08-05-2012, 09:53 PM
Been looking through my writing today, trying to give myself inspiration for writing a whole novel by looking at what I've already written. This is the start of the story I was doing for where Buu escapes from prison post-Dante's Abyss, and since it'll never get completed I figured I'd post it just in case anyone enjoys reading this stuff. I wrote it 2-3 years ago.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Dale Maxwell, reporter for the Earther Unearther, nodded. As if I’d turn back at this point, he thought. Dale had never wanted to do this story, but times were tough and a man had to eat. It was only ten minutes, but he was still terrified. Super Buu had killed twenty-seven Dante’s Abyss security officers with their own bullets in the space of a few minutes. He hadn’t even been trying. This was a monster who could disperse his body into a liquid state and reform at will, regenerate lost body tissue, manipulate metal and electricity … but that wasn’t the worst part. Dale would never admit it – reality television shows were tasteless enough without the game’s objective being to kill all the other competitors – but he’d been a huge fan of Dante’s Abyss. And he’d seen the look on Buu’s eyes when he fought. When he killed. There was no doubt about it – Super Buu was out of his Kai-damned mind.
Three guards accompanied Dale down the hallway. Though the prison was well-kept, with white floors and walls, it didn’t help the atmosphere. In fact, given the tension in the air, it just seemed to make the situation that much more ridiculous and contrived. He could feel the unspoken aggression radiating from the guards. As a self-admitted geek, Dale was natural prey for these kinds of people, and no doubt they were in loath at the idea of having to look after this weedy reporter.
As though reading his thoughts, one of the guards spoke up. “I suppose you know all about this guy.”
“We-well, just what everybody else knows. I mean, it’s not like there are any secrets left.”
“Then we won’t have to tell you to watch yourself.”
Dale tried to laugh offhandedly and failed, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy’s. “Right. Though, I mean …” he searched for the right words, painfully aware of the guard’s expressionless but plainly judging eyes. “… He’s safe right now, right? I mean, you guys have a power suppressor on him.”
“Didn’t stop him killing Chimes.” It was a different guard now, and this one was older. When he spoke, he continued to look ahead blankly, as though he was merely thinking aloud. “Didn’t stop him initiating a riot that ended with two guards and eleven prisoners dead.”
“That’s only ‘cause they see him as some kind of hero,” said the third guard, sneering. “The guy just keeps on getting dumber and angrier. That’s what happens when you hang around with cons.”
Dale felt an urge to point out the irony, but it was short-lived. “I’m surprised Lord Vine consented to train someone like him.”
“Maybe he thought he could control him. But then, those Saiyans are crazy too. All Lord Vine did was teach him how to control metal, and look how that turned out. If you ask me, we outta wipe out those Saiyans, go back to how it was before Earth became the fuckin’ gladiator ring for super-freaks.”
“Easy on, Gary,” said the first guard. “My brother’s wife is half Saiyan.”
“Well maybe we shouldn’t be mixing up genes.” Before the other guard could retort, he continued, “All I’m sayin’ is that Buu got Saiyan genes mixed in with whatever the hell he was made out of, and that’s what makes him such a bloodlusted idiot. Everyone knows that Saiyans bring trouble, and maybe if--”
“That’s enough of that,” growled the older guard. “We’re dealing with a dangerous convict, I don’t want you two arguing whilst you’re supposed to be watching the target.”
“It’s not us who should be worried.”
For a moment, Dale thought he saw a couple of the guards smirk, and quickly wiped the look of concern off his face. They’re just trying to scare me, he thought. But he didn’t fully believe himself. Buu had done all those things. And what was more he could tell that, hide it as they might, the guards feared Super Buu too. As they walked deeper into the prison, Dale could feel an air of dread descending upon them. When the tension became almost unbearable, he knew they had arrived.
The older guard peered through the small flap in the door of the Security Housing Unit – ‘the hole’, the prisoners called it – before taking a small key out from the ring on his pocket. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Prisoner 842! The man from the newspaper is here to speak to you.”
