Number 32
Chapter Two
The Boiler
This is it, 32 summarizes. I need to ask someone.
He desperately needs assistance with the Boiler technique.
Where to start…
Before him is a war zone of ravenous beings. Rows of soldiers sit as they slurp, gnaw, and inhale the Refectory's finest cuisine (which isn't fine at all, and more akin to something already been digested). He eyes the room, and as 32 loiters he finds that the various captains are dotted between the regular soldiers for the most part, mostly sticking to their company or division. Of course, as expected of the older captains, they've chosen to dine at a private table of their own, away from the lower classes as if being close to them would infect them with something most terrible.
32 walks by with a crinkled expression. The carnage that accompanies the mad food rush is always enough to make him arrive either very early to the servings, or very late, although skipping food together is always an equally pleasant option.
32 can tell that some of the captains are still unhappy with Lord Hailer's decision to have him execute Vegeta. They either choose to avoid his line of sight, or opt to stare him down most likely in a bid to psyche him out. It's preferable over Pyrak's maniacal grin. He likes to flash it at 32 whenever he gets the opportunity, as if to remind him that time is ticking down.
And then there's the other captain, the Northern one who'd wanted to make a truce –and now the one who now likes to pretend that they'd never even crossed paths in the first place. 32 frowns. If Captain Ytvl knows the Boiler technique then 32 has the impression that he wouldn't want to help anyway; that ship has long since sailed.
When 32 takes a seat with a portion of his own, he can't help but let his gaze wander over Ytvl's way; the guy is just bad news.
Frustrated, he stabs at a nameless meat with his knife before pushing the tray away. It tastes like shit anyway.
32 stays only for a short while longer, surveying and mentally reviewing candidates for who he could approach, because it really doesn't take long for the cluster of knuckle-dragging morons and their masters to piss him off.
Evidently looking foul, soldiers dart out of his way as he makes his way out of the canteen. He's now wearing his captain's uniform and badge so there's no mistaking rank today. Some salute, even the Northern cannon fodder who line the walls like well-behaved guard dogs -albeit some do so with a level of discomfort and with ugly scowls smeared across equally ugly faces.
God, 32 hates them all.
Feeling irritated, he has to force himself not to retire to his room and open a bottle of liquor or pop a pill. With very little time to master the Boiler he can't waste his time with recreation. He should have asked for help long before now. Damn his stubborn nature –damn his incessant need to do everything himself.
Just as he's about to make his way back to the training room he is stopped by a gloved hand.
"Captain 32," greets another captain. She's the one from the meeting. 32 remembers her because of the great big scar slashed across her face. She is a tall woman, defined by her rigid muscles and many scars and burly nature. "We had the… pleasure yesterday."
He doesn't know her name.
"Captain Tapi," she then introduces. The hand grasps his before he has time to pull away, and she gives it a violent shake.
"What can I do for you… Captain Tapi?" 32 returns his arm to his side, wary.
The crows-feet adjourning her eyes crinkle as she laughs at his expression. "Cautious! Good! You should be around here." She considers him with a rigid sort of look. "Are you still trying to perform the Boiler?"
Well, at least she doesn't beat around the bush. "I am."
"Is it… going well?"
His lips move on their own accord. "Yes, it's going well."
He's angry at his own mouth for betraying him like this. Lies, lies, lies! Yet, he can't bring himself to be honest. This seems like the perfect opportunity to request assistance with the technique –she's right there, seemingly offering her help, yet his stupid lips won't cooperate.
Captain Tapi's own lips form a little 'o', and her brows rise in mild surprise. She seems to believe him and in result 32 is torn between being relieved or furious at himself. He wants her to question him, wants her to push him into admitting that it's not going well at all.
In fact, it's going so poorly that he'd managed to burn all the left side of his arm in his attempts.
"It's a very difficult technique, and although they won't admit it, most of the captains can't in fact perform it or at the very least, can't perform it well," she adds, offering ample opportunity for 32 to get over himself.
But because he hates himself he refuses to give her an inch. "Don't trouble yourself. I'm managing fine."
"It's no trouble for me to assi-"
"I'm capable."
The lines stretched across leathery skin crinkles when she regards him, making the edges of her pointed face appear ever sharper. "The execution must go without a hitch, Captain. Can you guarantee that?"
And even the smallest bit of temptation to ask her disappears. His stomach twists in indignation. How dare she look down on him? She doesn't even know him.
Smoothly, 32 replies. "Is that all, Captain?"
