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DBZ-Piracy on the Sea of Stars

The Demon chuckles as he accepts the sheaf of paper- flipping through it and starting to read- as he purrs out a response to the being- anticipation gleaming in his eyes.


"True battle.. you know. When you hate your enemy, love your allies, and fight with passion. When bloodshed is your purpose, not a hobby. Call it what you will- battle is something.. near and dear to me, I suppose... Mrm. Carnage, chaos, bloodshed and havoc... such is what I live for...." He says calmly- as he reads up and down the contract; checking it for legalese and the like- and for hidden clauses.


"By the way- anything in here about life insurance?" The immortal asks.
 
Hoshiko sighed. "Oh, you fought an Oozaru of some Saiyan that can't handle a young girl without using you as a demon-shield, that's soooo impressive..." She said, her tone of voice so sarcastic that scouters through out the city registered it on their sarcasm detectors. She listened to the job offer, and inspite of herself, some parts of it actually sounded good. Getting in fights that weren't cut short by her parents, traveling, money... but then there was the whole killing thing. "Tell me, is there a bonus for clearing useless chaff out of the ranks?" She asked, making a gesture at Edama, without bothering to look at the naked idiot.
 
Edama, meanwhile was having some difficulty finding the proper leg holes for his new pants. Finally finding the proper hole, he managed to thrust his leg through the form-fitting garment. Still drunkenly discombobulated, he failed to properly moderate his strength, sending his bare foot through a section of flooring and shaking the room as cracks spread from the minute crater. Finally slipping into the pants properly, he worked his tail through the hole, then worked on arranging the shirt and battle armor. When that was done, he smiled up at Worchester before giving a crooked salute. "All set."
 
"Lord Rime dislikes friendly fire accidents, and if one should occur, the incident will be investigated with due diligence. Displays of strength and skill are fine and good, but we're running a professional outfit here, and if you have words to say, there are procedures to follow," Worchester says flatly.


"I welcome any and all little insects who wish to try me, though," Pistachio says, smiling a far too wide grin.


"Pistachio," Worchester growls," Not in front of the grunts."


"Oh, very well. Come, curs, onto the transport. We have an appointment to keep," Pistachio says, waving lazily at you.


The flight to the Rime Manor was a short event, flying over grassy hills to reach a large, opulent abode, with domes, vast stained glass windows, and various immaculately attended gardens. You are waved inside by a variety of servants and attendants, to a sparse room, with a fireplace on one end, the large skin of an unknown animal, and a rather spacious chair, upon which sits a tall Arcosian. The Arcosian is listening intently to a short Saiyan woman wearing a rather uncharacteristically frilly green dress. She could be any of the Saiyans that one would see in the PTO space, save for the fact that the tail that peeked out from behind her was a rusted shade. Oops.


"And then she had the gall to snap at me, Uncle. I'm just so UPSET right now! How do you do it? How do you deal with all these commoner malcontents and their tiring problems?" she pleaded, rubbing tears out of her eyes.


"I tend to ignore them, dear. They're not worth the tears, bile or curses you would toss at them, "the Arcosian says, eyeing Worchester," Now, run along. It seems I have business."


Kumba says nothing, her eyes widening when she realizes who is addressing her "Uncle." A vein pops out of her forehead, and she curtsies, running off, red as the tail that follows past her.


"What is it, Worchester?" the Arcosian says, crossing his legs.


"Lord. Macaroon has reported that we may have more recruits to prosecute the Lagos project," Worchester says, snapping to attention.


"Oh?"


"Yes. I am not entirely convinced, but your policies are quite clear. These are Saiyans," Worchester says, waving at you.


"Oh, really? Well, Saiyans, and, uh....Tattooed Man. What of you? Why should I accept you to my service?" Rime says lazily.
 
