Post by Bass on Sept 15, 2019 1:38:50 GMT -8
All used art assets are merely borrowed and edited for personal use. Credit goes to the original artists.
Personal Information
Name: Bass
Species: Black Heart Namekian
Alias: Bass
Gender: Male
Age: Twenty-five
Clan: Clanless
Lineage: Piccolo Daimao
Theme: "The Game of Goodbyes" - Cover by re:TYE feat. noaon
Voice Actor: Kenta Miyake
Physical Description | Personality | |
The Black Hearted Namekian born from King Piccolo is a monumental silhouette to witness. Standing at 6'11 he's one of the taller members of the Namekian race, likely a genetic mutation spawned from the chaotic heirs that Piccolo Daimao brings forth. Among those changes that stray from a traditional Namekian heritage is his blue skin, grey and dull hardened plates and black eyes with blue irises. His build is befitting of some of the most brutal and ruthless fighters, favouring raw power over complex techniques; katchin built. Though on a more physiological level he doesn't function exactly like other Namekians. Similar but fundamentally different in terms of appetite and bodily make-up. He's got the regeneration, but has a skin texture less like a slug or plant and more like Earthling flesh. He's also got an appetite for Earthling food, even though he doesn't need it to survive. When it comes to his clothes, he's not got just one go to. His work clothes need to be the standard nine to five semi-casual shirt and tie with dress slacks, but when he's got time off just about anything is possible. On the days where he's feeling best, he takes out some far too expensive shades to catch some rays. | What isn't to anticipate with Bass's booming personality? Having lived in multiple facets of life but primarily one of boredom he's familiar with the idea of going for a walk around the block for fun. He spends his time smiling while watching a TV broadcasting the South City news. He is the next door neighbour everybody loves until he just isn't. The witty, stereotypical newspaper toting neighbour waving from across the street until that just couldn't be the case. See, there's always that breaking point. That line so thinly tread by a salaryman and not just any salaryman. A mutant demon clan Namekian salaryman with every reason in his existence to just attack everyone he sees. Except then he realizes it's millions to one... Then he... Sets his alarm clock... Goes to bed and... Walks to work for another misera-great day at the office! Office optimism! Bass is fundamentally a man of many modes but most notably is his capability of being uncannily empathetic despite his nature as an enigma. Over the months he's come a long way and met a lot of people. The smog was cleared and a heart of gold was polished clean of gunk forced upon him by King Piccolo. Now revealed to be a man of integrity, reliable even if hard to work with. He has his own little way of helping, and lives his mundane life alongside his life as a fighter. Even so, he'll still jokingly put world domination on his calendar for this weekend. Maybe he'll get to it, maybe he'll sleep through the alarm. Fifty fifty. |
FIGURINES The Namekian is popular enough to have a line of figurines! The standard products come in 4 variations, but chrome, limited edition, collectors edition and to scale versions can be found if one looks hard enough. Line 1: Business Bass. Bass wearing his classic white shirt, tie and dress leg-wear. Loved by the masses for his contrast with the work of a salaryman paired with the viciousness of a Martial Artists, this figure is something of a common office sight for workers wanting to up their motivation! Poses vary. Rarities increase from; Limited Edition, to Collectors Edition, to Chrome. Poses are adjustable. Line 2: Burrito Bass. This figure comes with Bass wearing a floral print shirt and shorts, carrying a Burrito in one hand while waving with the other. He appears to be wearing sunglasses. Rarities increase from; Limited Edition, to Collectors Edition, to Chrome. Is sold alongside a sunset painting and lawn chair model, which can be placed behind and below the Burrito Bass figure to complete the scene. Line 3: First Bass. The Namekian appears to be dressed up in a vaguely 'baseball' like Uniform with MOMENTUM FINANCIAL written across the back and down his right sleeve and pantleg. The uniform can come in white, black, red or orange depending on the rarity. He's posed with a bat in his hands, ready to take a swing. Comes with a detachable baseball helmet. Rarities increase from; First Bass, to Second Bass, to Third Bass and finally Homerun Bass. Unused products are sold with a baseball and baseball glove. Line 4: Bassic Zeni-Lord. The rarest line of Bass figurines, twice as hard to come across as First Bass (the second rarest mainstream Bass figurine). The figurine depicts a roughed up version of Bass sitting on a massive throne surrounded in gold and zeni as coins drip from his outstretched right hand. His left hand is balled into a fist, lazily supporting his head with a resting elbow on an armrest. For those that know, the figure resembles Shadow Anomaly Bass of the 'Zed' variety. Rarities come in Limited Edition, to Collectors Edition, to Chrome, to Survivor Edition. Is sold alongside a beginners guide to planetary apocalypses 101. |
Chapter One: Mindless Fledgling
When he thinks back. Bass tends not to remember so much the chaos he ensued with his wave of the Demon Clan but more how he came to be. There's only one way into the world as far as he knows among his kind and at the time it didn't bother him so much. However in the present day it's probably the most revolting, vomit-inducing nausea ensuring thing in existence. The massive slippery unending maw of King Piccolo as he slid out and slapped against the floor. The only thing protecting the egg from just shattering right there being the copious amounts of slick and thick saliva surrounding the egg and disgustingly enough even seeping through the soggy semi-pliable shell. It's not clear memories, but more of a feeling of knowing, and that's the worst thing. It made him shudder, though that would be the worst chapter in the nasty book; or so he hoped. What did come next was the good old terrorizing thing. Fly around and shout at people, do this and that for King Piccolo and make ends meet for the never ending quest to take over Earth that fights back harder if you try to take it over more. Though he had no real reason to consider anything other than his born intent and the words of his King and so that's what he did. It would be naive to say he's never taken a life, and in fact when he was born he actually had wings along with his little posse of fellow Dark Vassals. Though good things only last so long.
