Guzheng, Patriarch and Chairman of the Guzheng Crime Family
Feb 5, 2018 22:09:16 GMT -6
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Post by Guzheng on Feb 5, 2018 22:09:16 GMT -6
NAME: Ulic
ALIASES: Guzheng
SPECIES: Dragon-Clan Namekian
AGE: 31
GENDER: Identifies as Male
STARTING PLANET: Earth
APPEARANCE: Ulic is tall and broad shouldered, with a grim and chiseled face. His antennae sit high on his forehead and point upwards and outwards. They are very springy. His ears droop low, the tips pointing towards the ground. His skin (rind?) is a golden autumn yellow, with orange on his shoulders, biceps, and other relevant musculature. His unusual coloration is likely due to being descended from the Namekian community on Planet Vegeta, and that planet’s unique ecosystem compared to the Namekian origin world. Ulic had two distinct styles of dress, depending on which of his two personas he's currently using. Guzheng dresses sharply, wearing well-tailored suits and expensive shoes with white fingerless gloves. He rarely wears a tie, however, and leaves his shirts unbuttoned down to the third button. He sees this as a compromise between appearance and comfort. As Guzheng (ie, most of the time that he is not alone or with a very trusted friend), he wears a black eyepatch over his left eye. As Ulic, however, he changes his clothes out to a more eclectic lizard-skin jacket with no shirt and black leather slacks, with a pair of snakeskin shoes with bronzed steel caps. Occasionally, he'll wear a sarashi under his jacket.
Ulic sports a hikae style tattoo of a two-headed snake on a background of a raging tsunami and lotus flowers that covers his back and reaches over his shoulders to end on his chest.
BACKGROUND: A long time ago, a community of Namekian refugees found themselves on the planet Vegeta, living under the benevolence of the Saiyan ruler. While many of these Namekians always intended on returning to their homeworld, not all of them did. Enough of them built lives on Vegeta - took jobs, made friends, built new homes - that they decided to stay and raise their families on this new planet. It was nothing like Namek, to be sure, but Namek would never really be the same for these people anyway. And so it went for generation after generation until a respectably-sized community of Namekians became a mainstay on the Saiyan planet, enough so that these Vegeta Namekians would call this world home.
Ulic is the descendant of one of those refugees, several generations removed of course. The great great great great etc grandson of a Dragon clan artisan who saw Vegeta as a new opportunity to build a newer, better world together with his brethren. Ulic’s father, Orbid, carried the desire of their ancestor with him always, striving to lead this community of displaced but acclimated aliens into a place of peace and prosperity on Vegeta. Orbid was on his way to becoming the Guru of the Vegeta Namekians, to achieving his goal of guiding these people as their spiritual leader. However, another member of the Dragon clan by the name of Parus, one who was more interested in self-enrichment and self-aggrandizement rather than the good of the Namekian people as a whole, also had his eye on such a position. Parus began to spread rumors about Orbid, that he was a liar and a schemer, that he would sell out the Namekian people to the Saiyans and serve only as their puppet. While Orbid was none of these things, Parus was a uniquely talented liar and was easily able to turn the community against Ulic’s father. One morning, Ulic awoke to his father behind dragged from their home and beaten in the streets by a group of angry Warrior caste. Some of them were neighbors. Friends. Once the light went out of Orbid’s eyes, they set fire to Ulic’s home and left him to burn.
Ulic managed to escape the inferno, but found himself in no better situation than had he stayed and let the fire consume him. Homeless and orphaned, tainted by the falsehoods surrounding his father, Ulic found himself without any friends amongst the Namekians. The streets of New Moori were no longer safe for him, and so Ulic ran away, hoping to find some refuge with the Saiyans much like his ancestor had done.
Life on the streets in the Saiyan capital of Vegeta was difficult. Ulic struggled to find food and shelter, and often found himself running from someone much larger and stronger than himself. Still, it was better than living amongst people who shamed him, who scorned him, and who would kill him given the slightest opportunity. At least amongst the Saiyans the worst he would get would be a beating and some harsh words. Eventually Ulic would grow to see the beatings as exercise, and the harsh words as meditation. His body would rebuild, and his mind would harden against the insults and the rebukes. By the time he was almost a man, his body and mind were like polished rock, tumbled against the riverbed.
By this time he’d grown stronger and more bold, and had gone from being a scavenger eating from the scraps and the trash to being a thief and a cutpurse, taking what he needed and a little extra for a rainy day. He’d grown as shrewd as he’d grown strong, and as clever as fast. He could evade the law with grace and resourcefulness, and knew how to keep a low profile despite his distinct appearance. He learned the ins and outs of what would be considered a minor crime and a major one, and toed that line to keep himself on the list of those considered “mostly harmless” and “not a priority”. He could do violence, but saved it for when he was cornered and a plan had fallen apart. He’d taken to squatting in an abandoned, burned-out building for shelter. Ironic, really.
His life changed on a cold, rainy evening. The sun was dipping low in the sky and Ulic had just settled in for a meal - a large sort of sausage he’d nicked from a street vendor. It was still hot, too. As he bit into his prize, he heard the sounds of a struggle coming from another part of the building. While normally he’d just put some distance between himself and the trouble, he’d worked really hard to find this place and keep his presence here a secret. If people were going to ruin that for him, he wanted to know why. Ulic crept across the building, not wanting to give away his position, until he laid eyes on the source of the disturbance. There were two saiyans in second-hand battlesuits kicking the everloving shit out of a third Saiyan, who was dressed in a stylized flight suit with stark white gloves. Their victim, currently on the ground and curled up to protect his vital areas, looked strong enough to handle either one of the other two individually, but together they’d probably gotten the drop on him and dragged him inside to lay down the pain.
