Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ One simple decision can change everything ❯ Chapter 2: The Battle Begins ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

2: The battle begins

She woke suddenly, her eyes wide and questioning. Where was she? Icy metal and pitch black darkness entombed her. The foul reek of death and decay invaded her senses. The cold, the dark, the intolerable stench overwhelmed her. Things, beings who probably possessed far greater power than she, had died here. Died effortlessly, pathetically; left to rot for no greater crime than existing. Perhaps she would die here too. Die, just like he had. She wrapped herself into a ball in a vain attempt to shield her mind from the vicious onslaught of memories the thought brought forth. Goku. Her husband’s blood as it pooled around his dying form. His last, agonized breath as he stared deeply into her eyes. His final, heart-felt, heart-breaking words. The cruel memory carved painfully into her soul for all eternity. The moment her lover, her husband, her best friend was murdered. The moment her happiness, her very life, ended.
She glanced around, struggling to get her bearings in an attempt to distract herself from her ominous thoughts. Absolute darkness entombed her. She couldn’t even see her shaking hands as she raised them barely a foot from her face. She couldn’t see anything at all. She absently rubbed a small cut along her collarbone. Just another of the endless scars the battle had wrought. Scars, both physical and emotional, that would never heal. And now, in the ultimate twist of irony, she was being kept a prisoner of the very men who had forged them. It terrified her to think that the same murderous monsters, the very cause of her unrelenting pain, now held herself and her son captive. What possible purpose could they, a small child and alien woman, have? She shuddered and the inevitable tears began to flow. How could Kami have let this happen? Her everything stolen from her in one agonised heartbeat. Why was fate so cruel? She had been no saint but surely she didn’t deserve this. Surely. And her son, her guiltless, pure, perfect son. How could destiny be so merciless to a child, a baby, barely given the opportunity to live? Her Gohan. Her beloved. Her oxygen. Her… It was a delayed reaction. A reaction belated by shock, by fear and, most of all, by searing, unconquerable pain. But at the moment, like a hammer pounding that last annihilating nail into the coffin of her soul, she realised that her baby, her everything, was not there with her.
She collapsed to the floor, physically drained, as she was hit brutally by three harsh truths. One: her husband was dead. Two: she was being held prisoner by his murderers. And three: her son, her precious child, her only lifeline to the world beyond, was Kami knew where. Her heart could barely take the pain. Without Gohan what was left to live for? What? Unrelenting pain, unimaginable sorrow, unconquerable nothingness. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes, willing herself to wake from this nightmare of unconceivable horror.
“It can’t be real, It just can’t be real,” she whispered, her voice echoing eerily, emptily in the hollow room. “It must be a dream. Surely it must.”
But it wasn’t… and she knew that. She had to calm down. She had to take control. The callous dragon Panic fought desperately against it’s bars in the cell of her mind, hissing ruthlessly, anxious to be set free. Bulma denied it liberty. Taking a deep breath, she distanced herself from emotion. She had to think. Gohan wasn’t there, sure, but that didn’t mean he was… not living. In fact, she was sure she had heard someone mention something about keeping him alive. Her as well, for that matter. He was probably being kept somewhere equally dark, dreary and out of the way. But at least he’d was alive. Of that she was sure. Somewhere deep down, some unimaginable part of the psyche never mapped by humankind, she was sure.
“Gohan. I’m coming for you baby,” she whispered to the empty room. “Mommy’s coming for you.”
Like a religious mantra the words renewed her strength, igniting a will to simply persevere. Her soul fuelled by a maternal magic that encompassed her very being; a motherly instinct so deep that it engulfed and eradicated all sorrow and fear, everything bar a deep-set desire to find and rescue her child. Everything stopped: the tears, the ominous contemplation, everything. The need to protect her one and only – her son - was the one thing, the only thing, on her mind. It was all that mattered… he was all that mattered. Protecting him was the all that remained from her former life; the one freedom, albeit small, that had yet to be stolen from her. She pushed her numb body from the ground, her shapely legs trembling beneath her. It was time she retrieved that which had been taken. It was time to take back her Gohan.
Feeling her way around the dark cell she began her search. Her small hands ran blindly over endless metal panels, meticulously scanning desperately for something, anything to aid her in her escape. Tiring, tedious work driven by nothing more than a mothers desire to rescue her child. Eventually, after hours of delicate probing, she came across a strange panel made of a more thickset texture. She’d be all over the place and this had to be it. Her answer, her saviour, her escape - the door. After a small victory dance she got to work, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her hands worked slowly, carefully surveying the exit. They slid scrupulously over every hard crest and bump, painstakingly looking for a small indent, latch or handle - anything that would mean escape. After several failed attempts her heart began to sink. This door, if that was indeed what it was, had to be electronic. She collapsed to the ground in frustration. If only she could see. She could dismantle an inner panel and open the door manually. If only she could see. She raised her hands, besieged and annoyed, and began to hammer relentlessly on the hard steel door, bruising her knuckles in the process. She was getting out of there Kami dammit. One way, or the other, she was getting out of there. She could no longer tolerate the cold, the dark or the nauseating smell that seemed to pervade her with it’s noxious presence. If she couldn’t escape by herself then she’d make them let her out. She’d make so much noise and irritate her captors so thoroughly that they’d have no choice. She was Bulma Briefs after all. Genius inventor, beautiful heiress and possessor of, quite possibly, the most ear splitting shriek in the entire universe. They were going to let her out. The rest she would figure out as she went along.
Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours. Her once perfectly manicured hands lay in bloody tatters. And yet she continued her relentless pounding. Her mind was numb, blank. Nothing mattered but Gohan… nothing. Memories of his precious face, his rosy cheeks, his carefree smile flashed through her mind like a miracle fuel that drove her endless and seemingly vain pursuit. She started to scream, her fists leaking pools of bloody crimson onto the cool metal floor. Her feeble grip on sanity began to fail as she screeched at the tailed men; demanding that they let her out; demanding that they return her child; demanding that they take her home; demanding that they help her. She would never give up, didn’t they know that? She was not someone to mess with and she was no weakling, no coward. She would never, ever give up. Not until victory was hers.
Her pounding and screaming remained unrelenting. For hours upon hours she sustained her angry tirade, screaming her voice hoarse and leaving her hands nothing but tattered remains of their former selves. Still no one came. No saviour to free her, no mercy to aid her, no son to save her. Nothing… just aggravating, nauseating silence. But she would not stop. Nothing but her liberty could make her.
Quite suddenly, a foreign scent invaded her senses. Out of the blue her eyes felt heavy and she swayed on the spot, her croaky scream cut short. Her head was swimming. What in the world was going on? What was happening to-She collapsed to the ground, robbed of the strength to sit upright. A solitary tear ran down her torn features. In the last fleeting moments of consciousness she made a promise to herself. Steeling her resolve she swore never to shed another tear nor allow herself to grieve until she had found a way to free both her son and herself. Until then she would be strong, for herself, for her husband but mostly for Gohan. There would be time for tears, grief and pain later.
I will be strong for you Gohan… Goku. I’ll make you proud! were her last thoughts as unconsciousness flooded over her.

********************************************

Vegeta laughed, malicious and victorious. The weakling woman had finally put an end to her nonsensical and exceedingly irritating outburst. Chemical Xefon756 had made sure of that.
About time, he thought to himself. Who would have thought such a pathetically weak creature could have a voice strong enough to be heard through Meklanahian mental. So fiery for one so weak. It will be quite entertaining to watch the whore fall.
Nappa, his childhood bodyguard and most loyal servant, appeared suddenly before him, rudely snapping Vegeta from his dark thoughts.
“Yes?” the Dark Prince queried callously.
“Sire,” Nappa saluted, bowing stiffly. “I‘ve just received a progress report from Medical and you were quite right: the boy is said to have an extremely high power level for a Saiyan child of his age. The fact of his half-bred parentage just adds to the overall oddness of his case. Nonetheless with the woman on our side he should be quite easy to bend to our will. The child will make an excellent and crucial addition to the cause.”
“Good,” Vegeta replied, nodding his head in obvious dismissal. Nappa ignored his Prince’s gesture, his lip twitching rebelliously. He remained stock still, staring silently at his monarch. First rule to ensuring a… pleasant relationship with Vegata: never speak unless spoken too. He was the Prince after all and Nappa was fiery, unquestionably loyal to the crown. Besides serving Vegeta had been his life for the last 22 years. Occasionally, though, loyalty had it’s limits. This happened to be one of them. Though sharing views with someone as arrogant and hard headed as The Prince was a needlessly arduous and complex task Nappa had little intention of leaving until he’d spoken his peace. Being one of only two remaining full blood Saiyans had to allow for some rights and what he had to say was far too important to be silenced. He refused to let himself be intimidated by the younger man’s power. It was high time Vegeta began listening to the advice of his elders. Leaders were supposed to represent their people not themselves and, like it or not, Nappa would have his say. Steeling his resolve, he waited patiently for permission to do so.
Vegeta stared coldly at Nappa, silently declaring a staring contest, a juvenile battle of the wills. He was well aware that the older man was itching to say something, probably to add his half-whit opinion on yet another issue that was none of his concern. Who did he think he was anyway? He may have been an elite warrior, the last remaining soldier of a near extinct race, but that did not give him the right to presume his judgment mattered. Nor did it pardon him from defying his Prince in such a blatantly obvious manor. His insubordination enraged Vegeta. No one mattered but him. He was the last sovereign of the almighty Saiyan race, the strongest of his kind, the man prophesised to achieve legendary status. Didn’t the moronic fool realise that? Didn’t Nappa understand that, in the overall scheme of the universe, he was nothing but a speck of unsightly mud on The Prince’s boot?! How dare he! Had it been anyone else Vegeta would have killed them within a heartbeat of their attempted defiance. Nappa was lucky Vegeta happened to be in a good mood.
“What is it now soldier?” The Prince asked darkly, after minutes, which seemed hours, of tense silence. Nappa sighed in relief, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, sire,” he replied, respectful and somewhat smug. “I suggest that, now the woman has… calmed, it would be a wise move to more formally make her acquaintance.”
