Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Monkey ❯ Damned ( Chapter 27 )

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

 

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I've been working 12 hour days, and have very little free time. However, all your reviews keep me going. I'm so glad that you are enjoying the story so far, and I hope that I can keep you interested. Let me know what you think.

 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Damned

 

Bulma was in hell.

 

She hadn't seen Vegeta in two days. She had dutifully made her appearance in public as Zarbon's new ladylove, and not unsurprisingly, she was a triumph. She bemoaned to everyone in ear shot how the Saiyan prince had abused her, tormenting her horribly before her glorious savior came to rescue her. Everyone was convinced, without a doubt, that she hated Vegeta with a vengeance, and doted on Zarbon as her one and only love. Effectively trapping the man in his own lie, and sealing his fate. By now, he could do nothing but play the role she had exiled him too, which he did with as much gusto as possible, especially in front of Vegeta.

 

At first she thought that Vegeta was going to explode (taking the entire ship with him) the first time he laid eyes on her and Zarbon. Instantly, before she could protest, the reptile dragged her up into a kiss that was reminiscent of a sweeping, black and white cinema. She nearly gagged at the taste of his lips, and when he tried to shove his tongue in her mouth she clamped her teeth together so tightly her jaw muscles spasmed, preventing her from speaking for nearly an hour.

 

Zarbon's performance had the desired effect though. Vegeta reined in his intense anger at the sight of them, stalking off with clenched fists, and a black aura of hate swirling around him. Bulma didn't see much of him after that, but she was able to catch glimpses of him at least once a day to assure herself that he was still living, if not thriving.

 

But now it had been two days. She had swept the entire ship for him (in the areas that she was allowed) and found nothing. Being Zarbon's paramour gained her a certain amount of freedom she discovered, more than with Vegeta. When she walked by, men looked the other way, and woman (and some men too) glared at her enviously. Zarbon was obviously a few rungs up the social ladder from Vegeta, solidify in her mind that she made the right choice. Although she had only been there for a short while, she had already figured out that raw, physical strength designated superiority.

 

At the moment, she stood before a bank of windows, glaring out into the offending darkness of space. Her clothing reflected her mood, black leather pants poured over her legs, and a corset ribbed with bone held her spine straight. Since being separated from Vegeta, she only wore black, and only the clothes that reminded her of their time together on her ship, Isis. In fact, her scowl was so dark that she had a sneaking suspicion that the reason people avoided her had more to do with her mood than being Zarbon's female. People were starting to fear her. A woman, who had bedded two of the most dangerous men on the ship, must be dangerous herself. Especially when it looked like she could chew barbed wire and piss napalm.

 

She heard the doors slide open, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in distaste. She knew that he was standing behind her, staring at her through corrupted amber eyes. Their intense distaste for each other had grown over the days. The spectacle she had made of their engagement enraged him to the point where he no longer accompanied her on her outings. He left her to fend for herself amongst the wolves, having no idea how dangerous that could be…to him.

 

In his absence she had done a great deal with her time. She was no slouch when it came to learning, and her brilliant mind was able to absorb information at a super-computer capacity. She had managed to hack the main frame for the ship, teach herself how to read and write the universal language, and memorized the standard operating procedures for most of the independent systems. Next, she intended to download the science log, and learn everything she could about the aliens she now lived among.

 

“We need to talk.” Her words tinkled like water over ice, cold and hard.

 

She turned to face him, unsurprised that his eyes scaled down her body in repulsion. A creature of beauty, he couldn't stand the drab colors she dressed herself in. He glanced up, his face flickering with unease as he met her eyes. She smiled inwardly, crowing in victory at their reversal of power. Now she was the one calling the shots. She had him by the balls and he knew it. The problem was, now she couldn't let go lest he strike with deadly precision. She knew the secret of his perfidy against Frieza, and he knew that she was human. No matter how much it disgusted them both, they were forced to remain in close proximity of each other.

