A faint orange glow beckoned from the stairwell, and the hasty tapping of heavy boots swiftly followed. Two unfamiliar prison guards, each armed with long poles spluttering blue electricity, rushed into the room and began yelling at the top of their lungs.
"Silence!" they shouted. "Be silent for the Prince!"
In each corner of the central walkway, scented wax candles burned softly and quietly. Although far from adequate, they provided enough illumination for the guards to see their mewling quarry sitting cross-legged near the door of his cell. Slug was sobbing and snivelling. His poxy Katchin cubicle was already too small, but he felt as though the world around him had shrunk even further. He tried muffling his own mouth but his emotional turmoil was too great.
Displaying no sympathy, the guards spun their flickering electro-staffs and aimed them at him through the bars. "We said shut up!" the leftmost guard screamed. Together, the two thrust their hips forward, driving their staffs firmly into Slug's chest. A powerful electrical current knocked the Namekian back. His limbs flailed wildly as muscular spasms rippled down his torso, and his head snapped toward his bunk, crashing off the Katchin floor. Their attempt to silence Slug succeeded, and it was just in time. Prince Olarus had carefully navigated the spiral stairs with Warden Pinrunt close behind. The warden was holding up the prince's royal red cloak - preventing it from touching the damp, dirty steps. He regularly panicked each time the cloak lowered too close to the ground and required an urgent adjustment.
As the prince arrived, his nostrils flared open. He paused and sniffed, smelling the air; aroused by the fruity aroma. "Do I smell apples and elderflowers?" he pondered.
"Uhh.. yes, Your Grace," Pinrut answered. "Th-... that would be the scented candles." Suddenly realizing that perhaps the prince didn't like apples and elderflowers, dread quickly enveloped the warden. "My Lord, please forgive us! If they are not to your standards then we will get them replaced at once!"
"No, no, there's no need. It's quite pleasant, actually." Strolling further in, the prince examined the empty cell to his right which once belonged to Eluppa. The candlelight couldn't reach the rear wall, and so most of the cell was shrouded in darkness. He could barely make out the vague silhouette of something flat and rectangular - most likely a mattress - but no crucial or obvious details of interest. Like an astute hawk, Prince Olarus' vision cast across the room until it settled on the lone inmate lying motionless on his back. He positioned himself between the two guards and glared down at the Namekian. "You there... Slug, is it?"
"Prisoner!" Pinrut roared. "Prince Olarus is addressing you, answer him!"
"Pinrut, what's that he's wearing?" The prince indicated to the woolly blanket swaddled around Slug. "That's not part of the approved prison uniform, is it?"
The warden bowed his head as he answered, "You're correct, My Liege, it's not... Solitary Confinement can get extremely cold, especially during the winter or whenever there are storms like the one outside. We like to give the inmates down here additional clothing to ensure they don't get sick." Another lie escaped from the warden's lips - the convenience of the storm had given him a believable excuse. He didn't know how or why Slug was wearing it, in fact, he was completely unaware that the Namekian was missing an arm.
"Hmph!" The prince responded. "How very considerate... Now then, Slug, where have I heard your name before? Tell me a bit about yourself."
Grumbles of anguish reached their ears as Slug slowly lifted himself from the ground. Prince Olarus and Pinrut could plainly see that the inmate was a struggling elderly Namekian, one that had been through the wringer and whose stubbornness and pride refused him a fair death. Slug matched the gaze of his royal visitor, revealing the fresh pink sores under his eyes caused by excessive weeping. Then, with his only arm, he pulled back the blanket from his head and his antennae jumped out like pressed springs.
"Your father sentenced me to live out the rest of my days in here," Slug said. He had regained his mental composure, appearing serious and matter-of-factly. "I remember your face. You were there that day, in the stands... Do you remember mine?"
Promptly, the warden chimed in. "Prisoner, lower your eyes and watch your damn tone when speaking to His Highness!"
"It's quite alright, Pinrut." Olarus raised his palm, dismissing the warden's statutory demand. "Hmm... Yes, I recall it now, albeit very vividly. You refused to participate in the universal tournament, correct? Our very existence was threatened and you didn't help."
"I declined an invitation," Slug replied. "No one told me that participation was mandatory."
"I needn't explain that when our home is in peril, it's the moral obligation of those with the power to defend it to ensure they do."