She seems to finally get the message. Her expression grows impassive as she straightens herself out. "Yes. Well, you can reach me via the Scouter Communication Line should you need anything." She taps her shiny red scouter atop her eye: it's an older model than his as is usually the case in the North.
32 nods again and she takes her cue to leave.
As she disappears around the corner, 32 nearly throws his fist through the concrete wall.
Goddamn it.
He's shy of exhausted the next morning.
Last night had been spent in its entirety in his attempts in learning the Boiler. Luckily that meant that he was too tired for the usual bout of nightmares.
The luck only stretches so far, because in their place, burns streak down his arms from his practice sessions of producing the technique. 32 knows that he can't put off going to the infirmary any longer despite the desire to ignore the festering wounds. As tempting as it may be there's no doubt that Lord Hailer would be incredibly pissed off if his executioner is covered head to toe in nasty red burns on the big day.
When 32 arrives at the medic unit, the doctors apply a salve and pass him a bottle of painkillers. On his way out, he is so unimpressed with the dosage that he's quick to throw the bottle in the bin. He's had candy that packs more of a punch. What's the point?
It's frustrating, he thinks as he opens the door to the training chamber, because he's actually very good with utilizing energy so all this faff with medicine and salve is foreign to him.
He's always been decent with ki manipulation too. His own ki attacks are rather powerful, and he enjoys applying energy theory when aiming to improve his skills –the only part of training he actually likes if only down to the science of it.
The Boiler is different however. It takes a type of control that 32 admits he doesn't quite have. Practicing meditation is a key contributor to improving the Boiler technique; this is due to the control needed to maintain the temperature and consistency of the flame, and whilst 32 isn't terrible at mediation he's always hated it. It gives him a headache, and when he's too deep into his mind… well, he wanders. And then… he remembers things most unwelcome.
He remembers them-
Banishing the thought, he rubs his face with his two salved-up hands.
A sigh leaves him, and then he practices the technique once again.
Hours pass with only more burns being added to his arms and face to show for his efforts. Licks of red now stripe down his neck and he can feel the blisters forming. Annoyingly, it means he'll have to wear the high-neck uniform and his furs tomorrow.
He can control the fire's temperature now at least, but it's only enough to either make it scalding hot or lukewarm. The magic middle ground he needs to hit seems to be out of reach, and time is fast running out. With the execution set to be less than a day away he tries not to panic.
When the fire bursts into an explosion of smaller flames he grows ever more discouraged.
32 allows himself a moment and then tries again and again, and then again until the smell of burning flesh starts to hurt his throat.
It's early evening by the time he allows himself a break. Food is a must by this point as his hands are shaking so violently that when he tries to perform The Boiler the fire becomes comically wobbly. He showers and changes first, applying the salve the doctor gave him straight after as instructed.
Sore, tired, and pissed off, he drags himself back to the training chamber after he eats a pitiful meal of soggy vegetables and meat. The possibility of contacting Captain Tapi for help is diminished when he finds out that she's been called away on business with Lord Cooler before the execution.
As he passes through the elevator lobby on his way to the training chamber, he notices something curious near the furthest lift section. No-one stands present despite the lights over the doorway flickering between red and white. The usual hum of electricity is now replaced with a drawn out beeping.
32 recognizes it as the lift he took yesterday, the one leading down to the pits where Vegeta is being held, and so he's quick to act. He wrenches the lift up until he can crawl beneath it, falling with great speed until he reaches the bottom. Here, he finds utter chaos.
He's surprised to find it busier than last time. There are guards dashing between rooms, some covered in the varied colours of blood. Many of the non-fighting soldiers have taken refuge under desks, or are pushing past 32 to get up to the lifts.
"What's going on?" 32 then demands of a soldier. It's one of the head-guards if his diverse colour of uniform is anything to go by. The guard's eye drops to 32's captain's badge and relief seems to sweep over him.
"Vegeta powered up, Captain" the guard explains as calmly as he can, but the rapid fluctuations of his chest betray him. "It tripped the power and several of the doors to the cells became unlocked."
"Including Vegeta's?"
"No, thank Lord Frost," he says, narrowly avoiding another guard coming his way. "But several of the prisoners managed to break free; luckily they didn't get further than here."
Just as 32 is about to ask why they didn't put an alert out, he quickly realizes that they're trying to avoid creating a scene before the big execution.
Clicking his tongue, he brushes a hand through his hair. Really. How can they be so incompetent?
"I don't have time for this. How many prisoners need returning to their cells?"
