Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Survival ❯ Chapter 2: Monster's den ( Chapter 2 )

IMPORTANT A/N - This scene is quite dark. I tried to portray, as realistically as possible, how Bulma would be received aboard a ship of ruthless murderers. Suffice to say it doesn't end well. Be warned that this chapter, along with this entire story, is not for the faint of heart.

Also, motivation = inspiration. So, if you want new chapters, I'm going to need some reviews… Pretty please.

 

 

Disclaimer: If I owned Dragonball or Dragonball Z, which, it should be noted, I don't, I'd make sure all the Saiyans shirts AND pants were ripped to tatters in the first few minutes of battle. Full frontal nudity, OH YEAH!

 

 

Survival

Chapter 2: Monster's Den

By Ariel

 

 

 

Swimming from half remembered dreams of childhood adventure Bulma was awoken by a loud braying from the cock pit. Taking a second to orientate herself she staggered from the bedroom and was chilled by what awaited her in the isolated cock pit.

 

Wiped of its former niceties the main screen flashed a single warning in ominous red letters.

 

“Ship caught in tractor beam. Prepare to be boarded. Use extreme caution,” it brayed frantically.

 

Bulma didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It seemed like just when things couldn't get any worse something new would arise to completely redefine her definition of bad. A part of her remained sure this had to be someone sick idea of a joke. One played in very bad taste. The rest of her knew better.

 

Retreating into the bedroom she frantically prepared herself for the worst.

 

It seemed obvious, if not a little a-typical, that these weren't your average ET-esque just-want-to-be-your-friends aliens. What need was there for use of a tractor beam when you're traveling the universe spreading intergalactic peace and love?! Being a scientist, and closet geek, Bulma had seen enough low grade science fiction to know only one kind of being made a move without any kind of communication or negotiation: the hostile kind.

 

So, what were her options?

 

One: hope she was wrong despite that fact that all logic and rational thought suggested otherwise.

 

Two: hide and pray.

 

Three: fight.

 

She'd never been one to back down so the answer came naturally.

 

Throwing her emergency capsule to the ground she scrounged through the cluttered mess for something, anything, useful. A weapon. A bat. Hell, even a sturdy frying pan would do. Fortunately she was in luck. Gathering up an ancient laser pistol from her childhood wanderings along with a second, more practical outfit she hastily repacked her capsule. With little thought to style or grace she swiftly replaced her cocktail dress with a blue spandex training suit Yumcha had given her for 17th birthday. At the time it had seemed a thoughtless, selfish gift. Now she thanked God for giving her such a perverted lover. Should the situation come to blows this outfit would give her the litheness and mobility she would undoubtedly need.

 

Settling into a strategically sensible position, within reach of the bedroom door but out of view, Bulma awaited the inevitable.

 

Had she been as prepared as she'd thought perhaps things would have gone differently. But, as a loud crash signifying docking vibrated abrasively throughout the ship, she was knocked cold by the fact she'd entered a potentially lethal situation. How much of a chance did she really have against the ultimate unknown? Her blood ran cold.

 

Several braying alien warnings issued from outside. Unaware and unconcerned of their meaning Bulma apprehensively awaited the aggressive action sure to follow. She was not surprised when, barely a minute later, a loud explosion sounded from the entrance. The footsteps she heard mere seconds later, however, threw her off completely guard. How could someone break into something her father had designed, an indisputable genius and the best inventor on Earth, that swiftly? That effortlessly?! It didn't seem possible and yet whoever it was, whatever it was, had done so and was currently making a beeline straight for her.

 

Intending to fight, intending to win, Bulma stood.

 

She stood, and she froze.

 

This was no science fiction. No joke. No dream. No illusion. No rules applied here and all stereotypes and clichés were meaningless. This was real. Completely unaltered for a less mature audience and unabashedly horrifying.

 

The disturbingly mammoth and monstrous being, seemingly stolen from her the nightmarish depths of her childhood imaginings, wasn't you're typical evil-but-eventually-undeniably-flawed-and-inevitably-defeated alien. This was new ground, the devil's ground. This was a nightmare. A horror. A monstrosity. A terror beyond all imaginable and reasonable, terror. And it was all real. Undeniably, repugnantly real.

 

“Zact met clhor?” it rasped, its hideous maw an atrocious spectacle of razor sharp fangs. It's long insectile tongue darted out, running over its cracked chops with sadistic intent.

