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Chapter Text

“Remember who you are! What you are!” Nappa yelled down at him from where he hovered in the air, the West City Airport sign visible behind him.

The prince grit his teeth in determination and squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled with the growing pressure and burning pain in his chest.  I am Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans.

“Remember your pride!”

I am Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans. The young man pounded one of his fists against his armor. Why did it feel like his heart was about to explode? The cardiac muscle squeezed hard, throbbing in a losing battle.

“Don’t lose yourself!” Nappa pleaded.

I am Vegeta. A Saiyan. The prince opened his mouth in agony, choking back a cry.

“Fight it!!”

I AM VEGETA! His entire body spasmed as his blood thickened and his heart stopped.

I am… me. The change was complete and he relaxed. The newborn Saiyan zombie opened cloudy gray pupil-less eyes, finding a world filled with colorless shapes. But… who am I? What am I?

The winter breeze wafted a delicious smell into his nostrils, then he snarled.

I am HUNGER.

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OVER A YEAR LATER

Gazing at his reflection in the huge terminal windows as he trudged past them, the Saiyan zombie with upraised hair was disgusted by his own appearance: pale skin with dark gray eyelids, cyanotic lips, and large spidery veins climbing up both sides of his neck to his sharp jawline. His posture was pathetic. He should stand up straighter. Not only would people respect him more if he stood up straighter, but he’d look a little taller too. As it was, he was one of the shortest zombies in the airport. Besides a few frail women and the kids, of course.

Every day he trapsed through the terminal, wondering why he was even there. He wished he could introduce himself to the other Corpses that milled around the place, not because he wanted to be friends, but because he felt important enough to be known. But this wish remained unfulfilled since he had long forgotten his name. It might have started with a V. Even if he could remember his name, it’s not like his fellow zombies could properly respond anyway. They were dead. He was dead. It was all pointless.

Still, a sense of pride lingered in him like a ghost, even though he had no recollection of who he was. No memories of his parents, his home, his occupation. Although the armored chest plate he wore would suggest he was a soldier, a mentality that carried over to his current state. He took this role seriously.

When Corpses changed into horrific mummified eyeless creatures, which the Living called Boneys, Vegeta destroyed them. Boneys were mostly skinless skeletons covered in darkened dried-up muscle that was somehow still functional. They moved faster than Corpses, a biological mystery since they were more degraded, but perhaps it was because they carried less mass or maybe because they weren’t weighed down with consciousness. Probably both. Boneys embodied pure instinct, reacting to sound and smell. They were too aggressive and offended the undead Saiyan’s sensibilities. So, every morning when there was enough light to see again, Vegeta patrolled the tarmac and the terminal, making his rounds to keep the Boneys out of his domain.

All Corpses would turn into Boneys eventually. It was merely a matter of time. The transition to the more decayed state was unique to each zombie. At some point, a Corpse would lose all hope, all resemblance of independent thought, and fall victim to the most basic of urges. Nothing but insatiable hunger. And there was no turning back. Perhaps that was the real reason Vegeta exterminated the Boneys. He didn’t like being reminded of his looming fate.

Because of the Saiyan’s diligence, there were no Boneys at the West City airport. At least not on a permanent basis. The Corpses there were rather peaceful with each other. So, in a way, the prince had created his own little undead kingdom. Not that he understood this. He was operating more on instinct than anything.

As Vegeta meandered through the terminal, he passed an elderly Corpse wearing coveralls who most certainly was a janitor before he was bitten. Every day, the old man zombie tried to clean the same six tiles of flooring with a mop that had dried long ago.

When the Saiyan slumped past the baggage claim area, he saw an undead guy with a fancy watch and tailored suit standing idly by the luggage carousel. He held car keys in one hand and a genuine leather briefcase in the other. Was this man aware that he used to be rich? If so, it must feel even worse to be dead.

One tall lady with an athletic build, dark skin, and a low ponytail of black locs plodded toward Vegeta. Her form-fitting shirt carried a dark stain from a bullet wound in the chest, a testament to someone’s failed attempt to put her down. Vegeta’s gaze rose from her chest to her cloudy eyes and she aggressively hissed at him. Viciously, he bared his teeth and growled back, shoving her in the shoulder and knocking her to the floor. When her noise quieted, he grunted harshly, a reminder not to challenge him. Awkwardly, she returned to her feet and moved on while he continued his journey.

All of the people that were in this terminal used to be alive. Vegeta intuitively knew this. They had jobs. They had families. But not anymore. Now they were all Corpses. And how they all ended up in this state was beyond Vegeta. His own lack of memories made it feel like he had always been stuck in this meaningless existence.

After finishing his patrol route, Vegeta roamed aimlessly, feeling a little lonely. Two kids stumbled by, a pre-teen black boy and a small blonde girl. They were always together, being the only two children at the airport. Occasionally, some of the motherly female Corpses would bring them leftover limbs because the kids didn’t hunt for themselves, but he never saw the kids eating. Maybe their innocence preserved them.

Since this young pair was familiar to the Saiyan, he turned and trudged behind the kids for a while, until he reentered a more populated part of the terminal.

The bar was up ahead, and seated there was Vegeta’s loyal friend, a huge bald giant of a man, sitting on a stool by a dusty tumbler, waiting patiently, and moaning to fill the silence. They often met each other here to grunt and stare awkwardly at each other.

Vegeta hopped up on the stool next to Big Baldy, who turned his large gray eyes to Vegeta and let out a long groan. Vegeta joined in, groaning in unison, in solidarity. Once the air ran out of their weak lungs, they grunted back and forth for a moment, practically having a conversation as they leaned in and nodded, like they understood each other. Then Big Baldy stared at the wall of booze in front of him and let out a lengthy loud moan.

Vegeta wasn’t sure how they became friends. Perhaps because they both had armor, they subconsciously connected over their shared soldier experience. Big Baldy’s armor protected his massive shoulders with large intimidating guards. He even had hip guards. Vegeta’s armor was simple, with no shoulder guards, only straps, but it covered his chest and back.

But perhaps the most striking physical similarity was their tails. No one else in the airport had a tail. Maybe everyone else lost theirs.

There was something else unique about these two, beyond their appearance. Unlike other Corpses, sometimes they would find actual words. Words like…

“Hhhungry,” Vegeta struggled to push out enough air to speak, but Big Baldy heard him.

The larger man turned to look at the smaller Saiyan in agreement, “City.”

“Hmm,” the prince squinted and gave a bobble head nod.

“Hngh,” Big Baldy stood up, ready for action.

Vegeta slid off the stool and marched off with an uneven gait like he was tipsy. Big Baldy followed with heavy steps as though his boots were made of iron.

As the pair exited the terminal, over a dozen Corpses followed. This was typical. Vegeta wore headgear, and it helped him find the Living. He had learned early on that the most satisfying meals were the ones that registered higher numbers on the eyepiece. Since he was a great hunter and somewhat choosy about his own meals, Vegeta would often leave the lower energy prey for his followers as they moved. Many of the Corpses knew this and tagged along when they noticed Vegeta and Big Baldy taking off. Traveling in clusters was preferable anyway. Obviously, the Living did not appreciate being their food source, so zombies were often targeted when they left their nests. Being in a group was safer.

With a quick glance behind him, Vegeta took stock of his team. Today’s group held mostly middle-aged Corpses, including that tall dark woman with the ponytail of locs he had encountered earlier. A couple of elderly men trailed at the back.

The airport was separated from West City by large sprawling suburban neighborhoods that had been mostly abandoned. It took hours to walk into the city limits.

Normally, the airport Corpses had to travel to the far east side to find holed-up humans, since they had devoured the leftover residents closest to them. By the time they had reached the first block of tall buildings, Vegeta stopped and searched for signs of life. He was in luck. The scouter screen was reading a group of Living moving on the west side, not too far north. His tail, which normally drug behind him, curled up at the tip in his excitement, and lazily swung back and forth. He headed north.

Unfortunately, dead people tended to walk sluggishly. If the Living moved fast enough, the hunting party might miss them altogether. Vegeta did his best to pick up the pace in his uneven gait, his limp hands swinging more forcefully. The others took his cue and followed suit.

Weaving through the abandoned vehicles on the streets, the herd of zombies turned down an alley. A monster hissed angrily above them. Eight sets of cloudy gray eyes peered up at a fire escape landing to find the empty eye sockets of a shriveled Boney with fresh entrails in its teeth. Vegeta crouched down, readying his stiff legs, fighting off the fatigue. When the occasion called for it, he could still muster short bursts of power, speed and strength. Even as a dead man, Vegeta could still leap much higher than a Living human. With a single jump, he cleared the railing and landed on the fire escape, earning himself an attack from the territorial Boney. Reflexively, Vegeta grabbed the back of the skeleton head that lunged at him and smashed the skull against the brick wall of the building.

When the monster fell limp and tumbled down the grated stairs, Vegeta checked the fresh meat the Boney had been feasting on. The brain was already gone. Too bad. Knowing his followers might want it, he picked up the heavy body by an arm and a leg and tossed it over the side. After it thudded on the pavement below, the two elderly Corpses showed interest and shuffled away, digging into the Boney’s leftovers.

Two less mouths to compete with.

Vegeta clumsily hopped over the railing, but his boot toe got caught on the top and he flipped awkwardly, landing back first on a young blonde female Corpse, knocking her to the ground. Ribs crunched underneath him, but the woman zombie didn’t care. None of them felt pain after all. Without a sliver of acknowledgement toward each other, they both stood and continued down the alley.

The source of the energy signature was in the hospital across the street. Vegeta led Big Baldy and the dozen remaining human Corpses to their destination, shuffling over the broken glass of the abandoned hospital entrance and slowly ascending the dark stairwells. By the time they reached the right floor, the herd didn’t even need Vegeta anymore. All they had to do was follow the scent of Life.

Bursting into a large lab filled with rows of shelves, cabinets and countertops, the zombie group was met with immediate violence.

“Kamehameha!”

A stream of light blasted at the group. The two Saiyans managed to dodge the strange attack, but four of the Corpses by the door were mostly disintegrated.

Gunfire followed.

In the middle of the room, a feisty young woman with straight shoulder-length hair and bangs that hung over a furrowed brow knelt in the aisle between the counters and attempted to fire off an entire magazine from her assault rifle. Her aim was inconsistent, and she only managed to take down one of the dead men and graze the shoulder of the tall lady with the locs. When the female shooter’s gun jammed, she scrambled behind a row of cabinets to the right.

Bullets ricocheted off the Saiyan armor but the two undead warriors were still fast enough to avoid head shots. Like a bulldozer, Big Baldy plowed through the shooters on the left. Hefty men were his favorite kind of meal, and there was a chubby one in the back holding a shotgun, hardly a challenge for the huge man.

Meanwhile, the smaller Saiyan darted to the source of the energy beam attack: a scar-faced man with an unruly low ponytail standing on a counter, now pulling a gun to his shoulder. Most Living beings had readings of one or two digits on Vegeta’s scouter. This guy’s reading was over a hundred! Vegeta drooled in anticipation. The threat of the automatic weapon in this guy’s hands was worth the risk.

After a quick lunge forward to avoid the sudden spray of bullets, Vegeta swatted at the shooter’s feet. As the man toppled over sideways onto the countertop, the Saiyan wrenched the gun away, gripping the barrel so hard it pinched shut. The disarmed man squirmed off the counter, planted his feet on the floor and pulled out a slightly curved sword. Furiously, he swung with the intent to behead his attacker. Vegeta twisted to avoid the blade, but his shoulder got caught by the tip of it, and the blade sliced through the blue sleeve into the dead tissue. With a swift movement, Vegeta grabbed the weapon and yanked it out of the swordsman’s grip. It clattered across the floor out of reach.

“Wolf Fang Fist!” screamed the messy haired man as he swung his hands in a flurry at the undead Saiyan. With a determined snarl, Vegeta blocked the punches with his arms and let his armor take some of the hits before he kicked the young’s man feet out from underneath him, knocking his prey to the tile floor. Then the Saiyan buried his white boot in the guy’s stomach. The Living man groaned in pain, holding his gut.

Having momentarily neutralized his future feast, Vegeta quickly assessed the other threats. Big Baldy had already silenced the screams of the tubby one in the back, so that was a good sign. Along the left side of the room, there were two other armed Living firing pistols at the remnant herd. Three of the zombies had received headshots, including the blonde female Corpse whose ribs Vegeta had accidentally broken, but the other three had remained on their feet despite taking on some damage. Vegeta picked up a nearby stool and flung it at the two shooters across the room, knocking them both down. Eagerly, the remaining Corpses rushed in for the kill.

It was safe to eat now.

Vegeta looked back down at his own prey in time to see him reach into his combat boot to pull something out. A thick sharp blade flicked out of the handle.

Nice knife, Vegeta thought to himself.

The Saiyan stomped on the wrist with the weapon, leading the messy haired man to scream. Vegeta grinned. He sounded like a girl. The blade clinked to the tile.

