Number 32

Chapter Six

The Three Captains

You're not worthy.

It burns; the power within boils and blisters and 32 can't take any of it.

You're not worthy of my power.

How many times does it need to say that? 32 knows! Does he ever! He hears it so often! Most nights are gruelling, bordering impossible –the aching within, the sharp stings of fiery… fiery wrongness- makes him scream. Even though he knows it's a dream, he can never wake on command. He can only wait until it becomes too much.

Release my power!

And slowly, he's reaching the peak of it tonight.

You are a thief.

In the sweltering black, 32 twists and writhes and sweats. The darkness of his slumber encloses him and the burning only worsens. Not long, now…

It's hot –so, hot.

"I…I…Ugh."

You have no right to it.

The fire within roars.

RELEASE IT!

The fire finds him.

32's head is splitting, chest tightening, and when he finally manages to wrench himself up and out of bed he vomits violently against the wall.

"D-Damn it…"

As the watery sludge descends down the cracked paint, 32 swallows deep gulps of air. His chest heaves and he cradles his head between his legs. The dizziness is always the last to go.

Is this his punishment for what he did at the tavern? Is this his body's way to make him suffer? 32 doesn't need his body to do that to him. He knows what he did must have been horrible for… for that man, for the saiyan. 32 had murdered the small one, someone who must have been friends with him. As 32 had left him to bleed out in the snow, he looked like he'd wanted to cry.

But, at least…

I spared him.

32 hadn't needed to. In fact, he shouldn't have. If Lord Hailer finds out that 32 had done such a thing for any reason less than strategy, it won't be pretty. God, if Lord Hailer finds out Goh—32's, 32's, connection to this man then it's all going to go downhill fast.

And why had 32 spared him? Hell would he know.

It's… not worth thinking about.

"What a mess," 32 rasps, staring at the vomit.

The clean-up is a well-practiced state of affairs these days. 32 keeps cleaning supplies in his room and manages to have the room smelling of citrus. Once, one of the cleaners found his supply, along with a canister of ammonia he'd once taken from the Research Department by accident after working on spaceship artillery. The cleaner had reported 32 for possible terrorism, suggesting that he'd been trying to create mustard gas –which is ridiculous in itself. 32 does not need explosives to get his point across, well, not ones that don't shoot from his hands.

Or a gun…

32 recalls that small man's face –the abject horror- and wonders if they'd ever met once upon a time. As that bullet passed through the man's head, 32 felt so little, really. Only after returning back to base did he think about it, not that he should have. What's in the past should stay in the past, and 32's no longer a child. He needn't feel bad.

Such emotions will only hold him back, after all.

A shower doesn't clear his head up. The icy burn of water slaps down at the bony junctures of his body, reminding him of last night's night terrors. Somehow, the nightmares seem to be getting worse, as if correlating with the miserable trajectory of work.

His head taps against the cool of tiles. The water runs like static, coursing over his ears as a wonderful sort of white noise; a momentary escape from it all. Here, he can breathe… even if it's just for the moment.

After his shower, he dresses in his jumpsuit and a set of furs. His scouter sits loyally above his left eye, already having connected to the online system and data base. It displays 32's usual daily dose of Frost Empire propaganda. Ads about enlisting for the army, working in research and volunteering flicker just at the bottom of his screen. When he disables them, the latest Frost Empire "news" appears and 32 is left to stare at his own face when he makes headlines over the execution fiasco. It's not negative, however, which is fortunate because that would fuel the ribbing. No, it simply asks for the empire's vast population to support the efforts of securing Vegeta once again, mentioning little about Ytvl's betrayal or about how they'd all been made fools of when the rescue team had burst through the ceiling.

32 continues to read the drivel as he oversteps his piles of research. Books lay scattered about the floor and nearly trip him as he reaches the door. They're the only spots of colour in a room made up entirely of greys, making his space appear messier than how he usually keeps it. Since bringing in Ytvl a few days ago, he's not had much time to stay on top of things.

The cleaners don't enter either –not unless 32 calls them, himself. They've been banned since their reporting of him. Honestly, who in their right mind reports a captain? Clearly, some fools don't understand the system at all, not like 32. He understands it very well.

As do so many others, 32 thinks as he makes his way along the corridor of the residential unit. Soldiers trip over themselves to salute or bow. Even to the outside in the slew of snow, he sees several guardsmen acknowledge him as he moves past the window.

It's funny how fickle it all is. 32 is half the age of some of these men, with perhaps a quarter of the experience, yet here they all are; grovelling because the system tells them to do so. It'd all be rather amusing if 32 was morose like that, but it actually just pisses him off; the two-faced delicacy of it. And, sure, yes, whilst he prefers it over the casual disrespect of the Northern bastards, he'd rather not be a part of it all.

Ytvl had been right that night. 32 isn't a loyalist. He hates all this bullshit as much as any other non-brainwashed soldier, but what can he do?

Should he waste his time and join a rebel group?

How don't they know? How don't those fools know that this is just the way?

The system may not be just and it may be delicate, but it's there and it's real, and there is little any of them can do about it.

So… so what 32 can't understand is why. Why the hell did someone in Ytvl's position defer to such a cause? Ytvl's life had been comfortable. Cooler doesn't seem nearly as strict as Lord Hailer, and if anything, Ytvl seemed at least enjoy the spider webs that make up the complicity of empire politics.

So… why?

Why, Ytvl, why?

And now, in the depths of the holding chamber, hidden where no other soldier or prisoner wanders, hangs the drooping form of the enigma, of Ytvl himself.

