[fic] wipe
Title: Wipe
Fandom: Dragon Ball Z (AU)
Chapter: I: Sleep
Character(s): several
Pairing(s): several
Word Count: ~4100
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Akira Toriyama does along with assorted others.
Warnings: some violence, sex, swearing, etc.
Author's Note: AU that's been bothering me for the past few weeks
Summary: A strange entity has taken the memories from the heroes: their lives, their powers, even their names. And given them normal lives. Why?
--
Kyle glanced at his watch and cursed softly under his breath. He was running late. Not that that wasn’t to be expected. His friends knew by now that he was never on time. They often joked about him setting his watch ahead so he could get places when he was supposed to. Other times they joked about him needing teleportation to be on time. Kyle would smile good-naturedly but their comments did sting after a while. He could just imagine what they would say when he arrived at the restaurant.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and wished for the fifth time that night that he had thought to bring gloves. He forgot how cold it got so soon in North City. He moved his feet up and down a little in a strange imitation of a march, trying to get blood flowing. He knew standing on the icy sidewalk was just going to make him later but he couldn’t quite get himself to leave yet. Kyle glanced across the street at the cropping of woods that seemed so out of place in the city. They sheltered the reservoir and, on the other side, was where he needed to be. The other side of town.
The gears in Kyle’s mind began to turn. He could try his luck with a taxi but cabs seemed to know that he was flat broke and didn’t stop for him. Either that or they had a thing against lanky boys with unruly black hair. He could try and walk and end up being a half hour late and get berated through the appetizer. Or-and as he thought of it, a smile formed on his face-or he could just cut through the woods and around the reservoir. His friends wouldn’t be able to make fun of him, then. It halved his journey. He would get there on time.
The answer was obvious.
Kyle stepped off of the curb and hurried across the street. He ducked along the chain-link fence that surrounded the wooded area and pushed aside a “NO TRESPASSING” sign that covered a hole. Slipping through, he felt like he was a teenager again, sneaking out past curfew. Not that Kyle really remembered his teenaged years. Again, this was a constant joke amongst his friends, saying how he was too wasted to remember them.
He walked through the woods, pushing aside branches and making sure not to jab himself in the eye. Kyle wasn’t sure why this place was forbidden. It was just some woods and the reservoir. Sure, it provided water most of the city but it wasn’t like that water wasn’t going to be treated after it left the area.
There were stories, of course, of strange goings on that happened at the reservoir. Cult ceremonies, murders, that sort of thing. Kyle usually laughed them off. Those kinds of things happened everywhere not just in the small wooded area at the reservoir.
Kyle continued walking, picking up his pace a little. He was nearly at the reservoir, now. A small smile twitched onto his face. He’d show them. He’d be on time.
A branch snapped behind him. He whirled around but saw nothing but darkness. Light from the moon penetrated the trees and highlighted some of the branches, making them look like grasping hands. Kyle chuckled to himself. Grasping hands? Maybe he was thinking too much about the rumors.
He turned back round and continued walking. Another branch snapped behind him, this time accompanied by rustling. Independent from that, Kyle picked up his pace. He just wanted to get to the restaurant sooner. He wasn’t afraid that someone was lurking behind him.
The rustling grew more rapid, as if matching his pace with its own. Kyle began moving faster, nearly running. He just really wanted to get to the restaurant. That was all.
Another twig snapped behind him. He broke into a full out run, shoving branches aside and feeling twigs pull on his ratty coat. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could no longer lie to himself that he was just trying to get to the restaurant sooner. He was terrified of something potentially following him. He hoped it was an animal and he could have a good laugh at himself when the fear subsided but, right now, all he was interested in doing was running. Getting away.
Kyle broke through the line of trees and found himself at the reservoir. Already, the body of water was covered in a layer of ice. Gently, he placed his boot on the surface. It didn’t dip but he couldn’t be sure about the rest of the ice. The rustling behind him was growing louder and faster. His pursuer was gaining on him. Kyle looked around the edge of the reservoir. It was too far wide for him to try and run it. He wouldn’t make it. The rustling was growing louder and he knew he’d have to make a decision.
He ran out onto the lake, slipping slightly on the ice as he tried to make a straight shot down the middle. Kyle figured it would be his best bet. Shortest distance; least time on the lake. Then again, he was sure that he was running on pure adrenaline at this point. He heard the crunch of feet on snow and the slight squeak of boots slipping on ice and he knew whoever was after him was on the lake as well. Kyle kept running, trying to touch the fragile surface as few times as possible.
He was halfway across the reservoir when he fell. He had made the mistake-the classic, horror movie mistake-of glancing over his shoulder to see just who it was chasing after him. His right boot slid forward on the ice and he didn’t catch himself in time. Instead, he fell face first onto the ice and scraped his hands. Sixth time cursing his lack of gloves. Kyle floundered, struggling to get to his feet. He felt something icy cold seeping over his hands and saw that the impact of his body landing on the ice caused it to break. He tried to get up but the ice was floating apart. He could only watch himself helplessly slide into the ice-cold, black water. His hands, numb now, fought for purchase on the edge of the ice, hoping against hope to bring himself up.
