. A Story with No Name .

Premonitions

AN – Well, once again I took forever to post this puny, crap-monkey chapter. I'm terribly sorry about the delay and the short, crappyness. Anyway, to the point. I am going to be at my dad's house quite a bit this summer, so I won't have time to type anything, but the only thing I will be able to do is sleep, eat, and write. So I will. I'm hoping to get at least one more chapter done before I come back on Monday the 14th(ironically my b-day), so expect another chapter then.

"What's up?"

Goku's simple question, although somber in tone, seemed to anger the shorter man with its simplicity. The flesh covering Vegeta's face furrowed with anger, and his dark eyes burned with a deep, ominous. Vegeta's rich voice vibrated beautifully against his throat, its strength still obvious yet its volume minimized to keep his words secret.

"I'm not quite sure. It may just be my imagination, but the Namek agrees with my assumptions."

He paused momentarily to glancing towards Piccolo, which caused Goku to do the same. When Piccolo's eyes caught Goku's, the silent warrior nodded, showing that he and Vegeta had spoken of such before hand. The tall Saiyan returned his focus to the shorter man, listening intently and awaiting his future words. Vegeta focused upon the rich blades of grass that swayed gently under the protective shade of the oak tree, and his voice once more interrupted the shouts of the others in the background.

"Well, I have this ominous feeling that…that something is going to happen."

Goku blinked carefully, watching the shorter saiyan before him curiously, not realizing that Vegeta was insinuating a question. Vegeta glared harshly at his innocence and rolled his eyes just slightly, restating his previous statements in a manner more understandable.

"Basically, you buffoon, I sense that something is amiss. And I was asking to see if you were sensing it too, or if I was just being paranoid."

Goku's expression of blank ignorance sparked at his realization. He then cocked his head to the side, pausing for a moment while attempting to recall any memory concerning the supposed danger Vegeta spoke of.

"Hmm…well, I'm not sure Veg. Maybe, but I really can't remember."

Vegeta twitched inwardly at the new nickname he had been given, and the rest of the bulky Saiyan's response only succeeded in angering him further. His glare darkened and grew with its characteristic fury, and he snarled darkly towards Goku.

"Kakarot, you really should remember things of such importance. And don't call me that, my name is not Veg. It is Vegeta, and if you wish to call me something other then that, then it would have to be 'Sir' or 'Lord' or, my personal preference, 'Master'."

Goku laughed at the honesty that rang within Vegeta's rugged voice, and he shook his head unconsciously and shut his eyes calmly.

"Ah, you oughta chill out a bit. Relax, enjoy days like these. If there is something bad goin' down, then we'll figure it out and everything'll be alright. You really shouldn't worry so much. Anyway, I gotta get back to the guys. Wanna join? You'll be fun, honest."

At his reply, Vegeta sneered and lifted a powerful arm, instantly dismissing the discussion with a flick of his wrist. Vegeta pivoted smoothly upon his heels and walked a few paces away in search of the perfect position to continue his 'people-watching' while Goku shrugged indiscreetly and happily bid a silent farewell to the harsh Prince. He had known from the instant he set eyes on the brutal Prince that he would never loosen up and simply enjoy life to the fullest, yet he still wished he would at least try to change. But no, Goku wasn't about to waste his valuable time and effort thinking about that now.

Goku turned and jogged back to where his friends struggled against one another in a friendly, yet passionate, competition of wit and skill. They paused upon hearing a shout from Goku, and motioned for him to hurry up so that they could continue their game.

And in this manner, the day slowly burned away. Every second of joy and laughter, taken for granted, and yet every moment would soon be remembered for a lifetime.

All of their voices seemed to match one another's so perfectly that even the greatest of choirs couldn't have reached such a stage of perfection, and yet they were casual, so very casual that the only explanation was that they were angels singing hymns of reverence to some greater force. Everything they did consisted of friendship, trust, and love. It was a strange group, of course, that created this unnaturally perfect choir.

This was the mass of people, all of different origins and lives, that socialized upon the Briefs' residence. Little did any know that a pair of eyes watched their blissful jabbering with a cool ease that could freeze the souls of those he so carefully observed, had they known of his presence. The fools were so peaceful, so happy. Ha, their joys would soon be thrashed, for their punishment was long past due. They would see the darkness of reality in justice for the dark crimes they had committed against his family and pride.

Technically, of course, not all of them played a role in his shameful demise, but he didn't mind. He needed a few new toys to tinker with anyway. At this thought, a sadistic, yet natural smile crawled upon his lips. Oh yes, he needed new slaves, new workers with strong wills. Oh the challenges that appeared as they struggled against the chains he locked upon their ankles. Every time some fool believed freedom was a possibility, their hopes would be dashed, their wishes severed, and their dreams burned within the fiery depths of the Hell he had created.

Oh, how he enjoyed watching creatures deal with the situations he presented. The innocent ones, especially, brought the greatest joy to his darkened heart. They sometimes clung upon their simple ways, yet their innocence would forever be tainted ever slightly with sorrow and confusion, a perfect mask of which behind lay a tortured mind battling against itself. Then, insanity, and eventually, suicide. Ah, their dark eyes, the depth and emotion within their voices as they spoke his name, the sheer hatred within their hearts that burned while they forced themselves to comply to his ways. He loved it all. From the first glint of fear within their eyes to the very last drop of their crimson blood that fell upon the metallic ground of his all-too-perfect recreation of Hell.

But no, such luscious thoughts of torture were not to be pondered quite yet. There was still the task of gathering them and forcing them under his command. At that point alone would he be satisfied. For at that point, his vengeful, piercing eyes would eternally rest upon their pathetic souls, and at that point, they would be his and his alone to mold.