It's a lone tower atop the oldest fort on Central where the holding chamber can be found. For that, it's a cold place; easily one of the most battered areas by the brutality of Central's harsh winter. Upon the occasion, prisoners can be found frozen in their cells or from up on their stakes.

But 32 isn't cruel, even if he detests the piece of shit Ytvl is.

Individual pits of fire burn from their respective copper pots around the room. They illuminate the stonework almost cosily and Ytvl's harsh lines and filthy demeanour is softened by the glow, but still, he's quite the battered eyesore. Especially so, with the copious amounts of sheenks surrounding him; they drain the colour right from his cheeks.

His tongue remains as quick as ever, however. Enough so that 32's considered cutting it free.

"Oh, you don't look very good," Ytvl says as though he's not the one bruised, beaten and tied to a slab against the wall. "Have you been skipping meals, 32?"

"Tch. Keep your comradely concern to yourself."

"Comradely," he parrots, equipping that artificial concern 32 hates. "More so, that I detest having a dreary skeleton such as yourself come visit me. I never realized that all those furs were there to hide an eating disorder."

"Funny," 32 seethes.

Ytvl's neck, along with his limbs, are clamped against wood under a metal bar so he has little to look at but at his captor –yet he's not put off, if anything, this empowers the bastard. "So, when do I get an audience with my beloved Lord Cooler? Does he miss me?"

"Ask him yourself the day he decides to take your head."

"I was thinking… It must madden you so that you don't get to do the deed and kill me yourself," he mulls. "Or, will you be happy to ship me off, especially since I have nothing to tell you?"

Cocky bastard.

32 leans back on the balls of his feet and considers the other man, swallowing his distaste. "Oh, no, I'm sure you have plenty to tell me… I just need to be a bit more persuasive."

"The men you've had beat me haven't been very good, to be honest. You know, and take this advice with a pinch of salt, but I would have flayed them if they were serving under me for such poor effort. Have they never tortured anyone before?"

The captain feels something above his eye twitch. "Oh. Are you going to give me some ideas I can pass along? Feel free."

Ytvl actually laughs at that. It sounds raw and painful –and despite what he's saying, they both know he's been screaming. The men 32 chose to do the job are not green.

The operation of keeping Ytvl here has been covert so only few people know. Until he tells 32 what he needs to know about Vegeta, Cilo and their location, then he must stay here with discretion. 32 doesn't want to announce his latest capture until he can bring both him and Vegeta in together.

"You know, Captain," Ytvl simpers, making 32's toes curl. A test is coming his way. "I'm surprised you spared Goku."

There it is.

32 doesn't let his composure slip. "Who?"

"The fighter you left in the snow that night."

He deflects. "Mmm. Oh, him… What would you have done, Ytvl?"

"Well, I know for a fact that you haven't been ordered to bring in anyone alive, at least those who aren't either myself, Vegeta or the Cilo leader. Neither Lord Cooler nor Hailer would have made such a request. So, I was left somewhat bewildered by your decision to spare him when you had ample opportunity to kill him. I think we both know that he's not the sort to give you Vegeta, especially after you popped Shorty dead."

How perceptive.

Outside, a gale of wind whistles as 32 considers the ex-captain.

Silence continues to hum between them, and after a time, with Ytvl's little strength, he gestures forward with his pelvis. "This is where you reply."

"I have given him a chance to bring me Vegeta," 32 says steadily, "If he doesn't, then I'll kill him next time. Neither you nor him proved to be too difficult to restrain."

"That guy would kick your ass in a fair fight."

"I don't fight fair, I fight smart."

"I noticed," Ytvl says, not without a touch of resentment. "And that's why you're the star of the show down south, huh? I do say, the ambush at the tavern was wonderfully executed. You didn't even give me a chance to demonstrate my skills, which is a bit of a shame. I would have loved to go up against the Youth Program's golden boy."

32's eyes narrow on instinct.

How he hates this man. The bastard has the gift of saying everything that pisses 32 off.

"But you don't like fighting, huh?" Ytvl continues, smirking. The dried blood on his chin cracks wide. "I was quite surprised at how many times you tried to avoid it, with me and then with Goku. I'd heard good things about your skills so I was left unimpressed when you whipped your little gun out. Whilst it was the safe option, and one I may have chosen myself, I expected to be dazzled by this extraordinary captain Cilo has been so interested in recruiting."

"I suppose they didn't mention to you why they're so interested."

"I'm but a small cog, Captain. I just do as I'm ordered and ask few questions."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

Ytvl relaxes against the hold of metal, melting into it as if he owns the place. "All right, speaking of questions, then how about this? I propose-"

"Be quiet. You're in no position to propose anything."

"Hear me out, 32. Perhaps this might be to your benefit, also. And then you can commence setting your goons upon me in a bid for information you will never get." He pauses and 32 scoffs at the audacity of the man. It's a world away from the wrecked and disgraced captain he'd picked apart at the tavern. "All right, how about this? I am going to let you ask one question of me, one I'll answer honestly. And in return, you'll do the same. What do you think?"

Red flags pop up in 32's mind, one after the other.

"You must be joking."

Ytvl simply tilts his head, awaiting him.

"And if I don't want to answer it?" 32 then challenges when he's not disputed, "And if I so choose to lie? Just how foolish are you?"

The tone remains light. "If you don't want to answer then so be it. I'll take that as your answer. And don't worry about lying. I'm sure to tell."

"Such arrogance."

"I'll even let you ask first as a gesture of good-will."

As 32 thinks it over, the howling of wind increases, battering at the walls and making the flames flicker. Ytvl is patient, apparently, and smiles like it's just any other day for him, as though he's anywhere but here. 32 knows it's a power move but it still pisses him off just the same.