“We told you to stay out of our territory, trash!” said one, kicking him in the ribs.
“Nah, that’s insulting to trash. He’s not trash, he’s a slug,” said the other, laughing and stomping on his leg. Ulic could hear the leg crack and the grounded Saiyan let out a grunt of pain.
It wasn’t the one-sided nature of the fight that got Ulic involved. It wasn’t even the threat of a murder bringing undue attention to his makeshift home. It was that word. That one, slimy, insidious word.
Ulic was on them in the flash, leaping across the floor like a predatory animal. He brought down the first Saiyan quickly with a flying knee strike to the face. He took his time with the other. He enjoyed it. Savored it. He used this as an opportunity to let out all the frustration and anger he’d been holding in for all of these years, all the negativity and fear that had been pent up by a small, confused child forced to the fringes of civilization. And the more he let it out, the more he dominated his opponent. By the end of it, the two dime-store warriors were dragging each other out of the building, with Ulic shouting after them.
“Slugs are less than trash, huh? Then what does that make you, that you’re less than a slug!”
He spat, and turned to look at the man they’d been attacking. He was conscious, but in poor shape. His leg was definitely broken. He wasn’t in danger of dying, thankfully, but he wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Ulic grumped and shook his head, dragging the Saiyan into the side room in which he spent most of his time. It was one of the few rooms in which the ceiling didn’t leak, and the window brought in good light while minimizing visibility into the room. Ulic laid the Saiyan down on his own sleeping mat, and did his best to set the man’s broken leg. He’d need a real doctor in the morning, but it would do for now. Finally, Ulic sat back down for his meal, which had now gone cold.
“God I hope I don’t regret this,” he said to nobody in particular as he took a bite.
“Is that…” said the Saiyan, coming back into consciousness. Ulic looked at him skeptically. “Is that a meat tube?” The Saiyan was eyeing Ulic’s meal hungrily. Ulic scoffed, then broke off a chunk of the sausage and handed it to his guest. They ate in relative silence.
The next morning Ulic was woken by the loud yelping of the Saiyan, who had tried to get up and leave while Ulic was still asleep. His leg, of course, was in worse shape than he’d realized. Ulic glared at him.
“You need to keep weight off of it. It’s broken. You’ll need to see a real doctor, I didn’t really do much to fix it,” he said, standing up and getting dressed.
“Fuck’n shit,” the Saiyan said, “Least I’m alive. You got a stick or somethin’ I can lean on? I’ll be out of your hai-err, antennas in no time.”
“I don’t,” Ulic said, “Do you have anyone you can call? They can come get you.”
“Ugh,” the Saiyan said, “The boys are never gonna let me live this down.”
“Live what down? Taking help from a slug?”
“What? No. What?? I’m talking about getting dunked on by two of those K-Zukis! Makin’ the whole gang look like a bunch of distracted idiots.”
“Come again?”
“The K-Zukis, they’re a bunch of ten-zeni thugs tryna make a name for themselves on the streets. They’ve been a pain in our asses for months.”
“Our asses?”
“Right, sorry. The White Gloves. How do you live in a place like this and not know about this sort of thing?”
“I keep to myself, mostly.”
“I guess that makes sense. Anyway, thanks for the help. If those two chucklefucks had managed to put me in the ground it would have been a real problem for the Gloves. You did me and mine a real solid. I’m Zora, what’s your name?”
“I’m Ul-” Ulic paused. He barely knew this guy. Giving out his real name felt like a mistake, especially if they could use it to figure out who he was. He considered his answer, and settled on the name of an ancestor’s adversary. “Guzheng. The name’s Guzheng.”
“Nice to meet you Goozie. Just do me one last solid and help me out to the curb. I’ll catch a lift from there.”
Ulic nodded, and helped Zora limp out to the street, where he sat down on the curb. He nodded to Ulic and pulled out a small device, which he used to make a phone call. Ulic left him to it, and headed out for a morning stroll through the city, following his nose to breakfast, wherever it may be.
It was days later that Ulic returned to his makeshift home to find himself greeted by no less than ten Saiyans, all dressed in flight suits and wearing white gloves. Some of them were armed with bats or pipes, one even had a sword slung over his back. One of them leaned on a crutch, his leg in a cast.
“Zora,” Ulic said, “Good to see you again. How’s the leg?”
“S’alright,” Zora replied.
“Big Z here says you got involved in a fight that weren’t yours,” said another of the Saiyans, cutting Zora off. He was larger and a bit older than the others, most of whom looked like teenagers. He wasn’t armed - he clearly didn’t need it. “Is this true?”
“In a manner of speaking, sure,” Ulic said. Had Zora tried to make it seem like he hadn’t needed the help? Were these guys about to pin Zora’s injury on him?”
“You know those two Zukis have been making a big racket, claiming Z beat ‘em down for no reason. Tensions are high because of it.”
“Small dogs bark loud.”
“Why’d you rock those guys?”
“Does it matter?”
“Little bit.”
“They called your man a slug. Said he was less than trash. I’m sure you can do the math.”
