Chapter 6: So We Meet at Last
The first stars of the coming evening flickered into view as a pinkish, violet twilight spread across the dusk sky of the Northern Wastelands. Far below the ensuing natural wonder, sitting cross-legged in his by now bleached white, sandstone arena was the maniacal android Cell.
For little over eight days, Cell had stood waiting in the middle of the square shaped stone monument that he had dedicated to both his past and future carnage, waiting for his self-ordained prophesy of Armageddon. During that time, he had kept himself busy by either blasting the occasional reporter or by indulging their monotonous questions. For most of the afternoon of that day however, there was no such media presence to bother him or to entertain him for that matter. Needless to say, he was bored out of his skull.
"If I had known it was going to be like this, I would have said 'eight days,'" the biological terror stated irritably. "What in God's name is keeping those pesky reporters? Hello, there's a big, scary, all powerful android here! Do I have to put up a sign?! What more do you pathetic humans want from me?"
"Hmph! If this trend continues…." added the android, "…then no one's going to care about my tournament! Who's going to watch as I kill Goku? How many insignificants do I have to erase from existence before those pathetic weaklings take me seriously?!"
Just then, a nearby abandoned television set that was wedged between two scorched bodies presumably belonging to the said TV crews, blinked on catching Cell's attention. Slowly, Cell got up and waltzed over to where the television sat. He sat down again, this time in front of the TV screen, and began to flip through the channels. He continued to check the programming until he found the ZTV News Network's designated channel. On the screen was a well-dressed newswoman covering what seemed to be the top story of the evening. Using one of the dead bodies as a charred pillow, Cell propped himself up before reaching into a nearby ice chest and pulling out among all things, a cold one. He then turned up the volume and began to listen very carefully to what the newswomen had to say.
"This is Becky Gordon reporting for ZTV. Hello and good evening. We are broadcasting live from the mining community of Rust Gulch deep in the Northern Wastelands where apparently some strange teenaged boy goaded nine time World Sumo Champion and twelve time Mongolian Wrestling Sire Hard Copper, better known by the locals as 'The Mountain King' into a heated free for all."
Microphone in hand, the newswoman strolled over to a poster of Hard Copper before continuing.
"As many of you fans of the martial arts know, Hard Copper is regarded as one of the strongest if not the strongest……Hey!!"
Just then a large mustachioed, afro-haired man in a brown karate gi snatched the mic right out of the female broadcaster's hand. At first, the female reporter tried to get it back. She stopped however when she realized just who she was with.
"Mister Satan!" shouted the flabbergasted lady.
"Yes!" replied the hairy celebrity, "It is I Mr. Satan! The reigning, heavyweight Martial Arts Champion of the World!" The loud-mouthed hairball then went on a loud screed of seemingly endless obnoxious laughing.
"It really is good to have you here sir," stated the newswomen. "I take it your just passing through on your way to the Cell Games. Am I correct in this assumption?"
"Why of course Beck!" half-shouted the blustering grease ball, "I have to take the time out of my busy schedule to give some comfort to my fans along the way there." Mr. Satan then looked to the camera and gave a big, goofy thumbs-up to the viewing audience.
"Aren't you at least nominally worried about your match with Cell?" inquired the news lady. "He claims that he was responsible for the disappearances of hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of people!"
"Hah! That green-skinned freak show might as well grab a pistol, cock it to his temple, and pull the trigger," gloated the large man. "Either way, after tomorrow the end result is gonna be the same. It's time that I, Hercule Satan, the people's champion, put an end to his reign of terror. Come Sunday, my boots are gonna find a new home up inside his shelled anus."
At this display of utter ignorance, Cell could only roll his eyes.
'Where do they make these idiots?' wondered the android. Meanwhile, the newswomen continued to interview the 'people's champ' off the record.
"That puts my mind at ease just hearing it sir," said the newswomen. "Now, what are your opinions about the young lad who challenged the Mountain King to combat this afternoon? We heard from the locals that this boy Rolo Yeung, managed to endure a forty-five minute fight with the regional champion of all martial arts."
Upon hearing this news, Mr. Satan began to sputter nervously. Finally, after about thirty seconds of deliberation he gave his comment.
"Well…that just goes to show you that Hard Copper isn't really as strong as people make him out to be," Hercule quickly explained, "He's what we pros like to call a 'protected fighter.' By this, I mean that he never leaves his own little dusty corner of 'civilization' if you can call it that. Do you ever see him taking part in the Tenkaichi Budokai? No! The man is ducking and dodging real competition, but he can't hide from me forever."
"Sir, you do realize that anyone who wants to fight him can go to his dojo and face him man to man," explained the broadcaster. "Why don't you challenge him this evening?"
"Errr…well I want to save my strength for my fight with Cell. Ah,Hah,hah,hah!"
