Number 32
Chapter One
The Order
32 has a mixed record with following orders. Back when he was a little kid, he'd taken so many beatings in one go that he'd been disorientated for a week straight, all because he refused to do as told. The orders were probably not that unreasonable, but 32 had just been that way. Stubborn and proud, he'd stand up for those righteous beliefs and take the cane across the face with the same honour of accepting a trophy. As 32 grew older, he wizened up to the fact that fairy-tale senses of right and wrong don't exist and so the beatings lessened. The orders from superiors grew more expectant until it got to the point that 32 could give orders himself.
Yes, Captain 32 in the South Division is known for executing a clean and swift job. He's as loyal as any dog, and is recognized for not questioning orders. Even when the order is a big ask, 32 manages to do the impossible. However, today's order has even him questioning his own ability to deliver.
As the day is early, this has yet to happen, and 32 only has one thing on his mind.
I need to see the prisoner.
Yesterday had marked a crucial failure for 32 in that he hadn't been the one to apprehend the trespasser. This person apparently has… ties to Namek, has ties to something 32 tries not to think about on a daily basis –has ties to something 32 needs to know. No information has come up about the prisoner yet but he knows that it's only time, and 32 wants to be the first person to know who it is.
He is currently walking along the sparse corridors of the ship in dedicated strides –knowing exactly where he's going. Most people are dining in the refectory at this time and so 32 has the benefit of sneaking around unnoticed. Questions would cause problems and 32 always tries his best to avoid problems. Remaining under the radar where he can is always a priority. Still, the idea of the general kitchen slop is a turn-off in its own right so it's not like he needs any excuses to skip a meal.
32 manages to slink down three winding steps until he bumps into a fellow captain. He salutes and moves on, quick to access a lift going downwards into the bowls of the ship. As it goes down on its journey, he stares out of the impressive window looking into the infinity of space. Speckles of stars and planets alike glisten in the backdrop whilst closer ships whizz by with speed. In the monotony of the descent, he looks out across the gloom and lets his gaze run askew and lose focus.
When the window stops being just that, and instead a mirror, 32 feels uncomfortable with the reflection staring back. Gone are the stars zooming by, lost to the black of the universe giving way to the image of a young man. The reflection is still boyish in nature, with dark and distant eyes hindered by bags, unbefitting its age as if just to contrast. Somewhere in the in between of childhood and adulthood has it looking a bit awkward, gawky even, and whilst the height gives the advantage of looking older, it also emphasizes the skinny nature hiding beneath a well-muscled form.
32 moves to curl a stray lock of disobedient hair behind his ear when the reflection suggests as much. It's as equally as dark as the eyes and is pulled back into a lose ponytail. Limply, it sits against the traditional armour come to be expected of the Frost Empire.
All in all, a soldier stares back; and a very tired one at that.
He's exhausted after doing the trip from the Southern Quadrant to the north. It took days and he's grumpier for it, hating these Northern assholes even more than usual for the crime of 32 having to be here.
The Northern Quadrant isn't nearly as cold or as harsh as its Southern counterpart. Even as they orbit the central Frost-ruled planet, one man-made with cool steel and iron, the warmth of a neighbouring star can be felt within the ship. 32 is used to snow and ice, and the chill of always having frosty fingers, and so feels accordingly spoilt for not having to wear his furs. Said furs (a long cloak of a variety of slain creatures) lay in a crumpled pile of greys and whites atop his cabin bed, betrayed. Still, if 32 can get away with not having to wear them then he will. The association tied to the furs is one of leadership, and even if he isn't a captain serving in the north, he's still a captain regardless.
Finally 32 reaches the dismal underbelly of the beast, and it's not the rickety shaking of the list that throws him –but the smell. Putrid gasses and fuels which make the ship run are stored here, and the noxious scent is more than enough to have him rush along empty corridors and through various bays. The enormous ship has three holding cells –this one is the worst of them all and the one he just knows the Frost Lords would insist upon using for anyone with ties to Namek.
The door to the cells slam open and he spots two guards poised either side. Why they're there 32 has no idea. The cells themselves are infused with sheenks, a substance used to repress energy, so the two really are of little use. They're both Northern soldiers so he doubts they'll recognize him as a captain, and so he has to sneak past them once the opportunity presents itself. When one of the prisoners decides to make noise they both turn to investigate and give 32 the chance to pass by.
The hallway of cells is impressively long and he'd be spoilt for choice if not for knowing where this mystery prisoner is being held.
Cell #001.
