Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Heart of the Beast ❯ Desire // Initiation ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: DBZ is kid friendly. This story is NOT kid friendly. Likewise, chances that I own DBZ are so not friendly that they'd beat me with a giant stick if I were to make the false claim that I own it. So obviously, by the transitive property, that means that I don't.

Warning: This chapter is a nice little calm before the storm in terms of the graphic stuff. No sex in this chapter, but there's some violence and bad language. That is all.

Heart of the Beast

Act 1 Chapter 4: Desire // Initiation

"So I hear you have a new toy to play with," Radditz said playfully as he pulled up alongside Vegeta.

Vegeta just grunted in response as he took an entire box of donuts from the other side of the counter and overturned it, pouring the entire contents-powdered sugar, crumbs, and all-onto his tray. Several of the ring-like pastries fell off the sides of the small brown tray, and Radditz managed to catch one before it hit the floor and brought it up to his mouth, swallowing the whole thing in one gulp without even pausing to chew.

The two Saiyans stood in line in the mess hall of Frieza's spaceship, loading up their trays with plenty of food to fulfill their extra-large, Saiyan-sized appetites. Since it was dinner time, the line was particularly long; but since no one wanted to mess with Vegeta, he went right on ahead and cut in front of all those who were already waiting without a care for their grumbling or the obscene gestures directed at his back.

He hated the mess hall. It was too large, with a ceiling high enough even to accommodate those long-necked Hephelite bastards whose heads sat at least fourteen feet off the ground. It was too crowded, too, with a colorful array of different races and species scattered across the low tables. And it was always noisy, filled with a cacophony of different languages, each one competing with the others to rise above the din, and all of them combined more than enough to give a Saiyan, with their ultra-sensitive sense of hearing, a fucking migraine. If it were his mess hall, on his ship, he would have just blasted all the stupid fuckers to hell and given himself the gift of a nice, quiet, peaceful mealtime in which others would not disturb him.

Frieza, on the other hand, loved to find any way he could to make his subordinates suffer. That included turning their daily lives into a living version of Hell.

Vegeta scooted his tray down the pale grey counter towards the "hot items" section of food. Peering through the blood stains on the sneeze guard, he saw that they were out of Kabelian arms again. Vegeta growled under his breath. Dammit, Kabelian arms were his favorite. In general he despised the disgusting gruel that Frieza served to his underlings, most of which was somehow derived from this or that alien's droppings, but Vegeta loved the taste of Kabelian flesh so much that he had once actually ripped an arm off of a passing Kabelian soldier and cooked it himself. He had rushed to the cafeteria specifically because he knew that they would be serving them today, but he had gotten here too late.

All because of that damn woman.

"Hey, Eighteen!" he called out, his voice rising above the background noise.

"I'll be with you in a minute," came the monotone reply from a blond female android dressed in cafeteria-worker attire before she turned back to the customer she was currently assisting.

"The brüsh'kem was overdone!" squealed a short, squat purple creature with a single tentacle emerging from the base of his body that served as both his lone eye and his big mouth. "And the hach'neh was soggy and limp! I want my money back!" he wailed in his annoyingly high-pitched voice.

"Why don't you go tell that to someone who cares?" the blond android asked indifferently as she absentmindedly adjusted her hairnet.

The little purple alien sputtered. "E-excuse me?!" he exclaimed in a huff, "I'll have you know, little missy, if you don't start showing me some manners, then I'll be forced to go above your head to Frieza himself, that's right, Lord Frieza himself! And then I'll ask him to-"

Before Vegeta had the chance to blast away the annoying waste of space, Eighteen beat him to it. She raised her arm in front of her, palm forward, and shot a ki blast directly at the alien's fat little purple body. Various internal organs, slimy purple bodily fluids, and bright red blood splashed everywhere as his body exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. Several of those in line behind Vegeta quickly ran to where the mess was-not to help clean up, but to gather what bits of flesh they could. Kendrasa'ian flesh wasn't quite as tasty as that of a Kabelian, but it was a hell of a lot better than everything else they served here.

Eighteen looked down at her blood-spattered uniform and sighed. "That's the third apron this week," she commented unemotionally as she turned towards Vegeta, not even bothering to change aprons before moving on to serve the next customer-such was the nature of her job. "What is it?"

"Go get me some Kabelian arms," Vegeta ordered.

"We're out," Eighteen replied.

"Then do you want me to go rip the arms off of all the Kabelians in the nearby vicinity, take them back into that rat hole that you call a kitchen, and make your asshole of a brother cook them for me?"

"Fine, I'll see what I can do. Hey, Seventeen!" she called behind her, and headed through a door in the back to the state-of-the-art yet somehow, even in the midst of space, cockroach infested kitchen.

Vegeta barely held back a sigh. What kind of life was this? Here he was, arguing with an android about his dinner, when in reality he should be back home on Vegetasei ruling over a burgeoning warrior society. As it was, the only `subjects' he had left to rule over were Radditz and Nappa, and both of them were definitely descended from the dregs of the Saiyan gene pool. Sure, he would be the first to admit that he couldn't repopulate the entire Saiyan Empire on his own-since that would eventually lead to his descendents committing incest and becoming genetically inbred-but he doubted if he'd want the next generation to mix his royal genes with either of those third-classers.

