25

Yamcha sat on his couch, steadily and intensely staring at a quarter-full glass of water on the coffee table in front of him. It was ordinary, inoffensive and completely harmless as was. There were several shattered glasses all around it, like a graveyard of drink ware, and water dripped off the sides onto already-drenched spots on the carpet. He'd set them all up and now there was only one left, and he was determined to make it the one.

Sweat dotted his forehead and a rivulet crept down his neck, making them the hem of his shirt uncomfortable and itchy against his skin. He wanted to tap his foot, but he was so overly-mindful of his body that he kept that urge in check, though that didn't help his nerves any. He'd miscalculated with the others, and he needed this to be dead on if he wanted to accomplish his goal before the day was over, but it was so much more of an up hill struggle than Goku would have made it look.

Slowly, incrementally, he leaned forward and extended his hand, watching it and the glass critically. His fingers twitched and he froze, waiting to make sure that he wasn't about to lose control at the worst moment. He hesitated a moment longer, then continued the painfully slow journey. The table was really far away when you were keeping track of every single inch in between.

His fingertips brushed against the smooth glass. The water had been cold at the beginning, but it had been long enough that it had turned room temperature and the condensation had dried off the surface. Putting deliberation behind the muscle of each finger individually, he eventually closed his hand around the glass, making sure that he was actually holding it this time and not pinching it between all his digits.

Even slower than the approach, he pulled his hand and its prize back towards himself, willing total control. It was painstaking work, and sooooooo much slower than he'd really done anything in his entire life, but, at long last, he had the glass level with his face. He'd made it this far twice before, so he didn't pat himself on the back just yet; this was only the half point.

With colossal focus, he went through the everyday, usually automatic motion of bringing the glass to his lips, moving at a fraction of his normal speed. It was near tortuous, being this close to victory but even closer to failure. The water was only slightly refreshing, being too warm to really slake his thirst. A crack appeared under his thumb.

He went through the same ordeal of putting the glass back at glacial speed, the noise it made when he set it down being sweet indeed. Yamcha leaned back into his couch and let out a slow breath, and then finally let his Kaioken die out. Everything felt slower now, but that only made sense.

He'd been experimenting with the technique to try and increase his multiplier, but he hit a wall when he managed to get to fifteen times his normal strength, just slightly higher than what he'd recklessly managed when he'd played cannonball against Broly. It didn't seem like he was going to be able to rely on it to keep up with the others, so he'd taken a page out of the saiyan's handbook – exercise an exhausting technique until you can maintain it with minimal stress on your body.

As he'd just seen, he had a long way to go but he was making progress. He doubted this would make him the strongest of the humans, but it would definitely keep him in their league.

He frowned and sat forward again, looking at the mess he'd made. "Damn." He wiped some sweat from his head before standing up to get the trashcan from the kitchen. This training might get expensive.

The planetoid was hardly more than a giant boulder that got caught in the gravity of an actual world. It's surface was a flaking red mineral that crunched pathetically underfoot and couldn't sustain a modicum of life even if there had been an atmosphere or water.

Broly had destroyed countless such celestial bodies, and this one was no more special than those had been, but he had needed someplace for him to test out his new body. The drone had been ample as a scout, but if he wanted to deal with the other saiyans it was clear that he would need to handle it personally.

He had marveled at the adaptability of the Big Gheti Star – how it could reform and circumvent around prior injuries to make itself increasingly more resistant to harm and attack. Though it was entirely a digital and mechanical construct, The System behaved much like an actual organic being; one that hungered as any organic might.

But that adaptability had only taken it so far against those insects on Earth, and it's weakness became apparent when pitted against numbers and drastic increases in strength. The namekian hadn't overpowered the drone -he'd actually been slightly weaker than it- but he had outsmarted both its automatic systems and Broly himself to exploit an opening. That couldn't be allowed to repeat itself.

With his remaining organic components separated from the colossal form of the Big Gheti Star, The System was in standby and hovered above the moon like a titanic insect waiting to latch onto some unfortunate prey. He had never before made a body around what was left of himself, but he acclimated far faster than he had when remotely controlling the drone from light-years away. He had replicated his flesh body from the shining smart metal down to the last detail, but he would never be mistaken for an organic – nor did he intend to be. He could spread fear and despair from just his appearance alone, and that was just too much fun.

But any further conquest would have to be postponed until he perfected this body. Without any external sign, his power erupted around him. The noise was muted and tinny, but even a near vacuum wouldn't stop the cacophony from sounding out. It was interesting to the saiyan, to barely be able to hear the thunderous noise but watching as the ground around him shook itself to pieces; enormous cracks sprouting out from where he stood which generated further networks that made the surface of the moon resemble a massive spiderweb.

Just as he was getting into his stride, his body was beginning to restrict that energy flow. His own ki was more potent and wild than the artificial ki that the Star produced, and it was stressing the smart metal dangerously. He reigned in the light show just before the point of structural failure and then just stood there for a spell, angry but thoughtful. He had known that work would have to be done on The System and its materials, but it was nonetheless galling to be so restrained by what was making him powerful.

