The static of the PA system crackled, followed by Dimcha's booming voice, regaining its composure.
"Well, well, well! Would you look at that! It seems we have a party crasher! A tiny, little guest has decided to drop in, literally, on our festivities! Give him a hand, folks... or maybe a funeral!"
Goku blinked, looking up at the announcer's booth, shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Who's the loud guy shouting?" Goku asked, scratching his head.
"Goku, listen carefully, everyone here is dangerous. They're ruthless, and they take pleasure in causing pain!" Bulma screamed.
She pointed a shaking finger at the scrappers in the stands and then at Diesella.
"They won't stop unless you stop them."
Goku looked at her, then back at the crowd, slightly confused by her intensity.
"Oh? Really?"
His eyes fell to the sand, settling on Launch, crumpled and small.
Her blue hair was streaked with sand and blood, her face battered and swollen.
"Hey... isn't that the lady who tried to rob the bank?"
Bulma nodded, looking more sad with each passing second.
"She stood with us... she faced them alone to buy us time when we thought you were gone. And they repaid that by beating her nearly to death, because they enjoyed it."
Goku's expression changed.
The goofy, confused look vanished instantly.
His eyebrows lowered, and his mouth set into a firm, flat line.
He didn't say anything else.
He just turned his back on Bulma and looked straight at Diesella.
"Is that so?"
He took a step forward.
Then another.
He walked calmly across the sand.
Diesella watched him approach.
That kid doesn't look scared. She thought.
"Who are you supposed to be, runt? You lost your mommy?"
Goku stopped a few feet away from her. He stood relaxed, his arms hanging by his sides.
"My name is Goku."
Diesella looked up at the VIP box, confusion written all over her face.
"Dimcha? Who is this kid?"
Dimcha laughed over the speakers, waving his hand dismissively.
"An unexpected guest, Diesella! But we are nothing if not adaptable! The show must go on! Don't leave the boy hanging... show him exactly what happens to trespassers, turn him into ash!"
Diesella turned her gaze back to Goku.
She smirked.
"You've got a lot of nerve, kid, it's gonna be your funeral. But I hate leaving a job unfinished."
She suddenly spun away from Goku, ignoring him completely, and aimed her bionic arm directly at Launch on the ground.
"Time to take out the trash."
"HEY! MOVE!" Bulma screamed.
Diesella didn't hesitate.
The nozzle in her arm flared white-hot.
A massive torrent of flames roared out, engulfing the spot where Launch lay.
The heat warped the air above the arena.
Diesella threw her head back and laughed, manic and triumphant, as the fire raged.
She held the trigger down for five seconds, ensuring nothing but ash would remain.
"Ashes to ashes!" Diesella yelled over the roar of the fire.
She finally cut the fuel.
The flames died down, leaving a thick cloud of black smoke rising from the blackened, glassed sand.
"That takes care of—"
But as the smoke cleared, her eyes widened.
There was nothing there.
Just a scorched crater in the sand.
"What?" Diesella blinked, stepping forward and scanning the ground frantically.
"Where is she? Nobody moves that fast!"
Diesella whipped her head around.
Goku was kneeling in the shadows, gently setting Launch down on the sand.
Launch was trembling, her face buried in her hands. She peeked through her fingers, looking up at the spiky haired boy who had just whisked her out of an inferno.
"Who... who are you? What is this place? Why are they hurting me?"
Goku looked at her, his expression softening.
He smiled.
A look that seemed completely out of place in the hellish arena.
"My name is Goku." he said gently.
"Don't be scared anymore. You're safe here. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you."
Launch sniffled, looking into his eyes, and for the first time since waking up, her panic subsided just a fraction.
"Stay here, okay?" Goku said, standing up. His face changed as he turned back toward the center of the pit.
The kindness evaporated, replaced by a steely determination.
"This is gonna be over real quick."
He bent his knees and vanished.
BOOM.
A shockwave of sand exploded where he had been standing.
