Number Thirty-Two
Chapter Sixteen
The Youth Program II
There. Right There.
A picture of a boy, small and pale, with dark grey-black eyes and smooth, equally dark hair, is pinned to a thick pile of papers that accumulates three folders alone. Number 092 has been inked along the bottom of the photograph and the folders in a bold red colour.
Well, it's been a long time since Thirty-Two has seen that number.
Goku is holding the thing like it's his most prized possession. All the other transfer folders have been thrown aside, papers scattered in careless pandemonium, with the crownpiece folders sitting in wait for someone to explain what's within.
The only non-Southern language written on top of the folders is the serial number, which reads: Xt453sKh00-219-C-34,092. They don't need him. He should go.
But he doesn't. Instead, he stares down at his own impossibly young face.
These shouldn't exist.
Thirty-Two was sure he saw to all his files.
Arrogance has damned him. His refusal to return to this shithole has cost him. These people are on the nip of his heels, and he has yet to swipe the dragon balls.
Vegeta has one file, Ytvl another, and surprisingly, Pyrak has managed to contain himself long enough to peruse the final. He has a bottle of beer dangling between his teeth as he reads, his eyes following right and left along with the words. Will he be able to make the connection? He'd been only a couple of years ahead of Thirty-Two. They'd competed, been forced as rivals…
Ytvl whistles, flipping a page.
"What is it?" Goku asks desperately.
Ytvl shakes his head, brows pressed, saying nothing. When he flips another page, and another and then another, Thirty-Two knows he's looking at either medical records or his behavioural. It makes Thirty-Two feel naked. Whilst he's never seen his earliest records in their full unadulterated wonder, he knows they won't be pleasant.
Pyrak finishes his beer in one and then deposits the bottle down. "Overseer Cace," he says to Thirty-Two of all people. "Weren't 'e yours?"
"Yes," Thirty-Two allows.
"It says he got transferred under 'im, Goku."
Goku looks impatient. "What does that mean?"
"Means yer boy had a bad time. Overseer Cace was somethin' else. He were real nasty."
"You dislike everyone," Ytvl snaps, "I'm sure it wasn't so bad, Goku."
It was. The Overseer was, as stipulated by the ingrate, "real nasty", indeed.
"He's dead," Pyrak continues, "Yer kid, I mean. Not Overseer Cace. In my year alone, six out of ten of his assigned recruits either got 'emselves killed or just did it themselves. I tried getting transferred into his care, but the fucker rejected me."
"Gohan isn't dea—."
"Why would you even want to do that?" Piccolo asks.
Merciless, Pyrak collects the bottle and throws it at Thirty-Two, who cranes his neck as to avoid its flightpath. The smash has Bulma jump about two feet.
"Asshole!"
Pyrak glowers at Thirty-Two. "He always fostered the record breakers, didn't 'e? Picky twat. Didn't think I were good enough or somethin', but took this fuckin' robot on."
"You must have seen something," Piccolo says to Thirty-Two, "If you had the same Overseer then surely you must have crossed paths with Gohan at some point during your time here. What are you not telling us?"
"There were well over a thousand recruits. I can assure you that I have not associated with everyone in the Program, even with the same Overseer."
Piccolo adopts mistrust, more so than usual. Truly, Thirty-Two's clock is counting down—the sooner he—.
There's a laugh, and shockingly, out of everyone, it's Vegeta. Behind a dense wad of papers, he's never looked happier, a dark glint of humour in his usually harsh eyes.
"Oh, this is him, all right, Kakarot. You'll be proud."
"Ah?"
"Back in the North alone, he'd managed to rack up over seven-hundred misdemeanor marks in his record. He's described as Hazardous, and there's an advisory here that he isn't to be approached without at least four men on standby, and that's within a sheenks-lined cell." A page is flipped. "Heh. What a brat."
From Goku, there's a cross between a sigh and a laugh. "He fought back."
