Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Vengeance ❯ Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, or any of the characters featured therein; they belong to Akira Toriyama and whoever he's decided to share them with.

Author's Notes: Apologies for the lateness in posting this chapter. I took a break from writing between the last update and Christmas, and then I was a combination of busy and lazy.

LAST TIME (in case you forgot): Vegeta killed a hooker for not being Bulma, though if you asked him if that was his reason, he'd probably say something like “Feh, she was of no use to me.” instead of just admitting it.

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PRESENT DAY

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“All three of you, training rooms, NOW.” Vegeta snarled, not even sparing a glance as he strode past his subordinates into his room. Less than a minute later he emerged in his training gear and stalked out the door with the others in tow, following along like a meek little conga line. They exchanged glances but no one was brave enough to say anything. Vegeta reeked of booze and death, and fury rolled off him like fog on a misty morning. His ki was spiking erratically, which set them all on edge and made their short trek to the gym seem like a death march.

The prince wasn't drunk, that was for sure; he was walking straight, head held high. The scent of alcohol seemed to emanate from his skin - he'd had to pull his soaked clothing out from under the smashed liquor cabinet, and some of the stink clung to him even after he'd changed. Some female's scent was on him too, Nappa noticed, which did not bode well for her or for the three saiyans who were most likely about to get smashed into pulp. Whatever unlucky woman had crossed Vegeta's path was likely dead, Nappa thought to himself, and he wondered if Radditz and Gohan had picked up on that as well. Not likely; he'd been much too embarrassed to continue having his talk with those two after Vegeta's grand exit. Damn. At least he'd had the foresight to send Vegeta somewhere discreet. Word of the whore's death would never reach the streets.

“Vegeta,” Nappa said bravely, but the snarl that emanated from Vegeta's throat was enough to halt his words at the source. Perhaps once the prince calmed down, he would be more amenable to a discussion. That is, Nappa thought, if I am conscious and capable of speech after this. He gulped as Vegeta led them into the training rooms, dismissing those already present with a well-executed glare. Everyone in the army knew the prince's reputation, knew of his power, and there were few outside of Frieza's elite squads that would risk a confrontation with the volatile saiyan. The gathered men scrambled out of the room, only a few brave souls taking the time to glance back with pity at the obvious targets of his highness' wrath. Nappa sneered back at those who dared meet his eyes, letting them know that he was not one to quake in his boots. He would meet this beating with bravery, for that is surely what it was to be.

Vegeta launched himself immediately into the air, roaring a challenge that the other three saiyans could not ignore. They followed him up, all rushing him at once; working as a team would be their only hope of wearing him down. After they'd tired him out a bit, it wouldn't be so hard to take him down; Vegeta was working on pure rage. There was no thought or reason behind his moves, none of the usual cunning that defined his fighting style. His technique was sloppy and his defence was nonexistent. Too bad for the other three that he was fast and strong, his madness lending him all its power; they'd yet to land a hit, even though he was leaving himself wide open.

*

*

Bulma checked the communications log for about the tenth time that day, and ground her teeth with frustration. Vegeta had been gone for about a month, and combine that with the week that he was on the station, that gave the leak ample chance to have a message sent out, and more than enough time for someone under Frieza's command to have reached them. Nobody had come, no word of Vengeance's identity had been heard. She really didn't get it, and wondering made her all the more paranoid. Vegeta had been so sure there was a leak, and he was a man whose instincts did not often lead him wrong.

With Krillin and Puar to help, she'd combed the backlogs for suspicious messages, eventually stooping to reading every single communication that had been sent since they'd gotten involved in the resistance movement. It had taken weeks, even with the three of them working diligently away, and they'd come up with nothing that could possibly have been code for covert activities. Finally Bulma had lifted the ban on communications use and instead routed every message through her own account. Unfortunately that meant she was still on Big Brother duty, deciding which messages were passed forward to their recipients and combing through those deemed suspicious.

Her present frustration stemmed from the fact that she'd passed on every single message so far. None had struck her as being sketchy, which meant that either Vegeta was wrong about the leak being on Red Station, or the traitor simply had other means of communication. The first possibility pleased her - she didn't like to think that one of her friends might be a dirty rat - but the second terrified her, and she wondered what possibly could have led one of her shipmates to double-cross them all.

