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Wishes of the Fallen	By : SaiyanGirl Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 4331 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own DragonballZ, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Title: Wishes of the Fallen

Author: SaiyanGirl (SaiyanGirl@Gmail.com)

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Goku/Vegeta, Vegeta/Goku, implied Goku/Chichi, implied Gohan/Videl, others are a surprise! ^_~

Warning: Minor A/U, a tiny bit OOC, Language, Violence, Death, Angst, Yaoi, Graphic Lemon

Disclaimer: All copyrighted characters appearing in this story were created by Akira Toriyama, and appear without expressed permission. Any original characters appearing are the intellectual property of the author, SaiyanGirl.

Special Thanks: A HUGE Thank You goes to Katiefoolery for beta'ing this fic. She is absolutely amazing! Without her, this story would never have been worthy of posting!

Soundtrack for Chapter Ten:

     Neverending White Lights - From What I Once Was (Act 1: Goodbye Friends of the Heavenly Bodies, 2005)

     Evanescence - Hello (Fallen, 2003)

     OOMPH! - I'm Going Down (Warheit oder Pflicht, 2004)

All soundtrack selections are available on iTunes.

Please Note: For all Soundtrack Discliamer Information, please see The Prologue.

Chapter Eleven - Lost

     "Unnnhhh!!! Mmnnhh! Unnghhff!! Nnnggghh!!"
     'Shut up...'
     Darkness enveloped the room, blankly carpeting the interior in a dull mix of black and blue as it roamed within spacious walls. The room was a canvas for the sterile colours of technology: mundane taupes giving way to the darkness, surrendering to the reds, whites and depressing orange that bled through blinded windows. Together, they melted into a modern design of streaks and disfigured shapes spilt all over the walls and carpet, creeping inexorably towards a thick leg hanging lazily over the side of a plush leather couch. With his toes dipping into the light, a lone Saiyan teenager lay still, his mind lost to chaos as his body remained dormant.
     Clutching at a blanket far too small for his frame, Goten lay restless against the omnipresent touch and smell of expensive leather, wallowing in bolstered sorrow. Cold snapped at his feet, the air silently sweeping throughout the room from conditioned vents as it tried to freeze everything within its grasp. It chilled his skin, hardened his nipples - he didn't dignify its presence. He couldn't even feel it. He couldn't feel anything. His mind was torn to pieces, violently spinning in a devastated circle of destruction as his wide eyes stared unseen at distant blinking reds. Cold was no longer part of his universe. Nothing was.
     'Nothing...'
     "Mmmnnhh... mmmnnhhh... mmmnnhhh... nnnnhhh!!"
     He had nothing.

     He had no one.
     No family, no friends, no parents, no home... no life. Everything had been ripped from his life in an instant, leaving him nothing but a refugee of his former life. No food, no clothes, no books, no bed...

     Nothing was all he had left.
     Outside, the red continued to feint: the caution lights of a distant high-rise blinking against a solid canvas of dark, blindly living out their meaningful existence. They had a purpose; he didn't. He'd lost it.
     He'd lost everything.
     "Unnff! Unnff--fuck!! Mnnngghh--yyess!! Yes!! Mngh--right there!"
     'Ugghh...'
     Goten rolled to one side, failing to notice the blanket as it slipped to the floor, exposing his skin to the chilling artificial temperature. He blinked his sight away from his distant friends, impassively tracing shadows painted upon the walls before resting on another modern glow of technology, blindly accepting the information offered.
     'Two fifty eight...'
     Two fifty eight: nearly fourteen hours since he'd arrived, nearly fourteen hours since he'd first made contact with the couch he was lying on. Fourteen hours since he'd landed in the middle of downtown West City, never once raising his sight from the ground under his feet. Sidewalks had given way to tiles, tiles to polished floors, floors to carpeted elevators. Thirty seven floors up, door number thirty-seven-zero-two - six rooms, two bedrooms, one kitchen, one bathroom, two couches, one bed.
     Fourteen hours... they'd been gone for fourteen hours already. His mother, his father, his best friend and mentor - they weren't here. None of them ever would be. He was on the wrong side of the continent, violently torn from his real life and imprisoned within a living nightmare thirty-seven stories above sea level. A nightmare he dared not escape - it was the only way he could see them, still smiling every time he shut his eyes. They only brought fresh tears, pouring along the trails carved down his face by their predecessors.
     "Mnngghh!! Unnhhfff--yeahh! Mnnggff--fuck me! Fuck me!!"
     From behind a distant door, the moans and cries emerged, spilling out into the living room where Goten lay. He'd lost track of when they'd started - higher pitched screaming mixed with lower tenor grunts; a passionate choir of the obscene to keep him awake with his tormented thoughts. He was nearly fifteen - he knew exactly what they were doing. The internet was a universal teacher...