Dale peered in. He didn’t see Buu at first, the only light fixtures being on their side of the translucent stasis barrier. But as he stepped in, a figure moved closer to the barrier. Dale breathed in. Seeing this creature on TV was one thing, but in the flesh – if you could call it that – the experience was surreal. Buu’s rose-coloured skin was smooth and rounded, like that of a clay doll. He was hairless, though a forelock of whatever material he was made of dangled from the back of his head like an overweight antennae. His mouth was a slit, his ears were dark holes and he had no nose to speak of. But his eyes were anything but featureless. Red and black, they burned through the stasis barrier and straight into those of Dale.
“About fucking time,” came a rasp.
The older guard shook his head and turned to Dale. “He’s yours. Good luck.”
Dale looked at the monster before him and began to realise just how ridiculous the idea of the interview had been – why the guards had mocked him under their breath. But he was here now. Clicking down the ‘record’ button on his microphone, he extended it to the barrier that separated him and Buu. “My name is Dale Maxwell, reporter for the Earther Unearther. We’re … uh, very grateful for the opportunity to talk to you here today-”
“I didn’t agree to this for the sake of your little ‘news-paper’,” said the golem. “In fact, if you’ve got any questions you may as well forget ‘em now. But I’ve got a better story for you.”
“Here we go …” muttered one of the prison officers.
Dale wrung his hands, once more cursing his idiocy at having accepted this interview. What choice do I have? “I mean … if it’s that or nothing, then I suppose … well …”
“Fantastic,” said the monster. “I expect you know all about my history and all that shit, right?”
“You’re a construct. Your creator, Bibidi, was an ex-WANG member who …”
The monster burst out laughing. “WANG?”
“Um … the Wizarding Alliance for a New Galaxy. Bibidi belonged to it. You didn’t know?”
Buu shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck about his old job. Fact is, he’s a piece of shit who made me to be his ‘ultimate weapon’. For sixteen years, he tried to condition me into a crazy, violent asshole.”
“Did it work?”
“NO!” exclaimed Buu. “I mean … I suppose it had some effect.”
“According to the reports given by the mayor of West City, he was the source of a sonic disturbance a few years back, and you killed him at that point.”
“Well … that’s what I thought at the time.” Buu’s fists were clenched at his sides. “But the truth is, he faked his death.”
“Faked it? The autopsy report after his hidden laboratory was uncovered showed that it was his body. Genetic match.”
“You don’t know Bibidi!” exclaimed Buu. “He always takes account of every possibility, every variable! You think I could just walk into his lab and kill him so easy? It was a trick, dumbass!”
“Calm down, 842!” barked the older guard. “Or we’ll terminate this interview and give you another week in here!”
“Look, I’m trying to do a fucking interview in here.” Buu threw his hands up. “Will you just give me some fucking space? Jesus.”
The guards looked at each other, then shook their heads in collective resignation.
“Right, what was I saying?” Buu frowned, then snapped his fingers. “Bibidi. He wanted me to be invincible, but not so invincible I could do whatever I wanted. He already made that mistake with my brother.”
Dale leaned forward. “You mean Kid Buu?”
Super Buu grinned. “You know him, huh? Crazy bastard.” His mouth sank back to its normal scowl. “Kid hated me ‘cause I was Bibidi’s pet creation. But he had the better deal, if you ask me.” The majin tapped his head. “Bibidi gave me a bigger brain … but he also gave me a fuckoff vulnerability to his mind control. He’s a telepath, you know? And wherever I go, he can read my mind. I tried going to planet Vegeta … thought I might even be safe from him in here.” He laughed, but did not smile.
Dale, seeing another opening, blurted out: “But what good would controlling your mind be if you’re in here?”
Buu laughed again, this time more harshly. “Me being in here just makes his job easier. This is perfect for Bibidi. I can’t do anything too crazy, and he’s got all the time in the world to chip away at my mind.”
“But still, I mean … what would be the point of him taking over your mind, if you’re trapped in here?”
“Are you kidding?” Buu snorted. “Bibidi could bust this place wide open.”
“Nobody gets in or out of here without us,” came the flat tone of the older guard. Not dumb prisoners, and not dead wizards.”
“Does ‘us’ include prison guards possessed by Bibidi?”
The warden shook his head. “You’re deluded. Do you really expect anyone to believe that?”
“If you don’t, you’re all as good as dead.”
