Chapter 17 - A Saiyan walks into a bar...

Chapter 13

-Bardock-

The trouble was that the people responsible for making movies on the Earth these days seemed to have spent more time studying the Justice League than developing a story of their own.

I stood outside the cinema beneath a sprawling illuminated poster of the film's leading man, watching the actor's chiselled jaw loom over the pavement while I tried to decide whether I had wasted two hours of my life or merely one and a half. The film had run for just over two hours, although the final forty minutes had felt considerably longer. My watch told me I had spent enough time sitting in a dark room watching fictional people make increasingly stupid decisions that I could have crossed three solar systems, eaten dinner on a space station, and still had time left to irritate Whis before bed.

The film was called Gods Among Us. It featured a team of costumed vigilantes fighting an alien invasion, an immensely powerful man who could fly, a woman with a sword and an uncomfortable amount of cleavage, a billionaire dressed like a bat, and a mysterious stranger whose sole contribution to the plot appeared to be standing in shadows while delivering ominous statements. The parallels were not subtle. They were, in fact, so painfully obvious that I had spent the first half-hour wondering whether the filmmakers were attempting some sort of elaborate joke.

Apparently, they were not.

The flying man was called the Sentinel. The woman was the Amazon Queen. The billionaire went by the Night Stalker, and his armour was black enough to make a lump of coal look pale. The mysterious stranger, meanwhile, had an impressive collection of dark corridors in which to stand and an equally impressive ability to appear in them without ever explaining how he got there. The film's version of the Flash was a young man named Velocity, who had spent most of his screen time making jokes that would have embarrassed Goten.

I might have forgiven the similarities if the film had done anything interesting with them. Instead, the Sentinel spent half the running time punching alien ships until they exploded, the Amazon Queen spent the other half shouting about honour, and the Night Stalker apparently believed that having a plan consisted of telling everyone else that he had one. The final battle involved a city being demolished, the heroes arguing in the middle of the destruction, and a climactic speech about humanity's capacity to overcome adversity delivered by a man who had spent the preceding two hours throwing people through buildings.

The acting had been passable. The effects were impressive enough, although I had seen real planets break apart and found the computer-generated version considerably less convincing. The fight choreography, however, was an insult to the very concept of fighting. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that the human body was attached to itself in ways that made certain movements rather difficult. The heroes threw wild punches, left their ribs exposed, and stood around waiting for their enemies to finish monologuing before attacking.

I had watched the entire thing in growing disbelief.

The worst part was that the film had almost certainly been inspired by real events. The resemblance to the Justice League was too specific to be coincidence, and I had spent enough time on Earth to recognise how quickly people turned extraordinary events into entertainment. Someone had seen the League in action, borrowed the broad strokes of their exploits, changed the names, and convinced a studio to spend an obscene amount of money reproducing them on a screen. I supposed that was one way of immortalising heroes. It was also a rather effective way of making them look ridiculous.

"Well," I muttered, stepping away from the poster, "that was rubbish."

A couple passing nearby glanced at me. I ignored them and stretched my arms above my head, enjoying the satisfying movement of muscles that had spent far too long folded into a cinema seat. My leather jacket creaked at the shoulders. Beneath it, I wore a dark muscle top that left my arms bare, and my new trousers fitted comfortably around my waist without threatening to strangle the tail hidden beneath them. Finding clothes that accommodated a Saiyan tail without advertising its existence had required considerably more effort than I had anticipated. Most tailors were accustomed to dealing with ordinary human anatomy, and the ones who were willing to entertain unusual requests tended to ask questions I had no intention of answering. The one that Flash helped me find was different in that regard but she had significant trouble trying to make some that accommodated me.

Eventually, I had found a solution. The trousers had been modified with a discreet opening and enough additional material to let my tail move freely while remaining concealed beneath the fabric. It was comfortable, practical, and considerably less conspicuous than the alternatives. I could walk through a crowded street without someone pointing at my backside and asking whether I was a cosplayer, a mutant, or a particularly ambitious furry. The fact that I had to think about such things still amused me.

My original plan had been to return to Central City after leaving the Watchtower, but I had changed my mind before the end of the day. There was no particular reason to remain there. I had already seen the city, fought its resident homicidal android, endured the attention of its inhabitants, and been dragged into enough conversations about superheroes to last me a week. Besides, I had wanted to visit Los Angeles since arriving on this Earth. If a world was famous for anything besides its food, its music, and its extraordinary capacity for producing people who believed they knew better than everyone else, it was its films.

Hollywood was supposed to be the centre of the movie industry. If there was anywhere on Earth where I could find a genuinely entertaining action film, it ought to have been here. I had now established that this assumption was not necessarily correct. Still, the evening was young, the city was alive, and I was in no particular hurry to return to my hotel. I had spent enough time on missions, in training chambers, and in the company of people who thought every conversation had to concern some impending cosmic disaster. A little recreation was overdue.

More importantly, I wanted a drink.

I had enjoyed alcohol on a number of worlds. Some civilisations brewed their drinks from fermented fruit, others from grains, and a few had developed beverages that were technically edible only if one possessed a constitution considerably more resilient than the average human's. There were outposts where a single drink could knock an ordinary Saiyan unconscious, and others where the strongest liquor available tasted like sweetened water. I had sampled most of them, partly out of curiosity and partly because I had always believed that if one was going to explore a place, one ought to experience more than its battlefields.

Earth had some decent alcohol. I had discovered that much already. What I had not discovered was whether Los Angeles had any interesting places to drink. I turned towards the pavement, intending to find a bar, when I noticed a woman standing near the cinema entrance. She was young, probably in her twenties, with dark hair falling over her shoulders and a fitted dress that suggested she had made a deliberate effort to look good that evening. Her attention was fixed on me, although she was making a rather poor attempt to disguise it. Her gaze travelled from my face to my shoulders, lingered briefly on my arms, and returned to my face with a smile that was just a little too pleased with itself to be innocent.

I had seen that expression before. On several worlds, in fact. I smiled back and approached her.

"Excuse me." I said. "I'm looking for somewhere decent to get a drink. You look like you know your way around the nightlife. Any recommendations?"

Her smile widened. She looked me over once more, making considerably less effort to hide her appreciation this time. "Depends on what you're looking for."

"Alcohol, mostly."

She laughed, apparently finding that more entertaining than it deserved to be. "Right. Well, if you want a quiet drink, I could recommend a dozen places. If you want something more interesting, there's Lux."

"Lux?"

"Nightclub. It's one of the best places in Los Angeles if you want to have some fun." She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice as though she were sharing a secret. "Very exclusive, though. You might have trouble getting in."

I glanced down at myself. Leather jacket, dark top, trousers, boots. I had dressed for comfort rather than to impress anyone, although I had learned that some humans appeared to find the combination rather appealing. "I'll take my chances."

"You should." Her eyes lingered on my face. "Are you here on your own?"

"At the moment."

"Well, if you need someone to show you around—"

"That's kind of you." I replied, giving her another smile. "But I think I'll manage."

I did not intend to be rude. She seemed pleasant enough, and I had no objection to being flirted with. It was flattering, in its own way, and I had never understood the appeal of pretending otherwise. But I had no particular desire to take a stranger back to my hotel, and I was not interested in giving her the impression that I did. She seemed to accept the refusal, although the amused look in her eyes suggested she had interpreted it rather differently from how I intended.

"Suit yourself." she said. "Lux is on Sunset. You can't miss it."

"Thanks."

"Have a good night."

"You too."

I left her with a final nod and started walking. It did not occur to me that my brief refusal, delivered with an easy smile and no explanation, might have made me more interesting to her rather than less. I had no idea that the combination of my size, my clothes, my apparent disinterest, and the fact that I had not even bothered to ask her name had presented a very particular image to a certain sort of human woman. I had simply wanted a drink. Humans were strange creatures. That conclusion had been reinforced several times since my arrival on Earth, and I suspected it would be reinforced many more times before I was finished with the planet.