"I think… I think we're okay now -with the prisoners at least. But, Captain, if you could… The generator in Vegeta's cell is down and I don't think any of the guards dare face him alone."
32 knows it must look like he's sucked about thirty lemons at what the guard is asking him. Still, he gestures an arm forward. "By all means, lead the way."
The route to the destination is even more chaotic than the lobby. Blood splatters don the walls and 32 notices the body of an unlucky prisoner being shrouded in a black sheet. Some of the guards remember to salute him as he passes them in the corridors, whilst the others who don't recognize him or see his badge continue cleaning up the fallen debris. It seems that despite the riot being short it was pretty violent.
Wailing sounds from some of the cells, and swearing in a diversity of languages is being shouted at him as he passes by. The noise finally dies down as they reach the restricted section of the holding unit, the one 32 had snuck into only yesterday.
"It's just Vegeta in there so he couldn't have had any help," the guard says to him as he types a number into the keypad. It hadn't been locked yesterday, how strange. Perhaps Vegeta is a worse prisoner than originally imagined. "It should have been impossible for his energy to even affect the power like it did, sir."
When they enter the familiar cell it looks completely fine for the most part. It's as disgustingly dark and dingy as yesterday, with a smell unrivaled by even the worst sewers 32's unfortunately seen. Yet, he can see that something must have happened. The bars and glass covering the cell look even more worn out than before, with the glass in ruptured piles of shards.
Thankfully, the lights are in working order at least. But they now run dim in an attempt to most likely conserve energy. The beeping can't be heard in the restrictive section, and it would have been silent if not for the loud panting from the man in the corner. The man, Vegeta, sits, sweat pouring down his face. His eyes glow with livid energy.
When he looks up, 32 holds the steel.
If looks could kill.
"Like fuck am I being killed by the Boiler," is the first thing Vegeta says to him, his voice gravelly and strained. "I demand Cooler, or Hailer, or whatever Frost bastard is in charge to come see me."
"You're not one for making demands anymore, Vegeta" the guard snaps, hitting at the bars with his palm. "You've made a real fucking mess out there!"
Vegeta smirks as more sweat slides down his face. He looks exhausted.
"The guard needs to examine the generator in your cell," 32 finally says, "and you're going to let him."
"Oh, it's the boy wonder," Vegeta greets. "I've got no shit for you today. I am very sorry."
For being locked up in a prison cell, Vegeta seems to be doing better than most. He's kept his arrogant attitude unfortunately -and even worse; it also seems the prince's famous sense of entitlement is as strong as ever.
32 and the guard takes a step towards the cell at the exact time Vegeta draws closer. "Come in and I'll kill you both."
"In your state?" 32 chides, "I believe you've just wasted a majority of your energy trying to power up. These cells are coated in sheenks, a substance that zaps and absorbs ki over long periods of time. The entire cell block is covered in this rockery. If you do attack all you're going to do is waste both of our time and I'll be forced to force feed you so much sheenks you really won't be able to defecate." 32 clicks his tongue. "And look, what little power you've been able to grasp is already leaving you."
The guard hits the bars again, hard enough that it rattles. "So be a good boy, Vegeta, and let us do our jobs."
32 wants to stuff some sheenks down this guard's throat too. What an absolute idiot.
With humour, 32 notices that Vegeta looks like he wants to do the same thing. Less funny, the saiyan says; "If he comes in I'll happily rip him in half."
I don't have time for this.
32 instructs the guard to punch in Vegeta's cell code. The guard does but looks wary about it. And then, there's soft swooping of the door just before 32 steps into the cell, head held high. Vegeta doesn't move straight away but as soon as he does, 32 gruffly pushes him down onto his makeshift bed.
There's not much of a rebuttal. Energy-starved, Vegeta attempts to push back. But it seems the prince's arms have become limp after so much exposure to sheenks.
The guard slithers past Vegeta and 32 and scurries over to the generator. Minutes pass and the guy still isn't done.
"That looks like it hurts," 32 hears Vegeta sneer beneath the grip.
He's confused at first, but notices Vegeta's beady eyes staring at the burns stretched across his neck. They probably look inflamed and hideous because Vegeta is right, they hurt like hell.
32 ignores him but tightens his grip so not to encourage Vegeta to get the wrong idea. No attempts of stupidity are welcome today.
"'They practicing on you?" Vegeta asks with spite, his shoulders jutting against 32's sore hands. "Those burns are from the Boiler, right? I remember what they look like."
32 doesn't contain himself, his tone sharp and nasty. "I'm sure you remember performing it too."