Of course, the fact remained that they'd yet to be turned in, as far as she knew. Had anyone in Freiza's camp known she was Blue, they would have come bearing down on the station a long time ago. Then again, her own operations were so insignificant compared to those of Vengeance that she wondered if Frieza's cronies had ever even heard of her. As stupid as it was, the thought stung her pride a little. Imagine! Bulma Briefs, outshone by some muscle-bound jerk in a contest of wits!

“Back to the problem at hand, Briefs.” She reminded herself as she scrolled through the newly received messages. If the mole had another method of communication, why hadn't she heard word of it? There was absolutely no way in hell that news of Vegeta's ongoing subterfuge could possibly be hushed up, even if Frieza wanted it to be. Perhaps the traitor had changed his mind upon learning Vengeance's identity? Or maybe he was playing a little game of his own, only passing on the most innocent tidbits he could manage? “Damn it!” Bulma swore, thumping her hand on her desk. She wished she knew who it was! Some small clue, some answer, even to know for sure that it was one of her friends would be better than the tedium of having absolutely no idea!

“Eew, message from Radditz...pass that directly to Puar.” Bulma muttered, dragging the message from her own inbox without even opening it. She was still scarred from reading the previous ones. “Dear Chichi, we have received your submission for the Glorax's Sprigot Powder recipe contest...M. Roshi, we are writing to inform you that your subscription will end, would you like to continue receiving...uck.” She read aloud in a bored tone, passing messages to their respective recipients. “This is ridiculous.” Bulma let her head fall back, her hand straying from the mouse to tap restless fingers on the desk. “Fucking Vegeta. I wish he'd respond to my messages.” She said, petulantly. “At least then maybe there'd be something interesting in here.” She straightened and went back to her task, her mind still occupied with the saiyan prince.

He hadn't tried to contact her since leaving the station five weeks ago, either as Vegeta or his counterpart Vengeance, and she was left bristling at the snub. Was he really such a child that he couldn't bear to have contact with her? Regardless of what had happened between them as Bulma and Vegeta, Blue and Vengeance were still supposed to be allies, and she bitterly regretted the loss of him in that capacity. They'd suffered mightily without his access to Frieza's intelligences, and no one had even left the station in the past month, aside from routine shopping trips. “We did fine before he came into the picture.” Bulma banged her hand on the table, as though to spite their AWOL ally. Then again, for a long time they'd had Yamcha out in the field, so to speak, and Bulma wondered uneasily if the information he'd been bringing home had come from Vengeance all along. Obviously they'd had contact, though she knew not in what capacity.

Bulma really regretted her outburst that night with Vegeta. He'd been in the wrong, there was no question in her mind, but not for the first time in her life, she wished that she had better control of her temper. Shrieking at such a prideful man certainly was not the most effective way to deal with him. Really, she'd fallen back into her old habits. Yamcha had always been so easy to cow; even Goku had cringed at the power of her mighty screech. Vegeta was a different sort, and though it galled her to admit it, he would not cower at her feet just because she threw a few nasty words in his direction. She had a feeling she could call him everything under the sun except `monkey' and he'd not even blink.

Where'd that come from, she wondered. Obviously she remembered seeing Goku transform and knew that the other saiyans must look similar. What was it called, Oozaru? Yes, the Oozaru form resembled a giant monkey, that was pretty self explanatory, but where had their hatred of the comparison come from? Was the transformation shameful for them, like Hyde to Dr. Jekyll? That didn't really sit well with her, for it seemed that Vegeta was the type to embrace any sort of power, no matter the form it took. “It must be something else.” She mused aloud.

“What are you babbling about, girl?” A sharp voice snapped her from her reverie, and she whirled to see Gero standing behind her chair, his piercing blue eyes fixed most disapprovingly on her.

“Err, nothing.” Bulma flushed, frantically turning back to her computer to minimize the window she was working in. Couldn't let Gero see her snooping through everyone's stuff.

“I need you to pick something up for me.” The old doctor went on, uncaring of whatever she was up to. His attitude rankled her, but Bulma reminded herself that without his hospitality, she and her friends would likely be dead or slaves by now, if they'd even survived long enough to make it to some other port.