Lux was difficult to miss.

The building rose above the surrounding streets like a monument to excess, its exterior illuminated by elaborate strips of light that changed colour in time with the music spilling faintly through its walls. It occupied a substantial portion of the block, with a broad entrance beneath a canopy and a procession of expensive cars pulling up along the kerb. People in designer clothes moved through the entrance under the watchful eyes of security staff, while others lingered outside, hoping to catch the attention of someone who might grant them access.

The place was enormous. It had the sort of architecture that suggested the owner had either been blessed with an extraordinary amount of money or had made a point of ensuring that nobody forgot how much he possessed. The entrance alone was larger than some of the restaurants I had visited on planets whose entire economies depended on interstellar trade. I stopped across the street and studied the building. The nightclub occupied the uppermost floors beneath what appeared to be a private penthouse. I could sense the concentration of people inside, their individual life energies overlapping until the whole building seemed to hum with activity. There were hundreds of them, perhaps more, and the music was loud enough that I could feel the vibrations through the pavement.

I could have joined the queue. I could have spoken to the security guards, shown some identification, or tried to convince them that I belonged there. But the idea of standing around for twenty minutes while someone decided whether I looked sufficiently important to spend money in their employer's establishment struck me as an unnecessary waste of time. I glanced around. Nobody was paying me any particular attention. A couple were arguing beside a parked car, a taxi driver was checking his phone, and a man in a suit was hurrying down the pavement with the determined expression of someone who had somewhere more important to be.

That was enough.

I focused on the uppermost floor I could reach without appearing in the middle of someone's private apartment and let my energy sense settle on the space. Instant Transmission was a convenient ability, although I had learned that using it in public could be rather disruptive if one failed to account for the possibility of materialising directly in front of an unsuspecting human. I had no desire to explain myself to a security team, particularly when I was supposed to be enjoying an evening off.

The world shifted. One moment, I was standing on the pavement beneath the nightclub's lights. The next, I stood in a short, dimly lit corridor above the main floor, where the music was muffled by thick walls and the air carried the faint scent of expensive perfume. A door stood to my left, while a staircase descended towards the noise below. I could hear the voices of people somewhere beyond the walls, and the rhythmic thud of the music vibrated through the floor.

I checked that I had not materialised inside a cupboard or a toilet, decided that the universe had been sufficiently cooperative, and made my way downstairs. The nightclub opened around me in a riot of sound, light, and movement. I had attended parties on a number of worlds, from small gatherings in frontier settlements to celebrations held across entire orbital stations. There were places where the population of a dozen planets converged to drink, dance, trade, and celebrate some victory or another. I had once spent several nights on a station whose entertainment district was large enough to contain entire streets of restaurants, gambling houses, theatres, and arenas. The celebrations there had continued around the clock, with enough noise and activity to make sleep a theoretical concept.

Lux gave those places a run for their money.

The main floor was vast, with a polished dance floor surrounded by tables and seating areas. Coloured lights swept across the crowd, illuminating faces and bodies in brief flashes of red, blue, violet, and gold. People danced in clusters, some moving with genuine rhythm and others appearing to be engaged in a physical struggle against an invisible opponent. A group near the centre of the floor had formed a loose circle around a man attempting a series of increasingly ambitious dance moves, while his friends cheered him on with the enthusiasm of people who had already consumed enough alcohol to find anything entertaining.

A raised platform at one end of the room held a piano and several microphones. The pianist was not playing at the moment, but the instruments were surrounded by a crowd of people who seemed to take turns performing songs for the amusement of everyone else. Some sang well. Others sang with enough confidence to compensate for a complete absence of talent. A woman in a glittering dress was currently attempting a high note that sounded as though she were trying to call a distant ship through a faulty communications system. Nobody appeared to care.

The bar ran along one side of the room, a long sweep of polished stone and dark wood behind which bartenders worked with the speed and coordination of experienced combatants. Bottles lined the shelves, illuminated from beneath, and the air carried the mingled scents of citrus, spirits, perfume, and the warm, slightly stale odour of a room crowded with people who had been dancing for hours. I grinned despite myself. All right. Perhaps the evening was not going to be a complete waste.

I made my way to the bar, weaving between people without having to make much effort. My height and build helped, as did the fact that most humans were inclined to move aside when a large man approached with the unhurried confidence of someone who had never been particularly worried about being jostled. I found an empty space near the end of the counter and settled against it.

The bartender appeared almost immediately. "What can I get you?"

I studied the bottles behind him. I recognised several brands I had encountered elsewhere on Earth, though the range was wider than I had expected. I was not particularly fussy about what I drank, provided it tasted like something more interesting than coloured water.

"Whiskey." I said. "Whatever you recommend."

The bartender gave me a quick, professional smile and reached for a bottle. "Straight?"

"Please."

He poured a generous measure into a glass and slid it across the counter. I took a sip, allowing the warmth of the spirit to spread through my throat, and nodded in approval.

"That's good."

"Glad you like it."

I settled in to watch the room. The women at the far end of the bar had noticed me. That much was obvious from the way their conversation kept pausing whenever I glanced in their direction. One of them, a brunette in a black dress, caught my eye and lifted her glass with a smile. Another leaned towards her friend and whispered something that made them both laugh. A third simply looked me up and down without making any attempt to disguise her interest. I acknowledged them with a faint smile, then turned my attention back to my drink. I assumed that would settle the matter. If they wanted to approach me, they could. If not, I had no reason to make an issue of it.

Unfortunately, I was beginning to suspect that my efforts to discourage human attention were not having the intended effect. The brunette's expression brightened when I smiled, and she leaned closer to her friends to whisper something else. They all laughed again. I frowned slightly at my glass. Perhaps they were laughing at something else. It was possible. Humans were perfectly capable of finding entertainment in things that had nothing to do with me. I had learned that much from Goten, who could spend an entire afternoon laughing at a joke that had ceased to be funny several hours earlier, and he was only half human.

I kind of miss the little turd.

I took another sip and let the matter go. There were other things to occupy my attention. The crowd was an interesting cross-section of human society, or at least the portion of it that could afford to spend an evening in an establishment like Lux. Some of the women wore dresses that looked as though they had been designed to attract the attention of photographers, while others had opted for more understated clothing. A few men wore suits expensive enough to feed a third-world village for a month. Others were dressed in jeans and T-shirts, apparently unconcerned with the expectations of the venue.

There were certainly a few women who looked like models or actresses. I had no way of knowing whether they actually were, but their appearance suggested that they spent a considerable amount of time in front of cameras. Their hair was immaculate, their makeup carefully applied, and their clothes fitted so precisely that I suspected some of them had been tailored specifically for the evening. They moved with the confidence of people accustomed to being watched. I had no particular interest in them.

Not because they were unattractive. Quite the opposite. Several were beautiful, and I would have had to be blind not to notice it. But beauty was not the same thing as compatibility, and I had no intention of taking a stranger to bed simply because she looked good in a dress. Kansei would not have approved of most of them, anyway. The thought brought a smile to my face.

My angel girlfriend had a rather different approach to relationships than most lovers I had known. She was affectionate, possessive in the most entertaining ways, and scandalously adventurous when it came to our private life. I had discovered fairly early that her curiosity extended well beyond the boundaries most people considered conventional, and I had been delighted to find that she was as willing to experiment as she was to tease me about it. We had even invited a third person into our bed on occasion, though never without discussion beforehand and never with anyone Kansei did not find appealing. The women had always been ones she liked the look of, and she had never made a secret of the fact that she enjoyed sharing the experience. Sometimes I suspected that she found my reactions more entertaining than the actual activity, but I had no intention of complaining about a girlfriend who took such pleasure in making me happy.