“I have no intention of doing anything of the like, Nappa. You are dismissed.”
Vegeta turned from Nappa in clear discharge. Nappa could almost feel the insanely thin ice crack beneath his feet as he remained in place, openly defying his monarch once more. Didn’t Vegeta realise that it was important to keep the woman on their side? Didn’t he understand how moronic he was being? Kami knew that she was a crucial part in their play for the universe before they’d discovered her background in the advanced empire of capsulated technology. That little tit bit branded her indispensable. For the good of their impending empire it was imperative that they remained in her good graces. Even though he knew The Prince would never admit it, they needed her cooperation. Keeping her in a space lock was not, in Nappa’s opinion, a good way of getting it. For a smart man sometimes Vegeta could be unbelievably obtuse.
“Sire, please excuse my impertinence, but don’t you think that she is likely to be less er… helpful, as you yourself put it, the longer we leave her down there?”
Vegeta curled his fists and snarled menacingly as he turned on his bald subordinate, no longer masking the sadistic thoughts that played across his otherwise blank features.
“DO NOT QUESTION ME, NAPPA!” he roared. “It is I and I alone who has the right to make decisions. You have no claim to anything. You are just a pawn in my game, to be disposed of if and when I so choose. So, unless you would like to be added to the growing number of Saiyan mortalities, I suggest you leave my sight at once. If you value your life you will never again presume to tell me what I should or should not do!”
Nappa sighed and swiftly exited the bridge, leaving the irate Prince with his malicious thoughts. He’d spoken out against Vegeta to his face and lived to tell the tale. It was a start.
Vegeta laughed, the sound utterly hollow and joyless as it echoed throughout the cavernous room. What a fool his childhood bodyguard was! Had he really thought Vegeta, the future Emperor of the Universe, would listen to his idiotic, sentimental ideas. A fool indeed! But it was of no consequence, he would deal with Nappa’s disobedience later. Right now his focus was more aptly placed on the weakling woman and her powerful offspring.
Yes, he thought, malicious scenarios running through his sadistic mind. Perhaps Nappa is right. Maybe it is about time I more formally made her acquaintance.

********************************************

Bulma woke groggily. Her head spun and she resisted the urge to vomit as nauseous waves rolled over her. She pulled herself to a sitting position, grasping the wall for support as, once again, she was stung by the harsh claws of reality. However this time sorrow was not her prevailing emotion.
“I can’t believe it!” she cried, balling her fists. “I can’t fucking believe it! After everything else those Bastards, those cheap, pathetic, daft bastards, had the nerve to gas me. How fucking dare they!?”
Her one-sided question was answered by a disturbing laugh. The utter hollowness of the sound chilled her to the core. She shivered, her anger giving way to more primal instincts. Her heart raced, her desire for freedom utterly quelled. As dark, as dreary, as ominous as her cell was it kept her safe and away from the… thing, whatever it was, lurking outside. A creature so dark it’s mere laugh suppressed the overwhelming curiosity that usually drove her. At least in here she was safe. She clamped her eyes shut in a frazzled panic, silently praying that the steel between her and the ominous beast would forever remain. Her panicked wishes fell on deaf ears. Suddenly the door, the previous bane of her existence, flew callously open. Her heart stopped. Harsh, blinding light flooding the cell. Bulma blinked repeatedly, temporarily blinded by it’s brilliance. She could just make out a hazy silhouette floating threateningly in the centre of absolute white. The monster. Her heart began to hammer in her chest.
“Wh-Who is it? Who’s there?” she stammered. She raised her hands, blinking through the light, desperate to get her bearings. She fully expected the dull groan of some malicious nightmare beast to answer her. That, or for her head to be ripped from her torso in a animalistic bout of sadistic blood lust.
“Idiot woman,” it replied. “You actually thought you could escape from a Saiyan space lock? No warrior could. Let alone a weak, ugly, idiot woman such as yourself.”
The visage of her captors Prince swam into view and the fear vanished instantly. First they’d killed her friends, then her husband, then, probably, her planet. The rest of her family they’d kidnapped and imprisoned. And now, after everything, they had the audacity, their so called Prince actually had the audacity, to insult her. How dare they? How fucking dare they?!
“Who. The. Hell do you think you’re talking to, Buddy?” she ground out, gritting her teeth as she pointed menacingly in his direction. “I’ll have you know that I am Bulma Briefs - the most talented, educated, witty and beautiful creature on Earth. Probably in the whole universe.”
Vegeta smirked at the Blue-Haired Banshee. She was a fiery one indeed. Her stared at the state of her hands, somewhat amazed. She beaten them into tattered shreds and yet she had continued her arduous task to a point where they’d had to drug her. What amazing will for one so powerless! Couple that with her son’s strength, her taming of a Saiyan warrior, her scientific genius and her supreme arrogance and she was becoming more and more intriguing by the second. This game was going to be entertaining indeed.
Vegeta laughed sadistically at the thought.