Radditz, apparently in a further attempt to convince his leader of his genetic inferiority and sheer stupidity, decided to continue his one-sided conversation with the Prince of the Saiyans. "I hear she's beautiful," he said. "Is she any good?" To emphasize his point, he gave Vegeta a rather obvious wink, as well as a nudge with his elbow.

"I wouldn't know," Vegeta said dismissively, turning away from his subordinate. Dammit, where was Eighteen with his arms? His stomach was growling, and he needed something to eat soon. He refused to settle for the crap that those fools that skirted past him to get to the gruel were eating.

Radditz frowned. "Hanna'Deh isn't going to like this one bit," he said solemnly. "You having a woman all of your own, that is."

Vegeta gritted his teeth. If he didn't think that he'd get blood all over his freshly laundered uniform, he would've blasted Radditz to the next dimension right here and now. How could a Saiyan possibly be born to be this annoying?

"I heard," Radditz leaned in close and spoke in soft-tones as though he were divulging a secret, "that Hanna'Deh has been going around telling people that she's your woman! If you don't want her anymore, can I have her?" He looked at his prince with big brown puppy eyes. He looked exactly like a big dog with a long, thick black mane, clad in armor. Then again, a dog would probably be smarter than this joke of a Saiyan.

Vegeta just glared at his subordinate. Dammit, this was exactly why he hated women. Fuck them once, and suddenly they think they own you. And never mind having a purely sexual relationship with them; they always wanted more, whether it be monetary compensation or emotional compensation. In the end, he usually had to just blast them to get them off his back, but that was damn inconvenient, because then he ended up with a big stain on his carpet. And Frieza, the damn stingy bastard, made his men pay out of their own pockets to have their carpets cleaned. And, since Frieza had a monopoly on all the goods and services coming into the ship, the prices were exorbitant-it cost almost a whole fucking month's worth of pay just to get the goddamn carpet cleaned. No wonder most of the men on Frieza's ship preferred to do their dirty business in the halls, which were the responsibility of the lower members of the crew to clean up.

Thankfully-although Radditz would never know how lucky he was-Eighteen chose that moment to return from the kitchens with a heaping tray of steaming hot Kabelian arms, fresh out of the oven.

"Here you go," she told Vegeta as she slid the tray under the sneeze guard to his side of the counter. "That's the last of `em. You might want to be on guard," she added, "because the guys behind you aren't going to be happy about this."

Vegeta just grunted and picked up his two trays. "I don't give a fuck whether they like it or not. If they want to mess with me, they know what to expect." He didn't even bother to thank her for all the trouble she went to for him; he just headed towards the register to check out his dinner purchases.

After paying for his dinner with his meal ticket, which had a set monthly allowance attached to it for meal purchases-it was only the third day of the month, and already he'd used up half of his meal allowance, due to his freakishly huge Saiyan appetite-he headed for the first empty table he saw, over in the far corner. As he walked past the other tables to reach his destination, he could feel many eyes probing his back. Were they all gossiping about that damn woman, too, the same way Radditz was? That was all he needed, to be the object of idle rumors. Just the one more thing he needed to send his already precarious blood pressure shooting through the roof.

Radditz quickly joined his prince at the near-empty table in the corner. Although he would have preferred to eat alone, Vegeta couldn't exactly display disdain towards Radditz or Nappa; he would need their assistance after he defeated Frieza and began his attempt to restore the Saiyan Empire. So in the meantime he had to deal with their little quirks, no matter how annoying they might be.

"Can I have one?" Radditz asked, eyeing Vegeta's tray of Kabelian arms.

"No." Just because he had to tolerate their presence didn't mean he had to share his food with them. Vegeta picked up one of the arms and bit in. He closed his eyes as he savored the unique, spicy taste. Kabelian flesh, cooked to perfection-there was nothing else quite like it in the entirety of the universe.

"How about just a finger then? Or even a thumb! Just a little bit. I'll trade you my plate of mashed has'quah for it!"

Vegeta grunted and swallowed. "Fine, just a finger. But keep your mashed shit; just the smell of that stuff makes me want to puke." He tore the index finger off of one of the arms and tossed it to Radditz, who caught it eagerly and slurped it up.

"Ahh, that was good! What are your plans for later, Boss?" Radditz asked. "Training again?"

"If those assholes don't decide to take up all the space in the gravity room, then yes," Vegeta replied. And even if anyone else did decide they wanted to take up precious training space, he'd just have to persuade them to change their minds.

And if that didn't work, he could always just kill them. It's not like anyone would miss a couple of nameless, faceless soldiers, anyway.

"Well, when you're done with your training, why don't you come join me and Nappa? He reserved break room #3 for tonight, and we're going to smoke some fine Saiyan cigars! You should come join us."

"Wouldn't you be better off selling those than smoking them one by one?" Technically, since he was their prince, he could have just taken their cigars for himself. But in spite of his bone-deep arrogance and kill-or-be-killed mentality, he still had a modicum of pity left in him. Smoking their dwindling reserve of Saiyan cigars-the finest cigars in the entire universe, which couldn't be made anymore since there were only three Saiyans left, none of whom were well-versed in cigar-making-was the only pleasure that those two fools had in life. If he took that away from them, then Radditz and Nappa might as well be dead.

And where would his New Saiyan Empire be then? Without any diversity in the Saiyan gene pool, it would turn out to be a disaster. It galled him to admit it, but just as much as they needed Vegeta to lead them, he needed them to follow him. A prince without any subjects was nothing more than a useless title.

