The Great Saiyan War

Orik

I awoke with a cold sweat. Who were those men? Where was that city, and why was that forest so familiar? What was I wearing?
That dream, it felt so real, so... scary. I wipe my forehead, and force myself out the warmth of the blankets. My kitchen feels very welcoming at the moment, so I flick on the light switch, and the light flickers, barely lighting the room while it's illuminating. I open the refrigerator, and pull out a bottle of whiskey. My hand instinctively unscrews the plastic lid, and drop my head back along with the bottle. After a few gulps, I screw the lid back on and put the bottle back. I once again flick the light switch, and return to the only bed room in my apartment. My wife's body can be made out from under the covers, and I rejoin her. My neighbor's music blares again, and I groan.
Do I even go talk to them again? Last time they damn near pissed themselves. Fuck it, I get up again and throw on some pajama pants, purposely not wearing my shirt as to remind them of my many muscles. It sounds arrogant, but they don't otherwise take me seriously. I pull the apartment door shut, but have to reopen it and slam it so that it shuts completely. I stomp up the stairs, and knock furiously on the door.
"Ey man, happy new years!" A drunken human teen answers.
"It's July." I grumble.
"Quanza?"
"July." I reply.
"Whatever dude, here for the party?" He slurs.
"No, turn off the music." I command.
"Wha'?" He replies.
"Turn of the fucking music so my pregnant wife can sleep, before I come in there and remove it." I growl.
The boy looks at me oddly, then lifts his chin.
"Noooo.." The boy says.
"Sobeit." I reply, and nudge him aside as I enter.
"Ey, who's muscles?" A girl says, attempting to be seductive, but her drunkenness counteracts it.
"Move." I tell a boy guarding the Juke Box.
"Why?" He replies.
"You refuse to turn off the music, then I will." I reply.
"That's private property, pretty sure that's illegal man.." He replies. I grumble, and toss him aside. "Ey!"
I grab the Juke Box and pull it out from the wall. The music cuts off as it unplugs, and I lift it off the floor. It raises high above my head as everyone scatters, some recording with their phones. I turn to the window, and chuck the thing out it, breaking some of the wall, and watch as it explodes in an electrical fire on the street. I turn to the door, stomp off, and slam the door hard enough behind me that it unhinges, and the frame breaks.