"Hmm.. that does make sense," said the woman. "What are your thoughts on the young boy who right now is laid up inside this hospital ward?"
Hercule looked squarely into the camera before continuing. "I have just one piece of advice for you boy! Stay in school and don't do drugs!" He then handed the microphone back to the news lady before proceeding to walk out the door. He was stopped however before he even reached the doorknob….
"Aren't you at least going to go in and talk to the kid?" asked the lady. "He could use a visitor right about now. Seeing the world champ might make him feel better."
Mr. Satan thought about this for a moment before finally saying "Sure, why not?" He opened the door and stepped into the room to see Yeung slipping his shoes on before getting ready to head out. Yeung looked up at the afroed man.
Yeung pointed at him before saying "Hey! You're the guy who trained all those weaklings in West City."
"Huh!?!" gasped the champ who was starting to get very uncomfortable.
With a smirk on his face, Yeung went on to explain further. "Yeah! Little over a week ago, I turned a bunch of wusses inside out at the West City Karate Dojo. They were nothing."
"That was you!?!" screamed the big man.
"Yes it was," answered Yeung.
"WHY?!"
"Because they presented me with one more chance to test my skills," answered Yeung. "That and they provided me an opportunity to put another win notch under my belt."
"W-what do you want with me?" asked the champ nervously.
Yeung stroked his chin a few times as he thought about this. "I'm not sure yet. I could kick the living crap out of you right now and continue to add to my number of victories. That and it would prove to everyone that the only 'protected fighter' around here happens to be you. Believe me, I heard what you said about my last fight from inside my designated room. That loud-assed voice of yours is hard to miss. Then again, if you're anything like that pitiful instructor student of yours in West City, I really don't see how a fight with you could be worth my time. Maybe we could reach an agreement of some sorts; Something that will give you a chance to preserve whatever semblance of dignity you still have."
"Err, eh, what kind of agreement?"
"Simple, fruity ass," continued Yeung. "As the recognized world champion of fighting sports you happen to be a very rich man. I might let you off in exchange for two itty, bitty little things."
"OK kid, how much do you want?" Mr. Satan asked.
"You catch on quick! Pay me ten million zenny right now!"
"Why do you need ten million zenny?!" prodded the living grease ball, " What in the hell would a little snot like you want with that kind of cash?"
"Sometimes, the training I want isn't something that's readily available on the open market," Yeung answered. "Customized training and equipment cost money. That a good enough reason you, flake?" Yeung slowly strolled over to Hercule and put his arm around his back in a quid pro quo manner. "Believe me, I'll find a use for it."
"Err…fair enough I guess," muttered the champ while he wrote out the check. "What was that second 'little' thing that you wanted?"
"I need a lift," said Yeung. "You're heading to the same place I am. I want to hitch a ride with you. Is that a problem?"
"Not really…," responded Mr. Satan.
"Great!" declared the boy wonder, "I'll follow you out to you vehicle."
"Oodles…." muttered the champ under his breath, his lack of enthusiasm for this venture more than evident. He handed over the check and then turned and left the room in a huff saying something about 'evil midgets.'
Outside, a few more reporters and their respective camera crews waited anxiously for the would-be champion. Almost simultaneously they flung flurries of questions at him, some of which were articulated in such a way that the attention craving buffoon had to tread softly just to provide answers that were less prone to being construed by the pundits later on that evening.
"Sir! What was the nature of the conversation between you and Master Yeung?" asked one of the journalists.
"When are you going to face this Rolo Yeung in the ring?" inquired another.
"Is it true that Master Yeung is responsible for putting the entire West City branch of your world renowned dojo in traction?" probed yet a third.
"Errr…quiet down!" bellowed Mr. Satan. It was obvious that the man was not in a good mood especially after what transpired between him and a certain under aged warrior. "As for your first question, this Master Yeung is a brat pure and simple, and one of these days he's gonna get what's coming to him."
Back inside his hospital room, Yeung couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the big man's tantrum.
'Dude, I'm going to have to give myself a high-five after this.'
Meanwhile, Hercule continued to provide comments to the press corp….
"Secondly, I'm not sure when I'll face either him or Hard Copper in the ring but you can bet that it's gonna be soon. Lastly, after my recent discussion with the boy I can honestly tell you that he was solely responsible with putting not just my students in West City in the hospital, but also almost every one of my students in the next ten cities over."
At this startling revelation, the entire press corp went deafly silent. Some of them even began to walk towards the room where Yeung was holed up. Just as one of the correspondents was about to reach for the door knob though, Mr. Satan grabbed the enthusiastic reporters' wrist.
"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," warned the champ.
"Why not Mr. Satan?"
"Because that kid is a menace! That's why!"