     He just wished they weren't so fucking loud.
     'Shut up.'
     With a heavy sigh, he rolled onto his back, the leather creaking under him as he ignored its icy grasp. He glanced down, barely noticing the pale moonlight painting his exposed skin, his black trunks fading into the encroaching darkness. Fade to black... how he wished it could be so simple - to blend into darkness and disappear forever. It might as well have already happened as far as his brother was concerned, having not spoken a word to him beyond, "TV's there, bathroom's there, our room's there. The couch is yours."
     It didn't even matter. Goten hadn't moved from the couch since he'd collapsed, unable to do anything beyond stare blindly at various objects around the room. A polished sculpture, a painting he'd recognized from a textbook - nuances of an upper-middle class Human existence trapped within the metropolitan fortifications of glass and steel. His father stood proudly in the corner, his thick arm reaching to the sky while his mother sat poetically on the far wall - incarnations of his own hopeless illusions. Everywhere he looked, they were there, watching him, smiling at him, making him silently sob into the shirt of his school uniform.
     "Unngh! Mnnff! Haahh! Nnnngghhh!!"
     'Shut the hell up...'
     Two hours, three hours - how long could they keep it up? It hadn't been so loud at first, but after a while they'd both just let loose like they'd forgotten they weren't alone.
     'Hah...'
     Goten snorted. Forgotten... how he suddenly knew the feeling all too well. Forgotten - by his mom, his dad, his best friend... his family in the other room. Everyone had mistaken him for thin air. Everyone except one. The closest thing he had to any family left.
     "Vegeta..."
     The name evaporated into the conditioned darkness as quickly as it'd left his mouth: a desperate plea silenced by its own futility. Vegeta hadn't forgotten him. Vegeta had promised he'd be back for him. Vegeta had saved his life.

     And he'd attacked him for it.
     Such selfless generosity... re-paid by a vicious strike which had made him bleed.
     "Ooohh!! Mnnff! Huuuhhhh!! Nnnggrrhhh!! Uuuhhhnnnn..."
     Memories of his attacks brought his blood to life, anger surging through his body as his hands clenched his school shirt. He couldn't stand it anymore. Anger and sorrow were the same thing to him - two extremes blended in a malaise of hurt and hate. His parents were dead, his mother by his father's hand, his life torn apart, and now he was forced to listen to his brother fuck his sister-in-law for hours on end as if nothing was wrong.
     'How the hell can he do that?'
     How the hell could Gohan just carry on like nothing happened? Who cared about what the hell he'd done... They were still his parents.
     What the hell was this, a celebration!?
     Rage pumped throughout his body as Goten bolted upright, snatching his school uniform shirt from under his head. Hastily sliding it over his shoulders, he let his mind dissolve into a blur of misdirected anger, thoughts suddenly swarming upon a new-found target. His brother didn't give a living shit about him, or his parents. He'd proven so months ago, and now he was finally free to do whatever the hell he wanted. To him, Goten was only a loose end, an unwanted variable, an extranali-whatever-the-fuck-you-called-it.

     He was nothing more than another fucked-up kid whom Gohan needed to fix, only the bastard wasn't being paid for it.
     "Nnnmmmhh!!!! Unnhhh--oooOOHH fuck, Gohan!! Mnnnggg!! Hhar--unnghh---hharder!!"
     "Shut up!"
     His shout shattered the darkness, only to bounce off the walls and smack him in the face. The grunting and moaning continued.
     'Oh, fuck you...'
     To hell with trying to sleep - he needed to stop it. Needed to stop Gohan's insensitive bullshit - to stop his blatant insult to the proud Saiyan and his wife who remained proudly stoic next to the balcony door. Hell, he needed to stop the insult to him, too - didn't he deserve the godsdamned common courtesy of at least trying to keep it the fuck down?
     Confusion vanished. Shock transmuted into rage within his mind as he stood, convincing him his brother's actions warranted the destruction of entire galaxies. Without a single ounce of hesitation in his blood, Goten jumped the glass coffee table and pounded towards the audible source of his insomnia. Stopping dead at the foot of the door, his ears were assaulted by the noise, his sister-in-law's vocal cords failing to observe any sonic boundaries. Clenching his fist, he angrily pounded the door, making damn sure they heard this time.
     "Will you two shut the hell up!?"
     The noise immediately ceased, replaced by a painfully exaggerated groan and an audible male "uggghh... Fuck..."