"Of course I fucking do. Except I wouldn't practice it on other soldiers, I didn't think this shit stain company could sink any lower but here we are."
Confused, 32 furrows his brows before realising what Vegeta is suggesting. He looks down to see that his coat had lowered over his captain's badge when he'd grabbed the prince. And so, bitterly, 32 breathes an amused sort of snort and shuffles his insignia free.
He watches Vegeta put the pieces together in his head with morbid curiousity, spectating as the man realises he's standing before his maker. Vegeta appears stunned if only briefly, but it then quickly turns to disgust.
"They're sentencing me to death by a rookie captain who can't even perform the Boiler. You're joking."
"I wouldn't say that I'm a rookie."
"Then you're an embarrassment."
"More so than the one being executed?"
"You'll have your turn, you sniveling, little snot."
The venom in Vegeta's voice would be enough to curdle poison, and it makes 32 feel angry that the prince thinks he deserves anything more than the worst of the worst after all the shit he's pulled. 32 has read the files, he knows all of the monster's misdeeds, knows how much he would have enjoyed it. The man is the devil himself, and killing him may be one of the only dutiful things 32 will ever do. He may actually do society a favour.
"You're as disposable as the rest," the prince goes on to say. "You're a mere pawn."
"I'm a lot more than that," but 32 doesn't elaborate. He doesn't feel the need to brag about his accomplishments to the prince. But equally, Vegeta is unlikeable and 32 wants to make him hurt just a little and so adds; "I'll be the captain who kills Prince Vegeta."
When the prince's shoulders give an aggressive thrust forward 32 knows he's touched a nerve.
"What a foul bootlicker you are. I can see that really much hasn't changed. There are always ass-kissers ready to serve the empire. You're just fodder. Want to know what'll happen to you if you continue groveling to your owners?" He spits. "You'll be used to clean their dirty messes, told to kill some no-good rebels -kill whoever they fucking want you to. And for what?"
"Are you talking from experience, Vegeta?" 32 lowly says. "Do you only want to kill for yourself? Cut out the middle man?"
"Don't play pious with me," he growls, "not when I know what you must have done to earn your rank."
32 tilts his head. "I'm sure you'd know."
"I do, and I know how to deliver a decent Boiler without burning half of my skin off. Never would Frieza have let a rookie like you dream of performing it." There's a click of a tongue, derisive. "Maybe the organization is going downhill after all..."
32 doesn't say anything to that. Maybe it is –there have been slow declinations in the Frost Empire's growth for some time now.
"All done, Captain," announces the guard nearer the generator.
The saiyan prince glares up with such ferocity that the heat could be felt radiating from him. 32 wants to say something cruel in that moment, he wants to hurt Vegeta more.
Instead, Vegeta says something. "I'll be back."
It's morose but 32 finds the comment amusing. "Really?"
"And when I return you'll be the first I kill."
…Ha.
32 releases Vegeta, and is surprised when the man doesn't make a move to hit or grab him. He leaves the cell and closes the door behind him, and this time he does spare a final look at Vegeta. He's somewhat surprised to see that the man isn't looking at him any longer, but instead down at the floor. The glare slips from his face and into something more... anguished.
It's a private moment, 32 quickly realizes; one he regrets seeing.
He slams the outer door behind him.
Don't you dare look like that.
The files he's read about the price, the sneers of arrogance, and the body count: these are the things he'll choose to remember tomorrow morning when he performs the Boiler.
32 vomited three times last night.
Two times were in the training chamber, where he'd hunched in a corner and expelled what little food he'd eaten that day. This was his reward after performing The Boiler to a respectable temperature. And then, the final time was in the middle of the night after one of those… dreams.
Release my power, roared the voice in his dream. And then he did …in the form of vomit, all over the bathroom floor when he didn't make it to the toilet in time.
You are not worthy. RELEASE MY POWER.
The words always haunt him in the morning. Spiraling dizziness often follows, and the pain; pain in his head, his stomach –his chest. Sometimes the pain seemed to expel from deep within the inner core of his body, where his natural energy lay, and the feeling of unease would flow free.
In other words, he'd feel wrong.
Today is one of those days; a day where he just feels wrong, unnatural even.
"What a day for this," 32 complains as he cradles his head.
He still has a few hours before the execution, thank God.
32 knows he needs to look respectable and not like a burn-victim with a migraine. So he steps over the puddle of vomit he'd attempted to clean last night, and stumbles into the shower. The water is then set to a cool temperature as not to upset his many burns, ones which flurry in waves along the skin. The salve worked well enough yesterday but angry blotches of red still remain and they're sore to the touch.
