Author's note: After a long hiatus, I'm finally back with another chapter, the longest I've ever written so far. I apologize to everyone for my lack of activity, I've been really busy with work, college and other stuff. Of course, that's hardly an excuse, but now I'm back for good, and here's how it's going to work: I'll write small parts of the next chapter in my free time, and update as soon as I'm satisfied with its length and quality. Considering I'm kind of a slow writer, this could very well take months, but sadly I'm afraid you'll have to bare with me. For now, please just enjoy this one, and leave a review!

Ern Estine 13624: thank you! Hehe, we'll see what happens ;)

anonymous: the way I see it, Gohan's lack of training has made him way more careless over the years, to the point of completely dropping his guard when not fighting, and also weakened his resistance. Of course, Saiyan bodies are generally tougher than humans, so he blast didn't hurt him too badly. Maybe the way I described the scene was a bit exaggerated, but I still think he shouldn't have come out completely unscathed.

Guest: the story is most certainly not over. I may not be able to update for long periods, but know that I'm still writing in the meantime!

Natt: thank you! Hope you'll love this chapter too!

Disclaimer: I don't own this work or any of these characters, otherwise you would be seeing this as an anime series on your TV.

Chapter eleven: Behind blue eyes

Gohan was sitting on the rooftop of a skyscraper, arms folded and legs gently dangling off the edge. Though his eyes lazily gazed upon the bustling city down below, his mind was a million miles away from there. On the same ledge, at a fair distance from him, Vegeta was sitting in a similar fashion.

They had inspected every floor of every building in the central district to the best of their ability, moving at speeds faster than the untrained eye to avoid drawing unwanted attention from the unsuspecting citizens. Granted, there was no way they could personally enter most of the inhabited places without alerting their occupants, but it was highly unlikely that they'd find an alien generator in the bathroom of a family apartment. But even when they moved to underground garages and storehouses, the best candidates in the list of hypothetical hiding places, their search turned up nothing. They still kept on looking restlessly, in the parks, in the blind alleys, and even as far as going down the sewers, much to the half-Saiyan's disgust, but in the end, all their attempts had proven fruitless.

We've looked everywhere. What else can we do now?

After the search, he had half-unconsciously flown back to the initial rooftop, hoping that the view would help him sort his thoughts out; to his surprise, Vegeta had followed him, and without a word he'd sat down, closing his eyes and shutting off from the world. Gohan knew the proud Saiyan must've been even more frustrated than himself, but he was taking it unusually well, given his recent outburst just the day before.

Focusing back on the Dome problem, he tried to rationalize their latest failure at localizing its source. Piccolo had warned him that this could very well happen; after all, it was just a theory based on a mere supposition, with no actual evidence to back it up.

He thought back on his words: "As I said, that's just a possibility. It may not necessarily be the right one, so don't just rush there and let your guard down. The aliens may try to stop you if they realize your intentions."

The aliens may try to stop you if they realize your intentions. Yet none had bothered to show up.

Maybe they just weren't watching.

Or maybe they were, but didn't feel at all threatened by their futile investigation. Something told him this was the most likely reason.

So, what makes them feel the need to intervene directly?

He recalled his previous encounters with the two extraterrestrials: both had taken place yesterday, the second day after the appearance of the Dome, within a few hours of each other; and in both occasions, he'd been caught while occupied with non Dome-related business - I was fixing myself some lunch the second time, for Dende's sake! he fumed, still angry about his denied meal.

The attacks appeared to have been random; try as he might, the young half-Saiyan failed to see any connection that could tie his actions to their intervention. Maybe there just wasn't any to begin with.

Grrr. What kind of sick game are they playing with us?

They were at a dead end. With no more leads to follow, the only thing left to do was wait for the next alien encounter, and hope that it would somehow bring them closer to the resolution of the mystery. Surely, they hadn't already given up on trying to kill them, did they?

No, of course not. They would cross paths again, Gohan was sure of it. The question was not if, but when.

Still, sitting there was probably not going to shorten the wait. And he had plenty of things to keep himself busy with.

He'd just gotten up, when another thought crossed his mind: what about Vegeta?

He cast a dubious glance at the older Saiyan, who had not moved an inch. Piccolo had advised him not to leave him alone, in case he suffered from another mental attack; easier said than done. Vegeta was hardly sociable, and as far as he knew, generally uninterested in any activity other than training, fighting and eating. Gohan could definitely not picture him flying around town and helping him with his Saiyaman duties, or hanging out with his schoolmates.

But that was exactly the problem. Unlike him, Vegeta was truly alone. Alone, and without a purpose in a hostile, foreign city.

He couldn't leave him on his own all the time. And besides, even if the proud prince would never admit it, Gohan knew he was his only ally, the only person he could rely on in this situation.

Vegeta...we may not be the best of friends, but we're stuck in this together, so we're going to get through this together. He clenched his fists. We have to.

Making up his mind, he approached the older Saiyan. "Hey, Vegeta" he called.

The other didn't answer immediately; but after a few seconds, he opened his eyes and turned to Gohan, indicating that he had his attention.

"Come on, let's go. There's nothing else we can do here."

"And exactly, where do you suggest we go wasting our time now?" he asked, though his tone was more sarcastic than angry.

"I was thinking we could go get something to eat, it's lunch time already. And, I don't know about you, but I can think better on a full stomach."

Vegeta's expression turned into a smirk. "Hmph. I suppose you have a point. Very well then" he jumped up from his sitting position, "lead the way."

Gohan smiled. "I know a place not too far where we can have a nice meal at a reasonable price."

"Is that a subtle way to suggest that I should pay for this lunch?"

The half-Saiyan shrugged. "Hey, I'm just a poor high school student."

The two Saiyans were sitting at a small restaurant table, a small pile of dishes and bowls dividing them. The place was a diner restaurant just a few blocks from Gohan's high school, which he had discovered while thwarting a robbery in it, a few weeks before; he'd then been offered a full lunch for free as a reward for his actions, and that's when he'd fallen in love with their special tomato and rice soup.

"Aaah. Delicious, wasn't it?" he asked, as he put the last of his bowls on top of the stack and moved it away to have a clear look at Vegeta, who was still emptying his plate.

"Not bad" he simply commented, but if the speed and concentration at which he was consuming his soup were any indicator, it's wasn't hard for Gohan to tell he was really enjoying it.

"So, uhm...are you sure you want to keep sleeping in that cold cave? I know someone who could-"

"Not this again, boy" he promptly interrupted him, raising his hand. "I'm doing perfectly fine on my own. Besides, I need a quiet place to carry on with my training routine."

"I see, but how about food and water?"

"I saw a small stream flowing not too far from the cave. As for food" he finally finished the contents of his bowl and tossed it aside, "I can easily live off of wild game, once I run out of money. I was a pretty good hunter back in the day" he said with a smug grin.

"Really?" he asked amused, imagining a young Vegeta, clad in his Saiyan armor, running after some weird alien animal, like a lion chasing a gazelle. "Anyway, I'm not sure it's open season yet."

"You really think that matters now? The city is in the middle of a major crisis; bet the police have far more pressing matters on their hands than looking out for poachers. Not that I'd be concerned, even if they did" he added, smirking.

Gohan remained silent, watching as the Saiyan poured himself another glass of water.

"And you're planning on living like this for the rest of our stay?"

"Yes, Gohan, that's how I'm planning to spend my time here, for now. Unless, of course, you or the Namek came up with another of your great ideas on how to neutralize the Dome."

"I told you, it was just a theory. But what else can we do? We don't have the slightest clue of where to look for!"

Vegeta sighed. "To think I wasn't even supposed to be in this filthy town today. It's all that woman's fault, she and her idiotic mission."

Gohan blinked in surprise. "What woman? Wait, are you talking about...?"

"You know how I told you I was here on behalf of Bulma, right?"

"Yes, I remember. A 'special delivery', was it?"

