A knock on the door alerted a family that spent their time raising as little noise as possible in their house that had become a fort and a place for concealment. Because the sky had been gloomy for a while, they couldn't tell if it was day or night from the inside and no one dared take as much as a peek outside. It was about time that the Artificial Humans would pick up life signals and come knocking. It was either these robotic combatants or the end of their vital supplies that would herald their end.
While the soldiers stood behind the door with mechanical chatter running through their coms and stared at the other end of the door through red goggle lenses of their mechanically altered masks, the family hurried to hunker down in their basement. They had little hope that this would hide them from the radars but it would buy them a bit of time. The soldiers were mechanical automatons, so they had centuries of patience built into them, but they must have received orders not to test that part of their adamantine mettle and to blow the door down.
It took something as meek as a press of the shoulder for the mechanical door to fold. These soldiers peeled titanium like copy paper. Before long, the browsing scans of crimson lenses saw inside of the house and the small platoon spread out wider to scan the area for unconverted life signals.
"This is Dr. Puri speaking of Puri & Co. If you're hearing this, and you're not yet converted, please accept conversion. A horrible sickness is sweeping the world, and conversion is the only way to survive. These soldiers may look frightening, but their appearance is because of protective equipment and not their violent nature. They are here to help you," Dr. Puri's voice boomed from the coms of the mechanical soldiers that spread out and combed the house with the efficiency of a mechanical hive mind.
"Compromised life signals detected…" a mechanical soldier froze in place and approached the hatch on the floor. A place for safekeeping that could withstand a demon attack carving out troubling and prophetic signs on the ground or an alien attack and even the swarm of Saibamen, sold and installed free of cost by the specialists at Capsule Corps to make living in West City much safer. Since Ginger Town was just a few mountainous walls and countryside roads away, Capsule Corps goods reached this place too.
A robotic dog dashed onward through the door. It curved into a ball as the metallic frame exposed serrated blades on its back where an ordinary canine would've had spinal discs. Rolling in place, the robotic dog formed an artificial and incredibly efficient disc saw that sliced through even the toughest Capsule Corps panic room fortifications. The father of the family wrapped his arms around his terrified folks, ready to die first in order to protect his loved ones, knowing full well that his best efforts would only inconvenience these mechanical soldiers by giving them an extra dead body of heave off of their target. He'd die before he'd convert!
It was as if the entire world had gone mad these past few years!
"Don't be afraid, civilians!" a loud and proud voice boomed out of the doorway. The robotic soldiers stood up and all turned toward the door to witness a cocky male form and a luminous beacon beaming behind him while the man rocking an afro, shades, and a suit, and holding a futuristic plasma rifle over his shoulder struck a flashy pose. "Chayote Security is here to pull ya out of trouble! Everything's gonna be okay now! I, Mark Satan, guarantee it!"
The steampunk soldiers all stood up and prepared to engage this jester, but thunderous explosions riddled the Ginger Town floor, devastating the heavy machinery that was stationed outside. As usual, those Chayote Security goons would make it difficult for the Puri & Co folks with their guerilla warfare tactics. Despite Dr. Puri having a plan to deal with all of their heavy hitters, neither Chayote nor Trunks stuck around long enough to enact those plans and capture them. They were fast as rays of light and tougher than their speedy nature suggested it.
"Take a hike, you fool!" Vegeta yelled out, charging in from aside and shoving the afro-man flying with his calf while he channeled a Ki blast and promptly blasted it at the soldiers. The attack blinked away both the soldiers, their robo-doggo companions, and the entire house as well in a flash. The cocky Saiyan crossed his arms over his chest with a smug grin. "That's how you do it, don't waste our time if you don't plan on fighting, runt!"
"Cut it out, Vegeta. You're lucky Mark wore that fancy, magical body armor that helps him survive or you'd have killed the guy," Yamcha landed beside Vegeta with a vocal objection that the king of Saiyans cared little for as he approached the warehouse and extended his hand to pull the devastated family out from harm's way while his army of loyal Saiyan survivors engaged the converted soldiers on the streets of Ginger Town. It wasn't a war as much as it was a massacre. The Saiyan king would need to bring his refugee army elsewhere soon enough. Heck, he'd need to. Ginger Town wasn't even close to being the worst case of Android infestation.
