Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

June 1990

“Come on!” the boy challenged, bracing himself and throwing his arms out wide.

His opponent glared down at him, dragging his leg backwards across the ground, before rearing back to charge.

“Come on! Give me everything you got!” he challenged again.

His opponent ran forwards at high speed, churning up the ground in its path. It tackled into the boy with all its might, only for it to amount to nothing as the boy refused to give an inch, absorbing the force of the blow, and remaining where he stood. His muscles shook from effort, but his face was marked by a wide, excited, smile.

“ Mooooo ” bellowed his opponent, and the boy laughed, taking one heavy step forwards, pushing the bull backwards, even as the bovine struggled against him, waving his head back and forth and digging into the earth with his hooves. The boy shoved, and the bull stumbled back, before turning away and taking a few steps, circling the boy to charge from a different direction.

The boy shifted in place, always facing the bull, his hands flexing in anticipation.

“Come on!” he shouted again, “You can do it!”

The bull bellowed a second time, before charging again. But the moment before impact, a voice suddenly caught the boy’s attention.

“You better not be riling up Babe again, Clark!”

The bull caught him dead-center, and with a swing of his head, launched the boy away. Clark groaned as he was sent rolling through the grass, before sitting up and looking back at the farmhouse, ashamed.

“Sorry, Ma,” he shouted.

“ Moooo”

“Babe’s sorry too,” he added.

“Babe doesn’t need to be sorry; you were the one pushing his buttons,” his mother shouted, “You leave him alone, now.”

Clark sighed, looking back at the cow, who stomped a hoof into the dirt, ready to go again if Clark was. “You heard Ma, we’re done Babe,” he said, sitting up and dusting himself off, before turning away from the bull. There was a shuffling of hooves behind him, and Clark grinned, and jumped forwards a few yards, escaping out of the bull’s third charge. Looks like Babe was ready whether Clark was or not.

He eyed the bull a few moments longer, but it seemed done with him, turning, and facing away.

Clark Kent sighed and turned to face the sky.

What was he going to do with the rest of the day? He preferred summer vacation to school, of course, but it came with its own challenges. Clark preferred to keep himself busy when he could.

During most of the year, that meant waking up, running all the way down to Smallville Middle School, going to classes, eating his tiny lunch, hanging out with Pete and Lana for as long as any of their parents would let them, and then running back home to help on the farm until dinner. It was only after dinner that he had free time to himself.

Summer vacation was a different beast. Being able to help on the farm first thing in the morning alongside Pa, then breakfast, then back to chores. Most days, most of the usual chores were done by lunchtime. That gave Clark the entire afternoon all to himself. He visited Pete and Lana as much as he could, but they still had their own schedules.

Which left him here, wrestling with Babe for as long as he could get away with it. Clark watched the bull trot around, still excited, and proud of his victory, and some part of Clark itched at that. Wanted to prove the animal wrong. Which was kind of stupid, all things considered. Babe was an animal, and Clark was a human. But stopping the tussle while both were still raring to go just felt unfair. Both to him, and to Babe.

He tried to describe the feeling to Ma once, but she just looked at him strangely, and that was that. He wondered if maybe it was just something about girls. Lana didn’t like hearing about fighting, but Pete did , and Pa thought it was hilarious, at least when Ma wasn’t listening.

Deprived of a playmate, Clark instead wandered his way further and further from the farmhouse and barn, letting his feet carry him mindlessly, trying to think of something else to do. He had read all the books in his room already, and it would be another few days before Pete had any new comics to show him.

Abruptly, Clark stopped his wandering, confused and suddenly feeling on edge. Something was wrong. The boy leaned forwards, closer to the ground, and then slowly turned his head. There was something on the edge of his hearing, that set him off despite only barely recognizing it. He waited a few seconds, and then heard it again. It was a sound that came from far away. High pitched, but loud enough to carry over flat farmland.

“ Aaaahhh!”

That was a girl screaming.

Immediately, the boy launched into motion, taking off running. He began building up into giant leaps, closing in faster and faster on the sounds.

“ No, no, no! Get away from- Aaah!” The scream was followed by another loud noise, which at this distance, he could barely identify. Was that an explosion?

He plowed through a cornfield without a thought, smashing his way through the plant life and then erupting out of the field facing an open road. As he approached the fence that marked the edge of the Kent farmland, he skidded to a stop and listened again. But there were no more screams, no more muffled booms. No more…

He caught the sound of metal scraping against metal, and took off again, roughly in the same direction he had been running.

He jumped the fence, crossed the road in an instant, jumped the next fence, and then kept up the pace on the other side, despite it not being Kent land any longer. Someone was in danger, that was the most important thing. Finally, he crested a small hill, and spotted a trail of smoke.

Following it, he finally saw the source of the noise. A robot stood in the middle of the field. Clark could barely believe his eyes. The thing was at least fifteen feet tall, built in a vaguely human shape, with muscular, masculine proportions. Its body was made of metal, painted in shades of blue and silver. Its head was vaguely cone-shaped, and its face was hard and inexpressive, marked by triangular glowing red eyes.

The machine was standing over the wreck of a car, the source of the smoke. Sitting inside the cockpit of the vehicle was a young woman. The first thing that Clark noticed about her was that her hair was dyed a turquoise blue. The second thing was that blood was trailing down from her hairline, down her face. She wasn’t moving.

Clark froze, his heart beating faster.

The robot bent over slowly. It was reaching for the unconscious, or possibly dead, girl.

“NO!”

Clark blinked, surprised at himself for shouting. The robot seemed surprised too, jerking backwards from the girl. Its cone-shaped head spun in place, orienting its vision directly on him.

“Witness identified.”

“Uh oh.”

And then, it turned back to the girl, and grabbed at a bag that was attached to her belt. It lifted the bag up to its head, and the pointed tip opened up. The robot dropped the bag into the hole, and the tip flipped back down, sealing itself with a clang. Only then did its attention return to Clark.

“Eliminating witness.” Its chest rotated to face him in the same way its head had, as if there was a swivel built into its waist. It clunkily raised one massive metal arm towards him and splayed its fingers. From the center of the robot’s palm, a hole appeared. One that quickly filled with light.

Clark decided that he didn’t want that pointed at him. He ran to the side, before kicking off the ground and diving for the car. He landed with a thud on the hood of the wreck and scrambled over the cracked windshield just before the robot’s arm made a strange noise, followed by an explosion just behind him. He was sent tumbling into the seat next to the girl and realized with relief that he could hear her breathing.

“Why are you doing this?” Clark demanded, glaring up at the robot. Its hand had been aimed back at him, and the tunnel in its palm was once again beginning to glow, building up energy for the next blast. The front of the car was smoldering and melted from the previous shot, the edges of the metal still red-hot.

The red triangular eyes blinked, and the robot lowered its arm slightly.

“Computing answer,” it said, before turning away from him to tap on its chin slowly and mechanically in thought.

Clark saw an opportunity and took it. Reaching down, he scooped the girl up in his arms, and hopped back out of the car, running back the way he came. She was taller than he was by a whole head, which made it a little awkward, but he managed. He cleared the hill, and then jumped the fence, before pushing back into Kent land.

He didn’t know what he was going to do when he reached the barn, but he did know that Ma and Pa both knew better than him how to treat someone who was hurt.

As he ran, he caught a slight groan from the girl, and met her bright blue eyes.

“What the…” she muttered.

“Don’t worry!” Clark assured, “I’m getting you somewhere safe.”

“Safe? But…” her eyes shot wide open, and she began to struggle in his arms, “Agh! No, go back! I need to check!”

“Go back? To the killer robot?” he asked.

She groaned, more in disappointment than pain, before closing her eyes again. “All that work, all those days searching, all for nothing.”

“Whatever it is you left in your car, your life is more important,” Clark said, slowing down on his way back through the cornfield to avoid damaging any more crops, “Actually, now that I think about it, is that robot going to follow us?”

“It’s certainly been following me,” she muttered. Clark’s heart started beating faster, and he found himself having to keep a smile out of his face. “Sorry to wrap you into this, kid.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad I can help.” The farmhouse came into sight, and he came to a stop. Slowly, he let the girl down, and she stumbled to her feet. She seemed uneasy, though, and he helpfully caught her arm just as she was about to unbalance again. “Ma!” he shouted, “Pa! Can you go get the bandages!?”

“Ow,” the girl muttered, slapping a hand against the ear closest to him, “You’ve got a set of lungs on you, huh?”

“Right, sorry.”

“Clark!” shouted his mother from the house, “What did you do to yourself now?” as Martha Kent stepped outside, however, she found herself blinking in surprise at the blue-haired teenager in front of her, “Oh my.” She held the door open behind her, and motioned for them to come forwards, “You come on in, dearie. We’ll see about that head wound.”

Clark helped her inside, and onto the couch, before dashing back to the door.

“Clark, where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go take care of what attacked her!” he said, excitement was building inside him. The robot was following her. There wasn’t really any choice, but to stop it. He didn’t know whether he could. Somehow, he imagined that a robot was stronger than a bull.

The thought should have been scary. To Ma, it would be. But to Clark, it sounded like Christmas.

Chapter Text

He could hear the robot’s footsteps long before he could see it. A heavy thumping of metal boots against hard-packed ground.

As he came to a stop in a wide, mostly-open stretch of land, he waited for his opponent. His heart still raced like crazy, blood pumping through his ears. He shifted in place, unconsciously taking on the same position he did to prepare for Babe’s charges. Ready to brace himself, ready to jump forwards. His fingers twitched, unsure whether to be balled into fists, or ready to grab.

Couldn’t the robot move any faster?

The thumping drew closer, and closer, until it stopped. The robot stared down at him from ten yards away. For a few seconds, both were silent.

“Witness located,” the robot finally said, “Answering question: To obtain designated objects for my master, and to dispose of witnesses who might interfere with his goals by spreading certain information.”

“Your master?”

The robot narrowed its eyes, “Question answered. Eliminating witness!” it cried, before raising up both arms. Light built up inside the tunnels in its wrists, and Clark immediately started moving. This time, as the robot attacked, he watched. There was barely any time between the robot launching its attack, and the small explosions that destroyed the spot where Clark had been standing. The blasts crossed the space in between in an instant. Lasers? Or something like them.

He resolved to never stop for a second, constantly jumping back and forth as he circled the machine. The robot slowly stomped in a circle, even as its torso and head spun on their axis, trying to keep the boy in its sights, but he was moving too fast. 

When he outpaced the robot’s vision entirely, he took his chance and kicked off the dirt.

Clark sailed through the air between them and landed on the robot’s back with a thud. However, he almost immediately regretted it. The robot’s metal skin was blazing hot to the touch, buzzing under the surface.

He pulled his hands back barely a second after touching the machine and jumped back. Looking down at his hands, he winced at the blisters that were already forming from the brief contact with the heat. Distracted, he didn’t realize that the robot had stepped forwards until he felt the rush of air that hit him just before the kick did. The giant metal leg of the robot slammed into him, and to Clark’s dismay, the surface of its limbs was just as hot as the surface of its body. The boy screamed out as he was sent tumbling backwards and winced at the smell of singed clothing. Ma wouldn’t like that.

He quickly got to his feet, and just about managed to scramble out of the way of the next laser beam.

His mind was racing. He couldn’t touch it, or else he’d get burnt. He could outrun it, easily, but it would just keep following him. He didn’t know how durable it was, yet, but those footsteps sounded heavy. It certainly didn’t seem fragile. But it also didn’t seem maneuverable either. It wasn’t flexible in the least. It was built almost like an action figure, its body built on straightforward up-down joints, or rotating on swivels. The only thing that seemed close to a human’s level of dexterity were its hands, and even those were lacking in wrists.

Clark moved in, closing the distance between him and the machine.

But this time, rather than jumping onto its back, he slipped between its legs, and stayed there. The machine tried to kick at him, but he just ducked enough away to keep from touching the leg, before moving back between them.

“Cease activity!” the robot bellowed while stomping at him. It tried to aim at him with the laser- but its arms weren’t flexible enough to aim at its own body. Now, the only problem was the heat.

Glancing down at his shirt, and the singed spots there, Clark sighed. Quickly, he yanked it up and over his head, before wrapping the fabric around his right hand, bundling it up into a fist. Looking upwards, he focused on the underside of the knee joint, and took aim, rearing back with one arm.

Part of his mind rebelled.

His Ma and Pa had told him time and again, to never hit anything he didn’t want to break. He understood how much stronger he was than other boys his age, and it was hammered into him that he should always be careful never to hurt anyone else.

But another part of his mind was celebrating, as he knew that none of that applied here. He swung forwards as hard as he could for the first time in his life, and as he did, his face split into a wide grin. His cloth-covered fist crashed into the back of the joint, instantly meeting resistance stronger even than a bull, but Clark was braced, and his blood was running hot. His fist pushed, and the robot’s leg buckled. The machine immediately lost balance, tumbling forwards onto the ground and slamming into it with a heavy thud.

Clark didn’t waste time.

Jumping up towards its head, he slammed his covered fist down on it. There was a crunch as metal warped under the force of the punch. Clark reared back again, and waited. A moment later the robot’s face swiveled to face him, and he drove his next punch down into its eye. Glass shattered under the force of the attack, bending the metal of its face, and the robot let out an electronic shriek.

For a moment, Clark stepped back in shock. It could feel pain? Why would anyone make a robot that could feel pain? He reached out with his uncovered hand, worried, “Are you alright?” he asked.

He regretted the distraction. Spinning around with surprising speed, the robot’s arm flipped upwards and crashed down, the heavy palm of the machine flattening the boy to the ground.

“Guh!” Clark grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. But a moment later, he sucked in another breath, and began to scream as the heat of the metal pressed down on him. “Arrggh!” With a rush of strength he didn’t know he had in him, he shoved upwards, knocking the hand aside and flipping the robot over from the force. There was a sound of crunching metal, but Clark barely noticed.

“Status: Damaged.” The robot announced, the glare of its remaining eye focused on him. “Security of designated objects at risk. Retreating.” The robot pulled further away from Clark, before getting back up to its feet in a series of awkward, careful motions. Once it was standing, the robot swiveled its torso and head toward the horizon… and launched them. Rocket fire exploded out of the bottom of the robot’s waist as it was propelled into the distance, abandoning its legs and groin where they stood.

Clark laid there, where he had been pressed into the ground, and panted for a few seconds, trying to get back in control of himself. It was only once he stopped breathing heavily that he could hear the ticking coming from the left-behind limbs.

“Oh no,” he groaned.

They exploded.

Chapter Text

His first thought upon waking up was wondering who had brought him to the hospital.

Wrapped up in ointments and bandages like this, he could barely move. But he supposed he should just be glad that he was alive. He looked up at the ceiling for a few minutes, before turning his gaze to the window looking out on downtown Smallville. As much as Smallville had a downtown.

His mind went back to the robot, reliving the fight step by step, and he found himself relaxing. He lost, and that burned, but knowing he had managed to fight that hard, failed, and that his opponent would be waiting for him to try again? Part of that was deeply satisfying.

He wished he had asked the robot its name.

Clark was still lost in thought when the door cracked open, and he heard a soft gasp, “You’re awake already?” he turned to face her, and smiled warmly at his mother.

“Hey Ma.”

“Clark Kent, don’t you scare me like that!” she protested, hurrying over to his side and only just barely keeping herself from grabbing his hand, or wrapping him in a hug. She didn’t want to do anything to his bandages, after all.

“I’m sorry Ma,” he said quietly.

“He’s awake?” asked a more masculine voice from the hall. Clark grinned a little wider as his father, Jonathan Kent, leaned into the doorway. The old man’s face lit up at the sight of Clark’s open eyes, and he hurried in and took a seat next to his wife at Clark’s side, “How’re you feeling Clark?”

“Sore,” he admitted, “Did… anything else happen with the robot? Or the girl?”

Both of his parents shared a concerned look at that, before turning towards him, “Robot, Clark?” his father asked.

“The thing I fought,” Clark clarified.

“Fought- you looked like you were caught in a bomb!” Martha protested.

“I kind of did. After I broke its eye, it decided to retreat. The top half kind of just… launched, like a rocket. But the bottom half stayed behind, and then exploded,” he explained.

“…Huh.” Jonathan said, looking away and thinking, “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Did it… say anything? Why was it attacking the girl? Why did it attack you?”

“It wanted something,” Clark said, thinking back, “Something she had. But I don’t know what. You didn’t ask her?”

“She’s asleep, right now.” Martha said, “In another room in the hospital, actually.”

He frowned, glancing between his parents, “Wait, how long have I been out?”

“Only a few hours,” Jonathan assured, gesturing at the window, “It’s not evening yet.”

Clark sighed, sinking deeper into his bed. Now that he had thought of it, he was itching to ask her a few questions.

“Clark, what were you thinking, going out to fight something like that?” Martha asked, “You got her away from it, wasn’t that enough?”

He shook his head, “It would have just followed us to the farm, and then you would have been in danger too.”

“But then we’d at least be able to help,” Jonathan said, “I’ve got a rifle. We would have been able to do something to it.”

“It was a robot, Pa, I don’t think that a rifle was going to do much to it.”

“Well, I guess we won’t know, now,” Jonathan said, crossing his arms, “Clark, you scared us, but I’m proud of you for helping her. That was a brave thing you did.”

He smiled back at them, “Thanks, Pa.”

The three of them sat together for another hour, talking quietly, until a doctor knocked on the frame of the door, “Kent family?”

“That’s us, come in.”

“Thank you. That girl you found from the car accident?” Clark blinked in confusion, glancing at his parents.

“Yes?” Martha asked, beckoning him to continue while ignoring Clark’s puzzled face for the moment.

“She’s awake now, if you’d like to speak to her.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s doing pretty well, all things considered. A mild concussion, some scrapes, and bruises. Scalp wounds always bleed a lot, so I think it’s likely that it looked worse than it was.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Would it be alright for Clark to see her?”

“Clark’s a lot worse off than she is, right now. In fact, I think he could use some more rest.”

“But I want to talk to her,” Clark protested.

“If she’s okay walking, maybe she could some see him?” Martha suggested.

The doctor frowned, but nodded, “I suppose you could ask.”

“We’ll be right back, then.” Martha said, before leaning in and lightly kissing Clark’s forehead. The three adults left, and Clark turned to look out the window again.

It takes a bit for them to come back, but Clark smiles when he sees the girl with them, “You came.” She had a few bandages, particularly one wrapped around her head, but all in all, she was in a better shape than Clark.

“Of course I did, it’s the least I can do for the kid who saved my life,” she sighed, “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Speaking of ‘this’,” Jonathan interrupted, “We’d like to know what ‘this’ is. Clark took a pretty bad beating, so maybe he’s just imagining things, but he said a robot was chasing you? That it was after something you had?”

The girl looked between them, before sighing, “Alright. Maybe it’ll be easier to start from the beginning. To start with: Hi! My name’s Bulma Brief.”

“Oh, um. Hi? My name’s Clark Kent, and these are my parents.” Clark explained.

“They’re not your grandparents?” Bulma asked, before slapping a hand over her mouth, “Oh my God, that was rude. I’m sorry. It’s just…” realizing anything else she could say to explain herself would be even ruder, she instead trailed off, “Sorry.”

“No, no, I understand the confusion,” Jonathan assured, before looking aside with a sigh, “And it’s not the first time someone’s made that mistake. Clark’s adopted. Both of us were nearly in our fifties when we found him as a baby. A little late to start raising a kid, but the Lord left him practically in our lap, so we decided to keep him.”

She smiled a little, “That’s adorable. Anyway, all of this started when I was looking for something to start a new project. I was going through my Dad’s basement, when I came across this thing. A little crystal ball that was emitting some really strange energy. I built a radar to track down more of that energy, and realized that there’s only seven sources of it on the planet.” She smiled, “I did a little digging on the ball I found, and discovered that there’s a legend attached to it. Whoever can find all seven of these crystal balls, and calls out a magic word, will summon a magical dragon who can grant any wish.” She shrugged, then, “Now, I’m not sure how much of that is true, but I did know I wanted to find out. So I rode out into the Appalachians, to start looking for another one. And, after almost two weeks of grueling hard work, I finally managed it. Except that when I started heading west, looking for the third, I started getting followed.”

“By the robot?” Clark asked.

Bulma shook her head, “Not at first. At the start, it was just a few hired thugs. I’ve managed to run, or hide, or trick, or scare them off every time. But now it looks like whoever was targeting me finally pulled out all the stops. There was nothing I could do against that robot.” She narrowed her eyes, “So, what happened to it?”

The three Kents found themselves staring at her wide-eyed, “You’ve been hunted halfway across the country over these things!?” Martha demanded, “Why didn’t you just hand them over?”

“Because they’re mine. I worked hard for those Dragon Balls!” Bulma announced, before reaching up and flicking her blue hair over her shoulder, “I don’t plan on surrendering them to thieves. Letting people get away with stealing from you never ends well, and believe me, I would know.”

“Why?” Clark asked.

“Because I’m Bulma Brief?” Clark stared at her, still confused, “Of the Capsule Corp Briefs? We know better than anyone how dangerous it can be if the wrong person gets their hands on your hard work. When my Dad first started making capsules, he told everyone who asked: no weapons. But then someone broke into the lab, and what do you know, suddenly Red Ribbon is selling capsule guns, tanks, and warplanes to anyone who asked,” she grumbled.

Martha’s eyebrows went up, “What are you doing, wandering across the country by yourself?” she asked, “You Briefs are richer than God. Surely you could hire at least one bodyguard.”

“I didn’t think I’d need one!” Bulma protested, “And I’ve been doing pretty well for myself until today, all things considered.”

“Well, I’m sorry your journey ended here, Miss Brief.” Jonathan offered.

“What do you mean?” Bulma asked, “I’m not done yet.” She grinned triumphantly as she reached into a pocket on her dress, and drew out a pocket watch. Turning it over, she revealed to the Kents that rather than a clock face, the device had a solid green screen. She tapped the button on the top, and smiled as a circle radiated out from the center of the screen. As it expanded, a yellow circle lit up, followed by another two some distance away.

“What is that?” Clark asked.

“The radar I built,” she pointed at the two dots, “Those two were the Dragon Balls I had,” she tapped the dot by itself, “and this is the one I came here looking for. All I need to do to get them back, is follow the radar to its source.”

Martha and Jonathan shared a look, “You’re going after that thing?” asked, concerned.

Bulma nodded, “Well, I can’t just let it keep them.”

Clark grinned at the thought of that, “Do you want any help?”

Chapter Text

Clark shuffled after her, itching slightly at his bandage.

His parents had given his offer to help her hunt down the robot a clear, no-arguing veto. It was unfortunate, but Clark understood where they were coming from. His burns were healing well- and faster than other people his age -but they were still very much present. He’d need time to recover. But in the meantime, his parents weren’t against him helping Bulma in other ways, especially after she went ahead and casually paid off his hospital bill in full.

She claimed that it was the least she could do, since he got hurt protecting her. The Kents were grateful, all the same.

When Clark asked if he could help Bulma look for the nearby Dragon Ball, his parents agreed, just as long as they ran at the first sign of the robot returning. So, here they were, making slow circles around the Kent farm. Bulma frowned down at the radar for the hundredth time that afternoon, and adjusted the range again, narrowing its focus. She looked up from the device and glared at the ground around her, and then at the nearby barn and building.

“How does that work, anyway?” Clark asked.

“Same way as most radars, I suppose,” she said, “Except tweaked differently.”

“...That doesn’t actually tell me anything.”

“Hm. Okay, you know how a bat can sense things, because it lets out a sound, and can tell where things are based on how the sound gets reflected back?” Clark nodded, “Radars do the same thing with energy. Tiny bursts of energy let out in every direction, and based on how the energy is bounced back, they can tell the shape of things around them. My radar does the same thing, except I’ve set it up to use the same unique energy the Dragon Balls give off, instead of radio waves. So, it lets out a ping-” she pressed the button, and watched the circle expand across its surface. Sure enough, very near the center of the screen, there was a yellow dot, “-and tells me where the Dragon Balls are. And by now, we should be practically on top of it!”

She huffs, and walked another dozen feet in another direction, before clicking it again, and watching how the dot’s position changed.

“So… what’s the problem?” Clark asked.

“The problem is that my radar can only get so precise. The Dragon Ball radiates energy, which means that if the Dragon Ball’s been sitting in one place for a long time, the entire area glows. But, if it’s been recently moved, I should be able to get a better result.”

“Something that’s been here a long time…” he turned to the farmhouse, considering, “What does the Dragon Ball look like?”

“Well, it’s little bigger than a baseball?” she offered, “It’s made of this orange crystal, which is partially transparent. And inside of it, there’ll be at least one red star suspended in the middle. The first one I found had two stars, and the one I got in the mountains had five. I don’t know how many this one will have.”

Clark grinned, “It’ll have four,” he said triumphantly, before shuffling towards the house, “Come on!”

“Wait, you already had it? We’ve been looking for an hour!”

“That beats looking for a week, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Bulma said, following him. As they walked inside, Martha looked up from the stove, where a truly ridiculous amount of food was busy cooking. Bulma smiled. If the Kents wanted to pull out all the stops to treat her, she wasn’t going to stop them.

“Did you find it?”

“No, but we know where it is.”

“Do you need Jonathan to drive you?” Martha asked.

Clark shook his head, “No need. Ma, you’re not gonna believe this. Do you mind if I get Grandpa’s crystal ball out?”

The old woman frowned at that, “Wait, you think that’s one of the Dragon Balls you’re after? It’s never done anything magical, and we’d know. Jon’s father, Samuel Kent, found it half-buried out in the field when he was a boy. It’s never done anything strange.”

“The stars always looking the same, no matter how you turn the ball, is kind of weird,” Clark offered.

“That’s not magic, that’s just an optical illusion,” Martha said dismissively, “But yes, Clark, you can take it out to show Bulma.” Clark grinned, and hurried off into another room.

“It might not be magical, even if it is the Dragon Ball. I don’t know if the legend is true, or if magic exists,” Bulma offered, “And we won’t know until I can bring together all seven. But what I do know, is that the energy I’ve been following halfway across the country is radiating from somewhere on this farm. And my Dragon Balls looked-” she turned her head as Clark walked back in, proudly holding out an orange crystal sphere marked with four red stars, “-just like that!”

“It’s a Dragon Ball?”

“It’s a Dragon Ball!” Bulma cheered, zipping across the room and snatching it from him. She held it up to the radar, and clicked the button. Sure enough, when the dot appeared on the screen, it was in the exact center, “It’s real! Oh man, that was so easy compared to last time.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Martha said.

Chapter Text

As she looked down at the radar screen, Martha Kent suddenly paled, “Bulma… that robot that attacked you and Clark, you said it took the two balls you had?”

Clark nodded, “It dropped them inside its head.”

“Do you think that it’ll come after this one, too?” Martha asked, narrowing her eyes at the ball.

Bulma looked down at the ball in her hand, and sighed, “I’d say so. In fact, I’d put pretty good odds on whoever built that robot having a radar of their own. I don’t know how else all the thugs they sent could have tracked me down otherwise.”

“Then we should get rid of it.” Martha said, “Deliver it out into the woods, somewhere, where the robot won’t hurt anyone looking for it.”

“What? Ma! We can’t do that, this is all Pa has left of Grandpa.”

“No it isn’t,” Martha said, crossing her arms as she stared down her son, “He has this house, his name, and the whole farm to remember Grandpa by. We don’t need something that’s just going to put us in danger.”

“You don’t have to hide it somewhere, I’ll take it with me when I go,” Bulma assured, “Which… might as well be now,” she slipped the ball into her brand new pink backpack, only to flinch as Clark reached in and grabbed it back out, holding it protectively, “Hey!”

“Oh no you don’t. This belongs to us. It was one thing if we found it in the ground somewhere. But this is a Kent family heirloom. I’m not letting you, or that robot, have it.”

“Clark!” Martha protested, frowning at him, “Don’t just snatch things from young lady’s pockets.” Bulma grinned, “And you, young lady, don’t just snatch things that belong to other people,” the girl stopped grinning.

“Mrs. Kent,” she began, “Please just give me the ball. I’m sorry about you losing an heirloom, but I do need it, and you don’t need more trouble, which this could lead right to your door.”

“You don’t need the trouble either,” Martha said. “I don’t like the idea of such a young girl wandering the country all by herself, getting chased by monsters. I’m sorry, Miss Brief, but your journey’s ending here. And that’s final.” She looked to her son, and held out her hand, “Clark, give me the ball. I’m going to talk to Jonathan after dinner, and get him to drive it out somewhere far from town where that robot won’t hurt anyone if it comes back.”

The boy looked down at the ball for a moment, and then at Bulma. “...Ma, how about we try to find a compromise?”

“A compromise?” his mother asked, raising one gray eyebrow.

“So everyone can be happy,” Clark said, “You don’t like that Bulma is all by herself, and want the ball out of the house. I don’t want to give up Grandpa’s ball. Bulma needs the ball for her research,” He smiled, then, “So… what if I went with her? That way, I can protect Bulma, the farm, and the ball all at once.”

Both women turned to look at each other in surprise, before looking back to Clark.

“I can’t just ask you to get up and leave!” Bulma protested, “You’ve already gotten hurt once on my account.”

“Don’t worry,” Clark said, “It’s summer vacation right now, so I have the time. And you don’t have to worry about me getting hurt, either. I heal a lot faster than other boys my age,” to demonstrate, he reached up and pulled down the bandages over his shirt. Bulma winced at the sight, only to look a second time to stare at what was not a recent burn. Instead, Clark’s chest was bright pink, but otherwise fine.

Martha quickly swatted his hand away, and pushed the bandages back up, “Clark!” she chided, “That’s not a compromise. I want to keep you safe too.”

“I will be safe,” he said, “I promise.”

“You can’t promise us that. Especially not after what just happened. You scared us today, you know. Everything else you’ve ever done, you’ve been able to shrug off, but today was different. You might be tougher, and stronger, and heal faster than other boys, but none of that makes you invincible. Understand?”

“Ma…”

“Well?”

“I understand,” he said, “But I still want to do this. And last time- I almost won. Next time, I will.”

She sighed, before looking at Bulma, “Even if Jonathan drives up to the river and tosses this thing in, you’ll just follow it with your device, won’t you?”

Bulma nodded, but she had the decency to look apologetic about it.

“Hmph. You never answered me, earlier. Why don’t you have a bodyguard?” Martha asked.

“This whole hunt for the Dragon Balls… it was meant to be a ‘me’ thing,” Bulma admitted. “Or rather, to prove I can do things on my own. If I asked Dad to give me a bodyguard, that would be an invitation for him to come in and offer all the other support he can. I love my Dad, but whenever one of us started a project, the other would always get pulled into it, and suddenly it becomes a contest to see who can make it work first. And that’s great, but I want to do things on my own too, sometimes.” she looked to the side, “He already gave up on using the Dragon Balls, but I haven’t- so this is my project. And I’m going to make it work without his help, or his money. Instead, I’m using my own personal savings, and the tools I’ve built for myself.”

“And the friends you’ve made for yourself?” Clark offered hopefully.

Bulma’s eyebrows darted up in surprise, before she started smiling, “I think that’d be fine.”

Martha sighed, looking between the two, in her eyes, children. Two children which she didn’t have much power to stop, if they had their hearts set on something. She didn’t know Bulma well yet, but she did know her son. He wanted to protect her, protect their farm, protect this girl he just met. He wasn’t the type to stop, in pursuit of that. Just ask their cornfield.

“... You’re going to have to explain things to Jonathan,” she said, and Clark’s sudden smile lit up his face, “And you’re not leaving until you’ve properly recovered.”

“I bet I’ll be fine in the morning,” Clark whispered to Bulma, who looked at him in confusion, “This is going to be great!”

Chapter Text

Bulma watched in horror as her new bodyguard- and apparently, friend, -tore through a massive pile of food like it was nothing. Now she understood the purpose of the feast Martha Kent had been cooking up. It was a sacrifice to Clark’s monstrous appetite. By making so much extra food, Martha ensured that everyone else on the table at least got to eat some of it.

Maybe it wasn’t as strange as all the other weird things she’d been picking up around the Kents, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Alright, I have to know,” Bulma said as she cleaned off her plate, “Where does it all go? You’re tiny!”

“I have a really high metabolism,” Clark said, shrugging.

“Is it related to how you can recover from a massive burn in less than a day? Or how you managed to run, while carrying someone bigger than you are, faster than a car? Or how a ten-year old is strong enough to take out a twenty-foot robot?” she pressed.

“It wasn’t that tall,” Clark said innocently, “And I’m thirteen, for the record.”

“You don’t look it.” Bulma said, surprised.

“Thirteen-year-olds can be short,” Clark justified.

“Ten, thirteen, whatever. You’re more powerful than a locomotive. Why?” she asked again.

“He just is. He’s a metahuman,” Jonathan Kent said suddenly, “Like those people in the All-Star Squadron in World War II.”

“Pa!” Clark shouted.

“Oh.” Bulma said, “Huh.”

The boy sighed, slumping in his chair, “You told me to keep it a secret, why are you telling her?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Jonathan said, “You know that. It’s just that advertising that you’ve got super-strength draws the wrong kind of attention.”

Martha nodded sagely, “There’s all kinds of rumors wrapped around those government programs,” she said, looking at Bulma.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Bulma said, “I was worried that it was something else.”

“Like what?” Clark asked.

“I don’t know. A werewolf?” she offered.

Clark shook his head, amused, “I’ve seen the full moon plenty of times, and I’ve never turned into a monster.”

“How about an alien then?” she said, grinning. Jonathan Kent almost choked on his drink, but managed to play it off before either of the children looked his way.

“I’m not green, either,” Clark replied.

“Aliens don’t have to be green,” Bulma said. 

“Well, I’m not one.” 

“So, you’re strong, you heal fast, and you need to eat a lot. Is there anything else you can do?”

Clark nodded, “My senses are really good too. I can hear things that Ma and Pa can’t, things that are far away, or really quiet. I can see well even in the dark, and my sense of smell is as good as a dog’s.”

“I’m jealous,” Bulma admitted, which made Clark laugh.

After dinner, Bulma headed back outside to get herself ready for the night. Clark, curious, followed her, and then found himself going wide-eyed as she pulled a small case out of her purse, and opened it to reveal almost a dozen capsules, lying side-by-side.

“Oh wow” he breathed, “Now it’s my turn to be jealous.”

Bulma grinned at him, “I’ve got a copy of every capsule I ever helped design,” she said proudly, “But I only brought the ones I thought would be useful with me. Hey, do you have a stretch of land that you don’t mind getting a little smushed?”

“Sure.”

Clark led her some distance from the farm, to a wide grassy area. “How about this?”

“Perfect,” she said, “Now step back,” picking up one of the capsules from the case, she reared back her arm, pressed the button on the top, and threw. The capsule exploded into a massive amount of white gas once it hit the ground, suddenly replaced with a strange building that possessed the distinctively spherical shape shared by all capsule houses. In this case, it was three domes that intersected like bubbles. The walls were white, proudly displaying the Capsule Corp logo, while the roof was covered with rounded solar panels.

“A capsule house.”

“Yup! My preferred residence while on the go. It’s not the biggest we’ve got available basically just the size of an apartment, but it is the most convenient. Just find some space nobody’s using, set it down, and sleep in comfort for the night,” she bragged, before strolling to the door, pulling a key from her purse, and unlocking it. “Want to come in?” she asked, “If you’re coming with me, this is where we’ll be staying.” After she opened the door, she clapped twice, and the insides lit up.

Clark nodded, heading inside and staring at everything. The whole place looked bizarrely modern compared to most buildings in Smallville. It was illuminated from panels on the ceiling that emitted a constant white glow. The walls were the same shade on the inside as on the outside. The furniture was all smooth, shiny, with rounded edges. It was also weirdly empty. Sure, there was some decoration- a poster taped to a wall and a few houseplants -but compared to the Kent house, with nearly every surface dotted in keepsakes, it just felt un-lived in.

Bulma was smiling brightly at it, before looking to Clark, “Great huh? Good ol’ Capsule Number Zero-Zero-One! You can’t beat the classics, even if they look a little old-fashioned. Come on, let me show you around.”

The main room of the house had a bed taking up most of the far wall, with a small table and chair placed in the center of the tile floor. There was a television built into the wall near the bed, and closets and cupboards filled the rest of it. To the left was a door leading to the bathroom, which even had a tower leading upwards for steam to escape. The other bubble contained the kitchen, and Clark found himself looking at the appliances with a certain amount of mistrust. He knew his way around the Kent family kitchen, but he barely knew what half of these machines were for.

“There’s only one bed, so-”

“We’re not sharing, are we?” Clark asked, going wide-eyed.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she teased, before shaking her head, “Yeah, no, that’s not happening. But I do have a futon we can lay out for you.”

“Futon?”

“You know, a Japanese bed roll?” Clark stared at her, “Okay. I’ll show you.” She moved towards one of the cupboards, and opened it up, before pulling out a rolled-up blanket. But as she set it down on the tile floor, and unrolled it, he realized that it wasn’t quite a blanket. It was padded, and somewhat stiff. As she fished out a normal blanket, and then a pillow, he realized that this was supposed to be a mattress.

“I’m going to sleep on that?” he asked, incredulous.

“Look, just give it a try,” she said, tossing the pillow at him, “And if you don’t like it, we’ll see about buying an air mattress or something in the next town.”

Clark dropped the pillow, ears perking up at that. “The next town? You mean Granville?”

“What? No. I mean where we’ll stop. I’m hoping that by this time tomorrow, we’ll be in Colorado.”

He stared at her for a moment, face breaking into a smile, “Do you want to know something, Bulma?” he asked, “I’ve never even left Smallville before. And now I’m going to visit a completely different state.”

Bulma smirked, “You’re thinking kind of small there, Clark.”

“What do you mean?”

Taking the radar out again, she clicked the top, and showed Clark the screen. As expected, the yellow circle representing the four-star ball appeared in the center. “This is at its narrowest. Now, if we zoom out …” she twisted the button on the top, and the circle began to shrink down to a dot. And then, two more appeared.

“The ones with the robot,” Clark said.

“Yep. Unfortunately, they’re heading east, and I don’t feel like backtracking yet. So, for now, we’re giving up on them, and continuing west.”

“What? But I thought-”

“For now,” Bulma corrected herself, “Giving up on them for now. I think that in the end, we’ll have to loop back around for them.”

“Loop back around?”

She nodded, and twisted the dial further. The three balls were suddenly joined by another, which had appeared in the opposite direction from the cluster of two, “This one is somewhere in Colorado. And this one,” she twisted it more, revealing a fifth ball even further to the west, “is in the Pacific ocean. And the sixth is in Japan.” The original four balls were practically next to each other now as she increased the range of the radar past that by a long while, eventually revealing the last yellow dot, “And finally, we have ball number seven… somewhere in mainland Asia. So, depending on how far East the robot goes, it might just be easiest to pick those two up last.”

Clark stared at the radar, “We’re… going to go all the way around the world?”

“There’s a whole lot out there besides Smallville, Clark.”

Chapter Text

Clark clung to his parents, tears beginning to roll down his eyes. They were warm, against the chilly early morning air. “Are you two going to be okay without me for however long this takes?” he asked, “With my chores, and everything?”

“It’s a little late to ask that now, Clark,” Jonathan said gently, “We’ll be fine. We made do before you came along, and we’ll keep on making do.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Martha said, “Worry about you and your friend, okay? You two keep each other safe. And if things get too bad- come back home. Alright? There wouldn’t be any shame in it, even if Bulma thinks otherwise.”

“Hey!” Bulma said, crossing her arms.

Sniffling a bit, Clark pulled back, and wiped his face, before smiling at both of them, “I’ll call you when we stop for the night, okay?”

“We’re looking forward to it. I hope you enjoy it son,” Jonathan said.

With that, Bulma helped Clark pull the last of his bags inside the capsule house, and pressed her hand against the button on the side. All at once, the house exploded into white smoke, leaving nothing behind but the original capsule marked with the number one.

Sticking it into her capsule case, she pulled out another, and activated it. Out of the smoke popped up a motorcycle with a windshield that stretched into a roof, connecting to both the front and back of the bike, “All aboard, next stop: Colorado.”

She jumped on, and then patted the seat behind her. Clark grinned, and jumped up, immediately settling down behind her, “Bye Ma, bye Pa!”

“Happy travels!” Martha called.

With that, Bulma gunned the engine, and the bike started up. She made a turn towards the road, and then angled around the gates to Kent farm. Clark hung onto her waist with one arm, staring back at the farm as they accelerated down the street. The farmhouse and red barn shrunk behind them, vanishing into the endless fields of corn. They rumbled down towards town, and Clark watched as they crossed all of Smallville in a few short minutes, Bulma barely stopping to look around at the handful of intersections where they had to slow down.

And then they pressed on, and Smallville was behind them.

The distance grew, until he couldn’t see his little town any more, replaced by more endless farmland. There was a tightness in his chest, and he leaned closer to Bulma, focusing on the path ahead of them.

Now miles behind them, Mrs. and Mr. Kent stood in the middle of their farm. The animals were beginning to make noise, as usually by now, Clark would already be out and about getting the feed for them. Jonathan turned to his wife, and offered a soft smile, “Well, I better get started.” He stretched a bit, and let out a small groan, “The boy had a point, though. We’ve been relying on him.”

“We can afford to hire someone,” Martha said, “If we need to. I’m not worried.”

“Well, our weekly budget’s definitely gone up,” Jonathan joked, “Now that we don’t have to set out food for six, instead of for three, every night.”

She swatted him, and sighed. “Our little boy’s heading out on his own for the first time. I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

“I expected it a whole lot sooner,” Jonathan said.

The two continued to look at the road another minute more, before silently breaking off to start their work for the day.

Even more miles behind Bulma and Clark, in another state entirely, a robot that was rocketing across the sky finally came to a landing, crashing into the dirt in front of a small dwelling. The robot slowly righted itself with its arms, balancing its entire body on the bottom of its torso. The door of the house opened, and out strolled a black-haired woman in a green military uniform. Red stars decorated her shoulders.

She approached the robot with an unimpressed expression, “You’ve lost weight.”

“Correct,” the robot replies, “Mission status: Partial success.” The cone on the top of its head popped open then, falling backwards on a hinge. Then, it braced itself with its arms and tipped forward, allowing the woman to reach inside, and pluck out both Dragon Balls.

Then, she grabbed the edge of its head, and pulled it down further, leaning in and peering inside. “Where’s the radar?”

“ Partial ,” it repeated, slower this time, “success.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes at it. “Don’t be sarcastic, Mister Atom. What happened?”

In response, the robot’s mouth began to open wider. “Deploying operations footage.” There was a click, and out of his mouth came a tape. The woman took that as well, before reaching inside the robot’s head and pressing a switch. In an explosion of smoke, the robot vanished, replace with a capsule. Picking it up, she walked back into the capsule house, shutting and locking the door behind her. Inside the room was a makeshift laboratory, tools and machine parts littering every available surface. To make her way inside, she had to hop over and shove aside various scrap.

Reaching the right-hand door, she knocked on it. “Doctor Sivana?” she said, “Mister Atom has returned.”

“Excellent! Did he get everything?” came a voice from inside.

“Well… mostly .”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the toilet flushed, and the sink ran. All the while, she could hear quiet grumbling. When the door swung open, she found herself shrinking back before the glare of the man on the other side.

Doctor Sivana was not an intimidating man, in terms of physical appearance. He was bald, short, and stick-thin. He wore wide, circular glasses that obscured most of his face, and an oil-stained lab coat that looked too big on him. All the same, as his lips pulled back in a grimace, the woman felt like hiding.

“Mostly, Mai?”

She held up the Dragon Balls, “Well, he did grab the Dragon Balls. The only thing he didn’t grab was the radar.”

“He missed the most important thing!? Even if we have two, without a more accurate way to find the rest, they’re just useless trinkets!” the man growls. “Why did Mister Atom return without the radar?”

“He was damaged. Parts of his arm, his headcase, his eye. I’m guessing that he decided that bringing the Dragon Balls back without the radar was better than not being able to bring back anything at all.”

“Someone damaged my robot!?” the man hissed, “Who?”

Mai held out the tape, “I think we can find out.”

Chapter Text

Clark stretched out, pulling at his muscles. He didn’t like sitting in one position for so long, but the motorcycle ride was still preferable to school, trading the constant murmuring and smells of hundreds of children echoing through the dusty old building for the radio, the rumbling of their vehicle, the smell of exhaust, and the view of the wide-open world in front of them.

Bulma was leaning against a gas pump, fiddling with her radar while the bike was refilled.

Clark walked over and joined her, looking at the screen, but they just looked like the same two yellow dots to him. “So, how long until we reach it?”

“That depends on the terrain,” she said, frowning at the radar, “I’ve been comparing it to a map I have, and it seems to be right along the edge of the mountains. I’m hoping that means a town, with a road leading right to it, but it could also mean open wilderness. If that’s the case, then we’re going to have to find a path that takes us as deep as we can go, and then start checking around on foot.”

“Sounds like fun,” Clark said.

“I’m glad you think so,” she frowned at the radar one last time, and stuffed it back in her pink backpack, “...Thanks for coming with me, Clark. It’s been nice having someone else around. For the last three weeks, it’s just been me and the radio. If we do end up trudging through the mountains, this time will be a lot better than the last, with you here.”

“Thanks, Bulma,” Clark said, blushing a little.

With a ding, the pump let the two of them know the bike was ready to go, once again with a full tank. Unhooking it, Bulma climbed back onto the vehicle, holding out a hand to help Clark back into his seat. As they got back to the road, he found himself slumping back against the back half of the windshield, relaxing as Bulma drove.

With a button press, the radio turned on, filling the air with rock & roll.

He found himself bobbing his head along to the music, but a few minutes in, he stopped, and tilted his head in confusion. The music was still going, but there was something wrong with the beat. There was a steady thumping sound, that wasn’t in tune with the rest of the song- and it was getting louder.