Thirty-Two stares at the smile, the crows' feet, the familial warmth a man feels for the memory of his son. It's not exactly… an… unpleasant feeling that makes Thirty-Two's stomach flip. Perhaps that's what scares him the most. It forces him out of the room before anyone even has the chance to reply—he's determined not to hear any more of the report—and his head swims with it all, nauseatingly full and throbbing.
When the door opens only seconds behind him, he at first thinks it's Bulma. Disappointment wells when the ugly truth quickly pins him to the wall, forearm to throat.
"Think I'd forgotten 'bout my fat lip, eh?" Pyrak leans in and Thirty-Two can smell the alcohol on his breath. "Did I hurt your girlfriend's honour? She's a bit old for you, ain't she? I thought you might've been going for Goku, what with all the eyes yer keep sendin' him."
Thirty-Two feels his hands shake. They wish to bury into this bastard's nose.
"Do it," he whispers in Thirty-Two's ear. "Give me a reason to fuck this ship up. To fuck you up. I've been dyin' to see the light go outta' someone's eyes for days now."
He won't lose it again.
"We're back home, ain't we? It'd be poetic if I killed you good n' proper 'ere. With the rest of nobodies I buried. Remember lil' Bellie? She were cute, weren't she? Liked her, didn't yer? Hope 'bout I pop yer in the same plot together?"
Breathe, he orders himself.
"I bet she would'a liked yer face all grown up. Yer pretty little face that gets yer what yer want—from Hailer, from yer Overseer, from every old fart outranking us, even them in there—how 'bout we see what happens when I mess it up?"
Thirty-Two is numb with fury, with bottled agitation that wants to do nothing but be unleashed and rip Pyrak apart. He hates him. He hates what he's saying. Who he is. What he's done. What he represents.
Thirty-Two isn't violent by nature but—.
Pyrak leans forward and presses a peck against Thirty-Two's cheek.
His ugly pointed teeth are a sharp grin when he pulls back, and whilst Thirty-Two knows that Pyrak is doing this for a reaction, he doesn't care. He allows the anger to rise. His hands to rise. His energy to—
The door opens. This time, it is Bulma.
She looks between them. "What's… going… on?"
Whatever easy revenge Pyrak had been aiming for has been attained, at least for now. He gives Thirty-Two a fond pat on the cheek, resting his thumb on the tip of his chin just long enough to make Thirty-Two see fleeting red. When he pulls away and slinks back into the living area, Thirty-Two uses the moment to remember where he is—why he can't blow this entire fucking place (ship, facility, everything) to dust.
Why is it anger—the most ferocious of them all—that is Thirty-Two's undoing? Why is this the aspect he can't control? Why does he have to be a fucking saiyan? This fury, temper, whatever—it's ruining him!
Head down. Eyes front.
But he's doing that! Why won't it work like it used to!
He breathes, imagining the stars outside, the wishes, his wish, how soon, everything will be set right.
The shock of warm fingers grazing his knuckle has him jostle backward. From anger to horror, Thirty-Two withdraws his hand, too appalled to know what to say to her. Why would she touch him like that? He doesn't need her care—he doesn't want pity or kindness, and he certainly doesn't want anything familial from back in that room.
Bulma doesn't look affronted by the rejection. Although, she looks sad, with that small, pitying smile.
"It'd be easier if you were honest," she says softly. "It's all going to come up in the reports anyway. Would you rather it come from them or you?"
"It has nothing to do with me," Thirty-Two mutters.
"How did you escape early?" she deviates, "From the Program—you had to be a certain age to graduate, right? Which you are not." Thirty-Two walks down the hallway and she follows. "That's why you wouldn't help me carry Vegeta to the bar that night. The age wave."
"I'm—."
"Fifteen. Ytvl told me that you're underage, and I told him how much I think by. Y'know, he's in there right now with your record. I'm sure he'll piece it together—."
"Tomorrow," he bites out at her. "Tomorrow. I'll talk to you all tomorrow. No, stop it. Just… Just… right now, I need to be alone."