A boot came smashing down on his hand and Kyle lost his grip. He stared up into the full moon as he started to go down, fast. The light was suddenly black out by a menacing face. A wide, sparkling grin was stretched tight over the shadowy form’s face, somehow illuminated when the rest of their face was hidden. The last thing Kyle remembered before everything went black was a lilting, effete voice telling him,
“And I thought you were going to be the hard one.”
--
Vance’s hand shook as he poured himself a cup of water. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips but he didn’t realize yet that he had to sacrifice either the cig or his newly poured drink as he couldn’t have both at once. Then again, Vance hadn’t gotten any sleep for the past three days. Every time he tried, nightmares plagued him. Violent, grisly nightmares where he watched men around him slaughter strange-looking creatures. At first he thought he was watching too many old sci-fi movies but the dreams felt frighteningly real. By the second night, Vance had all but given up sleeping.
He put the cup down, deciding to just smoke the cigarette. He had been chain-smoking those three, long days and was pretty sure he had shortened his life by at least ten years. His lighter was nearly out of fluid, even, and he wasn’t even sure how that worked.
He lit the cigarette, cupping the flame as if it was a match and he was outdoors. He inhaled deeply and held it before letting the smoke out through his nose. He rushed his fingers through his hair. The three days of sleep-deprivation had put his hair into a strange state. Even stranger than his usual one. His hair never behaved, liking to stand straight up as if he had stuck his finger in an electrical outlet.
Vance stamped out the cigarette despite having just lit it. He was restless, edgy. He needed to get out. He grabbed a light jacket and slipped into it. West City was still fairly warm-the winter chill had yet to set in-but it was four in the morning. Everything was cold at four in the morning.
He had no idea where he was going to go since there was hardly any place open except for that crappy deli with its crappy coffee down the street and probably some fast food places. What he needed, Vance decided, was a drink. However, he had drunk the last of his booze in the middle of the second day and he highly doubted that any bars were open. He looked at the buzzing, neon sign of the deli and sighed. He figured caffeine would probably do.
The deli smelled like stale bread and warmed over mayonnaise and Vance fought the urge to plug his nose as he relayed his order to the bored-looking cashier. He sat in one of the small, sticky booths, waiting for them to pour the burnt, stale coffee into the Styrofoam cup for him. His hands itched for another cigarette but he left his crumpled pack of Camels at home. The bell above the door tinkled and caused him to glance up. Who the hell else was out at this hour except for him and the sad cashier?
A woman walked in, looking every bit as exhausted as he felt. He figured, though, that under normal circumstances, she would be gorgeous. Purple dents were under her eyes and her blue hair was a complete mess. She was dressed down in grungy sweats that were streaked with grease. Vance got up to take his coffee as she relayed her own order to the cashier. Apparently, she was getting one of their horrible sandwiches.
Vance swallowed a mouthful of crappy coffee, scalding his tongue so badly he nearly spat it out. The woman regarded him with a strange look, a smile tugging on her lips.
“Nice,” she complimented him, leaning against the counter.
He wasn’t too exhausted to toss her a death glare. It impressed him, he admitted, that she didn’t falter under it. His friends and co-workers often called him intense whenever he threw that glare their way. He decided he liked her-grease-stained sweats and all.
“I haven’t gotten any sleep for three days,” he admitted, surprised at the cracked sound of his own voice.
“Me neither-working?”
He wasn’t sure of the etiquette of telling complete strangers about nightmares so he just nodded.
“Same here. I’ve been working on this new training machine for my dad’s company. I probably look like hell.”
Even Vance didn’t have the heart to tell her that she did so, instead, he shook his head.
“That’s nice, but I know I do.” She sighed. “But I’m sure the public will be happy when we unveil it tomorrow night at the gala.”
She said the word the same way someone else would say “puke sandwich.” Vance’s tired mind tried to work, trying to place what company and what gala. TV…yes, his good friend the TV. It told him about the unveiling of new technology by-
“You’re Bulma Briefs!” he exclaimed with all the fanfare of Edison with the light bulb. His own voice hurt his ears.
She smirked. “Very good. And you clearly need some rest.”
Sad Cashier handed her a white paper bag presumably housing her sandwich and she smiled at him.
“And you are?” She raised her light blue eyebrows in prompting.
“Vance,” he replied, trying to regain some composure. “Vance Prince.”
“Vance Prince.” Again, a smile tugged on her lips. “Why are you so familiar to me, Vance Prince?”
He shrugged. If he was being honest with himself, Bulma was familiar to him, too. Not just in the way that he saw her in magazines or on television but as if he knew her. Somehow.