"Tell me about what happened on Galdeth," Vegeta said, abruptly changing the topic of conversation before Radditz had a chance to answer. He hated talking about anything personal-he was too private to reveal his own thoughts, and too indifferent to care about anyone else's-but when it came to business he could, at times, be incredibly verbose. "I'm concerned about this recent pattern. I have a gut feeling that Frieza's going to pick me as the one to look into it, so I want to gather as many clues as I can." His eyes narrowed. "Whenever people, things, or planets suddenly go missing, it means that someone's up to something. So all I have to do is figure out who is that's trying to circumvent our purging missions."

Radditz frowned as he munched on a donut that Vegeta had pretended not to see him steal from his tray. "Well, there's not much to say," he said, swallowing down the donut and choosing not to reach for another when he caught Vegeta's warning glare. "When we got there, we used the scouters to check for any life forms, but …"

"But?"

"But there was nothing there!" Radditz exclaimed. "Just nothing. We spent two days combing over the entire planet, searching for any signs of life. Not a thing." He picked at his food with a fork. "It was just strange, that's all. We know there used to be at least a couple thousand inhabitants there. They should've been there, but they weren't." Radditz pouted. "I was so looking forward to this mission, but we didn't even get to kill anything."

"Is that all you can tell me?" Vegeta had finished all of the arms on his tray with amazing speed, and was now attacking his donuts.

"That's all I know," Radditz admitted. "There was nothing else to it. Strangest purging mission I ever had-nothing there to purge!"

The room had suddenly become strangely quiet. Vegeta could care less about what was going on and thus didn't bother to look up, but Radditz took this opportunity to look over his shoulder to see what was happening. He turned back to Vegeta, wide-eyed.

"B-Boss," he said in a strangled voice. "I've gotta go." He picked up his tray of half-eaten food and scurried away like a scared little bunny rabbit.

Vegeta looked up, vaguely curious as to what had caused his subordinate's sudden disappearance.

When he caught sight of her he nearly groaned; damn women, he had enough problems dealing with life on this stupid ship as it was without them causing him even more grief.

As he watched the furious beauty with long, raven-black hair marching resolutely towards him, Vegeta thought desperately that he really wished he had something to kill right about now.

Anything.

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

She'd been prepared for a confrontation, prepared for a bitter argument. Hell, she'd even been prepared for an all-out fight if it had come to that.

What she hadn't been prepared for was what actually happened.

After Frieza released her into Vegeta's care, the Saiyan-she assumed that was the name of his alien race, since Frieza had called him that-had dragged her, naked and unshackled, to his chambers.

She hadn't struggled in the hallways, since it was actually somewhat safer to be with him than to be wandering around where some leering soldier would find her and then insist upon sharing her with his buddies, but once they walked through the gray, automatic sliding doors of his room, Bulma let loose with a tirade.

"Do you think you can just have sex with me again?" she asked as he dragged her across the drab, gray room and tossed her onto the bed without any effort at all-which really irked her, since it stated clearly the difference in their strength. "If you try anything on me, anything at all, I promise that I'll fight you!" she declared.

Just as she was about to begin an even more impassioned speech, the Saiyan cut her off with a simple "Stay here." He added a quick glare and then turned around and left the room.

Bulma stared at his back until the automatic doors slid shut with a soft hiss behind him. What was that all about? That was all he had to say to her? Somehow she felt offended that he hadn't even tried to have sex with her. Here she was, sitting naked on his bed-was she not good enough for him or something?

Bulma shook her head furiously. No! She couldn't be thinking like that. It was a good thing that he hadn't attacked her! It's not like she actually wanted him to, or anything. Even though he had brought her pleasure before, that had nothing to do with him-it was merely her own body's betrayal, just the natural functions of her body. If a man touched certain parts of a woman's nether regions, it was only natural for her to become aroused, she assured herself. It didn't mean that she was attracted to him or anything. Of course not-the very idea that she might be attracted to him was so absurd that it was laughable.

Be that as it may, she was now stuck in his bedroom, naked, with only the orders "stay here" for guidance. And why, she asked herself coyly, should she listen to the man who had killed her people and then raped her?

She slid off the bed-which was actually quite comfortable, she thought, though not even half the size of the behemoth in Frieza's room-with only a slight wince of pain at the soreness that lingered between her legs, and took a look around her. It was a drab but comfortable room. Not much in the way of personal effects-bare gray walls and not even a single picture next to the mirror on the dresser-but on the other hand, it was definitely not the room of a normal grunt, either. The bed was several steps up from your average run-of-the-mill military-issue cot, which implied that Vegeta was a man of some status in Frieza's empire. The carpet, which was not particularly thick, but not really what one would call threadbare either, was a dull slate blue, and matched the bedsheets and draperies.

Bulma peeked through the draperies, and her suspicions were confirmed; Vegeta's room had an absolutely lovely view of pure, naked space. Nothing but utter blackness and twinkling stars, as far as the eye could see. Bulma sighed. They really were out in the middle of nowhere, weren't they? And in this whole place, she was sure she would not be able to find a single person willing to help her escape.

The rest of the furnishings in the room-standard-issue dresser, night table, desk, and chest of drawers-were the same metallic grey as the walls and door. Even when Bulma went searching through all the drawers she could find, she still couldn't find any personal items. Didn't this man have any family or friends? Even his underwear was dull-navy blue boxers that matched the stretchy material he wore under his armor. What about a personality? Was he nothing more than a killing machine manufactured for Frieza's army?

