#oh and he definitely uses his lights in unique ways. he loves flash-banging his enemies when he can get close enough fast enough

[spotlightstudios]

I did it boys, three weeks of feverishly thinking about him at work, 12 stickynotes, and a few hours of digitalization and he's alive! (Goofy Ahh Sidekick-)

And some bonus info! Because I do believe with my whole heart that Leon would dress up in that goofy lil wizard costume for his entire school career and then realize it was hella impractical last second and completely rebrand himself.

In the School Era doodles he's about 15-18, and his Pro Hero doodles are ages 19-??? (Whenever he retires or dies ig???)

[scarletraven1001]

Retribution

[Book 1] [Chapter 1]

Summary: Raised in the shadows, Vegeta’s sole purpose in life was to avenge the destruction of his family. The key to his victory laid in the hands of Bulma, the daughter of the enemy, and not even the strange connection he feels with her will keep him from raining his furious retribution upon all who had dared cross his bloodline.

A Vegebul Mafia AU Fic, for the @vegebulocracy Big Bang Challenge, 2018

Story Rating: E

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Swearing

Also on Ao3

All Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

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Notes: Hello! Welcome to my contribution to the Vegebulocracy (VBO) Big Bang! This has been super fun (though at times rather difficult) to write and I am so excited to share this with all of you today! This story is complete, and I will be posting all chapters until the 24th of December. I would like to thank the incredible, amazing @blacksheep1105​ for her help as a Beta for this story, as without her help, this fic would not be anywhere near the story that it is right now! Thank you, girl! And to all of you, please check out Blacksheep's stories! With that, please do let me know what you think, for this first chapter of Retribution: Book 1!

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Chapter 1

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The coffee was fantastic.

He was no connoisseur – far from it, in fact – but he could definitely see that the tiny coffee shop that he had been sitting at for the past hour had the potential to become a big business if it kept making coffee this good.

The aroma of it was exquisite. The taste, liquid gold on his tongue, both soothed and kept him alert at the same time.

And Vegeta Saiyan needed to be alert, for what he was about to do.

He straightened his suit, adjusting his tie and checking his coat as he watched his target stroll leisurely up the street.

She was without a care in the world, her blue hair in a loose ponytail that flowed whimsically down her back. Her brilliant blue eyes shone like the most precious of sapphires, and her full pink lips beckoned like the petals of the rarest blossoms.

Her pale skin, vibrant even in the dying light of the twilight sun, was a clear indication of her wealthy upbringing.

Her family’s wealth… that should have been his.

That carefree manner, and the easy life that had given her all the things her heart had desired… those should have been his.

Resentment bubbled up from the deepest pits of his hardened heart, and he straightened as he watched her take her clueless steps into the comfortable apartment building where she resided.

He seethed, his hands clutching convulsively around his coffee mug, teeth grinding in his rage and excitement.

She was probably not even aware of the fact that she had been part of the conspiracy that had brought about the destruction of his family, the horrendous murders that had taken away everything that he had known and loved.

Oh, but she will know.

If all went well, before the night gives way to the next dawn, he will begin his revenge.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma sighed as she dropped her purse onto a small table at her apartment’s entryway, cursing slightly as the contents spilled out from its broken zipper.

She really ought to replace that bag.

But she didn’t have the will to, as it was one of the little knick knacks left behind by her mother, Panchy, after she passed away a few years ago.

It had already been rather well-used before Bulma had received it, as Panchy had been very fond of it as well. Bulma had hinted at liking the design, and her mother had promptly gifted it to her the next day.

The yellow leather bag was starting to grow too worn for use, and if Bulma were being honest to herself, the bag really was broken already.

Yet, broken or not, the one thing that she can never let go of, was the small, handwritten note that her mother had scribbled onto the main pocket inside.

Live well and stay beautiful, my baby girl.

Bulma had already lost so many people from her life, that she really didn’t want to start losing their mementos, as well.

She had left her home town of West City behind, as it had given her too many painful memories. To cope with her losses, she had moved to East City, where she began to work as a free contractor for rebuilding houses and infrastructure damaged by a recent earthquake that destroyed most of the downtown city proper. She received only food and transportation allowances, and was more than happy to keep it that way.

It wasn’t that she was generous… Working for next to nothing was her way of atoning for the sins that she knew that her family had been involved in for several generations.

She possessed a brilliant mind, and it did not take much for her to realize that her mother’s family, and now her own father, were involved in the workings of a crime syndicate.

Her father, Dr. Trunks Briefs, was a scientist who had occasionally dabbled in politics, under the stern and watchful influence of the West City Syndicate.

