Chapter Text

Chapter One, Being Nothing Extraordinary

Before he sensed the girl, he heard the faraway noise of her battered, low-fly vehicle grating his ears.

He'd chosen a remote location for his tournament. Not out of concern for nearby people, you understand, but to give himself some peace and quiet between his announcement and the tournament itself. It didn't hurt that it gave his opponents some space to let loose, rather than worry about nearby cities, and the construction casualties had been minimal - practically none at all. He'd congratulated himself on its open location, its minimal design... It was perfect.

It would have been perfect.

The interview team still cowered nearby on a cliff. He had expected some kind of TV crew, and, well, there was bound to be someone stupid enough to try talking to him. But since they'd retreated to a 'safe' distance, he'd been content to meditate on fighting scenarios and wait. So long as they served their purpose...

But he hadn't expected more than that, and it was irritating when he heard some sad-sounding backwater car making down the road towards him containing only a single, diminutive ki source. He was sure he had demonstrated his powers adequately at the TV station. The human capacity for stupidity couldn't be that high. And, while one cluster of flies was tolerable, two instances of this fecklessness was simply rude. It might even deserve a response.

It was easy to reason that when the first team started broadcasting it had inspired more interlopers. He briefly considered shooting a simple energy ball at the car while it was still out of sight. Then he let himself relax. As annoying as humans were, they needed things done obvious and slow. There was nothing to do but wait until the new person showed up, summon the TV people, and then murder them live on the network. Yes. He would be sensible and surgical, he thought. It would handle things nicely.

This would be the first, and not the least, of his mistakes.

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The Vespid 700 series was touted as top-of-the-line in pre-capsular casual travel. This was a nice way of saying that it had no air power and relied on ferromag panels for a 'comfortable half-meter of lift', and also that it couldn't be transported without a driver (or, frankly, a hauler). It topped out at speeds that couldn't outrun a hungry dinosaur.

On the other hand, it plays music okay, the woman thought as she put a free hand on the radio dial and hit Scan.

"Vespa, what's my ETA?" She queried. A voice answered, hissing and warbling.

"Driver will arrive at custom coordinates in zero-point-three hours."

The woman squinted. She thought she could see it now - the arena was planted directly in the road. It was really a big-dick move, like he was personally insulted by the idea of someone traveling somewhere else. Not exactly surprising though. She'd watched a recording of the initial transmission ("The ZTV Tower Attack Broadcast") over 20 times, reading hard for anything, even facial ticks. And what had been abundantly clear was that 'Cell' was another shining example of a bloated ego.

That was dangerous enough for a woman of her build (namely, no build), but this one had apparently achieved power on a scale of global terror.

The arena grew on the horizon, so that four white spires began to differentiate from each other. Not quite the original styling for a martial arts tourney. Did he feel a need to personalize it? He might be more unpredictable than she first thought.

The speedometer reading started to go up. When the car started to make loud, threatening noises, she noticed her hand on the accelerator and quickly pulled it back, shaking it as if she could get rid of the feeling. Naturally, it didn't go away. With a mixture of thrill and disgust she watched the darkness fade out of the veins on her arm. But the whisper of euphoria stayed, lingering like a lover's kiss as she put her eyes back on the road.

"Not yet."

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The woman approached the arena and parked off the road with plenty of space between them, stopping the engine and stepping out with a little wobble in her step. She was hard looking. In fact she looked like she'd stepped off a military plane, with slightly cropped hair and a set of trousers and jacket with plenty of pockets. She carried a handheld multi-functional device that obviously served her for recordings, and beneath it, a thick ugly notebook that looked like it had been wet and had been laid out to dry. Probably more than once.

He didn't bother himself to move. She was noisy, and her body and gait were strictly earthbound, and not even a fighter's. It was a pity, but it wasn't a surprise. He was confident that if there were any other noteworthy fighters in the world, he would have scented them out in his first form and helped himself to them already.

The sun was set and the sky was the dull orange of dusk behind him.

She approached with some dutiful human greeting. He was deep within his own mind, where he played through a scenario where despite their sense of honor, Goku might attack with his entire entourage of Saiyans and halfbreeds. She came closer when he didn't answer, but he prioritized his thoughts.

He noticed that she continued to approach him, saying nothing and eying him doubtfully. He sent that information to some other part of his mind to-

She reached out and shoved at him as though she expected him to be a mannequin.

His reflexes kicked in and he grasped her wrist between his thumb and forefinger, opening his eyes a bit more with a start. She started laughing.

"Is something funny?" He felt the words slip out in a snarl.