"Please… I barely tapped him. And I'm not liking your tone, Earthling! You will refer to me as the royalty that I am!" Vegeta pointed at himself with his thumb before leaning down to demand the cowering Earthlings left their piss-poor cover and dashed toward the Chayote Security evacuation effort.
The horrified people only hunkered down more. The terrified husband pressed his shaking wife and bawling children tighter to his chest. The king of Saiyans scowled at this and reared his teeth in frustration before standing up and clenching his fists, struggling against his instinct to obliterate the cowardly Earthlings on the spot.
"Listen to me here, you jellyfish invertebrates! I am king Vegeta the IV! The king of all Saiyans and I've brought my people to live alongside yours! I see now that in order for that to happen, I must first get rid of your planet's problems for you and clean your streets up. So take my goddamn hand and flee for your miserable, sniveling lives this instant!" Vegeta demanded with a snarl.
"Come on, you guys!" a firm, masculine to the point of cartoonish extent, voice boomed from Vegeta's lap as Mark Satan recovered from the punt he took earlier and approached the bunker, kneeling down and offering his hand to the terrified family. "We're here to help ya out. Just run toward the nearest jet with Chayote Security insignia and tell 'em Mark Satan sent ya!"
"Mark… Satan…?" the husband let go of his family and looked up at his savior with hopeful eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. Mark Satan. You're a real savior. A true hero!" the wife wiped her tears and helped her kids get out from the devastated bunker while the husband accepted Mark Satan's hand and aid in getting out and then squeezed the hero's hand before following his family to the nearest Chayote Security point of escort.
"That's right!" Mark Satan laughed, lowering his rifle and pressing his fist to his waist as he laughed out into the air with a proud look on his face. "A hero to anyone being oppressed and a thorn in the side of the cybernetic evil occupying our world. Head of security, Mark Satan, that is me!"
Vegeta's right eye twitched as he had gone way past the point of sheer wrath and had entered the realm of an emotional breach that left him speechless. Noticing that the king of Saiyans was about to lose it, Yamcha took control of the situation while the family fled to safety and Mark Satan sought other points of interest where he could assist the Chayote Security agents in drawing out any survivors.
"Hey, Vegeta, why don't you guys head south? This place looks relatively tame. I'll take on the Muscle Tower in the area. Don't think I'll miss it, the only place with a massive stadium dome on the roof…" Yamcha said while Vegeta stood up and nodded. His eyes still sunken in the shade of the gloomy clouds and his face still bland and emotionless after some joker in an outdated haircut and defined by his hero complex had stolen from him his heroic feat.
The king of Saiyans darted off with a roar of blinding wrath as the scale of brokenness had withdrawn back toward the neutrality point, enveloped in a flashing white aura. Seeing their king moving to another battlefield, a significant portion of Saiyans split up and went after their king while a lone platoon stayed to finish the stragglers of the cybernetic legion or any potential reinforcements that might come their way.
"Leave this to Mark Satan!" Mr. Satan gave Yamcha a thumb up with another blinding show of his heroic facade and bravado. "You go whoop some robo-ass! We'll join you for the cleanup after we're done evacuating the civvies."
"Thanks… I'll go do that…" Yamcha's eye twitched before he turned around and breathed out the rising notion to cringe. The martial artist promptly took off, heading toward the Muscle Tower structure standing atop of a tall plateau near the town in the process of being liberated.
A luminous flash sent panels of tempered glass that covered the top of the dome of the Ginger Town muscle tower, shattering all over the inner area of the stadium. Yamcha hovered through the hole and looked around, seeing no sign of his opponent. He'd probably have to scan the place thoroughly to find Mecha Frieza if his remains indeed were here.
Before long, the thumping sounds of steampunk soldiers, adamantine skeletons inside of rubber suits wielding heavy weaponry filled the stage as military bots with Red Ribbon insignia began swarming the stadium. Yamcha took a fighting stance, preparing to take on the enemy. Distant plasma bolts and heavy artillery began blasting indoors, missiles and molten balls of gas, blizzards of bullets began pouring at the martial artist who just smirked and pressed his index and middle finger to his forehead, vanishing in an instant to allow the focused barrage of fire to leave the area he was just in a smoldering crater.
Yamcha appeared nearby a heavy tank and grabbed hold of its cannon, swinging the machine around him while swatting and crushing all surrounding mechanical soldiers and repeating his vanishing trick to bully other squadrons of the endless cybernetic legion. Before he saw the ranks diminish significantly, Yamcha felt something sting through the back of his neck.