This was another reason why she had left West: To escape the syndicate. It was a convoluted group of corrupt officials and crime lords who had been in and out of the Briefs household since before the moment she had drawn her first breath.

Releasing a wide yawn, Bulma headed for her bedroom, intent on changing out of the denim jeans and simple white shirt that she had worn to work.

She was barely out of the living room when she heard her mobile phone ringing, and it took less than a moment for the ringtone to register in her mind and fire adrenaline through her veins.

It was a unique ringer tone that she had set for a private number that no one but her and her father knew about. He never used it, unless there was an absolute emergency.  

She lunged forward, tripping over her own feet in her haste, and immediately answered.

“Hello,” she greeted, breathless from the panic that now surged within her body.

“Bulma!”

He sounded stressed, ragged… he was a little breathless, from what Bulma could tell, and she immediately knew something major had come up.

“Dad? Is everything alright?”

“No, baby,” he said, and Bulma’s hand flew to her chest, trying to still her now erratic heartbeats.

“What happened? Are you ok?” she asked.

“Yes, but you won’t be!” he said urgently. “I need you to get out of your apartment, right now. I have received intel that some people are after you. You need to get out, now!”

Her panic dwindled slightly at the sheer ridiculousness of her father’s claim.

However, his words made her take a glance around the room, her eyes that had been raised in the heart of danger making a quick sweep of her surroundings and quickly noting the locked doors and reinforced windows.

“Dad, that’s impossible,” she said brightly into the receiver, even while her brows furrowed in concern. “This flat isn’t even named after me. I’m not using my real name here!”

“That doesn’t matter! Leave, now!” he yelled, his desperation bleeding into his shouted words. “Go into the woods, whatever. I am sending men to fetch you right now.”

This was not the first time that her father had been so paranoid, and Bulma was skeptical.

“Dad, really, I don’t think-”

Bulma cut herself off with a shrill little scream, when the lights in her room suddenly turned off, plunging her into pitch blackness.

“A power outage?” she thought in confusion.

“Bulma!” her father screamed.

“Dad, I’m fine!” she placated. “The lights just went out all of a sudden. Lemme grab my flashlight-”

“No!” Dr. Briefs yelled. “Don’t! If the lights went out, that means they are there, Bulma! You need to go! Walk in the shadows… draw no attention to yourself. Get out of there, now!”

This time, she believed him, and did not need to be told twice.

“I will call you when I get to safety,” she said, turning off the call.

She grabbed her bag, felt around for her keys and wallet, and she stuffed those and her phone into her pockets before she made a break for the door.

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The phone vibrating in his hand was their signal.

The power had been cut, and it was time to make their move.

Vegeta stood in the lobby of the apartment building, watching the small bit of panic on the patrons’ faces as the lights went down.

They needn’t worry… it was not them that he was coming for.

The public addressed system pinged, and a clear voice rang out to address the residents.

“All residents, please vacate the building,” it called. “We are experiencing technical difficulties in the electrical circuitry. We are now working to restore the power. We advise you to vacate to ensure your safety. ”

The same message was repeated twice more as the small communication link in his ear beeped.

“We’re in, big brother ,” a voice said in his ear, almost cheerful-sounding in spite of the serious nature of events. “Emergency lines are down, as well.”

“Good job, Kakarot,” Vegeta said, his deeper baritone humming into the line. “Lapiz? Are you ready?”

“Of course,” a smooth, calm voice called in. “Piccolo and I are underground. Waiting for your move, Prince.”

“Don’t call me that,” he growled as he began to walk in the opposite direction of all the tenants rushing to leave the building.

A staff member was ushering people out, telling them to vacate due to a short circuit in the building, and Vegeta smirked as he recognized the guy as one of the people he had paid off to help let them into the maintenance rooms.

He smirked as he made his way to a side room, leading into the emergency maintenance stairwell. He calmly climbed the stairs, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration as he approached the correct floor.

She was still there. He could practically feel her.

A flow of people greeted him as he alighted on the fifth floor, their excited chatter annoying him, the beams from their flashlights blinding him as they flashed across his face while they moved.

Vegeta knew that Briefs would tell her not to use a flashlight. The old man was predictable, that way.

A small movement off to his left alerted him to a slight, dark silhouette trying to make its way through the darkness.

He pulled his night vision glasses out of his coat pocket even though honestly, he didn’t truly need them quite yet.

Even in the pitch-black halls, he would recognize that strangely-colored fall of hair, anywhere.

With a devilish smirk, he begins the chase.

8-8-8-8-8

Trying to navigate the halls in the dark was hell.

She took tiny, measured steps, hands feeling along the walls as she did her hardest to not trip over anything.

