Smith examined his reflection in the training room's mirror, turning to view his tail from different angles. The brown fur gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and the tail moved with perfect responsiveness, as natural as his arms or legs.
The Saiyan bloodline really is fascinating.
He closed his eyes and absorbed the martial arts knowledge flooding his mind from the character template. Turtle School techniques, ki control fundamentals, the mechanics of the Kamehameha, centuries of Master Roshi's teachings compressed into pure instinctual understanding.
When he opened his eyes again, the knowledge had integrated completely. He threw a few experimental punches, testing his new muscle memory. The movements flowed perfectly, his body responding with precision he'd spent years developing as a Fraternity assassin, now enhanced by Saiyan martial arts.
Good. No adjustment period needed. I can control this power level immediately.
Smith turned toward the heavy bag hanging in the corner. He approached it casually and threw a light jab.
His fist punched clean through the bag. Sand and filling exploded across the floor.
Smith pulled his hand back, examining his knuckles. Not even reddened. The strength increase is dramatic. That felt like tapping it.
He glanced around the training room, considering. I want to test the Kamehameha, but a full-power blast would probably level this entire floor. Maybe the whole building.
Still, he could manage a controlled version. Just enough to gauge the technique's destructive potential.
Smith positioned himself in the center of the room, facing the far wall. He planted his feet, drew his hands to his waist, and focused. Energy gathered between his palms, warm, electric, almost alive. White light spilled between his fingers, growing brighter as he concentrated.
"Kame... Hame..."
He could feel the power building, eager to be released. He carefully throttled the energy output, aiming for maybe five percent of his maximum.
"HA!"
White blue light erupted from his hands. The beam screamed across the training room, disintegrating the remaining punching bags in its path before slamming into the reinforced concrete wall.
The explosion was deafening in the enclosed space. Concrete vaporized. Rebar twisted and melted. When the light faded, a hole large enough to walk through gaped in the wall, smoke curling from its scorched edges.
Smith stared at the destruction, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and caution. That was barely anything. Maybe five percent output, and I just destroyed a reinforced wall designed to contain gunfire.
He did the math instinctively. At full power, I could replicate Master Roshi's moon-destroying feat. If I aimed at a city... the death toll would be catastrophic.
The implications settled over him like a weight. He'd crossed a threshold. He was no longer just an enhanced assassin. He was a walking weapon of mass destruction.
The training room door burst open. Fox charged in, several armed Fraternity members at her back, weapons drawn. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the demolished wall and the smoke.
"Smith! What happened?" Her voice was tight with alarm. "Were we attacked?"
Smith turned, deliberately relaxed. He smiled. "Relax, Fox. No attack."
He gestured at the hole in the wall. "Just testing some new power. Training exercise."
Fox's mouth opened, then closed. She stared at the destruction, then back at Smith. "This... this is equivalent to a C4 explosion. You did this with your hands?"
Smith waved dismissively, already moving toward the door. "I'll leave the cleanup to you, Fox. Get a repair crew down here. Quietly."
He walked past her without waiting for a response. Fox stood frozen for several seconds, processing what she'd just learned, then shook herself and began issuing orders to her team.
The Next Day – Smith's Office
Smith sat behind his desk, reviewing reports, when the air in front of him shimmered. Light coalesced into a human form, a teenage girl materializing from nothing.
Bulma Brief appeared in his office, looking around with wide-eyed curiosity. She was sixteen years old, the early Dragon Ball era version, before she'd met Goku or started her adventures. Blue hair framed a pretty face, and she wore casual clothes that somehow still looked fashionable.
Her gaze landed on Smith, and her eyes went even wider. A faint blush colored her cheeks. Oh my god, he's gorgeous, she thought, momentarily forgetting where she was.
Smith cleared his throat gently.
Bulma snapped back to attention, though her eyes remained fixed on him. "Oh! Um, yes! Sorry!" She straightened, trying to look professional despite being obviously flustered. "You're Smith, right? Big brother Smith?"
"Just Smith is fine," he said, keeping his tone businesslike. "Welcome to this world, Bulma. I summoned you here because I need your expertise."
"Of course!" Bulma beamed at him. "What do you need me to do, Smith?"
"Three primary projects," Smith said, leaning forward. "First, I need you to construct a Dragon Ball radar. Second, develop a gravity chamber for training purposes. Third, re-create and produce Capsule Corp storage technology."