Sitting up, Clark leaned his head to the left of the windshield, and narrowed his eyes as the air buffeted against him. The music was quieter too- but the thumping had gotten louder.

“Bulma,” he said, “I think we should stop.”

“What?” she tilted her head back to glance at him, before turning her attention back on the road ahead, “Why, what’s up?”

“Something…” Clark said, “Turn off the music, I think I can-” something flashed past them from above, briefly covering their vehicle in shadow.

“Eeek! What was that!?” Bulma cried out, slamming the breaks and leaving the motorcycle to squeal to a slow stop, even as she veered towards the side of the road. Fumbling for the keys, she quickly turned the engine off, cutting the loud music, “Clark?”

The boy narrowed his eyes as he stared up through the top of the windshield, trying to spy out what it was that shot overhead. As he watched, he raised one hand to his ear. Thump- Thump- Thump-!

“Wing beats,” he said, alarmed.

“Wing- Oh my god, I can hear it too. What could be big enough to…” she trailed off, suddenly going stiff all over.

Clark glanced towards the front of the motorcycle, and froze as well. He could see it, and it wasn’t a bird, and certainly wasn’t a plane.

It was some kind of bat . 

One that, as it swooped down towards them from the front, got bigger, and bigger, and didn’t stop growing.

Thinking fast, he grabbed onto Bulma’s arm, and threw himself from the motorcycle, tugging her out of it with him. A moment later, the massive bat-creature crashed into the glass, legs-first. The windshield exploded into a thousand shards, but the creature’s momentum carried it onwards, leaving it to crush the body of the motorcycle under its feet. The steel groaned under the force, only for the scraping metal to rip through the engine, and cause it to explode.

Clark let go of Bulma, who immediately dropped to her knees, staring wide-eyed at the burning, smoking mess of her bike, and the demonic-looking figure standing on top of the fiery wreckage, apparently unharmed.

Clark stepped in front of her, and held his arms out in both directions, trying to make himself as much of a target as possible. The bat-creature stepped out of the wreck, and Clark stared at it in wonder. The creature had a humanoid figure, now that he was staring at it dead-on. Muscular and tall, but also covered in dark gray fur. At the ends of its legs were huge clawed hands, while stretching out from the sides of its arms were massive leathery wings. Its face was human- except for its huge pointed ears, flat pig-like nose, and solid-black eyes.

It revealed a smile full of fangs, and held up its arms, letting its wings stretch out to full length in a clear intimidation display.

And then, it did something that caught both Clark and Bulma off guard- it spoke.

“You’re right to fear me, puny little humans,” it taunted, its voice nasally and high, “I would like nothing better than to crush you as easily as I crushed this pitiful machine. But I’m feeling merciful today.”

Clark swallowed, and slowly lowered his arms, “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. In fact, all you have to do is hand over the Dragon Radar, and ol’ Jeepers will let you both live,” the bat creature, Jeepers, said with a sneer.

“The Dragon Radar-” Bulma frowned, before looking away, “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jeepers’ expression grew even more annoyed, “Don’t play coy, kids. We know you have it,” he focused his glare on Clark, “You’re not going to get as lucky against me, as you did with Mister Atom. Now, I’m beginning to run out of patience. Where’s the radar?”

“It was built into the bike,” Bulma said, staring at him angrily, “You’re welcome to whatever’s left of it.”

The bat-creature flinched at that, turning behind him and staring at the flaming wreckage. “...Well, the Doctor’s not going to be happy about that.”

“We don’t have what you want. So just leave us in peace,” Clark pressed, taking another step closer between them.

Jeepers considered them, before his fanged mouth broke into a wide smile, “You don’t have what I want… but you can make what I want, can’t you, girl?”

“Eep!” Bulma shrunk back.

Clark surged forwards, balling his hands into fists.

Chapter Text

Jeepers cackled as Clark closed the distance between them. He lashed out with one leg, clawed foot catching Clark in the chest as soon as he came close enough. The boy was flung straight back the way he came. Clark went wide-eyed at the force of the kick, and Bulma was lucky to be able to scramble out of the way in time to avoid getting bowled over.

His shirt already in shreds, Clark jumped back to his feet and grit his teeth as the bat-creature continued to laugh.

Charging back towards him, he was prepared this time for Jeepers to lash out, jumping over the kick, and then grabbing onto his arm as he punched forwards. Jeepers swung his arm to the side, but Clark refused to let go, hanging onto him. Instead, Clark twisted his body forwards, and drove his own shoes into the bat-creature’s face.

Jeepers let out a cry of pain as rubber crashed into his nose. Left reeling and unbalanced, Jeepers fell backwards onto his butt. Letting go of his arm, Clark turned to hit Jeepers in the face a second time, this time with his fist, knocking the creature flat-out onto his back.

“Lucky shot,” the monster growled, before swiping out with his other arm, and bashing Clark to the side with the length of his leathery wing. The boy bounced against the road head-first, and Jeepers pulled himself back to his feet, glaring down at him. With a flap of his wings, he was lifted up into the air. Then, he simply aimed, and let himself drop.

Clark was barely able to brace himself as Jeepers’ full weight crashed down on top of him, clawed feet landing hard against Clark’s raised arms.

As Jeepers’ claws closed around those arms, however, Clark realized how much trouble he was in. The bat-creature began to flap again, harder than before, and Clark’s stomach sunk as he was lifted higher and higher into the air.

“Clark!” Bulma cried out from below, “Shit,” she reached for her bag with shaking hands, and ripped open her capsule case, searching through it for the right one.

Back up in the air, Clark tried to swing his legs back and forth, and attempted to twist his arms out of Jeepers’ grip, but the bat-creature was too strong, his grip like iron. Nothing he did would make Jeepers release him. “Let me go!”

“Hmm… you are the kid who was able to punch through stone and shrug off a hit from Mister Atom. Let’s give it another hundred feet, just to be safe,” the monster taunted.

Clark dared looking down, and immediately regretted it. The shock was enough to make him quit struggling as he stared at the ground far, far below him. Everything was so tiny. Bulma was barely a speck in the distance, the fire of the wrecked motorcycle only a tiny light.

He went limp, hanging from the bat’s claws as his heart thudded in his chest.

The road below was getting thinner as well, soon becoming nothing but a thin strip of black cutting through the browns and greens that went on in every direction for miles. In the distance, he could see the next town they would have reached. Clark worried he’d never get to see it, now.

Quickly, he shook his head, and took a deep breath. Fatalism wasn’t going to help him, help anybody. He promised Ma and Pa that he would call them tonight. He had promised he would be safe, and that he would keep Bulma safe. He wasn’t going to break that promise just a few hours into their journey. He’d never hear the end of it.

Trying something different this time, Clark relaxed his arms and legs entirely, stretching out to his full, if meager, height, and letting the wind catch him.

The higher they got, the more the air around them would buffet at them. Jeepers was struggling to ascend now, Clark able to see the way each powerful stroke of his wings was taking more and more of his stamina out of him. His muscles were beginning to twitch, and Clark could see moisture on some of the hairs of his fur.

Abruptly, the boy forced himself upwards as hard as he could with his trapped arms, as if using a pull-up bar. At the same time he kicked forwards with his legs, swinging them up.

With the motion, he was able to clamp his legs down around one of Jeepers, and quickly crossed them, grabbing onto the bat-creature as hard as he could. Jeepers immediately tried to kick him off, letting go of Clark’s arms with his claws, but that just freed them for the boy to get an even better grip on the leg.

“Hey!” Jeepers shouted.

“I’m not letting go!”

“Yes you are, you pest!” he tried to scratch at Clark with his other foot, only to howl in pain as Clark grabbed the paw in his hand and began to squeeze with his full strength, “Arrggh! Let go! Let go!”

“Bring us back down!” Clark protested.

“I refuse, now-” Clark and Jeepers both stopped as a rumbling sound began to approach from below, “-what the?” Clark looked down, and quickly started smiling. Letting go of the paw he squeezed, he flipped himself around, and began to climb up the bat-creature’s back. “Hey! Get off me!”

Finally, Clark was able to reach Jeepers’ head, and gripped onto the creature with his legs to keep himself in position even as he lifted his hands up- and clapped them over the bat-creature’s big ears.

Stunned, Jeepers immediately fell into free-fall, plummeting back the way he came with Clark still holding onto him. But, as they began to spin, Clark pushed off the creature, sending it spiraling off into the air in one direction, as Clark began to sail in the opposite direction. For a few terrifying seconds, Clark was shooting through the sky with nothing at all supporting him. Just him and the wind.

The sensation didn’t last long, as Bulma, driving a hovercar, pulled up next to him. “Jump on!” she shouted over the roar of the wind.

She inched closer, and Clark managed to grasp the edge of the vehicle, and pull himself into a sitting position inside it. As soon as his butt hid the faux leather of the seat, he went limp again, letting his racing heart finally slow down. He sunk into the passenger seat and closed his eyes, shuddering.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Consider us even,” Bulma said shakily, “there’s a seat belt next to you.”

“N-no,” Clark managed, “If he comes back, I might have to jump out after him.”

“ Please don’t say stuff like that,” she groaned, clutching the steering wheel so hard her fingers were turning white.

Clark’s ears twitched.

Thump- Thump- Thump-

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sit up, and turn his glare back towards the sky, and to the creature quickly gaining on them.

Chapter Text

“Shit, shit, shit,” Bulma muttered, eyes darting between the open sky in front of her, and the creature slowly approaching in her side mirror, just above the words objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

Clark slowly got to his feet in the hovercar seat, and stood on it as he faced the space behind them. Jeepers’ face was caught in a furious snarl, and his hands were wide open, proudly displaying his claws. His hands were still shaking, the leftover terror working its way out of his body, but he still stared the monster dead on.

As they flew in a straight line, Clark mentally judged the distance. Judged how fast Jeepers was closing in. The way his body moved with each beat of his wings.

The creature was shaking like a leaf, now, pushing to the edges of its stamina just to keep up with them. But Jeepers, at this point, was furious. And that anger was letting him push even harder than that, not only keeping pace, but slowly getting closer and closer. Clark found himself focusing on his face, on the way that, despite taking a kick and a punch, the bat-creature’s nose wasn’t even bleeding. Remembering how he had smashed into the motorcycle without getting any cuts. How Clark had been squeezing hard enough to bend steel when he caught Jeepers’ paw, which was enough to cause Jeepers pain, but wasn’t enough to actually crush his paw.

The bat-creature was durable. Absurdly so. Clark stared down Jeepers, meeting the creature’s eyes, and steeled himself.

“I’m going to jump. Can you be ready to catch me again?”

“What!?”

“Great!” Clark gripped the edge of the seat and vaulted over it onto the smooth back of the hovercar. He slid a bit, but the boy managed to stop himself before he fell off the vehicle entirely. Better yet, seeing Clark in a vulnerable position set Jeepers to flap even harder, closing the gap with each beat of his leathery wings.

His gigantic, fragile, wings.

Clark glanced downwards, and regretted it. He forced the image of the thin strip of road under them out of his brain, and then focused totally on Jeepers. Slowly, precisely, Clark braced himself against the hovercar, leaned back, and pushed off. Once again, for the second time that day, there was nothing keeping him aloft. Nothing but his momentum carrying him through the sky. Nothing around him but the wind.

Jeepers stared at him in shock, unable to react in time as Clark shot past him-

And then Jeepers shrieked in pain as Clark managed to snag his fingers into the very edge of his right wing. The effect on Jeepers’ flight path was instantaneous. The weight on his wing tipped the bat-creature so that Clark was hanging straight down, an action that made him veer away from the hovercar at high speed, and begin a painful spiral downwards, unable to flex his wing without further hurting it.

With his remaining free wing, Jeepers flapped like crazy, but without another wing to balance, he barely achieved any effect.

“You idiot! You’ll kill us both!” Jeepers screeched.

“Who’s after the Dragon Balls?” Clark shouted back.

“What!?’

“Who! You said a doctor! Did he build the robot?”

“Doctor Sivana!” Jeepers answered, “His name is Doctor Sivana! Now let go! Please.”

The farmland below them was getting closer.

Clark’s ears twitched as the rumbling of the hovercar approached.

“Will you leave us alone from now on?” Clark asked.

“ What ?”

“Promise to leave us alone! Stop working for the doctor, stop hunting me and Bulma.”

“I-”

“Promise,” he squeezed on the tissue of the wing, and Jeepers hissed.

“Fine! Fine, I promise, just let me go-” Clark had already released him, and let the winds carry him away. Jeepers blinked in surprise, and then got control of himself as fast as he could, slowing his descent while Clark kept on falling.

Clark tumbled through the air, his long messy black hair whipping in every direction around him, and he prayed.

As the rumbling got louder, he forced his eyes back open, and reached out to touch the polished metal surface of the approaching hovercar,“Bulma,” he said in relief. His fingers slipped across the metal until they managed to hook the handle of the door. Pulling himself against it, he slid himself back into his seat, and this time, buckled his seat belt.

“Are you suicidal?” Bulma hissed.

“I knew you would catch me,” Clark said, before looking into the rear window. He watched the form of the bat-creature slowly shrink away in the distance, still in his gentle descending circle, flapping as little as possible as he let his aching wing merely carry him down to safety, “I think we’re safe for now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clark sighed, “Tell me, does the name ‘Sivana’ mean anything to you?”

Chapter Text

“Mister Thaddeus Bodog Sivana?”

“Doctor and Senior.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am Doctor Thaddeus Bodog Sivana Senior, ” the scientist corrected, “And I have earned both of those titles, Officer.”

“Ah, of course, my apologies, Doctor Sivana,” the man adjusted his shirt collar slightly, “I’ve been expecting you. Your… compatriot is waiting there as well.”

Without waiting for further instruction, the scientist pushed his way inside, followed by Mai, whose cold gaze kept the officer from following the pair too closely. Soon, they were led towards a garage. In the center were the burnt and partially-crushed remains of a motorcycle, guarded by still-shaky Jeepers.

“Doctor,” the monster greeted, standing up, “I’m sorry, I failed my mission.”

“And you’ll be punished for that, later,” Doctor Sivana assured, causing the bat-creature to flinch, “But I want to see the degree of failure, first.”

Jeepers gave a small bow, before stepping aside and gesturing to the ruins of the bike.

The scientist approached it with a clinical eye, taking a pen out of one pocket and using it to lift up a shard of scrap metal. The police officer followed them in, and began to wring his hands, “Uh, Mister- Doctor Sivana, I was told that you were someone who was very appreciative to people able to handle sensitive matters discretely.” He said eagerly, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, “Nobody knows what, or who, I have in here besides me.”

“How appreciative I am depends on what exactly we have here,” Doctor Sivana said simply.

“The girl told me that the radar was built into the bike,” Jeepers said, “Of course, at that point, I’d already destroyed the bike, trying to keep them from fleeing.”

“Hm,” Doctor Sivana reached into the front of the wreck, and pulled out a chunk of electronics, and quickly began prying them apart, “Would she hide it within the navigation system?”

“Maybe?” Jeepers offered.

As pieces of plastic, metal, and wires slowly fell to the floor by his feet, Doctor Sivana’s frown deepened. “Or perhaps she doesn’t need to hide it, because most of the time, people are ignorant fools who believe everything they’re told .” Jeepers stared at the floor, ashamed, “Nothing here could be used to construct a radar capable of detecting the unique energy of the Dragon Balls. And certainly it couldn’t be used to build a device that’s more accurate than my own radar. At least Mister Atom managed to grab two Dragon Balls before he botched things.”

“Radar?” the officer asked, “Dragon Balls?”

Doctor Sivana sighed, waving towards the man, “Jeepers, make yourself useful. There is nothing here we need, dispose of the witness.”

“You’re making a mistake, Mister Sivana,” the officer snapped, pulling his gun from its holster and aiming it at him.

“ Doctor ,” the scientist corrected again. Jeepers, across the room, started to growl, drawing the officer’s attention.

“You and the chick are next after this freak,” the officer promised with a sadistic grin, pulling back the hammer as he waved the gun back towards the bat-creature.

The scientist didn’t bother acknowledging him, walking back out the way they came, Mai following behind him. As they stepped back out into the alley, they heard two quick gunshots from inside the garage- and then a very loud thump.

A moment later, Jeepers walked out of the door, idly scratching at the two small bruises on his chest. In his other hand was the crumpled hat of the officer. He flicked it back in through the door, and shut it behind him. 

Doctor Sivana eyed the police cruiser sitting by the sidewalk, and walked over to it, feeling the inside of the door until he found the capsulize button. Pressing it, he braced for the explosion of white vapor, and then picked up the remaining capsule. He tossed the capsule into the nearest trash can. Evidence hidden, Doctor Sivana glared up at the bat-creature for a moment, “You’re going to be on janitor duty at the next Sivana family get-together. And you are not going to get any of Venus’s special lasagna.”

Mai winced, and Jeepers found himself slumping even further in disappointment, “Yes, Doctor.” He muttered.

“Isn’t that a little harsh? Jeepers loves your ex-wife’s lasagna,” Mai said in his defense.

“Then he should have done his job and brought me the Brief Dragon Radar, rather than get distracted by having a dogfight against a flightless child,” Doctor Sivana dismissed, before moving towards their own hovercar and settling down in the passenger seat. Mai sat down behind the wheel, and Jeepers settled into the back, crossing his arms so that his wings wouldn’t be hanging out of the vehicle.

“Sorry Doctor.”

“Hmph.” They turned a corner, and then accelerated down the road, “The Sivana Dragon Radar isn’t as pin-point accurate as the Brief Dragon Radar, but we do have a good idea on where they’ll be heading next,” the scientist began, “The next nearest ball is somewhere in the rocky mountains. When we get back to base, get our agent in the area on the telephone,” he ordered, “I have new orders for him. As we have failed, ” he glared back at Jeepers, “to acquire the more precise radar, we’ll instead have to rely on the girl to find it for us. Have him keep an eye out on the towns on edge of the search radius for the girl and the boy. Then, he’s to follow them. Hopefully, they’ll lead him right to the Dragon Ball. Afterwards, he can take both balls, and the radar, in one fell swoop.”

“Excellent plan, Doctor.” Mai said.

“Of course it is, I’m the one who thought of it!”

Chapter Text

“You were attacked again?” his mother cried over the phone, “So soon?”

“We handled it,” Clark said simply, “Don’t worry. Me and Bulma are fine.”

“You know, it’s not too late to turn back, Clark,” she cautioned, “What if they go after you every day? Even you can get worn out eventually. Maybe you should just ditch the Dragon Balls and leave them alone.”

Clark shook his head, “I don’t think that’ll work, Ma.”

“Why not?”

“The monster who attacked us, he was after the radar too. And when we told him we didn’t have it, he decided to try and kidnap Bulma instead. They know what we look like, and they know Bulma’s name. I don’t think we’re going to be safe until either we get all the Dragon Balls, or they do.”

“That’s a bit serious,” said his father, his voice a little quieter than his mother’s, farther from the phone, “But you said that the monsters answered to someone named Sivana?”

“Yeah.”

“Me and Ma will look into that,” Jonathan said, “Hopefully, there will be something at the library we can use.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, Pa.”

“And if we find someone, we’ll have someone to point the police at after we show them the crater,” his mother added.

“Call us again tomorrow, okay?” Jonathan asked, “Goodnight, son.”

“Goodnight Ma, Pa.”

As the call cut off, Clark sighed, slotting it back into its place in the wall of the capsule house. “That’s sweet,” Bulma offered, “And useful, to have someone checking this out.”

“Do you have anyone to call about the Sivana thing?” he asked.

“No way,” she protested, “If I called home, and admitted that someone was sending metahuman and mechanical assassins my way, Dad would make me pull the plug on the whole thing, whether that would be the safest thing to do or not.” 

Clark rolled his eyes, before walking over to the small table that Bulma was sitting at, pouring over a road map. Already, they had left his home state behind. Colorado was pretty similar to Kansas, all things considered. At least the parts of it he’d seen so far. The air was maybe a little colder than he was used to.

The little town they had stopped at was next to the highway, and was a lot like Smallville, to his surprise. Just a collection of stores, churches, schools, and suburbs, meant to service the countless farms in every direction.

“So, do we have a heading?” Clark asked, leaning over the map.

“It’s northwest of Denver,” Bulma said, narrowing her eyes, “Right at the edge of the Rockies. I’m pretty sure we’re going mountain climbing.”

The boy grinned, “Where?”

She set her finger over the map, and tapped it twice in a certain spot, “Middleton, Colorado is the nearest town, and where we’re going to be based out of while we look.”

Clark smiled, looking down at the map, “I’ve never seen the mountains before, except in movies and things.”

“Well, we’re going to be sick of them, soon,” Bulma grumbled, before leaning back and stretching, raising her arms up and angling back until she felt something pop. Sighing in relief, she swiveled around in the chair and looked towards the bed. “I think it’s about time we call it a day. At the very least, we should try out your futon.”

“Right.”

In the end, it wasn’t bad. The thrill of the fight, the fear and excitement that came and left in a rush, had left him feeling tired and ready for a nap just about the whole day afterwards. He had barely been able to work up enough feeling to remark at the “Welcome to colorful Colorado” sign they passed on the road a few hours earlier. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was unconscious.

Like always, he found himself waking up at the crack of dawn. Turning his head, he smiled at the sleeping form of Bulma, stretched out across the bed and snoring. City folk.

He was quiet as he brushed his teeth and left the capsule house, doing a series of stretches as he watched the sunrise. When he looked in the opposite direction, to the west, he still couldn’t see any mountains, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Partway through his exercises, his stomach began to rumble, and he sighed. He had held back yesterday, not wanting to eat too much more than Bulma did and put too much of a strain on her generosity, but it wasn’t enough.

Slipping back inside, he got out a notebook and left a quick note, before head back out of the capsule house and running deeper into town. There had to be at least one all-you-can eat buffet, right? And unlike all the ones in Smallville, none of these restaurants knew to ban him.

Chapter Text

“You know,” Clark began as they drove down the road into the sleepy town of Middleton, “I kind of expected them to be more impressive. Snow-capped, you know?” he frowned up at the mountains.

“Some of the ones further in should be. These are just the closest,” Bulma said.

Clark turned his head, eyeing the nearby storefront. For a moment, he wondered why, until he spotted another artistic representation of a monster. Now that he noticed it, he realized that it wasn’t the only one he had seen. Paintings, graffiti, cut-outs, and even advertisements depicted it, all over the place. The pictures varied a bit, some having it with a tail, others with an extended reptilian snout, and some with a human-like face. The only thing they all had in common were the large blood-red eyes, and the green skin. “Hey Bulma, what’s that?”

She followed his pointing finger to the cut-out. “Oh you know. The local cryptid, or whatever. Lots of towns nearby wilderness have them.”

“Cryptids?” he asked.

“Yeah, you know. Like Nessie and Bigfoot? Someone goes wandering out at night, and sees a bear, but they swear it was something else and people believe them, and boom. The town gets a new mascot, and now they can draw in crazies hoping to see a monster for tourism money,” she scoffed.

“You don’t think that things like that could be real?” Clark asked, “We did just fight a bat-man yesterday.”

She opened her mouth to argue the point, but after a second closed it again, looking back to the road, “Fair point.”

Clark grinned, leaning back in his seat, “You said we’d be spending the night here, did you mean a hotel?”

She nodded, “There’s laws about leaving a capsule house in one place for too long, and where you can leave them. An empty stretch of shrub land next to the road is fine if it’s just for a few hours and you’re not in anyone’s way, but if we left the capsule house in the middle of a park or something, we’re going to start getting tickets. Some towns have dedicated rest areas where you can set them down legally for a fee, but if there’s one in this town, then it’s not on the map.”

“What about once we’re out in the mountains?”

“Check the radar again for me?”

Clark reached over to where it was lying on the dash, and tapped the top. Soon enough, the familiar dots appeared.

“Right now,” Bulma continued, “The radar is set as close to the scale of the map as I can. You can see it, right?”

Clark nodded, “It’s in the mountains, but its still really close to town.”

“It’ll be easier just to stay the nights at the hotel, and head over there to search,” she explained, “And speaking of hotels, I’ve got one in mind.”

They drove closer and closer to the mountains, departing from any of the main streets and instead going down a thin winding road marked by trees on both sides. Minutes passed by, and as noon approached they began to fall into the shadow of the nearest mountain itself. It was only then that they came to a stop, in a mostly-empty parking lot next to a massive elegant-looking building. Nearby the building were a number of sports areas, as well as paths leading further up into the mountain.

“Middleton Ski Resort,” Clark read off a sign, “Ski resort? There’s no snow on the mountain.”

“There is in the winter.”

“Is it even open, then?”

“I don’t know. But it is the closest place to the mountain, so it’s the first place we’ll check.”

Bringing the hovercar to a halt at the edge of the pavement leading to the front gates, she and Clark got out, before she hit the button to capsulize the vehicle again. Picking it up, she set it back into its case, and strolled inside. The doors had a bell attached, and as they stepped inside, the sound of a ringing bell echoed through the lobby. But to their surprise, it was empty. The lights in the room weren’t even turned on. Instead, the only illumination came from the dozens of windows. Bulma looked around, frowning, but didn’t change course on her way to the front desk. “Are you sure they’re open?” Clark asked.

“The door was unlocked, and I didn’t see any ‘closed’ sign,” she stopped in front of the desk, and reached down to tap the bell. The sound rang out through the empty room, only for there to be a clatter on the other side of a door behind the desk.

The door swung open, and a nervous-looking man leaped out, swinging an ax.

Bulma shrieked, stumbling backwards even as Clark shot past her, leaped over the desk, and tackled into the man.

“No, no, no!” the man cried out as he was pushed to the ground, the boy on top of him. He swung the ax forwards, smashing the edge of it into the boy’s head.

“ Clark !” Bulma screamed.

The boy stumbled back, and reached up for his head, pressing a hand into his hair, and pulling it away bloodied, “What?”

The man, still wide-eyed and shaking, slowly turned towards his weapon, and watched with horror as shards of metal fell away from the now-broken ax-head. When Clark stood up, the man began to pull himself back, “Oh dear god, it didn’t work.”

Bulma ran over, veering around the desk to stare at the boy, “Are you alright?”

“That really hurt,” Clark moaned, clutching at his still-bleeding head.

“Wait, two of you… you, you aren’t…”

She turned her glare on the man, and reached into her case, pulling out a capsule, “You tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to make a house-sized crater on your nice fancy floor!”

“Wait! Wait, I’m sorry, this is all a misunderstanding.”

“What part of you swinging at us with an ax is a misunderstanding!?” Bulma demanded.

The man dropped his broken ax, and slowly stood up, holding his arms up in surrender, “We’ve got a first aid station, let me take care of your friend, and… and I’ll explain everything. Alright?”

She narrowed her eyes, before turning a worried glance back at Clark, “...Okay, but no funny business, alright? Or I’m treating you like the Wicked Witch of the East.” She wiggled the capsule threateningly.

Chapter Text

As he slowly wrapped bandages around Clark’s head, the man chewed nervously at his lip, occasionally stopping to look towards the doorway, as if expecting something to arrive.

“...Why did you two come by the ski resort, anyway? It’s summertime,” he asked.

“We were planning on going hiking near here,” Bulma said casually, “And this is the nearest hotel to the mountain. Just because we can’t ski doesn’t mean that we can’t resort.”

“Resort’s not a verb,” Clark mumbled, blinking slowly.

“Normally, this time of year, we’re closed. Nobody here but some security folks, housekeeping, some construction people to make sure everything’s in proper shape for the guests coming in the fall. But…”

“But?”

“...Tell me, have you heard of the Middleton Martian?” he asked slowly, “The Colorado Crocodile Man?”

“The cryptid?” Clark asked.

“He’s no cryptid,” the manager said, shuddering, “He’s all too real, and all too dangerous. There were a bunch of sightings of him during the fifties, but then sightings died off, until about two weeks ago, when a bunch of hikers began spotting him. And five days ago, he came down from the mountain. Slunk in here in the dead of night, and grabbed the security guard while she was on her rounds,” he finished with the bandage, securing it in place with a pin, before cutting off the excess cloth, “In the morning, he grabbed the housekeeping staff when they arrived, and then when I came to investigate why no one was answering any calls… he grabbed me, too.”

“Why haven’t you called anyone?” Clark asked.

The manager stepped away from the boy, and began to nervously wring his hands, “He’s taken down the resort’s electricity. The phone lines, the lights, the refrigeration, the ovens…”

“Why not just run, then? It wasn’t that long of a drive from here to the nearest houses,” Bulma pressed, “Less than an hour, walking.”

The man shook his head miserably, “Even if I wasn’t sure he could catch us before we reached civilization again, none of us would dare try it. We’re all hostages against each other. If one of us tries running, he’d punish the rest of us.”

“That’s awful,” Clark muttered.

Bulma frowned, “Where is he?”

“I don’t know! He just prowls the resort. We think he uses the air ducts. He slips into the grills of the vents like water, and goes where he wants,” the man was shaking, moving back to slump against a wall, and then let himself trail down until he was sitting on the floor of the small medical room, “I’ve been stuck here for three days, now. The security guard’s been here almost five. We’ve been serving his every whim, fetching him food, entertainment, putting on performances to keep him amused. It’s been terrible.”

“Well, it ends now,” Clark said, pushing himself up out of his seat, only to fall right back down.

“You’re not in any state to help anyone right now,” Bulma said, frowning, “But I might. We’re getting out of here right now.”

“You can’t leave! He’ll take it out on the rest of us,” the manager pleaded.

“He doesn’t know we’re here yet,” Bulma said, “Me and Clark will leave, I’ll take him to a real doctor, and we’ll talk to the police about the maniac holding all of you hostage up here.”

“No, no, it’s too dangerous,” the manager leaped up to his feet, and moved to put himself between them and the door, “I’m sorry, but you’re stuck here until the Crocodile Man decides he’s bored, and leaves us alone.”

“You’re not keeping us here,” she growled, reaching into her pocket and drawing out the #1 capsule again, “When I threatened to open this in here, I wasn’t kidding. Get out of the way, jerk.”

He hesitated for a few more seconds, staring down the angry teenager, when, slowly, his gaze moved away from her, and slowly drifted upwards. With each passing moment the manager’s face grew paler, and his eyes grew smaller. A soft red light suddenly filled the room from behind Bulma.

Slowly, Bulma followed his gaze to the gate in the wall behind them, where there was an air vent. And inside of it, two red lights softly glowed from behind the bars. Lights which, as she turned to look at them, angled away from the manager, and towards her. “Oh shit,” she said.

Clark pushed himself back to his feet, and this time, grabbed her by the wrist, and yanked her towards the manager. The man didn’t resist this time as they pushed past him, forcing the door open. The boy swung his arm forwards, pushing Bulma ahead of him, and then reached back in to grab the back of the manager’s shirt and yank him out as well, slamming the door shut behind them.

“We’re getting out of here,” Clark said, determined despite the cloudy look in his eyes, “Where is everyone else?”

He refused to answer, his entire body locking up in fear. Bulma sighed, and tossed the capsule in her hand into the air. The Manager flinched at the explosion of white smoke, and as the tile floor crunched under the sudden weight of the capsule house that appeared. “Get in!” Bulma shouted, tugging Clark after her.

The manager hurried as well, and the three shut the door behind them as soon as they got inside. “Telephone’s on the wall, try to get someone.”

“Tele- telephone!” the manager shouted, hope entering his voice for the first time since they met. He rushed over to it, grabbing the phone off the wall and quickly tapping in 9-1-1 into the panel, “Hello!? This is an emergency, we’re at the-”

Abruptly, there was a sound of shattering glass, the window of the capsule house smashed open by a bizarrely shifting green-skinned fist. The fist warped in size and shape like liquid, before forming into a spear. The point of it launched forwards, stabbing into the console behind the phone. It sparked once, and then fizzled out. The manager dropped the now-useless phone in shock, before turning towards the spear-point.

All three of them screamed, and as quickly as it appeared, it pulled away, zipping back through the hole it made.

Chapter Text

The three of them stared at each other for a few seconds, before hurrying into the kitchen, and locking the door behind them.

“Okay, we need more information,” Bulma demanded of the man, “Crocodile Man, Martian, whatever . What do you know about this thing?”

“I- I don’t know! I thought he was a myth, growing up. Like I said, in the fifties, there were a bunch of sightings. People seeing a green-skinned creature with red eyes wandering the mountain, or slinking around the town. People thought it was an alien. Started calling it the Middleton Martian.”

“What could it do?” Bulma pressed.

“People claimed all kinds of things. Seeing it transform into animals, or into humans. Sometimes even important people in the town. An astronomer and a detective were both accused of being an alien in disguise, they were nearly mobbed because of it. Other people said that they had strange dreams about it, or started finding themselves in places without remembering how they got there. Going to sleep in their beds, waking up in the woods, that kind of thing.” The manager explained.

“And the newer sightings?” Clark asked him.

“The people who saw it back in the fifties used to describe the Martian as basically just… you know, a bald man, with green skin and red eyes. Your basic alien. But the new ones were different. He was still a green man with red eyes, but now he has a long snout, like a crocodile. People around here were actually kind of excited when he popped up again, thought it might bring in tourists. I hoped he would bring in tourists. Instead, he’s-”

“Does it have any weaknesses?” Bulma asked. Cutting him off before he could start babbling.

“You think we haven’t tried?” the manager asked, running his hand through his hair, “There was this rumor going around that it was afraid of fire, or loud noises, or that it could be lured to places with the smell of chocolate, but… we’ve tried everything we could, and nothing worked on it.” he wrapped his arms over himself, “I need to… to go out and apologize to him. Stop him from taking this out on the others.”

“Bulma, do you have anything in here that can make a fire?” Clark asked.

Turning around in the kitchen, she tapped her chin, before smiling, “I can think of a few things.”

“Then try and get it set up. When you do, we’re going out there.”

Bulma turned towards the supplies available, and moved forwards, hurrying to put things together. On Clark’s end, he moved over to the door, and pressed his ear against it, listening. His head was still woozy, but he could push through it. He had to.

A few minutes later, Bulma let out a cheer, and proudly displayed the device she had cobbled together. It was more-or-less just a bundle of heating elements, a few electronics, and one of the oven’s dials, with some handles attached to it so she could hold it like a pistol. Unfortunately, the oven and toaster both were now write-offs.

“It’s been a good while since I built a weapon. Dad doesn’t like em’,” Bulma said with nostalgia, “the last time I built one I was five years old.”

“What was it?” the manager asked, confused.

“A laser gun,” she said cheerfully, “I was going to use it in case I met an evil space alien. I guess it would have been useful here,” she held out the newly-made weapon in her hand, and closed one eye, aiming, “But this’ll probably do the trick, if it is afraid of fire.”

Slowly, they made their way back to the main room of the capsule house, and then slowly opened the door. Clark leaned out first, looking left, then right, and then smelling the air, “...I can’t find anything out of place. I think we’re clear.”

He led them back out into the hotel lobby, followed by Bulma, and finally the cowering manager.

As soon as they were clear of the capsule house, Bulma hit the button next to the door, and returned the capsule back to her case. Clark gave a small nod to the manager, and urged him forwards. The older man hesitated a moment, before steeling himself and heading for a different door, leading deeper into the hotel.

“When you said you tried everything,” Bulma began, whispering, “What did you mean? Did you manage to light it on fire?”

“No, but… when we pulled out our lighters, he didn’t run off, or anything like that.”

“What else?” she pressed.

“We tried piling chocolate together in one room, and then running. That kind of worked, since when we checked that room later, it was all gone, but it didn’t distract him long enough for us to get away.”

They began to take the stairs, heading higher and higher up into the resort, until they reached the top floor.

“He’s been staying in the VIP suite,” the manager whispered, “Almost everyone else is expected to be up on this level too, except when he has us getting food for him.”

Slowly, they moved towards one particular door, and Clark reached for the doorknob-

Only to flinch back as soon as he touched it. The doorknob looked like it was bronze, or at least some kind of metal. But it felt smooth to the touch, and was oddly warm. Warm like a person. “The door!” Clark shouted, jumping back and grabbing the manager, yanking him aside as Bulma aimed her weapon.

She pulled the trigger, and flames roared outwards.

The door let out a shriek, and shrunk in on itself, rolling into a wooden ball and bouncing backwards into the room, before crashing into the luxurious bed that was the centerpiece of it.

Then, it unfolded itself into a humanoid shape. One with blazing red eyes, and green skin, “Whoa now!” he called out, “Don’t be so hasty. After all…” his arm snaked out, grabbing a girl in dark blue clothes and pulling her onto the bed with him. Her hat labeled her as Security.

Bulma lowered the weapon.

“...I’ve got a hostage,” the cryptid said with a fang-filled grin.

Chapter Text

“You’re a coward!” Clark challenged, “Let her go. Let all these people go.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna say… no. Yeah, let’s go with that. No.” the cryptid said, turning his glowing red eyes onto Clark, and then onto Bulma, “Hey, cutie, toss over that thing. Nice and gentle.”

“Cutie?” Bulma asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t like it?” he frowned with his entire elongated face, twisting it beyond any kind of normal crocodile, “How about… hm, which was the blue one… ah, right! I’ll call you Dewey.”

“My name is Bulma,” she ground out.

“Fine, fine,” he shrugged, the motion swelling his shoulders like balloons and deflating them, “Then, my good friend Bulma, please toss that thing over here.”

She slowly held out the weapon, and then pulled the handle and trigger off of the rest of it, “Just to make sure it doesn’t go off,” she said, explaining, before throwing the main mass of the machine onto the bed in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said, before his reptilian mouth surged outwards in size, engulfing the machine in its entirety, and swallowing it. Then, he grew in length, stretching his torso thin- and began to twist himself, wringing out his own body like a wet cloth. There was a crunch and grind of metal from inside of him as he broke down the device-

And then Bulma pulled the trigger still in her hand.

“AGH! HOT HOT HOT!” the cryptid roared, bright lights flaring out from inside his body. He shoved the security guard away and off of the bed as he desperately patted at his chest. But the light was still getting brighter. His struggling grew more wild, and his shape less solid.

Soon, every part of him growing and shrinking and lashing out in a protean, nearly liquid mass of flesh and limbs. They started mainly green, and then began to shift to other shades. Reds and yellows, pinks and blues, and finally black and white. The security guard screamed, but she was frozen in fear, unable to flee from where she had landed at the side of the bed. Her screams only got louder as she was caught in the expanding mass. Clark jumped forwards and grabbed onto the woman’s hand and yanked her up and out of trouble. He turned and pushed her towards the door, and this time she managed to keep enough wits to keep running, shoving past Bulma and running out into the hall. Unfortunately, that left him within range to be grabbed by it instead.

“Clark!” Bulma called, alarmed.

“I’m fine, just get everyone out!” the boy shouted back, already turning his attention on fighting back against the creature ensnaring him.

The manager and everyone else captive in the room didn’t need to be told twice. The small group bustled past Bulma, hurrying down the hall and towards the stairs, seeing this as potentially their best chance to escape. Bulma, for her part, held back, leaning just outside of the doorway to watch as Clark struggled wildly against the writhing color-changing mass that had caught him.

It clung to his limbs, wrapping themselves around him more and more, and binding him, pulling him closer. No matter how much he pulled, or flexed, or even bit, it didn’t give in. Worse, as he found himself pulled deeper into it, the heat was increasing, and the pressure the shifting mass was putting on him increased as well. The answer came to him in a rush, and he began to kick backwards, dragging his feet in carpet, “Bulma, turn off the machine!”

“What- but-”

A tendril grabbed onto his head, wrapping all the way around it in an instant and squeezing, immediately making his headache a hundred times worse. “Bulma!”

“Fine!” she pulled the trigger on the handle a second time, and the heat began to lessen, the glow coming from the center of the mass fading away.

The tendrils calmed down, and seemed to wilt, and Clark’s struggling finally began to show progress as he pulled and ripped away material that, now that he was biting into it, wasn’t flesh at all, but something else. Something that tasted artificial. He dug himself out, and flopped down against the floor in exhaustion. Bulma darted inside, grabbed onto his shirt collar, and rushed back out, dragging him after her as fast as she could move. It was only when they reached the stairwell themselves that Clark managed to get his feet back underneath him and follow her under his own power.

His head was pounding, and with each step, the pain only grew worse. “What was that?” he asked.

“Wireless signal,” Bulma replied between breaths as they ran down as fast as they could, “In case we needed a bomb more than we needed a flamethrower.”

“Interesting,” at the sound of the voice, Bulma flinched, missing a step and falling. Clark tried to catch her, but all he managed to do was get tugged down with her. The two of them tumbled down a handful of steps, before clawed, green-skinned hands caught them and began to slowly pull them back the way they came, “Very paranoid, cruel, sadistic, and may I say malicious of you, but… interesting.”

The two of them turned back to look at the glowing red eyes staring them down.

Bulma tried to use the trigger again, but the Crocodile Man of Colorado was faster, his jaws stretching out and snapping down on the device, and her hand, before she could pull it. “Aaah!”

“Bulma!”

The jaws pulled back a moment later, and Bulma’s screaming petered out as she stared at her slightly damp, but entirely whole and unharmed hand. The only thing missing was the trigger. But the following crunch of metal and plastic coming from inside the throat of the monster told her where it had gone.

The snout of the cryptid bunched up then, before it spit out the crumpled ball of ruined materials down the stairwell, letting it bounce its way down the steps.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Watch your potty mouth, there’s children present,” the cryptid chided, shaking Clark back and forth in the air for emphasis, “But speaking of, you gave me an idea of just the best place to lock you two for safekeeping, while I go collect my hostages- er, servers.”

With an almost casual stroll just a little further down the steps, he turned into a hallway, and then headed right for the bathroom. He kicked the door open, shoved both of them inside, and dropped them. Turning around, he pulled the door shut, locked it, and then crushed the knob, trapping the three of them in a bathroom lit up by nothing but the cryptid’s glowing eyes. Bulma quickly stood behind Clark, keeping the smaller, stronger, boy between her and the monster. The creature eyed them for a few seconds, before darting forwards, sliding around Clark’s swing, and then bumping up against Bulma, nearly knocking her down. Both of them whipped around to keep the cryptid in view, and watched nervously as he came to a stop next to an air vent in the floor.

“Now, you two don’t go anywhere,” he said, winking at them even as he pulled up the grate. His passage clear, he stepped over the two-inch tall, foot-wide opening, and melted into it, vanishing back into the ducts, and leaving them in pitch blackness.

The threat seemingly gone, Clark allowed himself to relax, and promptly dropped to his knees, the cotton-feeling in his pulsing head overpowering him and finally forcing him unconscious. Bulma caught him before he could flop face-down onto the bathroom floor, but didn’t know what to do next.

“Clark? Clark?” she tried, shaking him, but he just let out a small groan, and continued to hang limp in her arms. She eyed the bloody bandages wrapped around his head, and bit at her lip, “...This isn’t good.”

Chapter Text

Without any better place to put him, she set Clark down on top of a toilet with its lid down, letting him lie back against the tank like the back of a chair, and rest for a moment. With her arms finally free Bulma tried to reach into her pocket, where she kept her capsule case. But as she reached inside, she found the pocket empty.

“On top of everything else, he was a pickpocket too,” she growled.

She stomped over to the walls, and felt around for a light switch. Sure enough, when she finally found one, clicking it did nothing. Instead, she moved towards the door. Just like they had seen, the doorknob had been crushed, refusing to move in the slightest no matter how much she tried to turn it or jostle it. Instead, she felt around for the hinges on the opposite side.

The hinges were older ones, and she found with some effort- and some strain on her fingernails -she could lift the pin out. Repeating the process a few times didn’t take too much longer, and from there, the only thing attaching the door to the wall was the lock on the opposite side. With some pushing she managed to make a small gap opposite the lock, but it was only big enough to get her fingers pinched, rather than allowing any kind of escape.

“Gah! It might just be easier to go through the wall!” She snarled, staring at the door in anger. But as the thought occurred to her, she turned towards the wall next to the door. Rearing her leg back, she kicked at the wall as hard as she could, and winced as her foot drove into the plaster.

Now she was getting somewhere.

She began to rip it apart, peeling away more and more, of the outer layers of plaster. And once she had a hole big enough to potentially crawl through, she turned around, braced herself as much as she could, and kicked backwards into the last layer of wall between her and the hallway on the other side. Coughing, she used her hat to blow some of the dust away from her, and moved back towards the stall she had stashed Clark in. She grabbed the boy, and then pulled him through after her out into the hallway.

Free again, she walked slowly and quietly across the carpet, carrying Clark on her back. She kept an eye on every air vent that they passed. She dashed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and by the time she reached the lobby again, she was huffing and puffing, sweat dripping from her hair.

She headed for the front doors, only to stop as she took in the sight of the parking lot. The cryptid was there, holding a car over his head, one that contained all the escaped hostages. He was saying something to them, based on the flapping of his reptilian jaw, but Bulma didn’t care to listen. Instead, she retreated from the front exit, and ran deeper into the first level of the resort. When the manager took Clark to the first aid station, they passed by a set of doors. She had only been half-paying attention to the sign, but she thought she saw a crossed fork and knife over a plate.

Bulma found the doors she saw, and pushed her way into the dining room. There, she sat Clark down on the counter, and rolled up her jacket to put it under his head for a pillow. With her bodyguard as comfortable as she could make him, she turned towards the kitchen and rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Time to get to work.”

She set upon the microwave first, using silverware in place of tools. She tore the machine apart, and then began to sort through the pieces. Next, she moved on to every other electronic she could find and committed the same kind of violence against them. Within minutes the kitchen resembled a recycling plant. Eventually she stopped, and looked over the mess she had created. She smiled, and began to construct a new device.

Her hands moved in a blur, connecting wires, screwing pieces together, trying and ditching different components as quickly as she could. And when red light filled the room, focusing in on her, she didn’t stop.

“Now, how’d you get all the way down here?” the cryptid asked, some of the humor vanishing from his voice.

