O Captain My Captain

O Captain My Captain – In Glory and Vain I

Turles stepped into the ship, both boots touching firmly upon the metal flooring. Dark sky rolled past behind him, forcing his hair to whip against his wind burnt face. He'd been out in the deserts of Trexia or Traxia or whatever the hell it was called for days now, avoiding the cities as to keep himself low key. Without the timely appearance of the Royal Flagship to investigate the disappearance of an entire squad on the pathetic rock, Turles' probably would have gotten himself stranded there. Thankfully, the King seemed interested in his warriors. Either that or he was thirsting for a fight himself.

To his right, several combat medics were standing idly by, having no one to attend to. The bodies of his squad mates had been lost and discarded by the Trexian government, and he most certainly had not gone to retrieve their corpses. No, that would only incriminate him further than it already had. The medics nodded in his general direction as he stepped past, out into the hallway of the main medical clinic. The place looked like some kind of tetanus producing factory; though the above floors were rather tidy and well kept, no one wanted to nurse a wounded warrior back to health. Especially if they weren't strong enough to warrant a rejuvenation chamber.

His boots echoed dully along the lighted pathway, his mind on pursuits other than battle. He had obtained glory through the destruction of his squad, and now he would be rewarded for it. As soon as he found the commander, anyway. That man was tough as nails, but he appreciated powerful fighters. Then again, he'd never really given much thought to the warrior known as Turles. His background as an intergalactic pirate seemed to strike him as soft, despite the ruthless and cutthroat world it entailed. He knew war more than half of the bastards who lingered on this ship.

He had ravaged planets and laid waste to whatever he'd damn well pleased. However, as it happened, Fate had a funny way of catching up to a man. He had, before the revelation, been under the impression that he was simply incredibly powerful by right of some freak accident. Yet, it had all made almost too much sense when that man had revealed his heritage to him. Even though the Commander had been there when Turles had pledged his allegiance to the Saiyan Military Machine, he had been a little too keen for the former pirate's liking.

He'd noticed the dangerous gleam that seemed to inhabit normally dull eyes. He had seen the way the warrior's eyes lit up as if he'd found buried treasure when he mentioned the power, the riches, the bitches, that came with such might. It was true, there were no women quite like Saiyan Women, and there was no satisfaction greater than forcing an inferior man to his knees than perhaps forcing a superior man to his equally broken knee caps. It was something that came with the station. But, for all the travels he'd had under the banner of his ancestry's empire, he had yet to find personal gratification or glory.

Provided the Commander was in about as good a mood as he usually was, Turles doubted finding it today would be much easier. He was going to love to see the look on the man's face when he realized Turles had survived; little Turles, the warrior who was supposed to be so soft. The Commander had valued the other men in his squad, which was some sort of B-Team. He'd enjoyed the wild power found in Bulluce, the strength of the fiery Chartreuse and the dangerously demented mania found in their leader, Mato.

They were supposed to be tough as nails, all of them. There was no way they were supposed to be wiped out like that; slaughtered like lambs along a machine! There was no way Turles should have survived! Yet here he was, wandering the halls as he approached the man's office. Oh lord, he was going to enjoy the shocked expression and the genuine concern for the squad's female, Chartreuse. He could practically feel the dread mounting now. However, he could also feel something else on the horizon; his battle sense was tingling.

Just short of Commandant Teparys' door, Turles turned back to the entryway. Men were scrambling about on the ship, as was to be expected. They were dashing from station to station, to and fro as they struggled to make sense of some strange event. The door he had just turned away from suddenly swung open, forcing him to turn his head once more from sheer curiosity. It was as if every new change in the environment was a magnet, and his eyes were made of dark, cast iron. ”Teparys, what the hell's going on?”

“Nuclear Missile incoming, man the defenses! Turles, get your ass in gear and get down to the bridge; you're needed on interception to contend with the fighters coming at us. They've got some capable warriors who're inbound.”

For a moment, Turles simply stared.

“What the hell are you staring at? Hustle and find your damn back up!”

God damn it.

WC: 873

"That goddamn excuse of a King." Zorn said to himself walking down the halls. He couldn't believe that he was put on this godforsaken ship as an escort. And without his squad! "Some all powerful warrior he turned out to be. Needing an escort. Pansy!" He exclaimed.

It was a good thing nobody was around to hear his screams of anger, or he'd be charged with treason. Another one of King Vegeta's idiotic laws.

He set down the pathway and grumbled. Although, he wondered why nobody was around. It was unnaturally quiet for this floor. He wondered if King Vegeta had summoned everybody to his quarters for some sort of announcement, but he waved the thought off. If there was some sort of announcement, he would have announced it on the ship's speakers.