“HOW DARE YOU!” she screamed, enraged by the idea that someone might dare mock her. “Why I’ll-”
“You’ll what, woman?” he asked cruelly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You are in no position to be making threats. You have no power here, no standing. I can crush you in a microsecond if I so choose.”
He had expected tears, fear, defeat. What he got shocked him. His words, like some dark and powerful magic, instantly drained her of all rage. She stood before him fearless, strong. The response he knew well, normally born from years of unrelenting pain, unbelievable fear and unspeakable sorrow. The final strength mastered as one resigns themselves to defeat - their head held high as the last of their dying breath is ruthlessly stolen away. His arrogance faltered slightly.
“Do what you want to me,” she muttered, her voice strong. “I am not afraid. I will not cower!”
Vegeta was in genuine shock and, for perhaps the first time in his life, he was at a lost for words. He had bathed in blood his entire life and knew death intimately. When placed in a potentially life threatening situation it was common for people to become weak and snivelling cowards, begging for the lives of their family or, more commonly, their own to be spared. Few feigned fearlessness. Fewer actually felt it. But this woman –this deplorably weak woman – could, honestly, care less. He could feel it in the air, smell it on her skin. Hell, he could almost taste it. He turned to the one outlet that always gave the game away, the window to the soul that he had trained so long and so hard to veil. A small chill crept up his spine as onyx eyes met a pair of deep cerulean ones. It was the eyes that always gave the game away and right now what he was seeing in her was… nothing. Absolute strength. Had this woman really lost so much of herself that nothing fazed her? He had thought himself to be the only person in the universe to suffer so much that fearlessness became inevitable. He was amazed and thrown. But mostly he was angry. What right did she have to feel this way? What right did she have to lose all fear after only such an insignificant personal loss. She hadn’t been through half of what he had. She had no idea what pain, real searing, unconquerable pain, was like. He shook his head. She had no right and he would no longer stand by idly and allow her unwarranted impertinence to continue.
“You may not care about what I do to you,” Vegeta said, skilfully veiling his anger as he ruthlessly attacked the woman’s only perceivable weakness. “But what about your son?”
Bulma cringed, breaking out of her toughened state his words struck her like a blade to the heart. She crumpled to the floor, utterly defeated and alone. Was it always going to be like this? Constantly broken, beaten and battered by her dead love’s kin. Broken to a point where even death couldn’t save her. She had promised never to cower… and yet she had no choice. She glanced hatefully at the man. In the end she would be victorious. In the end…
“What do I have to do to get him back?” she muttered.
“Come,” he replied, his arrogance so thick it was almost corporeal. Bulma scowled, her only act of defiance as she mutely following the Prince down a long and narrow steel corridor.
At least I’m in the light, she thought, contemplating the few blessings she had left. I suppose that’s something to be happy about. Plus Gohan is safe, His Almighty Pain In The Ass just confirmed as much.
Thoughts of her lost child overcame her and she glared venomously at the back of her captor, mentally willing him dead. How dare he put in her in this position. She was a mother without a child. A enslaved woman who’s only perceivable solace was light and a faint inkling that her son was safe. Was this what her life had come to? How inconceivably solemn! She had to get out of her. No alien scum would beat her, she was The Ever Invincible Bulma Briefs. She would be victorious.
Her genius mind went into overtime, meticulously scanning a thousand and one escape scenarios. Nearly all featured, in rather gory detail, the So-Called-Prince’s untimely demise. She smirked. With Kami as her witness she would kill the bastard before her. Then both herself and her son would be free to return Earth... If it was still there. And if not there was a whole universe at her disposal. So long as her child was with her anywhere was fine. Anywhere but here. Maybe she could use poison? Or some sort of transformation device that obscured a person’s identity? Perhaps she could make a ki inhibitor? Or she could develop a drug that would give her a boost in power? Maybe even-
“Any attempt at escape is futile,” said The Prince, throwing an icy scowl over his shoulder and giving her the chilling impression that he was somewhat telepathic. “Such thoughts will only bring you more pain. The more co-operative you choose to be the easier you will find your life here.”
Bulma quickly recovered from her initial shock, Vegeta’s arrogant words further fuelling her suppressed anger.
“You actually expect me to take orders from you?!” she hissed rebelliously. “You may be the Prince of some freakish pre-evolved race but to me you’re little more than a thorn in my side!”
Vegeta had had enough. Enough of her pitchy voice, enough of her arrogant remarks, enough of her impertinence. She was nothing but a pawn in his game: the only woman in perhaps the whole universe that could reproduce with a Saiyan. If not for his knowledge of the incomprehensible torment that awaited her he would have killed her right then and there. But he wanted her alive. He wanted to watch as she lost all fight, her arrogance nothing more than a faint and fleeting memory as she begged for her end. He wanted to witness her fall. Nonetheless it was high time the baka woman learnt her place.
He turned on her, grabbing her by the throat and pinning her weak, utterly breakable body against the cold steel wall. He snarled.
“You will do as I say,” he hissed, his grip tightening menacingly. “Or your son will suffer the consequences.”
Bulma cringed at his threat, his words robbing her of the will to fight. Vegeta smirked, dropping her prone body to the floor.
