Post by Zaru on Sept 30, 2019 2:03:11 GMT -8
Jeez, the desert sucked.
It felt like Daikon had been walking for days. Really, it was probably closer to hours, but he could feel the sun beating down on him so hard it was like he'd been frozen in time for at least most of those. He was shuffling, almost swaying slightly as he continued his way down the road, his jacket thrown over one shoulder so he could carry it instead, his body only somewhat covered by a black tank top, instead. He wasn't too worried about sunburn; his body had never really suffered from that when he lived here for a while before, but the short time away had already taken away how much he'd become used to the sun staring its evil eye down at him like this. He wished he'd never been taken back home, that he could have just disappeared forever. Wouldn't be so inconvenient now, and...maybe they wouldn't be so inconvenienced back home.
Sand kicked up around his shoes as he continued to walk, meandering down across the side of the road. This thing looked like it stretched onto the end of the world, and that it was suffering the heat as much as he was. Parts of it were cracked and starting to break up, the road itself looking like it hadn't been cared for in years. When he thought about it, he wondered how much of the world's governments or anyone of 'high office' or importance had actually ever been here. If they had, it probably wasn't in decades. It wasn't like you'd catch some guy from the Hound family visiting that place. Nah, those mutts would end up baking inside all their stupid fur, probably. He imagined most Dogmen would, right? There had to be a few tough guys amongst them who could stomach it, but it was few and far between, he'd bet.
Daikon couldn't help feeling distracted, still. He was curious about her. Not his mother, he didn't really care about her background. He assumed it went something along the lines of 'and then I punched him for looking at me wrong' repeated a hundred times, until she caught the eye of his egghead father. Maybe it wasn't right to judge, but he'd seen a few of his mother's type already. The guys who got into a fight for any reason, any time; so long as it was someone that looked scrawny enough, or they were confident they could beat 'em down. Did he know for sure that was how she was? No, but he was sure it was a damned good guess. If the world was kind, his big sis was nothing like her. Actually, she was the thing that had brought out those thoughts in the first place, huh?
He didn't really know Tap. At all, really. He knew she ran a department now. She hated how lazy he was, how much he 'didn't try', and probably how he flunked when it came to his schooling, too. Even all of that was secondhand, the only one he knew for sure was that she ran a department, having seen the freaked out workers scurrying around the offices of Capsule Corp once or twice. One of them had talked bad about his hair, realised he was 'Miss Brief's brother' and immediately started grovelling. It was gross. The whole thing added up to just make him not sure what to think of her. Maybe she was good, or at least had some good in her. Maybe she didn't really care what people thought and just wanted things done, like all big business people did. That'd make sense. Or maybe she was just a bit of a prick, like he was. That'd make sense too, huh?
Daikon let out another exaggerated sigh. Was this really all he had to entertain himself with? Trying to figure out the great family secret of his sister's personality, that he could've figured out with one conversation? Not one that he knew how to start, but still. There had to be something better. He moved his backpack slightly around so he could open it up, pulling out one of the water bottles and taking a couple of swigs from it, sweat still dripping down his face and body. He just had to remember not to drink all of it at once, and he'd be fine. Despite all of his worrying about being comfortable, he could probably sprint through this desert and reach somewhere much quicker. It'd be easier, but he felt like that would kind of ruin the spirit of the journey a bit. There was something he got out of just walking his way down. He enjoyed it. Well, actually, he wouldn't have minded a car. Or a bike, that'd be way better. Either way, a vehicle that he could drive around the area with, and check out the sights. That'd make things better by a bunch.
As the thought crossed his mind, he could actually overhear the rumbling of wheels nearby. Well, that was lucky. He made sure his jacket remained draped over his shoulder as he let go of it, stopping where he was in the road. He could hear the car rumbling down the road behind him, heading towards whatever nowhere this road ended at. There had to be some places to stop on the way through here, he was sure of it. He...admittedly, hadn't been in this part of the Southern Desert yet, but he was absolutely positive there'd be at least something in this direction. If there wasn't, that was going to be a major pain in the ass walking all this way and then having to sprint to somewhere there was actual shelter and water. Why'd the world have to have a big sandhole where day and night were equally uncomfortable for different reasons? It sucked.
Daikon's arm extended out the side, his thumb sticking up as he glanced back towards where the car was, where he knew it was. The thing was a souped up monster of a car, with engine spouts coming out from each side, a black paintjob and flames streaking across it. Nevermind the fact that it was taller than your average bear, at that. The thing was huge. As it passed him, there was a honk of the horn, and a hand extended out of the open window, giving him a far less than friendly sign back in response to his thumbs up. Daikon's face screwed up into an exasperated expression as the car sped off, lowering his hand once again before it went back to holding his jacket, making sure it stayed on his shoulder. "Well, screw you too, jackass." He muttered angrily under his breath, trying to keep himself from getting too frustrated with the rude driver. No point in it now. He'd just get heated, and more heat was just about the last thing he needed right now.
A few hours later, and Daikon was still walking. It had begun to get a bit dark, but at least it was a tad cooler, and he'd decided to put his jacket back on now that he was more likely to freeze up than dry into a pile of skin. He finally came across what looked like some kind of business park, though it had two particularly large buildings in there. The first looked like it was some kind of bar or club, with a large wolf symbol decorating the side of it. There was a bunch of cars and motorcycles parked outside, with rowdy noise coming from within. Nice. It seemed like just his kind of place. Maybe walking all that time was worth it, after all. The other building was a bit more mundane - it was still pretty big, but it was a mostly normal-looking garage from where he was standing, with a big sign saying 'BISCO'S' on the top of it. Bisco must've done pretty well for himself around here. There were more vehicles parked here than at Capsule Corp HQ. Well, probably not, but it looked like it.
The half-saiyan pushed through the door of the bar, which was bursting with as many tough-looking people as you could possibly hope to see. Most of them were wearing leather somewhere and plenty others wore helmets, jackets or sunglasses. It was obvious what kind of crowd this place attracted, which was probably why it had also attracted him. This was where you found the rough crowd, the kind of guys who'd pick fights just because they thought people were messing with them, not just the ones who they though they could size up as weaker than them. Well, maybe you had a few posers here and there, but most of these guys were nothing like that. They were the real deal, the most dangerous types around. At least, he hoped so.
Daikon moved up to where the bar was, still carrying his bag on his back as he got there. When he did, getting onto one of the stools, he heard a snort off to his right, but decided to ignore it, even though he could tell it was due to him. He'd found a good place, so he figured he'd let that one slide for now. No sense getting into something when he didn't need to, right? When he didn't need to. The bartender gave him a nod to show he was acknowledged, but had to continue serving the many others who were still waiting. Frankly, Daikon was just glad to be here, even if he never got anything to wet his throat. At least the place was cozy, in its own weird way, despite the arguments and curses being thrown all around. There was the laughter to his right though, and he'd been doing his best to ignore it, but it was starting to get on his nerves now. He finally turned to look, staring down the mustachioed man with dark hair who stood next to him at the bar, guffawing incessantly.
"Finally made it here after walking all that way, huh?" The man laughed again, and it immediately clicked for Daikon who the man was, bringing a small grin to his face. That was convenient, and he was thinking it'd be satisfying, too. This was the guy who'd decided to just let him stay stuck on the road and made fun of him as he passed, too. The man was taller than him, but not large by any means. There was a scar on his face, extending from the side of his chin up to his cheek that seemed to move along with his mouth as he laughed. "That was you in the stupid-looking car, huh?" The people around in earshot glanced over, clearly knowing the man who did own the car, and the predictable reaction he'd have when this stranger made a comment like that. Daikon saw the man's eye twitch, and it only made him grin a bit more as he stood up from the stool he was sat on, making sure to turn and face the man.