Bulma just kept working, even as he began taking heavy, thudding steps closer to her.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!” he called.

She snapped a piece of plastic into place.

“Stop that, right now, or… or else .”

She lifted up the device, and then reached to her side, and pulled out a battery from the open package.

“Stop ignoring me! I’m a big scary lizard man. Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation, Dewey?”

She slotted it into the device, and pulled the trigger.

“Oh sh-HOT! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” bright light glowed from the center of his body, and the Crocodile Man tumbled backwards, grabbing at his chest. She pulled the trigger a second time, and the light dimmed down. The cryptid seemed to recover instantly, jabbing a clawed finger in her direction, but as her finger moved closer to the trigger, he flinched back and away from her, “What the heck is that? I broke your stupid remote!”

“I built the first one out of scraps in a few minutes. The only reason making a second took so long is because this place is cheap when it comes to their appliances,” she said, turning towards him and glaring, “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to lead me to where ever you stashed those people, and you’re going to let them out.”

He narrowed his glowing eyes, and suddenly his snout was shooting towards her, stretching across the distance, aiming to close around the device. But Bulma’s finger never left the trigger. She pressed down, and the light appeared in his chest again.

“HOT! Hot! Hot! Acha-cha-cha!” the cryptid howled. With a click, the light vanished, and the Crocodile Man was left glaring up at her, “You’re one sick-in-the-head lady, you know that, right?”

“Someone kidnapping people and forcing them to serve him doesn’t get to lecture anyone on anything,” she shot back, sticking her tongue out, “Speaking of, hostages. Hop to it.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Clark asked, blinking wearily up at the ceiling, “Where- Bulma!” he shot upwards, only to immediately fall back down due to the dizziness, “Ugh.”

He heard movement behind the door, and turned his head to see the security guard from earlier, “Oh, I thought I heard you, you’re awake.”

“Hi.”

She grinned, and moved over to his bedside- he was in a bed, apparently, -and knelt down next to it, “How are you feeling little guy?”

“My head still hurts.”

“Did the Martian do that to you?”

Clark shook his head, “No, this was the old man.”

“Huh. Well, do you think you can walk? Bulma wanted to see you as soon as you were awake again.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. We’re all fine, thanks to the two of you.”

Clark looked up in surprise, “We all escaped? But-” he sniffed the air, “-we haven’t left the resort?”

“ We’re not the ones who need to escape, now,” the guard said smugly, “Come on, we were about to Scooby-Doo him.”

“Scooby-Doo?” he pulled himself the rest of the way out of the bed, and then began to shuffle towards the door, the guard following him closely to make sure he didn’t collapse again. He noted that when they walked out into the hall, the electricity was on again. They headed back towards the lobby, and then the kitchen. As they got closer, Clark found his stomach rumbling. He was really hungry, now.

Inside, he saw all the hostages, along with Bulma. And sitting in a chair in the middle of the group was the cryptid, his glowing red eyes focused on the ground in front of his feet. “Bulma,” he called out, “Are you okay? I’m sorry I passed out.”

“It’s not your fault, Clark. Everything turned out okay,” she reassured, “I’m just glad to see you on your feet again.”

The boy turned towards the cryptid, and frowned. He wasn’t tied up in any way, no restrains whatsoever. With how strong the creature was, and all its powers, he couldn’t see any reason why he wasn’t thrashing and recapturing all of them.

“She mentioned, um… Scooby-Doo?” he asked, gesturing to the security guard.

“Ah, right,” Bulma said, turning towards the cryptid, she held up a cobbled-together machine, and put her finger on the trigger, “Come on, Martian, get on with it.”

“This counts as cruel and unusual treatment of a prisoner, you know,” he said, tapping his foot on the floor in impatience.

“Oh get over it.”

“ Ugh, ” he slumped back in his chair as he complained. But even once his shoulders hit the back of the chair, he kept slumping, more and more of his body pulling back, melting into each other, until he was nothing but a blob of green mass. His clawed and scaled limbs pulled into the lump and then popped back out, once-more human shaped. His reptilian face melted away, letting two flashlights with red lenses drop to the floor. From the lump a new head emerged: one belonging to a normal teenage boy. However, the illusion was ruined as goggles rose up and out of the new face, closing over and hiding his eyes.

The lump restructured itself back into a torso clad in a pinstripe suit, and suddenly the green bled away, replaced with other colors. His face and his hands faded to a Caucasian pink, the hair on his head became a glossy black, and his clothes changed to a shade of bright red, marked with yellow stripes.

“There! Are you happy now?” he grinned inhumanly wide and revealed bright white, but no longer sharp, teeth, “My original, handsome self. Mostly.”

Clark frowned, and then looked at Bulma, “...I don’t get it.”

“There’s no such thing as a Crocodile Man or a Middleton Martian,” Bulma explained proudly, jabbing her finger at the former cryptid, “This shape-shifting metahuman invented them. You created a monstrous persona to intimidate isolated people like the staff of this resort into doing what you want. More than that, by marking yourself as a cryptid, anyone who reports you will just get written off as another glory-hungry bigfoot-hunting nut, right?” she turned back towards the man in question, who had lost his too-wide grin.

“I mean, you’re mostly right,” he admits, before turning to his former hostages, “Although for the record, I wasn’t really going to hurt any of you. Honest,” his clothes changed abruptly, switching to a light green uniform, a sash covered in badges emerging from his chest, “Scout’s honor. It was just a little bluff to make sure that none of you told anyone where I was. And, you know, to make you do what I told you.”

“We were terrified of you!” the manager shouted.

He looked away, the scout outfit fading back into his suit, “Yeah, and uh, that was really lousy of me. I kind of figured that by the end of it, you’d all have a fun story to tell. And that would… sort of make up for it?” his face lit up, stretching back into crocodile shape, “Think how much you could advertise this place as the resort that was taken over by the Crocodile Man !”

“ Make up for -” the manager began turning red, then, and turned to stalk out of the room, “I’m finding another axe!”

The criminal winced, and faced Bulma again, “Look, Bulma. I’ll never try something like this again. It really did get out of hand. I learned my lesson!” a sleeping cap grew out of his head, and his hair turned gray, “Please, don’t you believe a man can change?”

Bulma glared at him until his face returned back to normal, and he looked properly contrite, “...Is there anything you can actually do to make it up to these people?” she asked.

Clark looked at her in surprise, “You’re thinking of letting him go?”

“What!?” “No!” “He kidnapped us!” a few of the former hostages protested.

“Just trust me on this,” Bulma said to them.

“I…” Clark opened his mouth to argue against it, but stopped himself. Bulma was the one who resolved this situation. And he did trust her, “Okay,” he looked at the man, “What’s your name?”

The criminal’s eyebrows darted up over his goggles in surprise, “...Patrick. But my friends call me Eel,” he turned towards Bulma, and then to the rest of the former hostages, “As for making it up to all of you… I’m not very liquid at the moment. Penniless. It’s why I was hanging out here, unfairly extracting free room and board.”

“I’m sure we can think of something,” Bulma said smugly. A moment later, the manager walked back in, a table leg held in his hands like a club, “Ack! Stop!” she hurried over to talk the man down, while Clark kept his gaze focused on Eel.

“You said that Bulma had it mostly right. So what was she wrong about?” Clark asked.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just that I didn’t make up the Crocodile Man or the Middleton Martian,” Eel said with a shrug, “I’ve been in town less than a week. In fact, hearing about those sightings was what gave me the idea to come here and try all this.”

Chapter Text

Eel ran the plaster over the hole Bulma kicked in the wall with his hand, which he shaped into a putty knife.

Clark and Bulma stood nearby, watching him. Bulma was still holding onto the remote for the flamethrower. “So,” Clark began, “Why aren’t we just handing him over to the police?”

“Look, the moment he’s out of our sight, one of three things are going to happen:” Bulma said quietly, “One, he immediately escapes, because handcuffs aren’t going to work on a guy made of living plastic. Two, the police do have some kind of anti-metahuman containment thing that can hold him, and they take him straight to Belle Reve to wait for trial. That’s one of the harshest prisons in the world. People die inside it all the time, and in the end, Eel’s someone my age who didn’t hurt anyone.” Clark raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Bulma huffed, “Well, he didn’t hurt anyone in a permanent way. It just feels disproportionate.”

“And what’s option three?”

“He’ll get picked up by some government program, and they’ll turn him into a living assault weapon or a creature commando, or something,” Bulma said.

Clark’s expression softened, and he leaned over against Bulma, “So he’ll be coming with us, then?”

“After he finishes fixing everything, and after he poses for all those pictures he promised-” he could impersonate any celebrity or character almost perfectly. It wasn’t nearly enough to make up for what he did, but it was something he could do. Most of them, at least, had been satisfied simply to be finally able to head home and relax safe in the knowledge that Eel wouldn’t be coming back to the resort. The manager had been the hardest to convince, but the reminder that he was the one who nearly killed Clark, and not Eel, got him to let the young metahuman off the hook with just repairing everything that was broken, “-then, yes. He’ll be coming with us. There’s not anyone else around who can keep him out of trouble.”

Eel stood up, stretched, and then kept stretching, until his head had crossed the hallway nearby where they were, “My ears were burning, probably a side effect of the toaster you stuck in me, but what’s this whole ‘coming with you’ thing? I thought the deal was I get my community service in, and then I’m a free bird.”

“Oh please,” Bulma said, crossing her arms, “Out of everyone here, Clark’s the one who got the worst injury. You’re going to be helping us out, Patty.”

“It’s Eel . And helping you with what?”

“We’re searching the world for these things called Dragon Balls,” Clark said, “Orange crystal balls, with stars in them. There’s supposed to be one in the mountains nearby.”

“Hm,” Eel tapped his finger against his chin, “They valuable?”

“To science, at least” Bulma said.

“My parents tried selling ours, but they didn’t get a very good offer,” Clark added.

“Did your parents try to sell it to science, here?” he asked, jabbing a thumb Bulma’s way.

“Anyway,” Bulma said, “There’s supposed to be seven of them in the world. The one in the mountains here is the last one in North America. After that, we’re heading West, to somewhere in the Pacific.”

A wide smile broke across Eel’s face, “Wait, we’re going somewhere tropical? In that case, never mind. Sign me up. I can do a scavenger hunt,” his hair turned a bright gold, and his skin developed a sudden tan as his suit disappeared, replaced with nothing but shorts, “I’ve always wanted to go surfing at least once.”

“Put your shirt back on, Eel,” Bulma said, “You’ve still got work to do before we can leave.”

“Yessir, parole officer Bulma,” he said, returning back to normal and moving back to the wall.

In the end, Eel managed to finish his work within an hour or two, and they were bid a thankful goodbye by the manager.

The newly-formed trio climbed into Bulma’s car, and headed back down the twisty road to the town proper looking first for dinner, and then alternate accommodations for their stay. Clark was the first to suggest an all-you-can eat buffet, something that turned out to be a boon not only for the boy, but for their newest traveling companion as well. Bulma wondered if eating monstrous amounts of food was just something all metahumans had in common.

Eating seemed to rejuvenate Clark’s spirits, filling him with energy again.

As evening rolled around, they found a place to stay for the night, and Bulma began to plot their course up the mountain for the morning. Clark also took the chance to call his parents again, wishing them a goodnight. He realized that he had called them pretty late, so he promised to try earlier the next evening, and let them get back to bed. When Bulma’s plans were settled, they broke off into separate rooms. Bulma would be sleeping by herself, while the boys shared their own room. And in order to keep Eel from running off in the night, Clark was granted custody of the heat device’s remote.

As Clark pulled on his pajamas, he eyed the device, and then looked back at Eel, “I’m not going to have to use that.”

“Of course not,” Eel said, grinning as he simply shifted his clothes from his preferred suit to a red-and-yellow striped nightshirt, “I can see a good thing for what it is. You two have really gone out on a limb for me, and I appreciate that. Besides, I’m not going to miss out on the chance for an all-expenses-paid tropical vacation,” he jumped into the hotel bed, and laid back onto the pillow.

“No, I mean that I’m going to trust you,” Clark said, “I took the batteries out of the remote. You’re really strong, aren’t you? Like me. Maybe more than me.”

“Well…”

“Bulma said she saw you lifting up a car. More than that, I saw you take out the capsule house’s phone, when the manager tried to call for help. You stabbed through glass and metal and plastic, precise enough to smash the phone without even looking.”

“So?”

Clark didn’t answer for a moment, pulling back the covers on his own bed, “You could have taken down everyone in the resort in an instant.”

Eel flinched back, “I’m not a murderer. I’m a lot of things, but I’ve never killed anyone. Not even when…” he trailed off, frowning.

“I know,” Clark said, “I said ‘taken down’, not ‘killed’. But you didn’t. Because you didn’t want to hurt anyone. You could have snatched this from Bulma or me anytime you wanted. But if you moved that fast you wouldn’t be able to control your own strength. You could have accidentally hurt us. You haven’t been like this for very long, have you? You still have to be careful.”

Eel rolled over, turning his back to the boy, “I think you’re overestimating me.”

“If you want,” Clark began, “I could show you how I do it.”

Eel lifted his head slightly, looking back at him, “Do what ?”

“How I control my own strength. I’ve been like I am my whole life. I’ve had lots of practice to make sure I do it right.”

Eel’s goggles got bigger, as if going wide-eyed. He looked away from Clark again, facing the wall. But a few moments later, he spoke quietly, “I’ll think about it.”

Clark smiled, “Oh, and Eel?”

The former criminal sighed, “What, Clark?”

“Putting the flashlights in your eyes was a good touch.”

“...It was, wasn’t it?”

Chapter Text

Bulma parked the hovercar along the side of the road, and stared up and out at the forest that covered the mountain in front of them. “Alright, everyone out.”

“We’re stopping here?” Eel asked, frowning at the mountainside, “But there’s not even a trail here.”

She jabbed a finger up at the trees, “The Dragon Ball is somewhere up there. Trail or no trail.”

He sighed, but climbed out of the vehicle. Clark jumped out next to him, and sniffed the air, “Pine trees smell nice, huh?”

Bulma got out as well, before tapping the capsulizing button on the side of the car, and picked it up out of the resulting cloud of vapor. She put it back into her case, and then began to trudge her way towards the trees. With a glance at each other, the boys followed.

Once she got far enough inside, Bulma pressed the button on the Dragon Radar, as named by Jeepers, and watched the screen for the tell-tale yellow dots. Similar to the Kent house, she could tell that this Dragon Ball had been lying where it was for a long, long time. The whole area was soaked with the Dragon Energy which limited how precisely the radar could sniff it out. So, she began doing what she had at the farm, walking in wide circles, keeping the radar’s range as focused as she could make it, and paying careful attention to small shifts in the location of the yellow dot.

At the same time, the boys began searching the area around her. They picked up rocks, they checked the roots of trees, they rustled through bushes, and they climbed up higher than she dared to, looking for anything glittering in the early morning sun.

Eel seemed bored by the task, and Bulma frustrated, but Clark found himself more relaxed than he had been since their journey started. It wasn’t often that he got to spend time in forests, back in Smallville. Just the occasional camping trip with his parents. The novelty of always moving uphill, of finding such massive boulders, of breathing in the heavy scent of pine, and surrounded by the smells and sounds of countless animals, thrilled him.

The morning stretched on in peace and quiet.

Following tiny shifts in the radar Bulma moved further and further uphill, and the terrain wasn’t easy walking. Eventually, it became outright climbing. When it wasn’t thick pine forest, it was instead rough, rocky, ground filled with boulders and loose stones. Soon, Clark began to stay close to her, ready to catch her whenever she stumbled and prevent any nasty falls. As they got farther from the roads, Eel grew braver in the use of his powers, transforming limbs into spikes and ropes for ease of climbing.

The sun began to hang in the air above them, and Clark joined Bulma in feeling the heat. “Weren’t mountains supposed to be cold?” he asked.

“We’d have to find one a lot taller than this little thing to make much of a difference,” Bulma said, fanning herself with her hat.

Eel, on the other hand, didn’t seem to sweat, or even get tired at all.

In the end, they decided to stop at the closest peak for lunch. They found a rocky clearing among the trees, and Bulma pulled out a capsule that they had prepared ahead of time, containing everything needed for a picnic. The three of them relaxed on the rocks and ate for a while, until Clark caught a whiff of something in the air.

“…Hey Eel?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Stay with Bulma, and be careful for a bit, okay?”

The plastic man frowned, “What’s going on?”

“I want to check something out. I’ll be right back.”

Bulma looked up from her lunch, “What is it?”

Clark sniffed the air again, “I’m not sure,” he said honestly, “But it’s setting off my instincts to be wary.” With that, he stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth, and began to sprint through the forest. He flung himself into the branches of a pine, and smiled as he climbed it higher and higher.

He took in another deep breath, and then threw himself back at the forest floor. He slid along loose stones for a second, before dropping down to all fours to stabilize himself. The scent was getting stronger, now. In those short minutes, he had already approached the next peak, and as he made his way up, it got more and more intense the higher he got. Finally, he stopped in front of a collection of boulders and fallen trees that, while looking natural from a distance, he could recognize as shelter close up.

He approached the shelter slowly. With every breath, more of the bizarre smell was pulled into his nostrils, and some animal part of his brain got more agitated. More cautious. More eager for a fight.

He slipped under a fallen tree, into the shade.

There, hidden beneath the rocks and wood, was a table, a couple of wardrobes, and further back, a pile of old, worn-out blankets and pillows. Clark moved closer, and ran his hand over the table, stopping when his fingers found a strange two-fingered claw mark on the surface. He tried to match the marking with his own hand, but whatever made it was larger than he was. A lot larger, and with a hand unlike any human or animal one he’d ever seen.

He turned his head, and found his eyes halting on some markings that were painted onto the stone. It wasn’t graffiti like any he had seen before. At first, they looked like random combinations of circles, lines, and squares, but after a moment they came together in his eyes.

“I miss you. I never meant to leave you,” Clark softly read aloud, “You would have loved this place, and loved these people. Ma’aleca’andra is cold and dead, but this place is warm and wet. It makes me weep. M'yri'ah , K’hym, every day, I mourn that you didn’t get to see it.”

Slowly, he turned his gaze towards a marking further below it. A series of circles, each line bearing another smaller circle. The third one from the center was painted in blue. The fourth one from the center was painted in red, with a careful crown of orange placed just over that. None of the other circles were painted at all.

A cold shiver went down Clark’s spine.

His eyes slowly drifted back up to the painted words.

How did he know what they were saying?

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how long he spent staring at the strange markings. But eventually, he stepped out of the shelter, and walked back out into the sunlight. He stood there for a few moments, soaking in the heat and letting it calm his nerves.

His head was full of questions, but there weren’t any answers within easy reach.

Instead, he turned his attention towards the mountain around them, and began to make his way back to his friends. He could have done what he did before, flinging himself from tree to tree, grappling and swinging off branches like an ape, but instead he just walked, feeling lost in thought. But as he walked, something occurred to him.

The shelter wasn’t new. Everything that had been in that room had been there for years, and was totally untouched. But the scent was brand new.

He sped up, racing back through the forest. When he came within sight of his friends, he shouted “Hey!”

“What was the smell?” Bulma called back.

“...I don’t know! But I think it’s a problem,” he said, landing next to the two of them and knocking aside a few rocks, “There’s three cryptids.”

“What?” Eel asked.

“I found the nest of the original,” Clark began, “And… I think he really was a Martian. But the nest hasn’t been touched in decades. I think whatever was here in the fifties, he either left when the sightings stopped, or… or he died, a long time ago.”

“Wait, you found a Martian nest?” Bulma asked, wide-eyed, “But-”

“I didn’t find it. I was lead to it,” Clark said, cutting her off, “To throw me off the scent of the second cryptid, the one that people started seeing again two weeks ago. The one that’s still here. The one that’s been following us closely enough for me to smell.”

Bulma stiffened, and turned her head towards the forest around them. It was just trees, in every direction.

“But who was the third cryptid?” Eel asked seriously.

“You,” Clark said.

“Oh. I didn’t know we were counting me,” he frowned, looking towards the forest, “If there’s an actual Crocodile Man walking around up here, do you think it would help or hurt our chances with him if I disguised myself again?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Clark said, gazing out into the woods.

Bulma shifted closer to the two of them, “What do you think it wants?”

“It might just be wary of us because we’re in its territory,” Clark said, “Although people have only been seeing it for two weeks, so maybe it’s not supposed to be here either.”

The three of them were silent for a few moments. All of them watched the woods carefully.

“...What if it just leaves us alone?” Bulma offered hopefully, “We’re not here to hunt its prey, or catch it, or anything. All we’re after is the Dragon Ball. And if it does attack us, well, we’ve got both of you here, right? This shouldn’t be a problem, as long as we’re careful.”

“Yeah!” Eel added, “You’re right. My version is probably the scariest one of the three anyway.”

Clark nodded, but at the same time, he kept his senses glued to the forest around them.

The day marched on overhead, and although the creature never made its move, Clark never found himself getting as relaxed as he did that morning. No matter where they went, he could still smell it, not far away, circling them, but never coming within sight.

As evening drew close, they marked where they stopped their search on the map, and then began making their way back. At this point, Bulma was outright exhausted, and Clark found himself carrying her most of the way back to the road. When they threw down the hovercar capsule, Eel took the wheel, after a stern warning from Bulma that if he put a single scratch on the vehicle, he’d be getting another taste of the heat device.

Considering that Bulma left it in the capsule, and that Clark had removed the batteries last night, neither of the boys chose to say anything about the threat.

Dinner was excellent. After a long day of hard work and new experiences, and with the woods miles away, Clark was able to put the smell of the creature stalking them, and the mystery of the alien words he could somehow read, behind him. But with dinner over, he remembered his promise the night before, and dialed in the number to the Kent farmhouse from his hotel phone.

It rang twice before they picked up, “Hello?”

“Hey Pa,” he answered, “Sorry for calling so late last night.”

“Ma! Clark’s on the phone,” Jonathan Kent called out, facing away from the receiver. A moment later, his voice was clearer again, “Sorry for not being able to stay up to hear all about your adventures. So, how’s the mountains?”

“They’re beautiful, Pa. The three of us were up and down all over them today. Just thick forests and giant rocks as far as you can see.”

“I’m glad,” his father replied, his voice warm, “Wait… three of you?”

“Oh! Another kid joined us yesterday. He’s a metahuman too! He’s around Bulma’s age. We found him impersonating a local legend, freaking people out, but we got him to stop, and agree to come with us,” it was maybe a little dishonest to downplay everything Eel had done, but Clark didn’t want to worry them, “He’s been helping us search the mountain for the Dragon Ball. Bulma thinks we’ll find it by tomorrow, at the rate we’ve been narrowing the search.”

“Huh, well that’s strange. I- oh, Ma’s here too now, Clark,” Jonathan said.

“Hey Ma,” Clark said, grinning.

“Clark! Enjoying the mountains?” Martha asked.

“I already asked him that,” Jonathan teased, “He loves em’.”

“Good. Oh, before you forget, we asked around at the library and looked up the name Sivana, in relation to metahumans, or robots. And we think we’ve found something. Sivana Industries is some kind of company in Minnesota. They research weapons for the government. They were in national news a while back, because the Humane Society caught them doing unethical experiments on animals,” Martha explained, “The company was founded by the man working as the head researcher, a man named Doctor Sivana.”

“Minnesota…” Clark murmured, thinking, “Bulma did say they were heading east. Minnesota is east of Kansas, right?”

“More north east than just east, but sure,” Jonathan said, “Helpful?”

“I think so. Thanks, both of you.”

“The least we can do for our world-trotting boy,” Martha said warmly.

“Oh! Before I forget, Ma? Pa? The phone in the capsule house, um… broke.”

“What?” Martha exclaimed.

“I’m calling you from a hotel’s phone, right now. But while we’re on the road, it might be hard to keep in contact every night like this. I’m sorry,” Clark said.

“Oh, that’s fine Clark. How did it break? Was it one of those monsters again?” Jonathan asked.

“Sort of. Eel did it, before we convinced him to cut out the whole ‘Colorado Crocodile Man’ act.”

“Your new friend’s name is Eel? ” Martha asked, aghast.

“Well, his name is Patrick. Eel’s just a nickname. I think because his powers make him stretchy,” Clark explained.

“You sure meet some interesting people, boy,” Jonathan said, amused.

They said their goodnights not long after, and Clark hung up the phone. He didn’t mention the strange words. He wasn’t sure why.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Hey guys!” Eel called, transforming his twin shovels back into hands, “I think I just struck gold!”

Bulma and Clark shuffled closer, then, Bulma never straying more than an arm’s length from the smaller boy. It was the third day of searching, and they were deeper into the mountains than Bulma expected them to have to go, and had climbed a higher, steeper, peak than she had been prepared to climb. As such, she was careful with every movement, careful to make sure she always had a strong grip and a firm foothold as she shifted over to where Eel was standing. Clark, for his own part, had been feeling better and better as the days went by. His headache had completely disappeared, leaving him feeling as full of energy as always.

The plastic man grinned inhumanly wide as he dug into the ground, and plucked out a shining orange sphere. Inside the crystal were suspended six bright red stars.

“You found it!” Bulma shouted, delighted, “And in only three days, oh man, I could kiss you!” Eel leaned over and puckered up, only to slump in disappointment as Bulma snatched the Dragon Ball from his hand instead. She held it up to her face for closer inspection, “That finally brings us back up to two balls again.”

“Back up to two?” Eel asked.

Clark looked over to him and nodded gravely, “A robot attacked Bulma and stole the first two balls she found. The five- and two-star balls. I saved her from the robot, but I couldn’t get the balls back. Afterwards, we grabbed the one that’s been my family’s heirloom, the four-star ball, and then we came here looking for this one.”

“Neat!” Eel said, but after a moment of thinking, he frowned. “Wait, if we’re looking for all seven, you’re expecting to fight this robot again at some point?”

Clark gave another firm nod, “I’m looking forward to the rematch.”

“So am I,” Bulma said, determined. Reaching to her side, she pulled open the bag and dropped the Dragon Ball inside.

Making their way back down the mountain thankfully went easier and faster than it had been making their way up. Soon enough they were making good time towards the nearest stretch of road.

Unfortunately, before they could reach it, Clark realized that the ever-present scent of the cryptid was getting stronger as they walked, “Wait,” he began, putting his hands up to his ears.

Eel listened as well, letting his ears grow to elephant proportions, and swiveling his head on his neck like a radar dish. Bulma turned slightly green at the sight, but remained quiet, nervously looking back at the dark woods all around them.

Suddenly, Eel stopped, and let the giant ears fall away, “Right over there!” he called, pointing towards a patch of forest behind them. Clark whipped around immediately, and held up his fists, ready to fight. His eyes searched the woods, looking for any sign of movement.

“What did you hear?” Clark asked Eel.

“Footsteps,” he said, “And someone cocking a-” Eel suddenly cut himself off, and then increased in size, and he surged forwards in a wave of liquid red, his body rapidly expanding to cover both of them. Bulma let out a squeak as Eel’s body formed a tent around them.

“What’s the big idea?” she demanded, “Eel, what’s going-” BANG! “-on? Huh?”

Clark winced as part of Eel’s body suddenly jabbed forwards like a spike, slamming into the middle of his chest and knocking him onto his back. He groaned in pain, and then leaned up, staring down at his chest for a moment, and then looking up at the suit-patterned tent surrounding them.

“Was that a gun?” Clark asked.

“Yep,” Eel said, his voice coming out weirdly.

“Someone’s shooting at us?” Bulma asked, wide-eyed.

BANG!

“Yep!” Eel shouted as another spike appeared around head-height, only to quickly retract again, “Get down, get down!”

“Are you alright?” Clark asked.

“I’m fine, I don’t get bruises anymore,” Eel assured, “But, uh, there’s only so much force I can bleed off, so don’t poke your heads up too high.”

“Can you see who’s shooting at us?” Bulma asked, reaching into her backpack and tugging out her capsule case.

“Um,” Eel began, “You’re not going to believe me.”

“Why?” Bulma asked.

“It’s the Crocodile Man.” Clark said.

“It’s the Crocodile Man,” Eel confirmed, “And he’s dressed up like a thirties mobster.”

“Like you do?” Clark asked.

Eel ignored that, “He’s putting down the rifle, now,” he said, continuing his narration, “He’s putting it into a capsule.”

“Fucking Red Ribbon off-brand military capsules…” Bulma growled.

“Bulma!” Clark said, going wide-eyed, “Language.”

“He’s getting out another one,” Eel said, “ Aaaaaaand , it’s a Tommy Gun. Oh man, this doesn’t look good.” In a rush, hundreds more spikes suddenly appeared in the tent above them, and Eel’s cries of alarm and pain mixed with the droning of gunfire.

Bulma pulled a capsule out of the case, and began crawling forwards. She slipped her hand under where Eel had pressed his expanded body against the ground, and lifted him up, before hitting the button and tossing the capsule.

Outside the tent there was a massive crash, followed by the screech of rocks grinding against metal, the shattering of glass, and the crunch of wood smashing.

“What was that?” Clark asked, alarmed.

“The capsule house,” Bulma growled, “It should buy us a little time, come on, get up.”

Clark surged to his feet, then, and pushed his way out from under Eel’s protection. The first thing he did once he was back out in the sunlight was look back at his friend, and although he seemed rattled, nowhere on his stretched-out body was he bleeding or even outwardly bruised. Next, he faced forwards and looked at the carnage the capsule house had wreaked.

The structure was designed to be placed on level ground. On a steep hill like this, it had slipped, and crashed into the trees on the other side of the clearing. The windows and, to Clark’s dismay, the kitchen, were all write-offs.

Gritting his teeth, he threw himself forwards, scrambling up the side of the capsule house and glaring into the woods on the other side. And sure enough, there was a crocodile-headed man, holding a Tommy Gun in his green scaly four-fingered hand, and dressed in a purple suit, with a matching purple fedora. The Crocodile Man leveled his gun Clark’s way, and opened fire. Clark reacted on instinct, throwing his arms in front of his face and charging forwards. Bullets rang out, smashing into the capsule house below him and the trees around him.

They also hit Clark.

The boy roared with pain as impacts rang out across his body. They were sharp, biting wounds, each of them hitting harder than any punch he had ever felt. The rattling of the machine gun filled his ears, shaking his bones.

And then he collided with the Crocodile Man, and Clark’s hands were on the creature’s weapon. Still running on instinct, he squeezed down, and metal deformed and crunched in his grip. He swung it to the side, and the gun sailed off and slammed into a tree, bouncing off and clattering down the mountain. The weapon dealt with, Clark turned his head towards the Crocodile Man, and raised his fists, ready to slam down on him. But the Crocodile Man was able to move faster than Clark expected, flipping himself around and dodging Clark’s furious strike.

Finding himself without a weapon, the Crocodile Man opened his jaw and jerked forwards. Aiming to get his teeth around Clark’s neck, he bit down with all the force he could, closing his jaws with a loud clack.

Clark saw his chance, then, and leaned in, wrapping both arms around the closed jaws of the half-human reptile, holding them shut, and forcing the Crocodile Man’s body to the ground with his legs. The Crocodile Man struggled for a few moments, clawing at Clark with his inhuman four-fingered hands, but that ceased when Eel dropped down from above, enveloping the reptile with his body like a blanket.

Realizing that he was captured, the Crocodile Man gave a groan of defeat and went limp.

Chapter Text

“Are you guys alright?” Bulma asked, climbing around the wreck of the capsule house.

“Surprisingly alive,” Eel said, “For a couple of kids who were lit up like birthday cakes.”

Clark didn’t answer, simply staring at the marks covering his arms, and the holes ripped into all his clothes. He was bleeding from some of the shots, but not all. He ached everywhere, and some of his fingers were swelling, and he felt like he wanted to throw up. But he was intact and alive.

Better yet, his head didn’t hurt. Everything aimed at his skull, he had instead caught on his arms. Arms that still worked, despite catching bullets.

“Clark?”

He startled, and looked back up towards Bulma, who was staring down at him in open concern, “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Somehow. I… didn’t think I was bulletproof.”

“You’re not,” Bulma said, kneeling next to him and gently taking his arm in her hands, and stretching it out, “Not like Eel. But this…” she hesitated, looking away for a moment while she thought, “That ax-head shattered against your skull. And then half a week later, there’s barely a mark. I guess you’re a lot tougher than I thought.”

“I guess,” he said, itching at one of the bullet impacts.

“Speaking of the bulletproof Eel,” the man himself cut in, “He’s wrapped around a lizard-guy, and he really smells. Is this what you’ve been tracking the whole time? Because wow.”

“That’s kind of offensive,” the Crocodile Man muttered, surprising all three of the others, “I’ve been trudging up and down these hills for almost three weeks without any proper soap. You can forgive a guy for poor hygiene, okay?”

Bulma huffed, and stomped over to the two of them. She loomed above the Crocodile Man, and glared down, “Why have you been stalking us? Why did you try to kill us? Are you working for Sivana?”

“I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer,” the Crocodile Man said, turning away.

At that, Bulma’s eyebrows shot up, and she glanced back at Clark, “A lawyer?” she asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh,” the reptile said, “I’ve got rights.”

“You’re a crocodile,” Eel said, incredulous.

“Yeah, but I’m not a squealer.”

Bulma stepped closer, “Eel, could you turn into some handcuffs? I want to get at his clothes.”

“Sure thing, Lady,” Eel’s body warped once more, shrinking away until he was nothing but a pair of handcuffs, forcing the Crocodile Man’s wrists together. Bulma reached down, then, and started searching him, pulling back with capsule after capsule. All of them bearing the same logo printed in red.

|R><R|

She glared at the off-brand capsules, before stuffing them into her pockets.

“Hey! Those are mine,” the Crocodile Man protested.

“What are we doing with him?” Eel asked from his wrists, “Are you recruiting him, too?”

“No, no we are not, ” Bulma muttered, before finding one last RR capsule in his breast pocket, “I think I recognized the number on this one…” she clicked it, and tossed it away from her. In an explosion of vapor, lying on the ground was a machine with a telephone attached to it, “I’m impressed, these super-secure anti-spy satellite phones are expensive. I’m still pretty sure that Red Ribbon listens in on all of them, though.”

“Wait, please, don’t press anything-” the Crocodile Man began, only to groan when Bulma ignored the request entirely. She pressed the call back button, and the phone started to ring.

“Keep his mouth shut, Eel, could you?”

“Sure thing, boss-lady,” the handcuffs said, before stretching back into Eel’s preferred human shape, only his arm remaining transformed. It stretched out and divided into two tendrils, one wrapped around the Crocodile Man’s wrists, the other around his snout.

Clark turned towards the machine when the phone was picked up.

“Herkimer?” asked a woman’s voice, “Do you have news for Doctor Sivana?”

Bulma picked up the phone, “So the Colorado Crocodile Man was working with the Bat, and with Doctor Sivana, huh?” she asked.

The woman on the other side of the line went quiet for a moment, before replying “...I think you called the wrong number, good day.”

“Hey! If you hang up on me, I’m dumping a Dragon Ball in a hole somewhere out of the way and burying it,” Bulma threatened, “I want answers.”

“I- you- but-” the woman on the other end stammered, “...Please hold. And don’t do anything with that ball!” Clark could hear as she pressed a button, and soon Prince music began to play over the line.

Clark shook himself out, and moved closer, before looking at Bulma, “Do you think you’ll get anything out of him?”

“Maybe. Anything on the guy chasing us is better than what we have,” Bulma muttered. They had checked on the position of the two Dragon Balls stolen by the robot through the Radar, and they were still making their way east. Last time they checked at that range, they were crossing the Atlantic, out of North America entirely. Clark and Bulma had debated whether that meant that the Minnesotan Sivana Industries was a dud or not.

The music eventually stopped, and Clark could hear breathing over the other end of the line, “Brief,” said the voice of a man.

“Sivana.” Bulma replied.

“ Doctor Sivana,” he corrected, “I suppose this means that you’ve defeated Herkimer just as you defeated Jeepers. Is he alive?”

“He is,” Bulma said, “despite the fact that he tried to kill us.”

“You’re as merciful as you are annoyingly tenacious, Brief. Thank you. Although I suppose it’s not so much that you’re tenacious, as much as that you’ve found yourself a powerful friend. Damaging Mister Atom, outpacing Jeepers, and now stopping Herkimer, the best assassin I’ve cooked up in a vial to date. As much as it shames me, my minions clearly aren’t able to match your own. At least not without some very expensive upgrades. I see that I now have only two options remaining to me.”

“And what are those?” Bulma taunted.

“Diplomacy, or drastic measures,” Doctor Sivana said pleasantly, “Which would you prefer?”

“Let’s try diplomacy first,” Clark interrupted.

“Ah, the boy . Very well,” Doctor Sivana said, “Our two parties shall come to a compromise. You will surrender the Dragon Radar, and the two Dragon Balls in your possession, to Herkimer. In exchange, my people will stop trying to kill you, and when my party has finished collecting the Dragon Balls and we’ve made our wish on the Dragon God… I’ll return your Dragon Radar to you, and you can look for the Dragon Balls again next year. How about it? It’s a fair deal.”

“What do you want to wish for?” Clark asked.

“The only thing that’s truly valuable in this world, my boy. The only thing that I can’t get through my own efforts alone. The only thing that I would willingly rely on cheating, all-powerful magic for. Knowledge . Knowledge of magic. Of the hidden history of the universe. Everything I don’t already know, or could never find out for myself.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Clark admitted, “I thought you’d wish for something more dangerous, or selfish.”

“Hah! Shows what you know. There’s nothing that could help me more. Money beyond comparison, godlike magical power, control over the world, adoration from the masses, all of that will come to me naturally once I know everything !” Doctor Sivana said, his voice growing in manic excitement.

“I don’t think I like the idea of someone like you controlling the world,” Bulma said, resolute, “I refuse. What’s the second option?”

Doctor Sivana’s good mood died in a second, “The second option, is that I stop sending homemade assassins, and splurge for a professional . Your fates are sealed, children. But, out of the generosity of my heart, if you let Herkimer go free, I won’t send them after your family first, Brief. And I won’t look more carefully into yours, Smallville boy.”

A chill ran down Clark’s spine, and Bulma paled.

Wordlessly, Eel uncoiled his body from around Herkimer, and the Crocodile Man stood up, brushing himself off, “Thanks boss,” he said towards the phone, “see you soon,” with that, the reptilian assassin turned around, and dashed into the woods, moving with inhuman speed.

He vanished into the woods, and the three teenagers were left to stare at the satellite phone silently.

“I hope whatever you’re trying to wish for yourselves,” Doctor Sivana began, “is worth the danger you’ve invited on yourselves children. Goodbye.”

There was a click, and the call ended.

Chapter Text

Music blasted out of the radio as they rumbled down the road.

Clark had the back of the hovercar to himself, lying down on the seat and trying to focus simply on resting. In the hours that had passed since they signed out of their hotel and left Middleton behind, the ache from the bullets had gotten worse.

The other two sat in the front, Bulma behind the wheel with Eel in the passenger seat. Neither said anything as she drove.

All of them were affected by the threat. Bulma most of all, considering she was in the most danger. The scientist didn’t know about Eel yet- at least not until Herkimer got back to him and explained what had happened, -and he didn’t know Clark’s name, although he could find out relatively easily.

Clark closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he felt a bit better, a bit worse, and the sky was darker. Worse yet, he still felt tired. He wondered where they would be sleeping tonight.

The capsule house was busted. Instead, Bulma had moved everything inside she wanted to keep into a dedicated storage capsule. But as night fell, they didn’t stop driving, Bulma simply switching on the lights and powering on along the highway.

“Why not let me take the wheel?” Eel asked, after a while, “I can go for a good while without sleeping. Part of the whole plastic thing.”

Bulma didn’t say anything, and simply pulled to the side of the road, slowing down to a stop. Once the hovercar came to a stop she undid her seatbelt, and slowly got up and out of the seat. Eel reached over and turned off the engine and the lights, and then reached back and picked up Clark with one giant, but very careful, hand, and set him on the ground next to them. He pressed the capsulize button on the side of the vehicle, and handed it to Bulma.

“...Eel? What’s going on?”

“I just remembered that I have a better option,” he said, “And consider it a thank-you, for saving my butt back there in the woods.” Opening his mouth inhumanly wide, he reached inside, and pulled out a slightly sticky capsule. He tossed it out, and out of the vapor came a vehicle that looked like a double-decker bus.

“A Type-M house-wagon. One of the biggest RVs on the market.” Bulma recognized, with annoyance, “You don’t use the official Capsule Corp brand?”

“Off-brand is cheaper,” Eel replied, “Look. It’s got a bathroom, a shower, a bed, a fridge, and more comfortable seats than this hovercar does, no offense. You destroyed your house to help me, it’s the least I can do.”

Bulma sighed, before smiling, “Thanks, Eel.”

Clark patted him on the back, before joining Bulma in walking inside the huge vehicle. After they familiarized themselves with it, and each had a turn to freshen up with the shower, Bulma went back outside and got out some of her and Clark’s bags, bringing it back inside to prepare for the night.

But when she got inside, Clark was already asleep. Bulma threw a blanket over him, and his chosen bed of the sofa-style seat built into the wall next to the table. She turned to set up a bed for Eel on the bed next to it, only to find that Eel wasn’t preparing to sleep, instead taking a seat behind the wheel, and starting the vehicle up.

“You’re not sleeping?” she asked.

“Like you said, we’re going to keep driving. That’s the plan, right? We stick to the roads and follow them to the west coast, and from there, free from the air travel restrictions they have here in the U.S. we cross the ocean in your fancy hovercar?”

“Eel, you don’t have to stay up. You can sleep too.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I was serious about the not needing as much sleep thing.”

Bulma watched as he started the engine, and navigated his way back onto the road. This late in the evening, it was almost empty.

She took a seat at the table, and looked down at the sleeping Clark, wincing at the purple marks that were beginning to show up across his body. “I’m beginning to think that this might have been a dumb idea,” she said softly.

“What?” Eel asked.

“This whole quest for the Dragon Balls,” she began, “It- it was just meant to be a sign that I could be independent. Show my Dad that he could trust me to be on my own. But I’ve already proven that. I’ve risked my life a bunch of times, and kept going. Even before Clark joined me. But now he’s risking his life too. And you’re risking yours. And- I’m sorry, for making you risk your lives for me. Thugs, bounty hunters? I could handle them. But professional hitmen is another thing entirely. But now it’s too late to give up. We had our chance, and I refused out of pride. Now he’s not going to stop trying to kill us until either he has all the Dragon Balls, or we do.”

“...Hey Bulma, want to know something?”

“What?”

“Clark took the batteries out of the remote the first night.”

She froze up in shock, and then relaxed, aiming a half-hearted glare at the sleeping boy, “See if I’ll let him carry anything important from now on.”

“My point is, you two are the first people to treat me decently since I- since I became a plastic man. Originally, when I heard your plans, I was just going to stick around until you left the country, and then ditch you. But after spending time with both of you… I’m sticking with it. As far as this whole thing goes, I’m with you.”

“I don’t know how far it’s going to go myself,” she admitted.

“Do you know what you’re going to wish for?” Eel said, and she looked up at him in surprise.

“Changing the subject?” she asked.

“It’s not a different subject. The journey ends when we reach the dragon, right? And that dragon’s going to give us a wish. So, what are you wishing for?”

She sighed, and flicked her hair back with her hand, “I haven’t thought about it,” she lied, “I’ve been doing all of this for science. Once I prove magic exists, I’ll be famous forever. That was my only goal.”

“You don’t have anything you want to wish for?” Eel pressed.

Bulma laughed, “...Strawberries.” 

“Strawberries?” 

“A lifetime supply of strawberries,” Bulma affirmed.

“Can’t you buy as many strawberries as you want?” Eel teased.

“Fine then. I don’t have a wish. I mean, I’m already the smartest, richest, most beautiful young woman on the planet. What else could I want?”

“Cool. So I can have the wish?” Eel asked. 

“What! No.”

Eel laughed.

Clark shifted in his sleep, and despite being made of bruises, smiled.

Chapter Text

“I’m already offering a small fortune, here,” the scientist growled.

“It’s barely more than the minimum fee for an assassination for one high-value target, and you’re asking for far more than that,” the shadowed figure said.

“How is three children ‘far more’ than a single ‘high-value’ adult?” Doctor Sivana demanded.

The figure raised a hand, raising one finger, “The assassination of the heiress to the Brief fortune. She is a person of interest, and one with a large amount of influence. Our organization does not shy from striking at the rich and powerful, but the Brief family is another matter entirely. By inventing capsules, promoting the utilization of solar power, and creating the no-emissions antigravity engine, they’ve had a large hand in improving the natural state of the planet. Something which has always been part of our leader’s ultimate goals.”

“I’m not asking you to kill her father! I’m just asking you to kill his brat and her friends. What’s she done for the planet lately, huh?”

The figure raised two more fingers, “Ignoring the heiress, she is a target that is well protected by two formidable opponents, both of whom you also want dead. Metahuman bodyguards are challenges to get around. Especially ones that, as you’ve proven, are capable enough to fend off even other metahumans. In general, we always ask to be paid double if our agents are expected to fight against super-human opponents.”

“I’ll admit that my minions didn’t do well, but both of the targets are still children. They’re not invincible. One of them saw the boy bleed, and he heard the stretchy one cry out in pain,” Doctor Sivana protested.

The figure raised a fourth finger, “And even should our agent deal with all of them, you wish for him to retrieve specific, guarded objects, and deliver them to you. This qualifies under our terms and conditions as a ‘heist’. Which, while also being a service we can provide, does involve a whole order of different specialists and related fees.”

“I’m asking you to grab three small objects from their corpses before you leave. That’s not a heist, it’s barely a mugging!”

The figure raised their fifth finger, and then closed their hand into a fist, “Finally, you have been very rude. The League of Assassins is a respectable organization, and we are very picky in our clientele. Your commission was only considered because of your connections in high places, Doctor Sivana.”