"Fine, then," he relents because he does in fact have a question –a few, actually.

Upon entering the holding chamber today, he'd pondered the burning question of why Ytvl would want to turn against Lord Cooler, particularly after being comforted such an exceptional position. He would have been made for life, and now that's ruined.

Other questions course the tip of his tongue. Who is the Cilo leader? Where is Cilo now? Where is Vegeta? How… How did Goku get himself involved? Of course, these won't go answered and so he doesn't bother.

It's then that he surprises himself by remembering something that happened many days ago on the day before the execution.

"During our first meeting, when we'd been summoned by Lord Hailer and Lord Cooler, something did bother me, I suppose."

Ytvl looks like the cat that got all the cream, but the expression is soon to wither.

"Yes?"

"When Lord Hailer had suggested the culling of the saiyan people, I recall your reaction. You'd become anxious about it. At the time, it bothered me… It'd made me curious as to why. I know you don't have the blood otherwise Lord Cooler would have spoken otherwise. Why were you so bothered?"

For the first time, Ytvl manages to appear surprised. "That's… your question?"

"Yes."

There's a noise of disbelief. "Out of everything?"

32 keeps his gaze firm.

The man's mouth opens and closes several times, and he manages to look a little lost. It comes with such a simple answer. "I… simply did not want my friends to die."

Oh.

Then 32 had been right on the day. It truly had been that simple.

"32… Did it not bother you that men were being sentenced to death after years of loyalty, out of no fault of their own –for their race?"

Fault?

"They're soldiers."

"They're still people."

A heat washes over him and 32's tongue reacts of its own accord, waspish. "People? Are you that soft?"

"Even soldie-"

"You so much as turn your back for five minutes and the gluttonous, lust-driven pigs will have raped and pillaged the nearest settlement."

Ytvl starts to heat up. "Not every soldier is that way! Do you really wish ill-will upon an entire faction of people because of the few? I knew men, good men, who died under Lord Cooler out of no consequence of their own just because I ordered them into battle. How about you? How many have you slayed with your words?"

"Not enough," 32 spits.

Ytvl's eyes widen just a fraction, and something in 32's stomach makes him want to take his words back, to swallow them along with his tongue.

"Forget it," he mutters.

Between them then lingers a silence which seems to stretch on and on, infuriating 32 even more. Ytvl's analysis of him, meanwhile, seems to continue and all 32 can do is simmer his frustration.

The captain can't bear it a moment longer. "And your question?"

"…No, I'm good."

32 doesn't believe it. "You forgo it?"

"I… do, yes. I believe I do." Ytvl says, after weighing him up and down; "I think I have my answer."

After this, 32 decides not to converse with him any longer. This man's presence sends chills down his spine, and whilst Ytvl is the one tied to the slab, 32 still feels like he is the one holding the power. 32 hates it –hates him. The sooner he can extract information, the sooner he can be done with him, with Goku and with everything that makes his chest strain.

When 32's fist first crunches against the hard of cartilage, it's more satisfying than it should be. Ytvl grunts as 32 punches him again, and again and again as 32 tries to pry information out of that awful mouth. The questions come but the answers don't. And for hours, the stalemate continues.

Annoyingly, the bastard still doesn't tell 32 anything of value about Vegeta or Cilo and so he deems the session done for now. As 32 turns to leave, knuckles dripping in blood, Ytvl grins messily through his injuries.

"Chin up, 32. It's only going to get worse from here."

Mind games. That bastard just likes mind games.

32 is sitting outside, enjoying his usual contemplative spot atop the dome of the observatory. It's the highest point of the Capitol and overlooks a great portion of Central's occupied land. Much of the land is lost to the rage of blizzards, and is made up of glaciers, mountains and uninhabitable terrain. Out there, there's snow piling so high that castles have been completely enveloped and when on expeditions, 32's seen the tops of rooftops poke out through the snow. He wonders how many have been buried.

Today, the weather has subsided a bit. Even though it's windy, the snowfall has thinned and 32 is able to see clearly into the dregs of the major city. Somewhere, in the mix of brown and grey, sits the Green Snow Tavern; the place he'd left the saiyan, Goku, to bleed out.

32 has tried to forget the image but it keeps coming back to him. Superficial wounds won't do much to a saiyan of such strength, and there had been plenty of people around to help him. By now, Goku should be healed if Cilo has the decent technology 32 thinks it has. Off-brand regeneration tanks aren't exactly expensive.

A gust of wind blows hard from behind and 32 has to hold on to the panelling not to slip.

This really might change things…

32 isn't a nostalgic person because that's dangerous. Never does he think of his life before leaving the Youth Program. But since seeing Goku, there's been a niggling at his brain, reminding him of warmer days –of times before the snow.

His planet –whatever it's called- had been nowhere near the icy wasteland Central is. It'd been green and lush with vegetation, smelling sweet and zesty after rainfall. 32 remembers the heat of summer against his skin and the taste of sugar from fruit he's long since forgotten. There'd been such a variety of creatures on the planet too, all shaped differently and living in the solitude of nature. The flavour of life there had been incredible, and it bears too much to even reminisce about…

So he doesn't.

In the distance, 32 notices the tell-tales signs of an oncoming storm.

This is reality now, one where the ice doesn't melt.

The shrill cry of the wind tells him as much. Never will the ice melt away and never with the Frost Empire fall.

What's the point, Ytvl? I don't understand you.

And after several more days of little to no information from the man, 32 still doesn't understand him. On top of that, 32's not heard a sniff from Goku as Ytvl said he wouldn't. There's no word on Vegeta or Cilo from anyone.