 

This time the decision to faint was a conscious one.

 

And the world went blank.

 

 

 

+++++

 

 

 

“Zarbon, my dear, have we guests?” a disembodied voice from the blue creature's monocle-like device enquired.

 

“A guest, sire.”

 

“And Zarbon…”

 

“A woman, sire. I'm not certain of her race but she resembles those hideous monkey boys, only her power level is revoltingly low. She barely even registered on the scouter. Shall I dispose of her?”

 

“No, Zarbon. Bring her to me. Let me judge this monkey woman for myself. And make sure she's unharmed, we wouldn't want her first impression of us to be a negative one.”

 

“No sire. Or course not. I'll bring her to you right away.”

 

Throwing the unconscious woman over his shoulder and leading Bulma to her dark fate Zarbon muttered:

 

“Poor creature, you'd have been better off dead.”

 

Bulma would grow to agree.

 

 

 

+++++

 

 

 

“What have we here?” a sinister voice rasped from the shadows.

 

“The woman, sire,” Zarbon replied, barely ten minutes later.

 

“You've harmed her, Zarbon. I expressly forbad you from causing her any unwarranted distress. Naughty boy, you've disobeyed me. You shall have to be punished.”

 

“No sire,” the cerulean creature confuted, a cool sweat breaking out on his brow at his Master's cruel implication. “I swear I've done her no harm. She fainted at that sight off me.”

 

“At the sight of you, Zarbon?”

 

“Yes, sire. You warned me to be cautious and so I was in my reptilian form.”

 

“Ah, then it was quite an understandable reaction.”

 

The dark being laughed. It's humourless snicker sucking all warmth and joy from the room.

 

“Well then, let us see what hidden treasure we`ve found,” it rasped. Gliding from the shadows a small, sleek creature of pink, purple and white greeted his second in command. Small in stature and sporting the innocent, almost doll-like complexion of a child Frieza's outward appearance betrayed his malicious core. Known throughout the galaxy as a tyrant among tyrants he was feared, revered and unchallenged as the strongest and most sadistic being in the universe. Renowned murderer of millions, he alone was responsible the most horrific massacres in recorded history, including several genocides executed, for the most part, on a whim. Now with Bulma in his sights the world seemed suddenly a much darker, more frightening place.

 

“No tail,” he muttered, thoroughly scrutinizing her limp form. “But yes, Zarbon, she could almost be Saiyan.”

 

“Indeed sir. Perhaps she had the tail removed at birth to disguise her true heritage.”

 

“I said almost Saiyan, Zarbon. There was never a monkey as frail and pitiful as this. She's a mere imitation… and a poor one at that.”

 

“Of course, sire. I quite agree. Shall I dispose of her now?”

 

“I don't believe I said anything about disposing of her Zarbon. I'm almost inclined to think you jealous of my diverted attention with your furious insistence of this creature's demise.”

 

“N-no sir,” the soldier stuttered, thrown off balance by the all too familiar and always unwanted attentions of his malicious Master. “I just thought, as you yourself declared her to be pitiful, you'd want rid of her.”

 

“You thought wrong. Unlike you, Zarbon, I've taste enough to see this woman's appearance far excels that of the revolting whores Dodoria insist on heaping upon me. I've no intention of destroying such a precious gem. Have you equipped her with a translator?”

 

“Yes sire. I did so immediately after we talked.”

 

“Well then, why don't you put yourself to use and wake her so we can be more formally introduced?”

 

“Of course sire.”

 

“And try not to scare her into unconsciousness this time,” he mocked.

 

“Yes sire,” Zarbon grunted. Taking a small pouch from his uniform, the now petite and attractive green alien selected a tiny flask of purplish liquid. Placing the woman's body gently on the ground he titled her head back and poured the entire flash into her mouth. The reaction was immediate and severe.

 

Bulma sat bolt upright, eyes wide and horrible aware.

 

“Who are you?” she demanded, jumping from the floor and backing into the nearest corner, her stare fixed on Zarbon. “Where am I? Where have you taken me?”

 

“Hush little one,” Frieza rasped. “Your questions will all be answered in due time.”

 

Bulma's eyes darted to the rooms other occupant. She was set instantly ill at ease by his innocent appearance and confliction aura.

 

“Who are you?” she demanded.