“Besides,” he muttered. “Thoughts of escape are pointless as there is no longer anywhere for you to go back to. Your planet was destroyed shortly after you lost consciousness.”
Bulma glared daggers of pure hate at the monster as she fought the sorrow that threatened to consume her. Billions of people, thousands of animal and plant species all lost in one seemingly insignificant heartbeat. Eradicated at the whim of a tyrant. She had thought it to be so and yet… and yet until he had said it, until the uncaring words had callously parted his lips, she hadn’t. Hadn’t acknowledged that her all, her everything, was gone. She was the last human being. A woman robbed of her husband, her planet, her entire race. Her mind tore. Her sanity threatened to shatter. Her family, her friends, all innocent inhabitants of her beautiful emerald Earth were gone. Forever. And there was nothing she could do about. Nothing at all.
“Bastard,” she whimpered, forcing her shaking limbs upright. She followed him. Followed because she had no choice. All her options were gone. Gohan was all that remained. He was her everything; her only thing. And, right now, she needed him more than she’d ever needed anything or anyone in her life.
Vegeta laughed viciously; his eyes, his voice, his very persona detached and empty. Stupid woman. She had no idea. No idea at all.
What a fuck, Bulma thought, her former scowl returning full force as she once again suppressed the pain that threatened to break her. Had she the strength she would have killed the arrogant Prince right then and there for no greater reason than his utterly detested laughter. She had never hated anyone so much in her entire life.
He has the audacity to mock and threaten me, making out like he’s so big and mighty. He’s just a idiotic monkey man with barely enough strength to make up for his lack of brains. I’m going to kill him the first chance I get. Just wait, he’ll rue the day he ever decided to take on Bulma Briefs and Planet Earth. He’ll rue the mother-fucking day!
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked contemptuously, breaking herself from her vindictive contemplation to focus on her immediate predicament. “What do you need me for?”
“You shall see,” was her only reply. The sadistic laugher that lingered in his words drained the colour from her face. What was he planning? Bulma found that, at least at this moment in time, she had no desire to find out. She kept her mouth firmly shut, her anxiety to reach their destination far outweighing any need for answers. Silent loathing was just as fun and just as effective. The rest of their journey down the deserted corridors continued in ominous silence, Bulma contemplating Vegeta’s demise and Vegeta contemplating just about everybody’s. One track minds.
After what seemed years of endless, pointless walking the Prince stopped, suddenly. Bulma almost crashed right into him, stopping just a few centimetres short. She jumped back, scowling venomously at his back. Apparently they had reached their destination and, in Bulma’s opinion, it was not a second too soon.
Perhaps Gohan is inside, she thought hopefully, her eyes lighting up. She meticulously studied the large, imposing steel door before her. Fixed to it’s left was a small keypad and monitor. Apparently the ship’s security and lock systems were fully electronic. She smirked. Science. This was something she knew, something she could use to her advantage. This seemingly insignificant error - underestimating the frail and weak Earthling girl - would cost them dearly. Bulma watched carefully as Vegeta keyed in the 6-digit cipher. The symbols were entirely foreign and yet she stored each one assiduously away in her genius mind.
So much for no escape, she thought haughtily.
A small electronic beep sounded somewhere inside the door’s mechanics and it flew suddenly open, revealing a large, extremely decorative room. Had this been a different time and place Bulma could have swooned at the absolute magnificence before her; astonishing was an understatement. Lacking as they were in manners, morals and anything that resembled a brain these Monkey Men obviously knew a thing or two about architecture. The room was cavernous, each wall panelled in a magnificent blood red oak. The floor was carpeted by soft, luxurious ebony shag that covered everywhere bar the small immaculate kitchen in the left hand corner closest to her. The kitchen was tiled in stunning, luminous blood red tiles and seemed to possess every convenience ever imagined by human or alien alike. Off to the right of the room was a huge ornate door, decorated with thousands of sparkling precious stones. Hanging from the centre of the main room was the most beautiful crystal chandelier she’d ever seen. It reflected the deep red of the room, glowing luminous like a mystic jewel. She noted absently that, should she ever escape, she’d make sure to have an exact replica made for herself and her son’s new home. Apart from that the room was scarcely decorated. At the very back of the room sat two small sofa’s, also blood red, that lay to the left and right of the bed a little closer to her. The bed was a humongous four-poster monstrosity bathed in red silk sheets. It was the kinda thing people called in sick for work just to stay home basking in. However, one delicate feature completely overshadowed all else and it was this which now held Bulma’s captive attention. The wall before the couches and bed, at the very back of the room, had been replaced by a vast window revealing billions of picturesque stars. They twinkled in their divine glory, vast and amazing specks in the infinite reaches of space. From her vantage point Bulma could even see a few planets - yellow, murky blue and onyx - revolving slowly around their sun as they had for billions of years. Surrounded by a countless number of unnamed stars, planets, solar systems, galaxy’s. The breath taking perfection of the universe. It was humbling and for that moment she forget all her pain, fear and woes. Staring out into infinity, Bulma forgot everything at all.