“You’re not going to get out of here by making threats, 842,” spat the guard. “You’re a mass murderer.”
“If you think the things I’ve done before are bad, you should wait until Bibidi takes control of me.”
The guard stepped forward and looked at Buu in the eyes. “You know what, 842? I will. We’ll see if it happens before you rot to death in here.”
“You’re dead,” Buu repeated. His voice was level.
With a look of disgust, the guard turned to the door. “We’re done. Come on.”
Dale stepped after the warden, and then hesitated, looking back at the pink monster. He’s not lying, thought the reporter. He really does believe it. No doubt about it, Buu was insane. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t spin a good story.
“Hope you get your paycheck,” murmured Buu.
Dale nodded in silent bewilderment before stepping out of the door.
“Gimme a fuckin’ cigarette, Donny!”
“I’ve only got two left, Buu, fuck off!”
The two prisoners wrestled in the middle of the floor. Buu had an arm wrapped around the neck of a green-scaled, crocodilian-looking creature – his other hand was grabbing for the packet of cigarettes in his opponent’s digits.
“I just got out of the hole and I’m–” Buu struggled to keep his footing. “–A little fuckin’ stressed out, okay? Just gimme one fuckin’ cigarette!”
“Get off me, you cloaca!” The lizard man choked on a puff of smoke, eyes bulging.
“Buu! When did you get out?”
The majin looked up. “Oh, Rison!” He let go of the lizard man, who gasped and immediately resumed smoking his cigarette. “Let’s go, smokes.”
The balding human took out a packet of cigarettes from his underwear and handed it over. On the outside, Harold Rison been a powerful telekinetic, and had never needed to use his physical strength for much. Of course, that had all changed after he’d been convicted of raping and murdering eighteen women. Buu, to whom rape was foreign a concept as sexual attraction, did not understand the implications of this and gave it little thought. But he did understand the need for alcohol and cigarettes, so in exchange for plenty of those he protected the man from other convicts. Very few of the prisoners would dare to trouble Buu, and most of them had no desire: Dante’s Abyss was popular within the prison, and it was there he’d proven to the world both his exceptional abilities and entertainment value.
Buu took out two cigarettes, lit them, and took a long drag before blowing smoke out of his vents. “Got any juice?”
“Buu … look at my face,” hissed Rison through clenched teeth. “You’ve been in the hole for a week. I haven’t had a chance to make any alcohol, no.”
“A few little fuckin’ bruises.” Buu waved his cigarettes offhandedly at the human’s face.
“Maybe you should lay off the drink a bit, then you could stay out of the hole for more than a month.”
“Hey, did I ask for your fucking opinion!?” Buu took a step towards the man, to the point where he had to look almost directly down to see him. “Shut the fuck up or you’ll have a few more bruises to whine about.”
Rison muttered an apology, then turned to follow his guardian as the monster strode off into the common room.
Just like the rest of the prison, the walls in here were plain white. There were chairs set up around the room where prisoners sat playing cards, reading books or watching the TV suspended up against the north wall. Guards watched from the corners and the balconies above, aided by video cameras whose glass eyes winked every time they moved. Seeing them, Buu scowled. One day, he thought, I’ll have my powers back … and I’ll make you pay.
The realisation had been a surprising one, but it wasn’t actually his strength that he missed the most. He’d always fallen back on his power; up until now, it was the one thing which had never deserted him. But no, there were worse things to lose.
Caring about things. For the longest time, Buu had never cared about much besides food, power, fun and freedom. But time had changed that. The first time he’d felt it was during the first Dante’s Abyss, after the death of his best friend Seventeen. He’d been the leader then, the only one left to look after Violet and Kid. At first, the feeling of responsibility had just been a weight on his shoulders. But it had empowered him, too. Being responsible for something made it seem like his actions … meant something.
They’d taken away something worse than his power or his freedom. They’d taken away his purpose. What difference did he make now, segregated from the ones he loved and everything that mattered to him? Nothing.
Purpose had been the trigger for his Spiritken, as long as it had taken for him to realise it. He missed Spiritken. The feeling of clarity when he transformed … it was like all his peripheral vision had been taken away, allowing him to focus only on what really mattered. It was only during Spiritken that he felt truly calm and in control.