He'd gotten that much information thanks to his mole. Cell #001 is of course near the rear if only to spite 32's legs. 32 walks and walks until he sees the number written out in a series of dots above a crusty cell door. When he stops to peer into the darkness it takes a lot not to make a noise, especially when the prisoner stands up and approaches the barred door.
32 can barely contain his surprise. His brows disappear in the arch of his hair as he takes in the entire visage. He's had but a few shocks during his short time serving as a captain, but this one really does hit him in the gut, for in front of him in a decrepit waiting cell stands a man he'd long thought dead.
Vegeta.
Well, he's certainly shorter than 32 remembers.
The Prince of Saiyans considers 32 coldly behind thick bars of steel, eyes pressed thin as if weighing up the odds of fighting him one-on-one. Blandly, 32 ignores the look of distaste. He's seen it all before. No-one ever wants to stand in the murk and bile of one of these cells, least of all 32, but in the depths of this steel shithole there's privacy. Very few soldiers dare go too far into the ship's foundation for the rotting stench of corpses is enough to relinquish any man of his dinner.
This prisoner doesn't seem to be complaining however. He eyes 32's deep blue and grey armour with severe dislike, and then turns up to acknowledge 32 personally. If anything, the level of dislike increases. 32 then considers the thought that Vegeta might even recognize him, but the moment comes to pass without any comment on it. It's most likely the case that he doesn't as ten years really is a long time and 32 would have just been amongst the many faces Vegeta has seen come and go.
The man finally scoffs like he's finally ready to grace the teenager with his words, and so 32 narrows his eyes in waiting. The memories of cutting comments and aggressive taunts resurface quite quickly for 32, and even if he'd been young upon their first meeting Vegeta is a person not quite so easily forgotten.
"Do you speak the common-tongue, boy?"
32 folds his arms and straightens his back. "I do."
"So what, are you here to bring me slop or clean my piss? Because I'm sorry to disappoint you but if you come into my cell then I'll have to tear you limb-from-limb."
32 taps at his armour as if Vegeta hadn't yet noticed. "I'm a soldier, not a slave."
"Same difference." The saiyan spits and saunters over to the bars. It's a move that's supposed to intimate 32 but the latter doesn't take as single step back. And so Vegeta's head tilts in the dimness of the room, eyes angled to hurt. "Here I thought Hailer's famous Southern soldiers would be a little more intimidating, instead they send a boy. Am I supposed to be scared?"
"And here I thought you'd be taller so I imagine we're both disappointed."
The desired effect takes place and Vegeta swivels. "Let's see how tall you'll be when I knock your head off, you little shit."
Oh, fiery.
32 wants to sigh at Vegeta's quick rise to anger. These types never really tend to warm up to him, and this trip down here isn't one for fun, or even done in the vain of morbid curiosity. No, 32 has questions.
As if to challenge the intent, 32's scouter beeps to life and he watches in cool contemplation as the device documents Vegeta's reactive ki spike. The numbers climb and climb until the machine runs hot and 32 has to turn it off.
The prince snorts, still livid as he proceeds to say something in a language 32 doesn't understand entirely. His fluency is excellent but not perfect. Any flowery insult can be uniquely woven enough to throw him. Eventually, Vegeta finishes with; "If you still need that pitiful thing attached to your face then you best keep me in this cage. What a joke you are. Scouters are just scraps of useless metal ready for the trash heap."
"Perhaps they are move evolved than your last experience with them," 32 says curtly. "I can track location, access databases, even check your heart rate and body temperature. Right now it's telling me that you're becoming rather frustrated."
"Oh, but here I thought I was showing my utmost gratitude for this generous accommodation." 32 spares a glance around the hole, stopping only for the skeleton in the corner. Vegeta snorts. "Yes, my bunkmate is just a riot. I can see standards haven't really changed in my absence."
32 eyes the man. Clearly Vegeta hasn't been travelling for some time, he looks healthy and without injury. Has he been in hiding? If so, who has been harbouring him? Does he have a base –allies? 32 knows these questions will go unanswered so he skips to why he's here.
"They say a saiyan killed Lord Frieza," 32 next drawls, swallowing up the vision of Vegeta's expression shifting into something new, something inquisitive and curious.
"Yeah and what of it?"
"Some say that saiyan was you."
Through the bars, Vegeta's rigid hold on himself drops with a burst of dark laughter.
"I wish it was."
"So you're saying it wasn't?"
Vegeta then smirks and leans against the bars of his cell, quiet.
32 brushes a hand through his hair, impatient. But he's got excellent self-control, and his tone remains even all the way throughout. "Were you at least there the night Lord Frieza was killed?"
"Does Hailer want to know? Cooler? Is that why you're here?"