It had been easier to move around when she was still among the people who had their lighting implements on, but as she strode further away from the flow, she realized that she may have made a mistake.

She had thought, if people were after her, they would probably try to find her among the sea of people. Nobody would have guessed that she would try to make her way out using the smaller stairwell in the maintenance areas.  

“For a genius, I could be really dumb sometimes,” she muttered, feeling a small wave of relief wash over her as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness.

She could make out the faint outline of a door, and knew from the blueprints that she had of the building that this was the main entryway to the maintenance areas.

Slowly, she turned the knob, not making a sound.

She closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath before she leaned back against the wall beside the door.  

Bulma looked around, realizing with trepidation that something was… off.

This was the maintenance area. She had expected the maintenance men to be swarming this place, trying to fix the broken circuits so they could restore power to the building.

Why then… was it empty?

Not a sound, not a soul in sight.

Her heart beat harshly within her chest, as she began to suspect that, in her over-thinking her escape, she may have screwed herself, instead.

The soft click of the door behind her, followed by the soft sound of hushed footsteps that like her, remained unguided by light, confirmed her suspicions.

Suppressing a gasp, Bulma tried to find a place to hide, feeling around for any apparatus large enough for her to plaster herself against.

To her horror, the silhouette of the intruder started walking closer.

She took off in a panic, trying her best to run in the pitch black darkness, holding in her panting breaths as she fought to clear her mind, to think…

She was Bulma Briefs, and she refused to acknowledge that she somehow may have been outsmarted by one of her father’s thuggish rivals.

Her keys jingled softly in her pocket, but in the absolute stillness of the dark, the sound seemed as loud as sirens to her terrified ears.

As if hearing her distress, the person chasing her mocked her by stomping once, a little loudly, almost making her shriek.

Her hands groped in the darkness before her, and on impulse, she felt around her pocket, grasping at the tiny charm that held her noisy keys together.

Her lucky charm. An old, round spaceship toy that she had turned into a keychain as a memento of her dearest friend that she had lost when they were just children. For all the years after he had died, having the toy with her made her feel like he was still right there, and with her heart in her throat, she begged the heavens for him to keep her safe once again.

She hoped against hope, that he was still watching over her, right at that moment.

Her footsteps sounded too loud and heavy to her ears, and she was sure that the person chasing her could find her on the sound of her footfalls alone.

She turned a corner, and she let out a loud, desperate gasp when her hands pushed forward…

And found a solid, brick wall.

She was trapped.

The despair went through her just as she felt the thick, large hands grab hold of her shoulders, and she finally let out a scream as she tried to struggle away from her captor.

“Kyaaa!” she yelled “No! Don’t touch me!”

The person let out a snicker, a low, man’s voice that sent terrified shivers up her spine, before he effortlessly pulled her by the waist with a single arm, and with the other hand, she felt him lift a cold metal cylinder to her head.

A gun.

Her screaming subsided with a choke, her hands helplessly flying towards her chest to still the erratic beating of her heart.

“Please,” she whispered, “Don’t shoot.”

She felt him pull her closer, pressing her against an unyielding body, as a chuckle vibrated across his chest that was right against her back.

From what she could tell, he was not too tall, but was made of a thick wall of pure muscle that she, in her frailness, had no hope of getting away from.

She felt the gun leisurely caress her cheek, until it pressed up against the side of her throat, followed by the hot sensation of a gust of his breath against the back of her neck.

“Now, why would I want to go and kill you now, Ms. Briefs?”

His voice, low and throaty, terrified her…

And for some reason, brought a strange twinge of familiarity to twitch at the back of her mind.

“Who are you?” she demanded, trying and almost succeeding at keeping her voice from trembling.

“That does not matter,” he answered. “What is imperative right now, Princess, is that you cooperate with me. And we shall start by walking back the way you came, into your apartment, so we can make a little call.”

She sucked in a breath.

“And if you know what is good for you,” he hissed, “you will not make a sound.”

She pushed at him slightly, before she hissed back.

“Do not call me Princess.”

8-8-8-8-8

Ah, so she still had that fight within her, after all.

“Very well,” Vegeta answered, taking a discrete whiff of her hair as he pulled her more tightly against him.

She smelled glorious.

Even more so than he remembered.

Then again, his memories of her scent were always mixed with the smell of grass, the scent of sweat, sunshine and childish delight.

She was definitely no longer a child, now.

As quickly and gently as he could, he forced her to walk back the way they had come, his small night vision glasses helping him see perfectly in the darkness.

He had to admit, that toying with her, giving her hope that she had even a slim chance of getting away when he could clearly see her struggling to take her tiny steps, was rather enjoyable.

