When Doves Cry
folder
Dragon Ball Z › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
543
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Dragon Ball Z › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
543
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
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.
Superman
Title: When Doves Cry 1? – Superman
Author notes: I want to thank Nyberger13 and pyroyori for reviewing and enjoying my story. I’m sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter up, I haven’t had any time to write anything in at least a month. I hope you still like this chapter. Please let me know if something seems weird.
Oh, sorry for the format problems, I did have dividers in but it seems the editor took them out. Ah well, I'm putting them back in,
Warnings: Mild swearing
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“Fly by Frankie thinks he’s superman. Like a child at the wheel of a rocket. He comes ‘round here with a license to love. But I don’t know where he got it” Throw it away – Delta Goodrem
6969696969696969
The teen felt his hands shake with the compression of his fist, and despite soft protection over his ears, the loud cracks still shook his eardrums. He shifted his feet, blinking his eyes before returning his gaze to the black silhouette. The metal, cold in his hands, felt somehow natural and the danger it brought comforting him.
‘Two left’
Readjusting the orange glasses covering a large portion around his eyes, Goten picked a spot on the target and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck through the thin target, bringing a smile to his face.
‘One left’
Breathing out he squeezed the trigger releasing the bullet. But it was at the same time that a bright tone struck his ears, his pocket vibrating, causing him to jump in surprise. His aim was thrown off and the bullet slammed into the metal wall behind, a meter from the target.
Slouching in disappointment, the dark haired student pushed the large shielding glasses up into his hair before pulling the small phone from his pocket. Then turning around he answered the ringing contraption,
“Hello?”
But the reply was drowned out by the voice of a lecturing man,
“What was that? I’ve told you not to get distracted boy!”
Sticking his head out of the cubicle, he looked into the room behind, catching his uncle’s eyes as his head turned about.
‘Like he has a social life…’
Twisting the phone so he was not speaking directly into the mobile, Goten replied with a cheeky smile,
“I got all but one, I’ve got a life you know. So lay off” Sticking out his tongue to the back of the man’s head, he returned to the cubicle and leant against the wall. The handgun slumped against his side in his spare hand, leaving him to his phone call,
“Hello?”
“Goten, what happened?”
“Paris” sighing he flicked a switch in front on him to bring the target in,
“Oh, it was just Tur downing my aim”
The feathery voice on the opposite end of the call had sparked his interest when he saw her diving in the annual school swimming carnival. And although she was sweet, she seemed to call at the most inconvenient times.
“Why do you put up with him?”
“He’s my uncle, he’s harmless” he could almost see Paris raise her eyebrows in challenge, but she kept it to herself.
“If that’s what you think. Anyway,” Her voice was perky once more, excited and rapid, “I was thinking of going out to the club tonight. A group of us are meeting for the fight at 7, pick me up at 6.30. You still have that blue satin shirt…”
As she rattled out the night’s events and latest gossip, Goten lost his concentration, giving a ‘yeah’, ‘right’ and ‘are you sure?’ at the correct intervals.
He studied the paper target, largely head shots but he had little time to study it as he was drawn away by Paris’ question,
“Is that ok Goten? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know what your mother’s…”
“Its cool, Par. 6:30, your place” taking up the hand gun he walked out of the cubicle and slumped into a chair next to his uncle, “Sounds like fun”
“You sound just like your father” Turles said in disgust, draining a small glass of whisky.
“I’ll see ya, Paris” pocketing the phone, he turned to the man beside him,
“Really?” Goten’s voice was cheerful, hopeful,
“Don’t take it as a compliment” Turles tore the gun from Goten, who frowned watching as the man next to him turned his eyes over the weapon. The teen sat in silence, as his uncle and teacher studied Goten’s pride and joy. He could hear his brother’s voice, ‘Never play with guns Goten’, and as a child looking up to his big brother, he listened. But he didn’t have a father like Gohan, and he cursed him every day for leaving…
It was then that one of Raditz’s lackeys burst in through the door, breathing harsh, eyes wide and breaking Goten’s chain of thought. He paused mumbling nonsense words in the doorway as if afraid to say what he needed to.