Then, the said door slowly opened and Yeung came walking out. The press tried to haggle him, but he simply ignored them and continued down the hospital wing. He continued to make his way down the hall until he reached an elevator. The press continued to follow him and some even stepped into the elevator with him.
"Mr Yeung…,"started one of the journalists. However he was cut off by the young grappler.
"Master Yeung!" stated the teen fighter. "Call me by my proper title."
"OK…Master Yeung, got it! During the past three months, why did you beat so many of Hercule Satan's best students to within an inch of their lives? What motive could you have possibly had?"
Yeung continued to stare at the floor panel for a second before replying, "The way I see it, I did those fools in West City a favor. They now have the pleasure of seeing just how little their 'teacher's' training has done for them. Maybe now they will have the common sense to find themselves a real master." The elevator finally reached the first floor and Yeung stepped out followed closely by three or four journalists. "That and back in the days of my teacher, if you wanted to discredit a school of thought you needed only to walk in and clobber all the guys in that respective order."
"Hmm.. I see," responded the journalist. "You do realize that those students are in a good position to press charges. They could call the police."
At this last comment Yeung could only chuckle. "What can the police do to me?" asked Yeung, "They'd never be able to take me alive. I could kill an entire precinct if I wanted to. All I'd have to do is stand still until they ran out of bullets. When or if they show up then they had better be packing grenade launchers."
Upon hearing this, the reporters could only shake their heads in denial, "You can't be serious boy."
"Oh! You don't think I am!" shouted Yeung indignantly, "Watch this!" Yeung through his backpack to the floor, pulled off his shirt, and walked over to one of the support columns in the hospital lobby. Suddenly and without warning, he dropped into a fighting stance and began to focus his inner latent energy. He then let loose with a God awful punch that ripped through the column with a sound reminiscent of a traffic accident, the vibrations of which carried through to hospital's foundations.
This last action by the teen terror caused mass panic to set in all over the hospital. Everywhere alarms began to sound off with patients and medical personnel alike began either kissing the floor or settling under whatever pieces of furniture happened to be within reach. Unable to decide whether it was an earthquake or a bombing, the lobby security guards got in touch with whomever.
Yeung turned back to his little cadre of journalists with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Some of the press corp looked as though they were ready to piss themselves while others got ready to throw yet another volley of questions at our hero.
"M-Master Yeung!!" stuttered one of the journalists, "That was spectacular. I'm starting to see why one such as you was able to clean out Hercule Satan's West City division."
"So it is true," started another. "You really did take on the Mountain King!"
"Yes, I did."
"Please, Master Yeung, tell us what school you trained under," pleaded one journalist.
"What are your future plans?" asked a second.
Yeung let the talking heads yammer on for about thirty seconds until he decided to answer anymore questions. "I trained under the tutelage of King Choppoa, the eighteenth Tenkaichi Budokai champion and one of the strongest men I've ever known, and if you're curious as to the nature of my future plans I'll tell you; I intend to take part in the Cell Games. Not for glory. Not for fame, but for honor."
Press corp in tow, Yeung turned to leave the lobby. He then spotted 'The Champ' himself trying to slip out the front door without him.
"Hey you! Wait up!"
Hercule looked as though he werea deer caught in the headlights. He turned around to see the last person he wanted to see right now.
'Aww crap! I almost got away too.'
Grinning ear to ear, Yeung walked up to Mr. Satan. The man looked as though he had just seen a ghost for his face had taken on a pale pigment.
"Thought you were gonna slip away didn't ya?" wise cracked the teen troubadour.
"Uhhh no," started the large, hairy man. "I was just gonna go warm up the engine Heh...he…he."
"Yeah, I bet you were," remarked Yeung sarcastically. "Come on you big heap. Let's get going. We're burning daylight as it is." Yeung rushed Hercule and his chauffer straight out the front door.
About thirty minutes later, both Yeung and a very uneasy Hercule were on the road, out of town, and on their way to the Cell Games. Hercules' limozine was just about what Yeung would expect from someone of his class: Cosmopolitan though bland yet still luxurious.
"So what caused you to want to compete in the Cell Games kid?" asked Mr. Satan, "Wouldn't you be better off going to school? You're too young to be someone I'd expect to live this kind of life."
"It's a long story," answered Yeung.
"It's a long drive."
"Fine, whatever," shrugged the young master. "There are several reasons actually, the first one being revenge."
"Revenge?" repeated Hercule.
"Cell killed someone very dear to me," explained Yeung, "He also destroyed my home town. I had only been living in Gingertown for about seven months but already I have a good staple of memories from my time there."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that kid," said Mr. Satan with a sullen face. "Do you have any parents?"
"No. They're dead."
"By Cell?!"
Yeung only shook his head. "No. It was someone named Piccolo Daimoa."