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that." He drank from his cup. "In short, an industrial spy of sorts had stolen some of Capsule Corporation's top secret projects, and was about to sell them to the competition. Bulma somehow convinced me to go after him, claiming no one else could stop him. Of course, I succeeded" he patted on his utility belt, where he kept the precious USB flash drive, "but as a result, I'm stuck here. Hell of a reward, isn't it?"

"Wow, sounds like something from a movie! I didn't think you were into this corporate espionage thing."

"Truth be told, I couldn't care less about it." The Saiyan paused to look out the window. "But I swear, that woman knows how to be convincing."

"Oh yeah? How did she persuade you?" the half-Saiyan teased.

"Enough questions!" His face had suddenly turned a deep shade of red. "I shouldn't even have told you all this, it was supposed to be top secret stuff!"

"Ok, ok" Gohan chuckled, raising his hands in defeat.

After a few minutes of small talk, they decided it was time to go; Vegeta was eager to resume his training, and Gohan wanted to make a quick patrol of the city before reuniting with his classmates. The older Saiyan paid the bill, then they both walked out of the diner.

"Boy, you have to solve your financial problems. I can't keep paying for the both of us" he grumbled, counting the remaining money in his wallet.

"I'll try to do something about it."

The two walked into a blind alley, making sure it was devoid of people. Just as they were about to take off, however, Gohan turned to the Saiyan.

"Vegeta, mind if I drop by your, ehm, 'house' later?"

The Saiyan eyed him. "What for?"

The teen hesitated. 'To make sure your mind has not been taken over by hostile aliens' was the most straightforward answer, but the Saiyan would certainly not like it. Nor would he accept a vague 'To check up on you'. He had to make up a plausible excuse to justify his presence: Vegeta didn't like it when someone interrupted his training sessions, and he definitely didn't want to get on his bad side, especially in a situation like this.

That's when it came to him. The perfect excuse.

...or was it?

Doubts immediately crept in, yet the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced there was really no other option.

Time was running out. He had to give an answer now.

He swallowed hard. I know I'm going to regret this.

"I...wanted to have a sparring match with you." There, I said it.

Vegeta widened his yes, but quickly recomposed himself. "You want to fight me?"

"Yeah...no! I mean, not as in a real fight, of course. I was thinking more like a lighthearted match."

The Saiyan eyed him dubiously. "You've been slacking off for the better part of seven years. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"I don't know. I guess fighting against those aliens has reawakened some of my fighting spirit." That was not entirely false. "I've fallen out of shape, and I think I can use some practice."

"Hah! And you think a single sparring match will make up for years of laziness?"

"No, of course it won't. But it can be a start, right?"

Silence. Vegeta closed his eyes, deeply pondering his proposal. When he reopened them, a full minute later, a large grin had formed on his face.

"Hell, why not? This could actually be fun" he said smugly. "Very well. Meet me at sundown. And don't be late."

He flashed one last malicious grin at the half-Saiyan before lowering on his knees and taking off. As Gohan watched him flying away, a strange, uneasy feeling enveloped his features.

Was this really a good idea?

After her talk with detective Carter, Videl had immediately gone to check on Erasa and Pen at the radio station. Tom, the station's owner, was there too, closely overseeing a police officer who was apparently performing a bug sweep of the place with a sophisticated detector. Once he was finished, Tom rudely dismissed him and proceeded to explain the situation to the teens; Erasa and Pen, who were completely oblivious, were scared and confused, while Videl now had a clear understanding of the general picture. Like Carter had expected, Tom did not object to Videl's presence in the studio, though he still politely recommended to keep her visits to a minimum, as he didn't want his two (and only) top DJs to get distracted from their job.

The rest of the morning was quite uneventful, and passed quickly; at three o'clock, Tom had come back to take over their shift, and the three teens had left to have lunch together. Erasa's mother had packed some sandwiches for the two girls, so they'd sat under a birch tree just outside the school building and consumed their meal. They were now chatting and relaxing, or at least Erasa and Pen were; the Satan heiress, as usual, did not like to lazy around, especially when she had work to do.

"Hey Vi, where are you going?" Erasa asked her raven-haired friend when she saw her getting up.

"I have to take care of something, you know, police stuff. I'll see you at home!"

"You know, that sounds awfully a lot like something Gohan would say. Are you two seeing each other?" she teased.

"Oh, shut up, Erasa!" Videl angrily retorted before running away, Erasa's giggles echoing in the distance.

She got to the parking lot, where she stopped, threw a small capsule on the ground, and after a puff of smoke, entered her father's newly materialized sports car, the only possession she had left after losing everything in the house collapse.

With a roar of the engine, she rode out of the parking lot and into the main street, destination: the police headquarters.

Although Videl was not a bad driver, she'd rather get around on her jet-copter, preferring its superior speed and freedom of mobility compared to a normal car. Satan City's traffic was terrible, and the Dome situation had only made it worse; there was nothing else the impatient Videl hated more than wasting her time stuck in a traffic jam, except getting bested in crime-fighting activities by Saiyaman, of course.

I wonder where that buffoon is now, she thought, tapping her fingers on the wheel while waiting for the green light. Probably showing off and saving people left and right while I'm stuck at this crossroad. Ugh! If only I could fly...

After ten minutes that felt more like ten hours, she finally reached the familiar building. The girl hopped out of the car and walked towards the entrance. A small sandbag wall had been erected all around the main door, leaving two gaps just wide enough to allow the passage of people; a walk-through metal detector had been installed on each entrance. Four officers clad in full riot gear were manning the checkpoint, checking the documents of visiting civilians and inspecting their bags.

They sure have upped security levels since the last time I was here, she thought as she stood in line, ID card in hand. However, when her turn came, the guard gave her a nod and motioned her to go through without further ado.

...or maybe not. But as much as part of her wanted to go back and scold him for his excessive leniency, she decided it was not worth her time, and stepped inside.

Much to her surprise, she found herself in a more crowded than usual lobby: police officers were walking all around, either guiding newly arrived criminals in handcuffs to the holding cell, or giving orders to each other. A small crowd of civilians had gathered around the front desk; with a sigh, Videl approached it and stood in line, patiently waiting for her turn. However, luck was on her side that day.

"Hey, miss Videl!" she heard someone calling her name from the left. Turning her head, she saw a familiar figure standing behind the counter: if her memory served her right, that was officer Batton, a man in his late forties who usually worked in the archives.

"Oh, hi, officer Batton!" She noticed an empty spot right in front of the man, and immediately dived in.

"I want to give you my deepest condolences. What happened to Drake was terrible, terrible..."

"T-thank you" she said, lowering her gaze.

"Now, is there anything I can help you with?" he asked, putting up his best smile. "I assume you're not here on a courtesy visit."

"That's right." Shrugging off the bad thoughts about Drake's death, she focused on her mission. "I was wondering if you could help me with one of my cases. It's about the Red Shark Gang."

The man blinked in surprise. "The Red Shark Gang?"

"Yes. Specifically, I need information about a certain Jimbo. I think he might be one of their lieutenants."

"Of course. Please wait here" Batton said, leaving his post. A few minutes later, he reappeared, carrying a yellow folder in his hands. "Here you are. James Bornet, better known by his street name 'Jimbo'. Here's everything we've dug up about him so far: his job, connections, rap sheet..." he said, handing her the precious dossier. "Needless to say, this is all highly confidential, so please be careful where you take these documents."

"I will. Do I have to fill in some forms for this?" she asked.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it." He flashed her a wink. "Just make sure to bring the dossier back when you're done."

"Of course. Thank you so much, officer!" Waving her hand, the girl turned around and started waking toward the exit. Now all she had to do was find a quiet place to sit down and study the report.

As she left the police station and walked past the checkpoint, she sensed a little uneasiness welling up within her, and clutched the folder on her chest. The use of classified documents outside an official investigation was obviously forbidden to civilians; Videl was by no means an ordinary civilian, but she still needed the consent of the chief, which she currently lacked. However, she was going to return those files in a matter of hours anyway, then go on her merry way, and nobody would be the wiser. No harm done. And besides, she wasn't doing this for her personal benefit; she was helping her friend Sharpener out of a bad situation with the most dangerous crime syndicate of the city. If there ever was a legitimate reason for bending the rules a little, this was most definitely it.

