Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Dimensions of You ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

The whole of Vegeta-sei was bustling in anticipation of the birth of the King and Queen’s child. Rumors flew left and right concerning the baby’s gender, power level, and, in the seedier sides, how the baby had come to be.

The King had his scouter on and was standing outside of the room, putting every bit of his control to use as he stood rock still in front of the door. The scowl on his face, however, was far from forced. There seemed to be some complications with the birth. Usually the child birthing was hard as even Saiyan children were strong enough to rip themselves out of their mother’s womb. However, there seemed to be some real trouble with this birthing, although they’d failed to inform him of exactly why, which explained the scowl.

He could sense the Queen’s ki fluctuating as each contraction hit her and could almost feel the pain that was ripping through her. His scouter was set to read the other, not yet born ki upon its entrance into the world.

With a final scream, the scouter picked up the new ki. Tension hung in the air. This was the most critical time of the birthing, when the child was most likely to die. The silence was oppressive, making even the king’s breath sound like thunder in his ears.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the sound of the newborn baby’s cries filled the air. The King winced. And what cries they were.

The king watched the numbers on his scouter as they rose up to a normal Elite baby’s ki level and then started to go higher. The king couldn’t help but let out a little gasp as the baby’s level finally stopped on a level that had been reached only once, one thousand years ago.

“A Super Elite,” he softly said, but everyone in the room heard him clearly. By the next day, the word would be out and a great and joyous celebration would start. The Legendary had been born!

One of the doctors shuffled out of the room and approached the king with the baby wrapped in a blue cloth with the royal symbol of Vegeta-sei sewn on. The king took the baby eagerly, impatient to see the son who would be the first Super Saiyan in a thousand years to be born.

Before he could look at the baby, the doctor spoke up. “My king, I’m sorry—but—the Queen, she didn’t make it. She died, sire.”

The king looked up, shock etched plainly on his features. His scouter showed that, indeed, there was no ki emanating from the Queen, his love.

His face went through a variety of emotions as he looked back down at the baby he held in his hands, shock, disbelief, and disgust before settling on anger. As he thrust the baby back at the doctor, a corner of its blanket came down, revealing blue hair and tiny waving hands that demanded attention.

“It’s a girl. It doesn’t even look like a proper Saiyan. It is not my heir.” The king stated in a cold voice.

Everyone in the room acknowledged his words as he turned and stalked out of the room. The next day, there was no celebration. It was postponed until sixteen years later, when a male Saiyan, with dark hair, was born to the King and his new Queen. *   *   * …There is no Arizona…
…If there was a Grand Canyon
She could fill it up with the lies he’s told her

The boy shivered miserably and tried to force his muscles rigid in an effort to stop, scowling at his inability to do so. Outside his cardboard box shelter the wind howled and swirled the snow in towards him, rattling the box and revealing a fast-approaching sunset.

He shifted slightly in order to expose the other side of his body to the fierce wind, allowing the side that had been exposed to warm slightly. At his movement, his stomach rumbled. He put a hand on it, making a face in annoyance.

Now that his stomach had awakened it wouldn’t stop until he put something in it, which meant he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

He toyed with the idea of staying there and almost convinced himself of it, the weather outside doing more than a little to help, when his stomach again growled, causing him to wince.

That decided him and he rose with the agility of someone long used to getting up quickly from a cramped space, stretching his limbs and immediately starting on his way so that he could warm up his cold extremities with his brisk pace.

Warming up wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d started his regimen of kata, but that usually drew unwanted attention in the form of questions, or, worse yet, a challenge to fight. Vegeta could handle anyone stupid enough to challenge him. It was just that with his stomach demanding this much of his attention it would be hard to concentrate.

He quickly left his impromptu shelter behind and made his way into the streets, now being dimly lit by the few streetlights that were up in the poorer section of town. He looked at the houses around him, being careful to stay out of the light that spilled from the windows onto the snowy ground. He stepped lightly on worn shoes, not making a sound as he looked carefully for even a crumb of food left close enough for him to snatch it. But the chill air outside forced people to close their windows, and, since most everyone was eating dinner, it would impossible for him to open a window unnoticed.

He growled low in his throat and pressed on, head down, as he thought that his meal would consist of whatever was edible in a trashcan.