Bulma's expression shifted from lovestruck teenager to focused scientist in an instant. "Dragon Ball radar? Wait, are the Dragon Balls actually real here?"
Smith nodded. "Completely real. I've already used them once. The next set will be ready in a year, and I want the infrastructure in place to collect them efficiently."
"That's amazing!" Bulma's eyes lit up with genuine excitement now, her crush momentarily forgotten. "In my world, I only had legends to work from when I started building my first radar. If you can confirm they exist, I can optimize the detection algorithms significantly."
"Good." Smith pressed a button on his desk. "I'll assign someone to work with you. Whatever materials or equipment you need, requisition them. Budget is essentially unlimited."
Bulma lifted her chin proudly. "Since you're asking me personally, Smith, I'll make sure everything's perfect. You won't be disappointed."
The office door opened. Fox entered, pausing when she spotted the teenage girl standing in front of Smith's desk. Surprise flickered across her face, but her professionalism held. "Chief, you called?"
"Fox, this is Bulma Brief. She's our new chief scientist." Smith gestured between them. "Set her up with quarters and help her establish a laboratory. Whatever she requests, provide it."
Fox's eyebrows rose fractionally. A teenage chief scientist? But she'd learned long ago not to question Smith's decisions, especially after yesterday's training room incident. "Understood, Chief."
She turned to Bulma with a professional smile. "Ms. Brief, if you'll come with me, I'll show you to your accommodations and we can discuss your laboratory requirements."
Smith raised one hand before they could leave. "Fox, send John Wick to my office after you're finished."
Fox nodded, then guided Bulma toward the door. The teenager glanced back at Smith once more, offering a shy wave before disappearing into the corridor.
Minutes later, a knock sounded. The door opened, and John Wick entered. He immediately dropped to one knee, head bowed.
"Chief, I'm at your service."
Smith studied him. The change was remarkable. The hollow, haunted look that had defined John Wick for years had vanished completely. His eyes were clear, his posture confident rather than resigned. He looked like a man who'd been given back his reason for living.
"Sit, John," Smith said quietly.
John rose and took the chair across from the desk, though his posture remained respectful.
"Helen's resurrection changes everything for you," Smith began. "But you need to understand the implications. Coming back from the dead, that's not just unusual. It's the kind of miracle that draws attention from very dangerous people."
John's expression sobered immediately. "I... hadn't thought that far ahead. I was so focused on getting her back."
"Understandable," Smith said. "But now you need to think strategically. Don't take Helen back to your old residence. Don't let her contact former friends or colleagues. The moment someone recognizes her, word will spread. And resurrection? That makes you, makes us, targets for forces you can't imagine."
John nodded slowly, processing. "I'll sell the house. Helen and I discussed it last night, we want to stay here at headquarters. I'm already working on securing her a new identity. Different name, different background, complete with documentation."
"Good." Smith leaned back. "I'll provide cover through the Fraternity's resources. But you both need to maintain a low profile. The world is deeper and stranger than you realize, John. What you witnessed yesterday with Shenron? That's just the beginning."
John's jaw tightened. "I'm beginning to understand that, Chief."
"Take time with your family," Smith said. "Train, rest, be with Helen. You've earned it. But stay sharp. When I need you again, you'll be ready."
"Always, Chief." John stood and bowed once more before leaving.
Medical Bay – One Hour Later
Smith stood in the headquarters' medical facility, examining the space. It was well-equipped for treating conventional injuries, bullet wounds, stab wounds, the occupational hazards of professional killers. But it wasn't designed for the kind of advanced healing he now had access to.
He reached into his system inventory and withdrew the Medical Pod he'd summoned. The device materialized in physical space, a sleek cylindrical chamber filled with healing fluid, its surface covered in alien script and technological interfaces that would have seemed impossible by Earth standards.
Smith interfaced with the pod's control system, linking it to the headquarters' power grid. The machine hummed to life, diagnostic displays activating. Green fluid sloshed gently inside the transparent chamber.
This goes to Bulma for maintenance and study, Smith thought. She'll need to analyze the healing fluid composition and work out how to synthesize more. The pod only has enough for maybe three or four full treatments.
He was making a mental note to brief Bulma on the pod's priority when footsteps approached rapidly.
One of the Fraternity members appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath. "Chief, we have a visitor. Says he's FBI. Name's Phil Coulson. He's asking to speak with you personally."