“For fuck’s sakes, what is it?” Turles snapped at the man, slamming his nephew’s black gun into the table before him,
“I think I better go,” Goten turned to Turles, used to the man’s temper, before he looked down at his watch and rose quickly, “Its 6 already, I’m gonna be in it if I’m late!”
The longer haired man shook his head, throwing back the weapon,
“Needs a clean”
Goten caught it easily, before slipping into the holster carefully hidden beneath his sports jacket,
“I’ll do it after I win the tournament finals Monday, they’re in West City remember? We’re leaving tonight.”
As part of the Orange Star high Martial arts team, Goten made it to the finals. But when Turles grunted in disgust he new it was at the mention of West City, the home of his enemies. Their enemies.
“Sir…” The man in the doorway intervened nervously,
Turles simply glared at the man, signaling him to wait before he turned back to Goten whom had thrown his back pack over his shoulder and was moving to the door.
“Don’t forget what your uncle asked of you, boy” his voice was calm, yet the teen knew it was a warning.
“Lighten up, Turles” Goten plastered a grin on his face “Dealers are so predictable. He’ll be at the club tonight and I’ll have some fun getting the payment outta him. See ya in a few days.”
He raised his eyes in replace of a wave and all but ran past the man hanging in the doorway. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t hear the calls after him as he jogged out the front doors of the shooting range, switching off his phone as his uncle called. He couldn’t afford to be distracted; Paris hated it when he worked for Raditz on their night out.
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Despite its quiet appearance, its typical back street danger, beneath their feet the beat of music softly vibrated up through the soil. Goten locked the car doors as the warehouse was secured and they were shut inside. He let his hand dwell on the spotless paintjob before he turned to the thug leaning against a convertible the man would only dream of owning. A cigarette hung loosely in the corner of his mouth; his oiled hair slicked back as if he were a character from a cheap 70’s sitcom.
“Not a scratch.”
Goten held himself slightly higher as he eyed the man warily, fearful of the safety of the precious machine behind him.
“Don’t fret man. I’ll take good care of ‘er”
The young Son, walked up to the thug and slipped a large note into the older man’s jacket pocket.
“Thanks…?”
“Byron, Sir”
“Byron…Wish me luck”
“Goo’ luck”
Slipping his hand about Paris’ waste, his hand resting on the top of her black leather pants, which revealed her curves sensually, the blue halter neck sparkling against her pale skin. The pair made their way towards the sounds of a gathered crowd. Through a large doorway, a makeshift boxing ring was set up in the center of the adjacent warehouse. Pumping dance music echoed through the large crowd, as the current fight rallied large bets and cheers. The smell of the sea from the docks was drowned out by that of sweat and blood. The sound of cheering and lusty calls for blood touched Goten ears, causing his grin to widen.
“You’re late! Where have you been!”
The angry cry somehow made itself known through the crowd, Goten was suddenly spun away from Paris by a heavy hand pulling on his shoulder. Goten’s face blank as he spoke matter of factly,
“I was getting my beauty sleep”
“Yeah right”
The voice calmed as both laughed, embracing in greeting. Goten looked at the teen before him, his own age and one of the most powerful in Satan cities gambling underground, eyebrows raising in query of the new fur coat. It wavered at his ankles, the dark color not too far from that of his skin. Beneath he wore shimmering red pants, tightly hugging the muscles of his legs and silver chains hung loosely around his waist. His torso was covered in several tattoos the most prominent being the symbol of the Son family, a red devil’s pitchfork with a black cobra curling about it. The teen wore no shirt, his braided hair touching his bare chest.
“What’s with the fur?”
“Like it?”
Goten simply rolled his eyes, turning back to the ring,
“What’s the talent like tonight, Wolfe?”
“Amateurs, Easy money. Come on my friend, this is supposed to be your fight”
Paris pushed her handsup Goten’s chest and down his arms softly to remove his jacket. He unbuttoned his own shirt passing it to the girl in front of him,
“Don’t want to get any of that guys blood on your favorite shirt”
She held his cheek in her palm,
“Good boy, don’t be long”
Leaning up she placed her lips gently against his, taking hold ofthe top before turning away smiling as she made her way towards a group around a table by the ring. Wolfe slapped his close friend on the back, handing him white bandage-like material to wrap around his hands.