He couldn’t remember when this had all started; living on the streets, barely getting by on a meal a day. As far as he knew, he’d been born on the streets. He figured that his parents had tossed him out as unwanted and too much bother for them. He liked to think that at least.

After a few years of barely scrapping by, a chance run-in with a stranger had changed his opportunities dramatically. He remembered that day quite vividly: He rounded the corner, the call of ‘Thief” not far behind him as he juggled the hot potato in his hands and managed to scurry through the press of people milling around the open market of the fair. He rounded yet another corner, pressing his small body against it to avoid people coming in the other direction, before he dashed into an alley. He ducked behind a trash can and peered out into the street to see a very irate chubby man run past with two cops who weren’t in better shape following after. He chuckled and eagerly bit into the potato that had cooled only slightly since he’d snatched it. Such was his hunger that he didn’t care if he got burnt. “Is that good, boy? Or would you rather have better?” Vegeta jumped up and crouched low, trying to look into the inky blackness of the end of the alley in an effort to see who had spoken to him. The source-less voice chuckled and then stepped into a lighter area, revealing a lean man who flashed a smile at the on-alert boy. “I meant what I said. About the offer I mean.” He waved a hand at the meager fare in the boy’s hands. “I’m sure that’s good. But wouldn’t you rather eat better?” “I don’t take charity!” the boy almost spit. Irritatingly the man only smiled wider. “I’m not talking about charity. Our group doesn’t work that way. You have to earn your keep. You learn a skill, you exercise that skill properly, and you earn yen. Interested?” The boy looked down at the potato, which now seemed unappealing in light of this new development. An older Vegeta might have put some reason before the grumbling in his stomach, might have asked more questions. But this much younger, hungrier version of Vegeta couldn’t see past the grumbling of his famished stomach. He looked the man right in the eyes. He wasn’t stupid. He knew this character was seedy. His whole demeanor reeked of a villain. But, then again, Vegeta himself was seedy. There was no other reason he would be here now. He nodded once and the man seemed to relax slightly. Vegeta realized that if he’d said no, he would be dead. The man didn’t want him to go blabbing to any authorities. Vegeta’s estimation of this group grew. They didn’t take any chances. He liked that sort of thinking. The man moved closer to him and lay an arm companionably on the boy’s shoulders. “I’m Autolycus. And you?” “Vegeta.” As Autolycus drew him deeper into the shadows of the alley, toward a door that Vegeta hadn’t noticed there before, Autolycus chuckled. “Welcome, Vegeta.”

The group Vegeta had been brought into was none other than an assassin’s guild, called the KouKon. Its base was a bar that went by the self-same title. The alley that Vegeta had hidden in just happened to be the back entrance. Vegeta was quickly introduced and given a brief tour, brief because he wouldn’t need to know the layout. He was to be an assassin.

 He would be at said job now if it wasn’t an off-season. For some reason, their regular hirers were hiding low. Vegeta thought it had something to do with the rumors of a kid with a tail that had completely destroyed one of the big hirers’ palace; some short guy named Pilaf. He was probably just trying to save face because he had destroyed it.

He faced into the wind, his flame-like hair almost going flat with the force of it, and picked up his pace, as if in defiance of it.

Turning a corner, he finally looked up at his surroundings. He would’ve cursed if such hot words could force themselves past his half-frozen lips. He was in the richer section of town, near all the big businesses and corporations that were run from home. In fact, he was standing in front of one of the biggest and fastest growing of them all, Capsule Corporation.

Disgusted at himself for not watching where he was walking; he was even standing in the light of a lamppost, and at the rich snobs around him who didn’t know what even one day in the real world; his world, was like, he spun on his heel to go someplace where he could actually choke down the food.

“Boy!”

Vegeta paused, and, being the only one on the street that the voice could have been talking to, turned to see who would dare hail him as such. Most who knew him knew not to raise his ire, even if he did look not a day past twelve.

The man who had called to him was coming out of Capsule Corporation. He stopped near the end of the walkway to study the flame-haired waif before him.

Vegeta sneered as the gray-haired man rubbed his arms and shivered when the wind picked up momentarily. As long as Vegeta was moving, he didn’t feel the cold as much.

