Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Survival ❯ Chapter 1: Into the abyss ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: You know I don't… But if I did every single cent I'd made would go into making a machine that would destroy the very fabric of reality and pull the imaginary world - or one imaginary world in particular - into this one.

 

 

Survival

Chapter 1: Into the abyss

By Ariel

 

 

“Babe, you ready yet?”

 

“No, Yumcha. For the thousandth time I'm not and the more you ask the longer I'll take. Got it?”

 

Yumcha grumbled something sounding remarkably like a curse and rolled onto his stomach, breathing in her left over scent and trying to ignore the fact that he'd been waiting for over an hour while she did God knew what in her private en suite. And to what effect? Heaven knew she was a stunning sight to behold even at four in the morning, sleep deprived and puffy eyed. Hell, she was practically the 8th wonder of the world. Beauty, brains and a bitching personality; Bulma Briefs had it all.

 

“Yumcha, you'd better not be lying down and creasing you're suit or you'll find yourself flying solo tonight.”

 

He jumped from the bed quick as a fox, furiously patting down his rumpled attire.

 

Undeniably beautiful, but sometimes she could be a real-

 

“And don't you dare go drinking too much and making a fool out of yourself. Goku and Chichi promised to make an appearance and the last thing I need is you getting drunk and challenging him to a duel we both know you've got no chance of winning. Or worse. You know Chi Chi's had it out for me ever since that one time when I mentioned, and off hand I might add, that I found Goku kinda, sorta, in-a-friend-kind-of-way, hot. These days it's like she's got an `Is-Yumcha-Flirting-With-Someone-Other-Than-Bulma' radar. You make googly eyes at absolutely anyone, even a male ice sculpture, and she's right next to me, lickety split, with a sharp tongue and an ever sharper grin. Anyone can see that she jumps on any chance to humiliate me with an evil and, if you ask me, slightly insane relish so, please, don't make it any easier for her. I'd rather get through this night with my reputation unscathed. God knows I couldn't put up with another night of `Yumcha was staring so far down that waitresses top he was practically wearing it!' and `I just saw your boyfriend kissing your secretary. I'm so Sorry.'.”

 

“I already told you,” Yumcha whined, playing his usually blame-it-on-someone-else card. “We were under mistletoe and it was her suggestion. What did you expect me to do?”

 

“Oh, I don't know, tell her you were in a very happy relationship and you didn't think it appropriate? Tell her she wasn't your type? Tell her she was a stupid whore as useless at flirting as she was at typing, making a decent cup of coffee or just about anything her job actually required? Then again, I suppose when you've had that much to drink comebacks so exceedingly obvious just don't come to mind. Perhaps that's also why you failed to notice that what you were actually standing under was a bunch of yellow roses, which, strangely enough, look absolutely nothing like mistletoe.”

 

“What's-her-name practically forced herself on me, Bulma! Jeez, it's not like I enjoyed it or anything. I don't even remember it, for Chrissake! What's the harm in a one small and meaningless kiss?”

 

“Small and meaningless were neither of the choice words Chi Chi used to describe it.”

 

“Well, then it looks like I wasn't the only one who had too much to drink that night.”

 

The silence pervading the room was deafening.

 

“Jesus,” he added, sure, in his arrogance and idiocy, Bulma couldn't hear. “I kiss Jenny and the next thing you know I'm Prime Enemy Number One. And what drove me to it? Is it any wonder I drink with such a huge bitch of a girlfriend?”

 

The door slammed open, rebounding off the wall and leaving a significant dint in its wake.

 

“How dare you!” Bulma seethed, tendrils of her immaculate up do becoming unbound in the wake of her immense fury. “You, who can never quite keep your eyes off the waitresses breasts on our so called `romantic evenings', which I always pay for! You, who will feel up or snog anyone and anything then casually pass it off as `No big deal'! You, who's more than happy to mooch of your girlfriend while you live it up in the lap of luxury and treat me with none of the respect, love or even kindness that I deserve. I'm a bitch, am I? Well, fuck Yumcha, what the hell does that make you?!”