“Sure. Tomorrow soon enough?” She asked, and he nodded impatiently.

“Yes, yes, the parcel just arrived on Chisal, so by the time you get there perhaps it will be cleared for collection.”

“Okay, sounds fine.” Bulma said, wondering to herself if maybe she could sneak in a quick visit to Guru's compound. The idea of telling him she'd done the nasty with Vegeta didn't sit well with her, but she desperately needed advice from someone who'd been dealing with Vengeance for years. “Wait a minute.” She said to the doctor's back, as he turned to leave. Briefly, she looked at her computer screen. She'd passed no messages to the doctor's account...in fact, she couldn't remember ever having interfered in his correspondence. “How did you know your package has arrived on Chisal?”

“Oh, silly child.” Gero laughed coldly, turning to fix her in his icy stare. “Don't tell me that you actually believed your little programs could hamper me.” He laughed again and an uncomfortable twinge ran up Bulma's spine as he tottered out of her lab, presumably to hole himself up in his own once more.

What a fool she'd been! All this time she'd paid no mind to the old man's lack of communications, stupidly assuming that he simply didn't make any! He hardly left his lab anymore, cloistering himself off from human contact, she thought he'd been busy working away on one of his creepy projects! “Shit!” she swore. What if he was the leak? What could his motives possibly be? Or what if the leak was using his equipment to send messages under her nose? Obtuse old man! Why hadn't he told her?

She banged her fist on the desk again, glad of its strength. One of these days, she'd wear a hole through that spot. “Old bastard.” She seethed, wondering why he liked to torment and humiliate her so. Always teasing, always flaunting the ways in which he could outdo her. Why was it always a contest? Well, she'd show him, the stupid old fart. If he refused to play by her game, she'd just have to insert herself into his!

*

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Radditz sat propped against the wall, Gohan laying flat on his back a foot or so away. Both of them stared upward, vainly trying to watch the match that continued above their heads. Nappa was a tough old goat, for all his annoying traits. He was holding his own with the Prince, though if Vegeta's brain hadn't been such a jumbled clusterfuck, the old man would have been down on the floor with his comrades.

“What do you think has gotten into him?” Radditz asked aloud, and Gohan turned his head to look at his uncle. It was about the only part of his body he could still move.

“Vegeta, or Nappa?” Gohan asked. “I don't know if I've ever seen Nappa so evasive. Normally he's a punch for a punch kind of guy.”

“I think he's trying to tire Vegeta out.” Radditz watched the big saiyan evade yet another attack from their frustrated leader. Vegeta was beginning to slow and the sloppiness in his style was starting to become obvious.

“I don't think I've ever seen Vegeta in such poor form.” Gohan said quietly, hoping the prince wouldn't pick up on it. He seemed too engrossed in the fight, but with Vegeta, one could never be too careful. “He's really cut up over something.”

“You noticed too, eh? Radditz shifted a little, trying to ease the soreness in his bottom. He and Gohan had been tossed out of the fight over an hour ago, and the floor was very hard. “Man, my ass hurts.” He complained, scooting down to shift his weight. “Whatever Nappa's got to say to him, I hope he hurries the fuck up.”

“You think it's important?” Gohan turned his eyes back to the fight, just in time to watch Nappa land a kick to Vegeta's midsection. The prince was hardly affected. “Because I think this is going to take a while. Vegeta doesn't look like he's exactly in a listening mood.”

“Fucking fight me!” Vegeta howled from above, as though to prove Gohan's point, as Nappa dodged another punch. The prince launched himself forward and Nappa narrowly missed a fist in the face as he spun away from Vegeta's attack, at the same time grabbing the smaller man and shoving him away. Both hung in the air, panting, as they faced each other.

“I'll make you a deal, my Lord.” Nappa said, crouching into a defensive position. “I'll fight you properly, and if I win, you'll listen to what I have so say.”

“Fuck off, Nappa.” Vegeta seethed.