It took her by surprise to actually find something colorful in the bottom-most drawer of Vegeta's dresser. Even more surprising was that it was an article of women's clothing-a long, filmy dress with spaghetti straps, a ruffled, tiered skirt and a pattern that consisted of large blocks of autumn colors-dark red, brown, golden yellow, and deep orange. Since Vegeta didn't strike her as the kind of man would care much for cross-dressing, she assumed that this dress must belong to a woman. And since it's here, in the dresser in his room, that must mean-

Bulma's entire body went still. She'd felt something just now. She didn't want to admit it, but it was true; she'd felt a pang of jealousy at the thought of the woman to whom the dress belonged. How could she possibly feel jealous towards a phantom woman-and over Vegeta, at that. He was the man who had ruthlessly watched over the killing of her people, the man who had raped her.

Then again, his reluctance to have anything to do with her had been quite apparent in Frieza's room. He hadn't wanted to rape her anymore than she'd wanted to be raped. Could it be because of the woman who owned this dress? Was he in love with this woman? Did it annoy him to suddenly have Bulma thrust upon him against his will by the vicious Frieza, who was just looking to get rid of her?

No-Bulma clutched the dress to her chest and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She couldn't start feeling sympathy for him now. Even if he did have another woman, that had nothing to do with her. She just wanted to get out of here and figure out some way to kill Frieza so that she could get revenge on him for the lives of her people. And she would get revenge on Vegeta, too, because even if he wasn't the ringleader, he was still responsible for the deaths of her people.

She couldn't afford to have any sympathy for him; if she let down her guard around him, he would surely take the opportunity to kill her.

She had to escape while she still had the chance.

Why he had trusted her to stay here of her own accord, she had no idea. But since she was here, in an unlocked room, unbound, and with a dress to change into-there could never be a more perfect opportunity to escape.

Bulma threw on the dress-it was a bit tight in the bust and a bit loose in the waist, but other than that if fit her well enough-and searched through the bottom drawer for anything else she could find.

"Lucky~" she exclaimed as she came upon a long, dark wig. Raven-black hair, silky and shiny and curly, all the way down to the waist. It was the perfect way to disguise her distinctive blue locks, which were a rarity even amongst her own people, and would surely make her stand out more than she already did-a woman alone on a spaceship overflowing with testosterone-loaded soldiers. In the middle of space-which meant there were very few women to go around.

Bulma shuddered. Being stuck with Vegeta was bad enough, but if she were to encounter a big, horny, hulking alien, her goose would really be cooked.

She had to take every precaution to make sure that didn't happen.

And what would you know-hidden among the articles in the bottom drawer was a small, silver-bladed knife. Whether it belonged to Vegeta or the woman who owned the clothes, Bulma had no idea, and didn't care. Even a weapon as small and ineffective as this could be her ticket to getting out of this dump.

Tucking the knife inside a small hidden pocket in the skirt of the dress, Bulma took a quick look in the mirror above the dresser, to make sure she looked perfectly incognito, and then marched towards the door, which opened invitingly as she approached it.

The sliding doors swished softly shut behind her as she exited the room and began her escape.

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

Vegeta was well-versed in the art of self-control. He felt like killing someone nearly ten thousand times a day, but did he do it? Sometimes-but only when it was a lowlife who he knew wouldn't be missed. If he happened to kill the wrong person in a fit of rage-which had happened before, too many times to count-in the end all of the cronies of the deceased would come and gang up on him, thinking that there was strength in numbers. He would, of course, prove them wrong after just a few minutes of bloody, senseless fighting, which usually left the chosen fighting venue littered with a colorful array of mangled corpses, but that was beside the point.

Although killing felt great, there was something vaguely disappointing about killing someone that wasn't even worthy enough to be killed by the hands of a Saiyan Prince. And it was even worse when his armor got stained with blood and he had to get it washed before the next morning's routine inspection. What he truly yearned for was a true challenge, an even match with a powerful foe, so that when he claimed victory it was something to be proud of, not something to toss out into space along with the rest of the garbage.

The only one in this whole godforsaken universe that could match or surpass him in terms of strength and skill was Frieza. Unfortunately, at this point Frieza still far surpassed him in both of those areas, as he was often made painfully aware. It galled him to admit it, but he was still, after all these years, Frieza's inferior. Even though his strength was improving rapidly due to near-constant training, Frieza wasn't sitting around idle like many thought he was; he was constantly improving, too. Which meant if things kept going the way they had been, it could take several years for Vegeta to catch up to his superior.

In the meantime, he needed someone to vent his frustrations on.

Zarbon and Dodoria, Frieza's loyal little lapdogs, he knew he could kill without even breaking a sweat. And he would, too, if it weren't for the fact that Frieza would hunt him down and skin him alive for doing it. It was the same for any of the other big shots who might actually give him a decent fight. Thus, he had to content himself with only killing the lowly grunts that seemed to multiply like ants on the base. There were so many of them running around that if he killed a couple hundred of them no one would even notice-and indeed, they hadn't.

As far as killing women was concerned, on the other hand, that was a big no-no on Frieza's base. There were barely enough warm female bodies to go around as it was; with each one killed in a fit of jealousy or rage, that meant more and more men would have to wait for the next shipment of whores from Takeh'deh 9 before having more fun. And it was especially taboo to kill a popular whore with good techniques, because the truly talented women were getting harder and harder to find these days.