Vance wasn’t sure what happened next. How they got from there to here. One moment they were exchanging as witty of repartee as two people who hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours could and the next, she was wrapped around him, kissing him furiously while he desperately tried to get the door to his apartment open.
Then they were on his bed, tearing off each other’s close. It felt different but all the once familiar. Maybe they were so sleep-deprived that they were both acting on pure instinct. The limbic system was in control, making them carnal and animalistic. But it felt…right. Vance wasn’t sure what was happening but holding her, kissing her-kissing Bulma-it felt right.
Afterwards, she looked down at her torn sweatpants on the floor and glanced back at him.
“I don’t usually do that,” she admitted.
He rolled onto his side and ran a hand through his hair. “Me neither.”
Bulma’s hand went to her hair and she twisted some locks around her fingers.
“But…this’ll sound weird but did it feel…right to you?” It was as if she were reading his thoughts. “Like you and me?” She shook her head. “No, that’s silly.”
Vance wanted to tell her that he felt it, too, but didn’t. He still wasn’t thinking entirely straight.
“Hey!” Her blue eyes lit up. “Idea-do you want to come to the gala tomorrow? Get some rest and make yourself all dapper? There’ll be free food and booze.”
At that, he smirked.
“Two of my favorite things. Yeah, sure.”
“Good.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “I’ll stop by here tomorrow with a car and an invitation for you. Who knows, Vance Prince, maybe you being there will make this whole gala thing a bit more fun?”
“Maybe.”
--
Kyle was first aware that he was sleeping on very clean, very scratchy sheets. He was made aware next of the fact that his head was pounding. The third step in his journey to complete awareness was the fact that he was naked under the clean, scratchy sheets. He opened his eyes only to shut them immediately against the harsh light. In his brief glimpse of the outside world, he saw that he was in a white room. Briefly, he wondered if he died and was somehow in Limbo but something told him that wasn’t right.
He tried again, and this time turned his head-against his better judgment what with the throbbing and all-so as not to be blinded. Kyle looked around to find himself in a hospital room, lying in a bed. Memories of last night flooded black sluggishly up until the moment where he fell through the ice.
“H-hello?” he called softly, surprised at how dry and cracked his voice sounded. “Anyone?”
How had he gotten to the hospital? Who found him? What about the man who had…what had he said to him. Kyle pressed a hand against his temple, trying to clear his head. Something scratched his cheek. He looked down to see the hospital bracelet around his wrist. In plain black lettering was his name: ARROT, KYLE. Something about it wasn’t right, though. Like it wasn’t really his name.
“Hello?” he tried again, straining his throat in an effort to be louder.
He looked around, fighting the pounding in his head to try and find a call button. Locating it, he pressed down on it and held it. In moments, a harried-looking nurse came in, eyes wide.
“Mr. Arrot!” she said happily. “You’re awake!”
Arrot, there it was again. Arrot. Kyle Arrot. That was his name. Why didn’t it sound right?
He nodded and the nurse busied herself with getting him a cup of water.
“You gave everyone a scare, young man,” she said in a chirpy sort of voice as she poured water from a pale pink pitcher into a cup. “Luckily someone had seen you go in the woods or else you’d be one sunk kid.”
She laughed at her own dark joke and helped Kyle drink the cold water. It soothed his throat and, when next he spoke, the dryness was gone.
“There was someone…” He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head. “There was someone chasing me.”
The nurse paused and gave him a concerned look. “What?”
Kyle cleared his throat and tried again. “A man…I think. I’m not sure. I didn’t see their face. But they were chasing me. They chased me out onto the reservoir and then I fell in and…”
He trailed off, realizing how ridiculous he sounded. The nurse eyed him skeptically. Kyle swallowed dryly as the remaining memories petered in. What they said.
And I thought you were going to be the hard one…
What did that mean?
“Mr. Arrot…yours were the only footprints found out there.” The nurse spoke slowly and enunciated as if she was talking to a child. “Are you sure you didn’t just hear something and imagine someone chasing you? The woods at night in winter can be a little disorienting.”
Kyle put his fingers against his temples again. She was probably right. He had been imagining the bright-toothed man blacking out the moon. He was full of adrenaline and cold air. Fear and stuff.
“Maybe…”
The nurse smiled and took the cup away from him.
“Just try and get some rest. And don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
She left him and Kyle lay back down on the pillow. He knew he needed some rest. His head was killing him. He glanced at the bracelet around his wrist again. Glanced at his name. ARROT, KYLE. Why did that seem so wrong?
--
Vance wasn’t used to the paparazzi and he was suddenly feeling the urge to kill them all. He held his hand out for a moment and then frowned at it. What in the hell did he think he was going to do with an outstretched hand?