“Slug, huh?” the older Saiyan looked at Zora, then back at Ulic. “I never did like that word. Disrespectful.”
“Sure is.”
“Let’s go boys, this place is a shithole.”
The Saiyans started to file out. The older one - clearly he was their leader, stuffed a small, soft parcel into Ulic’s hands on his way out. Ulic opened it as they walked past him. Inside was a pair of white fingerless gloves. He was confused.
“Goozie, you comin?” came Zora’s familiar voice from the doorway. “We’re gettin’ drinks to celebrate, then we can set you up at HQ. Can’t have a Glove stayin’ in a place like this.”
Ulic had never been welcomed into any group of people before, so it took a little time to acclimate to the atmosphere amongst the White Gloves. What he would have assumed would be a life of paranoid skullduggery, always looking over your shoulder for the ‘friend’ that would inevitably stab you in the back, instead he found himself as a part of a very strange, but very dedicated family. The White Gloves were brothers, through and through. Ride and die. There were rules, of course, just like in any household. Breaking those rules usually meant very bad things for the one who broke them, but for the most part they were easy to follow. Minor crimes such as shoplifting and petty theft, even the occasional mugging were fine - do them to your heart’s content. If you get caught, the Gloves would have your back. Anything more significant, however, needed approval from one of the top dogs of the gang. Want somebody dead? Talk to the big boys. Want to knock over a bank? Talk to the big boys. You get the picture. Ulic found these rules easy to follow, and once he allowed himself to relax into that group and into that lifestyle, he found himself closer to happy than he’d been in a long, long time.
He lived the gang life for several years, running scams and generally being a nuisance alongside the White Gloves for fun and profit. He even eventually told them his real name, though they all still called him Guzheng (or Goozie for short) afterwards. He never did tell them about his life before meeting Zora, though. He knew how they’d respond, and he wasn’t ready to take that step yet. So instead, he did his best to take the initiative and come up with smart plans for the Gloves, to help them claim more territory and make more money and gain more influence. These Saiyans weren’t dumb or weak by any measure, but they had lacked direction when he arrived. Too many were content to just be a bunch of trumped up urchins with fancy gloves, and Ulic had every intention to climb past them and steer this ship to bigger and better oceans.
After their third major heist - a strike on a military outpost a few miles outside of the Capital, which scored the Gloves a fair amount of high-grade armor and other gear, the Gloves were finally announced as a proper criminal organization by Saiyan authorities. There was speculation that such a group, once small-time and rag-tag, must be working for some larger organization. No way they’d managed such an uprising on their own. Ulic took that and ran with it. On heists, he’d occasionally whisper something about “the boss” before knocking out a guard. On the streets, he paid children to spread rumors about this mysterious benefactor - that he was an alien, or at least not a Saiyan. That he was smarter and stronger than a motherfucker. That he was rich as hell. Soon, the media was reporting the existence of this rumored crimelord as truth. The leaders of the White Gloves hated it - they thought it was stealing their thunder. Ulic did his best to set their minds as ease. As long as the cops were looking for this mysterious boss, they’d be paying less attention to the Gloves.
After almost a year of this cat-and-mouse charade, Ulic was ready for the final step of his plan. He’d needed the Gloves strong and sharp, and he’d needed their trust. He’d needed a persona he could step into, something people would already fear. Now he just needed to light the match.
“You okay, Goozie?” Zora asked him one evening over a couple of fresh meat tube sausages.
“Just thinkin about my dad,” Ulic replied. He’d never mentioned family before this. Zora leaned forward and put down his meat.
“What’s wrong? He sick? We can steal some medicine or something,” Zora said. Ulic couldn’t help but smile. Zora was a good friend.
“I’m afraid that won’t help him,” Ulic replied. “He’s been dead for quite some time.”
“Shit. I-I’m sorry, man...I didn’t know.”
“No need to apologize. You couldn’t have known. I don’t really like to talk about it.”
“You mind if I ask how he died?”
Ulic took a deep breath, and tried to keep a straight face. He’d been hoping Zora would ask once the conversation was baited. He told the Saiyan everything - about his father’s life of hard work and dedication, about the treacherous bastard that had him killed. About how Ulic himself had been forced out onto the streets afterwards. He even made up a bit about how his ears were only droopy because they’d beaten him so badly - this was distinctly false, but he thought it was a nice touch. By the time the story was done, Zora’s face had gone red and the sausages cold. The Saiyan stood up and looked at Ulic, fire in his eyes.
“Nah. That ain’t right. Get up. Meet me where you met me. I gotta gather some of the boys.”
Zora stormed out of the room, his aura flaring in sparks and sputters are he struggled to contain his fury. Ulic smiled and leaned back in his chair. Match struck. Fuse lit. Now to go with the explosion.
Ulic made his way to the abandoned building where he’d first encountered Zora. When he arrived, Zora was there, accompanied by a group of 8 of their closest brothers. They’d brought in a large chair from kami knows where, an almost medical looking thing of shining steel with leather cushions. A stool and a weird little machine were in place next to it.
“Ulic,” Zora said, for the first time using his real name, “You told me tonight that you don’t have any family. But that’s not quite right. You have us. And family handles problems together. And to show that we’re family, Alli here is gonna guide us through a marking ceremony.”
“A what?” Ulic asked. The name sounded familiar, but it was only ever discussed amongst the leaders of the gang, and he’d never asked for details.
