I Hate Being Right

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these fictional characters except for Bruce, Hal, Rich, and Skip. Akira Toriyama is the original creator and this is a non-profit fanfiction written for fun…or angst…whatever.

Ch. 11

The small room gave one sickening lurch and the world seemed to slow down as the walls bent from the flash-cushion of energy that exploded outward from the small saiyajin. More like Tien’s solar flare, the energy that burst from Vegeta blinded all in the room, the light carrying more power and shock than the sparking chi that leapt from inside the warrior.

Vegeta did not know how his energy would react when he called upon in. His body, mind, and powers were damaged horribly and nothing within him seemed to work properly. With Hal’s gun pressed against his head, the prince called desperately upon the fiery energy he felt swirling within the depths of his soul and screamed for its release.

He felt it, like burning lava creeping slowly through his body, and with a panicked force of will, the saiyajin thrust the blue light outward as hard as he could. Much to his dismay and shock, the warped power exploded from him with a shrill scream, but the light of the energy was much stronger than any actual force.

He could hear the humans scream in pain from the electrical currents that pushed them back, but he knew it was not nearly enough to kill them. The room bent outward as if a giant balloon had suddenly inflated inside of it, but the energy could only crack a few walls and blast away the contents of the room.

But it was enough. Through the pure blinding light, Vegeta plowed his way forward, utterly blinded and desperate for escape. The blood pounded in his veins and his heart slammed in his chest as he moved, feeling himself slam into two bodies as he collided with something large and wooden. There were screaming voices behind him, but he knew that they were as blind as he was. His hands fluttered across the door in a panic and he felt Hikaru stir at his feet.

Vegeta’s eyes widened and he could make out the blurry shapes in the room, his environment still radiating with heavenly white light. He could see the silhouetted forms of Hal and Rich as they flailed around screaming at each other to find the saiyajin. Hikaru moaned and Vegeta’s stomach dropped as the man began to lift himself up.

Finding the doorknob, the saiyajin prince shoved his shoulder into the wood as he stumbled into it and fell into darkness. He realized that this was the room he had originally been brought into and suddenly began to heave. His mouth watered with hot saliva and the acid of his stomach crept up his throat as an agonizing wave of nausea swept through him.

Lying on his side in the room, Vegeta’s world spun, but he had enough sense to turn and kick the door shut behind him. He knew he couldn’t just stay there and let the humans come to their senses. He was positive that his extreme illness had been caused by the forced expulsion of energy, but this room carried horrible memories and the smell of his own excretions. Moaning miserably, Vegeta jerked his body awake and quickly stood up.

With a scream of pain, the saiyajin staggered into the wall, his face contorted in agony as his right leg gave out completely. Staring down at it, he clenched his teeth as he eyed the purpled swollen ankle and bullet hole in his thigh. Long tendrils of blood snaked down his pale flesh and he felt his world spin as another wave of nausea hit him.

But he was drawn back to the real world as the voices on the other side of door got louder. Vegeta’s eyes bulged and he clumsily forced his legs to move. Whimpering and growling in agony, the saiyajin awkwardly hopped through the darkness before pitching forward, his body slamming un-gracefully into step after step. Of course, he had somehow managed to walk right down a flight of stairs.

It felt like he rolled down the splintered, wooden steps forever before finally landing harshly on the concrete basement floor. He muffled his sharp cry with his hands as his beaten body pounded with agony. He lay on the cold ground and shivered like a child waking from a nightmare as he heard the door upstairs burst open and angry voices fill the room he once occupied. In a panic he lurched from the cold concrete, his teeth digging into his lip as his leg threatened to give out again. Tears of pain pricked his eyes as the bullet wound and possibly broken ankle throbbed horribly.

Staggering in the basement, Vegeta saw that one area of the haunting dungeon was lit by a dim orange light-bulb. His eyes searched frantically for an exit but all he found were boxes and dressers full of sex toys, porn magazines, bondage gear, and torture devices.

“Sick fucks,” he hissed in disgusts.