“Okay lover-boy, its fight time”
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“What!”
Videl leapt from the chair, the cord attached to the receiver caused the phone to fall from the desk, slamming into the ground. Eyes locked onto her form as her features expressed surprise, anger, almost fear. Those around her soon began to move about their business, her partner looked up from the paperwork he was working on to watch her.
“What is it?” The blonde man asked her but she simply raised a hand to hold him. Her eyes widened slightly with each moment, her hand scribbling down an address as she listened in silence.
“We’ll be right there, Sir” and at that she put down the receiver, the phone still on the floor. Videl silently checked her gun, slipping the issued jacket over her shoulders, its silver pin glinting in the fluorescent lights.
“Videl, What is it!” Sharpner was starting to get impatient; the worry on his partner’s face was not usual. As if on cue he followed her lead, putting his badge into his jacket pocket, its weight somehow comforting. He began to jog after her as she left without a word, he grabbed his hat, pulling it on as he caught up.
He could easily keep pace, his legs so much longer then hers. Hidden beneath a hat identical to his, Videl’s face remained tinged with worry. Sharpner looked down at her, waiting….
“There’s been an assassination” her voice came cold, “It was Roshi”
6969696969696969
As camera lights flashed and the dull voices of news reporters filled in the background, Videl and her partner ducked under the police tape, flashing their badges identifying them as SCIU. Satan City Investigations Unit, better known as SCIU, was formed after the Cell incident. When the rule of the city was almost lost to a military scientist’s experiment gone wrong, the city Mayor decided to put together a team to watch over any person or acts, which could compromise the Mayor’s rule. Under the instruction to keep the city safe, the SCIU is thought to be the only Government organisation in Satan City, which has not been compromised by the Son’s hand.
“Where is he!”
Videl’s voice shot at the nearest officer, whose eye’s tremored at the sudden sharp order. His mouth moved in question for a moment before he realised whom she was speaking of. He turned his head and nodded towards the small house, standing across the street. They moved around investigators at work on skid marks lining the tarmac, collecting empty gun shells, as they moved seemingly in slow motion towards the aging yellow house. An ambulance had stopped in front of the house blocking their view; a soft sobbing was audible over the busy voices of the law. As they passed the back of the ambulance they saw a young teen with her shoulder and most of her torso strapped in bandages as she spoke in mumbled sentences to a cop.
“What took ya so long? I’ve been ‘ere for 20 minutes already”
A twenty something investigator dropped a brown paper bag into large plastic box beside him. He tugged in the white coat, which fell to his hips, an ID card hanging about his neck. Aging black rimmed glasses and scruffy brown hair pulled loosely back by a red band topped off the look, clearing identifying him as part of SCIU’s scientific unit.
“The traffic was hel…”
Sharpner’s answer was interrupted by Videl’s stern voice. She stepped forward into the yard stopping next to a black sheet on the ground covering a frail body.
“This isn’t a time for small talk”, kneeling she gently touched the covered head. A warm tear formed in her eye and without looking up she continued, anger hinting,
“Sharpner, start talking to the neighbouring residents” she turned back to the white coat, “Tell me everything you’ve found”
The young scientist began listing everything he had found as Sharpner walked off, mumbling to himself,
“Sharpner, jump off a cliff while I call forth the rain” the blonde agent whispered mockingly and fixed up the collar on his jacket, walking out through the picket fence. It was then that something caught his eye, the glinting of silver.
Bending down he picked up a chain necklace hidden among the rose bushes; a gold ring attached to it. He twisted the yellow metal between his thumb and forefinger, studying the familiar pattern engraved on it. A delicate crown could be seen yet it was entangled in barbwire. Sharpner’s eyes glinted in surprise at the sight of the Saiya-jin family symbol,
“Sharpner, find something?”
Videl’s voice called out, pulling him from his reverie. He quickly shook his head, closing his fingers around the necklace.
“No nothing, dropped my notebook”
Hurrying away from Roshi’s house, Sharpner ducked behind a tall oak in the neighbouring yard and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the number, which was burned into his memory and spoke softly in order to avoid being overheard.