The years started to blur, one killing went to the next and tragedy struck hundreds at the wake of his actions. He couldn't empathize with their fear and sadness because he simply didn't know it. He had just about the most dedicated job in the world, every moment of every day out there just... Doing the whole terrorizing thing. He figured what got people ticking, loud noises and unpredictable actions. Sounds were almost contagious, like his buddy decided one day that maybe if they screamed at Humans then the Humans would scream and start to panic. If one gets away that means fear spreads and King Piccolo's influence grows. They actually... Did that. And the worst thing is in reality it was more of a shriek and it actually did induce screams and panic in response. The worst plans always have a way of coming through. Though for every well... One hundred plus attacks on villages and settlements it's only a matter of time until you run into someone who's not absolutely useless and defenseless. That would actually come in the form of a simple locale Human Martial Artist. Bass was just Thug number one thousand forty-three or something and this guy was the Hero of his people. The avatar of his village and the saviour on that particular day. He just had more willpower, more fight and more grit than the three Mutated Namekian's combined. Two of them flew off flapping and beaten while Bass had gotten the worst of it. Laying on the ground in excruciating pain he expected the end and felt fear. A feeling he didn't affiliate with the word fear, but he in truth was scared for his life. Though whether he lived or died, the fact that his wings had literally been karate-chopped off would be permanent. Clean off his back, he would die from blood loss in ten minutes given the amount of blood that ran through those things.
Though he'd always seen the well... Panic from Humanity, and always listened to King Piccolo's commands. It never actually occurred to him that Humans and the other Earthling species were capable of things besides that. He didn't question anomalies, but this was in his face and he couldn't look away. He wasn't killed, but instead taken into the village by the very man who mutilated him. Though in truth, it'd be some semblance of returning to form akin to his pure Namekian cousins. The next few days would be a slow recovery. His regenerative capabilities only got him so far in truth, and are largely to account for his little risk of death in such a grievous scenario. Even with the loss of what was practically two limbs, he survived and was at peak performance... Minus the ability to fly that is. His captor was known as Lite Butta, an eccentric young budding martial artists training hard to go to some world martial arts tournament or something. The kid always just rambled and rambled and rambled when he was helping Bass recover, and Bass was simply so confused that with contorted brows he did nothing but just let it happen. It was all so foreign, so weird. This... Bond forming with another. Such an alien concept, yet so seemingly rewarding once accepted.
And that's how it happened, a genuine friendship butting in Bass's life. The first he would have and the only for a long time. He just while hesitant allowed things to move, allowed time to go forward and fate to play out. Once allowed to walk the village weeks after his recovery and after permission from the village elders considering he seemed to be changed enough, he watched the Earthling world on a closer level. It was a rural little hamlet, little technology and just hard workers on the far outskirts of North City. Cold really was an understatement for these parts yet he'd gotten warmer clothes to accommodate. The world seen this close was something else. These people all cared about each other closely, maybe like he regarded King Piccolo? All these words flung around. Respect, Kindness, Manners, Courage. They all held little meaning until defined, and even then it was difficult to tie those words to feelings, but he'd been all but abandoned by the others and there was no sense in being ignorant of new things. Years passed and the fledgling monster-spawn started to turn into something of a civilized Namekian- albeit mutated. Sure, there was still the sudden violent outbursts; though those seemed easy enough to tame. Almost like some kind of switch going off in Bass's head and these people knew just how to switch it back off.
And with a greater understanding of the fundamentals of Earth came raw knowledge that expanded his topographical understanding of the world. Over the years Lite had travelled to the South, East and Central Lands and told of many cities and fantastic places. Impressed with how broad Earthlings had spread their technology the question asked if he could ever really integrate with that same society. The Earthling world on a greater scale. In asking this question he was almost brushed off as being stupid. Even an almost was enough for him to start screaming in anger though, veins throbbing across his temple in pure rage. A flick to the forehead broke him out of his goon-y stupor thankfully. He would be told about North City just ten or so kilometers South from where they were now. A place that when described to him reflected some stories that others of his own kind rambled about when they weren't actively terrorizing people and things. Could he live there? It was possible, losing his wings was a great step in not being as strange on the street and there's enough variance in strange people that he should be fine so long as he behaved. So he'd do just that, behave. He had no doubt in his mind that he wanted to explore the world if only to inwardly strive to own it. King Piccolo could have it until he got it. And if he did all the evil in King Piccolo's name then he's not even to blame for it. Upon thinking that he let out a maniacal laugh, which got him a look from Lite and another flick on the forehead. Letting out a sigh he explained his desire to go to North City. And upon successfully travelling there when Lite went in for a supply run, he would come to stay fond of the place and remain. He would set himself apart from the indigenous village in which he was raised in a goodbye. Even if he felt incredibly sad about saying goodbye and wanted to waterfall tier sob, he just turned his head to the side and said. "Buh-bye Butta-boy." The behavior was well received by his friend as normal, who went off with a wave and would be seen on occasion yet never in quite the same capacity again.
Chapter Two: Mischievous Miscreant
North City, nestled right in a valley of an ever-expansive Northern Land filled with jagged threatening mountains and tundra's. It was almost impressive something of this scale had been figured out in a place this harsh. Yet it was fascinating all the same; even if he'd own it one day it was fine to admire it for now. He had been basically left on the street with a little bit of food, Butta-boy was an loser like that. Though he knew it came from a place of trust he'd score work and make his own way. His pride wouldn't have it any other way. Though KAMI any other job would've been better. Lo and behold the first opportunity to sprint in his way quite literally was a massive mascot with counterfeit Zeni dangling all over it. On its forehead was a hat saying 'MOMENTUM FINANCIAL- (accepting applications)'. That mascot quite literally threw himself in Bass's way. And closer and he might've got a nasty punch in the gut to spill out those fake zeni, frikken loser. Regardless as a surfer of fate he took the opportunity and with the incredibly predatory hiring practices of a modern sales company was recruited as a vulnerable job-searcher with no other open avenues. Thereby is how he found himself in one of the most vicious jobs ever being paid what he didn't know at the beginning, minimum wage. Getting hounded by his employer day in and out after a measly one day training session to constantly be making calls to businesses across the North Lands and North City to sell some software to help keep their accounts secure or something. It sounded so sketchy that it would've been better off literally being a scam, but this program was just terrible, not malicious. Almost impossible to sell on the phones, when their employer was around it became the only saving grace of the job to talk crap about it behind his back. Thankfully his first public outburst in North City would be when his boss wasn't around too.