“It is important.” Nappa insisted, dodging again as Vegeta rushed him. The prince was left frustrated once more. “First one to be thrown to the ground is the loser. That way everyone is still conscious.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Vegeta blinked into sight behind his big tutor, kicking him forcefully in the left kidney. Nappa sprawled forward but managed to right himself before the prince could touch him again.

“Do you agree to my conditions?” Nappa spun with surprising grace to hover just out of Vegeta's reach once more. “If you say no, I'll continue dodging.”

“Fine, FINE!” The prince snarled. “Just fucking FIGHT!” He launched himself at a grinning Nappa, who gladly entered into a volley of fast flying kicks and punches. Radditz and Gohan watched in awe as their prince was sent headlong into the ground in just under three minutes.

“Your inner turmoil makes you sloppy, Prince.” Nappa said, touching down lightly. Vegeta, ever the bad sport, rolled and kicked quickly out at Nappa's ankles,knocking him flat on his back.

“Shut the hell up.” Vegeta said, over the other's wheezing.

“And now I have a thing or two to say.” Nappa coughed once he'd regained his breath. He was still laying on his back on the ground. It would be easier this way, he thought, if he didn't have to look Vegeta in the face while he talked.

“Out with it, you old shit.” Vegeta snarled, still on his back because it seemed to him that the energy required to sit up was just too much. Radditz and Gohan snickered at their prince's predicament. For all he was a bad sport and a temper-case, he at least kept his word.

“They should listen too.” Nappa said, hearing the snickers.

“Get over here, now!” Vegeta shouted. “You're stuck here for story time as well!” He grinned maliciously at the ceiling as the other two saiyans hauled themselves off the floor and hobbled over, grumbling all the while. They lay down on their backs too, staring up at the ceiling, because it seemed the thing to do. The discussion was going to be awkward, and nobody wanted to have to make eye contact with anybody else.

“So,” Nappa said without preamble. “I think you've bonded with the blue-haired female.”

“You think I've what?” Vegeta rolled quickly to his belly, glaring at Nappa's bald head. “Don't speak nonsense. I know you're old and probably senile, but hold it together at least until I've killed Frieza. Then you can be disposed of.”

“You fucked her, yes?”

“That's none of your fucking business!” Vegeta snarled, feeling his ki begin to mount uncontrollably with sudden rage.

“You can't get her out of your mind.” Nappa continued, as though there wasn't a straining ball of fury a mere two feet from him. “You feel oddly possessive of her, and the attention of other females makes you profoundly uncomfortable.” The big, bald saiyan rolled to his stomach as well, to look the young prince straight in the eye. “You killed a prostitute today, didn't you?” He asked, and Vegeta's stony silence was the only answer they needed. Radditz rolled over as well, sudden voyeuristic curiosity having overtaken the discomfort of the discussion. Gohan, cringing, was the only one who remained stolidly on his back, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling.

“What has she done to me?” Vegeta ground out, shutting his eyes against the shame that coursed through his body.

“Her? Nothing.” Nappa shrugged. “It happens.”

“What is it?” Radditz spoke up, then wished he hadn't. Not only was Vegeta glaring black-death at him, but he feared that the anxious tone of his voice had given him away. He couldn't get Puar out of his mind. He felt strangely possessive of the other man, and just three days ago he'd been propositioned by another soldier and had punched the man in the face for even considering it.

“It is the bond between a man and his forever-mate.” Nappa said reverently. “Something strange that ties a man so strongly to his female that...”

“Don't call her that.” Vegeta snapped, even as that voiceless beast in his head curled tightly around the idea. “She is not my anything. I fucked her. Big deal, so what? I've done much the same to many other women, and I'm not, what did you call it, bonded, to any of them.”

“That doesn't matter. One rarely bonds to his first.”

“Why her, then?” Vegeta spat, and Nappa shrugged.

“We did not question why, Vegeta.” The oldest saiyan said, his sagely words at odds with his bloody, bruised, fu manchu mustached appearance.

“Fine, whatever, so let's say I'm bonded,” Vegeta said the word as though it was a joke, “to this wretched female. How do I get rid of it?”

Nappa looked shocked, his eyebrows high on his forehead, his mouth a downturned moue in the frame of his moustache. “Why would you want to?” He asked, incredulously. “The forever mate is...is...” He seemed lost for words.