His wandering eyes landed on a dusty black shirt hanging over one of the dressers. He picked it up, feeling the soft almost velvet-like material. It was long-sleeved and tight fitting, and he wondered briefly if it had belonged to a female.

“Rich! You check outside!” Hal hollered from upstairs.

Deciding that he needed to escape immediately, Vegeta pulled the shirt over his head. Nearby he also spotted a pair of pants, the garments plaid-patterned like Hal’s and checkered with red and black. Pulling these on gingerly, Vegeta cursed and groaned as he bent his right leg into the pants. They were long and hung over Vegeta’s feet and he decided that they did belong to Hal. The thought made him feel filthy and unclean.

There was a creak on the staircase and Vegeta froze, his dark eyes trained on the steps. His heart pounded so hard within his ears, his world became engulfed with terror. After his little lightshow earlier, Vegeta knew he had absolutely no power to fight off these humans. He had to escape on foot like a weakened child, but he had no other options. He had to leave.

Quietly, the saiyajin crept backwards, mindful not to knock into anything. Hiding himself in the shadows of the basement, the warrior desperately looked for a backdoor. There was another creak on the steps and he knew he heard a footstep. Panic flooded him and he had to do everything in his power not to yell or run at the person.

He slid further into the darkness and tried to think of what to do. He could try to raise his energy again, but the act could leave him completely helpless and vulnerable to the others when they found him. Sweat poured down his face as he hid and he bit down a panicked whimpered as Hal appeared near the top of the steps, gun in hand.

Through his desperation, Vegeta hadn’t noticed the thin beam of light that landed on his right hand and shoulder. His keen eyes slid upward and he saw several narrow streaks of light shining through the wooden planks above his head. There was some kind of slanted door directly above his head. He didn’t know that humans put such barriers on the ground like this, but he truly didn’t care at the moment. It was an exit.

Hal continued to creep down the steps cautiously, the light from the room above casting an eerie glow on his features. The basement was quite huge and Vegeta was far enough in the darkness that the human could not see him. Still, as soon as he went for the door there would be absolutely no way Hal wouldn’t notice him.

‘I guess I’ll just have to run fast,’ Vegeta thought to himself, not liking the idea at all.

On foot he was going to be beyond slow. With his right leg in the condition it was in and his energy completely depleted he knew that three healthy, adrenaline-crazed humans would catch him in no time.

Once again Vegeta cursed himself for his weakness. It was infuriating and humiliating that he had to act in such a way. The prince of all saiyajins had been reduced to a panicked, terrified coward by a handful of pathetic humans. It was utterly ridiculous!

Shaking in anger, Vegeta felt the tiny spark of power. If there was ever a time to escape, now would probably be his best moment. Taking a deep breath, the saiyajin lifted a trembling fist and turned. Anxiety and shaking terror engulfed him at the thought of this not working, but he closed his eyes and drew back the hand that began to glow slightly. He heard one shocked “oh!” before throwing his fist forward, his knuckles slamming into the wooden planks above his head.

Gun fire erupted in the room and Vegeta ducked as shards of wood rained over his head. He could see Hal rushing forward and in a panic the saiyajin scrambled backward, his pale sweating face suddenly covered in sunlight. Throwing his head back, Vegeta squinted into the blinding light that poured in from the hole he had created. Without hesitating, he leapt to his feet, ignored the pain that erupted in his leg, and forced his body through the narrow hole in the shattered planks. Kicking and flailing, Vegeta, for once, thanked his small frame as he crawled through the door. But his excitement faded immediately as narrow fingers dug into his calves. He screamed and cursed as Hal pulled him down, his hands wrapped around his ankles.

Kicking out wildly, the saiyajin grinned as he heard the human yell in pain. Kicking once more, there was a satisfying snap as Vegeta knew he broke Hal’s nose.

