku could feel hellfires burning inside of him for the injustice of it all, the flames licking especially at the touch of the other man's hand on his shoulder. Psychotic, power hungry bastard! The man was a fucking control freak!
The only consolation he could think of was that he didn't have many friends, not since he ended up in the asylum, so he didn't have to interact with the visitor warden that much.
That night, the changing saiyajin had his first night of peaceful slumber, free of dreams, nightmares, or Vegeta.
The demon had other plans that night...
Officer O'Reilly whistled as he came into his apartment, just off from his shift and arriving home at about one in the morning. Despite the fact that they were unable to make any headway into the case, he felt confident that they were going to find the "demon" soon. He could just feel it.
The hallway to his studio apartment was completely dark, but he was used to it. The only light strew down the window as natural moonlight, while he took off his shoes, ditching them by the door. O'Reilly didn't mind. He always worked in the dark, changing into pajamas wasn't a problem.
Dumping his gun onto the cheap pine dresser and looking up into the mirror, O'Reilly could just barely see the outline of himself in it. He took off his uniform, throwing it onto the floor. However, as his hand came into the first drawer where his PJs were stashed, an icy cold chill came over his body, as if someone was...
O'Reilly spun around, holding his gun out threateningly in his birthday suit. There was nothing there. Slowly, the officer turned around and went back to his open dresser, dismissing the chill as a breeze in the buff. However, O'Reilly couldn't shake off the feeling of creeping terror that was taking root in him. For good measure he made the sign of the cross over his chest and kissed the crucifix that lay on a gold chain around his neck.
He managed to pull on some bottoms before he felt the chill once more. Again he spun around, holding his gun ready. O'Reilly couldn't dismiss it this time, someone was here. His gun trembled even as he willed himself to steady his hand, to keep himself from instantly firing on whoever was hiding in the dark. A shadow passed over the sky, casting the studio apartment in complete inky darkness. The only sound in the darkness was the slight chattering of the young officer's teeth.
"You're quite jumpy," a voice hissed from behind him. With a scream, O'Reilly wheeled around on the balls of his feet, shooting at the attacker. His mirror shattered, its shard crashing on top of his dresser. O'Reilly heart froze in his throat. One of the shards was defying gravity, staying up against the wooden frame with no support around it to keep it up. Breathing quickly, the Catholic was too afraid to make the cross again as the shard wavered in the air, trembling.
The mirror shard began tilting up, its reflection transiting from the furthest wall crawling slowly up to the ceiling. "God protect me," O'Reilly whispered. The shard fell to the dresser, just as two unholy golden discs flashed in its reflection.
However it was too late for the officer. The wave of darkness descended upon him. Screaming, O'Reilly's arms flailed to tear himself out of the curtain of black that surrounded him.
An alabaster hand whipped out of the folds, grasping him by the back of the head and slamming his face down onto the bureau. O'Reilly's screams turned from terror to agony as he felt the side of his face crack along with the wood under the magnitude of the force. His right eye was out immediately, punctured by a cheek bone.
With all the strength he possessed in his body, O'Reilly brought up the gun towards the origin of the hand, his hand shaking violently from the pain. The hand instantly released him as one, two, three bullets emptied into the black folds.
The veil of darkness was pulled from his eyes crashing down into a living heap on the carpeted floor. Splatters of black spots strew across the green carpet, looking eerily like blood from a crime scene. O'Reilly struggled to prop himself up onto his elbows, his breaths ragged and forced. His attacker – that mound of moving black cloth was heaving – it was still alive after three shots!
O'Reilly fought off the waves of disorientation as he crawled to the phone by the bed. Thoughts were hazed, confused; he had to get to the phone, had to call 911; his head was threatening to explode from the pain; the phone, the phone.
His hand reached up to the top of the wooden stand and he unceremoniously wrenched the cord of the phone, sending it crashing down to the carpet. Desperately trying to figure out the numbers with his one good eye, the officer's mind ran over his address and name, knowing that 911 would need that no matter what.
His fingers punched in the numbers 9-1-
From out of his field of vision, a bare foot came down on his hand and the phone, crushing them both. O'Reilly screamed as the bones in his hand crumpled together into a mess of flesh, bone and plastic.
His eyes shot upwards, looking upon his assailant for the first time. It was – the daemon king, youkai no ou, Vegeta. He stood above O'Reilly, in regal naked glory, his monstrous leather wings proudly folded out, encompassing – caging the mortal in his realm of darkness.
"Oh merciful God," O'Reilly whispered, quaking in terror as he was grabbed roughly by the throat and slammed against the wall. The hold that the monster had on him was strangling and the officer had no chance for breath. His mouth gaping like a fish out of water, O'Reilly clawed against the hand that held him, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
"Do you have any idea how much that stung, you insignificant worm?" the youkai hissed, baring his fangs as his cold golden eyes crucified O'Reilly into a state of motionless terror. "You will pay for that!"
At once those eyes glazed over in blood lust and Vegeta smirked. "Maybe I should eat you alive," he whispered, nearing his lips to the mortal's.
Oh no! O'Reilly thought. He can't be – He's not going to kiss me, is he! The youkai pressed his lips against the mortals and sucked on the Irishman's lower lip. O'Reilly was going mad, muffled shrieks of protest just barely coming from his throat.
Suddenly, the daemon bit down on that lower lip and tore it from O'Reilly's face. The mortal officer screamed in agony. A second later Vegeta smashed his hand against O'Reilly's bloody mouth to shut him up and spat the lip on the ground. It splattered there like a wet, flesh colored slug.
The youkai's nose crinkled in disgust as he glared into those hazed eyes. "Fucking disgusting!" Those gold eyes pierced into O'Reilly's in accusation and the daemon muttered. "Bet you aren't even a good fuck either." He sighed nonchalantly and shrugged, "Oh well." A second later he squeezed on the officer's jaw and throat and tore it from his skull, a surge of blood flowed down onto the carpet in a crimson waterfall. The mortal couldn't even scream as the very organ for it was crudely deprived from him.
Vegeta tossed O'Reilly down onto the floor to die. The injury itself wouldn't kill the officer; it would be from loss of blood. The youkai cast a small spell to keep the officer conscious and aware until his point of death.
The youkai no ou's lips quirked up, forming a hideous smirk, as tears flowed from O'Reilly's eyes. Vegeta stepped back into the shadows, until it encompassed him in a thick blanket of darkness. Only his glowing eyes were visible. His sinister voice whispered into the deathly silent room, "Serves you right for calling me a fag."
The golden discs disappeared. The daemon had departed, leaving O'Reilly to fester.
Richard Hideux was found dead at 2:00 am.
Jake Webb, who was partnered to work with Richard, or Dick, that shift found the corpse.
The attendant had his nails ripped out and was deboweled with a barely sharp object.
He was deposited in front of Son Goku's open cell.
Fortunately, the patient was asleep when it happened.