Though that was three years ago now. That job started several years back and since that first outbreak he has been the only employee that was still there compared to when he started. His boss knew about the outbursts but he needed everyone he could get. The uncanny devotion to a minimum wage taxing sales job was out of the league and needed to be exploited despite some meagre consequences. Bass's antics had become something of a micro-generational story shared between passing and joining employees to the company. Details vital to warding his rage off was the forefront of helpful advice; to which the tactic was to use the on hand no glass breaking necessary fire extinguisher to spray him down until he relaxes. They weren't the type to really go for a flick on the forehead. Perhaps they were a tad intimidated of getting their fingers bitten off by those sharp teeth of his. His life from work was arguably not a life at all. A villain henchman turned tamed domestic citizen living in the packed high-rise apartments dotting North City in it's various residential districts. When he wasn't at work he was figuratively dying and when he was at work he was actually dying of multiple forms of nutrient shortages namely dehydration. He had this classic scream that got him tons of noise complaints and it'd be a lie if it was stated this was his first apartment, this was actually his fifth. Can't break a nasty habit, after all. Four moves in three years isn't really ample opportunity to meet people even if he wanted to, it was hard enough for Butta-boy to keep track of where he even lived. Apparently he'd finally at the worlds martial arts tournament, won his first match. Which sounds ridiculous, but he was just a normal guy living out of a sticks and stones level hamlet. It was impressive considering the calibre of the participating martial artists there. He knew this by now, he was at least that educated.
Well, if nothing else he was good at his job. After all, similar minds attract and while most of the people in Momentum Financial were after scores of Zeni, he was after world domination, go figure. Similar how those two goals can somehow instill the same raw drive and motivation. Needless to say he quit because it was a terrible job and he wanted to move somewhere warmer so he wasn't always having to go to work on roller skates while being dressed up like a snowman. Even in the office his shirt had to be basically padded to help him from being too cold. There's no way their company would pay for proper heating. So that's what would come to inspire a move and a change, one Butta-boy was actually impressed by considering the scope of the journey ahead of him and the lack of funds to actually make it there. He wanted to move to South City, from North City with no capsule car, no flight capabilities and no nimbus cloud. Just good old him and his two feet. A long, long while of travel. Thankfully there was the added motivation that he'd be closer to the Worlds Martial Arts Tournaments and could maybe watch to get stronger? He had innate strength, but it'd waned over the years of office work. It'd need to be cultivated again... Maybe... Just maybe he could pick up a job title... World DOMINATOR!
He walked out of North City cackling like a maniac with one warm burrito in his hand and a thousand zeni's to his name. Plus the clothes on his back.
EXTENSION ONE: The Job Transfer
There comes a time in a man’s life when he just has to make a change. The monotony of everyday life causing a growing pain in both mind and soul. Sharpening the very edge of Bass’s toxic personality into points that just break out of that normal bubble that he barely upholds. This change was a much needed one, a relinquishment of sales work and entrance into the Martial Arts scene as a vicious competitor and aspiring world dominator. Of course. It made him laugh even right now as he walked through the tundra step by step fighting against the harsh and relentless winds that threatened to push him back for each little bit of progress. Underequipped for the journey would be an understatement entirely, as all he really had was the clothing on his back and a general idea of the direction he had to go. If he wasn’t careful and didn’t associate with any locales in his travels he’d run the risk of losing his bearings if he was ever turned about during the long days and nights. Yet this journey started out as many do, boring and uneventful if only to an outside perspective. In the moment each kilometer was a victory however small in getting to where he needed to be but more importantly escaping the clutches of eternal Winter’s Wrath. That damn whether had made him look like an idiot on so many occasions!
Like that time he was about to cross the street and he slipped on black ice and a group of girls next to him laughed! Damn they were evil! He aspired to be that level of evil where he could talk dirt about anything a person said or did. That was the ultimate tier of evil. King Piccolo had a way with just saying terrorize this and terrorize that and take over the world but let’s not actually do a great plan because that’s just too great and I’m a green onion and O am like seven hundred years old and still yacking up vomit inducing eggs! He looked almost like a shrivelled up Pickle or Cucumber now that he thought about it. Did he actually like King Piccolo? No, but a working man isn’t supposed to like his boss as they say. His respect would be enough if he takes the jackpot or eventually makes his way back to share his accomplishments. His… He was ashamed to count not even a single set of fingers worth of digits as he stomped through the snowy wasteland and dangerous crevices. Was he really that normal and boring? What had he actually done? He just did the terrorizing thing which was basically Demon Clan neutral gear, then he was beaten by the enemy and was the subject of pity before joining Earthling society if only to… Wait a minute, that’s it! The blue mutated Namekian slammed one fist into an open palm as a brilliant twist of perspective kept him headstrong. He had infiltrated Earthling society!
And he just left, uh oh.
Uh oh.
Almost in sync with one another he saw movement on the horizon. Travelling a nearby edge of a mountain to his side was a grouping of geared up silhouettes seemingly heading his way. No matter, it must not be a huge deal right? Needless to say because he had infiltrated Earthling society it would be unwise to strike fear into them so deliberately. Especially when he couldn’t y’know, take off and fly away like in the old days. It always helped that they had an easy getaway plan. Why was he thinking of getaway plans anyways? He wasn’t a coward, he was loud and proud and wait a minute. Squinting towards the figures he noticed they were still approaching him even half a kilometer later from behind now. Were they gaining on him? Squinting even harder he could sort of make them out. They were wearing a lot of dark clothing, jackets and baggy snow pants with what looked like… A kazoo? That’s too naive, Bass flicked his own head to get himself thinking straight. That could be a bat or something, were these guys bandits? Letting out a musing tch, he turned and kept walking while mentally preparing himself. He slowly rolled up his cuffs, popped his collar and loosened his tie in the prospects of needing to move with a bit more efficiency in the coming moments. Even then, that was only after unzipping his large puffy jacket and temporarily removing his snow pants to stuff into his bag. He could feel the cold air nipping at his legs, but he wasn’t concerned with that at the moment. Keeping tabs on the group, it was easily apparent that they had no actual intentions of not heading his way and with how precise his direction was it’s unlikely they would tail him to go to the same place. After all, they had to come towards him from the East to begin with when they could’ve just been travelling South themselves.
No, he would have to try handling this himself.