The teenager doesn't have an answer because the truth really would land him in hot shit. Vegeta, ironically, mistakes this for loyalty as there's a long pause whilst the man appraises him.
In a very quiet voice, the saiyan leans in. "And why would I tell a little boot-licking piece of shit like you anything?"
More silence follows, thick, as 32 bats his eyes lazily, pretending that he doesn't feel so frustrated that he could reach in and throttle the prick. It's fine, he thinks, because at the end of this encounter 32 gets to walk away out of this shit hole cell and go somewhere that doesn't smell like piss and sick.
He thinks this, yet by the time 32's scouter beeps again, Vegeta is straining a cool kind of smile and 32 still feels angry. The summoning chime from the scouter goes ignored as the teenager considers the prisoner.
Vegeta, who recognizes the sound instantly, likely from his own line of service, bats a hand at him. "Run along, Master is calling."
32 presses the sleek button on its side, answering.
It is Lord Hailer actually, which is rare. It's an instruction telling him that he's required in the Meeting Hall.
The teenager eyeballs the saiyan one last time, knowing that whatever Lord Hailer wants probably has to do with what is currently standing right in front him this very second. 32 refuses to spare the prince another ounce of attention and turns to leave the area in brisk motion.
The moron prince's mouth will get him killed sooner rather than later around here anyway.
Once 32 manages to escape the foul reaches of the ship and make it to the Meeting Hall, he notices straight away that something isn't quite right. Lord Hailer doesn't like armed guards on his doors, yet here stand two burly, brain-dead looking soldiers with guns. They're positioned either side of two swinging doors.
"What's yer business?" asks the cross-eyed brute.
"Why, it must be a fan," the other equally as attractive one says with far too much amusement. "Sorry, kid, but Lord Hailer doesn't do autographs."
32's lips press into a thin line. This is why he hates coming north. None of the Northern soldiers know him by face so they usually assume him to be an errand boy or front line cannon fodder. Usually 32 would gesture down to his captain-rank badge and the soldiers would trip over each other, apologising. Today is not one of those days. 32's badge currently lies on the surface of a table in his cabin room along with his furs.
"Lord Hailer is expecting me," 32 mentions when one the brutes towers over him. The other reaches for his gun and strokes it in a fashion 32 thinks is supposed to look threatening.
"Is he now?" the first chortles, "I didn't think he had a thing for pretty boys."
…Pretty boy?!
Now, 32 isn't one to react under normal circumstance, but this goes beyond disrespect –this is about his pride as a man! He'll show him pretty boy! But before 32 could reach out and backhand the guard into oblivion, a gloved hand covers his own.
"Captain Ytvl!" the two guards greet at once, their bodies erecting into formal bows.
"You know," the new captain begins casually, addressing 32's desired victims, "I think I just saved your lives."
Captain Ytvl turns and gives him an earnest sort of smile. It's a bit unnerving actually. It's the type of smile 32 sees the common people share with one another, one of openness and with a lack of deceit. When 32 glances down and sees Ytvl's captain badge shine back at him in greeting it makes sense. Ah, so he's a Northern captain. That explains it. Not in the South would you see the officers so publically friendly with one another.
32 eyes him. He looks quite important actually, donned in a long, flowing red cape, with shiny bronze armour and studded battle-ready boots. It's every bit the antithesis of 32's very plain blue jumpsuit and armour set.
"Captain," Ytvl stresses as he forces 32's hand into a shake. This earns the desired effect when the guards bow their head and rush to apologise. Ytvl holds his other hand up in admonishment. "No, I think our guest has heard enough from you two. You can both report to my chambers tonight for the appropriate punishment."
Like a mirror image of one another, they both freeze and bow their heads.
"Of course, sir."
"Yes, Captain."
Captain Ytvl opens the door and gestures for 32 to enter first. It's an extensive, drawn-out hallway with only one opposing door facing them. The room is plain and without any further guards. It seems like such a waste of space. Anything for grandeur 32 supposes.
"Definitely a Southerner, aren't you?" Ytvl comments, delighted with the prospect of it. The cape swishes dramatically behind and for some reason it pisses 32 off. When 32 doesn't reply it seems to give Ytvl the expectation that he should continue talking. "Lord Hailer has brought a whole fleet of you this time. Has he even left any men in the South?"
"Enough to hold it," 32 dismisses in the hopes that Ytvl would read the room.
He doesn't.
"Lord Cooler has been quite busy with the preparations for Lord Hailer's visit for some time now, but I doubt even he foresaw the swarm of Southerners following Lord Hailer here."
"You'd almost think that they don't trust each other" 32 replies dryly.