She had also made her position on fidelity rather clear. I was going to become a god, she had pointed out, and gods did not follow the same rules as mortals. If I found another woman attractive, I was not to pretend otherwise simply because we were together. So long as I did not deceive her, so long as I respected our relationship, and so long as any other woman was someone Kansei herself was happy to welcome, she had no objection to my enjoying myself. I had been rather taken with that arrangement. It was not that I had been looking for an excuse to sleep with every attractive woman I encountered. I had never been particularly interested in collecting lovers for the sake of boasting about them, and I found the idea of treating intimacy as a contest rather tedious. But Kansei's willingness to discuss what she wanted, rather than expecting me to guess at some unspoken set of rules, was refreshing. She trusted me enough to be honest, and I trusted her enough to believe that she meant what she said.

There was something admirable about that. She was certainly primary-wife material. The thought came so naturally that I nearly laughed into my whiskey. I was standing in a nightclub in Los Angeles, contemplating the qualities that made my angel girlfriend suitable for marriage, while a group of humans attempted to sing their way through a song whose lyrics I could barely understand. Somewhere in the room, a man had begun dancing on a table. A woman was cheering him on. Someone else had spilled a drink, and a bartender was already moving to clean it up before anyone slipped.

It was an absurd setting for such thoughts. More importantly, it was an absurd amount of thought to devote to lust and desire when I had come here simply to enjoy myself. I had never been particularly shy about acknowledging attraction. Saiyans were hardly a species known for being embarrassed by their appetites, and I had spent enough time among mortals to understand that desire was a perfectly ordinary part of life. But even in private, I did not usually spend so much time considering the physical merits of strangers. I noticed people, decided whether I liked them, and moved on. There were too many other things worth thinking about.

I looked at the women near the bar again. They were still watching me. One of them caught my eye and slowly raised her glass to her lips, maintaining eye contact as she drank. I gave her a polite nod and turned away. That was when the first small thread of unease tightened somewhere beneath my ribs. It was not fear. Not yet. It was more like the feeling of entering a room and discovering, without knowing how, that something had been moved. The furniture was where it should be, the doors were open, and nothing seemed out of place, but some instinct insisted that the room was not quite the same as it had been before.

I glanced around the nightclub. Nothing obvious had changed. The lights continued to sweep across the dance floor, the crowd moved to the music, and the bartenders served drinks. Yet I could not shake the sense that the atmosphere was subtly wrong. There was an intensity to the room that I had not noticed when I first arrived, a sort of collective restlessness beneath the laughter and conversation.

The people around me seemed unusually absorbed in their own enjoyment. They were not merely having a good time; they appeared to be chasing it, pursuing the next laugh, the next drink, the next flirtatious glance, the next opportunity to lose themselves in the music. There was nothing inherently strange about that. People came to nightclubs to enjoy themselves, after all. But the longer I watched, the more the behaviour began to feel exaggerated, as though some invisible hand had turned the volume up on every impulse in the room. I considered scanning the crowd with my energy sense.

Then I stopped myself. I had been doing that far too often since arriving in this universe. Every unfamiliar sensation had become a potential threat, every unusual presence a possible enemy. The Breach had put me on edge, and the League's understandable suspicion had done little to improve my mood. I was beginning to see danger in places where there might be none. Perhaps I was simply tired. Perhaps the whiskey was stronger than I had expected. Or perhaps the entire nightclub was full of people who had come here to drink, dance, and forget their problems for a few hours, and I was being an insufferable old warrior by trying to find a cosmic explanation for it.

I took another sip and the music changed. It happened so gently that I almost missed it. The pounding rhythm faded, the electronic beat softened, and a few scattered notes drifted through the room. They were delicate, almost tentative, but something in their arrangement caught my attention immediately. The conversation around me began to falter. People turned towards the raised platform at the far end of the nightclub, their movements slowing as the sound grew clearer.

A piano.

I had heard pianos on my Earth before. I had listened to music in concert halls, restaurants, homes, and even the occasional battlefield when someone had decided that the best way to celebrate a victory was to play something sentimental. The instrument was familiar enough, and the melody that emerged from it was simple, elegant, and almost painfully beautiful. Yet there was something about this music that made it difficult to look away.

The notes flowed through the nightclub with a clarity that seemed to cut through every other sound. They did not drown out the crowd so much as draw the entire room into themselves. Conversations died away. People stopped dancing, some in the middle of a step, while others turned their heads towards the platform with expressions of sudden, almost childlike wonder. The woman who had been attempting to sing a moment earlier lowered her microphone without seeming to realise she had done so. Even the bartenders stopped moving.

I set my glass down. The melody was enchanting. There was no other word for it. It seemed to reach into the mind and find something that had been waiting there, something familiar yet impossible to name. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease, and for one fleeting moment the unease I had been experiencing disappeared beneath the music.

Then my instincts screamed. The reaction was so abrupt that it felt as though someone had driven a spike through the base of my skull. Every muscle in my body locked. My fingers curled against the edge of the counter, and my breath caught in my throat.

I could not move.

For the first time in longer than I cared to remember, I felt utterly helpless.

It was not the helplessness of being trapped beneath a mountain or pinned by an opponent whose strength exceeded my own. I had been in those situations before. They were unpleasant, but they were familiar. There was always something to do, some weakness to exploit, some angle to test, some way of turning a disadvantage into an opportunity.

This was different. This was the instinctive certainty of a small animal that had just discovered a predator standing directly behind it. I had fought monsters that could shatter continents with a gesture. I had faced demons whose presence could warp the space around them, and I had trained under beings whose power was so far beyond mine that the distinction between a lesson and a near-death experience had occasionally become rather academic. I had stood before the Grand Minister, whose quiet authority could make even the most powerful gods remember their manners.

None of those experiences had prepared me for the sensation that seized me now. My body knew something my mind had not yet understood. Danger. Absolute, overwhelming, inescapable danger.

I forced my eyes towards the piano. A man sat on the bench, his fingers moving across the keys with effortless precision. He was tall and lean, dressed in a white tuxedo that looked expensive without being ostentatious. His blond hair was neatly arranged, and a thin scar ran across his face, lending him a slightly roguish appearance. He looked like someone who belonged in a private members' club, or perhaps on the cover of a magazine devoted to wealthy men who collected expensive cars and had strong opinions about wine.

He did not look like a threat. That was the most disturbing part.

There was no monstrous aura surrounding him, no pressure distorting the air, no visible energy gathering around his body. He was not radiating power in the manner of a warrior preparing to fight. He did not even seem particularly interested in the crowd. His attention rested on the piano, and his expression was one of mild concentration, as though he were playing for his own amusement rather than holding an entire nightclub spellbound.

Yet I could feel him. Not through ki. Not in the way I sensed Kakarot, Vegeta, Whis, or any of the other fighters whose energy I knew well. There was no familiar signature to grasp, no reservoir of power that I could measure, no current of divine energy flowing through the body. It was something deeper. The sensation came from somewhere beyond the physical, a recognition that bypassed thought and struck directly at the foundations of my being. The man at the piano was not merely powerful. He existed on a level that made the concept of power feel inadequate.

My mind reached for comparisons and found none that were satisfactory. The Grand Minister? The thought arrived with such force that I nearly recoiled from it. I had spent enough time in the Grand Minister's presence to recognise the gulf between his existence and that of ordinary beings. He was not simply a powerful fighter, nor was he merely a divine official with authority over the Angels. His power was woven into the structure of the cosmology I had been born into. Even the most formidable gods treated him with a respect that had very little to do with courtesy and a great deal to do with understanding what he was.

This man felt comparable…No.