As the gap between the two parties grew closer and closer, he turned around full circle and stopped in his tracks in the middle of the frozen wasteland. At this point a lot of the snow was slushy, as he’d travelled long enough with enough hunting and food acquisition to make it to a point where snow was starting to become a bit more sparse yet almost unnoticeably so. Still, in the moment he eyed the group. It looked like three Earthlings, Human to be precise with black masks and weapons. Those were definitely not musical instruments from this distance. Lugging collectively with them a sleigh of who knows what, once they got within twenty or so yards they stopped and released the harnesses of their little sleigh. They eyed Bass who did the same. Then they started to talk while Bass began pacing from side to side.
“We are the Blackbottom Burglars, and we’re here for everything you have! Hand it over and we’ll only beat you up a little!” One of the two in the back had a chuckle. Funny. Though he worked with guys like this a lot and more importantly customers who were just incredibly angry at the world. He’d begin speaking in that low baritone voice that had booming resonance with how deep it was.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, first off you’d be disappointed to find out all I have is the clothes on my back. Secondly while I’ve gotten a little rusty, I didn’t decide to travel the Northern Lands without any preparation. You’d be if not foolish, a risk-taker to pick a fight with me. Who announces themselves as Burglars anyways? Wouldn’t Like… Blackbottom Bankbusters have a better ring to it anyways?” There was a cuss amidst their group and mumbling that the proposed name might even be better. Breaking a sweat, the leader let out a shout to reinstate control of the situation.
“We are the Blackbottom Bankbusters! If you have nothing, we’ll take the clothes off of your back! You’re one of those weird Namekians yeah? Well you can just slingshot yourself to the Central lands and be perfectly fine without the jackets, that’s er… Oh! Yes, the clothes you’re wearing are designer. How much did you pay for those man?”
Wincing, Bass recalled his coworkers scheming suggestions to go for that vintage parka on display just in the glass of some fashion store. It stood out like a sore thumb and made him a walking talking billboard, at least it did the job of a jacket. He almost peeped out in humiliation the following.
“Two weeks pay. It hurts even now…” The three bandits burst out laughing before the frontmost one spoke.
“Alright, so this is how this is gonna work alright bub? You remove your clothes and toss them forward and we’ll take it. If you’re hiding anything we’ll see it without all the jacket and other crap in the way, oh and oh god… Wait you’re one of those Namekians which means you vomit massive eggs. Hey brother Bert and brother Barry what if he’s hiding something in his throat like a bomb and he can just vomit it on us oh Kami that’s not the way I want to go.”
The two sidekick assailants just winced at the proposition that such a thing was possible meanwhile Bass just blinked, staring at them with wide perplexed eyes in pure awe that they’d suggest something so disgusting. He was never going to do that, absolutely never. He’d seen it happen after he was born to others and he went through it himself, King Piccolo’s head turns into a gaping maw worse than most monsters on Earth. It made him shudder, but more importantly the idea of people considering him capable of something so nasty sparked another flare of pure rage inside of him. Balling his fists he began to trudge forward to the group who hastily scooped out their weapons and got ready for a fight. Bass had a thing for dramatic flair, he gave the tiniest bit of a monologue as he crossed the gap.
“First off, I’ll start by saying I would never ever ever ever do something like that. You’ve never met King Piccolo but I was born from King Piccolo and if you see him give birth you’ll never look at mouths the same way again. You would lose your lunch and die of starvation before considering eating again with how absolutely scarring it is. I’ve been second hand scarred by it because I don’t even directly remember being born but there’s just this feeling I recalled all the- NEXT PART OF MY MONOLOGUE THIS IS LIKE A TEST RUN I’M GOING TO DOMINATE THE WORLD SHUT UP!!!” He roared towards the group, who were equally as flabbergasted as he was.
“So when you suggest that I would do something even remotely similar to that, you insult me and you insult my pride. I am not King Piccolo, I am King Piccolo’s thug number…” He started to think. “Do you guys have a cool number I should be? I mean there’s so many anything goes really.”
One of the guys in the back called out, “Number eight-zero-zero-eight. Get it?” He looked between his confused brothers, “Get it?” He took out a calculator, punching in the numbers before showing them to his brothers. One rolled their eyes while the other just let out a sigh. Still confused, Bass just shrugged. “Sure, I’m thug number eight thousand and eight. And I’m going to eerr… It’s been a while since I did the whole terrorizing thing b-”
In that moment he was cut off as the three collectively agreed that he’d rambled on long enough. Approaching with bats in their hands they fully intended to beat him down and strip him of all of his valuables however few those may be. Stopping in his tracks he just held his breath and stared, clenching his fists. Twenty yards, fifteen yards, ten… Five and eventually they were upon him. Aaaaaand right he was supposed to move. That hurt, a lot. As a swing of the leaders bat smashed him across the face his head twisted to the side and he spattered out a glob of purple blood that painted the snow violet. Immediately followed by leaping back, he somehow didn’t seem too bad off. He really was a bit of a wall of meat, packed with muscle and home to a strange undying ambition that gave him willpower where most thugs just gave up. Readying his fists he went on the assault this time. Charging forward he sidestepped their frontline and went for the smaller brother with the slingshot first. Dodging a rock that flew his way, his fist raised up and he shouted almost barbarically; “CRUSH!”. His right fist came down, and as it did his arm as a whole grew almost like a pseudo-giant form. Slamming down into the top of the person’s head something happened which he didn’t expect. Instead of just falling into the snow the guy just… Vanished. On further notice he plopped through the ice below the snow and was now in frigid waters.
Uh oh on so many levels.
Fast forward five minutes and two enemies have become allies, collectively screaming as a frozen lake crumbles behind them, all four of them desperately tugging what must’ve been a sleigh filled with frikken rocks for some reason. The ice was crumbling not thirty feet behind them, giving way in what sounded like an avalanche with how far the tear was travelling in a chair reaction. Plates of ice were separating into smaller chunks and the roar of the tundra was nearly deafening even over their frantic screams. It was miraculous that they outpaced the collapse of this frozen lake onto solid ground and once they made it vowed to at least not be enemies. Friends maybe not, but nor would they be enemies. The Blackbottom Bankbusters offered Bass a bit of food to help him out, but for the most part he was off on his own again. This time he would be travelling through Central Land. Thankfully the trek would be brief but it would be through a land of lawlessness where chaos is always afoot. There might be some nasty people look out to get their face busted in these parts. This was fun, Bass could get into this life of risk and daring adventure.