That's why he hated the way Hanna'Deh was walking towards him across the crowded yet eerily quiet mess hall. She looked as though she were spoiling for a fight. And if he gave it to her-which, considering the mood he was in, he sorely wanted too-he wouldn't be able to eat, sleep, or breathe for the next two weeks without a whole bunch of idiots constantly challenging him to a fight. For revenge, they'd say.

Although, he thought after a moment of contemplation, maybe he could just appease them by throwing that blue-haired woman into the fray of horny men out for his head. Perhaps Frieza's gift might come in handy, after all-in a different way than the sadistic little tyrant had intended.

Vegeta smirked. The thought of getting rid of two bitches with one throw was quite appealing to him. Kill the black-haired one, toss the blue-haired one to the wolves.

It would have been the perfect plan if he weren't perfectly aware of the true intentions behind Frieza's generous gift.

"Vegeta!"

The Saiyan Prince cringed as the harsh sound of his name spoken in glass-shatteringly-high decibels assaulted his sensitive ears. That was another thing he hated about women-they never knew when to shut up.

"What's this I hear about you taking up with another woman?"

The woman belonging to the high-pitched whine that currently attacked his ears was considered to be one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy, if not the universe; he had certainly thought so once, but that was before he had seen past her illusions. The long black hair that shimmered so perfectly as it curled down her back was nothing more than a wig glued to her bald head. Those perfectly symmetrical horns peeking through the hair at the top of her head, two sets of beautifully carved bone structures curved so elegantly, at just the right angle, towards the center of her head; they weren't a gift from nature like she claimed. She had sanded them down and carved them herself to create just the right look to seduce as many men as she possibly could. And that figure of hers, which so many deemed to be perfection, the universal ideal, was nothing more than a composite of eating disorders, surgical enhancement, and the clever application of makeup to her naked maroon skin. All in all a pretty deception, but a deception nonetheless.

"I received a generous gift from Lord Frieza," he replied without any emotion in his voice. "How could I refuse?" He stood up from his seat, as he had completely lost his appetite upon her appearance, despite still having half a tray of donuts left. He quickly strode past the prominent whore; if he managed to get away quickly enough, perhaps he could avoid having a confrontation in such a public place. He wouldn't mind killing her, or even just slapping her around a little; but he didn't want everyone around him to know his business. Such goings on were much better kept private.

"You could tell him "Thank you, Lord Frieza, but unfortunately I cannot accept, because I already have a woman!'" The harpy cried after him at the top of her lungs.

Vegeta cursed under his breath. She was really angry, and she didn't plan on letting this go. No wonder she had chosen the crowded mess hall at dinner time as the stage for her performance; the sympathy of every red-blooded male here would belong to her-the beautiful, betrayed woman. If things didn't go her way, or if he let go of the tight rein he held on his temper-which was slipping by the minute-he would have a thousand men attacking him all at once an instant later.

Even though he knew without a doubt that he could take on every other man in this cafeteria, a thousand soldiers against one, it would be more trouble than it was worth-and Frieza would want an explanation as to why, exactly, he had suddenly killed over a thousand good soldiers.

It wouldn't do his pride any good to once again get his ass kicked by an ill-tempered Frieza.

He turned around and glared at the woman who stood facing him defiantly with her hands on her hips. If she wanted to toy with him, in front of all these men, then he would teach her a lesson.

"Or," he replied in a smooth, honeyed voice that belied the venom in his words, "I could tell Lord Frieza that he really needs to do something about the whores he has running around here, because it seems that some of them are starting to get quite loud and no longer seem to understand their place."

The whore gasped and went livid at his blistering put down. Vegeta simply ignored her and turned around, striding briskly towards the exit.

But as he finally managed to leave the mess hall, his sensitive Saiyan ears couldn't help but pick up a hushed whisper from the room behind him: "I'll make you pay for this, Vegeta!"

Damn. He really needed to kill something.

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

Bulma's breath came out in sharp pants as she arched her back and held back a little moan. Her body began to writhe of its own accord, and although she tried to stop it, her naked flesh began to feel so hot that she thought it might burn.

And burn it would, if she didn't get out of this cramped boiler room.

The wonderfully incognito disguise, which she had been so proud of when she first put it on, had been, to put it frankly, a disaster.

No matter how high her IQ might be, Bulma lamented, she must have the EQ of a rock. For some strange reason, she couldn't seem to grasp that fact that a beautiful dress combined with beautiful hair, worn by a beautiful woman walking alone in a ship filled to the brim with horny men in the middle of nowhere with too much time on their hands, equaled unparalleled disaster.

An unparalleled disaster that led directly to her running away from said horny males down the halls of a spaceship and finally taking refuge, naked, in a tiny, out-of-the-way boiler room where, hopefully, her erstwhile pursuers would not be able to find her. At least the small dagger she had hidden in her skirt had been of some use-she had stabbed a man who grabbed her in his leg, which let her escape from him, although he ended up tearing her dress and ripping off her wig in the process.

The only good thing that had been gained from this whole mess was that she had been able to map out some of the corridors of the base, including several possible exit routes, in her mind; she knew exactly where the escape pods were, and, in the near future, she would find a way to sneak in there and use one to leave this place, and her captors, far, far behind.

Bulma squeezed her body, which was much too big for the tiny space she currently occupied, past a protruding pipe, and eased herself into a small pocket of space just big enough for her to fit in. She curled up her body, tucking her knees up against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, and scooted into place, directly above a spot of warmth that rose from beneath the metal upon which she sat. The one good thing about hiding naked in the boiler room was that she wouldn't have to worry about catching a chill.

