Stygian
This chapter is brought to you by Dying Grin, Vegetafangirl1 and Daughter of Vegeta.
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Bulma felt like crying. Her wrists were bound to some rusty pipes behind her and no matter how hard she squinted, her eyes never adjusted to the darkness of the windowless room.
She wouldn't fall asleep, because if she did then she wouldn't know how long ago she had been taken. And the very thought of that terrified her. She guessed that she had been here for about five to ten minutes after, blindfolded, they had taken her out of the van and bound her in the dark.
They had left after that, no one had spoken to her since Anton Mercer had drugged her. Bulma was scared but determined. She shook her head from side to side, trying to shake off the aftereffects of the drug. Her muscles were heavy and it was hard to form thoughts.
She frowned and tried to raise her ki. Why hadn't she payed more attention to Yamcha or Vegeta when they had tried to teach her the very basics of ki?
The dead-bolted iron door opposite her was thrown open and bright light blinded her as she desperately blinked. Bulma could make out three blurry silhouettes.
Two of them spread to her sides and even when the blurriness faded, she could only just about see them in her peripheral vision. They wore matching overalls and heavy-duty boots, the only difference in clothing being that the one on the right wore a red trucker's hat opposed to the left's green.
Besides their muscles, they were utterly plain-looking and Bulma immediately knew that she would have trouble describing them to the police. They had obviously been hand-picked for that reason.
The third man who was standing directly in front of her wasn't Anton Mercer or the hired muscle from before. All new faces. This man wore a black fedora tilted forward on his head, large black sunglasses and had a black scarf wrapped around his neck. He was also dressed in black baggy pants, black boots, a black jumper and black gloves. To top it off he was wearing a black overcoat!
Very interesting… the man must have had some easily remembered facial features to have gone to such great lengths to hide it. Burn marks or a large scar perhaps?
The man raised his gloved hand, obviously giving a signal to the other two who immediately sprang forward and each gripped a part of the rust plumbing.
She was sent sprawling to the floor as the pipes she was tied to were ripped out of the wall. The CEO curled up into the fetal position, mortar dust raining down on her.
The man dressed in black grabbed her by her shoulders and dragged to her feet, holding her in place with one hand and drawing the other one back while one of the lackeys untied the ropes that bound her hands to her back.
SLAP!
Metallic blood filled Bulma's mouth as her legs buckled, the only thing keeping her standing being the man in black's iron grip on her shoulder. The other lackey bound her hands to her back again; this time she could feel the cold metal. Handcuffs.
"Ki-blocking handcuffs," the man in black clarified, sounding like a chain-smoker whose bad habits had caught up with him. "Your ki is at zero, it's simply not there. Anyone who can sense ki will think you have died." He let go of her and she fell to the ground.
Bulma felt like there was a lead weight in her stomach. They knew what ki was. This was beyond bad: horrible would still be an understatement. This wasn't just a shady company out for revenge... this ran far deeper. Did the pharmaceutical company really exist? Was it all just a front?
As his two lackeys rejoined his side, the man in black reached into his pocket and pulled out a scruffy rag. "You know the drill by now, Miss. Brief."
There was a hint of sadistic pleasure in his voice as he closed in on her.
Piccolo frowned and uncrossed his legs. This development was troubling. The Namekian stood up from where he had been meditating on the Lookout and stretched his neck. "I'm heading out, Dende," the son of the Demon King called out as he donned his cape and turban.
The young Guardian of Earth raised his hand in farewell from where he stood talking with Mr. Popo. "Stay safe," the younger Namekian said.
Piccolo grunted as he flew off, his cape fluttering in the wind. Vegeta and Trunks weren't simply training; their ki's felt far too sporadic and bitter for that. Something was wrong and Piccolo wanted answers.
It was possible that Vegeta and Bulma had an argument and Trunks had been drawn into the crossfire, given that it had happened in the past. That would explain the bitter and frustrated tinge to their ki but not the sporadic power rises.
It might have just been Vegeta training against different level of bots too but it wasn't like Trunks to do this much training. The teenager usually went off with Goten or just flew off to brood.
The most unusual thing was that no matter how hard he focused, he couldn't sense Bulma among the population of West City. While her ki signature was tiny, it was one that he was familiar with and knew well. The Namekian had even tried searching for her ki amongst other major cities incase she was on a business trip but he had still come up with nothing.
Had something happened to the blue-haired woman?
He was making good time and it would only take him fifteen to twenty minutes to reach West City at the speed he was going. He hoped he was overreacting because Goku was off-planet at the moment and they had no means of contacting the naive Saiyan.
If pushed, he could contact Gohan but that was a last resort: his student deserved a break.
They all did.