Breakfast is a quick affair, all in all because 32 can barely stomach a single bite without feeling queasy. Also, it proves unusually lively in the Refectory; another off-put. Despite the ruckus of being chosen as Vegeta's executioner, and the drama that had followed, it seems that the news of his being chosen is now common knowledge, and so, many soldiers suddenly feel that it's okay to approach 32.
"Make it hurt!" one nameless soldier says.
"He's gonna' cry like a bitch!"
"Damn, 32, fucking get you."
Another soldier simply passes by and squeezes 32's shoulder. 32 damn near chokes on his food from the shock of it.
"Well, doesn't it feel festive in 'ere?"
He doesn't need to look up to know it's Pyrak looming above him. With the ambition of having his breakfast in sombre solitude forgotten, 32 flourishes a hand gesturing for Pyrak to sit down. He may as well, considering his morning is already ruined.
Pyrak smirks at the action, not a stranger to 32's sarcasm, and takes the seat opposite.
32 forces himself to eat a mouthful of vegetables and speaks around it, "what do you want?"
"Did ya learn the Boiler? Bets are on. I've got money on ya that you don't even perform it. I reckon that you're gonna' piss ya knickers."
32 wants to punch him in his pointy face.
Instead, 32 swallows his food and sips on his water with nonchalance. The action of smacking his lips makes Pyrak's gaze darken, and it brings glee to 32 because he's already in such a bad mood as it is. He then sighs and regards the glass of water with feigned interest. "Are you still upset you weren't chosen?"
"I'm not upset," Pyrak says quickly.
"Of course you're not."
"I couldn't give two shits."
"…Mmm, obviously."
Pyrak leans in over the table and knocks the water out of 32's hands. It clatters before smashing, but it's just white noise amongst the hustle and bustle of the canteen and no one pays them any mind. "When you fuck it up today, and ya will, just know that I could have performed the Boiler fucking spectacularly." He gives 32 an up and down. "Ugh, pathetic… even Lord Hailer couldn't look past your pretty face to make the right choice, could 'e? Gotta' make an impression for the cameras after all."
32 feels his lips threaten to curl, and he has to force himself not to react. Instead, he leans in close.
"Pyrak, do you really want to cause a scene on Lord Hailer's special day?" 32 then whispers in promising tones, dark and tight, jaw clenching. After a pause; "no? Then do us both a favour and back the fuck off, before you embarrass the both of us."
Pyrak purses his lips and contemplates his next actions. For a moment 32 believes the brute might actually take a swing at him, but then Pyrak's chair pushes back with a loud screech.
Waves of the other captain's furs follow him as he turns and leaves 32 without so much of a lingering stare. The quiet fury of it is alarming, unnerving really, and 32 can't help but feel that he hasn't heard the last from him on this.
32, relieved of it for now, turns back to the humble stack of food atop his plate. It's not a reassuring sight, and the pittance of 32's of it looks sourer than ever. He pushes the tray away. After that display he's really not hungry.
That asshole always knows how to make things worse.
Pyrak has always disliked him since day one. The first time they'd met had been in the Youth Program many years ago, some foggy time from 32's childhood he struggles to recall half of the time. What 32 does know is that Pyrak must be at least three or four years older than him; he's always towered over 32 like the thug that he is, wide and burly and with enough power to dominate all the weaker soldiers. 32, on the other hand, remains his complete antithesis. Where Pyrak is loud, 32 is quiet, and where Pyrak is brash and cruel, 32 is reserved and… well, it's not like 32 can't be cruel. He can be, and whilst he enjoys the merriment of a barbed insult he doesn't relish in it like Pyrak does.
The guy's a beast, a beast that'd been stationed alongside 32 on planet Central as an acting captain. For the three years 32 has had to deal with Pyrak's sniping, rivalry and, worst of all, the closeness forced upon the both of them in the expectation of their cooperation. Lord Hailer always likes to pair them together, which must be out of sheer spite because it's the worst kept secret that the two hate one another.
Nastily, 32 wishes it were Pyrak's head on the chopping block instead of Vegeta's. Or better yet, 32 could burn both of them. No doubt that they deserve it.
Feeling somewhat inspired, he rises and discards his tray of food. Today he'll do his duty and prove his naysayers wrong. Fuck them all.
As he walks free of the Refectory, 32 feels the weight of being watched, Pyrak's gaze the weightiest of them all.