Although the boiler room itself was actually quite large, almost cavernous one might say-if one hadn't lived most of one's life in tiny caverns the way Bulma had on Earth-but Bulma had crept through a small vent into an elevated portion of the room filled with pipes and valves and other little doohickeys that she would love to study at any other time. But right now she had to make sure she kept herself hidden from the room below-where several men in orange jumpsuits were currently going about their business, doing their assigned tasks-because if a roomful of men discovered a pretty, naked woman in their midst, that woman would be in a whole lot of trouble.

Bulma definitely did not want to be that woman.

So she kept her body curled up, hidden completely from the view of anyone who might casually glance upwards towards the little elevated alcove where she sat, and contemplated her next move.

It would be difficult to escape from here unscathed. The perfect thing for her to do would be to grab a jumpsuit and hat-there were several hanging on hooks by the sliding door that served as the main entrance to the boiler room-and make a break for it, in a disguise that would provide her more protection than her previous one had. Then, with knowledge of at least some of the spaceship's design stored in her head-she was incredibly thankful that she had managed to get some research done before everything went to hell-she would be able to attempt another escape at a later date. If Vegeta kept the same attitude of lax security towards her, escaping at another time should be no problem.

Bulma sighed and peered through a tiny crack in the metal beneath her. There were still at least a dozen men down there, working their hardest. She would just have to wait it out until their break time or shift-change time came, or some other opportunity arose, where she could clamber down, grab a jumpsuit, and run for it. Until then, she could only bide her time sitting up here in a rather cramped and uncomfortable position, and think about how the hell she was going to get out of this damn place.

Her eyes wandered to a pipe that emerged from a box-shaped metal contraption in front of her. The pipe followed a rather meandering path down past the alcove where she was hidden towards the far wall, where it descended and then, alongside several other identical pipes, flowed into a large, cylindrical apparatus at the center of the large boiler room. That was probably the boiler itself, Bulma thought. Her mind began some quick calculations and her eyes returned to the metal contraption in front of her. Maybe if she loosened that valve a little, it would produce a result that could distract the men below long enough for her to escape.

With no other options and little patience for waiting around here any longer than she had to, Bulma wasted no more time in taking action.

"Righty-tighty, lefty-loosy," she muttered to herself, repeating what had once been her mantra when she had worked tireless hours with various devices and all their knobs and screws as a child. Leaning forward, she grasped the small valve in her hand and slowly turned it to the left. With some relief she noticed that it turned easily; she had feared that she might have to struggle to get it to move. She continued to turn the valve to the left, and then peered back through the little crack to see if it had any effect on the boiler below.

She was in luck.

Thick, white clouds of steam began to hiss out from slots in the large boiler, and a moment later red lights began flashing and an alarm started to blare. One of the men below shouted, and the men began to race from the room through a side exit.

From her perch, Bulma quickly located the main exit to the room, and then slid down one of the pipes-it was hot to the touch, but she was in too much of a hurry to let that bother her-and ran across the room to a series of hooks where extra uniforms hung neatly in a row. She grabbed one-even if it was bright orange and would stick out in a crowd, it was still better than sheer nudity-put it on, then stuffed her blue hair under a matching hat.

Without further ado she exited the boiler room and, using the mental map she had etched of the spaceship during her earlier misadventures, began to search out the escape pod room again. In just a few more minutes, once she managed to hijack an escape pod, she'd be off this ship for good.

She couldn't wait.

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

Vegeta's naked chest heaved as sweat poured down his taut, muscular back. His breath came out in quick pants, with an occasional grunt in between. His body moved at a furious pace, and he clenched his fists in an attempt to contain his desires.

Ahh, but soon his desires overwhelmed him and he gave in to their sweet release.

The pleasure of having his ki blast slaughter another worthless alien creature and having all that beautiful blood splatter all over him was nearly orgasmic. With a feral look in his eyes, he licked away the dead creature's salty green blood from his lower lip. There was nothing more energizing than the thrill of taking another creature's life.

A loud, low ringing noise hit his sensitive ears, and a moment later the dark red lighting lifted, leaving the training area awash in brightness and making the number of lifeless bodies floor that more apparent, as well as the rainbow of blood stains on the floor.

Vegeta felt the blood rushing to his head as the gravity reverted back to normal. He would have preferred to spend more time training, but he knew better; he was on a strict regimen, no more than two hours a night, five nights a week. Any more than that and Frieza would begin to grow suspicious of the way he spent his evenings.

In addition to that, there was the woman.

Vegeta, clad only in a pair of tight-fitting navy shorts-when training at five hundred times the normal gravity, it was far too hot to wear his normal attire-did his cool down stretches and then went to fetch a towel to wipe off the sticky sweat that covered his scarred, muscular body before heading back to his chambers to take a much needed shower.

"Vegeta," he heard a voice rasp behind him as he picked up a fluffy white towel from the rack just inside the locker room.

Inwardly he cringed. "Lord Frieza," he acknowledge curtly without turning around. Just when his mood had started to get better after working off some of the steam, he had to show up.

"How are you enjoying my gift to you, Vegeta?" His sensitive ears could hear Frieza's tail waving vigorously through the air-something was exciting the lizard, which was never a good sign as far as Vegeta was concerned.