 

“Now, now child. It's rude to insist the name of your host without even revealing your own.”

 

“Rude?!” she seethed, throwing caution to the wind as anger overcame her. “I'm Rude?! You have the audacity to… to abduct me and then lecture me in the finer matters of priority. How dare you! I demand you tell me who you are and what you're planning to do with me this very instant!”

 

Frieza's disturbing mirth froze Bulma to the core.

 

“And you would have had her killed Zarbon! Imagine the fun you would have denied me.”

 

“Excuse me!” Bulma further fumed, ignoring the trepidation that brayed with frantic alarm within her. “There will be no fun. You will tell me where I am and who you are right now! I will not stand for this disrespect. I am the co-president of Capsule Corporation, the largest conglomerate Earth has ever seen, and I will not be disrespected in this manner. I demand that you return me to my ship right this instant and-”

 

The death grip silenced her ultimatum.

 

“You seem to be under a false impression that I care who you are,” Frieza snarled, his true persona coming to the fore. “I asked only out of courtesy but since you seem uninterested in conversing politely I'll be blunt. What you were means nothing here. All I see is a weak, pathetic creature whose only assets are physical. That I should respect you is a joke. What respect should the most powerful being in the universe show to a brainless, uncouth animal whom even a child could best. You are nothing and should act as such. Never again presume to address me in such a manner and learn your place or you might find what's left of your life cut miserably short.”

 

Falling to the ground Bulma gasped for breath, desperate to fill her oxygen deprived lungs and silenced for perhaps the first time in her life.

 

“Take her to my room, Zarbon. She will serve as an excellent bed warmer.”

 

“N-no,” Bulma coughed, having raised herself enough to stare defiantly into the eyes of her capture.

 

“What did you say to me?”

 

“No,” she replied, overcome by insolence and fierce pride. “I would rather die than be touched by a filthy, slimy, revolting-”

 

Unable to finish her sentence Bulma was sent flying into the wall, a boot to the stomach knocking from her breath and consciousness.

 

“Take her to the tanks, Zarbon.” Frieza demanded, a malicious smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You were right; she's more Saiyan than I thought. So much fire and arrogance. Reminds me of a certain prince.”

 

“Indeed Lord Frieza,” Zarbon agreed.

 

“This will be fun.”

 

Once again scooping up the woman's limb form, a sympathetic shudder ran down Zarbon's spine.

 

 

 

+++++

 

 

 

Swimming from a dream where she was endlessly falling Bulma's first thought was that she must be dead. Such infinite horror was surly un-survivable. Floating in a lake of aqua fluid, her entire body a veritable carnival of aches and pains, she was almost immediately convinced otherwise.

 

Uncertain how to cope with her current predicament Bulma's mind wandered as she watched amazed, enthralled and captivated, as every description of alien imaginable paraded before her, going about their daily business apparently unaware, or at the very least indifferent, to her floating form. Beings she could only assume to be doctors, their only similarity to Earth physicians or each other the familiar white lab coats that draped their form, flittered about checking random print outs, life signs and comparing notes. A stunning alien woman sporting beautiful purple skin and the most haunting green eyes nursed a sleeping infant. Tiny children giggled as they wove in between the tanks, shrilling with delight as they chased each other. And the soldiers, for they were surely warriors with such scars and frowns to match, lay within their own tanks healing. Housed within a technological dream Bulma's eyes shifted rapidly from scene to scene, her senses overcome. A dream or nightmare? Every time she reached a conclusion something new would come along and completely throw her off balance. A terrifying being of immense power who promised pain and anguish or a wonderful cacophony of inter-species harmony? Could one possible exist with the other. This world simply seemed too fine, too grand, to have housed that monster. Was perhaps the white demon and his abuse just a figment of an overworked mind? In a world where children danced, mothers nursed and soldiers healed everything finally seemed right. Or was the liquid that surrounded her, silently kitting together broken bones and healing wounds, both old and new, a form of the proverbial rose coloured glasses?

 

The arrival of a certain green man answered that and more.

 

And the curtain fell.