So came the transition from frigid wasteland into the steamy Wild West deceptively known as the Central Lands. Go figure, it didn’t help his conscience any that the clothing he was wearing would now overheat him as opposed to keep him warm, he probably could’ve just given them to the people that actually still needed them. Blinking he’d tilt his head to gently remind himself he wanted to dominate the world, leaving them without additional clothes to keep warm was a start to asserting his dominance. “Ahahahahahahahahaha!” He laughed maniacally as a biker drove by on the road if only to give him the most baffled look he’d ever gotten. There wasn’t a massive Demonic Presence in Central Lands after all, so maybe he was just something weird to see? Or maybe it was the incredibly obnoxious maniacal laugh that would tip off just about anyone’s suspicion radar for as long as his voice carried. It carried pretty far, actually. As a little tumbleweed travelled the vast and open crag-covered plains of Central. His voice actually echoed, now that he thought about it. Also how was he going to manage to get food out here? Squinting, would he need to actually go to a town in order to not starve to death? Sure there’s still animals out here, but it’s not like he could always knock them out with rocks and then finish the job. For every one animal he got before in North Lands, he missed like ten. Not to mention finding suitable firewood and starting a fire and just… Ugh. It was a pain. To a city it was. The washed up salaryman strolling the side of the well used highway held up a thumb as if to request passage to a soul willing to take him in. Without nefarious intent, that is. It was a risky play, but he’d rather not just walk.
And so it’d be about five hours into walking that someone daring enough to let a mutated Namekian come ride with them would occur. A butch blond girl with a half shaved head with cornrows for the other half. Can’t say he hated the hairstyle, then again he didn’t really grow hair. That didn’t entirely help with the incredibly heat beating down from the sun. Some is nice, though an excessive amount like this is just grounds for suffering. Through the ride he’d chat with this person and together they made their way a bit further into Central Land, the closest town to South Land borders actually. Coming to a stop, he hopped off of the back of the motorcycle and slipped the girl some zeni for her troubles before looking at the all too typical saloon style wild west town. Speaking of saloon, there literally was one just off to the side. Maybe he could get some food there. Walking in he’d survey the place. A ton of bikers packing the place and a ton of mean faces. Most of them Humans but there were a couple different races there. He was the biggest, weirdest thing though. Moving to the counter he’d be trailed by a ton of eyes even after he took a seat. Asking for a meal he’d get one along with a drink.
Finishing the meal added with the still lingering stares is what caused him to have an outburst. Jumping out of his chair and turning around, veins popped on his forehead as he shouted. “WHAT ARE YOU LOSERS LOOKIN’ AT, HUH?” That got a great response. At least ten buff guys standing up and walking closer. Should he have retracted that statement? He figured maybe he should’ve retracted the statement, but only in hindsight after it was all over. In the moment he was just too angry. Swinging a fist it connected with one of the guys which went flying into a chair, collapsing into it out cold. As soon as he did that nine others jumped at him and chaos erupted in the bar. Jumping back a pile of bikers was formed, and all hell broke loose. Bottles started breaking, he wasn’t even public enemy one anymore as a full out brawl started in the saloon. Now this he could get behind! Almost like an automaton he’d go around and shout “CRUSH!” Before slamming his momentarily massive fist down on the enemies head to drill them into the planks unconscious. With all the chaos and almost free unchecked reign, in three or so minutes scratched and bruised up he’d be the last one standing. Besides the barkeep, who kept polishing a mug unfazed. This was pretty normal around these parts after all, a hell of a lot better than being robbed which was also normal.
With that being said with a full stoma- He squinted at that thought. Full stomach, hungry? That didn’t make a ton of sense in his head. Why was he hungry, come to think of it he always liked juicy foods. Did he just survive off the water from those foods and the rest was waste? Woooaaaah. The absurdly late self-realization fueled with the halfway mark of his trip inspired him to carry onwards. Particularly he’d actually go to loiter around that bike for the girl wherever she was. Maybe she was going to South City, worth a try. Unfortunately the cards just weren’t that flawless and instead he’d be responsible to get his own two feet into those borders. Taking in a deep breath and sighing, he filled up a large flask of water at the saloon and started walking.
The desert was merciless, threatening to dry him up and while part of him wanted to be worried about his life he was more worried about pruning up like King Piccolo’s soggy self. Occasionally dousing himself in water, he’d refill the canteen in little puddles of water that were who knows how sanitary and healthy. Still, beggars can’t be choosing and this heat was making him a beggar for life. In the last leg of his trip to the South Land border he considered how much of a blessing it was not to have been attacked while being so vulnerable and resource deprived. Though like all great things it questionably happened because of him jinxing it. In this case it wasn’t Earthlings per say. Well, technically maybe but it was a monster. A large dinosaur specifically shaped akin to a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a scar running down its face. Was this thing like the head honcho out here? Though when the roar happened and it started charging he felt like he could fly again, if only in the feeling of wind on his face as he fought against it. Sprinting faster than he ever had in his life he hightailed through the cracked up dry earth with ground-shattering steps trailing just ten yards behind him. He could almost feel the hot steamy breath of the monster threatening to eat him if he gave even a second worth of ground. He was also screaming, incredibly loud. What was he going to do, find out next time on Drag-.
What he did do was keep running and screaming, he didn’t have much of a choice. Just barely going as fast as this thing he needed to find some kind of hole before he tired out. Some place to hide… Or he could actually try to take it out. If he turned really fast and used his little CRUSH move on it maybe he could wallop it hard enough on the head that it’d at least collapse and give him a second. Though he didn’t want to look at it! Half screaming half hyperventilating he turned around and KING PICCOLO HELP AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! And in his panic he had brought his fist up, the massive arm forming for just a moment to punch the monster square in the face. It whimpered and fell over, tongue hanging out. Woah.