With a drunkard's typically overdone honesty, Edama shrugs at the Arcosian's question. "Nadda clue, yer lordship. I said yes on accounta the fact that they stole m'pants. An' I needed new ones. As for th' rest...the tattooed demony guy thinks sunshine and hellfire shine out his own ass. The girl's a half-saiyan with a real bad attitude...like most half-saiyans. Umm...so...really, y'probably shouldn'. But again. That's jus' my thought." He grinned proudly at having managed to barely slur any of the words in so long a speech. Swaying slightly, he tried hard to keep the tilting of the room from upsetting his balance.
 
Hoshiko trip kicks the drunk. "You should accept me into your service, because Kumba-chan already doesn't like me. News about how well I'm doing on missions, whether or not it's 100% accurate, will drive her to prove she's better then me." She explained simply, with a glint in her eye... "Course, that's just my opinion as a hopefully professional malcontent commoner."
 
Watching the scuffle between the two Saiyans, Rime bridged his fingers, and chuckled.


"Quite. Well, I must say, you all are quite energetic. However, it seems like you lack proper experience and training. Ah, such is youth. However! I do believe that Lagos may just be what you need. The guerrillas there possess unusual abilities, but their battle readings aren't much higher than the standard. You ought to do well there if you keep cool and use your heads. Just be warned, if you should fail, I will be most displeased. I do not destroy planets, not for any silly old thing. Unlike what you may have heard of my species, I pride myself on getting creative with my disciplinary action. Now, with that out of the way, is there anything else you'd wish to discuss?" He asks.
 
"Yes, well, quite," Rime says, to eradicate the moment of stifling silence," Before you go, I have one more request for you gentlemen and lady. If you may come in, here, please, Miss Samatsu," he calls.


Out pops a short, orange-skinned woman wearing a flowing robe over the usual leotard and battle jacket com,bination of PTO employees.


"Samtastu is another employee of mine. Please give her all the support she requires, as her work is quite expensive, and very important," Rime says, as Samtsu bows.


"I'm ever so pleased to meet you all. I am Samatsu of the Planet Puddin. I am an engineer and medical doctor. I hope we get along well on this operation!" she says, laughing in a rather unnerving way.


"A doctor, eh? What manner of nonsense is this?" Pistachio says, towering over the newcomer," Can you science the rebels to death, girl?"


"With care, yes. That is why I am accompanying you, Sir Pistachio. If I remember correctly, you power level is 13,000, correct? With my assistance, we can make that much, much higher," she smiles.


Pistachio takes a step back, a passing moment of fear passes over the saurian's face for an instant before he composes hismelf.


"If you're done, if you please, we will be setting out. My Lord," Worchester says, bowing, and leading the group out to the transport.


"We will be setting out tomorrow. I would advise you to take this time to prepare yourselves in any way you see fit. We will rendezvous at the starport tomorrow at 8am. Be ready, or be left behind," Worchester says flatly.


As he drops you off, along with Samtatsu, you see Samtasu pulling out a tablet and muttering something about "Calibrating enzymes" or "Proper cellulite levels," under her breath, before walking off.


Well, now, what will you do?
 
For his part, Edama staggered his way home (albeit on the third try) and promptly flung himself onto his bed. Within half an hour, he was fully asleep and snoring like a backhoe. By morning, which is to say afternoon, he will have convinced himself the whole thing was a rather unpleasant dream and be shocked to discover that some total bastard has destroyed his bar.
 
Hoshiko walks away from the meeting, smug in the knowledge that she'll get to show up that high and mighty 'princess' some time soon. She's half way to where her attack ball is docked when she smacks her forehead, realizing that's she's signed up to be a mook in the evil empire. Mom must never find out about that. She resolves, as she begins plotting to sabotage the mission, perhaps in a way that lands on Edama's shoulders. That drunk was made to be a scape goat.
 
Elsewhere in the compound, in a room lit only by the glow of computer screens and the flashing lights of paneled instrumentation, something stirred within a huge fluid-filled tank. As the tank's fluid gurgled through tubes and into the primary reservior, the frantic motion inside it stilled. With a last clinking scrabble of carapace against reinforced glass, the creature inside settled as the narcotics laced into its bath calmed the razor-edged cast of its predatory mind into a nice, blunt contentment.


