Disclaimer: No owny anything. No sue, please?
Author’s Note: Um… this fic
is going to be generally… “fucked-up” to be very
blunt. I’m not exactly sure when I’ll
ever get the first chapter out, but I figured, hey, while the prologue is done,
might as well see what the reaction is. If there is any at all, what with the
downfall of the DB community and all that crap. Anywho,
this was inspired by the wonderful computer game American McGee’s
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, violence, blood… You know, all that good stuff.
Prologue
Vejita never thought there would be danger in the form of his own family, or that he wouldn’t be able to stand against them. His physical strength always outweighed that of his wife and children, and he’d always felt secure in his ability to protect them. He’d never considered that he’d have to protect himself from them. He’d never considered how far their brilliance could go.
He’d never considered that genius could rise into unrestrained madness.
His leg suddenly locked and he fell into the damp earth. He raised his head, spitting out leaves and bits of soil, and tried to sit up, but his knee wasn’t cooperating. He managed to flip over and sit with his right leg straight out in front of him.
His mechanical leg.
“Shhh, Vejjie-chan,” a soft voice cooed. “I told you, I’m doing
this for improvement. You like improvement, don’t you?”
He could only reply with more
screams as the saw began to cut through the bone.
“Don’t be such a
baby,” she chided like a mother scolding her child.
“Uuragh!!”
he yelled in response. She was putting more speed and pressure into her work
now, though her concentration seemed to be set on his horrified expressions.
“This is only the beginning,” Bulma said quietly, smiling wider with every cry yanked
from his throat. “I told you Vejita, I can make
things so perfect…”
He only called it a leg by
function. More or less it was just two metal rods that came together at a
hinge- his knee. They emerged from strong black metal carapaces, one fused to
where his leg stopped at mid-thigh, and the other attached to a makeshift
partial calf that was stuck into one of his boots. A couple wires extended from
each of the domes and buried themselves into the hinge-knee. It was this simple
wiring that was causing his leg to malfunction.
Vejita’s hands strained to force the hinge of his knee to work, but it refused to bend. He cursed his weakness, although he knew its cause. His mind’s eye flashed to the small scar on the side of his neck.
“Tsk, tsk,” a voice teased.
Vejita looked up from his leg in terror to see his wife waving a small controller at him. She leaned against a tree only a few feet away.
“You always run, Vejita. You know I can disable your new appendage. Why do you run?” She did not seem to care for an answer as she approached him with glittering eyes. “That mind. Such a problem,” she purred to herself.
“My mind?!” Vejita snapped. “What of yours?! You’ve completely lost it!”
As usual, she was dressed in garb similar to that of her idol. The back of a once-white lab coat had been torn so that it was now more of a darkly stained tailcoat, which was pulled over a wrinkled orange dress shirt. The shirt’s collar was turned up above the ridiculously large purple bowtie tied around her neck. The plum color was also evident in her checkered slacks, the accompanying hue being green. Discolored white spats were pulled over scuffed black shoes, and blood-and-oil stained gloves concealed her hands. The ridiculousness of the outfit was completed with a top hat so tall that the pipe was collapsing in on it self. She did not seem quite so funny-looking, however, with how nicely the hat’s brim darkened her gaze.
“No, your mind has been the problem all the long,” Bulma mused to herself as she kneeled down next to him and opened up a large medical bag. As one hand rummaged through the bag she saw her husband’s hand pull back to strike her, but as the fist hurtled towards her face she grabbed his wrist with her free hand.
He sneered at her and she glowered back darkly before twisting her lips into a truly malicious grin. “Now, Vejjie-chan,” she said softly, “how many times have I told you…” The grin suddenly widened as the hand in the bag swiftly produced a long knife. In a flash she was leaning over him and flattening his hand palm-first to the ground, and before the pain registered Vejita saw that she had slammed the knife all the way through the back of his hand and deep into the earth. “… to keep your hands OFF!” she finished with a cackle.
Vejita could only howl in pain as he watched the blood well up around the blade. He heard more rummaging in the bag, but when he looked back over to the gleeful woman she had already impaled his other hand. This left his kicking left leg to be his only freely moving appendage as he clenched his teeth against the pain running up his arms.
“Your mind is the problem,” Bulma repeated for the third time as she looked more leisurely through her bag. “I’ve tried to make you understand, Vejita,” she said, as if speaking to a child, “that I am trying to perfect you. You, Bra, and everyone else. How can I do that if you won’t be good?”
Vejita could only gawk at her through his agony. “You’re… completely mad…”
She looked up at him, seemingly puzzled, but then she smiled that horrible smile again. “Oh, Vejita!” she laughed, taking her bag and dumping it all out onto the ground. Apparently she’d been unable to find the tool she’d wanted. “This is Earth! Haven’t you noticed?” Her eyes lit up when she spotted one object upon the many shiny, sharp, painful looking things that had tumbled from the valise. Her shining eyes scrutinized her husband dangerously as she turned to him and held up what appeared to be a corkscrew. “We’re all mad here,” she giggled.
Vejita screamed as she jammed the screw into the side of his head and began to turn it. He could feel it piercing his flesh, soon twisting into the bone of his skull.
Bulma looked down on him in mock sympathy when he finally began to cry. “Oh, Sweetie,” she cooed. Then the corners of her lips turned up sadistically again. “Please don’t stop screaming!!” she laughed hysterically, exerting more pressure on the tool as she drilled a hole to the prince’s brain.
__________________________________________________
Now THAT is some PMS right there, people. ;) I kid, obviously.
Opinions always wanted, no matter what they may be.