At the same moment, after watching Videl's figure walk through the other side of the automatic door, officer Batton, eyes still focused on the girl's back, slowly took out a small radio from his pocket, slightly different than the one issued to all police officers, tuned it to a specific frequency, then, after some hesitation, brought it to his lips, and spoke: "Batton here. I think we might have a problem."

Detective Carter was sitting in his office in the school outpost, minutely examining a map of Satan City spread open on his desk, trying to figure out where the wanted blonde robber could have gone hiding, when a faint beeping sound coming from his watch distracted him from the investigation.

He lowered the sleeve of his left wrist and stared at the small device. "It's time."

The man stood up, grabbed his coat from the rack behind the door, walked out and locked the office. Ten minutes later, he was standing in the parking lot adjacent the "Black Star".

He was about to enter the nightclub, when the doors unexpectedly opened and out came Slimjim, accompanied by two other muscular men. The detective stopped in his tracks and stared at them.

"Right on the dot" the criminal said, clapping his hands. "Good boy."

"What's with the gorillas?" Carter motioned at the two henchmen. "Feeling exposed out of the safety of your club, aren't we?"

Slimjim frowned. "It's called being important. Unlike ya, I am a valuable and respected member of the Red Shark. And if you knew what's best for ya, you'd stop with your funny remarks and show me some respect from now on, got that?"

"Whatever you say, boss" he smirked, shaking his head. It always made his day to get Slimjim all mad and spewing (mostly) empty threats, but now it was time to get serious. "So?Thought you wanted to do this inside."

"And inside we'll go, but not here" the other answered. Then, turning to one of his accomplices: "Get the car."

The man nodded, and disappeared behind the corner of the street, only to return a while later on board of a green sedan. The detective moved towards the door, but then a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Not so fast, mister detective." Turning around, he came face to face with the other thug's smirking face, a little too close for comfort. Taking a step away, he noticed the man was carrying a black blindfold in his hands.

"Seriously?" he questioned, half-expecting him to be joking. However, as it turned out, he wasn't.

"That's how it works 'round here. Now, stand still" Slimjim ordered seriously, appearing beside the gorilla. With no further resistance, Carter let the black piece of cloth be wrapped tightly over his eyes. He was then guided to the back seat of the car by the muscular thug, who sat right beside him. As he wondered if he could somehow get a sneak peek later on in the trip, he felt something cold and metallic pressed on his side, and got his answer: no sudden or suspicious movements, or he was dead meat. Fair enough.

No one spoke as the car started and moved down the street. Carter tried to keep track of what he could hear during the trip, hoping to at least get a general idea of where they were headed: wheels screeching, second gear, right turn, third gear, police sirens in the distance, stop, probably a traffic light; then again, engine roaring, horn blaring, left turn, third gear, right turn, then left again...

He focused hard, trying to hang on every detail, but Satan City was a large and chaotic city; after a while, he could no longer make head or tails of their position, and decided to give up. It was then that he took notice of a familiar voice coming out of the radio.

"What's up Satan City? Phantom Tom speaking, live and loud from my cozy little studio at the former Orange Star High School. That's right, I said former; due to a change of management, the whole building has fallen under the control of our boys in blue, who are clearly more interested in taking over every inch of public facility they can get their hands on, in the name of 'national security', rather than let our sons and daughters keep up with their education. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, so we can hardly blame them, right?"

What an asshole, the Detective thought, shaking his head.

"Anyway, our keepers of the public order are, thankfully, not alone in their fight against the rising chaos that's been plaguing the streets since Dome Day: everybody's favourite heroes miss Videl Satan and mister Great Saiyaman have been working non-stop to keep this city from tearing itself apart. As a matter of fact, the flying vigilante - who actually seems to be the Golden Fighter in disguise, though this has not been confirmed yet- has just foiled another robbery attempt at Orange Star's Post office, which resulted in the arrest of seven men of the feared Red Shark Gang, and-"

"That damn clown!" Slimjim shouted from the passenger's seat, turning off the radio. "Just 'cause he can fly and stuff, he thinks he's king of justice. One of these days, we're gonna show him!"

The undercover detective decided not to comment, and the rest of the trip was shrouded in relative silence. After an unknown amount of time, the vehicle suddenly came to a halt.

"Out" the man on his side ushered, pressing the gun against his ribcage. Carter didn't let himself be told twice, and staggered out of the car. Someone on his left grabbed him by his arm, and he was rudely dragged forward: he was led through a door, down a hallway, then through another door, and finally stopped. His escort lowered his blindfold, and he looked down, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden change of light. When he was ready, he looked up: a black, muscular man dressed in a black suit was standing right in front of him, next to a wooden door; his escort had been Slimjim, while the two other men were standing on his right side, standing like wax statues.

Without any warning, the black man patted him down, forcefully spreading his arms and legs, looking for concealed weapons. Carter was once again surprised by the security measures, but didn't complain, not even when the guard seized the service pistole from his belt.

"This will be returned to you on your way out" said matter-of-factly the black man, putting the pistol in an inner pocket inside his suit. He then pointed to the door. "Boss's waiting for you."

Both Carter and Slimjim walked to the door; however, while the detective was allowed inside, the faithful lieutenant saw his way blocked as the guard's arm descended in front of him, like a boom gate.

"You wait here" was all the black man said. Slimjim grunted, but did as he was told, and stepped back.

"Looks like you're not important enough, Slimjim" Carter teased, casting a glance in his direction. The other growled, visibly irritated.

As the door closed between them, the redhead turned around. He was now in a spacious and luxuriously decorated rectangular room: a silk carpet covered the floor from the entrance up to a dark ebony desk; various paintings were aligned on both sides of the wall, leading up to a wall-sized, black-tinted window. Most of the light wasn't coming from the outside, despite there being still plenty of daylight, but rather from two powerful ceiling lamps.

"Come closer" a deep voice came from the other side of the room. Heart in his throat, Carter slowly advanced until he was right next to an armchair in front of the desk, but did not sat down. He was now face to face with the most powerful crime boss of Satan City, Gregory 'Greg' White.

Although the man was way past his prime, as evidenced by the wrinkles on his face, partially hidden behind a pair of framed black glasses, and his slicked back white hair, he possessed an imposing aura that easily made you forget about his age: maybe it was the impressive, yet neatly trimmed beard; maybe it was the double-breasted pinstripe suit that made him look like one of those old school gangsters from the movies; or maybe it was the simple fact that he really WAS the most dangerous man in the whole city: if he woke up one day and wanted anyone dead, he'd have the poor guy's head on a silver platter for dessert.

The detective nervously clenched his fists, trying to ease the tension. If his true allegiance had been found out, he knew he was not walking out of that room on his feet. But if that wasn't the case, then why did the big man bother to summon him, a common peasant in his kingdom of crime, all the way to the royal room?

"I don't believe we've ever been introduced. Name's Gregory White, but I'm sure you already knew that" he said, offering his right hand.

They had never met before: Carter's only direct contact within the organization was Slimjim, who acted as the intermediary between him and the top brass.

"Danny Carter, sir" he answered, returning the handshake.

"Have a sit" he gestured at the empty armchair, before sinking into his own leather chair. The detective promptly followed suit.

"So...I finally get to meet the man who's done so much for my organization in so little time" the boss proclaimed in a somewhat cordial tone. "How long has it been, six months? Yet you've proven to be the most valuable among my men inside the police department. Slimjim may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he sure knows how to pick his soldiers."

"T-thank you, sir" he cautiously replied. Ironically, the most proficient Red Shark mole was actually working against them; in order to gain their trust, he'd been forced to sell classified information to the Red Shark, as well as divert police investigations away from them in more than a few occasions, but it looked like he'd overdone it.