It was in the floating place again. It liked the floating place. Not as much, it had to admit, as feeding, but here, in this fuzzy-edged weightlessness , its ever-present hunger if not abated then at least receded somewhat.
 
Meanwhile, a certain Demonic being swaggers on out- reading through the contract piece by piece with an exacting eye for detail- remembering infernal contracts, and expecting a clause about his immortal souls or some such nonsense- finding himself pleasantly surprised as it turns out to be... most likely, at least... a relatively normal, mortal contract. With that out of the way, he lounges in a local bar for a while as he waits for his bandmates- all purely human, and amazed at the idea of interstellar travel for a gig. As they arrive by one, he mingles with them- then leads the way to where he came to play his concert. He hums softly- chuckling as they walk up. It's a full house- the curiosity that his agent managed to sell the band as to these foreigners having drawn many eyes that otherwise would not have cared a whit.


Merrick makes a note to thank his high priest, for bringing in such a wide and varied crowd- and for managing to talk out business with that strange alien fan who very nearly kidnapped him for this. It's always good to treat ones more loyal and skilled vassals kindly, after all, and his manager/high priest has certainly proved himself one. The crowd is, as he and the band walk onto stage... silently curious. It is a different beast entirely from playing before crowds on Earth that know their names, know their band. The crowd is silent, curious, not knowing what to expect... as Merrick takes in a deep breath- and grins wide. Even on an alien world, the metal draws a crowd. It's a good feeling, all those eyes on him and his... friends? Minions..? He's not sure what to call his bandmates, really- initially normal members of his cult who had a talent for music that he decided to harness, traveling the road and playing gigs with them has fostered some real care for them. He frowns briefly at that thought- him, caring for mortals? Preposterous. He dismisses the notion, and draws his guitar. He smiles softly- as his Ki starts to flow through it instead of actual electricity- providing him an unnatural control over his instrument... as he walks up to the mike- and starts to open the house.


"Hope you fine varied ladies, gentlemen, and beings of both or neither gender, are all ready to rock... and roll. It's a real pleasure to be here tonight, performing for you all- me and my mates here are all real far away from home, but here's hoping we can give you what you came for- something new, and something to really enjoy. Alright boys, let's hit it." He begins- and then his fingers begin to fly, and red lightning begins to dance around his guitar.... as he plays with his band- and let's it all just... flow.


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He smiles softly- as the first song winds down- he's pulling in the crowd, as he and his bandmates bring out additional instruments.. and he takes a deep breath- his Ki providing backdrop throughout the concert- flashes of flame and energy inundating the first performance, the first song- a low pause as the applause dies down... and then they transition straight into the next song- as he loses himself in it all, and let's it all flow from his body, from his mind- from what meager soul a demon has.


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He pauses softly- musing on how his Ki saves him hundreds on Pyrotechnics every concert; and how much fun it is, to just let it all go... to just indulge in the music, in the metal. His head is banging back and forth steadily as he enjoys it all- as he goes on another song, keeps flowing- giving the concert minimal time before moving onto another song....


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And then, he brings it home with a finisher about himself, ironically.


[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKY9t69qp-k[/media]


Soon the concert is over- and he awaits the response of the alien crowds with arms wide- one hand on his guitar, the other on his mic- and a wild grin on his face, as he bleeds energy out, his tatoo's pulsing radiantly, the stage smokey and in haze from smoke and steam, his energy reserves depleted even as he draws in more..
 
(Bar)


While Edama mourned the loss of his watering hole, the proprietor, a short, portly alien by the name of Milk, sidled over.


"You see that, Edama? Some total bastich Saiyan trashed my place! Now, you're a good boy, you'd never do that, but wuzz a total bastich who did, I tell you what. You kep an eye out, son, I tells ya, there's some bozos out there," he says, clapping Edama on the shoulder, letting the half-drunk Saiyan stagger back to his bunk and the slow road to sobriety.