“Amazing,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Hardly,” Vegeta scoffed. His words slammed her back to reality. As though broken from a spell the rest of the room swan back into view. The rational part of her mind kicked in.
You idiot, it screamed frantically at her. Look at this room. Notice what the centrepiece is? A bed. I think you just found out why they brought you along. You get to be the monkey Prince’s new fuck toy. His human whore.
Panic threatened to consume her. This was something, perhaps the one thing, that she couldn’t fight against. She was a married woman. Her husband was her one and her only, love and lover. His death made little difference. She had never given herself so entirely to a man before and, considering the circumstances, she never planned to again. But Vegeta… he was a cruel, sadistic asshole. Would her consent even matter should he choose to bed her? Surely not. His acts of genocide proved how little honour he possessed. She doubted if such a barbaric race could even fathom the idea of something as sacred as marriage, let alone stick by its strict regulations. And even if they did, strictly speaking Bulma was no longer married… she was a free agent. She was completely and utterly powerless. If he decided to take her she would just have to lay back, wreathing in silent agony. There was nothing she could do.
“W-Why are we h-here?” she asked, trying to mask the feeling of absolute powerlessness that infused her. Her small limbs shook, ignoring her silent, desperate protest to stay strong in the face of incomprehensible torment.
Vegeta scowled at her ungrateful response. He had just shown her into one of the most prestigious rooms aboard his ship. Its mere appearance was intended to ignite awe, joy and mutual respect, subduing the most ruthless of interplanetary dignitaries. One night in Frieza’s generous hospitality turned heated arguments with hot-headed leaders into serene concurrence with meek lambs. And yet here she was, a weak, pathetic, alien woman, her voice quivering as she completely disregarded the splendour before her. After all his threats, heated words and physical abuse this was what finally got to her? A room?! What was so damn terrifying about a room? Why was she was not astounded and pleased? What the hell was wrong with her? Didn’t she realise that the room he was giving her was second only to his own? One of the most magnanimous in the whole of Frieza’s fleet! This had been the tool he’d intended to use in order to dull the woman into a false sense of security. This very spot had been a integral part of his game. How dare she refuse to play. She was a his pawn, Kami damn it! How dare she show him such blatant disrespect, treat his apparent gifts with such obvious disregard. She would play his game whether she wanted to or not. Even if it meant changing the rules, she would play.
“This will be your quarters for the rest of our journey,” he said, his voice icy, robotic. “This ship, formally the 5th primary vessel of Frieza’s elite fleet, is intended to carry foreign dignitaries. Aside from your previous quarters this is the most basic room aboard and thus the obvious place to bed a person of your stature.”
“Oh,” Bulma said, welcome waves of relief washing over her. “This is basic?”
Vegeta nodded falsely, unable to recall a slave ever occupying one of the top quarters on his or any of the fleets ships.
Unless they were in my bed at the time he thought darkly and smirked.
Ignoring his sinister look Bulma asked the other query his explanation had prompted.
“What do you mean by ‘a person of my stature’?”
“A new requisition of the revived Saiyan Empire,” he stated coldly. “A slave.”
Bulma opened her mouth, no doubt intent of complaining about her newfound status but Vegeta had had enough. He covered her mouth, pinning her against the wall. This conversation had gone on long enough. He had better things to do.
“To your left,” he explained stoically. “Is the kitchen, where you will prepare myself and my men’s food each morning, lunch and evening. There are five warriors in total. To the right is your personal bath and dressing rooms. The front door will be locked at all times and can only be opened by myself or someone under my direct orders. Any attempt at escape will result in you and your son’s death. Any failure to complete the duties you are given will also result in you and your son’s death. I expect breakfast to be ready by precisely 6am tomorrow morning. At that time you will meet me at this door and there you will be given further instructions. Enjoy.”
Vegeta laughed as Bulma spluttered in anger, too enraged to speak. He exited the room, slamming the door rudely in her face. He just caught her screams of “Bast-” before the heavy door silenced all sound.
“That should keep her busy,” he muttered to himself. In truth, the ship was equipped with a universally renowned chef and dozens of kitchen hands. She needed to cook about as much as he needed to cut his hair and he had no intention of eating anything she made. Yet, every second she spent in the kitchen was another where she was not thinking. Every heartbeat spent slaving for her captors was one where she would be forced to realise her place. Soon she would come to realise how little she was really worth.
Vegeta stalked down to the corridors, laughing all the way.

********************************************

“ Bastard! You filthy, rotten BASTARD!” she screamed as the door was slammed in her face, the dull sound reverberated hollowly throughout the spacious room.
Stupid Monkey Bastard! she thought. After all that he didn’t even let me see my baby. Kami, I hope he’s alright. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him. And now, to make matters worse, I get the privilege of being cook for the whole horde of alien morons.
Bulma silently fumed.
Though, on the bright side, at least I’m out of that cell, she continued. A space lock, huh? More like a torture chamber. How dare he leave me there for so long. He thinks he’s so good. Well, if mister high and mighty expects me to come running at his beck and call then he’s got another thing coming.
A cunning smirk spread across her features. She had a plan.