"Now, Danny, I'm sure you're wondering just why the hell I called you here for, but we'll get there in due time. Right now, I want to tell you something." He took a brief pause, then resumed: "Back when I started this business, more than thirty years ago, it was just me and a couple of friends. We were young, poor, but hardworking, and most importantly, we trusted each other. Today, I'm not so young anymore, but I'm rich, respected; I have hundreds of men working for me; I have a wife, kids, a big family; I still have some of my old friends from back in the day; I have my little slice of heaven right here in Satan City, and I'm proud of it.

"Of course, I've worked hard to achieve all this, and it wasn't easy. I've faced all kinds of setbacks along the way; some people died, other people walked out when it looked like it was over, but in the end I managed to pull through. Do you know how I managed to succeed where countless others have failed?"

Carter wasn't expecting that sudden question; he thought it over, but decided it was better to let him lead the conversation. "No, sir, I don't know."

White leaned slightly forward across the desk, and answered his own question: "Because I was never in it for the money."

The detective blinked, slightly surprised, yet somewhat curious to hear more. And he was not let down.

"That's right" the boss continued, leaning back on his chair. "Of course, money can help you immensely when you have lots of it, and I won't lie, it's saved my hide in more than one occasion. However, to me, it is little more than a useful tool; it's not the end, but one of the means through which I can achieve something far greater. See, most men don't understand this; to them, it's all about living the rich life, and nothing else. They chase this dream their whole life, blinded by its flashy promises of glory and power. Like small kids who play gangsters with plastic guns and fancy costumes, they play with their job without knowing the rules, and THAT'S why they lose everything in the end. I'm not like them.

"But my organization is far from perfect, I'm fully aware of that. People come to the Red Shark all the time, asking for help, for money, for favors; but when the Red Shark calls for their assistance, few are willing to do what it takes. Most people are with you only as long as they can get paid in cold, hard cash; while I don't respect them, I do understand their reasons. And I usually help them, if they prove to be valuable assets to my business. Most of my low-ranking, and even some of the high-ranking employees, are like this; they can never aspire to be anything more in the Red Shark. Some know their place, others...I have to remind them from time to time. And each and every one of them is expendable, if need be. You currently fall under this category."

Carter gulped, hands tightly clenching his knees; however, the boss continued in his perfectly calm voice: "And then, there's people who actually understand what the Red Shark is about, who are completely dedicated, body and soul, in its cause. These people I truly respect and treat as my equals - as much as my position allows; they're not working under me, they're working WITH me, to help shape the future of this city; for its own sake. And they are one of the reasons this ship is still going strong after thirty plus years."

After a brief pause, the boss put both hands on his desk, and his lips turned into a slight smirk. "I know, this might all seem like hypocrite talk to you; how could I, the head of the most dangerous crime syndicate in Satan City, possibly know about what's best for it? That's totally understandable. We do come from very different backgrounds, after all."

Carter widened his eyes in surprise.

"Come on, don't make that face. You should know that I'm a very meticulous person, detective Danny Carter. Or did you really think I'd let my special guest sit here, in my office, and not know every little detail about his life first?"

"...of course not" came the redhead's answer, after some hesitation. Although he kept a straight face, his mind was racing: how much did the old man know? Was he going to be exposed? If so, could he even escape? There was a guard on the other side of that door, and he probably wasn't the only one. Plus his pistol had been confiscated...

"Danny" White started; the light shining on his glasses gave him a sinister look. "You're a young, healthy man, you have a promising career ahead of you, you're in no financial trouble, no one in your family is, and I wouldn't be surprised if you had more than one hot girl waiting for you to fuck their brains out tonight. Compared to most people, your life is perfect, and you should be proud of it. And that's exactly what bothers me." He leaned forward once again. "You see, I've been thinking real hard for the last two days, trying to find a reason behind your actions, but I could not, for the life of me, come up with a satisfactory answer. That's why I decided to summon you here: to hear it straight from the horse's mouth." At that point, his voice lowered to little more than a whisper. "So, tell me, Danny: why have you decided to risk your life and work for me? What is your true goal?"

This was it, the moment of truth: if he screwed up now, all his efforts in the last six months to infiltrate the Red Shark would have been for nothing, any hope of uncovering the identities of the moles inside the police department would be gone, and with it, his life. He had to give one, clear, decisive answer, one that White wouldn't expect, but make sense at the same time; and maybe, he just had it...

He took a deep breath, mentally constructing his sentence, then leaned forward, and looked at the old gangster boss straight in the eye: "I want to be the next chief of the police department."

White blinked in surprise, retreating slightly; Carter maintained his position. None of them broke eye contact; there was silence, but the detective knew the other man was carefully processing his words.

"Chief of the police department?" he finally asked, after what seemed like minutes. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Care to elaborate a bit more?"

"Of course." He cleared his throat, then proceeded to explain: "When I first came into contact with the Red Shark, my intentions were far different. I had been tasked to infiltrate the organization, as part of a larger, and mostly secret operation to crack down on corruption inside the police department: my mission was to get in touch with one of your lieutenants, posing as an informant, and acquire as much info as I could. And I won't lie, that's exactly what I did...for the first months.

"I had a weekly meeting with my colleagues, where we exchanged information and reported our progress to McKinney, back when he was still Deputy Chief. Over time, I gradually became aware of just how much rotten the very core of our department was: dozens over dozens of cases falling into oblivion due to influence of powerful politicians, dealings with various Mob families ranging from territorial control to financial aid, disposal of troublesome characters through framing or outright killing...and the worst thing? None of this was done for some kind of greater good, or some excuse like that, oh no. It was all about personal gain, nothing more, nothing less. The special investigation I'm involved in won't change anything, that's for sure.

"Your organization, however...it's different from the other gangs, I've learned it through my investigation. While the others are warring against each other over petty reasons, making shady deals with the police and the upper class of Satan City, you are the only ones truly trying to improve life for the poorest citizens. You don't deal with hard drugs, you're not involved in human trafficking, you're not in the prostitution racket, you actually provide security to the people in the slums whereas the police just couldn't care less...heck, if that isn't truly noble in this twisted city, then I don't know what is."

"Mmmh" White mumbled, scratching his chin. "So supposedly this is why you decided to switch sides. But what's this about you wanting to take over the police department?"

"That's part of the plan I've slowly come up with, sir. See, I've actually been waiting to meet you for a long time now; I wanted to offer you a proposition."

"A proposition?" He adjusted his glasses. "Please, go on."

"Thank you sir. As one of the very few detectives assigned to the special case I mentioned before, I have access to massive amounts of sensitive information about almost every shady business going on in the city, and the people behind them; I'm talking about politicians, lawyers, businessmen, celebrities, as well as members of the police department and the other gangs. And I'm willing to share all of this with you. But obviously, I can't just raid the archives, spread its secrets and expect to walk away with it, they'll have me killed in a matter of days. So I figured, the only way for me to stay above all suspicion is if I have complete control over every investigation - in other words, if I'm at the top of the whole chain of command. And I need your help to do that."

"What sort of help would you require?"

"People. Soldiers. Men who could help me organize a coup and depose the current chief, and purge the department of every officer collaborating with our enemy. I know it sounds unbelievably difficult, but with the Dome crisis putting a heavy strain on their ranks, it should be doable - with some adequate planning, of course."

"Well now, aren't you being just a little too ambitious, Danny?" The old man asked. His face didn't betray any emotion, but the detective could hear a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Maybe I am, sir. But picture this: me, in charge of the police department and all its public authority, and you and all the resources of the Red Shark Gang, working together, finally free of interference, restoring peace and prosperity to Satan City under a new order. Wouldn't you love that? I most definitely would."

"Assuming I'm interested...why would I put you in charge? You know I could easily have you replaced with one of my trusted men, once everything settles down."

"Oh, but you wouldn't, sir. Because by then, I'd proven my worth to the Red Shark - to you. And it won't be easy to replace someone with my competence."

"Hehehe" the boss chuckled "You're a confident fella, aren't you? Certainly didn't look that way when you walked into this office." He reclined in his chair, folding his hands. "I like that."

