Welcome to Boxer & Rice

I open my eyes to the pitch black. I blink away the dream. The dream that haunts me every time I sleep. I don't know what it is. The equivalent is that of the feeling you get that you've forgotten something important.

Something major. Something you shouldn't forget.

But you have.

And this feeling invades me, overwhelms me, drowns me. Something desperate, something big. Something painful, aching. It nags at me, taunts me, like a wound that won't heal because you play with it too much.

It's a pain worse than physical damage. There's a loneliness attached to it. Bitter and empty. It's like death, but far surpasses it. What is this I feel? There is nothing to compare it to. Nothing to describe it. I can barely conjure words to relate it to.

I push it away. I push it down. I must not think these thoughts. I must stay within the guidelines that have been placed for me. 'The real power everyone searches for is not the power over possession, but over people,' my keeper's voice whispers in my mind. I shut my eyes before whispering myself, only this time out loud, "Power is not a means, but merely an end. A product in itself." My mind continues the thought, '...a product of a product of a product...I. Am. A. Product.' My eyes open to darkness. It's amazing how it can swallow you. In the dark you cannot fathom distances, cannot see anything that is around you.

In darkness, the possibilities are endless.

Only when the mind registers the fact that things are, do we accept them.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

I reach forward and fumble for a certain switch. I find it and flick it, the lights in my pod turning on in response. A panel retracts to the side, offering a window to view from. I gaze outside into the depths of space and close my eyes as a dull ache overcomes me. Space....it hurts me? Why? There are so many questions that are left unanswered I have learned to not care about a question even if I ask it.

The product is all that matters. My keeper has taught me this. 'Power is taking someone and tearing them apart. True power is taking those pieces and putting them back together as you see fit,' he had said. I know this as fact. This is true. How do I know this?

He has done it to me.

Torn apart. Painful. Brutal. Humiliating. Simple. Dying.

Sewn back together. Reborn. New. Perfect. Dead.

The person I am and the person I wish I was are far from being the same.

My keeper intends on keeping it this way. My keeper believes he can control me forever. Doesn't he know how dangerous I am? I don't need power to overcome impossibilities.

My mind races. I feel like I'm remembering something. A piece of the puzzle of the forgottenness that lurks in my dreams.

I ache, and ache, and ache.

I'm dangerous. I'm deadly. I have no power yet I am all powerful.

I....I am...

I am a god....

Yes.

A god.

And I....

I am....

Nothing.

Yes.

Nothing.

I feel like the second hand on the clock just ticked backwards. I feel like the sun swayed towards the East. Though I don't know why. I have lived on a space craft nearly my whole life. No sun rises. No sun sets. But it feels like the numbers are moving from nine to eight to seven...

I stop my thoughts before they expand. I must keep my focus on what truly matters. What matters the most is getting to this boondocks planet and taking what's rightfully mine. Mine or my keeper's? I shake my head. No. I cannot let that happen. The inner voice taunts, 'Product.'

Product.

Product.

Product.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I close my eyes, trying to swallow the bitter truth as if it was medicine and would make me feel better. Does it? I'm not sure. I feel like I've been through a similar battle before. Similar, but not the same.

Nothing's ever the same.

Everything has the appearance of something else.

I'm living in perpetual deja vu.

My hatred doesn't even feel fresh. It's worn down, used, soiled. When I think of my keeper I have this fuzzy feeling in the back of my head that tips me off that one day it's going to be okay. One day, I won't have to worry. One day..one day...

That one day will never come. Just like my questions will never be answered.

I sigh and sit forward in my seat, gazing out at the stars before me. Stars, planets, galaxies. Blah, blah, blah....What does it matter? They all belong to my keeper. My keeper will be everyone's keeper. Will my property belong to him to? I suppose, since he already owns me. But my property really doesn't belong to me. I just wish it did. Wish I had something to call my own. It'll never happen. It'll never become reality. Why do I care? I have nothing. Nothing. I am nothing. Nothing.

'Never again will you feel what you think is true emotions,' my keeper told me, 'Never again will you even think to rise up against something impossible.' I was only six. Six was when I was torn apart. Six when I was sewn back together. I'm twenty and I'm picking at the threads. A coward, I am.

I'll slowly get a string loose. One day I'll pick and pick and pick and the tiniest thread will become visible. I'll take it and pick and pick and pick until it grows longer. I'll unravel the stitching that holds together my horribly disfigured mind and soul. My body is the illusion. The illusion that I'm okay when I'm not.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

I'm closer now to my goal. Every passing second brings me closer to fate. What will happen when I reach this planet? What will I do? Questions don't matter. They never make sense. The only thing that's real isn't even the answer. It's the product. A product is the question and the answer. The product is everything in itself. The product never ceases coming into play. The product is time. Time is the only thing that can't be broken. Bent, yes. Broken, no.

Tear yourself apart.

Sew yourself shut.

Will I be a coward when the "time comes"?

I push a button and the panel covers the window, blocking my view from the glories of space. The everything that doesn't belong to me. The everything that belongs to my keeper. The everything that belongs to itself. My body belongs to my keeper, and perhaps even my mind, but there's something inside me that he'll never have. Something deep within. Something that has something to do with something that involves my dreams. My keeper can't have me. My keeper doesn't make me suffer. He can't because he can't scare me.

Death does not even scare me.

I've never heard of a product of my type so willing to die.

I will die. It's a fact. Some day...

I. Will. Die.

I've lost interest on the matter. Who, what, where, when, why, how...I don't care. They're questions. And questions do not matter. Death is the product. Death is the ultimate answer. Pain is the space in between. Death is the perfect product. Death and time are the most astoundingly profound and absolute products.

And the product is all that matters.

So why should I care when I die? Why should I care what happens to me? It's all the same in the end. It's all going to continually flow.

Birth. Death. Birth. Death.

Tear yourself apart.

Sew yourself shut.

Remake yourself into the image you see fit.

That is...

If you're brave enough. If you can endure the pain. The pain of the space in between here and there. In between now and death. Along time. I can't do it. I don't feel pain. My body feels the illusion. My mind knows better. There is no pain. No pain at all. I endure the sharp sensations of what would be described as pain, but I know better. And in my mind, I feel nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing whatsoever. I feel nothing because it means nothing.