The chosen facility for the execution is the Grand Hall. Of course it's the Grand Hall. Lord Hailer and Lord Cooler wouldn't shirk something like the grounds for Prince Vegeta's execution off with anything less than magnificent.
Like frost, crystal pieces decorate the ceiling with dazzling and wintery effect. Majestic, if just a little gaudy, the trickles of gems fall in great amounts. They loom over the room so high above that you could stack ten men and still not reach them. Bright, they're the shining glory of the space and would steal the attention if not for the stage set in the centre of the room.
The only lighting around the stage is born from a selection of candles. They dot around the hall, imprisoning the darkness with such a haunting affect that 32 feels the need to swallow a bout of growing anxiety. Against the candles, the dark curtains cover any windows and blend into the already darkly papered walls. It's as if the room is ready to swallow 32 up.
But he won't let that happen. Head raised high, he marches along the marble.
The Grand Hall is already full of spectators. Lines of soldiers are positioned precisely as to look perfectly uniform, standing to face the stage where the execution is to be performed. The low murmur of chattering sounds out as 32 reaches the stage. Two thrones have been placed to the right of the stage as to be in a good range of the performance, ready for both Frost lords to have an enjoyable viewing experience.
Neither Lord Hailer nor Cooler have arrived yet so the thrones lay bare. 32 takes his position beside the throne on the right, Lord Hailer's. It isn't long until the Northern captain Ytvl appears and stands beside the throne on the left. There's no acknowledgement between the two. They both simply stare at the stage in expectation.
The stage itself is simple. It's wooden with only a small square indent where Vegeta will be placed and locked down.
The crowd falls silent and 32 knows that this must mean the lords are arriving. Sure enough, the two enter the hall together as they share a quiet conversation. When they reach the stage, Lord Cooler offers both captains a curt nod and Lord Hailer's lips twitch into something resembling a shady smile. Both captains bow their heads and the lords take a seat beside their respective captains.
"Bring him in," Lord Cooler instructs Ytvl. Ytvl bows his head before disappearing out of a side door closer to the stage. A wave of nausea washes over 32 knowing that he's only moments away from performing the Boiler.
Suddenly, a small device with rotating wings soars past 32 and hovers above the stage. It takes a moment for 32 to register that he's currently looking at a camera, one ready to film the execution live… and possibly ready to catch him in the act of failing to kill Vegeta.
No, don't think that. I've practiced. I can do this.
Lord Hailer stands. He's wearing a formal armour-set today much like 32. 32's own armour set, beneath his furs, reflects the same dull blue as Lord Hailer's.
"Loyal soldiers," Lord Hailer begins, addressing the crowds and then the camera, "individuals across the many Frost-ruled planets, rebels, and all those in between, I welcome you today to watch a very special event.
For many years, a culprit has escaped our clutches and sullied the great Frost name. Many of you may recognize his face, and many of you may recognize the hardships he has brought to our cause. Today, we are going to rectify his wrongs and bring justice to the Frost family, and to our dearly departed brother, Lord Frieza. The injustice of Lord Frieza's murder has plagued a many of us, and for a regretful amount of time now we've been unable to rectify this evil deed, one which sullied the great Frost name, and with it, all of you who serve it.
Lord Frieza was murdered. He was murdered by what this individual, Prince Vegeta, represents. And so today is the start of a new opportunity for us, an opportunity to be rid of our universe's worst scourge. We are going to finish what Lord Frieza started."
32 surveys the room in anticipation for their reaction.
"We are going to execute every remaining saiyan alive."
Chatter erupts, bursting from small groups all around the hall. 32 sees the varied reactions, some of shock and some of discomfort, yet for the most part none dare show their true feelings. Lord Hailer allows them a moment but holds up a hand in order to move on, hushing them into a quick silence.
"So what constitutes being a saiyan?" Lord Hailer finally continues, booming over the silence. "Simple, it would be an individual with higher than 25% genetic coding from saiyan heritage. Any person falling into this lineage will be destroyed."
There is a pause, and the silence is deafening. 32 knows that many of these soldiers will have to be genetically tested.
"This race has plagued us enough!" Lord Hailer roars, cutting through the tension. His furs dramatically flow behind him as he gestures to the side door. "Today we end this foul race, starting at the very top! We bring to you… Prince Vegeta, prince of the saiyan race."
And sure enough, Captain Ytvl appears with Vegeta in tow. The prince looks truly drained. He's ghost white, clammy (most likely from the exposure of sheenks), and has the look of a dead-man walking. Ytvl drags the prince by the arm and thrusts him onto the stage. The camera buzzes around frantically; zooming in and out on Vegeta's thunderous face as the crowd hisses their obscenities at him. The sinking feeling in 32's stomach worsens when the camera then pans onto him.
