Dragon Ball Z: Dynasty
Written by: Feraligreater328 and StevenBodner
Edited by: StevenBodner and SparkerLightning
A/N: Quick note about the cruelty in this chapter. I just wanted to remind everyone...the Saiyans, in general, really did deserve to be Supernova'd out of existence. THEY REALLY DESERVED IT.
Chapter 118: Bardock and Turles
Planet Vegeta, Birthing Facility L6532-i4...
Boots clanked against metal grating as two scientists walked between rows upon rows of tubes taking notes. Within these tubes, newborn babies were poked and prodded with machinery. Not quite alive, but not quite dead, those darling tots were defenseless as they were forcibly tested on a variety of factors. The older scientist took notes. "This is a good batch from our facility. His Majesty should be pleased with our results."
The younger scientist rolled his eyes. "Or whatever stooge he sends should find them satisfactory."
The elder growled under his breath. "Stay your tongue, boy. And be glad that you are one of the full-blooded that is allowed to enjoy this life of ease and comfort."
The elder scientist typed onto the keyboard of one of the pods, observed the data, and then made a note. "Very good. We will be able to determine where this lot shall be sent off to when gestation ends tonight."
The younger one chuckled. "Not a single one above Low-Class. Pathetic."
The elder nodded. "Indeed. Now, let us observe this next row and then our job shall be done for the-"
The elder scientist skidded to a halt, pressing his hand over his heart and gasping in horror. "Merciful Vegeta I! What the devil has occurred here?!"
The two of them marched up to a nearby tank. The senior was in shock, his junior smirked. Floating before them, in the culture fluid, was a healthy and strong-looking baby Saiyan. All was well...except for the fact that this strong-looking newborn had a massive growth erupting from his back. Upon closer inspection, the growth appeared to be no growth at all. Instead...it was another baby!
Twins! Conjoined twins!
The elder scientist placed his hand on the glass, staring at the two of them. "Good god..."
The other researcher chuckled. "I was wonderin' what woulda came of this. Damn. I'm glad I didn't nip that in the bud when I saw it, this is too friggin' funny~"
The elder glared at him. "You...allowed this abomination upon nature to happen?! IN MY FACILITY?!"
The younger scientist shrugged. "What's the big deal? It's just a couple of Low-Class brats. They'll be dead in no time what with all of the hostile planets to be invaded out there."
The elder scientist punched his younger counterpart in the mouth. The lesser scientist crashed with a thud that made several tanks gurgle. The elder sneered. "Fool! King Vegeta would have every researcher in this facility executed and have all of our hard work cleansed if he ever discovered this! We must abort this at once and make sure that those reports are buried, or-"
The younger scientist stood, wiping blood from his busted lip. "Hold on now, old man! If you're worried about a paper trail, I have the perfect solution for ya!"
The elder sneered. "And that would be?"
The younger scientist observed the power levels in the tank, and then he cross-referenced it with a list of planets on his electronic notepad. "Tansba. Average power level there is 50. For one of these brats, Little Mister 300, it'll be a cake walk. For Nubby the Parasite, however..."
The younger scientist stared dispassionately at the two babies floating in the culture fluid.
Planet Tansba...
The Attack Ball carrying Planet Tansba's brutal fate crashed into a barren stretch of wilderness on the abandoned outskirts of the planet. The hatch popped open and the light of a waning gibbous shined in on the occupants.
The two Saiyan babies within both stirred awake, their eyes blinking and adjusting to the bright light. After a few moments, one of them began to cry. He shrieked and waved about, his two legs and single arm scrambling to grab any source of comfort. The other one had a grim look on his face, immediately annoyed by his travel companion.
A speaker on the hatch of the Attack Ball crackled to life and a voice spoke out. Even in his infantile state, the grim baby was able to comprehend the words as they rang out. All Saiyan babies were programed in their culture tubes to be able to hear and understand orders. The voice on the other end spoke calmly and matter-of-fact. "You are a Saiyan. You are to kill. You are to conquer. You are to destroy. You are to devastate. You will complete this task and then return to this pod to return home to Planet Vegeta. That is your life: a Saiyan Soldier."
The grim baby understood, immediately trying to climb out of the pod to begin its mission. But then, another voice spoke. It was the younger scientist. He had a smirk in his tone as he spoke his own orders. "You have a week's worth of rations in this Attack Ball. Only enough for one passenger to last a week. You must kill your travel companion...and then your rations will immediately double~"
Not noticing or caring about the nauseatingly jovial tone of the second message, the grim-faced little monster turned and looked to his travel companion. Orders had been given. Now he was ready to fulfill them. He quickly grabbed his wailing companion by the hair and slammed him down onto the hatch of the Attack Ball. He wrapped his little hands around the one-armed nuisances throat and began to squeeze. The wailing was reduced to a moan...and then a squeak. The one-armed Saiyan baby was clearly terrified. Tears built in his eyes, but his companion didn't care. The throttling continued on and, soon enough, clouds formed in the sky and it began to pour rain.