 

Bulma watched in dreadful fascination as the infant opened its mouth, endless rows of razor sharp fangs attacking its mother's breast with a ferocity and savageness both revolting and wholly primal. Golden blood trickled from the wound while the woman silently wept. The children weaving in between tanks squealed, not in joy but terror, as a grotesque being slithered after them. It fell upon one of the fallen, devouring her in a sea of blood, gore and silent screams. The team of doctors, confronted by a high ranking soldier sporting a small cut on his left cheek, callously ejected a dying man from a nearby tank, throwing his limp body against the wall as the barely injured being took his place.

 

This was no wonderland.

 

This was a nightmare.

 

Overcome by sudden, overbearing claustrophobia Bulma tried to shut her eyes, but couldn't. Tried to turn her head, but couldn't. Tried to scream, but couldn't.

 

And all the while the soldier of doom, second only to the devil himself, crept closer and closer.

 

He pressed a button on the control console and the tank began to drain. Bulma gasped for air, thudding to the ground as it expelled her. She clamped her eyes and mind shut to the world surrounding her.

 

Preying for death. Preying for life. Preying for freedom. Preying for anything, anything but this.

 

“I expect you're feeling better?” the creature asked, breaking her concentration with his softly spoken, almost amiable words.

 

“You'll want to cover yourself,” he added, passing her a towel, his gaze averted. “Showers are over there if you're interested. The tank can be a pretty disgusting experience first time around.”

 

“I expect you'd know,” Bulma rebutted, wrapping the towel tightly around her exposed form. “Being the expert in disgusting.”

 

“Indeed,” he muttered, ignoring her baited attempt at argument.

 

Bulma frowned, frustrated, annoyed and eager to vent.

 

“What's wrong with you?!” she yelled. “Too stupid to realize that was an insult. Or perhaps too scared to fight me?!”

 

“More like too tired,” he replied, entirely nonplussed.

 

“Tired from what?! Murdering innocents? Raping children? Kidnapping woman?”

 

“From listening to you talk. Now, do you want the damn shower or not?”

 

“I would sooner die than be the delight of your perverted mind.”

 

“I've no intention of watching woman.”

 

“Why should I believe you? You obviously have no honour!”

 

“You will find honour to be very lacking within these walls. The sooner you come to terms with that the better. But I will not watch you woman, I've no interest in your exposed form.”

 

“No interest?! What are you, gay?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Whatever, I'm still not showering in front of you.”

 

Grabbing her by the arm, Zarbon dragged her over to the showers, shoving her prone body beneath the faucets. Bulma squealed as the numbingly cold water accosted her.

 

“Why you-”

 

“This may well be your last opportunity to feel clean,” Zarbon interjected. “I don't expect you to thank me but, for the simple sake of your sanity, you should at least take some comfort from the simplicity of an unsullied body. After tonight you'll find that some dirt can be cleaned by no amount of scrubbing. As unhappy as this place may seem, take some solace from the fact that, for now, you mind and body remain your own.”

 

Standing under the glacial water, Bulma caught a glimpse of the quiet sorrow in the creature's eyes.

 

And was horrified by it.

 

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Apparently, Frieza did neither.

 

“What's going to happen to me?” she whispered, her fight and force simply and suddenly stolen.

 

“Its better you not know. Just revel in your cheerful memories, your innocence, and try, while you still can, to be happy.”

 

“I don't understand any of this. Who are you? Where is this? What's happening?”

 

He sighed.

 

“I am Zarbon Oxyl. High prince of Oyxl-eke and second in command to Frieza, high commander of the galactic fleet of Colball. This is the supreme battleship of the fleet, the Icelatic, known by those who occupy it as the Icebox. Crewed by soldiers and slaves its halls are a veritable sea of lost souls of broken minds. And that's the way Frieza likes it as our purpose, seemingly our only purpose, is to rove the galaxy murdering, raping and destroying everything within our path. We honour the corrupt, spit on the just and pillage the innocent. Dreams, hope and love have no place here. And anyone who believes in these ideals is quickly and harshly, shown new things to live for; terrible things. Within these wall nothing good, sacred or just exists. Our only blessing is death. But even that always, always come at a price.”

 

“But I still don't understand!” Bulma declared. “Why would anyone, anything want to live here?! Why would anyone want this?”