“Raditz, I’ve got something I think you want to hear…”
Author notes: I want to thank Nyberger13 and pyroyori for reviewing and enjoying my story. I’m sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter up, I haven’t had any time to write anything in at least a month. I hope you still like this chapter. Please let me know if something seems weird.
Oh, sorry for the format problems, I did have dividers in but it seems the editor took them out. Ah well, I'm putting them back in,
Warnings: Mild swearing
6969696969696969
“Fly by Frankie thinks he’s superman. Like a child at the wheel of a rocket. He comes ‘round here with a license to love. But I don’t know where he got it” Throw it away – Delta Goodrem
6969696969696969
The teen felt his hands shake with the compression of his fist, and despite soft protection over his ears, the loud cracks still shook his eardrums. He shifted his feet, blinking his eyes before returning his gaze to the black silhouette. The metal, cold in his hands, felt somehow natural and the danger it brought comforting him.
‘Two left’
Readjusting the orange glasses covering a large portion around his eyes, Goten picked a spot on the target and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck through the thin target, bringing a smile to his face.
‘One left’
Breathing out he squeezed the trigger releasing the bullet. But it was at the same time that a bright tone struck his ears, his pocket vibrating, causing him to jump in surprise. His aim was thrown off and the bullet slammed into the metal wall behind, a meter from the target.
Slouching in disappointment, the dark haired student pushed the large shielding glasses up into his hair before pulling the small phone from his pocket. Then turning around he answered the ringing contraption,
“Hello?”
But the reply was drowned out by the voice of a lecturing man,
“What was that? I’ve told you not to get distracted boy!”
Sticking his head out of the cubicle, he looked into the room behind, catching his uncle’s eyes as his head turned about.
‘Like he has a social life…’
Twisting the phone so he was not speaking directly into the mobile, Goten replied with a cheeky smile,
“I got all but one, I’ve got a life you know. So lay off” Sticking out his tongue to the back of the man’s head, he returned to the cubicle and leant against the wall. The handgun slumped against his side in his spare hand, leaving him to his phone call,
“Hello?”
“Goten, what happened?”
“Paris” sighing he flicked a switch in front on him to bring the target in,
“Oh, it was just Tur downing my aim”
The feathery voice on the opposite end of the call had sparked his interest when he saw her diving in the annual school swimming carnival. And although she was sweet, she seemed to call at the most inconvenient times.
“Why do you put up with him?”
“He’s my uncle, he’s harmless” he could almost see Paris raise her eyebrows in challenge, but she kept it to herself.
“If that’s what you think. Anyway,” Her voice was perky once more, excited and rapid, “I was thinking of going out to the club tonight. A group of us are meeting for the fight at 7, pick me up at 6.30. You still have that blue satin shirt…”
As she rattled out the night’s events and latest gossip, Goten lost his concentration, giving a ‘yeah’, ‘right’ and ‘are you sure?’ at the correct intervals.
He studied the paper target, largely head shots but he had little time to study it as he was drawn away by Paris’ question,
“Is that ok Goten? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know what your mother’s…”
“Its cool, Par. 6:30, your place” taking up the hand gun he walked out of the cubicle and slumped into a chair next to his uncle, “Sounds like fun”
“You sound just like your father” Turles said in disgust, draining a small glass of whisky.
“I’ll see ya, Paris” pocketing the phone, he turned to the man beside him,
“Really?” Goten’s voice was cheerful, hopeful,
“Don’t take it as a compliment” Turles tore the gun from Goten, who frowned watching as the man next to him turned his eyes over the weapon. The teen sat in silence, as his uncle and teacher studied Goten’s pride and joy. He could hear his brother’s voice, ‘Never play with guns Goten’, and as a child looking up to his big brother, he listened. But he didn’t have a father like Gohan, and he cursed him every day for leaving…
It was then that one of Raditz’s lackeys burst in through the door, breathing harsh, eyes wide and breaking Goten’s chain of thought. He paused mumbling nonsense words in the doorway as if afraid to say what he needed to.