“A marking ceremony,” said Alli, a young female Saiyan who took a seat on the little stool, “Is how the White Gloves form familial bonds with each other. Basically is a group tattoo ceremony. Each of you will receive a tattoo in a certain order. Your blood will be passed along to one another, thus bonding you together and making you a sort of family. The person who goes first is typically considered the patriarchal or matriarchal figure, as everyone else receives their blood directly, and they receive the bond by their blood being within their new family.”
“So who’s going first?” Ulic asked, looking at Zora. This was a play, of course. He was fairly certain where this was going.
“Get in the fuckin’ chair,” said Zora, and he all but shoved Ulic down into it.
By the break of dawn, all ten of those gathered had been given a new marking on their skin - only the beginnings of proper tattoos, just the outlines of those familiar bonds, but they were there. Ulic had made no demands that his brothers share the same tattoo as him, even though that had apparently been his right. He knew that the strength of the White Gloves was in their individuality, not some uniform brand symbol. They rallied under the idea of the Gloves, not the physical gloves they all wore. And that morning, freshly marked and ready to act, Guzheng and his Nine Captains moved on New Moori. They dragged Parus, now the freshly-minted Guru and his warrior caste conspirators into the streets. They declared that there was a price to be paid, and they extracted their pound of flesh. When they were done, they burned Parus’ house and the houses of those who raised him up through violence and betrayal.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, they were gone. But they were far from forgotten. By the time the sun set, the rumors that Guzheng had appeared, that he was real and that he commanded groups of Saiyan warriors, that he had all but declared himself the rightful leader of the Namekian community, had spread all the way back to the captain of the White Gloves. Upon Ulic’s return with his brothers, the captain and his most trusted lieutenants were waiting.
Only a few people know what occurred that night. Ulic - rather, Guzheng - and his Nine were exhausted from lack of sleep, a massacre, and the celebration that followed. The White Gloves captains were ready for them, better armed and prepared. As rumor tells it, Guzheng defeated the captain and his lieutenants with a forbidden, demonic technique that robbed them of their souls on the spot. The truth is much simpler. Ulic and his crew were better, more cunning fighters than their opponents, and the captain of the White Gloves was betrayed by one of his lieutenants once the tides began to turn. The White Gloves civil war was over almost as soon as it had begun.
When the sun rose once more the following morning, Ulic greeted the day a very different man. He knew exactly how he’d ended up in this position. He knew how he wanted to proceed. What confused him was why he felt no sense of pride or accomplishment for reaching this goal, and why he felt no sense of victory for finally avenging his father. He’d not yet officially claimed New Moori as his own, but that would come in time. If his father could not sit as their leader, he would do so whether they liked it or not. He would do right by the Namekians of planet Vegeta, even if he would have to use criminal gains to do so. At the same time, he wouldn’t be abandoning his new family amongst what was once the White Gloves. They’d become his brothers in more than just arms, and they would be instrumental in helping him maintain and grow his new influence. They could help him build a financial empire and defend what he held dear.
Since that day, Ulic has all but abandoned his true name, instead using it as an alias for when he’s taking a personal hand in his organization. Better that the rank-and-file think that Guzheng is too busy to bother with day-to-day operations, preferring to send his most trusted right hand Ulic to oversee operations. Members of his inner circle know the truth, but don’t speak it. He’s adopted his new name and persona fully and without regret. Truthfully, the real Ulic died in the streets of the Saiyan capital a long time ago. Guzheng will grow his new family, gathering wealth and influence at whatever costs. He’s taught himself to perform the Marking Ceremony, preferring to have direct control over who receives that sort of honor amongst his brothers and adopted sons.
However, Ulic faces new challenges. With the Arcosian conquest of Vegeta, Ulic decided to move his base of operations to Earth, where many Saiyans have evacuated for the sake of survival. Being a Namekian himself, and with ties to that community on Vegeta, he probably could have stayed and continued business with little interruption, but Saiyans had shown him solidarity in his time of need and so he chose to return that same respect. Instead of going with the status quo and operating under an Arcosian rule on Vegeta he’ll run his organization from Earth, build his power base and influence until he could deliver a strike against the Arcosians that would give the Saiyans the opportunity to take their home back. And when he walks once again on the soil of his homeworld, he will sit as Guru of his people, whether they liked it or not.
TECHNIQUES:
OFFENSIVE TECHNIQUES:
[N1] Sucker Punch - Ulic attacks with a super-fast punch from what appears to be a resting position
[N1] Chairman's Essence: Tough as Nails - Ulic's muscles tighten up, allowing him to take a hit while ignoring at least some of the damage. Functions as a tier 1 Barrier.
SUPPORT TECHNIQUES:
[SU1] Very Flexible - Ulic has learned to be flexible in all things, including fights. He can twist and contort his body in unexpected ways in order to avoid attacks. Counts as Afterimage, mechanically.
UTILITY TECHNIQUES:
[UT] Marking Ceremony - Ulic can perform the same marking ceremony that he shared with his fellows in the White Gloves way back when. However, by mixing his own blood into the ink, Ulic accepts the recipient into the Guzheng Family’s inner circle. More than just a symbolic gesture, the ceremony allows Ulic and his inner circle of captains and officers to tap into a shared mindspace, communicating telepathically with one another from an incredible range. If no one has been given the Mark or if Ulic is in the Afterlife, the telepathy will not function - Ulic is the source, and there must be a pool of minds to draw upon before even Ulic can benefit.