“Doctor- Oh, wait, you actually said it the first time.”

The figure crossed their arms, unimpressed.

Doctor Sivana sighed, and leaned back in his chair, “...I apologize for my rudeness. I have no wish to alienate or insult the League. But the fact is… what you’re asking is simply outside of my budget. Sivana Industries is, of course, profitable as always, but not to the degree where I can afford your rates. I’m not Red Ribbon.”

“Then we have no more to discuss.”

“Perhaps I could pay you in other ways. In your line of work, serious injuries must be common, yes? Sivana Industries is working on technology that will revolutionize the field of prosthesis. We also do a great deal of research and development for the U.S. military. I’m sure an organization in your field could benefit from it as well.” The shadowed figure turned back towards Doctor Sivana, interested.

“...A compromise, then,” the figure said eventually, “You pay the rate for the usual assassination of one high-value target. We dispatch an assassin equipped for that level of risk. If they succeed, despite the odds, then you were right, and you don’t pay a cent more. If they fail, then we are right. You will not receive a refund, and you will pay back the loss of our agent and equipment with your technology. Should you renege on us, then the Demon’s Head will personally extract recompense from your hide, instead.”

Doctor Sivana considered the offer, “Very well. It’s a deal.”

With that, Doctor Sivana pushed forwards the briefcase containing the payment, and the figure stepped back into the shadows, and disappeared from sight. Doctor Sivana grinned, and walked out of the room. Waiting in the next room over, he smiled at his collection of minions. “We’ve got a professional on the case now. The capture of the Dragon Balls is guaranteed.”

“Are you sure we can trust 'em?” Herkimer asked, his reptilian eyes focused on the nearest window, “These ninjas seem like the sneaky type.”

“Lionel swears by the League of Assassins. Says that they never once failed him,” Doctor Sivana replied.

Mai crossed her arms, “Should we even be relying on them? The Brief girl’s friends weren’t harmed by guns. What are people who still run around waving swords going to do?”

Jeepers shrugged, “Maybe poison?”

“We could poison them,” Mai grumbled, “Why do we need to pay an exorbitant sum for something so simple? I mean, Mister Atom is already far stronger than he was before, thanks to his charity work in Russia. Why not simply send him again?”

“We are doing this,” Doctor Sivana said, glaring at all three of them, “Because the League of Assassins has proven time and again that they have something that you fellows do not.”

“Cool outfits?” Jeepers asked.

“A secret mountain base?” Herkimer tried.

“Sticks up their butts?” Mai offered.

“Reliability!” Doctor Sivana growled, “They won’t fail me where you bumbling incompetents have.”

Mai frowned, “That’s unfair. I haven’t failed you yet, sir.”

The scientist rolled his eyes, “Regardless, now that the collection of the four-star and six-star are guaranteed, we should focus on the ones that have eluded our grasp. Now… What's our status on the ball in the Pacific?”

“We can still barely get a reading on the Sivana Dragon Radar,” Mai said, looking away, “It’s been moving around too much. Not enough of its power has soaked into the surrounding area. The search area is just too wide.”

“From what I heard of the Brief Dragon Radar while I was stalking them,” Herkimer began, “it seems like they have the opposite problem. If a Dragon Ball has moved around recently, then they can track it directly. Otherwise, the ambient energy just confuses things.”

Doctor Sivana huffed in annoyance, “Very well. And Japan?”

Mai sighed, “No change. It’s as unreachable as ever.”

“Hmph. Mai, that is the reason why we will not be wasting Mister Atom’s power-up on the Brief children. Once he becomes powerful enough, no amount of fire, magical or otherwise, will be able to keep him away.”

Chapter Text

Driving through the mountains had been an interesting experience, but even more interesting than that was what came after. He had been expecting that on the other side of the massive hills and rocky peaks, the land would go back to how it had been. Flat, endless farmland, like in Kansas. Instead, once they left the mountains, they entered the desert.

It was like a shock to his system, to stare out from the road and see open plains covered in short shrubs and dry grass. It wasn’t an endless sea of sand studded with the occasional cactus, like he had been expecting from movies, but at the same time it wasn’t anything like the land on the opposite side of the mountains. He was surprised at how much green he could still pick out in the land all around them, coexisting with the skeletons of dead bushes and vast swaths of brown dried-out grass. And the further west they got, the drier and browner the vegetation became- but never completely. 

As they drove, long stretches passed between any sign of human habitation, but there were other signs that people still used the land. Rather than being marked out by trees, telephone lines could be seen for miles, connected by a long, unbroken chain of massive poles. Every now and then there would be a sign on the side of the road, warning drivers to watch out for cattle, but the only ones Clark saw were far away from the road entirely.

This wasn’t the domain of farmers any longer, this was the land of ranchers.

He found his mood improving over the course of the next two days of near-constant driving, despite the fact that his bruises were finally starting to come in, and had turned most of his body black-and-blue from the gunfire. It left him having to move around gingerly and carefully to avoid bumping anything with his sensitive skin. And the few times he had to leave the house-wagon, it was always wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants. Which in the incredibly dry, hot, weather was unbearable. But at least it stopped them from having to explain to concerned strangers at gas stations or diners why he was literally covered in bruises. But for the most part, they kept their stops short. They drove and drove, through Utah and into Nevada. Bulma and Eel alternating who would be behind the wheel, and napping often.

Bulma’s mood improved as well during their travel through the desert. The shock of Doctor Sivana threatening their families and promising their deaths was still fresh in all their minds, and pushed the urgency with which they were pushing towards the west coast, but the longer they went without an incident, the more they were able to relax again.

The incident had scared them, yes, but it also reaffirmed their determination to continue.

On the third day of their trip through the desert, they stopped for dinner at a small diner on the side of the road, and found themselves a booth by one of the windows. They ordered their food, and then reassured the server that they truly did want that much, and then reassured the owner of the diner that they would be able to pay for it, before settling in and making plans for the evening. 

“We’ve been making pretty good time,” Bulma said, “I think that by tomorrow night, we’ll be in California. After that, we can cut right across the ocean to the next Dragon Ball in the Pacific, and then it’s off to Japan.” 

“California, huh? I always thought about going to Hollywood,” Eel said. He usually tried to keep a low profile when they were out and about, but he couldn’t help himself as he reshaped his chin and the bones of his face, mimicking Arnold Schwarzenegger. 

Clark swatted him on the shoulder, and grinned, “We probably won't be staying long. I’ve never really thought about leaving the country before. Is there anything special we have to do? I brought my passport.”

Eel frowned, “Well, I sure didn’t. Do people still need one these days?”  

“It’s a good idea to have it with you just in case we do get into some kind of trouble and need to prove our identities, but if the country we’re visiting is part of the United Nations, we don’t need one to enter.” Bulma explained, “Well, usually. Some countries are sticklers about it.”

Clark frowned, “Really? Ma always said that international travel was a hassle.” 

“She grew up in the age before capsules, and before hovercars cheaper than their ground-bound still-running-on-gas equivalents became widely available,” Bulma said, a little smug.

“Well… then why didn’t we just use the hovercar to fly the whole way there. It’d be easier to just shoot straight to the next Dragon Ball without worrying about speed limits and following roads,” Clark asked. 

Bulma stared at him in surprise, “Are you serious?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Clark asked. 

“You really did live out in the sticks, didn’t you,” Bulma said. It wasn’t a question. 

Clark huffed, crossing his arms, “Smallville isn’t the sticks.” 

“It’s a town literally named Smallville,” Eel said, grinning as Clark turned a betrayed look his way, “Sorry Clark.” 

“Look, nobody in town even owned a hovercar. I’ve only seen them in movies and stuff,” Clark said, beginning to get defensive. 

Bulma sighed, “Okay, so- international law is decided by the United Nations, and approved by the King of Earth. But if you’re inside a nation, you still have to follow that nation’s laws. And the United States, proud home to the owners of most of the world’s largest oil companies, really didn’t like the idea of people adapting to the concept of flying personal vehicles that didn’t need gasoline. So in the U.S. there’s laws saying that hovercars aren’t allowed to go more than a yard off the ground except in emergencies, and that they need to follow all the same laws as regular automobiles.” She rested her chin in her hand, and glared out the diner window at the various parked trucks and cars, “The only other alternative is forcing everyone who wants to buy a hovercar to get a pilot’s license, which is a lot harder. It’s all just so stupid! My Dad was selling solar-powered antigravity engines when I was six years old! Why are there still so many gas stations?” 

“Tell us how you really feel, Bulma,” Eel said.

“So when you flew after us and saved me from Jeepers, that was illegal?” Clark asked, wide-eyed.

“No,” she said waving it off, “Flying in emergencies is fine.” 

The three of them continued idly chatting as they waited for their food, none of them noticed the young man sitting in the booth one down from theirs, scribbling down everything they said. 

As a young waitress approached him, however, the young man froze up, quickly leaning forwards and covering the notebook with his elbow. The waitress didn’t notice the rushed movement, “Welcome to Sue’s, what can I get… for…” she trailed off as she stared at his face, finding herself starting to blush. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. He was a young man of chinese descent, tall, with a long wild mane of thick black hair. His clothes had short enough sleeves that she could openly ogle his muscular, tanned arms. 

They met eyes for a moment, and the young man’s entire body stiffened. He quickly looked away, a blush beginning to form on his cheeks. 

The waitress grinned wide. He liked what he saw too ! 

“What are you hungry for, honey?” she asked, leaning a little closer. He leaned back in response, still too shy to meet her eyes. 

“I’m, uh, still deciding. For the moment.” 

She smirked, “Well, let me know when you’ve decided. Or if you have any other questions for me.” 

“...Right.” 

As she turned around, she shook her hips a little more than she normally would, and giggled as the boy quickly averted his gaze from her entirely.

As soon as she turned her attention away, he breathed out a sigh of relief, and hurried to catch up on the conversation going on behind him. This was his first official mission, and he was going to do things by the book. Although considering that his list of targets included two metahumans meant that this mission was anything but typical. Still, this was his only chance. A chance to prove to his instructors that he could overcome his weakness in the field, even if he couldn’t in training. A chance to prove that he had what it took to stand among the League of Assassins, that all the time, money, and training that had been invested into him weren’t for naught.

He glanced back towards the waitress- but she immediately noticed, and winked at him. 

The assassin suppressed a shudder, averting his eyes again. Why did girls have to be so scary?

Chapter Text

Eel bounced his head along to the music on the radio as they drove.

The road was clear, Bulma was napping on the upper level of the house-wagon, and Clark was cooking lunch for them all using the house-wagon’s tiny kitchen. It was a little bit harder to handle while the vehicle was in motion, but by now all three of them were well-practiced in it. Already, they were most of the way through Nevada, and might even hit California by dinnertime.

It seemed like it was going to be a good day, up until the moment everything started exploding. 

The house-wagon veered as the explosion engulfed the very front of the vehicle, destroying the front wheels, the engine, and blowing in the windshield in a cloud of shattered glass. Eel shrieked as he was pelted first by the shards, and then by the intense heat and force of the explosion proper. 

Clark, further back inside, had time to jump backwards and duck behind the stairwell. He braced himself as the wave of glass and sound mostly passed him by, instead pelting the back wall of the mobile home. But that was just the first wave. Without its engine, and without wheels to guide it, the house-wagon began to scrape against the road, veering right and left and shaking the entire vehicle. It quickly became too much, and Clark’s stomach tilted as the gigantic vehicle toppled onto its side. 

As gravity shifted left, everything in the kitchen fell into the table and bench with a loud clatter- including all the food he had been cooking. But at least when the loose objects in the kitchen finished falling, everything was quiet and still again. 

“Eel! Are you alright?” Clark called out. He received a groan in reply and grit his teeth. The boy righted himself, and then dashed across the new floor, careful to avoid bits of food and shattered glass, and hurried back towards the front. There, half-hidden by the smoke, was the partially-melted form of his friend. “Eel! Speak to me!” 

“I somehow doubt that he’s in proper condition for that,” said an unfamiliar voice. 

Clark was startled, and pushed himself back just in time to avoid the swing of a silvery blade. The young man who had swung it climbed in through the wreckage of the window, and looked down at him with pride. He kicked the half-melted head of Eel aside as he walked, keeping his eyes solely on Clark. 

“Hey! Don’t hurt my friend! Who are you?” Clark demanded, rage building inside him, “Are you working for Sivana?” 

The young man simply smiled, and surged forwards. Clark blinked in surprise as the man turned in the motion, almost like the step of a dance, and used the force of it to bring his sword down on the boy. “Hyaaaa!” 

Clark got his arms up in time, but cried out as the edge of it bit into his bruised skin. “Gah!”

The man’s eyes widened in surprise, before retreating back a few steps, still refusing to look away from the boy, “My Masters were right, you are unnaturally tough.” 

Clark snarled, throwing himself forwards only to blink in surprise as the would-be assassin stepped just enough out of the way to avoid his tackle. Instead Clark found himself being the one getting attacked as the assassin slammed a foot into his side from behind. Clark called out in pain, the bruise already there spiking in pain at getting such harsh treatment. 

But it was just the start of the beating. 

Clark was amazed at the man’s movement. The way he would use momentum- both his own, and Clark’s, -to turn an attack into a dodge, and then back into an attack, as needed. The sword flashed in and out around them, occasionally scoring a hit and leaving Clark with another bleeding scratch, but it wasn’t sharp enough, and didn’t have enough force behind it to actually penetrate his skin, but it was a constant annoyance, a constant source of distraction and pain. 

Clark kicked off the ground in another wild charge, but the man once again dodged around him, letting Clark slam into the counter of the kitchen, which was on the ceiling due to the wagon-house’s fall. As the sword swung upwards at him, Clark decided enough was enough and turned to face it. 

He reached out, braced himself for the pain, and caught the blade with both his hands. The edge bit into him painfully, but once again, it could barely penetrate. 

Clark growled, wrenched his arms in different directions, and was rewarded with a satisfying crack. The sword shattered in his grip, and Clark quickly tossed the shards aside. The assassin imitated him a moment later, throwing the bladeless hilt to the side with a frown. 

“You’re disarmed!” Clark tried, “Now surrender.” 

The young man scoffed, a cocky smile appearing on his face, “A martial artist is never truly disarmed, you know. Wolf Fang Fist! ” 

Clark stared as the man descended, extending one leg outwards almost straight, while keeping his other bent behind him. His arms were kept close to his chest, his hands open, but his fingers curled like claws. A moment later, the assassin lunged, and he was on Clark in a blur of swinging limbs. Heavy kicks, palm strikes, painful swipes with curled fingers. 

Finally, the young man released a devastating two-handed push, one that slammed both palms into Clark’s gut, and jabbed at the area around him with all ten fingers, pushing into him for a moment like they were meant to stab. 

Clark was sent flying backwards, smashing into the wall and colliding with the debris there. That man was almost as strong as he was? How? Another metahuman? Clark was left dazed, barely reacting as the man walked forwards, never truly leaving the strange stance he had first entered. Constantly ready to lunge, ready to swipe out with his hands. The assassin drew close, and reared back for one final blow- only to flinch as Clark’s stomach gurgled. The boy’s eyes forced themselves open as he was brought back to the present.

“Didn’t even get to eat lunch yet,” Clark muttered, pushing himself back to his feet, now on his second wind. 

“How unfortunate that you’ll die on an empty stomach. Now-” the assassin began. 

“What the heck happened!?” Bulma shrieked from the stairwell. Clark and the assassin turned at once, as Bulma let herself drop down. The woman stared at the chaos all around them, before lighting eyes on Clark and the man,“Clark, who’s pretty boy?” she asked, annoyed, “And how did the wagon get knocked over?” 

Chapter Text

“I- uh, well…” the assassin stammered, staring at Bulma and beginning to blush. 

Clark was more on the ball, however, and ducked forwards, slamming his fist into the man’s stomach as hard as he could, sending him tumbling down towards the explosion-damaged front of the vehicle, “He’s the one who blew up Eel and the engine!” Clark shouted, chasing after his prey and tackling him out of the ruined window and out onto the road.

Bulma hurried after him, reaching into her pocket and pulling out one of the capsules she had stolen from the Crocodile Man. In a burst of white vapor there was a machine gun in hand. She moved to follow the two out of the vehicle.

Outside, the assassin still hadn’t regained his cool. Where before he could avoid Clark’s blows almost effortlessly, now he could barely manage, too distracted by alternating his attention between Clark, and the woman advancing on them. And with every step she moved closer, the harder it was to think about anything. Not the gun in her hand, not the super-strong child attacking him, and not his mission. 

When Clark finally landed a solid blow to the young man’s gut, it bowled him over, leaving him lying back on the desert road. Bulma stomped over, and leveled the gun at him, cocking it, “What’s your deal?” she growled, “Who are you? Who are you working for? Are you the hitman Sivana sent?” she narrowed her eyes, “I thought you’d be older. And less pretty.” 

“Yamcha. I’m- My name. I…” the man flinched. Why did he tell them his name? She was right in front of him. All he had to do was grab her, pull her down, and then get one good chop at her neck, or one good strike to her heart. She wouldn’t have super-durability to save her. And then, without the woman to distract him, he could kill the circus strongboy at his leisure. Mission success. 

All he had to do was reach out- 

All he had to do was-!

All he…

Her eyes were so blue. 

Yamcha rolled away suddenly, surprising both of them. Bulma pulled the trigger on the gun, and shrieked in surprise as it kicked in her arms, rattling out bullets into the road. With some space between them, Yamcha threw down a capsule of his own. In a burst of vapor his Jet Momonga appeared, and the young man threw himself onto it, grabbing the handles, gunning the engine- and flying off into the desert. 

Clark glared at the departing vehicle as it vanished into the distance, before turning to Bulma, exhaustion clear in his face, “Are you okay, Bulma?”

“I’m fine. Just a little banged up from the crash,” she said, turning back to the house-wagon, “Damn it, we’re going through a lot of these.”

“Did you see Eel?” Clark asked. 

Bulma frowned, “Yeah, where is he- wait, earlier did you say he blew Eel up?” 

Clark nodded, and hurried back over to the window, climbing inside and dropping to his knees. He gently picked up Eel’s head, staring at his slack face and emotionless goggles, “Hey, buddy, you okay?” 

The jaw moved, and the goggles twitched, shifting with the former criminal’s gaze, “...Clark?” 

“I’m here,” Clark said. 

“Oh man…” Eel pulled back, and to Clark’s relief, the melted parts of him began to retract as well, the plastic man slowly pulling himself back together, “...did anyone catch the number of that bomb ?” 

“Apparently, he’s Yamcha,” Bulma said, climbing in as well, “And I think he’s the hitman Sivana sent.” 

“Well,” Eel began, “that sucks. I’ve never been blown up before. I already knew that I didn’t do well with intense heat, but big fiery explosions are a hundred times worse.” He shook himself out, and then cleared his throat, before spitting out a piece of metal, “Ugh.” 

Bulma turned towards the inside of the house-wagon, and sighed, “Sorry about your ride,” she offered, “I guess it’s back to the hovercar,” she glared back at the desert behind them, “Which we’re going to have to be careful with, considering that now it’s the last vehicle we have.”

“Yeah, I don’t have any other capsules,” Eel said, “Sorry.” 

Bulma put her hands on her hips, and frowned at the interior of the wagon. “Alright then, I guess we know the drill by now. Grab anything you want to keep, and we’ll move it over to the storage capsule. The two older members of the group got busy, scavenging what they could of their things from the crash, but as Clark joined them in packing his bags again, his mind was elsewhere.

The way Yamcha moved his body- he had never seen anything like it before. At least not in real life. Martial arts. Clark looked down at his fist, and then slowly opened it, mimicking the claw gesture that Yamcha had kept his hands in. 

Chapter Text

“Report, agent. I have our client here with me, interested in hearing your results.” 

Yamcha knew that meant that he was to be careful with his words, “I…” Yamcha opened his mouth, and then hesitated, “I failed to complete my mission. I’m sorry. I’ve brought shame on the League.” his handler was silent, and Yamcha slumped over in the phone booth, the weight of his failure settling over his shoulders.

“Were the metahumans too much trouble?” the handler asked slowly. 

Yamcha swallowed nervously before speaking. “The panzerfaust put the shapeshifter out of commission at first, melting him, however he had an unforeseen regenerative ability. When I tracked them down again, I could confirm that he was fine and walking around.” 

“But the other two are dead?” 

“When I fought the other metahuman guard, the child, my slashes barely broke his skin. He broke my sword halfway into the fight with his bare hands.” Yamcha said.

“I see. So you would have needed specialty equipment? A greater degree of firepower? Specialized traps?” the handler offered.

“They could have helped, sir.” 

“Hm. And the primary target?”

“She’s unharmed as well. I couldn’t even touch her,” Yamcha said, ashamed.

“So her bodyguards were too much for you. I see.” Yamcha was surprised as his handler covered for him. But then again, he wasn’t going to mention that an agent of the League had a glaring weakness in front of a client.

Said client then spoke up, “What about the objects? The crystal balls?” the client demanded, “Did you at least grab them?” 

“I wasn’t able to retrieve them, either,” Yamcha admitted, “I didn’t see them on display anywhere.”

“ Drat ,” the client muttered.

His handler sighed, “You know our beliefs regarding failure, agent. You are not welcome back until you have completed your mission, or have died trying. This is a shame. You were a talented martial artist, and you have shown skill in every weapon put in front of you. Truly, a loss to our organization.” 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Yamcha said miserably. 

The phone went silent.

On the other side of the world, in a shady office, the handler looked up at a dismayed Doctor Sivana. The handler kept a smile from appearing on his face. Everything he had said about Yamcha was true- but no amount of prospective talent mattered when Yamcha would go weak-kneed at the sight of a female. He just plain couldn’t interact with half of their prospective clients or harm half of their potential targets. If the Demon’s Head allowed for the training of female agents, the boy wouldn’t have even made it through basic training, considering he would have fainted if he tried sparring against a woman. All the time and resources invested into his training were wasted.

And now he was rid of him. Better yet, the League of Assassins had been rewarded for it. The technology, both medical and weaponized, that Doctor Sivana would provide more than made up for the loss of one half-useless agent.

The handler began to negotiate for Doctor Sivana’s technology.

Back in California, Yamcha stepped out of the phone booth and considered his next action. He had followed the trio from the desert, over the mountains, and into this coastal town. He had already checked into the same hotel that they would be staying at. He could try making a second attempt, but killing them would be riskier here in a town where people have seen both his and the trio's faces, rather than out in the middle of nowhere. 

Or maybe it didn’t matter if anyone saw their faces, because Yamcha wouldn’t be able to work up the nerve to kill them.

He sighed, putting his face in his hands, before reaching into his pocket and drawing out a notebook. Flipping it open, he read through the first bit of what he overheard, “They’re heading out to the ocean, and then towards Japan. Looking for something.” He frowned, and glanced back towards the hotel, “The client was after their crystal balls. Are they competing treasure hunters?” he asked himself.

It felt right. 

They would be isolated, out on the open ocean. Better yet, it provided a method of assassination that Yamcha might even be able to pull off. Even despite those- those incredibly blue eyes, that stared right into the heart of him. 

He could blow up a hovercar without tripping over himself, even if he knew a woman was aboard. Right? Probably. If they were up in the sky, over the ocean, then simply being without a vehicle might be enough to do them in. Nobody could keep swimming without rest forever. The thought turned his stomach a little, but he had long since learned to suppress that feeling. 

He was an assassin! 

He forced a grin on his face, and then walked back into the hotel. He had made sure to book a room with a view of the hotel’s parking lot. He would get in a quick nap, and then keep watch over the front of the building until morning. When the trio were ready to leave, he would see, and be ready for them. 

He locked the door behind him, and dropped a capsule onto the floor. In a burst of vapor, a suitcase appeared. He opened it, and pulled out the device he wanted, and the navigator that was paired with it. As a test, he turned on the small black box, and then looked down on the screen of the navigator. Sure enough, it told him the exact location of the tracker. All he had to do was attach the machine to their hovercar- easy enough, considering the back of the machine was magnetic -and there would be nowhere on Earth they could hide from him. 

He slept until about three in the morning, and started his watch. The trio were the types to wake up early, and he wasn’t going to chance them leaving the hotel at the crack of dawn. He was glad of it, too, because once the sun rose up, it wasn’t long after that the three tired teenagers walked out the front doors. 

Bulma pulled the capsule for the hovercar out of her pocket, and threw it out on the ground. At the same time, Yamcha opened his window, turned on the tracker, and threw. 

The wave of vapor and the sound of the capsule opening covered up the loud clack of the tracker attaching itself to the back of the suddenly-appearing vehicle. Yamcha grinned and closed the window, pulling the shades back. He had been too hasty in declaring himself a failure. By this time tomorrow, he’d be back in the League of Shadows headquarters, being congratulated on his mission being successful against all odds. He was sure of it. 

Chapter Text

Clark stared out at the ocean with amazement. He had never seen anything like it, smelled anything like it, heard anything like it. Splashing around in the occasional lake or stream could have done nothing to prepare him for it. This early in the morning the beach was quiet and almost empty. It seemed perfect. 

“I give you the Pacific!” Bulma said proudly, stepping out of the hovercar, “How does it measure up, Clark?” 

“It’s beautiful,” he said. 

Bulma waited for Clark and Eel to join her, before capsulizing the vehicle again and making her way across the sidewalk, and then the short bit of grass, down to the sand. 

Eel hurried after her, “Are we stopping to have some fun in the sun before we get going?” he asked, before his suit melted away into his skin, leaving him in nothing but shorts, “Because I brought my swimwear.” 

Clark cleared the grass in a single giant hop, landing in the sand next to them, “I wouldn’t mind swimming for a bit.” 

“Oh, I foresee plenty of swimming no matter what,” Bulma said, staring out into the blue, “But no. I just wanted to mark the occasion.” She walked slowly towards the ocean, watching as the water gently pulled in and out. Squatting down, she worked one shoe off, and then the other.

“What occasion?” Clark asked. 

“I started this journey in my hometown, Metropolis,” Bulma said, pressing her feet into the sand, “And one of the last things I did was go to the beach, and do exactly this.” She extended one leg out into the wet sand, and shivered as the cold water came back in, and covered the foot, “I dipped my toe off the side of the East Coast, and then started my journey west. Now, I’m dipping my toe off the side of the West Coast. I crossed an entire continent.” 

Clark grinned, and kicked off his shoes, stomping past her and wading into the water with her, “You crossed a continent,” he said, “And soon, we’re going to cross the whole world.” 

Eel laughed, before leaping into the water and taking on the form of a ball. “Cannonball!” Bulma shrieked as he hit the water with a splash, spraying both her and Clark with the cold early-morning seawater. Clark laughed, and jumped up into the air with all his might, rising up, to Eel’s shock, several yards before crashing back down into the water next to with almost as big of a splash.

Bulma groaned, staring down at her wet clothes, “This was supposed to be a moment , and now look what you’ve done!” 

“I think it’s a pretty good moment either way,” Eel said, lounging back in the water and floating. Bulma tsked, but as she turned away she was smiling too. Still, when Bulma dropped the hovercar’s capsule out on the sand again a few indulgent minutes later, the boys pulled themselves out of the ocean to towel off. 

Climbing back into the hovercar, Bulma looked towards the horizon, and grinned, “No more roads, no more altitude laws, and hopefully no more monsters, robots, or hitmen,” she said, “Clark, you’re on Radar duty.” 

“Roger, Captain Bulma,” Clark said, taking the device from her and turning it on, adjusting it quickly to show the Pacific’s Dragon Ball. 

“Eel, you’re in charge of supplies. Mostly because you can reach the trunk through the back seat.” 

“Snack duty, got it,” Eel replied.

With that, she pressed her foot to the pedal, and they raced out straight over the ocean. Bulma didn’t let up, either, accelerating faster and faster, pushing the hovercar towards its top speed. Clark looked behind him, and watched the west coast shrink away, no longer able to identify the town they had just left.

Only a few minutes later he couldn’t see any land at all.

Turning back ahead of them, he pressed the button on the Dragon Radar, and watched as their positions updated. “We’re on the right path,” he told her. 

“...I think we’re getting close to international waters. It’s about time we really got moving.” Bulma said. 

After that Bulma pressed a button to make the top of their convertible hovercar pop up, and seal them against the wind. They rose up higher into the sky, past the three-foot limit, leaving the spray of the ocean far below them. 

Properly protected, Bulma really gunned it. Their speedometer, which over the course of their journey had more-or-less followed the limits of the road, and rarely went over eighty miles an hour, was now climbing higher than that. Past one hundred miles per hour, closer and closer to two hundred, and then past that as well. All around them, the cabin of the hovercar rumbled at their speed, until Bulma reached about three hundred miles per hour, and set the vehicle on cruise. 

Relaxing, she glanced back towards Clark as he pressed the button again, “Good thinking. Keep it up every few minutes. The Pacific ball is the only one with a tendency to move around a lot.” 

“Why do you think that is?” Clark asked.

“I don’t know,” Bulma admitted, “I’m hoping that it means that someone’s already picked it up, and that it’s sitting inside a boat somewhere. But it could also mean that it’s been knocked around constantly by the currents through the ocean, rolling around at the bottom of the sea. It’s a rock, sure, but it’s not a rock that weighs very much.” 

“What if it was eaten by a fish?” Clark asked. 

“Then we wouldn’t be able to see it on the Radar at all,” Bulma said, “Something about organic matter cuts off the energy the Dragon Balls radiate. Try cupping your hands around one of them, and it might actually vanish from the scanner.” 

Clark reached into the pink backpack, taking out the four-star ball, and did so, bumping up against the button again, sure enough, where there were usually two close-by Dragon Balls that represented Clark’s, and the six-star that Eel found, there was instead just one. 

“That’s a little scary. What do we do if a fish does eat the Dragon Balls?” Clark asked, shoving the ball back in its backpack. 

“Eh, that’s a problem we’ll worry about if it ever actually comes up,” Bulma dismissed. 

The trio spent the morning idly chatting, and around noon, Eel pulled down one of the back seats to reach into the trunk- and their cooler -and made them a small lunch. Until the next time they had a chance to stock up though, they would mostly be sticking to the ingredients for various sandwiches. 

While she was eating, Bulma happened to glance at the side-view mirror, and spotted something glinting in the sunlight, far behind them. Soon, Clark tensed as well, leaning his head towards the hovercar’s windows and pressing his ear against it, “I can hear something. Another hovercar.”

“No,” Bulma corrected, glaring at the vehicle in the rearview mirror, “Not a hovercar, but I still recognize it.” 

“He’s trying again,” Eel groaned. 

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Bulma began, tapping her fingers against the wheel, “We have a few different strategies. Depending on the brand he has, he might be able to catch up with us while we’re at full speed, but I doubt it’ll be comfortable for him. Without walls, the only thing protecting him from the wind, and from the cold, is his suit and his helmet. If we gain enough altitude, he might consider it too dangerous to follow. But if he is willing to risk it, then it’s going to make it a lot easier for him to catch up.”

“Okay, let’s call that plan A,” Eel said, staring out the back window, “What’s Plan B?”

Bulma chewed her lip, “The hovercar is bigger than his hover-jet ski thing,” she said, “If we turn around, and hit the accelerator, we might be able to knock him out of the sky.” 

“Alright,” Eel said, “Let’s call that Plan Z ,” he steepled his fingers together, “How about a plan where he doesn’t catch us, and we don’t crash the hovercar. Hm?” 

“We’ll handle this like we handled Jeepers,” Clark said, unbuckling himself and stowing the Dragon Radar back in the bag with the Dragon Balls. Stuffing it beneath his seat, he slowly stood up, crouching in the seat and stretching his arms, “He can’t fly and fight at the same time.We slow down, and then once he’s close enough, Eel and I can jump across, and beat him up.”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah,” Eel said, “Jump out of the hovercar?” 

“Bulma can catch us afterwards.” 

“Clark,” Bulma said, “Do you know how lucky it was I managed to catch you back then? What if you crash his jet ski?” 

“Then we’ll just fall to the ocean, and you’ll pick us up afterwards,” he said. 

“Are you crazy, kid?” Eel asked Clark, “I might be able to survive a fall like that, but for anyone else, crashing down into the ocean from this far up, this fast, will be like hitting concrete!” he turned to their pilot, “Come on, Bulma, we need another plan. A non-suicidal plan.” 

“This’ll work,” Clark assured.

She glanced back behind them, “...Eel,” she began, “Just how big can you stretch?” 

He narrowed his goggles at her, “Everyone in this car is crazy.” 

She grinned, and pressed a button. With a click, the convertible top began to pull back, and suddenly the hovercar was filled with howling, freezing winds. Clark gripped the seat, and for a moment the hovercar swayed as Bulma fought to keep it moving straight.

Clark extended his hand to his friend, and Eel huffed, before taking it. His body morphed and changed, becoming more concentrated and smaller as Clark picked him up, “Hey!” Eel shouted over the wind, “What are you good at throwing!? I really don’t wanna miss!” 

“Can you give me a football?!” Clark shouted back. 

Eel obliged, compressing himself down into a pigskin in Clark’s hand. His goggles stretching out to form the lace on the ball. The boy tested the weight for a moment, flexing his arm. To Clark’s surprise, it only weighed about as much as a normal football, rather than being the weight of a teenager compressed down to football size. He wondered for a moment how that was even possible, before shrugging it off as more metahuman strangeness.

As the roof of the hovercar retracted completely, he reared back, and used his other hand to aim his shot. 

He wasn’t allowed to play football with the other boys in Smallville, but that didn’t stop him from watching others. And Clark had always been good at observing and mimicking the way other people used their bodies. His form was as perfect as he could make it, and when he finally threw, the force of it caused their hovercar to bob up and down in the aftermath.

Eel shot through the sky like a bullet, lancing out towards the approaching jet ski. Yamcha noticed the projectile quickly, and pulled back on the handles of his Momonga, angling the vehicle so that the ball would instead sail just past him rather than hit dead-on. But that quick thinking proved to be useless as the ball suddenly exploded in size, unfurling first into Eel’s regular shape, and then expanding and stretching outwards in all directions like a sheet. Yamcha shrieked as his vehicle crashed right into the living sheet. 

Eel let out a surprised “Oof!” the moment they made impact, but was on the ball, immediately reaching out with his arms and legs and closing himself around the assassin and his vehicle, trapping them in a bag made of himself.  

Quickly, they spiraled out of control, Yamcha totally unable to see. He punched and kicked furiously at Eel, but it was like striking elastic. Eel stretched with each strike, and the thrashing only served to tangle Yamcha up further, and lose even more control over the direction of his Momonga. 

Back in the hovercar, Bulma cheered as she eased up on the pedal and letting them slow down, “ Direct hit ~! Nice throwing, Clark!” She stared back at the way that the thrashing form of Eel wrapped around their enemies swung and bobbed wildly in the air, but didn’t descend. Hover vehicles didn’t really work like old-fashioned hovercraft, which pushed the vehicle up with air. Modern ones had antigravity technology, which let them just float on their own, which meant that even completely enclosed like this, it could still fly.

She spun the wheel, and the hovercar swung back around, rocketing towards them. Even if Eel was sure he could survive a crash into the ocean, she still wanted to be close to pick him up.

At her side, Clark grinned at her, and then moved closer to the edge, gripping it, “Should I go and help him!?” Clark shouted over to her. 

“Give him a chance to bring him down!” she shouted right back as she kept the hovercar circling the thrashing red-and-yellow object. 

Inside Eel’s trap, Yamcha was getting more desperate. He took a capsule out of his pocket and activated it in his hand. In a burst of vapor another sword appeared, and he didn’t waste time in slashing forwards- only to stare in shock as the edge of the blade failed to penetrate Eel’s plastic flesh. 

“Are you indestructible?” Yamcha demanded. 

“Hopefully, if you keep flying this lousy!” Eel snarled back, constricting himself and pressing Yamcha against the controls of his Momonga. Yamcha turned the sword back into a capsule in frustration, before reaching out and grabbing the handle of his vehicle. He yanked it to the side, and immediately his stomach churned as he pushed his vehicle into a dive. 

“You’re afraid of a crash, huh?” Yamcha growled, “Then let’s play chicken!” 

Eel completely cut off his view of the world. He had no idea of how long he had before they slammed into the water. But as he couldn’t see the metahuman’s eyes, he knew that Eel could . 

Yamcha was sure that his discipline would win out against his opponent’s. It was only a matter of time. He knew how well his ride handled. The moment that the metahuman shrunk back and freed him, he would turn back up. 

Any moment now.

Sweat began to bead against his forehead. 

Any moment now, the metahuman would give up, and let him see again. 

He had to. 

Right?

Yamcha gripped the handle, ignoring the chaos his freefall was playing on his stomach. The way his nerves were ratcheting higher and higher. His fingers began to twitch. If he didn’t turn soon, he’d die. But-

Eel ripped himself away from Yamcha, and from the Momonga, taking on the shape of a kite and lifting up and away. Yamcha blinked in surprise, temporarily blinded by the noonday sunlight reflecting off of the waves- the very close waves! He swung his entire weight against the handles of his ride, trying to turn back upwards. The Jet Momonga roared in protest. 

There was a very loud, very large, splash. 

Chapter Text

The hovercar chased after Eel, still in the shape of a kite, for a few minutes before they came close enough for him to dare give up his shape to try and grab on. Clark quickly pulled his friend aboard, and Eel immediately began to melt into the seat, sighing in relief. The hovercar slowed almost to a halt, giving the trio a chance to relax.

“Never make me jump out of a plane again,” he groaned. 

“Sorry,” Clark offered, “You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, “What happened to the hitman?” 

“There was a splash,” Bulma said, looking down at the ocean below, “But we were mostly focused on trying to catch you. I don’t think we can just assume that he bit it.” 

Clark frowned at her, before looking down at the ocean, “Are we… hoping that he died?” 

“He was trying to kill us,” Bulma said, “I think we’re a little justified in hoping that he gets whatever he has coming to him.” Clark looked away from her, not answering. Instead, he looked back towards the ocean. Eel joined him, narrowing his goggles, but by now, with as fast as Yamcha’s jet ski could go, he’d be out of sight alive or dead. Bulma gave them a moment, before nudging Clark, “Why don’t you check the Radar again?”

“Right,” Clark pulled the pink backpack out from under the seat, and turned the Radar on, “Northwest,” he said, “We shouldn’t be far, now.” 

“Got it,” she turned the wheel, and pressed the button for the convertible top to come back up. Once they were protected once again from the elements, she stomped down on the pedal, and they were off. 

Hours later, with the sun beginning to lower in the sky, Clark suddenly shouted “There!” 

“What?” Bulma leaned over, staring at the screen. Sure enough, they were almost on top of it. She slammed the brakes, and the hovercar slowed. Turning it around, she alternated between glancing at her side-mirrors, trying to make out the ocean below them, and the screen of the Dragon Radar, which, sure enough, showed the next Dragon Ball being very close.

Eel rolled down a window, before darting his head outside, his goggles becoming binoculars on his face, “Let’s see- oh!” His head snaked back into the car, and he grinned wide at his friends, “Land ahoy! There’s an island not far behind us, a teeny-tiny one!” his grin became even wider, to an inhuman degree, “One with a house .” 

“Please let that be it, I don’t want to go scuba diving,” Bulma prayed, following Eel’s pointing finger towards the lonely inhabited island. As they got closer, she found herself grinning at the strange sight of a bright pink red-roofed suburban home built on an island barely larger than the house was. The only other things on the island were three palm trees. 

She came to a stop, letting the hovercar settle over a bit of land left of the house. 

Clark was the first one to jump out of the car, dropping onto dry land and stretching, “Thank goodness,” he moaned, “The whole day spent just sitting in place.” 

Eel slithered out as well, not bothering to use the door, “You think they have a bathroom in this place?” 

“Let’s hope so,” Clark said, walking up to the door. Bulma followed after, pulling out the bag containing the Dragon Balls and returning her car to its capsule. 

“I could use a shower,” Bulma admitted, “The one at the hotel was cold. I didn’t get to relax at all.” 

The three of them walked up to the front door, and Clark raised his hand up, knocking on it a few times. Inside, he heard someone on the second level move around, before slowly making their way down a set of stairs, and up to the door. It opened to reveal a very old man, with a thick gray beard, and a wrinkly bald head. He was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt, shorts, sunglasses, and a turtle shell.

The old man and the trio stared at each other for a moment, before he scratched under his chin, shifting his beard enough to reveal his necklace. All three of them stiffened at the sight of the three-star Dragon Ball hanging from his neck, tied to a cord. 

“You kids selling something?” he asked.

Bulma and Eel blinked in surprise, before looking at each other helplessly, while Clark simply smiled, stepping forwards, “No, we’re not selling anything. We were kind of just passing by, and wondered if we could make a pit stop. And… maybe ask if you could part with your necklace.”

The old man grinned, reaching up and adjusting his sunglasses, “You kids are here to rob me?” 

“No! No, um,” he looked over to Bulma, “Hey, Bulma, could you show him the other Dragon Balls?” 

“Sure,” she said, “But… Clark, can you understand him? You speak Japanese?” 

“What? I’m not speaking-” he hesitated then, before looking back to the old man, “Were you speaking Japanese?” 

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Am I speaking Japanese?” Clark asked. 

“Sounds that way to me,” the old man said. 

Clark slowly turned towards Bulma, who shook her head, not understanding. He repeated the question, and this time she looked impressed, “You’re speaking English to me. But when you were looking at him, all I heard was Japanese.”

“ Huh ,” Clark said, before shaking his head, “We can figure out what’s going on with that some other time. First, um, sir? We’re collecting objects just like the one hanging from your neck. We’ve actually tracked it all the way here, to your house.” 

The old man raised one bushy eyebrow over his sunglasses, “So you didn’t come out here seeking me out?” 

Clark shook his head, “Sorry.” 

“Hmph, just as well. I stopped taking students a long time ago,” he turned around and shuffled back into his house, leaving the door wide open, “You guys are welcome inside too, ‘specially the cute one. We can haggle over what this old thing’s worth,” he said over his shoulder to the other two. 

“You speak English too?” Bulma asked him. 

“Sure, you don’t have to go back and forth like that,” the old man said.

“We’re just not going to address this whole language thing?” Eel asked.

Clark shrugged, “It’s new to me, too. We’ll figure it out later. I mean, it’s probably a metahuman thing.”

“I didn’t get to learn any languages when I- well. When I became like this,” Eel grumbled, pushing his way into the house, “Hey, old-timer, where's the bathroom?” 

“It’s through that door there,” he said, jerking a finger towards a white door. 

Outside, there was the sound of a capsule being used, and a few moments later, the sound rang out again. Bulma walked into the house next, new clothes draped over her arm, “I call the bathroom next!” 

The old man grinned, “If you want, I could run you a bath,” he offered, “I’ve got a tub in there, after all! If you want, I could even wash your back.” 

Bulma narrowed her eyes at him, “That won’t be necessary.” 

He sighed, moving in front of his little TV. There was a paused aerobics show on the screen, “Fine, fine,” he moved to grab the remote, “Take your time. I want to finish my exercises before we start haggling over my necklace.” with a press of a button, the girls on the screen began moving again, and the old man dropped to the floor and began perfectly mimicking their movements. 

Bulma made a face at both him and his choice of program, before leaning against the wall and taking out the Dragon Radar, double-checking that the one around his neck was genuine. 

Clark, on the other hand, watched the video for a few seconds before joining the old man in the exercise, “What is this for?” he asked. 

“Keeping your heart and lungs strong, building up muscle and bones,” he replied, “Helps keep me young.” 

They both exercised quietly for a few minutes, until Clark spoke up again, “So, what kind of students did you used to take?” 

Chapter Text

“I taught martial arts,” he explained, “In fact, I used to be world-famous for it. I was given the name of Heavenly Old Master, but most people just call me the Turtle Hermit.” 

The door to the bathroom opened, and Eel walked out, moving aside for Bulma to take it. “Your name is Roshi?” he asked.

Clark frowned, looking back at Eel, “Roshi?” he asked, “Where did you get Roshi out of that?” 

“Muten Roshi,” Eel clarified, “His name? Is this more translation stuff?” 

Clark sighed, “Maybe.” 

“It’s a title that basically means Master,” the Turtle Hermit replied, amused. 

Eel nodded, “Master Roshi then.” 

“It- no-'' the old man sighed and waved off his concern, turning his attention back to the television, “It doesn’t matter, call me what you like. Master Roshi is as fine a title as anything else. Anyway, I used to teach martial arts. I’m proud to report that all the students I’ve ever taught have ended up becoming world-famous martial artists themselves.” 

“Did you ever teach someone named Yamcha?” Clark asked. 

“Nope. Probably not anyone else you can name, either. I stopped teaching more’n seventy years ago.” 

“So you stopped teaching when you were… I want to say twenty?” Clark asked. 

“Hah!” 

Inside the bathroom the water started, and Eel sighed, “She’s gonna be a while. Clark, I’m going to go enjoy a little tropical sun out on the sand, want to join me?” 

“I think I’ll stay here for a bit.” 

“Suit yourself,” Eel said, strolling back out the door. 

The Turtle Hermit watched him go, before turning his full attention back on the show. He and Clark followed the video’s instructions, copying the teacher on the screen movement-for-movement, but after a minute Clark noticed that the television was beginning to sound different. The girls on the screen moving faster, speaking higher. 

“Is something wrong with the tape?” he asked, stopping, only to wince as the Hermit slapped him on the chest, “Gah!” 

“Keep following along, you were doing fine,” the Old Master pressed, “Keep up. If an old man like me can do it, so can you.” 

Clark frowned, but went back to mimicking the girls. But the tape just kept speeding up. He moved from position to position, stretch to stretch, kicking out with his legs, his arms, faster and faster. He found himself starting to sweat, his muscles starting to burn. The voices of the women on the screen began to warp, getting higher and faster to the point of incoherence.