Ultimately, she nods, and he looks down and into those protective blue eyes, recognizing something nurturing about her that he'd never noticed before. He recalls the picture of her, Vegeta, and their son. For the first time, Thirty-Two wonders about his own mother.
"Tomorrow," she parrots.
"Tomorrow," he promises, knowing full well that he's lying through his teeth.
For some reason, it looks like Bulma'd been crying when she returns into the living area. Did Thirty-Two say something to her? Goku thought they got along pretty well.
Hmm... Maybe it was an outside force… Lounging on the elongated sofa opposite, Pyrak is grinning to himself, pen to hand, as he assists in translating key parts of the reports for Goku.
Obviously, something happened out there, but it's difficult to become involved when he has in his hands, Gohan's records. Gohan's information. Evidence that Gohan lived after Namek. Evidence that could very well lead him directly to Gohan. Now. Maybe even tomorrow. Next week. Soon. Whatever—so long as it's inevitable.
Goku will find his son.
"Medical records," Pyrak demands, hand extended in anticipation.
Ytvl is still reading them however, brows knitted tightly into a thick knot of skin. He's pooled himself over the many pieces of paper, and is very, very quiet, admittedly testing Goku's high.
"I'll take charge of these," he mumbles. There's a pen in his hand, which he uses to circle various underlined titles and page numbers. "I've already gone through twelve pages."
"Eh, how many?" Pyrak seizes the circled documents. "Damn…"
"What?" Goku leans over. "What is it?"
"A lotta' hospital admissions."
Ytvl clicks his tongue. "Let me finish, Pyrak. Put them back."
"What's th—Oh, ah, yer counting."
"Counting what?" asks Piccolo. "What are you marking, Ytvl?"
Ytvl drops the stack and looks up, expression tight. "According to these documents, Gohan was quite the regular at the medical ward. Whilst many of the entries are listed as typical combat injuries, there are also several serious incidents recorded."
There's something being unsaid here. "What do you mean by that?" Goku pushes, "Say what you wanna' say."
"It's not that I don't want to say—."
"Oh," Pyrak lets out, "Looks like he was tryin' to kill himself."
The air is vacuumed from Goku's lungs.
Vegeta snatches the documents next and scours them, his knuckles on the paper tightening and his eyes focused as time drags on. He looks up at Goku, silent.
Goku stares back.
"He didn't manage it, right?" Piccolo asks in a single breath, "These are old records. He was transferred after this. So, he must have survived, must have—."
"The balls don't work," Vegeta reminds them, "Maybe this is why."
"The dragon said Gohan's alive!" Goku calls out, throat tight. "Bulma—Tell them. You remember, right?"
"Yes…" she says in an oddly meek, low voice. "I… I'm sorry. It's just… It makes me think of…"
Goku nods, swallowing.
"He got transferred to Overseer Cace," Pyrak repeats, "I don't wanna' be that guy, Goku, but yer gotta' face the possibility that yer boy bit it. The dragon can't know everythin', right? It can't bring him back for whatever reason so it's not all that powerful like Lya keeps harpin' on about. Maybe it just can't help and doesn't wanna' tell yer."
"The dragon cannot bring someone back who has killed themselves. You know that, Kakarot."
"I do," Goku responds, "But should we just stop, then? When we're already so close? If you think I will then you're crazy. We're getting closer and closer, so why should we question it? I won't stop, ever, until I find my son."
"Just prepare yerself, is all I'm sayin'."
Ytvl sighs, dropping the last piece of paper atop the pile. "Eleven serious incidents of near-death. Three resuscitations."
The room is deathly quiet. Even Pyrak is respectful enough not to ruin the sobriety of the moment.
"He fought…" Piccolo eventually mumbles, "Until he didn't…"
Xt453sKh00-219-C-34,092
Goku stares at his son's serial code. Pyrak tells him that this is how they'll connect Gohan to his post transfer documents, and then possibly to his whereabouts should they find where the facility's occupants fled to. After the bombshell of Gohan's admissions, they'd continued to read through the files, with Goku not so patiently awaiting translation and elaboration when not understanding the details documented.