Item Creation [UT] - Using his ki, Guzheng can create mundane items from thin air, including clothes, weapons, counterfeit currency, etc.
ALIASES: Guzheng
SPECIES: Dragon-Clan Namekian
AGE: 31
GENDER: Identifies as Male
STARTING PLANET: Earth
APPEARANCE: Ulic is tall and broad shouldered, with a grim and chiseled face. His antennae sit high on his forehead and point upwards and outwards. They are very springy. His ears droop low, the tips pointing towards the ground. His skin (rind?) is a golden autumn yellow, with orange on his shoulders, biceps, and other relevant musculature. His unusual coloration is likely due to being descended from the Namekian community on Planet Vegeta, and that planet’s unique ecosystem compared to the Namekian origin world. Ulic had two distinct styles of dress, depending on which of his two personas he's currently using. Guzheng dresses sharply, wearing well-tailored suits and expensive shoes with white fingerless gloves. He rarely wears a tie, however, and leaves his shirts unbuttoned down to the third button. He sees this as a compromise between appearance and comfort. As Guzheng (ie, most of the time that he is not alone or with a very trusted friend), he wears a black eyepatch over his left eye. As Ulic, however, he changes his clothes out to a more eclectic lizard-skin jacket with no shirt and black leather slacks, with a pair of snakeskin shoes with bronzed steel caps. Occasionally, he'll wear a sarashi under his jacket.
Ulic sports a hikae style tattoo of a two-headed snake on a background of a raging tsunami and lotus flowers that covers his back and reaches over his shoulders to end on his chest.
BACKGROUND: A long time ago, a community of Namekian refugees found themselves on the planet Vegeta, living under the benevolence of the Saiyan ruler. While many of these Namekians always intended on returning to their homeworld, not all of them did. Enough of them built lives on Vegeta - took jobs, made friends, built new homes - that they decided to stay and raise their families on this new planet. It was nothing like Namek, to be sure, but Namek would never really be the same for these people anyway. And so it went for generation after generation until a respectably-sized community of Namekians became a mainstay on the Saiyan planet, enough so that these Vegeta Namekians would call this world home.
Ulic is the descendant of one of those refugees, several generations removed of course. The great great great great etc grandson of a Dragon clan artisan who saw Vegeta as a new opportunity to build a newer, better world together with his brethren. Ulic’s father, Orbid, carried the desire of their ancestor with him always, striving to lead this community of displaced but acclimated aliens into a place of peace and prosperity on Vegeta. Orbid was on his way to becoming the Guru of the Vegeta Namekians, to achieving his goal of guiding these people as their spiritual leader. However, another member of the Dragon clan by the name of Parus, one who was more interested in self-enrichment and self-aggrandizement rather than the good of the Namekian people as a whole, also had his eye on such a position. Parus began to spread rumors about Orbid, that he was a liar and a schemer, that he would sell out the Namekian people to the Saiyans and serve only as their puppet. While Orbid was none of these things, Parus was a uniquely talented liar and was easily able to turn the community against Ulic’s father. One morning, Ulic awoke to his father behind dragged from their home and beaten in the streets by a group of angry Warrior caste. Some of them were neighbors. Friends. Once the light went out of Orbid’s eyes, they set fire to Ulic’s home and left him to burn.
Ulic managed to escape the inferno, but found himself in no better situation than had he stayed and let the fire consume him. Homeless and orphaned, tainted by the falsehoods surrounding his father, Ulic found himself without any friends amongst the Namekians. The streets of New Moori were no longer safe for him, and so Ulic ran away, hoping to find some refuge with the Saiyans much like his ancestor had done.
Life on the streets in the Saiyan capital of Vegeta was difficult. Ulic struggled to find food and shelter, and often found himself running from someone much larger and stronger than himself. Still, it was better than living amongst people who shamed him, who scorned him, and who would kill him given the slightest opportunity. At least amongst the Saiyans the worst he would get would be a beating and some harsh words. Eventually Ulic would grow to see the beatings as exercise, and the harsh words as meditation. His body would rebuild, and his mind would harden against the insults and the rebukes. By the time he was almost a man, his body and mind were like polished rock, tumbled against the riverbed.
By this time he’d grown stronger and more bold, and had gone from being a scavenger eating from the scraps and the trash to being a thief and a cutpurse, taking what he needed and a little extra for a rainy day. He’d grown as shrewd as he’d grown strong, and as clever as fast. He could evade the law with grace and resourcefulness, and knew how to keep a low profile despite his distinct appearance. He learned the ins and outs of what would be considered a minor crime and a major one, and toed that line to keep himself on the list of those considered “mostly harmless” and “not a priority”. He could do violence, but saved it for when he was cornered and a plan had fallen apart. He’d taken to squatting in an abandoned, burned-out building for shelter. Ironic, really.
His life changed on a cold, rainy evening. The sun was dipping low in the sky and Ulic had just settled in for a meal - a large sort of sausage he’d nicked from a street vendor. It was still hot, too. As he bit into his prize, he heard the sounds of a struggle coming from another part of the building. While normally he’d just put some distance between himself and the trouble, he’d worked really hard to find this place and keep his presence here a secret. If people were going to ruin that for him, he wanted to know why. Ulic crept across the building, not wanting to give away his position, until he laid eyes on the source of the disturbance. There were two saiyans in second-hand battlesuits kicking the everloving shit out of a third Saiyan, who was dressed in a stylized flight suit with stark white gloves. Their victim, currently on the ground and curled up to protect his vital areas, looked strong enough to handle either one of the other two individually, but together they’d probably gotten the drop on him and dragged him inside to lay down the pain.
