Goku swallowed as he blinked heavily at the ceiling of his hospital room, the monitor beeping next to him. He had woken up just a short while ago, to an absolutely stressed but relieved Chi-Chi next to him. She had tried hugging him in her overwhelming joy, but when he'd winced in pain, she had taken his hand instead and gently filled him in on what happened. He was on morphine and thus it felt like his words were garbled in his mouth when he'd asked her if Gohan was okay, but she seemed to understand him well enough. The doctors had come in to check him afterwards while she texted and called family and friends to let them know that he was awake. Now the doctors were outside of the room, chatting with Chi-Chi, leaving him alone for the time being.
This was not his first time being shot. He'd been shot before on two previous occasions while he served in the Marines. Both times, Vegeta had gone in after him with no hesitation, under enemy fire, to both shoot back and grab Goku to drag him to safety. It had all been at significant personal risk to Vegeta's own life, and had literally saved Goku's.
At the thought of his friend, Goku slowly turned his head towards the small table next to his hospital bed. Chi-Chi had left his cell phone there, and he gently reached for it with one hand, clicking the button for more morphine with the thumb of his other hand. The motion wasn't much, but it was more strenuous than it had any right to be, almost making him out of breath. Goku grabbed the phone and brought it back to his chest, breathing heavier into his mask. He felt so tired, and knew he would be crashing again soon, but he wanted to hang on a little longer until Chi-Chi returned.
He raised the phone up and shakily unlocked it. The last time he remembered seeing Vegeta had been at the graveyard on Tarble's birthday, and he wondered if he'd reached out since then. He blinked with bleary eyes; he had so many notifications that it seemed daunting. He locked the phone again.
The door opened then, and he looked over, expecting to see his wife coming back in. He blinked in surprise though when he saw that it was Bulma, and smiled despite everything, putting his phone down at his side.
"Bulma," he greeted hoarsely. His bed was not flat, it was slightly raised, and Goku instinctively tried pushing himself up more. He grimaced badly from his pain.
"No no," Bulma worriedly said, taking quick strides so she was at his side. She put a hand gently but firmly on his shoulder as Goku winced and laid back again. "Don't do that. Just lay back. You can't strain yourself right now, you gotta take it easy."
Goku swallowed down the pain as much as possible, and gave a strained grin. "Yeah. Just don't like hospitals," he said, his words coming out slower than usual.
"I don't blame you, I don't know many people who do," Bulma gently said, surveying him. He still looked rough, but he wasn't as pale as he'd been the night before, with a little more color now in his cheeks.
She hesitated momentarily. Goku seemed coherent enough, but she'd still have to take a softer approach here than she would have had he been fully recovered. She could not wait that long after all; time was of the essence.
Bulma pulled up the chair that Chi-Chi had been sitting on previously, and took a seat. "I asked Chi-Chi if I could chat with you in private for a little bit. She's still talking with the surgeon."
"Oh okay."
She took a breath, then decided to get right into it. "Vegeta came to see you last night," she gently said, studying him closely.
"Oh." Goku frowned and shifted a bit, looking back towards the ceiling. She expected him to make a comment about the fake name Vegeta had initially given her, or about how Goku had covered up that lie for Vegeta when she'd blatantly asked him about it. Instead he said, "I thought he was mad at me."
Bulma leaned forward. "Why would he be mad at you?"
"Don't remember now," he mumbled.
"Well, he definitely didn't seem mad at you last night. He seemed very worried, to be honest. He obviously cares about you."
Goku frowned more, visibly trying to think. He was quiet for a moment, continuing to blink heavily as Bulma scrutinized him. Finally, he swallowed, slowly moving his gaze back on her.
He took as much of a breath as he was able to, and softly said, "You know."
Her eyebrows slightly drew together. "What do you think I know, Goku?"
Goku clicked the button for more morphine, nose twitching as he turned back to look at the ceiling. "The vigilante."
"I know that the vigilante is Vegeta," Bulma said, bluntly and matter-of-factly, her scrutiny of him intensifying as she gauged his reaction. Goku, to his credit, did not react as he kept staring at the ceiling. She did notice that he was suddenly gripping the morphine drip awfully tight, though he was not clicking the button anymore. "What I don't know is, whether you knew it was him this entire time that we've been looking for the vigilante."