“For fuck’s sakes, what is it?” Turles snapped at the man, slamming his nephew’s black gun into the table before him,
“I think I better go,” Goten turned to Turles, used to the man’s temper, before he looked down at his watch and rose quickly, “Its 6 already, I’m gonna be in it if I’m late!”
The longer haired man shook his head, throwing back the weapon,
“Needs a clean”
Goten caught it easily, before slipping into the holster carefully hidden beneath his sports jacket,
“I’ll do it after I win the tournament finals Monday, they’re in West City remember? We’re leaving tonight.”
As part of the Orange Star high Martial arts team, Goten made it to the finals. But when Turles grunted in disgust he new it was at the mention of West City, the home of his enemies. Their enemies.
“Sir…” The man in the doorway intervened nervously,
Turles simply glared at the man, signaling him to wait before he turned back to Goten whom had thrown his back pack over his shoulder and was moving to the door.
“Don’t forget what your uncle asked of you, boy” his voice was calm, yet the teen knew it was a warning.
“Lighten up, Turles” Goten plastered a grin on his face “Dealers are so predictable. He’ll be at the club tonight and I’ll have some fun getting the payment outta him. See ya in a few days.”
He raised his eyes in replace of a wave and all but ran past the man hanging in the doorway. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t hear the calls after him as he jogged out the front doors of the shooting range, switching off his phone as his uncle called. He couldn’t afford to be distracted; Paris hated it when he worked for Raditz on their night out.
6969696969696969
Despite its quiet appearance, its typical back street danger, beneath their feet the beat of music softly vibrated up through the soil. Goten locked the car doors as the warehouse was secured and they were shut inside. He let his hand dwell on the spotless paintjob before he turned to the thug leaning against a convertible the man would only dream of owning. A cigarette hung loosely in the corner of his mouth; his oiled hair slicked back as if he were a character from a cheap 70’s sitcom.
“Not a scratch.”
Goten held himself slightly higher as he eyed the man warily, fearful of the safety of the precious machine behind him.
“Don’t fret man. I’ll take good care of ‘er”
The young Son, walked up to the thug and slipped a large note into the older man’s jacket pocket.
“Thanks…?”
“Byron, Sir”
“Byron…Wish me luck”
“Goo’ luck”
Slipping his hand about Paris’ waste, his hand resting on the top of her black leather pants, which revealed her curves sensually, the blue halter neck sparkling against her pale skin. The pair made their way towards the sounds of a gathered crowd. Through a large doorway, a makeshift boxing ring was set up in the center of the adjacent warehouse. Pumping dance music echoed through the large crowd, as the current fight rallied large bets and cheers. The smell of the sea from the docks was drowned out by that of sweat and blood. The sound of cheering and lusty calls for blood touched Goten ears, causing his grin to widen.
“You’re late! Where have you been!”
The angry cry somehow made itself known through the crowd, Goten was suddenly spun away from Paris by a heavy hand pulling on his shoulder. Goten’s face blank as he spoke matter of factly,
“I was getting my beauty sleep”
“Yeah right”
The voice calmed as both laughed, embracing in greeting. Goten looked at the teen before him, his own age and one of the most powerful in Satan cities gambling underground, eyebrows raising in query of the new fur coat. It wavered at his ankles, the dark color not too far from that of his skin. Beneath he wore shimmering red pants, tightly hugging the muscles of his legs and silver chains hung loosely around his waist. His torso was covered in several tattoos the most prominent being the symbol of the Son family, a red devil’s pitchfork with a black cobra curling about it. The teen wore no shirt, his braided hair touching his bare chest.
“What’s with the fur?”
“Like it?”
Goten simply rolled his eyes, turning back to the ring,
“What’s the talent like tonight, Wolfe?”
“Amateurs, Easy money. Come on my friend, this is supposed to be your fight”
Paris pushed her handsup Goten’s chest and down his arms softly to remove his jacket. He unbuttoned his own shirt passing it to the girl in front of him,
“Don’t want to get any of that guys blood on your favorite shirt”
She held his cheek in her palm,
“Good boy, don’t be long”
Leaning up she placed her lips gently against his, taking hold ofthe top before turning away smiling as she made her way towards a group around a table by the ring. Wolfe slapped his close friend on the back, handing him white bandage-like material to wrap around his hands.