Carter allowed himself a faint smile; it looked like he'd managed to pull it off. Now, if he played his cards right, he would not only have the names of those moles, but could also sabotage the Red Shark from the inside, and dismantle it once and for all!

"Now, Danny, let's be clear" White resumed, in a more serious tone. "I like how you think, and I'd like to believe everything you just said is the truth. But I'm not sure I trust you yet; and I'm afraid I can't do business with someone I can't trust. I mean, you just came here to my office, a- with all due respect - low-ranking, double-crossing officer with these big talks of justice and revolution; surely you understand my suspicions."

"...I do, sir" the detective answered; it seemed he'd celebrated a bit too early. "Is there anything I can do to prove my intentions are true?"

"Luckily for you, Danny, there is." The man then opened one of the drawers, seemingly looking for something. "Are you are familiar with the Black Star pub?"

"Somewhat; I only went there to meet with Slimjim a couple of times actually."

"I see. Earlier you said something admirable concerning the morality of the Red Shark: that we don't deal with hard drugs, prostitution...remember?" he finally found what we has looking for and straightened up; an empty form of sorts slid appeared on the desk.

"Of course."

"Well, there are rumors that those disgusting practices are actually taking place secretly in that pub. My pub."

"Oh...really?" He already suspected this, of course, but deemed it wise to feign ignorance on the topic.

"So it seems. Unfortunately this is the result of giving your subordinates too much leeway." He took a black pen from the penholder, and began to fill in the empty form. "And as if that wasn't enough, it's also come to my attention a suspicious decrease in earnings from that venue alone over the last month. This cannot be tolerated."

He put the pen down, and carefully folded the small piece of paper. "I want you to head over there and do some investigating, not as a detective of the SCPD, but as my special envoy. If anybody asks questions, show them this" he slid the paper to Carter, who took it, "and they'll stop bothering you, guaranteed. Do this, and then maybe we'll start talking real business. Any questions?"

The detective tucked the safe-conduct in his inner pocket. "Just one: how much time do I have?"

"One week should be enough; I'll have one of the boys escort you back here in exactly seven days." The man then got up from his chair, and offered him a parting handshake. Carter followed suit, and met the waiting palm with his own.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity, sir. I won't let you down."

"I sure hope so, Danny."

During the handshake, both men stared each other down, as if to try and read their respective thoughts; two pairs of deep, intelligent, blue eyes, neither refusing to back down. The resemblance was striking; it was then that Carter felt a strange sensation, as if he was looking at his future self... but how could a simple pair of eyes make them look so alike?

But that's the only thing we have in common, the detective said to himself. I'm nothing like him.

As their hands parted, the young man gave a final nod, then turned around, headed for the door. As he watched him leave, a faint grin formed on the old boss's lips.

"...aaand four!" A certain golden haired fighter materialized behind an unsuspecting gunman, putting him to sleep with one swift chop to the neck. That's the last of them.

"Wow, that was amazing! Did you see that, mom?" a child's voice erupted from a nearby crowd. "When I grow up, I wanna be just like him!"

"Hehe, then you better start training, little guy!" Gohan jokingly answered in his altered superhero voice. He'd just foiled his third robbery that day, this one aimed at a small jewelry. Even though he'd shown time and time again what he was capable of, the criminals of the city just never gave up on their villainous intents; if anything, ever since the Dome dropped, their attempts had multiplied, trying to take advantage of the ensuing chaos. Unfortunately for them, since Gohan could not go back to his far away home, he now had way more time to keep watch over the city and thwart their efforts.

"Here ma'am, I believe this belongs to you" he approached the child's mother and returned her purse, which had been taken by one of the bandits.

"Ooh, thank you very, very much, Saiyaman."

"Mister Saiyaman, can you teach me how to fly? Pleeeeeaaaase!" the child practically begged, tugging at his vest. Meanwhile, the police arrived on the scene, and proceeded to handcuff the unconscious delinquents.

"Maybe one day, squirt. When you're grown up and strong" he answered, gently patting his head. The boy must have been six years old tops.

"Come on sweetie, let's go. It's getting dark, and mister Saiyaman is a very busy man" came the mother's voice.

"But mom..."

"Listen to your mom, little guy. It's for your own good" he said in a paternal tone. "When I was your age, I didn't, and I made her very sad" he added, thinking back on his own childhood. "Now, I have a mission for you: I want you to take your mother by the hand, and lead her safely back home. Can you do that for me?"

"Ok!" the boy cheerfully answered, running back to his mother. "Bye, mister Saiyaman! I promise I will start training!" he waved at the superhero.

"Don't forget to do your homework first!" he waved back, smiling behind Sharpner's sunglasses.

He then turned to the rest of the cheering crowd, performed some of his heroic poses, then jumped up in the air and, after a round of applause, disappeared behind the corner of a building. A couple of minutes later, from that same corner a young, scrawny looking boy with black hair and dressed in casual clothes emerged, casually strolling down the street. The only thing he had in common with the golden superhero was the yellow shoulder bag, where he had stashed the costume, but as he predicted, nobody paid him any attention, and he easily walked past the crowd undetected.

Man, changing in and out of the costume every time sucks, and I don't even have the cape. But I guess I don't have a choice for now...

He decided to take a break and go see what Sharpner and the others were up to. Were they still at the school?

As if on cue, a familiar voice called out to him: "Hey, look who it is. Mister I'll-see-you-all-later!"

He turned his head: Sharpner and Erasa were standing right next to him. Both of them were carrying a bunch of cardboard bags, each filled to the brim with food, beverages, medicines and countless other things.

"Hey, Sharpner, Erasa! I was just looking for you guys. What are you doing with all that stuff?"

"We're stocking up on supplies; everybody in the city is starting to hoard up as much food, medicine and fuel as they can, and we didn't want to be left out" Erasa answered. "We even heard rumors of looting in a supermarket in Downtown. Crazy, huh? Hey, would you mind helping me with these bags? They're kinda heavy. I'd ask mister Biceps here, but I'm afraid he's hit his limit" she said in one breath.

"Hey, these things weigh a ton! You can't seriously expect me to hold them all by myself!" the boy retorted. "Brains, watch out, you're gonna-"

"Oh, yeah, sure!" the half-Saiyan answered, effortlessly picking the three bags the girl was carrying from her arms. Sharpner's mouth went comically agape. "...fall..."

"Sorry, did you say something?" Gohan asked, completely oblivious of his astonishment, while Erasa giggled in the background. The friendly jock took a moment to recover from his stupor. "Well, no big deal. Besides, I'm carrying more than you" he added under his breath. "Anyway, where the hell have you been all day Brains?"

"I, well...I was looking for a job. Still am" he quickly made up. He was starting to get good at this lying thing.

"A job? Really?"

"Yes, something part-time. I barely have any money on me, and it doesn't look like I'm going back home anytime soon. I know you've given me a place to stay and everything, but I need to have some independence." It wouldn't be such a bad idea, now that I think of it, he thought, recalling his earlier conversation with Vegeta.

"I understand. Well, good luck with that; this city is getting crazier by the minute." He then took a glance at his watch. "It's almost sundown. Come on, let's go put these things in my car."

Gohan nodded, and the three started walking toward Sharpner's old coupe, which was parked a little down the road.

"Hey, where's Videl? I thought she was with you two" he casually asked; unusually for her, she hadn't shown to any of the crime scenes he'd been involved with today.

"Oh, who knows. Probably helping the police or something" Sharpner lazily replied. "She was with Erasa until lunch, then she ran off somewhere. That's become something of a trend around here lately" he added sarcastically.

"Hey Gohan" Erasa approached the dark-haired teen. "About what you said before...my father owns an appliance store in Orange Town, near the old historic centre. If you want, I can ask him if he needs a clerk or something, Kami knows he needs the help; I'm sure he's getting overworked with all the recent commotion, even though he says it's good for business, but he's not a youngster anymore; and I- "

"Erasa" he cut her rambling short, sensing an oncoming headache. "I would appreciate it very much if you did, thank you."