The prince's slanted words teased out Slug's anger. Again, the unjustness of his sentence was at the forefront of his mind. The Namekian's worn eyes widened and his facial muscles curved into a frown. "That's unfair! Your people took me from my home. You denied me a funeral for my two sons!"
"Well, I'm sorry for your loss, but justice must be upheld."
"Justice?" Slug's tempered voice dropped as his frustration built. "There is no justice!... Why can you not see this!?"
Having realized the inmate had become greatly indignant towards Prince Olarus, the warden snatched the electro-staff from the nearest guard. "Watch your tongue, worm!" With all his might, Pinrut jousted the staff into the Namekian, knocking him onto his rear. Electricity passed through Slug's body, but this time he bit down, clenched his hand shut, and almost instantly stood back up.
Through gritted teeth and a bubbling rage, Slug grabbed the metal bars that separated them. He pulled his head closer to the prince, scowling right at his face. "You are no different from the rest."
"And what exactly is that meant to infer?" Olarus' interest was piqued. Despite being presented with anger, the prince remained calm, for there was nothing Slug could do or say that would be any worse than what he could in return. "Enlighten us, please."
"I'm inferring that your Saiyan Empire is ruled by corrupt cowards!" Slug's thoughts then went numb. He found himself not in control, as if someone else had suddenly possessed him, or like a switch that had been flicked. It wasn't the first time this had happened either. Back on Namek, when the Kreplik killed and ate one of his brothers, a seething white-hot rage bewitched him. It turned him into a vessel of relentless destruction that slayed the beast without remorse.
Slug threw off the woolly blanket to reveal the fleshy stump that had become of his right arm. His orange coveralls were tatty, ripped, and stained with purple blood, and a foul odor struck the prince which made him wince. The conditions the Namekian was kept in - denied a wash, filthy clothes, and wounds left untreated - came to light.
"Pinrut, what in Father's na-..." Olarus' disbelief was cut short. Through sheer resentment and a heavy dose of adrenaline, Slug found the energy he so desperately needed. Sharp fingernails burst from his stump, followed by a forearm, then a bicep. Green amniotic fluid dripped from his newfound arm as it extended between the bars and wrapped around the prince's neck. Like a constricting serpent, it squeezed Olarus' throat until his face turned bright violet. The electro-staffs became a swarm of hornets as they repeatedly lanced into Slug, stinging him over and over - but the enraged Namekian barely flinched.
"Release him this instance!" demanded the warden, though it was a fruitless endeavor. He and the guard continued prodding Slug, while the other officer tried tugging and yanking at his arm.
"He's not letting go!" The arm refused to budge even an inch.
"Keep shocking him!" Pinrut ordered. "C'mon, release him now, you bastard!"
Slug's stare tore into the prince's soul. All of his hatred and contempt had erupted as he strangled a member of the royal family - the same family that condemned him to this despicable hellhole. In his mind, this was justice. Prince Olarus started to wane. His eyeballs were protruding, his complexion had paled; desperate choking noises slipped from his mouth. He was starting to lose consciousness, when all of a sudden, the Namekian alleviated his hold. With no explanation, Slug gradually unwound his arm from around the prince's neck and succumbed to the paralyzing bites of electricity. He collapsed, falling flat on his back. Reality had grounded him. He'd become aware of his actions; quickly reining in control as the adrenaline dump kicked in and his endurance withered.
Olarus fell to a knee, urgently gasping for air. "I-... I-... I want this prisoner!" he spat. "I want him... executed!"
"Of course, My Liege!" Pinrut affirmed and passed the electro-staff back to the guard. He kneeled beside the prince and offered to assist him. "We will see to it right away! Here, allow me to help you up."
Olarus promptly pulled away from the warden and snapped, "No!... Don't you dare touch me! Lay one finger on me and I'll have your head as well!" He was infuriated. The Namekian had nearly throttled him to death, despite the timely efforts of Pinrut and his officers. It was reckless treason, and at that moment, nothing else mattered - Slug needed to die. Using the cell bars, the prince pulled himself up, then staggered backward. Natural color slowly restored to his face, albeit much redder than before. "This evening!" he shouted. "I want him dead by tonight!"
"Yes, Your Grace!" Pinrut replied, somewhat terrified. He then stabbed his stony gaze into the two guards, fear instantly replaced by frustration. "Get this prisoner to the tower, immediately!... And while you're at it, one of you call the damn executioner!"
"But, s-sir..." answered one of the guards nervously. "The executioner is on vacation. He's probably on a beach somewhere sunny and-..."