I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe. Comparable was the wrong word. The presence before me was difficult to measure because I could not determine where its limits lay. It felt ancient, vast, and utterly indifferent to the scale by which I had spent my life judging strength. If the Grand Minister was a mountain whose summit disappeared into the clouds, then this man was the horizon beyond it, something that remained in view no matter how far one travelled.

Perhaps he was even more powerful. I could not prove that. I could not even explain why I believed it. But the instinct was there, absolute and unyielding, and I had learned a long time ago that ignoring one's instincts was an excellent way to end up dead. The man continued to play. The music carried on, beautiful and terrible in its effect. I could see the people around me watching him, their faces softened by wonder. They had no idea what sat before them. To them, he was merely an exceptionally talented pianist, an attractive man in a white suit who had decided to entertain the room. They could not feel the thing that had made my body freeze. They could not sense the abyss concealed beneath his ordinary appearance.

They were standing within reach of something they did not understand, and they were smiling. I had the sudden, uncomfortable thought that I might be the only person in the room who recognised the danger. That did not mean the man intended to hurt anyone. Power and intent were not the same thing, a lesson I had been trying to impress upon the Justice League since the moment I arrived in their universe. Captain Atom had looked at me and seen enough energy to destroy a world. Batman had looked at me and seen a potential threat. Both had been reasonable in their own ways, but neither had known me well enough to understand what I wanted.

I had no idea what this man wanted. And that uncertainty frightened me more than I cared to admit. The final notes drifted through the room, softening until they became little more than a whisper. The man let his fingers rest on the keys for a moment before lifting his hands from the piano. Silence followed. It was not the awkward silence of a crowd waiting to see whether a performance was over. It was complete and almost reverent, as though the entire room had forgotten how to make noise. Then, gradually, people began to breathe again. Someone near the front of the platform started clapping, and the sound spread through the nightclub until the room erupted into applause.

The man smiled faintly. He rose from the piano bench, adjusted the cuffs of his white jacket, and turned towards the crowd. His gaze passed over the faces before settling on me. I felt it like a hand closing around my spine. His eyes were not glowing. There was no visible sign that he had singled me out from the hundreds of people in the room. He simply looked directly at me, and I knew with absolute certainty that he could see me as clearly as if I were standing alone in an empty room.

For one brief, absurd moment, I considered teleporting away. The impulse was immediate and instinctive. Instant Transmission could carry me across immense distances, and I had used it to escape situations that would have killed lesser warriors. I could focus on a familiar energy signature and be gone before anyone realised I had moved. But where would I go?

I had no reason to believe distance would make any difference. The man had not threatened me, had not attacked me, and had not even spoken. Running away from him would be an admission that I was afraid of something I did not understand. I was afraid. That did not mean I intended to behave like a frightened animal.

The man raised one hand and beckoned. It was a simple gesture, almost casual. He pointed towards a lounge overlooking the main floor, where a collection of dark leather sofas and low tables occupied a slightly elevated section of the nightclub. Several people were already seated there, but the man glanced in their direction and they promptly began to gather their belongings. Within moments, the area was clear.

He had not said a word to them. They had simply understood that he wanted the space. I looked down at my untouched whiskey, then back towards the lounge. There was a part of me that wanted to finish the drink, walk out of the building, and spend the next several hours pretending this encounter had never happened. It was not a particularly noble impulse, but I had never claimed to be immune to self-preservation. Whatever the man was, he was not someone I could afford to underestimate.

Unfortunately, I was also curious. Curiosity had carried me across universes, into the company of gods, and through enough dangerous situations to make Whis question whether I possessed a functioning sense of caution. It had also taught me that some encounters could not be avoided simply because they were inconvenient. I picked up my glass and finished the whiskey in one swallow. The warmth spread through me, pleasant and familiar. It did nothing to ease the tension in my body.

I set the glass down, nodded to the bartender, and made my way through the crowd. People moved aside as I approached the lounge. They were beginning to return to their conversations, although many still seemed dazed by the performance. A few glanced at me with curiosity, perhaps wondering why the pianist had singled me out. The women who had been watching me earlier were still looking in my direction, their expressions now tinged with something like envy.

I ignored them. The man waited beside the lounge, one hand resting casually on the back of a sofa. Up close, he looked even less extraordinary than he had from across the room. His face was handsome, though the scar prevented it from being conventionally perfect. His suit was immaculate, his posture relaxed, and his expression carried the faint amusement of someone who had encountered a situation he found mildly entertaining.

There was nothing about him that should have made my instincts recoil. That, more than anything, convinced me that my instincts were right. He watched me approach, then inclined his head towards the sofa opposite his own.

"Please." he said. "Join me."

His voice was smooth and cultured, with the effortless confidence of a man who had never needed to raise it to command a room. There was a faint English quality to his accent, though I could not have said whether it belonged to any particular region. He spoke as though every word had been chosen for his own amusement rather than because he needed to communicate something. I sat down opposite him, keeping my posture relaxed despite the tension that remained coiled beneath my skin. The sofa was comfortable, and the table between us held a decanter, several glasses, and a small arrangement of flowers that looked absurdly delicate in the middle of a nightclub.

The man settled into his seat with the ease of someone returning to a familiar throne. For a moment, neither of us spoke. He studied me openly, his gaze moving from my face to my shoulders and then to the tail concealed beneath my trousers. I doubted he could actually see it through the fabric, but the possibility that he knew it was there seemed entirely plausible. I had the uncomfortable impression that there was very little about me he could not perceive if he chose to look. Then he smiled.

"If it isn't the Outsider." he said. "How lovely to meet you at last."

My stomach tightened. The Outsider. That was what a few individuals had called me when speaking amongst League, a convenient title for someone who had arrived from beyond the boundaries of their cosmology. It was not a name I had chosen, but it had evidently travelled further than I had expected. The man seemed to notice my reaction, because his smile grew a fraction wider.

"Ah." he said. "So you've heard the term before. Excellent. It would have been terribly disappointing if I had to explain the obvious."

"Who are you?" I asked.

It came out more sharply than I intended. I could have softened the question, perhaps added a polite introduction of my own, but I had never been particularly good at pretending not to notice danger. Besides, I had the distinct feeling that manners were not going to be the deciding factor in this conversation. The man placed one hand against his chest in a gesture of exaggerated courtesy.

"Lucifer Morningstar." he said. "At your service."

For a moment, the words meant nothing. Then my mind caught up with them. Lucifer. I knew the name. Not from any book of Saiyan history, nor from the records of the Time Patrol, but from the stories and cosmological traditions I had encountered while travelling through this Earth. Every universe had its own collection of names for beings who stood outside the ordinary order of things. Some were worshipped, some feared, and some were dismissed as myths by people who had never had the misfortune of meeting them.

Lucifer Morningstar was one such name on this Earth. The Devil, the Prince of Darkness, Old Scratch etc. I had never expected to encounter its owner in a nightclub in Los Angeles. I stared at him, and for the first time since arriving in this universe, I found myself genuinely uncertain what to say.

The Grand Minister had warned me that this cosmology was vastly larger and more complicated than the one I knew. I had accepted that as a fact, just as I had accepted that the gods of this universe might possess abilities and authority unlike anything I had encountered before. But there was a difference between understanding that a world contained powerful beings and finding one of them sitting across from you, dressed in a white tuxedo and smiling as though you had arrived at a dinner party slightly late.

I looked at the scar on his face. Then at his eyes. Then back at the scar. According to biblical theology, Michael struck his fallen brother down from heaven. Was I looking at the mark of that event? In any case, when the Grand Minister was talking about the ruling powers of this cosmology, this man was undoubtedly one of such beings he was talking about.

"Lucifer Morningstar." I repeated.

"Yes. You say it as though you've been expecting someone else."

"I wasn't expecting to encounter anyone like you."