Pain is just trying to make you appreciate death.

You think that once you're dead you'll finally be at peace.

If you go to Hell, what then?

More pain.

Death is the only product. Not even time is on your side. It's always flowing against you and always wins – like a swift river current that eventually sucks you under and drags you down. Time, the only product that isn't a product. Death, the only product that holds true to itself. Death in it's fleeting instant. The ultimate product. The only product. The product that doesn't even seem to exist. It's just life, then afterlife. Death is just forgotten the instant after it happens. Being numb to life is the only was to be numb to the afterlife. Nothing can stop someone who has no goal, no function, no purpose.

I am a god, and I am nothing.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

My thoughts turn astray and I think of the pod next to me which contains one of the last of my kind. He's the symbolic stereotype of my people – strong, but stupid. That's what everyone believes we are. Nothing but tools to be attained, nothing but utensils to be used, nothing but objects to be influenced to gain power for another party. We are not stupid. We merely follow instinct. We are strong. We grow stronger after every conflict. It makes me wonder...

If the body can grow stronger after every fight, can the mind grow more keen after each new intellectual exposure and development? Hn. What do questions matter. I wonder why I still keep asking them. A question within a question. Let it end. Let me meet my final product. Let it all go. Maybe in that one instant. Maybe..maybe then I'll feel something. And then maybe I can rip myself to shreds. And then maybe I can tape it all shut. Fill those gaps with pain. Let it all go.

Let myself become what I've always wanted to be.

Free.

Only in death can you achieve anything.

Only in death do you finally get recognized.

Only in death will you be missed.

Only in death can you find peace, tranquility, serenity.

Find questions, answers, statements, facts.

The truth. About anything.

About everything.

It's only in death are we glorified. Only after you're gone do people actually care. Only then are you worth anyone's time. When you can't take up any of their time is when you actually do. So occasionally, you'll have a tiny piece of the product. Either of them. The fake one, yeah. The real one...maybe.

My intercom buzzes and the voice of the large man in the pod next to me rings through, "Prince Vegeta, we will be landing on Earth in no more than forty minutes." I blink and sit back into the cushions of my seat, a bored expression must be on my face, "Thank you, Nappa. I am well aware of our current situation." I cut off the signal before he can reply. The man angers me, though I don't entirely know why. He is the last of my kind and I should treat him with respect, perhaps even an equal, but...

No.

I cannot.

He is an elite, but he his far from actually being a good warrior. Perhaps I realize on a mental level how incompetent he is. He cannot relate to me and I cannot relate to him on anything more than our species and the fact we both know how to fight. His skills aren't as nearly as good as my own, and he cannot fathom such things as I can. About how we're all products.

His head would probably explode.

I actually chuckle at the thought, before my lips instantly fall back into the normal frown. What reason do I have to smile? There is none. This universe is bitter and cold. Anything that is warm and comfortable is a lie. People who believe they are in love are deluding themselves. Given a situation, and tortured enough, one will give up on everything they think they hold dear. Insanity is the only true sanity. My keeper can teach this lesson well.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

If one believes – If one tells themself that they are in love – they will believe it. If one believes they are falling ill, they will have symptoms of sickness. Mind over matter. Pray to God and he'll answer everything. Science and technology isn't needed as long as you believe. As long as you pray. Devote yourself to the omni-everything being, and he'll guide you through your life.

If something good happens, God helped you out.

If something bad happens, it's all part of God's plan.

God doesn't make mistakes. But if he didn't, then why is there Satan? Hn. If there is a Satan. If there is a God. There are so many religions in the universe, it's hard to try to figure out what to make of it.

I am a god, and I am nothing.

A look at my clock informs me I have approximately thirty minutes until we land. After we land, I will finally meet up with fate. What will fate look like? Cruel and frightening like my keeper? Or will it be like a siren? Beautiful but deadly. Silent and seductive until it lures you in to crush you. Will fate be ugly and mangled, like this existence I live in? My mind suddenly wonders, 'What exactly is inside a black hole?'

Questions. Questions. Questions.

Forget it.

It's nothing.

But perhaps some day I will find out.

Maybe.

Twenty-nine minutes. Am I ready for this? No, no questions. Either I am or I am not. Even though, I do not know the answer. I close my eyes.

The odd ache of my dream haunts me, creeping over me like a mist and seeping into every pore, collecting in my chest. I hold my palm flat against my breast, as if trying to ward off this...whatever it is.

I'm a god, I'm a god, I'm a god.

I know nothing, nothing, nothing.

I am...

...nothing, nothing, nothing.

The ache starts to flee, but it waxes and wanes, coming and going. What is this I feel?

No.

I do not feel.

I. Do. Not. Feel.

My hand tightens into a fist and I force myself to sit rigid; waiting. There is no pain, only the illusion of pain. I do not feel, and anything I do, is a lie. I'm going to meet fate to find out if my property that doesn't belong to me is free or trapped. I'm going to see if my property will belong or belongs to my keeper. My keeper...my faded anger...my...no true emotions.

Ripped apart, dying.

Sewn back together, dead.

My keeper doesn't make people, he destroys them. He takes a person and tears them apart so that they're completely gone. He takes the remaining pieces – the shell – and pieces that back together. We'll forever be empty and cold. Ghosts that walk the living plane. We'll forever be used and forgotten. The most important people are the ones we often times disrespect. The most important people are the trash, the people that are utterly useless. The people we kill...who knows what they are. I suppose victims.

Victims of victims.

Please God, deliver me.

Please Satan, have mercy.

Pray, pray, pray, and still be slaughtered.

Hate me. I feel nothing.

Pain is just my nerve endings telling me that my body is injured.

The ache washes over me again and I grit my teeth as I force it away. I will tolerate pain, but not this dull ache. This ache that won't leave me alone.

Out of control. Unstoppable. Perhaps that's why it upsets me so.

I do not feel it, however. I do not feel anything.

Twenty-seven minutes.