"All right. I'll ask him as soon as he gets back home!" she said with a smile.

They stood in front of the car; Sharpner and Gohan loaded all the bags in the trunk and some in the backseat. Then, the half-Saiyan stared as the two blondes entered the car, his mind in deep thought.

"So, you're coming in or not?" Sharpner asked, somewhat impatiently.

"I still have something to do. Don't worry, it won't take long this time" he answered. I hope.

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "...oook. Need a ride?"

"Nah, don't worry, it's just up the block. I'll meet you back at your house."

"Whatever you say" the blonde chuckled, shaking his head. "Ok then, see you later. Don't get lost!"

"Bye, Gohan!" Erasa waved from the passenger seat. Gohan waved back as the car roared loudly and departed, quickly disappearing from sight. With a sigh, he looked up at the sky: the clouds were turning red as the sun slowly sank behind a far mountain range.

All right. Time to get my ass kicked.

Videl had spent the entire afternoon holed up in a quiet, semi-deserted bar, sipping hot tea while studying Jimbo's report. Over the last three hours she'd learned quite a lot about the guy, and had already started to devise a plan, which she intended to set in motion the very next day. But for now, it was time to go back 'home': Erasa was probably beginning to worry by now.

She paid the bill and left the bar. On her way to the car, a familiar sound coming from her watch came to her ears.

She froze: it could only be one person.

"...Videl speaking."

"Good evening, Videl, it's the Chief. Sorry to bother you at this hour" came McKinney's clear voice.

"It's ok...chief." She still haven't gotten over having to call someone other than Drake 'Chief'.

"I'm sorry I couldn't see you this morning, I had an extremely busy day; in fact, I only just got back to my office." He sounded tired.

"It's all right, I understand. Commanding the whole police department through this emergency must be extremely hard."

"It sure is" he answered. "Listen, I have some free time now, and there's something I'd like to discuss with you. Can you meet me now, or is it a bad time?"

"I..yes, of course I can" she said. Work always took precedence, no matter what; Erasa could wait a little longer. "Are you at the police HQ?"

"No, I'm at the school. I promise you I won't disappear this time."

"All right, I'll be there in ten." She'd just entered her car.

"Thank you very much, Videl. I'll be waiting."

Thankfully, traffic had improved considerably, and she was able to get to the school in a little over five minutes. A few moments later, she arrived in front of the (former) principal's office, and gently knocked on the door.

"Come in" she heard McKinney's voice on the other side, and pushed forward.

"Ah, Videl Satan. We finally meet at last." The newly-elected Chief McKinney was standing before her, clad in full uniform. He was probably about the same age as Drake, somewhere in his early fifties, yet he looked far older: whereas Drake had a healthily sturdy body and a full head of well-styled hair, this guy was pale, almost sickly skinny, and had graying, thinning, unkempt hair, usually hidden underneath his hat, which he had taken off before the girl as part of old-fashioned etiquette.

"Indeed, chief."

"Please, sit down." His charismatic voice didn't match his emaciated appearance at all. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked, pointing at a small thermos sitting on his desk. "I brew it myself. Can't stand that vending machine mud."

"I'm fine, thank you" she replied with the hint of a smile.

He filled his own mug with the dark liquid and took a sip. "Aah. Heavenly!" After another sip, he put down the cup. "Ok, I don't want to take up too much of your time; you've already been far too kind to come here on such short notice, so I'll just cut to the chase."

"Ok, I'm listening."

"As you certainly know, the appearance of the Dome has severely undermined the already fragile balance of the city: we're experiencing shortages of all kinds, unrest within the population, and a significant resurgence of criminal activity. Preserving the public order has never been this difficult, and to be frank, neither the police department nor the civil defence office were ready to take on such a challenge. Both me and the civil defence director are doing our best with our current organization, but I fear some serious reforms are to be made if we want to contain the emergency."

He gulped down what was left of his coffee, then resumed: "This is where you come into play."

"Me?" the girl asked, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Videl, you're an invaluable asset to the Police force, you're Drake's lasting legacy." Her heart skipped a beat at that name. "Your services have helped our community immensely. You're much more than an ordinary person: you're the son of the great Mr. Satan, you're the living representation of hope to the people of this city."

Is that so? Does the whole city really rely on me? She took great pride in her role as defender of the peace, but self-doubt has plagued her mind ever since the appearance of the mysterious Saiyaman...

"Right now, Satan City is in dire need of heroes, and my experience taught me there are two kinds of them: the 'ordinary' ones, so to speak, who work in the dark and deal with the most boring and mundane stuff like signing paperwork and holding meetings, like me" he said half-jokingly, "and then there's the 'extraordinary' ones, those who distinguish themselves on the front line with their charismatic presence and outstanding abilities, and win the favor of the crowd; that's just who you are, Videl."

The girl was starting to get impatient, but kept herself from showing it and waited for the chief to get to the point.

"But you're not the only one. There is another, a more bizarre, but by no means less heroic person, who however has taken more of a vigilante approach instead of working with the authorities. I'm sure you know who I'm talking about."

"Saiyaman..." she answered, unknowingly clenching her fists.

"Exactly. And while he may have done a fine job on his own, the current situation dictates that we leave nothing to chance; therefore, we must ensure his cooperation in all our future efforts to safeguard the city, by giving him an official positions in our ranks...just like you."

"Ensure his cooperation..."she mumbled. "Is that even possible? I mean, I'm not against the idea, in fact I'm all for it. But can we really make him?"

"It's not like we're trying to strip him of his powers or anything" the chief chuckled. "He's a good guy, he just needs someone to guide him; it's in everyone's best interest. I'm sure he'll understand once I've had a talk with him."

"And how are you planning to contact him?" she asked, still skeptical. In response, the chief took something small out of his breast pocket, and put it on the desk: a black, digital watch.

At first the girl frowned, confused, but then she quickly caught on. "Is that like my...?"

"Yes, a wrist watch communicator, just like the one issued to you. Drake had a couple of these things for spare, and we use them sometimes during delicate missions" he explained. "This one is already tuned to both your and my frequency. I want you to give it to Saiyaman."

"But how? I don't even know how to find him!"

"Oh, but I'm sure you'll run into each other at a crime scene sooner or later" he said with a smile. "Or you could have your friend at the radio station send a broadcast asking for a meeting; in any case, what's important is that you personally give him that watch."

Videl did not like how he emphasized that adverb. "And why does it have it to be me?" she asked, suspiciously.

He didn't delay his response: "Because I believe that will be the best way to start building a successful working relationship with your future partner."

"...what?" she froze, eyes wide open in disbelief. Please, tell me he didn't just say that...

"That's right; you two, the most iconic heroes of Satan City, are going to work as a team, not as rivals. Isn't that wonderful?" he asked with a smile, quite (in his mind) rhetorically. "Videl Satan and the Great Saiyaman, fighting shoulder to shoulder against crime and corruption. Drake would have loved it."

However, Videl was not nearly as enthusiastic as him at the prospect. Not even close. Yes, she didn't exactly get along with the guy and his antics, but she didn't hate him (well, maybe a bit), and for all intents and purposes, they were on the same side of the law (for now), but this...this was not right! She'd been fighting crime for way longer than him until he popped out of nowhere one day and stole her spotlight. And now, her new boss was asking her (her, of all people!) to basically join forces with the not-so-helmeted anymore buffoon, and work as a duo. What the hell? If anything, HE should be working under her!

"Excuse me chief, but frankly, I don't think this is a good idea at all" she stated bluntly. Needless to say, McKinney was taken aback by the sudden objection.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think Saiyaman can be trusted. Sure, he's been helping so far, but haven't you ever wondered why he's never revealed his true identity to the public? Or why he's always steered clear of the press?" She shook her head. "Only someone who has something to hide would act like that, and I bet he's got more than one skeleton in his closet!"

"Videl" his voice had lowered to a more serious tone. "I like to judge a man's value by his actions. Saiyaman has done nothing but good for Satan City ever since he arrived, and as long as he keeps doing that, I have no reason to be suspicious of him."