 

“All the shit I have to put up with Bulma, I swear to God-”

 

“You have to put up with?!” Bulma retorted, her anger swelling past the point of no return. “What the fuck Yumcha? You are possibly, probably, the worse boyfriend on the face of this planet. And, what's more, you're not much of a human being either. And what does that make me for staying with you, for loving you?! Not a bitch, but certainly stupid. Well no more. No longer will I wait for you to make a commitment you're incapable of making. No longer will I put up with your roving eye or `meaningless trysts'. Thank you, Yumcha, for finally jarring me to my senses. Now get the fuck out of my house and out of my life!”

 

And seeing the determination in her eyes and the final note in her voice he did just that. But not adding one final, cutting remark.

 

“You'll end up alone! Mark my words, Bulma, no one in their right mind would want such a useless, ugly, pathetic bitch! Not even your money is worth all this!”

 

And with that he stormed out of the room and, as it so happened, her life forever.

 

Bulma collapsed onto her bed, silently sobbing for all the wasted years and a heart so brutally shattered.

 

 

 

“Stupid head!” she muttered, tossing down another shot of vodka. “ S'all is fault! All he `ad to do was love me. Issat really so much ta ask?”

 

“I'm sure I don't know Miss Briefs,” Bulma's harassed looking secretary (her third since firing Jenny) answered, eager to find an exit to the conversation, post haste. Her boss, renowned for her short fuse and the even shorter working span of her employees, was the last person she wanted to discuss heartbreak with. Hell, she was the last person she wanted to discuss anything with. One wrong word and she was sure to be the latest in a series of secretaries sent to the unemployment line by the volatile blue head.

 

“Thass right!” Bulma muttered her abuse of alcohol clear on her breath and in her voice. “`Cause I'm beautiful and sexy and hot an he's jus a Dumby McDumb Head!”

 

“Right. Of course Miss Briefs. You've got it all.”

 

“Don't ya know it, Sydney.”

 

“Sandy, maam.”

 

“What?”

 

“It's Sandy, maam. My name. Sandy Winchester.”

 

“Thass what I said, Stacy.”

 

“Of course, maam.”

 

“And if that dumbass can' even see what he's got then he's more a stupid head than he looks. And thass sayin' somethin'.”

 

Bulma laughed drunkenly and Sandy managed a very forced smile.

 

“The problem is Sally,” she began, throwing back yet another shot of vodka. “That men jus can't keep it in their pants. They're all jus walking penisesses.”

 

The blue haired beauty began to giggle hysterically and Sandy, mumbling a vacant agreement, closed her eyes, preying for an out to this less-than-comfortable confrontation.

 

“Penissss,” she slurred, in between giggles. “Isn't that a funny word? Penis, penis, penis-”

 

She stopped suddenly, her face brightening as she waved to a tall and distant figure at the other side of the room. Sandy took the opportunity to quickly and swiftly excuse herself from her boss' presence, a relieved smile encompassing her features.

 

Her long time friend, who she'd once commented on as being quite the looker, trotted over to the dark corner currently occupied by one very drunk blue haired lady.

 

“Hiya Bulma, how are you?”

 

“As fine as a pie with a fish in its eye,” she giggled, throwing down another shot of the clear, mind dulling liquor.

 

“Ok,” Goku said slowly, his confusion apparent. “You smell kinda funny Bulma. Are you alright?”

 

“Oh I'm juss fine,” she slurred, attempting to stand and stumbling. Goku caught her, his nose crumbling as the harsh and ugly smell of alcohol accosted his delicate senses.

 

“Hey, where'd this wall come from!?” she muttered, pushing herself from his arms and she tried, and failed, to right herself. Goku caught her again, an unaccustomed scowl gracing his normally unsullied features.