They were hounding him because he was on Bulma’s arm, being led into the convention center where the gala was to be held. They wanted to know about her new “mystery man” and probably why he looked like a gaunt cadaver with hair that stood on end. He had tried to get some sleep after she left him, leaving nothing but a warm spot on the bed and a lingering fragrance of something flowery, but again nightmares came to him. He honestly didn’t want to go to the Gala but Bulma had gone through the trouble of securing him an invite. Plus, he wanted to go…if it was with her. Then again, Bulma could have said, “Hey, Vance, wanna sort tin cans with me for eight hours?” and he would want to do that as well. He wasn’t sure why she entranced him so much and so soon but she had.
Past the press and into the convention center, he saw a sea of black tuxes and designer gowns. It was impressive, to say the least, that all these people came here for the unveiling of Capsule Corps’s new technology.
A man near the door caught Vance’s eye. He was huge-built like a professional wrestler-and had a patch of vivid red hair on the top of his head. He stared at him for a moment, confused at why he found the man so familiar but figured he had to be a celebrity of some sort.
“Get ready for ass-kissing,” Bulma murmured, her lips close to his ear. “Everyone loves to try and get up my ass about what we make and it’s kind of gross.”
“I’ll prepare myself,” Vance murmured back.
The wrestler-looking man shifted when he saw him and Vance cocked a brow. Did he recognize him, too? Too bizarre. He was imagining things, clearly.
“That him?” Somehow, the voice managed to reach him over the din of conversation in the convention center.
Vance paused but Bulma didn’t. She walked forward a few steps before she noticed him stop. She turned and cocked a brow.
“What is it?”
Before he could answer, the redheaded man was barreling towards him.
“That’s him,” he said to no one in particular.
Without hesitating, Vance shoved Bulma to the side and stuck his hands out. As the human rhino bore down on him, Vance braced his hands on his shoulders and flipped himself neatly over him. He came around the other side and landed a hard kick into the small of his back.
More men appeared, dressed in suits and looking…strange. Their faces were stretched and malleable-looking as though their skin didn’t fit right on their skulls or they were wearing masks.
“He’s the feisty one, isn’t he?” The tallest of them turned to a shorter man who seemed to be in pancake makeup.
“He ought to be. He’s the prince, remember?”
Prince? Vance tuned them out. Just reacted. He brought his hands together before slamming his arms down on the head of one of the men.
“Terrorists!” A woman’s voice hit his ears.
“Attacking that short kid!”
“Should we help?”
“I think he’s-got it?”
Vance tuned them out as well. His own blood pounded in his ears as he kicked and punched the five men who had descended on him. Something about what he was doing felt right. His mind went back to the nightmares. Blood, carnage. Yes, this felt right.
His hands burned as if they were aching to let out some of that heat in a way he didn’t understand. He continued hitting them, kicking and punching and flipping as if he were some great warrior and not an underfed intern living in a crappy apartment down the street from an all-night deli.
He was running on pure adrenaline. In the back of his head, he heard the guests at the gala screaming. He felt the five men deliver hits and punches to him as he tried to fight them on his own. And then he heard Bulma’s voice, as clear as crystal, calling to him.
“Vegeta! Vegeta, stop it! People are staring, Vegeta! Behave yourself!”
Vegeta…who was that? Was that him? A voice even further back in the far reaches of his mind whispered, yes. Yes, it was him. He was Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans.
Vance snapped back to himself and saw that his suit was in ruins and he was staring at five unconscious men on the floor. He remembered looking at the pro-wrestler look-alike and then…nothing. He ran a weary hand over his face and sighed. He really needed sleep.
“What happened?” he asked Bulma, who still stood next to him.
“What happened?” Her eyebrows shot straight up. “You went all Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon all over those terrorists. That’s what happened!”
Slowly, foggy memories returned. The fight. Her calling to him…
“What was that you were yelling at me?” he asked, crinkling his brow. “While I was fighting them?”
Bulma blinked her eyes in confusion. “I was yelling at you? I don’t…I don’t remember that. I just remember that guy running towards you and those other four jumping out of nowhere and you handing them their asses. Why, what did you hear?”
Vance frowned. “You were telling me to stop and…behave myself. And you called me something.”
“What?” She put a hand on his arm.
He grasped for the word-the name-she had called him. “You called me Vegeta.”
“Veh-what?”
He shook his head.
“I have no idea. You were yelling it and you were calling me it.” He brought a hand to his head. “I think I’m going to go home. I need some rest.”
Bulma nodded. “I think…I’ll go, too. Tonight’s been a bit, um, exciting already.”
“It’s your gala,” he argued.
“That I don’t even want to go to. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She took his arm gently and led him from the convention center. In the distance, Vance could hear police sirens and wasn’t in the mood to be questioned over something he didn’t even understand. He tried to piece together what else of the fight was missing. One of them called him a prince but he had to have misheard. His last name was Prince. He wasn’t one.
He just knew he had to get some sleep.