Fate will be swift. Will I be just as swift? No, I'll probably fail. I am a failure. Look at how I have failed already. I have failed my race, my name, my title, my...everything. It's all done, it's all over, it's all a failure. Fate will not show mercy. Fate will be always there in the distant future. Lurking, taunting, defeating the strongest of people. Fate has never been happy with me before, why should it suddenly take a liking to me? Perhaps Fate is not what it seems to be.

Perhaps my true fate is my property like I originally thought. My desired object. My newest toy. My latest desire to escape my keeper.

Deliver me, fate.

Have mercy, fate.

Give me the truth.

Give me death.

Give me the product.

As they say, the end justifies the means. This is the number one rule out here in space. Under my keeper's control. What matters is how strong you are, and it doesn't matter how you got that way either.

I am so weak.

I am so pitiful.

I have no power and the idea of mutiny is pure insanity, because such a thing is impossible.

Impossible...

Impossible...

I am a god. I am a god, and I am nothing. I have ultimate power but am unable to use it. I hold nothing to me, and nothing holds me. There are no relations, only similarities, only false camaraderie, subtleness. I am not strong.

The end justifies the means. Or do the means justify the end? Is the irrelevant fact how you achieve a certain goal actually the greatest importance of all?

The process but not the ending?

No, that cannot be.

Life is the process. The end is death. Death is the ultimate product.

The end justifies the means.

Give me truth.

Deliver me.

Cure me.

Heal me.

Tear me apart.

Tear me apart.

Tear me apart.

Tear me to shreds, let there be nothing left to put back together again.

Do it.

Do it.

Tear me to shreds.

Nothing, nothing, and nothing.

Thirteen minutes. I look at the control panel and it says thirteen more minutes. Flip, it switches to twelve. Things are rolling back, piece by piece, the sun swaying to the East...

I close my eyes, my body throbbing with the ache that's nonexistent.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!

My eyes snap open and to watch the numbers work their way down to zero. Zero. Zero. Absolute zero. The state in which nothing will move. Could that be a product? Nonexistence?

The ache pulses hard, and I nearly vomit. I breathe heavily. Space hurts. Nonexistence..hurts? Wouldn't it be the true perfect product to not exist at all?

My whole body is consumed by the rage of this ache. Pain licks up my spine, and flows through my veins. Pumping again and again, continuously, causing me to cry out.

No. No. No! NO!

I DO NOT FEEL PAIN!

I don't feel any of this, this isn't real! It's all fake, and it's all just an illusion! Like everyone and everything, nothing's true. Show me one thing in this life that holds true to its appearance! Give me something that actually is as it looks!

Give me pity!

Give me mercy!

Give me all the products!

Free me!

Kill me!

Tear me to shreds!

Just make it stop!!

Vision is fuzzy as it returns, my console beeping loudly, telling me to prepare for landing which will take place in two minutes. I sit up and back into my seat, noting the stomach acid that covers my controls. Yes, I haven't eaten in awhile now, but I do not get hungry. I do not feel anything.

Anything.

I feel nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing...

I....

One minute.

I am...

The seconds go from fifty-nine to fifty-eight to fifty-seven...

I am a god.

I am a god.

I AM A GOD.

NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING.

Make this damn ache go away!

Everything is here and there, the colors swarm, blending in and out with each other, there's no discernable shape.

Nothing, nothing, nothing....

There's small noises. Blackness. Small noises.

I accept the noises because my mind does.

Blackness. My mind wonders where I am. I could say I know but my mind has not seen the proof.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

"Prince Vegeta?" a voice says. I know the voice. I accept it. It is Nappa. "Prince Vegeta?" he asks again.

I open my mouth, and I speak, "You're nothing."

There's a pause.

In total darkness you can imagine anything. Your worst demons become a reality. They're real because you make them real. It's all mind over matter.

Please, save me...

"Prince Vegeta?" the questionative tone is nervous. I spit out again, my thoughts, these forbidden things of a shell, of a ghost, of a product, "Just a product. We're all products. Nothing's real. Everything's dying, everything's going away, and to be replaced by products. Nothing's original. It's all fake. Everything's nothing."

Silence.

I continue, "I'm a god. I'm a god, and I am nothing. This all doesn't matter. All of this. Fate, everything, it's all the process, the means. I want the end, I want the ultimate product."

I growl.

I snarl.

I shout.

"I feel nothing!" I scream, "It's all fake! It's all overrated! It's all a lie! They're weaknesses – emotions! They'll tear you down, and make you more of a product! They'll sew you up every time you try to pull at the strings! Tear it apart! Tear it all apart! Unmake the image Freeza has decided for me! Take everything he's so proud of and shatter it to irreparable shards! I want to pick at the threads! I want to pick at the threads!"

Strong arms hold me down. I'm in hysterics. He knows I'm in hysterics. He must know. Know that I'm not in my "right" mind.

Ha...

The mind is a dangerous thing.

I laugh and laugh and laugh...

And then, the blackness consumes me, seeping into my soul, taking away hearing, smell, and touch.

Blackness. Where your worst demons come alive.

Where you darkest deepest desires let themselves be show. Only in a place where you cannot see do you allow yourself the view of your denials.

I'm alone.

Alone...

I open my eyes and I'm propped against a tree. I overlook the nearby forest that contains a quietly churning creek. Nappa drinks water from it as the wind dances around my body.

Wind...I have not felt wind in so long....

Scents float on the heavenly whisper touches and run through my hair, tingling my scalp. For once I yearn, for only a moment.

I wish I would be – could be – the wind.

Always moving, never thinking, just doing. Oblivious of my own existence.

The ache returns but invades me like a low hum. There, but almost passive in a sort of a way.

Nappa returns a moment later, offering me some water from a canister that he must've had on him. I accept and we both ignore my previous words. They only exist in our minds, and my mind says that one-sided conversation did not take place.

Deep within me a part of me shouts that no, that's wrong, I told Nappa the truth. Perhaps it's not a part of me at all, but merely this ache that invades me.

The water feels cool and refreshing, I soon forget my momentary slip in composure. Such an action around my keeper would cause him to tear me apart again.

Tear me apart...dying.

Sew me shut...dead.

