Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Event Horizon ❯ Confrontations ( Chapter 4 )

Event Horizon: Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. The minor OC 'Kit Karr' is mine..

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Somewhere out in West City...

"Sir?" A young, meek attendant peeked around the door that led into his superior's darkened office. There was no source of light from within it; save for the shaft that had invaded when the young man had opened the door.

"I've been waiting," came a deep, gravely bass voice. "Have you the analysis?"

"No, sir..." the man replied timidly, adjusting his thick wire frame glasses.

"What did I tell you about deadlines, Yamato?"

"I'm sorry, sir... I just.. well, I'm working as fast as I can, with all the resources available to me. It should be at least another twenty-four hours."

"Tsk, tsk. You know, I had great things planned for you. Great things." The great plush chair behind the heavy Victorian desk swiveled to face the attendant in the doorway. The occupant within it paused, and then brandished a glint of pearly white teeth towards his underling.

"Sir?" the man stammered, unconsciously backing away. "I-I... don't understand." He hit something solid behind him, causing his neck to crane up and discern what stopped his retreat.

Two large, burly guards stood at his back, their expressions shuttered off with grim lines outlining their mouths. They advanced, and the attendant had no choice but to move the way they herded him.

"We like to stick to deadlines here, Yamato. We always have." A pause, and then a slow, measured laugh could be heard filling the spacious room. "I made sure you understood this from the outset. Failure to comply is never an option with me."

"But... sir..." The man's voice quavered, even as he regulated the two men behind him with terror.

"You had your warning." The pleasant tone in his superior's face caused him to whip his head around, eyes impossibly wide.

"Wha.."

One of the men behind him brought a large chunk of arm around to the far side of the attendant's face, while the other left to carefully shut the office door with a subtle click.

The young man had no time to react. As soon as the guard's arm effectively grabbed a hold of the opposite side of his head, he gave a jerk. Yamato's head spun, shifting obscenely until it was facing the wrong way on his body.

A distinct crack filled the room, soft but implicit. A winding rattle, and then a stuttered gurgle were the next in line to the first sound. The guard let go of the attendant, who sagged to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He was gone.

"Well, that takes care of that, then. Take him out and leave me." The man at the desk steepled his fingers across a green ink blotter, his last command breezing out with a bitter chill.

Both of the large men, still standing, nodded silently and gathered up the corpse. It took one of them to carry, and one to lead. They deserted the room through a side door on the left, one that did not lead out into the main hallway.

At his desk, the remaining occupant of the office leaned back into his chair with satisfaction. Another trifle, done away with. One pudgy hand reached for a large box of expensive cigars located in a lower drawer inside his desk. He pulled back the sliding slot, revealing his prize. Ever so carefully, he selected one and removed it from the cigar box. In the next second, it was lit and well on its way to a place between two thick lips.

He contentedly took a deep puff of the cigar, turning away to face the large window overlooking the city below.

As the multicolored array of lights winked up at him like brightly burning stars, he blew a perfect plume of smoke into the air. Yes, he owned them.

All of them.

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Capsule Corporation, The Briefs' Estate...

Bulma pounded up the stairwell, her actions a mockery to the caution she should have showed it instead. Her slight frame resounded with each jarring vibration shooting up her calves, but she paid it no heed. There was no way on Kami's green Earth that she was going to overlook Vegeta's ransacking of the fridge this time.

The first couple of times had been looked over, albeit with much grumbling and muttered threats behind the Saiyan's back. Her father had warned her not to bring their grievance to Vegeta during the last time it took place. He feared retaliation, while Bulma's mother simply swept up a shopping list and whisked off to the grocery store with a hearty goodbye and not even the slightest show that she had been wronged as well.

There were times that she wished she could overlook it as her mother always did. Then again, her mother couldn't discern good from evil to save her own life. There was something eerily depressing about that.

A couple of long strides down the hall from the top of the stairs took her to the guest room Vegeta had occupied ever since that fateful day he had come to live with them. The door was solidly shut, more than likely locked from the inside. "Vegeta! You come out here, right this instant!"

She half-fancied that the door would swing aside, and Vegeta would come out and beg her forgiveness.

Get real, Bulma.

Yeah, that would happen the day Kame House became a secluded island headquarters for the next feminist revolution... headed and coordinated by the venerable Master Roshi, of course.

"Go away, woman!" came the expected reply from behind the heavily wooded door.

"How original, Vegeta!" she shot back.

There was a long silence, and for a moment she began to believe that Vegeta had come to a point where he just decided to ignore her from then on out. Well, she wouldn't have that. Not if she had to wake up the entire household.

"Damn you, Vegeta! Get out here and stop acting like a scaredy cat!" Her attention dipped to the bottom of the door, one leg poised back before she let it go like a slingshot. It connected with the door, causing the wood to reverberate with a loud 'WHUMP!'. When she still hooked no reaction from the annoyance inside, she wound her foot back for another strike---

---Just as the door opened from within and she gave another full kick at the very same time.