"How delightfully honest." He reached for the decanter, poured himself a drink, and set the bottle aside. I watched his hands carefully. They looked ordinary. Human, even. There was no tremor in them, no visible sign of supernatural strength, no hint of the power that had made every instinct in my body scream. He took a sip and regarded me over the rim of his glass. "Tell me, Bardock," he said, "how are you finding our little corner of creation?"

I went very still. He knew my name. Of course he knew my name. I had already suspected that he knew far more about me than he had any right to, but hearing him say it removed any remaining hope that I had somehow misjudged the situation. I leaned back against the sofa, forcing my shoulders to relax.

"Busy." I replied. "Complicated. Your superheroes have a habit of asking a lot of questions."

"Yes, they do. It is one of their more endearing qualities. Along with the costumes, the secret identities, and the peculiar conviction that every problem can be solved by assembling a committee and arguing until someone punches a wall."

Despite myself, I almost laughed. The observation was uncomfortably accurate. "You're not fond of the Justice League?"

"My dear boy, I didn't say that." Lucifer tilted his head, considering the question. "I find them interesting. Some more than others. They do their best to protect a world that is rather fond of producing new and inventive ways to endanger itself. There is something admirable about that, even if their methods occasionally leave much to be desired."

"That sounds like a polite way of saying you think they're idiots."

"On the contrary. Idiots are generally far more entertaining. The League has the unfortunate habit of being earnest."

He said it with such solemn distaste that I could not help smiling. Then I remembered who was sitting across from me, and the smile faded. Lucifer noticed.

"Ah," he said softly. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"That little moment when you remember that I'm not merely an amusing stranger in an expensive suit." I did not answer. He swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it catch the light. "I do apologise if I've made you uncomfortable. I had hoped the music would put you at ease."

"Was that a piece of your own making?"

"Naturally."

"It was… good."

"Good?" His eyebrows rose. "My dear Bardock, I've been playing the piano for rather a long time. I should hope I can manage better than good."

"I said it was good. I didn't say it was the best thing I've ever heard."

His expression brightened with genuine amusement. "Oh, I think I'm going to enjoy you."

I had the distinct impression that I had just made a mistake. Not a dangerous one, necessarily. I had simply given a being who might be more powerful than the Grand Minister a reason to find me entertaining. I had spent enough time around Whis to understand that the attention of an immensely powerful individual could be either a blessing or a curse, and the distinction often depended on how much amusement they derived from the situation. I decided to change the subject.

"You called me the Outsider. How much do you know about me?"

"Quite a bit. A lot more than you put out there yourself. I can see even those things you try to hide."

"That is not a reassuring answer."

"No, it isn't." Lucifer smiled into his glass. "But it is the answer you're getting for the moment."

I studied him, trying to decide whether he was deliberately provoking me or simply incapable of having a conversation without turning it into a game. Probably both.

"You know about the Breach, then."

"Of course."

"And the Grand Minister's visit?"

"Naturally. I even took the time to listen in on that little get-together. It was quite the experience, seeing another angel from beyond the Overvoid. The blue skin was new though."

"And Grand Zeno?"

Lucifer's smile did not disappear, but something in his expression shifted. It was subtle, little more than a momentary stillness around the eyes, yet I noticed it.

"Ah," he said. "The little king."

My body tensed before I could stop it. I did not know what kind of relationship Lucifer had with Zeno in the midst of whatever cosmic negotiations were going on, but I knew enough about my own multiverse to recognise that calling the Omni-King little was not something most beings would do casually. Zeno was not merely a powerful ruler. His authority was absolute within his jurisdiction, and even gods who had existed for millions of years treated his whims with extreme care. Lucifer seemed to notice my reaction.

"Don't look so alarmed," he said. "I'm not planning to eat him."

"That-" I paused, stopping myself from saying something I might regret. I couldn't afford to offend this being, and he seemed as fickle as the deities from back home. "…is a reassuring answer."

"Isn't it?" He said with a knowing look like he could read my internal monologue. I gave him a flat look. He laughed, a rich, easy sound that carried no trace of strain. It was the laugh of someone who found the entire situation amusing, including my obvious discomfort. "You're very far from home," Lucifer continued, settling back into his seat. "A stranger in a world whose rules you don't fully understand, with a rather unpleasant wound between realities preventing you from going back. You've been attempting to repair your damaged energy pathways, learning the customs of a new civilisation, and trying to convince a collection of suspicious costumed do-gooders that you're not going to destroy their planet."

"That's a fairly succinct summary."

"And you've been spending your evenings watching dreadful films."

I stared at him. He looked delighted. "How did you—"

"Bardock, please." He waved a hand dismissively. "You're hardly the first person to come to the City of Angels in search of entertainment. Although I must say, your taste in films could use some work."

"The film was terrible."

"Then we agree on something."

I could not help it. I laughed. It was brief, a single burst of genuine amusement, but it broke the tension that had been tightening around my chest since the moment I heard the piano. Lucifer watched me with a satisfied expression, as though he had been waiting for precisely that response. I took a breath and settled more comfortably against the sofa.

"All right." I said. "You know who I am, where I came from, and what happened with the Breach. You clearly have a great deal of power, and you seem to know more about me than the Justice League does. So I'll ask again. Why am I here?"

"Now, that," he said, "is an interesting question." Lucifer's smile softened into something more thoughtful. He set his glass down on the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. For the first time since I had approached him, the amusement in his expression receded enough for me to glimpse something beneath it. Not hostility, nor anger. Something older and more difficult to interpret. "I could tell you that I wanted to meet you because you're an extraordinary creature who has wandered into a corner of creation where you don't belong. That would be true, in its way. I could say that your arrival has attracted the attention of beings who are normally rather disinclined to concern themselves with the affairs of mortals. That would also be true. Or I could tell you that I was curious about the individual who managed to make most of the little toddlers on this planet that call themselves gods nervous.

I frowned. "The gods of this world are nervous?"

"I wouldn't say they're thrilled. Would you?"

"No."

Lucifer gave me a look that suggested he had heard that answer before and found it entirely unconvincing.

"Very well. Perhaps nervous is the wrong word. Concerned, then. Intrigued. Annoyed. Take your pick. The point is, Bardock, you have managed to become rather interesting to a number of people who don't usually share their attention with anyone."

I held his gaze. "And you're one of them."

"Oh, most certainly."

"Why?"

"Because I enjoy meeting interesting people." I waited, making Lucifer sigh theatrically. "You really do insist on making conversation difficult."

"I'm trying to understand why a being like you has decided to speak to me."

"And I'm trying to tell you that I wanted to speak to you. Must everything have a hidden motive?"

"When someone with your power singles me out in a nightclub, yes."

"Good. At least you're not entirely foolish." His smile returned, slow and approving. I had no idea whether that was meant as a compliment. Lucifer picked up his glass again, took a leisurely sip, and continued. "You are a warrior, Bardock. A very powerful one, though I suspect you haven't yet recovered the full extent of what you could do before arriving here. You are also a man who has been told that he is going to spend a considerable amount of time away from home, with no clear idea of when he might return. You have obligations, responsibilities, and a rather complicated future waiting for you. And yet here you are, drinking whiskey in a nightclub, contemplating the shortcomings of Hollywood cinema."

"I don't see the problem with that."

"Neither do I." He spread his hands. "That's why I find you interesting. You use your free will quite whimsically despite your duties."

I studied him for a long moment. There was something disarming about the way he spoke. He could have been discussing the weather, or the quality of the whiskey, or the peculiar habits of the people dancing below us. Yet beneath the casual tone was a sense of immense certainty. He did not seem to need to prove anything, to demonstrate his power, or to establish his authority. He simply existed, and the world appeared to accommodate him.