Fandom: Dragon Ball Z (AU)
Chapter: I: Sleep
Character(s): several
Pairing(s): several
Word Count: ~4100
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Akira Toriyama does along with assorted others.
Warnings: some violence, sex, swearing, etc.
Author's Note: AU that's been bothering me for the past few weeks
Summary: A strange entity has taken the memories from the heroes: their lives, their powers, even their names. And given them normal lives. Why?
--
Kyle glanced at his watch and cursed softly under his breath. He was running late. Not that that wasn’t to be expected. His friends knew by now that he was never on time. They often joked about him setting his watch ahead so he could get places when he was supposed to. Other times they joked about him needing teleportation to be on time. Kyle would smile good-naturedly but their comments did sting after a while. He could just imagine what they would say when he arrived at the restaurant.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and wished for the fifth time that night that he had thought to bring gloves. He forgot how cold it got so soon in North City. He moved his feet up and down a little in a strange imitation of a march, trying to get blood flowing. He knew standing on the icy sidewalk was just going to make him later but he couldn’t quite get himself to leave yet. Kyle glanced across the street at the cropping of woods that seemed so out of place in the city. They sheltered the reservoir and, on the other side, was where he needed to be. The other side of town.
The gears in Kyle’s mind began to turn. He could try his luck with a taxi but cabs seemed to know that he was flat broke and didn’t stop for him. Either that or they had a thing against lanky boys with unruly black hair. He could try and walk and end up being a half hour late and get berated through the appetizer. Or-and as he thought of it, a smile formed on his face-or he could just cut through the woods and around the reservoir. His friends wouldn’t be able to make fun of him, then. It halved his journey. He would get there on time.
The answer was obvious.
Kyle stepped off of the curb and hurried across the street. He ducked along the chain-link fence that surrounded the wooded area and pushed aside a “NO TRESPASSING” sign that covered a hole. Slipping through, he felt like he was a teenager again, sneaking out past curfew. Not that Kyle really remembered his teenaged years. Again, this was a constant joke amongst his friends, saying how he was too wasted to remember them.
He walked through the woods, pushing aside branches and making sure not to jab himself in the eye. Kyle wasn’t sure why this place was forbidden. It was just some woods and the reservoir. Sure, it provided water most of the city but it wasn’t like that water wasn’t going to be treated after it left the area.
There were stories, of course, of strange goings on that happened at the reservoir. Cult ceremonies, murders, that sort of thing. Kyle usually laughed them off. Those kinds of things happened everywhere not just in the small wooded area at the reservoir.
Kyle continued walking, picking up his pace a little. He was nearly at the reservoir, now. A small smile twitched onto his face. He’d show them. He’d be on time.
A branch snapped behind him. He whirled around but saw nothing but darkness. Light from the moon penetrated the trees and highlighted some of the branches, making them look like grasping hands. Kyle chuckled to himself. Grasping hands? Maybe he was thinking too much about the rumors.
He turned back round and continued walking. Another branch snapped behind him, this time accompanied by rustling. Independent from that, Kyle picked up his pace. He just wanted to get to the restaurant sooner. He wasn’t afraid that someone was lurking behind him.
The rustling grew more rapid, as if matching his pace with its own. Kyle began moving faster, nearly running. He just really wanted to get to the restaurant. That was all.
Another twig snapped behind him. He broke into a full out run, shoving branches aside and feeling twigs pull on his ratty coat. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could no longer lie to himself that he was just trying to get to the restaurant sooner. He was terrified of something potentially following him. He hoped it was an animal and he could have a good laugh at himself when the fear subsided but, right now, all he was interested in doing was running. Getting away.
Kyle broke through the line of trees and found himself at the reservoir. Already, the body of water was covered in a layer of ice. Gently, he placed his boot on the surface. It didn’t dip but he couldn’t be sure about the rest of the ice. The rustling behind him was growing louder and faster. His pursuer was gaining on him. Kyle looked around the edge of the reservoir. It was too far wide for him to try and run it. He wouldn’t make it. The rustling was growing louder and he knew he’d have to make a decision.
He ran out onto the lake, slipping slightly on the ice as he tried to make a straight shot down the middle. Kyle figured it would be his best bet. Shortest distance; least time on the lake. Then again, he was sure that he was running on pure adrenaline at this point. He heard the crunch of feet on snow and the slight squeak of boots slipping on ice and he knew whoever was after him was on the lake as well. Kyle kept running, trying to touch the fragile surface as few times as possible.
He was halfway across the reservoir when he fell. He had made the mistake-the classic, horror movie mistake-of glancing over his shoulder to see just who it was chasing after him. His right boot slid forward on the ice and he didn’t catch himself in time. Instead, he fell face first onto the ice and scraped his hands. Sixth time cursing his lack of gloves. Kyle floundered, struggling to get to his feet. He felt something icy cold seeping over his hands and saw that the impact of his body landing on the ice caused it to break. He tried to get up but the ice was floating apart. He could only watch himself helplessly slide into the ice-cold, black water. His hands, numb now, fought for purchase on the edge of the ice, hoping against hope to bring himself up.