The look on Vegeta's face was priceless. The blow that contacted with his bare knee was far from painful, but it did sting like a solitary hornet had decided to hone in on his kneecap. Dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxers and a white tank top that the breezy Mrs. Briefs had picked up for him, Vegeta wasn't exactly garbed for any type of surprise assault. He had come to the door to make her sorry for openly accusing him of taking up the role of 'scaredy cat'. The Saiyan Prince did not hide, not even from a loud-mouthed wench who did not know when to shut up.

Bulma brought her leg back the instant she struck him with her white tennis shoe, placing her foot even with the other and she braced back in shock. "Oh, Vegeta!!"

He drilled a black look at her face, before dropping it to his offended knee. "What the hell?!" He advanced with sinister intentions, his hands reaching for her like the touch of death. She yelped and spun, frantically trying to get away to anywhere but there. She didn't have far to go, in the end. Vegeta easily caught her by her trailing blue tresses in a blur of motion, entwining his fingers before giving a good yank.

The scream that broke through her vocal chords caused him to flinch. Her screeches constantly had that effect on him. If anything, he should have seriously thought about investing in several sets of earplugs.

"Crap, Vegeta! I didn't mean to hit you!" She had ceased her struggles; one eye clenched shut while the other strained to keep him in her peripheral vision. The fist bound with a trap of hair just above her head twisted, causing her to mewl. It was pathetic, to even give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain. Another jerk, and tears spiked her eyelashes. Oh, Kami... her scalp was on fire!

"Never," he gave one last good pull before continuing, "..do that again. Understand?"

She nodded mutely, still reviving herself to a shred of dignity after the last yank. "Fine... just.. let go!"

He did, much to her relief. The tears brimming in her eyes were already being held at bay while she backed up several feet from his person before turning to face him. "You bastard." The naked exterior of her good hand traversed her face on its backside, wiping away stray tears. "If you didn't unload us of food every chance you had, maybe I wouldn't bother you so much!"

"You should know well by now how much food I require. Even that primitive icebox doesn't hold enough on a regular basis. If anyone is to be blamed, it is you." He said it easily, without hesitation or flux to his words. At the same time, it seemed as if he were seated high atop some mountainous throne, scolding the low kitchen servant below him who had been errant in her judgment of his needs.

She just wasn't going to stand there and take that. "Kami, Vegeta. I hate you. You have no idea how much I wish you would just..."

Her words were cut short by the rapidly glowing ball of ki forming in his right hand. It fluctuated and condensed, before flashing cosmically bright. Vegeta's face was livid. He wasn't going to stand there and take her simpering, or even those simple three words that entire populations felt for him long before she was ever in the picture. They had screamed it, and he had heard it. It had been written into their bleak faces the moment before he obliterated them, and he had seen it.

He was a Prince, and it was time she learned her place in life... with or without the latter.

Bulma recoiled, feeling a cold layer of dread settle upon her heart. So this was it. Her parents would undoubtedly find her the next morning, a black scorch mark heaved through a gaping maw in the middle of her chest. She could already see her charred entrails winding a path down the hallway, leading up to Vegeta's room. He would then kill them next, without a second thought. The vivid mental imagery caused her to develop the sudden need to vomit.

The wretched expression of revulsion chasing across Bulma's aquatic eyes caused Vegeta to hesitate. He didn't know what made him do it. Hell, he'd seen untold masses give him the very same look before; why was this any different?

It just was.

His ki unceremoniously powered down, and Bulma cringed, casting her eyes away. Mistaking it for the blast that would put an end to her existence, she waited with baited breath until nothing came of it. One eyelid popped open, and her shoulders slumped as anxious muscles loosed their tension. "Vegeta?" His name was an unerring question, a simple word with a complex context.

His muscled arm was still held straight out, away from his body. The minute she set her eyes upon him again, she wished she hadn't. The loathing on his visage burned so plainly that it was abysmal. "Get out of my sight," he hissed through gritted teeth, "I am not squandering even a particle of my abilities on the feeble insignificance that you consider life."

Bulma just stood there like a deer caught in headlights. The abhorrence he so clearly illustrated to her left her nearly blanching. It was short-lived, however, and a disturbing indifference rose to the forefront, clicking into place like an unknown defense mechanism. She allowed him a perfect view of her back as she did a one-eighty and left without even a parting word.

Somewhere between the time she had reached her own bedroom and the time she had initially begun to walk away, she heard the door to Vegeta's room slam. The sound reached her ears like an unreal roll of thunder at the eye of an invisible storm.

She slept soundly the rest of the night, her mind too shocked and paralytic to even permit the entrance of dreams and nightmares alike.