“He’ll rue the day,” she muttered.
Exhausted from the seemingly never-ending day she slumped onto the large bed, immediately falling into a restless sleep.

********************************************

Goku stood at the edge of a high precipice overlooking a picturesque forest. A gentle wind blew over him, rustling his clothes and hair. He turned suddenly towards her, his face alight. He beamed, his welcome smile like stunning rays of sunshine after weeks of rain. She grinned back, tears steaming down her face in rivers of joy and relief. A dream! All of it had been some terrible, terrifying dream. But now she was awake and Goku was alive and Earth was safe and she was home and everything was fine once more. Better than fine, really, it was great, superb, magnificent. Strange how one silly nightmare could make you realise just how fathomless and amazing love really was. Tears clouded her vision as she ran to her lover, never again to be parted. She ran and ran. Her smile faded.
“Why aren’t I getting any closer?” she whispered, frustrated and sad. She wasn’t moving an inch. No matter how much she ran, no matter how fast, she wasn’t getting anywhere. The image of her husband was fading, gradually becoming misty and transparent. Almost as though he was… disappearing. But that was impossible, stupid. People didn’t just disappear into thin air! Yet as she watched his facial features blurred, becoming indistinguishable. He body became nothing but a coloured haze. She couldn’t even recognise him anymore. She thought she saw his mouth move and his distorted voice came to her, carried on the wind like a distant melody of long ago.
“I love you Bulma. Just play by the rules and everything will be fine. Remember the rules.”
Real, primal panic settled in. He legs pumped furiously. She had to reach him before… before... She was getting closer. She was nearly there. She could almost touch him. She was inches away. Just a couple more-Clawed hands grabbed her roughly from behind and she watched in torment as the last remnants of her husband dissolved from view.
She screamed.

********************************************

Bu lma awoke, flinging her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that spilled forth. So vivid. So real. Logic told her it had been a dream. Logic told her she had not just seen her dead husband, that he had not just sent her a message from beyond the grave. Logic could go screw itself. The rules. That was something she knew, something they had spoken of many times. The rules of combat. The key to winning. If it hadn’t been a message from her husband then why had she thought of something so seemingly useless. Why? Tears threatened to escape her cerulean eyes. She blinked hard, denying their departure. Tears, pain, sorrow; all things to be pushed to the side in times of war. She had to be strong and not give in to the sadness that wanted to consume her soul. She couldn’t let it overtake her. She wouldn’t. She pushed away thoughts of a man she would never again see. She pushed away thoughts of a home her son would never know. She pushed away thoughts of the perfect, carefree life that had been stolen from her. All that mattered was the here and now. So the Prince wanted her to cook, did he?
She smirked, her hand darting under the opposite pillow, grabbing her wrist watch from the pile of clothes she’d stored there. Goku. He had given it to her just after she’d given birth to Gohan. At first she’d been puzzled but in all the commotion of her son’s birth - the first Grandchild of the vast Briefs empire - she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him exactly why he’d bought it. Only when the new family returned home did it occur to her that she should find out. She’d walked outside, having just put Gohan to sleep, and asked him the question that’d be itching at the back of her mind for days. Without halting his training he’d stately simply that he’d heard her talking about a new watch for ages. Buying one for her was the least he could do. After all she’d brought more happiness and joy than he had ever thought possible. His whole life had been about fighting but finally, after years of searching, she’d given him something to come home to. Something to fight for. Then he grinned at her and, wiping the tears from her eyes, she’d beamed back. At the moment she’d felt more love, more incomprehensible crippling love, than she’d ever felt in her entire existence.
She pushed the memory away, staring at the watch. The LCD lights flashed 3:30pm but was that right? Was time different in space? Surely. Prince Pansy had said that the meal had to be ready by 6:00am, but when exactly was that? She jumped out of bed, throwing on her clothes and walking groggily into the kitchen. It really was quite splendid. Given the right circumstances she could have spent hours here, meticulously examining each and every item, silently marvelling at the scientific genius that went into them. But these were hardly the right circumstances. Everything here was worthless. She tuned her attention back to the problem at hand. A deceptively human-esque clock was imbedded into the wall, above a fridge-like box. She scanned it, carefully examining the hands sequence. She grinned, her first victory of the day. Apparently time here was measured exactly the same as on Earth: 24 hours a day, 12 hour time periods, 60 minutes in each hour, and 60 seconds in each minute. Right now it was 5:02, presumably am. She adjusted her watch accordingly and smirked, recalling her fiendish plot from the night before. Time to get to work.
We’ll see who the baka is now.
Rule number two of combat: never assume anything of your opponent.
She laughed vacantly.

Bulma was so engrossed in her work that she barely heard the loud heavy clunking as her front door opened. From the corner of her eye she caught the silhouette of the Prince and smirked, rushing over to greet him.
Vegeta gazed at the woman with renewed interest. Though his usual stoic expression remained in place he couldn’t help but be amazed by her. Her arrogant smirk, her fearless stance, her very aura screamed victory. What exactly was it she had planned?