Rain was a frequent occurrence on Tansba. It was a special kind of rain. It created fumes in the air that no normal being could stand to breathe, though the brutal and survival-intent Saiyans could breathe just about any air without issue. Even the Tansbians had to wear special breathing apparatus' over their mouths to survive outside. No issue for a Saiyan though. The dominant newborn had no trouble stealing the breath of his one-armed companion. He squeezed tighter and tighter, knowing that it would be over soon. Such was the way life was amongst Saiyans. The strong survived and the weak perished.
...except, this time, something odd happened. As the water pooled in the viewing glass, the more capable of the Saiyans looked down and he saw something in the water's reflection that made him double-take. The face reflected in the water, next to the one he was currently killing off...it was the same face.
The murderous brat stared into the pooling water, his grip loosening. He stared and stared at the reflection, shifting from his own face to the one-armed Saiyan's. And then, like a glass ornament carelessly dropped to the unforgiving floor...something in the kid's head broke.
The same face.
The same eyes.
The same nose.
The same mouth.
The same hair.
The stronger infant helped his one-armed companion up and the two stared at one another as thunder and lightning rumbled and crashed in the background.
Twelve years later, the slums of Planet Vegeta...
**CRASH BANG SLAM CRASH CRUNCH SHATTER**
A metal chair came shooting through the grimy windows of a Low-Class dwelling and shattered glass rained down on the streets below. A heavy-set, rougher-than-sand feminine voice screamed out at the top of her lungs. "YOU LITTLE BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE AGAIN?! DROP THAT FOOD OR SO HELP ME-"
A young Saiyan boy with a grim expression came flying out of the broken window with a hateful scowl. Without hesitation, he shot a blast back into the window and caused a massive explosion. The rest of the undisturbed windows exploded out and one of the walls to the dwelling started to buckle. The rough, feminine voice screamed again. She sounded like a volcano ready to explode. "DAMN YOU, BARDOCK! I'LL SLIT YOUR THIEVING LITTLE THROAT FOR THIS!"
The young Saiyan landed on a nearby rooftop and stood tall. In one hand, he had a massive hunk of cooked meat. In the other hand, he carried a ration jug of clean, freshly-purified water. He sneered. "Dumb, fat bitch. You'd lose your breath reaching for the knife. Try me."
Bardock leapt down from the rooftop and into a nearby alleyway. He crouched behind a waste bin and stared with a disdainful scowl as several of his erstwhile siblings scurried out in the street. They all looked thirsty for blood. One of them called out. "FIND 36! HE CAN'T BE ALLOWED TO GET AWAY WITH THIS AGAIN!"
The voice of an older female called out. "Tear his ass apart! And if you find that feeble little cripple 37, use him as a hostage! If Bardock is here, he can't be far away!"
Listening as they all got further away, Bardock rolled his eyes. "Morons."
And then, once he was sure the coast was clear, Bardock stood up and went running through the back alleyways. The young Saiyan leapt up on a partition, standing tall and looking down at the various slums that surrounded Dispatch Depot #85. He glanced around and caught sight of the billboard that he had personally broken. "There we go. Not too far of a walk."
With a hardened face that looked as if it would sooner break than smile, young Bardock leapt down and began to stalk his way through the slum alleyways below. As he did, various billboards and display screens called out bits and pieces of the latest news around Planet Vegeta.
"...and today, King Vegeta II celebrates his 168th birthday..."
"...as the War Hammer has conquered another eight planets in only three days, questions emerge about the mysterious Cassa..."
"Prince Vegeta III is rumored to have selected a mate to lead us into a new ruling era..."
Clutching onto a nearby railing, Bardock propelled himself upward and landed solidly on a rooftop. "That's enough groundwork. Those idiots are probably lost by now..."
"I wouldn't think so, thief!"
Bardock glared across the rooftop and saw a somewhat familiar face. With a shaved head and a visible dent around his left eye from a punch taken off-world, Sibling 29 stood with his arms crossed. "Bardock~ You think we're just gonna let you keep stealin' from us like that?! Why ain't you learned that, if you and the reject wanna eat, you gotta fend for yerselves?!"
Bardock sneered. "Kohl...or was it Rabi...?"
29 cracked his knuckles. "What's you say, bitch boy?! You mumblin' some sorta code to yer one-armed pet?!"
Bardock shook his head. "Nah. Just tryin' to remember another word for shit, I suppose."
29 sneered. "Look, yer strong. You could be somethin'. Why don't we kill little, useless 37 together and then go back home?! I'm sure Mama would-"
With a lightning-quick kick, Bardock launched a cloud of rooftop dust and gravel right into 29's face, kneeling down to grab something off of the ground. 29 coughed and choked as he stumbled back, unable to detect or defend as Bardock lunged at him with a loose brick gripped tight in his hand and a look of cold indifference in his eyes.
A brief overview of the caste system on Planet Vegeta...
The Saiyan Low-Class: The lowest dregs of Saiyan society relegated to the Low-Class Slums surrounding various dispatch depots across the surface of Planet Vegeta. Low-Class Saiyans are expendable and often uneducated soldiers. As both their power and reputation grow, mere Low-Class Saiyans are allowed to advance into higher levels of society and attain greater and greater fortunes in life, though usually are never allowed higher than Mid-Class. Some Saiyans may be held in Low-Class, in spite of power level, should they have external factors that make them not fit the position. Or should they simply turn down the promotion of their own volition.