A boot came smashing down on his hand and Kyle lost his grip. He stared up into the full moon as he started to go down, fast. The light was suddenly black out by a menacing face. A wide, sparkling grin was stretched tight over the shadowy form’s face, somehow illuminated when the rest of their face was hidden. The last thing Kyle remembered before everything went black was a lilting, effete voice telling him,
“And I thought you were going to be the hard one.”
--
Vance’s hand shook as he poured himself a cup of water. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips but he didn’t realize yet that he had to sacrifice either the cig or his newly poured drink as he couldn’t have both at once. Then again, Vance hadn’t gotten any sleep for the past three days. Every time he tried, nightmares plagued him. Violent, grisly nightmares where he watched men around him slaughter strange-looking creatures. At first he thought he was watching too many old sci-fi movies but the dreams felt frighteningly real. By the second night, Vance had all but given up sleeping.
He put the cup down, deciding to just smoke the cigarette. He had been chain-smoking those three, long days and was pretty sure he had shortened his life by at least ten years. His lighter was nearly out of fluid, even, and he wasn’t even sure how that worked.
He lit the cigarette, cupping the flame as if it was a match and he was outdoors. He inhaled deeply and held it before letting the smoke out through his nose. He rushed his fingers through his hair. The three days of sleep-deprivation had put his hair into a strange state. Even stranger than his usual one. His hair never behaved, liking to stand straight up as if he had stuck his finger in an electrical outlet.
Vance stamped out the cigarette despite having just lit it. He was restless, edgy. He needed to get out. He grabbed a light jacket and slipped into it. West City was still fairly warm-the winter chill had yet to set in-but it was four in the morning. Everything was cold at four in the morning.
He had no idea where he was going to go since there was hardly any place open except for that crappy deli with its crappy coffee down the street and probably some fast food places. What he needed, Vance decided, was a drink. However, he had drunk the last of his booze in the middle of the second day and he highly doubted that any bars were open. He looked at the buzzing, neon sign of the deli and sighed. He figured caffeine would probably do.
The deli smelled like stale bread and warmed over mayonnaise and Vance fought the urge to plug his nose as he relayed his order to the bored-looking cashier. He sat in one of the small, sticky booths, waiting for them to pour the burnt, stale coffee into the Styrofoam cup for him. His hands itched for another cigarette but he left his crumpled pack of Camels at home. The bell above the door tinkled and caused him to glance up. Who the hell else was out at this hour except for him and the sad cashier?
A woman walked in, looking every bit as exhausted as he felt. He figured, though, that under normal circumstances, she would be gorgeous. Purple dents were under her eyes and her blue hair was a complete mess. She was dressed down in grungy sweats that were streaked with grease. Vance got up to take his coffee as she relayed her own order to the cashier. Apparently, she was getting one of their horrible sandwiches.
Vance swallowed a mouthful of crappy coffee, scalding his tongue so badly he nearly spat it out. The woman regarded him with a strange look, a smile tugging on her lips.
“Nice,” she complimented him, leaning against the counter.
He wasn’t too exhausted to toss her a death glare. It impressed him, he admitted, that she didn’t falter under it. His friends and co-workers often called him intense whenever he threw that glare their way. He decided he liked her-grease-stained sweats and all.
“I haven’t gotten any sleep for three days,” he admitted, surprised at the cracked sound of his own voice.
“Me neither-working?”
He wasn’t sure of the etiquette of telling complete strangers about nightmares so he just nodded.
“Same here. I’ve been working on this new training machine for my dad’s company. I probably look like hell.”
Even Vance didn’t have the heart to tell her that she did so, instead, he shook his head.
“That’s nice, but I know I do.” She sighed. “But I’m sure the public will be happy when we unveil it tomorrow night at the gala.”
She said the word the same way someone else would say “puke sandwich.” Vance’s tired mind tried to work, trying to place what company and what gala. TV…yes, his good friend the TV. It told him about the unveiling of new technology by-
“You’re Bulma Briefs!” he exclaimed with all the fanfare of Edison with the light bulb. His own voice hurt his ears.
She smirked. “Very good. And you clearly need some rest.”
Sad Cashier handed her a white paper bag presumably housing her sandwich and she smiled at him.
“And you are?” She raised her light blue eyebrows in prompting.
“Vance,” he replied, trying to regain some composure. “Vance Prince.”
“Vance Prince.” Again, a smile tugged on her lips. “Why are you so familiar to me, Vance Prince?”
He shrugged. If he was being honest with himself, Bulma was familiar to him, too. Not just in the way that he saw her in magazines or on television but as if he knew her. Somehow.