He moved over and kicked it, was it dead? He carefully moved up and went to nibble with his sharp teeth at the dinosaur. It suddenly roared and started to come back to life, to which he screamed again and smacked it in the head to fully knock it out. This was terrifying but exhilarating! Imagine if he didn’t spend all his time in an office and instead spent them training! Though then how would he get Zeni? Right… He’d have to get a job once he got to South City, wouldn’t he? Laying down exhausted on the dinosaur, he almost passed out before remembering this thing could wake up and eat him whenever it wanted. Well, whenever it’s brain wanted? Not like it could consciously shrug off being knocked out. He quickly ran away almost as fast as he could if he wasn’t winded from having been hightailing it for a good five minutes already. The good news is that the temperature was a little cooler, he’d been gradually transitioning climates as he made his way into the South Lands. And fate would have it that he wouldn’t be stopped again in Central. In a short time after that point he would official set foot into South Land.
But even the South Land wasn’t the Southern Islands. Those two things were so so different. He almost felt sick thinking that maybe now he’d reached halfway despite previous thoughts. Though these were more serene and peaceful lands, at least the parts he travelled. Filled with rivers and streams and lakes and other water sources he had no problems keeping his flask full and his nutrients up at healthy levels. This walk was likely the easiest for him to just get into the motions of the land and not be fighting against the elements. Passing through towns and villages, getting into small little comedic scraps here and there while making his way South. It was a busy time, and one that he did a lot more than just travel when he could. Though eventually it would all come down to reaching the coast to board the ferry. A ferry to which, would not just take him to the Southern Islands, but rather it would swing around the coast and take him to South City itself. Finally, peace. For the last leg of his journey he just baked in the sun and recovered from the long journey behind him filled with adventures fun and not so fun. Though when he got to the city a horrible fate awaited him.
A mascot representing a subsidiary of Momentum Financial, Momentum Compliance. As the mascot jingled with zeni symbols and danced from left to right with a board that said ‘RETURNING EMPLOYEES GET A RAISE’....
Bass accepted his fate, for now.
A salaryman’s life it was for him, at least… for now.
Like that time he was about to cross the street and he slipped on black ice and a group of girls next to him laughed! Damn they were evil! He aspired to be that level of evil where he could talk dirt about anything a person said or did. That was the ultimate tier of evil. King Piccolo had a way with just saying terrorize this and terrorize that and take over the world but let’s not actually do a great plan because that’s just too great and I’m a green onion and O am like seven hundred years old and still yacking up vomit inducing eggs! He looked almost like a shrivelled up Pickle or Cucumber now that he thought about it. Did he actually like King Piccolo? No, but a working man isn’t supposed to like his boss as they say. His respect would be enough if he takes the jackpot or eventually makes his way back to share his accomplishments. His… He was ashamed to count not even a single set of fingers worth of digits as he stomped through the snowy wasteland and dangerous crevices. Was he really that normal and boring? What had he actually done? He just did the terrorizing thing which was basically Demon Clan neutral gear, then he was beaten by the enemy and was the subject of pity before joining Earthling society if only to… Wait a minute, that’s it! The blue mutated Namekian slammed one fist into an open palm as a brilliant twist of perspective kept him headstrong. He had infiltrated Earthling society!
And he just left, uh oh.
Uh oh.
Almost in sync with one another he saw movement on the horizon. Travelling a nearby edge of a mountain to his side was a grouping of geared up silhouettes seemingly heading his way. No matter, it must not be a huge deal right? Needless to say because he had infiltrated Earthling society it would be unwise to strike fear into them so deliberately. Especially when he couldn’t y’know, take off and fly away like in the old days. It always helped that they had an easy getaway plan. Why was he thinking of getaway plans anyways? He wasn’t a coward, he was loud and proud and wait a minute. Squinting towards the figures he noticed they were still approaching him even half a kilometer later from behind now. Were they gaining on him? Squinting even harder he could sort of make them out. They were wearing a lot of dark clothing, jackets and baggy snow pants with what looked like… A kazoo? That’s too naive, Bass flicked his own head to get himself thinking straight. That could be a bat or something, were these guys bandits? Letting out a musing tch, he turned and kept walking while mentally preparing himself. He slowly rolled up his cuffs, popped his collar and loosened his tie in the prospects of needing to move with a bit more efficiency in the coming moments. Even then, that was only after unzipping his large puffy jacket and temporarily removing his snow pants to stuff into his bag. He could feel the cold air nipping at his legs, but he wasn’t concerned with that at the moment. Keeping tabs on the group, it was easily apparent that they had no actual intentions of not heading his way and with how precise his direction was it’s unlikely they would tail him to go to the same place. After all, they had to come towards him from the East to begin with when they could’ve just been travelling South themselves.
No, he would have to try handling this himself.
As the gap between the two parties grew closer and closer, he turned around full circle and stopped in his tracks in the middle of the frozen wasteland. At this point a lot of the snow was slushy, as he’d travelled long enough with enough hunting and food acquisition to make it to a point where snow was starting to become a bit more sparse yet almost unnoticeably so. Still, in the moment he eyed the group. It looked like three Earthlings, Human to be precise with black masks and weapons. Those were definitely not musical instruments from this distance. Lugging collectively with them a sleigh of who knows what, once they got within twenty or so yards they stopped and released the harnesses of their little sleigh. They eyed Bass who did the same. Then they started to talk while Bass began pacing from side to side.
“We are the Blackbottom Burglars, and we’re here for everything you have! Hand it over and we’ll only beat you up a little!” One of the two in the back had a chuckle. Funny. Though he worked with guys like this a lot and more importantly customers who were just incredibly angry at the world. He’d begin speaking in that low baritone voice that had booming resonance with how deep it was.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, first off you’d be disappointed to find out all I have is the clothes on my back. Secondly while I’ve gotten a little rusty, I didn’t decide to travel the Northern Lands without any preparation. You’d be if not foolish, a risk-taker to pick a fight with me. Who announces themselves as Burglars anyways? Wouldn’t Like… Blackbottom Bankbusters have a better ring to it anyways?” There was a cuss amidst their group and mumbling that the proposed name might even be better. Breaking a sweat, the leader let out a shout to reinstate control of the situation.
“We are the Blackbottom Bankbusters! If you have nothing, we’ll take the clothes off of your back! You’re one of those weird Namekians yeah? Well you can just slingshot yourself to the Central lands and be perfectly fine without the jackets, that’s er… Oh! Yes, the clothes you’re wearing are designer. How much did you pay for those man?”
