Bulma pushed the heavy iron grate aside and climbed out onto the scorching hot pavement.
She took a deep breath, shielding her eyes from the blinding desert sun.
"Fresh air." She exhaled in relief.
I never thought I'd be so happy to smell dust.
Launch climbed out right behind her, shaking her blonde hair.
"We made it." Launch said, checking the street.
"Now, if we just cut through, we can—"
CLICK
CLACK
A dozen weapons racked back at once, enough to stop her mid breath.
Bulma and Launch froze.
Their eyes adjusted to the glare, and the truth settled in.
A small courtyard.
No exits.
They were boxed in.
Twenty scrappers stood in a circle, weapons already up, assault rifles, crossbows, shotguns.
Every single one of them was pointed at the two women.
There was nowhere to run.
Launch's shoulders slumped.
She let out a defeated sigh.
"Ah, shit..."
A scrapper with a mohawk and a shotgun resting casually on his shoulder stepped forward from the crowd.
"Welcome to the surface, ladies, don't bother dusting yourselves off."
He gestured with the barrel of the shotgun toward the large command center in the distance.
"You're coming with us. Yamcha is waiting for you."
/////////////////////////////////////////
The buggy tore through the city streets as it left a cloud of dust in its wake.
Oolong clutched the steering wheel, while Goku sat in the passenger seat.
"We're close."
Oolong swung the wheel hard, drifting the buggy around a crumbling concrete structure.
Ahead of them, the Scrapper base rose like a fortress of garbage.
It was a complex of welded shipping containers, scrap metal walls, and watchtowers manned by armed bandits.
"That's it. Signal's coming from inside the main building, and the tower guards are locked and loaded... front door's a no-go. We'll have to get smart about this."
Goku looked at the high walls, then at Oolong.
"We don't need the front door." He stood up in the buggy, balancing effortlessly.
"If the dragon ball's in there, I'm getting it. Just keep this thing ready to roll, Oolong."
"Wait, what are you doing?"
Goku reached over his shoulder and pulled the Nyoibo free from his back.
He crouched, ready to vault the high walls of the compound.
"Get ready—"
CLAP.
CLAP.
CLAP.
The slow sound of applause cut through the desert.
Goku and Oolong locked in place.
They looked up toward the main gate's watchtower.
Standing on the metal catwalk, looking down at them with a smug, was Yamcha.
The desert wolf leaned casually against the railing, unbothered by the intruder at his doorstep.
"I figured you'd show up sooner or later. Moths always come to the flame. You're here for the dragon ball, aren't you?"
Goku didn't lower his guard.
"Where is it?"
Yamcha chuckled, shaking his head.
"Straight to business. But I think your little plan has already hit a dead end."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a walkie-talkie, dangling it over the edge of the railing.
"We just picked up two strays. A blonde and a girl with blue hair."
Goku's eyes widened.
Girl with blue hair? Is he talking about Bulma?
"They're in custody. And if you want them to stay in one piece, you'll listen very carefully."
Beside Goku, Oolong (Still disguised as a red haired grunt.) started sweating profusely.
"Now, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. And honestly? I'm feeling generous today. I'm willing to let you all walk away... if you cooperate."
Yamcha's expression hardened.
"A few weeks ago, there was a traitor in this camp. A shape-shifting pig named Oolong."
Yamcha gripped the railing.
"That rat stole a dragon ball from my family. It wasn't just a treasure... it was the only hope I had to buy a cure for my dying brother. He stole my brother's life."
Yamcha pointed a finger down at them.
"I know he's with you, leading this little raid. Hand over Oolong, and I let the rest of you go, that's the deal."
Oolong swallowed hard.
"O-Oolong ? I... uh... I don't know who that is. Never heard of him! My name is... uh... Steve!"
"What are you talking about? You are Oolong." Goku asked, clearly confused.
Yamcha froze on the catwalk.
His eyes narrowed instantly.
Oolong slowly turned his head toward Goku.
His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror mixed with rage.
"You... COMPLETE MORON!" Oolong shrieked, grabbing Goku by the collar.
"WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?! I WAS BLUFFING! IT WAS A DISGUISE, YOU SPIKY-HAIRED IMBECILE!"
"So you really did come back..." Yamcha's voice dropped to a terrifying growl from the tower.
The generous facade shattered completely.
"You have some nerve showing your face here again." Yamcha hissed, drawing his scimitar.
Yamcha didn't bother with the ladder. He vaulted over the railing of the watchtower, plummeting thirty feet to the floor.
He landed in a crouch.
He straightened up slowly, dusting off his uniform.
Oolong squealed and scrambled behind the buggy, shaking like a leaf.
Goku stepped forward, placing himself between Yamcha and Oolong.
He shifted his feet, knees bent slightly, raising his hands into a martial arts stance.
"So, you must be Yamcha."
Yamcha looked at Goku's stance, his arrogance quickly smothered it.
"Then you know who I am. And if you know the name, you know the reputation. I don't rule this desert because I have an army, i rule it because I'm the strongest thing in it."
He took a step forward.
"If you've got any sense, kid, you'll walk away while you can still breathe. You have no idea what I'm capable of."
Goku's expression didn't change.
"You don't know what I'm capable of, either."
"Screw this!" Oolong shifted into a bat and took off from the buggy, wings beating hard as he disappeared into the air.
"Good luck, Goku! You're on your own!"
"You're not going anywhere, traitor!" Yamcha roared.
He kicked off the ground and vanished in a burst of speed, moving so fast the human eye could barely follow.
In a heartbeat, he closed the distance.
His hand shot out, fingers closing in, ready to snatch the fleeing bat by its wings.
"N-N-No-no—"
WHOOSH.
Just as his fingers were about to close, someone stoped him.
Yamcha skid to a halt, his eyes widening in shock.
Goku was standing there.
Again.
Right in his path.
"I told you, you'll have to beat me first."
Yamcha took a half-step back.
What the hell? I moved at full sprint. How did a brat with legs that short get in front of me? He didn't just cut me off... he matched my speed.
The shock quickly turned into irritation.
Yamcha gritted his teeth.
"Fine. If you're that eager to die, be my guest!"
Yamcha didn't hesitate.
He unleashed a vicious straight punch aimed directly at Goku's face, putting his full body weight behind the blow.
It was a strike meant to shatter bone.
Goku swayed his head to the left, the fist whistling harmlessly past his ear, missing by millimeters.
Instantly, Goku pivoted on his heel and snapped a kick upward, aiming for Yamcha's head.
Yamcha's managed to raise his forearm in time.
THWACK.
The impact was heavy.
Yamcha skidded back a few inches, his arm stinging from the force of the kick.
He peeked at Goku from behind his guard, then lowered his arm, shaking it as the sting faded into numbness.
He's good. That wasn't luck, he hits like a truck.
"You're not just a lost tourist, are you? You've been trained."
Goku didn't answer.
He reset his feet, and raised his hands back into his stance.
Yamcha's lip curled into a feral grin.
"Fine. No more games. Let's see if you can handle a real monster."
He dropped low to the ground, crouching on one knee while keeping his other leg ready to spring.
His back hunched, and his fingers curled into rigid, dangerous claws.
He bared his teeth, mimicking the snarl of a wild beast.
"This is Roga style, my own fighting technique. Get ready."
Goku watched closely.
His stance changed, that posture... He's a martial artist, just like Grandpa.
Goku tightened his muscles, bracing himself.
"This isn't going to be easy."