“We told you to stay out of our territory, trash!” said one, kicking him in the ribs.
“Nah, that’s insulting to trash. He’s not trash, he’s a slug,” said the other, laughing and stomping on his leg. Ulic could hear the leg crack and the grounded Saiyan let out a grunt of pain.
It wasn’t the one-sided nature of the fight that got Ulic involved. It wasn’t even the threat of a murder bringing undue attention to his makeshift home. It was that word. That one, slimy, insidious word.
Ulic was on them in the flash, leaping across the floor like a predatory animal. He brought down the first Saiyan quickly with a flying knee strike to the face. He took his time with the other. He enjoyed it. Savored it. He used this as an opportunity to let out all the frustration and anger he’d been holding in for all of these years, all the negativity and fear that had been pent up by a small, confused child forced to the fringes of civilization. And the more he let it out, the more he dominated his opponent. By the end of it, the two dime-store warriors were dragging each other out of the building, with Ulic shouting after them.
“Slugs are less than trash, huh? Then what does that make you, that you’re less than a slug!”
He spat, and turned to look at the man they’d been attacking. He was conscious, but in poor shape. His leg was definitely broken. He wasn’t in danger of dying, thankfully, but he wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Ulic grumped and shook his head, dragging the Saiyan into the side room in which he spent most of his time. It was one of the few rooms in which the ceiling didn’t leak, and the window brought in good light while minimizing visibility into the room. Ulic laid the Saiyan down on his own sleeping mat, and did his best to set the man’s broken leg. He’d need a real doctor in the morning, but it would do for now. Finally, Ulic sat back down for his meal, which had now gone cold.
“God I hope I don’t regret this,” he said to nobody in particular as he took a bite.
“Is that…” said the Saiyan, coming back into consciousness. Ulic looked at him skeptically. “Is that a meat tube?” The Saiyan was eyeing Ulic’s meal hungrily. Ulic scoffed, then broke off a chunk of the sausage and handed it to his guest. They ate in relative silence.
The next morning Ulic was woken by the loud yelping of the Saiyan, who had tried to get up and leave while Ulic was still asleep. His leg, of course, was in worse shape than he’d realized. Ulic glared at him.
“You need to keep weight off of it. It’s broken. You’ll need to see a real doctor, I didn’t really do much to fix it,” he said, standing up and getting dressed.
“Fuck’n shit,” the Saiyan said, “Least I’m alive. You got a stick or somethin’ I can lean on? I’ll be out of your hai-err, antennas in no time.”
“I don’t,” Ulic said, “Do you have anyone you can call? They can come get you.”
“Ugh,” the Saiyan said, “The boys are never gonna let me live this down.”
“Live what down? Taking help from a slug?”
“What? No. What?? I’m talking about getting dunked on by two of those K-Zukis! Makin’ the whole gang look like a bunch of distracted idiots.”
“Come again?”
“The K-Zukis, they’re a bunch of ten-zeni thugs tryna make a name for themselves on the streets. They’ve been a pain in our asses for months.”
“Our asses?”
“Right, sorry. The White Gloves. How do you live in a place like this and not know about this sort of thing?”
“I keep to myself, mostly.”
“I guess that makes sense. Anyway, thanks for the help. If those two chucklefucks had managed to put me in the ground it would have been a real problem for the Gloves. You did me and mine a real solid. I’m Zora, what’s your name?”
“I’m Ul-” Ulic paused. He barely knew this guy. Giving out his real name felt like a mistake, especially if they could use it to figure out who he was. He considered his answer, and settled on the name of an ancestor’s adversary. “Guzheng. The name’s Guzheng.”
“Nice to meet you Goozie. Just do me one last solid and help me out to the curb. I’ll catch a lift from there.”
Ulic nodded, and helped Zora limp out to the street, where he sat down on the curb. He nodded to Ulic and pulled out a small device, which he used to make a phone call. Ulic left him to it, and headed out for a morning stroll through the city, following his nose to breakfast, wherever it may be.
It was days later that Ulic returned to his makeshift home to find himself greeted by no less than ten Saiyans, all dressed in flight suits and wearing white gloves. Some of them were armed with bats or pipes, one even had a sword slung over his back. One of them leaned on a crutch, his leg in a cast.
“Zora,” Ulic said, “Good to see you again. How’s the leg?”
“S’alright,” Zora replied.
“Big Z here says you got involved in a fight that weren’t yours,” said another of the Saiyans, cutting Zora off. He was larger and a bit older than the others, most of whom looked like teenagers. He wasn’t armed - he clearly didn’t need it. “Is this true?”
“In a manner of speaking, sure,” Ulic said. Had Zora tried to make it seem like he hadn’t needed the help? Were these guys about to pin Zora’s injury on him?”
“You know those two Zukis have been making a big racket, claiming Z beat ‘em down for no reason. Tensions are high because of it.”
“Small dogs bark loud.”
“Why’d you rock those guys?”
“Does it matter?”
“Little bit.”
“They called your man a slug. Said he was less than trash. I’m sure you can do the math.”
“Slug, huh?” the older Saiyan looked at Zora, then back at Ulic. “I never did like that word. Disrespectful.”
“Sure is.”
“Let’s go boys, this place is a shithole.”