 

“I don't see what we have to talk about, love. In fact, I'm confident that we both have nothing to say to each other.” His eyes flitted down to her custom-made pants, noting that they more than likely cost him a small fortune. The very first day she had made it clear that she had no problem spending his money, buying everything from clothing to furniture. Anything to piss him off and put a dent into his finances. Sadly, she drew the line at jewelry, the only thing that would have any hope of brightening her dreary garb. For some reason she had an intense and instant disliking to any gems that he brought her.

 

“I haven't seen Vegeta in two days,” she grit out, uncaring that he was more concerned with mentally balancing his checkbook.

 

“Oh, well. I'm sure he's around.” Zarbon waved his hand in the air, pivoting away from her to pour himself a drink at the bar. Bulma's ice-blue eyes narrowed, anger, instant and hot, pumping through her veins at his blasé attitude.

 

“That isn't part of the deal, Zarbon,” she seethed, her teeth tightly clenched together.

 

“I can't help it if he decides to hide in his rooms like a sniveling, heart-sick worm,” Zarbon snapped back uncharacteristically. Realizing what he done, he slammed down his drinking, inhaled deeply, and attempted to exhale with some measure of calm. He didn't like expressing himself with any sort of depth of emotion. Emotion led to outburst, and outbursts led to microscopic lines around the mouth and brow area. Age was not a beautiful man's best friend, and he had to be sure to starve off the signs of it for as long as possible.

 

“Listen up, you little puss weed. I know for a fact that Frieza is lunching at the Bella Starr Ristorante on deck five. I'm going to find him, and speak to him about Vegeta. You can either come with me or I'll do it alone,” she threatened with as much conviction as possible. This as it turned out, was quite a bit.

 

Zarbon slammed his fist down next his glass, splashing liquid over his cuffs. For once he didn't notice as he whirled around to face his greatest adversary, his woman. After this, he swore that he would never again look at another female for as long as he lived. It was painstakingly clear that they were all spawns from a deeper, darker hell than he thought ever existed.

 

“I'm going to fucking kill you someday!” he screamed through clenched teeth, forgetting about microscopic facial lines.

 

Bulma leaned in; hands on hips as she met him nose to nose. “Not if I kill you first,” she hissed with promise.

 

Zarbon's eyes widened a fraction before he remembered himself. He turned away with a sneer pretending to fret of the state of his soiled cuff. Bulma rolled her eyes, and headed for the door, more to hide her face from Zarbon than to exit. Her words disturbed her on a deep, emotional level. The longer she stayed with these people, the longer she traveled the universe, the more bloodthirsty she was becoming. She was afraid that she was going to lose a part of herself very soon. A part that she may not be able to live without.

 

“Frieza hasn't left his rooms in weeks. What makes you think that he is going to be at this restaurant?”

 

She paused, looking over her shoulder at him before shrugging in dismissal. “From what I head he had a change of heart about two days ago,” she hissed with emphasis, raising her fingers in a vee. “A sudden and unexpected lightening of his mood,” she mocked, repeating what someone had said to her. “Whatever was bothering him; apparently he's gotten over it, and is back to his old villainous self.”

 

She didn't really know what that meant. The only Frieza she had seen was the lifeless, slightly dazed doll from the party. A shiny machine overlaid with the barest of white skin. Something that was ugly, but hardly seemed dangerous. She knew that appearances could be deceiving, but she had yet to fear the monster that everyone quaked over.

 

Zarbon tried to hide his frown from her but she saw it. She knew what he was thinking. If Frieza had broken out of his stupor two days ago, why hadn't he called his favorite bodyguard to attend him?

 

“Wait right there. Let me change my shirt,” Zarbon snapped without glancing her way. He strode to his rooms to change, leaving her to wait impatiently.

 

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the restaurant where Frieza was dining, Zarbon immaculately dressed as ever, while Bulma scowled at the nearby waiter. Without a word, Zarbon led them through the crowd to farthest, and best seat in the house.

 

“Zarbon, my pet!” Frieza rose from behind the table, his arms outstretched, and a happy grin on his face. Bulma almost didn't recognize him. Gone was the shell-shocked, childlike entity, and in its placed stood an effervescent, nearly-giddy tyrant.