     Mattress springs creaked; feet met carpet, the sound of movement muted behind the door. Goten took a few steps back as he watched the shifting of shadowed light from under the door crack - waiting for a reaction, any reaction. His sight flicked upward as the door was violently swung open.
     "What do you want?"
     Goten's eyes nearly burned as the thick scent hit him in the face: the stink of sweaty sex reeking from within its prison. It took only moments before he realized Gohan was ass naked, sweat rolling in long beads along his skin as his musky scent wafted under Goten's nose.
     "Ugh - what?" He could barely make a sound - his senses were overloaded from the sudden shock, shutting down everything but the most basic of instincts. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
     "What?" Gohan's eyes narrowed, his body not moving an inch. "What are you talking about?"
     Shock annexed his soul as Goten stared at the naked male before him, the darkness hiding his roaming eyes. Pale moonlight highlighted every gleaming ridge, bulge and contour of his sweaty muscles, his body visibly pumped from his near three hour work out. His eager sight traced every last bit of that impressive physique, glazing over everything from his erect nipples to the way his ripped abs nearly hid his navel...
     'Wait...!'
     Heat instantly scorched his face as he realized his mistake. He snapped his head up, focusing desperately on a bead of sweat clinging to his brother's neck.
     'What the fuck!?'
     His abs weren't trying to hide his navel. He'd just blatantly stared as his own brother's glistening erection.
     'FUCK! What the hell is wrong with me!?'
     "Well?" The word carried a hint of anger, instantly snapping Goten out of his stupor.
     "Huh? Oh, gods," Goten recovered, his anger quickly returning. "Can't you put some freaking clothes on?"
     "Why should I?" A blank stare accompanied his un-caring tone, that impressive body remaining still in the moonlight.
     "Uh, I'm your brother?"
     "Your point?"
     Goten's face continued to burn, images of his brother's sweaty penis filling his head, animated by the musky scent filling his lungs. "I don't need to see that!"
     His protest earned him a disdainful scoff. "What do you wa--"
     "How can you do that?"
     "Do what?" A single eyebrow moved: the first movement since he'd opened the door.
     "... That!" Goten flared his eyes, trying to gesture at his brother's lewd behavior. All it garnered was a groan from within that toned, sweaty chest.
     "Gods, what do you want?" His tone had dropped further, his annoyance well apparent as he leaned against the doorframe, extending his left arm until it nearly touched the ceiling. A thick wave of heavy musk drowned Goten's senses, his brother's sweaty scent pouring over him like an unwanted shower.
     "Fuck..." was all he could say, his whole body rejecting his brother's stink. "Can't you keep it down? I can't sleep with all the noise you're making." His brother's sharp scent awoke a memory of his entire day, its Human shallowness a pathetic insult in the face of the two he'd sensed that morning. "It sounds like freaking mating season at the zoo in there."
     Another scoff.
     "What's your point?" Gohan's eyes dropped to stare into his, attitude and scorn ripe within them. "It's our place. We're not bothering anyone."
     "Uh, you're bothering me."
     "So?" His retort would have been predictable had it not been so unbelievable. Goten was lost - a fourteen year old telling a grown adult to be quieter while having sex? You couldn't write better shit for TV.
     What could he say? The grown man before him was acting like he was half Goten's age. What the hell worked on seven yea--? "Have you no shame?"
     Gohan reacted instantly, outrage in his eyes as he thankfully lowered his arm to suppress his body's repulsive reek. "I do, in my home, what I want." His voice was flat. His voice was cold.
     "Well yeah, but--"
     "If Videl and I want to make love, we will." His words made Goten's blush nearly glow. His brother, nearly twice his age, talking to him about having sex with his wife - how fucked up could his life get? "If you can't sleep out here, you can try sleeping in my study with the door closed."
     Goten gawked. He was numb - he knew his mouth must be hanging open, leaving him looking like an idiot. Didn't he care? Didn't he give a damn about his own brother?
     'Unbelievable... Un-fucking-believable...'
     He couldn't move, couldn't respond - he couldn't form any thought beyond the five syllable word which bounced off the inner walls of his thick skull. Even as his brother gave him a final disdainful look before taking a step back to close the door...
     "Unbelievable."
     The word stopped Gohan in his tracks. "...What?"
     His brain managed to restart itself as his eyes blankly watched his brother's lips form their word.
     "You're absolutely unbelievable."
     Gohan's dark stare turned into an even darker frown. He emerged from his temple of sweaty sex and quickly pulled the door shut behind him, still refusing to don any sight-restricting clothes.
     "What is your problem?" Those four words were all Goten needed to unleash hell.
     "My problem!?" he shouted, quickly losing control of his tongue. "I watch our parents die right in front of me, and you want to know what my problem is!?" Gohan's face flinched, a resentful flicker flashing in his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. "How the fuck can you act like this? Act like everything is fine!?"
     "Goten, please -" His attitude was gone, suddenly replaced by something which didn't sound nearly as cocky.
     His face burned once more as thoughts of Gohan's shameless, raging erection penetrated his memory, accompanied by the instant recollection of the hours he'd spent listening to them both - memories powerful enough to break through his sudden emotional intensity.
     "How the hell can you be so disrespectful to them? Going on like a... a... a fucking monkey in heat or something!"
     Gohan's entire body tensed in fury. "Don't you fuckin' call me that," he growled, his face dropping into a defensive leer. "Ever."
     "Well excu-se me! I'm not the one carrying on like I've just come home from a fucking strip club!"
     "What the hell is your problem, Goten?" His growls continued, his tone descending into the Human ranges of apathy. "Haven't I done enough for you!?"
     "Enough? Having to listen to you two moan like fucking porn stars while I sleep in my school uniform is enough to you!?" He didn't care that his voice was rebounding off the walls, disturbing the peaceful night - it was payback. Payback which he knew she could hear.
     "Shhh! Gods, Videl can hear you!"
     "Good! I've had to listen to her for the past three and a half hours!"
     "Holy shit, what the hell do you want?" He could tell Gohan was getting desperate, the sweating muscles in his arms flexing as his head flicked back to the closed door behind him. Goten knew he just wanted a way out - to get his brother out of the way so he could go back to her.
     "I want you to act like my brother!"
     The confession burst forth from deep within his teenage body, striking from untold depths. Gohan instantly looked as Goten felt: shock, surprise, confusion - they'd all managed to stake a claim to his pale face.
     For moments, he stood frozen, watching his own expression mirrored in his brother's eyes as Gohan's shallow, sweaty scent swirled around them. Goten mindlessly breathed it in, the stink of aroused Human flowing throughout his body unchecked. With it came its own memories - soaping his own bare skin in the shower, tearing his embarrassed gaze away from his mother's exposed breasts, studying his father's thick, bloodied arm, revolting from the shock of his brother's raging cock, distractedly watching the movement of his mentor's sweaty pecs...
     He blinked. The thought of his parents instantly threw him back into the heartless depths of his new reality. "Don't you care they're gone? Don't you feel the least bit... sad?"
     Gohan's face did not stir.