The scope of a Low-Class Saiyans domain is limited to their orders. If Low-Classes have formed a squad, they are allowed to act together, but are still constrained simply to the orders handed down to them.
Range of Power Levels Birth: 1 – 100 Prime Conditioning: 500 – 900.
The Saiyan Mid-Class: The rank-and-file class of Saiyan society. Unlike Low-Class Saiyans who are, more-or-less, born and built to die, Mid-Class Saiyans are considered the long-life batch. Afforded an education and a tangible standard of living, these Saiyans were either born into such a lifestyle, or they earned their way into it. With the title "Mid-Class" comes a certain standard meant to be maintained. There are no demotions in the Saiyan Caste System, but Mid-Classes that do not behave as Mid-Classes are rather hastily weeded out on deployments.
Unlike Low-Class Saiyans, Mid-Class are allowed to pick their own deployments and are even afforded time off with pay, should they desire it. They are also allowed on missions that stray closer and closer to the edges of the Northern Galaxy: both a vaunted luxury and a dangerous boon for those that stray too far west. Mid-Class Saiyans can fall into one of two spots, they either join a Squad with their fellow Mid-Classes, or they are handpicked by someone of a higher class to serve alongside them. Advancement from Mid-Class is not unheard of, but is rarely allowed due to the high levels of repression and nepotism from higher-ranked Saiyans.
Range of Power Levels Birth: 200 – 400 Prime Conditioning: 1000 - 2500
The Saiyan Elite Class: "The Golden Few". That is the name for the Elite Class. Often lauded as those with untouchable power, the reason for their status is quite mundane though often a taboo subject among lower classes: they are the descendants of those that helped Vegeta I conquer Planet Plant. Fiercely protective of their rank and status, they will do anything to prevent those born in lower ranks from ever rising to join their place atop the ivory towers of Saiyan society. Although, if the Vegeta regent in charge were to welcome a new Saiyan to their ranks, they would have no choice but to accept such an addition.
Though, that is not to say that the Elite are not strong. They are truly the greatest force, barring outliers, that Saiyan society has at their disposal. They are an unstoppable front to most peaceful planets that never expected an incursion of Saiyans to disturb their lives. They are only called for the most vicious and deadly of invasions and often work beside the greater Cold Force to get things done.
Range of Power Levels Birth: 400 – 800 Prime Conditioning: 2500 - 5000
The Saiyan Royal Class: The Vegeta Bloodline. Started by Vegeta I as the man who led the Saiyans to their hostile takeover of Planet Plant after the destruction of Planet Sadala. The source of the greatest and most powerful genes on Planet Vegeta, only ever overtaken by a single, notable outlier. Currently ruled over by Vegeta II (currently 168 years of age), who has presided over the Saiyan race since his father's passing. The next in line to inherit the throne is Vegeta III, Vegeta II's son (currently 24 years of age).
The only way to enter the Saiyan Royal Family is to be married into it. Though, even this isn't always the case. Vegeta I's mate was made a part of his descendancy, but Vegeta II (a man with a clinical disdain for affection) never met his mate face-to-face and chose to have her slaughtered the moment his heir was born. The heir, Vegeta III, is currently trying to court a mate chosen for him by his father, but is failing to make an impression on her. Seeing his son as a failure and openly berating him for it, Vegeta II is prepared to invoke his will on the matter the moment his patience wears thin.
Range of Power Levels Irrelevant. Royal Status cannot be determined by the paltry metrics that mere commoners abide by.
In an alleyway quite close to Dispatch Depot #85...
Bardock landed in an alleyway quite familiar to him with a bloodied nose and hands soaked in crimson. He splashed his hands into a nearby puddle to rinse the blood away and then plopped down onto the wretched pavement. The vicious, little monster knocked his knuckle against the dumpster in a rhythmic fashion and, after a moment, the lid burst open.
Leaping out from the dumpster, scrawny as a Saiyan could be, a one-armed child bearing Bardock's face landed and stumbled. He looked at Bardock and smiled. Bardock's face remained grave. "Come on, Turles. We don't have all day. Get over here and eat."
Turles nodded. "R-Right!"
The one-armed Saiyan flopped onto the ground next to his brother and ripped open the burlap encasing the meat. Bardock sighed and leaned his head back. Turles glanced over at Bardock. "You have some new armor! The depot gave it to you after you turned in the paperwork for the last conquest, right? Did...uh...did they throw away your old set?"
Bardock glanced over at Turles and the shabby, broken armor he was wearing. The older brother closed his eyes again. "That set was trashed. The one you're wearing now is in better condition..."
Turles bowed his head. "Those Roquali used a lot of explosives against your Oozaru form, huh?"
Bardock nodded with a grunt. As Turles continued to eat, he looked his brother over. He saw the red caked between Bardock's fingernails. And, although he knew his brother never took the time to bathe, he was sure his nails weren't that bloody earlier when he left. Turles swallowed hard. "Uh...did you get into a fight with some of our siblings again? Did you...uh..."
Bardock was blunt. "I'm fine. 29 fell off a roof."