"The misdemeanor mark checks out with the 35th admission to the ward," Ytvl had agreed with Vegeta, smirking, "He definitely pissed off some higher ups enough to be beaten. I wonder what he did."
"It's listed as Unconstitutional Displays of Disobedience." Vegeta had been in his element, bright with fondness for the boy he'd once told Goku was unsavable. "Unconstitutional. Even my record didn't state that…"
Piccolo had asked about more specific examples when Goku's voice wouldn't work. It'd been hard to find any of this amusing in light of the latest reality.
"Says here that yer kid got the Pit for a week for biting someone's finger off," Pyrak had laughed, "Volatile little fucker."
The Pit had been revealed as a small, dark space with nothing aside a straw bed and a squat toilet. To imagine Gohan having ever been imprisoned there…
"We've all been in the Pit," Pyrak had waved off, "It's part of the trainin'. Hey, I think there's a typo here. Date's all wrong… Says he was ten when he went in but that don't match some of the other records. Others say seven."
Seven, ten, thirteen, fifteen… Goku doesn't care what age, it all sounds horrible.
The revelations Pyrak had shared grew more unwelcome the more bottles of beer he'd consumed. By the time they'd suffered through nearly all the documentation, and Piccolo, Ytvl, Bulma and Vegeta had retired, Pyrak's off-hand comments grew more sinister and self-depreciating. Goku doesn't like dealing with drunk people because they can be unpredictable, which could be the same said for Pyrak, as he'd laid prone across the sofa, throwing up a wadded paper ball, up and down, up and down, still helping with the translation long after everyone else had disappeared.
The night had taken a turn.
"I weren't like your kid," he'd told Goku, eyes on the ball, up and down, up and down, "My da' weren't like you."
Goku'd watched him.
"He never came fer me."
"How old were you when you started joined the Program?"
"Seven, I think, I d'nno… Young. I remember my da' talkin' to the recruiter for a real long time, back on my planet in our farmhouse. I think they heard of me 'cause I killed some crusty ole' captain by accident. He'd done my ma' in. Fucked her up. My sister, too. Nothin' new, though, 'cause my da' would do much the same."
"I'm… I'm sorry, Pyrak."
"He had debts. I get it. I was the strongest in our village and that was worth somethin'."
"But to sell your own kid? I'd never do that."
There'd been a smile. A real one, cornered with fatigue. "I know that. But it don't mean he never loved me. I think, in the end, he knew I'd 'ave no future there, on the farm, actin' a nobody. An' even if he never said it, even though he could be a right bastard to 'em, he loved my ma' and sister. He had to support 'em somehow."
"Have you seen your dad since?"
Pyrak had caught the wadded paper, holding it much like Goku does his photograph of Gohan.
"My planet got purged a few years back. He's probably dead," he'd revealed, staring at the ceiling.
"You don't know—."
"I purged the planet."
All at once, pity had welled up in Goku's chest. He'd turned to see a man broken by his own actions. Drunk and angry, harsh lines crinkled his face, and burdened eyes looked misty.
"After my studdin', they took me directly for a purging unit. They took me home."
"And your sister and mum?"
"I heard rumours that my sister couldn't handle it no more and took herself out. My ma'? I dunno. Some women and children evacuated in time. The purging unit sent the notice out a couple weeks ahead like always, but evacuating cost' money, don't it? Da'… Well, I dunno' if she made it. He were never good with money."
It'd been awful to listen to, to witness the trauma firsthand.
Goku had told Pyrak of his own heartache, and Pyrak had just closed his eyes for a long time. So long that Goku had thought he'd fallen asleep.
"He never came fer me," Pyrak had finally muttered, "But it is what it is. It don't gotta' be the same fer your kid. For Gohan."
