Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Another Life ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of the characters seen in the show, manga, movies, etc. I wish they were, but sometimes dreams don't come true...

Author's Note: This is an A/U B/V fic that starts off a bit strange, but if you bear with me I assure you things will get better. I hope you guys like it and although I'm a little wary to admit that this is my first fic (people usually don't like to read first-time author material) I am totally desperate for reviews and I would really appreciate it. So in case you didn't get that, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!!!! It will tell me if I should write any more or if I should just blow it all to hell and join a convent. (j/k for those of you really thinking of taking the vows, but hell why would you be reading this?)

Another Life

Prologue

Kakarrot leaned his good shoulder against the stone wall of the ally and sighed wearily. He was tired. Actually he was more than tired. He was exhausted. His wound was still bleeding, but the blood flow had slowed down significantly, and he was no longer leaving a trail of blood wherever he moved. He wasn't certain of the time. He just knew that he had to make it to the area he and his father had agreed on before he passed out. Would his father even recognize him now? He shook his head. Of course he would; they had the same face. The bruises wouldn't matter much. Kakarrot raised a hand and ran it through his newly cut hair. The cut was a bit jagged, but he had done the best he could, considering that he only had a moment to spare. It had been a good choice, he thought to himself. A man Kakarrot had known for years didn't even give him a second glance. It was amazing what a haircut could do. Had his brother been in the same position, he would have rather cut off his arm than clip the long ebony mane that their family took so much pride in. Kakarrot wasn't quite as vain.

The injured Saiyan pulled himself off of the wall and straightened up as best he could considering the pain that shot up his arm whenever it was moved. He was a Saiyan. Pain was as normal as breathing and if he let it stop him from getting to his destination, then he had no right to call himself a Saiyan. He would have to use the strength his heritage gave him to make it through this and if all went according to plan, then he would never see his family again. He would have to fight to save himself and those he loved but there would be no victor in this battle, no one to gain anything from.

Kakarrot sighed as he thought of what he was about to do. He had to get off planet, that was for certain. He would be giving up everything he loved, his entire life, all to repay a debt owed to a man he didn't even know. But that wasn't what concerned him the most. No, his family was all that mattered now. He was doing this for his father and brother so that they could live. As long as he was able to stay out of the hands of the Saiyan Empire, the king's suspicion would never turn to his father and brother and the king would never know the truth. Kakarrot would be their scapegoat while his family lived their lives without harassment. He just had to stay alive.

Her hand dipped in the cool translucent water lazily as she let the sun warm her back. She had about another five minutes, but at the moment she was pretending that the lake, the surrounding clearing, and the beautiful house in the midst of the forest, all belonged to her, and when she was in that state of mind, time did not matter. Bulma shifted her head onto her arm and stretched out her body until she felt the muscles in her legs pull in resistance. Her cerulean hair was in a state of disarray and her beige servant dress was a bit dusty in places, but to any casual observer she was still a breath-taking beauty. She looked as though she was a young maiden who might have just had a romp through a meadow. Only when she rolled onto her back could evidence of her beating be seen. Bulma winced in pain as she felt her injured back press against the ground. She had received as punishment ten lashes plus an extra one for her defiance to the mistress of the house. After her punishment, she had been ordered to wait in the kitchen until her mistress called on her again. The fools, she thought. When would they learn that if they gave her an opportunity, she would take, no matter what the consequences?

"WHERE ARE YOU, YOU BULL-HEADED BITCH?" The sound of the raspy shout startled Bulma out of her thoughts and she nearly tipped herself into the pool in her frantic effort to get to her feet. Dammit, she thought, maybe the dim-witted fool is catching on quicker than I suspected. I thought I at least had a few more minutes before came to check up on me. Silently cursing to herself, Bulma veered off to the right of the voice and hurried through the trees as she heard the heavy, shuffling feet of Damien moving through the brush towards the clearing. She stopped suddenly and moved behind a tree as she spotted him about ten feet or so off with his back turned to her. The accursed belt that he had become so fond of using on her was dangling from his hand, held out slightly from his side as though he were preparing to strike anything that caught his interest or decided to surprise him. If she were to move, it would have to be very carefully. She was almost glad that she wasn't allowed to wear any shoes, because they would have made sneaking around the ego-bloated head servant very difficult.

Lightly stepping over the fallen branches that littered the ground, she cautiously moved away from him and towards the large house that even now she could see through the trees. She made her way to it quickly and in less than a minute, she was already at the large back door of the kitchen. She reached to grab the handle, then thought better of it, and instead moved to the window beside it. Bulma peeked into the window from the side to make sure the room was empty. Satisfied it was, she hoisted herself onto the wide sill and flipped her legs over the edge into the room. She was just settling herself into the chair by the hearth when she heard noise just outside the door. A second later, Damien burst in, a menacing expression drawing his face into a hideous scowl on his weathered features. Bulma forced herself into a relaxed position and tried to look unaffected by his entrance or the leather belt in his hand.