     "... It's not the first time."
     Goten's heart fell thirty seven stories. The waves of his brother's voice carved out any lasting feeling he had for the man and viciously threw them over the balcony, splattering across some distant concrete used as a personal bathroom by thousands.

     "Gods..." Goten's voice was a furious whisper as he turned his back to the man, quickly distancing himself from the stink of sweaty Human. In a devastated haze, he managed to pull on his pants without much effort.
     "Damnit, now what?" More annoyance. That's all Goten was: an annoyance with a simple correction. "Where do you think you're going?"
     "The fuck do you care?" Goten spat over his shoulder as he threw his feet into his shoes. "Vegeta was right."
     "Vegeta? Right about what?"
     "You are a fucking disgrace."
     Goten turned to glance over his shoulder, his eyes catching the sight of female curves hidden by a large bed sheet. He had no clue how long she had been standing there - he didn't give a shit either. Videl just stood there, a blank, emotionless stare on her face as she looked at him, gradually averting her gaze to the broad sweaty backside of her husband.
     He didn't even look at the naked disgrace flanking her. What the hell was the point - why pay something the respect of observing its presence when it wants nothing more than to be rid of you?

     It wanted a way out - he'd found it.
     It was easy - all he had to do was rip a suit coat from a hanger and swipe a keycard from the counter on his way to the front door. How predictable to find only silence on his heels as he slipped away. No commands to stop, no calls to come back... nothing except the door latching behind him.
     A simple correction to the problem that was Goten.
     The hallway's modern lighting paved his way to the elevators, the lights punctuating the traumatised flatline of his mind. His altitude changed - he didn't notice. He left the elevator, blindly passed through the classy looking atrium, stepped through the front doors of his sister-in-law's building... and didn't sense a thing until he felt the summer's night air gently heating his cool skin.
     He looked to his left. He looked to his right.
     He was lost.

     Lines and colours blurred as he moved: a meaningless haze of grey and silver, a lifeless fog broken only by the occasional sharpness of early-morning advertising. Through humid streets he walked, stepping under pale lights, ignoring the fog of line and colour that swirled as he passed. Reflections of depressing brightness bled their violent reds into the starry sky, masking the unnoticed dawn that crept upon him. There was no direction; there was no purpose: the universe was confined within his own mind.
     Step after step, light after light, he drudged on, his shadow lengthening, shortening, bending with the light as he passed. Each step brought failure upon the static - his body failing to register the temperature, his eyes failing to register his surroundings. There was no reason to continue. There was no reason to cease. One foot in front of the other, one foot back together; all alone, lost within the perpetual march of the destroyed.
     He didn't care.
     Pools of light bathed him as his eyes remained fixed on the concrete, numbly letting instinct guide him into the streets as block after block passed by. He had no idea where he was, what time it was, how long it had been since he'd left the cold of the prison cell - he'd just kept walking through meaningless empty streets. Occasionally his ears would pick up the mindless chatter of the night: gangs and tired-eyed call girls, the language of the street mixing with the business of the underground. He'd heard all about it in high school - the seedy world which came out when the sun went down, how dark and dangerous it was...
     "Hah."
     Dark and dangerous. Somewhere deep inside, he wanted the street to challenge him. The knights of the downtown underground, challenging for the rights to the territory he roamed - how pathetic they all would look as they bled. Human men, their weakness hid behind their powerless weapons - powerless against him. He silently beckoned them, all of them: come at once, attack with all your might, scream for death as you all bleed in unison.
     What Vegeta did to Krillin would be nothing in comparison.
     He would fight them, stop them, silence them all. One after the other; two or ten at a time - each one would fall to the rage his blood demanded he satisfy. Satisfy his want, his need to stand, to fight, to do something for those who couldn't.
     How he wished he could have done something... for her.
     But even the best wasn't enough to stop him.
     Tears flowed down his face as he moved, unwanted memories matching his every leaden step. He could see him: the best his race had to offer, standing in a desert wasteland, sweat rolling down his practically naked body. Heat and strength radiated from his benevolent presence, evaporating off the bulging, sweaty muscles of the Second Degree Super Saiyan as Goten gazed in awe at Vegeta's defiant stance, feeling a rush of inferiority in the face of his mentor's overpowering smugness. The sight stirred a multitude of feelings within the teen - awe, intrigue, inferiority, admiration, inspiration, need, want...
     Vegeta was everything Goten wanted to be: the power, the presence, the phenomenal strength. He was his hero, the one who filled him with an insatiable want, a driving need. The want to improve himself, to strengthen his own physique, to build and grow; the need to be strong, to be powerful - for himself and for everyone who depended upon him.
     'Depending on me... hah...'
     The tears refused to cease as he saw his mentor once more: his stone eyes staring at him, subtly nodding his head - granting him permission and assurance in a single glance. His brow curved, his emerald sight narrowed from the glaring sun, his sweating body stoic - Vegeta was the symbol of all the strength left within himself.
     He left the lights and rumble of the city, hearing them fade away as he traveled back to that moment when those immensely powerful arms were wrapped tightly around his body. His face pressed between Vegeta's bulging chest, his nose trapped between two mounds of unyielding sweaty muscle - on the brink of death, he'd never felt so safe in his life.
     That same strength had granted him permission - permission to go, permission to leave them all behind... permission to run.
     To run to the sanctuary of all that he hated within himself.
     Pain suddenly gripped his heart, his self-hatred forming itself into a ferocious glare that should have forced cracks into the concrete at his feet.