“Is bullshit!” Vegeta put in.

“I think we called it `love' on Earth. The one.” Gohan said, finally rolling over onto his belly, though he kept his eyes firmly on the training room floor. “My dad loved my mom, even though they hardly knew each other when they got married.”

“I don't want this.” Vegeta said, ignoring Gohan's words, glaring at Nappa. “She is weak, she will make me weak. I do not want this.” He repeated, hissing out the words despite the protest of whatever instinct roiled inside his brain. “It is not real.”

“Talk to Tarble,” Nappa insisted. “He has the disks your father sent with him. Would it ease you to hear your father say it?”

“Fuck my father! I hope he's rotting in hell!” Vegeta burst out. “And since when do we take advice from Tarble? That piss-poor excuse for a saiyan!”

“He has the disks, Vegeta.” Nappa insisted. “He has heard your father's words on the subject. He and Gure...” Nappa trailed off at the disgusted look that overcame Vegeta's features. “Have you never wondered why I did not protest his relationship with Gure?”

“Just last month,” Radditz put in, “You called her a freaky little egg-head who probably couldn't take in even Tarble's tiny dick.”

“But I never said they shouldn't be mates.” Nappa said, staunchly, as though that made all the difference. “There is no helping who you attach yourself to.” He insisted. “If your father were alive, he would agree with me.”

“I already told you, Nappa, I hope my father is rotting in hell.” Vegeta jumped up, the pressures on his mind obviously trying his patience. “Besides, the father I remember would not appreciate his heir having any kind of attachment to a weak, mutt-blooded alien.”

“There are no saiyan females, Vegeta.” Nappa reminded his prince gently. “What is taint, if this is the only way for saiyan blood to survive?”

“This is ridiculous, and you are full of shit. I don't want this, I will not have it. If you won't tell me how to get rid of her, I will figure it out myself.” Vegeta turned and stalked away, leaving the other three staring after him.

“Imagine, Vegeta, what you would do, if she was dead.” Nappa said to his back. Vegeta kept walking, but Radditz felt a sudden, unexpected, and terribly uncomfortable sensation course through his veins. He felt suddenly shaken to the core.

“Nappa,” Radditz said candidly, after the door slammed shut behind their furious leader, “Is it possible for a male saiyan to bind himself to another male?”

*

Vegeta did not sleep well that night, Nappa's words ringing through his head. Every time he drifted off, it seemed he dreamed of her. The ones where she was alive in his arms unsettled him enough, the ones where she was dead... Vegeta had seen a lot of death in his time and never had it ever torn at him the way those dreams did. It didn't make any sense, and her continued presence in his brain only served to make him more restless and angry. He tried to force her from his thoughts, but she just wouldn't go. Disobedient bitch!

He clutched at his hair with his hands, digging his fingers into his scalp, feeling so powerless as he lay alone in the darkness of his room. He wished he could turn back the clock and shut Nappa up before that whole asinine discussion took place. He didn't want it to be true. Most of him, at least. Part of him? Fuck. The monster inside keened for her, raging within its confines, and he realized that the beast he'd long kept leashed in his mind had never felt so calm in his life, as in the short time period he'd been on Red Station. Even the thought of his identity leaking to Frieza hadn't panicked him as much as it should have.

He bolted upright, the covers falling from his naked chest to pool in his lap. The mole. His secret. Nobody knew of it yet. Gods of Vegetasei, he hadn't even thought about it! Bulma must have had it under control, he thought, and the idea soothed his pounding heart. She was smart, she'd have taken care of it, wouldn't she have? Guiltily, he looked at the computer sitting on his desk. She'd tried to contact him several times and he'd ignored her comm requests. She'd sent him messages, and he'd deleted them. No more, he vowed. He didn't want to feel whatever it was he felt for her and he was determined to rid himself of the attachment for her, but to ignore her completely was harmful to his operations as Vengeance. He needed her intelligence and quick wit, and her damnable talent with machines, on his side. Vaulting from his bed, he logged in to his secret account and was pleased to see that his inbox contained messages from Blue. He clicked on one that was labelled “Ven. IMPORTANT. MUST READ.”

“Dear Assface,” it read, and he cringed and closed it. So maybe she was still mad.