While torture was amusing, Vegeta wasn’t one to waste time. Efficiency was too important. After grabbing a fistful of the shaggy black hair, Vegeta violently whacked the head of his flailing victim against the floor to kill him.

Time for the meal. The skull was already cracked open. Vegeta lifted his chin, a shadow of guilt passing over his expression. A part of him knew this was disgusting. Depraved. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The new hunger was a powerful thing.

 So, he ate.

While any Living meat could satisfy a hungry zombie, the brain was the best part. It was the only way to feel anything, because it tasted like memories. Like Life.

As Vegeta chewed, images came alive in his mind.

Beautiful flowers. Purple, red, yellow, orange.

Color. Oh, how he missed color.

But the flowers weren’t the focal point of the somber scene.

A young dark-haired boy at a funeral with two caskets surrounded by floral displays. The framed photograph between them showed a man and wife with their shaggy haired son showcasing a cocky smile. There were no whispers of condolences. No supporting family. The room was empty except for him. The handkerchief in his hand was soaked with snot and tears.

Vegeta felt the grief and loneliness of the memory. It ached.

The boy was older. Taller. He sprinted along the edges of the desert, yelling and screaming to chase off a trio of wolves that had cornered another wolf that seemed injured. When one of the aggressive wolves turned on him instead, the young teen landed a kick on the animal’s ribs, sending it running with a yelp. The other two wolves startled and took off, leaving the boy with the victim he had rescued.

The injured wolf limped forward then transformed into a small floating blue cat with a bleeding paw. “Thank you! You saved my life!”

“You’re not a wolf?” the boy scratched at his thick black mane around his head.

“I can shape-shift. I was trying to look just as fierce as them so they would leave me alone, but I think they sniffed me out,” the cat reached out the uninjured paw, “I’m Puar! What’s your name?”

“I’m Yamcha,” the boy told the creature as he shook the offered paw, “How’d you get caught out here?”

“I’m looking for work. I thought crossing the desert at night would be safer since it wouldn’t be so hot, but I guess I thought wrong!” the cat gave him a toothy sheepish grin.

“Say, if you’re interested, maybe you and I could work together. I’m a bandit along the road that crosses the Diablo Desert, and your shape-shifting abilities would really help! Whaddaya say? Wanna be partners?”

The two became immediate friends and the loneliness from the first memory was overshadowed by their companionship.

Vegeta ate more.

As the cat and rascal teamed up in the desert, Vegeta could feel the heat of the yellow landscape and the thrill of thieving. But the colors of their surroundings faded when a small figure appeared. It must have been someone important because the distant memory was still strong.

A spiky haired kid with a tail.

So, there were other people with tails out there. Huh.

Confidently, Yamcha tried attacking the child, but after several failed attempts, the teen suddenly stopped in his tracks, staring at a girl who was watching the fight. Her aqua blue hair and sparkling blue eyes filled his vision.

Instant attraction. And fear.

As a deep blush turned Yamcha’s face red in the memory, Vegeta could feel the warmth in his cheeks, even though his own face was still drained of color.

The undead Saiyan helped himself to more, eager to keep going.

Yamcha was sneaking around at night by a camper. He spotted the blue-haired woman naked in the shower. Then he went inside the camper and found her naked in bed.

While the circumstances surrounding the bandit’s creepy actions were unclear, the woman’s bare form was burned into Yamcha’s brain.

A memory of the small kid with the tail turning into a giant ape gave Vegeta a strange sense of déjà vu. Then there was a dragon and a wish.

The mental images continued, and while there were snippets of adventures, martial arts training, fighting, and something called ki, the most interesting part for Vegeta was when Yamcha started a relationship with the blue-haired girl, Bulma Briefs. She must have been significant to him, because the memories surrounding her had the strongest flavor, like Yamcha had mulled them over and over in his mind to savor them.

Bulma was flirtatious, smart and feisty. When Yamcha made a wrong move, she wouldn’t hesitate to scream at him. The memories of their interactions started off fairly innocent, but even the slightest peck of her lips and grazing touch of her delicate fingers would send Yamcha into a tailspin. If the former bandit was going to become a stronger fighter, he had to separate from his distraction. Yamcha left her to focus on his training, but as the events of the world shifted to the zombie apocalypse, the two found each other again.

“Yamcha!” Bulma called out in a small helicopter that she flew over a forest in the pink sky at sunset. Orange clad Yamcha peered up at her. When she spotted him, he waved and ran to where she was landing in a small clearing.

“You’re the worst!” she yelled as she exited the helicopter, but still stood under the turning blades, “Do you know how hard it was to find you?! I had to contact Master Roshi, who asked his sister to use her crystal ball and -!”

“I’m training for the tournament, Bulma, and I’m making good progress!”

“If you mean progress towards ruining your face, then sure!” she gestured toward his new scars, “But at this rate, there won’t be a tournament if we can’t stop the pandemic.”

“What pandemic?”

“Are you that clueless?! For weeks now, a virus has spread like wildfire! It turns people into aggressive monsters! They’re trying to evacuate West City as we speak! I need help retrieving the dragon balls so we can fix this!” she gestured toward her copter’s cabin, “I already have two… Wait… They’ve turned to stone!”

“What?” Yamcha looked inside. Two identical rocky spheres were laying in a box on the cabin floor.

 Bulma snatched a handheld radar device from the copilot’s seat. The green grid on the screen was blank. “Nooo!”

As the memories continued, Yamcha returned with Bulma to West City, eventually joining the human enclave’s militia. With their relationship rekindled, and the fate of the world unknown, the two young people began to find comfort in each other. A stolen kiss in her kitchen. A sweet smooch goodbye before he headed off on another salvage run. A slow lip lock on her balcony that was interrupted by raindrops. A lengthy session in her bedroom. Their kissing slowly became more and more intense. More passionate. More physical.

Vegeta’s mouth dropped open in awe at the rush of feelings he was consuming. His foggy mind was on fire. Abruptly, it stopped with a memory of her slapping Yamcha in the face. Vegeta held a gloved hand up to his own cheek as he felt the sting of her attack.

“How dare you!” she screamed, “After all we’ve been through?! You cheated on me with Sapphire?!”

“It didn’t mean anything!” the idiot claimed.

While Vegeta could feel the truth of his statement, it was clear Yamcha had betrayed her by allowing a girl with short dark hair to make romantic advances on him. And they had shared an extended kiss. The memory of it was suppressed but it was there, shrouded in guilt.

“I remember when you used to be afraid of girls. But since you’ve earned a name for yourself in the guard with your stupid kill count competition, you’ve loved the attention and you won’t stop flirting with other women! I’m sick of it! I’m done!”

Her pink face scrunched up in determination and fury. Her delicate brow furrowed over clear blue eyes framed by bangs.

What a minute. Vegeta recognized this expression! She was in this room! Bulma was here!

Snapping out of his trance, Vegeta wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and grabbed Yamcha’s nice knife from the floor, folding it and tucking it into his left boot. He gathered the remainder of his meal in his left hand, knowing he didn’t have time to finish it. Too bad he didn’t have pockets. Looking around for a solution, he saw a large hooded jacket on a nearby counter. One of the Living must have taken it off before the herd showed up. Vegeta stepped toward it and picked it up for examination. This would do. He stashed his leftovers in the left pocket, then he awkwardly shoved his arms into the loose sweatshirt fabric sleeves, making sure to pull them up above his gloves to his forearms.

Now where did that feisty girl with the jammed assault rifle go? He thought she had scrambled to the right when she disappeared, so he scanned his eyepiece over that side of the room. Sure enough, he found a low powered Living signature coming from the cabinets that lined the wall along the floor. He hunched down as he crept forward so he wouldn’t draw attention from the other Corpses, who were still eating.

Vegeta turned off his scouter and crouched in front of the closed cabinet. When he quietly opened the door, a knife jabbed at his face. He snatched her wrist and forced her to drop the weapon.

Intensely, he studied her with his gray pupil-less eyes. Being completely color-blind, he couldn’t tell if her hair was blue or not, but it was the same length and same bangs. Her expression even matched the anger he saw in the last memory, but it quickly morphed into terror. She sucked in a breath like she was about to start screaming, so he put a finger to his lips.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, still holding her wrist, “Quiet… Bullllma.”

She froze. He released her and her hand withdrew.

He was right. This was her.

A strange sensation came over him. A strained movement inside his ribcage. He clutched his chest and after a moment the uncomfortable feeling ended.

Vegeta looked over his shoulder. Big Baldy was done eating and roved around the back of the room slowly, sniffing the air.

Bulma wasn’t safe. The Living had a distinct smell. The only way to hide her presence was to cover her scent with a stronger one. Like adding manure to a rose garden.

Vegeta reached up inside his jacket to his injured shoulder. Yamcha had made a decent cut there. It oozed blood, if it could be called that. It had the consistency and color of molasses. Vegeta collected his own thick dark blood on his fingers, then smeared it on the cargo vest she was wearing. Horrified, she shrank against the back of the cabinet, cringing and shuddering. Vegeta leaned in and sniffed.

“Hm,” he gave a small grunt and nodded once. It was good enough camouflage. “Sssafe.”

 Her head tilted in confusion.

A groan to his left turned Vegeta’s attention away from her. Big Baldy stood there, his head cocked to the side, watching the two of them.

Great. Now she had been caught.

Vegeta grabbed her wrist with his cold right hand and tugged on it. She resisted at first, but his grip was unrelenting. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the cabinet and stood to her feet. While Vegeta’s grip kept her from falling, she teetered a little, having been cramped up in that small space too long, but this worked in her favor. Big Baldy thought she was a Corpse. Like a sasquatch, he lumbered back across the room to check on the others.

As Vegeta began inching toward the exit slowly, keeping Bulma with him, she adjusted the backpack she wore, then tugged against his hold on her wrist, but he wouldn’t release her. His eye was drawn to a snow globe that sat on a shelf he was passing. Inside the glass sphere a porcelain man and woman were holding hands gazing at each other. Lazily, Vegeta grabbed it with his free hand. He would add this to his collection.

A few steps further and Yamcha’s body came into view. Vegeta felt Bulma’s arm go limp in his grip. He glanced at her. With a slightly open mouth, she was staring at the body of her ex-boyfriend on the floor. A tear fell. Then another. She closed her eyes and looked away, her hands forming fists.

Vegeta gently pulled on her wrist again to lead her away and she allowed it.

Big Baldy saw Vegeta leaving and he followed. The other zombies noticed their Saiyan leaders were heading out. Since they had satiated their hunger well enough, they left too.

Chapter Text

Bulma was trapped in the small herd of zombies now. Out of fear she kept her head down to avoid eye contact as Vegeta led the group out of the hospital. When they reached the sunlight again, he twisted his head over his shoulder to check on her. She was staring at his tail, but when she noticed she had his attention, she glared at him in anger. After she yanked her hand to try to free herself, he gripped her tighter. If she ran away now, she would blow her cover and the Corpses would chase her down. Perhaps she could outrun most of them, but she wouldn’t be able to get away from Big Baldy. He was too fast.

Her chin crumpled as she scowled at Vegeta. She was frustrated, but she hadn’t given up yet, he could tell. He appreciated her tenacity, her ferocity, but he would have to keep a firm hold on her because of it.

He moved his attention back to their path, walking at a slow pace since all the urgency of the hunt was gone. At least he wasn’t too tired to keep moving. His small meal had replenished the energy he had spent on fighting. This is why he liked higher energy targets. They were not only more challenging but also packed more punch in every bite. They made him feel less dead.

The snow globe in Vegeta’s hand sloshed around, the spherical glass reflecting light like a beacon. Bulma saw the couple holding hands in the glittery liquid and wondered why her rescuer/captor had taken it.

Laboriously, they all trudged through the city and suburban area for hours as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, streaming directly into their faces. The Corpses didn’t seem to care, but Bulma’s cheeks grew sore from squinting in the light, so she spent most of her time hanging her head down, staring at the asphalt or at Vegeta’s boots. In weariness and grief, Bulma’s steps began dragging just as bad as the zombies.

Vegeta felt confused at his own behavior. What was he doing? Never once had he tried to save someone. Let alone take them home. This is not what he was supposed to do. Corpses eat people. He was acting against his own nature! And he had no plan for the future, no idea what to do when they got to their destination. All he knew was he wanted to keep her safe. Or perhaps… he just wanted to keep her.

It was dusk by the time they arrived at the terminal. The zombies who followed him went their separate ways, filtering into the horde that resided there. Vegeta led Bulma through airport security. An undead guard waved a metal detector wand around them with jerky movements, but stared at Bulma harder than normal, a spark of curiosity in his expression. Bulma turned her head to try to hide her face. Fiercely, Vegeta bared his sharp canines and growled at the guard to distract him. With wide eyes, the zombie guard staggered back from the Saiyan and dropped his wand. While he bent down to pick it back up, Vegeta and Bulma moved on.

A cold wind blew across the tarmac when they crossed it. There weren’t as many zombies out here as there were inside the terminal, so Vegeta felt a little more relaxed with his contraband as he motioned for her to ascend the boarding stairs to his home, which was a large passenger plane.