Vance wasn’t sure what happened next. How they got from there to here. One moment they were exchanging as witty of repartee as two people who hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours could and the next, she was wrapped around him, kissing him furiously while he desperately tried to get the door to his apartment open.
Then they were on his bed, tearing off each other’s close. It felt different but all the once familiar. Maybe they were so sleep-deprived that they were both acting on pure instinct. The limbic system was in control, making them carnal and animalistic. But it felt…right. Vance wasn’t sure what was happening but holding her, kissing her-kissing Bulma-it felt right.
Afterwards, she looked down at her torn sweatpants on the floor and glanced back at him.
“I don’t usually do that,” she admitted.
He rolled onto his side and ran a hand through his hair. “Me neither.”
Bulma’s hand went to her hair and she twisted some locks around her fingers.
“But…this’ll sound weird but did it feel…right to you?” It was as if she were reading his thoughts. “Like you and me?” She shook her head. “No, that’s silly.”
Vance wanted to tell her that he felt it, too, but didn’t. He still wasn’t thinking entirely straight.
“Hey!” Her blue eyes lit up. “Idea-do you want to come to the gala tomorrow? Get some rest and make yourself all dapper? There’ll be free food and booze.”
At that, he smirked.
“Two of my favorite things. Yeah, sure.”
“Good.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “I’ll stop by here tomorrow with a car and an invitation for you. Who knows, Vance Prince, maybe you being there will make this whole gala thing a bit more fun?”
“Maybe.”
--
Kyle was first aware that he was sleeping on very clean, very scratchy sheets. He was made aware next of the fact that his head was pounding. The third step in his journey to complete awareness was the fact that he was naked under the clean, scratchy sheets. He opened his eyes only to shut them immediately against the harsh light. In his brief glimpse of the outside world, he saw that he was in a white room. Briefly, he wondered if he died and was somehow in Limbo but something told him that wasn’t right.
He tried again, and this time turned his head-against his better judgment what with the throbbing and all-so as not to be blinded. Kyle looked around to find himself in a hospital room, lying in a bed. Memories of last night flooded black sluggishly up until the moment where he fell through the ice.
“H-hello?” he called softly, surprised at how dry and cracked his voice sounded. “Anyone?”
How had he gotten to the hospital? Who found him? What about the man who had…what had he said to him. Kyle pressed a hand against his temple, trying to clear his head. Something scratched his cheek. He looked down to see the hospital bracelet around his wrist. In plain black lettering was his name: ARROT, KYLE. Something about it wasn’t right, though. Like it wasn’t really his name.
“Hello?” he tried again, straining his throat in an effort to be louder.
He looked around, fighting the pounding in his head to try and find a call button. Locating it, he pressed down on it and held it. In moments, a harried-looking nurse came in, eyes wide.
“Mr. Arrot!” she said happily. “You’re awake!”
Arrot, there it was again. Arrot. Kyle Arrot. That was his name. Why didn’t it sound right?
He nodded and the nurse busied herself with getting him a cup of water.
“You gave everyone a scare, young man,” she said in a chirpy sort of voice as she poured water from a pale pink pitcher into a cup. “Luckily someone had seen you go in the woods or else you’d be one sunk kid.”
She laughed at her own dark joke and helped Kyle drink the cold water. It soothed his throat and, when next he spoke, the dryness was gone.
“There was someone…” He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head. “There was someone chasing me.”
The nurse paused and gave him a concerned look. “What?”
Kyle cleared his throat and tried again. “A man…I think. I’m not sure. I didn’t see their face. But they were chasing me. They chased me out onto the reservoir and then I fell in and…”
He trailed off, realizing how ridiculous he sounded. The nurse eyed him skeptically. Kyle swallowed dryly as the remaining memories petered in. What they said.
And I thought you were going to be the hard one…
What did that mean?
“Mr. Arrot…yours were the only footprints found out there.” The nurse spoke slowly and enunciated as if she was talking to a child. “Are you sure you didn’t just hear something and imagine someone chasing you? The woods at night in winter can be a little disorienting.”
Kyle put his fingers against his temples again. She was probably right. He had been imagining the bright-toothed man blacking out the moon. He was full of adrenaline and cold air. Fear and stuff.
“Maybe…”
The nurse smiled and took the cup away from him.
“Just try and get some rest. And don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
She left him and Kyle lay back down on the pillow. He knew he needed some rest. His head was killing him. He glanced at the bracelet around his wrist again. Glanced at his name. ARROT, KYLE. Why did that seem so wrong?
--
Vance wasn’t used to the paparazzi and he was suddenly feeling the urge to kill them all. He held his hand out for a moment and then frowned at it. What in the hell did he think he was going to do with an outstretched hand?