Ytvl and 32 have shared no less than twenty or so hours together now, and still, the stubborn asshole is refusing to sing. Begrudgingly, 32 commends that Ytvl was trained well –he's made men spill their guts using less harsh methods. In fact, it'd come to a point during their last meeting that 32 decided to introduce the "shocker"; a device which sends currents throughout the body. It's a vile feeling; something which makes the victim twist, convulse and possibly go into shock depending on the level being applied. The dial rings from 1-12, with 12 being the harshest. Many don't survive past nine. Yesterday, 32 had pushed it to seven.

Ytvl had screamed, shouted, swore and vomited, but he had not said a word.

Stubborn bastard.

Frustrated and at a loss, 32 had left him with the two soldiers in charge. Later, they'd report they'd beat him to no avail.

32 doesn't put all his eggs in one basket, however. He's sent out patrol teams to bring in residents to be questioned. The tavern owner from the rally has been… questioned several times now but apparently he, like everyone, seems to know nothing about this mysterious Cilo.

In days, 32 has barely slept –barely ate- as all he can do is pursue the case. Vegeta is still out there and Lord Hailer wants his vengeance. Whilst 32 hasn't heard much from Lord Hailer, he knows the importance of this duty –of the quiet test he's inflicted upon 32 himself.

It's… it's stressful to say the least, but he's just about coping. The soldiers loitering the common areas stare at him with a level of pity these days, and even the other captains have a semblance of sympathy about them. 32 hates it –he doesn't want it from scum like them.

To get away from it all, for a break, he falls into the luxury of his old routine and pays a visit to his one getaway.

He gazes up at the sign, one above the shiny silver of a metal door.

Research Department

The door creaks open and brushes past a range of workers. Most are bent over their stations and so they don't notice him come in, but some do salute although it's not necessary. 32 has never once expected it of them. As he meanders through the clinical workshops, looking at their latest toys, his contact, Researcher Nami approaches, face absolutely filthy in whatever substance they're using to power the pods these days.

He can't help but comment on 32's weariness. And whilst it's true that 32's exhausted, he doesn't want to hear it.

32 grunts. "Tch, I'm here to rest, not to be badgered."

"At least take a nap in the back room," Nami suggests, "I'll make sure to tell any patrolling soldiers that you're not here."

"They'll just sniff me out, they always do," the young man grumbles. His fingers graze over the collection of wires. He wants to play too; he wants a break from it all. "I'm curious to what you've been working on."

"Nothing exciting," he dismisses. "Now, either go rest or get your work done so you can rest. You look absolutely awful."

"I'm not your kid. I'm a captain –you don't get to send me to bed."

"Fine, Captain, I request you go take a power nap because your negativity is scaring half of the department away from their stations."

Ignorant, 32 spots a box atop the workbench. "Oh. Is that a 34-9PK? You told me that they hadn't delivered it yet."

"It came in today."

"So you can construct the engine holsters for Project 43?"

"Yes, but not right now. We're still working on the repairs for the Northern Grand Hall security."

In a flash, 32 recalls that horrid day. His mood spoils. "Well, it didn't work the first time round. What is the use now?"

"We're updating the temperature tracking system as to not rely on power level dete-"

"Or you could open the 34-9PK."

Nami, although exasperated, manages to laugh. "Captain."

"…Fine." 32 drops the box and sighs. "Fine." Why couldn't he have been issued to work in the Research Division? There are no soldiers, no fighting, no politics aside the usual office ones; just the simple art of science, something he's always remembered enjoying.

"If you're not going to sleep, at least take a caffeine-booster," the researcher calls as 32 nears the door.

32 doesn't reply, however, and because he's feeling a bit petty, he knocks a box of screws off of the worktop as he goes. The door slams behind him the moment he hears a slew of cursed words from the researchers.

Even though he's pissed off, 32 does actually take Nami's advice and gets himself a caffeine-booster. It's a small pill to be taken with a full glass of water –and most definitely not a cup of coffee he's downing. But he's feeling particularly self-destructive today, especially after not having found anything on Vegeta's current whereabouts.

He already visited with Ytvl this morning (the affair hadn't been pleasant) and sent out scouting squads to try and unearth where the prince might be hiding. So far, he's heard nothing. Clearly, Cilo have enough friends to help conceal the rescue team. That, and they must be planning something else…

Just… what?

In the comfort of his room, 32 sprawls the large map of Central on the floor. The trick isn't just to find them, but to also lay a trap. 32 really can't be sure of victory if it comes to hand-to-hand combat, in fact, he doubts it. As Ytvl said, Goku would most definitely win in a fair fight. Goku knows as much as well. 32 remembers the smug look on his face as the man had fallen into the snow, relaying 32's intentions right back at him.

Well, 32 won't let it come down to that. Fighting is troublesome, and as much as he doesn't harbour any fear of dying, he doesn't want to endure battling a physically stronger person when he can win by other methods.

Even if he has saiyan blood, he's no brute. He's not like them. 32 will use his head.

And so, he scours over the map, crossing out all the inhabitable areas and all the places where a ship's engine would most definitely freeze. Central isn't a big planet by any means so locating them shouldn't be impossible. 32 doubts that they've left the area, especially since he organized patrolling security ships. They've been encircling the airspace since the rally, working alongside the electronic security, which should now be working at fullest capacity.

There's no getting past him.

The caffeine-booster works and 32 is feeling better by the time he's eliminated about ninety percent of the map. There are only four or five places 32 thinks they could be hiding and so he marks them with big, red circles. One by one, he'll check them out himself if he has to.

