Run Tell God

There used to be a time when the idea of having siblings filled Reginald with joy.

Conditional joy, but potent all the same

This can often happen when you've coined yourself a veritable master of loneliness…

…for only pain could stand where others could not.

A run of the mill child he was, but he'd faced a great deal of emancipation from his past as an adult; being a man of sparkling intelligence and the symbiotic malfeasance that often accompanies it.

Say what you will of Reginald Von Homestein, but run of the mill he was not.

After his death, some had said of his life:

"A gaudy old chap he was, runnin' the hoover through the fuckin house every day. No fuckin respect for his neighbours, I bet he'd disrespect all the fuckwits that lived in that big house of his, that's why he lives alone. I told my Betty we shouldn't 'ave moved into 'Swithbury -fuckin- Gardens', but no, gotta use the lottery money to invest in property. I'm half dead 'ere from these loud twats and the brown-nosed cunts that follow 'em all over the place. GOOD RIDDANCE THE OLD FUCKER DROPS DEAD!"

"Reggie seemed like a nice man. I never cared to talk to him though; too distant. Too comfortable by his lonesome."

"I don't know what to feel about him, I have a rule you see: I can only respect a man that has earned my respect. I've had it for a long time, and only in my twilight years have I realised that only those men who have fought for their country are deserving of respect, men like me. I was delighted by the man upon first meeting him, for none could be proper gents but those who fought for King and country. His knowledge into the martial arts only served to further the fact… but then I find out that the man hadn't fought in a single war. Single and alone, a duty-evading old grump. What kind of man is that?"

"I worked for him for a time, at his old company, the one that he sold. I'm afraid that I can't say much – legally speaking! All I can really say is that… um, it would be wrong to call Mr. Homestein a bad man, but it would be doubly wrong to call him a good one. I feel wrong to call on his character though, this was many years ago now."

This list was magic.

Or so Detective Leighton would claim to his wife at dinner one evening after returning from work.

For it had surely conjured for his crow's feet, as he was perfectly certain that he previously had none.

Open and shut.

These were the words the words trailing behind Detective Leighton's train of thought as he commuted to work the next day.

He'd come to laugh at how wrong he was.

***

***

***

My name is Raditz… I suppose. Although, at the moment, I am merely an infant.

These words are merely a fabrication of my perspective, something I understand in my subconscious, but nought else.

These are the thin whizzing-like signals my brain is sending to the monitor of the scary man.

His scattered facial hair was mildly off-putting.

I am currently being transported to an unknown destination, rather roughly might I add, a fact that has slightly upset me.

My mode of transportation is, as I am given to understand, a sibling of mine.

A humanoid made up of the same concoction of ingredients as myself, but somehow different.

A deformation I presume, I should see to stress this fact to him when I am able.

Either way, this sibling of mine, the name of whom I am hard-pressed to recall, appears to be quite the innovator. Having formulated a makeshift and rough – ROUGH approximation of the of the elliptical container I was within with his hands.

This manner of transportation through the streets of a diversely populated land seemed utterly pedestrian to be honest, but I believe a nap at this juncture may be more than sufficient to make up for this lost time.

I wake up to subtle arguments and tears.

It appears that I have migrated from my earlier vehicle to another of similar make, but an entirely dissimilar model.

A parent! My supposed guardian! Warmth has come to me, a habitat comprised of shelter.

The wildly unkempt hair is off-putting, the short stature and rough outline of a bosom more so.

I feel an innate urge to seek shelter and protect all at once, a strange affliction.

Am I intoxicated? Perhaps so, I would not put it past someone with hair such as that, how uncouth…

… I am troubled to see my own.

It appears that my sibling is leaving, his tears seem to have faded and his facial muscles appear to have hardened.

The same cannot be said for my current vehicle though… she keeps getting odd fluids on to me.

Ugh.

I simply to begin to cry myself, in part for freedom from this phlegm-like incarceration…

…and in part for the deep and enigmatic sadness that has enveloped me at the sight of my brother leaving.

***

***

***

I leapt into an alley next to the crowded street.

I was panting like crazy, but I could still make out the distinctly heavy footsteps rapidly moving towards me from the crowd.

FUCK!

I kept running, as fast as I could.

'The people behind me are infidels!' I reminded myself. Scum of the Ladians who do not believe in the divine lord of the cosmos.

Only infidels like these would demand money from me, merely for doing the lord's work. True believers would forgive a debt to the lord in the name of good work, but these hot-headed cretins do not care for the ways that enrich our people, our planet, and them!

It is just as well, even their brutality will be met by equal measure from the church.

One cannot hurt the Hero's apprentice as if he were just another street urchin.

Their lack of faith will be their undoing. Good, for it is something to be truly damned!

I can feel their heavy breaths as if they were next to me, but that and the foul stench coming from their heretical mouths were simply being carried to me with dangerous and equally foul expletives.

Fools.

I merely smiled and stopped in my place.

They had said the one word too many, one word that would always bring with it a great relief for me.

"…and I'll do the same to your fucking Hero before your blood stops dripping off my- FUCK!"

The sight of infidel blood flying through the air makes me feel sensations that I'd not dare to mention outright, but tingling waves of pleasure flush me as the Hero slaughters the wretches in front of me.

He walks over to me, puzzling me with the firm look on his face.

I'd never question the Hero, but how can he not be euphoric at doing the lord's work?

I quietly resigned myself into believing it was merely a facade that outlined the brilliant will of the Hero as he began ask after my well-being.

"Come on Pirro, let's get going, you have to prepare for your first 'Dreamwalk' after the battle tomorrow."

A smile graced his face and mine.

No better way to grace such a holy day other than the way of blood and vengeance.

"Yes, my lord, my jubilance shall know no bounds when the Saiyans are eradicated tomorrow."

END OF CHAPTER 12