Alcohol allowed him to experience a dim emulation of it. All the confidence and surety, but without the purpose. When he was drunk he didn’t care about anything, but that was the point. Dwelling on the things he loved was pointless when he was cut off from them – all it did was put him in a worse mood, fill his heart with bitterness, regret and frustration. And all that did was make him more vulnerable to him.
Bibidi. His ‘Majin’ spell was a form of mind control that amplified the abilities of the possessed. Once a person was branded with it, escape was nearly impossible. But it only worked if the victim’s heart was filled with dark thoughts and intent. Buu often wondered, despite trying not to, if he’d already reached that point, and Bibidi was just waiting for him to fall even further to maximise the spell’s effectiveness … or whether there was something still buried deep inside himself that anchored him to his free will. If there was, it would be holding on by a thread.
And it was all thanks to one little gadget. Buu glared down at the strap covering his midriff, which looked almost like a giant wristwatch. He didn’t know the specifics – why, after all, give the key to the lock – only that ever since he’d woken up with it attached to him, he couldn’t feel his ki. He supposed this was what most humans felt like. If only it could turn him completely human, then at least he’d be able to kill himself and escape. But, as he knew from experience, the only way to do that was to completely destroy his own body, or exhaust his life energy completely. Not even the power suppressor could change that.
The monster scraped his nails across his bald scalp, using the pain to wake himself up. He couldn’t dwell on the negatives. But with nothing else to do, that was easier said than done.
Buu scanned the common room for faces. Someone here had to be able to get him some alcohol. He much preferred his own company to the other inmates – they were all as bored and low as he was, and only served to remind him of his situation – but he had no choice.
“Perry,” he rumbled. “Mind if I sit in?”
The blue-skinned being looked up from his cards. “Huh … sure. What about your bitch?”
“Nah.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Dale Maxwell, reporter for the Earther Unearther, nodded. As if I’d turn back at this point, he thought. Dale had never wanted to do this story, but times were tough and a man had to eat. It was only ten minutes, but he was still terrified. Super Buu had killed twenty-seven Dante’s Abyss security officers with their own bullets in the space of a few minutes. He hadn’t even been trying. This was a monster who could disperse his body into a liquid state and reform at will, regenerate lost body tissue, manipulate metal and electricity … but that wasn’t the worst part. Dale would never admit it – reality television shows were tasteless enough without the game’s objective being to kill all the other competitors – but he’d been a huge fan of Dante’s Abyss. And he’d seen the look on Buu’s eyes when he fought. When he killed. There was no doubt about it – Super Buu was out of his Kai-damned mind.
Three guards accompanied Dale down the hallway. Though the prison was well-kept, with white floors and walls, it didn’t help the atmosphere. In fact, given the tension in the air, it just seemed to make the situation that much more ridiculous and contrived. He could feel the unspoken aggression radiating from the guards. As a self-admitted geek, Dale was natural prey for these kinds of people, and no doubt they were in loath at the idea of having to look after this weedy reporter.
As though reading his thoughts, one of the guards spoke up. “I suppose you know all about this guy.”
“We-well, just what everybody else knows. I mean, it’s not like there are any secrets left.”
“Then we won’t have to tell you to watch yourself.”
Dale tried to laugh offhandedly and failed, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy’s. “Right. Though, I mean …” he searched for the right words, painfully aware of the guard’s expressionless but plainly judging eyes. “… He’s safe right now, right? I mean, you guys have a power suppressor on him.”
“Didn’t stop him killing Chimes.” It was a different guard now, and this one was older. When he spoke, he continued to look ahead blankly, as though he was merely thinking aloud. “Didn’t stop him initiating a riot that ended with two guards and eleven prisoners dead.”
“That’s only ‘cause they see him as some kind of hero,” said the third guard, sneering. “The guy just keeps on getting dumber and angrier. That’s what happens when you hang around with cons.”
Dale felt an urge to point out the irony, but it was short-lived. “I’m surprised Lord Vine consented to train someone like him.”