"Time to see what this punk knows," snarled Vegeta as he frowned upon the man. The man who had attempted to take away his daughter. He knew they had his wife somewhere and Vegeta was determined to get her back, no matter the cost. Plus the idea of interrogating this man seemed like a good way to entertain the stressed and aggravated Saiyan Prince.
Vegeta threw a bucket of ice cold water over the man, causing him to cough and spray water everywhere. He blinked once or twice, trying to figure out where he was. His face turned deathly pale when he saw Vegeta standing before him, arms crossed in his usual manner and his dark ashen eyes glaring at him, like daggers ready to strike at any second. Ready to kill. The man got to his feet and began to head towards the door, but with one swipe of Vegeta's foot the man met the floor with a thud.
"Where's Bulma?" demanded Vegeta, his voice strong like thunder. "Where's my wife?"
The man stayed silent, quivering from the sinister aura and killing intent that seemed to surround the Saiyan. Vegeta kicked the man in the stomach, causing him to cry, saliva and blood flying from his mouth at the impact.
"I'll ask again!" yelled Vegeta, grabbing the man by the hair to stand and look at him eye to eye. "Where's Bulma?"
The man coughed again, a sly smile appearing on his face.
"Bulma Brief," he began, "is in way over her head…"
Vegeta let go of the man, thrusting him back onto the ground.
"What do you mean by that?" Vegeta asked. He wanted to kick him again but managed to control himself.
The man began fumbling about with his jacket. Vegeta snarled, the kidnapper must have had a hidden gun on his person. The thug was even more stupid than he looked.
"What do you mean?" he roared again, stepping forward intending to break the peon's hand.
The man laughed, "You'll never find her. You know that right?"
The kidnapper pulled out… a pill?
He put it in his mouth and bit hard. Vegeta stepped towards him but withdrew as the man started to choke and splutter. White froth flowed from his mouth as he gasped for air. Vegeta dashed forward and grabbed the man by the neck.
A cyanide pill.
"Where's Bulma?" cried Vegeta red with anger, disgusted at himself that he had let his only chance of finding his wife go like this. The man managed to cough out one last thing.
"Damn… overgrown… monkey…"
He was dead. And it wasn't the cyanide pill that killed him.
Vegeta dropped him and stepped back, fists clenched and dripping with blood as he shook with anger and surprise.
"How do they know I'm a Saiyan?" he muttered, stunned at the insult. "How do they know my heritage!?"
About ten minutes had passed since Vegeta had killed the man, and he paced about the living room, raking a bloody and frustrated hand through his flame-like mane.
He shut his eyes once more, and he stopped pacing as he searched for his mate's ki.
A few moments later and still no luck, his eyes snapped open and he released a feral growl. "Damnit!" he shouted, his hands balling up into fists. "I will slaughter the buffoons who dared to touch my family," he said quietly, a dark promise laced behind his words.
He stopped mid-pace, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes while he carefully planned out his next steps. "Dende," he murmured softly, reopening his eyes.
The prince released a heavy, annoyed sigh. He, the Prince of all Saiyans, should not have to resort to seeking assistance from others.
However, at this point, he had no other option.
With his wounded pride, Vegeta stepped out of Capsule Corp., and began flying full speed towards the young Kami's Lookout..
Piccolo blinked, his eyes narrowed as they focused on a small dot coming closer at a rapid speed. The Namekian smirked and stopped mid-flight, his cape billowing behind him.
It took a mere few seconds for Vegeta to stop in front of him.
"What is going on, Vegeta?" asked Piccolo solemnly.
"Tch." A scowl carved its way onto Vegeta's face and his nose crinkled in irritation. "None of your damn business, green-bean," he spat out, trying to bypass him, but the Namekian followed him. "Get out of my way!" Vegeta snarled.
"What is going on?" Piccolo demanded once again.
A pregnant pause befell the two warriors, both of them staring at each other intensely.
"A few pathetic inhabitants on this mud-ball are sabotaging my family, and they have Bulma."
Piccolo's face became crestfallen, he had been right. Bulma was in trouble.
His face returned to its usual stern stoicism. "Who are they and what do they want?"
Vegeta's lips curled back into a sneer. "Why the hell do you think I am going to the Lookout, Namekian?"
Piccolo frowned, there was no guarantee that Dende would succeed where they had failed. He should go too, just incase Vegeta decided to take his frustration out on the Lookout itself.
Piccolo's ears twitched in annoyance, and he closed his eyes. "I am here to assist you, Vegeta," he reopened his eyes. He turned slightly toward the direction of the Lookout, a small coy smile played on his lips. "After you, your Highness."
Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Tch. It's about damn time I got respect from a pathetic peasant such as yourself," and with that said, Vegeta blasted off toward the look-out with Piccolo in tow.
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