Turles scratched the back of his head. "Y-You're sure...?"
Bardock glared over at him. "Just eat. You need to keep your strength up if I'm going to take you with me on the next conquest."
Turles nodded and continued to eat, albeit quite slowly. He ripped another chunk from the large piece of meat, eyeing his brother until Bardock did so as well. Once Bardock grabbed a hunk to bite into, Turles really started tucking in. Soon enough, the entire rations were gone and both brothers sat there in the muck, feeling full. Bardock took a swig of the water and turned to his little brother, noticing the paper sticking out of Turles' armor chest plate. "That my deployment ticket you got there?"
Turles nodded with a smile. "Uh-huh. Actually..."
He pulled the paper from his armor, revealing not one but two sheets. "...OUR deployments tickets! They made one for me too, this time~"
Bardock glared at the two tickets with some major side-eye. "I don't like that. I don't like that at all."
Turles cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
Bardock sneered and glared at the two tickets. "You've never been given a ticket before. You're my tag-along. Often a tag-along that they don't want coming with me. So...why now? What the hell does the ticket even say?"
Turles turned the tickets back towards his face. "They...don't really say anything. They both just say to bring them to the dispatch desk..."
Bardock crossed his arms. "Really don't like that."
Turles felt awkward. He knew that Bardock was annoyed now and he didn't like to see his brother that way. The one-armed Saiyan cleared his throat. "W-We have a bit of time before we're meant to report, ya know. I could...uh...I could teach you how to...read a little bit more..."
Bardock rolled his eyes. "We're low-class, Turles. Ain't got no need to read any of that writin' foolishness. Don't even understand how you managed to learn it..."
Turles smiled wide, happy to have an excuse to brag. "I've told you that before~! I learned how to read from various labels that have been on food we've eaten in the past. I've also used your deployment orders, news leaflets that people throw into the-"
Bardock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Turles. I know. I was bein' sarcastic And I already have a headache from dealin' with 29. Cool it with the ramblin'."
The sound of gravel shifting was followed by a cool, slightly-deep, and quite feminine voice. "Ah. So, you are the one that did Celriak in. And here I thought the buzzcut dumbass slipped and cracked his own head open..."
Bardock glared towards the street and Turles gasped as they both took in the sight of their guest. She was a younger adult Saiyan woman with a mane of smooth, well-cared for ebony hair reaching all the way down to her tail. She glanced at the two out of the corner of her eye with a slackerish indifference. Bardock sneered. "Tursa."
Turles popped up with a welcoming smile on his face. "Big Sister Tursa! How are-"
Seeing grimy little Turles run at her, Tursa shot her tail out and used it to trip him up. Turles fell onto his face into a murky puddle and Tursa flipped her hair away. "I just bathed. Don't touch me."
Turles pushed himself up and sniffled, dirty water pouring from his hair. Seeing this, Bardock was genuinely furious. He stood and snapped. "Listen here 24, you ignorant bitch! You should know better than to-"
Tursa blew Bardock off. "Yo. Turles."
Turles looked up and a large, red pod came tumbling into his lap. He picked it up and stared at it with childlike wonder. "What is this...?"
Tursa closed her eyes. "Sweet Fruit from the Mid-Class Marketplace. I get to shop there now due to my recent promotion. Take it and get lost. The big kids need to talk."
Turles poked and prodded at the fruit with his fingers. He looked up at Tursa, patiently waiting for him to clear out. "Th-Thanks, Tursa! I... love you...sister."
Tursa groaned and shook her head. "You are such a loser. Just go."
Turles nodded and obeyed, running off with a smile on his face and his fruit gripped in his only hand. Once he was gone, Bardock stood and walked up to his elder sister. Tursa was in her early 20s, compared to Bardock and Turles being 12. She radiated a more adult feel, but had the attitude of an emancipated teenager. Tursa spoke. "That's our eight sibling you've offed. Jicama is pissed that you're effecting her profits. Especially now that the breeding centers are denying her contributions."
Bardock spoke back blunty. "Jicama's a fat, ugly whore that needs to not cross me. They probably aren't denying her, they probably just can't find anyone that wants to mate with her. I'll kill her if she bothers us. You know that."
Tursa opened her eyes, though no more than to the half-lidded point. She stared down at Bardock, as strong and capable as he was, and sighed. "It would be such an easy life for you if you'd just abandon him on some random planet somewhere. You'd get promotion opportunities, better planets...hell, they might even give you a squad with how effective you are at your job..."
She chuckled. "You could form the Saiyan version of the Ginyu Force..."
Bardock didn't respond. Tursa sighed. "I bet Jicama would even forgive you. Hell, with how quick you turn over jobs you'd probably turn out to be her favorite. She might even forgive you for-"
Bardock put his fist through the stone wall next to him. "ARE YOU ON HER SIDE NOW?!"
Tursa rolled her eyes and shrugged. "She is our mother..."
Bardock ground his teeth. Tursa gave a ragged sigh. "Of course, I'm not on that scuzzy whale's side! I just got a promotion to mid-class, Bardock! She's dead to me, far as I'm concerned!"
Bardock's enraged scowl turned back to a simply annoyed one. "Good..."