Surprisingly, Bulma didn’t fight him. She was too exhausted from the long trek and knew it was hopeless to try to find her way back to the Quarantine Zone in the dark. As she entered the plane, she was relieved to find it didn’t stink of dead bodies. Vegeta followed her inside the plane and shut the door. The snow globe souvenir he had taken from the hospital supply room was placed on the middle seat of the front row, then he removed his scouter and set it down as well.

She slid off her backpack and put it under the front row, then took off her soiled vest and placed it on the back of the seat, ready to be rid of the smell. The swirling sparkles in the snow globe caught her attention. They whirled around the porcelain couple, colliding with them and with each other before they settled along the bottom. Bulma wished her stomach would settle as easily as the globe. Suddenly she felt cool shallow breaths on her neck and she shivered, stepping away from the dead man that stood by her.

“Hhhome,” he explained with a strained whisper and motioned for her to pick a seat.

Slowly, she moved forward down the aisle and he followed. A sickening feeling overcame her when she noticed there were more souvenirs. A lot more. The seats were littered with a variety of random knick-knacks. Books, movies, maps, a globe, puzzles, a telescope, an autographed baseball, a solar system model, dishes, tools, electronics, and so much more. Knowing he had grabbed the snow globe from the scene of a feast, she understood these items were also things he had collected in his hunts. How many people had he eaten?!

It took a moment to find a spot that wasn’t too cluttered. After she climbed into a window seat, leaning her body away from where he stood in the aisle, she clutched her knees to her chest and watched him with eyes that shone with tears. For a while, he simply stared at her, slumped and unmoving. Her crying worsened and she whimpered.

This was not going well. Vegeta sat in the aisle seat in the opposite row. Self-consciously, he adjusted his stolen jacket a little higher on his shoulders, as if he could make himself a little more presentable. He turned his cloudy gaze toward her, his head moving a bit unsteadily.

“Nnnot…. eat,” he reassured her. Her crying continued.

Maybe she didn’t understand. He did have a habit of mumbling. To make himself clearer, he opened his mouth, pointed at it and snapped his teeth together a few times. Then he shook his head, to indicate he wouldn’t bite her. She turned her face away and started sobbing.

“I’ll… keep you… ssafe,” he stood from his seat and leaned over her to get her to look at him, but she flinched, cowering against the plane hull. Stopping himself, he pulled back.

This was going nowhere. Even if he could help her feel safe, she was still going to be upset about losing Yamcha. And he wasn’t about to spend an entire night listening to her cry.

Vegeta exited the plane and shut the door behind him. He didn’t trust her to stay put, so he sat on the bottom of the boarding stairs. Guarding. Waiting. Giving her space.

Every once in a while, he checked the windows and saw her moonlit face watching him. Eventually, she closed her eyes.

Hours went by. The stars in the sky slowly crawled along their routes. Vegeta stared up at them. Unexplainably, he knew what they were. Not tiny dots, but gargantuan balls of flame like the sun that rose every day. He even knew what they looked like up close, how they formed, how they died, like he had witnessed it all for himself. How did he know this?

He peeked back at Bulma. Her head was still leaning against the window unmoving.

That strange feeling hit his chest again. A tugging sensation under his armor. He held his cold numb hand there. A grunt escaped him as the tightness reached a point where it actually hurt a little. Then it went away. Was that pain? Maybe his rotting mind was playing tricks on him. Perhaps it wasn’t real pain, but the memory of it.

Speaking of memories, this was a good opportunity to eat. After all, he wanted to get to know her more. Eating her ex-boyfriend’s brain was a completely unorthodox way to do it, but it’s not like she wanted to chat at the moment. In fact, he was pretty sure she had fallen asleep. He felt a little jealous. Too bad he couldn’t sleep. Or dream.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out most of the leftover brains. This was the closest he could get to dreaming. He glanced up at Bulma again. She could catch him in the act if she woke up. For some reason, this possibility bothered him.

Vegeta stood and shuffled under the hull, hiding from view near the landing gear under the plane’s nose.

Once again, he loathed himself as he took a bite of the morsel he held.

Another funeral. No flowers. No fancy casket. A body being burned with a group of onlookers watching. The smoke rose into the sky, black and ominous.

More recent memories were vivid and lasted longer. Vegeta could smell the stench of the smoke and hear the crackling of the flames as it competed with the sniffling of the grievers and orated platitudes from a uniformed officer.

Bulma wore black. Two blond women stood next to her, also in black. The oldest was sobbing, while the younger two cried silently. The three held hands. A short bald man with six dots on his forehead spoke quietly to the mourning women, then left. Then that spiky haired kid, who had grown into a man and had lost his tail, approached with a dark-haired girl at his side.

“Thanks for flying me over here, Goku,” the younger blond woman shook his hand.

“You’re welcome, Ticks,” Goku patted her shoulder kindly.

“It’s Tights,” Bulma smiled sadly, as he hugged her next.

“I’m really sorry,” the young man spoke to the three of them. “He was a hero.”

“Not quite,” Bulma sighed, “But he was close.”

“He loved all of you so much,” he held the hand of the oldest woman.

Although grief lined the matriarch’s face, she forced a smile for him. “He loved you too, Goku.”

After the young man and his girl left, Puar nudged Yamcha in the shoulder. Hesitantly, Yamcha approached. His emotions were mixed. Sadness and hope swirled together. He wanted Bulma to need him. To accept him again.

“I’m really sorry about your dad,” Yamcha reached for Bulma’s hand to hold it, to comfort her, but she lifted her fingers away, clinging to her mother instead. He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted you to know, I’m here for you. You know where to find me.”

Bulma sniffed and returned her attention to the smoke. “Thanks.” The word was intended to be polite, but it was crisp. Insincere.

The Saiyan frowned. Seemed like poor taste on Yamcha’s part to try to exploit Bulma’s grief. Granted, Vegeta wasn’t the best judge of morality. Still, this event left a bitter taste in his mouth. Hoping for better flavor in another memory, he finished off the portion in his hand.

Still dissatisfied with their separation, Yamcha sought out Bulma again one evening. Before he reached the balcony in the back of her huge dome shaped abode, he saw a flash of blue hair heading away from the home.

Curiously, Yamcha followed her past the tents and tiny shacks that surrounded the large home, walking well beaten dirt paths. She wove through the makeshift homes, then eventually disappeared into a small boarded up gas station next to the tall quarantine wall. Yamcha jogged to catch up, entering behind her, but she was nowhere in sight when he walked in. After carefully searching around the empty shelves, he checked behind the checkout counter and found a carved-out hole in the floor.

Determined to solve this mystery, the young man jumped over the counter and gently lowered himself into the hole, finding himself in a large pedestrian tunnel, the kind that connected skyscrapers. Hearing quick paced footsteps leading away and seeing a flashlight beam up ahead along with Bulma’s silhouette, Yamcha covertly followed along in the darkness, wishing he had kept his weapon with him. He kept his distance as she traversed the tunnels, climbed a motionless escalator onto the first floor of a corporate building and headed across the street to West City Bank.

What he found there in the vault astounded him.

“What are you doing?!” he yelled when he saw the cage that was set up in the back of the small room.

“Ahh!” Bulma screamed and dropped the vial she was holding and it broke on the floor. She clutched her heart, “YAMCHA! Are you trying to scare me to death?!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he emphatically swept a hand to the chain-link cage, which held a female Corpse munching on something.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to find a cure!”

“They banned this type of research!”

“Active Corpse research is only banned behind the wall. They don’t have jurisdiction outside the Quarantine Zone. That’s why I’m operating here.”

“Bulma! This is how your father died!”

“That’s why I’m trying to finish his work! I’ve been reading his notes and he was getting close to a breakthrough. But I need a viral carrier specimen to test his theories and Barbara here was helping me.”

The female zombie was dressed in a professional skirt and stained blouse. A West City Bank nametag on her well-proportioned bust read, “Barbara.”

“Why can’t you use an infected body?”

“Cadavers won’t work because I need the nervous system intact. Don’t worry, I’m taking precautions,” Bulma gestured toward the pistol she kept tucked in the front of her belt.

“Are you feeding it?!” Yamcha asked in horror as he bent and studied the creature. Barbara was chewing slowly, gazing over his shoulder as if he didn’t exist.

“I’m feeding her ethically sourced meals. Chiaotzu and Puar work in the morgue, so they’re supplying me. I preserve portions in jars so I can-”

“You’re insane!” Yamcha stood up straighter and stepped toward her confrontationally.

Bulma puffed her chest out, and put her hands on her hips, “I’m sorry, did you have the audacity to follow me here like a creepy stalker, and then call me insane for trying to prevent our extinction?! What is wrong with you, Yamcha? Stop trying to question my expertise and get out of here! Let me work!”

With a quick movement, Yamcha snatched the pistol from her belt and aimed it at the zombie.

“NO! DON’T!” she screamed.

He shot it in the head. The earsplitting noise in the vault wasn’t as deafening as the second of silence that followed.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Bulma punched him on the shoulder, tears forming in her fury, “I NEEDED HER ALIVE!”

“It was already dead. One wrong move and it would’ve bitten you. I just saved your life.”

“I HATE YOU!” She threw her fists down, and they trembled at her sides.

“Promise me you’ll never do this again. Study your dad’s notes all you want, but don’t keep them as pets!”

“I DON’T OWE YOU ANYTHING!”

“This is dangerous, Bulma! I’m trying to keep you safe! Promise me!”

“I will do NO SUCH THING,” her voice was firm, stubborn. Yamcha’s chest hurt at what he felt obligated to do.

“Promise me. Or I will report your actions to the general. And they’ll confiscate all your dad’s work.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“They might even evict you and your mom so you don’t have access to your father’s lab.”

“YOU WOULDN’T DARE!” she yelled.

“I WOULD!” he shouted back at her, then his voice softened when he saw her flinch, “Because I’m trying to keep you safe. Promise me you won’t do this anymore. No more capturing zombies and keeping them in cages. No more dangerous guinea pigs. Promise me and I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Then we’ll move on and forget this ever happened.”

She panted, hot tears still falling. “Fine. I promise. But I will NEVER forget about this.”

Vegeta coughed. Wow! She was salty! As he snapped out of his hypnotic state, he almost dug into the small amount that was still left in his jacket pocket, but he heard something above him. Thumping. Stepping out from under the plane, he checked the windows. Bulma wasn’t visible anymore. Then he caught movement. The stiffness in his back relaxed and he trudged up the boarding stairs to check on her.

When he opened the door, the interior was darker than when he had left it. He could make out her shape standing in the aisle half-way down the plane. There was something shiny gripped in her outreached hand that he couldn’t make out, but based on her stance, slightly crouched and ready to attack, she must have found something that could be used as a weapon.

He shut the door behind him. She didn’t move.

Don’t be creepy, don’t be creepy, he reminded himself as he studied her with unnerving intensity.

Her breaths were visible, tiny clouds that puffed out like a little steam engine. A shiver came over her, and her teeth started chattering.

Wordlessly, he shuffled to an overhead compartment a few rows down. Bulma stepped back as he approached, then cautiously froze as he reached into the luggage compartment and pulled out something dark. With a swift movement, he shook out a blanket, then held it out to her.

After a long moment of indecision, wrestling with confusion, fatigue, fear, and her physical discomfort, she took in a shaky breath to gather courage. Then she inched forward while she still held out her weapon, which was a chef’s knife Vegeta had brought home from hunting at a restaurant where some Living were scavenging for food. With a quick grab, she snatched the blanket from him, then settled back into her seat, leaning against a window with her feet resting on the middle seat. Vegeta sat on the aisle seat across from her again but decided not to speak. It had only upset her last time.

Bulma watched him as he pressed the button to recline his seat a few inches. Once he relaxed his head on the backrest, he turned to stare at her.

“What are you?” she asked quietly in genuine confusion. The question silently echoed.

Vegeta didn’t want to answer. What would he even say? He wasn’t entirely sure himself.

Bulma wasn’t certain if she wanted an answer either. His voice both disturbed her and comforted her, since it was so out of place for a Corpse.

With her hand still gripping the knife, she rested her fist on her knee and allowed herself to relax again under the warmth of the thick blanket. Her head leaned sideways against the back of the seat as she studied the strange creature that held no menace in his demeanor.

When her eyelids gradually closed again, the knife fell out of her grip. Slowly, the blade slid down the blanket to her sneakers. Her breathing was slow and steady. Calm.

Once again that strange cramp returned to Vegeta’s chest. He sighed, wondering if this new sensation, this movement inside his ribcage, was now a permanent condition.

Chapter Text

Streams of light leaked from the eastern sky. The darkness in the plane faded and Vegeta was baffled at what he saw.

Colors.

They were faint, barely noticeable at first. But as the light grew little by little, the colors bloomed around him like flowers. Faded hues, still layered in gray tones, were detectable. His jacket was red. The sky was turning orange and bright pink. And the woman…

Cautiously, he stood, willing his stiff limbs to cooperate. Across the aisle and into her row, he crept toward her and reached for her hair, lifting some in his gloved hand to examine it. It wasn’t all one color. Streaks of sea foam, aqua, and brilliant blue shimmered in the rising light. The sun played in the shiny strands when he released them.