"Do you know who I am, small fry?" With that, Daikon's face turned to a frown for a moment. This guy wasn't implying he was short, was he? He was not short, he knew that he wasn't. He was above average for a regular human guy, there was nothing wrong with his height. Not short. Definitely not short. Daikon glanced to the side, more trying to shake off the feeling of being offended at being called short than actually thinking about who this guy could possibly be. His eyes went back to the man's. "No. Why, should I?" He smirked a little bit, feeling satisfied with himself as he saw the frustration in the other man's eyes. Mostly, it just made him feel cool, but it helped that he felt as though he was getting the upper hand in this argument more than a little. He saw the strange man grinding his teeth in anger.
"Well, I'm Borga, little man. I've trained with the Desert Wolves, so you best watch your tongue if you don't want to get flattened!" That part just more surprised Daikon than anything. This guy was a Desert Wolf? He didn't exactly look like one. He supposed this Borga guy did have a leather jacket, and he'd heard that some of them did that. He wasn't sure whether that was totally true, but he'd heard it, at the very least. Still, it was something else that puzzled him a lot more. Usually he would have had some retort, but his face flattened out into a neutral expression as he asked a simple question, more out of genuine curiosity than anything else. "Don't Desert Wolves usually ride bikes?" As soon as he said it, he could hear the bar freeze and people turn and stare. Which weirded him out, causing him to glance around in every direction. What? What had he said? Looking back to Borga, he figured it out. The man was furious, enraged beyond belief. Daikon figured he'd touched a nerve.
"That's it, you runt! I'm gonna knock your head off your shoulders for that one!" The man leaned back, cocking his fist as he wound up his arm, ready to sock Daikon in the face with a punch. Daikon felt an instinct start to kick in as he saw it happening, something that made him feel all tingly inside. This guy was strong, he could sense it. At least, strong for him. That was....exhilirating. As the man leaned back, Daikon decided he wasn't going to wait for him to hit first. Why make it easy for him? The half-saiyan quickly brought up his hands and threw a jab forward, striking Borga in the nose as he was preparing his punch, perhaps not realising how fast the smaller man was. The mustachioed man stumbled back, his hand clasped over his nose as he winced in pain, letting out a small groan. He pulled his hand back to look at it, checking if there was any blood. Thankfully for him, there was none quite yet. He grit his teeth in anger again, but the two were interrupted by a shout from the bartender as they were ready to keep going. "You two take this outside! I'm not having any more brawls in this bar tonight!"
Borga looked towards the bartender with a frustrated expression, then towards the man who had punched him. To his surprise, Daikon didn't look intimidated or concerned, or even frustrated that he was being thrown out until the fight was over. There was a wild look in his eyes, an anticipation, and a grin stretched across his face. He adjusted his stance, heading outside as a few others followed, clearly eager to watch the fight go down. He glanced back to one of the men following him, tossing his backpack in the man's direction. "Hey, hold this for me. I'd appreciate it." The man caught the backpack with both his hands, giving a nod. "Oh, and this." Suddenly, the Casule Corp-branded jacket was thrown through the air and landed on the man's face, draping itself over his head and drawing a bit of snickering from the other man next to him. Pushing out through the bar doors, Daikon stopped out in the car park, cracking his neck from side to side and beginning to stretch, keeping his tank top on for now. It wasn't incredibly serious, after all.
The other man was out soon after, taking his place in the small circle that had formed for them, blocked in by all the people watching and jeering. Borga began to crack his knuckles as he watched the younger man stretch, Daikon just curiously observing him. If he was a Desert Wolf - or at least trained with them, like he said, he must have been a dangerous guy, huh? He didn't seem like one of those guys who could transform, though the academy for that was around here somewhere. Daikon finally stood up from his stretches, bringing his fists up in front of him. One of them remained close to his face while the other stretched out just slightly, the young man now beginning to hop on his feet, staying on the front of them as another smirk came across his face, watching his opponent. He couldn't help it. He was just so excited already. He wanted to get on with it! Borga seemed to be ready, so Daikon rushed, stepping in unusually fast and going for a swing at Borga's chin. The larger man, despite his size and no doubt weight advantage, was quick as well, managing to dodge out of the way, forcing Daikon to stop his fist mere inches from striking the face of a random man in the crowd. Pulling it back, he turned back around to face Borga again, but by then, he was already on the attack.
Swings from all directions came flying his way, mostly towards his head and neck. Daikon swayed and dodged, avoiding the blows with a natural instinct that made him look like a professional. He'd done a little training, but only seriously for about a couple weeks a long time ago. Most of his training was just doing some pushups or running now and again, and that wasn't that common either. Despite all that, he was dodging Borga's punches like he was a master, as though he'd spent hours upon hours practicing his movements, his footwork impeccable. Even so, Daikon knew he was only barely avoiding them, despite how easy he made it look. To give the guy credit, he was crazy fast, and he seemed to have some kind of natural instinct of his own when it came to fighting. He was talented, too. Did he bother training? If he didn't, then maybe if he only did a little, their next fight would be even more intense. Oh, man. He was looking forward to that. Strangely enough, the punches he was throwing looked wild, totally untrained. The guy said he'd done somethings with the Desert Wolves, so there had to be a technique or two hidden away, right? If he wasn't going to show it, that just meant that Daikon had to bring it out somehow. Yeah, bringing it out sounded like it'd be fun. Borga lifted his leg to throw a push kick at Daikon, forcing the half-saiyan to cross his arms over one another so that they could take the brunt of the force coming from the man's boot. Though they took the impact, he was forced back, sliding a bit on the ground before he came to a halt, still within in the circle and still holding his arms up. He lowered them slowly, his eyes fixated on his opponent's before a satisfied smirk came across his face, and he spread his arms wide, taunting the man to come closer. "You have to try and actually hit me in a fight, dumbass."
That got him riled up. A fire lit up in the eyes of his opponent, who came swinging at him with renewed force. This time though, he was ready. He threw out another jab as he had before when Borga came swinging, catching him in the mouth this time. The man stumbled, rushing in again as he saw the younger of the two hopping on his feet again, all with that same smug look still on his face. He continued to sway and immediately follow up, landing a punch right across Borga's face. He continued to lay into the man with punches, giving him no reprieve despite how many times he tried to come at Daikon with force. Even as he began backing off, Daikon rushed in, actually leaping through the air to land another punch on the man's face before he punched him again, knocking him into the waiting arms of the crowd, who held him up. Daikon backed off, spreading his arms as a taunt once more as he kept that same smirk on his face, knowing that it would infuriate his opponent. This was much a part of the fight as throwing punches, energy blasts, whatever you liked to do. Playing mind games was probably his favourite part of the whole thing. Screwing around with an opponent to see where his mental weakness was, to see what would force him to make a mistake. It was the same thing as demoralizing an enemy by striking him where it hurt the most, taking the wind out of his sails and forcing him to acknowledge that you'd hit him somewhere he was trying to protect. It could hurt the spirit, as much as it hurt the body, which was the point. If some guy just had the will and grit to keep getting up no matter how many times you put him down, he was eventually going to get a lucky shot in even if there was a huge gap between you. At least, that's how he saw it. Usually, it was the tougher guy that won, rather than the guy with the most practice or skill.