*

Yes, Bulma was mad, but not so much at Vegeta anymore...well, sure she was mad at him still, but that particular fury was warming on the back burner, while her frustration with Dr. Gero was at the point of meltdown. She was tired - exhausted, really - and the inconsiderate old bugger still hadn't gone to bed. Really, how was she supposed to sneak into his lab and hack into his computer if he was up puttering around in there all night? She glanced at her watch and was dismayed to find that only three minutes had elapsed since she'd last checked, even though it felt to her as though a half an hour had easily slid by.

“Two-twelve in the morning.” Bulma muttered to herself. “What the hell is he doing in there?” She rolled her eyes and adjusted her position on the couch. Bitterly, she changed the channel on the television, looking for something decent to keep her awake. Her plan had been to appear as though she'd fallen asleep on the couch watching tv so she could be sure when Gero left, but if he didn't come out soon, she really was going to conk out!

The sudden swoosh of a door opening caught her by surprise, and she hastily screwed her eyes shut and did her best to appear limp. She'd never been a good fake-snorer, plus she didn't want to the self-important jerk to think she snored, so she simply forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly, even though her heart was pounding with nerves. Dr. Gero was not a stupid man, and he'd likely not be pleased to find her snooping about in his private laboratory. Luckily, he didn't appear to even spare her a look, as his footsteps made slowly toward the living quarters of the station. Bulma waited until she could no longer hear his heavy boots on the floor, and then counted to one hundred just to be safe, before bolting stealthily over to his door.

Of course it was locked, but Bulma was no spring chicken and she'd come prepared. With the aid of a pocket screwdriver, she had the electronic door panel off in minutes, and after carefully connecting a few wires, the door slid open. “Think you can keep me out, do you Gero?” She laughed. “Well think again, old man.” She stuck her foot in the door opening and reset the lock before replacing the panel. The door's auto-close mechanism was thwarted by her fuzzy slipper, and she shoved it open just enough to slip through before it shut itself again. She'd been in Gero's lab a few times before, but never without the doctor himself, and the place was significantly creepier when visited alone. Dim light from the various machines and displays illuminated the place well enough, but she still had to squint at the floor as she walked to avoid tripping over the tangles of wire and cords, and the various bits and bobs scattered about. Android parts hung from the ceiling and from the walls - she recognized a duplicate of Sixteen's right arm - and she shuddered, feeling as though she'd stepped into some twisted taxidermist's lair. “Machine arms,” she reminded herself, “not flesh and blood. Ahh, here we go!” She chirped, finally coming to the central desk where Dr. Gero's computer sat.

Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out one of her little ghost drives and plugged it in before quickly entering the command to search for mail messages, including traces of deleted files. While the little drive worked its magic, Bulma looked idly around, her curiosity finally overcoming good manners. She got up and poked around a little, peeking at all the doctor's secret projects. Sixteen's spare arm intrigued her the most; in the three years she'd known the quiet giant, she'd never worked up the nerve to ask him if she could examine him. Gingerly, she lifted the arm from its bracket on the wall and opened the outer casing to see the network of circuits within. She was surprised to find that the design closely mimicked the construction of a real human hand, complete with steel-cable tendons in the forearm that, when pushed, pulled the fingers in toward the palm. Gero was no slob, that was certain.

As she replaced the arm in its bracket, an odd bluish glow coming from the furthest reaches of the lab caught her eye. She squinted in that direction, trying to figure out what about that particular luminance seemed so familiar, when she realized that it was the same odd light that regeneration fluid tended to give off in an active tank. It was too much to resist! She'd all but forgotten the puzzle of the regeneration tanks, but now that the knowledge was in her reach, well, she took a hasty glance at the computer to see that the ghost drive was still going, and then quickly scurried to the back of the crowded lab. Excitedly, she dodged piles of parts and stacks of boxes, lumpy totems shrouded in tarps, some taller than she, until she rounded the final corner and stopped short.

Bulma stifled a shriek with her hand, staggering back at the shock of seeing the two dismembered bodies, floating side by side in twin tanks, their eerie blue glow casting a sinister light on the various walls of junk that hid them from view. When the hands clamped over her shoulders, she really did scream before wrenching herself forward and out of their grasp. She whirled to look into the icy, emotionless eyes of her father's old colleague. He was scowling, the expression lending even less charm than usual to his unattractive face.