Goku closed his eyes, relaxing the tension on his face. He was quiet for long enough that Bulma would have thought he had fallen asleep, if it wasn't for his hold on the morphine drip which hadn't eased. She bit the inside of her mouth, forced herself to be patient, and waited.
It seemed like ages to her before Goku responded.
"Not at first," Goku conceded. "Time I figured it out, he'd already started. I tried to get him to stop, Bulma…I did. But I just couldn't reach him anymore," he admitted, with so much sadness in his voice that she couldn't help but take his free hand in hers, her eyes softening.
"Why didn't you come to me with this?" Bulma pressed urgently in a mixture of anger and empathy. "Not only am I the lead detective on the case, but we're friends, Goku."
He visibly thought about it, eyebrows drawing together in thought, and then he slowly opened his eyes. "His brother died," he whispered.
She sighed. "I know, Goku, and it's awful. But that doesn't give Vegeta the right to-"
"I was with Vegeta that night," he muttered, blinking at the ceiling, his eyes slightly losing focus as he reflected on that night. "We went out for drinks and to shoot pool, I think, and…when we came back, we found his brother Tarble gunned down. He was already dead when we got there…surrounded by a bunch of strangers who had called 911. Vegeta…God, he lost it. He held Tarble for so long…til I had to try to get him to finally let him go. I've never seen him like that, heard him like that…he was hurting so bad, and there was nothing I could do," Goku said through grit teeth. As though remembering Bulma was there, he looked back at her, his eyes pleading. "But you…you can help him."
"Help him?" she asked, incredulous.
"Yeah. To take Frieza down. It's the right thing to do, Bulma. Not how Vegeta does it, but…still the right thing," Goku said, swallowing hard. He was beginning to sweat, and he gripped her hand tighter. "You take down Vegeta, and another vigilante will come eventually. Taking down Frieza is the only way the city will heal. Vegeta, he…doesn't deserve what he's been through. He never had a chance. Please, Bulma. Give him a chance."
Bulma hesitated for a long moment, and then reluctantly pulled her hand free from his.
"Goku, you not coming forward with this…I have to tell Chief-"
"'s okay, you can tell him. Cause I'm gonna quit."
Bulma grimaced. "I think you should wait until you're better to make a decision like that."
"Vegeta saved my life," he breathed, making Bulma sigh. "He hated me at first, you know. Cause I ran a faster mile than him in boot camp and beat him at all the physical tests," he grinned, but it was strained. "I was the only one who could give him a real fight, ya know. In training, hand to hand. And then we went into some dangerous places, and I tried to save this kid and got shot…Vegeta saved me. Then did it again on a different mission. I got him to warm up eventually…to not be so serious all the time. He's a good guy." He turned his gaze back to her, and gave a sad smile through his mask. "I gotta stand with him, Bulma. If it means quittin' then, well, maybe I'll finally get a job where I won't get shot anymore."
Bulma leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and clasped her hands together in front of her face as she leaned her forehead against her hands. She took a deep breath, trying to think clearly.
She lowered her hands, studying him. "You'd quit your job for Vegeta?"
"Yep. It's just a job," he mumbled, and she could tell that he was starting to lose steam, blinking slower now.
Bulma hesitated, licking her lips. "Without condoning him taking the law into his own hands…" she reluctantly started. "Would Vegeta even be willing to talk to us? About working with us against Frieza?"
"I tried convincing him," Goku quietly said. He was struggling to keep his eyes open. "But I couldn't do it," he added, the sadness back in his voice as his eyes slid closed.
Bulma touched his shoulder gently, not getting a response. She patted him, giving him a small smile, then stood to turn and leave. She had to go interview the landlady next, and then think of a strategy to propose to their police chief in a few hours. In the meantime, she had to mull this over in her mind.
She was almost at the door, when Goku quietly called out, "Bulma?"
Bulma stopped and turned, finding him squinting her. "Yeah?"
"You gotta do what I couldn't with Vegeta. Please, Bulma. You gotta try."
She looked at him with borderline exasperation. "What, turn him and convince him to work with us? I don't know, Goku. If you couldn't do it, and you've known him for all these years and you're so close to him, what makes you think I can?"
"No, not that."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Save him," he whispered.