Since he was this close to her anyway, he stared at her perfectly shaped eyebrows and her lush lashes. Then her eyes snapped open.

Startled, he took a step back and lost his balance, falling backwards into the aisle. For a while, they stared at each other. He was mesmerized by her clear blue eyes.

In amusement, the edge of her mouth curved up.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asked as she yawned, and arched her back to stretch it.

“No!” his voice was still a low groan. If he were capable of blushing, he would have. Turning his face away in embarrassment, he pulled himself to his feet. When he laid eyes on her again, she tilted her head in interest.

“You have pupils,” she straightened and leaned forward. For the most part, she had avoided eye contact with him yesterday, except when it was dark and she couldn’t see him very well. She could have sworn his eyes were the same as every other Corpse, but maybe the trauma of having her team killed distracted her from noticing this detail. “Have you always had them?”

He leaned back, uncomfortable with her sudden interest. “Huh?”

“Pupils. The little black dots in my eyes, you know? Normally Corpses don’t have them.” Inquisitively, she examined his pale gray irises, “Of course normally Corpses don’t talk either.”

Vegeta shrugged. Maybe that was why he could see color now. His eyes had changed. Weird. He wondered if the catalyst was Yamcha’s unusually high energy level. This wasn’t a theory he was willing to share with her, though.

Bulma suddenly realized how intensely she was staring at him and glanced around to ease the tension. “Since you can talk, can you tell me why I’m here?”

“Hmm,” his eyes shifted anxiously as he thought. There was no easy way to explain this.

Bulma waited, but when she was convinced he didn’t have an answer, she asserted herself, “I understand you don’t intend on hurting me. But I can’t stay here. Just let me go.”

“No,” Vegeta shook his head, “Not sssafe.”

 Bulma frowned. “Not safe? So what, you’re going to keep me prisoner and let me starve?” When she saw his head draw back at her complaint, she knew her tactic was working, “Because I’m hungry.”

“Hhhungry?” he drawled.

“I don’t know about you, but I need to eat every day. You’ll have to leave to get me food.”

Why hadn’t he considered this? Of course, she would need food. He had absorbed enough memories to get a general idea of what the Living ate.

Reluctantly, he nodded and headed to the door. Before he opened it, he glanced back at her and held up a hand, palm facing her. “Ssstay.”

She didn’t respond, but at least she wasn’t moving.

Dropping his hand, he opened the door and left, slamming the door behind him before he plodded down the boarding stairs and trekked out across the tarmac.

Bulma twisted around toward the window and watched him head toward the terminal. When she felt like he was far enough away, she rushed out of the plane, leaving the door open. Getting her bearings, she headed east, sprinting across the tarmac with the cool morning air biting through her yellow long-sleeve T-shirt. She made it to a baggage cart when a nearby woman Corpse moaned and startled her. Backtracking to a plane nearby, she hid behind the leading gear. More Corpses appeared from behind the baggage carts. With lifted chins, they sniffed the air in interest, homing in on her.

Bulma grit her teeth, chiding herself that she had left her smelly vest in the plane. As she wondered how to avoid them, a hand touched her shoulder.

She nearly yelped, but when she jerked her head around, she found her zombie acquaintance with a finger on his mouth, reminding her to be quiet. She panted, trying to recover from the scare, as he held out her vest.

Earlier, Vegeta had glanced back just before entering the terminal and noticed the plane’s open door. After he had raced back to check on her, he had found the plane empty and her soiled vest still laying on the back of a front row seat.

“Don’t…rrrun,” Vegeta scowled at her now as she slid the vest on. When she was more appropriately dressed, wearing his scent, he leaned forward and sniffed. With a nod of approval, he sloppily motioned for her to follow. “Come.”

When they emerged from under the plane, the zombies close by were slowly meandering toward them. Bulma gasped in worry.

Vegeta turned back to her, “Be dead.”

When she merely stared at him with wide eyes, he awkwardly lifted his arms up and moaned a little, walking slowly with exaggerated steps to indicate what he meant.

He looked back again, “Got it?”

Subtly nodding, she lifted stiff arms and began growling. A bit too loudly. Vegeta trudged along with slumped shoulders and she followed behind him, her steps stiff and uneven. Unfortunately, her noise was drawing attention from the growing horde that surrounded them. Vegeta spoke quietly over his shoulder. “That’s…too much.”

She lowered her volume. They began to pass some of the herd. A few wandered a little too close to her and Vegeta. Not wanting any of them to get within biting distance, the Saiyan snarled at those that came too near. The Corpses quickly learned to keep their distance.

Once they cleared the bulk of those wandering around them, Vegeta leaned over toward her. “I… told you… not sssafe.”

“I know,” Bulma relaxed her stiff gait, relieved that he had managed to get her out of a bind, “I really am hungry though.”

In the terminal, Vegeta led her to an airport restaurant, and they found cans of pineapple, pie filling, and chicken broth, as well as jars of olives and boxes of crackers. Vegeta found a big box of napkins, dumped them out on the floor, and loaded her finds so they could bring them all back to the plane in one trip.

After ridding herself of the vest again, Bulma settled into an aisle seat for breakfast. She attempted to use the chef’s knife to open a can of pineapple, but found it was harder work than she thought. Vegeta watched her struggle, then held out his hand to offer help. With a frustrated huff, she handed him the can with the knife tip stuck in the top. Forcefully, he cut around the top and handed the open can back to her. She sipped the juice first, sighing in satisfaction.

Shuffling to the middle section of the plane, Vegeta laid the knife down as he searched through his kitchen collection. A fork with a flowery design at the bottom of the handle was laying next to a silver platter. Picking up the fork, he became curious. If he had pupils now, he wondered if any other aspects of his appearance had improved. Bending over the silver platter, he peeked at his reflection. Fortunately, the eyes that peered back at him were less disturbing, like they held a spark of intelligence. His face was still sickly pale though, and now that he could see color, it seemed even worse than he remembered. Compared to Bulma’s warm pink lips, his lips were a deathly hue. Blue veins crawled up his neck like ivy that had begun to take over an abandoned home. He shuddered and returned to Bulma, handing her the fork.

“Thank you,” she took it and dug into the slices of pineapple. He sat in the aisle seat across from her and stared. Her eyes flickered to him sometimes. Eventually, she stopped eating and stared back at him.

“Is it… good?” he rasped out. He couldn’t imagine that sour-sweet smelling fruit being appetizing, but she seemed to like it well enough.

“It’s perfect. For the time being,” she stuck her fork in the leftovers and held it out to him, “Do you want some?”

He made a face of slight disgust and shook his head.

She shrugged and sipped the juice again. “I don’t understand, Mr. Zombie. If you like eating people, then why aren’t you eating me?”

Twisting his hips a little in his seat to better face her, he placed a hand on his chest, “My nnnname…. is…”

“You have a name?” she tilted her head in interest.

He gave an eager nod.

“What’s your name?”

“Vvvvvvv….” The sound drug out, leading nowhere. Stupid arrogance. He got all confident and for what? He didn’t remember his name. Still, he was too stubborn to give up just yet. He got louder thinking it would come to him. “VVVVVVVVV-”

“VVVV?” she failed to suppress a teasing grin.

He growled. This was so embarrassing. He wanted to die all over again.

She decided to be helpful. “Does it start with a V?”

With pouty lips, he nodded.

“Victor?”

With a grunt, he shook his head.

“Vincent? Vladimir?” she kept trying.

He frowned.

“Ummm, Vance? Vernon? That’s an old man’s name.”

He closed his eyes, trying desperately to recall how it sounded. How it felt in his mouth.

“Vuh… Veggie…” No, that’s not right. But it was close. He reached deep into his mind, grasping. Then a small light flashed in his neurons. “Vegeta.”

That was it! He opened his eyes and found her studying him.

“Vegeta?” she asked, wondering if she heard him correctly.

“My name… is Vegeta.” Suddenly, his pronunciation was clearer, even if his vocal quality and volume still sounded like a dying man. He found his breathing was a bit labored. It was hard work, digging up that tiny part of himself.

“Nice to meet you, Vegeta. I suppose you already know my name is Bulma.” Her brow pinched in thought. During the attack at the hospital, someone must have said her name. She had no memory of it, but how else would this zombie pull it out of thin air when he first saw her? And since she was the only girl in the group, perhaps that’s how he had figured out who she was. It was the only explanation that made sense. Such deduction was impressive for an undead creature. But Bulma had long suspected there was more going on their heads than anyone could imagine.

She set her can of food down, then leaned over the aisle toward him, “I wanna go home, Vegeta.”

A long shaky breath escaped him. Telling her no was even harder when she spoke his name like that.

“But…not safe,” he shook his head insistently.

She held her hand up to stop him from arguing for a moment, “I’m aware you kept me alive at the hospital. I’m extremely grateful for that. But you walked me in here. And you can walk me out.”

 Oh no! She can’t leave! She just got here!

He needed to fabricate an excuse. “They’ll… follow.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I leave… they follow.”

“The others follow you?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

Arrogantly, he pointed at himself, “Good… hunter.”

She considered this, taking it seriously. “Are you faster and stronger than the others?”

“Hmm,” he gave a nod of agreement.

“Are you even human?” she pointed at the tail that hung off the seat beside him. He picked up his limp tail to examine it.

“You,” his eyes met hers again, “never… had one?”

“I never had a tail. I only know of one person who did, and that’s Goku. He’s stronger than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

Perhaps Goku had a high energy signature. He sounded tasty. Vegeta blinked and swallowed the drool in his mouth. As he dropped his tail, it curled up and twitched as he thought about eating the spiky haired young man.

“Here I am at West City Airport, and I’ve met two more people with tails, both wearing armor,” she reached over and gently poked Vegeta in the chest plate, and his lazy posture swayed with her contact.

Was she talking about Big Baldy?

“Where did you two come from?” she asked.

Vegeta shrugged. He had no memory of his former life. He was lucky to have remembered his name today. Had he and his friend come from the same place? Maybe she was onto something.

“Hmmm. Well, between your tail, your ability to talk, and your eyes, I’m gathering the virus affects you differently,” she reached for her can, “As a scientist, I find you to be a fascinating specimen. If I had my lab equipment I would study you. Too bad I’m stuck here for now. We need to come up with an escape plan. If we move in the dark, would that help?”

When Vegeta shook his head, Bulma returned to eating.

The prince frowned in thought. He needed to be realistic. He couldn’t keep her here forever. Besides, he would inevitably have to hunt again. It wasn’t like he could take her with him. And if he left her here alone, she would try to escape and get caught.

If he shacked up with her too long, starving himself, then he risked turning on her.

This relationship was doomed. Vegeta was an idiot.

But he still wasn’t ready to give up.

“I can… hide here. A few days,” Vegeta suggested, “They’ll forget.”

“The others will forget about you?” she set her empty can on the floor, the fork sticking out of it.

“Yeah,” he lied. They wouldn’t forget him. But at least he was giving himself more time. Time to come up with a plan. Time with her.

Bulma leaned back and sighed, “A few days, huh? What are we going to do to pass the time?”

After breakfast, she poked around his things, looking for something to do. A puzzle was her first choice, a thousand pieces with beautiful images of planets. They both sat with their legs crisscrossed on the aisle floor, with her working and him observing her. Vegeta was incapable of feeling bored by anything she did.

“Why did you pick this as a souvenir?” she asked as she locked two edge pieces together.

It wasn’t for the colors, although now that he could see the golds, reds and blues on the puzzle box, he would’ve been drawn to them.

“I like… planets,” Vegeta admitted.

“Oh. Are you a space nerd?”

He shrugged.

She studied him. Certainly, he had a human-like appearance, but there were too many characteristics that made him different. His tail. His canines that were a bit too long. His angular features. His strange upraised hair. His slanted forehead and unique widow’s peak. It all seemed so… alien. Taking into account his similarity to Goku, and how Goku was inhumanly strong, and used to be capable of shape-shifting into an ape-monster, the realization slapped her in the face.

“Are you from outer space? Like another planet?” she blurted.

Vegeta blinked, considering the question. For some reason, her speculation rang true. He always felt a bit different than the other Corpses here, beyond his strength and limited vocabulary. He nodded slowly, letting the idea agree with him.

“Wow,” Bulma breathed. This guy was an extraterrestrial! Why was he here? Had he crashed? She glanced around at their surroundings. No wonder he had settled in a plane. He probably felt comfortable here because it felt similar to a spacecraft.

Vegeta’s attention was drawn to the picture on the puzzle box, and his vision focused on a reddish sphere. He placed a finger on it.

“You’re from Mars?”

“No,” he shook his head, “But it… looks…familiar.”

“Your planet was red like this?”

“Maybe.”

“Interesting,” she tapped her bottom lip with her finger, “I wonder how Goku ended up here as a kid. I assume you came on a spaceship.”