Wincing, Bass recalled his coworkers scheming suggestions to go for that vintage parka on display just in the glass of some fashion store. It stood out like a sore thumb and made him a walking talking billboard, at least it did the job of a jacket. He almost peeped out in humiliation the following.
“Two weeks pay. It hurts even now…” The three bandits burst out laughing before the frontmost one spoke.
“Alright, so this is how this is gonna work alright bub? You remove your clothes and toss them forward and we’ll take it. If you’re hiding anything we’ll see it without all the jacket and other crap in the way, oh and oh god… Wait you’re one of those Namekians which means you vomit massive eggs. Hey brother Bert and brother Barry what if he’s hiding something in his throat like a bomb and he can just vomit it on us oh Kami that’s not the way I want to go.”
The two sidekick assailants just winced at the proposition that such a thing was possible meanwhile Bass just blinked, staring at them with wide perplexed eyes in pure awe that they’d suggest something so disgusting. He was never going to do that, absolutely never. He’d seen it happen after he was born to others and he went through it himself, King Piccolo’s head turns into a gaping maw worse than most monsters on Earth. It made him shudder, but more importantly the idea of people considering him capable of something so nasty sparked another flare of pure rage inside of him. Balling his fists he began to trudge forward to the group who hastily scooped out their weapons and got ready for a fight. Bass had a thing for dramatic flair, he gave the tiniest bit of a monologue as he crossed the gap.
“First off, I’ll start by saying I would never ever ever ever do something like that. You’ve never met King Piccolo but I was born from King Piccolo and if you see him give birth you’ll never look at mouths the same way again. You would lose your lunch and die of starvation before considering eating again with how absolutely scarring it is. I’ve been second hand scarred by it because I don’t even directly remember being born but there’s just this feeling I recalled all the- NEXT PART OF MY MONOLOGUE THIS IS LIKE A TEST RUN I’M GOING TO DOMINATE THE WORLD SHUT UP!!!” He roared towards the group, who were equally as flabbergasted as he was.
“So when you suggest that I would do something even remotely similar to that, you insult me and you insult my pride. I am not King Piccolo, I am King Piccolo’s thug number…” He started to think. “Do you guys have a cool number I should be? I mean there’s so many anything goes really.”
One of the guys in the back called out, “Number eight-zero-zero-eight. Get it?” He looked between his confused brothers, “Get it?” He took out a calculator, punching in the numbers before showing them to his brothers. One rolled their eyes while the other just let out a sigh. Still confused, Bass just shrugged. “Sure, I’m thug number eight thousand and eight. And I’m going to eerr… It’s been a while since I did the whole terrorizing thing b-”
In that moment he was cut off as the three collectively agreed that he’d rambled on long enough. Approaching with bats in their hands they fully intended to beat him down and strip him of all of his valuables however few those may be. Stopping in his tracks he just held his breath and stared, clenching his fists. Twenty yards, fifteen yards, ten… Five and eventually they were upon him. Aaaaaand right he was supposed to move. That hurt, a lot. As a swing of the leaders bat smashed him across the face his head twisted to the side and he spattered out a glob of purple blood that painted the snow violet. Immediately followed by leaping back, he somehow didn’t seem too bad off. He really was a bit of a wall of meat, packed with muscle and home to a strange undying ambition that gave him willpower where most thugs just gave up. Readying his fists he went on the assault this time. Charging forward he sidestepped their frontline and went for the smaller brother with the slingshot first. Dodging a rock that flew his way, his fist raised up and he shouted almost barbarically; “CRUSH!”. His right fist came down, and as it did his arm as a whole grew almost like a pseudo-giant form. Slamming down into the top of the person’s head something happened which he didn’t expect. Instead of just falling into the snow the guy just… Vanished. On further notice he plopped through the ice below the snow and was now in frigid waters.
Uh oh on so many levels.
Fast forward five minutes and two enemies have become allies, collectively screaming as a frozen lake crumbles behind them, all four of them desperately tugging what must’ve been a sleigh filled with frikken rocks for some reason. The ice was crumbling not thirty feet behind them, giving way in what sounded like an avalanche with how far the tear was travelling in a chair reaction. Plates of ice were separating into smaller chunks and the roar of the tundra was nearly deafening even over their frantic screams. It was miraculous that they outpaced the collapse of this frozen lake onto solid ground and once they made it vowed to at least not be enemies. Friends maybe not, but nor would they be enemies. The Blackbottom Bankbusters offered Bass a bit of food to help him out, but for the most part he was off on his own again. This time he would be travelling through Central Land. Thankfully the trek would be brief but it would be through a land of lawlessness where chaos is always afoot. There might be some nasty people look out to get their face busted in these parts. This was fun, Bass could get into this life of risk and daring adventure.
So came the transition from frigid wasteland into the steamy Wild West deceptively known as the Central Lands. Go figure, it didn’t help his conscience any that the clothing he was wearing would now overheat him as opposed to keep him warm, he probably could’ve just given them to the people that actually still needed them. Blinking he’d tilt his head to gently remind himself he wanted to dominate the world, leaving them without additional clothes to keep warm was a start to asserting his dominance. “Ahahahahahahahahaha!” He laughed maniacally as a biker drove by on the road if only to give him the most baffled look he’d ever gotten. There wasn’t a massive Demonic Presence in Central Lands after all, so maybe he was just something weird to see? Or maybe it was the incredibly obnoxious maniacal laugh that would tip off just about anyone’s suspicion radar for as long as his voice carried. It carried pretty far, actually. As a little tumbleweed travelled the vast and open crag-covered plains of Central. His voice actually echoed, now that he thought about it. Also how was he going to manage to get food out here? Squinting, would he need to actually go to a town in order to not starve to death? Sure there’s still animals out here, but it’s not like he could always knock them out with rocks and then finish the job. For every one animal he got before in North Lands, he missed like ten. Not to mention finding suitable firewood and starting a fire and just… Ugh. It was a pain. To a city it was. The washed up salaryman strolling the side of the well used highway held up a thumb as if to request passage to a soul willing to take him in. Without nefarious intent, that is. It was a risky play, but he’d rather not just walk.