I close my eyes and push away all the excess thoughts. I must focus now. Fate is nearly upon me, and I must prepare for whatever hand it deals to me. I must expect the unexpected. Must expect this to be the worst failure yet.

I breathe deeply, trying to draw out my faded rage. And yet, as I try, I'm only able to bring out the illusion of anger.

I feel nothing.

"Let's go," I command. After all, who am I to keep fate waiting? The sooner this starts the sooner I can get it over with.

The sooner...

The sooner I'll have questions answered...

Or is it answers questioned?

Fate works in the oddest of ways.

Of course he follows me, he is bound by these imaginary strings to do so. We go on a small rampage, destroying things here and there. It reminds me of planet purging, and perhaps I shall finally succumb to that and fully become what my keeper wishes me to.

Fate is nearly upon me.

My scouter tells me there are a few power levels approaching. I land and Nappa follows. We wait patiently. Is this fate?

What will fate be like?

For once I do not get upset over my questions.

I feel nothing.

There is many people here, but they are not Fate. Somehow I know this. Nappa taunts them, wanting to fight.

For some reason I don't want to. I find my illusion of rage leaves me. I feel nothing, and so fighting doesn't interest me.

Fate interests me.

Fate may bring about a product.

They are willing to die, they say. Willing to die for this planet. Willing to die to give time for fate to arrive. For once I am early, but Fate does at it pleases.

Nappa is more than happy to obliterate them all and he moves to do so. "No," I say, "Stop it." He looks at me in confusion. "Enough Saijin blood has been shed already," I explain, meeting his questionative eyes, overwhelming him. Like always, he bends to my wishes.

"Where is he?" I ask.

Where is Fate?

When will Fate be here?

When will I be allowed to fail?

I want to see my property.

The property.

Who the property belongs to..is up to the property.

Fate will send the property in whatever direction it wishes.

I say, "We'll wait."

Let Fate come. Let us not toy in such a manner that may upset Fate more so than it is already.

Spare me.

Save me.

Deliver me, please.

Sigh...

Time goes by. Tick, tick, tick....but there is not clock. I note...the sun, it travels East to West.

Travels East to West...

The sun...swaying to the East....

No! I must not think this! I must not now! I must wait for Fate...let the product run its course.

Time, the product that aides the perfect product.

Fate, is it a product? Does it even exist? If it doesn't, I wish to be Fate.

Ache...ache...ache...

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, holding my breath for a moment before letting it go. My thoughts are clear as I open my eyes to look across this group of martyrs...My keeper would have killed them all by now. My keeper would have wanted them all dead by now.

I have not killed them.

I cannot fight.

I wait for Fate.

Patiently, I wait.

And wait...

And then they cheer.

Fate is nearly upon me.

Fate is quickly approaching.

I suddenly realize I'm unprepared for this.

But it's too late to do anything about it now. There's no turning back. It's all go, go, go...

Thanks, Time. Perhaps you aren't such a bad of a product as I once thought.

Fate is coming closer and closer..

My hand goes to my scouter. I take it off and toss it away. Somehow I know it's useless. Nappa looks at me but I ignore him. My heart is beating rapidly.

Will I meet a product today? Will death finally take me?

Fate is here.

I cannot move.

I cannot do anything.

I cannot do nothing.

Fate is cruel. Fate is...

Fate is...beautiful. I cannot explain, but on some sort of level outside the physical plane, Fate is truly beautiful.

I refuse to breathe. I refuse to...to feel. I do not feel!

Oh god...

Please god, whatever god, make this stop...

A different ache invades me, though this one is not painful. What is this? What is this I feel?

NO! I DO NOT FEEL!

I don't feel!

I..don't..feel....

Fate looks at me. Looks directly in my eyes, judging me. Deciding if I should fail again.

I cannot move.

I cannot move because....

..because I feel...something....

I...don't want to feel anything.

It's not worth it.

It's all...fake....we're all....products....

Fate is like a siren. I know now that the property will be my downfall. This Fate, will be the end of me.

Why not go ahead and give in? I'll be able to see my final product sooner...

"Kakkarot..." I barely breathe the name.

Fate looks at me. He looks at me.

The sun sways to the East...I blink.

"You're Vegeta?" he asks, his tone dark, harsh.

I feel again. I don't know what to call this. I...don't feel...so there are no names...nothing....

Nothing...

"Kakkarot," I repeat in a stronger voice, I step toward him but he takes on a defensive posture.

No...I cannot attack this beautiful product. This intriguing product that makes me feel.

I know. He's the true last, and Nappa cannot compare.

"Don't come any closer," he says.

I stop. For the first time ever, I say, "Let's talk about this."

About what?

He regards me. His stance changes to a sort of rigid casual. He replies calmly, coolly, "Okay."

My lips try to smile, but don't.

I turn and take a few steps, my foot raising to come down on my scouter, easily destroying it.

"Prince Vegeta, what are you doing!?" Nappa shouts in surprise. I hiss venomously, but not because of his question, but the fact that he's such a product.

"Nappa," I growl, extending my hand, "Give me your scouter."

He hesitates, but as predicted, eventually hands it to me.

"Freeza," I declare, crushing the object in my hands, "can go to Hell, if there is one."

Nappa stares at me, and I gladly look back, intimidating him, challenging him.

He looks away.

I look at Kakkarot, the beautiful siren.

"Are you willing to die?" I ask blankly, monotonously, "Are you willing to die for this mud ball of a planet? Are you willing to die for these people you call friends? Tell me, Kakkarot. Tell me what you're willing to die for."

He raises an eyebrow before responding, "I'll die for a greater cause."

"So you value life but not your own?" my heart races.

His eyebrows scrunch together, his eyes narrowing, "That's not what I'm saying."

"But you're willing to die, so long as it benefits others that are as you say, good."

What a strange product...

"I suppose so."

Odd...

I ache.

"Are you..afraid of dying?"

A pause.

"No."

Blood pounds its way through my veins.

He is not afraid. Like me, he is not afraid.

"Look," a short, bald man interrupts, "I don't want to sound like a jerk...but what does that have to do with anything?"

I almost chuckle..almost, "It has to do with everything."

I turn serious once more, "Kakkarot.."

His eyebrows raise.