“I guess?” Vegeta shrugged again.

“You shrug too much.”

“Because… I don’t… remember,” his strained voice became defensive.

“You remembered your name. It seemed like you pulled it out for the first time since… this happened to you,” she gestured to his zombified state, “I mean, maybe if you try, you can remember more.”

Perhaps she was right. Somehow being around her was helping him exhume bits of his history.

Leaving the puzzle on the floor, Bulma went searching for something. Amongst the stacks of books on one of the seats, she found a barely used spiral notebook with a nebula on its cover. Luckily, a sharpened pencil was tucked inside the coiled wire.

“I’m going to journal our discussions. You can answer questions about zombies that no one has ever been able to figure out. What I’m learning about you is important,” she sat on the arm of a seat and scribbled a few things, “I’ll write down the questions and even if you don’t know the answers now, maybe you’ll remember tomorrow.”

Great. She was going to pester him with the same stuff later.

“Do you know the big guy’s name?” she raised her brow at him, “The other one with a tail that was in your group?”

He thought for a second, then shook his head.

“Can he talk?”

Vegeta nodded.

“Are there others like you?”

“With tails?”

“Or that can talk?”

“No. I don’t… think so.”

Her interrogation mode lasted a while, despite him not being able to answer hardly any of the questions. Once her curiosity was spent, she turned the page and began studying him intently. Her pencil strokes changed from left to right motions to moving all over the page. Blue eyes glanced at him, returned to her work, then glanced at him again.

“You’re the perfect model for an artist. You haven’t even blinked.”

She kept moving her pencil in short strokes. With infinite patience, Vegeta remained rooted where he sat on the floor, leaning against a seat. She took her time, erasing and resketching. When she was finally finished, she held out her work to him, a drawing of his face.

After taking the offered notebook, he studied the image. Graciously, Bulma had left out the ugly veins on his neck and kept the shading flattering. He looked alive.

“I’m not particularly good at drawing,” she tucked the pencil above her ear, “but I took art class once upon a time so I could sketch schematics when I needed to. My studies used to be more on the engineering side, with a focus on physics, radiation, and tech like my dad, but we both switched our attention to microbiology after the pandemic.”

He handed her drawing back to her.

“Do you like it?” she asked shyly.

“Hmm,” he nodded eagerly.

She smiled, truly smiled at him.

Stars, she was gorgeous.

After she put the journal on the seat behind her, she joined him on the floor to work on the puzzle again. “Can you help me? Pile the ones with the same color together.”

She put together a big blue planet as he tried to follow her instructions. However, his fingers were numb and he couldn’t grip the pieces very well.

“Not so great on the fine motor skills,” she pulled off the journal and took a note, “That begs a question. Can you feel? I haven’t noticed zombies reacting like they’re in pain. Like ever.”

“No pain.”

“Not even that injury on your shoulder?” she slowly moved her hand toward him and pulled the jacket from his neck to reveal the wound. She hissed when she saw it, a gash that oozed. She quickly covered it up again, deciding not to mention that the odor was unpleasant. After all, it was hardly detectable when it was covered, and she had smelled much worse things.

Vegeta could sense that she was uncomfortable though. He tugged the jacket up closer to his neck, feeling self-conscious.

“That doesn’t hurt?” she asked in concern.

He shook his head.

“Must be nice.”

“Eh.” Sometimes he wondered if feeling pain would be better than feeling nothing.

“You have to have some sort of sensory feedback,” she tapped his right hand, “Can you take the gloves off?”

Obediently, he bit the white leather-like material covering his right middle finger and yanked his hand out, then pulled off the other glove the same way, letting them fall to his lap. She took his bare hands in both of hers, holding them palm up, then turning them over for inspection. The left jacket sleeve fell down over his hand, so she shoved the cuff higher and rolled up the blue fabric of his shirt so she could study the tissue. The area around his nails appeared bluish and his gray fingers were a shade darker than the skin on his arm. She firmly pressed his forearm with her thumb, watching the skin bounce back from her touch.

“Can you feel this?”

“A little.” He could sense deep pressure. Barely.

“What about your fingers?” she pinched the end of his thumb.

“No.”

She laid her palm across his cool skin, gripping his forearm gently. “Does my hand feel warm to you? Can you sense temperature?”

He shook his head.

Taking the journal, she took notes, then returned her attention to him.

Two of her fingers landed on his left wrist. Silently, her lips moved as she counted, her brow pinched in concentration. When she whispered the word “ten” her fingers pressed harder, hoping if she dug deeper, she might feel something.

“… fourteen, fifteen,” she sighed in disappointment as she released him and wrote in the journal, setting it down on the floor.

Vegeta read her last note: no detectable pulse.

“I know zombies can smell. You can hear, because you’re responding to me. And I know you can see. You’ve certainly stared at me enough,” she averted her gaze as his eyes unabashedly locked onto her face, “Can you see colors?”

“Yeah.” He could see the rosy hue that blossomed in her cheeks right now.

She tapped his jacket sleeve, “What color is that?”

“Red.”

She nodded and pinched her shirt and held it out.

He answered her prompt, “Yellow.”

“Good.”

Since she was testing primary colors, he reached up for her hair, threading a few of his numb fingers in it and letting the strands slowly fall out. His quiet voice spoke with admiration, “Blue.”

She froze at the intimate gesture. Even her lungs quit working. He lowered his hand back to his lap. Waiting. Her eyes were wide and he could see the depth of their hue. Of all the colors he had seen today, of all the colors he would ever see, he knew this sparkling blue would always be his favorite. 

She blinked and tried to force her brain to function again.

“The fifth sense…” she debated if she wanted to go here, but as a scientist she wanted to explore everything about this creature, even if it made her uncomfortable, “…is taste. How does that work?”

His eyes dropped down in shame.

“I’m sorry, maybe I went too far,” she blushed and ran her fingers nervously through her silky hair.

“I can taste. Sort of.”

“Do you have to eat people?” It was a morbid question, but she couldn’t help herself.

There was a pregnant pause.

He had never felt ashamed of killing the Living. After all, they were trying hard enough to put him down. Naturally, he was proud that despite being dead and a little clumsy, he had incredible fighting skills. What he hated was his urge to eat his victims. He was ashamed of his hunger, that he felt no control, no autonomy over this compulsion. He abhorred the idea of being a slave to anything.

With a sigh, Vegeta gave Bulma a regretful nod, affirming his dietary need. He had seen what happened to Corpses who were trapped without access to a Living meal. At first, they are vicious, then over time they fade into Boneys. Eventually they crumbled apart into remains. A second death.

After a quick note, Bulma set the book aside. She was determined not to blame Vegeta for his condition. A twinge of grief pained her, and tears threatened to form. If only her dad had found a cure, then people like Vegeta wouldn’t be trapped in this horrible existence. She remembered the smell of his wound. The smell of death.

“Do you mind if I clean that shoulder and bandage it?” She was certain this would help with the odor.

“That’s… fine.”

“Is there a first aid kit somewhere?”

“Hm,” he grunted. Grabbing his gloves into one fist, he climbed to his feet to head to the front of the plane. First, he dropped his gloves on the front row seats, then he entered the cockpit and pulled off his red jacket to set it on a pilot’s chair. There was still a small bit of leftover brains in one pocket. He wasn’t hungry now, but he might want to eat it later.

Finding the med kit stashed in the cockpit, Vegeta pulled it out and brought it to Bulma.

“This is a big first aid kit! How perfect!” she opened it like it was a Christmas present and dug out antiseptic swabs. “I’ll need you to get a wastebasket.”

He obeyed and retrieved a small lined trash bin from the cockpit. When he returned, she had everything laid out that she wanted to use. Pulling at the sliced fabric on his sleeve, she wiped down the gash and covered it up with a large adhesive bandage.

“All done!” She was pleased with her work. Her head tilted as she examined his clothes for any other wounds, not expecting to find any since she couldn’t smell him anymore. That was odd in itself. Even with his wound covered, she had expected him to have the same faint rotting odor as other Corpses, but he didn’t.

As she studied his sleeves, she found there were small holes in the blue fabric covering his other arm, patterned like bite marks. One set on the shoulder, one on his bicep, and one on his forearm. The tears in the clothing were slightly stained and held no sign of active bleeding. They were likely his transition wounds, the means in which he had died. She shivered at the thought. “You can put stuff back while I wash up.”

After returning the wastebasket and med kit to the cockpit, Vegeta came back and found her sitting on the floor by the puzzle again, so he joined her.

“Let’s move on, shall we?” her voice was perky, “Can you use your fingers to slide the pieces around, since it’s hard to pick them up?”

Thankful she was keeping him occupied, he did his best to help her organize, gathering pieces by color, and then sorting ones with flat edges.

The project lasted long enough, Bulma had to take a break to eat crackers for lunch. Once the puzzle was completed, she wandered through the plane, looking through his stuff again.

“You’re a hoarder,” she commented, as she tapped the solar system model and made it spin, then moved on to study the DVD’s he had collected, “You can’t even enjoy a lot of this. There’s no screen to watch the movies. No player for the CD’s or records. No food for the kitchenware. And all these books. Most of it is sci-fi. Do you even read them?”

“No.” It took too much effort. His scouter was about all he cared to read. He had gathered the literature based on the covers. Spaceships, aliens, constellations, explosions. His favorite book had a mushroom cloud on the front.

“Can you read at all?”

“Yes!” he scowled at her, “I’m not… stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were,” she handed him a DVD case for Planet of the Apes and pointed to the back cover, indicating that she wanted him to prove that he could read.

“A wild… ride.” He read the quote at the top from The Washington Post, lifted his chin and tried to hand it back to her.

“Go on,” she encouraged him, “Take your time.”

He growled, then studied the back cover again.

 “After a… ssss,” Crap. Big word. Since he had no idea how to pronounce spectacular, he skipped it, “crash…landing… on an… uncharted… plllanet…”

He struggled to finish the ridiculously long sentence, but Bulma made no indication that she was frustrated with him. When he finally reached the ending punctation mark, he handed it back to her.

“Who is the main character?” She hid the case behind her back.

Was she testing him? He frowned. “A guy.”

“You read his name.” When she understood he had no answer, she asked another question, “What is the premise of the movie?”

“There’s a… planet… with apes.” The movie title was the premise.

“Are they ordinary apes?” she prodded.

“No?” he guessed.

“Did you remember anything you just read?”

He gave her a surly expression, “I’m not… dumb.”

“I’m not saying you are!” she set the movie back on the DVD collection he had stacked in the seat, “I’m interested in seeing how your mind works. You can read, but the effort it takes to do it prevents you from remembering most of the content. And that’s not surprising given how hard it is for you to form words. Honestly, it’s remarkable the language center of your brain is functioning at all.”

She poked around his collection some more. “Would you be willing to try to play a game?”

“Depends.”

“I’m not trying to annoy you, I promise. But I do have a lot of time to burn.”

After pulling out a chess and checkers set, she laid out the board on the floor and placed the red and black circular pieces. Vegeta settled himself across from her and listened to her explain the rules for checkers. Moving and jumping diagonally on the black squares seemed simple enough. However, Bulma was ruthless and beat him quickly. Perhaps she was testing to see if he had a competitive nature.

“You understood the rules well enough,” she swiped away the checker pieces, “Let’s try something more complicated.”

Pulling out the chess pieces, she showed him how to set them up and he mirrored her placement. With angelic patience, she explained each piece and advised him through each move of their first game, which she ended after about twenty moves to give him a taste of how it worked. Since she felt like he could comprehend the rules, she reset the board and began a match where he received no help.

During the following games, Vegeta took his time thinking and his turns stretched on so long, Bulma began to read one of his novels, Ender’s Game, while she waited for him to move. She purposefully paced herself, avoiding easy victory so he would feel like he had a chance, but she wasn’t about to let him win.

“Checkmate,” she announced for the fourth time.

In frustration, he flipped the board, scattering the chess pieces.

She stifled a laugh.

Vegeta growled, his lip lifting in a snarl.

“To be fair, the only person who can beat me in a strategy game is my dad. Was my dad,” she corrected herself, her mirth lessening, “He’s gone now. Anyway, I’m very pleased with how you’ve progressed.”

She stood and stretched, then hopped over him using the seats to brace herself and retrieved her journal to write in it, taking notes on his mental acuity.

The evening passed quietly. Bulma finished reading Ender’s Game and he watched her. For dinner he dug out cans of soda from the galley storage. She brightened at his offered selection. “Oh fantastic! Root beer’s my favorite!”

After slurping down some of the dark fizzy drink, she sighed like it was heaven. “I haven’t had soda in sooo long.” She sipped the drink in between popping black olives in her mouth. After he settled in an aisle seat across from her, Bulma released a noisy belch. Vegeta’s eyes widened at the sound, in surprise and fascination.

“Sorry,” she covered her mouth and chuckled, “I didn’t realize it would be that loud.”