He decided that enough had been done here and he took flight back towards the Big Gheti Star. Just as he reached the opening, he turned back and observed the planet. From the strength of his ki alone, a quarter of the moon's hemisphere had become fragmented rock all the way down to the core, the slight gravity being the only thing keeping the pieces from drifting off into the void. Deep rifts in the surface extended well past the destruction, threatening the integrity of what was left the next time anything impacted against it.

"Hmph," Broly grunted, clenching a fist repeatedly, "not nearly enough."

Out in the dining room, the patrons were enjoying a pleasant night out to this reputable eatery. Wines were being scrutinized by the ignorant, expensive cheeses were brought out on a trolley and soups and main dishes were enjoyed with the restraint of those who believed money meant they were no longer allowed to have actual fun.

But ignore those a-holes, because the real life of the building was in the kitchen. Chefs of every vocation were shouting at each other and squeezing past chrome workstations as steam from a dozen different stove tops made the air heavy and muggy. Servers had to push their way in and shout over the fervor to get their orders. The head chef, who was a graying lion with several hair nets trying valiantly to keep his mane in check, was cursing at an astonishing rate with a rich accent as he stirred a broth like a machine, wooden spoon making a constant thumping noise against the pot.

However, there was one corner of the controlled chaos that was nearly empty and decidedly more calm than the rest, but certainly no less active. Several knives chopped and diced vegetables and herbs while a score of pans, skillets and woks were danced over vigorous flames, their contents sizzling nicely. Soups swirled themselves as dishes were scoured under a jet of water and all the water spontaneously evaporated off of them when they were set in the racks waiting foe them.

At the center of this tornado, Chiaotzu was levitating at head height, arms and legs crossed as he expanded his focus out to all the tasks he was manipulating at once. He'd been given a white chef's coat in his size, which was considerate, and he was rather proud of the fact that he kept it spotless all throughout his shift – even keeping the moisture in the air from sullying it by gentling parting the vapors around him like a shield.

The head chef was sampling some of the outgoing dishes, his lips turned up in disgust. "You call this swill done!? We have rats where I'm from that eater better garbage than this! You!" He pointed a large finger at a rather sour looking woman who had a bandanna wrapped over her hair and was slicing a scallion with heavy strokes. "You! You said that the bisque was going to be ready five minutes ago! Look at you! You're still preparing the damn thing!"

"Don't rush me!" The woman snapped over her shoulder, knuckles white around the handle of the knife. "I'm working as fast as I can!"

This was the wrong thing to say. The head chef pulled his apron off, bunched it into a ball and threw it into the corner as he stormed up to the insolent employee. "You're not even working at all! You chop food like a five year old afraid of getting cut!" He bodily pushed her to the side as he took up her knife and proceeded to chop the current scallion and half a dozen more in a few seconds. "I just did what would have taken you a bloody hour you lazy cow!"

The woman was looking murderous and not at all intimidated by her boss' anger. "You expect us to work at this impossible rate and meet your impossible expectations like we're slaves!"

"I do expect that level of quality out of you lot because, supposedly, you're all professionals who trained for this. It's becoming woefully clear to me that barely any of you have even a fraction of the skill needed to make it in the big, bad world. So you either shape the hell up and get back to work or take your sorry carcass out of-"

That was when she took a swing at him. He bent back at the waist to avoid the blow, looking almost surprised by her forwardness, but he didn't raise a hand back at her. She hardly waited to see that she'd missed before she stomped away and towards the back exit, her former coworkers stepping out of the way.

The head chef scowled and looked down at the half finished dish. "Dawkins, you're covering this station's workload for tonight, get Emile to help you. We need this bisque ready ten minutes ago!" He clapped his hands to get them moving and moved his way back around the kitchen. He stopped by Chiaotzu's area and surveyed the three plates and one bowl that were ready for pickup. He took a clean spoon from his apron and gingerly tasted some of the creamy soup with chopped nuts and a quarter-slice of a lemon as garnish. "Finally, some good fucking food. Keep this level of work up, and don't forget what I told you about evenly coating fish!"

"Y-yes chef!" Chiaotzu saluted, still nervous around the imposing man. He'd been a bit like that woman had been for the first couple of weeks he'd been here, but he'd decided to stick it out instead of leaving. The head chef's lessons were harsh and his criticisms were brutal, but he also wasn't heartless and would often give newcomers far more chances than they might have earned. Under his tutelage, the psychic had found his place here and had become as welcome as anyone could be in such a busy environment, though there was still plenty of bite behind the man's insults. Plenty of people cried when he singled them out. Chiaotzu certainly had, and he'd actually been dead before.

AN: I have this minor rule that only villains can swear in this story, despite the manga's word choice, but I decided to make an exception just this once. Probably not the only F-Bomb I'm going to be dropping, though.

And this chapter is the shortest yet! My word, what has become of my forty page goal I had two years ago!

Oh, right, I actually did write a forty page chapter and never wanted to write again afterwards...

Carrying on!