 

“Because we have no choice. Most of us are spoils of war, the so-called elite of our race and only remaining survivors of planets that choose very foolishly and ignorantly to defy Frieza. Or get on his nerves. And those of us who actually have homes to return to would never dream of doing so. We know that to run would mean the horrific murder of every single person we'd ever known or loved. Or perhaps our entire race, depending on Frieza's mood at the time. And all the while we'd be kept alive and allowed to continue, unharmed, in his service knowing that we were solely responsible the murders of so many. Waiting for the day when we slip up again and the full wrath of our past deeds is brought down upon us and, wishing only for death, we are once again allowed to live.

 

Frieza rules by terror and we, every one of us, are terrified.”

 

“So, when it comes down to it you're all cowards?! Too scared to fight? Too spineless to even try? I won't live like that! I refuse to!”

 

“You don't understand. Living on this ship destroys you from the inside out. It warps you, distorting your view entirely until your whole world is upside down, topsy turvy and completely unrecognizable. You come here intending to fight, tooth and nail, until the very last breath is stolen from your lungs and then you see things - unimaginable and hideous things - and the next thing you know you're so damaged that you'd kill your own father for one night's undisturbed rest.

 

In a heartbeat your world is an entirely different place.

 

And it's not just Frieza. It's this ship... It breaks you.”

 

“I'll never let it break me!” Bulma argued, ever defiant.

 

“Woman, what makes you think you have a choice? Now come, you're clean enough and I've got better things to do than lecture a useless weakling on the facts on life.”

 

Unable to retort a million unpleasant thoughts swam through her cluttered mind. Bulma wrapped herself in another towel Zarbon passed her and followed the green man through the maze like halls of the `Icebox'.

 

This whole situation seemed more and more absurd by the minute. Could that strange looking creature, the so-called strongest being in the universe, really be that bad? Sure, he was a proven sadist and more than slightly creepy but surely, surely Zarbon was exaggerating. Was it possible that she could travel half way across a universe apparently swimming with life only to run smack bang into a ship full of merciless murderers, the boss of whom made every evil Earth dictator look like Ghandi?

 

Lost in her thoughts Bulma didn't notice Zarbon addressing her, or indeed that they had reached their destination, until he turned to leave.

 

“Wait,” she called, anxious not to lose an apparent ally in this sea of the unknown. “Where am I?”

 

“As I've just told you,” he replied, the irritation clear in his voice. “This will be your quarters for the duration of your stay. There is no locking mechanism but considering you have been labeled the sole property of Frieza you should be left alone and unharmed. By all but him, that is.”

 

“Excuse me?!,” Bulma screeched “Property?! I'm no one's property! I'm a human being.”

 

“This is exactly what makes you property. You have no strength, no standing, no rank. As far as Frieza or most of the beings onboard are concerned you're no better than dirt.”

 

“Is that how you think of me?” she asked, thrown slightly off-tilt.

 

“You're an ugly, weak, useless alien female. How else am I supposed to think of you?”

 

“Then why did you tell me all that stuff? Why'd you help me?”

 

“Because I've no desire to see any creature, even one as pathetic as yourself, suffer unduly. Now you know where you are, now you understand, perhaps you'll think twice before fighting. Perhaps you'll realize that sometimes in order to win you have to appear to lose. Maybe you'll understand that sometimes the price of arrogance, pride, even honour is simply too great.”

 

“I will never give in,” she replied, ever defiant and arrogant. “I will never surrender. I will never lose hope. And I will never be broken.”

 

“Yes,” he said, meeting her eye. “You will. But it's up to you how just how much. And, believe me, if you choose to fight it'll not be just your freedom but your soul.”

 

“You don't know me!” she screeched.

 

“Yes, I do. I've seen you a million times over. I've been you. In the end, you'll end up just like the rest of us. Everyone does. You can't fight the inevitable.”

 

“B-but-”

 

“One last thing,” he added, ignoring her stuttered comeback and turning to leave. “Don't even try to remove that bracelet on your arm unless you want to be attacked, raped and worse by a multitude of very sadistic, very horny men.”

 

“What bracelet?” Bulma yelled at his retreating form, her eyes drawn to the ornate silver armlet cuffed to her wrist. Tracing the alien symbols carved upon it she silently fumed. Property of Frieza and marked accordingly… She didn't think so. Bulma Briefs belonged to no man, alien or otherwise.

 

“First thing's first,” she muttered to herself, walking into her new room and, unwittingly, her new life. “How do I get this damn thing off?”

 

“I can help you with that,” an all-to-familiar voice snickered viciously.