Ytvl's laugh is just as obnoxious as himself. It's open and carefree and 32 can't help but watch him, unnerved. The captain seems to be only a few years older than he is, yet he looks to be 32's antithesis in nearly every way possible. Whilst 32 is wispy and moody, Ytvl's broad, bright and brawny; a perfect poster child for the job.
He then wonders if Ytvl had also been in the Youth Program like 32 had been. This captain's demeanour doesn't suggest he had, however, because most ex-Youth Program soldiers don't run around grinning at people and laughing like a deranged moose.
Ytvl sighs.
"Sometimes I wish they'd just go to war and be done with it."
32 almost trips over. This is borderline treasonous!
"Oh, it wouldn't hurt you lot to lighten up. Really, it's bound to happen sooner or later anyway."
"Then I'm your enemy" replies 32 after a brief pause, "by your logic."
Ytvl's mouth quirks into a smile, "I suppose you are but that's hardly a surprise for you, right? Despite both of us working for the Frost Empire and within the same army, we're both still very much working under two different leaders."
32 hums non-committedly in response. This is dangerous territory.
The other captain offers another grin as though they're merely discussing the weather. Something about this man doesn't sit right and 32 feels the strong urge to put some distance between them. Someone all smiles and pleasantries never means well as far as he is concerned. Come to think of it, how did Ytvl even know who 32 was just by face alone? 32 most certainly wouldn't be able to pick Ytvl out of a line up should he even try.
When they reach the door it swings open without so much of a touch from either captain. 32 mentally stores away his doubts for later to focus on what's waiting for him in this very room. Blues and reds drape the area in a garish visage, hailing in banner and flag form. These are the colours of the North and South, respectfully. Yet, if anything, they just highlight the tension with their clash of bright, ugly colours.
In the centre of the room, Lord Hailer sits dramatically on a large, wooden throne probably decades older than 32 is. He is without his usual glass of wine, but is, however, accompanied by Lord Cooler sitting in an equally tasteless chair.
"My Lords," 32 greets at the same time as Ytvl. Both sink to their knees in dutiful unison.
"Rise, both of you" Lord Cooler instructs. 32 only does so when Lord Hailer offers a curt nod.
"I'd like to introduce you to Captain Ytvl, Brother," Lord Cooler says through thin, purple lips.
Between Lord Frieza and Lord Cooler, it is Lord Cooler who resembles Lord Hailer most. They both seem to share a similar build and face shape, and a calmness which Lord Frieza had not had. Only Lord Hailer's palette of varying shades of blue vastly contrasts his younger brother's.
"So you're the captain who brought in Vegeta?" Lord Hailer asks without inflection. There's no congratulatory tone in his voice, no excitement, nothing. It's almost dry.
This doesn't stop Ytvl from peacocking. "Yes, my Lord. He wasn't willing but our squad managed to bring him in, in the end."
Well, Ytvl didn't tell him that little titbit.
"My medics say he hasn't a single broken bone," Lord Hailer continues, tail waspishly flicking.
If Ytvl is bothered by Lord Hailer's clear lack of enthusiasm it doesn't show. "He was healed in a regeneration tank, my Lord."
Unsurprisingly, it's Cooler who cracks first. "You said you wanted him well and alive and so I present him to you as such."
"Which means you've had him in your custody longer than you've cared to admit," Lord Hailer snipes back. He sighs and reaches out with his scaly hand, clicking his fingers. 32 knows Lord Hailer well enough to know what that means, and sure enough, a pathetic looking creature lumbers over from the shadows carrying a tray holding two tumblers.
The sickly scent of Lord Hailer's favourite wine never sits well with 32. He'd been misfortunate to try it once, hating the sweet tartness of it but having to pretend to be thankful and enjoy it all the same.
Both Lords take a glass each. By the time Lord Cooler finishes a sip Lord, Hailer has already downed half of its contents.
"Brother," Lord Hailer then initiates, and 32 knows this is his turn to make an impression. "This is Captain 32 of Central."
32 bows his head respectfully as Lord Cooler scoffs.
"What, are you now so cruel as to deny your men names?"
"The men are free to choose whatever names they so please," Lord Hailer says after another mouthful of red. "Should they not want a name then I'm not one to stop them using their recruitment numbers."
Lord Cooler places his own glass down and considers 32 for a moment. "Oh, so that must mean you're from the Youth Program."
He sounds impressed, enough so that Lord Hailer smirks darkly into his glass.
"Hmm, I admire their work there but I'd rather my men have a bit more bite about them, a bit more free-will. Though, I have to say you don't get soldiers like you used to –the complaining can drive a man crazy. So many soldiers are so… pitiful these days."