That conversation over, Tursa crossed her arms and looked into the sky. "I got so close to the edge of the northern galaxy on my last deployment, ya know. They made us participate in this discussion about all the big names in that place..."
She smirked. "Gryll the loan-shark...Saganbo the bandit boss...Slug the demon lord...Elec the Heeter...all those guys out there, in the West, living in total freedom..."
She closed her eyes. "I could practically smell it, ya know? Taste it, ya know...?"
Bardock grunted. Tursa continued. "I'm tellin' ya. Just a little farther. A couple more deployments at most. Then...I'll have my chance and I'll be able to say goodbye to this shithole world forever..."
Bardock sneered and began to dig in his armor. "Sooner you leave, sooner I don't have to see your ugly face anymore..."
The blunt child produced a small bag from his armor and threw it to his sister. Tursa opened the bag and glanced in, see a pile of credit chips filled nearly-full to the top. She shoved the bag into her chest plate and rolled her eyes. "Funny. I was just thinking that out of all forty-eight of my siblings, a couple of stinking gutter brats like you and the one-amred bandit back there are the people I'd want riding with me the least..."
She mumbled. "Guess I'll have to make sure that storage compartment is air-tight..."
Bardock snapped. "What'd you mumble over there?"
Tursa snapped back. "I said I have a couple weeks downtime before my first mid-class deployment! So I'm going to go scope out a place to live in one of the upper districts. Then I'm going to enjoy another bath and dream about the future! You dumb brats can sit here and drink sewage of whatever it is you two do for fun!"
Bardock was silent, as was Tursa. The two of them stared at one another for a long while. And then Tursa adopted what could almost be called a genuine smile. "Stay alive, 36 and 37~"
Bardock turned away. "Cut your damned hair, 24. It's an eyesore."
Once Tursa was out of sight, Bardock walked back into the alleyway and whistled. Almost immediately, Turles appeared from the shadows with the half-eaten fruit gripped tight. He offered the other half to Bardock and Bardock took it with a nod. Turles cocked his head. "So, how was she?"
Bardock finished the fruit, licking the juice from his palm. "She's an annoying sow that needs a damned haircut."
The elder brother turned to leave the alleyway and motioned for his tagalong to follow. Turles scratched the back of his head. "Her hair is basically the same as when she was born, right? So why are you saying she needs to cut it?"
Bardock sighed. "I dunno. Just call it a gut feeling. But that doesn't matter right now. Let's go see what our marching orders are..."
Dispatch Depot #85...
Bardock and Turles walked into Dispatch Depot #85 and Turles sorted the tickets. "This one has your name on it. I'll hang onto the one that has mine so that they don't get mixed up..."
Bardock grunted in response and studied the symbols that Turles taught him represented his name. As they both stood in line, waiting their turn, Turles started to bounce up and down with excitement. "This is going to be great! The army is finally giving me a chance~ Maybe I'll make a name for myself! What do you think Bardock, huh? Turles...THE MIGHTY!"
Bardock stood there in silence. He thought onto Tursa's words of the West Galaxy and sneered. "No matter what, they ain't splitting us up. If you and I get different orders, I'll just throw mine out and go where you're going..."
Turles nervously chuckled. "J-Just don't get yourself in trouble, okay? I don't want them getting mad at you over me..."
Bardock snapped. "Who gives a shit what these morons think?! You and I have been together for 12 years straight. Ain't nothin' changing that."
Turles still seemed nervous. But hearing Bardock say that did put a tiny smile on his face. He reached out and grabbed Bardock's left hand with his right, and only, hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "Thanks, big brother..."
As the queue continued along, Bardock soon came to notice that he was being watched. He glared off to the side and saw a group of three soldiers giving him the eyes. From what he could tell, based off of their armor, they were mid-classes. The elder brother tried his best to maintain his cool and ignore the three of them leering at him. But in the end, Bardock simply couldn't keep himself in check. He turned and snarled at the three of them "WHAT ARE YOU JACKASSES STARING AT?! WHAT'S YOUR GODDAMNED PROBLEM?!"
The three of them flinched back, but then they started to laugh. Their leader stepped forward. He was tall and had a heavily receding hairline. But he was also quite well-groomed. He walked up to Bardock and offered a gloved hand to be shaken. "Bardock, I presume. Excellent to meet you. I am called Curlykale. Curly to my squadmates!"
He motioned with his free hand, the other still waiting to be shaken. "And these are my squadmates, Cress and Endive!"
Bardock continued to glare at Curlykale, utterly ignoring the offered handshake. "Maybe you didn't hear me. What do you jackasses want?!"
Curlykale sighed, pulling the hand back. "Army higher ups have noticed your skills, Bardock. Your merciless temperament and your effective way at neutralizing and terminating enemy combatants. So, it's been decided! You're going to get a trial run as a mid-class level Saiyan! If all goes well on your mission with the three of us, you'll never see the slums again!"
Curlykale smiled wide. "So, what do you-"
Bardock was blunt. "Squads are nothing more than weaklings banding together to look big. Eat shit and die."