"But how can you trust a man who won't give away his true name?" she asked, barely containing her anger. "And by the way, how do we know he's even a man, seeing what he can do? Seriously, I've never-"

"Listen Videl" he interrupted, his voice still calm but authoritarian at the same time, "I understand your reasons for disliking him. You see him as a rival, it's written on your face; and that's fine, if it helps to motivate you. But this is not the time for us to antagonize each other. The future of the city is at stake, and we must put aside our differences and stand together to prevent it from falling into chaos. There's nothing more important than this, do you understand?"

"Yes...you're right, chief" she answered. Of course he was: Saiyaman was their best ally in this huge mess, there was no denying it. Once again, her mixed feelings towards the mysterious vigilante had gotten the best of her. She lowered her head. "I'm sorry, I got carried away."

"It's ok. Things are tough for everyone these days, I certainly don't blame you." He took a look at his own watch. "Now, I'm afraid my free time is over. I have a status meeting with the Fire Chief and the Mayor in fifteen minutes, so I better be on my way."

Videl nodded, took the new watch from the desk, and got up from her seat.

"Contact me as soon as you find Saiyaman. I'll arrange a meeting, and everything will be explained to you two." His features then softened into a smile, which accentuated the wrinkles on his face. "For now, this is good night, Videl. Be careful out there."

"I will. Good night, chief."

Just as she was about to leave the room, she heard his voice calling out for her once again "Oh, Videl? I almost forgot."

She turned around one more time, waiting. "There will be a funeral service for Drake this Sunday, at the old Orange Chapel. I thought you'd want to know."

"...thank you, chief."

With that, she stepped out of the office and closed the door.

Vegeta had just finished his first series of stretches when he sensed Gohan's ki fast approaching. A minute later, the half-Saiyan landed in the small clearing he was training in, not too far from the cave that had become his temporary home. Thankfully, this time the brat was not wearing his ridiculous superhero costume, instead donning a pair of grey sweatpants and a long-sleeved blue shirt. Vegeta, on his part, was still wearing the same blue spandex since he didn't have a change of clothes.

"So, you actually came" he smirked, taking a few steps towards the boy. "I was starting to think you were going to chicken out."

"I told you I wanted to do this. I even went all the way to the school just to slip into something more comfortable for our spar" he answered, dropping his school bag to the ground. Just then, a bone-chilling gust of wind tore across the clearing, flattening the grass and giving them both goosebumps. "Brrr. Maybe I should've kept the hoodie..."

"Stop being a sissy and start your warm up" he spat, while starting his next set. "That is, if you haven't forgotten how to. In that case, I'd be more than happy to help you out."

"I can manage just fine, thank you" he answered, bending down on one leg.

After a few minutes of silent exercises, they both stood up, facing each other. The sun had set below the horizon, but there was still plenty of light, and the temperature was not too cold yet. The perfect weather for a fight.

Vegeta felt his own blood boiling with anticipation; even if this was just a sparring match, he hadn't had a good fight in quite a while...

"Before we begin, let's lay out some ground rules" he heard the brat say, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Ground rules?"

"Yes. I think it could be dangerous if both of us went all out. Even if we're distant from the city, this area is not entirely uninhabited; we could end up damaging nearby properties and hurting people. So, let's just stick to melee combat and avoid energy attacks entirely, ok?"

"Fair enough. This will still be interesting nonetheless."

"And no Super Saiyan, too. We'll just get more winded, plus we may need our strength in case the aliens decide to do their move."

"Hah, speak for yourself. I don't tire as easily as you."

"That may be true, but this is still a sparring match, right? No need to transform if we're not fighting to the best of our abilities. Let's try to keep it light."

"Hmph. Sounds to me you're making up a bunch of excuses to hide your unpreparedness." He closed his eyes, dramatically shaking his head. "All right, l'll humour you. No energy attacks, no Super Saiyan. Any other handicaps you want to add to the list?" he sarcastically asked.

"Nah, that should do it" the other replied, dropping into a low fighting stance, shifting his weight to his rear foot and holding one half-open palm forward. Vegeta instead opted for a more simple position, raising his fists in front of him and only slightly bending his knees, which clearly showed his confidence.

"Ready?" asked the half-Saiyan.

"Are you?" he snidely asked back.

Both fighters stood still, silently studying each other; after a full minute, Vegeta couldn't bare to wait any longer, and finally sprang forward. His fist barely missed the boy, who jumped to the left, but the Saiyan, using his feet to propel himself, relentlessly followed him. They both skimmed over the ground almost side to side at high speed, trading blows, with Vegeta mostly on the offensive. His relentless assault left little breathing room for the other, and the Saiyan knew he was soon going to break through his defenses.

However, before he could so, out of the corner of his eye he saw that they had inadvertently entered a thick bush, and were about to crash right into a massive oak. The boy must've realized the same, as both of them pulled away from each other at the same time, moments away from the collision. He took his eyes off his opponent for a split second, but it was all the time the boy needed to hide in the vegetation and mask his ki.

Sneaky bastard. He knows I can't blast him out of his hiding spot.

He carefully scanned the area, eyes and ears wide open, looking for even the slightest detail that could give away his position, hovering in mid-air so as not to produce any sound that the boy could use to cover his own. However, everything was quiet...too quiet. At one point, he heard a faint noise, but it was just a bird landing on a branch.

"Come on, brat, I'm getting tired of playing hide and seek" he muttered to himself. The temptation to bomb the entire area was strong, but he was determined to beat him by his own rules.

After another minute, the sound of twigs snapping echoed through the air. He immediately turned to the source of the noise, which had come from his right, just in time to notice the leaves of a shrub slightly swaying. He was about to dash there, but at the last moment he held back.

Something's not right...this is too obvious...

It was then that he turned his gaze to the left, and saw, one second too late, the sole of Gohan's sports shoe, which collided with his face and sent him flying backwards.

He landed unceremoniously on a thorn bush, and actually struggled to get free of the branches. The boy saw his opportunity, and immediately was on him like a hawk pouncing on its prey. At the last moment, however, Vegeta managed to evade him with a backflip, landed with his feet on a nearby tree and, using his momentum, sprang forward, landing a solid punch on the brat's face, who fell on his back like a sack of potatoes.

Ugh. Talk about a kick in the head, he thought, caressing his still hurting cheek, while the half-Saiyan picked himself up from the ground.

"Hehe. Got the first hit in" the teen jokingly boasted.

"Don't get carried away, you just got lucky. I won't make the same mistake twice, trust me" he proclaimed.

"Want to put that theory to the test?"

The Saiyan's eyes shone daringly. "Bring it on!"

Gohan didn't need to be told twice and sprinted forward, but Vegeta easily caught both of his wrists. He futilely tried to break free from the Saiyan's iron grip, then decided to change his approach and drew his right leg back, preparing to kick him, but Vegeta anticipated him: he kneed him repeatedly in the gut alternating his legs, then headbutted him in the face, leaving him stunned; but he didn't stop there. Grabbing him by the foot, he then started to spin on himself, gaining more and more speed, until their combined bodies almost looked like a blurred grey and blue tornado.

"Snap out of it, boy!" he screamed, rudely throwing him up in the air at breakneck speed. Gohan quickly became a dot in the sky and disappeared from view...only to descend even faster than before, unexpectedly, with both his fists forward. The Saiyan didn't have time to dodge or parry, and Gohan struck him hard on his stomach and kept pushing downwards, pulling away at the last second and sending him crashing to the ground, creating a large crater and raising a massive cloud of dust and dirt.

"Third law of motion: what goes up...must come down!" the half-Saiyan smirked, dusting his shirt off. "Science truly is beautiful. Don't you agree, Vegeta?"

After a few moments, the prince of Saiyan slowly levitated out of the crater. The harsh impact with the ground had hurt him more than the boy's double punch: he had slight bruises and scratches on most of his exposed skin, and his shirt had been torn in a few places, but what had truly been damaged was his ego.