"You think you're real clever, don't you?" Damien's low but menacing tone told Bulma that if she didn't think quickly, she was going to get another beating.

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm clever. Why you would choose now to tell me this-"

"Oh come on now, girl. I know you disobeyed orders. The mistress sent me to get you and when I got to the kitchen you were gone. You were trying to run, weren't you, girl?" He took a few steps closer, all the while lightly hitting his thigh with the belt. Bulma couldn't help but stare at the belt as she spoke.

"Why in the name of Kami would I try to run? We're surrounded on all sides by forest. And unlike you people, I learn from my mistakes. I didn't enjoy my two nights in the middle of the forest the last time I tried to escape." Damien gave her a skeptical look, and she sat back in the chair in an effort to appear nonchalant. She immediately regretted her decision when she felt the pain shoot up her back, and it took all the dignity she had left to keep nothing more than a frown from showing on her face.

"Oh you're a resourceful girl alright, but you're stupid if you think I'll believe for one second that you wouldn't try to run again. And do really doubt my skills as a tracker? You do remember who catches all the wild game in this house?" Damien put on a satisfied smirk as he waited for the weight of his words to settle into Bulma's mind. But Bulma was determined to put up a good fight.

"Believe what you want. Your opinion doesn't matter to me. But you've got to be kidding if you think you have anything but luck when hunting. I've seen your target practice and you couldn't hit the side of a barn if you wanted to. I wonder what that means. You are awfully friendly with the guy from the supply ship. Whose to say you don't have a deal with him. He could very easily give you a bargain. I wonder if the mistress has ever thought of that. If what I said was true then you might just loose her favor and-"

"Shut Up! My skills as a tracker is not a concern right now!" Damien's face was bright red and his knuckles were turning white where his fist clenched the belt.

"But you just said-"

"I merely meant that your tracks weren't difficult to follow." He pointed to her feet. They were covered in mud. Bulma nearly gasped out loud, but she managed to just stare at them and quickly tried to think of an explanation.

"What about my feet?"

"Why are they muddy?" The indignant tone in Damien's voice was enough to make Bulma angry.

"Maybe it's because you cretins don't believe in letting a girl wear a pair of shoes. Do you expect my feet to be sparkling clean at all times? Really, you people are slower than slugs if you think-"

"I found your foot prints," he said moving a fraction of an inch closer to her. As it was, he was already towering over her. "You'll not talk your way out of this one, girl."

Bulma's eyes widened as she watched him raise the belt, his eyes gleaming at the promise of causing pain. She tried to think of something, anything, that would give her an excuse for leaving the kitchen. "I had to get a drink from the well," she said nervously. "Surely you can't punish me for being thirsty." Bulma tried to move back farther into her chair, despite the pain it caused.

A slow, malicious grin spread onto Damien's face as he grabbed Bulma's arm and pulled her out of the chair, the belt raised high in the air. "Sure I can."

"What the hell is wrong with you people? This is inexcusable! Right now I should be looking at the head of that traitorous coward on my table, but instead I get to look at a bunch of sniveling half-dead elites who can't even kill a third-class Saiyan! I should have you all killed." King Vegeta glared at the bruised and bleeding elite warriors, some of who he had hand picked himself. He turned away, disgusted with the sorry excuses of the Saiyan race. "Where is my son?"

"He's probably recuperating in the regen tank, sire." Nappa's booming voice resounded through the throne room, the confident tone almost overbearing considering he had not been chosen to go after the enemy of the empire.

"Get him out. I want to hear his reason for failing before I beat him bloodier than that third-class buffoon ever did."

"Yes, sire." Nappa said as he moved towards the door, trying not let his displeasure show at the thought of waking the angry prince up early from the regen tank.

"And get these idiots out of here!" the king yelled at the guard standing by the door. "There bleeding all over the rug."

The guard hurried out of the room to get help and King Vegeta stalked over to his throne. He knocked the goblet that was resting on the arm onto the floor, and the spreading stain mixed with the blood of the semi-conscious elites lying on the rug. This once small problem was getting out of hand. How could one third-class warrior defeat his eight strongest elites, not to mention his son? The brat's power level was almost already matching his own, although the king retained a slight advantage over him in experience. Soon he would have difficulty beating the prince if the brat's level kept increasing. The day the king lost his advantage was the day his son would be king. He wouldn't expect anything less of his son.

King Vegeta sat down in his throne just as the doors reopened and several of his guards rushed in to carry out the injured Saiyans. Now all that remained was teaching his son a very valuable lesson. The prince must learn that failure was not option. His son had to kill this third-class freak if he ever wanted the respect and pride that went along with ruling an empire. Only then would the king willing accept his fate: to die by his son's hand knowing that he would become a strong and capable king. He would show the prince what it was to be strong king, and only hoped that it would be enough.

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