It was around 11pm that night when Vegeta finally came home. The 13-year-old quietly kicked off his shoes at the entrance, grateful that it seemed everyone was sleeping. He had a blistering headache, and a nasty cut around his eye. It was bleeding and in need of stitches, and thus he was in no mood for getting roped into the inevitable screaming match with his father that night. Since he had gotten out of juvenile detention a few days prior, and without his mother around anymore to try to neutralize things, the arguments between him and his father were becoming increasingly vicious and emotionally exhausting. He was grateful for the reprieve, at least for one night.
Vegeta walked into the living room, scowling when his eyes settled on the sofa and the man passed out on it. There were a non-trivial amount of empty beer bottles around.
"Tch. Drunk bastard," he muttered in disgust, barely sparing his father a couple seconds before he continued on to his bedroom that he shared with his little brother.
He quietly opened the door so as not to wake Tarble, but was surprised to see that the 5-year-old's bed was empty. Vegeta blinked and turned on the light to confirm, and sure enough, his brother was nowhere in sight. He stepped back out to quickly check the bathroom, but found that empty as well. He felt a stirring of panic as he quickly ruled out the kitchen and his father's bedroom too. Moments later, he entered their shared bedroom once again, and this time, he heard a sniffle coming from the closet.
Vegeta opened the closet door a moment later, and underneath the hanging shirts and haphazard toys thrown about, he saw the small boy in Captain America pajamas, sitting against the wall and holding his knees to his chest.
"Tarble?" Vegeta asked. His little brother looked up, and Vegeta could tell he'd been crying. "What's wrong? What are you doing in here?"
"Papa said I'm not supposed to cry, 'cause boys don't cry," Tarble tearfully explained as he looked back down, hugging his knees closer to himself. "So I came in here, so he wouldn't hear me and get mad," he added, voice shaky.
Vegeta clenched his fists tightly, and fought down the urge to go back to the living room and break a vase in his father's face. He took a breath to bite down his anger, and then maneuvered himself into the closet. Tarble looked up as his big brother slowly eased himself down to sit across from him.
"Don't listen to him," Vegeta quietly said, drawing up his own knees to his chest as well, moreso because there wasn't that much space in their little closet. "You're 5 years old, you can cry if you want. Boys cry too sometimes."
"You don't," Tarble whispered.
Vegeta frowned a little. He had cried plenty once he had finally been alone after he'd been told in juvenile detention that his mother had died by suicide – callously informed by one of Frieza's men who came to visit him every week to check on him. His father had not visited him or called him even once while he was incarcerated, not even to give him such news.
The teenager pondered how to respond, frown worsening. "I have, you just have never been around to see," he admitted to the only person on the planet he would ever admit such a thing to.
Tarble bit his bottom lip as he observed his older brother with a maturity beyond his years. "You need stitches," he softly said.
"Looks like it," Vegeta agreed, reaching up and touching the cut over his eye. He tried not to wince. "Anyway, you should get to bed. You have school in the morning."
"Can I do the stitches?"
"I literally just said you have school in the morning-"
"Please? I can do it," Tarble insisted.
"Eh…" he shrugged, feeling tired. Tarble may have been little, but he had observed his mother stitching up Vegeta plenty of times, enough to pick up on it. Vegeta nodded, relenting. "Alright, but then bed," he sternly said.
Tarble brightened at that, his tears forgotten. He scrambled up and disappeared out of the closet, and then came back in moments later with a stitching kit. He flicked on the light in the closet, making Vegeta flinch.
"I'mma be a doctor one day," Tarble announced as he squatted down and opened the kit. "Then I'll stitch up everybody."
"You can be anything you want, kid. Just gotta work hard in school, get good grades and all that," Vegeta said as his little brother got in his face with a needle.
"What do you wanna be when you grow up, Vegeta?" Tarble asked, beginning to gently stitch the damaged skin above his brother's eye.
Vegeta stayed silent at that. He had been failing almost all of his classes prior to getting busted for the second time, as he had been absent so much to tend to whatever Frieza deemed needed tending to. He had been a sharp and promising student once upon a time. If being a professional fighter wasn't in the cards, he had thought about doing something with the law, like an attorney – just like in the movies.
But that day had been his first day back at school, and he felt terribly behind, not to mention an outsider compared to the other kids. He did not know how to relate to "normal" kids his age anymore. And with two sentences under his belt already for juvenile detention before he'd even started high school, and his work for Frieza only ramping up, he was starting to believe that he had no future at all.
"Less chatting, more paying attention to what you're doing," Vegeta finally said, not wanting to dwell on the direction his life was heading in. "Especially with that big needle by my eye. Dad is in no condition to drive me to the hospital tonight if you blind me." He kept to himself the fact that he doubted his father would have even bothered.