Borga came rushing in once more, seeming to begin a swing. Daikon felt rather pleased with himself, knowing that he could easily counter him again. Maybe this was the limit of what this guy could do, after all. Ah, well. He was pretty good for an average guy, so he couldn't be too disappointed. As he swung his own fist out though, his arm suddenly stopped. He stared in confusion, seeing that Borga had changed tact, and his swinging fist was now gripping Daikon's wrist with the middle and index fingers on the top, the thumb on the bottom. What was this? He glanced over to Borga's face, and his eyes widened for a moment. There was a look in his opponent's eyes, not wild and furious like earlier, but strangely focused. What was - Daikon's attention was brought back to his arm as Borga's other hand did the same thing further up his hand, before the first moved higher than it, and following in sequence, the two seeming to leapfrog over each other. For as much as it seemed like he was watching this in slow motion, he knew it was immensely fast, probably faster than most of the crowd could see. Even so, he couldn't move his arm. He couldn't move it at all for some reason, he was freezing up. Why was he frozen up? This guy wasn't even doing anything dangerous to him, he was just gripping his arm weirdly. So why was it putting the fear of god into him? As Borga reached the top of his arm, the man's hand now extended outwards, rushing towards Daikon's face with the same grip that had been travelling up the half-saiyan's arm. His eyes widened as he stared at the incoming hand, but in his mind's eye, for some reason, it looked much different. All he could see was a wolf, its jaws open, rushing towards him, ready to bite his head right off or rip him up. Suddenly, he could move again, but perhaps only from the adrenaline of knowing what that would do to him. The half-saiyan quickly moved his head, twisting it as far away from the attack as he could, though he felt one of Borga's fingers scratching across his cheek. The feeling of it wasn't like being punches, or any kind of strike. It felt razor sharp, like a blade or a fang was travelling across his face. Quickly as he could, Daikon wrenched his arm free of Borgan's grip and hopped back a few steps, too shocked to take his fighting pose yet. He was bleeding from his cheek where Borga had grazed it, but he was too focused on what his opponent was doing now.
His hands remained in those same positions, one in front, the other closer to his face as he seemed to bob slightly in place, his feet planted firmly. There was still that look in his eyes, and for the first time, Daikon had an inkling of what the Desert Wolves were. If he hadn't moved, an attack like that could've floored him, if not taken his eye out, or...well, if it were aimed for a vital point, that could be a very quick way to end an opponent. What kind of technique was that? What kind of badass had invented something like that? He admired it, and for a split second, Daikon wanted to be able to do it. Not that technique in particular, but anything like that. Was this what training did for you? Real training? Maybe...maybe he ought to look into it. Firstly though, he should avoid getting wiped out. He waited, putting his hands up again as he knew that Borga would have to approach. He'd think that he had the upper hand and that he should put the pressure on. Daikon knew that if he was going to win here, he had to follow his own philosophy, but the mind games were over. Hit him where it hurts, and make sure he goes down fast. He had to lay into his spirit as much as he did his body, so that with all the pain, the guy stayed down. That meant moving fast, not letting him gain confidence. A focused look formed in Daikon's eyes and he had a calm expression on his face. He waited, staring down Borga for a moment before the mustachioed rough man came rushing at him once again, his hands extended out like a wolf's fangs as they were before. Daikon swayed his head slightly to avoid the first, the second now going straight for his face again. As he had swayed though, he brought his arm around to his opponent's side, his fist clenching far harder than he had done in a very long time.
Daikon twisted his hips, staring down the fangs as they came for him and seeming to have no fear on his face this time, though it was out of being sure of something else rather than just courage. His fist came rocketing around as he turned, and mere inches before the fangs reached his face, it impacted. His fist, carrying the power of his entire body in its swing and weight, in the movements he had made, crushed into Borga's side, and more importantly, into his liver. He saw the man's face freeze up in sheer pain and agony, his jaw dropping open as he stopped in place, unable to move the fangs any closer. He tried to slowly close his mouth, struggling as he began to quiver for a moment. Finally, his legs gave out. The man fell forward down onto his knees and into the fetal position, loudly groaning in pain and writhing on the ground, unable to do any much more than that. The spectators fell silent for a moment and all that could be heard was Borga's writhing before they suddenly exploded with cheers, clearly having enjoyed the show they were just given. Daikon reached up and rubbed across his cheek with the side of his hand, bringing it around to look at it and noticing the smeared blood. That attack was no joke. If he'd move the wrong direction, or just stayed still, he would've been wiped out, with extra scars to take home as memories of the attack he would have suffered. Well, at least it was over with now. The half-saiyan started moving out of the crowd, grabbing his backpack out of a guy's hands and taking his jacket to do the same, already slipping it on. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it." Thankfully, he didn't keep his wallet or any of the things he actually needed in his jacket or backpack. He got the feeling the guy probably rummaged through looking for things of that nature while he was distracted, almost getting his ass kicked by the angry Borga.
Now, where did he go, though? Heading out of the car park and away from the bar, he really wasn't sure. There had to be other places to go, right? He supposed he could just start walking again, but how long would that take? Did the bar have rooms? Maybe, but it'd cost him. Money wasn't really a problem, it was more the fact that he was sure Borga was gonna have friends in there who'd gladly bump him off while he slept, and he wasn't really sure he could do a lot about it if he was in dream land. He'd always been a heavy sleeper, so that wasn't gonna work out. So, that didn't really leave him a bunch of options. Looked like it was going to be the road. Where did he go from here, though? Off to the sea, and then head down to the Southern Islands? That could be somewhere to check out, but he felt like it was the Desert calling to him, so he'd leave sightseeing there for later. That also crossed out heading too far east, because then he'd hit the Central Plains and he'd just be walking through farmland for hours on end. That wasn't much better at this. At least there were some interesting things around here, rather than...well, a whole lot of nothing over there. Most of the interesting stuff here was sand, but he'd still take that over endless farms. He should probably get walking, though. At least, he would have, if someone hadn't called out to him from the side, at Bisco's. It was an older looking man, bald on his head but with a well-trimmed goatee on his chin. "Hey, buddy." He had a rag in his hands that he was using to wipe off his hands, which looked like they had been stained with a mix of grease and oil. He was wearing what was obviously the garb of a mechanic, and he had a mischievious glint in his eye as he looked towards Daikon. He pointed his thumb behind him at the garage. "You need a room? Anyone who teaches that idiot a lesson can stay here for a free night."
Staying in a garage wasn't exactly Daikon's idea of luxury. He was the son of one of the richest, if not probably the richest guy on the planet. Yet, laying there on the small bed that he'd been given in this extra room in a garage apparently big enough for people to live in, he felt comfortable. He didn't feel like it was a hard bed, or anything like that. Unlike when he had been back in the old man's house, he was somewhere that he actually wanted to be. He wanted to be here, he'd chosen to stay in this garage, and he got to be there because of his own accomplishments, not just because his parents had a lot of money or because he was being forced to stay there. The one problem was, having this time to relax gave him a bit too much time to think. Now his mind was preoccupied. Not about his family dramas, but about that move. That move was incredible. Even if the guy who'd done it had clearly not trained much, and probably not even with that move, it was enough to make him feel genuine fear for a moment as he felt the wolf's jaws rushing towards him. He must have learned that from the Desert Wolves, right? With their Wolf Style martial arts, or whatever it was. Man, to think of the guy who must have come up with techniques like that. He could only imagine how scary of a guy someone like that would have to be. The old Turtle and Crane martial arts guys were probably like....typical Kung-Fu movie masters, he guessed. Wise with bones creaking every time they moved, and everything they did was some weird lesson even when it seemed like it was just some mundane chore they were making you do. Then again, that might have just been the movies. Maybe they really did just make people do mundane chores a lot. Still, he could tell already that whoever this guy had been, he was way different. His students had to be as interesting and as cool as he was. He didn't think he was gonna become a Desert Wolf himself or anything like that, or even train in their style of martial arts, but he wanted to fight guys like that. Laying back in the bed, he let out a satisfied sigh. He should stop getting excited; he had to sleep.