It was a quality I recognised in the Grand Minister, though Lucifer's manner was very different. The Grand Minister's authority was quiet and absolute, tempered by courtesy and a sense of responsibility that made his presence feel almost reassuring. Lucifer's was more difficult to describe. He carried himself like a man who had walked away from every throne he had ever been offered and found the experience liberating. I wondered what sort of being could make the Grand Minister nervous besides Grand Zeno. This man would be a qualified candidate. Then I remembered that Lucifer had not actually stated or proved he could. The implication was hidden in the subliminal, but I was not going to accept every implication he made simply because my instincts were telling me to be careful.

"You're enjoying this." I said. "Making me uncomfortable."

"Immensely. Just as I enjoy meeting you."

"Those aren't necessarily the same thing."

"No, but they do overlap rather beautifully."

I shook my head. He laughed again, then gestured towards the decanter. "Would you care for a drink? I suspect the whiskey at the bar is perfectly adequate, but I have something considerably better."

I glanced at the bottle. "What is it?"

"An old favourite. The sort of thing one acquires after a few millennia of developing excellent taste and an equally excellent capacity for disappointment."

"That doesn't tell me anything."

"Patience, Bardock. You're going to find that I rarely tell people everything they want to know in the order they want to hear it."

I considered refusing. Then I considered the fact that I had come here to drink, and that refusing a drink from Lucifer Morningstar on the grounds that I was suspicious of him would be a rather absurd form of caution.

"All right." I said. "I'll try it." Lucifer poured a measure into a fresh glass and passed it across the table. I took a careful sip. And it truly was excellent. The flavour was rich and complex, with a warmth that lingered on the tongue and a faint sweetness that emerged only after the initial burn. I had tasted spirits from worlds whose distilleries were older than some civilisations, and this was easily among the better drinks I had encountered. I looked at the glass with renewed interest. "All right," I admitted. "That's good."

Lucifer leaned back, looking insufferably pleased with himself. "I knew you'd see reason eventually."

"Don't ruin it for me then."

"My apologies."

He did not sound remotely sorry. For a while, we drank in relative silence. The nightclub continued around us, the music rising and falling, the crowd returning to its previous level of noise and movement. From the lounge, I could see the dance floor and the bar, and I could hear fragments of conversation drifting up from the tables below. The people around us seemed to have forgotten the piano performance already, or perhaps they had simply absorbed it into the evening as another unusual moment in a place designed to produce them.

I could not forget it. Every time I looked at Lucifer, I was reminded of the sensation that had seized me when he began to play. My instincts had not settled. They remained alert, not quite panicked but unwilling to relax completely. I had the uncomfortable impression that if he decided to reveal even a fraction of what he truly was, the entire nightclub would become irrelevant. I could fight him, of course. I could transform, draw on the power I had spent my life cultivating, and attempt to defend myself if the need arose. I had faced opponents whose abilities had seemed impossible until I understood them, and I had learned not to surrender simply because an enemy appeared stronger than me. But I had no reason to believe that a fight with Lucifer would be anything like the battles I understood.

I had no idea what he could do. I did not know whether my ki would affect him, whether my divine energy would be recognised by whatever governed his existence, or whether Instant Transmission would work if he decided he did not want me to leave. For the first time in a long while, I was sitting across from someone I could not meaningfully assess. It was an unpleasant feeling. It was also, I had to admit, rather fascinating.

"Tell me something." I said at last, trying to make some conversation.

Lucifer lifted an eyebrow. "Do try to make it interesting."

"Why the nightclub?"

He glanced around the room as though he had momentarily forgotten where he was. "Because I own it."

"That explains why you're here. It doesn't explain why you chose to meet me here. You did use whatever your metaphysical mojo is to lure me here after all didn't you?"

He smiled, offering no rebuttal to my frankly baseless assumption. "Does it need explaining?"

"Yes."

He considered me for a moment, then smiled. "Because you came here looking for a little fun, Bardock. I thought it would be rather rude to drag you away from your evening pre-emptively simply because I wished to satisfy my curiosity. Besides, I happen to enjoy my club. The people are entertaining, the music is excellent, and the drinks are far better than anything you'll find in most establishments of this sort."

"You own the whole building?"

"The nightclub and the penthouse above it."

"Of course you do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I just seem to have a talent for meeting people who own ridiculous amounts of property."

Lucifer laughed. "And here I thought you were going to accuse me of being a capitalist."

"I don't know what that means in your universe."

"Then perhaps we'll have to arrange a history lesson."

"I look forward to your tutelage."

He seemed pleased by the answer. I took another sip of the drink and allowed my gaze to drift across the room. The women who had been watching me earlier had found other entertainment, though the brunette still glanced in my direction occasionally. I could have approached her if I had wanted to. I could have spent the evening drinking, dancing, and enjoying the company of someone who had no idea that the man sitting opposite me was one of the most unsettling beings I had ever encountered.

Instead, I was having a conversation with Lucifer Morningstar. Kansei would have found that amusing. She would probably have asked whether he was attractive, whether he had any interesting stories, and whether I thought he might be willing to join us for dinner. Then she would have smiled in that infuriatingly innocent way of hers and asked whether I had considered what it would be like to share a bed with the Devil.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I needed to stop thinking about my girlfriend before I embarrassed myself by smiling at nothing. Lucifer watched me with obvious interest.

"Something amusing?"

"Just thinking about someone."

"A woman, I presume?"

I gave him a suspicious look. "Why?"

"Because you smiled."

"I smile at plenty of things."

"Yes, but that was a rather particular smile. Men only smile like that when they think about a very special woman."

I stared at him. He looked delighted. "You're insufferable."

"So I've been told. It's why they threw me out of Heaven, the stiffs."

"I can see why."

"Excellent. Then we're really getting to know each other."

I shook my head and finished the last of my drink. The evening had taken a turn I had not anticipated, but I could not deny that I was enjoying myself. Lucifer was maddening, certainly, and the sheer scale of his presence continued to trouble me, but he was also intelligent, entertaining, and possessed of a sense of humour that appealed to me despite my better judgement. That did not make him safe.

I had learned long ago that dangerous people could be charming, and that charm was often most effective when it concealed something unpleasant. But I was not a child who needed to be protected from every unknown thing in the universe. I had survived Hell, trained under Whis, served the Time Patrol, and stood in the presence of beings whose power could reshape reality. I could manage a conversation.

Lucifer set his glass down and regarded me with renewed attention. "There is something I've been meaning to ask you," he said.

"Only one thing?"

"Several, actually. But I thought I would begin with the most interesting and pertinent question." I waited while he leant forward slightly, his expression becoming almost conversationally intimate. "Tell me, Bardock. What is it you desire?"

The question landed more heavily than it should have. I had expected him to ask about the Breach, the Grand Minister, the lost Super Dragon Ball, or the peculiar circumstances that had brought me into his universe. I had prepared answers for those questions, or at least the portions of them I was willing to share. I had not expected him to ask something so personal.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. What did I desire?

The obvious answers came first. To find Trunks. To recover the four-star Super Dragon Ball. To repair the Breach and return home. To see my family again, to sit at Chi-Chi's table and endure her insistence that I eat more vegetables, to hear Goku laugh at some ridiculous joke, to argue with Vegeta until one of us threatened to throw the other through a mountain. To see Kansei again, to feel her arms around me, to tell her about the strange and irritating people I had encountered in this universe.

I wanted to continue my training. I wanted to recover the power I had lost crossing the Breach. I wanted to understand this universe, to see its worlds, meet its people, and learn how its gods differed from the ones I knew. I wanted to become the Destroyer I had agreed to be, not because I craved the title but because I had accepted the responsibility that came with it. All of those things mattered to me.

But none of them seemed to be the answer Lucifer wanted. He watched me patiently, as though he could see the thoughts moving behind my eyes. There was no mockery in his expression now. The amusement remained, but it had receded enough to reveal something more serious beneath it. I looked down at my hands.