"How long ago?"
"About nine years," answered Yeung. "This gets back to one of my other reasons for competing in the Cell Games. I'm hoping to finally meet someone there."
"You've got a lot of demons in your soul," stated Hercule bluntly.
"Which is precisely why I'm about to ask you what I'm about to ask you!" declared Yeung, "I want to have about ten minutes alone with Cell before the Cell Games even start."
"Look kid, how do we even know that this Cell is the real monster of Nikki Town? For all we know he may be taking credit for someone else's doings."
"Well then why are you even going to fight him?" asked Yeung.
"Err…well I want to use the Cell Games as a way to become famous," Hercule explained plainly. "You know how everyone's a sucker for a hero story."
"Well there's good reason to believe that this Cell is the monster of Nikki Town we're looking for," said Yeung matter a factly.
"Hah! Fat chance!" shouted Mr. Satan. "He's just some wannabe terrorist who wanted to use the real Nikki Town monsters' identity as a way to catapult himself into superstar status. You should check out You Tube sometime kid. The world is full of folks like Cell."
"We'll just have to find out when we get there," said Yeung in a determined manner.
"So Herc, are you gonna let me have a few minutes alone with Cell?"
"Sure, why not?" replied the champ.
It only took the unlikely traveling companions a couple of hours of riding to reach their destination, and upon arriving, Cell's arena was a sight to behold. The arena that Cell had built ten days prior to their arrival had already been bleached white by both the sun's rays and the arid conditions of the surrounding ecosystem. The entire base of the ring was made up of stone slabs up to six feet thick topped off with an additional layer of stone tiles that made up the floor. At each of the four corners of the arena, Cell had added four towering spires that seemed to convey the very essence of his power.
At the time, the said evil android looked out at the black limozine that had pulled up just ten yards away from his fighting ring. He could feel the life forces of two humans in the elongated car. One of the humans had a slightly stronger ki signature than normal humans, but it wasn't the feeling of this weakling that interested him. There was also one other power that he felt that when compared to normal humans, would stick out like a sore thumb. He had sensed two other weaker presences up on the cliffs.
Both humans stepped out of the limo, and Cell finally got a chance to get a good look at
them. One looked like a professional wrestler with an afro, and the other looked like an undersized Asian kid. It was then that he realized something.
'That boy… Based on the vibes I'm getting from him, he must be at least two hundred times stronger than a normal human.'
"Hmph, no matter," whispered Cell, "He couldn't even beat Muten Roshi. If he stands before me, he'll be thrown asunder." The evil android could only smirk.
Meanwhile over by Hercule's limo, Yeung and Hercule Satan were having a private conversation. Suddenly and slowly Yeung began to walk towards the ring carrying such an aura of determination that had it been anyone other than Cell, he/she would have been slightly intimidated. Yeung continued to move forward until he was staring Cell face to face. Because of Yeung's deficiency in height, he was forced to tilt his head upwards just so that he may face the terror of the world.
The two of them faced off for about two minutes before either of them said anything. The wind howling around them was the only sound that could be heard for miles around. Finally, as if only to break the silence….
"Funny," said Yeung sizing up his adversary, "You seemed so much bigger on TV."
Cell merely smiled before saying "Just imagine what television could do for you."
This insult had struck a nerve so embedded in Yeung's inferiority complex that he had to use every ounce of willpower he had to keep from going off on this living example of pest control fodder. Rage swelled within him so much so that if one looked closely they could see that a vein burst in his eyeball.
"You filthy bastard!" mouthed the boy fighter his voice shaking with anger. "You killed so many people I knew. So many that I cared for. And for what? Huh?! Speak up!"
"I've killed many people both in this life and in the lives of those that I am made from," spoke Cell. "You will have to be specific on which people you are talking about short shit."
"I'll tell you who I'm talking about," uttered the teen warrior, "You will know them by the pain I inflict upon you! Pain that I have been carrying inside me since I was but a small child. You will know them by every blow I land!" By this time, Yeung was visibly shaken, and he had been clinching his fists so hard that he had drawn blood.
"Know this Cell," stated Yeung. "Only one of us will leave here alive today. There is a man price that must be paid in blood!"
And with that Yeung turned to leave the arena. As he was leaving, Cell began to laugh. The laugh itself was a grating kind that worked on the boy fighter's nerves.
'Poor pitiful fool doesn't know what he's up against,' thought the android.
Power Levels:
Master Rolo Yeung: 118
Hercule Satan: 50
Perfect Cell: Over 1 billion powered down.
Author's Note: You're all going to love the direction this story takes in the next chapter. And if you're wondering, yes Yeung is a human fighter. The Cell Games are going to get wild with the inclusion of my original character. Please provide critical reviews.