 

She could practically feel Zarbon light up with happiness at the sight of his master. He strode to the lizard's side, as elated as a puppy that was about to get its belly rubbed. Frieza didn't disappoint him. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, shaking him slightly in welcome before kissing him on the mouth.

 

One sleek, blue brow raised in question as she watched the exchange. Their relationship was becoming clearer every second. She wondered how her presence would play out between the lovers. How awkward would it be to be the other woman in a three-way, love triangle with tyrannical superpowers?

 

They sat together, Zarbon as close to his master as possible, leaving Bulma to stand at the edge of the table. Frieza looked up, his fuchsia-glazed eyes boring holes through her white skin. He quirked the corner of his mouth in question, glancing at his lover.

 

“This is Bulma,” Zarbon introduced without preamble.

 

“You seem familiar, dear girl.”

 

“Yes, well you might have seen me...” she started to explain, but he quickly cut her off, dismissing her as unimportant, and returning his attention to Zarbon. Unsure of what else to do, she dropped down into the empty seat next to her `lover', and scanned the rest of the table's occupants.

 

On the other side of Frieza sat the biggest pink blob she had ever seen. He was hideous, the way a pink-frilled maid-of-honor gown would be or a piece of wadded up chewing gum. She wanted to tear her eyes away, but his bright, grotesque body captured her gaze not unlike a car wreck. She forced herself to glance away, taking in a white-coat-clad gentleman who looked distinctly uncomfortable. She recognized him instantly as a fellow scientist.

 

“I have found the secret to immortality, Zarbon.”

 

That statement got her complete and undivided attention. She whipped around to face Frieza, absorbing every word he said. What she saw was disturbing. The empty shell had been replaced with a maniacal, edgy, wide-eyed, cracked-out maniac. His hands flew around as he talked, his eyes darting between Zarbon and the rest of the room. His very presence made her jittery with nervous energy.

 

“But first I have to figure out how to obtain the Legendary for myself. And I think I've figured it out.”

 

The Legendary? What was this guy talking about? She was starting to see why everyone feared the small lizard. He was clearly insane. Even the aura around him was sickening, infecting all those around him, making them queasy and uncertain.

 

“How, my Lord?” Zarbon asked, his body facing his master in complete attention, but she did notice the shadow of concern in his eyes. However Frieza was acting, it wasn't normal either. The man went from lifeless to overdrive in sixty seconds, unsettling everyone that knew him.

 

“I must recreate the circumstances on Namek. The one. That Saiyan. Somehow he managed to become the Legendary, and I intend on finding out how.”

 

Zarbon sat back aghast. His normally smooth face was wrinkled in open confusion as he stared at Frieza. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After a few seconds of working his jaw, he reformulated his question, and tried again.

 

“There was a Saiyan on Namek?” he squeaked, still uncertain if that was the right question he should be asking.

 

Bulma sat up even straighter, knowing that Frieza was talking about Goku. Besides Vegeta, he was the only other Saiyan left in the universe. Did that mean that he experienced some sort of transformation while on Namek? Did he turn into the Legendary that everyone was talking about?

 

“Yes, some throw-back, third-world orphan. He transformed right before my eyes, and I intend to find out how he did it.” Frieza fisted his hand, turning his simple statement into a sworn oath.

 

“But you killed him, right?” Zarbon asked, still incredulous.

 

Bulma's heart jumped up into her throat, blocking all the air into her lungs. Her friends, Krillan and Gohan. Her best friend, Goku. She had been so confident in their survival that she had never considered that they didn't make it. She had always assumed that they escaped Namek before it exploded.

 

“Of course, I did.” Frieza's gaze shifted away from Zarbon, and bore holes into the table before him. His words wavered slightly, but no one heard it.

 

Bulma's world came crashing down on her. NO! She wanted to scream as loudly as she could. It couldn't be possible. Her friends could not be dead. It wasn't possible for Goku to be beaten. It just wasn't possible. Her despair was tangible, engulfing her with every breath she took. Her blood was thudding in her ears so loud that she almost missed Frieza's next words.

 

“I'm going to have his power though. I'm going to find the secret to the Legendary, and Vegeta is going to help me.”