"I want…a family." I said at last out of some sort of compulsion that I couldn't escape. "I want to have a family of my own, that I can spend an eternity with."

Lucifer nodded, as though he had expected that answer. "Why am I not surprised? It's always the same with you wandering lone wolf types.

"I also want to see my family again. My friends. My girlfriend." I paused, searching for the right words. "I want to finish what I started. I have responsibilities waiting for me, and I don't intend to abandon them simply because I've been stranded in another universe."

"An admirable aspiration."

I looked up at him. "I'm not trying to impress you. You asked what I wanted, and that's the answer."

For a moment, Lucifer said nothing. Then he smiled, though this time the expression was more thoughtful than amused.

"Perhaps," he said, "we'll have to return to that question another evening."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because I suspect you've tried to blur the answer I seek from you by telling me what you intend to do, rather than admit what you truly desire to yourself first and foremost."

I felt a faint chill settle along my spine. It was not the same sensation that had seized me when he played the piano. This was subtler, a quiet awareness that he had touched upon something I had not expected to discuss with a stranger. I wanted to argue, to tell him that he had no right to presume he understood me better than I understood myself.

But the words did not come. Instead, I sat opposite Lucifer Morningstar, in a nightclub in Los Angeles, with a glass of excellent whiskey between us and the noise of the human world continuing below. For the first time since arriving in this universe, I had the uncomfortable feeling that the most dangerous thing about the person before me might not be his power. It might be how much he already knew.

Lucifer lifted his glass in a small, almost companionable toast. "To new acquaintances, Bardock."

I looked at him for a moment, then raised my own glass. "To new acquaintances."

We drank. And somewhere beneath the music, the laughter, and the noise of a hundred people enjoying their evening, I began to suspect that my night in Los Angeles was going to be considerably more interesting than the film that had brought me here.

Lucifer regarded me over the rim of his glass, his expression carrying the sort of amusement that suggested he had just discovered a particularly entertaining weakness in an otherwise formidable opponent. I had spent enough time around gods to recognise the look. Beerus wore something similar whenever he discovered a new food he intended to make everyone else miserable over, and Whis had perfected it to an art form. There was, however, something rather more unnerving about seeing it on the face of a man who might conceivably have been able to make the Grand Minister reconsider his place in the wider cosmic pecking order.

I leaned back against the lounge seat, turning my glass between my fingers. "All right. You've had your fun, you've pried a fairly personal confession out of me, and you've made it abundantly clear that you know more about me than I know about you. So perhaps you might explain something in return."

"By all means." Lucifer settled comfortably against the backrest. "I do enjoy a conversation in which the other party has finally realised he ought to be asking the right questions."

"What, specifically, is your interest in me?"

His smile remained, but something behind it shifted. The playfulness did not disappear so much as retreat a little, allowing me a glimpse of the thought beneath it. Lucifer set his glass down on the table between us and glanced towards the main floor, where the music had resumed and the club was once again a sea of moving bodies, coloured lights and people determined to forget that tomorrow morning existed.

"For a very long time," he began, "I believed there was nothing outside my Father's Plan. Nothing whatsoever. Every road I might travel, every rebellion I might undertake, every place I might flee to in order to escape His influence—all of it would ultimately fall beneath His jurisdiction. I might rage against Him, defy Him, even convince myself that I had escaped His designs, but there was always the possibility that my rebellion was precisely what He intended."

He spoke without the theatrical bitterness I might have expected from a being who had apparently been cast out of Heaven. There was no raised voice, no grand gesture, no need to make the entire club listen to his grievances. He delivered the words with the casual precision of a man recounting a conclusion he had reached after an incomprehensibly long time considering the matter.

"I was His son," he continued. "His creation. His adversary, if one prefers the more dramatic description. Whatever I chose to call myself, the relationship remained. Even my attempts to escape it were defined by it. There was nowhere I could go that did not leave me wondering whether He had already accounted for my arrival."

I watched him carefully. "And you think I've disproved that?"

"I know you have." The certainty in his voice was more disturbing than a threat would have been. "Your arrival here was not some ordinary crossing between dimensions. You did not travel from one world to another within a single, conveniently arranged creation. You came from a reality with its own laws, its own history, its own sovereign powers. A reality whose highest authority is not my Father, and whose existence was not arranged according to His design." Lucifer lifted his glass again, though he did not drink. "You are not merely a foreigner, Bardock. You are evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"That there is something else." He said it almost fondly, as though the idea itself were a gift he had been waiting an eternity to receive. "Something beyond His jurisdiction. Something that does not owe its existence to Him, does not answer to Him, and cannot simply be folded into the familiar boundaries of His creation because He happens to wish it so."

I looked down at my drink for a moment, allowing that to settle. I had spent enough time listening to the Grand Minister explain the distinctions between universes, timelines, and cosmological orders to understand why the idea might matter. The Omni-Kings ruled their own domain. The Grand Minister served them, and the Angels helped maintain the order of the universes under their authority. There were boundaries to that power, even if those boundaries were so vast that almost no one would ever encounter them. Our reality was not necessarily the whole of existence simply because it was the whole of existence we knew.

Yet Lucifer's interest went beyond academic curiosity. I could feel it in the way he watched me, as though the mere fact of my being here had opened a door he had spent an eternity staring at without knowing whether it could ever be unlocked.

"So the breach is proof that your Father isn't the only one with a universe to look after," I said.

"Not quite." Lucifer's mouth curved. "It is proof that there are places He does not rule. That is a fundamental distinction, and a rather important one. The universe is not a private estate simply because someone has spent a great deal of time insisting that everything in it belongs to Him."

"That sounds like a family argument."

"Most theological disputes are, if one looks closely enough."

I laughed despite myself. "I suppose that makes sense. Half the trouble in my universe comes from gods arguing over whose responsibility it is to fix something after they've broken it."

"Then perhaps our respective families have more in common than either would care to admit."

"Don't let the Grand Minister hear you say that. He has enough work keeping the Omni-Kings from turning every disagreement into a universal crisis."

Lucifer chuckled, the sound low and genuine. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and his attention returned to the breach. "Now, if that unfortunate wound between our realities were to grow sufficiently large, there might be a rather wonderful opportunity."

I narrowed my eyes. "What sort of opportunity?"

"Why, a visit, of course."

"To my universe?"

"Precisely." He said it with the easy confidence of a man discussing a weekend trip to the coast. I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but Lucifer seemed entirely sincere. "I have every intention of paying your reality a visit," he continued. "Provided, naturally, that the breach becomes large enough to accommodate my rather considerable…" He paused, letting the implication hang in the air with a faintly wicked smile. "Girth."

I closed my eyes for a moment. Of all the things I had expected to hear from the Devil in a nightclub in Los Angeles, that had not been one of them.

"I'm not sure that is the word I would have chosen," I said.

"I'm sure you would have found a word of your own. I merely prefer mine."

"And what exactly do you intend to do when you get there?"

"Explore, naturally. Meet the people. See the sights. Discover whether your reality is as interesting as your arrival suggests." He picked up his glass and swirled the liquor inside. "One does grow rather tired of the same old scenery after a few millennia. A little change can be invigorating."

I thought of the Grand Minister's warning that the breach was already unstable, that the two cosmologies were struggling to contain a wound whose full consequences neither side understood. I thought of the Presence, whose silence had already become a question no one seemed able to answer. Then I imagined Lucifer Morningstar stepping through the breach and strolling into the home of the Omni-Kings with that same relaxed expression on his face. I did not feel reassured. I kept that thought to myself, mostly because I had no desire to find out whether voicing it would encourage him. Judging by the glint in his eyes, however, Lucifer had already caught the sentiment. He gave me a knowing little smile and took a sip of his drink.