     He couldn't escape it: he was half Human.
     A Saiyan father, a half-Human mother - he and his sister-in-law's husband were both weakened by their Human sides, regardless of how fiery and powerful their source may have been. He lived as a Human on their home world, a planet of nearly eight billion individuals of which only a handful could control their own energy. The rest were doomed to a powerless existence of anxiety and fear - an existence worse than death. A part of him was Human... a part of him was scared. What if he wasn't strong enough? What if he became like his sister-in-law's husband and surrendered to the Human weakness inside?
     It constrained him, chained him, held him back: offering little in return for such a disgusting cost. What good could ever come from such weakness? His hopeless thoughts brought him to a miserable halt, tears silently falling as he gazed around himself. He was in a crack - a thin crevasse deep within the underworld created by the engineering of the technologically adept. Vertical spires in excess of two hundred stories towered over him, their poorly lit fa�ades reflecting off one another as their competing presences were kept at bay by dividing lines of yellow and traffic lights. Everything glared painfully in his eyes, passing by in a blur of colours and lights until an old neon sign caught his attention enough to garner a glance in its direction.
     As he turned, Goten was greeted by a dreary, run-down storefront, an ancient neon glass-tube sign flickering desperately as if trying with all its might to stay alive. From the barred windows to the spray-painted grates of the mental door, his eyes were treated to the glorious presentation of what he gathered was a twenty-four hour pawn shop, its cheap, dim lighting barely able to illuminate the high-impulse items hanging behind the iron and glass. Guns, knives, TVs, BluRay players, power tools, musical instruments - the random assortment spun together in a collector's edition of lies, debt, theft and debauchery. In the pathetic presentation of a shady, run-down business, he saw the entirety of his weaker half. The technology, the crime, the hate, the hurt, the creativity...
     'What?'
     Without conscious thought, his eyes were drawn to the top right corner of the window, his skin suddenly tingling with the warmth only comfort and familiarity could bring.
     "Is that a DiCardo?" He spoke to his reflection as he approached the window, his eyes fixed upon the soft mahogany and beechwood finish which held six strings tightly across its polished body. Through the dim lighting he studied the object, the acoustic guitar suspended ominously above his head. Eyes traced over the signifying features as he wished his fingers could - the signature fret dots, the craftsmanship of the engravings, the lacquered shine of the crash pad... "What the hell is that doing there?"
     It was the secret love of his life. His soul had two true callings: one was to stand beside his mentor in battle, superior in size but equal in strength... the other was his one guilty pleasure in life: to play guitar. Staring at the sheer magnificence in the DiCardo's craftsmanship, Goten remembered the first guitar he'd ever played: the black acoustic his parents had bought him for his ninth birthday after months of non-stop hints and outright nagging. Between school and training, he'd spent night after night strumming away on the thing in his room, teaching himself chords to his favourite songs from illegal tutorials on the internet. His Saiyan reflexes enhanced his fingers' dexterity - an advantage he'd discovered by the time he was ten. From there, the sky wasn't even his limit.
     But it was gone, along with the guitar he'd bought himself after his first: absorbed into a blinding flash which destroyed lives and shattered dreams. Now... he was lost, alone and had absolutely nothing to his name beyond the clothes on his back. Feh - except the jacket over his shoulders was stolen...
     Fuck it. That guitar didn't belong there. It needed saving, just like he did. A fragment of a memory, taunting him from behind glass and iron, pleading to be reunited with someone who could truly appreciate its worth. It was a piece of his past, a piece of his home...
     It was something he could have back.
     He glanced around the guitar, unable to find any advertised price. What good would it do if he didn't have any money? Desperation suddenly pushed him to open his stolen jacket, hoping for some piece of good in this demented Hell. Surprise forced his eyes wide as he spotted a bundle of his sister-in-law's husband's cash stretching the fabric against his shirt. He was sure there was more than enough in there. There had to be.
     Closing his jacket, Goten wiped his eyes, doing his best to compose himself before placing a hand on the door and pushing it open.
     The sharp blaring of cheap technology attacked his ears as he passed through the doorway, the loud entry bell alerting the building of his entrance. The interior looked no better than its pathetic storefront: shoddy looking shelves supported various unorganized items throughout the seedy establishment, larger objects of impulsive value littered along the floor. Along the far wall stood a brightly lit glass display case, a five-hundred year old cash register loosely sitting atop various objects of stolen jewelry and weaponry. To call it a dive would have been generous - the place looked like a forgotten ground zero of metropolitan decay.
     He'd barely taken a step within the living dilapidation before the rattling of a beaded curtain alerted him to the emergence of a random male. An aged Human face and biker outfit greeted him, his unhealthily fat frame doing nothing to improve his demeanor. He was exactly what Goten was looking for: a street knight; a Human knee-deep in the criminal underworld. One narrowed glare from his dark eyes told Goten all he needed to know about the man. His past, written in tattoos along his neck; his present, drawn by the mild discoloration of healing wounds to his face; his future...