 

It was her turn to look aghast as she stared at Frieza. His earlier disquiet was forgotten as he raised his wineglass for a self-congratulatory toast. Quickly, Zarbon, the pink freak, and the scientist hurried to join him. Only Bulma was left to stare at him like he had lost his mind.

 

“How?” she whispered out loud, too stunned to contemplate her own survival. Frieza, however, was pleased at the question.

 

“Trulock, here, already has him in his lab, running all sorts of nasty experiments on him. He assures me that he will have the secrets to Ascension by the end of the week,” Frieza boasted, wineglass still raised.

 

All eyes were drawn to the slight, nervous scientist who was looking quite a bit less than confident. Beads of sweat rolled down his pale, tight face, and his spine was holding him rigidly still in his seat. A slight trembling in his hands belied the tranquility that he was attempting to project, making him look like a nervous rat hiding from a hungry cat. Bulma pinned him with narrowed eyes full of predatory, cat-like intensity.

 

“Really,” she drawled, her brilliant mind reviewing and discarding ideas as quickly as she could think of them. She came to one, absolute conclusion. She had to, by any means necessary, become the new head scientist for Frieza's project.

 

“What have you learned so far?” she questioned smoothly, her utter confidence gaining everyone's attention. Especially when contrasted against Trulock's blatant nervousness.

 

“Well, umm, let's see.” He paused to mop his forehead with a napkin, buying time he didn't have. “Saiyans are quite strong. They seem to gain strength when they are under the full moon.” He paused, waiting for some sort of recognition to his brilliant deduction. The pink slob didn't disappoint him.

 

“We all know that, you moron. Anything else?” he spat, unaware of the deadly glare that Frieza cast his way. Disparaging the scientist that Frieza had put his trust into could be dangerous, Bulma observed, and she knew she had to tread carefully.

 

When Trulock didn't answer right away, Bulma broke in, her voice as smooth as brandy, and just as potent.

 

“Well, did you know that Saiyans are weak to Astatine? It's potentially deadly to them,” she stated matter-of-factly.

 

“Uh, Asta-what?”

 

“Astatine.” She looked at him like he was a microbe under a microscope, curiously and intensely. When he indicated with a small shake of his head that he still didn't know what she was talking about she elaborated.

 

“It's created during bombardment of the bismuth isotope with α-particles such as the helium nuclei. This results in formation of short-lived astatine and neutrons. The bismuth target is cooled during irradiation to prevent the volatile astatine from disappearing.” She knew she sounded like a science text book, but she at least expected the scientist across from her to understand. When his eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open, she knew that he didn't. Feeling a little lost, she tried a simpler explanation.

 

“You know, it's a byproduct of a nuclear…” she trailed off, finally understanding that they had no idea what she was talking about.

 

“Nuclear…” Trulock repeated the word that eluded him. He would have said more but a blinding flash of light blinked him out of existence. There wasn't even a smattering of ash left of him to drift onto their food. Bulma blinked, certain that the blank space that she was staring at used to be a man.

 

“So, Bulma, tell me how you know about this.” She turned her head to find Frieza gazing at her, his elbows on the table, and his chin resting lightly on the tops of his folded hands. She had a tingly feeling of déjà vu that reminded her of her many job interviews. Usually she was on the other side of the table. However, the same principles still applied; there was an open position that suddenly needed to be filled.

 

“Ah, well.” She called upon her best professional voice, straightening in her seat. “I was the one who captured Vegeta, when he invaded…my home,” she choked out the last, berating herself for almost announcing to every single person at the table that she was from Earth. To distract them from her misstep, she hurried on, blurting out exactly what they needed to hear.

 

“I had him in my lab for quite some time, running all manner of experiments on him. I've already gathered months of data on Saiyan anatomy.” She tilted her chin proudly, keeping her eyes squarely on Frieza.

 

He nodded his head, withdrawing his elbows from the table so he could take a bite of his food. He savored a piece of raw meat that was swimming in a pool of crimson blood. Briefly she thought she saw something live bubble in the bowl before he spoke again.

 

“The man I fought on Namek didn't have a tail. I think that may be the answer to his Ascension. What do you think?”