"Wouldn't it be grand if you killed yourself, dog?" a thought occurred to Yamcha.
"Come on, you're just a filthy, no-good thug. What on Earth are you good for, other than killing yourself, that is?" the same inner voice kept demanding.
"Come on, no one will miss you…"
"How about you kill yourself just a little bit? You don't have to kill yourself whole right now. You can just kill yourself halfway now and then kill yourself some more later…"
"Killing yourself is so hot right now. Everybody's doing it… You're missing out!"
"What… The…?" Yamcha panted, trying to overpower and expel this irritating voice demanding that he took his own life. While he couldn't quite boot this psychic invader out of his mind, he could fight the urge to kill himself nicely, even though it left him completely paralyzed and unable to make any other moves.
"My, my… Impressive…" a sharp-pitched voice came from the back of the line of the queued-up legion of soldiers and their totaled machinery of warfare. The ranks of steampunk soldiers all parted ways to allow their general, a tall and fit-looking man wearing tight leather pants and a myriad of belts wrapped all over his thighs, calves, waist, and chest over a night blue shirt and a black overcoat with silver trimmings and sharp edges all over the curves.
The feature that caught Yamcha's attention the most was the striking blue eyes and long blonde hair reaching all the way down his lower back. He styled the hair slick and curved in a crescent-like shape and the man strut in a militaristic fashion, holding both his hands behind his back and taking his time as the Artificial Human was confident in his abilities.
"Mr. Satan wasn't… Kidding… You really look like him…" Yamcha panted burdened by a tremendous amount of physical strain of the Android's mind control abilities. Given the Red Ribbon insignia on the lapel of this man's overcoat and his standout design, he must have been the head honcho of this Muscle Tower facility.
"What on Earth are you prattling on about, you poor filth?" the Artificial Human shrugged with indifference as he approached the paralyzed warrior closer and closer without rushing the step in his strut too much.
"General… Blue… The man that kidnapped Bulma about fifteen years ago and… Nearly got us all killed…" Yamcha could feel his muscles twitching and fighting back the psychokinetic and mind-washing abilities of this Artificial Human. "You're pale too, probably couldn't wash all the water out from your dead body before they stuffed a robot inside it."
"Insolent little rat!" the Artificial Human slipped his fingerless leather glove off one hand and smacked Yamcha with a backhand strike that would have killed any lesser man but barely loosened up Yamcha's tooth. Something gave the martial artist the impression that this wasn't a serious attempt at his life and that he should have expected much stronger strikes, something in the league of the Super Saiyans even. "How dare you talk back to your superior? Though your resistance to the piercing sharpness of my mind intrigues me. Let us dance some more so that I can see just who you are."
"Yeah… Kind of the idea of this whole knocking down your door thing…" Yamcha joked. Much to his terror, he still couldn't quite loosen up this Android's psychokinetic hold over him. Just what would it take? Will he truly need to resort to King Kai's Fist and strain his body just to move in this Android's presence?
"You ungrateful mongrel…" the Artificial Human stepped further away with his hands behind his back, almost as if counting ten paces for a duel. "Are you completely unaware of the structure of a tower? You were meant to walk in through the door and ascend through each tower. You must work your way up to the top. Not just about any ugly mutt can meet me, you see. I am Android One-Eight, the head of Puri & Co's marketing and advertisement division. I can make people believe things they never used once in their entire lives are indispensable and spend their entire life's savings on them. I am a very important Artificial Human and I cannot be disturbed by ugly wretches such as yourself."
"Ugly? Come on, man…" Yamcha winced as if the jab physically hurt him despite being verbal. "I've got a reputation as a ladies' man to uphold here. Don't just hit below the belt like that…"
"Oh, but Yamcha-san, all I do is shoot below the belt…" the Artificial Human approached Yamcha and leaned down to rub his crotch with his gloved hand, enjoying the dominance he held over his paralyzed opponent. Yamcha's eyes bulged out while cold sweat poured down his face. In a single remark and gesture, he realized that both his body and mind were completely open to this guy. "Yes, I am aware of the essential information about you. How else would I make you choke your girlfriend for a chance to buy scat you don't need for an absolute steal of a price? A steal from you, that is…"
"Yeesh! Definitely like General Blue…!" Yamcha wriggled, but just couldn't break free. A stray punch caught his jaw and knocked him flat on the back while his opponent gently slithered on top of him and leaned down to lick the cheek where the martial artist had his scar.