"Hey! I stitch better than you," Tarble shot back. Vegeta scoffed, but didn't reply to that, for it was actually true. The little boy was quite skilled, with nimble and gentle hands, and Vegeta saw no reason why he couldn't grow up to be a doctor. As bleak as his own future looked, Tarble's was bright, and he would do his damndest to make sure it stayed that way.
They fell into a comfortable silence, until Tarble asked, "Did you get this while fighting?"
Vegeta scowled. He had gotten it about an hour prior with Zarbon pistol whipping him across the face for some perceived disrespect, but his brother didn't need to know that.
"Yes."
Tarble finished up his stitches, and then gently cleaned the blood off his brother's face, as his mother used to do for Vegeta whenever he came home from his 'work'.
"Can you teach me how to fight?" he quietly asked. Vegeta snorted.
"Doctors don't need to know how to fight." He flicked Tarble on the forehead with his finger, making his little brother pout at him. Vegeta smirked. "But they do need sleep. Come on, let's go."
The boys left the closet moments later. Vegeta stripped down to his boxers as Tarble put away the stitching kit and climbed into bed, and then Vegeta turned off the light in the bedroom. The teenager practically collapsed into his own bed, his head pounding. He rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow.
Vegeta was half-asleep when he heard a sniffle. He turned his head towards his brother's bed, squinting over towards him. He could see from the soft light of the moon and stars coming in through the window that Tarble was on his side under his blankets, his back towards him. He could also tell that his brother was shaking.
"Tarble? What's wrong?"
Silence for a few seconds, before Tarble confessed through tears, "I miss Mama."
Vegeta closed his eyes and sighed. He was so tired, and his head was hurting so much. Still, he slowly pushed himself up, and then got out of bed. A few seconds later, he crawled onto Tarble's bed, laying down beside him and hugging him from behind. They laid in silence for a bit, with Tarble sobbing as quietly as he could so he wouldn't alert their father.
It took Vegeta a moment to make sure his voice was steady before he spoke.
"I miss her too," he whispered, feeling and sounding his age. He could feel the lump in his throat at the thought of how he wouldn't ever see his mother again, and couldn't help but wonder if his father was right in their fight the previous night. Maybe things would have been different, had he only been a better son. Vegeta forced the emotion down, for it was too much for him; it would be over a decade and with the help of a therapist before he could even begin processing how he felt.
Instead, he focused on the present, trying to comfort Tarble as he hugged him protectively. His mother was gone, but he still had his little brother. He still had something good in his life.
"Everything will be okay, Tarble," Vegeta promised in the dark room, as his brother continued to cry. "I've got you now."
Suddenly, they were both adults. Vegeta still had his arms around Tarble, but Tarble wasn't 5 years old anymore; now he was 22, covered in blood, dead in Vegeta's arms in front of the apartment building they lived in.
Vegeta was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe as he sat on the ground and hugged his brother close to him, uncaring that he was getting covered in Tarble's blood. He didn't notice Goku squatting behind him with a hand on his back, didn't hear Goku gently telling him he had to let Tarble go now, didn't notice the paramedics and police officers surrounding them. His face was flushed, tears streaming as he clutched his brother's lifeless body closer to him, unwilling to let him go.
"Everything will be okay, Tarble," he sobbed, ducking his head down into his brother's bloodied jacket, "I've got you now, kid, I've got you now, I've got you now-"
Vegeta started awake almost violently, sitting up immediately with a gasp on the cold concrete floor, a rifle in his hands that he'd slept with. He looked around, breathing heavily, but he was alone in his dark storage unit. There was one long rectangular opening near the ceiling that he had cracked open to allow some fresh air to circulate, and that was the last thing he remembered doing before he borderline passed out from exhaustion. He could see bright daylight trickling in from the opening, and wondered how long he'd been out.
It was only then that Vegeta realized he'd had tears on his face while sleeping. He impatiently brushed them away, feeling the beginning of familiar rage stirring deep inside. His head now feeling much better, he sluggishly forced himself back up to his feet.
It was time for him to get back to work.