"I haven't yet had the opportunity," he replied as he moved to his locker to fetch the uniform he had stored in there, acting perfectly normal, as though he didn't want to slam his superior up against the wall and demand what this was all about.

Frieza would never come to the training area unless there was a specific reason.

"Ah, I see," Frieza murmured. His voice was low, almost a wicked cackle. The hairs on the back of Vegeta's neck began to stand up as suspicions flew through his mind. Just what was on the tyrant's mind? "You know," Frieza continued, his tail quivering with anticipation of Vegeta's reaction to his next words, "It would be very hard for you to enjoy a woman that isn't even there."

Vegeta paused, his soaked towel in one hand and his uniform in the other. "What do you mean by that?" he asked gruffly.

"I mean exactly what I say," Frieza replied with false innocence. "I have a report from a very trustworthy source that the woman I gave to you this afternoon has decided to take matters into her own hands and escape."

Vegeta cursed under his breath. "I ordered her to stay there-I can't believe she disobeyed a direct order. What do I have to do to get her to stay in one place," he thought aloud, "Tie her up?"

Frieza chuckled. "Yes, that would seem like the best solution, wouldn't it?" He walked past Vegeta, his tail caressing the Saiyan's naked, scarred back as he went. It was all Vegeta could do to suppress a shudder of disgust.

Frieza paused as he reached the exit. "I expect you to take care of this situation." Although he spoke matter-of-factly, both men knew it was a threat. If Vegeta didn't retrieve the woman-soon-Frieza would make sure he would regret it. "And," Frieza added, a malevolent gleam in his beady little eyes, "I just want to let you know-I'm looking forward to the show." With another bout of wicked laughter the lizard was gone, and once again Vegeta was alone in the locker room.

"Dammit," he cursed. Now he had to hurry and find the woman before she did anything foolish, like die at the hands of one of Frieza's underlings. And when he found her, he would make her regret that she had dared to disobey his direct orders.

After he was through with her, she would never disobey him again.

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

In a darkened room upon a standard-issue cot laid a tall man with spiky, pale blue skin. He slept soundly, peacefully on his back-although he still wore his armor, just in case an emergency were to arise.

Slowly, his eyes opened. Normally a deep brown, they now seemed to glow vividly with an unholy light that came directly from the depths of his wicked soul. He seemed distracted as he sat up, as though his mind was searching for something-or someone.

"Ah," he murmured after a moment, a smirk coming to his lips. "So that's where she is."

Seconds later the room was empty, as though no one had ever been there at all.

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

Bulma turned the corner and suddenly found herself staring at nothing but what seemed like miles of steel grey wall, dull blue carpet, and empty hallway.

She cursed under her breath. In spite of having the corridors perfectly placed in her mind, she'd somehow wound up getting lost, anyway. Why did the shipbuilders have to go for the `conformity' look and make every single hallway look exactly the same? If she'd even had a single variation that she could use to position herself, she would've been out of this place by now.

She turned around to go back the way she came from-backtracking, she figured, would be a better strategy than walking around in circles-when she suddenly bumped into something hard. The bright orange hat that had sat so nicely upon her head, hiding her blue hair from view until now, fell off at the impact.

Somehow, the dread that suddenly struck her heart knew exactly what she would see when she looked up at the object she had just bumped into. Navy blue material beneath well-worn armor. Flame-like hair standing as straight and as tall as its owner. Fierce black eyes that promised an even fiercer retribution for her little escape attempt.

She could almost see something snap in his head the moment he recognized her.

Before she could react to his presence, Vegeta grabbed her wrist roughly with one hand and tore her stolen orange jumpsuit with the other, leaving her naked to his gaze.

Panic began to rise up in Bulma's chest. If she didn't act quickly, this madman who had overseen the deaths of her people and jumped to do Frieza's bidding would rape her right here, in the hallway, up against the wall. She didn't want that-she didn't want this despicable man to touch her at all. But the way he was looking at her, his temper had snapped and he wanted to vent his frustrations-on her body.

She couldn't let him do that.

"Unhand me!" she shrieked. Before, in Frieza's chambers, she had been tied up and, as a result, had been forced to give in to a sense of helplessness; but right now her limbs were free, and her spirit was freer than ever before. She refused to let him just take what he wanted from her; she would fight him tooth and nail, and even if she lost, he wouldn't come out of their encounter unharmed either.

With all her might she struggled against him. Apparently he wasn't expecting any resistance from her, because her hand managed to reach past his surprise-dulled defenses to his face, where her nails, though not particularly long, were able to bite into the skin of his cheek like claws and scratch him hard enough to leave a mark.

Upon the feeling of pain, Vegeta cried out in shock and threw her down to the floor several feet away. Bulma landed with a crash, but thankfully she couldn't feel anything broken.

When she looked back up at him, however, the fear that she so hated began to take over. His eyes were filled with a fury unlike any she had ever seen. Even though Vegeta's hand cupped the cheek she had scratched, a small rivulet of blood managed to wind its way down his cheek to drip softly onto the pristine whiteness of his armor. His other hand, which rested by his side, was clenched tightly into a fist. Fear welled up into every fiber of Bulma's being as she stared at him.

Her death was, without question, imminent.

"I will kill you!" Vegeta roared as he yanked his hand from his cheek and formed a small ball of ki that floated above his palm.