While Bulma may have considered Vegeta someone worth studying, the Saiyan felt the same about her. His contact with the Living had only shown him their fear and aggression. He was aware they were capable of more positive behavior from all the brains he had consumed, but it felt different seeing it in reality, without the emotional filters that came with people’s memories. It was strange to experience it for himself, the side of the Living that he knew existed but had never truly seen. She was friendly, honest and comfortable with him. She treated him like a real person. Like he was alive.

On the west side of the plane, they watched the sunset, then Bulma helped herself to more blankets from Vegeta’s stash in the overhead compartments and laid out a bed for herself on the aisle floor so she could stretch out. Vegeta settled on a seat near her makeshift pillow. She did her best to fall asleep, but her mind wouldn’t settle.

“My ex-boyfriend died back at the hospital yesterday,” Bulma frowned, her voice timid. “Will he rise up like you and become…?”

“No,” Vegeta gruffly answered her question before she finished it. Although, he probably shouldn’t have sounded so certain, like he had firsthand knowledge of Yamcha’s condition.

“That’s for the best, then,” she stared at the ceiling in thought, “He told me if he got bit, he would…”

Bulma didn’t have to finish. Vegeta had seen what the Living were willing to do to prevent becoming a Corpse.

As her chin crumpled, she turned to her side and covered her face with a blanket, pretending to try to sleep. Sniffling betrayed her quiet tears.

For the sake of her privacy, Vegeta shuffled away and sat closer to the front. As he considered the reason for her grief, he remembered the knife that still hid in his left boot. Pulling out Yamcha’s weapon, he flipped it open, admiring the blade in the moonlight. He caught a dim glimpse of his pale gray eyes in the smooth metal’s reflection. Disgusted, he closed the knife and put it back in his boot, then waited in his seat until morning.

Chapter Text

As the sun rose again, Vegeta watched the horizon while the light painted the clouds an array of fluorescent colors. Somehow the shades seemed even more vivid today.

Bulma groaned as the day grew too bright to ignore anymore. Vegeta walked down the aisle to join her, now that she was awake. Pulling herself off the floor and dragging herself to a window seat, she glanced outside.

“Uh, Vegeta? Your friend is watching us.”

“Huh?” he leaned toward her window and caught a glimpse of Big Baldy, who was standing on the tarmac staring up at their plane. Vegeta ducked away before he made eye contact.

“Does he know this is your hideout?”

“I guess?” It wasn’t exactly a secret. Vegeta never checked to see who was watching him climb into the plane every day. Naturally, his friend would’ve noticed him coming here at some point.

“Why is he here? Does he miss you?” Bulma squinted at the large man’s blank expression. His eyes were cloudy and pupil-less like every other Corpse she had seen. Vegeta truly was different.

“Ignore him.”

Bulma didn’t take Vegeta’s advice and instead took mental note of the other differences between the tailed men, besides the obvious, which was size. The large man’s armor was different, bulkier with more coverage, but he wasn’t dressed as modestly as Vegeta, giving him a more savage appearance. And she remembered from the hospital attack, this guy had no headgear either. Vegeta was the only one who had it. What was that tech used for anyway? Compiling everything together with a military context, she formulated a question.

“Are you ranked higher than he is?” Granted, the man below looked older, but he seemed like he would be all brawn and no brains even if he were alive.

Vegeta let out a soft snort, “Probably.”

“Do you remember his name today? Now that he’s in front of you?”

Leaning over her again, Vegeta studied the giant of a man outside. Logically, it made sense that they were connected in their past, back when they were Living. But he couldn’t place him, let alone name him.

Big Baldy shifted his cloudy eyes toward their window. Vegeta was tired of his spying, so he pulled the window shade shut.

“Does he normally do this?” Bulma asked.

“No.” Normally Vegeta would find him at the bar during his rounds in the terminal. Did Big Baldy miss him? Naw. He was probably hungry again and wanted Vegeta to take him hunting.

After more pineapple for breakfast, Bulma opened the journal to run through her questions again. With a pat on the cushion, she invited him to sit in her row, so he settled in the aisle seat, leaving the middle seat empty so his tail could curl up and relax there.

“Let’s start with something easy. What’s your name?”

“I am… Vegeta.” For some reason his mouth pursed like he was about to continue. It felt like he should say more. What was supposed to come next?

She noticed his eyes shifting in thought. “Are you sure? You seem confused.”

His gaze returned to her. “Vegeta.” His voice was a tiny bit clearer today. Still strained, but not as quiet.

His confidence assured her, so she moved on, “Can you recall the name of your planet?”

He focused for a moment. Suddenly it was obvious. He had already said it. “Vegeta.”

“You already told me your name. I said the name of your planet.”

“VEGETA,” he insisted, giving her a slight frown.

“You were named after the planet?”

He grunted in thought, “Mmm. Maybe.”

“Okay. Planet Vegeta,” she wrote it down, uncertain if this was a genuine answer, or if he was confused, or if he was using his stunted imagination to lie.

“What was your occupation?”

He glanced down at his armor, choosing the obvious answer, “Warrior.”

“Okay,” she nodded, unsure if he was basing his answer on his battle gear or actual memories. Either way she believed it. This guy probably had a serious body count before he ever came to Earth. And yet she didn’t feel any less safe with him. “Can you tell me what your race is called?”

“My race?”

“Your people,” she gently picked up the tip of his tail and held it out to him, “The ones with tails. From Planet Vegeta. What did you call yourselves?”

As his tail slid out of her hand, he closed his eyes in concentration and mentally dug around in the deep cobwebbed chambers of his mind. It was a disorienting feeling. Like he knew where it was locked away, but the room was pitch black so he groped around blindly. If he reached out and grazed something tangible, it flitted away like a tiny skittish creature. Still, he persisted. This was too important, and it seemed to him that he may have nearly stumbled upon the answer before.

“Sssss…” he was almost there! But it fled before he could grasp it. His hands made fists and he shook his head. “Ugh!”

“Do you remember any family?”

He tried to conjure images, but that was harder than finding words. “No.”

“Wife?”

That was specific. He turned and squinted at her, seeing a flush of pink in her cheeks.

She cleared her throat, “Do you know why you came to Earth?”

He sighed, “I’m done.” His brain was fried.

“What?”

“No questions,” he shook his head and sloppily waved his hand at her, indicating he wanted her to stop.

“I’m trying to help you!”

“I can’t… remember!” he frowned, “You know this.”

With pursed lips she tucked her pencil into the spiral wire. “Alright. But I want you to promise me something. If you recall anything about your old life, tell me immediately.”

Vegeta grunted affirmatively.

“You know, part of the reason I’m interested in digging into your past is I’m trying to see what parts of your mind are still working.”

“You tested me… yesterday.”

“I know. I’m sorry I’m wearing you down.”

“I know…this,” Vegeta pointed to his forehead, “doesn’t work. Test this!” He gestured at his bicep, thankful his blue sleeve was tight and showed off how muscular he was.

“Oh. You want me to test your strength?”

“Mmm!” He was eager to impress her, tired of feeling inferior.

She nodded. “Okay. I guess I hadn’t considered the value in that. If I were a dude, I would suggest arm wrestling, but I’m pretty sure even a regular dead guy would be able to beat me,” she chuckled, “Maybe I’ll come up with something to measure your strength, but for now let’s start off by checking your reflexes.”

Climbing out from the seats they moved to the aisle so she could work with him. Strangely enough, but perhaps not unexpected, his deep tendon reflexes were nonexistent. So, she tried testing his reaction speed.

“Keep your hands at your sides. Don’t move them until I drop this,” she held an unopened can of pineapple at eye level, “I want you to catch it.”

When she dropped it, he caught it, but he squeezed it so hard to make sure he didn’t fumble, the can burst and juice sprayed in her face.

“Aaah!” she screeched, wiping the acidic liquid from her eyes.

“Sorry!” he managed a decent yell. She rushed to the lavatory and washed her face. With trepidation he followed her, finding her face soaked with wet blue strands stuck to her cheeks when she emerged.

“Gods, Vegeta!” she took the dripping can from him and tossed it in the bathroom trash. “How strong are you?! You crushed that can like it was an egg!” She hurried past him to find her folded up bedding on one of the middle rows and started wiping off her face with a blanket.

What could he do to show her? He wracked his diseased brain and came up with an idea. But first he would need to clear out his stuff.

With slumped shoulders he plodded to the center of the plane and began to reorganize his collection, moving things from the west side to the east side or up to overhead compartments.

After refolding her blanket and setting it back down, Bulma stood and watched curiously. “You need help?”

He pointed to a row of seats he wanted cleared, so she stepped in and assisted, carefully arranging old electronics near a stack of cookbooks. One of the items she found looked strange. It appeared to be a remote, but the buttons were labeled with letters or characters she didn’t recognize.

“Can you read this?” she held it out.

He inspected the labels on the buttons and gave a curt nod. It matched the letters and numbers in his scouter.

“This must have come with you when you landed,” she examined it closer, trying to see if any of the characters repeated, searching for a pattern, “If you used a different writing system, then how can you read our language?”

He shrugged. Chances are he had acquired the skill from eating earthling brains, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“What happens if I…” she almost pushed one of the buttons.

“Mine,” he snatched it from her and shuffled away, placing the small device next to his scouter in the front row. Some of the labels on the remote matched functions he had seen before on his red eyepiece, with words like self-destruct, recall, and open/close. He had no idea what they were for though and turned his attention back to his current project.

Once they had removed clutter from ten rows of seats on the west side of the plane, Vegeta motioned for Bulma to step back.

“Watch,” he told her. With one hand he reached under an aisle seat and yanked, breaking it loose from the floor. A couple more yanks and pulls, and the entire row was detached. With relative ease, he carried the seats and deposited them upside down between the back two rows that were cleared. He stood and looked at her, to see if she was impressed.

Bulma was hard to read. She seemed intrigued more than anything, with a glint of amusement in her eyes. Understanding that he wanted some sort of feedback, she commented, “You’re very strong.”

“Hm,” he grunted, and returned to his work. Three more rows of seats were removed and stowed away. There was now a larger open space for them. A recreational area.

Vegeta stopped and admired his work when he was done. Bulma joined him at his side, looking at the small holes in the floor where the bolts were ripped out. The holes led to the cargo hold underneath, so at least Vegeta hadn’t damaged the outer hull, which Bulma appreciated. No sense in having her delicious scent leaking to the zombies outside.

“See?” he gestured to the area he had cleared.

“Yes. I see what you’re capable of,” Bulma nodded, her brows raised. “How about speed?”

She jogged to the front of the plane, closed the cockpit door and stood off to the side. “Stand by the back and touch the wall. When I say go, sprint as fast as you can until you touch the door. I’ll count the seconds and see how long it takes you. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Vegeta took deep strained breaths and shook out his limbs, trying to prep them for quick movement. Although he was adept at crossing shorter distances at lightning speed, this stretch was long and narrow, crowded by the rows of seats. Silently, he prayed to whatever deity that let him see color again: Please don’t let me trip. Please don’t let me trip.

When he felt power simmering in his legs, ready for use, he crouched and touched the back wall. His tail instinctively curled around his waist, tightening.

“You ready?” Bulma held up a hand, a visual cue.

He gave a single nod, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Go!” Bulma dropped her hand, and before she could utter the word “one”, Vegeta had rematerialized in front of her, touching the cockpit door.

Her hair blew out of her face from the air disturbance. Her mouth dropped open. His curved in pleasure.

Perfect. He had miraculously crossed the distance without a single misstep and got the exact expression he wanted from her. He made a mental note to begin praying to this unknown deity more often.

As Bulma’s chest pounded, her foot stepped back in reflexive terror of the predator in front of her, but his smirk drew her in, anchoring her, keeping her from screaming and bursting out of the plane. At that moment she wasn’t sure if she was more scared or thrilled.

With skills like that, no wonder he was so good at hunting. No wonder he had amassed such a collection of souvenirs. And here she was making friends with him!

After a nervous laugh, she panted, willing her heart to quit threatening to exit her body. “That was… incredible.”

“Yeah?” he leaned in.

“Yeah,” she gulped, “Sorry. It startled me too. I almost had a heart attack.”

As his smirk disappeared, he slowly reached out. Seeing the intense curiosity in his eyes, she remained completely still as he placed his palm gently on the left side of her chest above her breast.

“Can you feel it?” she asked. Her heart was pounding even faster now.

Seeing his brow furrow even deeper, she impulsively placed her hand on top of his, pressing it tighter against her chest.

With widening eyes, he looked at her, letting his palm soak up the rhythm of her life. “I feel it.”

The strange sensation in his chest that he had been experiencing lately was something akin to this, but it only happened a couple dozen times a day now. Nothing as lively as this.

As they stared at each other, Bulma tilted her head.

“What are you?” she whispered in the purest wonder. He was an enigma to her. A complex medical mystery. An otherworldly being. Something both dangerous and precious.

She hadn’t expected an answer to her rhetorical question, but gears turned in his head, because he wanted to answer. For his own sake.

“I’m… I’m Ssss…” As his arm went limp, she released his hand from her chest. His mouth moved soundlessly, working to find it, to form it. Finally, he captured it. “I’m Saiyan.”

