Copyright Disclaimer: Dragonball and its characters belongs to Toriyama/Bird Studio and was used without prior permission. No profit was made from this story.

Author's note: The idea for this story showed up in the middle of the night, as an afterthought.

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A Warrior's Angst
by Lee and Stef-chan

© February 2003

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To be trapped in a hopeless situation wasn't anything new for him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he frantically searched for a way out when he knew perfectly well that there was no escape. What chances he might have had were long gone, and he sourly had to admit that it was his sole responsibility that he was stuck here now. He should've been more careful, have paid better attention. Vejita sat down heavily, staring at the door through which Son Gohan had left them only a few moments ago. His admiration for the half-Saiyan grew. The boy had been so proud, showing not the slightest trace of fear despite the terrors that were waiting for him. Next to Vejita, Kakarrott sullenly stared at his feet, completely demoralized. Only Piccolo appeared to be unfazed by the entire situation, his eyes closed and a picture of tranquility in a world of hopelessness.

Hands clenched to fists as little beads of sweat slowly trickled down the warrior's face, but there was absolutely nothing Vejita could do to prevent them from sharing the kid's fate. He could smell the fear in the room. The other occupants stared at him with a mixture of pity and concern. Fools! The imbeciles smiled and joked, acting like if everything was okay. Well, maybe they just didn't know any better.

x

Kakarrott and the Namek were gone. They had dragged them out of the confinement a few minutes ago, and Kakarrott's eyes had been wide with absolute terror. Vejita ignored the sorrowful looks that the others shot him and retreated into himself, pondering to chew on his fingernails. No, he was Vejita no Ouji. He would show them the meaning of the words pride and dignity. Heck, he was the incarnation of pride and dignity.

x

Ten minutes later, Mr. Pride-and-Dignity was reduced to a pitiful, quivering child caught inside the body of a grown-up warrior. One look at the equipment and the well-trained expert was sufficient to realize that he wouldn't last long. He was dimly aware that they sat him down on a padded chair that soon brought him into a horizontal position, lowering down more until his head was deeper than his feet.

Large hands touched his jaw. Vegeta's body froze and his eyes widened in fright when the expert approached him. The man was tall, muscle-packed and outright intimidating. The only thing more scary than the stranger's look was his empty expression, as if he had performed the gruesome procedure before and was getting quite tired of it. Only barely, Vejita resisted the urge to snarl and tear the man's hand off with his teeth. He had never been this frightened before, but the prince of all Saiya-jins should not be frightened! Yet at this very moment in this dark, secluded room, he felt claustrophobia creep up to him slowly.

"Look at you... Such a strong guy and scared like a small kid. How sad," the man sneered. Clenching his mouth shut, the Saiya-jin no Ouji stubbornly tried to defend what little pride and dignity he had left. But it was doing him no good. His torturer grabbed his face and pried his mouth open. "You should've been more careful. Don't worry, Vejita. What I will do to you will be painless... and quick"

Desperate, Vejita shrunk in the uncomfortable chair, his ragged breathing matching with the rapid pulse that slammed his heart against his rib cage. His nose sensed the smell of indescribable toxins that made his stomach hurl. But what was worse was that... that sound. The sound from the enclosed room next door that tore through ever fiber of his being, shriveling away all hopes he still had harbored. If Vejita had thought it couldn't get any worse, he was mistaken.

Kakarrott screamed like he had never hear him scream before.

"No! Please! Stop! Anything but that!"

He couldn't tell which sound was louder: the sound of the high-pitched, agonized shrill, or the sound of the enemy's murder weapon. Sharp. Wedged into a screw-like shape. Drilling... and drilling... and drilling...

Vegeta felt his fellow Saiyan's ki rise to an unbelievable height, then sounds of trashing could be heard that ended abruptly when Piccolo's agonized howl pierced his eardrums. "Son! Damn you!"

The trashing died down and Vejita could only make out whimpering noises. The blood froze in his veins. They had broken Kakarrott, and he was next.

"Open up wide and relax... This will be a lot easier for both of us if you cooperate, you know," the large, muscled man who had him in his said, smiling a smile that the Saiyan could only interpret as sadistic.

Vejita stiffened. 'A lot easier', pah! That's what they all say. His eyes squeezed shut when he caught sight of his torturer flip on the switch of the drill, maneuvering the deadly tool with expert precision. His fingers dug deep into his palms, drawing blood, and he effortfully refrained from screaming as the high pitched drill vibration connected with his skull. It was the only way to keep his pride and dignity intact.

x

Half an hour later, Kakarrot and Vejeta stood outside the torture chamber, both still too shocked to speak. Their mouths were numb and their swollen tongues refused to obey, paralyzed by injections they had been forced to endure. Kakarrott's spawn stared at them with raised eyebrows while Piccolo now sported a few band aids over his nose.

"Now, don't stand there, go downstairs," the Namek ushered him rudely, but Vejita was too exhausted to even snarl at the taller fighter.

On the street, Bulma waited, standing with her hands to her hips, the air of impatience surrounding her. "How was the trip to the dentist, you guys?"

The End