Free from the mad-man’s grip, the saiyajin pulled the rest of his body from the cellar door and rolled into prickly grass. He almost cried out in joy at the sensation of nature before suddenly pitching forward and vomiting onto the chilled fall ground. The nausea that invaded his senses was overwhelming and Vegeta felt close to passing out as his vision blurred and spun.

The use of his power again was having extreme affects on his body. The poison within him still had a strong hold over his chi and the constant use of it was making him incredibly sick. Lifting his head, Vegeta realized that the cellar door was being pounded against, the wooden planks breaking even more as Hal slammed into it. The lanky man could not fit through the hole Vegeta had created, and perhaps in his anger, Hal could not figure out a way to open it without brute force.

Rolling onto his stomach, Vegeta groaned with sickness and distress as he stood once more. Staggering forward, he spun his arms to regain his balance and began to run as fast as he could on one good leg.


……………

Skip paced back and forth in front of the large fountain nervously. Pounding his knuckles together as he walked, the mousy man went over in his head what he wanted to say to Yamcha. How did he want to introduce this situation? How would Yamcha take it?

Besides the fact he was completely insane, Skip was extremely intelligent. He was one of Bulma’s leading scientists…perhaps even smarter than Bulma herself! Or so he liked to believe. He had his back-up plans in case Yamcha needed some coercing. He had his clever words and clever devices.

“But Yamcha will love this,” Skip muttered to himself. “It is the best gift a person can give.” He stopped his frantic pacing and stared at the statue on top of the fountain, the winged creature silhouetted in the morning sun. “The gift of revenge.”

“Hey Skip!” The scarred-face human yelled as he ran forward.

Skip grinned and waved back as the warrior bounded toward him. The spectacled man felt his heart race with excitement and nervousness as Yamcha stood before him. Slapping Skip on the back, Yamcha laughed as the smaller man’s glasses flew from his face.

“Oh sorry, dude. I’ve been training a lot since that kid came from the future. Don’t know my own strength!”

Skip laughed bashfully and pushed the black frames back onto his face. “It’s ok, Yamcha.”

The warrior smiled and looked at his friend. The two had met a few years ago. Bulma had demanded that Yamcha come to a Capsule Corporation dinner function. It was some kind of awards banquet and Bulma loved to show off her muscled, powerful fighter boyfriend. Yamcha obliged—food and liquor could get him to come to any social event. But the party had been drab and boring—all science talk and prototypes and Bulma using her charm to get clients. She never spoke to him while he was there. She needed him at her parties so she could show everyone that he was one of her many prizes. And should he say no, there would be hell to pay.

So while he sat on an uncomfortable metal chair and ate and drank alone, he looked over and saw the mousy-haired, little man staring at him from another nearby chair.

“Boring, right?” Yamcha laughed.

The man took this as an invitation and came closer. Sitting next to the warrior, the scientist pulled off his glasses, wiped them, and then placed them back onto his nose as if to view Yamcha better.

“Indeed. Tell me, what department are you in?”

Yamcha rolled his eyes and laughed. Pointing at Bulma’s back he smirked and replied, “That one.”

Skip hesitated before laughing hysterically, slapping his knee and wiping his eyes. Yamcha smiled a bit, not knowing it was that funny, but decided he liked the man’s quirky humor.

“Dating the boss, huh?”

Yamcha nodded and placed his hands behind his head. Back then he still had his wild mane of black hair, resembling Tarzan a bit.

“Yep, but I don’t work for Capsule Corp. I’m one of Earth’s Special Forces. I fight.”

This caught Skip’s attention and he became much more interested in the man.

“I’m Skip. Some people call me Skippy, too,” he said as he reached out a hand.

The warrior took the offered palm and shook it. “I’m Yamcha.”

From there the two became friends. Yamcha had always seen the man as a charity case. He was short, wore incredibly thick glasses, and had untidy black hair. He never seemed to have a real friend or a girlfriend, so Yamcha agreed to work-out with him (which had always been an amusing treat) and have lunch on occasion. The fighter never really thought of Skip as close a friend as Goku or Tien, but the scientist definitely had some interesting attributes.