Just as he goes to collect to coordinates of the locations, his scouter illuminates, beeping.

A call? From… Scouter 9422XB3?

He presses the button, answering appropriately. "Captain 32, Southern Division."

"You actually picked-up, eh?"

Immediately, 32 sours. What the hell does this guy want?

"Pyrak," he manages, tempering himself, "I imagine this isn't a social call."

"'Course not. Strictly business. Like I'd wanna' waste my time chattin' with you."

"How scathing. What do you want?"

"Here's a bit of good news. I'm returning south for that lil' prisoner you've got hunkered down in the holding cells. That's a load off'a your hands, right? You don't gotta' worry 'cause Cooler wants him back up this way for Northern punishment."

But… that's impossible. How would Cooler even know about 32 having Ytvl in the first place? 32's not reported it in. There's no way anyone should know… unless the men 32 chose to torture Ytvl have spoken out… but, but why would they?

32 doesn't like this. He plays dumb.

"What prisoner are we referring to?"

"Ehhh, don't be like that. I know you've that rotten shit-head captain locked up. Lord Hailer told me himself and ordered I retrieve him."

"Lord Hailer…? Last I heard, he was travelling in the East Quadrant, taking audience with the Merchant Collaborative. Why would he bother himself with this right now?"

"I dunno'. Why don't you call him and ask him yourself if you're gonna' be pissy about it. I'm just doin' as instructed. It's not like I wanna' play deliveryman with that filthy traitor, y'know."

It's difficult because 32 wants to ask how they'd gotten the information on Ytvl, but he also doesn't want to appear disordered. The decision is made for him anyway as it's not like Pyrak would tell him how he stumbled across this tidbit.

There's low noise of indignation over the scouter. "If you're that bothered, you can bring him in yourself and I'll be the one to go Vegeta-huntin'. I'd love to be the guy to tear him a new one -him and his rebel groupies. I'll line up all the corpses, pretty-like, for Lord Hailer."

"No!" 32 says before he can stop himself. "No, I… I will do it. I'll find Vegeta."

"Oh, yeah? I gotta' say that you're sounding more eager than usual." There's a pause and 32 feels the beating against his ribcage. "…We good then? Good? Good. Tomorrow, you better have that traitorous shit ready for pickup. I'll be there early mornin' your time, rest up for a bit, and then we'll move him that night, no later. You got it?"

The young captain grits his teeth. What can he say? Who is he to deny Lord Hailer and his slimy stooge?

"Loud and clear."

"Grand. Nighty-night, princess. See ya tomorrow."

And then the line goes dead, just in time for 32 to rip the wretched scouter from his face and launch it across the room.

What the hell?

Just what the hell was that? Why's Pyrak coming tomorrow? Ytvl has yet to reveal a single slither of value! He's not voiced a location, name or topic of interest in the days that he's been here, and now 32's just going pass him along to a different jurisdiction? What a waste!

Why now –why does he now have to go?

That cocky asshole is his number one lead on Vegeta. It doesn't make sense. Just what do they expect him to do without a key witness?

32 bets Pyrak planned this –somehow- just to try and take away this victory from him. It wouldn't surprise him as Pyrak has done this before. The bastard must have eyes all over the Capitol; perhaps one of the torturers reports to him.

"Shit," 32 curses, leaning back against his bookcase. He knocks his head back, hard, and a couple of the books fall into his lap.

Their worn covers threaten to tear in his grasp, and he has to calm himself.

Slowly, 'Is Forever Too Long?' is slotted back into its place as he swallows his anger.

He bets Pyrak is rubbing his hands together right now, manically happy to be able to ruin things for him. 32 has zero doubts that the guy's still salty over not being chosen to perform the execution. And now, this is his maliciously compliant revenge.

Fuck him, 32 then thinks as goes to return the second book.

'Golden Keys, Dragon Balls, The Godly Apples and 99 Other Legends'

There are several bookmarks spread throughout this one, some more weathered than others. 32 has had this book for a long time now, after all. Years ago, finding the blasted thing had proved to be nearly impossible, and so he always keeps it securely in his room and away from peering eyes. Along with a couple other books, papers and journals, this is a fundamental piece of his researching materials. For so long, 32 has been trying to locate these artefacts –without much luck- and has had plans to put them to use.

That's not to say that there have been no discoveries. A few years back, Lord Hailer and Cooler had come across something most curious –the Tree of Might- and had consumed its power, apparently killed its caretaker, before then advancing leaps and bounds in terms of strength. 32 remembers the rapid power increase sending shockwaves throughout the organization, and whilst 32 had been a young boy at the time, even he recognized something different about his leader. He'd felt something… wrong about him. And now, there's no-one strong enough to take the Frost lord on –other than another one, perhaps.

And that's looking quite likely. 32 is hearing rumours of mounting tension between them. Perhaps he'll try and get some information out that slime ball when he turns up tomorrow for Ytvl.

With that that last thought, 32 grabs at his stash of pills, pops one dry, enjoys the hypnotic dance of colour and eventually, a night of dreamless sleep.

The next day, 32's mood hasn't improved. After his final session with Ytvl this morning, he'd felt frustrated enough to visit the training chamber. It'd been more of a case of destroying five or six of the robot combatants in a fit of anger rather than working out. After exiting the chamber, 32 caught a glance of one of the tech team giving him a particularly dirty look as he went to tidy up the graveyard of scrap metal.

Later, he hears of Pyrak's arrival from the choir of gossiping in the refectory. He tries to ignore it but it turns out the guy is actually pretty popular. God knows why. The repulsive bastard can put 32 off even eating.