Still, that didn't answer why nobody was on the floor. He decided to take the elevator to the floor above, just to check if anybody was still on this ship.

He got in, and the doors closed. He felt the elevator rise higher. But, for some reason, moments after the doors closed, a shock wave traveled throughout the ship, and the elevator stopped in it's tracks. "Just...great..." Zorn said.

He sighed, and flew upwards. He flew through the top of the elevator, and to the opening. When he set foot outside, everything around him screamed chaos and confusion.

Saiyans were running in and out of rooms, and up and down the halls frantically. Zorn tried using words to find out what was going on, but nobody was listening. He was already extremely irritated before this point, but this was just pushing him past the edge. He grabbed a passing nurses shirt, and slammed him against the wall.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Zorn yelled in the nurses face. The angrier he got, and the longer he waited for an answer, the harder he pushed into the wall.

"W-w-we're under at-tack by some space pirates!" He said, stuttering in fear. Saiyan Nurses always were the worst breed of Saiyan.

Zorn was intrigued with this information, and let the nurse down. He smirked, and walked back into the Elevator opening. He jumped inside, and the flew up to the second floor, which was the command center.

He walked passed this place, which was littered with tons of frantic Saiyans. He heard one of them say something about an explosion. "...and fix it! The shock waves from that missile destroyed half of the lower..." he screamed at a lesser soldier.

Zorn was confused he immediately headed to the commander's quarters for an understanding of the situation at hand.

Unfortunately, it was on the other side of this floor, which means Zorn would have to make his way through all this damn chaos. After it taking way longer than it should have to arrive, he saw a Saiyan just standing in the doorway of the Commander's room.

Zorn, too irritated to care what the soldier was there for, forcefully shoved him into the room and said, "Hurry the hell up! I don't have all day!"

WC 517

As the Commander's words set in, Turles could only scowl even more deeply than he normally would have. So a nuclear missile was racing at the ship, and he was going to have to run interception on some space trash that was incoming? Typical Saiyan nature; worry more for the interceptors than the fucking missile. Sure, the missile could take out probably a quarter of the ship and maybe even an engine, but strong enough pirates were going to trash all of them if they weren't on the task. A majority of the warriors were outside dealing with the Trexian Air Force, leaving only the guard on the ship to run protection on the King.

”Fine, Teparys! You had best hope they don't slit your damn throat before I return!”, the grumbled statement was mumbled more under his breath than aloud, probably because Turles actually valued his life. He would much rather leave the ship in a fine state than go out and meet the devil himself in hell. No way was he about to let a nuclear missile hit the ship. Yes, it was true that the pirates were a pretty credible threat, but he'd seen some crazy shit in his day. He'd seen way worse than anything these bastards were capable of; they were not the legendary Bojack Gang from days long past.

Nor were they his Crusher Corps. That was something he held tightly to in his mind as he heard a man striding firmly through the halls of the Commandant's Bay, forcing other, lesser Saiyans from his path as he moved. He couldn't blame the bastard. None of the people in this room had proven themselves very useful, admittedly. They were all scurrying about, trying to coordinate attack squads and defense forces in some misguided effort to focus on the nuclear missile or the pirates; it didn't matter which they chose. Turles knew exactly what he would have done in this situation, and he knew exactly how to fix it. That didn't mean he was gonna tell them.

Turles didn't give a damn for the secretaries and the paper pushers either. They were, as it was said, dead weight. None of them were strong enough for actual combat, and none of them were even remotely useful in a war. They primarily served as relief, a respite from the world of high powered fighters and dangerous combat. A man never had to worry about his secretary killing him, because they couldn't no matter how hard they tried.

He had just started to turn around when a pair of firm hands outstretched, clearly of warrior origin. They planted against his back and pushed, clearly displeased with the way he had simply been standing around in the doorway, clearly hoping to push him to the ground and get him out of the god damned way. He turned quickly, stepping forward from the momentum. He'd give it to the guy, he had a bit of natural strength, but Turles was stronger. He wasn't about to be subjugated by some lesser, more bothersome fighter. He was just one more of the stupid bastards that made up this crew. Inconsiderate to the position in which they found themselves, and incapable of envisioning possible disgrace.

As he examined the warrior who had shoved him, he snarled. Something about the man seemed vaguely familiar; had he ever seen him before? Probably not. Many Saiyans looked the same, due to their genetic nature. He had been told that he looked like a warrior named 'Bardock' whom he had never met. Apparently, the man was a veteran of the Saiyan Military. For that, he'd taken it as a compliment. He knew no other way to take it, until the man who had insulted him so began laughing. Abruptly, as it so happened, he ran out of lungs to laugh with.