They were hounding him because he was on Bulma’s arm, being led into the convention center where the gala was to be held. They wanted to know about her new “mystery man” and probably why he looked like a gaunt cadaver with hair that stood on end. He had tried to get some sleep after she left him, leaving nothing but a warm spot on the bed and a lingering fragrance of something flowery, but again nightmares came to him. He honestly didn’t want to go to the Gala but Bulma had gone through the trouble of securing him an invite. Plus, he wanted to go…if it was with her. Then again, Bulma could have said, “Hey, Vance, wanna sort tin cans with me for eight hours?” and he would want to do that as well. He wasn’t sure why she entranced him so much and so soon but she had.
Past the press and into the convention center, he saw a sea of black tuxes and designer gowns. It was impressive, to say the least, that all these people came here for the unveiling of Capsule Corps’s new technology.
A man near the door caught Vance’s eye. He was huge-built like a professional wrestler-and had a patch of vivid red hair on the top of his head. He stared at him for a moment, confused at why he found the man so familiar but figured he had to be a celebrity of some sort.
“Get ready for ass-kissing,” Bulma murmured, her lips close to his ear. “Everyone loves to try and get up my ass about what we make and it’s kind of gross.”
“I’ll prepare myself,” Vance murmured back.
The wrestler-looking man shifted when he saw him and Vance cocked a brow. Did he recognize him, too? Too bizarre. He was imagining things, clearly.
“That him?” Somehow, the voice managed to reach him over the din of conversation in the convention center.
Vance paused but Bulma didn’t. She walked forward a few steps before she noticed him stop. She turned and cocked a brow.
“What is it?”
Before he could answer, the redheaded man was barreling towards him.
“That’s him,” he said to no one in particular.
Without hesitating, Vance shoved Bulma to the side and stuck his hands out. As the human rhino bore down on him, Vance braced his hands on his shoulders and flipped himself neatly over him. He came around the other side and landed a hard kick into the small of his back.
More men appeared, dressed in suits and looking…strange. Their faces were stretched and malleable-looking as though their skin didn’t fit right on their skulls or they were wearing masks.
“He’s the feisty one, isn’t he?” The tallest of them turned to a shorter man who seemed to be in pancake makeup.
“He ought to be. He’s the prince, remember?”
Prince? Vance tuned them out. Just reacted. He brought his hands together before slamming his arms down on the head of one of the men.
“Terrorists!” A woman’s voice hit his ears.
“Attacking that short kid!”
“Should we help?”
“I think he’s-got it?”
Vance tuned them out as well. His own blood pounded in his ears as he kicked and punched the five men who had descended on him. Something about what he was doing felt right. His mind went back to the nightmares. Blood, carnage. Yes, this felt right.
His hands burned as if they were aching to let out some of that heat in a way he didn’t understand. He continued hitting them, kicking and punching and flipping as if he were some great warrior and not an underfed intern living in a crappy apartment down the street from an all-night deli.
He was running on pure adrenaline. In the back of his head, he heard the guests at the gala screaming. He felt the five men deliver hits and punches to him as he tried to fight them on his own. And then he heard Bulma’s voice, as clear as crystal, calling to him.
“Vegeta! Vegeta, stop it! People are staring, Vegeta! Behave yourself!”
Vegeta…who was that? Was that him? A voice even further back in the far reaches of his mind whispered, yes. Yes, it was him. He was Vegeta, prince of all Saiyans.
Vance snapped back to himself and saw that his suit was in ruins and he was staring at five unconscious men on the floor. He remembered looking at the pro-wrestler look-alike and then…nothing. He ran a weary hand over his face and sighed. He really needed sleep.
“What happened?” he asked Bulma, who still stood next to him.
“What happened?” Her eyebrows shot straight up. “You went all Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon all over those terrorists. That’s what happened!”
Slowly, foggy memories returned. The fight. Her calling to him…
“What was that you were yelling at me?” he asked, crinkling his brow. “While I was fighting them?”
Bulma blinked her eyes in confusion. “I was yelling at you? I don’t…I don’t remember that. I just remember that guy running towards you and those other four jumping out of nowhere and you handing them their asses. Why, what did you hear?”
Vance frowned. “You were telling me to stop and…behave myself. And you called me something.”
“What?” She put a hand on his arm.
He grasped for the word-the name-she had called him. “You called me Vegeta.”
“Veh-what?”
He shook his head.
“I have no idea. You were yelling it and you were calling me it.” He brought a hand to his head. “I think I’m going to go home. I need some rest.”
Bulma nodded. “I think…I’ll go, too. Tonight’s been a bit, um, exciting already.”
“It’s your gala,” he argued.
“That I don’t even want to go to. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She took his arm gently and led him from the convention center. In the distance, Vance could hear police sirens and wasn’t in the mood to be questioned over something he didn’t even understand. He tried to piece together what else of the fight was missing. One of them called him a prince but he had to have misheard. His last name was Prince. He wasn’t one.
He just knew he had to get some sleep.