(Tank)


As it stirred, it could see a familiar face. That thing that usually showed up. It touched the other side of the barrier that surrounded it, and moved its mouth in strange ways. It then took a flat thing and a thin needl-like object, and began putting the two together quickly. It then stared at it for a good while, before tapping the side and leaving. This strange orange hting's presence was reassuring, although It could not put it in words. However, It was becoming stronger and getting a better understanding of its enviornment. Perhaps the movement of the familiar orange thing's mouth was a way to bring thoughts to others? This would require some thought of its own, It mused.


(Concert and Hoshiko)


As Merrick played his heart out the the entranced crowds, he could feel their desires, the little evils in their hearts, all the longings and wickedness they had done to achieve them, singing in his ears like a response to his own music. He had heard that humans and others could feel the powerful ki energy of others, perhaps this is something similar? He definitely felt a surge of power inside himself as well, leading to his tattoos glowing with a warm glow.


At the edge of the crowd, Hoshiko could spy her idol belitng out mean licks as the crowd ate it up. When he finished his performance, they exploded into hollers for encores and cheers of adoration, all the while he shone, not only with the smug self-satisfaction that accompanies most rock stars, but also because he seemed to be giving off faint light.


What will you do now?
 
He pants raggedly- then roars out with laughter, as he spreads his arms wider- banging his head back and forth as he soaks it in- their sins, their longings, their desires- their aspirations and their ambitions, and above all, their adulations. He roars out with laughter, arms wide as he swaggers forth, before looking to his drummer. The drummer nods.


"Encore?! ALRIGHT! ENCORE IT IS!" He roars, playing the crowd as he slides his mike back into the stand, and the guitar back into his arms- before adding on a condition.


"But just one more, folks. Me and my mates here need to sleep for the trip outa town after this, y'know?" He says with a wild grin- before sliding into a final song for the night- something a bit more sad, despite the similar tempo; the high pitch belies a song about destruction, loneliness, and carnage- a song to mourn a long gone kingdom...


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"And on that.. we're done." He says- him and his band all soaked through in sweat by this point. Well, less him. He's not wearing anything. His covered in it, but doesn't mind due to only wearing pants- currently shirtless, baring his tatoos to the world. They make their exit after a set of bows- the curtain falling as they start to evacuate their instruments, and Merrick laughs wildly as they collapse backstage. He clasps his bassisst and his drummer in a hug, and then laughs wildly.


"Glorious. Just.. fucking.. Great! Mates, whadaya think of your first concert off world, eheh?"
 
Hoshiko waited till the encore was over, before uploading the video from her scouter to the ansible. It take a while before a file that size and low priority was cached on all the relevant local planetary servers, but at least the teens and other youths for races of different maturation time tables she chatted with could see the Earther Rock music.
 
"Great! Wonderful! Master, you rocked that S.H.I.T.!" rang out from the cultist-bandmates as they joined into the revelry. Merrick could see the young Saiyan girl from before intensely looking at him with her phone, presumably to record the concert. You idly wonder how good of a connection she has on her phone before thinking of any of the other wonderful things your majestic mind contemplates. Like, could your hotel serve you a nacho-chili bowl? That'd be a trip.


(Hoshiko)


When done with your mission of distributing the concert video, you look on at your idol as he stares out blankly at his raving fans. You wonder what he's thinking about? Probably something deep and profound. Yeah, that seems right.


(The next day)


After a good night's sleep, you find yourself at the rendezvous with Pistachio, Macaroon, Samatsu, and a towering hulk that you all hadn't seen before.


"Samatsu, what is...THAT?" Psitachio asked, pointing to her follower with his usual sneering bile.


"Oh, this, this is my secret weapon. I'm here to help get data on its performance. You! Help me carry these receivers," she says, grabbing Edama and directing him to boxes of small computers.


As everything is being loaded into the attack balls, there's still a bit of time to chat or run some last-minute errands. What will you do now?
 
Hoshiko looks over her PTO issued attack ball, her own having been sent ahead to orbit the Ort-cloud of the system they were going to... seemed prudent to have a summonable escape vehicle not provided by those she would be escaping... nothing like a remote command to open the attack ball door or overload the engine in interstellar space to put a damper on a clean get away.