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Bulma awoke the next morning, refreshed and renewed. A smile nearly touched her face before the events of last night crashed down around her like a torrential downpour. Wavering between confusion and a mottled assortment of darker emotions, the genius rose and stood in the beam of sunshine filtering through the row of windows lining one bedroom wall.

It warmed her skin, but not the chill over her heart. Man, it all went to hell and then some last night.

Sighing with a small shake of her head, Bulma quickly dressed for the day, choosing from her vast array of clothing selections with practiced ease. A little while later, she was clothed in a pair of hip-hugging blue jeans and a loose, baggy shirt with some athletic team logo emblazoned in blue on the front. It hung over the curve of her hips, shrouding them from view before ending at mid-thigh. It was decidedly not her style, and frankly it was a shocker to find she owned such a top. When it came down to Bulma Briefs' style, tight was in and loose was so very out.

...But today she was feeling so out of sorts that perhaps a change might be nice. Just for once.

Doing several turns in front of her mirror, Bulma quickly finished teasing the perm her hair was now subject to. It made her locks curl out in all sorts of directions, and it was no small wonder why Vegeta had such a lack of difficulty in getting a hold of some last night.

Suddenly furious again, Bulma slammed the comb flat against the surface of the dresser, bunching her hands into fists until the blood in her knuckles ran white. What an asshole. What a complete, fucking bastard.

So he hated her, did he? Well, she would be sure to show him the errors of his ways. She swore right there and then to put everything she had into rehabilitating him. One day he would wake up, and see just how deeply he had hurt her and others like her. From there he could only reasonably come to realize that the only one he couldn't like was himself.

Wishful thinking.

Abandoning those abject thought processes for another time, Bulma departed from her room, cautiously sticking her head out into the hallway for any sign of Vegeta. All clear. With their confrontation last night, she was going to make darn well sure she kept enough space between them for the next week or so. He needed some time to cool off, and so did she. There was no uneasy truce that had guided their toleration of one another before, so therefore their undoing in the hall last night had to be pieced back together, from the very beginning of their strained relationship.

You call what you have with him a 'relationship', girl? You start thinking like that and the next thing you know you'll be the next New Bedlam applicant.

Ok, so maybe she wouldn't go that far.

As she traversed the downward incline of the stairwell and made a brief foray into the foyer, Bulma picked up on the sound of someone humming cheerily. She had already deduced that her mother was well awake and cooking breakfast--- pancakes and bacon, by the smell of maple syrup and sizzling grease.

Dr. Briefs' daughter entered the kitchen, forcing back a yawn and a smile to her face at the same time. Mrs. Briefs' back was the only thing that could be seen at first as she bent over the stove, flipping flapjacks. When Bulma cleared her throat, the woman turned in a startled manner.

Placing a hand gently across a lacy cooking apron as well as her heart, Mrs. Briefs excitedly exclaimed, "Oh, there you are dear! I made my special pancakes for you today. Vegeta was already here, you just missed him." The empty-headed female cooed softly to herself, motioning pointedly down at a large, discarded plate full of syrupy pancake and bacon bits over at the kitchen table. "What a pleasant young man he is, Bulma! He ate everything I made and then some."

"He always eats whatever you give him and then some, Mom." Her reply was extremely sarcastic, but Mrs. Briefs pretended not to notice... or more likely lacked the intellect to.

"Yes, such a good boy. Anyway, I noticed that there wasn't much food left in the refrigerator, so I just took it upon myself to fill it up again. I hope there wasn't anything special you needed while I was at the grocery store this morning, but I have a feeling I'll be going back within a day or two."

Did her Mom actually like feeding Vegeta? A disturbing question.

"Where is Vegeta now?"

"Out in that contraption you built for him." She didn't elaborate further.

"Fine, whatever." So her mother had been early to rise in the A.M. and wait on Vegeta hand and foot. She would not make a disparaging remark about that fact... she couldn't. She sorely wanted to, but it was just plain wrong to do to her mother, whether she got it or not. Most often it was the not. "You know what, Mom? I don't think I'm hungry just yet. I'll go see what Dad is up to and then maybe after that..."

"Oh yes, your father is in his laboratory with that lovely young lady he brought home from the office."

"Wha--what? Run that by me again?" It wasn't often Bulma asked such a thing of her mother.

"I said your father has over an employee of his... or maybe it's a colleague. Is there even a difference?" Mrs. Briefs brought the end of the plastic spatula she had been holding to her chin, tapping it lightly as her eyes rolled up and over to one side as if deliberating over the two terms deeply.

"Hold that thought, Mom. I'll just go get the full report from Dad."

Her mother merely turned back to her simmering, never one to hold onto a logical idea anyways. "Alright, dear. I think he mentioned taking her on as an assistant for something or another." Another quick smile was cast over her shoulder, just as Bulma made to leave. "You can't have too many of those around, right?" Her burble was practically lost on Bulma.