Lord Hailer chuckles. "You have to be careful not to sound like Frieza, dear brother. His personnel were always fired… quite literally."
Lord Cooler grunts, amused. "Yes, well, he did have quite the temper. Did he not?"
"Of course, but it never helped that his subordinates were often societal degenerates."
"Like Vegeta, you mean?"
A snappish laugh sounds, "And now we have come full circle. Perhaps if he'd used the Youth Program then he wouldn't have had to purge an entire race of perfectly good cannon fodder."
"I can drink to that." And so Lord Cooler does. The glass lowers and he next considers 32 with a beady eye. "This one looks disciplined."
"32 is a fine example of the Youth Program," says Lord Hailer as though 32 wasn't there and they were simply discussing meat.
Lord Cooler looks him up and down, and suddenly 32 wishes that he's as finely dressed as Ytvl.
"How old is he? I could do with some more manpower North-West."
"I apologize, but he's required southward." Lord Hailer then drains the glass and leans back into the wooden frame. "However, for this very special occasion, I present him to you as a representation of our combined power to avenge Frieza's death."
"But you just said he's required elsewhere."
"I wish to nominate 32 as the executioner of Prince Vegeta."
32's eyes widen just a fraction. Well, this isn't where he expected this meeting to go.
Lord Hailer continues, "It shall be here on your ship, but with the manpower of one of my captains. It will be the combination of both of our authorities that brings vengeance to our Empire. We'll capture the footage of the event and air it live to hundreds of millions across the universe."
Lord Cooler probably looks as surprised as 32 feels. He eventually finds his voice. "And to what crime has Vegeta committed? I refuse to announce that he was Frieza's murderer when we both know he was not. I want the man who tarnished the Frost Empire's name to pay the price in blood."
"The crime? Simple. His crime is being a saiyan." Lord Hailer's gaze heats as he faces 32, and 32 now understands everything his Lord is putting forward here. "It shall be law that all remaining saiyans be sentenced to death. They are a danger to the Frost Empire and its beliefs and thusly need to be eradicated."
Lord Cooler stills as he contemplates this. His eyes flicker to Captain Ytvl's as though looking for a comrade's opinion on the matter. Whoever this Ytvl is, he seems to have earned the respect of his lord.
"And what do you suppose I do with any remaining saiyans in my army, Brother?" Lord Cooler eventually asks. It sounds rhetorical but Lord Hailer is quick with an answer.
"Put them to death. Individuals need to realise that there's consequence for their actions."
"My men are loyal," Lord Cooler stresses. "We're not Frieza. I don't want to kill good men for no good reason."
Lord Hailer sighs deeply, his tail batting harder against the marble. Small cracks can be seen where his tail meets the floor.
"Really, how many saiyans do you have?" Lord Hailer asks impatiently, "I barely had enough to fill a purging unit, and that was including the mixed bloods."
32 watches on, and feels the apprehension coming from Captain Ytvl beside him. The man's face isn't as easy to read as earlier, but the signs of stress are rather clear. Sweat prickles at the top of his forehead and he seems to have turned a shade lighter. Morbidly, 32 wonders if Ytvl has any friends with saiyan blood.
"The message is clear," Lord Hailer announces, loud from the diaphragm. "If any sheep dare oppose us then the whole flock will be put down."
Cooler breathes through his nose and pauses. He doesn't spare a look at Ytvl this time.
"I have perhaps five saiyans, good men mostly; stubborn, but strong… You're asking a lot of me to do this."
"Do this and I assure you that we will find our brother's true murderer," Lord Hailer promises.
Lord Cooler bats his claw-like fingers on the armrest for what seems to be a long while. Suddenly, his lips upturn into a snarl and he lashes out and knocks his wine glass from the table. It shatters into thousands of pieces with a dramatic smash. Shards of glass bounce against 32's boots.
"This best be worth it. My men are not disposable."
Lord Cooler then launches up from his chair and storms through the double doors leading out. Captain Ytvl bows lowly to Lord Hailer before following Lord Cooler's path.
With equal obedience, 32 faces his Lord with expectation.
Lord Hailer watches him just as fervently. He clicks his fingers once more. The same creature from earlier appears with a singular glass of wine this time. The sip taken is a generous one.
Lord Hailer smacks his lips. "Nothing rattles you, does it?"
This is careful stepping, 32 tells himself.
"My lord?"