And so it’d be about five hours into walking that someone daring enough to let a mutated Namekian come ride with them would occur. A butch blond girl with a half shaved head with cornrows for the other half. Can’t say he hated the hairstyle, then again he didn’t really grow hair. That didn’t entirely help with the incredibly heat beating down from the sun. Some is nice, though an excessive amount like this is just grounds for suffering. Through the ride he’d chat with this person and together they made their way a bit further into Central Land, the closest town to South Land borders actually. Coming to a stop, he hopped off of the back of the motorcycle and slipped the girl some zeni for her troubles before looking at the all too typical saloon style wild west town. Speaking of saloon, there literally was one just off to the side. Maybe he could get some food there. Walking in he’d survey the place. A ton of bikers packing the place and a ton of mean faces. Most of them Humans but there were a couple different races there. He was the biggest, weirdest thing though. Moving to the counter he’d be trailed by a ton of eyes even after he took a seat. Asking for a meal he’d get one along with a drink.
Finishing the meal added with the still lingering stares is what caused him to have an outburst. Jumping out of his chair and turning around, veins popped on his forehead as he shouted. “WHAT ARE YOU LOSERS LOOKIN’ AT, HUH?” That got a great response. At least ten buff guys standing up and walking closer. Should he have retracted that statement? He figured maybe he should’ve retracted the statement, but only in hindsight after it was all over. In the moment he was just too angry. Swinging a fist it connected with one of the guys which went flying into a chair, collapsing into it out cold. As soon as he did that nine others jumped at him and chaos erupted in the bar. Jumping back a pile of bikers was formed, and all hell broke loose. Bottles started breaking, he wasn’t even public enemy one anymore as a full out brawl started in the saloon. Now this he could get behind! Almost like an automaton he’d go around and shout “CRUSH!” Before slamming his momentarily massive fist down on the enemies head to drill them into the planks unconscious. With all the chaos and almost free unchecked reign, in three or so minutes scratched and bruised up he’d be the last one standing. Besides the barkeep, who kept polishing a mug unfazed. This was pretty normal around these parts after all, a hell of a lot better than being robbed which was also normal.
With that being said with a full stoma- He squinted at that thought. Full stomach, hungry? That didn’t make a ton of sense in his head. Why was he hungry, come to think of it he always liked juicy foods. Did he just survive off the water from those foods and the rest was waste? Woooaaaah. The absurdly late self-realization fueled with the halfway mark of his trip inspired him to carry onwards. Particularly he’d actually go to loiter around that bike for the girl wherever she was. Maybe she was going to South City, worth a try. Unfortunately the cards just weren’t that flawless and instead he’d be responsible to get his own two feet into those borders. Taking in a deep breath and sighing, he filled up a large flask of water at the saloon and started walking.
The desert was merciless, threatening to dry him up and while part of him wanted to be worried about his life he was more worried about pruning up like King Piccolo’s soggy self. Occasionally dousing himself in water, he’d refill the canteen in little puddles of water that were who knows how sanitary and healthy. Still, beggars can’t be choosing and this heat was making him a beggar for life. In the last leg of his trip to the South Land border he considered how much of a blessing it was not to have been attacked while being so vulnerable and resource deprived. Though like all great things it questionably happened because of him jinxing it. In this case it wasn’t Earthlings per say. Well, technically maybe but it was a monster. A large dinosaur specifically shaped akin to a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a scar running down its face. Was this thing like the head honcho out here? Though when the roar happened and it started charging he felt like he could fly again, if only in the feeling of wind on his face as he fought against it. Sprinting faster than he ever had in his life he hightailed through the cracked up dry earth with ground-shattering steps trailing just ten yards behind him. He could almost feel the hot steamy breath of the monster threatening to eat him if he gave even a second worth of ground. He was also screaming, incredibly loud. What was he going to do, find out next time on Drag-.
What he did do was keep running and screaming, he didn’t have much of a choice. Just barely going as fast as this thing he needed to find some kind of hole before he tired out. Some place to hide… Or he could actually try to take it out. If he turned really fast and used his little CRUSH move on it maybe he could wallop it hard enough on the head that it’d at least collapse and give him a second. Though he didn’t want to look at it! Half screaming half hyperventilating he turned around and KING PICCOLO HELP AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! And in his panic he had brought his fist up, the massive arm forming for just a moment to punch the monster square in the face. It whimpered and fell over, tongue hanging out. Woah.
He moved over and kicked it, was it dead? He carefully moved up and went to nibble with his sharp teeth at the dinosaur. It suddenly roared and started to come back to life, to which he screamed again and smacked it in the head to fully knock it out. This was terrifying but exhilarating! Imagine if he didn’t spend all his time in an office and instead spent them training! Though then how would he get Zeni? Right… He’d have to get a job once he got to South City, wouldn’t he? Laying down exhausted on the dinosaur, he almost passed out before remembering this thing could wake up and eat him whenever it wanted. Well, whenever it’s brain wanted? Not like it could consciously shrug off being knocked out. He quickly ran away almost as fast as he could if he wasn’t winded from having been hightailing it for a good five minutes already. The good news is that the temperature was a little cooler, he’d been gradually transitioning climates as he made his way into the South Lands. And fate would have it that he wouldn’t be stopped again in Central. In a short time after that point he would official set foot into South Land.
But even the South Land wasn’t the Southern Islands. Those two things were so so different. He almost felt sick thinking that maybe now he’d reached halfway despite previous thoughts. Though these were more serene and peaceful lands, at least the parts he travelled. Filled with rivers and streams and lakes and other water sources he had no problems keeping his flask full and his nutrients up at healthy levels. This walk was likely the easiest for him to just get into the motions of the land and not be fighting against the elements. Passing through towns and villages, getting into small little comedic scraps here and there while making his way South. It was a busy time, and one that he did a lot more than just travel when he could. Though eventually it would all come down to reaching the coast to board the ferry. A ferry to which, would not just take him to the Southern Islands, but rather it would swing around the coast and take him to South City itself. Finally, peace. For the last leg of his journey he just baked in the sun and recovered from the long journey behind him filled with adventures fun and not so fun. Though when he got to the city a horrible fate awaited him.
A mascot representing a subsidiary of Momentum Financial, Momentum Compliance. As the mascot jingled with zeni symbols and danced from left to right with a board that said ‘RETURNING EMPLOYEES GET A RAISE’....
Bass accepted his fate, for now.
A salaryman’s life it was for him, at least… for now.
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