"Oh, don't look so concerned. I have no intention of arriving unannounced and setting fire to anything merely for the pleasure of watching it burn."

"That's reassuring."

"Besides, if your Grand Minister is as powerful as you see him to be, I should like to meet him under more civilised circumstances. One wouldn't want to spoil a first impression."

I took another drink. "I'm beginning to think I should have kept my mental mouth shut about him. You clearly have a much easier time reading my thoughts than the Martians do."

"On the contrary. I find the details fascinating. A being who serves two supreme rulers, an attendant-to-be of yours who is also a daughter to him, a warrior such as yourself being groomed to destroy worlds as part of cosmic order, and a consortium of gods who appear to settle disputes with the emotional maturity of children fighting over toys. You really must tell me more sometime."

"Only if you tell me about your family in return."

Lucifer placed a hand against his chest, feigning offence. "My dear fellow, there are limits to what one can reasonably expect from a first meeting."

"Then I suppose we're even."

"Not remotely." He settled back into his seat, evidently satisfied that he had managed to unsettle me without having to lift so much as a finger. I was beginning to suspect that this was one of his favourite pastimes. Beerus enjoyed provoking people because he liked seeing them squirm; Whis did it because he found the resulting reactions amusing. Lucifer, I suspected, enjoyed the game for its own sake. He could afford to take his time. After a moment, he tilted his head at me. "Have you considered therapy?"

I looked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Therapy. Counselling. Talking to a trained professional about your experiences, your difficulties, your feelings. There are a number of names for it, though I find the practice rather more useful than the terminology." He waved a hand as if dismissing any objection before I could make it. "You have been displaced from your home, separated from your family and romantic partner, thrust into a reality whose fundamental rules differ from your own, and saddled with the responsibility of finding a missing friend while attempting to recover an artefact capable of granting wishes of almost limitless scope. All while adjusting to a damaged connection to your own power and preparing to take on the duties of a god who destroys worlds."

I frowned. "When you put it like that, it sounds rather inconvenient."

"Doesn't it? And yet you seem determined to manage all of it by yourself, with little more than a drink and the occasional bout of violence to help you process the experience. Rather primitive for someone so accomplished."

"I've found both to be reasonably effective I'll have you know."

"For the immediate problem, perhaps. Less so for the underlying one."

I gave him a sceptical look. "And this advice is coming from the man who runs a nightclub? You, recommending therapy to me?"

"Among other things. I'm recommending that you consider it. There's a difference."

I leaned back, studying him. "And I suppose you attend therapy yourself?"

Lucifer's smile returned, bright and unashamed. "Of course I do."

That surprised me more than I wanted to admit. "You?"

"Must you sound so astonished? Even the Devil can benefit from a little professional guidance."

"I was under the impression that you were the sort of person who gave everyone else advice, rather than took it."

"An understandable misconception, but a misconception all the same. I have found that a good therapist can be invaluable when one is experiencing difficulties. Someone who will listen without immediately attempting to flatter you, condemn you, or tell you what you ought to be. Someone who can ask the right questions and leave you to discover the answers for yourself."

For the first time since we had begun talking, there was something in his voice that sounded less like a performance. It was not quite vulnerability; Lucifer seemed too practised at protecting himself for that. But there was sincerity there, and a recognition of the value in something I had previously regarded as a fairly human solution to fairly human problems.

"And you found someone like that here?" I asked.

"I did indeed. Dr Linda Martin. Licensed psychotherapist, doctorate in clinical psychology, and quite possibly the most perceptive woman in Los Angeles. She has a remarkable ability to see through the nonsense people tell themselves, which is unfortunate for me on occasion but rather useful overall."

"You're making her sound dangerous."

"Only to those who prefer their delusions undisturbed. And besides, don't you Saiyans like your women dangerous?"

I snorted. He had a point there. "And she knows what you are?"

"I'm the Devil, Bardock. I hardly make a secret of it." Lucifer's eyes gleamed. "Yes, she knows. She knows considerably more than most people would believe possible, and she's had ample opportunity to become accustomed to the peculiarities of my existence. I suspect an alien warrior from another reality will not be the most astonishing client she's ever had."

"That's a bold assumption. You haven't met my family."

"Then I shall look forward to doing so."

I shook my head, amused despite myself. "If a being like you attends therapy, should I expect you to have a day job as well? Or does running a nightclub and spending your evenings making people uncomfortable occupy the entirety of your schedule?"

Lucifer looked genuinely offended. "I do not spend my evenings making people uncomfortable. Mortals manage that quite well on their own. And yes, I have a day job. A rather interesting one, as it happens."

Before I could ask what it was, a woman approached our table with the brisk, purposeful stride of someone who had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge the man sitting opposite me. She was in her thirties, with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, a fair complexion and alert blue eyes. Her clothes were practical rather than glamorous: a dark jacket over a simple top, fitted trousers and shoes suited to someone who spent more time walking through crime scenes than posing for photographs. She looked more cop than one in uniform, which made her stick out like a sore thumb even in plainclothes. There was a faint tension in her face, the sort that came from a long day of work and the knowledge that it had just become longer.

She stopped beside Lucifer's chair, barely sparing me a glance before turning her attention to him. "Lucifer. We have another murder."

Lucifer's expression brightened as though she'd just announced that a favourite restaurant had reopened. "Detective!"

He rose from his seat with effortless enthusiasm, straightening the front of his white jacket. The woman-Detective, presumably given Lucifer never addressed her by an actual name-gave him a look that suggested she had already regretted coming to find him and was expecting to regret it several more times before the evening was over.

"Victim's at a hotel downtown." she said. "I need you to come with me."

"Of course." Lucifer offered her a charming smile. "Anything for you, Detective." She turned away, apparently satisfied that he would follow, and Lucifer looked back at me as he picked up the last of his drink. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Therapy. I'll have Linda expect to hear from you. I shall make the introduction myself, so you needn't worry about explaining the more unusual aspects of your circumstances before you've even sat down."

"I haven't agreed to anything."

"No, but you've also not refused, which is practically an invitation in my experience."

"Your experience seems to involve making assumptions and then acting as though they're facts."

"An invaluable skill in both business and social life."

I shook my head. "I'll think about it."

"Splendid. And do enjoy the rest of your evening. Everything you've had is on the house."

"I wasn't planning to leave without paying."

"Then you may consider it a gift. Or a bribe. Whichever makes you feel more comfortable."

"I'll try not to let it go to my head."

"I have every confidence that you'll manage."

Lucifer turned and followed the Detective towards the main floor, weaving through the crowd with the ease of a man who knew every inch of the club and expected it to part for him. She moved ahead without waiting to see whether he was keeping up, though I noticed that he remained close enough to speak to her without raising his voice over the music. The crowd seemed to make room for them almost unconsciously.

I watched them disappear between the dancers, wondering what sort of murder investigation required the personal assistance of the Devil. I had seen gods meddle in mortal affairs for reasons that ranged from genuine concern to petty amusement, so the notion of Lucifer helping the police wasn't as absurd as it might once have sounded. Still, I was curious about the arrangement. He had spoken of a day job with a degree of pride that suggested it was more than a hobby, and the Detective had approached him with the familiarity of someone who had done this before.

They were nearly at the far end of the club when I heard her voice carry back over the music. "Who was the young man you were sitting with?"

Lucifer didn't break stride. "A new friend I made."

"And?"

There was a pause, just long enough for me to suspect that he was smiling. "Someone who'll be sticking around for a while."

The Detective said something else, but the music swallowed her words. Then the two of them passed through a side door and vanished from sight, leaving me alone with an unfinished drink, a nightclub full of strangers, and the increasingly uncomfortable suspicion that my stay in this universe was about to become considerably more interesting.