 

Bulma froze. Standing on the other side of her room, sadistic smirk in place, was her tormentor.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, attempting anger and failing. “How dare you invade my privacy after what you did? I should kill you where you stand. Who do you think you are, anyway?”

 

“And Zarbon thought that punch knocked all the fight from you!” he declared, completely ignoring her questions. “The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you'd fight me tooth and nail all the way. And all that bravado against what you surely must realize to be unwavering odds; how precious!”

 

“How dare you presume to patronize and treat me this way? Surely I have some sort of diplomatic immunity that prevents me from enduring anymore of your revolting attempts at hostility. I am Bulma Briefs, for god sake! Do you have any idea what that means?!”

 

“I know exactly what it means. You, my dear, are the one resolutely clueless.”

 

“S-So… wait…” Bulma stuttered, more confused than ever. “You know who I am? Is that why you're here? To apologize for earlier. Because if it is I hardly think I can forgive you. You knocked me out cold and were unbelievably rude. And I mean, come on, I-”

 

Frieza's cold laughter silenced her train of thought. She had time to realize how unbelievably naive she'd been before her thoughts were verbalized.

 

“Stupid woman!” he laughed, phasing, like a demon, from the other side of the room and slamming her body into a wall. “You still don't get it. Perhaps it's time I show you exactly how much all your wealth and standing means.”

 

Before Bulma could blink her inert form was flung across the room, pinned painfully to the bed by the sadistically grinning demon that lorded over her. The towel had disappeared. His slimy purple tongue darted out, slithering like some nightmarish insect across her cheek. She gagged, fighting back the rising bile. Mustering all her strength she thrashed violently against her captor, trying desperately to break free from his vice-like grip. Frieza snickered, mocking her failed attempts. His roving hands pawed her violently, mercilessly attacking every inch of her skin. She gasped in pain as his sharp nails raked down her sides, drawing blood. Overpowered by a mixture of fury, fear and disgust Bulma threw her head back and spat in the monster's face. Frieza's features contorted with rage and he slapped her. Squinting through blurred vision and on the edge of losing consciousness Bulma was pulled callously back to reality as Frieza yanked her long aqua locks. Her back arched involuntarily and he bit down on her nipple with sadistic relish. Her tortured screams of pain chilled and thrilled all who occupied the nearby halls. Lapping the pooled blood Frieza appeared the very image of the devil himself, freed the depths of hell and ravishing the universe with sadistic malice. His maw, stained ruby red, grinned up at her and her fury at his arrogance reawakened. Hissing and spitting like a caged wildcat, Bulma thrashed beneath his chiseled form, surprising even Frieza with the strength of anger. An escaped limb, anxious to repay the favor, struck his most private part with full force. Frieza breath hitched.

 

“That hurt, whore!” he spat, pinning her down with the full force of his weight. Bulma raised her fist to strike him but he caught it effortlessly, grinding together the delicate bones in his deadly grasp. She whimpered in pain.

 

“It's obvious I've been too gentle with you. I'll not make the same mistake twice.”

 

In one fluid moment he threw her onto her stomach, entering her roughly from behind. She gasped in a mixture of pain, fear and sorrow. Tears began to fall, unbridled, as he pounded into her. Her nails sunk into the bedspread, now stained with her maidenhood. Tiny drops of blood flew from her mouth as she bit fiercely down on her tongue, urging with every inch of herself not to give him the satisfaction of a scream. It was all she could do not to die from the pain ripping her in two. He had taken so much, more than anyone had any right to. She couldn't let him have her dignity as well. She wouldn't.

 

“You're pathetic!” she whispered, chocking back everything but the biting hate she felt wheeling inside like a bottomless ravine. “R-raping a woman who c-c-can't stand against you even if she t-tried. Using the… the strength you did not e-earn or d-deserve to commit the most… the most cowardly atrocity that exists. There's no power in that. There's nothing but… but the actions of a w-weak and p-pitiful loser. You may be strong physically but inside… inside you're as weak as a mewling infant.”

 

The movement above her stopped and Bulma was thrown against the wall like a wet rag, instantly losing consciousness. Snarling viciously Frieza returned her limb body and continued his now furious ministrations in a delirious haze of clawing, biting and thrusting.

 

Three hours later Bulma's battered, barely living form was dragged to the tanks.

 

Even the most war hardened soldiers shuddered at the sight.