Speaking of which, 32's eating his first full meal of the day, a dish consisting of a mysterious meat that 32 would prefer to remain that way, along with a sludge pile of… blue. 32 swears he saw it move. He sighs. How is he supposed to gain weight if all his food reigns as an insult to his taste buds?

The chorus of whispers erupts into cheers when Pyrak himself enters the room. Like some kind of grotesque celebrity, he rewards his comrades with high-fives, dirty smiles and call-outs. 32 rolls his eyes. One would think he'd been the one chosen to execute Vegeta.

"There ye' are," he says upon reaching 32's once quiet section of the room.

The burly bastard is wearing all his furs –as usual- and looks about as wide as he is tall, reminding 32 just how much of a wall the guy is. Still, 32 refuses to give him any acknowledgement, even as Pyrak lumbers down on the seat in front. The entire table shakes, including 32's slop. Regardless, he stabs at it, apparently oblivious.

"Oi!"

"…Yes, I see you."

"Ignorant shit."

"What do you want? I thought you'd still be resting."

When 32 goes to stab at his meal again, Pyrak pulls the tray back. The metal of the spoon meets the metal of the table with a clang.

"I've just been to see our prisoner," the other captain goes to say, eyes glinting deviously when 32 finally meets his look. "You've messed him up good. Did he squawk for ya?"

32 leans back into his chair. "Would that make a difference to you? Would you leave him in my care if he'd cracked? Would you let me have another try if not? For what do I owe you that answer, and for what difference would it really make to you, Pyrak? Stop taunting me."

"No need t'get bitchy 'bout it. From ya attitude, I'm guessing he's said fuck all, am I right?"

"Feel free to take a go at him. Just this morning, I cranked up the shocker to eight and got nothing."

"Oh, that explains the crispy smell."

"Mmm…"

"Gotta' say I'm surprised some of them captains up north have a bit of spice about them, even if it's just the odd one. I thought they were all spineless shits."

32 doesn't reply but that doesn't deter Pyrak.

"Y'know, it all kicked off bad after you came back here. Up north, after you blasted that soldier clean dead (nice, by the way), fights started breaking out here, there and everywhere. I dunno' how many soldiers have been killed now."

"Such a pity."

Pyrak snorts, amused. "I thought you'd say that. You lit the match and then flew away home to chase after Lord Hailer's affections. But ya haven't had much luck, eh?"

"I can't say that I have, no."

A grin stretches out on that ugly, pointed face of his. His teeth appear sharper than his beak of a nose. "Well, ain't that just shite?"

"Dreadfully."

"What'cha gonna' do when Lord Hailer comes down hard on ya?"

"Who knows?"

"Maybe you'll get demoted. How'd you feel about being one of those corpse carrier boys? I hear that they stink so bad that even the morticians –oi, where you' goin'?! Oi, I was talking to ya!"

32 doesn't look back when the piece of shit heckles other poorly-crafted insults along his way. He hardly has the time for it. Even after all these years, the guy hasn't matured at all. Why does he still act like a kid? He's exactly the same asshole he was back at the program. Back then as a boy, 32 had thumped him out cold when the idiot got too annoying, and whereas 32 likes to say he is above such actions now, he's definitely feeling tested.

Perhaps he'll end up dead on his next voyage.

32 smiles at the thought. Some peace and quiet around here sounds appealing.

As if to counter the thought, his scouter beeps, and a message runs along the bottom.

[SECURITY MEASURES REDUCED]

What?

He tries to enter the main login of the branch and finds the page unable to load. Due to the commonality of blizzards and freak weather, they're not without their issues to connecting online, but what terrible timing. He sends a message to the security department to upgrade the measures –there are no chances to be taken with Vegeta leaving the planet.

Upon receiving a message that the task has been completed, he relaxes somewhat. Had someone tried to hack into 32's security account? Hacking into scouter accounts is extremely tricky and nearly impossible for a captain's account. He finds the concept disturbing to say the least, and so drops a message to both the research department and the security team to secure their own accounts.

Is this because he's onto Cilo? Are they watching him? 32 recalls Ytvl mentioning their interest in him; something which still unnerves the young captain. Why do they want 32? Do… do they know about him?

A sickening twist in his stomach has him pause.

No… surely not.

Or maybe, they know about Lord Hailer's plans and want 32 to confirm it. And whilst 32 isn't privy to the lord's personal day-to-day, he's aware, like most, of Lord Hailer's current goal. Within the higher-ups of the empire, who isn't aware? Lord Hailer has been bombarding the research team for years, probably since the fruit incident, about the pursuit of something more than just raw power.

32 just hopes that he doesn't find it.

Just like his brother –both of them, perhaps- Lord Hailer wants the one thing he's never supposed to have; infinity. It's a tale as old as time with dictators like him. They want to be eternalised; made forever. And what's the best way to do that? Well, to become the impossible –to become immortal.

The day that happens is the day the universe truly turns to ruin.

To try and take his mind off of Lord Hailer and Pyrak, 32 decides another expedition to the slums is in order. He's already been a few times since the altercation at the Green Snow Tavern, having explored the area thoroughly for any sign of Vegeta. Neither he nor the soldiers came up with anything, however, and so the search continues.

This time, 32 doesn't bother returning to the tavern, not that one, at least. He ventures through the shambles, undisturbed by the crooks and salesmen, and between the winding alleys in the aim to find the main square.

With the weather being as brutal as can be, 32's wrapped in layer after layer of dense material. His furs have been left at home as to avoid getting them damp with the snow. Wet clothes are the first step to hypothermia, and 32's experienced enough of that to know how unpleasant it can be. No, he won't risk it. Today, he wears the simple rags of any common man around here.