He turned all the way around and faced the man squarely, crossing his arms in front of his chest, fully prepared to throw the gift of food and shelter the man would offer him back in his face. He would not be pitied.

Dr. Briefs had to amend his first impression of the ‘boy’. His stature and age surely earned him the labeling of child, but the hardened look in his eyes, the lean yet toned frame, his whole demeanor, told a much different story of one who’d grown up sooner than he should have had to. This knowledge did not make him rethink his original plan though, just the wording of it.

“Would you like a job?”

It obviously hadn’t been what the boy—he was still one—had expected for a flicker of surprise crossed his features before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I seem to be shorthanded at the moment and need someone to help me with my experiments.” he chuckled at the look now on the boy’s face. “In setting them up and carrying them out, not as a guinea pig for them. It would be mostly physical labor. I’ll give you room and board plus three meals a day as payment.”

Vegeta still didn’t let down his guard. “Why me?”

Dr. Briefs heard what he wasn’t asking. “Inexpensive, honest labor is hard to come by these days.” he tilted his head to the side in a bird-like manner. “I’d say I’m a pretty good judge of character and you’ll do.”

Vegeta would have been affronted if he hadn’t developed a sudden, grudging respect for the old man in telling him the unadulterated truth, although that last seemed to be stretching it a bit. ‘Probably making up for the insult.’

A thoughtful expression grew on Vegeta’s face and he studied the old man as if searching for any deception, any question that would catch him in the act of a con.

Despite the feeling that he was getting more out of this than the president of CC, being experienced in only one kind of work, he couldn’t help but reflect that this was the coldest winter he had yet to go through and it wasn’t even half over yet. Plus, he really wasn’t looking forward to going back to his cardboard box when the enticing thought of three walls and a roof was before him. In addition, three meals a day was much more than he was getting now.

Dr. Briefs wondered if the boy even felt the cold until a tremor wracked the small body, to be halted with extreme effort.

The tremor and his stomach grumbling at the mention of food again decided him. “Fine, old man, I accept. But I can’t g-guarantee that this will be a p-permanent arrangement.” He stuttered slightly from the cold on the longer sentence.

Dr. Briefs nodded his understanding and stood aside, leaving the way to the door clear.

As the boy walked past him, Dr. Briefs paced him to the door. “My name is Dr. Briefs. What’s yours?”

“Vegeta,” spat the terse reply.

Dr. Briefs smiled as he opened the door, the warm air swirling around Vegeta almost making him sigh in pleasure. “Well then, Vegeta. Welcome.” *   *   * But they don’t exist, those dreams her sold her
She’ll wake up and find
There is no Arizona”—There is No Arizona

With a loud yell, the bald Saiyan charged forward toward the smaller opponent before him. The blue-haired Saiyan, tail wrapped tightly around her waist, merely smirked in the face of the bigger Saiyan’s speed and ferocity. Just before Nappa could connect with the petite body it phased out, leaving a shocked Nappa to stumble clumsily forward and look franticly about him. His eyes widened as he realized the trick. He moved to turn around too late as an elbow smashed into his back, sending him flying forward, face painfully connecting with the floor of the training room.

Nappa slowly rose and turned to look at Bulma ruefully as she smirked. She was quite pleased with herself. “Where did you learn that?” ‘She certainly didn’t know how to do it yesterday!’ Such was his surprise that he forgot to address her properly.

In her own pleasure at her new technique and the haughty delight of being able to boast, Bulma let Nappa slide. It wasn’t the first time she had either, though never in public.

“I saw an Elite do it this morning.” She grinned cockily.

Nappa shook his head, almost regretfully. It was a shame Princess Bulma was the Super Elitist while her brother, Saryl, just born and heir to the throne, was only an Elite. He would be no more powerful than his father would. However, despite the obvious power level difference, Saiyan culture would never allow a female to rule. Even if it did, her father wouldn’t. He still blamed her for the Queen’s death.

Bulma interpreted the shake of head as something more akin to awe and her grin grew as she shifted lower into her stance. “Had enough already?”

Nappa returned her smile, readying himself to charge or take the offensive as the moment dictated. A Saiyan rarely had any kind of strategy, instead depending on the moment and their instincts to guide their actions.