”Watch where you're going, before I-”, however, the threat was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a second shock wave. It rocked the ship and sent it, externally, into a steep rightward dive. Fear raced through his mind, conjuring dangerous thoughts that he would have preferred to ignore. Was it possible that he'd be stuck on this god forsaken planet for another few days? While Saiyan Ships were somewhat faster than they used to be, Turles knew that there was no way they'd be rescued quickly. King Vegeta was said to be a capable warrior. There would be no need to come for him immediately.

He stretched out a hand, placing it on the door frame, barring the new arrival's path as he struggled to maintain a standing position. He had felt a shock wave like that before. Whereas the first had clearly been a nuclear missile, this one was definitely the pirate crew. Had they really been so foolish as to breach the ship's hull with a det charge? Fucking amateurs; they could have blown up everything in the damned place. Still snarling, but now at a separate cause, Turles' ears jumped to attention as a call came over the central announcement system.

So they were on deck four. Fantastic! That was only a deck below them; he could relieve some of the stress he currently felt at the situation he was in; without his glory, forced from his pleasure and gratification by some unforeseeable consequence. It bothered him, and now he was going to take it out on the source nearest him. Or, to be specific, the nearest legal source to him. He could not risk killing another of his comrades in plain sight, where he'd be immediately branded a traitor. Suddenly, the commander's voice rose over the sound of worry and panic.

“Zorn, glad you're here. Take Turles here and deal with those bastards as quick as you can; we've gotta cut them off before they break down into the engine room. We've got a few guards down there, but they're pretty low class. I doubt they'll last long.”

”Who the hell is Zorn?”, Turles turned to the Commander for the briefest moment, confused. However, quickly, he remembered the man who had tried to shove him moments prior. Oh, wonderful. He was about to be working with someone who was already hostile to him. He was missing the pirate's life more and more as time went on. Still, now was not the time to be bitching. He had some pirates to deal with.

The Bedheaded Warrior immediately struck downward, breaking through the floor by utilizing a concentrated collection of energy that had been welling up in his fist subconsciously. Smoke filled the room, briefly obscuring it from view as he struck again, tearing away at the metal and alloy again and again until he reached the fourth deck, where the pirates were supposed to be. If the other man, Zorn, was any good he'd have followed him. Thick black fog was torn out of the room as Turles glanced up from the metal stacks that now littered the floor below his feet, dark eyes catching quickly onto the breached entryway.

Yeah, that was a det charge alright. They'd left explosives residue all over the ki proof outer-hull, which was now bent inward from the force of the explosion. Smoke from the upper floors was being pulled out through the hole by the force of King Vegeta's Engines, which made the air pressure even more astonishing. The stacks beneath his feet were struggling against his control, the hole tugging them gently toward it. Had he not chosen to leap off promptly, he'd have probably been sucked out next, and left to once more play catch up with the bastard's ship.

For now, he glanced around the room, ignoring the tearing wind that was now whipping against his face and scuffing up his already bedded head.

”Zorn, do you see them?”, speaking to the warrior he assumed had been Zorn, who he also assumed had followed him.

WC: 1,333
TWC: 2,206

”Zorn?”, Turles' head turned as he glanced around the smoke-filled room. The plume being sucked out of the gaping hole in the flagship's hole was obscuring his vision; he couldn't see anything to save his life. Coincidentally, he couldn't sense Zorn around either. Was it possible that the man had flaked out on him? Frowning as he assessed the situation, he set his sensory ability to a better task. If he couldn't sense Zorn, he should probably begin to focus on the task at hand. He was supposed to remove the boarding crew from the ship.

They'd made the mistake of using explosives to break into the ship, instead of just cutting their way in. Explosives, as the name implied, caused a large explosion. Naturally, this explosion was rather easy to detect. However, if they had been intelligent enough to merely cut a hole through the hull of the Royal Flagship with some heavy duty equipment, they could have slipped in undetected and avoided the wrath of a warrior like Turles. He was not one to have mercy on amateurs, and these men most definitely fit the bill in that regard.

Black energy flared to life around his boots, rising in thick swirls around him. His mouth was contorted into a scowl, and his eyes were narrowed as he scanned the room for the targets of his wrath. He was most definitely going to be taking out his frustrations upon the warriors who had figured themselves important enough to enter a Saiyan Warship. They had figured that they'd survive the breakthrough and then, probably, leave through a separate hole on the other side of the ship. He couldn't say he thought they were daft in that regard, as that was a solid enough plan.

However, as the last of the smoke was pulled from the room, Turles' mind continued to dwell on the event they hadn't been counting on. They hadn't expected a warrior who had experienced a life of piracy, who was experienced in their craft. Though, there was one single difference between the man himself and the members of this misguided pirate crew. He had been far better at his job. He had always had his own plan, he always knew what he was supposed to do in times of duress and stress. He would not have made the same mistake they had.