Thirty minutes later, Vegeta finished unloading his van. He hopped down from the back of the van with the last rifle, and then headed into his storage unit to put it away. His storage unit was enormous, large enough to fit the contents of a large four bedroom house in a near-abandoned portion of South City, well away from Frieza's eyes when he was growing up. Vegeta had amassed a considerable amount of things in his storage unit over the years – all of his mother's belongings (he had burned his father's after Tarble died), all of Tarble's belongings, souvenirs from his travels as a Marine, the medals he'd earned, and his entire arsenal of weapons which had been building over years.
Vegeta had also stolen many things of value while working for Frieza that he had kept instead of turned over – the stolen jewelry in particular was useful to sell off and get emergency funds when needed. He figured after almost 20 years, no one would care about him pawning some of it, so he grabbed a handful of very expensive watches and rings before he headed back out.
Later that day, Vegeta parked his van off a forest trail in East City. He took the visor picture out of him and Tarble, but paused opening the driver door when he caught his reflection in the rear view mirror. His stitches were helping the gash heal on his temple, and half his face near the stitches was splotted with ugly bruising. He wasn't concerned with that, for that was normal to him. What annoyed him was the scruffy stubble that had grown more. It made him look far too much like his father; it would have to be cut soon.
He ignored the fact that the facial hair now also reminded him of Bulma gently touching his bruised face.
Vegeta threw a match into the back of his van a short time later, having soaked it entirely with gasoline. He took a step back as the van exploded into flames, then put his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket that he was wearing over his hoodie and body armor.
He stood and watched the van burn for a long time, resolving to let any lingering feelings or emotion for Bulma burn along with the vehicle.
A couple hours later, and Vegeta was pleased with his progress for the day thus far. He had hitchhiked his way to East City, where he knew he could move easier without Frieza's notice. He had exchanged the stolen jewelry for a hefty amount of cash, and utilized an old contact to purchase a new encrypted phone that was untraceable by the cops.
Now he was seated at a bench in front of a gas station (under the perfect blind spot for the cameras), scarfing down his tenth hot dog purchased from said gas station. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd paused to eat, and he was absolutely famished, practically inhaling the hot dogs while he configured his new phone.
All the while, he had in the earpiece for the listening bug in Bulma's apartment, in case there was something interesting said. After all, if she was keeping a close eye on him, he would gladly return the favor.
Once Vegeta finished eating, he decided he still needed something more, so he went back inside the gas station to buy a coffee. He was paying for it at the counter, when a breaking bulletin hit across the TV behind the attendant's head. Vegeta glanced up, raising an eyebrow.
"This just in, a breaking announcement from West City Police Department. The vigilante tormenting West City has now been identified as Vegeta Prince Jr., 30 years old," the anchor said.
They showed a photo on the screen that Vegeta had taken for his work ID a year ago, which made him scowl. One, because it meant that Bulma was making decent progress (now with a phone, he realized that he had passed out cold for over 24 hours once he got back to his storage unit). Two, because it was just a shitty picture of him.
He looked back at the attendant, pulling the cap further down over his eyes as the young man counted his change for the coffee.
"If you have any information regarding this man's whereabouts, please contact WCPD through their tips page online, through their app, or by directly calling your local police precinct. BE WARNED, this man is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous…"
"You shorted me a dollar," Vegeta muttered, frowning as he counted the change after the attendant handed it to him.
The attendant, a bored young man who thankfully wasn't interested in the news behind him, sighed impatiently and handed his customer another dollar. Vegeta grunted and took it, then left without a word, going back outside to the bench to sit down. He pulled out his phone, and by memory, typed in Goku's number.
Vegeta was about to type in a message, when he stopped. No doubt, if Bulma knew who he was, then she'd be all over Goku. He erased the message, but still wanted to know how Goku was doing, hoping he had pulled through. He thought of reaching out to Raditz, but he was probably being watched by Bulma too. Vegeta frowned thoughtfully, and then decided to try Nappa. He was the safest bet; if luck was on his side, Nappa probably had yet to be identified as someone who associated with him.
V: It's V. Got a new phone. You still out of town?
Vegeta sipped his coffee, and scowled with impatience when he didn't get an immediate response. He switched to the browser on his phone, pulling up the local news to get a pulse of what was going on. His scowl grew worse when he saw his face on the main page of their website. He clicked on the main article about himself and began to read, eyes narrowing when he saw some of the background information that had already been uncovered. Bulma and her team had certainly been busy. There were pictures of him as an adult in the Marines, going back to one where he was smiling as an 8-year-old child after winning a prestigious under-13 youth karate competition in West City.
