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Kvuni


This page, Slaved, is property of Brady Patrick.

This article, Slaved, contains the following:

Graphic Language.

Reader discretion is advised.


Hi this is another short one-shot by me, Brady Patrick! I know it's very short but that's how it's supposed to be!

(and pro tip: It's best to reread this after you've read it once through, so it will make more sense.)


The bell sounded. The lights dimmed. The halls emptied. They left, all of them, one by one and single file; with no look, no talk, no comfort. They left me there, in my sweat and my blood and my humiliation to be alone. I didn’t move. I couldn‘t. My ankle was broken; I felt the piece of bone jutting through jumpsuit. But it was more than that. I had put my best foot forward today, and for what? Just to be taken as a joke and thrown aside, like common trash. They were much stronger, so much cooler than me… and I wanted to be just like them.

No! I was strong enough, I was good enough. It’s their fault if they can’t see that! I pounded my small fists onto the ground, cracking and breaking the robustly finished stone. I screamed out, suddenly, unexpectedly to even myself, realizing at that moment that I had dislocated my finger. I guess it was the perfect ending to another day in this hell hole.

I clenched my teeth and fumed at the thought of this, as I gingerly grasped at my palm. That stupid little four eyed freak hadn’t even hurt me as much as this. I had beat him all by myself. But there were two of them. They fought dirty, otherwise I would’ve got them. I knew I would have. I felt at my ankle again, and grimaced. There was no way I could walk on it. Man, if that’s the way it’s gonna be, then I’ll just fight as dirty as them. No rules for any of us!

I kneeled up, fixing my features for some unseen camera or audience in the darkness around. It was old habit to hold my head high, just part of who I was. I remembered back to when the King had first shown me that. He said posture makes power and gives respect, or something like that… But he’s dead now. He was weak. So what, I thought? It could still work for me.

I got up, and fell right back down; the pains shooting up and down my leg were too much for anyone to bear. It had to be. But like I knew they would have done, I went against the rules. I knew we weren’t allowed to fly inside the ship, but as long as I was alone, no one would care. I hoped that I just didn’t run into any of those posers again. As I left the room, I peered out into the hallway. It was deserted. Good, I thought to myself. It was almost better to be alone in this creepy place. A lot better than being with any of the others, and especially better than having to deal with Captain-

A light flashed on my wrist. Startled, I fell back and landed on my leg. My broken leg. But I didn’t dare yell out, I didn’t want anyone to come. Besides, I knew such a thing was gonna be a recorded message. Nobody real this time. I clicked open the device to listen and I was met with the voice I knew it would be.

“Lord Frieza needs you immediately. Do you hear me? Get up here now, you little brat. And don‘t pull any tricks this time. You know what will happen if you do. Send me back your response as soon as you get this. You will answer your captain!”

But I wouldn‘t. I fucking hated him. His threats of torture and secret “get togethers” never mattered to me; he would do them even if I was a good little boy. Fuck him. I didn’t care. The only thing I could think of was that none of them, him especially, ever called me by my name. My name. As I got up again to fly back to Frieza’s chambers, I couldn’t help myself. I had to say it, even if it didn’t help. I couldn’t let myself be like them; I couldn’t forget it.

“Vegeta. Prince… Vegeta.” I let out in a quiet breath.

But no one heard me.

AwardsEdit

  • 2014 Official Dragon Ball Fanon Wiki Awards - Best One-shots (nominee).


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