Tomorrow, they're going to return to the facility and connect the serial number to the one listed in the Southern division's documents listing, find Gohan's allocated number and then go from there. He's only fifteen. He'll still be with them. He'll be found, safe and sound, likely deeply unhappy, but alive, and Goku will take him home. By force if he has to. He'll kill if he has to.
As he lies on his bed, the picture of his son in its place against his chest, Goku feels his eyes grow heavy. Usually, he stays up later than this but he's strangely more tired than usual. Perhaps it's the excitement of drawing closer to Gohan, or the loss of adrenaline after such a high.
There's a yawn as he considers the picture.
In this, Gohan's no older than when Goku had last seen him. He's almost identical, with shiny hair, and young eyes that reflect the camera lens. In the picture, he looks miserable. Tired, too, like Goku. But Goku tries to warp the image in his mind, remembering his boy's laugh at the end of a punchline, or his open, wide smile that went on forever when interacting with animals or helping his mother cook. Goku thinks of their time in the forest, under the stars.
"Make a wish," he'd tell him.
And Gohan would close his eyes, thinking about what he'd wanted for so long that he'd inevitably fall asleep right there in the grass, in the night, in Goku's arms.
Goku hadn't realized how blessed he'd been.
Only now, with how in love with the memory he is, does Goku appreciate perfection.
A son, a wife; a family.
And at present, alone, Goku drifts away, body uncomfortably heavy.
Of course, he dreams of Chi-Chi that night. Which is of no surprise because of the circumstances of the day, of Gohan's struggles, of what those reports tell and what they don't. In his dreams, the world is abstract with lots of colour—almost too much—with shapes meshing and interlocking and dancing, so much so that he knows he's dreaming. His fingers brush through the clouds, until coming into contact with the bath water.
She smiles up at him.
When he wakes, it's with a start, and he rolls over, clutching his head.
Sometimes, it's difficult to remember what's real and what isn't.
He's incredibly dehydrated this morning—if it is morning—just what time is it? He checks the clock, noticing that he slept longer than normal. Goku really must have been exhausted. When he stumbles out of his room and down the hallway, he notices that he's the first up. Oddly, the food capsules have been left scattered on the counter. Usually, they're kept in the drawer. He takes the nearest.
Reheated eggs and rice it is, then.
Goku keeps the picture of Gohan on the side as he cooks. He makes enough for himself and settles down for his quick, sparse breakfast, eagerly anticipating for the others to join him so they can return to the facility.
It's a bit of a surprise when the chair opposite scrapes backwards.
"Thirty-Two!" Goku greets, his mouthful of egg threatening to escape.
Thirty-Two wears the dark circles beneath his eyes even more stridently today, his pallor unhealthy. Has the guy slept at all? Maybe he really is a robot.
Maybe not. Thinking back to last night, to Pyrak's (as Ytvl would call it) pathos, he wonders about Thirty-Two's connection with the Program. How is he coping? Pyrak isn't. Even now, littered beer cans from last night can be seen around the living area.
God. All of them… They'd all been children.
Gohan had tried to… to himself… he…
He sighs, immediately no longer hungry. When Goku goes to offer Thirty-Two the rest of his eggs, he notices him looking down nearby Goku's hand, at the photograph of Gohan. For a better view, Goku swivels it, showcasing it, proud.
After a moment, Thirty-Two looks up at Goku. His dark eyes are warmer today. Perhaps vulnerable with obvious exhaustion.
"You're stupid," he says.
"Eh?" Goku takes back the picture self-consciously. "Well, you look like you haven't slept for a week straight!"
"…Today, I will accompany you to the facility," Thirty-Two tells him, ignoring the outburst, "Bulma requested black matter, so I will check the Research Division's fuel storage."
"Sure—Hey, what's that?"
"What?"
"In your hand."
After consideration, Thirty-Two shows Goku his scouter, saying nothing.
"Bulma gave it you back?"
"Does that surprise you?"
"Kinda'. Yeah."
"Perhaps she felt sorry for me."