Curlykale's jaw dropped. Turles placed his hand on Bardock's shoulder. "Come on, Bardock. Don't be so quick to reject his offer! Maybe this is why we both got dispatch tickets! M-Maybe if we join up with this squad it'll be our ticket to move up!"
He turned to the looming, balding Saiyan. "Right, Mr. Curlykale?"
Curlykale looked down his nose at Turles, utterly offended that an urchin like Turles would even dare speak to him. "You?! In my squad?! With that missing arm and that paper-thin physique?!"
Turles didn't even flinch. He had heard such remarks about himself before. He was eager to make his case. "I-I know I'm not the strongest Saiyan in the world. But Bardock and I are a team! Bardock is so strong that anybody would want him working with them! And, while I'm not strong, I'm pretty smart! At least, I'd like to think so! I can read and write and I have all sorts of supportive techniques that I could use! And I do have an attack of my own! It's not the strongest, but I call it my Sudden Storm! You see, I create a big bubble of energy and then fire a ton of blasts all at once! It's not much, but if we all worked together as a group, I could support you guys in the field and-"
Finally, the hulking Saiyan standing in the queue in front of Bardock and Turles snarled. "Will you tell your little one-armed girlfriend to shut the hell up already?! He screechy, high-pitched voice is pissin' me off!"
Turles stopped talking, his voice hitching in his throat. He turned to the hulking Saiyan and sounded genuinely upset. "G-Girlfriend. But I-"
The hulking bastard turned around. "You got a problem with me you little bi-"
Bardock leapt into the air and drove his fist into his larger foes face. The massive Saiyan fell onto his back and Bardock landed on his chest. Without hesitation, the elder brother lifted his foot and started to stomp down over and over again. Blood and teeth shot upward as Bardock's calm, if annoyed, expression was replaced with a mask of utter, boiling rage. He punctuated each word with a stomp. "SHUT! YOUR! GOD! DAMNED! MOUTH! MOTHER! F-"
A voice called out over the broadcast speaker. "Next in line. Next in line."
Bardock's rage vanished and he leapt down, grabbing Turles' hand with his left hand and pulling him forward. Curlykale, his squad, and all of the other onlookers were left to gape in shock at the sight of Bardock's latest foe. The hulking Saiyan laid there, his nose obliterated from the repeated stomps and his teeth scattered all about. He was breathing, but barely. Curlykale swallowed a lump in his throat. "What a bloodthirsty brat..."
At the Dispatch Counter...
The two boys quickly reached the dispatch counter and presented their deployment tickets, Bardock leaving a single bloody footprint every other step he took. As they stood there waiting, Turles tried to maintain his optimism. Bardock, meanwhile, crossed his arms and impatiently tapped his foot.
Soon enough, the Saiyan running the counter came back and handed back Bardock his ticket. "Here's your marching orders. Planet Cereal alongside Squad Curlykale. We've been trying to conquer that planet for years. This is the latest attempt. Your Attack Ball is being prepped alongside theirs."
The dispatcher shot a disdainful glare at Turles. "You're going to Planet Chimichurri, cripple. Try to die as quickly as possible."
Turles gently pressed his hand to the bulging nub that stuck out from his otherwise empty shoulder. He took a deep breath. "N-Not a chance. This is my big break! I'm going to survive! I'm going to conquer Chimichurri!"
Bardock crumpled his marching orders in his fist and tossed them thoughtlessly to the ground. "We're gonna conquer Chimichurri! Let's get to your pod. What hangar number?"
As the two brothers looked over the ticket, the Saiyan behind the counter pressed a button on his computer. He adopted a wicked smirk and watched as two other Saiyans from the Dispatch Depot started to march over. Unaware of what was happening around them, Bardock sneered at the ticket. "Wazzit say? I can't read that."
Turles was quite confused. "It says...NAIL. What does NAIL mean?"
At that moment, the two Dispatch Depot workers made themselves known. One brusquely kicked Bardock in the face, sending him flying backwards. The other one grabbed a mighty fistful of Turles' hair and yanked him off of the ground. Turles screamed in pain and the burly Saiyan chuckled. "This scrawny thing is one of the new NAILs?! Man, Cassava sure is slumming it these days, ain't she?!"
The other one guffawed. "Maybe he ain't a soldier. Maybe Cassava just wanted a snack~ She's feral. She'd probably eat another Saiyan if she felt like it~"
As the two of them walked off, one of them swinging Turles back and forth like a toy, the scared, one-armed boy cried out. "BARDOCK! BARDOCK HELP ME!"
Hearing the shrill sound of his little brother's sobs, all of Bardock's hair stood on end. He was practically foaming at the mouth as he pushed himself up and lunged forward, his bloody, busted nose leaving two streams of blood hanging in the air as he rocketed towards his brother's kidnappers.
Bardock screamed like he was possessed, but he was quickly seized by his tail and snatched out of the air. Bardock was thrown to the ground and sat up to find three people looming over him: Curlykale, Cress, and Endive. Bardock snarled and fired a blast, nailing Endive right in the face and sending her crashing backwards. Bardock snarled. "I don't have time for you assholes! GET OUT OF MY WAY!"