     Goten didn't care.
     "We're closed." His deep voice rasped over the display case, his wide frame trying its best to intimidate.
     "The sign outside says twenty four hours." He was bored of this shit already. It was going to take a whole lot more than an old biker to intimidate the apprentice of the Saiyan Royal Family.
     "What d'ya want?" He flared his shoulders as Goten watched, unimpressed at the Human's effort.
     "I wanna see the DiCardo in the window."
     The guy scoffed. "Yeah, right." Goten failed to react - he just stared lazily into the man's eyes until he shifted his weight and muttered, "Get out of here, kid."
     "How much do you want for it?"
     At last, a response - a flicker of greed entering his eyes. "How much you got?" His pressing question had passed through the man's reconstructed skull, his shoulders lowering a little as a gleam entered his eyes.
     "Enough."
     The biker folded his arms across his unkempt chest, creating unsightly bulges of fat on his broad frame. "Show me."
     Without taking his eyes away from the man, Goten slowly opened his stolen jacket, pulling a few of the bills from his pocket before stuffing them back in. "You gonna get it for me, or what?"
     The man's eyes narrowed. "How much fuckin' crack have you smoked tonight, kid?" Goten nearly snorted - the guy was smart enough to notice his bloodshot eyes. It nearly made him laugh. "That's nowhere near enough."
     "How do I know it's real?" Goten took a step forward, keeping his entire posture lazy and unthreatening. "I mean, why would you give a shit? So long as you can rip someone off, right?
     "Fuck you, kid. Get out."
     The knight's insult formed a smirk upon Goten's face, his feet taking another step forward. "I'll give you five hundred for it."
     A part of him was scared - it wanted him to leave. Within him, they screamed: his Human genetics confessing their weakness as they pleaded with him. They wanted him out of the shop, away from the dangerous underworld he'd innocently wandered into. They wanted him back among the clouds, safe within the confines of higher wealth and culture.