Goku doesn't like Thirty-Two having his scouter. Whilst he doesn't dislike the kid, he certainly doesn't trust him. Unconsciously, his fingers touch at his neck, at where he felt the life being pressed out of him, his gaze locked.
"You have your lead," Thirty-Two says slowly, "Connect the serial numbers and you will find your answer. You needn't get involved with the Frost Empire or its business."
Goku feels his mouth twist wryly. "Your business?"
Thirty-Two hums, twirling the scouter thoughtfully.
"I don't know what you're up to, but you don't have to do anything you don't want to, y'know," Goku advises gently, "You could just come along with us. Join us on Earth after, like Vegeta did. You could start again."
There's an unexpected laugh that's hard and cruel.
"I'm not kidding, Thirty-Two."
"I know you're not."
"You could—."
"Look, Goku…" He pauses. "After you get your answer, return to your planet. Don't help Cilo. Don't interfere with Lord Hailer or Lord Cooler and their war. Go. To your planet. Take Bulma and protect your own. Just live."
"Thirty-Two…" To use the number as his name right now feels wrong. He must know. But when he goes to ask, he finds himself tongue-tied.
It's a penetrating look Thirty-Two's giving Goku, and only when the door opens does Thirty-Two alleviate this intensity, breaking the instance. Piccolo swoops over as Thirty-Two stands, the scouter strategically out of view.
"I'll be ready whenever you are," are his parting words.
Piccolo watches the door close behind with a subtle click, suspicious—which is good, because that means Goku isn't the only one sensing something off. He leans against the counter, staring after the door, thoughtfully, as though trying to solve a puzzle Goku can't see.
"He's acting funny," Goku says.
Piccolo nods. "Think he'll try for the dragon balls today?"
"Yeah, but he wants to come to the facility so we can keep an eye on him there."
"He reacted… strangely there yesterday."
"He did? What do you mean?"
"He was erratic."
If anything, it just makes Goku sad. This place is evil. What they've done to these kids—trafficking them—by turning them into machines is nothing short of the worst thing Goku's ever heard of. He reflects on Pyrak's background, on why he may be the way that he is, on what Gohan may have turned out to be like.
They'd laughed at the idea of Gohan biting someone's finger off last night, but Gohan would only do something like that if pushed. Cornered, maybe, like a snarling, scared animal. Before, he'd been kind, and sweet, and so good that he'd risk his life many a time to bring back a lost friend.
Said lost friend never got to thank him. Goku considers Piccolo, suddenly reinspired when he catches him staring at the photograph.
"A child so small should never have left his home, should have never gone to Namek," says Piccolo.
"He was one of the strongest."
"Not strong enough, though."
"We don't know what happened," Goku asserts.
Piccolo hums.
"Are the others still not up?" Goku asks, quick to change the subject, "It's already past ten. It's unlike them…"
Vegeta and Bulma are difficult to stir, but rise they do, equally determined to accompany Goku to the facility. Bulma has yet to see it and talks of wanting to visit the Research Division along with Thirty-Two—which Goku tells her, directly, that that's a bad idea, and that she needs to be accompanied by one of them when with Thirty-Two from now on. Vegeta and Piccolo agree, but Bulma is combative, weaponizing a few choice words when told.
Ytvl joins them soon thereafter, followed by an incredibly ill-tempered Pyrak who avoids bright spaces, loud noises and walks at a meandering pace as he holds his head.
Thirty-Two is waiting by the door, obedient, which is not a word Goku would usually associate with him. It's good that he wants to come along because that means they don't have to carry around one of the dragon balls, which aren't as small as Earth's so can get in the way. His is still under the panel in his room—but nobody would want to steal some old rock anyway, right? The only people who know about them are heading into the facility together.
When they go, Goku notices that the snowstorm from last night has come and gone and there is now a fresh layer of clean, virgin snow swallowing them from every side. Moodier, the sky above is a dismal grey.