 

“Are you sure you're alright? You're acting really funny Bulma.”

 

“I'm acting funny? Remember that time when we were just kids and we made Oolong join our quest and he really didn't wanna and he kept tryin to run away and I gave him those pills and every time he would leave we'd call out and make him poop hisself?! That was funny. Oh, and remember that other time-”

 

“Bulma,” Goku interrupted, clearly concerned. “I'm going to take you to Yumcha now so he can look after you and make sure you're alright. Do you know where he is?”

 

The transformation was instant. Bulma's eyes brimmed with tears and she threw herself into her best friend's arms.

 

“I-I d-d-d-d-dumped him! He doesn't love me, Goku. N-n-n-n-no-one loves me!”

 

Goku stoked her hair, comforting his best friend as she wailed drunkenly into his shoulder.

 

“I'm sorry Bulma but I'm really worried about you. You're acting so strange. I think you should see a doctor. How about I take you to your bed and find someone to help.”

 

“No,” she sniffled. “I'm fine, Goku. Just a little tipsy. `Sides, I'm not gonna let him wreck this night. I'm gonna have fun!”

 

“Bulma, that's not a good idea. I'm taking you upstairs.”

 

But she pulled away; her tear-streaked face reverted, almost instantly, to drunken anger.

 

“My head is clear, Goku. And all that I really wanna do now is have fun and forget Mister Stupid-tiny-penis-and-massive-ego ever existed. And if you don't wanna join in then poo poo to you!”

 

And with that Bulma turned and wandered into the night, unknowingly walking into a situation that was to change her life forever.

 

 

+++++

 

 

“Wow, look at all the pretty lights!” Bulma exclaimed as she stumbled through the garden, laughing manically when she tripped and went sprawling to the ground. She had been wandering for hours now, running on alcohol, dulled sadness and suppressed anger like a woman possessed.

 

She pushed herself from the ground and grinned like a mischievous child when she spotted, through blurred eyesight, her father's current toy, a large dome-like invention she had hence been expressly forbidden to touch. Not used to her father's unaccustomed seriousness she had, with little argument or complaint, obeyed his wishes. Until now.

 

Filled with a sense of childlike thrill she haphazardly ran towards the dome, smiling cheekily all the way. No longer would she be suppressed by any man. This was her life to live, her mistakes to make, and if she wanted to play with her father's gadget or dump her stupid, weak, unfaithful boyfriend then that was exactly what she was going to do. To hell with the consequences!

 

She thumbed open the hidden controls, as she'd seen her father do a thousand times, suppressing a sigh at the genius of workmanship that had gone into the security system alone. Her fingers eagerly caressed the external control panel, careful not to set off the buried alarm that was sure to blare should she enter the wrong combination. From inside her bra she freed a small blue capsule and threw it to the ground, barely even flinching as it opened loudly at her feet to reveal a small and chaotic clutter of emergency items she always kept close. She pawed through, grabbing a sonic screwdriver, her own pet project, a small wrench and lazar cutter from the jumbled mess. Drunk or not, within ten minutes of flying fingers and near frantic rerouting, the passage to the dark internal cavern of the strange dome lay revealed.

 

A triumphant grin apparent, Bulma returned her tools, placed her emergency capsule in its former home and crept eagerly inside.

 

Despite its dominating appearance from the outside the dome was, in reality, quite cramped (at least by the heiress's standards). Following a short, metallic passageway brought her to the main room. Directly opposite a large, currently blank screen took up most of the wall. Before it stood the machine's controls. Several blinking lights indicated it was currently awaiting command. Had Bulma had all her wits about her she would have quickly realized, proud, shocked and profoundly amazed, exactly what it was her father had been working on all those long hours. But she didn't. And, as her delicate hands ran almost caressingly over the control board, she sighed, simply astounded by the sheer complexity and beauty of design. A door to the left caught her attention and she wandered over, struck for a loop when she discovered a small bedroom, equipped with even smaller en suite. In her drunken state she felt like Alice, just wandered down the rabbit hole only to discover a strange, disjointed world so very different, and yet similar, to her own.