“Maybe he thought he could control him. But then, those Saiyans are crazy too. All Lord Vine did was teach him how to control metal, and look how that turned out. If you ask me, we outta wipe out those Saiyans, go back to how it was before Earth became the fuckin’ gladiator ring for super-freaks.”
“Easy on, Gary,” said the first guard. “My brother’s wife is half Saiyan.”
“Well maybe we shouldn’t be mixing up genes.” Before the other guard could retort, he continued, “All I’m sayin’ is that Buu got Saiyan genes mixed in with whatever the hell he was made out of, and that’s what makes him such a bloodlusted idiot. Everyone knows that Saiyans bring trouble, and maybe if--”
“That’s enough of that,” growled the older guard. “We’re dealing with a dangerous convict, I don’t want you two arguing whilst you’re supposed to be watching the target.”
“It’s not us who should be worried.”
For a moment, Dale thought he saw a couple of the guards smirk, and quickly wiped the look of concern off his face. They’re just trying to scare me, he thought. But he didn’t fully believe himself. Buu had done all those things. And what was more he could tell that, hide it as they might, the guards feared Super Buu too. As they walked deeper into the prison, Dale could feel an air of dread descending upon them. When the tension became almost unbearable, he knew they had arrived.
The older guard peered through the small flap in the door of the Security Housing Unit – ‘the hole’, the prisoners called it – before taking a small key out from the ring on his pocket. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Prisoner 842! The man from the newspaper is here to speak to you.”
Dale peered in. He didn’t see Buu at first, the only light fixtures being on their side of the translucent stasis barrier. But as he stepped in, a figure moved closer to the barrier. Dale breathed in. Seeing this creature on TV was one thing, but in the flesh – if you could call it that – the experience was surreal. Buu’s rose-coloured skin was smooth and rounded, like that of a clay doll. He was hairless, though a forelock of whatever material he was made of dangled from the back of his head like an overweight antennae. His mouth was a slit, his ears were dark holes and he had no nose to speak of. But his eyes were anything but featureless. Red and black, they burned through the stasis barrier and straight into those of Dale.
“About fucking time,” came a rasp.
The older guard shook his head and turned to Dale. “He’s yours. Good luck.”
Dale looked at the monster before him and began to realise just how ridiculous the idea of the interview had been – why the guards had mocked him under their breath. But he was here now. Clicking down the ‘record’ button on his microphone, he extended it to the barrier that separated him and Buu. “My name is Dale Maxwell, reporter for the Earther Unearther. We’re … uh, very grateful for the opportunity to talk to you here today-”
“I didn’t agree to this for the sake of your little ‘news-paper’,” said the golem. “In fact, if you’ve got any questions you may as well forget ‘em now. But I’ve got a better story for you.”
“Here we go …” muttered one of the prison officers.
Dale wrung his hands, once more cursing his idiocy at having accepted this interview. What choice do I have? “I mean … if it’s that or nothing, then I suppose … well …”
“Fantastic,” said the monster. “I expect you know all about my history and all that shit, right?”
“You’re a construct. Your creator, Bibidi, was an ex-WANG member who …”
The monster burst out laughing. “WANG?”
“Um … the Wizarding Alliance for a New Galaxy. Bibidi belonged to it. You didn’t know?”
Buu shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck about his old job. Fact is, he’s a piece of shit who made me to be his ‘ultimate weapon’. For sixteen years, he tried to condition me into a crazy, violent asshole.”
“Did it work?”
“NO!” exclaimed Buu. “I mean … I suppose it had some effect.”
“According to the reports given by the mayor of West City, he was the source of a sonic disturbance a few years back, and you killed him at that point.”
“Well … that’s what I thought at the time.” Buu’s fists were clenched at his sides. “But the truth is, he faked his death.”
“Faked it? The autopsy report after his hidden laboratory was uncovered showed that it was his body. Genetic match.”
“You don’t know Bibidi!” exclaimed Buu. “He always takes account of every possibility, every variable! You think I could just walk into his lab and kill him so easy? It was a trick, dumbass!”
“Calm down, 842!” barked the older guard. “Or we’ll terminate this interview and give you another week in here!”
“Look, I’m trying to do a fucking interview in here.” Buu threw his hands up. “Will you just give me some fucking space? Jesus.”