Vegeta is then hoisted into the square indention in the floor. It's coated in sheenks, and due to Vegeta's overexposure to the substance it will be effective in keeping the prince still during the execution. Whilst Vegeta looks tired he doesn't appear scared; his eyes are murderous –they don't leave Lord Hailer's.
"Prince Vegeta" Lord Cooler greets, "how courteous of you to join us."
"Fuck off, you great slimy lizard," Vegeta wheezes. In result, Ytvl backhands Vegeta so hard that he actually spins around. Vegeta, huffing, then eyes the captain with renewed repugnance before spitting out a blob of fresh, red blood.
"Tch, such a foul mouth," Lord Hailer comments, eyes alive with amusement. His tail flickers out as he takes his seat between Lord Cooler and 32. His loyal audience laughs, hungry for more violence as they applaud their master. Their sick yearning for Vegeta's blood makes 32's skin crawl, especially knowing he's about to feed their desire. Such pigs.
Lord Hailer's flourishing hand lets 32 know it's time to start the show. His stomach sinks as he steps forward to where Vegeta kneels on the ground. The prince spits more blood right in front of 32's boots.
32 sneers and retreats a polished boot. If one of 32's soldiers did this then he would give them a swift kick to the face. But it's not. It's Vegeta's last bout of defiance.
"The Northern soldiers brought in this worthless excuse of a prince," Lord Cooler tells the crowds, "but together, with our Southern brothers, we will bring his existence to an end."
Lord Hailer leans back into his throne and continues, "One of my own Southern captains will perform the execution today. Captain 32, named so in accordance to his Youth Program number, will execute Prince Vegeta using the technique known colloquially as the Boiler, one which has been a staple of our fine institution long before any of us present were even conceived. Traditional and vengeful, I see no better end for Prince Vegeta's story other than such a regal execution method."
Yes… 32 struggles keeping his nerves steady. Yes, he deserves this. Lord Hailer is right.
Vegeta looks up at 32, and then sees the camera. Blood still dribbles down his chin as he grins darkly. "Do your worst, boy."
He's a monster.
32's eyes narrow. The churning in his stomach is making him feel sick, and the urge to vomit keeps coming and going in waves.
It'll be the best thing I ever do.
"Any last words, Vegeta?" Lord Cooler offers.
"Just fucking do it" Vegeta growls pointedly. His eyes never leave 32's.
Lord Cooler chuckles heartily. "Then commence, Captain!"
32 feels his mouth go dry and his palms sweat beneath his gloves. The heat from his burns suddenly feel unbearable, as though they know they're about to be scorched again. He raises his arm regardless, his own furs sliding down, and readies the flame. It dances softy in his palm, the heat slowly building as the technique requires. The crowd is silent, eagerly awaiting Vegeta's screams.
The fire builds and builds until the flames licking at 32's wrists hurt enough for it to be considered hot, but not hot enough to burn.
His eyes find Vegeta's anxious ones. They close in anticipation.
He looks ready.
The flames leak from his palm.
He looks ready to die.
32 finally shoots the Boiler with perfect aim. Some part of him registers the camera zooming in on the attack, but he's so focused on the technique that he can't afford his concentration being thwarted. Apprehensive, but cautiously optimistic that the attack is the right temperature, 32 watches as the fire swallows Vegeta.
It takes him greedily, lapping over the man and carving into where it must hurt.
The prince's eyes burst open in anguish, and just as he's about to scream –everything turns white.
At first, 32 thinks it is just him –that he's the only one that's been blinded. But shrieks sound from the crowd, and he hears Lord Hailer snarl out a command. Just as he's about to attempt to heed the order, a sharp pain explodes in his gut and he falls to his knees.
The feeling of someone's fist leaving his stomach isn't foreign to 32, and so he reaches out and tries to grab the offender. For his effort 32 is struck another time across the face, and kicked so hard that he flies free from the stage and into a wall. He feels the concrete shake and crack upon impact.
Sh-Shit.
He's still blinded by whiteness, and 32 hopes in mild panic that it isn't permanent. Nearby, an explosion erupts and 32 feels the shockwaves rolling off from where he thinks the stage is. The chaos of fighting sounds around him. All the surrounding hitches of energy trigger his scouter into action, recording the jumping of many nearby power levels with frenzied beeping. Together with the yowling of alarms it makes it harder for 32 to get his bearings.