"Vegeta! On second thought, you can have this guy all to yourself!" Yamcha yelled out while an immovable grip of Android One-Eight's hands locked around his wrists. Even though the Artificial Human barely even tried and was just teasing him, it felt as if the gravitational lock of a massive neutron star had kept Yamcha locked in place.
"Oh? Itching to leave already, Yamcha-san? But you haven't yet looked at the merchandise yet… A pity, here I was hoping I could make a sucker out of you…" Artificial Human One-Eight shrugged with a teasing expression "Oh well, I'm sure someone somewhere will pay something for an extra organ or two. We don't have to relay to them the information that it came from a lowlife brick-face such as you. Or, better yet, we do disclose them this and knock down the price a peg to attract that piss-poor peasant demographic. How splendid, One-Eight, you handsome devil you! Isn't that right, boys?"
The leathery steampunk soldiers all struck a straight formation and tightened their uniforms with a quick check before saluting their leader and posing with their rifles.
"All hail Artificial Human No. One-Eight! His business savvy, marketing skills, and handsomeness know no bounds!" the soldiers all chanted out non-stop, in perfect sync. It didn't take a mind reader like One-Eight to realize that they were just brains in a jar, the simplest thing for One-Eight to treat as his slaves.
"Right?" One-Eight turned his back to his men with a sassy pose, bending his back inward as he curved his upper spine and pressed his index finger to his lips, nibbling on his fingernail. "Now, Yamcha-san, what say you if we take a little business loan of a pair of kidneys and a liver from you? We'll pay you back with interest, of course. Though I must warn you up front, your death will make our contract null and void and free us of this obligation."
"Shit… It can't be helped… He's really going to eviscerate me if I just lie low here…" Yamcha grumbled before tensing his whole body. "King Kai's Fist X10!" he yelled out. One-Eight's face colored with the paint job of gleeful ecstasy as he looked around, expecting to see a light show, but then his excitement all died down when he realized nothing was happening. The handsy Android even acted out cartoonish and overplayed disappointment and leaned down over Yamcha until their faces were just within hand's reach apart, pressing harder on Yamcha's wrists.
"Yamcha-san… How terrible, nothing seemed to have happened… I wonder why that might be?" Android One-Eight huffed waves of hot air right into Yamcha's face. It didn't reek. In fact, it smelled kind of nice, which Yamcha thought was the worst thing of this entire, highly disturbing and humiliating predicament.
"Flashbang!" a masculine, booming voice declared as a handful of cylinders clacked on the stadium floor and blasted a blinding gleam of light from them while spitting out a revolting and ear-raking pop from them. A jet was hovering over the busted window while Mark Satan rappelled from it on a rope ladder holding a rifle. Android One-Eight just stared at the descending Chayote Security party with grandiose bafflement on his face, as his sensors didn't appear particularly troubled by either the blinding light or the noise.
"Just what do you think you're doing, you turd-flinging, shaggy bonobo?" One-Eight made a revolted expression while staring the descended hero of the people, Mark Satan right in the eye. "Unless you came here to buy a container of razor blades and some shaving foam, you're in for a painful death."
A pair of boots dug into the bottom of One-Eight's chin, blasting him off of Yamcha like a skyward arrow and socking the Android flat into the ceiling of the stadium. The stunned Artificial Human dislodged from the ruin he was stuck in and flopped down on his face back on the dirty soil.
"Holy shit, Mark Satan! With that freakazoid's mind control keeping me down, I couldn't even activate King Kai's Fist! Your flashbang literally socked me right out of it! You're an actual hero!" Yamcha gushed over the blushing afro-agent who couldn't stop adjusting his indoor shades. The best kind of shades, if one asked Mark Satan.
"Right! My plan all along… Obviously!" Mark Satan posed with his hands on his hips and his chest stoutly puffed out. "Free the target from mind control, neutralize the boogey."
"You mean bogey, sir?" a female agent covering Mark Satan's back and aiming her plasma rifle at the surrounding Artificial Human forces corrected her chief.
"Right, right…" Mark Satan nodded repeatedly with a nervous twitch before taking up his own rifle and preparing to assist Yamcha in dealing with the shrewd and lewd Artificial Human.