Within a minute, he was practically dancing- but the Turtle Hermit didn’t show any sign of stopping yet, so Clark refused to either. 

The figures on the screen were quickly becoming a blur, barely distinguishable, and he turned his attention onto the Turtle Hermit instead, able to mimic him even if he couldn’t mimic the TV. But even that was getting harder. The Old Man just kept getting faster, and seconds later Clark slipped on his own sweat on the floor, dropping over onto his butt. 

And there, no longer devoting his attention to the Hermit or to the television, he realized that something was wrong. The sound from the shower was a torrent of rainfall. The waves splashing against the sand outside were outright frantic, becoming almost like the rattling of a maraca. 

At the edges of his vision, he could see crackling lights, almost like lightning. 

And then the lightning vanished, the pounding rain returned to a shower’s spray, the ocean became a gentle lapping, and the voices of the girls on the screen became smooth, cheerie, and almost so slow it was patronizing. 

Clark breathed heavily from where he was lying on the floor, turning his gaze towards the old man who didn’t seem tired at all. The Turtle Hermit was staring right back, his beard angling up in a grin. “You lasted pretty long. Especially considering how beat up you look.” 

“What… What was that?” Clark asked, panting,  “Do you have powers?” 

The Turtle Hermit nodded, considering, “What was the word you used earlier, about your translation thing? Metahuman. Back in my day, we just called that being a freak! Hah!” he reached around his neck and pulled off his necklace, and began to twirl it, and the Dragon Ball, around his finger. The necklace spun around a few times, before the Turtle Hermit let it go. 

Clark braced himself to catch it, but he didn’t need to bother. There was a thin flash of lightning, and before Clark’s eyes, the ball slowed to a stop in mid-air. 

“Whoa…” he reached out with one finger and tapped the Dragon Ball. 

“I slowed the two of us down, earlier. At first, only by a little bit, but more and more as we went. But you managed to keep up with real time for a good few minutes,” he said, running a hand through his beard in consideration, “You’ve got real potential, kid.” 

The Dragon Ball suddenly began speeding up, and Clark darted out to catch it. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” the Turtle Hermit replied, “What else can you do?” 

“You heard about the language thing, but that’s actually kind of new. Besides that, I’m strong, and fast. My senses are really good. I’m tough, and I can heal quickly, too.” 

“Not sure I believe that last one, considering all these bruises,” the Hermit said, reaching over and poking the boy in the chest again.

“Someone shot at me with a machine gun,” Clark said awkwardly, “About five days ago. It was kind of reckless.”

“Why was someone shooting at you with a machine gun!?” 

“He wanted the Dragon Balls,” Clark said, “And he was willing to try and kill us for them.” 

“Huh,” the Hermit took the three-star Dragon Ball from Clark, looking down at it, “What’s so special about these things that someone’s willing to shoot at a kid, a babe and… whatever Goggles over there is?” 

“A babe?” Clark asked, confused.

“A dame. A fox. A hottie. That cute chick that came here with you,” the old man said with a grin, “Don’t tell me you can’t see it. She’s got a pretty nice figure, you know. And I’ve got a window in that bathroom. If we’re real quiet, we could probably sneak outside around to the side and…” he trailed off, faltering before Clark’s glare. 

“She’s my friend,” Clark said, “you shouldn’t talk about her like that, or- or talk about peeping on her in the shower. It’s shameful. She deserves your respect.”

“There’s no shame in having a healthy sexual appetite,” the Turtle Hermit countered, crossing his arms.

“Sexual-” Clark cut himself off, and began to blush, glancing away, “I’m not old enough to think about stuff like that. And neither is Bulma! She’s just sixteen.” 

“Sixteen?” the old Hermit asked, disappointed. Clark glared at the old man, and stood up, stomping across the floor and standing between him and the bathroom door. “Hey, no need to get so angry, kid. I’m not the kind of guy to actually try anything. ‘Specially not on a teenager.” 

 Clark’s glare only got colder, “That’s still not how decent folk think.” 

“Yeesh. A pure of heart one, eh? Fine, fine, I’m sorry.” The Turtle Hermit waved him off and turned away back to his video, resuming his aerobics. Clark didn’t join in this time.

Chapter Text

Bulma stepped out of the bathroom feeling refreshed and dressed in fresh clothes, only to find Clark waiting for her right outside the door, and in a bad mood, “What’s up? What happened?” 

“...Nothing worth talking about,” Clark said, “So, the Dragon Ball?”

The Turtle Hermit huffed, “Right, right. My favorite necklace. I found it a few decades ago while I was skimming the bottom of the sea with a friend of mine, and I’ve had it by my side the entire time since. It’s a prized possession at this point. Not to mention that it’s apparently valuable, if you kids are after them, and you’ve got people willing to kill for them,”  he grinned, “To me, that sounds like it’s worth quite a lot.” 

Bulma frowned, “What are you saying?” 

“My kind of lifestyle takes money. I dunno, I was thinking… hm, a million dollars?” the old man offered. 

“A million!” Bulma’s eyes shot open wide, “That…” 

Eel poked his head in through a window, startling the old man “Aren’t you a billionaire? What’s the big deal?” he asked. 

Bulma flinched, “Don’t just say that in front of the old man!” 

“Wait, you can pay it?” the Turtle Hermit said, shocked, “I was just going to have that be my opening bid to try and get something else. Now, I want ten million dollars!” 

Bulma glared at Eel, “See what you did?” she accused. Eel offered an apologetic smile, and retreated his head back outside. She turned her glare on the Turtle Hermit instead, “Look, I have a rich family, but that doesn’t mean that I can just access it whenever I want. If I spend that much, my Dad is definitely going to notice.” 

“And Daddy doesn’t want you to spend that much without his approval?” the Turtle Hermit asked, amused. 

Bulma looked away, not meeting his eye, “Look, I can maybe do twenty thousand, I can tell Dad that I just had to replace my capsule house.”

Clark held up a hand to draw attention, “What was that something else you wanted?” the boy asked, suspicious. 

The Turtle Hermit walked across the room, and picked up a wooden staff. Holding it, he turned and faced the two of them, “I put your young friend to the test and he passed with flying colors. I see an enormous amount of potential in him as a martial artist. If he’s willing to become my pupil, I don’t see a problem in handing the ball over.” 

“I thought you weren’t taking students any more,” Clark said, “Not in the last seventy years.” 

“I was just taking a short break. The truth of it is that I’ve had plenty of people track me down and ask, but none of them could pass my tests. Nobody since my last two students, Son Gohan and the Ox King, could even barely keep up with me.” 

Clark looked to the side, considering, “I have to keep going with Bulma,” he said, “I’m not quitting halfway through our journey.” 

“You need to find more of these things?” the Turtle Hermit asked. 

“There’s seven in all,” Bulma said, “We have two of them right now. Three, once we get yours.” 

“Hm,” the Turtle Hermit ran a hand through his beard, “I see. How long do you think it’ll take you?” 

“Even once we gathered them,” Clark began, “I have other obligations. My family’s farm. School.” 

“...But neither of those are the real reasons, are they?” the old man said sadly.

“I don’t think I can respect you,” Clark admitted.

“Ouch. But even if you don’t respect me as a person, you can at least respect me as a skilled fighter, can’t you? With my tutelage, I can probably make you stronger than I am.” 

“I don’t want to learn from you, sorry.” 

“...But do you want to learn at all?” the Heavenly Old Master asked, “Do martial arts intrigue you? Do you desire to see how strong you can become? Just what that powerful body of yours is capable of?”

Clark’s heart began to beat faster. 

The Heavenly Old Master grinned wide, “Hmph. Seems my ways have bit me in the ass a little. I may be retired, but my students aren’t. Even seventy years later, both of them are going strong, and one of them, Son Gohan, is still regularly taking students of his own.” He turned towards the door, and motioned for them to follow. “Hey!” he shrieked out into the sky, startling a sunbathing Eel, “Nimbus!” 

For a few moments, there seemed to be no sign of any change.

“Where is that cloud?” the Turtle Hermit asked, only to smile as something began moving in the sky far above them. It moved in a swirling pattern, descending at speed, and halting just over the ocean in front of the group. It was a golden cloud, “Ah, about time. Hey Nimbus,” the old man said fondly, moving to pat the cloud, only to be surprised as his hand phased through it, “Ergh- everyone’s being judgy today, huh?” he looked back at the trio, “This here is the mystical flying Nimbus, or as it's originally called, the Somersault Cloud.” 

“Kinto’un?” Eel asked, confused.

“Mysical?” Bulma asked, interested.

The Turtle Hermit looked towards Clark, and gestured towards the cloud, “...You can have this magical cloud, in apology for my, er, comments regarding your pretty young friend.” 

Bulma stiffened, “What kind of comments?” 

“Unimportant!” the Turtle Hermit said hurriedly, “Anyway, Nimbus here will go anywhere you tell it, faster than even a hovercar. To summon it, all you have to do is call for it. Tell me, are you kids heading for Japan on your journey?” 

Bulma nodded, “There should be a Dragon Ball there.” 

“When you’re there, ask Nimbus to take you to Son Gohan, and show it to him. Tell Gohan that you have my recommendation, and ask him for training.” 

“Is he any better with women than you are?” Clark asked, crossing his arms. 

“He’s a prude with good manners, just like you, don’t worry about it,” the Turtle Hermit grumbled, “You’ll like him. Now, promise me that when your journey is done you’ll seek him out and get his training… and I’ll give you the Dragon Ball.” 

Bulma frowned, before looking at Clark, “What do you think?” she asked, “If you don’t want to do it, we can figure something else out.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Clark said as he turned towards the cloud. 

“Well, all of this relies on whether or not you can even ride it. But if you’re as pure-of-heart as I think you are… just step onto it.” The Turtle Hermit urged.

Clark reached out, and pressed his hand into the cloud. It gave- but only so much. It was like cotton under his hand, soft and airy, but as he pressed down, and pulled back, the cloud’s surface bounced back. Jumping up, he landed on top of the cloud and found himself almost stumbling, but he didn’t phase through it. 

“Oh wow,” he breathed out, before dropping down and settling on the soft surface, “Um. Okay Nimbus, take me to the top of the house?” 

The cloud shot forwards at incredible speed, but Clark barely felt the push of the wind against him or the shock of the sudden stop as the cloud halted over the roof of the island’s only house.  He found himself smiling wide, and grinned even more when the Turtle Hermit took his necklace back off and tossed it over to Bulma. 

“Three down, four to go,” she said.

Chapter Text

The Turtle Hermit had offered to let them stay the night, but considering his behavior earlier, despite his apparent genuine apology, Clark wasn’t exactly comfortable with that. He suggested they get a head start towards the next ball, and they agreed.

Eel and Bulma traded roles, Eel sitting behind the wheel while Bulma took the back. But rather than join them inside the hovercar, Clark chose to stay outside and get used to his own ride. 

While Bulma was incredulous of just how ‘mystical’ the Nimbus was, Clark wasn’t sure what else could explain the bizarre effects the cloud had. For one, while he was sitting on the cloud, the cold and the wind just didn’t bother him. Even with Nimbus keeping up with the hovercar racing through the sky at full speed, Clark was perfectly comfortable. The Nimbus’s speed alone must have been magical too. The mere two or three hundred miles per hour the hovercar was built for paled in comparison to how fast the Nimbus could go when Clark pushed it. In fact, he had to put effort into holding the cloud back so he wouldn’t leave his friends behind. 

But the strangest part was how it followed his directions. If he told it to move somewhere, it would, no matter from how far away. Even more mysterious was that while Clark was riding it, he didn’t even have to do that. Merely wanting the cloud to move in a specific direction, or at a specific speed, was enough for the Nimbus to act. He could fly circles around the hovercar, make loop-de-loops and barrel rolls, all without muttering a word. 

It was bizarre. But it was just one more bizarre thing in a life full of them. 

He spent the rest of the evening playing around with his new… companion? Vehicle? Servant? And when it came time for the group to settle for the night Clark just laid back and fell asleep in a bed of clouds.

The next morning, Clark woke up from the light of the rising sun. He blinked sleepily at the hovercar in front of him, and smiled down at the Nimbus. Even without telling it to, the Nimbus kept up with the hovercar through the entire night. Rolling over, he guided the Nimbus closer to the door of the hovercar. “Thanks,” he said, patting the cloud.

He reached over and knocked on the glass. Eel obliged him, rolling down the window. “Hey Clark!” Eel greeted, shouting over the wind, “Sleep well?”

“It’s like napping on marshmallow! How about you?” 

Eel yawned, “I’ll have a nap once we reach dry land again,” he assured, “Do you want to climb in and wake up her highness?” 

Clark looked down at the cloud, “Follow along behind us, okay?” the Nimbus didn’t reply, but Clark trusted it. The Nimbus taken care of, Clark pulled himself in through the window and dropped into the passenger seat. Rolling the window back up, he turned to face Bulma, who was still wrapped in blankets in the backseat, “She stayed asleep through the window opening and all of our shouting?” Clark asked, impressed.

“It’s her superpower,” Eel said, before yawning again. 

Clark moved into the back, and then began poking Bulma until she swatted at him, sitting up and slumping against the door of the hovercar, “I miss the capsule house,” she moaned, “My back hurts from sleeping like this.” 

Eel winced, “Sorry about that, again.” 

“It was the Crocodile Man’s fault, not yours,” Bulma said, waving it off, “Maybe I should just buy a new one, and risk Dad calling.” 

“Maybe you could use your wish on it,” Eel joked.

Clark frowned, turning towards Bulma, “You haven’t decided what you’re going to wish for?” Clark asked, surprised. 

It was Bulma’s turn to wince, “It was really more about the journey than the destination,” she admitted. 

“...Then, what about you, Eel?” Clark asked, “Would you want to wish to be a normal human again? I know it… bothers you, sometimes.” 

Eel looked away, “It does,” he admitted, “But I don’t think it’d solve anything if I wished it all away. My problems are more with… how I became like this, than with what I am. And I doubt the Dragon can change the past. And if it could change things, I probably wouldn’t be in any better of a spot.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clark asked.

Eel sighed, “No. I don’t need to burden you guys with that.” 

“It’s not a burden,” Bulma said, “Just so you know.”

Eel smiled, before suddenly sitting up, “Hey! Great timing. Can you see that?” he asked, suddenly pointing towards the windshield. 

Bulma leaned forwards, narrowing her eyes, “Is that… land?” 

“Japan,” Clark said, closing his hand into a fist. 

Bulma grinned, “Alright. So, good news and bad news,” she began, “Good news: there’s no height restrictions on hovercars, and we don’t have to stick to roads and traffic laws. That should make things a lot faster. Bad news: This one’s like the mountain and your farm. Wherever that Dragon Ball’s been sitting, it’s been sitting there for a long time. Which means we’re going to have to do another thorough search.” 

Clark fished out the Dragon Radar, and clicked it. He adjusted it a bit, and smiled. The ball was still hundreds of miles away, but in the grand scheme of things, they were pretty close. “Should we get right to it, then? Or should we stop at a hotel first?” 

Bulma looked over to Eel, who yawned a third time, “Compromise,” he offered, “We get as close as we can, and find a place to stay nearby.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Bulma said. 

They crossed the threshold between the ocean and the land quickly. The lights and towers of a huge city appeared below and vanished behind them as they blazed through the sky. Soon, the land below them transitioned to hills, and then mountains. The spaces in between filled with huge stretches of green. Farms and forests, smaller towns and cities, open plains, all of them shot by in a blur. And all the while, the Nimbus loyally kept up with the aircar. 

Japan was beautiful, Clark decided. It wasn’t just America. Maybe everywhere was beautiful. Maybe the whole planet was. 

However, as the Dragon Radar guided them closer and closer to their goal, Clark saw something that wasn’t beautiful at all. An entire mountain, ablaze in a forest fire that seemed to reach up into the sky. Clark hit the button on the Radar again, and stared at the location marked down on the screen. 

“Clark,” Bulma said slowly, “Please tell me that the Dragon Ball’s not in there.” Clark slowly turned the Radar to face her, and Bulma groaned. 

Eel glanced down at the Radar, and then up at the burning mountain, and turned the hovercar around, “Fire. Why did it have to be fire?” 

Chapter Text

Bulma and Clark watched as the most recent tour group stopped at the edge of the railing to snap pictures and listen to their guide. 

“-Mount Pleasant was renamed to Mount Frypan after being referred to as such in popular culture. It is currently believed that the mountain had a large number of natural gas vents, which caught ablaze ten years ago due to what is believed to be a malicious arson attempt against Bull Demon Castle, a historic bandit compound built on the mountainside almost seven hundred years ago. But as you would guess, no one will ever be sure of what truly happened, all evidence has long since burned away. But despite the tragic loss of that special historic site, this country has gained a new world-famous landmark. Some lists even include it among the modern seven wonders of the world! Now, if you’ll follow me, the gift shop is-” she continued as she walked off, leading the group away from the railing. 

“Get anything new out of that?” Bulma asked.

They had only been there about an hour, but that was already the third group to pass by. 

“Not really. Are we sure this is the closest we’re allowed to the mountain?” Clark asked. 

“That’s what the guy at the hotel said,” Bulma muttered, staring at the all-consuming blaze that covered the aptly renamed Mount Frypan from top to bottom, “Agh! How are we supposed to get through all that?” 

“A capsule?” Clark asked hopefully, “Would the hovercar be able to go through that?” 

“The engine would overheat and explode, if we didn’t bake alive inside it first,” Bulma said, “What about your cloud?” 

Clark grinned, “Now that you mention it, I didn’t feel that cold riding it last night. Maybe it protects against heat too? With its magic?” 

Bulma flinched at the mention of it, “I’m still not sold on that, yet. Even if magic does exist- why would someone part ways with something genuinely magical without even getting anything out of it?” 

“I mean, he couldn’t use it himself,” Clark said, “I know that whenever I grew too much for my old clothes, we’d always bring them down to the church for someone else to pick up, if they need it.” 

“It’s worth a shot.” 

Clark climbed up onto the metal railing, and dropped onto the hill on the other side, before cupping his hands and shouting into them, “Nimbus!” 

Sure enough, the cloud appeared out of the sky, coming to a halt in front of him. He moved to climb on, before glancing back at Bulma, “Hey, do you want to give it a try?” 

“Hm, might as well,” she jumped the railing as well, aiming for the cloud, only to let out a small shriek as she passed through it like it wasn’t there, “Gah!” she landed on her butt on the grass, and to her shock, started sliding down the slope on the other side of the railing, “Clark!” 

Clark leaped onto the cloud, and quickly guided it forwards, reaching down and grabbing Bulma’s arm to stop her descent. 

“Hm…” 

“Thanks,” Bulma breathed, only to let out a small “Eep!” when Clark heaved her upwards, and started carrying her like a princess in his much smaller arms. To her surprise, the cloud actually carried both of them, no problem, although when her foot angled downwards, it still passed through the substance like mist, even while Clark sat on it as if it were solid, “...Maybe there is something to this whole magic thing.” 

Clark leaned forwards, and the cloud zipped forwards, shooting across the valley that separated the cliff’s viewing area from the flaming mountain. At first, he felt hopeful, but the closer they got, the more oppressive the heat became. But Clark still pushed forwards- right up until the Nimbus itself ignited. 

“Clark!” Bulma shrieked. 

“Ah! Watch out!” He steered the Nimbus away from the mountain immediately, and accelerated as much as possible to bring them back to a mountainside across from the flames. Clark jumped off the Nimbus, Bulma still in his arms, and turned to look at the Nimbus in concern. Luckily, the fire seemed to retreat on its own after a few seconds, leaving the cloud as pristine as it was before. He set Bulma down, and then gave the cloud an apologetic pat.

Bulma fussed over clothes for a moment, making sure nothing got burned, before turning a glare at Mount Frypan, “That does it. Let’s just go back to the hotel. This one will take some preparation. Making some fire-proof suits shouldn’t take too long, but I’ll need materials I don’t have.” She turned to stomp away, but Clark didn’t follow. Instead, the boy was focused on something else entirely, sniffing the air. “Clark? What’s wrong? Is it another of Sivana’s monsters? An assassin? Bears?” 

The mountainside shook with a sudden impact, and Bulma grabbed onto a nearby tree to keep from going on another tumbling slide. 

The boy tensed where he stood, and balled his hands into fists in preparation as something heavy quickly stomped its way up through mountainside forest. There was a loud crack as a tree was shoved over, and the heavy panting of breath as the figure barreled its way through the treeline up to them. 

He came to a stop in front of the pair, breathing hard and resting his hands on his knees, bowing his head to the ground. He was a mountain of a man, practically seven feet tall and nearly as broad at the shoulders, covered in muscle and wearing, of all things, a heavy samurai chestplate and armored skirt over his bare chest, with pants underneath. He wasn’t Japanese, but Clark couldn’t really tell what ethnicity did fit. He had a thick brow, a large nose, and small eyes. His skin was tanned dark, but interlaced with the pale lines of his scars- making it obvious that he had been attacked by some kind of animal with large claws years ago, but survived to tell the tale. He had long black hair and a short beard. On his head was a samurai helmet with huge horns sticking out to either side, and a small skull placed between them.

He slowly stood up, smiling wide, “Heavenly Old Master! It’s been so long since you’ve returned, and I’d be grateful for your…” he trailed off as he set his eyes on the pair, “...help.” 

Bulma inched closer to Clark, keeping him between her and the giant, “Clark, can you understand what he’s saying?” 

“Ah, Americans . Who are you two supposed to be?” the massive man asked, suddenly suspicious, “And how did you get your hands on that cloud?” 

“My name is Clark Kent, and this Bulma. And the Nimbus was a gift from the Heavenly Old Master, the Turtle Hermit.” Clark explained. The giant relaxed slightly, letting his hands hang a little looser. “And, um, who are you?” 

The man looked away, and idly scratched at his beard, “Well… that question has a complicated answer,” he said, “...Follow me, the least I can do is offer the friends of my Old Master some tea after they’ve come so far to see me.” 

Chapter Text

Clark and Bulma made their way down the mountainside, closer to the flames of Mount Frypan, following behind the lumbering giant of a man. 

“For a long time now, my name has been Ox King Kull,” he said after a short time, “And that’s the name my Master knows me by, so it’s the one you’ll recognize me by as well.” 

“Oh yeah,” Clark said, “the Turtle Hermit mentioned that his last two students were the Ox King and Son Gohan. So you’re a martial artist?” 

“One of considerable skill,” he said proudly, “Although I’m not anywhere as skilled as my Master… or my fellow student.” 

“That doesn’t seem too complicated of an answer,” Clark said, “Did you have a different name more than… seventy years ago,” Clark narrowed his eyes, “You don’t look seventy.” 

“You’re correct. I’m far older than seventy, and in that long period of time, I’ve had a lot of names. But for now, let’s stick with Ox King Kull.” As they got closer to the flames, the heat haze began to fill the air, and both teens began to sweat. 

“Clark, are you sure about this guy?” Bulma asked, “Why are we following him?” 

“He might know something about the mountain, and he definitely knows something about Son Gohan. If things get dangerous, I can just fly us out,” he assured her. 

“Okay, but if we get much closer to the mountain, we’re going to turn into bacon,” she grumbled. 

“Don’t worry,” he said back to her, “It’s cooler inside,” he said, before walking up to the edge of a cliff, and jumping off. 

Clark and Bulma shared a look, before moving up to the edge themselves. Sure enough, below the cliff was the entrance to a cave, and sitting inside it was a perfectly ordinary capsule house. Clark held out his arms, and Bulma obliged him, letting him carry her as he leaped down. They stepped inside, and were greeted with the sight of the Ox King Kull sitting at a table far too small for him, a steaming pot of tea and three cups already set out. 

“Tell me news of my Old Master,” he commanded, “How is he doing? Why has he sent you to me? Is he coming here soon?” 

Bulma and Clark shared an awkward glance, and Bulma offered the giant a winning smile, “Er, the thing is, your majesty, he didn’t actually send us to you in particular or to help with anything. It’s more that we happened to meet him, Clark happened to impress him, he gave Clark the cloud, and we came to investigate the mountain for our own reasons.” 

The Ox King frowned, slumping back in his chair, “So… he didn’t hear about my home being on fire? He’s not coming to help?” 

“Your home? You used to live on Mount Frypan?” Clark asked. 

“It’s not obvious? Bull Demon Castle? Ox-horned helmet? Ox King?” he asked, pointing at his hat, “It’s belonged to me for generations. Or rather, my family.”

“What could your teacher do about the fire anyway?” Bulma asked. 

“The Flying Nimbus isn’t the only magical artifact my Old Master possesses. There should be an object he owns, the Banana Palm Fan, that is capable of putting out any fire. Even a magical one.” 

Bulma huffed, “The fire is magic too? Magic Dragon Balls, magic clouds, magic ‘bansho’ fans. I thought that it was going to be my big discovery, but we keep running into it.” 

“Maybe you can be the discoverer of magic the same way Columbus ‘discovered’ the Americas,” the Ox King suggested, taking a sip from his comically small cup of tea. Clark reached out to sip at his own cup, before wrinkling his nose at the taste. Green tea wasn’t his favorite. The Ox King continued, “Magic is older than history itself. Although it’s not well-known to many people. Historically, the few who knew how to use it had a vested interest in being the only ones who knew how it works. That remains true today. If you’re thinking about studying it in earnest, know that you’ll be pissing off a lot of very powerful people.” He took another sip of tea. 

Bulma paled slightly, “I… see?” 

“Have you tried calling him?” Clark asked, “I saw a phone at his house.” 

The Ox King averted his gaze, taking another sip, “It’s my own fault that this happened to begin with. After a minor theft, I overreacted. I hired a minor wizard to erect a protective barrier around my castle that would activate whenever I wasn’t there. But it went out of control, and now it’s engulfed my entire mountain in magical, unquenchable flames. I could have just shelled for a security system.” The Ox King sighed, “It’d be shameful for me to call after so many decades just to beg him to clean up one of my messes. But it’s out of my hands. My daughter Scandal left the house a few days ago to ask for the fan regardless.” He finished off his cup, and poured another, before eyeing both of them. Bulma, remembering herself, quickly took a drink, only to smile, surprised. Green tea, one of her favorites. “So, if you didn’t come to my mountain for me , why did you come?” 

“Oh!” she opened her backpack, and pulled out one of the Dragon Balls, the three-star, “We’re looking for crystal balls that look like this. The old man was kind enough to give us this one he had. We think that there’s another one on Frypan Mountain.” 

Ox King Kull leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes at the orb, “The Old Master’s necklace. Now that I think about it, I did have a gemstone that looked like this. But mine had seven stars inside instead of three.”

“Yes! So it’s definitely in your castle?” 

“Sitting among the ashes of it, anyway,” he grumbled, “...If the Old Master was willing to part with his, you’re welcome to mine as well, if you can reach it.” 

“Hm. Well, I hate to backtrack, but maybe it’d be worth it to pay the old man a second visit, and ask for the fan ourselves,” Bulma said. 

Clark frowned, “Before we do that, could we check in with Gohan? If we’re going to talk to the Turtle Hermit again, I want to at least be able to tell him whether Gohan accepted me as a student or not.” 

The Ox King’s eyebrows shoot up, “Oh? He only accepts a few students each year. You must have made quite a name for yourself to be seeking him out so young. How long have you been a martial artist?” 

“I’m not one,” Clark answered. 

“Then he’s likely not going to accept.” 

“The Turtle Hermit told me to at least ask in exchange for his help, so that’s what I’m going to do.” 

“Is that so?” Ox King Kull asked, interested. 

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Bulma asked, setting out some clothes for tomorrow on her bed at their hotel. The other bed in the room was currently occupied by the gently snoring Eel, a sleep mask pulled down over his goggles. 

“I’ll be fine,” Clark assured. 

“We still don’t know anything about these guys,” she cautioned, “The old man was a perv and the Ox King was terrifying and suspicious. What are the chances this Gohan guy’s such a good person?” 

“I don’t think Ox King was a bad person,” Clark said, “Just… kind of intense, and really tall.” 

“All the same, your parents told us to watch out for each other on this journey,” she said, “This is your first time in another country, and we are being hunted.” 

“I’ll be fine. Just stick close to Eel until I get back,” Clark said, “It shouldn’t even take that long. I just want to talk to him before we leave.” 

“Alright,” she said, “I’ll be expecting you by dinnertime, alright? And if you’re not here by then, we’re going to come in looking for you, guns blazing.” 

“Understood,” Clark said, giving her a sarcastic salute. Moving towards the window, he shouted “Nimbus!” and waited for the small golden cloud to descend. As it came to a stop just under the window, Clark stepped out and dropped onto his cloud. He turned it away from the building and up into the air. As he crested the top of the building he shot up higher and higher, until the hotel was just one more tiny speck among hundreds of other specks. 

“The Old Master said you knew the way to Son Gohan, right?” Clark asked his magical cloud, “Can you take me?” 

In answer, the cloud zipped through the sky in a straight line. He had no speedometer, but the way the landscape below became just one big blur, he knew that he was flying even faster than the hovercar could reach. Maybe even faster than proper planes. 

The Nimbus followed the length of the island, racing over cities, bays, mountains, fields, and lakes. Other clouds, natural ones gray and fluffy and truly colossal, passed by on either side of him, as well as above and below. Clark wasn’t prepared as the Nimbus dove into one of those gigantic gray clouds, and found himself surrounded with an incredibly thick, all-consuming fog. For what seemed like a whole a minute the world was utterly featureless, until the Nimbus came to a sudden stop. 

“Are we here?” Clark asked. The Nimbus tipped to the side slightly, and Clark leaned over the side, staring down into the seemingly-endless gray, “You want me to jump?” It tipped again, and Clark tensed his body, before standing up, gathering up his faith, and taking a step off the cloud. 

He braced himself for impact, squeezing in on himself, but after only a few feet he collided with the tiles of a roof, and balled up as he was, he immediately rolled down the slope of it. Clark let out a yelp as he fell off the roof and dropped onto the hard-packed dirt a few more feet below. Glaring upwards, he tried to look for the Nimbus, but it was hidden just as much as anything else by the fog. “You couldn’t have dropped me off at the front door?” 

Without the protective magic of the Nimbus, the chill of the fog settled all around him, made worse by the thin, cold mountain air. The moisture in the air clung to his hair and clothes, and he shivered. 

Suddenly, light cut through the fog, first only a crack, and then an entire square as a door swung open. 

Clark stared at the old man across from him, just as surprised as the man staring at him. In many ways he looked like the Turtle Hermit. He was a very old Japanese man, bald and covered in wrinkles, and sporting a thick white mustache and bushy brows, although unlike the Turtle Hermit, he was missing a beard. He was clad in blue robes, tied together with a white cloth belt. 

Slowly, the old man performed a bow. 

Not knowing what else to do, Clark found himself bowing back. 

“Master, what was it?” Called a voice from inside the house. 

“I’m not sure myself,” the old man said, smiling, “How do you do?”

“I’m fine,” Clark said, “Er, are you Son Gohan?” 

“I am. And you?” 

“My name is Clark Kent. I-” Two people approached from behind Gohan, both of them dressed in blue robes. One of them was a tall muscular man with a neatly trimmed black beard and mustache, his long black hair done up in a ponytail. The other was a young woman, maybe only a few years older than Clark, her own black hair cut short, “-came here to ask if I could become your student.”

“Oho,” Gohan said, delighted, “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone skip all the other stuff and come to ask me to my face. Not to mention someone managing to make it all the way out here. What kind of training have you received so far? What schools? Which arts?” 

Clark looked to the side, “Um… I haven’t had any coaches or training in martial arts before. And I’ve been through elementary and middle school.” 

The female student stepped up then, narrowing her eyes at him, “Training under the legendary Old Master Son Gohan is a privilege reserved for those who have earned it. It’s not something that you come to his front door on his private property and demand.” 

“Eiko,” Gohan interrupted gently, “It’s fine. Young Kent was it? Generally, I only accept experienced students, who are already skilled in at least one or another form of martial arts, and help them push past their limits and refine their skills. I’m afraid that I’m not actually sure what I would do with someone who’s a beginner. I’m honored that you went through the effort of finding me and reaching my school here all the way at the top of Mount Paozu to seek my training, but I believe that you would be best served learning from someone else first.”

“I understand,” Clark said, “Um. Thank you for your time, Mister Gohan.” 

“Ah, in Japan, it would be Mister Son. Family names come first, Young Kent.” 

“Right, sorry. I’ll just… head back the way I came,” he looked up into the still-thick fog, and put his hands to his mouth, ready to shout. 

“Would you like to stay until the weather clears up? I’d like to hear-” Gohan began to offer.

“Nimbus!” Clark shouted, unintentionally cutting off the old man. Gohan could have continued, but he trailed off as the yellow cloud descended from where it had been floating over the roof, and came to rest dutifully only a few inches above the earth. Clark stepped onto it, and the cloud began to rise upwards, “Alright. Sorry again for bothering you, I’ll be going.” 

He turned the cloud back the way he came, and was about to push it forwards, when Gohan suddenly leaped up, and landed on the cloud as well. “No need to be so hasty,” he said, as Clark looked behind him in surprise, “Why don’t you come in, and we can speak until the fog clears a little.”

Chapter Text

“What is this?” the woman asks, pressing her hand against, and then through, the cloud. 

“This is the Flying Nimbus,” Son Gohan said fondly, before Clark could answer her, “It belonged to my teacher, the Turtle Hermit.” 

“The legendary Heavenly Old Master himself?” she asks, wide-eyed, “It… why did a legendary martial artist own a… cloud?” 

“He owned a number of magical artifacts. I happen to own a couple myself,” he reached into his robe, and drew out a necklace. Hanging from the end of it was a piece of jade shaped like a claw, “The Flying Nimbus was a gift from my master’s master to him. From what Turtle Hermit told me, the man was apparently a powerful wizard, as well as a skilled martial artist.” Gohan said as he sat down cross-legged on the Nimbus, before lying down with a contented sigh. Clark moved over, giving the old man some more room on the cloud, “Ah yeah, I missed this. I used to make fun of Kull that I could take naps on it, and he couldn’t- but if I teased him too much, then I’d drop out the bottom, and he’d just laugh and laugh. It’s good to know I’m still pure-of-heart enough for the old thing to let me on.” 

Clark looked up helplessly at the man’s two students, but both of them were as confused as him. 

The man with the beard decided to break the silence as Gohan seemed to get closer and closer to sleep. “Uh, Mister Kent, yes? How did you end up with something belonging to the Heavenly Old master?” 

“Me and my friends are on a journey,” he said, “On the way, we were crossing the Pacific ocean, and we found out that one of the things we were looking for was on a little island with nothing on it but a house. We stopped at it, and it turned out to belong to the Turtle Hermit.” Clark glanced away, “We talked with him for a while, and I think I managed to impress him, but he also ended up being rude to one of my friends. We argued, and he decided to give me the Nimbus as an apology. He was also the one to tell me about you, Mister Son, saying that if I asked the Nimbus, it would take me to you.” 

“Oh? I haven’t spoken to my teacher in decades. What did he want you to meet me for?” Gohan asked.

“He said that I have a lot of potential as a martial artist,” Clark said, “so he wanted me to ask you to train me instead.” 

The male student grinned, “You were recommended by the Heavenly Old Master? That’s incredible. If you’re not against it, I’d very much like to spar against you.” 

“Spar?” Clark asked. 

The man leaned back and raised both hands, spreading his legs apart and getting lower to the ground. It reminded Clark a little bit of Yamcha’s pose, before he began attacking in earnest, “A match where neither of us is trying to seriously win. Fighting for the sake of testing our strength against each other. Practice-fighting.” 

“I think I’d like that,” Clark said, “I didn’t really know it was called that, but I think I have sparred before. Against the bull at my farm.” 

“Against a bull ?” Eiko asked, incredulous, “Like a cow bull. The big animal. With horns?”

Clark nodded, “It was fun, though my parents don’t like me doing it, they’re afraid I’ll hurt him.” 

“Hurt him ?” she asked, “Not you?” 

Clark shook his head, smiling, “Babe- our bull -hasn’t been able to hurt me for years.” 

The two students made eye contact, and the man got out of his stance, relaxing again, “I… think that maybe sparring wouldn’t be the best idea then.” 

Gohan sat up on the cloud, and considered the three of them, “That might be for the best Eto,” he agreed, “Young Kent, if you impressed my master enough, or he humiliated himself enough, to give you the Nimbus and ask to seek me out, then I owe it you and to him to give you a chance. That said, I only take a few students a year, and there’s always a substantial list of candidates. My current students, Toshio Eto and Hasigawa Eiko, have both gone to great effort to earn their place here on my mountain, and are only a few months into their training. I will complete their training before I consider anyone else. But, if you return here in… hm, let’s say near the start of next March, I will gladly accept you as one of my students.” 

“Wh- really ?” 

“I do accept students on recommendation, from time to time,” Gohan said, grinning wide, “The word of my master and the judgment of the Somersault Cloud are more than most people have.” 

“Well, thank you, Mister Son.” 

“That’s Master Gohan, to you.” 

“Master Gohan. This is great. Thank you! Now, the next time I see the Turtle Hermit, I can tell him you agreed to teach me.” 

“Oh? You’re heading back across the Pacific so soon?” Gohan asked pleasantly.

Clark nodded, “The journey me and my friends are on, it’s to find these magical crystals called Dragon Balls. One of them is on Mount Frypan, in the Ox King’s old castle.” 

“Mount Frypan…” Gohan frowned, “Kull’s castle is on Mount Pleasant, ” he corrected. 

“It got a new name once it all lit on fire,” Clark explained. 

“Once it all lit on what!?”

“Wait, Master Gohan, did you not hear?” Eto asked, “Ten years ago, an entire mountain caught fire down south, and it never stopped burning.” 

“It’s one of the modern seven wonders of the world,” Eiko added. 

“I don’t pay attention to tourist stuff! Is Kull alright? Is Scandal?” Gohan asked, shocked, “The entire mountain is still on fire?” 

Clark nodded, “They’re both fine. Apparently the fire is magical, so the Ox King asked me to go get the bansho fan from the Turtle Hermit to put it out.” 

Gohan frowned, “Well, that won’t do any good. My master ruined it by using the fan as a potholder years and years ago.” 

Clark frowned, “So it’s impossible to put out the fire, or reach his castle?” 

“Hm… I don’t have the Banana Palm Fan, but there might be something else I can do to put out the fire.” He grinned at his students, “Eto, Eiko, I’ll be back soon-ish. In the meantime, back to meditation until this weather clears up a bit, and then get back to strength training” he turned to Clark, and gestured towards the horizon, “Lead the way.” 

Chapter Text

“Long time no see, Kull,” Gohan said, waving cheerfully. 

“Gohan!” Ox King Kull greeted, grinning wide, “It’s good to see your face again after so long.” 

“You haven’t aged a day!” 

“I can’t say the same for you. Are you trying to make yourself look like our teacher? Last time I saw you, your hair was longer than mine.”

Gohan smirked, “Yes, yes, I’m bald. Rub it in.” 

“As pleasant as it is seeing you again, I assumed I wouldn’t see Clark again until he came back with the Banana Palm Fan,” Kull said. 

“That wouldn’t help, I’m afraid. The Heavenly Old Master spilled some soup on it, and then tossed it out with the garbage. It’s a good thing that he told me about your troubles, and spared him a long trip.” 

Kull’s face fell, “That… I guess I should just give up on this old place, then,” he said, turning towards the flaming mountain, “Just another testament of my hubris, another ruined monument to my failures.” 

“Oh, don’t start getting all melodramatic you old man,” Gohan dismissed, “Sure, we don’t have the fan, but you have something better. Me!” Gohan then dipped his hands under Clark’s arms, and lifted him up and off of the Nimbus, depositing him on the Ox King’s shoulder. On instinct, Clark reached out to grab the horn of his helmet to support himself. 

“What’s going on?” Clark asked.

“Just going to get some altitude,” Gohan assured, “But, uh, just in case, why don’t you two move a little further away from Mount Pleasant, alright?” The Ox King squatted down, and then shoved off the ground with monstrous strength, sending himself flying through the air up the mountainside. Clark hung onto the helmet for his life, clinging to the horns hard enough to crack them. Another few massive jumps like that brought them back up to the observation spot that Clark and Bulma had visited that morning, where Ox King Kull reached up, and set Clark back down on the ground. 

“If he’s doing what I think he’s doing, this should be a safe enough distance,” the Ox King reported, “...If you’re going to be his student, this will be very educational. Watch him closely.” 

Clark turned his gaze on Gohan, still standing on the little golden cloud, the everpresent flames of Mount Frypan illuminating him as he drew closer to it. 

“Is he a magician?” 

“No. I’m not either, and I know more of magic than Gohan does. He does have a handful of magical tools he’s mastered, though.” 

“Is he going to use one of them to put out the mountain?” 

“No,” the Ox King said, shaking his head, “He’s not going to use magic at all.” 

“Then…” Clark’s words died away as something prickled at the back of his neck. The pressure in the air had changed, maybe. Or it had grown colder… or maybe warmer? Something had changed, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Whatever was changing, it was changing fast. And all of it was centered around the old man standing on the Nimbus. 

Gohan undid his belt, and then shrugged off his robe, revealing his bare upper body, and leaving him in nothing but his pants. 

His body was thin and wrinkled, as expected, but it was only that way for a moment. The bizarre feeling intensified, growing heavier in the air and curling around the form of the old man. And then, all at once, Gohan’s muscles bulged. His lean figure vanished, replaced with that of a heavyweight champion, muscle coiling around his limbs, his chest and abs swelling into ones that could put bodybuilders to shame. 

Then, he bent his legs, bracing himself on the cloud, and slowly moved his arms to his side, making motions like he was grappling with the air, and dragging it to his hip. His arms shook with effort, and the veins across his body began to pulse. 

The bases of his palms met. 

“Ka… me… ”

Despite the distance, Clark could hear his words. He realized with a start that all the life on the mountains around them, including himself, had gone as silent as possible.

“ ha… me … ” 

Light appeared, contained in his cupped hands. The edges were a deep blue color, but at its core, it was a brilliant, shockingly pure white. 

“ ... HA! ” Gohan swung his arms forwards, and let the light he had built up and contained go all at once. The light erupted from his outstretched arms like a geyser, the beam rocketing forwards in a blue flash that dwarfed the illumination of the flaming mountain. It crossed the distance between the old man and the mountainside in an instant, and the Earth all around them shook with the impact. There was a resounding CRACK and a great thundering. 

Clark blinked rapidly, the flare of light having left blinding echoes in his eyes. It was only after a few seconds that he could make out what had happened, only to stare in abject shock and horror.

Mount Frypan’s flames were no longer there. But that was mostly a side-effect of Mount Frypan being no longer there. Massive boulders were all that remained. The rock that still stood crumbled in on itself. Giant shards of stone had been sprayed backwards, pelting the valley and studding the mountains on the other side of where Mount Frypan formerly stood.

A huge cloud of dust hung in the air, and slowly settled. 

Clark swallowed nervously as the intense feeling in the air faded away, and Gohan’s muscular physique deflated back to how it was. The old man pulled his robe back on, and tied his belt. Then, he guided the Nimbus back to where the two of them stood. 

He was blushing, looking down, refusing to meet either of their eyes. “...Kull, I’m so sorry.” 

“You overdid it,” Kull agreed with a sigh, “Ah well. Most of it was destroyed anyway. At least the fire’s out so the police will stop trying to keep people away due to the danger.” 

Clark blinked slowly, before looking towards Gohan, “That- what was that? Is it your superpower?” 

Gohan raised one bushy eyebrow, “I don’t think it counts. Everyone on Earth has the potential to do something like that, if they try hard enough.” 

“Maybe not on that scale,” Kull said. 

“You mean… it’s not a superpower? You’re not a metahuman?” Clark asked, uncomprehending. 

“Nope. Just plain-old human. One hundred percent,” Gohan assured. 

“Then… that just now, the… kamehameha, it was…” 

“Martial arts, yes,” Gohan held out his hand, and closed his eyes, concentrating. And then, floating above his palm, appeared a spark of light. Bright and intense, it was a bluish-white, “The process through which one masters their body, and the energy of their body. Their ki. The kamehameha was a technique the Turtle Hermit invented, named after both a Hawaiian king, and the characters for ‘Turtle Destruction Wave’.” 

Slowly, Clark reached out towards the light, and gently touched it with his finger. The energy sparked and burst, and there was the same tingling against his neck that he felt earlier. 

“Ki,” Clark said quietly. 

Chapter Text

Helicopters and hovercars buzzed through the air, while the roads leading into the valley around the former Mount Frypan, which had been blocked off when it first ignited, were filled with cars. Police vehicles maintained a barrier to prevent anyone from coming in close. Teams of volcanologists, bomb experts, seismologists, and geologists wandered up and down through the ruins, taking samples, pressing instruments into the ground. People from the press pushed in as close as they could to film the destruction, and interview anyone they could, seeking out information. 

Everyone working, even at cross-purposes, had one goal: Trying to understand what could make an entire mountain explode.

Meanwhile, the only people who could answer that question were sitting on the cliff overlooking the Ox King’s cave, watching the chaos unfolding below. After the initial shock wore off, Clark hurried back to the hotel and shook both Bulma and Eel awake to explain what had happened. The first thing Bulma did was check the Dragon Radar, and to their relief, the Dragon Ball was still giving off a signal. So he brought both of them back to the Ox King’s cave, where they joined him and Gohan in watching the various investigative efforts.

“People can’t just destroy mountains! Even if you think it’s just martial arts, it’s a superpower. It has to be,” Bulma protested.

“Miss Brief, with the proper training, and a few years of effort, you could learn to do the same thing.” Gohan assured.

“No, I couldn’t, because that’s impossible!” Bulma growled at the old man. 

“ Whatever it was, I don’t think it matters that much,” Eel said, “The real question we should be asking is- how the heck do we get in there and grab the Dragon Ball?” 