He frowned, staring at the picture of himself as a child for so long that his coffee started getting cold in his other hand. He was only brought back to the present when his phone buzzed. Immediately switching apps, he saw that Nappa had finally responded, and thus they began an exchange.
N: Hey! No, I'm back in town. Where the heck have you been?
V: Around. You heard about Kakarot?
N: Yeah, real tough break. You going to see him?
V: I'll see him eventually. Do you know how he's doing?
N: He's getting better from what Raditz said. He's awake and recovering.
Vegeta felt relief surge through him. His guilt wasn't gone, but it felt easier now to bear. He ran a hand across his forehead, sighing.
V: Thanks for the update. Talk later.
He went to put his phone away when it buzzed again almost right away. Vegeta raised an eyebrow and looked back at the screen.
N: Also, been trying to reach you to let you know that someone left a package for you at my front door yesterday.
Vegeta blinked, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
V: What? A package? From who?
N: Don't know. It's a box and it doesn't even have an address, just your name.
V: Have you opened it?
N: No, but I can if you want.
V: No, don't.
Vegeta's leg bounced a little, as he wrestled with indecision. It was not wise to visit anyone who Bulma could link to him, but it seemed that Frieza may have already made the link between him and Nappa. The guilt from Goku being shot gnawed in his guts, and he swallowed. He did not want anything to potentially happen to Nappa, especially not because of him. He could not have someone else he cared about hurt because of him.
He rubbed his chin, deciding it was best for him to check it out himself, but where? Nappa's home would be watched by the police soon, if it wasn't already. Meeting in public did not instantly grant safety; he was an experienced sniper and knew that to be true. Plus, if it was some kind of explosive…
In private then, somewhere discreet, where he could assess it. He was experienced with explosives, just in case.
V: Meet me tonight at Kenny's Breakfast Diner at midnight. They will be closed by then, and no one will be there. The back door will be unlocked. Bring the package and make sure no one follows you.
N: Ok, will do. See you at midnight.
Vegeta put his phone away and then downed the rest of his coffee. The breakfast diner he'd chosen had been strategic; he was extremely familiar with the building and the neighborhood. He had robbed the place at night tons of times as a teenager, mostly when there was no food at home with his father spending it all on booze, and Frieza was late on his payments to him. He had swiped endless amounts of food over time so that Tarble could eat, himself eating whatever his little brother did not. Tarble had been none the wiser when Vegeta started inviting him to the breakfast diner over a decade later to eat every Sunday morning after he was discharged from the Marines, and he certainly had not understood why Vegeta always left such outrageously generous tips each time.
Finally, Vegeta stood up, tossing his cup of coffee away. He buried his hands in his pockets, and started walking away from the gas station on the sidewalk down the street, musing over what kind of transportation he should get next. The van was helpful, as it had been large with enough space to store his gear. He had no doubt though that Bulma and company would have found that vehicle registration by now under his name. If so, they would probably assume he would get another van, or similarly sized vehicle.
His dark eyes then settled on a motorcycle parked on the street, running on idle. The neighborhood in East City he was currently in was quiet, but not entirely empty, with others walking around and mostly keeping to themselves. Vegeta's gaze drifted across from the motorcycle where he saw a restaurant nearby that had some folks hanging out by the entrance, but they were far too preoccupied in their conversation and laughter to notice him. One of them was wearing biker gloves and boots, and must have been the owner.
Vegeta looked back at the motorcycle, which had a black helmet conveniently hanging off one of the bars. The motorcycle was all black and sleek and promising of speed, with space for him to lean a rifle on the side without anyone noticing unless they specifically looked. It was the opposite to what Bulma would be expecting, and the helmet's face shield was also all black. It was perfect.
With the expertise of someone who had stolen many a vehicle in his day, Vegeta strode up to the motorcycle and took a seat on it like he owned it. He quickly put the helmet on, kicked up the kickstand, and then hit the clutch to put it in gear. By the time the group of folks glanced over at him with startled shouts, Vegeta was already tearing off into the street on the motorcycle. He quickly set course to head back to his storage unit to load up on his weapons before his return to West City later that night. Going back into his hometown would be walking into the lion's den, and he was going to be prepared.
Through the noise of the motorcycle's engine, and his brooding over what this new move from Frieza with Nappa might mean, Vegeta never noticed the very quiet static that started on his earpiece as his location began being tracked.