     They wanted control.
     "You a fuckin' wiseass, you little shit?" The man's left hand moved under the counter, his eyes narrowing further as Goten stepped forward once more. "You think that's enough?"
     "For a fake, yeah."
     Control which they couldn't have.
     "That's real beech on that shit," he said, his right arm rising to point at the back of the instrument. "Fifteen hundred."
     "How the fuck would you know?"
     Another step forward, another lash upon his weakness. He wasn't going to run; he wasn't going anywhere no matter how pathetically the voices begged inside. A fire was raging: burning deep inside, engulfing his core as each step fueled the need. The lash cracked; they screamed - the voices of weakness desperately trying to hold him back, keep him back. Keep him from embracing his true feral nature and enrapturing himself in pure unadulterated power.
     "Six fifty."
     He didn't hear them.
     "Fuck off. Get the fuck out of here."
     "Not without the guitar." He could feel it surging along his veins, coursing throughout his body, empowering the tensing muscles he'd worked so hard to develop. A furious passion of ecstasy danced joyously along his nerves, heralding the horrific forthcoming of his own rage. The cry of his mother, the power of his father, the ominous presence of his mentor: fragments of emotion melting together in a volatile supernova of strength and pride. "I'll give you seven fifty. It's all I got."
     The Saiyan within him came to life, sharpening his vision while gracing his face with a ferociously dangerous smirk. He took one last step, his smugness growing as he felt his muscles flex to their true, impressive size under his clothes. As he viciously stared the taller man down, he was on the edge: all but willing to dive straight into freefall and embrace who he truly was.
     "Bullshit." The man did not stir. His hands remained still behind the counter, his left arm turned to suggest there was something in his hand - Goten hoped there was. "With the amount of fuckin' blow you've done tonight, you can't tell me you don't have fifteen hundred."
     "Gave it all to my dealer." Sure, he'd play along - use the words of the underground: an exchange between two Human beings of the night. Only this Human wasn't staring into Human eyes - weakness was meeting the glare of devastating Saiyan superiority. Fuck reason, fuck fear, fuck weakness - he wanted the man to have a knife in his hands; a gun, a bat, whatever the fuck he wanted. He wanted him to use it, to feel at his most powerful right at the exact moment he realized his pathetically absolute weakness in the eyes of sheer superiority. "Seven fifty: take it or leave it."
     "Get the fuck out!" The man moved - Goten's body flexed in anticipation. His eyes flared as it came from behind the counter: a large serrated knife tightly gripped in angry fist. He raised it to Goten's neck, turning the point within inches of his teenage flesh. "Fuck off before I fuckin' cut your junkie ass up and run a fucking train through you!"
     Goten refused to move. Body flexed, breathing calm - the only reaction he allowed the man to see was the widening smirk upon his face. It was all he needed: a simple insult, a useless threat...
     A challenge.
     Without a second's hesitation, Goten grasped the man's wrist as his left hand grabbed the collar of his shirt, his heavy muscles flexing as he forced the weak to move. His entire body was ablaze in a chaotic fury of power and pride, his Saiyan instincts in full control as they cried out in blissful ecstatic release, swelling his nerves with their overwhelming strength.
     Shock enslaved the knight's face as Goten forced him down against the case - down to stare into his burning eyes. The arm strained in Goten's grasp, sending a fresh rush of power and excitement through his body - he wouldn't grant the pathetic wretch a single inch. Years of cheap booze and illegal tobacco filled his senses as he pulled the man closer, closer until the crooked nose nearly touched his own. There, he could stare into the man's eyes - he could see his entire existence. His wants, his fears - Goten could read his soul...
     ...it was scared.
     His body raged, pride throbbing from his heart as the Saiyan within him blazed in a glorious rush of strength and power. Walls of vicious fire roared the call of his feral instincts, flashing across his flexed body as they awoke, exploding throughout his very being.
     Goten stared directly into the man's eyes, watching a flicker of panic cross them as his own flashed a heartless frozen emerald.
     He was alive.
     "Try it."
     A violent crack struck a sharpened chord along his nerves as he snapped the Human's wrist in an inhuman direction, the clang of the blade mixing with deafening screams of pain as it hit the floor. Instinct blissfully scorched his skin as he released his grip upon the man's shattered wrist, yanking his collar closer, his mouth curved into a malicious smile. A second violent crack shattered off the walls as he rolled his eyes back, smashing his forehead into the aged face, liquid warmth instantly announcing its horrific presence to his hypersensitive nerves.

     The Saiyan inside roared its dominance as he gripped the man's shoulder, throwing himself over the glass to land next to the injured knight. Nerves sang in ferocious harmony to the torturous tune of a second chord as the sound of cracking glass filled his ears, the man's face instantly one with his precious display case. Snarling in pure heartless disdain, he yanked the man up, his arms flexing as his rage bashed the man's face off the case a second time - again and again... and again... until his face finally smashed right through.
     "Where's the fucking train, asshole!?" His tone was low: mocking the big, tough guy as his pathetic Human blood painted the stolen jewellery of the shattered house. "You look ready for one..."

     Snarling, Goten stepped back to survey his damage: the biker lying nearly motionless as agonized groaning bled from his throat, his fat frame splayed over the display case. He was still breathing - he could move, he could fight... Yet he remained still.

     "Nothing?"

     Had he no honor? No pride in himself? He dared to make threats towards another knight of the street and not have the balls to back them up? What fucking use was he? "You got nothing, you old bastard!?"
     "... Too bad."
     In a split second, Goten was filled with cold, overwhelming rage, twisting under his skin, his brow dropping further between burning eyes as he forced his right foot forward, savoring the jagged vibration of the man's knee shattering under his hemorrhaging strength. Screams smashed off the cheap masons' walls as the man fell upon his knees, his own size carrying him backwards when he buckled on the obliterated joint, screaming from his body's unnatural position on the floor.
     "Didn't like that, huh?" Goten mocked as he stalked around the fallen knight's fat frame, studying his handiwork. Blood continued to course from the lacerations in the man's face, a pleasing waste of Human essence pouring upon the floor. Sadistic satisfaction filled him as he noted the large slice over his left eye, an open gash under his chin, a shattered bloody mess where a broken nose used to be - one look was all his Saiyan instincts needed.
     "Huh." One more step brought him dangerously close to that shattered knee, his body feasting upon the ravaged sight. "I wonder what it feels like to be stabbed..." His face twisted once more, the Royal sadistic smile slicing across his face. "Maybe it's something," he questioned as his right foot raised, "like this!" With pure hate ravaging his very soul, his blood throbbed in his ears as he stomped on the shattered knee, the rush of his liquid Saiyan rage drowning the mangled screaming.
     "What do you think, you fat fuck?" He stared straight into the man's horrified eyes, instinct and rage meeting the empty stare of the panicked. "Was that anything like being stabbed!?" In a blur of motion, Goten's right foot was pressed flat against his bloody throat. "Well!?"
     The man could only gasp and choke, garbled noises spouting from his bloodied mouth. It made him fucking sick. This was what was inside him: weak, useless, pathetic Human. The same blood that poured under his feet flowed through his veins as well - contaminating him, pleading with him to embrace his weaker half every day of his life. He had to fight it, control it... he had to shut it the hell up so he could do what the fuck he wanted.
     "Still not talking, huh?" He was tired of this shit. Looking down upon it, being forced to stand in the presence of such weakness - it was making him sick. Sick to think that such weakness existed inside him, was a part of him - a part which held him back, kept him back, kept him from embracing the power within him to save those he loved... "Fine, we'll find out."
     One glance of her face was all he needed, the flood of emotion almost blinding him as his instincts sought the fallen knight's weapon. He scooped it up the second he spotted it, tossing the knife to his right hand as he slowly brought the dirty blade to eye level, pausing to note its age and sharpness. A single flick of his mind and the blade instantly glowed an eerie yellow lime, his ki surging through the weapon as he thrust his arm towards the man's head, pointing it directly at his face.
     "You fucking Humans," he heard himself say, his throat suddenly disconnected from his half-Human brain. "You're all the same." He could feel the muscles bulge in his right arm as he held the blade inches from the man's cowering face, his foot still firmly planted against his throat.
     "What the fuck did you think, asshole? You were dealing with some fucking junkie? You dare think, for one fucking second, that you can threaten a Saiyan warrior with a knife and live!?" His arm moved without permission, draping the tip of the blade closer to the man's chin. "What now, Human? You are about to die. What are you going to do, huh?"