The guards looked at each other, then shook their heads in collective resignation.
“Right, what was I saying?” Buu frowned, then snapped his fingers. “Bibidi. He wanted me to be invincible, but not so invincible I could do whatever I wanted. He already made that mistake with my brother.”
Dale leaned forward. “You mean Kid Buu?”
Super Buu grinned. “You know him, huh? Crazy bastard.” His mouth sank back to its normal scowl. “Kid hated me ‘cause I was Bibidi’s pet creation. But he had the better deal, if you ask me.” The majin tapped his head. “Bibidi gave me a bigger brain … but he also gave me a fuckoff vulnerability to his mind control. He’s a telepath, you know? And wherever I go, he can read my mind. I tried going to planet Vegeta … thought I might even be safe from him in here.” He laughed, but did not smile.
Dale, seeing another opening, blurted out: “But what good would controlling your mind be if you’re in here?”
Buu laughed again, this time more harshly. “Me being in here just makes his job easier. This is perfect for Bibidi. I can’t do anything too crazy, and he’s got all the time in the world to chip away at my mind.”
“But still, I mean … what would be the point of him taking over your mind, if you’re trapped in here?”
“Are you kidding?” Buu snorted. “Bibidi could bust this place wide open.”
“Nobody gets in or out of here without us,” came the flat tone of the older guard. Not dumb prisoners, and not dead wizards.”
“Does ‘us’ include prison guards possessed by Bibidi?”
The warden shook his head. “You’re deluded. Do you really expect anyone to believe that?”
“If you don’t, you’re all as good as dead.”
“You’re not going to get out of here by making threats, 842,” spat the guard. “You’re a mass murderer.”
“If you think the things I’ve done before are bad, you should wait until Bibidi takes control of me.”
The guard stepped forward and looked at Buu in the eyes. “You know what, 842? I will. We’ll see if it happens before you rot to death in here.”
“You’re dead,” Buu repeated. His voice was level.
With a look of disgust, the guard turned to the door. “We’re done. Come on.”
Dale stepped after the warden, and then hesitated, looking back at the pink monster. He’s not lying, thought the reporter. He really does believe it. No doubt about it, Buu was insane. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t spin a good story.
“Hope you get your paycheck,” murmured Buu.
Dale nodded in silent bewilderment before stepping out of the door.
* * * * *
Gem City. That was the name of the experimental prison facility, built to hold the rising number of convicts with superhuman abilities. There were almost one hundred prisoners contained here, less than half of whom were human: the rest were a smorgasbord of species from planets across the quadrant. But they all had one thing in common: power. To be more exact, power lost. On the outside, they were gods; on the inside, they were just animals. As each day passed the same as the last, they slowly began to forget who they’d been on the outside, until they could scarcely remember why they were here in the first place.“Gimme a fuckin’ cigarette, Donny!”
“I’ve only got two left, Buu, fuck off!”
The two prisoners wrestled in the middle of the floor. Buu had an arm wrapped around the neck of a green-scaled, crocodilian-looking creature – his other hand was grabbing for the packet of cigarettes in his opponent’s digits.
“I just got out of the hole and I’m–” Buu struggled to keep his footing. “–A little fuckin’ stressed out, okay? Just gimme one fuckin’ cigarette!”
“Get off me, you cloaca!” The lizard man choked on a puff of smoke, eyes bulging.
“Buu! When did you get out?”
The majin looked up. “Oh, Rison!” He let go of the lizard man, who gasped and immediately resumed smoking his cigarette. “Let’s go, smokes.”
The balding human took out a packet of cigarettes from his underwear and handed it over. On the outside, Harold Rison been a powerful telekinetic, and had never needed to use his physical strength for much. Of course, that had all changed after he’d been convicted of raping and murdering eighteen women. Buu, to whom rape was foreign a concept as sexual attraction, did not understand the implications of this and gave it little thought. But he did understand the need for alcohol and cigarettes, so in exchange for plenty of those he protected the man from other convicts. Very few of the prisoners would dare to trouble Buu, and most of them had no desire: Dante’s Abyss was popular within the prison, and it was there he’d proven to the world both his exceptional abilities and entertainment value.