Thirty-Two doesn't waste time, crunching his way across the snow, leading the way, and not acting strangely at all like Piccolo had said. Bulma jogs over to him and they talk in quiet tones, encouraging Vegeta to make pace to catch them up. They lead, with Goku, Piccolo, Pyrak and Ytvl casually holding the rear, watching the facility grow bigger against the horizon once past the checkpoints.
Gohan's been here. He's seen this.
The architecture starts to impose into the sky as they draw close and whatever conversation Thirty-Two and Bulma shared is now over, with Bulma looking particularly put out.
"Oh, had an argument, did ye'?" Pyrak coos at Thirty-Two, and then proceeds to prattle on in the Southern language. If his ambition is to wind Thirty-Two up, he's failing—at least to Goku's knowledge, as Thirty-Two remains silent, gazing up at Bone Hall's haunting hunch over them.
Inside, it's as cold and depressing as Goku remembers.
"Where did you think you're going?" Vegeta snaps at Thirty-Two when he takes an immediate right turn down a previously unexplored hallway.
"To the Research Division."
"On your own?"
Thirty-Two turns, slowly, and Goku sees him very fleetingly size Vegeta up. It's a subtle aggression that goes unnoticed by the others.
"Maybe we should all go," Goku suggests, and Thirty-Two turns to him to next, silent, and then stares over each individual fighter in the group.
He is weighing them up.
Lowly, he speaks. "The archives are in the East building. Third floor. Recruit files are in the restricted section. You'll need a code to get in—which I'm sure you'll be able to physically overcome."
It works. Goku does feel pull. After all, Gohan's information is there…
"It so happens the Research Division's base is only in the next tower over," he continues, the surrounding tension thick, "I can lead you."
Goku follows, closely, wondering what sort of tricks Thirty-Two is capable of in his home territory. When Bulma tries to catch up to him, Vegeta takes her by the hand and keeps her firmly at his side, indeed sensing the change in air around Thirty-Two.
After being in close quarters with Thirty-Two for a few weeks now, Goku has gotten used to his apathetic, quiet nature, accepting his withdrawal into the shadows, but the facility seems to have straightened out Thirty-Two's back. He glides along the hallways with confidence, chin level—he reminds Goku of the leader back in the tavern once more. The one with the gun pointed at Krillin's head.
This place is what made him.
This place is what made Gohan.
But, even somewhere like here—a place which strips children of their innocence—can't strip a person of their entire goodness. Goku knows that. He saw it in Thirty-Two when he helped Bulma—when he spared him.
Pyrak's assistance with the documents had also shown that, even on the darkest nights, there are always stars, even if they're hidden by the rain or the clouds.
They leave the domineering corridors for another square outside, one which is knotted together with different snow layered pathways into different buildings, notably one of which is home to several towers. They cleave into the haze high above.
This is where Thirty-Two wishes to part ways.
Yet, another building has Ytvl prolong the inevitable. "The light is on in there."
It is a modest, flat building with green fences partitioning off an attached yard of its own. The doors and windows are clouded with condensation.
He takes a step forward and, surprisingly, it's Vegeta who blocks the way. "Let's go to the archive room and get this done."
"That's the crèche," Pyrak informs slowly, his brain audibly trying to figure out Vegeta's unease.
"What's a crèche?" Goku asks.
"It's where they keep the younglings. The babes."
"If the lights are on then there might be people inside," Bulma states, already charging forward. "We can't leave babies—! Eh, what are you doing? Get off'a me!"
Thirty-Two is the one to have caught her by the arm, his eyes firm on the crèche.
"Oh," Pyrak says, realization dawning. A cruel sneer corrupts his face. "Let her go, Thirty-Two. Let her have a look."
"What?" Bulma barks, "We've already established they see the kids—and you guys—as nothing but products to be sold! They wouldn't have done—!"
"I'll go," Thirty-Two says, tugging her backwards and towards Vegeta.
"Alone?" he questions, chasing after Thirty-Two and his long purposeful strides towards the crèche, "I think not."