"Uh, right. See ya later." Before the older woman could get out another word, Bulma was already headed out to her father's laboratory. Just what was he up to now?

The minute she walked through the double doors, which had automatically opened with a soft swish, she wished she hadn't. She was presented with a view of some woman's backside for the second time that morning, only this woman was a stranger. The young woman was fully figured from what she could tell, and was currently bending over her father, who was kneeling on the floor just ahead of her. His face was expectantly upturned into hers, although hidden by the wealth of long black hair she possessed. Bulma immediately whirled around and started to exit like a soldier on a marching drill.

"Oh, Bulma dear! There you are." Dr. Briefs straightened up, bringing his glasses back up to his wizened features before setting them on straight. The young woman with him turned, and for the first time Bulma noticed that she wore a pair of strange goggles that looked like binoculars attached to her face by a strap. The strap had been hidden among her wavy strands of hair, and it was with some added wincing that she removed them.

Her face was unmistakably pretty, the kind of pretty Yamcha or someone like him might appreciate. Her ex-boyfriend had always been one for an attractive face; it had been the first facet that had drawn him to Bulma in the first place. The woman's dark green eyes sparked with chips of emerald, but for some reason Bulma couldn't discard the feeling that she had seen that face somewhere before. It was like remembering an old acquaintance, a memory so vague that one could easily begin to believe that they were imagining things.

"I want you to meet Ms. Jet. She has some amazing theories for the advancement of optometry. Why, just now she was checking out the old irises to further her work. A permanent change in eye color for all those aesthetically minded people out there through liquid injection, without the nasty result of blindness for the individual."

Bulma made a face, just before she attempted to hide it. An injection through what? The eyeball? That thought alone made her cringe and grate her teeth. No, it couldn't be. What sane person would line up to get a needle stuck through their eye, asleep or not? Ugh. Well, at least it explained her father's position when she had first walked in. From her side of things, it had appeared that he... ewww.

"Ah, Bulma Briefs." Ms. Jet stepped forward, using the hand that did not contain the odd goggles to reach out and shake Bulma's. "I've heard a lot about you, and personally I am very impressed. I think we will get along just fine."

Bulma froze in mid-shake. "Excuse me? Will I be seeing you around the compound often or something?"

Her father smiled sheepishly, turning guilty glances from one woman to the other. Ms. Jet had turned uplifted eyebrows to the shorter man, letting Bulma's good hand fall away. "No, uh, Bulma..." Dr. Briefs took a deep breath, before letting the explanation hang in the air all in one piece. "You see, ever since you were impaired by your... uh.. unfortunate accident..." He dropped his gaze to his daughter's injury, which she had self-consciously moved to the small square of her back and away from prying eyes.

Bulma filled in the rest. "You hired her as help... for me?" Her rage, unexpectedly released, caused her audience to give her a worried eye.

"No, not 'help'. She will be your assistant, until the sprain is healed. You can't continue the work in your lab with one hand, Bulma." Her father's voice was the voice of reason, yet it was clouded with the underlying knowledge that his daughter would be too proud to accept help outright. He had to reason it out and worm the logic past her defenses.

"I can't believe you did this, Dad. You didn't even think to ask me what I felt about it! I can get along fine without any help..." Bulma turned her narrowed eyes on her supposed assistant, quickly adding, "..I don't mean any offense by that, and I am sure you are quite capable of doing your part, but I don't think I will be needing you around my lab."

Ms. Jet gave a small nod, as if she plainly understood the betrayal Bulma felt. Other than this minute admition, she remained motionless.

"As for you..." Bulma turned on her father, sticking out her lower lip and curling it disdainfully at his lack of consideration for her counsel. "I can't believe you went and did this behind my back. I'm not a kid anymore, and I sure as hell don't need a babysitter!!!" She spun on her heel, stalking out in a huff.

Silence permeated the air in Dr. Briefs' laboratory. Finally, it was Ms. Jet that broke it. "How do you think she took it?"

Dr. Briefs made a subconscious adjustment to his thick glasses, setting them more squarely upon the planes of his cheeks and nose. His hands then went behind his back, clasping together as his eyes remained fixated on the point at which Bulma had disappeared through the doors.

"I'd say it went rather well, all things considered."

Ms. Jet scrutinized Dr. Briefs a moment more, before following his gaze to the entrance of the lab.

Yes, it had gone well...

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A/N: Well, there's chapter 4. I was recently on another computer with DSL, and I happened to look at these chapters on the Internet. They showed html brackets and Japanese characters throughout the text, although through my home computer the text appears normal. If someone else has this problem as well, please let me know. Maybe you could also tell me how to fix it, since saving as a .doc and .txt removes formatting. Thanks, R&R!

~Bura