 

She ambled back into the control room, taking a seat before the strange, glowing panel as fatigue took hold of her. It was so pretty in here, so calm, that she felt like staying forever. Just sitting and staring, overcome by peace. Her fingers ran delicately over the flashing symbols, her blurry eyes barely able to make out the words written beneath them. She would sleep here, here in this place of rest where no one would hurt her, or judge her, or push her down. She would sleep the sleep of the innocent, the peaceful sleep of the unencumbered, unshackled and unreserved. But first, first she would push just one button. Push just one to let the machine know, let the world know, that she was Bulma Briefs and she was here and she mattered. Just the one and then rest.

 

And that's exactly what she did. Softly pushing a small glowing rectangle before falling almost instantly into the very sleep she had hoped for. Completely unaware that she had just done something, one small, seemingly insignificant action, that was to change her life forever.

 

+++++

 

Bulma tried to open her eyes but, as nausea swept over her, she quickly changed tactics. Groaning, she rolled onto her back, trying to ignore the pounding migraine that battered her senses. Struggling desperately to grasp even a semblance of coherent thought, it took her almost ten minutes before she realized that, wherever she had ended up, it wasn't her bedroom. The floor was cold and hard and distinctly uncomfortable and it took another ten to appreciate that as drunk as she was and as `available' as she would inevitable have been she could now be in a pretty sticky situation. This time she forced her eyes open dreading, but faintly expecting, to see an unfamiliar and inevitably exposed male body somewhere in the vicinity. She was indescribably relived when met with no such sight. And yet she had absolutely no idea where she was, and that was worrying to say the least. The fact that her surroundings looked like something stolen from a cheap science fiction set did nothing to calm her nerves. There was no where on her family's property that even somewhat resembled this place. She was undeniably in someone else's house. Somehow who was perhaps just a little weird? Why on Earth did she put herself in these situations?!

 

Attempting to sit a wave of fierce nausea rocked her, forcing her back to the ground. Her head pounding, back soar and clothes uncomfortable tight she decided to throw caution to the wind. She needed her own bed, a few sleeping bills and a couple hours undisturbed sleep pronto.

 

“Hello,” she called, squinting in pain at the effect her own voice had on her frayed senses. Lowering her voice a few octaves she muttered “I'm not exactly sure where I am but if you could please help me home I'd very much appreciate it.”

 

Met with only silence her temperature began to boil.

 

“Listen, buddy. I know a life time of television servitude doesn't exactly give you the Casanova-esque conversation skills but it's customary to at least offer small talk to someone you've just fucked!”

 

But still she was met with no response. The continuing silence began to irritate her.

 

“Look,” she reasoned, a hint of her annoyance creeping into her voice. “All I want to do is go home and go to bed so, if you know what`s good for you you`ll start doing what I want and you`ll start doing it now.”

 

The silence was deafening.

 

“HELLO!!!” she screamed, overcome by exhaustion and frustration. “COULD I GET A FUCKING BRAKE FOR ONCE IN MY FUCKING LIFE!!!”

 

Beginning to weep Bulma pushed herself up onto the chair by the mock control panel, trying to ignore the pounding in her head, and was immediately silenced by what she saw. It had not occurred to Bulma, genius she was, that, while her body insisted it was well past sunrise, her view from the floor clearly displayed a star spotted sky. Looking out the window that quandary, along with her own question about her current location, was solved. She watched, shocked, dismayed and frightened, as innumerable planets, stars and galaxies went whizzing by.

 

Battling the most extreme information overload of her life Bulma fainted for the second time that day.

 

 

+++++

 

 

By the time she awoke her headache was gone but her fear was not. Thoughts raced through her mind a million miles an hour and she found herself not in the least relived to find her suspicions way off track. As it so happened, reality was sometimes far worse than your very worst imaginings.