"You looked fake. That's marvelous. I was scared you might be."

This didn't quite scan in his mind, and he didn't let go of her wrist, searching for something a bit more earnest in her gaze. He made sure that his grip would start hurting her, but she didn't change her expression - schooled into something polite, pleasant, and blank.

"Scared I might be fake?" He lifted his brow at her.

"Yeah." She said, suddenly a little breathless. "You know, fake. A dummy. It's not a costume is it?"

"I'm very real." He purred.

"Good. I wouldn't want to resolve to risk my life only to be disappointed."

"You're very entertaining." He replied, trying for something magnanimous and condescending. "It's a shame you chose to annoy me."

Yes. There it was.

The quickening pulse. The refocusing of her eyes. Now she knew she was prey.

"Well, if I'd known you were thin skinned, I would've tried harder to call ahead. But you've got no agent. You know - you could have made it a bit easier to get to. Or did you have something set up in advance with Z-Television?"

He let her go, and she stumbled back satisfactorily like a duckling in a hurricane. He stepped forward, and she was obliged to step back once more.

"What are you talking about?" His lip curled. "Are you trying to scoop someone's interview? How underhanded."

"Hey!"

"Now, now." He interrupted her with a raised hand. "I'm sorry to inform you, but you aren't the first to arrive. There are some other news people up there on that cliff. Call them down if you like. I'll let you talk it out among yourselves." He was still considering the pleasure of watching them broadcast each other's demise. She was stubborn, so it might be better to blast the other crew away first - or maybe make them argue why he should spare one team over the other - but he was already determined that she needed a bit of a lesson. The other crew had the decency to be shit-pants terrified. On the other hand she would be excellent to make an example of. Let them see her being full of herself, and then vaporize her.

"Why don't you just choose who you want to do your interview?" She steadied her stare and straightened, and acted like her hand wasn't steadily showing a bruise. She looked - what was it -... she looked steadfast. Determined.

"Why does it matter? In a few short days, my dear, that interview will cease to exist, just like this filthy ball of mud you call a planet."

"Sure- whatever." She said, shrugging it off without a blink. "I just thought you might want something with a little more detail to come out - before you blow it all up. I mean, if it doesn't really matter, why have a tournament? Why even wait?"

"Chivalry." He didn't quite believe that much, but he enjoyed entertaining the idea. "And the desire for a good fight. A real challenge." He said, staring hard at her. "In a martial arts ring."

"Oh. Of course." She said amicably. "You're not comfortable with banter." She turned on a fake expression, something roughly like charity. "I understand."

He stared at her. She didn't flinch in the slightest. It was worse than it first appeared: her bravado was real. Did she genuinely think she would convince him to do an interview? What were they paying these people?

"I don't waste my time on banter, as you call it. I'm a warrior. I'm built to fight real battles, not play around with insects like you." It came out more heartfelt than he meant it to, and he realized too late that he'd shown her he was bothered.

"You're on another level." She said, as if to mollify him. "I'm sorry I didn't make it more apparent - but I wanted to understand you better. Obviously you're holding a tournament. It's really shaken up the martial arts world to see a rogue actor just show up and announce he's reviving the budoukai. But there's so much more to it. You have a planet held hostage; nobody holds something hostage if they want that thing. They do it to get something else. You want people to fight, but you give them a week's notice. That tells me you know more than you're letting on. People don't prep for a week to fight in the tournament. People make a life out of it... so what is it you know? Or maybe I should ask 'who' is it you know?"

His teeth flashed briefly as he came to a sudden realization.

"You're interviewing me."

She went deer-still, then she grinned weakly. "You know what they say. Ask for forgiveness, not permission."

He nodded, a slow, awful smile spreading on his face. Almost serene. Then he picked her up by the throat and threw her against the nearest pillar.

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"How clever you are." He chided, walking toward the woman piled in a heap in the corner of the ring.

"Did you plan all this out on the long drive to my arena? I wonder how long it took you. Maybe you thought I'd be so impressed I'd give you the job of a lifetime." He paused a while, taking in the sight of her, crumpled and unseeing. "What a shortsighted excuse for a human being."

She was stunned. Physically, anyway. Her body had always given its all, but being flung into something at speed was a lot more to ask than she was used to. When her awareness resolved itself, it was to a huge white surface taking up most of her vision, and the remainder was his shadowed form, in the bright last rays of the sun. His body made an odd sound when it moved, a kind of squeaking like an old robot. She was lying on her side and her pockets were digging into her ribs sharply because they were full of stuff. Which was the only drawback to having pockets full of stuff, but it was a very relevant drawback right now.