That's not to say that he isn't recognizable. Many of the residents offer distance to give space for him to walk. Mothers pull their children back. Eyes avert. 32 is left to stride alone.

The captains, regardless of identity, are all treated with that same respect –or rather, fear. It's been said that many a captain, whilst jaunting has, without provocation, made victims of the people here. 32's seen it with his own eyes. When he'd first come to Central, he'd watched as one disgusting captain choked out a simple man after he'd been refused a drink. Apparently, the bar had been out of stock but that hadn't stopped the captain from stamping his mark.

So, as a result, everyone keeps their distance. In truth, 32 likes it this way. He can walk in peace, even if the scenery is built up of greys, browns and dreariness.

Finally, that peaceful walk ends and he stops in front of the most popular watering holes in the area. It's equally as depressing as the Green Snow Tavern. The crooked build barely even has a working door, and one of the windows is boarded up.

He enters and straight away, the bar's occupants notice him. There's a pause of noise and nobody speaks. In the back, a glass smashes. 32 waves a hand at them as to continue their affairs, and slowly, they do, if a little stiffly. Before 32 even reaches the murky bar top, there's a tankard of something brown facing him.

"On the house," the barkeep says, gruff and clearly anxious.

"I don't want a peace offering," 32 replies, pushing it back. "I am not here to cause a disturbance, and I am not here to drink. But you can answer a few questions for me."

The barkeep swallows. "What sort of questions, Captain? Were you the one to send all those soldiers in yesterday?"

"I was."

"I told them that I didn't know anything. I still don't. Whatever happened over at Green Snow has nothing to do with the Fiery Blizzard; we've been loyal to the empire since before its acquisition of the East!"

"Very commendable," he deadpans.

"Soldiers drink here every day! Captains too –We're not stupid enough to question the status quo."

"Then I'm sure you can help me out." 32 produces a smaller version of the map he's got back at the Capitol in his room. "See that big cross there, yes? That's where you get your import of ale, right? Right there, right at the edge of Deathcreek Mountain is where you collect your shipment. It's one of the only ports where ships can land without the gales blowing them off course."

"Err, that it is, Captain."

"It's not always manned by soldiers, particularly when the tradesmen receive their shipments. Only occasionally do you have sporadic inspections."

"Yes… The blacksmith next door got himself killed when they'd found him importing illegal goods…"

"Unsurprising. It's this level of severity which keeps you all in check. However, there have been no inspections for over a week now. This would have given ample opportunity for smuggling-"

"We would never!"

32 sighs. They always say that. "Every establishment has contraband. Should I conduct a search of the Fiery Blizzard to certify such a statement?"

"N-No, Captain. Please."

"Well then, let's keep this brief." The captain leans over the bar. "During your last shipment, I believe there might have been… room for opportunity for certain groups to smuggle in illegal individuals. As a leading tradesmen of this area, have you got anything you might want to tell me before I uncover it for myself?"

The barkeep coughs and turns to survey the bar. He leans in. "Really, Captain, I don't know much. All I've gotta' tell you is that the port has been unmanned more than usual. Any time that I've turned up there, there are no soldiers to be seen."

"Even outside your slotted shipment time?"

"Yeah. I've not seen no soldiers for a while –well, not since they upped the security very recently."

32 hums more to himself than the barkeep. "There should be soldiers there regularly…"

"It surprised me too. It got me thinking that maybe they'd moved the men elsewhere. Even here, folks know something's going on between the rebels and North and what have you."

But why would anyone move the men from the port? That's ridiculous. Manning Central has always been of the upmost importance, especially since it's the industrial hub of the empire.

It doesn't make sense.

"I wasn't here," 32 next says to the barkeep. "I didn't ask questions. Got it?"

"R-Right, Captain."

After that, 32 asks around in a couple of other businesses too, mostly about their shipments and whether or not they'd had trouble. Some of the workers sweated and panicked far too much for 32's liking. They definitely have some major contraband –but that's not 32's department so he doesn't give a shit. If anything, it works out well for him because he can just hold it above their heads later should he need anything from them.

Still, nothing comes up, nothing that can certify 32's latest beliefs.

Cilo has more workers on the inside.

He feels it in his gut. The security measures have just dropped, the shipment isn't being watched –they'd just been ambushed live on air for Vegeta's execution. It's all adding up now.

The empire is due an attack.

Revived with his latest revelation, 32 returns to the research department. At first, Nami tries to kick him out again but when he realizes that 32 is there on business, he jots down all the captain's grievances and promises to log them. He seems equally concerned about the possible security breach, especially after finding out about 32's dedication in upping it to lock down Vegeta.

"You best be careful," he warns, head bowed over his workbench. "I'm feeling the funnies about this."

32 hums. "Breach in security or not, Cilo will never be able to kill me. I'm not concerned."

"I wouldn't worry about being killed. That's not the worst they can do, kid –er, Captain."

Slip-up aside, that's accurate. According to his own research, 32 had found that Cilo also uses a firm hand when dealing with its adversaries. Like the empire, they're not above torture.

He'll just have to be heedful; something he relays to himself until the day draws on and night falls.

As he sits atop his observatory roof, alone, he contemplates the day's findings. Cilo really seems to know what they're doing. They're far more organized than he'd had originally believed them to be. 32's going to have to report this.

Suddenly, the door to the roof opens and a lump of a man requires his attention.

The individual in question is a typical, bland-faced soldier, one 32 definitely doesn't know the name of. He does know who 32 is, however. "Captain 32," he greets, "Captain Pyrak has called for your assistance at the docking station."