The Saiyans started to file out. The older one - clearly he was their leader, stuffed a small, soft parcel into Ulic’s hands on his way out. Ulic opened it as they walked past him. Inside was a pair of white fingerless gloves. He was confused.
“Goozie, you comin?” came Zora’s familiar voice from the doorway. “We’re gettin’ drinks to celebrate, then we can set you up at HQ. Can’t have a Glove stayin’ in a place like this.”
Ulic had never been welcomed into any group of people before, so it took a little time to acclimate to the atmosphere amongst the White Gloves. What he would have assumed would be a life of paranoid skullduggery, always looking over your shoulder for the ‘friend’ that would inevitably stab you in the back, instead he found himself as a part of a very strange, but very dedicated family. The White Gloves were brothers, through and through. Ride and die. There were rules, of course, just like in any household. Breaking those rules usually meant very bad things for the one who broke them, but for the most part they were easy to follow. Minor crimes such as shoplifting and petty theft, even the occasional mugging were fine - do them to your heart’s content. If you get caught, the Gloves would have your back. Anything more significant, however, needed approval from one of the top dogs of the gang. Want somebody dead? Talk to the big boys. Want to knock over a bank? Talk to the big boys. You get the picture. Ulic found these rules easy to follow, and once he allowed himself to relax into that group and into that lifestyle, he found himself closer to happy than he’d been in a long, long time.
He lived the gang life for several years, running scams and generally being a nuisance alongside the White Gloves for fun and profit. He even eventually told them his real name, though they all still called him Guzheng (or Goozie for short) afterwards. He never did tell them about his life before meeting Zora, though. He knew how they’d respond, and he wasn’t ready to take that step yet. So instead, he did his best to take the initiative and come up with smart plans for the Gloves, to help them claim more territory and make more money and gain more influence. These Saiyans weren’t dumb or weak by any measure, but they had lacked direction when he arrived. Too many were content to just be a bunch of trumped up urchins with fancy gloves, and Ulic had every intention to climb past them and steer this ship to bigger and better oceans.
After their third major heist - a strike on a military outpost a few miles outside of the Capital, which scored the Gloves a fair amount of high-grade armor and other gear, the Gloves were finally announced as a proper criminal organization by Saiyan authorities. There was speculation that such a group, once small-time and rag-tag, must be working for some larger organization. No way they’d managed such an uprising on their own. Ulic took that and ran with it. On heists, he’d occasionally whisper something about “the boss” before knocking out a guard. On the streets, he paid children to spread rumors about this mysterious benefactor - that he was an alien, or at least not a Saiyan. That he was smarter and stronger than a motherfucker. That he was rich as hell. Soon, the media was reporting the existence of this rumored crimelord as truth. The leaders of the White Gloves hated it - they thought it was stealing their thunder. Ulic did his best to set their minds as ease. As long as the cops were looking for this mysterious boss, they’d be paying less attention to the Gloves.
After almost a year of this cat-and-mouse charade, Ulic was ready for the final step of his plan. He’d needed the Gloves strong and sharp, and he’d needed their trust. He’d needed a persona he could step into, something people would already fear. Now he just needed to light the match.
“You okay, Goozie?” Zora asked him one evening over a couple of fresh meat tube sausages.
“Just thinkin about my dad,” Ulic replied. He’d never mentioned family before this. Zora leaned forward and put down his meat.
“What’s wrong? He sick? We can steal some medicine or something,” Zora said. Ulic couldn’t help but smile. Zora was a good friend.
“I’m afraid that won’t help him,” Ulic replied. “He’s been dead for quite some time.”
“Shit. I-I’m sorry, man...I didn’t know.”
“No need to apologize. You couldn’t have known. I don’t really like to talk about it.”
“You mind if I ask how he died?”
Ulic took a deep breath, and tried to keep a straight face. He’d been hoping Zora would ask once the conversation was baited. He told the Saiyan everything - about his father’s life of hard work and dedication, about the treacherous bastard that had him killed. About how Ulic himself had been forced out onto the streets afterwards. He even made up a bit about how his ears were only droopy because they’d beaten him so badly - this was distinctly false, but he thought it was a nice touch. By the time the story was done, Zora’s face had gone red and the sausages cold. The Saiyan stood up and looked at Ulic, fire in his eyes.
“Nah. That ain’t right. Get up. Meet me where you met me. I gotta gather some of the boys.”
Zora stormed out of the room, his aura flaring in sparks and sputters are he struggled to contain his fury. Ulic smiled and leaned back in his chair. Match struck. Fuse lit. Now to go with the explosion.
Ulic made his way to the abandoned building where he’d first encountered Zora. When he arrived, Zora was there, accompanied by a group of 8 of their closest brothers. They’d brought in a large chair from kami knows where, an almost medical looking thing of shining steel with leather cushions. A stool and a weird little machine were in place next to it.
“Ulic,” Zora said, for the first time using his real name, “You told me tonight that you don’t have any family. But that’s not quite right. You have us. And family handles problems together. And to show that we’re family, Alli here is gonna guide us through a marking ceremony.”
“A what?” Ulic asked. The name sounded familiar, but it was only ever discussed amongst the leaders of the gang, and he’d never asked for details.