“You’re saying….? What are you saying?”

“No! I am… a Saiyan. My people… are Saiyans.”

“Oh! You remembered!”

“Yeah,” he nodded and breathed a chuckle of relief. Then he felt winded. Like a crashing wave, the fatigue he had fought back in order to impress her washed back over him with a vengeance. Whether it was solely from his physical efforts or if it was compounded by his mental strain was impossible to tell, but all he knew now was that he was drained.

With heavy footsteps he walked down the aisle to the cleared-out space he had created. After she wrote down his revelation in her spiral notebook, she grabbed a sleeve of crackers for lunch and retrieved a soda from the galley before she joined him, sitting next to him on the floor as they both leaned against the hull. If he could sleep, he would have dropped out of consciousness as she munched on her crackers and sipped on her cola, but that was part of the curse of this existence. He could never truly escape the weight of death that hung heavy on his bones.

Ceasing her loud crunching, she noticed how still he had become, how his eyes were glazed over and unfocused. “Are you tired?”

“Always.”

“Do you want me to read to you?” she offered.

“Sounds nice,” he glanced at her wearily.

“Which one?” she stood and moved to where he kept the books. At least his collections were minimally organized.

“You pick.”

After combing through the descriptions on the back book covers, she selected a novel with a desert scene that held two moons in the sky. A book called Dune.

Bulma was a great reader. Her voice rose and fell. The characters, whose names Vegeta had trouble following, came alive with her subtle changes in tone and pitch. Stopping sometimes to sip her drink and keep her throat from drying out, she made her way through a couple dozen pages before the story was discussing prophetic dreams. She paused in thought.

“Vegeta, do you dream?” she hadn’t thought to ask this before.

He shook his head. He thought about telling her he couldn’t sleep either, but he didn’t want to divulge that. If she knew, maybe she wouldn’t feel comfortable spending the night here anymore, knowing he was able to peek at her resting face whenever he wanted.

For a second he thought she was going to turn and write down his answer in her journal, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned and gazed at him. Her question wasn’t for research. She genuinely desired to know him.

“What about dreams for the future? Do you ever think about that? Do you ever hope to be alive again?”

After a few blinks, he answered, “No. Because… that’s not… possible.”

“What if it was possible? Would you want that?”

“Yes.” Obviously. Being dead was awful.

Setting the book upside down on her thigh to save her place, Bulma pursed her lips in contemplation. “If only there was a way to make a wish to solve this.”

“A wish?” He vaguely recalled some of Yamcha and Bulma’s adventures being centered around this idea. A green dragon was involved, if he remembered correctly.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, once upon a time we had dragon balls on this planet. If you gathered them, and summoned the dragon, he would grant you a wish. But we lost the creator of the dragon balls, so we can’t even make wishes anymore.”

“He died?”

 “In a manner of speaking, yes. His name was Kami and he was the guardian of Earth. Goku was up on his lookout when Kami disappeared. Apparently, Kami’s counterpart had been killed and since their spirits were connected, it forced Kami to leave this world. At least, that’s what Kami’s assistant told Goku.”

Vegeta didn’t know what to make of all this. He had never heard of two beings having such a strong connection like that. “Was Kami… human?”

“No. Goku described him as old and green. With antenna that look like a slug’s.”

When Vegeta gave a look of disgust, Bulma chuckled. “I know. It’s all very strange. But the fact is, we used to be able to make wishes, and now we can’t. At this point I don’t even know what wish would be best. We could have resurrected people who were killed, but not the people who succumbed to the virus. That means the zombies can’t be brought back since they died of natural causes.”

Huh. Vegeta wouldn’t have considered anything about his condition as natural. It felt more like a curse spawned from the darkest magic.

Bulma sighed, “Even if we could wish the zombies back to life, then people like you would remember this horrible existence and…” she didn’t want to mention the inevitable suicides that would follow, “In math, there’s this idea of functions. An inverse function completely reverses a function to arrive back to the start. But there is no inverse function for this apocalypse. Even if we had a wish at our disposal, we can’t undo all the damage that’s been done. That’s been hard for me to accept.”

Vegeta wanted to apologize for all he had done to contribute to this nightmare, but before he could think of what to say, she picked up the novel again.

“Do you want me to stop reading?”

“No.”

“I’m not boring you?”

“Never.”

“Okay,” a soft smile graced her lips, and she continued. As pages turned, he found himself staring at those lips, watching them move and form words effortlessly. So pink and supple. So different from his own mouth.

Even though Vegeta didn’t tire of her reading, she did. Folding the corner of the page to save her place, she stood and stretched.

“I’m going to move around a bit. I’m too stiff.”

“Me too.”

 She offered him a hand and helped him to his feet.

“How do you spend your time?” she asked, meandering around the plane as he followed her. She poked around for entertainment, checking his battery powered items to see if any of them worked. Some of the kitchen gadgets weren’t dead. A heavy-duty battery powered screwdriver still worked.

“I spend… nights here. Days… out there.”

“So specific. When you’re not hunting,” the word hunting came out of her mouth casually, nonjudgmental, “are you walking around like them?” She pointed out the window to a few Corpses that wandered together.

“I…umm… patrol.”

“You guard the airport?”

“Mmm.” He grunted and nodded.

“Against humans?”

“Against Boneys.”

“Oh. You don’t like them?”

“Hate them.”

“Interesting. Why such strong feelings?”

“They’re too… aggressive.”

“And you’re not?” she laughed, flashing a grin at him. He would’ve scowled at her, since he didn’t appreciate being the brunt of a joke, but her smile was so real, so mesmerizing, all he could do was stare dumbly.

“Huh,” she shrugged and returned her gaze to his things. “I guess I never considered that there could be factions among zombies.”

She tilted her head in thought as she picked up a rod knife sharpener. “I wonder if I can turn any of these into weapons.”

Vegeta frowned, concerned that she was getting ideas about running off and fighting zombies by herself. Like a parent taking a dangerous object from a child, he ripped the knife sharpener from her hand and put it back.

“We have to leave at some point,” Bulma elaborated, “I need to have some form of protection.”

“I’ll protect,” Vegeta insisted, pointing at himself, “Keep you safe.”

“All the way home?”

“Promise.”

She considered his words. “You have a map of West City somewhere. I remember seeing it.” Digging around for a while, she finally found it, “Aha!”

Taking it to their open space, she spread out the map on the floor and knelt by it, patting the spot next to her. Vegeta settled in beside her.

“Let’s plan our escape. You wanna leave tomorrow?”

No! “Day after.”

“Fine. The day after tomorrow. We’ll leave that morning to give us the most daylight. What’s the best way to exit the airport?”

Together, they pointed, tracing the roads, and spoke about the escape route and the way to her enclave.

“It would be safer and faster to drive a car,” Bulma suggested, “I know how to hot-wire them. We can probably find a working vehicle in the suburban neighborhoods. A car parked in a driveway would probably still have gas in the tank.”

“Cars are here.” Vegeta pointed at the airport on the map.

“Well, yes, you have a parking lot, but how can we get the car out? The streets and highways that connect to West City are completely jammed up with abandoned vehicles that ran out of gas in evacuation traffic. And they’re blocked in both directions due to contraflow lane reversal. The city government did everything they could to save lives when the outbreak happened.”

Being very familiar with the terrain into the city since he had traveled it so often, Vegeta traced a railroad track on the map with the tip of his finger.

“Can a car… go on this?”

“It’ll be bumpy, but yes.”

“Use this,” he tapped the map where the railroad ducked under the highway, “A tunnel.”

“We’ll avoid the jammed-up highway altogether. I should’ve thought of that,” Bulma glanced at Vegeta, and smirked proudly at him, “See? I knew you weren’t dumb.”

There were other road blockages from there, which he discussed with her to the best of his limited ability. At least they had an idea that would cover some of the distance and get them away from the airport horde a bit faster.

“I can’t wait to go home,” she whispered.

Her longing pained Vegeta. Of course she didn’t want to stay trapped here with him. What did he hope to accomplish by keeping her here longer? It wasn’t like more time with her was going to solve the glaring issue between them. She was alive, and he was DEAD.

They were never meant to be.

She was wrong. He was dumb.

Chapter Text

That night after an indulgent dinner of strawberry pie filling, Bulma kicked off her shoes for the first time and slept in their new space, using every blanket she could find, happy not to be crowded by seats. In the aisle, Vegeta laid parallel to her. Uncovered and unmoving. Perpetually awake.

The knife he kept hidden in his boot kept coming to mind. He didn’t dare touch it. Wouldn’t risk being caught with it in his hands. Then she’d know what he had done to Yamcha. To keep his fingers from creeping into his boot, he folded his hands over his chest, the way a mortician would position a body for a funeral. He remained motionless the entire night.

When the morning came, he was stiffer than normal. Almost sore.

As she rolled over to face him when dawn broke through their windows, her lashes remained closed and she smacked her lips slowly.

She would want breakfast soon. Anticipating her needs, Vegeta climbed to his feet and shuffled to her food stash, cutting open her can of pineapple. The noise woke her.

“Is it morning already?” she groaned. By the time she sat up and stretched, she was presented with her meal, fork already inserted into the fruit.

“Wow, bedside service,” she winked playfully and sipped the juice first. “I’ve been meaning to ask, can I take some soda home? When we leave tomorrow?”

Vegeta nodded eagerly, “Take… anything.”

“Anything?”

“Whatever… you want,” he gestured toward his things magnanimously.

She cocked an eyebrow, “What about your alien tech? Can I have that?”

He took in a breath, realizing his mistake, “No. Mine.”

“Okay. But anything else?”

He shrugged and nodded.

With a mischievous grin, she sipped some more. Vegeta didn’t trust the twinkle in her eye. He moved toward the front row of the plane and considered the two tangible remnants of his past. The scouter was bulky enough it would be hard for her to steal it. But she had been intrigued by that remote with the mysterious command buttons. Not wanting her to be tempted to sneak it into her pocket, he tucked the remote safely in his right boot.

After breakfast, Bulma packed the rest of the root beer into her pink backpack along with her spiral notebook, then spent the entire morning “shopping” through his stuff as he stood nearby.

“Honestly, I have everything I could possibly need at home. My dad invented capsule tech and we were one of the richest families in the world. Our compound is so big, we’re housing a bunch of my friends. Two of them just got married, so I’m wondering if I should pick out something for them.”

“Wedding present?”

“That’s right,” her brow cinched a little in curiosity, “It’s funny to me that you’re an alien and you know about our customs.”

Well, that was because he had absorbed so many earthling memories. Clearly, she wasn’t aware of what zombies experienced when they ate brains, and he didn’t want her to find out. Trying to throw off suspicion, he made an alternate suggestion, “Maybe I’ve… been here awhile?”

“Huh,” she considered the volume of his collection and concluded he had probably been staying in the plane since the start of the pandemic. Then something tugged at her. A possibility that hadn’t entered her mind before. “You know, this virus that caused the state of the world now… it’s not like anything our world had ever seen before.”

“Oh?”

“Some scientists even speculated that it was alien.”

“You think… it was…”

“I don’t know. I mean, you are infected,” she took a step closer and her hand reached for his forearm, the one that had bite marks in the sleeve. As she gently fingered the small tears, she frowned sadly, “You were bitten here. And here.” Her hand lightly traced the fabric holes on his bicep.

“This one is the worst one.” When her fingers landed on the bite-caused fabric tears on his shoulder, she brought her gaze to his face, finding him disturbed. “If you brought it to us, it doesn’t mean it was intentional biological warfare. Maybe it was an accident.”

As she carefully watched him, his gray eyes dropped to the floor and he scowled. His hands, which normally hung limp at his sides, turned into fists and his tail lifted off the floor behind him, deliberately twitching with sharp movements.

“You’re upset,” she tilted her head to try to meet his gaze, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No. It makes sense.”

“I could be wrong. Even if I’m on the right track, I’m not trying to blame you.”

Finally, he lifted his chin, and when his eyes met hers, she sensed a coldness about him.

“Maybe you should,” his gruff voice was harsh, and with those words he turned and plodded away toward the front of the plane, settling in a window seat to brood, obviously intending to avoid her.

Staring out the window at the Corpses that stumbled by every so often, Vegeta considered Bulma’s theory. Had he caused the outbreak? It was bad enough he was eating people, but to have also started the earthlings on this path of degradation was a level of guilt he didn’t know how to navigate. What if he was the destroyer of this world? What if it was intentional? What if he had brought this disease as a weapon and simply fell victim to his own device? It weighed heavily on him, heavier than the deathly fatigue that hung on his body like chains. Heavier than all the times he had yielded to his hunger. It occurred to him that forgetting his own past might have been fortunate. Perhaps his history wasn’t worth digging up.

While Vegeta remained parked in the front, Bulma took a lunch break, helping herself to crackers and orange soda before she continued browsing.

“Chi-Chi likes to cook. I think I’ll go with this cookbook.”

His head lifted in interest, turning to peer over his seat. He felt relieved that she had interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

“You wanna see what I picked?” she held up the book with an inviting grin.