Curlykale's jovial demeanor had faded. He reached down and grabbed Bardock again, kicking him hard in the chest. Bardock gagged and the three Mid-Class Saiyans glared at him. Cress smirked and cracked his knuckles. "We have a minute, Curly. Why don't we put this feisty little guy through initiation?"
Curlykale turned his attention to a nearby service hallway leading towards the Attack Ball hangars. "Right. I agree. Let's go show him what happens when you mess with three born-and-bred Mid-Classes."
On the other end of the dispatch hangar...
Turles was still sobbing, desperately trying to escape the grip of his captor as he was forcefully carried onto the ship bound for Planet Chimichurri. He looked around as he was carried into the ship, taking in the horrifying sights around him. Dozens of Saiyans had already been loaded onto this ship, forcefully sat and locked into the dire, metal chairs by their hands and feet.
Some were desperately trying to break loose. Some had accepted their fate. Some were visibly missing their limbs. Some were visibly addled in the brain. And some...just sat there with grim looks on their faces.
One of Turles' captors spoke. "Congrats, ya one-armed pest! You've been conscripted to the frontlines of the Warhammer: the final solution to the problems that plague the Saiyan empire!"
With force, Turles was thrown into an empty chair and his captors went to work. They locked his feet and his tail in place, and then seized his right hand and shoved it into the cuff, which they tightly locked. Turles whimpered as he sat there, still unsure of what was happening. One of his captors scoffed. "This batch is mostly disabled pieces of garbage. Nobody interesting. Guess Cassava is just running out of meat shields to send in advance."
The other one chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't say that. I heard that we're getting an interesting one to load on here. They just ain't here yet."
As his captors marched away, Turles finally managed to squeak out a question between fearful sobs. "What the hell is going on here?!"
"You really wanna know?"
Turles looked to his left and his eyes locked on to another Saiyan, one about the same age as him and Bardock. This Saiyan boy sat locked in his seat, his eyes forward. A limp rat-tail hung from his otherwise unkempt hair. In spite of his youth, his eyes looked unfocused and tired. He stared over at Turles. "You're being sent to join the Warhammer. The place where the crippled, the mentally unwell, and anything else that King Vegeta doesn't want in his grand vision are sent to die. We're going to be made to act as fodder while the strongest Saiyan works her magic on obstinate species that refuse to die under normal invasion protocol."
Turles let loose a horrified gasp. His new friend nodded. "Name's Toma. Nice to meet ya. Sorry you're here. But to be blunt, you look like you'll die quick. So, I guess you're lucky."
The one-armed Saiyan was confused. "I'm...lucky to die...?"
Toma nodded. "Just take my word for it. I've seen people come back from this before. Saiyans are a violent, bloodthirsty species. And yet..."
Across the aisle, a deep voice boomed out. "BAH! QUIT TRYIN' TO SCARE THE SCRAWNY LITTLE BASTARD! ALL HIS TWITCHIN' AND SHAKIN' IS MAKING MY BELLY GRUMBLE!"
Turles and Toma looked across the aisle at the two Saiyans directly across from them. One was a hulking brute with gray skin and a dead-eyed look on his face. It was clear that not all that much was going on in his head, but he looked uniquely vicious. Next to him, there was an incredibly overweight Saiyan with a mushroom-style haircut. The two of them looked no older than 18. Toma scowled at the loudmouthed fellow. "Shut your mouth, fatass. Your breath stinks."
The tubby Saiyan sneered. "You just wait until they let me out of these shackles! I'll bite your friggin' head off!"
As the argument fruitlessly continued, the guards returned with two more captive passengers. The first one, a man screaming gibberish in a shrill tone, was forced into his seat and quickly locked in. His age was indeterminant, but he howled for the entire ship to hear. "I'M GOING TO TELL MY FATHER ABOUT THIS, SAIYAN FILTH! KING COLD WILL SLAUGHTER YOU ALL ON MY BEHALF!"
Once he was properly loaded in, the next prisoner was forced into her seat. Turles stared over at her and his face drooped into a sad frown. Just like him, this one was visibly terrified. Unlike him, however, she looked to be no older than six. Her eyes were welled with tears as her little hands was locked in place. She had a fresh, throbbing slap mark across her face, as if one of the guards had forced her to keep quiet and quit crying. One of the burly brutes looked down at her with disgust. "A six-year-old? Really? This is pathetic even by NAIL standards."
The other one cackled. "Yeah! And would you believe she's a Mid-Class too?! Her mother and siblings said she was worthless and gentle, so they gave her to the Warhammer!"
He chuckled again. "She wouldn't quit crying out for her father, so I hit her until she shut up~"
The first guard nodded. "Makes sense. Useless little waste of space."
More time passed and the guards went about other business. They loaded in various crates of supplies onto the ship and bolted them against the wall with specialized wrenches to prevent a shift during the flight. One of the guards called out. "OKAY, LOSERS! ALL THE RATIONS HAVE BEEN LOADED ABOARD! ONCE WE GET THE FINAL NAIL LOADED IN, YOU BASTARDS ARE ALL GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL!"