"I'm surprised. I'd have thought you be more grateful. I'm giving you such a monumental task and I haven't heard so much as a peep from you." Lord Hailer isn't surprised at all, not really. 32 knows this and holds his tongue in check as Lord Hailer settles for another sip. "But you're not bloodthirsty are you? I suppose not all saiyans are as beast-like as Vegeta."
32 lowers his gaze, knowing that's what Lord Hailer wants in the moment. He wants 32 to be ashamed of his heritage. Being a saiyan is a sin, and now it's going to be written into law.
"You know why you're being spared, 32" Lord Hailer says evenly. "But that doesn't mean you should face no punishment."
"Yes, my lord."
"You're dismissed. You'll receive detail on the time and date of the execution."
"Thank you, my lord."
The funny thing, 32 thinks as he marches from the room, is that he probably hates saiyans about as much as Lord Hailer does. He hates their bloodlust, their desires, their childish selfishness. But most of all, 32 hates the evil and bloodied history that the saiyan people crafted, body after body, and so proudly boast about.
Despite this, 32 can see what this execution is really saying to him: this is a warning.
The only reason 32 has been tasked in performing the act is so the message runs clear. Lord Hailer doesn't give a fuck who kills Vegeta so long as it's done. This avenging Frieza crap is just sweet whispers in Lord Cooler's ears. Only time will tell if Lord Cooler falls for it, or if he's also just using the situation for his own gains. That's how it works between these two.
Perhaps Ytvl is right and they should just go to war.
The doors snaps shut behind 32 just in time to hear Lord Hailer click his fingers one last time.
How he feels about executing Vegeta is of little importance to 32. He categorizes the endeavour under 'Necessary Duties' and sets about how he has to do this. Whilst 32 has never performed a public execution before he knows the technique Lord Hailer will insist he use. 32 has unfortunately seen it many times. It's a ki-based technique, one that is slow and torturous. First, the prisoner is strapped down and then doused in cold water (if they're lucky). Sodden, he or she is then set a flame with an energy blast colloquially known as 'The Boiler'. It doesn't burn the prisoner to death instantly, instead cooking them slowly from the inside until there is no moisture left in their body, or if the flame is snuffed out.
It's actually a pretty difficult technique to master. The temperature of the blast cannot be too low or too high otherwise the death will be too quick, or just won't come at all. It's not a way 32 would choose to go, and it's one of the last techniques he'd want to learn.
Frustrated, a low sighs leaves him as he applies his finger to the fingerprint pad. The pad beeps and the door next to it opens with a faint click.
Home, sweet home…
His room is simple, sparse even. It's a thin rectangular shape and coloured in a dismal grey. His bed, probably harder than the floor, tucks behind the alcove of his ensuite bathroom. It's a decent size, and wonderfully clean thanks to the servants who frequent these private rooms. It's the exact same as the layout back on planet Central with the only difference being the lack of books and mechanic parts lounging about his desk.
He removes his scouter and massages where it once sat. Vegeta is stupid. The value of a scouter extends further than sensing one's power level. It is his link to online communication and information.
Stupid Vegeta.
He'll look even more stupid when his screams air live for hours as he dies from the inside-out. A stream of air leaves through 32's nose and he throws himself down on his bed, his eyes close as he pictures the prince's final moments. Yes, it's going to be ugly indeed.
Routine forces 32 to reach in the cubby behind his bed, only for him to realise that this isn't his usual bedroom. Instead 32 has to root around in a small carry bag he brought with him, grunting when he finds what he needs at the very bottom. The bottle he brought is small, but the contents are enough to last him the trip. He taps the bottom of it gently until a small pill falls out.
Small, round and pink in colour, it'll make 32's night a bit more bearable.
The pill is swallowed dryly, and the bottle is thrown back into the bag. It's quick effecting, like all of 32's preferred drugs, and the lull of crawling back onto his bed engulfs him. Instead of the distorted face of Vegeta, wonderful colours now float through his mind, dancing and shining in a beautiful dance of their own. They swirl for hours, making him feel light. The sunset runs eternally and the weight of his covers suddenly form into warm, fluffy clouds, ones which pillow him until the dreams take him wholly.
This is the last thing he sees before being woken up in the middle of the night by the desperate need to vomit.
The next morning, he skips breakfast in the refectory, opting to take a long walk around the ship's interiors instead. It's colder than yesterday, but still nothing compared to the brutal weather of Central. Usually he wears furs over his jumpsuit, but here on this mothership they seem a bit overkill. To be honest, wearing furs around here comes across too patriotic for the South for 32's liking. Some of the other Southern captains have been seen flaunting around in their furs all around the ship, making 32 cringe in embarrassment.
Knowing that a captain's meeting has been organized for today, 32 wants to find a space for some quiet time before the battle for dominance starts in the meeting room.