“I must say I am astonished to find you up already woman,” he said by way of greeting. “I am even move amazed to find that you are still alive. I would have thought that a creature as pathetic as yourself would have crawled into a hole and died in typical submission.”
Her smirk vanished.
“You Bastard!” she ground out, clenching her fists so hard her nails drew blood. “How dare you call me pathetic. You who mercilessly kill those weaker than you and happily eradicate planets before they even have a chance to defend themselves. Makes you feel big, does it? Makes you feel strong? You weak, cowardly son of a-”
The flow of words were constricted by a powerful and deadly hand at Bulma’s throat.
“Do not ever presume to understand my actions,” he said, his tone deadly and utterly emotionless. “You do not know me nor will you ever do so. Never again aim insults at me that you can not fully comprehend. Understand that the consequences of your doing so will see your life and the life of the one you love ended immediately. You are not a guest on this ship. Whatever you seem to think, you are just a possession. A new piece of property that I have acquired for the good of the Empire of Vegeta-sei. The only reason you are still alive is to help persuade that brat of yours to join our cause. Apart from that your life is meaningless. Welcome to Hell, Princess.”
He let go, watching triumphantly as Bulma slumped to the ground. Good, she deserved pain. She was so smug and she had no right to be. He wanted her to hurt. Hurt so much she couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breath. Hurt, just like he did. He wanted her to suffer. She’d had twenty years of serenity but that was over. It was time to learn what life was all about.
She picked herself up. He inwardly faltered. Her eyes were tearless and fiery. She was not one to easily break.
“Well woman,” he said, baiting her yet again. “I gave you a full briefing of your duties last night. I expect you have completed them in a futile attempt to preserve your pitiful existence… and that of your son’s.”
Bulma smirked, intent of winning this battle of the wills.
“Oh course, your highness,” she sneered, her voice dripping sarcasm. His words did nothing to intimidate her. She just didn’t care. She was past caring at this stage. He needed her son, his thoughtless words had proven as much. Regardless of her actions Gohan would be fine. She smirked, wanting to savour this defeat knowing that it might very well be her last.
She nodded curtly, leading him into the ornate kitchen. On the bench sat five patterned bowls. Inside each was an unknown murky brown substance smelling heavily of petrol. Any sane person could see that Bulma’s idea of food was, in no way, shape or form, edible. In fact Bulma estimated that one spoon would lead to intense stomach pains, two would give the consumer days of gastro and three would result in death. Scum for scum.
“What is this?” Vegeta asked, eyeing the food with disgust. His snarled, his cold onyx eyes meeting her own. Bulma smirk wavered.
“You told me,” she began evenly. “That I should not assume anything of you. Unfortunately you do not heed your own advice. You assumed that, no doubt due to my sex, I could cook a half-decent meal. I assure you that you were extremely off the mark in that particular premise. My prior life on Earth did not… require me to do anything so humble as prepare meals. In fact I’m hopeless in the field of cooking or cleaning or pretty much any kind of housework you could think to name.”
“This,” she added, gesturing at the bowls. “Is my cooking at it’s finest.”
Vegeta intense gaze seized her up. Untrustworthy though she might be, this time the woman was telling the truth. He supposed it made sense judging by the overly groomed manor he had first found her in. Couple that with her violent, rebellious temperament and her heiress position in Earth’s scientific empire and he was surprised he didn’t realise it sooner. She was not just any old weakling; she was an overly pampered brat. That explained everything. Yet, he was still angry. How dare she openly defy him? What, did she think he’d let it slide? Excuse or not she needed to be punished. She still had yet to learn her place.
Bulma’s smirk returned full force. She had bettered him and they both knew it.
Vegeta could no longer stand her arrogance. He hated her. He hated everything about her. All he wanted was to grab her by the scrawny neck and strangle every last breath out of her. Screw the consequences. He couldn’t stand her face anymore.
In a flash he grabbed her lithe form, slamming it against the wall. He smirked. She winced.
Squirm bitch, squirm
He tightened his hold, enraged by her fearlessness. He wanted so badly to break her. He couldn’t stand her strength. He couldn’t stand her continued defiance. She needed to fall. He needed her to fall. He just had to find her trigger. Only then could he bask in the pools of her blood. Only then could he murder her. He smirked maliciously, a sadistic plan beginning to form.
“I think that you and your son’s meeting shall have to be postponed. I was thinking of arranging a gathering today but maybe next month will be of better convenience.”
He laughed as Bulma slid down the wall, all of her former arrogance lost in one brutal heartbeat. She would wish for death before the end. He exited the room, leaving the shattering woman to her ominous thoughts.
Bulma could feel them again. Those troublesome tears threatening to spill in a torrent of sorrow, fear and rage. She hated him so much. The arrogant Prince who felt no emotion and delighted in her pain. What had she ever done to him?
“Oh Goku,” she whispered. “I wish you were here. I need you so much.”
No point wishing for the impossible a small voice, a strong voice, whispered within her. Beside there are other ways to express intense emotion, other outlets. Or have you forgotten, Bulma Briefs, that you have one of the most brilliant minds in the universe? It’s payback time.