Buu took out two cigarettes, lit them, and took a long drag before blowing smoke out of his vents. “Got any juice?”
“Buu … look at my face,” hissed Rison through clenched teeth. “You’ve been in the hole for a week. I haven’t had a chance to make any alcohol, no.”
“A few little fuckin’ bruises.” Buu waved his cigarettes offhandedly at the human’s face.
“Maybe you should lay off the drink a bit, then you could stay out of the hole for more than a month.”
“Hey, did I ask for your fucking opinion!?” Buu took a step towards the man, to the point where he had to look almost directly down to see him. “Shut the fuck up or you’ll have a few more bruises to whine about.”
Rison muttered an apology, then turned to follow his guardian as the monster strode off into the common room.
Just like the rest of the prison, the walls in here were plain white. There were chairs set up around the room where prisoners sat playing cards, reading books or watching the TV suspended up against the north wall. Guards watched from the corners and the balconies above, aided by video cameras whose glass eyes winked every time they moved. Seeing them, Buu scowled. One day, he thought, I’ll have my powers back … and I’ll make you pay.
The realisation had been a surprising one, but it wasn’t actually his strength that he missed the most. He’d always fallen back on his power; up until now, it was the one thing which had never deserted him. But no, there were worse things to lose.
Caring about things. For the longest time, Buu had never cared about much besides food, power, fun and freedom. But time had changed that. The first time he’d felt it was during the first Dante’s Abyss, after the death of his best friend Seventeen. He’d been the leader then, the only one left to look after Violet and Kid. At first, the feeling of responsibility had just been a weight on his shoulders. But it had empowered him, too. Being responsible for something made it seem like his actions … meant something.
They’d taken away something worse than his power or his freedom. They’d taken away his purpose. What difference did he make now, segregated from the ones he loved and everything that mattered to him? Nothing.
Purpose had been the trigger for his Spiritken, as long as it had taken for him to realise it. He missed Spiritken. The feeling of clarity when he transformed … it was like all his peripheral vision had been taken away, allowing him to focus only on what really mattered. It was only during Spiritken that he felt truly calm and in control.
Alcohol allowed him to experience a dim emulation of it. All the confidence and surety, but without the purpose. When he was drunk he didn’t care about anything, but that was the point. Dwelling on the things he loved was pointless when he was cut off from them – all it did was put him in a worse mood, fill his heart with bitterness, regret and frustration. And all that did was make him more vulnerable to him.
Bibidi. His ‘Majin’ spell was a form of mind control that amplified the abilities of the possessed. Once a person was branded with it, escape was nearly impossible. But it only worked if the victim’s heart was filled with dark thoughts and intent. Buu often wondered, despite trying not to, if he’d already reached that point, and Bibidi was just waiting for him to fall even further to maximise the spell’s effectiveness … or whether there was something still buried deep inside himself that anchored him to his free will. If there was, it would be holding on by a thread.
And it was all thanks to one little gadget. Buu glared down at the strap covering his midriff, which looked almost like a giant wristwatch. He didn’t know the specifics – why, after all, give the key to the lock – only that ever since he’d woken up with it attached to him, he couldn’t feel his ki. He supposed this was what most humans felt like. If only it could turn him completely human, then at least he’d be able to kill himself and escape. But, as he knew from experience, the only way to do that was to completely destroy his own body, or exhaust his life energy completely. Not even the power suppressor could change that.
The monster scraped his nails across his bald scalp, using the pain to wake himself up. He couldn’t dwell on the negatives. But with nothing else to do, that was easier said than done.
Buu scanned the common room for faces. Someone here had to be able to get him some alcohol. He much preferred his own company to the other inmates – they were all as bored and low as he was, and only served to remind him of his situation – but he had no choice.
“Perry,” he rumbled. “Mind if I sit in?”
The blue-skinned being looked up from his cards. “Huh … sure. What about your bitch?”
“Nah.”
![[Image: superbuuelectricityne4.jpg]](http://img148.imageshack.us/img148/3128/superbuuelectricityne4.jpg)
Bra Wrote:People are dumb, essentially.
![[Image: visigjune08_v2.jpg]](http://storm.novahost.org/mysigs/visigjune08_v2.jpg)