The captain blows air through his nostrils, unimpressed. "Right. You're dismissed."

Why Pyrak can't load Ytvl himself into the transportation pod, 32 has no idea. If the brute can't manoeuvre the weakened (and crispy, as he put it) form of Ytvl by himself then why bother asking 32? Why can't he enlist the other soldiers as usual?

Because he wants to see me squirm. Bastard.

And what annoys 32 most is that he can hardly say no. If something goes wrong with Ytvl before he leaves 32's care then that's on him. Lord Hailer will not spare him his wrath.

As 32 reaches the docking station, he's unsurprised to find it unmanned as usual. The vast, cold and empty warehouse looks out over an impressive drop. In the dark, it looks as if it stares into the abyss, as though one would fall into darkness itself should you dive over the edge. It's here that you feel the drafts of freezing wind course wildly. They're trapped against the tunnel of the building and scream and howl into the bowls of the area, singing its haunting tune. Many a soldier has fallen when called by the wind and nearly all have met a grim fate.

32 can't help but take a peak over, holding onto one of the docked ships for balance.

"Do a summersault."

He spins on his heel. "You took your time."

"I had to persuade this guy t' be a good boy," Pyrak says on the approach, tugging at his luggage.

Said luggage stumbles forward, more bloodied and beaten than 32 remembers having left him. Ytvl looks like he's seen better days. Long gone is that smug expression and punch-able face, now, he just looks tired –exhausted, even. Currently, he's bound by sheenks-laden coil. It's knotted around his wrists, arm-creases and neck, and explains why he's struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Ain't he pretty?" Pyrak asks, batting his beady eyes. "He's gonna' be a real treat when he gets home, eh? C'mon, help me get him into a pod."

"I'm sure you're capable. You're a big boy."

"Don't be shit."

32 folds his arms. "I'll supervise."

"Fuckin' grab him or I'll launch ye' into next week!"

To save earache, 32 does grab at the very lethargic Ytvl and assists in putting him into the pod just behind him. It's set up to have the sleeping gas keep the traitor incapacitated for the entire journey back South. One push of the top button and it's lights out until he's homeward.

"I still don't understand why I'm here," 32 says after securing Ytvl in place.

"I don't exactly fit into those pods that easily, do I? Well, I don't fit in with another guy. You're a twig so you can better slot him in."

That's probably the highest praise he's ever received from Pyrak.

Still, 32 doesn't believe the bullshit.

"Do you actually expect me to swallow that? Why am I here, Pyrak?"

The other captain churns his head back, grin sharp and eyes covered by the dark of shade. "Nothin' gets past ye', huh?"

32's brows knot together. "Do you want private words with me? Is that why? You've chosen the docking station during the graveyard hours on a particularly fearsome night. The weather is harsh-"

And the security measures have been relaxed.

The security… measures… have been….

Oh, shit.

His eyes widen and he turns to survey the area. Atop the walls, all the cameras are gone, leaving lonely, sparking wires in place. The lights are dim and the echoes of the wind scream louder than he ever could.

But he realises all this too late.

Just as he goes to take flight, 32 feels the sharpness of wire coil around his throat. He's pulled down to the concrete hard, pinned by the bite of strangulation.

"Activate the gas!" shouts a voice that isn't Pyrak's.

And that's when 32 realises what's going on.

Ytvl, rejuvenated, sits hovered above, using what must be every morsel of remaining strength in him to keep 32 in place. 32, meanwhile, swallows his shock and pushes forward, just to be slammed back down by Pyrak as he passes over.

It's such a hard slam that 32 momentarily sees only black, barely coherent enough to hear the beeping of buttons behind. When he coughs, it feels wet.

"Move! Move it!"

32 feels himself hoisted up, and to his great horror, quickly recognizes their intentions. They shove him through the small hole and into the velvet of the space pod. It's a mess and everything's happening so fast. Only seconds ago, he'd finished putting Ytvl in where he's currently sitting. He tries to scramble forward, pressing against the combined efforts of the other two captains, but it's not just them he has to fight.

The sheenks in the coil instantly zaps at his energy and his already fatigued body feels even more drained. Along with that, the gas has started pumping.

He barrels forward, at first succeeding. 32 breaks through their hold and slumps out of the pod –but really, it's too late. His body has stopped cooperating.

"Fuckin' go ter sleep!"

Voice hoarse, Ytvl huffs and puffs. "It's working. I think he's almost out."

"Good."

"Let's get him locked in."

"Alright. Grab and hoist." Somewhere faraway, 32 feels his body being lifted once more. His eyelids draw together. "Thank fuckin' God that's done with. Cilo better know what they're doing. When we get him back to Lya, she best—"

And like that, 32's out.

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And like that, 32's realised who the traitor is :)

Thanks to Kags for beta-ing. It was quite a hard, meaty chapter to write. There is a LOT of information rattling about here. I don't have a lot to say because I think a lot of this chapter speaks for itself, really. Saying that, I will be taking a break from 32 for a bit to focus on Horse (because it's been a hot minute since I updated it). That one is on the peak of big things and I gotta' hurry and get it dooone. Man, I miss the days of writing my first fic. It was so much easier than these beasts...

Thanks for reviews, favs and follows. If you have questions, feel free to ask, but I can't promise an answer if it's a spoilie!

Also, I do cross-post my fics to AO3 as well. I much prefer reading on there, not just because I think a lot of the fics are better, but because the format is so much easier on the eyes. needs to sort its shit out, man.

Anyway, have a grand day. Until next time!
(Please remember to drop a review if you're feeling loving, ta ;))