He turned his back to the hole, choosing instead to stride forward toward the doorway of Deck Four's mess hall. All of the tables had slid against the wall when the ship had taken a dip earlier, making it so that the pirates would have had to go through them or move them when they had entered. As he expected, there was a massive hole in the door at the end of the room; they had blasted straight through a set of steel lunch tables, as well as the metal alloy that constituted the door itself. At the very least, they were powerful enough to blow through a flex alloy door.

Narrowing his eyes, Turles stepped forward in pursuit. In the hallway outside of the mess hall, bodies littered the floor; they were strewn about in every direction. This was interesting, truly. They had managed to blast their way not only through the flex alloy, but through the hallway that had once been filled with warriors. Admittedly, a majority of them had been suffering from some hunger troubles, but most of the Saiyans on the ship were pretty powerful. There had to be some kind of catch to this scenario. No regular alien was capable of blasting through such a place.

He skipped forward over the bodies in the direction he knew the crew to be headed. The best chance they had was to disable the engines and force the craft to land; coincidentally, they would need to visit the map room to find the engine room. Otherwise, they'd just be randomly jumping about the ship. If it were him, he would want to avoid conflict as much as physically possible. One never wanted to risk being upstaged or killed by a warrior who had managed to get a lucky shot in. The reward of downing the ship via removal of the engines was far too great to pass up.

If you downed the ship, the crew would go down with it. Most of the time, a simple det charge or blast would manage to do it. However, in a ship like the one they currently inhabited, they would need something more powerful than most explosives. They would need to mass their energy together and create a nuclear force blast in the center of a Saiyan Warship. If they lost control over their power, they'd all be eviscerated alongside the crew and the engines. It was a funny thing, explosive force; in order to escape, the blast would travel down every path it could.

If they were smart, they'd contain the explosion as long as possible. It wasn't hard to do, provided you knew how to manage your own energy. You could even manage it from a distance, holding the explosion in for maximum pressure, before releasing it and taking out the bottom of the ship entirely. Obviously, these people had taken down their fair share of Saiyan Ships in the past. No first timer would be able to guess that the King and Captain, alongside any of their treasure. It was almost sad that Turles was aboard to stop them. They'd probably have managed to obtain free reign over the warship, considering the fact that most Saiyans never had to worry about pirates.

That was what they'd been riding on. As Turles' body flew down the hallways on the path to the cartography chamber, less and less bodies seemed to litter the hallway as he flew. Was it possible that they were going to beat him there? That was pretty likely. He had been a few seconds behind in this chase to begin with. Still, he held stock in his speed. These amateurs, no matter how lucky they figured themselves to be, were not going to get past him. Even if they beat him to the cartography chamber, they'd have to get past him to get to the engines.

He stepped into the room slowly, almost dramatically. Several dozen digital maps and blueprints covered the walls around him, as red lights flashed and flared in the spaces between. The alarms had been disabled from the room; had the cartographers thought that some kind of malfunction had occurred? Still scowling as he struggled to grasp their decision making process, the warrior strode forward without much hesitation. On the other end of the room was the warrior that would be his opponent.

The man was tall, wearing some strange form of armor. His skin was a deep, almost seaweed green. His hair was a sleek, jet black. If he had to guess, Turles would have assumed he was wearing some form of old school Saiyan Armor; it was heavily out dated, but probably still effective enough to protect him from harm. Though, what Turles really didn't understand was: where the fuck was the rest of his crew? Surely this guy hadn't just come in here all on his lonesome? If he did, he was somehow even less intelligent than he'd previously figured.

Black ki burst into existence around him like some kind of disfigured maelstrom, shaking and shivering along his skin as it rose into the air. This had to be some kind of joke; this guy had broken in single handedly, and expected to get away with it. The storm of energy that had amassed around his body slowly flickered to his bent fingertips, which were cocked to deliver more blasting power. The man at the head of the room turned, dropping the limp body of some nameless fighter. For a few seconds, he seemed to appraise Turles, as if wondering about his power.

“You guys are like ants, I swear to god!”, he sounded genuinely surprised. Or was the expression bemusement? Either way, it was pissing him off. As the sounds of consoles seemed to fade away, Turles' replied in the only way he really knew how to. With equal amounts of disgust as his opponent had idiocy.

”I don't think an ant is this lethal!”, he growled directly toward his opponent as his fist shot forth, releasing a concentrated beam of energy. The black beam tore through the air without difficulty, smashing through a series of display screens on it's way. The man at the end of the room's grin immediately transitioned from a clearly interested expression to one of complete dread. It was inherently clear that this single man was about to be fucking eradicated.

WC: 1,464
TWC: 3,670