     Thoughts of his dead mother stoked the inferno blazing within his very soul, feelings and emotions untouched by the look of sheer horror on the man's face. The sound of forced gasping made its way to Goten's ears, the knight's jaw doing its best to give syntax to his vibrating throat.

     'I know what you're thinking: how the hell can you convince me to let you live...'
     He couldn't control himself.

     'What the hell can he say... ?'
     His entire body reeked of Saiya-jin...
     'What the hell can I say... ?'
     And it wanted blood.
     'Do I even want to stop... ?'
     "Hey! I got a great idea for ya." His arm draped down further, the tip of the blade traveling along the man's leather jacket before resting just over his waist. "You have two choices, asshole. You can either die here on the floor of this shithole, or you can live... without any balls."
     The sheer terror which sunk upon the man's bloodied face was matched only by his sudden gasping, his mangled body springing to life in a desperate attempt to get away from the glowing teen. The man's feeble movements only deepened his scorn, his eyes narrowing as hatred boiled through his sight.

     "Yeah? That's your answer?" He bared his fangs as he smiled: a tiny movement marking the grand entrance of everything that was evil and heartless within him to this modern metropolitan blind spot. "Good choice."
     Without so much as a hitch, the knife fell from Goten's hand, the blade slicing straight between the man's legs. All Goten could do was smirk in sheer Saiyan superiority as the blade carved into the floor, standing upright where it caught the crotch of the man's worn jeans, stabbing his pants to the ground.
     "Damn. I missed."
     Turning his back to the statue of the eternally stunned that lay upon the floor in a bloody heap, Goten rounded the smashed display case and made his way to the front of the store. Forcing his ki between his toes, he ascended to grab the acoustic guitar from the loose chains hanging from the ceiling.
     No sooner had his feet touched the ground, his soul felt it.
     A sudden rush of familiarity and comfort washed over him like a massive tidal wave as he held the guitar, his warm fingers grazing over the soft wooden finish. The Saiyan was gone, replaced in a heartbeat by an awkward teenager standing in the middle of a slum hawk-shop. He felt his heart slow as he gazed over the glossed finish, the instrument lacking in fingerprints or signs of wear. It was obviously stolen, but he didn't give a shit - he felt too damn good to care.
     Sliding his hand down the fret board, Goten couldn't help but pluck the bottom string, a flat low note vibrating majestically into his ears. That one note was all it took - all it took to bring him back to himself.
     He spun the guitar in his hands, peering into the soundhole under the strings for any sign of authenticity stamp. Alarm filled his sight as he saw it: the serial number and authenticity mark of a DiCardo Kodo.
     "Holy shit..."
     'Kodo!?'
     Disbelief and excitement battled for supremacy within his being as he mindlessly walked back to the mangled body behind the shattered display case. Was he seeing things? The guitar looked freakin' sweet from outside, but a Kodo?
     "Hey, asshole!" he called out, his excitement having won the battle within him, "Do you have any idea what this thing is?"

     The man did not stir, visibly still in shock from his first encounter with an alien.

     "This is a freaking Kodo! These things are freakin' seven grand brand new!" The shocking news did little to garner the man's bloodied attention.

     Excitement propelled him around the room, gathering a hard case and a few picks within moments. Having packed the piece of sheer beauty safely within the case, he finally turned to leave the depressing dive.

     As his first step hit the floor, a strained gargling noise stuck his ears, the mangled body behind the counter instantly capturing his attention. "Oh, right," he said, dismissing the man's crippling injuries as if they were mere scratches from a domestic animal. "Here. Take it."
     Pulling open his jacket, Goten tossed a bunch of loose bills onto the man's chest, pieces of paper falling all over his bloodied frame. "I lied. I only had five hundred."
     Turning his back to the bloody mess upon the floor, he pulled the door open, the early dawn's heat greeting him warmly as he stepped out into the street. In his hands, he had a piece of his former life...
     In his heart, he had a piece of his former self.
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Wishes of the Fallen