The other guard then walked in, pulling the final prisoner behind him. This one wasn't even dressed in armor, rather a set of rags vaguely sown into a smock. They had a sack pulled over their head and a rope tied around their neck like a leash. They walked with a very distinct hobble, the hobble of someone hungry and dehydrated. What little skin could be scene showed that they were covered in bruises and cuts. Going by their height...they couldn't have been older than Bardock, Turles, or Toma. The sack was pulled from their head and a young girl was shown revealed to the rest of the captives. Her face was bruised and her lips were dry and split. She was helpless to resist as she was thrown into the chair and locked in place. The other guard marched up; wrench still gripped in his hand. "Another kid, eh? Is Cassava babysitting now?!"
The restraining guard cackled. Wrench guard cocked his head. "So, what's her story? What'd she do to end up here?"
The cackling guard stood and roughly grabbed her hair, jerking her head up and revealing a pair of shining, purple eyes. The wrench guard gasped. "Is she...? But she has a tail!"
The cackling guard snorted. "She's a half-breed. You heard about what happened with that guy Rozumar, right?"
The wrench guard gasped. "SO, THIS IS HER?!"
Immediately, the wrench guard raised his wrench into the air and then slammed it down onto the girl's kneecap. Her eyes popped open and she screamed in a hoarse voice. Wrench guard sneered and dropped his weapon. "Have fun on the frontlines, Celipa! You stuck up little halfbreed!"
She tried to croak out. "My name is F-"
The other guard slapped her across the face and, in an instant, she went limp in her seat and was out like a light. One of the two spat on her, and then they both made their way off the ship. Turles sat there, stunned and silent. "H-Halfbreed...? What is she a halfbreed of...?"
Soon enough after the guards left, the hangar doors to the ship shut and sealed tight. Through the little windows on the hangar doors, Turles could see the city out of the Dispatch Depot. And although he was sure his eyes were just playing tricks on him, he also saw the alleyway that he and Bardock had lived in for all of those years. Turles watched as the ship started to take off, Planet Vegeta disappearing with it. He felt the lurch of exiting the atmosphere, but he and the rest of the new NAILS didn't budge due to their restraints.
The mood on the ship was grim and silent. Most people aboard had time to think and realized that they were being handed a death sentence. A robotic voice crackled over the loudspeaker. "Beginning trip to Planet Chimichurri! Approximate trip time: 3 months. Engaging stasis sleep in 10 minutes."
Turles looked around at all of his fellow prisoners, from the stoic Toma to the unconscious Celipa. He briefly locked his eyes onto the sobbing six-year-old and then glanced over at the still raving fellow next to him. Turles gripped his right hand into a tight fist and fought the urge to start sobbing himself. "Bardock..."
Back on Planet Vegeta...
The security team of Dispatch Depot #85 all looked on in genuine confusion and shock at the scene that had played out in the service hallway leading to the Attack Ball hangar. Three Mid-Class warriors, all lying dead and still.
The first victim, Cress (Power Level: 1800), had both of his eyes gouged out. His head had been beaten against a wall so much that it was almost pounded flat.
The second victim, Endive (Power Level: 1100), had simply been strangled to death with her own tail.
The final victim, Curlykale (Power Level: 2600) had put up the greatest fight of them all. Both of his hands were twisted and broken, flopping about as the security team lifted up his body. His head had been turned 180 degrees and his face had been thoroughly stomped in. Whoever had done this hated Curlykale in particular.
The security team captain shook his head. "Who the hell could have been powerful enough to do this?! Only Low-Classes ever come through #85..."
Another security team member spoke up. "Well...I can think of one person. Nasty, hateful little bastard. Boiling hot temper. Power Level of 3200! Was supposed to be dispatched to Planet Cereal, according to my records..."
The captain shook his head. "May Cold have mercy on the Cerealians souls."
On the NAIL ship...
"...what?"
Turles' eyes snapped wide open and he looked to his left. Right next to him was Bardock. Bruised and beaten, but unmistakably his older brothers. Turles was at a loss for words. "But...what...how...?"
In the seat to the right of Turles, the insane fellow shrieked at the top of his lungs. "I AM THE SON OF KING COLD! AND ALL OF YOU WILL-"
Bardock picked up the discarded wrench off of the ground and swung it right at the raving lunatic's head. "SHUT! YOUR! GOD! DAMNED! MOUTH! I! HAVE! A! HEADACHE!"
The lunatic slumped over in his chair, silent and dead. Satisfied with the quiet and having grabbed the fearful attention of everyone else within eyeshot, Bardock sat down in front of Turles' seat. He reached his left hand up and tightly gripped Turles' shackled right hand. He glared to each person staring at him. From the fat one, to the big one, to the little girl, to the older girl, to Toma sitting to Turles' left. "YOU PRICKS GOT A PROBLEM?!"
Immediately, they all looked away. From above, a trickle of liquid fell down onto Bardock's head. He looked up and saw Turles sitting there, tears streaming from his face. "Bardock...what are you doing here? You didn't have to-"
Bardock cut him off. "Didn't I say so back at the depot? We're going to Planet Chimichurri. Together. Now, let's get some rest. I could use a nap..."
And so, after a few moments, Bardock and Turles both fell into stasis. And the NAIL ship continued its trip to Planet Chimichurri, with the captive crew in tow.