Clark pressed the button on the radar again, and sighed, “It’s right in the middle of the debris field. If we fly in, people are going to notice.” 

“Do we care about that?” Eel asked, “I mean, I get having a low profile in general, but we’re not going to let a police barricade stop us, are we?” 

“So we should just break the law?” Clark asked. 

Eel shrugged, “If you cared so much about following laws over helping people, I’d be escaping a prison right now. If we don’t grab the ball now, it just means that one of Doctor Sivana’s goons will attack whoever does grab it.” 

Clark nodded, conceding the point, “Then I’m just going to go for it. Nimbus!” he called, and the cloud quickly descended from the sky.

“Good luck!” Bulma called, “And don’t be afraid to head right for the mark! That explosion definitely moved the ball, so the Dragon Radar should be a lot more precise.” 

“Thanks!” Clark shouted back, before shooting up and into the sky. He rose high enough that the mountain peaks were all below him. He stopped only when he was significantly higher up than all the other vehicles investigating the destruction of Mount Frypan. Then he used the Dragon Radar, guiding his Nimbus bit by bit until he was floating directly above the Dragon Ball’s location. “Okay then, now take us down.” 

The Nimbus descended in a straight line, moving even faster than gravity would allow. Clark’s hair went wild as he dropped at high speed, and he found himself laughing. 

All at once, the Nimbus went still a few feet over a collection of boulders. He hopped off the cloud and dropped to the rocks below. “Is it under all this?” he asked himself, not seeing any sign of orange crystal. 

He climbed down, checked the Dragon Radar one more time, and turned towards the rocks with a determined expression. 

Reaching out, he pressed both hands against the stone, and shoved . For a few seconds he groaned with effort, but the massive boulder barely budged. He was super-strong, but that was just compared to normal people. When he and his Pa decided to really test his limits, they found that Clark could move things a little more than two thousand pounds if he really tried, but these boulders were multiple tons each. 

He considered his options for a moment, and eyed the nearest group of investigators. Nobody had noticed him yet, but he didn’t know how long it would be until someone did and tried to make him leave. 

He didn’t have time to try and dig to it, or to claw and punch his way through the stone. 

So, he would try something else. He tried to focus on that sensation he felt earlier that day, the one that coiled around Gohan so tightly just before he unleashed his blast. But rather than looking for it in the world around him, he tried to find something similar already within him. He closed his eyes as he concentrated, and mimicked the movements he had seen Gohan perform. 

There was a shift inside him. 

It was a feeling, he realized. The energy that sustained him, at its core, was a feeling .  He couldn’t define it. Hunger and satisfaction. Strain and rest. Activity. Motion. Motivation. When he ate, when he rested, when he pushed himself, when he fought, when he recovered from injury, it built up inside of him. The energy that was both produced and used by his body. Something more than just nutrients. 

He pulled at it. 

He cupped his hands, and gathered it there. He could feel it, moving through his veins. Clark narrowed his focus, aiming for the rock. He thrusted forwards, pushing with his arms, his muscles, and all the energy he had gathered suddenly lanced out of him!

The flare of light shocked him as it exploded from his hands in a beam almost as wide as his hand. The thin wave of ki slammed forwards into the rock, and exploded with a flash. The rock loudly cracked, and crumbled down. At the same time, Clark nearly toppled over, shocked at how different he suddenly felt. A moment ago he was fresh, and now it was like he had just been doing hard labor for hours, without any memory of it. His stomach growled, and his muscles ached. 

But he had done it!

Ignoring for the moment the wear on his body, he hurried forwards and observed the rock. The blast wasn’t anything compared to Gohan’s, of course. Not even a drop in the bucket as powerful. Where Gohan had obliterated the whole mountain, Clark had only shattered the single boulder that was hit dead-on. But it was enough. 

The smaller pieces were a lot easier to work with, and with some effort, Clark managed to shove aside one chunk of rock after another, before something caught the sunlight, glinting at him. He pushed away another rock almost as big as his torso, and grinned at the revealed Dragon Ball. Despite the dust in the air, it shined clearly, almost glowing. Inside the orange crystal were seven red stars, arranged in a circle with one in the center. 

“Four down, and just three to go!”

Chapter Text

The Jet Momonga puttered wearily as he crossed the endless ocean. He was a trained killer, not an engineer, unfortunately, and there wasn’t anything he could do to speed things up. This was his only vehicle capsule, all his others merely carrying weapons or survival gear. 

Yamcha sighed, resisting the urge to try and wring his long hair out again. The salt had made it dry in a strange way, and it felt uncomfortable against his neck. However, the sight of something else on the horizon caught his attention. Another hovercar!

He had gotten lucky just surviving the crash into the ocean, and now he was getting even luckier. Maybe things were turning around for him. He threw his hands into the air, waving them wildly, “Hey! Heeeeyyyy!” 

The other hovercar wasn’t slowing down, unfortunately, but it didn’t need to. He accelerated the Jet Momonga as fast it could go, making the poor punished vehicle wheeze and rumble in protest. He forced it up into the sky, and then carefully aimed for the oncoming hovercar. Yamcha waited patiently for the right moment, and just as the hovercar was about to shoot by underneath him, he leaped. 

The assassin sailed through the air a few feet, before crashing into the back seat of the roofless vehicle. 

“ Ack! What the heck !?” the pilot cried out in Japanese. The sense of triumph from making the jump suddenly vanished, and Yamcha’s chest filled with dread. The voice had been a feminine one. He turned to stare at the girl- only to let out a sigh of relief when he saw how young she was. 

“ Sorry,” he replied back in the same language, “But I need this hovercar!” He wasn’t lying, either. Far below them, there was a splash as his Jet Momonga hit the sea, finally falling apart and sinking to the depths.

The girl, who was middle-school aged, with short black hair and wearing a black shirt and jeans, narrowed her eyes at him, “ Are you a pirate?” 

“ When I have to be, hands off the wheel, and get into the back, or I’ll throw you out and you’ll have to swim to the nearest island. ” Yamcha threatened, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a capsule that, with a push of a button, summoned one of his spare swords. She dutifully let go of the wheel, glaring at him all the while, and slowly got up out of the driver’s seat. They kept their eyes on each other as they very slowly switched seats, Yamcha getting into the front, while the girl retreated to the back. “Good. Now, just stay back there and keep quiet, and I’ll drop you off somewhere with dry land. ”

She said nothing, simply sitting down. Yamcha grinned. Things were looking up! He turned the hovercar around, aiming back towards Japan, and pressed his foot to the gas. They accelerated across the ocean, back on the hunt. 

“ NO! We have to keep going. I need to meet with Muten Roshi!” 

“Muten Roshi,” Yamcha said to himself, shocked, “ You know where he is?” he turned around and glared at her and asked “What are you to him?” 

“The child of his student.”

Yamcha frowned, muttering to himself, “Son Gohan never had children, which would make you-” his eyes widened, “Oh no.” 

The girl flicked her sleeves out, the motion sending two capsules hidden inside her sleeves out into her hands. She caught both of them and activated them without hesitation. In two flashes of vapor, both hands were clad in twin-clawed gauntlets. 

She swiped forwards, and Yamcha ducked to avoid getting beheaded by her four claws. The blades passed through the air with a whistling sound, and Yamcha swung his own sword at the girl. Steel met steel, and Yamcha found his arm actually straining in the face of the girl’s strength. She was definitely stronger than she looked. But exactly as strong as her reputation. The Turtle Hermit’s last two students were still big names in the world of martial arts, and so was everyone connected to them. 

“The daughter of the Ox King Kull. You’re Chie Scandal!” he said in English, narrowing his eyes at the child. 

“Great, you know the name of the girl who’s going to kill you!” she shouted in English as well, furiously swiping with her claws. He was forced to duck again, and then jump up to retreat. He landed in the passenger seat, and without anyone at the wheel, the hovercar began to list to the side, no longer following any particular path. 

Seeing her chance, she slashed downwards. Yamcha threw himself back as much as he could to avoid getting his leg cut, but Scandal anticipated that. The blow knocked the wheel of the hovercar, sending the hovercar rocketing back out towards the Pacific, and away from Japan. 

He jabbed out with his sword, but she merely caught it between her own four blades, trapping the blade. Deciding to not bother trying to rescue it, he let go of the handle, and used her surprise to take the chance to strike out at her. He leaned into the familiar motions of the Wolf Fang Fist, lashing out incredibly quickly with palm strikes, chops, and kicks. He battered the girl back and forth, and then grabbed the edge of the seat and swung himself towards her, tackling into her. 

She was knocked backwards, and scrambled to try and keep her balance in the passenger seat. But in the end, she couldn’t make it. She toppled over the edge of the car’s door, and only barely managed to sink one of her claws into the steel before she fell to the ocean far below. 

“Ah!” she cried out, arm shaking as she tried to hold onto the clawed gauntlet. In her desperation, she let go of the other gauntlet, letting it fall to the ocean below to grab onto the hovercar with her hand. Yamcha reached back and grabbed the wheel, stabilizing the vehicle, and watched her struggle for a moment. 

He glanced down at the dashboard, and saw the satellite map displayed in the center. 

He sat down, and hit the gas pedal. The girl shrieked as she hung on for dear life as the hovercar shot across the ocean. Bit by bit, the blade pulled free of the hovercar’s side, and her fingers began to hurt to keep her grip on the hovercar. “Stop it!” she called out, “You jerk! My Dad’s gonna kick your ass!” 

Yamcha watched the map carefully, and then abruptly hit the brakes. The hovercar jerked to a sudden stop mid-air, and Scandal screamed as she lost her grip and went flying. However, her screaming came to a sudden stop as well the moment she hit the water, which was a lot closer than she expected. Swimming back up to the surface hacking and coughing, she turned her glare at the hovercar as it floated only a few feet over the sea. “What’s the big idea, you jerk?” 

“Consider this my good deed for the day, Kame ,” he said with a sneer, “As thanks for the ride- and for the info to help me get back in good graces with the League of Assassins.” 

“League of-” she began, before her eyes began to widen, “You’re with the stupid Tsuru sen’nin? !” 

Yamcha grinned, and turned the hovercar around, blasting back across the horizon, and quickly out of sight. Scandal tread water for a minute, watching with growing dread and frustration, before turning her gaze behind her, where she could just barely make out a small pink house on a tiny desert island.

Without any choice, she turned and started swimming for Kame House.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you don’t want me to fly you back to your mountain, Master Gohan?” Clark asked as he returned to the hill on the Nimbus.

“I’ll be fine. It’s been a while since I’ve done long-distance running, anyway. Hm. Maybe I can make an exercise of it. I’ll have my students meet me halfway,” the old man said, amused. 

Bulma grinned as he put the seven-star Dragon Ball in the bag with the others, “Are you sure you want to train with this guy Clark? It seems like he puts his students through the wringer.” 

Clark smiled, “I’m sure. I mean, I’ve already started learning stuff, and we haven’t even started yet!” he said, holding out a hand, and concentrating. He pulled at the energy, at the feeling of living deep inside him, and pushed just a tiny spark of it outside of him. Bulma stared in shock as the sparkling wisp of ki formed over his palm. 

Gohan and the Ox King were just as flabbergasted, staring at the light in his palm. The Ox King was the first to recover, and started laughing, “Do you have any clue just how long it took me to muster up even that much control of my ki? And you… you just see it performed just once and- BWAHAHA!” he lost his words, laughing too hard. 

“I see why the Turtle Hermit pushed you towards martial arts. You definitely have a talent for it, that’s for sure,” Gohan said wearily, “Neither of my current students have been able to bring up so much as a spark so far.” 

Bulma narrowed her eyes at the fading light, “Huh… anyone can use that, you say?” Gohan nodded, “That’s something to look into, then.” 

Eel patted him on the back, “Well, congrats Clark. You’re going to be blowing up mountains in no time!” 

“Let’s hope not,” Gohan muttered, “Well, kids, Kull, I’m off. I wish you luck on the rest of your journey. Clark, I’ll be expecting you next Spring. I’ll be sure to save a spot for you among my students, so don’t keep me waiting too long.” 

“Right. I’m looking forward to it,” Clark said, waving to the old man as he began jogging up the mountainside, aiming for the road.

Bulma zipped the bright pink backpack shut, and swung it over her shoulders, “Alright. Only one more left in the wild, and then we’ll have to challenge Sivana for the other two.” 

“Should we get moving?” Eel asked, “I’m all rested up, and I feel like we’re on a roll.” 

“Why not?” Bulma asked, throwing down her hovercar capsule, “Clark, do you want to ride with us, or take your cloud?” 

“I think I’ll hitch a ride with you guys,” Clark said, “The Nimbus can keep me warm, but it doesn’t really protect against getting wet.”

“Sounds good,” she said, “Mister Ox King? Thanks for the tea, and for the Dragon Ball.” 

“Thank you for helping me finally put out that fire,” he said, “And for making me reconnect with Gohan again. I’m… actually finding myself looking forward to my daughter reaching the Old Master. He’ll likely call me, and it’ll be good to hear his voice again.” 

The trio climbed into the hovercar, and waved goodbye to the Ox King as they took off, heading for the one-star Dragon Ball, hundreds of miles away in the middle of Russia, where it was lying on the ground, half-covered by dirt in the shade of a bush. The same place where it had been for more than a hundred years. At least until the gigantic metallic hand closed around it, picking it up. 

“Object acquired,” intoned the robot Mister Atom.  It looked out over the massive landscape that it had been searching since it had been fully repaired. The last few days had been peaceful, it decided. Reaching up, it tipped the top of its head back, and dropped the Dragon Ball inside, and then closed it again. With a rumble, the bottom of its feet transformed into rockets, and the boosters in his palms opened up. With a degree of flexibility and maneuverability the previous iteration of its body wasn’t capable of, it shot expertly into the air, and rocketed across the landscape. 

In the distance, a fortress stood over the plains. It had a gigantic square base, tiered like a pyramid, but the top level, rather than ending in a point, took the shape of a large traditional castle. Although it was one with a sci-fi twist, considering the satellite dishes and mounted ray-guns. 

Mister Atom made a landing on a designated pad, and stomped his way inside. 

“Mission status: successful,” Mister Atom announced, coming to a stop inside a large room covered in computers. 

“ Successful ?! Really!?” Doctor Sivana whipped around from the screen he had been staring at, smiling wide, “Mister Atom, you beautiful, handsome, clever machine!” 

Mister Atom turned its head to the side, blushing, “Cease compliments. Danger of overheating: rising.” It bowed, and Doctor Sivana reached up to open the headcase, letting the Dragon Ball roll out into his hand. 

“With this, we have three of them, and if what I’ve managed to glean from the Sivana Dragon Radar is correct, those kids have obtained all of the others,” he said, gesturing at the model of the globe, with two clusters of light projected on it. One cluster, over Japan, was very slowly moving towards the other, in Russia. 

Where they were now. 

The door opened, and Mai, Jeepers, and Herkimer walked in, groceries in hand, “We’re back, Doctor.” 

“So is Mister Atom!” Doctor Sivana said cheerfully, “And guess what he brought me?” He held out the Dragon Ball, before practically dancing towards the containment case in the center of the room, a place of honor, where he set it down on a large pillow.

“We can finally leave!” Herkimer said gratefully, “Being this far north does not suit a cold-blooded gentleman like myself.” 

“Not quite,” Doctor Sivana said, “The children are coming to us, and they’re bringing the Dragon Balls with them. Jeepers, they outlasted you. Herkimer, you were overpowered. Mister Atom, the boy’s power took you by surprise.” The three minions looked away, ashamed. “They even escapted the assassination I commissioned,” he said, conceding the point to a smug Mai, “But do you know what they haven’t faced?” 

“Um… all of us at once?” Jeepers asked. 

“ Precisely !” Doctor Sivana said, “Not to mention the fact that all of Mister Atom’s charitable work has been completed on our way to the location of the Dragon Ball.” 

The robot grinned, its eyes flaring red with power, “All radioactive pollution in Karachay and Chernobyl areas successfully absorbed,” it said, proud, “Power levels: over one thousand percent!”

“Doctor Sivana, there’s no chance that we’ll get cancer or something from standing too close to Mister Atom, right?” Jeepers asked. 

“I wouldn’t give him any hugs,” Doctor Sivana said, “But you’re actually safer than usual. Mister Atom is constantly absorbing all radioactive energy. You can’t even get a sunburn if Mister Atom’s nearby.”

“No wonder the microwave doesn’t work any more,” Herkimer muttered. 

“Of course, should Mister Atom choose to release that energy, it’s another story,” Doctor Sivana said with a grin, watching the Dragon Radar closely, “as those children will soon discover.” 

Chapter Text

“We may have a problem,” Bulma said, sitting on her chair in the little Russian restaurant they had stopped at. She was staring at the Dragon Radar, and the fact that the imprecise location of the final Dragon Ball had shifted since the last time they checked the device. Worse, it had moved even further West, and then stopped… right next to the two Dragon Balls that the robot had stolen from her at the start of their journey.

“Is the problem that only Clark can read the menus?” Eel offered, gesturing to the Russian menu in his hand. 

Clark leaned over, peeking at the Radar, “Doctor Sivana has the last three,” he said.

“Okay, nevermind. That is a problem,” Eel said, setting down the menu, “So what do we do? Walk into an ambush? Or do we set up somewhere and wait for him to come to us?” 

“I’m honestly not sure,” Bulma said, considering the radar, she pressed the button again, but both clumps of Dragon Balls remained exactly where they were, “I know that he can hire thugs all he wants, and at least one professional assassin. He has at least two metahumans working for him, and the robot. Actually, Clark did the robot blow up?” she asked.

He shook his head, “I damaged it, but when it escaped, it left its legs behind in a way that had to be intentionally designed. If he can ditch his legs like it’s no big deal, then it probably wasn’t that hard to fix him,” he frowned at Eel sympathetically, “And he was burning-hot to the touch. I don’t know if you’ll be able to do anything with him.” 

Eel sighed, “Hm. I think the others might not be as big of a problem, though. Maybe we could try the fastball special trick on the bat-guy.”

“Fastball?” Clark asked. 

“You know, when you threw me at the assassin?” he grinned, “Wrapping myself around the flying guy seems like it would work pretty well. Especially if we can do it while he’s up in the air.”

“I think I’d prefer it if you stuck close to Bulma, and let me do the fighting,” Clark said. 

“I’m not helpless, you know,” Bulma said, “Especially not after we took everything the Crocodile Man had.”

“But you don’t know how to use them,” Clark said, “...What if you two were to stay here, and I could take the Dragon Radar and go to Doctor Sivana on my own.”

“That sounds like a suicide mission,” Eel said, “So. No.”

“But-” 

Eel grinned suddenly, grabbing Clark’s shoulder and pulling him closer, “You’re not the only guy who can fight here, remember?”

“But you don’t like fighting, you’re…” Clark trailed off, glancing at Bulma. 

Eel followed his gaze, and slumped back, offering a smile Bulma’s way instead, “...I’m afraid of hurting people,” he admitted, “When I first got my powers, I…”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Clark said. 

“Nah. If not you two, who else? My name’s Patrick ‘The Eel’ O’Brian,” he said slowly, “And I didn’t want to tell you that, because that’s a name that’s in the papers. Ones that talk about all my daring heists. Me and my gang hit all kinds of places, and always slipped out without being caught- hence the name. I’ve robbed banks, jewelry stores, museums… anywhere that there was a safe to crack, we’d bust in and crack it. And sometimes, with all the hitting, busting and cracking, people got hurt. Nobody died, thank God, but… that was more just good luck, rather than us being careful about it. None of us cared. About the people we hurt. About each other.”

Bulma and Clark shared a look, but neither interrupted.

“One night, we happened to hit the Cole Chemical Plant. The owner was a bigshot, and we heard he had a big safe in his office,” he continued, “But someone must have seen us sneaking in, because by the time I had the safe open, the cops were barging in through the door. We pushed past ‘em, and were running, when the flatfoots started shooting at us.” 

Eel looked at the glass of water in front of him, and reached in to pluck out an ice cube. He set it down on the table. 

“I got shot. The rest of my gang didn’t stop when I called for help. And when I stood up to try and follow, the cops shot at me again. But this time they missed, and a bullet hit the chemical vat behind me. Out sprayed some acid, and the pain made me black out.” 

The ice cube began to melt.

“Oh, Eel. I’m so sorry,” Bulma said, “Then that was what made your metagene kick in?” 

He nodded, “I didn’t really hear about the scientific hows and whys until a long time after. All I knew was that when I woke up in the hospital I was made of… whatever I am now. It took me hours to take a shape resembling a human.” He sighed, “They were going to ship me right to Belle Reve. I was already a criminal, but now they could justify maximum security because I was a metahuman criminal. I didn’t want that, so I escaped. Hurt a lot of the cops and doctors breaking out. I nearly brought the whole hospital down. When I got on the street, people began screaming at me. I looked like a monster… and I was. Because the very first thing I did upon getting my freedom and figuring my powers? I stomped over to our hideout, and I got revenge on my gang for leaving me to die.” 

He raised a finger over the melting ice cube, and then pressed down. It shattered. 

“I hurt them. They were so fragile, and I was so angry. And just like with all our robberies, everyone lived, but only because of good luck, not because we were being careful. I wasn’t being careful at all. There were a lot of bruises, and a lot of broken bones. More than one of them probably won’t ever walk again. I haven’t been brave enough to look them up and find out.” 

“I’m sorry Eel,” Clark said softly, putting his hand over Eel’s. 

“I haven’t attacked anyone directly since then. I haven’t dared.” Eel said quietly, staring at the tiny drops of water on the table, “Any time I had to touch another person, it was always with the kid gloves on. Grabbing. Containing. Spooking, so I don’t have to get violent. Clark, you offered to help me with that. To help me get used to being strong,” he looked up, goggles meeting Clark’s eyes, “I think it’s about time we did some of that.” 

“You mean, training? When we’re so close to the Dragon Balls?” Bulma asked, gesturing at the radar again. 

“You too,” Eel said, grinning. 

“ I’m not super-strong,” Bulma protested.

“But you don’t know how to use those guns you took from the Crocodile Man,” Eel said, “But you’re talking to a hardened criminal over here. I’ll teach you how to use them safely, Clark can teach me how to use these guns safely,” he flexed one arm, making it for a moment inflate with cartoonish muscle, “And… I guess you can teach Clark something too?” 

Clark smiled, “I don’t mind. We’ve been so busy traveling that it doesn’t feel like we ever had the time. And if we know that there’s only one thing left for us to do… maybe we should take the time to go in prepared.”

Chapter Text

Clark didn’t wince as the gun rattled off in the distance. Bulma had been working on her aim practically all day, and by now he had more-or-less gotten used to it, to the detriment of a number of trees that they had plugged targets into. 

Instead, Clark devoted all his attention to Eel, watching as the man lashed out at him with a gigantic fist. 

The boy threw out his hands and caught the blow, but the force of it was still enough to push him backwards, “How strong do you think that was?” Clark asked. 

“I don’t know how to quantify this kind of thing,” Eel protested, pulling back, “what would you say?” 

“That was about as strong as a car crash. The blow is way too heavy for normal people.”

“But you said the last one was too light!” Eel huffed, “Moving my mass around like this isn’t an exact science.” 

“I think you overcorrected,” Clark said with a shrug, “I know you can get really precise with your transformations. Why is handling your strength so difficult?”

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Eel said.

“Why not? It’s all just the application of muscle. The way you handle things, you either don’t put any pressure at all, or you go full-force superhuman,” Clark said. 

“Do I even have muscles?” Eel asked, frowning. 

“Good question,” Clark frowned as well, relaxing from his ready stance and walking over, “I don’t know. Let me see.” He walked over, and pressed his hands against Eel’s forearm, “Try moving your hand around on your wrist. Rolling it.” 

“Only like a human could, or really rolling it?” 

Clark sighed, “That might be the problem too. Both. Human first.” As Eel rolled his hand, Clark focused on the forearm. There was a slight pull with the movement, but it didn’t feel exactly right, “ Something ’s moving internally,” Clark murmured, “But… Can you do the cartoon rolling now?” 

“Ha-ha,” Eel said, before spinning his hand around on the end of his wrist like a propeller. Clark’s eyes widened as he watched, feeling the twitches of the forearm. 

“Can you extend your arm- but keep spinning.” Eel did so, making the arm longer and longer, “I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

“Okay,” Eel said, uncertain. The arm stretched, but after a few feet, it started getting thinner- and his hand started to slow. 

“Keep it up!” Clark ordered. 

“But- fine!” Eel narrowed his eyes in focus, and something in his arm shifted as it became thicker again- and retracted -only for Clark to squeeze down on it.

“No, keep it moving, and keep stretching.” 

“But…” 

“Just try,” Clark pressed. Eel grit his teeth, but kept stretching, kept his hand spinning, until Clark was standing nearly fifty feet from him, holding the rope-thin length of his arm, while his hand very slowly and very weakly rotated, hanging from Clark’s grip. “Speed up!” Clark shouted, and Eel found himself hissing with concentration.

Clark watched the hand as it sped up, reaching its previous speed, and then continuing even further beyond. The fingers became a blur as they spun around like the blades of a fan. It was even starting to stir up a breeze around him. Clark watched for a few seconds, and then lashed out and grabbed the hand. For a moment the rotation continued; sending a coiling twist through the long, extended arm. But Eel quickly caught himself, and stopped, “Hey, what gives?” 

Clark grinned, and raced back with Eel’s hand in his own, before presenting it to Eel’s face, “Look at your hand. Notice anything weird about it?” 

“It’s attached to a fifty-foot arm?” 

“No, really look,” Eel let out a small huff, and then leaned in closer, looking at the back of his own hand. It took him a second before he noticed that they had no knuckles. Worse, the fingers had all evened out, more-or-less, becoming the same length. He tried to bend them, and frowned when they did so it was in the way that dough bent, not a joint. He fixed his hand with a thought, and Clark looked up at him beaming. 

“You do have muscles- but only when you’re trying to look human,” Clark said, “You can retract your arm, now.” Eel did so with a thought, and when he was done, he rolled his shoulder a bit, moving his now correct-length arm through the range of motion a human can, “When you’re trying to be human, you include some of the muscles. Not all of them, though. Your arm’s muscles didn’t twitch when you moved your fingers, but it did twitch to move your wrist,” Clark said, excited, “And when you made your hand spin, you spun the muscle inside your arm, too… for as long as you were trying to keep your hand a human hand. But once your arm was thin enough, you didn’t have room for that muscle. When I told you go faster, the muscle vanished, but your hand stopped acting like a human one.” 

“...Okay, but what does any of that mean for me?” 

“When you hit me with your giant fist, like earlier, is that your hand, blown up to a large scale? Or is it plastic that you’ve turned into a fist-shaped battering ram?” 

Eel considered that for a moment, closing both of his hands into fists, and then making both hands grow. They grew at different rates, but by the end had both settled into fists the size of fire hydrants. Clark noticed that the way the arms matched the giant fists was different as well. “Hit me with the plastic fist first, just as hard as earlier.” 

Eel swung back, and then slammed the gigantic fist into Clark, who simply caught the blow and let it slide him back a bit, “Okay, that was about car-crash strength. Let’s try the other one,” Clark suggested. Eel pulled back, and then raised the other fist and punched forwards, crashing it into Clark. The boy caught that punch too, but found himself grinning even wider as it landed, “That feels more like it should. This would definitely hurt a normal human, but it’s less car crash, and more like a full-body tackle. This is the scaled-up human fist, right?”

“Right in one.” 

“And this was easier to control, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s because you have muscles in it. There’s an internal structure along with the external one.” 

Eel pulled back both hands, and considered them, “Huh… I didn’t know I was doing that.” 

“Try some other shapes, and give them some internal muscle.. Things you’d like to use in a fight, if they weren’t so dangerous,” Clark suggested. 

Eel grinned, “I think I have a few ideas.” 

Chapter Text

Yamcha watched the tracker in his free hand. Despite the delay, despite his inferior hovercar, he had managed to catch up to his quarry. Bit by bit, the signal got closer. 

Looking up, he stared out at the stretch of wilderness in front of them. There was a town nearby, probably where they would be staying, but the signal from the hovercar stopped further into the plains, near the mountain. As he approached, he slowed down, keeping the rumble of the vehicle to a minimum. Finally, he stopped the engine entirely, and allowed the vehicle to drop into a freefall over the woods. He reached over to the side, and pressed the capsulize button. It exploded into vapor all around him, and left the assassin to fall on his own. 

He snatched the capsule out of the air and hid it in a pocket, before grabbing onto the nearest branch. His weight and momentum snapped it, but it bled off enough of the force that the next branch he grabbed onto was able to hold. 

Dropping to the forest floor, his ears perked up at the sound of gunfire. Silently, he made his way closer on foot. The tracker in his free hand told him as he got closer to the car. A thousand feet. Six hundred. Three hundred. One hundred. Now he was almost at the edge of the clearing where they had to be.

It was then that the gunfire suddenly ceased, and Yamcha tensed. Had they seen him? He inched forwards, pressing his back to a tree near the edge of the clearing, and began to lean around it. 

Sure enough, there was the hovercar, parked at the edge of the clearing only a couple dozen feet from where he was. Across the clearing from them were the two metahumans. The shapeshifter who almost did him in, and the super-strong boy that had been so troublesome. But where was the girl? He leaned out even further, only to throw himself back and to the forest floor as bullets suddenly began to hail down all around him. Smashing into the bark, striking the ground nearby, filling the forest with deafening fire sounds. 

He didn’t dare move from his cover, cowering behind the trunk of the decimated tree. 

But after a few seconds the gunfire petered out, and he heard the voice of his main target. “Oh wow , that really shook me. I think I’m gonna stick to the smaller ones.” He heard the sound of capsules being used, and then the gunfire resumed- this time mowing down a completely different part of the woods. 

She was just practicing, Yamcha realized. Bad luck, on his part.

He leaned out again, and caught sight of her. His heart began to beat faster, his face warming. She stared out at the woods as she held the gun in her hands, her deep blue eyes totally focused on the target pasted against one of the trees. She wasn’t practiced with the weapon- not significantly, -but she was trying. And she’d be deadly enough with all the same.

She stopped firing, and moved to push back a strand of long blue hair back behind her ear. She looked at the target ahead of her, and smiled in satisfaction. Yamcha yanked himself back behind his cover, and tried to stop the thudding of his heart. He tried to tell himself that these feelings were useless, worse than useless, counterproductive. The fact that his target was learning how to use a weapon was neither intriguing or impressive, it was… bad. It meant she was going to be even more troublesome than before.

Steeling himself, he leaned out again, and focused his attention on the boys. They seemed to be sparring with each other in a way that was genuinely terrifying. The shapeshifter was making full use of his power; turning his legs into springs and leaping, before coming down in the shape of a spiked ball. The tough boy would dodge everything, however, moving faster and jumping farther than any kid that size should be able to. 

The shapeshifter melted from the giant ball into… an octopus with boxing gloves, furiously punching and swiping at the smaller boy. And this time, one of the punches connected, sending the boy bouncing and skidding across the field. 

Immediately, Yamcha started thinking. 

The shapeshifter could regenerate, he knew, which meant that if he was going to kill it, he would have to get all of it at once. He waited for the girl to start firing the gun again, and used the sound to hide the sound of one of his capsules opening. In an instant, his panzerfaust was in hand, and he slotted one of the rockets into it. 

He leaned it against his shoulder, and looked through the targeting reticle, aiming for the shapeshifter. Yamcha would wait until he took a more condensed form, and then fire when the detonation would cover all of him.  

But as he waited for his moment, he heard something else behind him. 

People walking through the woods. A large group- all of them heavy enough to snap branches on the ground and shake the forest around him with their steps. Whatever animals that didn’t flee from the girl’s wild shooting were fleeing in the face of these new intruders. 

Turning around, he turned the scope of his weapon on the new group, and nearly dropped his weapon in surprise at the collection of motley figures. A huge furry humanoid with big pointy ears, long leather wings hanging from his arms like a bathrobe. A crocodile-headed creature carrying a tommy gun. A fifteen-foot tall man made of steel with a helmet designed to look like a bullet. And finally some kind of custom battle-jacket, one with four spindly legs, a large claw-hand and a gun-hand. Through the window on the front, he could make out the face of a beautiful black-haired woman at the controls.

Jolting in place, he scrambled up the tree, trying to avoid being in sight of the party in front of him, or the ones approaching from behind. A group of metahumans and another woman- were they friends of his targets? 

To his annoyance, the group stopped just before the edge of the treeline, keeping within the shade. If any of them happened to look up, he’d be caught in an instant.

“That’s them alright,” the woman said, “Bulma Brief and her two little bodyguards.”

The bat-creature bared his mouth full of sharp teeth, “I can’t wait for a little payback!” he growled. 

The crocodile switched off his safety, and slowly lifted his gun, “Same here.” Both of them then turned to look up towards the metal man, “What about you?” 

“Payback: unnecessary. Status of mission: Business, not pleasure.” 

Both of them sighed, before inching forwards. 

The woman’s battle jacket began to hover, lifting into the air, “Everyone knows the plan. Jeepers, Herkimer, you take out the girl. Mister Atom will handle the bodyguards. I’ll keep overwatch, and try to locate the Dragon Balls,” the woman declared. 

Sitting up in the tree, Yamcha began to sweat. 

Chapter Text

Bulma stopped firing, reloading the gun in her hand and turning to face the next target, when Clark heard something that the gunfire had drowned out. 

The heavy stomping of something charging through the forest towards them. Whipping around, he stared into the woods, and caught sight of a glare of metal before Eel’s attack bowled into him, sending him rolling across the ground. 

“Hah! Finally landed one. How do you like that, Clark?” Eel called, but Clark ignored it, jumping to his feet and staring in surprise at the robot that had cleared the treeline and was outright running towards them. 

He recognized it immediately as the same one that he had gotten Bulma away from at the very beginning of their journey, but at the same time, he could see obvious differences. The most important difference was, of course, that he was moving a lot faster now. Eel turned his head to follow Clark’s gaze, but didn’t get very far before he was punched aside by the robot, screaming in pain from the extreme heat that radiated from the machine. Clark stared in horror as Eel’s half-melted body hit the ground.

Clark didn’t have time to even call out to his friend before the robot moved to attack Clark instead. 

The robot lashed out with a kick that would have sent it bowling over before, its previous joints not equipped for that range of motion in a way its new joints obviously were. Clark jumped over the blow, but the robot was now fast enough that it was able to take advantage of Clark’s momentary inability to dodge to land a massive punch to Clark’s chest. 

The fist of the robot was smaller than the one that Eel had thrown at him just a short while ago, but it hit so much harder. Eel was learning to hold back, but the robot was attacking with its full strength. The blow was harder than a car crash- closer to getting struck by a train. Clark’s own weight was meaningless in the face of the impact, and for the second time in as many minutes he was sent bouncing back across the ground. Even worse, the heat radiating off of the robot hadn’t disappeared in its apparent upgrade, and where the steel had touched skin, there was now a stinging pain. 

He pushed himself up off the ground, only to throw himself to the side as the robot was suddenly on top of him, ready to slam the heel of its foot into where he had been a moment ago. 

The robot’s head whirled to the side, keeping track of Clark’s movements, its glowing red eyes never straying from his form. Clark rolled as he landed, and jumped to his feet, staring at his opponent. The robot- Jeepers had called him Atom at some point, hadn’t he? -was about as tall as before, but wasn’t as bulky. Its joints had been upgraded, from something you’d see on an action figure, to true mimicry of the human form… 

Except the head. 

Clark grit his teeth, and prepared to launch himself towards the head of the robot, when Bulma’s scream rang out across the clearing. Clark couldn’t help himself, turning away from his opponent to look for her- and realized that Atom hadn’t come alone. 

The Crocodile Man and Jeepers were both making their way towards Bulma. She turned her gun on them, but Jeepers simply guarded his face with one hand and endured the hail of bullets, while behind him the Crocodile Man used his ally as a shield, only leaning out to fire right back at her. Bulma shrieked again and ran for the forest, her mad scrambling just barely letting her escape from the gunfire, but with her back turned and weapon facing the other way, the two other villains picked up the pace, running towards her with murderous intent. 

Clark leaped towards them, dashing across the clearing as fast as he could. But within a few easy steps thanks to his much larger stride, the robot caught up and delivered a burning-hot battering-ram kick to his side that sent Clark careening into and bouncing off of a tree. 

Clark groaned in pain where he landed, only able to lift his head and watch helplessly as the two other villains disappeared into the woods after Bulma. 

He struggled back up, and debated for a moment whether to chase them, or to focus on Atom first. His eyes shot towards the robot as it stomped its way towards him, intent on finishing him off. That fifteen-foot frame made it a terrifying combatant, especially with how much easier it was moving compared to their first encounter. But maybe it had its disadvantages too. Clark turned around, and moved to climb up the tree. He barely reached the branches by the time the robot caught up and swatted at him. 

The metal hand crashed through the lower branches of the tree, shattering them, but it wasn’t able to reach Clark before he reached the top. From there, Clark flung himself into the top of the next tree, and then swung into the next. 

Like in Colorado, the movements came to him easily, falling into the flow of shooting through the foliage of the Russian forest, never stopping, turning every swing into just more forward momentum. He moved through the leaves at high speed, following the edges of the clearing to try and chase after Bulma. Atom never stopped chasing him, and never fell too far behind, but Clark was able to keep ahead of the android. 

As he cut his way deeper into the woods, following the sounds of gunfire, that distance grew. Atom was forced to either knock over trees in its way, or step around them, exactly what Clark expected. 

For the first time since the fight started, Clark was beginning to feel confident again. 

That was, until the blast of intense heat slammed into him from behind. The pain left him in shock, on the verge of passing out, and he missed the next branch he intended to grab. Instead, the boy fell to the forest floor. He hit the dirt and hissed from the pain as the cold air stung at his skin- skin that was now open to the air. 

He staggered to his feet, and then realized he could smell something burning. He tipped his head back, and realized that his shirt was on fire! He hurried to rip it off, throwing the cloth to the ground, but the distraction was just enough time for Atom to appear again, knocking over a tree. “Target reacquired,” the robot announced, before aiming one open hand towards Clark. In the palm there was a hole, one that was shimmering with heat.

“The beam!” Clark realized. 

Light was already building inside the palm’s tunnel again, and Clark rolled to the side as it lanced out, leaving a charred and glassy spot on the ground. Clark felt a shiver go down his spine. That… seemed a little stronger than the beam before it. As Atom aimed again, Clark jumped out of the way, and managed to avoid the blast that vaporized part of a tree’s trunk, leading the entire plant to collapse. 

The beams were getting stronger. 

Chapter Text

Bulma ducked behind a tree as bullets riddled the environment around her. Finally able to stop moving for a moment, she breathed in as deeply as she could, filling her burning lungs with precious oxygen. Never in her life had she run so fast! 

Her entire body felt hot, her limbs shaking with fear and exhaustion while she caught her breath. 

How could she get away? Clark was busy, and Eel might take a while to recover. The hovercar was still back in the clearing, she realized, looking at the empty spot in her case. They were only going to train for a short while before heading back to the hotel they stayed at last night, back in town- she didn’t see a point to putting the hovercar away yet, and now it was biting her in the butt.

“Come on, Bulma, think,” she hissed to herself. Jeepers was bulletproof. Crocodile Man wasn’t. Jeepers could only kill her at close range, but the Crocodile Man was as heavily armed as she was, and could kill her from farther away, considering he actually knew what he was doing. Her hand drifted to the capsule case in her pocket, popping it open. To start, she swapped out the gun in her hand for one that still had all its ammunition.

“There she is!” Jeepers called, hearing the burst of vapor from the capsule.

“Here I am!” she shouted back, picking one out of the capsules and throwing it straight up, before she started running, again hitting the button on the next one she planned to use.

Behind her, Jeepers and the Crocodile Man raced out into the open, the bat-creature with his claws raised in anticipation, the Crocodile Man leveling his gun- only for both of them to be hidden from sight as Eel’s house-wagon smashed down from above. A cloud of dust was thrown into the air as the ruined vehicle hit the earth, the upper level crashing in on itself with a screech of groaning steel and shattering glass.

Using the distraction of the house-wagon crashing down, the third capsule she opened activated without her enemies noticing, depositing the communicator they had used to talk to Doctor Sivana. She put the device in speaker mode, and then cranked up the volume and pressed the button to call the doctor. 

Her trap set, she ducked back, shrinking into a clump of bushes and clinging to the tommy gun in her hand, while feeling the inside of her capsule case, debating which one to grab next. 

There was a crackle, and then Doctor Sivan’s voice rang out. “Yes? Have you done it?” he asked over the line, “Are they dead? Well? Report!” 

Jeepers clambered over the wreckage of the house-wagon, and scrambled to the communicator, “What the-” 

“Ah. Jeepers. Are they dead? Do you have the Dragon Balls?” 

“Er, sir, I don’t-” Bulma took her chance, aiming for the head of the bat-creature. He was protecting it earlier, which meant that he might be more vulnerable there. She squeezed down on the trigger, and let the hail of bullets ring out across the distance, peppering the bat-creature’s upper body, “-AGGGH! THAT BRAT!” 

“Jeepers? Jeepers, why was I called, what’s happening?” 

“Doctor, I’ll call you back,” Jeepers muttered, his voice muffled by his own hand as he pressed it against his face. Bulma wasn’t sure how much damage she did, but she could tell that she at least managed to hurt him. She waited until Jeepers moved to hang up on the scientist, and used his momentary distraction to run further back into the forest. 

Unfortunately, the moment she turned around, she caught sight of movement deeper in the woods, heading the direction she was planning on going. She grit her teeth and kept running, her palm turning white around the capsule in her hand from how hard she was gripping it. The Crocodile Man suddenly shot out of the bushes, but rather than flinch back, she threw the capsule towards and above him. There was an explosion of vapor, and the Crocodile Man reacted by immediately pulling the trigger at it.

Bulma trusted her aim, and kept running, turning her own weapon towards him and preparing, slipping her finger over the trigger. 

As the Crocodile Man’s bullets started ringing out, they hit glass, plastic, and cloth, all of which were collapsing towards him, pulled by gravity. The remnants of their picnic fell across the Crocodile Man. Most of the shots aimed at Bulma met and were at least a little deflected by the cooler, which had shattered under the assault even as it fell towards him. He ended up under the picnic blanket, and began to try and thrash his way out, before Bulma pressed the nose of her own gun against the struggling form under the cloth. 

“Don’t… move,” she huffed, out of breath. 

“You’re not gonna kill me. You’re just a bunch of kids,” the Crocodile Man hissed, but the confidence in his voice was undercut by the fact that he kept his body completely still, not daring to give her an excuse to fire. 

Bulma started to catch her breath, and considered the figure under the blanket. Should she just fire? She doubted her ability to tie him up like this, especially when he still had his own weapon. If she pulled back, would he just shoot at her through the cloth? The cooler managed to keep him from gunning her down earlier, but it was in shards now. 

Her hands began to shake. She still hadn’t made up her mind, when suddenly things got colder. With a start, she realized that something had blocked out the sun above her. Slowly turning her head, she saw the huge, furred, muscular form of Jeepers. 

The bat-creature stared down at her, and she felt her stomach drop as she saw his face. Her gunfire earlier put a few holes in his big wide ears, and one eye was pinched shut, bloody tears falling from it. The rest of his face looked battered, but none of the other bullets seemed to have outright penetrated his skin. Slowly, he gave an evil grin, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp fangs- with a few missing or chipped teeth. 

“Uh… feeling merciful to a puny human?” Bulma offered, smiling back. 

“Not today, no,” Jeepers said pleasantly. He lifted both arms, curling his hands into fists and raising them high over his head. Prepared to bring them back down on her with far more force than a sledgehammer.

“Hey!” Bulma protested, “I-I’ve got a gun to him right now! If you care about your friend, you’ll take a step back.” 

“Doctor Sivana can always patch us back up in the end,” Jeepers taunted. 

“Not if I’m dead, you jerk,” the Crocodile Man muttered. 

Bulma’s hands began to shake even more, but she didn’t dare take them off the gun, and lose the absolute last advantage she still had. 

She watched Jeepers with horror as he moved to bring his fists down-

And then she yelped as she was blown away by the force of the explosion that suddenly consumed the bat-creature. 

Chapter Text

Yamcha lowered his panzerfaust staring at the beautiful girl- the target- the… 

He stared at Bulma Brief. 

He just saved her life. He had to kill her, and he saved her life. He was a failure. Totally and completely.

The charred form of the monster bat fell backwards, while the alligator-thing under the picnic blanket stirred, no longer being held down at gunpoint due to the girl being knocked backwards by the force of the blast. The reptile whipped its head back and forth, before glaring down at Bulma. It raised its gun towards her-

And Yamcha screamed as he flung himself out of the tree, leaving his used-up rocket launcher in the tree. The alligator turned away from the girl, and instead aimed its gun towards Yamcha. It pulled the trigger, and Yamcha bit back another shout as some of the spray made contact, digging into him. However, he pushed through the pain and the moment he landed, he was already charging forwards towards the creature. Before the alligator could get another shot in, Yamcha punched the gun to the side, and then began to rain punches and kicks down on the creature in a furious and flawless display of Wolf Fang Fist. 

The alligator slumped to the ground, unconscious. 

Yamcha watched it for a few seconds, before daring to relax himself. But the moment he did, he fell to one knee, suddenly very aware of just how many bullets he took. They didn’t hit anything vital, but the pain still hit him like a truck. 

Gritting his teeth, he reached into a pocket to draw out a capsule, when suddenly he heard the click of a pulled trigger. The deafening blast of gunfire caught him off guard, and he dropped the capsule. He turned his head towards the source of the sound, and once again met the brilliant blue eyes of Bulma. He swallowed nervously, and pulled his eyes away. Only then did he notice that she was aiming her gun at him. 

“So,” she said, still shaking with leftover fear, “What’s the big deal? I thought you were trying to kill us.” 