"Wait here," Goku tells Bulma, "I'll make sure they don't kill each other. No, Piccolo—you stay with Bulma."
Ytvl joins, his senses seemingly very aware because he twitches at every step they take towards the building, eventually coming into step with Thirty-Two and Vegeta. When they reach the door, the heating from within the room can be felt escaping in the crack above the floor—it is welcoming in this bitter chill. Thirty-Two tries the door. It's locked.
There's no hesitation. Immediately, he boots the door down. Echoing, debris explodes, and through it, Thirty-Two enters the room.
It's yet another reception desk. A few polished leather chairs are sparsely set out. A table, with what seems to be children's books and crayons which have been left untouched. Above, a mounted screen is televising static. It gives him a headache.
Ugh... Creepy.
"Have you been in here before?" Goku feels the need to ask Thirty-Two as his pace slows.
Thirty-Two turns the screen off with a remote found on the reception desk. "No," he says, turning when the newly found silence is interrupted by a melody in a nearby room. It's classical style music, with piano, and string and woodwind instruments Goku wouldn't know by sound alone.
Something doesn't sit right with him.
"Kakarot," Vegeta starts, "This won't be pret—."
And then Thirty-Two moves into the next room, opening the door to immediately reveal several slumped bodies. They're leaned against the wall, holding bundles. They look asleep, but Goku knows better. He can't sense them. He couldn't sense them—or anything, in fact, from this building when outside and he can't now, within.
"Damn it," Ytvl mutters, stopping at the entrance.
Thirty-Two, who can't sense energy, leans down and presses two fingers against a sagged woman's throat.
"I feel sick," Ytvl adds.
So does Goku. Very much so, actually.
"I'll save you the time and tell you that they're all dead," Vegeta says.
All.
Goku scrutinizes the room to see that it goes on further than he'd originally thought, with many cradles and small, barred beds placed with armchairs opposite. Colours, all bright and cheerful, are nauseating to behold when, what must be, at least fifty small children lay in fetal positions, dead.
There are babies. The bundle in the woman's arm—it couldn't be older than one.
"What…What happened?" Goku manages.
It's awful. Who would have done this? To babies? Goku keeps a healthy distance from the busiest area—the place with the most bodies—in the room, unable to stomach the sight of it.
Thirty-Two holds no such restriction. His expression remains impassive as he inspects a blanketed mass, forever sleeping in yet another lifeless woman's arms.
"Matrons?" Ytvl asks, green.
"Yes," Thirty-Two responds, tone meditative.
And then.
Thirty-Two walks over to the window and smashes it. And then another. And another.
A gust of icy wind has blankets take flight.
"What are you doing!" Vegeta shouts, incensed, "Don't you have any respect!"
Thirty-Two kicks him away when he tries to snag him. "Carbon monoxide poisoning," he sneers, "I may have just saved your life."
The wind offers a melodic wail, blowing back the curtains, bringing in fresh oxygen that suddenly has Goku feel marginally better. It doesn't change the fact he's in a room filled with dead babies, however.
He rubs his arms.
"Why?" he asks once more.
"The matrons… They must have made the brave decision to spare the children the hardship of war," Ytvl tells the group, hands resting atop a cradle. His eyes are heavy. "It would have been like going to sleep."
Goku clenches his fists. That doesn't sound brave at all. Why didn't the women just take the children to safety? Leave? The others did!
"Kakarot, the notice I found in the auditorium ordered all able bodied to evacuate the facility. Those in a crèche are hardly able to protect themselves." His voice drops several degrees cooler. "They would have been an inevitability. A weakness of the collective."
"The Program bought these kids!" Goku responds, "They owe them protection!"
"That's not how they see it," Ytvl says.
"Products," adds Vegeta, letting his gaze dip to Thirty-Two, "Numbers. Things to throw away or let go when their value is not enough."
Thirty-Two is staring out of the window. "Scorched earth," he says.
They decide to burn the building.
Scorched earth, indeed.