The whole area was still dark as they trudged down the hall leading to her room.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice strong and demanding even in her compromised state. “Are you gonna rob me? Kill me? Rape me?”

He chuckled darkly at that. “Oh believe me, Ms. Briefs… If I were to decide to fuck you, it would not be rape. You would be begging for it.”

She scoffed, pulling a smirk from his lips.

“I highly doubt that, you brute.”

He could see the door. They were almost there.

“Who are you?” she asked again. “Do I know you?”

Amidst her question, he sensed an underlying note of genuine curiosity.

She knew. Or at least, a part of her did.

She had always been too smart, even for him.

“You are in no position to be demanding answers, Ms. Briefs,” he said simply.

He finally pushed his way into her apartment, and found his men waiting for them in the living room.

“Lapiz,” he called out, pulling off his night vision glasses, sticking them into his jacket pocket. “The lights.”

A small halo of light appeared from a single lamp in the middle of the room, giving off a faint illumination that was just enough to see by.

“Piccolo,” he called.

“Yes, boss,” a tall, thin man with a tall nose and a white turban round his head stepped forward, holding the ropes, just as planned.

He felt Bulma gasp against him as Piccolo came forward, quickly tying her hands together, before he knelt down to bind her legs while Vegeta held her steady.

After Piccolo was done tying her up, Vegeta ushered her down onto a chair, patting her pockets, and pulling out her phone, wallet, and keys.

It was as he was placing her things down onto a table to leave them behind that the small trinket dangling from her keys, hanging beside a tiny flash drive, caught his eye.

He paused, lifting it closer to his face, disbelieving…

The small, white toy, a miniature alien spacepod from a silly television show he had watched as a kid, cheerfully taunted him, causing him to gasp inaudibly.

He turned it over, and saw exactly what he had hoped, or perhaps dreaded, staring back at him.

A tiny “V”, carved onto the back of the toy.

A marker, carved onto the trinket with a small kitchen knife.

He glanced surreptitiously at the woman who was glaring at his men.

She had kept it.

All those years…

Vegeta cleared his throat, steeling himself.

It was not the time for sentimentality.

However, unable to help himself, he found himself surreptitiously putting the woman’s keys into his own pocket instead of leaving them behind.

Before him, Lapiz was already setting up the small netbook, loading up the video call that would connect them to the man who had helped destroy his family.

The cheerful sound made by the application was like an alarm, fully pulling him into the moment, reminding him of his long overdue revenge.

He cracked his knuckles, situating himself behind Bulma’s chair, both of them directly in front of the small computer that was currently placing a video call request to none other than Dr. Trunks Briefs.

Lapiz took his position behind the computer, his short black hair falling primly behind his ears as he aimed a gun at the woman, just as Vegeta had instructed.

Vegeta was trembling from his excitement, but he reined it back, forcing on a placid expression as the face of the man finally appeared on the screen.

“Hello?” the older man called into the screen.

“Dad!” Bulma called, on cue.

Vegeta’s smirk widened.

“Bulma? Bulma, it’s dark. Did you make it out?”

“Dad-”

“No, Dr. Briefs. She did not make it out,” Vegeta finally called out, and he watched in glee as the scientist’s eyes widened, first in fear, and then, in horrified recognition.

“You…?” he choked out. “The Dark Prince…”

He almost sneered at the tile.

Oh, how he hated it.

At the moment though, he relished in the terrified reverence that he heard in Briefs’ voice as he stared in petrified horror at him through the computer screen.

“Yes, me. Surprised, doctor?” he taunted, placing a hand on Bulma’s shoulder for show.

“My daughter! Please, don’t hurt my daughter-”

“Does she look to be in pain, doctor?” he asked. “She will remain unscathed, if you tell me exactly what I need to know.”

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Bulma blanched as she saw her father’s eyes widen on the screen.

He had been looking at her, but then his eyes became riveted on her abductor, standing guard right behind her.

“I knew it,” she thought to herself. “Something about him is familiar. My father knows him…”

The man behind her began talking again, and Bulma strained her mind, trying in vain to think of where, where and when, she had heard that voice before.

It was not entirely familiar… like an echo of a long-forgotten memory that had been distorted by time, but she had known from the start, from the very first time that he had spoken to her, that she knew that voice…

“I will ask you, only once, Briefs,” he snarled. “Where is the third?”

Her father looked shell-shocked. “The third… you have found the second?”

“As I have said to your daughter… you are in no position to be demanding answers from me,” the man bit out. “Answer my question, Briefs.”