"I will not fight you," I declare. Fighting him would be so useless...I would fail, as always.

Nappa, the idiot, gets quite irate at my proclamation. "He's a traitor!" he screams at me, as if trying to influence my already said decision, "He's a traitor and I'll kill him for killing Radditz!"

Radditz, he too was a fool.

But this Kakkarot..this siren, is not.

"Don't you dare," I whisper so low it's like a thought.

I think, 'Nappa, I'll kill you.'

Don't touch him.

Don't touch Kakkarot.

Don't touch Fate, that deadly siren.

Don't touch him and expect to live.

He launches forward. My jaw clenches, my hands ball into fists. Kakkarot leaps back as this elite general attacks. Kakkarot holds his own for the most part, the others gathered watch.

I tell them, "Don't interfere."

I threaten, "Don't interfere, or I'll kill every one of you."

A sock in the face sends Kakkarot down the the ground. Nappa powers up.

I move in front of Kakkarot, my face devoid of any emotion.

"I warned you," my dead voice laughs, my hand raising.

"Vegeta?" the man is truly confused.

I say nothing, just letting my energy build. Since he has no scouter, he has no idea.

The fool.

I let my energy out of my body, releasing my anger onto this idiotic product.

Let him meet the perfect product and miss its glory.

Anger.

Anger...

I do not feel....?

Kakkarot, what are you?

"You killed him," my siren says, stunned.

"Yes," I say, repeating, "Yes, I did."

Kakkarot realizes, "You killed him to defend me."

A pause.

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"But he was your loyal friend," he protests, getting to his feet.

My eyes narrow.

Anger. True anger. True pain. True emotion. True everything.

My body aches.

"Nappa? Ha, don't make me laugh."

Not like I could.

Who knows..

"Nappa was an idiot, Kakkarot," I explain, finally turning to look at the siren, "Nappa was the traitor. Traitor to himself. For that, he deserved death."

Kakkarot says no, that isn't right.

"You're so strange," I admit.

Beautiful.

Odd.

Unafraid.

He seems a bit surprised by this information and he brushes his clothes off.

"Freeza will never find me," I realize, I say out loud.

I'm safe.

I'm alone.

I'm...free.

I have the ability to pick at the threads, without the worry of someone finding out.

No one to sew me back together. Just me with my deranged figure.

"Who's Freeza?" someone asks.

"My keeper," I whisper, "My rearranger. My faded anger...my...disgust."

Torn apart, dying, dying, dying...

Sew back shut...almost dead.....?

"I need sleep," I also realize, sitting down and leaning against a nearby boulder. I interlace my fingers and rest my hand on my stomach as I close my eyes.

Blackness. Demons. Denials.

I dream that I'm in space. I'm by myself, all alone, eternally. Blurs, colors, everything, but nothing.

A dragon. Glowing. A figure. Aches.

My eyes open and I'm no longer outside, but in a room sparsely decorated. I sit up, a blanket pooling around my waist. It's dark, the sun is setting. I look down at myself in my armor.

I don't feel like fighting. I feel, for some reason, like I've been fighting all my life, and then some.

I strip myself naked.

I sit next to my pile of clothes.

Never again will I wear those.

I stand, hunger rumbling its complaint.

Hunger...I haven't eaten in quite awhile...

I step out of the room and into the hall, where noises from another room reach my ears. I follow the noises to the source and see the siren working to prepare food. I lean against the door frame slightly, and watch him.

So strange...he's so open, so honest...

My breath is taken away.

I know now. I know now why..!

He's true. He's real.

He's one thing in this life that holds true to its appearance! He's one thing that actually is as it looks!

Somehow he senses me, and he looks over. First confusion, and then shock overtakes him. A nervous, but warm smile then greets me, "Do you need some new clothes?" I blink, letting time slip by for a moment. "I suppose," I say, not feeling exposed under his gaze. He takes care of a few things with the stove and such before turning to me. "Well, I haven't had a bath all day and I doubt you've had one either, so why don't we take one and discuss a few things?" he suggests, folding his arms.

I nod.

He gestures for me to follow him, and we step outside. His house is next to a forest, a calm one. I can tell already there is no one for miles in all directions.

He takes a barrel and places it on this stand of sorts. He takes logs from a pile and puts them under the stand. He then lights the logs. "I'll be right back," he says, picking up another barrel and walking off into the distance.

I close my eyes.

Why am I doing this?

What's happening?

Who is Kakkarot?

Who...

Who am I?

I look down at my naked form. This is my body, but what am I?

For some reason I think of space.

I am a god, and I am nothing.

He returns and pours water from one barrel into the one over the fire. I have taken showers my entire life. I wonder what a bath will be like.

"I can't kill innocent people," Kakkarot says, his voice serious.

He's stating a fact.

"I know," I reply, though how I know this for sure is beyond me. I cover it up, "You said you'll only die for the greater good. I assume that means fighting for the greater good as well."

He nods, pulling off his shirts.

"I guess I don't understand," he continues, untying the belt around his waist, "how people can do that."

For some reason I wish to laugh, but I'm able to hold it down. The sentence by itself is amusing, but when the siren speaks it..it is so important.

"We're products, Kakkarot," I explain as he kicks off his pants, "We do what we're told and who cares about the consequences? Who cares if another person dies because it's a constant flow. All the time people are living and dying. Everyone will die. Everyone. What difference does it make how or why? What difference?"

His boots and wristbands are removed lastly, "The difference between emotions."

I don't understand.

Silence.

After awhile he dips his hand into the water and says, "It's ready." He climbs into the barrel and gestures for me to do the same.

I stare at him and he stares at me.

"I don't feel," I lie, and climb into the metal cylinder.

The hot water warms my cool body and soothes my muscles. The ache is not as bad, but it is still there, haunting me like the demons in the dark. The denials...

I meet my siren's gaze.

"You killed Nappa.." he says, wishing to say more on the subject.

"He wasn't innocent," I insist, anger coming to me again. Fresh, new, exhilarating.

"Nappa deserved everything that happened to him," I explain, "because he'd never question anything. He was the worst type of product that could ever exist. Your brother wasn't nearly as bad, but almost there."