Hoshiko looked at the hulk then to Samatsu. "Does how many pieces it breaks into could as data?" She said, not appraising it as much of a fighter.
 
Samatsu, replies" Oh, yes. If it should perish, the data of the circumstances and the context would provide a better understanding for not only the traits desirable in various environments for modern combat, but also how best to address the weakness exploited. If anything, I'm hoping that some weaknesses can be found so I can fix them," she says, smirking in an not entirely pleasant way before cleaning her glasses with a chipper, "Thaaaaaaaaaat's science! Fail and fail again, until you get it right!"
 
"And tell me, will it obey your every command... or any command of a certain format?" She asked curiously, wondering if it was some form of android or robit...
 
The creature, an insectile beast the size of a very large wolf, responded to Pistachio's tone by taking two quick steps forward and uttering a quiet, rattling growl at the sneering quartermaster. It tensed to leap onto him and feast, but the moment Samatsu spoke it froze. The not-food thing had told it not to eat. But it was so hungry. But it would get hurt if it ate without being allowed. But it was SOO hungry.


After moments of this dilemma, it growled out its discomfort at the situation. It lashed its long, stinger-tipped tail through the air as it tried to ignore its hunger, still following the orange not-food creature. Settling onto its haunches it looked up directly at the orange thing. It let out an annoyed growl at it for a moment, then stopped, its head rotating suddenly to stare utterly unmoving at the shorter of the things with hairy tails. It kept making noise at the orange thing. A.C.3 wondered again if it was allowed to start eating yet. Its tail curled up into an arc over its back as the beast gauged the distance from it to the potential food source. Its limbs remained tense as its tail returned to lashing its stinger tip from side to side.
 
Maverick bades his band goodbye- saluting them as he sends them off home back to earth in the shuttle they took to get here.


"Good Luck on the flight back. I've some.. personal matters to attend to." He simply bades them as they board- and he turns to join his erstwhile companions in combat, a relaxed smile on the rockers face- he feels good after last night, after soaking in the sins and ambitions of the crowd... and it shows in his generally sated manner- like a fat cat lounging about after a good meal.


He looks to the bug thing, and smiles faintly. "An attack beast, I see. Interesting, mortals have begun such interesting mimicries of hell upon the mortal realm already.."
 
As everything is packed in to the attack balls, or in Samtasu's case, a larger command ship, the party finally got loaded up as well, taking off into the great expanse of space. The journey only took a total of three days, but seemed much longer in the cramped quarters of the attack balls. However, sure enough, the bright blue horizon of Lagos appeared before them, and the rocky descent began. However, as you dropped down to the planet below, you could see movement in the air before you. Are-are those fighters?


As you finally land in the characteristically unsubtle way of most PTO craft, you all disembark and began surveying the scene. However, this peaceful foreste's ambiance is undermined by the unnerving prickling you can all feel. What will you do now?
 
The craft Samatsu had loaded her creation into was slightly non-standard, having been designed as much to contain and sedate the creature prior to arrival as to transport it to its testing grounds. The first A.C. had been lost en route to its deployment zone when the frenzied beast tore its way through the containment of its pod, sending it hurtling through space to who knew where. That lesson led to the development of a specially made pod-ship, one which replicated the function of the creature's on-site containment tank during the rigors of spaceflight, preventing the creature from damaging or diverting its craft.


After the craft landed with its typically cratering, concussive fanfare, the creatrue within began to thrash inside the pod, a mix of stimulants pulling it from the brink of somnolence to full readiness. By the time the shaped charges worked onto the hinges of the pod's door went off, ramming the door open with sufficient force to clear any obstruction the animalistic A.C.3. would not have the presence of mind to navigate, the beast was bursting forth, trailing a billowing cloud of chemical-heavy fog. As the fluid from the internal tank hit the still-reentry-hot shell of the ship, it flash evaporated into an immense curtain of chemical fog, blanketing the area. As it through itself from the pod, A.C.3. began to seek a good vantage point from which to search for prey unseen.


It had been a long journey. The beast hungered.
 
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