Before they could begin round two, a coughing noise came from the intercom speaker set in the training room. “Forgive me for the intrusion, your highness, but the king requests your presence in the audience chamber at this time.”

A frown marred the young girl’s face as she considered the reasons that her father would have for seeing her. “I’ll be there shortly.” The intercom coughed again to let them know that the soldier had heard her answer.

Nappa sighed as he watched the one he almost considered his daughter stalk out of the room and toward the audience chamber, where he father insisted on seeing her even during private conversations that would be better held in the family chambers.

She would not be happy that her father had interrupted her training, and he hoped she could keep her volatile temper in check this time. Failure to do so, which was almost always, resulted in Bulma needing some kind of medical treatment and Nappa having to constrain himself from jumping to her aid. Any weakness on his part for her would only enrage the king all the more and probably get him removed from his position by removing him from life.

Bulma strode through the doors that were opened for her and stood at the foot of the dais. Nappa came in right behind her and placed himself just inside the doorway. The guards closed the doors firmly.

The king sat on his throne looking as if he’d just eaten something sour. He didn’t even glance at Bulma as she entered.

The throne beside the king was empty but Bulma was forbidden from sitting in it. It was reserved until Saryl was old enough to sit there, which would only be in a few years. Bulma knew her father insisted in seeing her in this room so she would always be reminded of what she could never be.

The continued silence, tense and strained, told her that she’d just interrupted a controversial conversation, which could only mean one person was here.

A slight swishing sound by the windows looking out over a river that wound through the red land of Vegeta-sei confirmed her suspicions.

Frieza stepped closer to Bulma and a smile oozed on his black lips. “Ah, Princess Bulma. Your father and I were just speaking of you.” His tones were silken making Bulma inwardly shudder in disgust. “Your father seems to think that you would make a nice addition to my mercenaries. I happen to disagree though.”

Bulma knew how she was supposed to react and decided to humor the lizard. “I’m quite sorry to hear that Frieza. Your group will be sorely disadvantaged. Although I thank you for the compliment.”

She heard her father take in a breath but Frieza’s chuckle stopped his rebuke.

“She’s a firecracker. Such a shame her mother didn’t live long enough to see her pretty young lady.”

Both her and her father’s spine stiffened at the comment. However, the way he’d said ‘pretty’ had sent a shiver of fear through her as well.

“But that wasn’t the reason you were called, I believe.” Frieza finally took his gleaming, snake-like eyes off her to look at the king with a slight smirk.

“No, it isn’t.” The king frowned. He obviously did not enjoy that Frieza controlled the conversation. He turned his attention fully on Bulma. “You’ve been tinkering with your toys again.”

Bulma almost swore. ‘How’d he find out about that?’

“Answer me, girl!”

Bulma could feel Frieza’s glee at her predicament. ‘Well, let him chew on this!’

She threw her shoulders back and looked her father right in the eyes. “Yes. I was working on my inventions.”

Her father shot up from out of the throne, making it rock behind him. “Your inventions? Is that what you call that waste of time? You are a Saiyan! You are from my loins and I’ll not have you engaging in this weak, meaningless activity!”

Bulma didn’t care if Frieza was watching now. “Saiyan? Oh, now I’m a Saiyan? You should make up your mind, my king! Perhaps, if I was where, as a Saiyan, I was supposed to be I wouldn’t engage in non-Saiyan activities!”

Her father was upon her and she suddenly found herself picking herself off the floor after having left an imprint in the wall. She raised a shaky hand to her mouth and drew it away, looking in morbid, awed fascination at the blood on it. He’d never made her bleed before this.

She almost quaked as he stood, imposing, over her.

The king’s back again stiffened as a clapping sound came from behind him. “While I find this monkey business fascinating, I have to remind the king of our next topic of discussion, Crown Prince Saryl.”

The king looked down at his daughter with disgust plain in his eyes. “Get out of my sight. If I hear of you so much as looking at anything mechanical, I’ll snap your neck and spare you a humiliated life,” he growled lowly.

As he moved away to re-ascend his throne, Bulma stumbled to her feet and made her way out of the throne room, feeling Frieza’s laughing eyes on her the whole way.

Nappa followed after, looking slightly empathetic towards her pain. She hardly noticed him though, or even the pain. She wondered what Frieza wanted with her brother. NEXT