Yamcha swallowed again, “That’s… that’s right! Which is why I couldn’t allow anyone else to harm you,” he lied, “in order to complete my mission, I’m the one who has to… to…” 

“Then why didn’t you aim at me, instead of at Jeepers? Kill me before he had the chance?” Bulma narrowed her eyes at him, before glancing down to the capsule that fell from his hand. A hand which, he noted with some distress, was beginning to shake. He was bleeding quite a bit, right now. 

“I…” he didn’t have a good explanation for that, “He was in… the way?” he offered.

She scoffed, before changing the subject “What’s in that?” she asked, jerking her gun towards the capsule on the ground. 

“First-aid kit,” he answered honestly. 

“Open it,” she ordered, “But throw it to the left, away from either of us.”

He did so, and sure enough, an emergency kit appeared. Bulma lowered her weapon, and then returned it to a capsule and moved to grab the kit. He had already started removing the outer layer of clothing by the time she carried it back to him, and he noticed that she seemed to flinch when she noticed, her face turning slightly pink at the sight of his bare chest. But she shook herself, and kneeled down to start taking out bandages from the kit. 

“I don’t know how to do this, so you’re going to have to tell me,” she said, refusing to make eye contact with him. 

She shifted closer to him, but he didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed, instead, he simply began to calmly tell her what to do as they started to dress his wounds. Unfortunately, not much time passed before something came stomping through the woods, shaking the earth with each step. “Shit,” she muttered, “The robot’s coming this way. I hope Clark’s okay.” 

“We need to move,” Yamcha said, “Get me my belt.”

She handed it over to him, and Yamcha opened a specific pocket, pulling out a capsule and tossing it. In a burst of white vapor, the hovercar that he stole from Scandal appeared. 

He moved to stand up, but almost collapsed as soon as he tried. Bulma quickly put an arm around him, and he suppressed his urge to pull away, letting her guide him into the vehicle, “Can you drive on your own?” she asked. 

“You aren’t coming with me?” he asked. 

“I can’t leave Clark and Eel behind,” she said, “And you need to get to a hospital.” 

Yamcha looked between her and the controls, before gritting his teeth and forcing his leg against the pedal. The hovercar jerked forwards, and he let out a hiss of pain, but he kept going, letting the vehicle lift up and away, “I’ll…” he hesitated. Come back for her? Track her down again? He wasn’t sure, so he left it there, and swung the wheel around, turning the hovercar back in the direction of town. 

Back on the ground, Bulma watched him fly off for a moment, before she realized that the robot was still approaching. She began running, but she had barely started when the tree in front of her suddenly caught fire at the base and fell to the side, nearly crushing her. She turned to follow the path of destruction to its source, and spotted the giant robot. It stared down at her, aiming its glowing palm her way. “New target identified,” it said.

“No!” Clark cried, diving out of the foliage and crashing into the robot’s arm. The blow was enough to redirect its aim, but Bulma still felt her skin prickle as the massive column of light shot past her, burning a hole through the brush behind her. 

Clark fell to the forest floor and immediately dashed off again, moving to climb up the nearest tree. Bulma took the chance to duck into the bushes herself and crawl away. “Multiple targets,” the robot stated, before rotating its head and beholding the rest of the scene around Bulma, “Allies: incapacitated.” It tipped backwards slightly, looking up into the sky, and then cupped its hands over its mouth, “Requesting: Advice from overwatch!” 

Slowly, Mai’s battle jacket descended from high up in the sky, and she popped open the glass window, looking down at Mister Atom, “What?” 

“Clarification of objective requested,” Mister Atom stated, pointing at his fallen comrades, “Herkimer and Jeepers failed again.” 

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Mai muttered, leaning out of the battle jacket to glare at the burned-up form of Jeepers and the beaten-up Herkimer, “...I really hate to do this,” she began, “But maybe we should retreat. I’ve already grabbed the bag they had the Dragon Balls in,” she explained, holding up a red backpack with yellow stripes. It was unzipped, and filling it were a few glowing orange balls. “You did take out at least one of the bodyguards, right?” 

“...Answering question: I am unsure. Subject possessed metahuman regenerative abilities, but was disabled before I pursued the other one.” 

She huffed, putting the red-and-yellow backpack back down inside the vehicle, “Well I didn’t see any sign of him when I nabbed the balls… I’ll grab the dead weight, let’s get in the air. Maybe you’ll spot them, and if not… Well, we have what Doctor Sivana really wants.” 

Chapter Text

Clark and Bulma trudged through the forest, exhausted and beaten up, until they reached the clearing again. “Eel?” Clark called out, “Are you alright?” 

There was no answer. The two of them shared a concerned look, before Clark hurried across the clearing to where Eel had been knocked away. Their friend wasn’t there. “Eel!” Clark shouted, “Where are you?” 

“You don’t think they…” Bulma began. 

“No, no, I don’t think so. Even after Yamcha blew him up, Eel was able to pull himself back together,” Clark said, determined. 

“Ah, about Yamcha.” Clark looked her way, and raised his eyebrows in surprise to see Bulma blushing a little.

“Yeah?” 

“I think he saved my life?” she said, “He blew up Jeepers right before he was going to pummel me, anyway, and he took some bullets for me.” 

“He was here?” 

“He flew off in a hovercar after beating the two of them,” Bulma said, “I’m not sure why he did it. Maybe Sivana betrayed him after he failed to kill us? And this was just him getting even?” 

Clark nodded, “I had wondered what had happened. I thought maybe you had cooked up another burning thing, like you made for Eel when we first met.” 

“...It might be worthwhile anyway,” Bulma acknowledged, “The oven in the house-wagon might be salvageable for parts.” 

Clark shivered in the cold northern air, still without his shirt. With the mention of the hovercar, he looked over to the edge of the clearing, where their own vehicle was sitting. If Eel pulled himself together, and found the clearing empty, what would he do? Try to escape? Try to protect the-

Clark’s eyes shot open wider, and he leaped for the hovercar. He swung the door open, and then reached under the passenger seat, grasping for a familiar strap. He pulled the pink backpack out, and felt his stomach drop at how much lighter it was. He unzipped it, and then turned it over. Some snacks and the Dragon Radar dropped out- but nothing else. 

“Bulma!” he called. 

“What? Did you find Eel?” 

“No! But Sivana’s people- they took the Dragon Balls!” 

She hurried over, and snatched the backpack from him, looking inside, and then at the objects that fell out. Quickly, she dropped the bag and took the Dragon Radar instead, pressing the button. Sure enough, a collection of lights were heading away towards the other collection. Three lights moving to meet with another… three lights. 

That was six, the seventh was… right on top of them?

Bulma narrowed down the range as much as possible, down to mere feet, but the seventh Dragon Ball still read as being directly next to her. She looked around, before looking at the glove box, and popping it open. There, along with papers, sunglasses, and a bunch of other knick knacks, was the four-star Dragon Ball.

Clark picked it up, and then looked at the Dragon Radar for a moment. “The bag was still where we hid it. Zipped close. My Dragon Ball was hidden. And the Dragon Balls are missing, but not the radar, which Sivana also wants,” Clark said slowly, “...I think Eel gave them the Dragon Balls.” 

“You think he betrayed us?” 

Clark shook his head, “I think he was trying to protect the Dragon Radar.” 

“By sacrificing the Dragon Balls?!” Bulma demanded. 

“By sacrificing three of them,” Clark said, pointing at the screen, “And leaving us with the way to track them.” 

Bulma frowned, “Then… where’s Eel? Would he just hide the Dragon Ball and then run off into the woods?”

“If the bad guys looked inside the car and found three Dragon Balls sitting on the seat while they were looking for four, would they stop looking and just leave with the three?” Clark asked. 

“Oh my god he’s with them in disguise,” Bulma muttered, “Shit. Could he turn himself into a good enough imitation of a Dragon Ball?” 

“Maybe,” Clark said, “But now we know where he is. So let’s go after them!” 

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, “If we’re going to attack Doctor Sivana at his home base, I want to be better prepared.” 

“What?” 

“I need some parts to work with,” she said, putting the machine gun back in its capsule, “Because frankly, if this peashooter wasn’t able to do much to Jeepers, it’s not going to do much to that robot or whatever else Sivana’s been cooking up. Also, depending on how well he’s doing… maybe we could get some backup.” 

“Yamcha?” 

“Why not? He’s already helped us once. The enemy of our enemy is our friend, and all that,” she said, looking away. 

Clark smiled up at her, “Alright, I’ll trust you. You were right about Eel, you’re probably right about him, too.” 

Miles away, the battle jacket set down on the landing platform of the small fortress, and began to walk inside. Moments later, Mister Atom came to a landing as well, strolling after the vehicle. The two made their way into the laboratory, and Mai stopped the machine, popping open the front again and stepping out, the backpack full of Dragon Balls in hand. 

Doctor Sivana looked up from his displays, and turned a side-eye on them, and at the beaten-up forms of Herkimer and Jeepers in the battle jacket’s arms. “I suppose I should get around to upgrading the two of them just as I’ve upgraded you , Mister Atom. Oh well, Mai, Mister Atom, report.” 

Mai held out the bag proudly, “The remaining Dragon Balls, Doctor Sivana.”

His eyes lit up, “All of them?” 

“Yes,” she said, handing the backpack to the scientist. He reached inside, and pulled out the seven-star Dragon Ball. 

“Marvelous,” he carried them towards the case where the three he had already collected were displayed, and set down the seven-star in its spot. Then, he took out the six-star, and placed it between his five-star and the seven-star Dragon Balls. Next, he took out the three-star Dragon Ball, and placed it next to the one- and two-star that were already sitting on the pillow. 

And then he reached into the backpack one last time, and found nothing else.

“...Mai, there are supposed to be four balls in here,” he said, his voice quivering with rage.

“Maybe… it’s in another pocket?” she offered hopefully. 

“You didn’t check ?” Doctor Sivana said, almost amazed. 

“I didn’t check,” she admitted, looking away. 

“You didn’t check,” he muttered, shaking his head. He looked down at the bag and glared at it. He turned it upside down and shook it. He opened another pocket, and then shoved his hand into it, feeling around- and froze when he heard a giggle. 

“Doc, doc, I’m ticklish! Stop it.” 

He slowly pulled his hand out of it, but before he could drop the bag, it exploded into a swarm of tendrils, grappling the scientist like an octopus. “What is this!?” Doctor Sivana shrieked. 

“Doctor!” Mai shouted, taking out a capsule and transforming it into a gun. 

“Don’t shoot, you ignorant moron!” Doctor Sivana yelled as soon as it came up towards them, “He’s bulletproof, I’m not!” 

“But-” 

Mister Atom took a step forwards, and Doctor Sivana yelped as the countless plastic arms squeezed down on him harder, “Ow!” 

“Hey, hey,” Eel said, his head rising out of the mass of tentacles and slowly taking shape, “No weapons, or Doc here gets it.” Mai dropped the gun, “Good, good.” 

Another tendril rose up from the mass containing Doctor Sivana and reached up towards the display case. Horrified, Doctor Sivana watched as the tendril turned into a giant hand, and scooped up all six Dragon Balls. 

“Now then, we’re going to make our way to a hovercar, and then you’re going to drive us to the nearest town,” Eel said, looking at Mai, “And once we’re there, You and the Doc here are going to be handed over to the flatfoots, and me and my friends are going to take the Dragon Balls and head elsewhere.”

“Correction: That will not happen,” Mister Atom announced, moving between them and the exit to the lab.

“Oh? Aren’t you worried about your boss, here?” Eel pressed, “Don’t take one more step, iron man.” 

Mister Atom raised its palm, and in a burst of light, the tendril that had scooped up the Dragon Balls was vaporized, sending the six crystal balls clattering to the floor. Eel howled in pain, but was silenced as another flash of light consumed his head. The rest of his form liquified in an instant, and Mai hurried to pull Doctor Sivana out of the writhing mound of living plastic. 

Another head began to take form from the mix, but Mister Atom blasted that one as well, before stomping closer, and pressing its boot into the mound, and activating the jet on the bottom. 

There was an inhuman sound, not a scream, but a shuddering and echoing hiss. The molten plastic stopped moving, simply spreading across the floor in a large red-yellow-and-pink puddle. 

“Target: eliminated,” Mister Atom announced, looking towards Doctor Sivana hopefully, “Mission status… Partial success?”

Doctor Sivana stared at the mound of plastic, before turning his glare at Mai, “We’ll discuss your many failures later. For now, start by cleaning this up, and gather it in a jar. I'll study it later.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said, bowing. 

“And get Jeepers and Herkimer to the medical room, I’ll fix them when I can be bothered,” he huffed, before turning to look at Mister Atom, the merciless robot staring right back at him, “Mister Atom… guard the front door. I have a feeling that we’re going to have guests soon. And they’ll be bringing the last Dragon Ball with them.” 

Chapter Text

Clark slid his hands into the heavy leather gloves, and clapped his hands together. “You think these’ll work?” 

“If it’s enough for firefighters, it should be enough for you,” Bulma said, grabbing another toaster oven from the shelf and dumping it in their shopping cart. 

He wiggled his fingers, and then clenched his hand into a fist. 

Running the last encounter with Mister Atom through his head, Clark had realized a few things. While he had been forced to dodge for most of it, he landed one attack- when he saved Bulma -and from it he learned quite a bit. For one thing, Mister Atom’s new arm weighed less than the last one. The new model had increased deadliness and mobility, but maybe it wasn’t quite as durable. The figure was a lot more lean, after all. 

If he could get in close, and brave the intense heat that radiated from the robot at all times, he might be able to make a difference. He might be able to win. 

The gloves would help him with that. 

So would his new clothes. All of them were made out of rough, heavy, fireproof fabric, and while the outfit would hopefully protect them, they were hard to move around in. A thought struck him, and he grinned. He was doing the opposite of Mister Atom, giving up mobility for higher defenses.

“Do you think that Eel is okay?” he asked as Bulma pushed a children’s microscope into the basket, and finally turned the shopping cart towards the entrance of the store. 

“Absolutely,” she said, “Nothing we’ve seen yet has been able to hurt that guy. Not for long, anyway.”

Clark nodded, anxiety and anticipation battling inside of him. 

They paid for their supplies, and then headed back to their hotel room, where Bulma promptly dropped down and began disassembling everything she bought, carefully putting together a device that looked more like an oversized hair dryer than anything else. Maybe because a hair dryer provided many of the components.

“Are we checking in on Yamcha once you’re done?” Clark asked. 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Do you think he’ll agree to it? You said he got shot.” 

“I don’t know. A part of me thinks so,” she grinned, “He’s really tough, you know? He managed to survive that crash into the ocean, and chased us all the way to Russia- only to gallantly throw himself to my rescue. It’s like something out of a fairytale.” 

Clark smiled, and watched as the machine came together, piece by piece, before something occurred to him, “I still have the remote for Eel’s fire-thing in one of my bags here. It… uh, might need new batteries though. Would that be useful at all?” 

“Yeah, actually. Slot some new batteries in there, and I can hook it up to work with this one too. Last time being able to detonate the device from a distance turned out to be useful, it might be this time too.” 

“Would it hurt Eel if we turned it on?” 

“I doubt it. By now he’s either gotten rid of the heat-generating device he swallowed, or it’s probably run out of power.”

“That’s not a definite no,” Clark said, but he still shuffled through their things, until he found where he stashed the remote. Slotting new batteries inside, he carefully put it in one of his back pockets. It wasn’t that long before Bulma finished up on her new heat ray, and declared that they could move on. The trip to the hospital was a short one, and it didn’t take long for Clark- as the only one of the pair that could mysteriously speak Russian -to convince them that they were Yamcha’s friends. Especially after Bulma paid his medical expenses. 

They followed a Russian nurse to the designated room, and the two of them entered the room. Inside, Yamcha was lying in a bed, bandages covering several of his limbs. 

“Hey,” Bulma greeted. 

“You!” Yamcha said, shocked. He began to turn red, and the heart monitor behind him started to beep faster, “You survived.” 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Bulma teased, moving closer and pulling up a chair for herself. Clark followed, and looked between the two of them. He definitely wasn’t noticing any obvious signs of killing intent from either of them, despite everything they had gone through, “So, how long are you supposed to stay here?” 

“Supposed to, or planning to?” he asked, “Nothing vital was hit, like I thought. Walking will be a little more painful than I want for a while, and one of my arms is out of commission for at least a few weeks. Technically, I could leave here today, and be fine with some rest and some painkillers.”

“Not feeling up to a raid on the base of the guys who shot you, then?” Bulma asked. 

“The base-” Yamcha blinked in surprise, “Why?” 

“They took our friend,” Clark said, “and the Dragon Balls. We need to get them back. But if you’re too injured, we’ll be fine just on our own.” 

“Ah- let’s not be too hasty. Yamcha has a stake in this too, Clark!” Bulma quickly said, “But yeah, basically. It’s a rescue,” she leaned in closer to Yamcha, and he inched away as much as he could while avoiding making his wounds worse, “And don’t tell me you’re against that kind of thing. You bravely rescued me for the exact same reason, remember? If you’re not the one to do the deed, you’re not completing your mission, right?” 

“...Right. The mission,” Yamcha said, avoiding making eye contact with her, “I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” he said, beginning an excuse before forcing his eyes to meet her own. He held steady for almost a full second- “...but at the very least, I can still fire a gun?” He finished weakly, unable to say no.

“I knew we could count on you!” Bulma said cheerfully, “Alright, let’s get you up and out of here!” 

“Agh! Wait- ouch!” 

Clark narrowed his eyes, looking between them. There was no killing intent, but something was going on between them that he just wasn’t getting. 

Chapter Text

The flying Nimbus raced along after the hovercar, Clark’s veins were singing with eagerness for the upcoming fight. His final rematch with Mister Atom. And this time, it was a battle he thought he could win. 

The fortress belonging to Doctor Sivana quickly became visible on the horizon, and Clark looked over at the hovercar, giving the pair inside a nod. Bulma flashed him a thumbs up, and he urged the Nimbus faster, racing towards the castle at breakneck speed, easily passing the hovercar and eating the distance in seconds. As he drew closer, Clark noticed the large landing pad on the main tower of the fortress, and the figure standing in the center of it. 

Mister Atom turned towards him, and raised both hands. Clark urged the Nimbus to take evasive action, and watched as flashes of burning light lanced out into the sky far above and below him, off to the sides, every beam missing him by a wide margin. 

The distance closed rapidly, a thousand feet, five hundred, a hundred, fifty. He skated around the edge of the launch pad, and then jumped off the Nimbus, tackling into Mister Atom. The robot stumbled backwards from the impact, but unlike every previous blow, Clark didn’t immediately jump away to nurse his wounds. 

He could feel the heat radiating off of Mister Atom, even through the thick coat and the gloves, but it wasn’t painful or unbearable. Just there . He stared into the bright red eyes of the robot, and then threw his body into a kick to the stomach that folded the robot. The machine let out a metallic groan, before bringing its arms down in a cross against its chest, trying to catch Clark between them. The boy scrambled upwards across Mister Atom’s body, avoiding the arms and driving his boot-covered foot into the face of the robot for good measure. Mister Atom responded by igniting the jets in its feet, rocketing up into the air- and then straight down into the landing pad again, the sharp point of its head pressing into Clark’s chest like a spear. 

The boy shouted in pain, but he refused to let up. Grabbing the sides of the robot’s head, he began to squeeze. The bullet-shaped skull of Mister Atom began to warp under the pressure, and Mister Atom quickly swung its entire body, throwing Clark off of him. 

The boy rolled as he came to a stop, and then braced himself to dodge as Mister Atom straightened its arms and opened its hands, firing beam after beam of intense heat and light Clark’s way. Clark was forced to flee, circling the robot, but Mister Atom still wasn’t fast enough to land a solid hit. Giving up on its long-range attack, the robot instead ignited the jets in its feet again, and barreled towards Clark head-on. 

The boy let out a cheer, and braced himself, catching Mister Atom by the shoulders and swinging his head away just enough to avoid the point of Atom’s skull. The force of the jets pushed them back, but Clark ground in his heels, letting the bottoms of his boots scrape at the ground below them, only giving way inches at a time. Mister Atom’s eyes flared red, and it reached up with its hands to grapple Clark back, the crushing steel grip pressing down on either side of his chest in a ruthless mimicry of what Clark tried to do to the robot’s head. 

The boy grit his teeth, and then threw the robot, letting the jets carry Mister Atom up and away from him. 

The robot reoriented itself in the sky, and then turned its palms back towards Clark- straightening its arms as it did so. It was like a lightbulb going off in the boy’s head. Why didn’t Mister Atom blast him just now, when Clark was between its hands? Its arms were bent. At an angle. The light was coming from somewhere deep inside the robot, and it came out with a huge amount of force. Was it not safe to fire unless the arm was as straight as possible? Every time Mister Atom used its beam, its arms were sticking straight out. 

He grinned, and jumped back, avoiding the first two shots, and then he jumped up, yelling “Nimbus!” as he did. The cloud swooped out of the sky and caught its master, carrying Clark up and away out of range of further blasts. Once again, Clark had his cloud charge straight on towards Mister Atom while moving evasively. Allowing the Nimbus to focus on dodging, Clark tensed himself for his next move. 

He got in relatively close, but not so close that Mister Atom would start relying on melee attacks again. 

The Nimbus dodged a blast, and then another, and then just as light began to build up inside Mister Atom’s left arm again, Clark moved . He threw himself from the cloud, grabbed onto the arm just as it was about to fire, and forced it to bend at the elbow. 

For a moment, he grinned in triumph, seeing the shocked expression on the robot’s face. 

And then the heat radiating from its arm increased. Rapidly .  The metal of the arm began to change, shifting from its original silver color to a glowing red, to a shining yellow. The steel arm expanded under Clark’s grip, blowing up like a balloon. Clark’s leather gloves burned, the skin on his hands underneath them beginning to burn as well.

Before he could let go, the metal in his grip burst.

A wave of heat and light erupted outwards, unlike anything that Clark had experienced before. His coat blackened and charred, but did its job of protecting his body, but his face wasn’t so lucky. In an instant, he was blinded, the heat sinking into his skin and nearly making him black out with pain. 

He flew backwards, propelled by the explosion, until he came to an abrupt stop, slamming into something soft. The Nimbus caught him. 

He tried to offer thanks, but he couldn’t speak. 

But, apparently, Mister Atom still could, “Breach… c-c-contained!” it spoke, electronic voice skipping and shuddering, “T-t-target not yet eliminated.” Clark heard the sound of jets, and then a sudden and powerful impact against his chest- the massive weight of Mister Atom’s remaining right fist. 

Nimbus tried to cushion the blow, Clark could tell, but it wasn’t enough. He cried out in pain, and then felt Nimbus pull away as metallic fingers grabbed at his coat, lifting him up into the air. 

“I have d-d-decided,” Mister Atom stuttered, “That th-th-this is now personal.” 

Clark’s stomach dropped out as Mister Atom let him go, sending him into free-fall. Clark tried to call out for the Nimbus again, but he couldn’t make a sound. For a long few seconds, he was aware of the sensation of falling and nothing else- and then there was suddenly pain. Even more of it, concentrated in the center of his back. The edge of Mister Atom’s heel, a devastating kick that propelled him against and into the concrete surface of the landing pad. Clark fainted.

The last thing he felt was a strange sensation at the base of his spine.

Chapter Text

“Clark!” Bulma screamed, yanking on the wheel and forcing her foot against the gas so hard that the entire hovercar began to rattle and roar as it accelerated to full speed. 

Yamcha grabbed the dashboard as the woman next to him seemed to go berserk, intending on crashing into the giant floating android.  But he knew that he still had a job to do- even if he wasn’t too sure why he was doing it. He took out the strange weapon that Bulma designed in one hand, and with the other slowly rolled down the window. Immediately, the air inside the cabin of the hovercar went mad, but Bulma was too furious to notice, and Yamcha was able to ignore it and focus on his aiming. 

He leaned out of the window, raised the weapon towards the robot, and pulled the trigger. It bucked in his hand, and released a sudden flash of heat and light in a huge bright yellow beam. The beam of light shot across the distance, and smashed into the back of the giant robot. He took his finger off the trigger a moment later and the beam fizzled out, leaving a bright glowing-red spot on the robot’s back. For a moment, the heat seemed to spread across the entire robot’s body, the chest ballooning up- and then just as quickly, it deflated, the skin returning to a silver color. 

Mister Atom’s head quickly rotated back to face them, glaring with glowing red eyes, and shouted “Breach c-c-c-contained! Stop doing that!” it activated its jets, and soared towards them like a humanoid missile. 

Bulma spun the wheel, and the hovercar drifted in mid-air, just barely avoiding Mister Atom as it shot past, before continuing at high speed towards the landing pad. 

The hovercar came to a rough landing, scraping its bottom against the concrete and nearly flipping before coming to a stop. Bulma quickly scrambled out of the door, hurrying over to where Clark was lying in a small crater. Bending down, she lifted up the broken and charred body of the boy, and began to cry, “No, no, no, I promised your parents. We promised each other! Shit, shit, shit .” 

Yamcha climbed out as well, and began to fire blast after blast from Bulma’s weapon at the robot. Unable to come closer, Mister Atom remained airborne, glaring down at them and focusing on its dodging. 

“You need to get inside!” Yamcha shouted, turning away from their enemy for just a moment to level the weapon at the garage door. He held down the trigger, and drew a circle in the steel. The molten chunk of the door fell back, leaving an entrance. Satisfied, he turned back towards the robot, and fired another few shots to keep the robot at bay. 

Without many other options, she carried Clark with her down the hallway and into some kind of lab on the other side. She had been hoping for some kind of first-aid kit on the wall she could use, but instead she found Doctor Sivana waiting. Behind him was Mai, holding a large glass container filled with some kind of liquid. 

“Miss Brief.”

“Sivana,” she growled. 

“ Doctor Sivana,” he corrected, sneering, “A fact that you should hold in considerable importance, considering the state of your friend. If you managed to get by Mister Atom, I was planning on using a hostage-” he gestured towards the container in Mai’s hands, “-to convince you to hand over the remaining Dragon Ball that you’ve somehow hidden from the scanner. But now it seems that you’ve brought me even more leverage.” 

“Wait… is that Eel?” she asked, horrified. 

Doctor Sivana nodded, “The box is a trap of my own design. If anything should happen to me, the device inside will activate. First freezing , and then shattering , whatever is inside with a powerful sonic detonation. Ah- leaving the box and everything outside of it of course completely intact. Don’t worry Mai,” he said to his minion, before facing Bulma again, “Your friend has incredible regeneration, but can he pull himself back together after getting blown to a million snowflake-sized pieces?” 

Bulma grit her teeth. 

“But now, I have even further leverage. You saw the state that you left my beloved minions in. But I’ll have you know that within a few hours, they’ll be fully healed and active again. I could put your friend there in the same machine, and save his life,” Doctor Sivana offered.

Bulma looked down at Clark, and then at the box holding Eel, and then, finally to Doctor Sivana again.

“...You want us dead. If we give you the Dragon Ball, why should we trust you to keep your word and not just kill us?” she countered.

“The Dragon Balls have always been the most important thing,” Doctor Sivana said, “And my assassination… didn’t go as planned. Either the League of Assassins has an overblown reputation, or you meddling kids are nearly impossible to kill. I spent a great many resources trying to kill you without any success. I hate to say it, but I’m willing to set aside the damage you’ve done to my pride, as long as I get my wish.”

Bulma chewed her lip, conflicted, before sighing, “Fine. But you heal Clark and let go of Eel first . And you call off the robot right now!”

“Hm. I’ll heal the boy and call off Mister Atom, but you’ll only get this one back after I make my wish. Mai will hold onto him in the meantime.” 

Bulma bit back a curse, but nodded. 

“Very well,” Doctor Sivana walked over to a speaker near the wall, and pressed the button, “Mister Atom, we’ve reached an agreement. You can stop fighting.” Smiling, he turned towards Bulma, and gestured for her to follow him, “Let me lead you to the medical room.” 

She followed after him grudgingly, glaring at the back of his head. 

They came into another room, and Bulma stared in surprise at the large machine that dominated the room, with a half-dozen vats of transparent green liquid attached to it. In two of the vats were the familiar shapes of the Crocodile Man and Jeepers, suspended in it, apparently unconscious, with oxygen masks covering their faces. 

Doctor Sivana walked over to the machine, and pressed a button. A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling, and before she could do anything about it, plucked Clark from Bulma’s arms and raised him over one of the vats. It attached an oxygen mask to his face- and then dumped him into the liquid.

“What… is this?” she asked. 

“The future of medicine,” he said proudly, “Don’t ask me how it works. I don’t want Capsule Corp to steal the idea.”

“It looks like that thing they put Luke into in Star Wars,” she said.

“Shut up,” he said, blushing. 

She rolled her eyes at him, before turning her full attention to Clark. The burns… looked a little bit better than before, maybe? She wasn’t sure. But as Bulma stared, she noticed something out of place, “What’s that thing on his back?” 

Doctor Sivana frowned, moving in closer, and stared at it as well, “It… appears to be a brown furry tail. Did he have one before?” 

“No!” 

Doctor Sivana considered the tube for a few seconds, thinking hard, “...Are you sure he didn’t have one before?” 

“Yes! What did you do to him!?” 

“This isn’t me. If anything, I’d guess that this is just one more expression of his metagene. Superpowers are known to evolve in traumatic circumstances, after all.” 

Chapter Text

Yamcha and Bulma sat across from each other in the medical room, listening to the machine hum. Minute by minute, Clark seemed to be in better shape, the burns slowly disappearing from his face. 

“Are you sure this was the right decision?” Yamcha asked, “I mean, these Dragon Balls, it seems like they’re a big deal. In fact, the person who hired me to kill you wanted them too.” 

“The person who-” Bulma began, before sighing, “Yamcha, we’re in the house of the people who hired you.” 

The former assassin’s eyes widened, shock spreading across his face, before he seemed to break into laughter, “Oh my god, I’m so bad at my job.”

“I don’t think that being bad at killing people is a bad thing,” Bulma offered. 

“No, I guess not,” he said, managing to hold back his laughter, “The League of Assassins will never take me back.”

“...I’m sorry.” 

“No, no. You’re right. I’m not suited for that life. But now I have no idea what to do next,” he leaned back, and hissed as he accidently shifted his wounded leg.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to come out here, rather than letting you rest.” 

“I’m just sorry Sivana wouldn’t let me take a dip too,” Yamcha grumbled, “But back to the Dragon Balls?” 

“Right… they’re magical,” she began, before explaining, bit by bit, how she had discovered them, sought them out, found Clark, and finished their journey here, “And now the one who’s going to get his wish is Doctor Sivana.”

“What does he want?” 

“To know everything. How magic works. All the mysteries of the universe. Stuff like that.” 

“Hopefully it’ll just blow his head off,” Yamcha said, “A human mind can’t hold all the mysteries of the universe, can it?” 

“I don’t really want to risk it. Magic does exist, and so do things more powerful than magic,” she said, thinking back to Gohan’s display, “The Dragon Balls apparently can grant any wish. If magic can do that, and Doctor Sivana learns how to do it too…”

“What’s the worst case scenario?” Yamcha asked. 

“You know the King of the World?” 

“King Furry? Sure. The League of Assassins actually has standing orders to never take a hit on him, apparently our leader is happy with the environmental laws he’s put in place.” 

“My Dad is too. But, no, I meant the position of King of the World. Do you know why it exists?”

“Wasn’t it established after the first world war? When the United Nations started putting itself together?” 

“The League of Nations, although the guy they elected to be in charge did get the title, and it passed on to the leader of the United Nations once it formed,” she corrected, “But no, it’s even older than that. A lot older. When I was researching the Dragon Balls, I discovered that the last time the Dragon Balls had been used, it was to create that position. All of a sudden, there was one man, with one army, that was acknowledged by every country that made contact with him… and for his entire life, he was respected as the genuine King of the World. Inexplicably.” 

“Okay?”

“And then he died, and suddenly the world questioned why they should listen to him anymore. There was a huge rebellion, and the capital island this King of the World lived on was totally destroyed. Since then, Alexander the Great tried to earn the title, Caesar tried, Napoleon tried… it wasn’t until the League of Nations appeared, and King Furry’s ancestor stepped into the executive role, and they granted him the same exact crown that the original King of the World wore. They got it out of a museum for him!” Bulma protested.

“I’m not sure I get your point.” 

“Do you know how many factors go into something like that? What level of mind control, or- or however it was done, to convince hundreds of separate nations to agree to follow just… some guy ? The records don’t say his army was particularly powerful or anything. Everyone just agreed that he was in charge all of a sudden! And enough people had it burned into their memory that there could be a king of the world that the next time someone came into a position that was similar, everyone involved agreed to establish a global royal dynasty! That’s terrifying! That’s magic. And Doctor Sivana is just… the worst kind of person to have access to that kind of power.”

“You’ll hurt my feelings, Miss Brief.” 

Bulma and Yamcha flinched, jumping to their feet and turning to face the scientist as he walked inside. He was followed by Mai, carrying Eel’s box, and after both of them came the one-armed and beaten-up Mister Atom. 

Doctor Sivana walked past them without a care, and headed towards the two tubes containing the Crocodile Man and Jeepers. He inspected them for a moment, and pressed a button. The Crocodile Man’s tank emptied, and a robotic hand dipped inside to pull him out, setting him on the floor next to Doctor Sivana. “Herkimer, wake up. You’re back in action.” 

“Ugh,” the Crocodile Man groaned, before blinking his slitted eyes, and sniffing the air. He whipped around, and glared at Yamcha and Bulma, “You two! I’ll-” 

“Wait, Herkimer. Wait. We’ve come to a deal. They’ll give us the last Dragon Ball, and get out of our hair, in exchange for the healing and release of their friends.” Doctor Sivana explained.

“But out of all of us, Mai is the only one with hair for them to get out of,” Herkimer stated, causing Doctor Sivana to sigh, “What? It’s true. Jeepers only has fur. It’s different, we looked it up.”

Doctor Sivana inspected Jeepers’ tank, and sighed a second time, “You really did a number on him. I thought his invulnerability was high enough to deal with anything I expected him to face, but I didn’t consider the possibility he would take a rocket practically point blank,” his round glasses glared as he turned his head, focusing his attention on Clark, next, “Perhaps I’ll learn something from your friend, the Smallville boy. The explosion he endured was far worse in nature, yet he’s already totally recovered.”

“So he’s almost healed?” Bulma asked hopefully. 

“Yes. In fact, I believe that it would be safe to take him out now. Give him a chance to sleep normally for a little while. Perhaps he can nap until you take me to where you hid the last Dragon Ball,” Doctor Sivana said, smiling evilly, “I am very interested in just how you’ve managed to obscure its signal entirely.” 

With the press of a button, Clark’s pod began to drain as well. 

Bulma watched as the robotic hand reached in, and plucked the boy out of the liquid, pulling away his oxygen mask at the same time. To her absolute relief, he seemed as healthy as ever. There was no sign of the horrific burns that should have covered his hands and face. 

She took him gently from the robotic arm, and then hugged him close to her. She felt his breath on her face, and let out a sad sigh, “I’m sorry you had to go through that Clark,” she whispered, before looking up towards the expectant face of Doctor Sivana, “Once I give you the ball, you’ll let Eel go?” 

“That is the deal,” Doctor Sivana said. 

“Okay then. Let’s head outside, to the landing platform.” 

The group made their way out, all of them tense, and Bulma opened the door of the hovercar, which had taken something of a beating due to her reckless driving. She started the engine, and then set Clark in the back seat, and gestured for Yamcha to join him. 

Doctor Sivana smiled, “Where shall we fly to? Where did you hide it?” 

“ You don’t have to fly anywhere. We have it with us,” Bulma said. She slowly unzipped the front of her jacket, and then hooked a finger around the cord of her necklace. She pulled it up, and slowly a shape appeared from between her breasts, revealing itself as it popped out of the top of her shirt as the fourth Dragon Ball. 

“How did you- why would that-” Doctor Sivana sputtered, “You just stuck it down your shirt, and suddenly my Sivana Dragon Radar couldn’t detect it? What are your clothes made of? Lead ?” 

Bulma blushed, “Living matter blocks the signal. It’s magic, I don’t know!” She held the Dragon Ball necklace in front of her, “Set Eel’s box in the passenger seat, and I’ll roll the Dragon Ball over to you. Okay? We’ll get out of here, and you’ll have the ball.” 

“Very well. Mai, give them back Mister… Eel.” 

Mai stepped forwards, and Yamcha tensed, taking out Bulma’s heat ray and putting his finger just to the side of the trigger. As a result, Mister Atom tensed, and took a step forwards after Mai. 

“Hey!” Bulma called, “Just Mai, or I’m going to throw this straight up, and Yamcha will blast it!” 

Mister Atom took a step backwards, and Mai pressed on. She held the box over the passenger seat, and Bulma prepared an underarm throw towards Doctor Sivana.

“In three?” the woman asked. 

“Three,” Bulma said. 

“Two,” Mai continued. 

“One,” Bulma finished, not breaking eye contact with her. 

Mai let go of the box, letting it drop into the seat. Bulma tossed the Dragon Ball. Doctor Sivana scrambled to catch it, and Bulma threw the hovercar into reverse, pulling away from the fortress as fast as she could. Next to her, the transparent box opened with a click. She turned her gaze towards it, smiling hopefully, “Eel, you alright?” 

Something started rising out of the liquid plastic, but rather than turning into a face, it was shiny and metallic. A nozzle. She blinked in surprise, and then began cursing as smoke poured out of it. She couldn’t stop herself from breathing it in, and started coughing and hacking. Yamcha tried to reach towards it, but he had breathed in some of it himself, and he quickly started going limp. Bulma’s hands lost all feeling, and she found them slipping off the wheel, her head lolling as she became indescribably tired. 

The last thing she saw before blacking out was the figure of Mister Atom catching their hovercar before it could crash. 

Chapter Text

Slowly, Bulma’s eyes fluttered open, and she frowned to find herself in a chair- no, chained to a chair. 

“What…” she muttered, looking up. The room’s lights were off, but there was a large window that let in some illumination from the full moon- apparently she had slept through the entire afternoon, if the sun had already gone down. In the room with her was Yamcha, Clark, and the box containing the liquid plastic. Both Yamcha and Clark were similarly chained to their chairs, and all of them faced the same direction, looking out a window. 

On the other side, she could see the landing pad she had crashed into earlier, although it was a good distance away, and below her. “I’m in one of the towers,” she muttered, shifting in her seat and testing the chains, but she couldn’t get loose. All she succeeded in doing was making a lot of rattling noises. 

“.... iet… ” Clark murmured. 

Bulma whipped her head towards the boy, grinning, “Clark! You’re awake, I’m so glad. You really had me scared there for a minute!”

“... quiet , please… ” he whispered, his eyes wrenched shut. 

“Clark?” 

“Stop shouting,” he begged. 

“I’m…” she saw him wince, and then whispered, “I wasn’t shouting.” 

“What’s that drumming?” he asked, slowly opening his eyes, only to wrench them shut again, “Agh! AAaH! AAAAHHH!” 

“Clark! Clark!” she called, “Are you alright?” 

He clenched his mouth shut, breathing heavily, and then whispered again, “ It’s so bright and so loud .”

Yamcha stirred next, the jangling of his chains alerting all of them, and making Clark wince again, “What the heck was that stuff?” he asked. 

“I have no idea,” Bulma replied, “Um, can you whisper? I think Clark’s got the mother of all headaches or something.” 

Yamcha nodded sympathetically, before looking at the box containing the liquid plastic, “Your shapeshifting friend still hasn’t woken up?” 

Bulma shook her head sadly, “I’m starting to get worried.”

“Eel hasn’t…” Clark turned his head, and then slowly dared open one eye. He winced with pain, but kept it open, looking around the room, until he focused in on the box. Then he flinched back, closing his eye again, “There’s… a machine in the box. Inside the plastic. And a bunch of other stuff, but I think those other things were there before. Stuff Eel ate.” 

“Yeah, Doctor Sivana mentioned it. To threaten Eel with.” 

“It’s on,” Clark whispered, “I think it’s keeping him cold. Only the bit of him open to the air is liquid at all.” 

“How could you know that?” Bulma asked, but Clark just shook his head miserably.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he moaned. 

Yamcha struggled for a few moments, but the chains still wouldn’t give, “Clark, you’re strong, right? Can you break the chains?” 

“I…” Clark hesitated, “It’ll be loud.” 

“I know,” Bulma said, “But you still need to try.” 

Clark sucked in a breath, and then began to lean forwards, and push his arms to the side. Immediately, the room was filled with the sounds of groaning steel as the chains, and the steel chair itself, began to warp under the force he was exerting. 

But then he stopped, and looked up towards the window. Bulma and Yamcha followed his gaze, and spotted the lights on the edges of the landing pad slowly activating. And then, one by one, Doctor Sivana’s minions, including a freshly-recovered Jeepers, strolled out through the hole Yamcha melted in the garage door. They gathered in a circle, and waited patiently for the scientist himself. To Bulma’s surprise, Doctor Sivana was wearing a nightcap and pajamas. 

Bulma watched as the scientist shuffled forwards, towards the center of the pad. There, a mechanism seemed to activate, and a console rose up from a trapdoor in the floor. Doctor Sivana pressed a button on the console, and in the corners of the room, speakers crackled to life. They heard Doctor Sivana yawn, and Bulma could see him waving his hand cheerfully up at them, “Are you awake, Brief and friends?” 

Clark winced, “Please, quieter,” he requested.

“Ah, at least one of you, good. The sleeping gas should be wearing off right about now, after all.” 

Bulma sighed, “Why are we still alive?” 

“Because the boss forgot to wear his mask before we opened the doors to your car, and he accidentally breathed in the sleeping gas too,” the Crocodile Man explained, “We didn’t want to kill ya’ without him being awake to see it, so we decided to just chain you up until he woke back up.” 

Doctor Sivana slapped his snout, and the Crocodile Man flinched back, turning away in shame.

“Ignore Herkimer, please. He’s a moron. Children, you are alive… because I am good-natured,” Doctor Sivana said, “You all worked so hard getting these Dragon Balls for me, it’s only fair that you see the culmination of your efforts. And… you didn’t backstab me at the last moment like I was expecting. You really did hand over the real Dragon Ball in exchange for your friend. Quite the stupid move, honestly.” 

“Thanks,” Bulma said sourly. 

Doctor Sivana turned towards the console, and pressed another button. In front of him, a few feet away, another trap door opened, and allowed a pedestal with seven indents to rise up into the air. His minions moved forwards, placing Dragon Balls into the slots. “It still left me feeling a bit like a cad, sneaking that sleeping gas into Eel’s box. In fact, I am reconsidering whether to kill you at all, now. Perhaps I took things too personally. I am, after all, the adult in this situation, and all of you are just teenagers. It’s below me to hold grudges on immature brats like you four.”

“ Thanks.” Bulma practically hissed. 

“You’re very welcome, Miss Brief. Now then, this is my big moment, so I’m just going to mute things on your end, shall I?” he pressed another button, and then waved at the window. 

Bulma frowned, “You’re an idiot who probably isn’t even a real doctor!” she snarled. When Doctor Sivana didn’t give any sign of moving, she looked to the others, “Okay, he really can’t hear us. What do we do?” 

Clark grit his teeth, and then there was a cacophony of sound as he began to pull at his restraints again. The chair and chains groaned, before bending past their limits and breaking, tearing or snapping. Clark stumbled forwards out of his bondage, and then pressed his hands against his ears, breathing hard. 

He took a moment to recover, and down below, the minions finished putting the last Dragon Ball in place. 

“Good, good,” Doctor Sivana said cheerfully, “Now then… to say the magic words that will make everything possible…” he turned to the side, “Mai, bring forth the ancient scroll!”

Clark got back to his feet, and shuffled towards Bulma, reaching down with both hands, and yanking on her chains until they snapped. Then he did the same to Yamcha, before stopping in front of the box.

Slowly, he reached behind him, to his back pocket, only to flinch as his fingers brushed up against something that wasn’t there before. Slowly, he turned behind him, and looked at the tail he had grown while he was asleep. He was utterly dumbfounded for a moment, but pushed the thought from his head, he could deal with it later. 

He reached into his back pocket, under his mostly-destroyed coat, and pulled out the remote for the heating device Bulma built- that Eel had swallowed to try and destroy -and which he could somehow tell was still inside Eel, still intact, and according Bulma, potentially possessing enough power to still work. “Sorry, Eel,” Clark muttered, pressing the button. The remote’s signal activated- something he couldn’t hear before, but which now sounded like an awful drill -and Clark winced as Eel began to glow. But rather than averting his eyes, he focused them again, seeing, somehow, what was happening inside the cube. 

The two devices, one built in a hurry by Bulma out of scraps, and one a weapon designed by Doctor Sivana, warred. One emitting heat, one sapping it away. 

But Bulma’s was more powerful. The cold generator overheated and shorted out, and Clark watched as the previously frozen cube of plastic thawed, then began to melt. All at once, Eel’s head burst out of his container like a jack-in-a-box, the rest of his body following, “Hot! Hot! Hot! Owowow!” Eel’s shouts of pain were incredibly loud, but Clark endured them.

Clark turned off the remote, and tossed it to the side, before rushing forward and grabbing his friend in a hug. 

“You’re okay,” he said quietly. Eel slowly hugged him back. 

“Uh, yeah. Somehow,” Eel said, shuddering in an exaggerated way, “I think that robot gave me a permanent case of pyrophobia. You ever wondered what it might be like to watch a rocket take off from below? Because it sucks .” 

“Uh, guys, I don’t want to interrupt the reunion, but-” Yamcha began, gesturing outside the window, “-you might want to see this.” 

Mai held a scroll in front of Doctor Sivana, who leaned in closely, and then threw his arms wide, “Eternal Shenron, by your name I summon you forth! And by your Master’s name, I ask that you grant our wish!”