 

Bulma eyed his meal, slightly disturbed as she pondered his question. His conclusion didn't seem very likely to her. The source of Saiyan power didn't lay in a simple appendage. She remembered Goku being powerful with his tail, and more dangerous. Cutting it off had been the only way to control him as a child, not unleash some monstrous power.

 

“Oh, I don't think…” she started, only to be cut off by Zarbon stomping on her foot. She squeaked in protest, shooting him an irate glare. He was facing away from Frieza, his brow set in a scowl of warning as he shook his head at her. She realized that she was walking straight into a trap of Frieza's making. All that it required was for her to finish her thought for it to be sprung.

 

“…it could hurt,” she finished in a small voice, uncertain of what else she could say. Frieza watched her with a calculating gleam, right before his thin, purple lips stretched into a macabre grin. Bulma felt her blood run cold, and she finally understood why everyone feared him so.

 

“Great. Then we will cut it off after lunch. I'm so delighted that I'll get to see you work.”

 

Bulma blinked, her mind tripping over its self to catch up with what he said. Finally her mind stuttered to a horrible conclusion, kick starting into panic.

 

“What?” she breathed in stunned disbelief. She could feel the blood drain rapidly from her face, leaving her as fish-belly white as the tyrant who sat across her.

 

“I just want to make sure that you are up to the task, my dear. After all, I know that you had a relationship with Prince Vegeta before you found your way to the bed of my sweet Zarbon. I want to give you the opportunity to prove to all of us how much you hate that filthy Saiyan. I mean after all he did to you,” he clucked with sympathy, his eyes filled with maliciousness. “You must want to hurt him.”

 

“Hurt him?” she repeated ridiculously.

 

“Oh yes. The loss of his precious tail will just destroy any ounce of pride that he has left. It will be absolutely delicious.” The men around the table laughed rancorously. Joyfully feasting on their half-dead food, while mocking the subordinate they were about to torture.

 

Bulma felt the world fall away from her. It didn't matter that Frieza seemed to smarten up, and suddenly know exactly who she was. More than likely he recognized her the instant she walked up to the table. His cold, calculating eyes missed nothing, nor could he afford to. He probably knew every man, woman and child on this ship, including the guy who mopped the floors in the dungeon, but he would never admit to it. Such knowledge would be unbecoming of a warlord.

 

Her fingers bit into the table, her knuckles white with strain. What had she done? What was she going to have to do? Of all the things in her life that she had done, this was going to be the most terrible, the most unforgivable. She couldn't help but to think the word terrible and Vegeta went hand and hand. Before she met him, she had never experienced such horrible, awful atrocities.

 

In the last few months she had faced the annihilation of her world, her near-death on several occasion, a horrible poisoning, surviving a purge---convincing a young girl to walk out into the night, and into the arms of death---and worst of all, watching that girl being eaten alive. But now, the act of taking Vegeta's tail. That would be the worst crime she ever committed. Even allowing Vegeta to get free on her home world couldn't compare. Even then, deep in her heart, she never believed that he was capable of the destruction he boasted off.

 

But now, if he ever got free, if he ever managed to slay his evil masters, the first place he would head would be Earth. He wouldn't be stopping by to pay a social call, he wouldn't want tea with her mother. He would tear her world apart, just like she was going to tear his tail from his body.

 

She looked up, suddenly desperate. Frieza, Zarbon, and the pink freak, Dodoria was his name, were ignoring her completely as they laughed, and astonishingly, flirted with each other. She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything to convince them that what they were about to do was unnecessary, but the words died in her throat, coating her tongue with ash. She knew there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say that would stop the events from unfolding. The most she could hope for was to stay alive, get herself appointed as the head scientist over Vegeta's project, and keep him as unhurt as possible. All the while, enduring his complete and unwavering hatred.

 

The table quieted, finally drawing her attention. She looked up, realizing that everyone was staring at her expectantly.

 

“Is it time?” she asked faintly, surprised that she could even find her voice.