I can't believe I've fallen for that; the brat may not be that strong, but he's annoyingly cunning. He's really starting to get on my nerves!

"All right, play time is over. Now it's my turn to have some fun!" he proclaimed, clenching his fists and powering up. An alarmed expression appeared on the boy's face, followed by one of determination as he, too, gathered his power. An intense white and blue aura engulfed the warriors as they charged up; after a few moments, they reached their respective apexes, and immediately charged at each other.

For the first minutes, they were dead even, neither gaining the upper hand as they blocked, evaded or traded blows with the same frequency; after a while, however, Vegeta's superior stamina and technique started to get the better of Gohan, as the latter got more and more fatigued, and struggled to keep up with him.

He's starting to slip, the Saiyan thought, after he'd punched the boy for the third time in a row. Gohan desperately tried to put some distance between them with a spin kick, which proved to be a grave mistake, as Vegeta simply caught his foot and slammed him on the ground.

Pathetic. He should've known better than to try that move. He waited for the boy to get up, only to jump him as soon as he was on his feet. Gohan somehow evaded his first punch, but could barely defend himself against the following flurry of blows that relentlessly rained on him.

And this is the boy who humiliated Cell seven years ago? Gut punch.

The same boy who easily surpassed me, the Prince of Saiyans, after a mere year of training with his father? He blocked a weak punch and elbowed him in the face.

How could he allow himself to get so weak? Does he have no shame? Block, block, and block again.

"How can you call yourself a Saiyan?" he shouted, hitting him with an uppercut that sent him flying. He then flew after him, clasped his hands together in a hammer fist, and delivered a hard blow on the boy's back, which sent him crashing to the ground below, forming a new crater.

Vegeta slowly descended upon him, keeping his guard up, in case the boy had gotten a second wind and tried to catch him off guard again. Hell, he was actually hoping so: he wasn't even tired yet!

To his disappointment, however, Gohan just kept laying still. Upon closer inspection, he realized the boy was unconscious, and didn't look like he was getting up anytime soon.

"Tch, what a pitiful performance." He spat on the ground. "I expected more from this fight, even if I knew he wasn't as strong as he used to be."

He stared down at the half-Saiyan in disgust, clenching his fists. "And there you are, lying face down on the dirt, peacefully sleeping like this doesn't even concern you. Ugh! You're a disgrace to the whole Saiyan race! To think you're the son of one of the most powerful Saiyans that ever lived..." he seethed, gritting his teeth in frustration. "You make me sick!"

His vision had turned red with anger; the only thing he could see clearly was the failure lying at his feet, and he only knew of one way to deal with that...

"Do you know what happened to Saiyans who performed poorly in battle, back in the day? Execution, that's what!" he practically shouted. A purple ball of ki had already formed in his right palm, and he slowly aimed it at the boy's head.

"Maybe I should just do the same with you...so far, you've been completely useless to me..."

...

Just like Nappa...

He closed his eyes, ready to fire the blast...

...

"...wait, what am I thinking?"

His eyes snapped open, and the ball of ki instantly dissolved. He looked at his hand, still pointed at Gohan, then at the half-Saiyan, and collapsed to his knees in disbelief, as the severity of his actions quickly set in.

What's going on with me? One moment I'm looking at the brat, and the other I almost blow his head off!

His heart was beating at an insane rate. Is this yet another mind trick?

It wasn't like the other times his mind had been invaded. He could lucidly recall everything that had transpired, his own thoughts and actions...

I...am I being controlled? Or did I really wanted to kill him?

"...owww. That was quite a beating..."

He looked up: Gohan had regained consciousness, and was slowly picking himself off the ground. He also realized the sky was considerably darker than the last time he checked.

"Man, I knew it wouldn't be an easy fight, but you made me look like an amateur. Guess I've got a long way to go before I get back in shape." He then looked at the Saiyan. "What are you doing on the ground?"

"I..." he didn't know if telling the truth was a good idea at this point. What was he going to say, 'Hey, I almost killed you because of your incompetence, but I changed my mind, so don't worry'?

"I was waiting for you to wake up, you idiot!" he said in his best angry voice, jumping up. "Maybe if you hadn't slacked off all these years, you wouldn't be so prone to fainting. That was hardly an intense sparring match!"

"Are you...shaking?" the boy asked, pointing at his hands. Vegeta looked down, and realized that, indeed, his hands were visibly shaking.

"O-of course I am, it's starting to get real cold" he hurriedly replied, folding his arms. "I'm going to my cave to meditate. You should get back to...wherever it is you're sleeping these days."

"Yeah, I guess I need to recuperate. You really did a number on me!" He replied, scratching the back of his head.

Yeah, you have no idea...

"All right. I'll give you a call tomorrow morning once I'm rested up. You still have the walkie-talkie I gave you, right?" he asked, picking up his bag.

"...yes."

"Fine. See you tomorrow then!" He gave him one last nod before he took off, and flew away towards the city.

Vegeta followed him with his eyes; he already knew he was not going to get any sleep tonight.

The woman awoke with a start, feeling nauseous, and found herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The room was dimly lit by a lampshade on a nightstand; she had no idea where she was, but at the same time, she knew she'd already been there: the nightstand, the bed, the lowered blind, the door leading to the bathroom...

She had a feeling she'd woken up in that same room more than once. But right now, there were more important things to worry about.

She pulled the blankets down and jumped out of the bed, just as something warm and reeking rose in her throat. Ignoring the sudden dizziness, she shoved open the door and reached the toilet just in time as, with a violent surge, the vomit erupted from her mouth and dropped into the bowl. There were more contraptions, followed by the expulsion of more puke, but it was all over in a few moments. Then, she slowly climbed up to the sink, and proceeded to drink some water and wash her stinking mouth and face.

Once done, she grabbed a towel and dried herself; it was then she noticed the big mirror standing in front of her, reflecting her appearance: long, disheveled, wavy blonde hair that looked like they haven't been washed in weeks, a face paler than a ghost, a pair of bloodshot green eyes with bags under them...to top everything off, she was dressed in a humble white hospital gown, with nothing but her panties on.

Shit...did I overdid it with the whiskey again last night?

At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and a male figure entered her field of vision, appearing in the lower-right corner of the mirror. She recognized him immediately: his shoulder-length black hair and trademark scarf left little room for doubt, but his truly distinctive feature were his eyes: thin, glacial blue eyes that could freeze time. She'd never seen eyes like those anywhere else.

"Good, you're up. Think you can stay conscious for more than two minutes this time?" he asked in his slightly nasal voice.

"17, what the hell happened last night? Did we raid a hospital or somethin'?"

"More or less." He closed the distance between them, leaning on the door frame. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"The last thing? Mmmhhh..." She closed her eyes, trying to go back in time. At first, she could only see blurred images of her waking up on that bed, knocking over the lamp and puking her guts all over the carpet. Then, something entirely different appeared: scenes from a bank, someone screaming, shooting, her running into an alley and jumping inside a hovercar, police sirens in the distance...after that, her mind could only draw a blank.

"We were pulling a bank job, then shit hit the fan, and we escaped with five-o hot on our tail. That's as far as I can go."

"So you don't remember the accident, or how we got separated?"

"Nope. Is that why I'm wearin' this thing?" she asked, grabbing her gown.

"Yes, I had to sneak you out of the hospital before the police found you. Took a whole day just to find your room."

"Ugh, maybe you should've just left me there another day. I feel like total shit" she held her head with both hands. "What's this place, by the way? Some middle of nowhere motel or somethin' like that?"

"Just an empty house I found; we're still in Satan City."

She turned around, finally facing him directly. "Then what are we waitin' for? We should get the hell outta here before they find us!"

"Heh. If only it were that easy" the cyborg replied, smiling bitterly.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"You might want to sit down, Launch. You've been missing out a lot these last three days."

And it's done. The identity of the blonde woman has been revealed (as some of you already guessed), along with the blue-eyed character. Where will these two stand in the intricate web of mystery and intrigue that is entangling the whole city? Find out in the next chapter!