A shiver ran up her spine. All of a sudden she was back. And everything was hurt and the arena floor was very cold. She braced for the pain and pulled her arms and legs under her body, waiting for her vision to stop shaking around. When she looked at him again, she saw him staring back.

It was the second time he'd looked at her that way. His eyes were almost empty. Under his gaze, she was suddenly in a memory of being a little girl again. She was at a zoo and staring into the tiger exhibit. The tiger was staring back. That same look, so open, like you could fall into it. Like it could eat you just with its eyes. You saw something look at you that way and you knew instantly that it was thinking singularly about killing you. Because you were food.

On something that looked -albeit vaguely- like a man, it looked like pure psychopathy.

He talked to her softly, but she didn't really have room for it. She pushed the heel of her hand to her nose and mouth, but there was no bleeding.

"Did you break something? Because I can't feel anything broken." She said. It didn't matter what he was saying. She was confident they were on the same wavelength. She'd crossed a line and he was telling her as much. Maybe he even felt tricked, a little. Or maybe he thought his boundaries were just that obvious.

"Don't worry. We'll get to breaking you." Interesting. That little flicker of mock-intimacy in his eyes. The way he lowered them, lowered his guard. She was that little of a threat. She was that helpless. Well, nice try, that wasn't going to shake her.

"Going easy on me, Cell?" He looked startled that she'd used his name. He shouldn't have been. He'd crowed it very clearly on television. Maybe he was expecting her to call him a monster or start crying.

"Would you prefer I killed you more quickly, Miss Reporter?"

She tried to stand, but her spine wouldn't have it yet. Something got dinged back there, she thought to herself. It was harder to suppress the sheer elation she felt at being in the fray.

Not yet.

"I try not to impose my own thoughts on my subject. Wouldn't want to lead you one way or another." She said, grinning a bit.

"Then feel free to pray to whatever gods you have." He said, looking a bit disappointed.

"No such luck. I won't be praying today. And I don't fear you, if you were wondering. I don't know why anyone does." She winced, finding it easier to just sit and look up at him. Taking a jab at his ego was stupid, probably. These days 'Stupid' wore camouflage and ambushed her before she could give it a second thought. Smart would have been playing up his obvious desire to see her scared. Or maybe he would kill her once he was satisfied that the world was as it should be. Hard to say.

"Then you're a fool." He opened a hand at her, and ki rushed into it, creating a bright orb the size of a basketball. The woman looked stupefied.

"Oh." She murmured softly, her eyes brightening with awe. "It's so bright. Is that a device?"

She looked ready to hold out her hand to receive it, as open and curious as a child.

"You'll be one of the last people to experience my power this personally."

"Pity you couldn't make me scream first, huh... I'd wager you'll find it dissatisfying." She looked up at him in the light. It was a bit hard to see beyond on, but as her eyes adjusted she began to see the dark shadows cast on his ghoulish face.

He let the ki hang there between them. The threat was still very real, but he did want her to be afraid, and he didn't mind her knowing it.

The silence was a command. She continued. "I'm willing to wager you can't scare me if I give you infinite tries at it. I'm willing to wager that if you kill me now, you'll still feel offended in an hour, and you won't have me to punish anymore."

His eyes were becoming clearer in the harsh light. God, they were pink (or were they red). What an odd color. Albinism maybe. But at any rate, she could tell he was thinking now. The tiger wasn't single minded anymore.

"You said you wanted a challenge. I can't offer you fights or magic death lights but I think I'm up for this."

"I don't think you have the slightest idea what you're offering."

"Well, that's better for you, isn't it? Then again... Maybe you don't know your opponent as well as you think."

"You're a weakling. What's there to know, Miss Reporter? It's not as though someone journeyed far and wide to interview you."

"Then why am I so confident?" She said in a low voice, beginning to feel heat and tingling on her exposed skin, wherever the ki ball was closest. A little sweat started on her brow.

He tipped his head and looked at her dispassionately. "Fine. We'll play this game of yours. I can't wait to see you regret it."

"Wait, just one thing."

"What."

"For as long as I can withstand it, not being scared off, I want you to answer questions. Give me the interview. It's not like you have anything to lose."

"And if I decide it gives you too much encouragement to get answers out of me?"

"If you really think I'm that close to breaking, I'm sure you'll stop cooperating either way. Is this a good game?"

He smiled unkindly, not sparing at glance at the ki now shrinking in his palm.

"Good enough."