 

Frieza nodded, a cool smile stretched across his lips. It looked like he had plum jelly smeared on his face. The kind her mom would always make in the late summer, fresh from the orchard. She loved the warm, sweet taste that reminded her of long days filled with carefree, childlike fun. She knew, at that moment, that she would never again be able to eat plum jelly. Not after this day, not after meeting such a horrible monster with purple, jelly lips.

 

She stood as they did, trailing them out the door, and down the hall. She didn't speak as they made their way across the ship towards the medical bay. They didn't seem to notice, too caught up in their own insidious mirth. Zarbon was standing as close to Frieza as possible, jocking for position with the blubbery man. She had always assumed that Zarbon poured so much attention on Frieza in an effort to save his own life, striving to better his existence by making his master happy, but as she watched him she understood that wasn't the case. Zarbon genuinely loved his master. Adored him with all his heart, and watching it made her stomach turn.

 

She couldn't imagine loving a monster. A real, honest-to-goodness, demon from the depths, monster.

 

The door opened revealing a disaster area. The room was in chaos. Desks were overturned, and papers lay scattered, forgotten on the floor. One heavy-set woman slipped on a sheaf of slick facsimile papers, and slide across the floor like a demented surfer, her arms wind-milling frantically, before regaining her balance and hurrying on. A deafening roar vibrated in the room, shaking the walls, and sending the less courageous scurrying back, and out the doors like rats on a sinking ship.

 

Unafraid, Frieza stepped into the room, his red, evil-tinted eyes absorbing every small detail. Bulma followed quickly behind, glancing about until her gaze fell on the one thing that could stop time. Vegeta laid naked, strapped down stomach first, on a silver gurney. He had managed to wedge his head up, and his mouth was wrenched open in a primal scream of attack. He was trying to buck his body off the table, but inconceivably, he was held down by thick steel straps.

 

“Ki guards.” Zarbon supplied the answer to her unasked question. “Everything in here has been ki infused. How else would you be able to subdue and cut a warrior whose skin is impenetrable to the deadliest of weapons? I'm sure he's drugged up quite a bit too, but Saiyans are surprisingly resistant to chemicals of any kind.”

 

“I know,” she replied absently, thinking of the day she had tried to move him from his inferior cell, to his newer, advanced one. He had awoken, just in time to try and strangle her to death. Or was it to kiss her? She couldn't recall anything passed the memory of deep-set, dark eyes glaring down at her. Those black eyes had held a mixture of hate and lust, simultaneously heating and cooling her skin, making her fear for her life, and her immortal soul all at once.

 

She floated forward, the roaring in the room drifting away in a hazy cloud of disbelief. Everything fell silent, but she could still hear a hum in her ears, an expectation of something horrible yet to come. She stopped a few feet from him, frozen by black eyes that held hers. His eyes, the same ones that had looked at her so long ago with lust, the ones that had just gazed down at her warmly only a few days ago, were filled with the deepest, darkest sense of hatred that she had ever seen. It was colder than glacier ice, more distant than the moon was from the sun, and more devastating than any cataclysmic event.

 

Someone walked up to her, breaking his hold on her. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes any longer. A woman was holding up a pair of goggles, along with a long, plastic butcher's apron. Bulma felt her stomach flip. She was afraid she was going to spill the contents right there on the woman's sensible work shoes. She cast a desperate glance towards Frieza, certain that she could talk her way out of this ordeal, but her blood ran cold instead. He was looking at her with absolute conviction that she would fail. He was waiting for her to back out so he could leap onto his chance to kill her. He was expecting her to concede, condemning both her and Vegeta.

 

She swallowed hard, steadying her nerves. She couldn't give up, she couldn't fail. It was absolutely imperative that she take over this project. It was necessary that she maneuver herself into a position where she could watch over Vegeta, and see to his well-being by whatever means possible. If it meant sacrificing a useless appendage then so be it. If she had to, she would amputate any piece of anatomy she needed to make sure that he survived.

 

She swallowed, ignoring the guilt that was knotting her stomach with the bile.

 

With an unsteady hand she took the apron, tying it behind her. Next she grabbed the goggles, noticing for the first time that the nurse was sneering contemptuously at her. She gave the woman her hardest Bulma Brief's glare, her mouth set, her eyes authoritative. She was in her element now, the place were she was at her best, a laboratory.