The next morning, Daikon had made sure he still had all his stuff and gotten ready to leave, jacket on and bag in hand. As he headed out, he stopped by into the actual garage portion of the building, walking over to the man who had given him the room, who he now knew to be Bisco. He was half underneath a car of some kind, working on it. Not really caring for how he was breaking the man's focus, Daikon came over and immediately started asking questions of him. "Hey, Bisco. So, how do you actually know Borga, anyway?" There was a pause as Bisco seemed to stop what he was doing underneath the car for a moment, then finally rolled back out from underneath to stare up at him, tilting his head for a moment. "Borga? Oh, right, the guy you knocked down. Yeah, I got no idea who he is, kid." Daikon looked genuinely puzzled and thrown off, not sure how to take what he was being told and scratching the side of his head as he tried to figure it out. "But you said-" Bisco spoke over him and interrupted him, not bothering with letting the pointless conversation go on. "Yeah, I know what I said. It was just an excuse to get you to stay the night. It ain't the real reason. You see, kid-" He hefted himself up from the wheeled board he was lying on, dusting himself down for a moment as he began guiding the young half-saiyan through the extensive garage, seeming to lead him somewhere in particular. "I saw how fast you move, and how you were able to avoid the Wolf Fang Fist he threw at ya. Now, I know he were an amateur at best, but that still ain't anything to sniff at. I want someone with your reactions, someone who can think fast and move fast, and who's got the balls to handle what I'm gonna throw at you." Daikon had to assume he was being metaphorical and wasn't actually going to throw things at him. At least, he hoped not. He followed the mechanic into a room near the end of the garage, where the lights were all off. Slowly flicking them on, they revealed that there was a garage door here too, and more importantly, there was something very special waiting there in the centre of it all.
It was a chopper. Emblazoned with wolf symbols across and one of the meanest looking exhausts he'd seen in a long time. The look in his eyes made it obvious how he had fallen in love with the bike already, though he controlled himself and didn't rush for it. From Bisco's chuckling, it was obvious that he could tell, too. He turned towards the half-Saiyan for a moment before walking closer to the bike, motioning to it. "This here is one of the very First Edition Wolf Fang Choppers. Probably one of the best bikes there's ever gonna be, because they ain't making many of 'em. More importantly, the makers wanna show them off in tests all over the place. Here, there's gonna be a race. All kinds of guys are entering with sponsors and getting big zeni prizes thrown their way. Now, I'm gonna give you a chance kid, to be the guy who rides this chopper in that race. There's two conditions, though. You willing to hear me out?" Daikon couldn't even formulate a reply, simply giving a longing stare to the gorgeous bike that was sitting there in front of him. Instead, he just gave a nod, knowing he'd take any chance to ride it. "First - if you win, I get all the zeni, but....you'll get to keep the bike. Second of all, you let me decide your racing gear. No offense, but a Capsule Corp jacket ain't exactly 'looking the part', you know? I'll fix you up right. Deal?" There was a moment of silence as Daikon turned towards him, and for a moment, Bisco seemed to wonder if he was going to refuse. He stopped worrying about that when he saw the grin grow on the young man's face. "Deal."
The race's start was exciting already. Flags were all over the place and many had gathered to watch, with plenty of bikers revving up their vehicles, ready to get moving. They were just waiting on one more. As a few of them talked, some of them arguing amongst themselves, their attention was caught by the roaring of a powerful engine behind them. Astride the Wolf Fang Chopper, Daikon did 'look the part', he guessed. He was clad in a leather jacket now, with driving gloves and even sunglasses of his own. Bisco had insisted on a helmet at first, but that would've ruined his hairdo, and goggles made him look like a dork. Shades were about as close as Bisco was going to get. Daikon had a grin on his face he drove up alongside the other racers, some of them clearly recognising him from the previous night. Some seemed to have a degree of respect for him, but others looked hateful. He could guess that they were friends of Borga, but he wasn't really concerned. This wasn't going to be a competition. Most of them were on old bikes that had spent so long choking in the desert they were just one hard ride away from popping their clogs. Him? He was driving a state of the art beauty, and he'd be damned if he let anyone near him. His grin intensified as he heard the countdown for the start, revving up the engine even more, the same as others did, though his did have a much louder sound. He felt a beating in his chest as he got ready to let loose, the eagerness breaking through.
Then, he heard it. The signal to start, and the cue that he could finally get release. The bikes all took off at the same time, and yet his screamed ahead. The Wolf Fang Chopper was no joke, and all his competition were finding that out right about now. He kicked up dust and sand behind him as he rushed through the desert, weaving past large rocks jutting out of the ground and even some dimwit running across the track at the wrong time. Glancing back, he saw that he got clear long before anyone else reached where he was. That meant his lead was more than a little big. Good, he could just enjoy the testing. He wanted to see the limits of this thing. Veering slightly off course, he rushed the bike towards a rock that angled just right, enough that he knew he could use it as a ramp. The moment he hit it, he started working the engine harder, a grin still wide on his face as he rocketed up the formation and finally soared off the edge. People stared up in awe as Daikon flew through the air on his bike, starting to come down towards the ground. He seemed to be in a nosedive and held it for as long as possible, making some spectators feel sick and others just wondering if he was about to crash into the ground a heap, and his bike along with it. However, moments from the ground he suddenly pulled up and landed perfectly, eliciting loud cheers and applause from the crowd on either side of the track. There was something that genuinely excited him, hearing people cheer for him like that. He wanted more of that, more of that adulation. If this was the way to get it, he'd do it all the time as need be, and punch as many guys in the liver as he had to, to get the opportunity for it.
His competition never did catch up. As much as they might have tried, Daikon was riding a bike that was just out of their weight class in sheer perfomance and speed. He would've liked to claim that it was all because he was an expert driver and generally great guy, and he was, or at least he thought so. Yet, that wasn't the reason that he won this race, even as he lifted his arm up in victory when crossing the finishing line so far ahead of everyone else. The bike he had the fortune of riding was probably years ahead of its time, and he'd never seen anything like it. He'd ridden bikes before, plenty of times. Yet, this was different. It did something for him. He was pretty sure he had found what he wanted. Once he won, he didn't stop. He broke off from the track and just kept riding, not caring about the prizes, especially the money or anything like that. He'd keep the leather and keep the sunglasses, sure, but Bisco could keep the zeni. He didn't care about that, he had a far better prize now. This bike - it was what he'd been searching for when he entered the desert. This was the freedom he wanted, to feel like he was in control. It was what home could have never given him.
As Daikon took off, disappearing into the distance from everyone else and now just riding through the desert, he figured he'd come back for his stuff at Bisco's a bit later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy this. He moved one hand down to pat the side of his bike. He'd found a girl for him, and their first date had been the time of his life.