Kakkarot looks confused, his hands massaging his neck and shoulders, "Product?"

Doesn't anyone understand?

"Yes, a product," I say, growling, "Everyone is a product. I'm a product. Not nearly as bad, but I'm a product who attempts, at least. Or perhaps I'm fooling myself. Maybe Freeza will find me. Will take me like he has, and remake me once more."

I simply reply, "What?"

I close my eyes.

"Freeza," I say, "Is worse than Radditz. Freeza is worse than me. Freeza has no hope. He's the producer of products, but is one himself. The most disgusting of products, the most....repulsive of products. He is something you wish hadn't been made into existence, but it's there and there's nothing you can do about it."

Kakkarot seems confused again, "Anyone has the ability to change..."

I shake my head, "You are so naive."

So original. So open. So true. So real....

I ache.

"Freeza was born without a conscious," I say, "Some people just have no hope. It's the bitter truth you'll have to accept."

He grows a little upset from this, "And what about you? Do you have no hope too, Vegeta?"

I look down, silent.

"I thought so," he says.

I reply, "I don't care about anything. I only care about the perfect product."

A near silent sigh, "What's with all this product stuff? What is this perfect product?"

Calmly, plainly, "Death."

A pause.

"You want to die?"

"I don't care."

Silence.

He uses his ki to lift a small cloth as well as a bar of soap and bring it over to him. He dips the cloth in and begins to rub the soap into it. He passes the soap to me while rubbing down his skin with the cloth, cleaning every inch of his body. He looks up and notices me staring, another nervous smile comes to his face, "What, haven't you ever taken a bath before?"

I look down and away, "No."

He clears his throat, "What has Freeza done?"

My faded anger.

My sickness.

"He purges plants," upon seeing his confused expression I elaborate, "He kills everyone on a planet and sells it to the highest bidder."

The siren gasps, and instantly tenses, "I've got to stop him."

"You idiot," I nearly laugh.

"Huh?"

"You think you can defeat Freeza? You're sorely mistaken. I've seen him destroy planets without breaking a sweat. Even if you manage to defeat him he has plenty of products that will carry on his legacy."

He lets this thought simmer.

"I could train," he...suggests?

"It's not possible," I state, "You'd have to be a Super Saijin."

"What a Super Saijin?"

So odd. So unique. So new. So innocent. So noble.

So..real...

"A Super Saijin arises once every thousand years, though one hasn't come about for three thousand years."

History of the dead...

"Super Saijins have immense power and some of the first ones were so erratic that their own energy killed them."

Silence.

Suddenly, everything in silence.

Tear me, tear me, tear me apart, Kakkarot.

Rip me to pieces, unmake the product.

Deliver me, Kakkarot.

Jealous. Envious.

Uncaring. Cruel.

I am a god, and I am nothing.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

I have ultimate power.

I fear nothing, not even fear.

I feel nothing.

I lie.

A simple question,"Are you okay?"

"No," a simple answer.

Honest. Dishonest.

Torn apart. Sewn shut.

Kill me, Kakkarot.

Make this all end. Let me find out. God or no god?

Existence or nonexistence...?

I ache like before. I tremble. I feel cold in the hot water, my teeth chatter uncontrollably. I shiver. I feel – I know – he is concerned.

Why?

Arms encompass me, holding me close – hands rubbing my back, trying to heat my skin.

The ache..it fades...

Black meets black.

Infinite.

Forever.

All the possibilities.

Demons. Denials.

Angels. Confessions.

True.

Real.

"I'm fine," I whisper, climbing out of the barrel. Out of his arms.

He follows.

"Don't you get it!?" I suddenly scream, "Everything you do doesn't make a difference!"

His eyebrows scrunch together and he seriously thinks about what I have to say...

For once...

For once..?

"If you're talking about on some grand scale, I suppose no, this doesn't make a difference," he says in a stern voice, "But I've died, Vegeta. I know what happens. There's consequences to actions."

My breath is taken away.

He's died?

"What was it like?" I whisper, "To die, what was it like?"

His eyes are level with my own.

Black to black.

"Painful," he says.

"No," I urge, "Not dying, but death. What was it like?" He looks at the ground for a moment before looking back up at me. Again, "Painful."

He wrings his hair before shaking it out. Picking up his clothes he heads inside, and so I must follow.

Painful?

Painful...?

"Kakkarot, is there a god?" I ask.

For some reason I need the security.

For some reason I need to know.

"Yes, there's at least one, Vegeta. There's Heaven and Hell too," he says, sounding rather sad about it.

Why would one sound sad?

Eternity in pain or pleasure.

I wonder how bad the pain will feel.

As we walk into a room I notice something. "You live alone," I say. "Yeah, Chi-chi lived with me for a little while when we were dating, but..she moved on, and I moved on."

Silence.

He pulls clothes out of some drawers and hands some to me, half-mumbling, "They might be too big..."

I slip them on, the pants barely clinging to my hips, the shirt's sleeves down to my elbows.

He pulls on some dark flannel slacks that look like they're meant to be slept in. His tail slips through the hole in the back easily and I stare in fascination.

Why does his tail intrigue me? I have one myself..

I don't understand this....

"I don't understand," I echo my thoughts.

"Hm?" he asks, but after a few moments of receiving no reply he turns toward the door, "Well...let's eat."

So we eat. Silently. Quickly.

I realize suddenly that the person I am and the person I wish I was are far from being the same.

But I'm one step closer.

One step nearer to being completely free.

"So do you plan on staying for awhile?"

"I don't care."

"Tell me what you care about, and if you dare answer something involving a product..so help me, you won't like my response."

I open my mouth and close it, eyebrows furrowing in thought.

I smirk, oh so lightly, "I care about the ultimate product."

His body tenses.

"And I'm not talking about death."

His body relaxes slightly in confusion.

"I'm referring to nonexistence."

Ache, ache, ache...

"Vegeta..." his voice sounds so..worried? He speaks to me as if he's known me for years.

Black meets black.

Demons. Denials.

"Don't get an ego," I say, "but, I think I like you."

Where the Hell did that come from!?

I...I don't feel!

Sigh.

Liar.