Yamcha always found it amusing how the little guy seemed to protect him. Don’t do this Yamcha, you shouldn’t eat that Yamcha, you should be careful when you do that Yamcha. It was a little cute. He was almost like a mother. But the warrior recalled the recent discussion they had and Skip’s fiery attitude. In fact, it had only been a few weeks ago.

Yamcha had recently been wished back to Earth from King Kai’s planet. His reunion with Bulma and the others was fantastic and of course there had been a party. Yamcha recalled eating and drinking and laughing with Krillin, who had also been wished back, when Skip meandered forward. Disregarding Krillin’s presence, the shy man looked at Yamcha with a small smile.

“It’s so great to have you back, Yamcha. I-I was crushed when I heard what happened.”

In their time as friends, Yamcha didn’t feel the need to skip details about his life. The scientist knew all about Goku, the saiyajins, and the dragon balls. And the scientist knew all about the invasion involving Nappa and Vegeta.

“Thanks, man,” Yamcha said sincerely. “It was a long, interesting journey.”

“You could say that again!” Krillin laughed.

“Is it true what they say? That…Saiyajin is living here?”

Yamcha instantly became seriously and stared across the lawn where Bulma’s Capsule ship used to sit. The dirty saiyajin had abducted it the moment he heard Goku was still alive. Yamcha hoped that it would crash a burn with the monkey prince still on it.

“Yeah, Skip. Bulma invited him,” Yamcha spat.

Krillin observed the exchange and saw the strange human’s lips curl in anger, his hand trembling around the glass of champagne he held.

“After he killed you and all your friends,” Skip hissed.

“Technically a saibaman killed Yamcha,” Krillin added.

Skip turned on the short, bald man immediately, but Yamcha stepped in. “But they wouldn’t have come here if it hadn’t been for Vegeta! Vegeta wanted the dragon balls. He stood back and let Nappa do all the killing for him. You know damn well he would have killed all of us if he came alone.”

Krillin opened his mouth and then sighed. It was a pointless argument. Neither of them had witnessed Vegeta’s torture and death on Namek. As much as Krillin feared and disliked Vegeta, he believed the alien had changed.

“If he comes back, you should kill him,” Skip blurted suddenly.

Both Yamcha and Krillin gasped at such an abrupt and harsh remark. Skip stared at Yamcha, his eyes ablaze with an angry fire.

Krillin shook his head, his dark eyes wide. He had no words.

“I don’t think that would be too easy,” Yamcha said lightly. “Besides…I’m not…I-“

“We are not killers,” Krillin snapped. He regarded Skip with much dislike.

The spectacled man never looked at Krillin. He kept his eyes trained on Yamcha.

“He’s a danger to this planet, to your home, to you! He is not allowed to get away with his crimes!”

“He didn’t!” Krillin yelled, throwing his drink on the ground. “He had been brutally killed by Frieza. You can’t throw judgment at-“

“He should have stayed in hell where he belongs,” Skip hissed, staring down at his feet. Turning away from the two warriors, the scientist stalked away. “If he ever comes back…you must get your revenge, Yamcha,” he muttered under his breath.

“So you said you have something to show me?” Yamcha asked with excitement.

The two stood in front of the fountain as water splashed into it and children screamed with joy from the droplets that hit them. It was fall, but the summer warmth still hung in the air. The grass had been covered with frost during the earlier morning and the wind carried a chilly breeze, but the weather was beautiful.

“Yes.”

Yamcha waited expectedly, wondering if Skip had it on him. The small man turned his head to the side and gave Yamcha an indecipherable look.

“It’s big, Yamcha. It’s not here. We have to go for a walk to get to it.”

The warrior tilted his head to the side and nodded. “Ok, but I can fly us there.”

“Let’s walk.”

Shrugging, the scarred-human agreed and followed his friend as he led the way into the woods that stood behind the fountain. Skip had appeared somewhat apprehensive or nervous, so Yamcha believed that he was about to witness something exciting. He never knew what the little guy ever had planned.