WC: 7,127
It felt like Daikon had been walking for days. Really, it was probably closer to hours, but he could feel the sun beating down on him so hard it was like he'd been frozen in time for at least most of those. He was shuffling, almost swaying slightly as he continued his way down the road, his jacket thrown over one shoulder so he could carry it instead, his body only somewhat covered by a black tank top, instead. He wasn't too worried about sunburn; his body had never really suffered from that when he lived here for a while before, but the short time away had already taken away how much he'd become used to the sun staring its evil eye down at him like this. He wished he'd never been taken back home, that he could have just disappeared forever. Wouldn't be so inconvenient now, and...maybe they wouldn't be so inconvenienced back home.
Sand kicked up around his shoes as he continued to walk, meandering down across the side of the road. This thing looked like it stretched onto the end of the world, and that it was suffering the heat as much as he was. Parts of it were cracked and starting to break up, the road itself looking like it hadn't been cared for in years. When he thought about it, he wondered how much of the world's governments or anyone of 'high office' or importance had actually ever been here. If they had, it probably wasn't in decades. It wasn't like you'd catch some guy from the Hound family visiting that place. Nah, those mutts would end up baking inside all their stupid fur, probably. He imagined most Dogmen would, right? There had to be a few tough guys amongst them who could stomach it, but it was few and far between, he'd bet.
Daikon couldn't help feeling distracted, still. He was curious about her. Not his mother, he didn't really care about her background. He assumed it went something along the lines of 'and then I punched him for looking at me wrong' repeated a hundred times, until she caught the eye of his egghead father. Maybe it wasn't right to judge, but he'd seen a few of his mother's type already. The guys who got into a fight for any reason, any time; so long as it was someone that looked scrawny enough, or they were confident they could beat 'em down. Did he know for sure that was how she was? No, but he was sure it was a damned good guess. If the world was kind, his big sis was nothing like her. Actually, she was the thing that had brought out those thoughts in the first place, huh?
He didn't really know Tap. At all, really. He knew she ran a department now. She hated how lazy he was, how much he 'didn't try', and probably how he flunked when it came to his schooling, too. Even all of that was secondhand, the only one he knew for sure was that she ran a department, having seen the freaked out workers scurrying around the offices of Capsule Corp once or twice. One of them had talked bad about his hair, realised he was 'Miss Brief's brother' and immediately started grovelling. It was gross. The whole thing added up to just make him not sure what to think of her. Maybe she was good, or at least had some good in her. Maybe she didn't really care what people thought and just wanted things done, like all big business people did. That'd make sense. Or maybe she was just a bit of a prick, like he was. That'd make sense too, huh?
Daikon let out another exaggerated sigh. Was this really all he had to entertain himself with? Trying to figure out the great family secret of his sister's personality, that he could've figured out with one conversation? Not one that he knew how to start, but still. There had to be something better. He moved his backpack slightly around so he could open it up, pulling out one of the water bottles and taking a couple of swigs from it, sweat still dripping down his face and body. He just had to remember not to drink all of it at once, and he'd be fine. Despite all of his worrying about being comfortable, he could probably sprint through this desert and reach somewhere much quicker. It'd be easier, but he felt like that would kind of ruin the spirit of the journey a bit. There was something he got out of just walking his way down. He enjoyed it. Well, actually, he wouldn't have minded a car. Or a bike, that'd be way better. Either way, a vehicle that he could drive around the area with, and check out the sights. That'd make things better by a bunch.
As the thought crossed his mind, he could actually overhear the rumbling of wheels nearby. Well, that was lucky. He made sure his jacket remained draped over his shoulder as he let go of it, stopping where he was in the road. He could hear the car rumbling down the road behind him, heading towards whatever nowhere this road ended at. There had to be some places to stop on the way through here, he was sure of it. He...admittedly, hadn't been in this part of the Southern Desert yet, but he was absolutely positive there'd be at least something in this direction. If there wasn't, that was going to be a major pain in the ass walking all this way and then having to sprint to somewhere there was actual shelter and water. Why'd the world have to have a big sandhole where day and night were equally uncomfortable for different reasons? It sucked.
Daikon's arm extended out the side, his thumb sticking up as he glanced back towards where the car was, where he knew it was. The thing was a souped up monster of a car, with engine spouts coming out from each side, a black paintjob and flames streaking across it. Nevermind the fact that it was taller than your average bear, at that. The thing was huge. As it passed him, there was a honk of the horn, and a hand extended out of the open window, giving him a far less than friendly sign back in response to his thumbs up. Daikon's face screwed up into an exasperated expression as the car sped off, lowering his hand once again before it went back to holding his jacket, making sure it stayed on his shoulder. "Well, screw you too, jackass." He muttered angrily under his breath, trying to keep himself from getting too frustrated with the rude driver. No point in it now. He'd just get heated, and more heat was just about the last thing he needed right now.
A few hours later, and Daikon was still walking. It had begun to get a bit dark, but at least it was a tad cooler, and he'd decided to put his jacket back on now that he was more likely to freeze up than dry into a pile of skin. He finally came across what looked like some kind of business park, though it had two particularly large buildings in there. The first looked like it was some kind of bar or club, with a large wolf symbol decorating the side of it. There was a bunch of cars and motorcycles parked outside, with rowdy noise coming from within. Nice. It seemed like just his kind of place. Maybe walking all that time was worth it, after all. The other building was a bit more mundane - it was still pretty big, but it was a mostly normal-looking garage from where he was standing, with a big sign saying 'BISCO'S' on the top of it. Bisco must've done pretty well for himself around here. There were more vehicles parked here than at Capsule Corp HQ. Well, probably not, but it looked like it.
The half-saiyan pushed through the door of the bar, which was bursting with as many tough-looking people as you could possibly hope to see. Most of them were wearing leather somewhere and plenty others wore helmets, jackets or sunglasses. It was obvious what kind of crowd this place attracted, which was probably why it had also attracted him. This was where you found the rough crowd, the kind of guys who'd pick fights just because they thought people were messing with them, not just the ones who they though they could size up as weaker than them. Well, maybe you had a few posers here and there, but most of these guys were nothing like that. They were the real deal, the most dangerous types around. At least, he hoped so.
Daikon moved up to where the bar was, still carrying his bag on his back as he got there. When he did, getting onto one of the stools, he heard a snort off to his right, but decided to ignore it, even though he could tell it was due to him. He'd found a good place, so he figured he'd let that one slide for now. No sense getting into something when he didn't need to, right? When he didn't need to. The bartender gave him a nod to show he was acknowledged, but had to continue serving the many others who were still waiting. Frankly, Daikon was just glad to be here, even if he never got anything to wet his throat. At least the place was cozy, in its own weird way, despite the arguments and curses being thrown all around. There was the laughter to his right though, and he'd been doing his best to ignore it, but it was starting to get on his nerves now. He finally turned to look, staring down the mustachioed man with dark hair who stood next to him at the bar, guffawing incessantly.
"Finally made it here after walking all that way, huh?" The man laughed again, and it immediately clicked for Daikon who the man was, bringing a small grin to his face. That was convenient, and he was thinking it'd be satisfying, too. This was the guy who'd decided to just let him stay stuck on the road and made fun of him as he passed, too. The man was taller than him, but not large by any means. There was a scar on his face, extending from the side of his chin up to his cheek that seemed to move along with his mouth as he laughed. "That was you in the stupid-looking car, huh?" The people around in earshot glanced over, clearly knowing the man who did own the car, and the predictable reaction he'd have when this stranger made a comment like that. Daikon saw the man's eye twitch, and it only made him grin a bit more as he stood up from the stool he was sat on, making sure to turn and face the man.