"Then go ahead and kill me!" Bulma snarled back defiantly, ignoring the fear that lay just beneath the surface inside her. She hadn't given in to it when she'd faced him earlier, and she wouldn't now, or ever. She refused to give up without a fight-even if that fight was completely, utterly hopeless, as it now appeared to be.

She didn't think that he would actually go through with it-not after what he'd done to her earlier-but as his yellow ki ball burned brightly in one hand he reached for her with the other and roughly pulled her up against his chest. His hand gripped her breast painfully as he held her prisoner; although she struggled and squirmed against him with all her might, she could not break free of his iron hold. She could feel the hard plates of his armor against her bare back, and could feel his hot breath touch the top of her head.

Slowly, he lowered his other arm in front of her, just inches from her face, so that she could see the shimmering ki ball that floated an inch above his palm. Slowly, the ball grew larger.

"Do you really have a death wish, woman?" he asked quietly. The sheer calmness of his voice affected her even more than his anger earlier. He was no longer in a rage; this time he meant it. Her murder would be exacted carefully, carried out with great detail in a slow, painful manner meant to make her suffer. At least if he were still furious, he'd kill her quickly and be done with it.

"Just … just kill me and get it over with," she told him bitterly. Death would be a welcome change from the nightmare her life had become.

Forgive me, Mother, she thought as she closed her eyes against the sight of the ki ball that would destroy her momentarily. I wanted to live for your sake, for the sake of our people, but … it was not meant to be.

She waited for several long moments, mentally preparing herself for death. Inside she raged against herself. How could she have given up so easily? How could she have given in to death without even a decent show of defiance? She truly was the worst kind of coward.

After that everything happened so fast. She felt her body flying through the air only to land with a thud against a wall. As her body slowly sank to the ground, she heard the sound of shouts and fighting coming from behind her. And oddly enough, she felt no pain except for a bruise where her shoulder had hit the wall.

She turned around and opened her eyes. Shocked by the scene before her, she pressed her back against the wall and began to slowly slide away. Whatever good fortune that had caused this distraction had also saved her life, and she would be a fool not to take advantage of it and make her escape.

In the center of the long, empty hallway, Vegeta and a big, blue-skinned man clad in Saiyan armor were locked in battle. The other man had come from nowhere and tackled Vegeta, who lay on his back atop the dull blue floor. Vegeta quickly turned the tables with his superior strength, knocking the alien to the ground and kneeling beside him, his hand grasping the blue man's throat.

Bulma continued to slide against the wall. Her eyes darted from the scene before her for a moment to look to her left. After a quick mental calculation of the distance, she judged that she only had a few more feet left before she reached a side branch of the hallway through which she could disappear from Vegeta's presence and proceed to make her escape. Although she hadn't mapped out the entirety of the complex in her earlier travels, her previous disorientation was gone, and she knew without a doubt that this hall would eventually lead her to the room where she could steal an escape pod.

After that, she would have to get away with only luck and her wits on her side.

Her eyes darted between Vegeta to her right and the hallway to her left as she continued to slide along the wall, edging closer to her goal. A soft sigh of release escaped her lips as her hand felt the corner of the wall.

Just as she was about to round the corner and make a run for it, she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck. Slowly she turned her head around to see Vegeta standing over the blood-soaked corpse of the alien, his palm outstretched towards her. Although she'd been watching their struggle, she hadn't seen either the death blow or Vegeta's change in stance. He must have performed both within the space of a single second. How could anyone act that quickly?

It took her a moment before she realized that the calmness of his earlier expression was gone, replaced once again by fury. "You bitch," he snarled at her as he strode towards her.

She felt dazed, as though she were inside a dream. The pain in her neck had now become numb, and the feeling in her legs had ceased. Though she tried to stand up, her legs refused to respond. She raised her arm instead, since it still seemed to work, and brought it up to touch the numb spot on the side of her neck. Pain exploded inside her and she jerked her hand away with a cry of pain. What … what had he done to her? Her entire body was aflame, every inch of her filled with either intense pain or enigmatic numbness. Even her brain, normally so sharp and quick, had suddenly grown as dull as an unsharpened knife left out to rust.

"What …" her speech had begun to slur to the point where she could barely speak without biting her tongue. "…what have you … done to me," she finally managed.

He plucked something from the side of her neck. She no longer felt any pain at all, just an overwhelming numbness that consumed her entire body. She could no longer even hold her own head upright; it fell back against the wall, as limp and helpless as the rest of her body. If Vegeta planned to kill her, he would have no problem now.

Through her blurred vision, she spotted something that looked like a glowing yellow splinter of ki in between her captor's fingers. Was that what he had thrown at her, the thing that had pierced her neck? Her mind was filled with fog; she racked her brains, but she couldn't remember why he would do such a thing to her, or why she was here. And when he spoke, his voice was so faint that she had to strain herself to hear it.

"I just infected your blood with my ki," the Saiyan explained grimly. "If you accept death so easily, then I have no choice." A wicked smirk formed on his lips, but Bulma could barely see it, and even if she could, her emotions were by now numb to the point where she couldn't even recognize fear, let alone feel it.

When the blackness came to consume her consciousness, she welcomed it. But even inside a dark abyss, a complete lack of feeling-could this be what death feels like?-a small nugget of auditory information somehow managed to worm its way into her brain.

"I will make you suffer a fate worse than death, woman."

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

Next Chapter: Sex, bondage, torture, etc, etc, etc. Poor Bulma.

++Vegeta's Bondage Queen++