“You're sick!” Bulma shouted, unable to control the outburst, but instead of being offended, Gero merely laughed.

“Look again, my dear.” He sneered, gesturing toward the tanks. “Your impulsiveness and lack of attention to detail is utterly shameful.” Dr. Gero hobbled past her, reaching for a dial to turn up the dim lighting above the tanks. Bulma blinked painfully in the sudden light, but she kept her eyes on the old man, every nerve in her body singing with the urge to run. She'd seen enough horror movies; when the creep corners you, you don't stand and chat! “Oh please,” he scoffed, interpreting her thoughts as though they were written plainly on her face, “don't be so paranoid, girl Briefs. You've invaded my space, you may as well have a look.” He placed a hand tenderly against the surface of one tank, and Bulma was surprised to see the expression on his face soften a little.

Swallowing her stomach, Bulma turned to look and was surprised once she'd gotten past her initial revulsion. Why, they weren't dismembered bodies after all; they were half formed bodies, plainly those missing limbs had yet to exist. She stepped up to the glass and peered into the murky depths, her mind recoiling where the young woman's torso ended suddenly below the belly button. What was there of her was nude, her small breasts capped by pink nipples that stared out, unabashed. Her companion in the other tank was more fully formed, with an intact pelvis and the beginning stumps of thighs, and she remembered with sudden embarrassment, her crass joke about Gero crafting the perfect mechanical penis for Sixteen.

“What...” She breathed, watching the strange swirl of particles through the regeneration fluid. That was definitely not normal.

“Nanotechnology.” Gero smiled up at the sleeping half-person. “Their bodies are made of tiny mechanical cells, each imprinted as a human stem cell is, with all of the necessary DNA to form them. The regeneration tank is like the womb, but better.” He cast a disparaging look at Bulma's stomach. “Quicker, smarter, nothing can go wrong. When they are complete, they will be indistinguishable from biologically formed human beings.” He spoke softly, as though he was in awe of his own creations. “And yet they will be stronger, faster, smarter than any of those so-called warriors from Earth.” He laughed a little, and Bulma stepped back. “You know, they were meant to destroy that place. They were going to take out my enemies and carve the Earth to my specifications...I was going to be King.”

“And...now?” Bulma asked, swallowing her fears. Plainly he wasn't intending to hurt her.

“And now, they will destroy that slimy bastard Frieza, who took my planet away from me!” Dr. Gero shrugged, as though they were discussing the mornings' breakfast. “Won't you, pretties?” He turned sweet eyes on the twin tanks. “My perfect children, Seventeen and Eighteen.” He smiled beatifically up at their sleeping faces, fatherly pride beaming out of every pore.

In the distance, the ghost drive chimed to let Bulma know it had completed its search of Dr. Gero's computer, and the old man let out a bitter laugh. “Go check your little toy, Bulma.” He sneered, not bothering to look at her. “And see for yourself that I am not your traitor, though one must wonder at the way you sneak around.” He cocked an eyebrow, but Bulma ignored him and slunk away from the tanks. When she reached the computer, she found that he'd indeed been telling the truth; the only correspondence the drive had turned up was between Gero and various suppliers - nothing personal, nothing denoting a need for human contact beyond his bimonthly conversations with Bulma or her father. She took the drive and left, feeling defeated.

“Bulma,” Gero called, just as she was stepping through the door. His eyes shone in the darkness, as though full of regeneration fluid. “Enter my lab again, uninvited, and I will kill you. Do not think that I am kidding.”

Bulma stepped out without looking back and let the door shut behind her. When she heard the lock shift into place, her shaking legs finally gave out and she collapsed against the wall and slid gratefully to the floor.