 

Ignoring the dull throbbing in her head she quickly made a mental note of her immediate priorities.

 

One: find a working toilet (assuming such a thing here).

 

Two: find some pain killers.

 

Three: figure out exactly where here was.

 

And from there the rest would follow, or so she hoped.

 

After a few minutes of incoherent mumbling and stumbling her first need was sated. As it so happened this place not only offered toilets but a working shower, basin and a full medicine cabinet where her second need was swiftly dealt with. Popping a few aspirin, along with a drug her father had specifically developed for hang overs that she'd found in her personal capsule supply, she headed back to the relative comfort of what she had come to think of as the cock pit.

 

Settling into the pilot's seat she scrutinized the panel before her, along with several post it notes taped on the controls, an instruction manual of sorts, explaining their function. It became almost immediately apparent where she was. This was her father's secret invention, his pride and joy and apparently, during her drunken rampage, she had decided to take it for a spin. A bolt of excitement whispered down her spine. This was space, the final frontier, and Bulma Briefs was, officially, Earth's first cosmonaut. What greater way to get over a messy break up than by exploring new horizons? Leaning new things? Perhaps even meeting new species'? Bulma's unrelenting sense of adventure overwhelmed her. This may be the very thing she so desperately needed. If only she could figure out how the ship worked…

 

She had been staring at the control board, trying to pick a coherent thought from her rampant mind, for almost half an hour when a flashing red button to the left caught her eye. The words `Fuel Gauge' sent an instant chill down her spine.

 

Surely it couldn't mean what she thought it meant. No one was that unlucky.

 

On closer inspection a related panel, featuring a wavering arrow creeping slowly into the red, did nothing to allay her fears.

 

One thing was clear. She needed some time to think and that meant shutting what seemed less of a blessing and more of a curse down. And soon!

 

Her eyes swept over the controls at a more frenzied pace, desperately sifting through a million seemingly useless buttons, knobs and handles for a kill switch. She found six that looked hopeful. Problem was the wrong one could potentially kill her.

 

Vent oxygen? Increase Gravity? Shut down life support systems? No thanks.

 

With her life at stake, she didn't feel like gambling.

 

Maybe her father had left something, anything, that would help. Something like a note that said `For emergency shut down press here or `When everything seems to have gone to hell pull lever there' or perhaps even “If drunken daughter goes on a bender, breaks into ship and takes off for places unknown turning this knob will instantly put it all back to normal'. Anything to help her get out of this predicament and back home.

 

She fumbled through his left over notes scattered around the cock pit floor but, short of reading through every single chicken scratch sermon in its entirety, there seemed to be nothing of use. And the needle kept wavering closer and closer into the red. She needed a solution and she needed one now.

 

Gathering up all the courage she possessed, along with a considerable amount she didn't, she positioned her thumb over a large purple button, the largest, and closest to the pilots chair and, by her reasoning, the only logical choice. Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes and preying, if the worst should happen, for a quick death she pressed down.

 

And nothing happened… at least for a moment. Until suddenly the engine made a mechanical click, an utterly non dramatic sound, and Bulma was thrown four meters from her chair and into a wall. This time, apart from the double vision and a renewed ache in her head, she managed to avoid fainting. But only barely.

 

Rubbing her bruised skull she stumbled back into the pilot's chair where a previously blank screen was now lit up with the semi comforting message “Shut down process complete. Awaiting further instructions.”

 

Now she had time to think… But all she really wanted was bathe then sleep. And why not? With nothing but space to the left, right and centre of her all she had was time. Or so she thought.

 

Laying down, barely half an hour later, how she could have known that she was about to have the last peaceful inartificial slumber of her life? That life as she knew it, along with every inch of her innocent, courage and hope, was soon to come to a climatic, wrenching and brutally final end?

 

Silently plunging into the abyss, Bulma slept the sleep of the dead.