What is this I feel?

Towards the last of my kind?

Towards this siren?

Like a siren, beautiful, but deadly...seductive, but cold...?

No...

No.

Kakkarot, he is nothing like that. Perhaps partially, but never will he have such "evil" intentions.

He looks at me, features calm and soft.

"Are you hitting on me?" he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. I don't know what me means.

"Are you making a pass at me?"

I remind him, "I'm not from Earth, Kakkarot."

He growls, then snarls, "ARE YOU TRYING TO GET ME INTO BED!?"

What happened to no bad intentions?

Perhaps he is a siren. Perhaps...perhaps he isn't what he appears to be.

I frown. I scowl.

I hiss, "How dare you."

I repeat, "How dare you!"

Finally I continue on, "For a second I thought I felt something. Anything. For a second I thought maybe I found someone I could trust. Maybe I found something that wasn't a lie. Found something different from everything else, and strong, not weak like the rest. But sadly you disgust me as well. You're hiding from the universe like everything else. Nothing holds true to itself. This is why I hate..everything. This is why I don't care if I die. This is why I chose nonexistence. You're a cowardly product, Kakkarot, and I should kill you myself."

Never again will I wear those clothes...

Never again...will I feel......

Tear me apart, Kakkarot.

Go ahead.

Snap.

Let it out.

All that anger.

All that whatever.

This is pathetic.

I'm a god, I don't need this.

I'm nothing, and I need anything.

"You're delusional," the black-haired siren proclaims, anger fading from his features.

"Who's to say you aren't?" I counter, "Everything's real in our minds. Everything exists if we believe it to."

I do not feel.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

I feel a thread coming loose.

Swallow the bitter truth like a medicine, only to find out it's a poison.

A pause.

"Answer me one thing," he finally speaks up, "Are you homosexual?"

I blink.

My mind is blank.

Homosexual...? What...?

"Sex is such a trivial thing, I'd never waste my time with any type of commitment," I sneer, turning away and folding my arms.

"That doesn't answer my question!"

I turn to him, burning with anger, with emotion, "I'm nothing!! You hear me!? NOTHING! I don't care about those stupid things! I don't care! I DON'T CARE! Do you know why!? Because I'll never ever understand what all these stupid products babble on about when they speak of this "love" shit! It's all a lie! IT'S ALL A LIE! I'm not going to listen to it, because I don't believe in it. It doesn't exist!"

He stares.

Torture me.

Hurt me.

Pain me.

Punish me.

Have no mercy.

Give me damnation.

Refuse redemption.

Tear everything apart and don't put anything back together again.

Kill me, kill me, kill me.

"Freeza took me from my home," I don't know why I'm saying this, "He killed my father and destroyed my planet. He beat me till I became a bloody pulp for insubordination. He'd break my bones just to hear my beg, and then he'd break more. He took everything I held up on a pedestal in my mind and tore it down. He took everything that made me, me and ripped it apart. He tore me apart till I obeyed and agreed with every word that came out of his mouth even though I would despise it. He remade me in the image he saw fit. I enjoy killing. I enjoy pain. I love causing chaos, but I hate every second of living. I'm a failed product, like I've failed at everything else. I don't care, I won't care. Not any longer. Hate me, Kakkarot. Hate me for such trivial things, but know how pathetic you are. Know how much of a hypocrite you are. Know that you're upset over something that makes no difference. Like you. Know that you're upset over something that doesn't matter in the slightest – that won't effect anything." He points and says, "That's where you can sleep." He turns and walks away.

I watch him go.

And I head into the room he pointed to, and lie down on the floor.

I dream. I'm killing him. I'm not. He's dying. He's alone. I'm alone. A figure with a white cape.

Tears.

A voice awakens me, "Did you sleep on the floor?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't care."

"Hn," he says and walks off. A minute later he returns with a tray. Plates of food stacked on top of one another.

"Here," he says, setting it down beside me, "Eat up."

I look at him. He looks at me.

Black to black.

"Hey," he catches my interest, "I'm sorry."

I raise an eyebrow.

He apologized.

My first apology.

My only apology.

Black to black.

I swallow, "For what?"

A weak smile, "Yesterday. I thought about what you said."

The point of this conversation eludes me.

But I keep on continuing it.

"And?"

"And I'm sorry for how I treated you."

Warm darkness. Angels. Confessions.

Sorry...

Sorry...

"Yeah, well, I've been through worse."

His hand rests on my shoulder, my stomach churns, doing back flips.

"I know," he says, "But you shouldn't have."

His touch is so light, so...gentle..?

Never before has someone touched me like this.

I can trust this siren...?

The hand curls around my neck, his other arm goes around my waist. He leans in and pulls me close, head resting on my shoulder.

"Listen," he whispers, "We're the last of our kind. Last night I thought. I didn't sleep one instant."

Give me only thing that's true to its appearance...

"You were on my mind," he says, body pressed against my own, "and so were the things you said."

Hands rub my back, slowly, soothingly.

Demons. Denials.

"I thought about when I died and how there's a long line of people waiting to get in," he explains, "and I thought about how much those god or gods watch over us. I thought...What gives them the right? I thought...What's good? What's bad? But more importantly...What's neither? I thought about what you mean by being a product."

Dead, dying...

Torn apart, sewn shut.

Product...

Black to black.

"I thought about what you said," he says, a smile upon his lips, nearly nonexistent, but there, "and you're partially right."

Partially?

"We are products," he says, "We are what we are. We're not special. We're not unique."

A larger smile, "You're everything Freeza wants you to be, but you hate it."

My faded anger...

My disgust...

My..wasted life.

"You're not a product," he tells me, "you just think you are."

No words. No words to say.

My mind is blank.

The minds is a dangerous thing..

"You're just as much of a product as I am," he says, "so I thought some more about what we should do."

Kakkarot, a product?

We?

Do?

"If we're everything that is around us, we'll give up on everything we want. Our dreams, our aspirations are not our own. I want you to write down everything you can think of about yourself. Everything. Don't hesitate. Write it all down, every last bit. All your hidden fears, all the skeletons in your closet. Write it all down. I want you to do this, and when you're done, come see me."