*

*

Goku stared down at the dead man, his hands shaking as the stench of loosed bowels assaulted his nose. It was another slave, a nasty, selfish little man by the name of Caldo, who'd been on their work crew. Goku heard breathing beside him and knew that Piccolo was there, ever calm and ever constant. “I didn't mean it.” He said quietly, turning to his friend with wide eyes. “He tried to take my food, but I really didn't mean it.” Goku sobbed suddenly, as though the sound had been trying to escape his throat for ages, and Piccolo's hands shot out to grasp his shoulders, clawed fingers digging ever so slightly into the skin. “It just happened.” He said, and Piccolo shook him briefly.

“Snap out of it.” He ordered, tugging Goku roughly away from the spreading pool of urine around the corpse. “What's done is done.”

“I'm going to get in trouble, aren't I?” Goku couldn't stop staring at the dead man. “I'm going to go to hell now.”

“Not if we get away from here and get back to work, you won't.” Piccolo urged his friend forward with a tug. Goku stumbled but regained his balance quickly enough, trudging after Piccolo. “Look, stop that.” The green man snapped when he saw tears begin to form at the corners of Goku's eyes. “Nobody will care, Goku. Just get back to work and the guards won't care. They won't even know it was you.”

“But I'll know.” Goku said stubbornly, even as he followed along.

“He tried to take your food, remember?”

“I didn't mean to kill him. I only wanted my food.” Goku said, mournfully.

“Which I picked up for you.” Piccolo gestured to the plate he'd left sitting on a nearby rock. Nobody had dared to touch it after seeing their cheerful workmate snap so suddenly. “Come on and eat it. You need your strength.”

“I have too much strength,” Goku said, his glassy eyes staring forward as he remembered how easily Caldo's neck had snapped beneath his pressing fingers, how satisfying it had been to watch the life leach out of the man. Goku was very disturbed to find that on some level, he'd enjoyed it. Piccolo thrust the plate into his hands and he looked distastefully down at it, no longer so desperate to consume it as he had been only moments before.

“Eat.” Piccolo commanded and Goku took a bite, then another and another, his mammoth appetite having quickly returned. When he was finished, he looked over to where he knew Caldo's body lay, hidden from view by a pile of rocks, and wondered how that creature's flesh would taste. Probably better than the slop he was being fed every day, he thought, looking down at the empty plate. And Caldo wasn't even a humanoid - he was a shaggy creature, more reminiscent of a bear than a man. Goku had eaten bear meat. This would be no different, would it?

Piccolo watched the gleam in Goku's eyes with growing unease. There was something dark in that gaze, something off that he'd never seen displayed there. When the other man stood abruptly, looking hungrily in the direction of the hidden corpse, Piccolo quickly put himself in Goku's path, placing one long-fingered hand on his friend's chest to stall him. “We have to get back to work now, quickly.” Piccolo urged, his hand moving to grip Goku's sun-darkened arm. “Before the guards catch us.” He tugged, setting Goku off balance again, and the manoeuvre was enough to distract the earthling long enough that he forgot his other train of thought.

“Yes.” Goku said, allowing himself to be tugged along. “Back to work.”

It wasn't long before one of the guards stumbled across the body, its presence made obvious by the rising smell of sun-baked shit. Two nearby slaves were called to carry it away, but no effort was made to find out who had killed the man, or to punish anyone. Piccolo patted him on the back after the corpse was out of sight, and Goku sighed with relief. He did his best to put the incident out of his mind and congratulated himself at the end of the day, when he realized he'd only thought about the dead man twice more.

That night he dreamt that he was a monster, a great, furry beast the size of a mountain. In his dream he roared and stomped and crushed and ate, and ate and ate, until he realized that it was people he was eating, and that it was Chichi who was clamped in his giant fist, the next morsel to be tossed carelessly into his mouth. She screamed at him, accused him of eating their son, with tears running down her pretty face. He tried to tell her that was a lie, that he hadn't eaten Gohan, but when he looked around, there was no black-eyed child to be found. Worried, he stomped around a shining, empty city, looking for Gohan. He looked for three whole days and when he knew that his son was not in the city, he sat down and cried, his great bottom crushing a house where he plopped down. He was tired and sore and he was ever so hungry, and there was this tasty little morsel in his hand that he had been carrying around with him, and suddenly he couldn't remember why it was so important not to eat this one, so he popped it into his mouth and swallowed her whole.

Goku awoke covered with sweat, his throat raw and his tongue tasting of his wife.

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