"Do you know who I am, small fry?" With that, Daikon's face turned to a frown for a moment. This guy wasn't implying he was short, was he? He was not short, he knew that he wasn't. He was above average for a regular human guy, there was nothing wrong with his height. Not short. Definitely not short. Daikon glanced to the side, more trying to shake off the feeling of being offended at being called short than actually thinking about who this guy could possibly be. His eyes went back to the man's. "No. Why, should I?" He smirked a little bit, feeling satisfied with himself as he saw the frustration in the other man's eyes. Mostly, it just made him feel cool, but it helped that he felt as though he was getting the upper hand in this argument more than a little. He saw the strange man grinding his teeth in anger.
"Well, I'm Borga, little man. I've trained with the Desert Wolves, so you best watch your tongue if you don't want to get flattened!" That part just more surprised Daikon than anything. This guy was a Desert Wolf? He didn't exactly look like one. He supposed this Borga guy did have a leather jacket, and he'd heard that some of them did that. He wasn't sure whether that was totally true, but he'd heard it, at the very least. Still, it was something else that puzzled him a lot more. Usually he would have had some retort, but his face flattened out into a neutral expression as he asked a simple question, more out of genuine curiosity than anything else. "Don't Desert Wolves usually ride bikes?" As soon as he said it, he could hear the bar freeze and people turn and stare. Which weirded him out, causing him to glance around in every direction. What? What had he said? Looking back to Borga, he figured it out. The man was furious, enraged beyond belief. Daikon figured he'd touched a nerve.
"That's it, you runt! I'm gonna knock your head off your shoulders for that one!" The man leaned back, cocking his fist as he wound up his arm, ready to sock Daikon in the face with a punch. Daikon felt an instinct start to kick in as he saw it happening, something that made him feel all tingly inside. This guy was strong, he could sense it. At least, strong for him. That was....exhilirating. As the man leaned back, Daikon decided he wasn't going to wait for him to hit first. Why make it easy for him? The half-saiyan quickly brought up his hands and threw a jab forward, striking Borga in the nose as he was preparing his punch, perhaps not realising how fast the smaller man was. The mustachioed man stumbled back, his hand clasped over his nose as he winced in pain, letting out a small groan. He pulled his hand back to look at it, checking if there was any blood. Thankfully for him, there was none quite yet. He grit his teeth in anger again, but the two were interrupted by a shout from the bartender as they were ready to keep going. "You two take this outside! I'm not having any more brawls in this bar tonight!"
Borga looked towards the bartender with a frustrated expression, then towards the man who had punched him. To his surprise, Daikon didn't look intimidated or concerned, or even frustrated that he was being thrown out until the fight was over. There was a wild look in his eyes, an anticipation, and a grin stretched across his face. He adjusted his stance, heading outside as a few others followed, clearly eager to watch the fight go down. He glanced back to one of the men following him, tossing his backpack in the man's direction. "Hey, hold this for me. I'd appreciate it." The man caught the backpack with both his hands, giving a nod. "Oh, and this." Suddenly, the Casule Corp-branded jacket was thrown through the air and landed on the man's face, draping itself over his head and drawing a bit of snickering from the other man next to him. Pushing out through the bar doors, Daikon stopped out in the car park, cracking his neck from side to side and beginning to stretch, keeping his tank top on for now. It wasn't incredibly serious, after all.
The other man was out soon after, taking his place in the small circle that had formed for them, blocked in by all the people watching and jeering. Borga began to crack his knuckles as he watched the younger man stretch, Daikon just curiously observing him. If he was a Desert Wolf - or at least trained with them, like he said, he must have been a dangerous guy, huh? He didn't seem like one of those guys who could transform, though the academy for that was around here somewhere. Daikon finally stood up from his stretches, bringing his fists up in front of him. One of them remained close to his face while the other stretched out just slightly, the young man now beginning to hop on his feet, staying on the front of them as another smirk came across his face, watching his opponent. He couldn't help it. He was just so excited already. He wanted to get on with it! Borga seemed to be ready, so Daikon rushed, stepping in unusually fast and going for a swing at Borga's chin. The larger man, despite his size and no doubt weight advantage, was quick as well, managing to dodge out of the way, forcing Daikon to stop his fist mere inches from striking the face of a random man in the crowd. Pulling it back, he turned back around to face Borga again, but by then, he was already on the attack.
Swings from all directions came flying his way, mostly towards his head and neck. Daikon swayed and dodged, avoiding the blows with a natural instinct that made him look like a professional. He'd done a little training, but only seriously for about a couple weeks a long time ago. Most of his training was just doing some pushups or running now and again, and that wasn't that common either. Despite all that, he was dodging Borga's punches like he was a master, as though he'd spent hours upon hours practicing his movements, his footwork impeccable. Even so, Daikon knew he was only barely avoiding them, despite how easy he made it look. To give the guy credit, he was crazy fast, and he seemed to have some kind of natural instinct of his own when it came to fighting. He was talented, too. Did he bother training? If he didn't, then maybe if he only did a little, their next fight would be even more intense. Oh, man. He was looking forward to that. Strangely enough, the punches he was throwing looked wild, totally untrained. The guy said he'd done somethings with the Desert Wolves, so there had to be a technique or two hidden away, right? If he wasn't going to show it, that just meant that Daikon had to bring it out somehow. Yeah, bringing it out sounded like it'd be fun. Borga lifted his leg to throw a push kick at Daikon, forcing the half-saiyan to cross his arms over one another so that they could take the brunt of the force coming from the man's boot. Though they took the impact, he was forced back, sliding a bit on the ground before he came to a halt, still within in the circle and still holding his arms up. He lowered them slowly, his eyes fixated on his opponent's before a satisfied smirk came across his face, and he spread his arms wide, taunting the man to come closer. "You have to try and actually hit me in a fight, dumbass."
That got him riled up. A fire lit up in the eyes of his opponent, who came swinging at him with renewed force. This time though, he was ready. He threw out another jab as he had before when Borga came swinging, catching him in the mouth this time. The man stumbled, rushing in again as he saw the younger of the two hopping on his feet again, all with that same smug look still on his face. He continued to sway and immediately follow up, landing a punch right across Borga's face. He continued to lay into the man with punches, giving him no reprieve despite how many times he tried to come at Daikon with force. Even as he began backing off, Daikon rushed in, actually leaping through the air to land another punch on the man's face before he punched him again, knocking him into the waiting arms of the crowd, who held him up. Daikon backed off, spreading his arms as a taunt once more as he kept that same smirk on his face, knowing that it would infuriate his opponent. This was much a part of the fight as throwing punches, energy blasts, whatever you liked to do. Playing mind games was probably his favourite part of the whole thing. Screwing around with an opponent to see where his mental weakness was, to see what would force him to make a mistake. It was the same thing as demoralizing an enemy by striking him where it hurt the most, taking the wind out of his sails and forcing him to acknowledge that you'd hit him somewhere he was trying to protect. It could hurt the spirit, as much as it hurt the body, which was the point. If some guy just had the will and grit to keep getting up no matter how many times you put him down, he was eventually going to get a lucky shot in even if there was a huge gap between you. At least, that's how he saw it. Usually, it was the tougher guy that won, rather than the guy with the most practice or skill.