In the blink of an eye, Goku landed softly right back in front of a stunned Diesella.
Goku stood his ground, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
He looked at Diesella, then clenched his fists at his sides.
"It ends here, right now."
Diesella laughed.
"You cocky little brat... I don't know what kind of cheap trick you pulled to move her, but speed won't save you when I get a hold of you. I'm going to crumple you like a tin can!"
She roared and charged.
She threw her arms wide, attempting to catch Goku in a bear hug that would crush his ribs.
She was about to close in on him when Goku vanished from sight.
He shot upward.
Diesella looked up, but it was already too late.
Goku spun in the air and drove his foot down in a drop kick straight to the center of her face.
KRAK-OOM!
"Urghff!"
The impact sounded like a cannon firing.
Diesella was launched.
Her body flew backward across the entire length of the arena as if she had been shot out of a gun.
She spun violently in the air before slamming into the solid steel wall of the pit.
CLANG!
The entire wall vibrated with the force of the impact.
Diesella hung there for a second, embedded in a dent the shape of her body, before sliding down to the sand.
She didn't move.
She was out cold.
The arena went dead silent.
Thousands of scrappers froze.
The cigar fell out of Dimcha's mouth and landed on his lap, burning a hole in his pants, but he didn't notice.
He just stared at the unconscious form of his lieutenant.
"She... she's out? In one hit?"
Yamcha stood up.
"He took down Diesella... with a single kick."
The silence in the arena didn't last.
It was broken by a single, awestruck scream from the nosebleed section.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"
Then, another voice joined in.
Then ten.
Then thousands.
The Scrappers didn't care about loyalty. They didn't care about the flag. They worshipped power, and they had just witnessed raw power.
"GO-KU! GO-KU! GO-KU!"
The same people who had been screaming for his death seconds ago were now stomping their feet to his name.
Goku looked around, blinking.
"Huh? Why are they cheering? I just beat up their friend. These guys are weird."
He shook his head, pushing the confusion aside.
He turned his face upward, his eyes locking onto the VIP box high above. He stared straight past Dimcha, straight past Grizzlo, and locked eyes with the man in the center.
Yamcha.
Up in the box, Yamcha felt the weight of that stare.
It wasn't the look of a child.
"Useless..." Yamcha muttered, stepping over his chair.
All of them. Useless.
"Boss?" Puar squeaked, floating nervously.
"What are you doing? You don't have to—"
"Quiet, Puar, if you want something done right, you do it yourself."
He stepped up onto the railing of the balcony.
The wind whipped through his long black hair.
He looked down at the Goku standing in the sand, a smirk slowly returning to his face.
Alright, kid, let's see how much you can handle from the Roga Fufuken.
He pushed off.
Yamcha fell through the air, he landed in the center of the arena, barely bending his knees, the impact kicking up a sharp, disciplined circle of dust.
He stood up slowly, towering over Goku. The crowd went absolutely nuclear. The King of the scrappers had entered the ring.
Goku looked at the scarred bandit leader with an almost expressionless face.
"It's gonna be different this time, last time, I was hungry."
Yamcha chuckled darkly, but his eyes remained cold.
He didn't mock this time.
"You survived the Roga Fufuken, I'll give you that. Most people don't even see the second hit, let alone walk away from the whole combo."
He slowly lowered his body, bending his knees deep.
His fingers curled into sharp claws.
"But don't get cocky, this time I'm going to make sure you stay down."
"Bring it on." Goku replied as he widened his stance.
High above in the commentator's booth, Dimcha had let the microphone hang loose in his hand.
He wasn't playing the showman anymore.
He stared down at the two figures in the sand, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.
Yamcha… he's takin' the stance. Ain't seen him fight like this in years. That boy… hell, he actually pushed my son to the edge. If Yamcha's throwin' the Roga Fufuken right off the bat, he's either scared outta his mind… or he's fit to tear somethin' apart.