He finds a bench hidden behind a collection of obnoxious shrubbery, where one bush has been trimmed to replicate Lord Cold's likeness. His green, bristly face has been posed with a stuck-up smirk, and 32 is happy that they never had the pleasure of crossing paths before this individual's death.
"I wonder if they had the gardener executed for this monstrosity."
32 turns to see the captain from yesterday, the Northern one that came into the meeting room with him. What is his name? Ytvl. The captain is looking as polished as ever, smiling down at 32 with charismatic glee.
Ytvl sits on the bench, occupying the very unwelcome space next to 32. "Hey now, you don't look very happy to see me."
Then go away.
But he doesn't. The unease seems to empower Ytvl if anything. They sit together for a short moment until the silence even becomes too much for 32 to bear.
"How did you know who I was yesterday?" 32 eventually has to ask.
Ytvl looks amused at the question and leans back comfortably. "You don't know your fellow captains by face? That's not very comradely of you."
32 releases a gust of air before setting his glare on the captain. "Look, I'm not going to play games with you. What do you want?"
Ytvl laughs absently and scratches at the bench with his finger nail. "What? I'm just building upon my inter-company relations. Making friends…"
"I'm not interested," he snaps and fixates his stare back on the hideous bush. He notices that the eyes are wonky now that 32's looking at it properly. "I'm not interested in friends."
From the corner of his eye, he notices Ytvl watch him with a sudden bout of intensely. Neither speak, and finally Ytvl seems to get the message that he's been rejected in creating whatever truce he'd been trying to establish. 32 doesn't allow curiosity to rear its head and continues to focus on Lord Cold's leafy face as Ytvl ups and walks away without another word.
The image of Ytvl's strained expression from yesterday flashes in his mind. He supposes that Ytvl really might have some saiyan friends he wants to spare, but no matter. The lords are in agreement. No saiyan shall be pardoned.
Well, except one.
He snorts. A saiyan executing the Prince of Saiyans on the grounds of being a saiyan. How… ironic. Say what you want about Lord Hailer, but he does seem to have a sense of humour.
The captain's meeting doesn't run long this morning but it is not without dramatics. Upon announcing the culling of any remaining saiyans, several of the captains spoke up, some even protested. It's a good thing that neither Lord Hailer nor Lord Cooler are there or there may have been some captain jobs up for offer. The debate over Vegeta's execution continues after all the points of the meeting have been discussed.
"And why do you get the honours?" asks a burly Northern captain, clearly disgusted at the lack of being chosen to perform the duty. He smacks a large fist down on the table and it shudders. "You're probably not even old enough to know who Prince Vegeta is, and you're Southern to boot."
"It was an agreement made between Lord Hailer and Lord Cooler," 32 replies coolly. He then clicks his tongue in a manner he knows would infuriate the beast-like captain just because he's petty like that. "Perhaps I was chosen for the task due to my loyalty, and the fact I don't bitch whenever I don't get my own way."
Some of the other captains snigger as the burly Northern captain rises from his chair.
"It has been decided," 32 insists, as if to leave no room for negotiation.
"Do you know how to perform The Boiler?" asks another Northern captain down the table. This time it's a woman; she's middle-aged with a large scar carved through her nose and into the crevice of her cheek.
32 pauses. "I have several days to master it."
She nods, but some of the other Northern captains start talking amongst themselves in hushed excitement. Even a few of the Southern captains look unimpressed. 32 wants to defend himself and tell them that he doesn't even want to do it but knows it's his duty to remain loyal to Lord Hailer's words.
"Terrible," spits a third Northern captain. He's old with a sagging third eye. "This is why Lord Cooler doesn't use soldiers from the Youth Program. You're a captain and you can't even perform The Boiler. What a travesty. We earn our rank in the north, you know."
Utterings between captains become louder until 32 is sure that someone would be able to hear the arguments outside. Several of the Southern captains are now shouting at the elderly captain, but he's giving as good as he's getting. The Northern captains not causing a commotion are now just glaring at 32 as though they wish for nothing more than to see him melt into the ground.
In contrast, Ytvl catches his eyes and sends a smug nod of the head.
Bastard…
Suddenly, the table crashes down and the room drops into brisk silence. Beyond the sawdust and scattered papers, stands the culprit. He is 32's fellow Southern captain, a man named Pyrak and someone 32 wishes they'd just left in the South. His hand still hovers over where the table once stood as he lords above it.
What an idiot.