The Dragon Balls began to glow a deep orange, pulsing with light. 

Eel and Clark joined the other two at the window, staring down at the gathered Dragon Balls, “Uh,” Eel began, “Are those all seven Dragon Balls?” 

“Yeah,” Bulma admitted. 

“So we lost?” he asked. 

“Kind of,” Clark admitted. 

“And the hitman is here in the dungeon with us, for some reason?” 

“Hi,” Yamcha said, “Um, no hard feelings about the blowing you up thing?” 

“Eh, at this point, who hasn’t set me ablaze? Any hard feelings about crashing you into the ocean?” 

“Kind of,” Yamcha admitted. 

“Too bad. Okay, come on. What can we do? We can’t just let him get away with this, can we?” Eel asked. 

“Can… can you all be a little quieter?” Clark asked, his head pulsing from the sheer volume. 

“Sorry, Clark,” Bulma said, “But I think we need to do one last loud thing. Eel, could you break this glass?” 

“Sure. Cover your ears, buddy.” 

Clark covered. 

Eel turned his arms into spikes, and then swung to drive them into the glass- only to have both bounce off the material without even scraping it, “That’s uh, that’s not normal glass.” 

“Clark, can you try?” Bulma asked. 

He lifted his hand to the surface, and pushed, but the moment he did, it was like all the muscles in his body spasmed. The glass cracked and shattered under the force, but it also threw Clark backwards, slamming into the opposite wall. For some reason, the impact didn’t hurt, but the sound of the glass breaking and falling and sending flashes and reflections of painfully-bright moonlight in every direction was still as painful as ever. It was too much to even move. 

Below them, Doctor Sivana held out his arms, and called out one last word, “ SHAZON!”

Chapter Text

“ SHAZON !!!” 

Lightning exploded upwards from the balls, striking the sky and turning it a pitch black. The moon, the stars, everything above them vanished. The only thing lighting up the world was the lightning. 

It slowly took shape, coiling together and twisting in on itself into loops and turns. Slowly, the crackling lightning took shape into a colossal serpentine form. A dragon. It had emerald green scales on its back, white colored plating covering its stomach. It seemed to stretch on and on into the heavens, like more and more of it was pouring out of the Dragon Balls by the second. Its head bore two giant brown antlers, a mane like a lion’s, whiskers like a catfish, and glowing, solid-red eyes. 

The world was illuminated by the glow of power radiating from it, and the magnificent Dragon God Shenron slowly aimed his head downwards towards his summoners. 

“I AM THE ETERNAL SHENRON. STATE YOUR WISH.”

“I wish… to know everything! Everything about the universe, about science, about magic, about history, about the future!”

The Dragon stared down at him, “THAT WISH… IS BEYOND MY POWER.”

“What?” Doctor Sivana asked, gobsmacked, “But… it’s what I want !” 

“...THE KNOWLEDGE YOU DESIRE DOES NOT BELONG TO ME ALONE, AND I CANNOT ACT AGAINST BEINGS MORE POWERFUL THAN MYSELF.”

“Then… the knowledge exists , in one place, somewhere, and you simply can’t reach it?”

“CORRECT. THE BOOK OF DESTINY IS THE ONLY RECORD OF ALL KNOWLEDGE OF THIS UNIVERSE, AND NO MERE GOD HAS THE POWER TO TAKE IT FROM ITS OWNER.”

“...Could you make a copy ?” Doctor Sivana suggested.

The Dragon God seemed surprised by this question, and tilted its head in consideration, “SUCH AN ACT IS ALSO BEYOND MY POWER. BUT… OTHER BEINGS HAVE MADE COPIES, AND TAKING ONE OF THOSE COPIES IS WITHIN THE SCOPE OF MY POWER.”

“Excellent!” 

“BUT THESE COPIES ARE OUTDATED, AND CANNOT SHOW THE FUTURE. DO YOU STILL DESIRE IT?”

Up in the tower, Bulma looked at Clark in concern, as he was unable to even stand, before looking at Yamcha and Eel, “Okay, Clark’s out. You two need to stop him!” 

“How?” Yamcha asked, “Neither of us can exactly fly.” 

“Well,” Eel said, “Maybe that’s not true. Have you ever played football, Hitman?” 

“I’m really more of a baseball guy.” 

Eel grinned, and reached for where Clark had tossed away the remote to the heating device.

“Come on, hurry up!” Bulma urged. She went up to the hole Clark made in the window, looking down at the landing pad below. 

Unaware of his prisoner’s efforts, Doctor Sivana stared up at the Dragon God, and then balled his hands into fists, “If that’s the best you can do, Shenron… then so be it! I came this far, so I might as well take what I can get! Eternal Dragon; I wish for the most recently made copy of the Book of Destiny !” 

“YOUR WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED, FAREWELL.” The dragon’s eyes flared bright red with power, and then went dark. His form vanished, returning to nothing but coiling lightning. That lightning then stopped crackling, and fell away, fading into the background. The sky returned to normal, the stars and moon reappearing, and the seven Dragon Balls lifted up into the air, and flew off in different directions, streaking across the sky to parts unknown. 

And then, descending from the heavens, came a leatherbound book, its pages glowing with magical power. It descended towards Doctor Sivana gently, and landed in his outstretched hands. He looked at the featureless cover, and felt practically giddy. 

“A book? That’s it?” Herkimer asked, leaning closer, “All of that was just for a book?” 

“A magical book,” Doctor Sivana said, “A record of almost all knowledge, contained in an object I can lift with just one hand,” he held it up proudly, “Well… what to look into first? Hm? The origin of the universe? How to build a perpetual motion machine? How to achieve immortality?” 

“The secret ingredient of your ex-wife’s lasagna?” Jeepers asked, eyes wide with delight. 

Mai inched closer, staring at it, “Are you sure this is what you wanted, Doctor? If it contains literally all knowledge… that’s going to take a long time to read.” 

“Which won’t be a problem, once I’ve removed my ability to age from the equation. But… Let’s go with something simple, to begin with,” Doctor Sivana said simply, moving the book to hold it in both hands, “A spell to make gold from nothing would be a nice place to start.” Those seemed to be the magic words, as in his hands, the book began to crack open all on its own, and he discovered that the pages on the inside weren’t made of anything as mundane as paper, but light, each sheet impossibly thin and utterly weightless. The pages flipped by with incredible speed, and eventually stopped, “Self-searching, convenient !”

He leaned in to read, and to his surprise, the pages seemed to be damaged. Not entirely unreadable, but there were clear signs of bookworms being a problem for whatever library the Dragon God stole the book from. Bookworms that were for some reason willing to eat through magic pages just as much as wood-pulp paper. Disappointing, but he wasn’t deterred. Most of the writing on the page was still perfectly legible. He was a genius, he was sure he could fill in the missing parts without a problem!

But before he could start learning the mysteries of magic, he was conked on the head by a baseball thrown at high speed. Doctor Sivana dropped the book, and then stumbled back a few steps, dazed. 

“What?” he asked, before flopping over onto the ground. 

“Doctor!” his minions seemed to cry as one, hurrying over to him, but Mister Atom in particular turned its gaze towards the offending projectile. Narrowing its glowing red eyes, it bent over to investigate the object, moving to pick it up with its only remaining hand, but before it could touch the projectile, the baseball exploded outwards in size, transforming back into Eel. 

“Payback!” Eel screamed, transforming both arms into spiked balls and swinging them forwards with all the force he could bring to bear. They crashed into the chest of the robot, caving it in slightly and knocking Mister Atom backwards. Eel hissed in pain as he stared at his weapons, and at where it connected with the robot- the spots made obvious by being melted blunt. He relaxed the shape, returning them to being hands, and turned around to reach for the book. 

“Eel!” Bulma screamed from up on the tower, distracting him, “Behind you!” 

He whipped his head back just in time to see the fist of Mister Atom rocketing towards him. He retracted his head into his body like a turtle, letting the fist fly past him and crash into the console just behind him. 

Plastic and metal groaned at the impact, and the magic book went flying, a handful of pages falling out as it sailed away. Without thinking too hard about it, he shot his head back out, extending his neck and expanding his jaws, and chomped down on the book, swallowing it. Mister Atom looked at him in shock, and Eel held out the remote, pressing the button and briefly igniting the heat device inside him. The pain was intense, but short and under his own control. He flicked the button again to turn it back off- and promptly spat out the smoldering remains of the cover, as well as a small cloud of sparkling lights.

Mister Atom fell to its knees, reaching its sole hand towards the sparkles and ashes, “The Doctor’s book… you-” 

Eel cleared his throat, “ Oh no! The robot burned up the book! ” he shouted. 

“What!? Incorrect statement!” Mister Atom protested, jerking its head up to stare at Eel in surprise. Doctor Sivana slowly sat up, helped by his other three minions, and turned his gaze towards Mister Atom, an expression of shock on his face. 

“Mister Atom…” Doctor Sivana growled, “ What did you do !?” 

“Clarification: My fist barely touched it,” Mister Atom said, defending itself nervously.  

“Your superheated fist, you idiotic, blasted, screwheaded, useless waste of scrap !” 

“Doctor,” Mister Atom pleaded, “True guilty party: the shapeshifting Metahuman.” 

Eel smiled innocently, “Who me? I’m just gonna get out of your hair, and let you guys sort things out between each other.” He took a step back, only for Mister Atom to throw himself at the shapeshifter, his entire body glowing red with intense heat. Eel had no time to say anything else, the heat melting him even without touching him from a few feet away. The concrete under Mister Atom’s feet began to blacken, and the paint of the “S” printed on the pad burned away. 

“Mister Atom, enough,” Doctor Sivana said, his voice dry and emotionless, “Mai, put this one back in a container,” he sneered, gesturing at the once-again melted body of Eel. “And as for the other three… this behavior has to be punished . Herkimer, douse them with the sleeping gas again,” the Crocodile Man rushed into the lab.

Doctor Sivana walked over to the remains of the book. He picked up the charred cover, but it fell apart into nothing but ash. He turned his gaze towards the few remaining pages, ones that were lucky enough to have been knocked loose before the book was consumed. Gathering them together, he could tell instantly why these ones had come loose- they were almost entirely eaten away by bookworms. In fact, clinging to one such page, the most intact of the bunch, was a small green larva. 

“ You… ” the scientist fumed, glaring at the insect, and for a moment he considered simply throwing it to the ground, squashing it for daring to harm his source of magic- and then he sighed, the rage dying in the face of the massive disappointment of his entire endeavor, “...are the only reason anything of the book has survived at all.” He glared at Jeepers, “Go get a jar for this, and poke the holes into the lid. Maybe eating all that magic will mean that this worm is useful. Perhaps I can get something out of tonight.” 

“R-right away Doctor Sivana!” The bat-creature said, before flying back into the lab. 

Mai followed, to go grab a container for Eel’s body. Mister Atom slowly reached out towards its master, but flinched back when Doctor Sivana glared at it. 

“Issuing apology:” Mister Atom began, “Doctor, I am so sorry.” 

“Get out of my sight.” 

The fifteen foot-tall robot slumped, and slowly trudged back into the lab as well. Doctor Sivana stood alone on the landing pad, and turned his glare up at the tower with the shattered window. As he watched, he saw it fill once again with thick purple gas, some of which began to leak out of the hole in the glass.

He was going to create a truly awful punishment. 

Chapter Text

Eel slowly climbed out of the container he woke up in, pulling himself back into a normal form, “What…” he looked around, and saw all his friends, and Yamcha, sitting against the wall. All of them were still wearing their clothes, but missing the outer layers. No jackets, no coats, no gloves, no socks, no shoes. Their pockets were all visibly pulled inside-out. No secret remotes or hidden capsules to get them out of this mess.

Turning away from them, he looked at the location they were in. 

The dawn light slowly peaked through the thick glass ceiling, displaying the early-dawn sky. Every surface of the walls was made of steel polished to the point of being reflective, and the floor was painted a deep, pitch black. It was uncomfortably warm. 

The only thing that broke up the monotony of the mirrors was a single speaker affixed to the wall. 

Out of it came Doctor Sivana’s voice, it echoed strangely in the sealed chamber, “I was going to be lenient. Once I had the Dragon Balls, and my prize, I would have called us even. Respected you as my opponents in this great scavenger hunt,” his voice was dry and dripping with hatred, “But then you children had to go and ruin everything. So, this is your fate. Baked alive. None of you will last past noon, and the temperatures will rise to that of a volcano. I doubt even the shapeshifter will survive. But just in case he does…” 

Mister Atom descended from the sky, and landed on the glass ceiling, before walking to the edge of it, not getting in the way of the rising sun at all. 

“...Mister Atom will atone for its grand failure, by self-destructing. With the massive amounts of radiation it has absorbed, the resulting explosion should be more devastating than any nuclear detonation in human history. You have thirteen hours before he violently explodes, you All-Star Squad wannabes and you blue-haired billionaire brat. You have done nothing but destroy my life, and I hope you all die.” 

The audio cut off. 

 Eel looked up at the miserable android, and then at his friends, “This, uh, doesn’t look too good.” His voice echoed strangely in the room, and he winced as Clark flinched, pressing down over his ears so hard his hands were turning white. 

He looked at Bulma, who gave a small nod. He came closer to sit by the others, “Whatever’s been happening is getting worse,” she whispered. 

“What’s going on, buddy?” Eel asked, putting a hand on Clark’s shoulder. 

The boy cracked open his eyes, and then wrenched them shut again, “I don’t know,” Clark whispered, barely louder than a breath, “My eyes are wrong. Everything is so bright, and everything keeps changing size, changing color, becoming transparent or…” he stumbles over himself, “But sound is worse. All your bodies are so loud. My body is so loud. Our hearts are beating like drums, and our blood sounds like waterfalls. Our stomachs are all roaring. And talking and breathing are even worse, like constant thunder. I can’t take it. It’s all so, so loud.” His voice was barely audible by the end of his speech. 

“Oh, Buddy,” Eel sighed, wincing in empathy, “You’re gonna be okay, pal, I know it. Just relax. We’ll figure a way out of this, and then we’ll find you someplace dark and quiet where you can sort things out.” 

Yamcha sighed, and stared up at the ceiling above them, “I don’t think we can afford that. Clark, I know you’re hurting, but we really need to get out of here and fast. Okay? If I boost you, can you try and crack the glass like before?” 

“My body feels weird too,” Clark moaned. 

Bulma bit her lip, but stood up, shifting Clark around, “But you still need to try, okay? Everything else is fixable, but first we need to escape with our lives.” 

“But if he’s hurting that bad…” Eel cautioned. 

Clark was quiet for a moment, before he turned away from them, “You’re right. Pa said… that nobody ever got anything done by just complaining about it.” 

“Right,” Bulma said, “Your Pa is absolutely right.”

“Can you all step back? The last time I kind of jerked back, really fast and hard.” 

“You don’t need a boost?” Yamcha offered again. 

Clark shook his head, and took a few very careful steps into the center of the room. And then, he tried to jump, and went rocketing upwards. It happened so quickly that only Yamcha was able to follow it. One moment, Clark was on the floor, the next he had smashed into the super-reinforced glass above them, bounced off the ceiling, and created a small crater in the wall. On the roof, there was a spider web of cracks. Mister Atom leaned forwards over the window, looking down at them with confusion.

“Did it work?” Clark asked, refusing to open his eyes. 

“No, but if you do it in the same spot, I think you might be able to break through!” Yamcha said, trying to encourage him. 

“But…” Clark sighed, “No, like Pa said. Can’t just complain, need to act.” He slowly opened his eyes, despite the hundreds of tricks his eyes seemed to be trying to pull at once, and peered upwards, trying to find where he hit the glass. It took a few seconds- watching as the crack vanished and reappeared and grew closer and then got farther away, flipping and glowing and darkening, until it finally all came into painful, painful focus.

“I… I can see, I think I figured it out-” Clark began, his tone hopeful, when his vision went red. 

At the same time, the glass did the same, heating rapidly, bubbling and churning. Inside the execution chamber, the heat immediately began to ratchet higher and higher. Bulma and Yamcha clung to each other as they shouted, getting away from the suddenly burning-hot walls, and began to dance to try and keep their feet off the equally hot floors. Eel began to sag and melt like he had in front of Mister Atom, unable to move as he struggled to even keep his shape.

Clark slammed his hands over his eyes, and hissed as he felt two pinpricks of intense heat on his palms. He closed his eyelids instead, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he called. When he opened them again, his vision was still hellishly weird, but at least he wasn’t blasting heat into their death oven. What could he do that wouldn’t make things worse?

There was a splash as a chunk of molten glass hit the floor, hissing. 

The air got just slightly colder than before, and reacting on instinct, Clark tried to encourage it, breathing out as hard as he could- and the air’s temperature changed so much faster as frost poured out of his mouth. Moisture clung to the walls and the floor. His friends stopped their dancing to stare at him in confusion, and Eel pulled himself back together. The molten glass on the floor hardened… and the hole in the ceiling solidified as well. 

“How many superpowers do you even have?!” Eel asked, shocked.

Chapter Text

“Targets escaping,” Mister Atom announced. For a moment, it looked conflicted, before steeling its expression, “Activating self destruct sequence early. Time until nuclear detonation: Five minutes.” 

All four of the people inside the now-defeated death trap looked upwards, “Nearly forgot about him,” Bulma said, shrinking back, “Oh god, how do we stop a nuke ?!” 

Clark grit his teeth, and jumped upwards again, shooting through the hole, “Nimbus!” he called. 

Mister Atom turned its head towards him, and narrowed its glowing red eyes. 

Clark met its eyes, and his own began to glow red as well, the beams lancing out towards the robot, which began to heat up on impact, only to cool down again just as fast, “Thermal radiation: Absorbed,” Mister Atom announced smugly, and Clark merely clenched his hands into fists and leaped at the robot. 

His vision, however, was still swimming, and Mister Atom was able to duck aside enough that Clark completely missed, flinging himself off the roof and into the dirt. He caught himself almost immediately, though, relying on his sense of balance, a sense that thankfully wasn’t too badly messed up by whatever was happening to him. Although it was heightened. Maybe because of his new tail. 

He turned to look back at Mister Atom, and the machine leveled its arm towards him. Luckily, Clark knew how to deal with that. He threw himself forwards at incredible speed, leaping over the edge of the building in a single bound and catching himself on Mister Atom’s arm and bending it. 

The robot aborted its attempt to fire, wary of losing another hand. 

Clark tried to look the robot in its face, but his eyes just showed him what was on the other side of the robot’s face- the glass ceiling of the death trap, and the concerned, worried faces of his friends. 

Clark shook his head, forcing his vision back into something more normal, and lashed out with a punch towards the robot’s face. Instantly, Mister Atom’s face caved in, a fist-shaped imprint left firmly in the shape of the metal. Mister Atom punched back, and Clark felt his vision briefly go even crazier as his brain bounced off the inside of his own skull. He was flung backwards, sent flying again, but to his relief, he landed in something soft. 

“Nimbus, about time you got here,” he muttered, his own voice still painful to his ears. “I can barely see straight,” he confessed, “So I need you to do the driving, alright?” 

The Nimbus sailed forwards, right towards Mister Atom, and Clark held out his hands catching the robot in the chest with two open palms. At that moment, he reached deep inside himself, grabbing at his ki, and finding that he had a lot more of it to throw around now that he did the last time he reached for it. 

“ Kamehameha !” 

Light lanced out of his hands pouring outwards in a wave of white and blue that carried the robot higher and higher up into the sky. After a few seconds, Clark felt the loss of so much of his life energy beginning to strain at him, so he let go of the power, and urged the Nimbus after the robot. 

Breathing hard and feeling tired, on top of everything else, he focused on the form of Mister Atom as it cartwheeled out of control through the air, the jets on its feet activating in spurts to try and regain control of its direction, but Clark didn’t give it the chance. He aimed the Nimbus straight ahead, and spread his arms. 

He caught Mister Atom out of midair, and latched on, squeezing it in a bearhug that strained metal. Clark dug his fingers into the steel, to make sure his grip was as strong as possible, and pushed the Nimbus to just keep going up. 

He didn’t mind the heat radiating from Mister Atom, despite the fact that he could actually see how intense it was. See the way that all the tiny pieces that made up the apparently-solid mass quivered and vibrated from the intensity of the heat being put out. No matter how much heat was produced, his skin didn’t burn. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to get his vision back into the normal range. 

Mister Atom pressed its remaining arm against Clark’s face, and tried to squeeze. It blocked Clark’s vision, but didn’t accomplish much else. Clark could feel the pressure of the robot’s grip, but it wasn’t anywhere strong enough to actually hurt. 

Clark opened his mouth, and blew outwards, sending frost and ice across the surface of the robot’s arm, including down the tunnel in its palm. Superheated metal forced to suddenly cool caused the robot’s arm to stiffen and creak, “C-c-causing errors!” Mister Atom roared, “Cease activity!” It began to pull itself back, pushing back against Clark’s head, uncaring of the damage to itself caused as it strained against Clark’s bearhug. Clark frowned as he saw exposed wires and broken coolant begin to erupt from the robot’s chest. 

He didn’t understand what it was trying to do, until the robot pushed hard enough against Clark, that despite destroying much of its own torso in the process, it had its arm finally completely straight, its palm still pressed against Clark’s face. 

Clark screamed as light and heat washed over his face, intense enough to still feel despite whatever was happening to his body to make him so strong and so tough. 

However, it wasn’t enough to make him give up. The Nimbus was still pushing upwards, and he wouldn’t let go until Mister Atom wasn’t a threat anymore. He endured the beam, and finally, it seemed to peter out, the robot looking down at him with its glowing red eyes in amazement, “Question: How are you still alive!?” 

Clark grinned, “Calculating answer,” the boy replied, sarcastic despite the pain. 

Mister Atom shot him in the face again. 

The air was getting colder the higher they went, Clark knew, but the entire trip up, the cold wind had to compete with the heat radiating from Mister Atom. It was only now that the sky was getting darker again, the curve of the Earth falling away beneath them, that the cold actually managed to overcome the heat. 

Clark shivered as his legs and tail, the parts of his body farthest from Mister Atom, began to get covered in frost. Was this high enough up?

Mister Atom fired another blast into his face, but this time, it felt more bearable. He wondered why. The cold was still bothering him, though. Especially on his tail. The new limb, wherever it came from, felt oddly sensitive, more than any other part of his body. 

Mister Atom prepared himself to fire again, and Clark decided he had enough, wrenching his head to the side, he let the hand slip past his face, and then began to squeeze the arm between his head and his shoulder, which had the unfortunate side effect of letting metal painfully and very loudly crunch right next to his ears.

But it also let him see something besides a close-up view of Mister Atom. 

He stared out into the sky, and realized that there was now so little atmosphere that it looked just like the night sky, with the strange addition of the sun. 

As he turned his gaze towards the sun, he felt his vision sharpen and clear. Everything was already so painfully bright, but the sun was different. The longer he looked into it, the better he felt, the less the cold bothered him, the more the pain from Mister Atom’s attacks would fade, the easier it became to control his vision, the easier it became to control what he heard. The easier… everything became. 

He became lost in the sun for a second, until searing hot sharp pain behind him brought him back into reality. 

“Wh-what was that?!” he screamed as his eyes returned to normal. The glare of the sun became too much, and he looked away, blinking away spots. The cold returned like a hammer against his limbs, and especially his tail, which he realized was the source of the severe pain. 

He turned around, and blinked enough stars out of his vision to see that Mister Atom had fired one last time- destroying its remaining arm entirely -but this time only managed to catch the practically-frozen tip of his tail. The scorched end of his tail was several inches shorter than it had been the last time he noticed it. From deep inside Clark a kind of fury built up, and despite the way his strength and seeming invulnerability was quickly vanishing, he pushed the rest of it into squeezing down on Mister Atom’s body. 

Clark’s arms began to burn, and he realized that there was one more thing his invulnerability was protecting him from, beside the cold. The heat. 

His arms began to give out as the pain started making Clark’s vision go black. He tried to do his frost breath thing, but realized just as he tried to breathe in that there wasn’t any air, anymore. It didn’t bother him earlier, when he still had his tail, but now his lungs were just one more part of him that was burning. 

But if he was free of the atmosphere…

He pulled his arms free from Mister Atom, letting the robotic monster go- and then had the Nimbus stop flying. 

Mister Atom kept going. 

The robot seemed to realize this as well, its bright red eyes widening. It activated its jets for a moment, sending itself spinning even further away from the atmosphere, but eventually it stabilized itself, aiming back towards Clark, charging pointed-head-first. 

Clark clenched his teeth, and raised his freezing arms. He reached for the energy inside of him- what meager amounts he still had left, compared to the ocean he had when his senses had been going crazy, and pulled at it. He didn’t have the air left to say the words, but he could still think them. 

Kamehameha!

The blast of life energy shot out, catching Mister Atom in the head, and knocking the robot back the way it came. Pushing it further and farther away, until the robot was too far away to see. His beam fizzled away into scraps of white light.

In the distance, the direction he had pushed Mister Atom, there was a flare of light, and for a moment, he was under a night sky that had two suns.

He told the Nimbus to carry him back down, and the cloud turned him away from the sight of Mister Atom’s explosion, and instead faced down towards the Earth. 

If he had breath left, he would have caught it. 

The Earth was beautiful, he thought. Just like the last time he saw it from this distance. A colossal blue gemstone shrouded in white stripes, hiding swaths of green and brown that contained everything alive and beautiful in the universe. He almost told the Nimbus to stop, so he could look at it longer, but he wasn’t suicidal. But… maybe he was in love. The Earth grew in his vision, until he couldn’t see space anymore, just a faraway horizon. 

He managed to suck in a breath, and hacked out ice. He felt awful, his entire body aching in pain for what felt like the hundredth time since he began his journey west.

But he was alive. His friends were alive. 

His eyes fluttered close, and the Nimbus kept on carrying him down to Earth.

As he drifted into sleep, he wondered why this view was nostalgic. When had he seen the Earth from above, before? 

He didn’t have an answer before he blacked out.

Chapter Text

“Clark!” cried his mother’s voice. 

The boy’s eyes opened, and he stared up at the faces of his parents. Soft, round, and perpetually sunburnt. Their gray hair and their kind eyes. “Ma? Pa?” He said, “I just had the strangest dream.”

“Oh yeah?” Jonathan asked

“I went around the world. And met strange people, and fought a robot, and saw a dragon and…” he groaned, sitting up, and felt something pressed at an uncomfortable angle. He shifted to the side, and pulled his brown furry tail up from underneath him. Or at least, what was left of it, as the final few inches had been burned off by Mister Atom’s beam. Now, the tip of the tail was wrapped in bandages, “...that wasn’t a dream. Right.” 

His parents stared at the tail, sharing a concerned look between them, before focusing instead back on their son, “Are you alright Clark?” his mother asked. 

He nodded, “Yeah, Ma, I just…” he trailed off, unsure how much to tell them. He stopped a mobile nuclear bomb by throwing it into space while it was trying to crush his skull? They’d never stop worrying, “I’m glad that you’re here. Are we back in Kansas? How did I get here?” 

“No, no, not Kansas. We’re uh, in Berlin at the moment, actually,” Clark’s father replied.

“Berlin?” he asked, uncomprehending. 

“Germany,” his father explained, “We’re in a kraut hospital.” 

“Jonathan,” Martha hissed, “Don’t be rude. These people have been taking very good care of our boy.”

“But how did you get here?” 

“In a plane,” Jonathan said cheerfully, “A big private plane, just for us, courtesy of Capsule Corporation. It picked us up right from the farm, and took us right here. No need for an airport or anything.” 

“Capsule corp-” Clark frowned, “Then Bulma came and got you?” 

“Close,” Bulma interrupted. Clark’s parents both took a step back, and revealed Bulma pushing her way into the hospital room, followed by a short man with light blue hair and a bushy white mustache, wearing a lab coat, “My Dad did.” 

“Hey there, you must be Clark,” the man said, strolling over and sticking out his hand. Clark reached out to shake it, but realized that his bandages kept him from moving his hand too much, “Seems like you got yourself pretty beaten up taking care of my little girl. I’d just like to say thanks,” he said cheerfully, “Don’t worry about the hospital bill, or anything else. All of it’s on my tab,” he winked, “And no trying to pay me back, I have more money than anyone could ever need.” 

“Uh, hi, Mister Brief.” Clark offered, “Thanks.” 

“Doctor Brief,” Martha lightly corrected, but Bulma’s father waved it off. 

“I don’t get hung up on titles like that. It’s not really a big deal, I mean, I got my first doctorate when I was nineteen, and I’ve lost track of how many I have now. Bulma’s probably going to get her first next year when she officially starts college, which is even more impressive!” he said proudly, “Of course, she’s already been taking all kinds of college level classes since elementary school but-” 

“ Daaaaad! ” Bulma cried, “Don’t embarrass me in front of my friend!” 

“ Bloomy ,” Doctor Brief chided, making Bulma instantly blush, “It’s my job to be proud of you,” he turned back towards the Kent family, grinning, “Did you know she proved the existence of magic on her summer vacation? Incredible!”

“I was… there for that,” Clark said. 

“Hm? Oh, right. Right. Honey, be sure to credit him as a fellow researcher!” Doctor Brief said with a grin. 

“You don’t have to tell me that kind of stuff, Dad,” Bulma grumbled, “Of course Clark and the others will all get credit too. Especially if you let me put that cloud of yours through some more thorough analysis.”

“Um, I can ask the Nimbus if it would be okay with that?” Clark offered. 

A sudden ringing ran through the room, and Doctor Brief seemed to deflate, “Ugh, it never stops. Bloomy, when are you going to take over the company from me so I can focus on research? This constant beeping and ringing isn’t good for me.” 

“Dad, just- answer it in the other room, maybe?” Bulma suggested. 

He huffed, and fished out his satellite phone from a pocket in his lab coat, before heading back out of the room, “Fine, fine,” he flipped it open, and held it to his ear as he walked out, “Doctor Ray P. Brief speaking. Hm? Yes, yes, get the papers to me by email, I’ll be back at the office in a few days-” he vanished around a corner, becoming inaudible.

Bulma watched him go, before sighing in relief, looking back to the Kent family, “Sorry about him. He’s a little...” she began spinning her hand, looking for the word.

“Scatterbrained professor?” Jonathan Kent suggested, causing his wife to smack him lightly on the arm. 

“Exactly,” Bulma agreed, “But he’s a good guy. And he is so grateful to your son- to you,” she said, focusing on Clark, “For saving my life so many times. And I am too. Anything the Kents need, name it, it’s yours.” 

Clark looked away, “I almost got us killed, too.” 

“A few burns on my feet are better than dying. You got us out of the trap, that’s what’s most important. You saved our lives with that power. Speaking of… how are you feeling? Should we have been, um,” she began to whisper, “Speaking quietly?” 

He shook his head, “When I lost the end of my tail, all that weird stuff stopped.” 

She looked at the bandaged tip of his tail, frowning, “ Weird .” 

Jonathan and Martha shared a look, and then nudged each other. A silent argument took place in their eyes over the course of a few seconds, which Jonathan lost. Jonathan cleared his throat, and then looked at Clark, “I uh, asked the doctors about your tail. Apparently it’s not normal.”

“Well, it’s a tail on a human being,” Clark said, “Of course it’s not normal.” 

“I mean, even for tails. Most creatures, a tail just has bones & muscle. But yours has- had, uh, stuff in the tip. Apparently your tail is stuffed full of weird glands, including one at the tip that reacted weird with your, uh, eyes. You didn’t happen to look at the full moon after you grew your tail, did you Clark?” he asked nervously.

“I… did?” Clark said.

“And then your body began to change? You got stronger, and more out of control?” Jonathan asked. 

Clark nodded. He supposed that would be a way to describe it. 

Jonathan nodded along with him, “Well, that’s because of your tail. Or the tip of your tail anyway. But without the tip, you should be okay. But if your tail does grow back again, you need to be careful not to look at the moon.” 

“Grow back again ?” Bulma asked.

Jonathan looked at her in surprise, and cleared his throat again, “I mean, it grew once. If it grows back, it'll be growing back again .” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, before shrugging and giving it up, “Regardless, I’m glad you’re feeling better now Clark.” She looked to his parents, and bowed her head, “I… I’m sorry that I let him get so badly hurt. I know that when we left, I promised that I would take care of him, and-” 

“And you kept your promise,” Martha said, “He’s here, alive and kicking. Besides, I made you promise to keep each other safe. Which you did. Clark kept you safe with those wonderful muscles of his, and you took care of him with your wonderful devices and by paying his medical bills twice now.” 

Bulma nodded, beginning to tear up. 

Clark smiled at her, putting his bandaged hand over her own, “You don’t have to feel guilty about anything, Bulma. I was with you every step of the way, all by my own choice. You never made me do anything I wouldn’t have done anyway, and you let me see all kinds of crazy things, and meet all kinds of-” Clark trailed off, “Eel! And Yamcha! Where are they?” 

“Yamcha’s getting treatment of his own,” she replied, “The strenuous activity so soon out of his first hospital visit wasn’t really… good for him. He’ll still recover just fine, but he needs his rest.”

“And Eel?” 

Bulma frowned, looking around, “I actually thought he was in here somewhere. Maybe he went to get food? He basically stood guard constantly since you first drifted back down from outer space.”

Jonathan and Martha went pale, “He went into outer space?” his mother asked. 

“To get rid of the robot before it went nuclear? You probably heard about it. Almost everyone in that hemisphere could see the detonation,” Bulma explained. 

Clark put his face into his hands and sighed.

Martha went very still, “That was you ?” she asked her son.

Jonathan dropped into the nearest chair in shock, going pale “Sounds like your life got a little crazy, huh Clark?” he asked weakly. Martha grabbed his hand, squeezing tight, but managed to remain standing. 

However, before any of them could say anything more about it, the chair Jonathan was sitting in grew a head, attached to a long, thin, neck, “You don’t know the half of it,” Eel said casually as Jonathan flung himself out of the chair and into the arms of his wife, who had gone wide-eyed at the sight. 

“Eel!” Clark shouted. 

“Whoops. Sorry,” he said, grinning apologetically to the Kents, and turning back into his normal human shape, “I uh, thought it would be funny? I really expected someone to sit down before now.” 

They just stared at him. 

Eel grinned, holding out his hand, “Uh, nice to meet you? I’m Patrick. Clark’s my best friend.” 

Martha and Jonathan shared a look, and by inches began to relax again, “Charmed.” Martha said, shaking his hand.

Chapter Text

Yamcha walked in with a grin, taking a seat next to Clark’s bed, on the opposite side from where Eel and Bulma were sitting. “How are you doing?” 

“Pretty well, considering I fought a nuke. What about you?” Clark said, smiling a little. 

“Pretty well, considering I was shot by an alligator.” Yamcha joked back.

“Herkimer was the Crocodile Man, not the Alligator Man,” Eel corrected. 

Yamcha frowned, “What’s the difference?” he asked, before flinching as Eel grew two slightly different reptilian heads from his shoulders, and pointed to them in turn. 

“Plenty! Our pal Herkimer on the right, and a theoretical Alligator Man on the left,” Eel explained, “Note the darker colors, smaller teeth, and pointier jaw on the ‘gator. Herkimer was a crock’, through and through.” 

Clark rolled his eyes, before looking towards Yamcha, “So, what’s next for you?” Clark asked. 

“That’s… a question,” Yamcha admitted, “I had my entire life planned out since I was scouted by the League of Assassins.”

“Maybe you could go back to what you were doing before?” Bulma offered. 

“What? Go back to being a homeless pickpocket with a ruthless streak so big professional assassins noticed it?” 

Bulma winced, “Ouch, yeah, no.” 

“I know that feeling. How about baseball?” Eel suggested, forming a glove in one hand and punching into it, “You’ve got an arm on you. Especially since your athleticism is hard-won, rather than just being a side-effect of winning the genetic lottery and getting superpowers,” Eel said, forming giant muscles on both arms. 

“Is that an option?” Yamcha asked, “I thought you had to be an adult to get on a professional team like that.” 

“You’re not an adult?” Bulma asked, leaning in with interest. 

Yamcha shook his head, “Seventeen.” 

“I’m sixteen, whaddya know,” she grinned, “You know… if you’re only seventeen, maybe you should just go to high school? I could pull a few strings and get you into Metropolis High. It might be nice, you know? Give you a chance to live like a normal person for a while, learn things while never being expected to kill anyone. You could get a diploma, join the baseball team. Figure out what you want to do with your life.”

“I think I’d like that,” Yamcha said, grinning back at her. 

“We have lots of empty space, maybe you could stay with me at Capsule Corp while you’re enrolled?” Bulma said, smiling wider and narrowing her eyes. 

“I’d appreciate that,” Yamcha agreed, resting his chin on his fist as he stared into her eyes. 

Clark looked between them for a moment, and sighed, rolling his eyes. 

Eel caught his expression and laughed, before getting out of his chair and moving to Yamcha’s side of Clark’s bed, and transforming into the former assassin, doing the exact same pose and expression, “Is this offer just for hunks? Or can other people get in on the action?” 

Bulma flushed, sitting back in her chair and averting her gaze from both Yamchas, “I’ll see what I can do. Though, with the criminal record… Wait, do both of you have a criminal record? Yamcha, you’re an assassin, and Eel’s a thief.” 

“In training,” Yamcha clarified, “You guys were my first mission, and I failed pretty badly. I shouldn’t have any records anywhere, actually.” 

“Hm, then we’ll have to make some, and while we’re at it, we can make you some new ones too, Eel. What’s a name you always wished for?” 

“Hmmm.” Eel transformed back into himself, “Why not just Eel? I’m not really attached to Patrick. Too many people growing up making fun of the Irish kid named Patty.”

“I guess we’ll see what we can do. But I really doubt someone named ‘Eel’ isn’t going to stand out.” 

Clark smiled, “Maybe you could make it be short for something else? Elan maybe?” 

“I’ll give it some thought,” Eel said, “And… Thanks, Bulma. A lot. I really appreciate that you’re willing to do this for us,” he looked back to Clark, “What about you Buddy? Do you have any big plans?”

Clark shrugged, “I’m not sure yet. I guess I’ll just go back to the farm, and start living like I always have. Work in the morning, play in the evening. After that, back to middle school in Smallville. But only until the start of Spring!” Clark said, grinning, “After that, I’m going to go back to Japan to study under Master Gohan.” 

Yamcha’s eyes went wide, “Japan’s national treasure, Son Gohan? The legendary top student of the Turtle Hermit? The archrival of the League of Assassins’ own Crane School?” 

Clark nodded, “I haven’t heard of the Cranes, but yeah. I still have to convince Ma and Pa to let me go see Master Gohan in the spring, so that’ll be tough. But I think I can get them to agree to it.” 

“You’re going to become a martial artist, huh?” Yamcha said, smiling, “Well, good luck. You know… next Summer is the Strongest Under the Heavens world martial arts tournament. They only hold it once every five years. The next will be the twenty-first. I’ve been planning on entering it to test my skills for years.”

Bulma smiled, “Well, if both of you are planning to compete, I’ll try and get some tickets to it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Eel said, “Meet up at the tournament?” he frowns, “Though that seems like a long time to go between visits.”

“Well, I have the Nimbus now. I can see you guys whenever I want,” Clark said, “Just give me a call, and I’ll fly East to Metropolis. With how fast the Nimbus can go, it shouldn’t be that long of a trip. Especially since I’ll need to help Bulma with her research, since the Nimbus is the only magical thing we have on hand.”

“Well, I do have some other leads too,” Bulma said, thinking. 

Eel sighed in relief, “Good. I don’t think I can go a whole year without seeing my buddy.” 

Bulma nodded, “I like that plan too. Speaking of a year- the Dragon Balls will reappear then. We could go on another worldwide search after the tournament.” 

Eel went pale, “Go through all of that again!? No thank you. If you do go looking for them again, you can count me out.” 

Clark leaned back against his pillow, “None of us have a wish we need magic to grant, do we?”

“Maybe not, but the conditions Doctor Sivana summoned the dragon in weren’t exactly lab-standard. There’s videos of it taken from a distance, and the sky changing along with the Dragon Radar’s readings proved that they were connected but…” Bulma said, “Well, that’s beside the point. Don’t you want the four-star ball back?” 

“Yeah, you’re right! We’ve had it for so long at the Kent farm, it belongs with us,” he frowned for a moment, and looked towards Bulma, “Speaking of him, do you think Doctor Sivana will try anything in the meantime? Or try to go after the balls again when they pop back up?” 

Bulma smiled evilly. “I don’t think we’re going to have a problem with Doctor Sivana for a while. Your parents and mine made sure of that.”

Clark raised an eyebrow in confusion, “Our parents?”  

“That investigation into Mister Atom and Sivana you had your parents do turned out to be for the best. My Dad talked to a few people in high places at the F.B.I. about having a look at everything your parents put together. Their own research, and everything you told your parents about whenever you called home. By now, they’ve probably got enough info to put our friend Sivana away for a long time.” 

Clark raised an eyebrow, “Well, let’s hope that it sticks.”

Hundreds of miles away, in Minnesota, Doctor Sivana lands their plane on the designated pad of his main facility in his hometown of Fawcett. Stepping out of the plane, he began to walk towards the door, not bothering to wait for his subordinates as they climbed out one by one. His minions shared a worried look with each other, and held back from following him, giving him a little distance. In his hands, he tightly held the crumpled-up handful of pages that survived the destruction of his copy of the Book of Destiny.

He had moved to turn the lights on, when he heard the cocking of a gun. He froze, and slowly turned around to face his attacker. 

There wasn’t just one. There were dozens, all of them armed. The one in front was wearing a blue suit over a white shirt with a red tie. “Thaddeus Sivana?” the man asked. 

The scientist twitched, “ Doctor Thaddeus Sivana Senior ,” he corrected with a growl, “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m Agent Jeffery Graves.” he reached into his suit and pulled out his badge, “With the Federal Bureau of Investigations. You’re under arrest for the construction and attempted detonation of a nuclear weapon, the murder of a police officer, and the thankfully only attempted murder of several others, commissioning an attempted assassination, grand theft, destruction of private and public property, unsafe scientific conduct, unethical treatment of and experimentation on animals, the purchase and smuggling of weaponized capsules, and sharing top-secret military secrets with an international terrorist organization.”

“Also? This villainous lair also isn’t up to code,” another of the FBI stated, “I’ve only been here a few hours and I’ve already noticed like, six OSHA violations.” 

Graves rolled his eyes, “Also that.” His expression shifted from annoyance to alarm, however, as his gaze turned from Doctor Sivana to something behind him. 

Slowly, Doctor Sivana turned towards his minions, who had just walked in, and went wide-eyed at the sight of all the guns. Jeepers began to growl, deep in the back of his throat, and took a step forwards, the other two minions hiding behind him. 

Doctor Sivana flinched as the agent took a step forwards, bringing his gun closer to the scientist’s head, “You’re going to control your pets, aren’t you Doctor? To make sure nothing tragic happens.” 

The scientist practically shivered with rage, “Jeepers!” he snapped, “Mai! Herkimer! Just… get out of my sight! All three of you! Do whatever you want. Go to that lasagna place you care so much about, I don’t care any more. All of you have done nothing but hamper me and my plans!” he shouted. 

The three minions looked between each other, and then began to tear up, “We… we’ll never forget you boss!” Herkimer cried, shedding genuine tears from his crocodile eyes.

“Doctor Sivana, I’m sorry for failing you in the end,” Mai said, giving a bow, her makeup starting to run. 

Jeepers considered the man who created him, and then bared his teeth, “First you get rid of Mister Atom, and now you get rid of us, huh? Fine. This is what you deserve. Now, the only living thing you still have use for is this worm, right?” he reached into the bag attached to his belt, and pulled out the jar containing the green caterpillar, and threw it at the scientist. One of the agents reacted on instinct, shooting the jar and making it shatter. But Jeepers used the distraction to grab the other two and take off into the sky, pumping his wings. 

The scientist watched the direction his minions were flying in, and stopped himself from smiling when he noted that they were indeed flying off towards his ex-wife’s house. She and the children would take care of them. Doctor Sivana also used the distraction, taking the chance to stuff the pages made of light into his pocket.

When the F.B.I. turned their attention back to him, Doctor Sivana raised his hands in front of him, “My pets are now out of the picture, Agent Graves. You may take me to my temporary accommodations. Though I should warn you, I’m a very intelligent man. It’ll take one hell of a prison to hold me for long.” Agent Graves slapped cuffs over his wrists. Other agents roughly grabbed him by his arms, and jostled him all the way to the landing pad, where one of the agents threw out a capsule for a federal police transport. He was shuffled inside, and the doors shut behind him.

Unnoticed by anyone, a tiny green worm had hitched a ride on the shoelace of one of the agents, and then dropped to the floor of the transport, inching its way towards Doctor Sivana, following the scent of magic. 

To be continued... on April 11th 2022, in the Gohan School Saga.

List of Westward Saga Character Composites: 

DC Character + DB Character = Dragon Ball: Superman Character

• Superman + Son Goku = Clark Kent
• ??? + Bulma = Bulma Brief
• Monster Society of Evil + Pilaf Gang = Doctor Sivana’s Minions
• Doctor Sivana + Lord Pilaf = Doctor Thaddeus Bodog Sivana Sr. 
• Mister Atom + Pilaf Machine = Mister Atom
• Jeepers + Pterodactyl = Jeepers
• Herkimer the Crocodile Man + Shu = Herkimer | Crocodile Man
• Beautia Sivana + Mai = Mai
• Plastic Man + Oolong = Eel O’Brian
• Alpha & ??? + Yamcha = Yamcha
• The Turtle + Master Roshi = The Turtle Hermit
• King Kull & Vandal Savage + Ox King = Ox King Kull
• Scandal Savage + Chi-Chi = Chie Scandal
• O-Sensei + Son Gohan Sr. = Master Son Gohan
• Ray Palmer + Doctor Brief = Doctor Ray Brief