32 can also hear soldiers ushering each other out of the building or towards the chaos. It gives 32 the impression that either the blindness has worn off for them, or is at least currently wearing off because he still can't see anything.
Is it a bomb? Some kind of explosive they've never heard of before?
Is it a specialized attack?
Blotches of colour finally start returning, but his head hurts so much now that it's practically impossible to focus. The first thing he makes out is the stage –or rather, what's left of it. The Boiler's goliath fire must have spread during the attack, overwhelming everything in its path and growing into the goliath monster which it has now become.
Lord Cooler and Lord Hailer are long gone, vanishing in the commotion. As 32 runs back to the stage the fire continues to grow, hungrier and greedier than ever. Waspish flames tickle his flesh; hitting the burns and making them ache more than ever. He bears it well, pushing away offending soldiers who dare get in his way as he looks for the source of the attack.
That's when 32 notices the lack of smoke filling the room. The mystery is soon solved when his bleary eyes advance up and watch the thick, smoldering clouds escape through a hole in the roof.
Through the density of smoke 32 sees the unmistakable flickering of vehicle lights.
A spaceship?
"Where's Vegeta?!" 32 thunders. "Where the hell is he?!" But none of the soldiers can hear him over the crackling of the flames. Debris falls from the ceiling and a puff of dust and ash make it near impossible for the men to navigate. They cough and wheeze as they struggle to break free.
They're useless to him, and he shoves each aside when they get in his way. He'll do this himself.
32 jumps up in a brisk movement, flying past the fire and onto the decaying roof of the Grand Hall. Smoke has ignited into flame behind him and it sears his previously earned burns even more. Agony courses down his arms.
"Where are you, you bastard?"
As he swivels atop the crumbling rooftop he's greeted with a crisp punch to the face. Honestly, he'd expected as much and so 32 takes the hit with stride, pulling the arm towards him and landing a powerful hit of his own. The perpetrator flies back and takes a nasty fall into the sharp tiles of the decaying structure. Flames swoop up and welcome the attacker with an orange, menacing hug.
Fucking rebels, I bet.
32 turns back to the sky with frantic motion. He'd been right about seeing a spaceship. It's moderately sized and of a unique design, painted white and, most importantly, being used to load Prince Vegeta. Several people have surrounded the prince; they usher him forward through the doors.
32 narrows his eyes. They're not doing this on his watch.
As he charges forward towards the group, 32 can't get a good look beyond the thickening smoke; but it does appear as if Vegeta took the hit of the Boiler directly -he looks charred- so 32 doesn't worry too much about rebuttal.
He runs forward over the tiles and makes a jump for the ship.
Just as 32's about to make contact, a boot connects with his right cheekbone. He spirals down and crashes back into the roof. Intricate tiles catch him, cutting into his skin as he pistons deeper into the debris. He finally stops when he bounces against a girder. A shock of pain runs along his waist as the taste of metal fills his mouth.
From this sprawled position on the rooftop, 32 witnesses as, at this crucial moment, the spaceship launches itself backwards at a speed no soldier could compete with.
All 32 can do is watch morbidly as it ascends further and further away.
He rubs the cheek where he was kicked and the flash image of the assailant weighs heavy in his mind.
His eyes close as the fire heats up.
You were supposed to be dead.
His attacker was supposed to have died in the explosion of planet Namek, the very same explosion that nearly took 32's own life. His eyebrows knit together, and he spits out the ever-growing mouthful of blood as he sits up.
Well, fuck.
The ravenous fire of the Boiler below him burns on, casting a menacing red glow on the world around him.
It turns out there's yet another saiyan for Lord Hailer to be worried about.
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Thank you to my betabae, KaguriAsuha, for the editing. I'm actually useless without her. Also, thanks to reviewers and followers of this fic and my others. I'd planned on getting this chapter out sooner but because the fine fibres of my life are slowly fraying. Broken laptop, busy work life, planning travel... Sigh. But yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry, fine... just fine, my home country is on fire but I'm fine :) Haha.
Anyhoooo, I'll have more chance for writing AFTER Christmas because my holidays start in Jan. I cannot bloody wait. I was gonna' update this along with Horse at the same time, but because of said life chaos Horse just ain't ready yet. I'm actually flying to Beijing in the morning so I'm busy even right now, so uh, yeah, I'm not gonna' reply to reviews this time. I'm sorry! I promise I'll catch you on the next one. PMs; I'll reply to later when I'm back. But thank you thank you thank you. Have a lush Xmas -or whatever jollies you celebrate!