He points to the desk in the room. Paper and pen rest upon it. Blank and rigid, the morning light shining in through the windows to cast its rays on it.

"I'm going to go finish writing, so only interrupt me with something important."

Black leaves black.

I stand. I approach. I sit at the desk. I stare at the white paper that's marked with lines. My hand picks up the pen and I write. I write everything.

The sickness. The aches. The products.

Being taken apart and rearranged.

My father is dead. The only person I ever looked up to is dead. My planet is gone. My sense of familiarity taken out and shot. As a child I was beaten. As a child I murdered thousands. I was – am – destined to be stronger than my keeper, but I'll never achieve my goal because I'm a failure. I'm a product that in itself failed. I've failed everyone, myself included. I force myself not to feel because no one feels for me. Those I have, have been taken away from me. What I show is all I have. My thoughts are the only proof of my existence. I think I exist, and so I do. If I believe I'm not here, I'm not here. If I don't exist than others will believe it. I ache at the thought. If I don't exist there will be no more questions, answers, products.

Deliver me.

Save me.

Give me damnation.

Fail redemption. Fail damnation.

Fail everything.

Everything about me is irrelevant. Everything doesn't make the tiniest bit of difference. The universe is large and I am nothing compared to it.

I am a god, and I am nothing.

Insanity is the true sanity.

Everything is everything.

Nothing is nothing.

The end justifies the means.

And so on, and so on...

Blah, blah, blah...

Night is coming swiftly by the time I stand; finished. I pick up the stack of papers and head out of the room.

He stands with his eyes closed, arms folded, hand holding a stack of papers.

I pause at the doorway.

His eyes open.

Black to black.

"Let me see," he requests...or demands? His hand reaches out, expecting.

I hand it to him. Everything that's me. I let him know everything by handing it to him.

His posture stands straight.

Black looks into black.

He places our papers together.

He doesn't even look at what I've written. What I've poured myself into all day.

"This," he says, hands gripping the papers at the top, "is the sound of destroying products."

His hands tear the papers in half.

I can't move.

Everything I've written, and he hasn't even read it...

"This," he glances at the papers, "is us. The products."

Rip.

"We're not special."

Rip.

"We're not unique."

Rip.

"We're not failures."

Rip.

"We're not fake."

He drops the papers into a metal wastebasket.

"We just are."

He lights a match.

"Self-destruct."

He drops the match. Smoke billows to the ceiling. The lick of flames slowly spreads, eating every true word. Every lie. Everything. Everything me. Everything him.

I look up, his eyes already on me. His arms fold.

"We just are, Vegeta. Now that we've erased our pasts, anything's possible."

Everything. Gone like that.

Just like that.

"To escape our little dilemma, we should do something to change us. Escape our pasts, we can do easily. Escape our programming is a different matter."

Black to black.

The mind is a dangerous thing.

"So what do you suggest?" I say finally.

"What is it you hate the most, more than anything? Think hard..." he says quietly.

I close my eyes. Darkness. Demons. Denials.

"Love," I say, "I hate love."

He nods and smirks, "Good answer."

His face turns serious, "I hate homosexuals."

He says, "I can't stand them."

He explains, "The thought makes me sick."

He concludes, "That's why I think I should kiss you."

I hate love, he hates love.

Not on the same level, but it's still the same essentially.

Perpetual deja vu....everything similar but not the same.

His hands grasp my shoulders, my pace quickens.

Black meets black.

There's nothing left. He took what was of my life and threw it away. He didn't even care. Didn't bother to look.

He didn't show me his either. Somehow I know what he'd written. Something about something about something.

Dragons. Wishes. Friends. Blah, blah, blah...

His face slowly relaxes, his body moves forward, pressing against mine.

My heart's like a jackhammer, I swear it wishes to burst from my chest.

His thumbs caress my shoulders. One by one they move to my neck, still caressing. Soft, gentle.

A new emotion stirs inside of me. My breath wavers at his great care. Never before has someone touched me like this...

My eyes close, fingers lightly running from my collar bone to my ear, down my jaw, across my lips which open to release a quivering breath. My eyes flutter open as one hand goes around my waist, the other curling into the hair on the back of my neck.

Black to black.

He learns forward, but hesitates.

We're both supposed to be so disgusted by now we should be physically ill.

But we're not.

He leans forward again, and this time he does not hesitate.

His lips press lightly, but firmly against my own.

I feel light-headed, I close my eyes.

He lingers for a moment before pulling back, but not completely.

My eyes open.

Black to black.

Demons. Denials.

Confessions.

Confess...

He leans in, kissing me fuller. My eyebrows furrow at this new emotion. My arms wrap around his form, returning the embrace. My eyes close.

Darkness.

Confessions.

The truth is, this isn't revolting.

The truth is..I like this.

My tail ventures and twines with his. He gasps as the sensitive appendage is touched, but calms himself after a moment of breathing. He looks at me.

Confess...

"I don't hate you," I whisper.

He smiles.

"I never have."

Still smiling, "We've just met."

Aches. Blackness. Space. Dragon. Colors. A figure.

"Perhaps."

He laughs, a rich true laugh.

And I find myself laughing in response.

For the first time in my life, I'm laughing for no reason. Laughing merely because I can.

The threads have been pulled loose.

Kakkarot carefully, unpainfully, sewed me back together.

He's like a drug.

A potent one at that.

Here, with us, what you see is what you get.

We are what we are, and we're not afraid to show it.

Here, with us, it's the product rehab.

We are what you get when you remove the data banks. Start over. Clean slate.

Every decision will be our own, and not someone else's.

It's all about us.

Here, with us, true emotion is achieved.

For once, I feel – truly feel.

With him, it's all new. The deja vu has ended. All questions are answered.

With him, it's perfection.

I look at him, sensing something. Amusement is in his eyes.

"What?" I ask, curious.

He laughs again, and I cannot help but let a smirk escape.

His mind brushes my own, catching a bit of his thoughts. The feeling is that of irony.

"Don't get an ego," he says, "but I like you too."

It's then I realize, we're free.

We've escaped life and have moved on.

But it's not over, and it'll never be perfect.

But with him, I'll never notice.