“A marking ceremony,” said Alli, a young female Saiyan who took a seat on the little stool, “Is how the White Gloves form familial bonds with each other. Basically is a group tattoo ceremony. Each of you will receive a tattoo in a certain order. Your blood will be passed along to one another, thus bonding you together and making you a sort of family. The person who goes first is typically considered the patriarchal or matriarchal figure, as everyone else receives their blood directly, and they receive the bond by their blood being within their new family.”
“So who’s going first?” Ulic asked, looking at Zora. This was a play, of course. He was fairly certain where this was going.
“Get in the fuckin’ chair,” said Zora, and he all but shoved Ulic down into it.
By the break of dawn, all ten of those gathered had been given a new marking on their skin - only the beginnings of proper tattoos, just the outlines of those familiar bonds, but they were there. Ulic had made no demands that his brothers share the same tattoo as him, even though that had apparently been his right. He knew that the strength of the White Gloves was in their individuality, not some uniform brand symbol. They rallied under the idea of the Gloves, not the physical gloves they all wore. And that morning, freshly marked and ready to act, Guzheng and his Nine Captains moved on New Moori. They dragged Parus, now the freshly-minted Guru and his warrior caste conspirators into the streets. They declared that there was a price to be paid, and they extracted their pound of flesh. When they were done, they burned Parus’ house and the houses of those who raised him up through violence and betrayal.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, they were gone. But they were far from forgotten. By the time the sun set, the rumors that Guzheng had appeared, that he was real and that he commanded groups of Saiyan warriors, that he had all but declared himself the rightful leader of the Namekian community, had spread all the way back to the captain of the White Gloves. Upon Ulic’s return with his brothers, the captain and his most trusted lieutenants were waiting.
Only a few people know what occurred that night. Ulic - rather, Guzheng - and his Nine were exhausted from lack of sleep, a massacre, and the celebration that followed. The White Gloves captains were ready for them, better armed and prepared. As rumor tells it, Guzheng defeated the captain and his lieutenants with a forbidden, demonic technique that robbed them of their souls on the spot. The truth is much simpler. Ulic and his crew were better, more cunning fighters than their opponents, and the captain of the White Gloves was betrayed by one of his lieutenants once the tides began to turn. The White Gloves civil war was over almost as soon as it had begun.
When the sun rose once more the following morning, Ulic greeted the day a very different man. He knew exactly how he’d ended up in this position. He knew how he wanted to proceed. What confused him was why he felt no sense of pride or accomplishment for reaching this goal, and why he felt no sense of victory for finally avenging his father. He’d not yet officially claimed New Moori as his own, but that would come in time. If his father could not sit as their leader, he would do so whether they liked it or not. He would do right by the Namekians of planet Vegeta, even if he would have to use criminal gains to do so. At the same time, he wouldn’t be abandoning his new family amongst what was once the White Gloves. They’d become his brothers in more than just arms, and they would be instrumental in helping him maintain and grow his new influence. They could help him build a financial empire and defend what he held dear.
Since that day, Ulic has all but abandoned his true name, instead using it as an alias for when he’s taking a personal hand in his organization. Better that the rank-and-file think that Guzheng is too busy to bother with day-to-day operations, preferring to send his most trusted right hand Ulic to oversee operations. Members of his inner circle know the truth, but don’t speak it. He’s adopted his new name and persona fully and without regret. Truthfully, the real Ulic died in the streets of the Saiyan capital a long time ago. Guzheng will grow his new family, gathering wealth and influence at whatever costs. He’s taught himself to perform the Marking Ceremony, preferring to have direct control over who receives that sort of honor amongst his brothers and adopted sons.
However, Ulic faces new challenges. With the Arcosian conquest of Vegeta, Ulic decided to move his base of operations to Earth, where many Saiyans have evacuated for the sake of survival. Being a Namekian himself, and with ties to that community on Vegeta, he probably could have stayed and continued business with little interruption, but Saiyans had shown him solidarity in his time of need and so he chose to return that same respect. Instead of going with the status quo and operating under an Arcosian rule on Vegeta he’ll run his organization from Earth, build his power base and influence until he could deliver a strike against the Arcosians that would give the Saiyans the opportunity to take their home back. And when he walks once again on the soil of his homeworld, he will sit as Guru of his people, whether they liked it or not.
TECHNIQUES:
OFFENSIVE TECHNIQUES:
[N1] Sucker Punch - Ulic attacks with a super-fast punch from what appears to be a resting position
[N1] Chairman's Essence: Tough as Nails - Ulic's muscles tighten up, allowing him to take a hit while ignoring at least some of the damage. Functions as a tier 1 Barrier.
SUPPORT TECHNIQUES:
[SU1] Very Flexible - Ulic has learned to be flexible in all things, including fights. He can twist and contort his body in unexpected ways in order to avoid attacks. Counts as Afterimage, mechanically.
UTILITY TECHNIQUES:
[UT] Marking Ceremony - Ulic can perform the same marking ceremony that he shared with his fellows in the White Gloves way back when. However, by mixing his own blood into the ink, Ulic accepts the recipient into the Guzheng Family’s inner circle. More than just a symbolic gesture, the ceremony allows Ulic and his inner circle of captains and officers to tap into a shared mindspace, communicating telepathically with one another from an incredible range. If no one has been given the Mark or if Ulic is in the Afterlife, the telepathy will not function - Ulic is the source, and there must be a pool of minds to draw upon before even Ulic can benefit.
Item Creation [UT] - Using his ki, Guzheng can create mundane items from thin air, including clothes, weapons, counterfeit currency, etc.