"I'm from the Youth Program and can perform The Boiler better than any of ya," Pyrak growls through an uninhabited grin. Bared, his teeth are sharp, giving him the striking effect of looking like a wild beast. His hair is the colour of flames, and his skin is a dark tan, and like many of the patriotic idiots, he's in his furs. "Old Man, you say you don't like the Youth Program? Yeah? That's 'cause ya wouldn't have survived the Youth Program."
"Sit down, Pyrak" one of the other captains attempts, pulling at the beast's furs.
Pyrak snatches his arm back and struts over to where the old captain sits. "Nah, I don't think I will. Ya'know, I don't think 32 should have the honour, myself, but that's 'cause I think he's a piece of shit. He doesn't know a simple energy attack and that's a crime, really. But that's got nothin' to do with the Youth Program 'cause, well, I'm fucking glorious."
32 rolls his eyes.
"Yet I wasn't chosen…" Pyrak remarks wistfully, now leering over the elderly captain. He looks up at Pyrak with defiant eyes worthy of a soldier, and 32 is impressed because most wilt under Pyrak's intensity. "So… Old Man, I guess we both get to be pretty disappointed 'cause I know very well who Vegeta, Prince of Shit, is, and I would have loved to take a swing at him myself."
Silence follows so 32 decides to end this before it gets worse.
"I'll be executing Vegeta using The Boiler technique," 32 says, stern. All turn to look at him. "We are expected to stand proud and united during the demonstration as it will be aired live to millions, including the rebel groups opposing the Frost Empire. Let's remember our place." That said, 32 stands and leaves the room without as much as a look back.
The bodyguards jump when he walks through the doors. It's the two from yesterday. They both salute quickly and lower their heads. 32 notices each now sport purple and blue along their necks, contrasting the red of their uniform. Something dark and gleeful makes 32 happy to see it as he storms away.
Irritated, 32 decides he should get his daily training out of the way whilst he's still in a bad mood. So he spends the rest of the morning and afternoon in a private training chamber, working on manifesting his ki. One of the other captains will most likely have to show him how to perform The Boiler, but he can't bring himself to ask any of them right now. That would be mortifying.
It's dark by the time he finishes in the training chamber. 32 must smell of body odour and burnt flesh but he can't bring himself to give a rat's ass. Several Southern soldiers salute him as he walks down the halls, and interestingly enough, one of the Northern captains from this morning glares at him before storming off in the other direction.
Back on Central, he isn't popular either. But still, the Youth Program's alumni are regarded with both fear and reverence, so he's usually left to his own devices. Everyone pays him the respect his title earned, even the other captains nod at him, liked or not. Most people are pricks so 32 is happy to keep to himself anyway.
That's not to go without saying that there are some people 32 doesn't mind. Actually, 32 is rather friendly with some in the research division. 32 likes reading. That is how it'd started. He'd wanted books, and the research division had books. Eventually, he'd needed more books –so they'd provided more books. Over time they became so used to seeing 32 pottering about the library that they'd began offering recommendations.
The other captains, captains like Pyrak, were always liberal with their thoughts on the matter.
"Oh look, 32 is making friends with the help again."
Pyrak probably can't even read. This is what he'd tell himself despite knowing that to graduate the Youth Program you'd need to be fluent in the speaking and writing of both Common and Southern Tongue.
32 walks through the same patch of greenery from this morning. He notices the bench where he was earlier perched with Ytvl. Perhaps he'd been too hasty… An ally in the south would have made things run smoother today at the meeting. Sure, he would never trust Ytvl, but to have an insider is common practice amongst the captains; someone to give him updates from the other side, someone who could gath-
No, it's a fool's errand.
He pushes the thought away. It's best to keep his head down and do what he needs to do himself. 32 presses his lips into a thin line. He only has two days to master this technique. Tomorrow, he's going to have to ask one of the captains for assistance or else he really will fail the order.
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Everyone has their own Kidnapper fic in their brain. I finally had to spew it out online. The first five chapters have already been written -but with very questionable quality as I wrote them a long while back. You see, I thought I'd just throw this chapter out but the rewriting and editing took ages. If not for KagariAsuha (thanks for the beta, mate!) then I would have just crawled into a hole and died, leaving it to rot. Speaking of her -go check out 'Dust in the Wind' if you haven't! I'm not going to give too much away but if you like space drama, kidnapping and an upset Goku then that's your cuppa.
But yeah, Number 32 is probably my favourite out of my own fics just because it's lived in my brain the longest. I love a kidnapping story and I love the character shift for Gohan. I've written one in the past but it was awful so I really want to take another shot. Still, I think 'Horse with No Name' will be priority as that's the big beast of the two, but upon the occasion I'll throw some love this way.
Until next time!