Borga came rushing in once more, seeming to begin a swing. Daikon felt rather pleased with himself, knowing that he could easily counter him again. Maybe this was the limit of what this guy could do, after all. Ah, well. He was pretty good for an average guy, so he couldn't be too disappointed. As he swung his own fist out though, his arm suddenly stopped. He stared in confusion, seeing that Borga had changed tact, and his swinging fist was now gripping Daikon's wrist with the middle and index fingers on the top, the thumb on the bottom. What was this? He glanced over to Borga's face, and his eyes widened for a moment. There was a look in his opponent's eyes, not wild and furious like earlier, but strangely focused. What was - Daikon's attention was brought back to his arm as Borga's other hand did the same thing further up his hand, before the first moved higher than it, and following in sequence, the two seeming to leapfrog over each other. For as much as it seemed like he was watching this in slow motion, he knew it was immensely fast, probably faster than most of the crowd could see. Even so, he couldn't move his arm. He couldn't move it at all for some reason, he was freezing up. Why was he frozen up? This guy wasn't even doing anything dangerous to him, he was just gripping his arm weirdly. So why was it putting the fear of god into him? As Borga reached the top of his arm, the man's hand now extended outwards, rushing towards Daikon's face with the same grip that had been travelling up the half-saiyan's arm. His eyes widened as he stared at the incoming hand, but in his mind's eye, for some reason, it looked much different. All he could see was a wolf, its jaws open, rushing towards him, ready to bite his head right off or rip him up. Suddenly, he could move again, but perhaps only from the adrenaline of knowing what that would do to him. The half-saiyan quickly moved his head, twisting it as far away from the attack as he could, though he felt one of Borga's fingers scratching across his cheek. The feeling of it wasn't like being punches, or any kind of strike. It felt razor sharp, like a blade or a fang was travelling across his face. Quickly as he could, Daikon wrenched his arm free of Borgan's grip and hopped back a few steps, too shocked to take his fighting pose yet. He was bleeding from his cheek where Borga had grazed it, but he was too focused on what his opponent was doing now.
His hands remained in those same positions, one in front, the other closer to his face as he seemed to bob slightly in place, his feet planted firmly. There was still that look in his eyes, and for the first time, Daikon had an inkling of what the Desert Wolves were. If he hadn't moved, an attack like that could've floored him, if not taken his eye out, or...well, if it were aimed for a vital point, that could be a very quick way to end an opponent. What kind of technique was that? What kind of badass had invented something like that? He admired it, and for a split second, Daikon wanted to be able to do it. Not that technique in particular, but anything like that. Was this what training did for you? Real training? Maybe...maybe he ought to look into it. Firstly though, he should avoid getting wiped out. He waited, putting his hands up again as he knew that Borga would have to approach. He'd think that he had the upper hand and that he should put the pressure on. Daikon knew that if he was going to win here, he had to follow his own philosophy, but the mind games were over. Hit him where it hurts, and make sure he goes down fast. He had to lay into his spirit as much as he did his body, so that with all the pain, the guy stayed down. That meant moving fast, not letting him gain confidence. A focused look formed in Daikon's eyes and he had a calm expression on his face. He waited, staring down Borga for a moment before the mustachioed rough man came rushing at him once again, his hands extended out like a wolf's fangs as they were before. Daikon swayed his head slightly to avoid the first, the second now going straight for his face again. As he had swayed though, he brought his arm around to his opponent's side, his fist clenching far harder than he had done in a very long time.
Daikon twisted his hips, staring down the fangs as they came for him and seeming to have no fear on his face this time, though it was out of being sure of something else rather than just courage. His fist came rocketing around as he turned, and mere inches before the fangs reached his face, it impacted. His fist, carrying the power of his entire body in its swing and weight, in the movements he had made, crushed into Borga's side, and more importantly, into his liver. He saw the man's face freeze up in sheer pain and agony, his jaw dropping open as he stopped in place, unable to move the fangs any closer. He tried to slowly close his mouth, struggling as he began to quiver for a moment. Finally, his legs gave out. The man fell forward down onto his knees and into the fetal position, loudly groaning in pain and writhing on the ground, unable to do any much more than that. The spectators fell silent for a moment and all that could be heard was Borga's writhing before they suddenly exploded with cheers, clearly having enjoyed the show they were just given. Daikon reached up and rubbed across his cheek with the side of his hand, bringing it around to look at it and noticing the smeared blood. That attack was no joke. If he'd move the wrong direction, or just stayed still, he would've been wiped out, with extra scars to take home as memories of the attack he would have suffered. Well, at least it was over with now. The half-saiyan started moving out of the crowd, grabbing his backpack out of a guy's hands and taking his jacket to do the same, already slipping it on. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it." Thankfully, he didn't keep his wallet or any of the things he actually needed in his jacket or backpack. He got the feeling the guy probably rummaged through looking for things of that nature while he was distracted, almost getting his ass kicked by the angry Borga.
Now, where did he go, though? Heading out of the car park and away from the bar, he really wasn't sure. There had to be other places to go, right? He supposed he could just start walking again, but how long would that take? Did the bar have rooms? Maybe, but it'd cost him. Money wasn't really a problem, it was more the fact that he was sure Borga was gonna have friends in there who'd gladly bump him off while he slept, and he wasn't really sure he could do a lot about it if he was in dream land. He'd always been a heavy sleeper, so that wasn't gonna work out. So, that didn't really leave him a bunch of options. Looked like it was going to be the road. Where did he go from here, though? Off to the sea, and then head down to the Southern Islands? That could be somewhere to check out, but he felt like it was the Desert calling to him, so he'd leave sightseeing there for later. That also crossed out heading too far east, because then he'd hit the Central Plains and he'd just be walking through farmland for hours on end. That wasn't much better at this. At least there were some interesting things around here, rather than...well, a whole lot of nothing over there. Most of the interesting stuff here was sand, but he'd still take that over endless farms. He should probably get walking, though. At least, he would have, if someone hadn't called out to him from the side, at Bisco's. It was an older looking man, bald on his head but with a well-trimmed goatee on his chin. "Hey, buddy." He had a rag in his hands that he was using to wipe off his hands, which looked like they had been stained with a mix of grease and oil. He was wearing what was obviously the garb of a mechanic, and he had a mischievious glint in his eye as he looked towards Daikon. He pointed his thumb behind him at the garage. "You need a room? Anyone who teaches that idiot a lesson can stay here for a free night."
Staying in a garage wasn't exactly Daikon's idea of luxury. He was the son of one of the richest, if not probably the richest guy on the planet. Yet, laying there on the small bed that he'd been given in this extra room in a garage apparently big enough for people to live in, he felt comfortable. He didn't feel like it was a hard bed, or anything like that. Unlike when he had been back in the old man's house, he was somewhere that he actually wanted to be. He wanted to be here, he'd chosen to stay in this garage, and he got to be there because of his own accomplishments, not just because his parents had a lot of money or because he was being forced to stay there. The one problem was, having this time to relax gave him a bit too much time to think. Now his mind was preoccupied. Not about his family dramas, but about that move. That move was incredible. Even if the guy who'd done it had clearly not trained much, and probably not even with that move, it was enough to make him feel genuine fear for a moment as he felt the wolf's jaws rushing towards him. He must have learned that from the Desert Wolves, right? With their Wolf Style martial arts, or whatever it was. Man, to think of the guy who must have come up with techniques like that. He could only imagine how scary of a guy someone like that would have to be. The old Turtle and Crane martial arts guys were probably like....typical Kung-Fu movie masters, he guessed. Wise with bones creaking every time they moved, and everything they did was some weird lesson even when it seemed like it was just some mundane chore they were making you do. Then again, that might have just been the movies. Maybe they really did just make people do mundane chores a lot. Still, he could tell already that whoever this guy had been, he was way different. His students had to be as interesting and as cool as he was. He didn't think he was gonna become a Desert Wolf himself or anything like that, or even train in their style of martial arts, but he wanted to fight guys like that. Laying back in the bed, he let out a satisfied sigh. He should stop getting excited; he had to sleep.