 

“Get me a twenty cc's of heparin. Prepare for vitrification,” she ordered.

 

A bubble of confusion erupted at her announcement, but she quickly squashed it, relaying her order more loudly for anyone who may not have heard. The sheer authority in her voice sent interns running for supplies, and nurses racing for the machines.

 

“What's going on?” Frieza asked without preamble.

 

Bulma didn't look up, unable to glance at the man who was condemning her to a living hell.

 

“I'm preparing his tail to be cryogenically frozen,” she replied while snapping on her gloves.

 

“Why, it's not like he's ever going to use it again,” the pink freak retorted, and she couldn't help but to slash him a disgusted look.

 

“We don't know that. There is no use diminishing our options for no other reason than laziness on your staff's part.” She addressed Frieza, keeping her tone as brusque and professional as possible. He grinned at her, almost as if he knew what game she was playing at. He nodded his assent, and she moved away, unable to be in his presence for another second.

 

Finally, the time of reckoning was upon her. Since she had been in the room, Vegeta had been uncharacteristically silent. He was watching her with predatory intensity, studying her every move, waiting for the moment he could spring.

 

“Well, well. I do believe he does hate you. He used to only look at me that way. I'm almost jealous.” Frieza's scaly tones crawled their way up her spine, but she refused to acknowledge him. She ignored Vegeta was the same fervor. She couldn't bear to look him in the face. It was at that moment that he knew that she wasn't going to back away. She was going to carry through with her intention of cutting off his tail. He was stunned. He would have never thought that she hated him so thoroughly that she would agree to mutilate him.

 

She moved behind him, and he began to thrash violently. Scientist spilled around them on all sides, trying to hold him down on the table but it was no use, he was uncontrollable. Suddenly Frieza was beside her, centering his steel, cybernetic hand between Vegeta's shoulder blades, pressing him to the table. Dodoria grabbed his legs, holding him as still as possible.

 

Bulma looked down, impressed as always by the sight. Caramel skin melted over tight muscles that bunched tightly at the base of his spine. His tail whipped back and forth, coming close to slapping her viciously and intentionally. Zarbon reached out, painfully banding his fingers around the furry appendage that she loved so much. Vegeta let out a great shout of pain that made her jump and her heart contract.

 

She tried to blink back the tears, but it was impossible. One crystal drop escaped, and she wiped it away quickly before anyone else saw. She bent down, examining the area where his smooth skin began to mottle and fur sprouted before forming into his long, luxurious tail.

 

Even with the strong warriors holding him down, Vegeta was still struggling, moving his body a few centimeters at a time. She hunkered closer, gripping the scalpel until she thought her fingers were going to bleed. She was afraid of making a wrong move, of making a mistake that would paralyze him for life.

 

“Stop moving or I'll cut off more than just your tail,” she screeched so loudly, she was certain they heard her on the next floor. She hadn't meant to sound so callous, so demanding, but she needed him to cooperate with her if she was going to save his tail for reattachment.

 

He stilled, judging whether or not she meant to geld him. He must have concluded that it was unlikely, because he started spitting threats at her like rapid, machine gun fire. First the sounds were intelligible, another language that she had yet to learn, but soon they formed into words that stopped her heart dead in her chest.

 

“Bulma, if you do this, I swear by all that is unholy, that I will kill every single person that you love.”

 

Her hand trembled as it hovered over his tail. His words solidified an aching certainty that had been haunting her since she left him. A deep, elemental knowledge of good and evil, of betrayer and betrayed, the belief that the wrongs she perpetrated against him would be avenged someday. The absoluteness of the future, however horrible, steadied her, lending her calmness where there should have been terror.

 

“Don't be stupid, Vegeta. You are already going to do that,” she replied, her soul digging down into the iciest part of her heart to hide from the pain, chilling her blood, dulling her emotions.

 

With a steady hand, her knife cut into his unprotected flesh. Blood welled up from the wound, unaffected by the murderous screams that accompanied it.