Bulma watched her father through the camera…

He was tight-lipped, his eyes wide in terror and agony… and she realized with a sinking feeling that she knew that look.

It was the face he made whenever he had to keep a terrible secret from her and her mother… his face whenever he knew that the syndicate’s business was far more important than anything he had on his plate.

At once, she came to the startling realization that whatever it was that her kidnapper was asking about, her father knew exactly what the answer was.

And yet, even with her sitting there in mortal danger, he would not talk.

She was absolutely sure.

The horrifying thought raged inside her head, and she understood that whatever it was, was bigger, more important, than her.

She began to despair as she watched the emotions run amok on her father’s face.

She closed her eyes as she heard her father speak the words that would spell her doom.

“I am sorry, young man. I do not know,” he answered, and she heard his plea through his softly-whispered words.

I am sorry, Bulma.

She shook her head in disbelief.

Her father had just sold her out… to keep a secret for the syndicate.

“Tch,” the man behind her spat. “Yes you do, Briefs. I am rather disappointed that you would allow your own daughter to die for a secret that we can unfold soon, anyway. I had just been hoping that you could make the search easier.”

Bulma felt his hold on her shoulders tighten, and she peeked, seeing the thin, severe-looking man behind the netbook still pointing his gun at her in warning.

“I know you do not think much of your existence, Briefs,” the man said, “but let me see how well you hold out when I have your daughter with me.”

With that, he gave her shoulder a sharp, painful squeeze.

“Aah!” she cried out, trying to hold back tears at the unwelcome sensation.

“Bulma!” Dr. Briefs cried.

“You had your chance, Briefs!” he said again. “And if you value your daughter’s life, even a little… make sure that the details of this little chat never reaches Frieza.”

“What do you plan to do with Bulma?” Dr. Briefs asked.

The man simply walked away from her, and with a menacing smirk, answered:

“We will be in touch.”

He then reached down, and disconnected the call.

He turned to the other two, who simply nodded and began packing up their computer and lights, as he approached her again, and before the lights went out, she finally caught a decent glimpse of the man who had been holding her captive.

Bulma’s breath caught in her throat as the sense of recognition began to relentless nag at her mind.

Her eyes took in the broad shoulders that made up for a rather compact stature, his hair a dark, controlled flame above his head. His large hands lifted to conceal his eyes behind what seemed like a set of high-tech night vision lenses.

She shook in denial. It couldn’t possibly be…

His eyes… she needed to see his eyes.

She didn’t even fight him when he untied her legs, then forcefully pulled her up with him, a gun to her side as he made her walk briskly beside him and his men.

It seemed like a small eternity, but soon, she felt the breeze of the cold autumn night on her cheeks, and she had barely realized that she was out of the building before she felt herself being pushed into a sleek, black car.

The man followed immediately behind her.

“Drive,” he growled, and a blond seated at the driver’s seat nodded, speeding them off into the night.

Bulma looked around, noting another dark car following closely behind them, and she took a deep breath, gathering her will before she turned to face her abductor.

Now, in the sparse lights of the few streetlamps littering what looked to be a back street, she gazed at his face, turned sharply towards her while his gun remained trained on her.

“Please,” she tried to reason with him again. “Why are you doing this? My father already told you that he doesn’t know anything.”

He smirked, an eerily familiar expression that made her chest constrict.

She needed to see his eyes!

“Come now, woman. Did you honestly believe that he was being truthful?” he asked, and Bulma viciously pushed her tears back, as desperation filled her.

She tried to discreetly move her hands, hoping to loosen the binds.

“I would not attempt to escape if I were you, Bulma.”

She stilled.

It can’t be…

She looked at him again, her heart hammering in her chest…

The way he said her name… it was unmistakable.

A slightly teasing cadence, the “u” sound deeper and a little longer than necessary.

There was only one person who had ever spoken her name that way…

“My name… why did you say my name that way?” she whispered.

He pointedly looked away.

Bulma felt her lower lip tremble. “Please… may I… will you let me see your eyes?”

He glanced at her, and with a hesitant sigh, lifted his free hand, and pulled off his dark glasses.

Her very breath stopped, and she stared.

Those eyes… narrowed, slanted, with thick brows… the darkest eyes she had ever seen.

The sight of those eyes transported her mind back to her youth, to happier times, before all the complications began, and she finally felt the tears fall unbidden down her cheeks.

She would know those eyes anywhere.

Bulma choked, her emotions too much, running too high…

It should not have been possible. But she couldn’t possibly be wrong…

“Ve… Vegeta?”

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and that miniscule affirmation was all that it took to make her tears fall harder.

“Oh God… you’re alive?”

8-8-8-8-8

To be continued…