The next morning, Daikon had made sure he still had all his stuff and gotten ready to leave, jacket on and bag in hand. As he headed out, he stopped by into the actual garage portion of the building, walking over to the man who had given him the room, who he now knew to be Bisco. He was half underneath a car of some kind, working on it. Not really caring for how he was breaking the man's focus, Daikon came over and immediately started asking questions of him. "Hey, Bisco. So, how do you actually know Borga, anyway?" There was a pause as Bisco seemed to stop what he was doing underneath the car for a moment, then finally rolled back out from underneath to stare up at him, tilting his head for a moment. "Borga? Oh, right, the guy you knocked down. Yeah, I got no idea who he is, kid." Daikon looked genuinely puzzled and thrown off, not sure how to take what he was being told and scratching the side of his head as he tried to figure it out. "But you said-" Bisco spoke over him and interrupted him, not bothering with letting the pointless conversation go on. "Yeah, I know what I said. It was just an excuse to get you to stay the night. It ain't the real reason. You see, kid-" He hefted himself up from the wheeled board he was lying on, dusting himself down for a moment as he began guiding the young half-saiyan through the extensive garage, seeming to lead him somewhere in particular. "I saw how fast you move, and how you were able to avoid the Wolf Fang Fist he threw at ya. Now, I know he were an amateur at best, but that still ain't anything to sniff at. I want someone with your reactions, someone who can think fast and move fast, and who's got the balls to handle what I'm gonna throw at you." Daikon had to assume he was being metaphorical and wasn't actually going to throw things at him. At least, he hoped not. He followed the mechanic into a room near the end of the garage, where the lights were all off. Slowly flicking them on, they revealed that there was a garage door here too, and more importantly, there was something very special waiting there in the centre of it all.
It was a chopper. Emblazoned with wolf symbols across and one of the meanest looking exhausts he'd seen in a long time. The look in his eyes made it obvious how he had fallen in love with the bike already, though he controlled himself and didn't rush for it. From Bisco's chuckling, it was obvious that he could tell, too. He turned towards the half-Saiyan for a moment before walking closer to the bike, motioning to it. "This here is one of the very First Edition Wolf Fang Choppers. Probably one of the best bikes there's ever gonna be, because they ain't making many of 'em. More importantly, the makers wanna show them off in tests all over the place. Here, there's gonna be a race. All kinds of guys are entering with sponsors and getting big zeni prizes thrown their way. Now, I'm gonna give you a chance kid, to be the guy who rides this chopper in that race. There's two conditions, though. You willing to hear me out?" Daikon couldn't even formulate a reply, simply giving a longing stare to the gorgeous bike that was sitting there in front of him. Instead, he just gave a nod, knowing he'd take any chance to ride it. "First - if you win, I get all the zeni, but....you'll get to keep the bike. Second of all, you let me decide your racing gear. No offense, but a Capsule Corp jacket ain't exactly 'looking the part', you know? I'll fix you up right. Deal?" There was a moment of silence as Daikon turned towards him, and for a moment, Bisco seemed to wonder if he was going to refuse. He stopped worrying about that when he saw the grin grow on the young man's face. "Deal."
The race's start was exciting already. Flags were all over the place and many had gathered to watch, with plenty of bikers revving up their vehicles, ready to get moving. They were just waiting on one more. As a few of them talked, some of them arguing amongst themselves, their attention was caught by the roaring of a powerful engine behind them. Astride the Wolf Fang Chopper, Daikon did 'look the part', he guessed. He was clad in a leather jacket now, with driving gloves and even sunglasses of his own. Bisco had insisted on a helmet at first, but that would've ruined his hairdo, and goggles made him look like a dork. Shades were about as close as Bisco was going to get. Daikon had a grin on his face he drove up alongside the other racers, some of them clearly recognising him from the previous night. Some seemed to have a degree of respect for him, but others looked hateful. He could guess that they were friends of Borga, but he wasn't really concerned. This wasn't going to be a competition. Most of them were on old bikes that had spent so long choking in the desert they were just one hard ride away from popping their clogs. Him? He was driving a state of the art beauty, and he'd be damned if he let anyone near him. His grin intensified as he heard the countdown for the start, revving up the engine even more, the same as others did, though his did have a much louder sound. He felt a beating in his chest as he got ready to let loose, the eagerness breaking through.
Then, he heard it. The signal to start, and the cue that he could finally get release. The bikes all took off at the same time, and yet his screamed ahead. The Wolf Fang Chopper was no joke, and all his competition were finding that out right about now. He kicked up dust and sand behind him as he rushed through the desert, weaving past large rocks jutting out of the ground and even some dimwit running across the track at the wrong time. Glancing back, he saw that he got clear long before anyone else reached where he was. That meant his lead was more than a little big. Good, he could just enjoy the testing. He wanted to see the limits of this thing. Veering slightly off course, he rushed the bike towards a rock that angled just right, enough that he knew he could use it as a ramp. The moment he hit it, he started working the engine harder, a grin still wide on his face as he rocketed up the formation and finally soared off the edge. People stared up in awe as Daikon flew through the air on his bike, starting to come down towards the ground. He seemed to be in a nosedive and held it for as long as possible, making some spectators feel sick and others just wondering if he was about to crash into the ground a heap, and his bike along with it. However, moments from the ground he suddenly pulled up and landed perfectly, eliciting loud cheers and applause from the crowd on either side of the track. There was something that genuinely excited him, hearing people cheer for him like that. He wanted more of that, more of that adulation. If this was the way to get it, he'd do it all the time as need be, and punch as many guys in the liver as he had to, to get the opportunity for it.
His competition never did catch up. As much as they might have tried, Daikon was riding a bike that was just out of their weight class in sheer perfomance and speed. He would've liked to claim that it was all because he was an expert driver and generally great guy, and he was, or at least he thought so. Yet, that wasn't the reason that he won this race, even as he lifted his arm up in victory when crossing the finishing line so far ahead of everyone else. The bike he had the fortune of riding was probably years ahead of its time, and he'd never seen anything like it. He'd ridden bikes before, plenty of times. Yet, this was different. It did something for him. He was pretty sure he had found what he wanted. Once he won, he didn't stop. He broke off from the track and just kept riding, not caring about the prizes, especially the money or anything like that. He'd keep the leather and keep the sunglasses, sure, but Bisco could keep the zeni. He didn't care about that, he had a far better prize now. This bike - it was what he'd been searching for when he entered the desert. This was the freedom he wanted, to feel like he was in control. It was what home could have never given him.
As Daikon took off, disappearing into the distance from everyone else and now just riding through the desert, he figured he'd come back for his stuff at Bisco's a bit later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy this. He moved one hand down to pat the side of his bike. He'd found a girl for him, and their first date had been the time of his life.
WC: 7,127