“Okay lover-boy, its fight time”
6969696969696969
“What!”
Videl leapt from the chair, the cord attached to the receiver caused the phone to fall from the desk, slamming into the ground. Eyes locked onto her form as her features expressed surprise, anger, almost fear. Those around her soon began to move about their business, her partner looked up from the paperwork he was working on to watch her.
“What is it?” The blonde man asked her but she simply raised a hand to hold him. Her eyes widened slightly with each moment, her hand scribbling down an address as she listened in silence.
“We’ll be right there, Sir” and at that she put down the receiver, the phone still on the floor. Videl silently checked her gun, slipping the issued jacket over her shoulders, its silver pin glinting in the fluorescent lights.
“Videl, What is it!” Sharpner was starting to get impatient; the worry on his partner’s face was not usual. As if on cue he followed her lead, putting his badge into his jacket pocket, its weight somehow comforting. He began to jog after her as she left without a word, he grabbed his hat, pulling it on as he caught up.
He could easily keep pace, his legs so much longer then hers. Hidden beneath a hat identical to his, Videl’s face remained tinged with worry. Sharpner looked down at her, waiting….
“There’s been an assassination” her voice came cold, “It was Roshi”
6969696969696969
As camera lights flashed and the dull voices of news reporters filled in the background, Videl and her partner ducked under the police tape, flashing their badges identifying them as SCIU. Satan City Investigations Unit, better known as SCIU, was formed after the Cell incident. When the rule of the city was almost lost to a military scientist’s experiment gone wrong, the city Mayor decided to put together a team to watch over any person or acts, which could compromise the Mayor’s rule. Under the instruction to keep the city safe, the SCIU is thought to be the only Government organisation in Satan City, which has not been compromised by the Son’s hand.
“Where is he!”
Videl’s voice shot at the nearest officer, whose eye’s tremored at the sudden sharp order. His mouth moved in question for a moment before he realised whom she was speaking of. He turned his head and nodded towards the small house, standing across the street. They moved around investigators at work on skid marks lining the tarmac, collecting empty gun shells, as they moved seemingly in slow motion towards the aging yellow house. An ambulance had stopped in front of the house blocking their view; a soft sobbing was audible over the busy voices of the law. As they passed the back of the ambulance they saw a young teen with her shoulder and most of her torso strapped in bandages as she spoke in mumbled sentences to a cop.
“What took ya so long? I’ve been ‘ere for 20 minutes already”
A twenty something investigator dropped a brown paper bag into large plastic box beside him. He tugged in the white coat, which fell to his hips, an ID card hanging about his neck. Aging black rimmed glasses and scruffy brown hair pulled loosely back by a red band topped off the look, clearing identifying him as part of SCIU’s scientific unit.
“The traffic was hel…”
Sharpner’s answer was interrupted by Videl’s stern voice. She stepped forward into the yard stopping next to a black sheet on the ground covering a frail body.
“This isn’t a time for small talk”, kneeling she gently touched the covered head. A warm tear formed in her eye and without looking up she continued, anger hinting,
“Sharpner, start talking to the neighbouring residents” she turned back to the white coat, “Tell me everything you’ve found”
The young scientist began listing everything he had found as Sharpner walked off, mumbling to himself,
“Sharpner, jump off a cliff while I call forth the rain” the blonde agent whispered mockingly and fixed up the collar on his jacket, walking out through the picket fence. It was then that something caught his eye, the glinting of silver.
Bending down he picked up a chain necklace hidden among the rose bushes; a gold ring attached to it. He twisted the yellow metal between his thumb and forefinger, studying the familiar pattern engraved on it. A delicate crown could be seen yet it was entangled in barbwire. Sharpner’s eyes glinted in surprise at the sight of the Saiya-jin family symbol,
“Sharpner, find something?”
Videl’s voice called out, pulling him from his reverie. He quickly shook his head, closing his fingers around the necklace.
“No nothing, dropped my notebook”
Hurrying away from Roshi’s house, Sharpner ducked behind a tall oak in the neighbouring yard and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the number, which was burned into his memory and spoke softly in order to avoid being overheard.
“Raditz, I’ve got something I think you want to hear…”