"I don't care!" the warden interrupted. "Tell him we'll double, no, triple his usual salary! Just get him here, for goodness' sake!"
"Yes sir!" the Saiyans answered in unison. Unlike the previous pair of guards that oversaw Solitary Confinement, these two came fully prepared. In one swift motion, the rightmost officer withdrew the appropriate key for Slug's cell and unlocked the door. They swarmed in, hooking the unconscious Namekian beneath his arms, and dragged him out like a worthless sack of coal. Meanwhile, the prince stared in absolute disgust, still rubbing his neck and coming to terms with what had happened.
"S-shall we resume our tour, My Prince?" Pinrut hesitantly enquired, feigning a friendly smile. "There's still much to see and-..."
"No!" Olarus yelled. "I've seen quite enough, Pinrut! Take me back to my carriage."
"Yes, of course, Your Grace!"
The Tower was the tallest point of the Pinneyapple Penitentiary. It loomed one-hundred meters over the rest of the facility, and to distant spectators, it appeared much like a lighthouse as it pierced through the rainstorm. In the background, turbulent waves crashed against the coastline, striking the jagged dolos lining the rocks and dispersing into sea spray which rose high above the complex, intermingling with the rain. At the top of the tower's spire was another room emanating an intense yellow glow. This place was ominously titled 'death row', and for fairly obvious reasons. It was where the condemned inmates were kept before they were sentenced to be executed. However, earlier in the day, the prince's rage-fueled demand had changed the standard procedure. For the unfortunate Namekian, Death Row had now become the execution chamber.
The penitentiary had a multitude of grisly ways to end an inmate's life, as one specific method couldn't always be used. Prisoners came in all shapes and sizes. Although most were humanoid and possessed standard physiologies, some were androids, robots, or completely abnormal beings, and those required alternative means of execution. Slug, for one, was scheduled to be hanged.
Death Row was a circular room, and at its center were the newly-erected gallows, assembled from scaffolding and Kattin-steel wire rope. Eight blazing torches were fastened around the wall, all symmetrical; positioned beneath clerestory windows that allowed the storm's cold air to ventilate in and out. Scattered across the ground was an abundance of straw and hay. It served as a cheaper, temporary floor covering instead of carpets or lining, for it soaked up blood and was easily disposable. The Namekian stood before the gallows in his worn prisoner uniform; a guard on either side of him holding him still. His wrists and ankles were already cuffed tightly, yet the staff refused to take any chances - Slug had proven to be a handful, after all. Warden Pinrut stared daggers down at him from the taller platform, snarling like a rabid dog. To his right was the executioner; a large, topless, burly man wearing a black mask and leather gloves. His skin was covered in faded scars - memories of countless battles - and a large tattoo ran down his torso of a red and green wyvern.
"Bring the Namekian up," Pinrut commanded. "And no need to be gentle with him. He might be old and senile, but he'll soon be out of his misery."
The officers brazenly shoved Slug forward and the Namekian stumbled up the steps. Just as he reached the platform, he tripped and fell, and a roaring cacophony of laughter rang out. The guards. They were still mocking him, even as he approached his death. With some difficulty, Slug negotiated his way back to his feet, then edged closer to the silver noose. But the warden quickly lost his patience. Snatching Slug's handcuffs, he immediately trawled him above the trap door and looked to the executioner, gesturing for him to fulfill the ceremony. The executioner nodded and grabbed the dangling noose. He measured the hoop against Slug's head and made a minor adjustment to the knot.
"Don't worry," Pinrut said, this time grinning from ear to ear. "You and your baby boys are about to be reunited in the afterlife."
Finally, a truth came from the warden. Something hopeful. The Namekian shut his eyes and tried envisioning it. How would his sons react to seeing him again? He liked to believe it would be a happy reunion, full of laughter and tears of joy. But what if it wasn't? Doubts began plaguing Slug's fantasy. What if they blamed him for their demise? What if they didn't want anything to do with him? It didn't matter. If they harbored a single grudge against him, Slug promised himself he would make things right, one way or another.
On the ground below, one of the chuckling guards piped in, "No he won't! If the stories are true... if Lord Champa really did get 'em... then they're gone for good. That's how the God of Destruction works. He doesn't give you the satisfaction of death. He erases you completely. Poof!... You don't go to Heaven or Hell." This made Slug's eyes shoot open and his stomach churn.