Leaving his solitude behind, he joined her, studying the pictures as she flipped through them. He had vague ideas of what the cuisine was supposed to taste like. The emotions tied to food in human brains were mostly positive and he couldn’t help but wish he could enjoy the meals that were shown in the photographed images.

“Can you remember what normal food tasted like?” she asked.

“Sort of.” The memories weren’t his own though. Did that count?

“If you could pick any one of these recipes to try, which would it be?”

“Meat.”

Bulma huffed and rolled her eyes, “Of course.”

With a forceful yank, he stole the book and flipped to the section on pork. He finally landed on a photo. “That one.”

“Barbeque pork ribs. Great choice. That does look good. I could do with a nice meal like that myself. Most of the meat I eat now is goat, since we’ve got some goat farmers close to the Quarantine Zone willing to butcher them for us.”

“Is it… tasty?”

“It’s okay once you get used to it. My mom does the best she can to season it well and it’s keeping us fed, so I can’t complain. Plus, we still get a regular supply of cow’s milk, butter and cheese from a surviving dairy farm. Honestly, I could probably live off bread and fresh butter. But I’m always willing to try new things.”

“Hmm,” Vegeta closed the cookbook and handed it back to her, “Good gift.”

“You think so? I mean, maybe Chi-Chi won’t have access to a lot of the ingredients but you never know. Goku is awfully sweet and he might go find the things she needs to cook these meals when he’s out doing his farmwork and food deliveries.”

“The Saiyan?”

“That’s right, Goku the Saiyan. He grew up here on Earth.”

“A farmer?” Vegeta couldn’t imagine settling down as a farmer even if he had the option.

“Oh,” she chuckled, heading up the aisle to her girly but sturdy backpack at the front of the plane, “Well, he got roped into it out of necessity. He can fly and fight zombies really well, so he’s been in charge of cultivation outside the safe zones and keeps several cities fed. From planting to harvesting to delivery, he handles it all without much help except a lookout buddy. He juggles several farms, mostly rice and wheat, but some vegetables too, like turnips. You should see him flying around with a tractor. It’s incredible but it looks hilarious.”

“He can fly?”

“Yeah! It’s a skill that uses ki,” she shoved the cookbook in her bag and returned.

“What’s ki?”

“Life force. Do you remember the energy attack at the hospital? A huge beam of light that wiped out some of your team?”

“Yes. That was new.”

“That’s a ki technique too. People with higher power levels can do that. They have to be trained though.”

Vegeta felt a twinge of jealousy. If he had any life force, he would want to learn those techniques as well.

“We still have half a day to waste. What should we do?”

Vegeta shrugged.

“If we had music players, I would try to teach you to dance. It’s too awkward doing that in silence,” she turned and let her gaze rake over him like she was trying to determine what she had to work with. Her eyes lingered on his bulky shoulders and biceps before she brightened with an idea, “Is there something you can teach me? Like fighting skills?”

“Fighting?”

“Yeah. You’re good at it, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Yes.”

“Come on, teach me. You want to keep me safe, right? Teach me to fight.”

The last thing he wanted was for her to think she could fight zombies, but she did need something to do.

“Warm up first,” he told her, motioning up and down the aisle, “Run.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Are you warming up too?”

He snorted, “No.”

She pursed her lips then rolled her eyes, “Fine.”

He got to observe her jogging up and down the aisle. It didn’t take long for her to get winded. Pathetic. He wished she would’ve lasted longer, not only because her body was fun to watch when she was in motion, but he needed to help her kill time.

“Push-ups.” His order came out raspy.

“I can’t do push-ups!”

“Really?”

“You wanna see me try?” She dove to her hands and knees on the floor and assumed the upraised position. When she tried to lower herself, she collapsed. “See?” Her voice was muffled against the floor.

“Sit ups?” he asked.

“I’ll see how many I can do,” she flipped to her back and managed quite a few before slowing to a struggle and giving up with a groan. “Ugh. I really should exercise more.”

His tail swung slowly behind him in amusement, “So flabby.”

“Hush!” she stood on her feet and put her hands on her hips, “I’ll have you know, since the outbreak, most of my fight in this world has been confined to a laboratory. I haven’t exactly ventured out much so I haven’t focused on combat technique. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn.”

“We’ll see.” He stepped into their recreational area and picked up her bedding, draping it over the back of the nearest seats. Then, as his tail wrapped around his waist, he beckoned her to stand in the open space. She obeyed and stood in the spot where he pointed.

“Hands up,” he ordered in his strained voice, “Be ready.”

She pulled her fists up, keeping them close to her chest. Stepping back to face her, he examined her stance. Pitiful.

“Feet apart. Step up. No. One foot.” With his own feet, he showed her how to create a better foundation for balance. Once she had copied him, even crouching a little like him, he showed her how to hold her hands up.

“Move quick,” he ordered, pointing at his cheek, “Punch.”

“You sure?”

“Go!”

She threw her right fist at his face, and he blocked it with his palm. There was no weight behind it.

“Like this!” He pivoted to the side and demonstrated how to do it, moving slow so she could see the shift in the legs before the fist was thrown. When he faced her again, his voice was sharp, “Harder!”

She tried with more of her body involved, and when her fist smacked into his hand, she winced.

“Ouch! That kinda hurts.” She slung her hand then held it against her chest.

“It should. Now,” he pointed to his other cheek, “Left hand.”

With strict professionalism, Vegeta taught her move after move. Combinations. Offense and defense. Fists, palms, and elbows. How to swat away a typical zombie skull grab, how to avoid getting bit. He rolled up a magazine and let her use it as a “weapon” so she could learn how and where to strike if she had a stick or a knife. When her arms got so tired she could barely hold her fists up, he switched to kicks, getting very hands on when she didn’t understand how to pivot when she swung a leg. As his fingers gripped her hips and twisted them to show her what to do, she placed her hands on his reflexively, her face leaning back at his closeness. He saw how startled she was.

“What?” he asked, still holding onto her. Their noses were only inches apart. Her eyes drifted to the lower half of his face and his flaring nostrils caught her attention. As he took in a breath through his nose, she stiffened and forcefully peeled his hands away from her body. The color of exertion in her cheeks faded, like all the blood had drained from her face.

“I think I’m done.” Bulma moved to sit by the plane’s hull, leaning back against it. As she hugged her knees to her chest, he wondered what he had done wrong. She wouldn’t look at him.

“Sorry. I’m just tired.” She apologized as her head rested against her knees.

Grabbing her bedding from the back of the seats nearby, Vegeta flung the covers toward her.

“Hey!” her voice yelled out from under the blankets.

“Take a nap.” He walked away, giving her some time to relax without him, choosing a seat a dozen rows away. Did she think he was about to bite her? He hadn’t even thought about it.

Bulma set out her bed of folded covers on the floor. She hadn’t slept too comfortably the previous night and hadn’t gotten the amount of deep sleep she was used to. Maybe a nap was a good idea. Letting the quiet soak into her bones, she closed her eyes and her thoughts had more freedom to wander. Vegeta’s face filled the void, his pale skin and light gray eyes. Her sudden fright from earlier was gone now, so she could better interpret the expression he had made when he held her hips and stood so close. He wasn’t hungry when he studied her, when he smelled her. She had seen the snarls of Corpses enough times to tell when their aggressive urges had been triggered. Vegeta was only curious. So why had she felt such overwhelming fear?

Vegeta could tell she had stilled her movement for quite some time. Quietly, he walked closer, to see if she was truly asleep. When he got within sight, he stopped and stood there, counting her slow breaths.

1, 2, 3…

One of her breaths took about three or four seconds. But even when she slept, her breaths came faster than his. He kept counting the rising of her chest.

…66, 67, 68…

He tried to match her lungs’ rhythm, to see if he could do it. It was too much work. He settled on watching her, content to be in the presence of life.

…2037, 2038, 2039, 2040, 2041…. Oh, she moved!

He slunk away, seating himself back in his previous spot, so she wouldn’t think he had stood there and stared at her for over two hours, which is exactly what he had done. To be fair, it was typical behavior for a Corpse to stop and stare at something - or nothing - for hours at a time. Vegeta wasn’t sure why he was hiding it.

Bulma yawned loudly and stretched. Rising from her bed, she chose chicken broth for her next meal, and regretted it, since it wasn’t appetizing when it was lukewarm. When she was done forcing it down, she poked around his collection some more.

Bulma turned on a battery powered screwdriver, and squeezed the trigger, letting the loud whirring noise fill the silence. When she clicked it off, she picked up an electric bug swatter, which reminded her of a miniature tennis racket. Testing it against her finger, she zapped herself. It still worked.

Then she had an idea. She turned off the bug zapper, grabbed the screwdriver, and searched around. There it was. That rod for sharpening knives.

“Vegeta, can I please use some of your stuff to build a weapon?”

Frowning, Vegeta stood and almost reprimanded her, but she pushed her bottom lip out and made her eyes bigger than normal.

“Please?!” she begged, “I need something to do!”

He saw the random objects she held up, and curiosity got the best of him. What contraption was she going to make? “Fine. Go ahead.”

Immediately, she dove into work, taking the bug zapper apart.

“I need your help.” She didn’t look up from the components she was dismantling.

He stepped closer and she held up the knife sharpener.

“Break the handle off.”

He crushed the solid plastic grip and the rod came free.

“Thank you,” she took the steel rod from him, “That’s all.”

“What is this?”

“I’m making a cattle prod.”

Vegeta furrowed his brow. He understood what cattle were and he knew what prod meant. Having eaten plenty of people in West City, it was strange he wasn’t familiar with the term cattle prod. Fascinated, he observed her, interested in what she decided to toss and keep.

Since he was quiet, Bulma didn’t tell him to leave her alone. Sometimes when she was struggling to take something apart, she would ask for his assistance and he would help her without a word: twisting, prying or ripping things apart. The daylight waned as she worked, creating more urgency to finish her project. When she thought she was done, she stood to her feet, holding a rebuilt battery powered screwdriver that held a twelve-inch rod instead of a screw head. Vegeta leaned back when he saw her wielding her new weapon, but he wasn’t sure how it was supposed to work.

“Okay, pretend you’re a zombie and… oh,” she chuckled nervously and her cheeks went pink at her mistake.

Vegeta blinked in confusion. Had she really forgotten he was a Corpse?

“I mean, uh…” she cleared her throat, “act like… you’re hungry… or you know… attack me?”

The awkwardness was building.

“Why?”

“I need to test this,” she held up the rod toward him, “to see if I have enough voltage.”

Voltage?! Startled, Vegeta stumbled back. Despite watching her build it, his mind hadn’t comprehended what she was making, probably because he hadn’t eaten any electrical engineers. But he understood electrocution, and being shocked didn’t sound like a pleasant experience.

“Wait, listen!” Bulma put her hand up to get him to stop retreating, “I need to know if it works!”

He scowled, “Test yourself.”

“I’m too scared!”

Vegeta would’ve laughed if her weapon didn’t make him so nervous. Even though she couldn’t get the jump on him now, since he was too quick, he still felt vulnerable. What if she decided to test it when he didn’t expect it, like when he had his back turned? He felt like an idiot for letting her make this in the first place.

“What are you so worried about?!” she got irritated at his uneasiness, “You can’t even feel pain and it’s not like I can kill you since you’re already dead.”

His already slumped posture wilted even further. Lowering her weapon, she covered her mouth, seeing she had offended him. Apologetically, she reached for his arm, but he stepped back again.

“I’m sorry,” she lowered her hand, “That wasn’t very tactful, I suppose. You have to understand, I’m not used to… anything like this. Like you,” she gestured toward him, “But given… your unique condition, do you think you can help me? Do me a favor? I don’t have a gun and that’s normally the safest form of protection.”

“You have me.”

“That’s… kinda sweet but… what if we get separated when I’m on the way home?”

“We won’t.”

“Or what if…” she almost didn’t say it, but Vegeta was being difficult and she wanted him to cooperate, “What if your appetite comes back?”

A flash of disappointment crossed his face. “I won’t… hurt you.”

Bulma sighed, “I want to believe you.”

He gave a long soft moan, thinking. Perhaps she would feel more comfortable with him if she thought she had a weapon that was capable of stopping him. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” she brightened as he tentatively stepped forward, “How about this: you grab hold of the metal wand and when you’re ready, I’ll turn it on to see how it works.”

Gripping the large handle, she held out the steel rod toward him.

She was right. This shouldn’t hurt. So why were his instincts screaming at him, trying to convince him it would? Determined to fight off this unfounded fear, he placed his hand on the steel and gently wrapped his fingers around it. Before he could nod to tell her to turn it on, she accidentally pressed the trigger. Vegeta’s entire body seized as stiff as a board, his fingers clenching around the rod. When she realized what she had done, she released the trigger and he collapsed to the floor like a fallen tree.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! You’d think with the weapons training I had, I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger too soon,” she studied the weapon for a second, finding the rod warped where he had squeezed it too hard. She chided herself for not taking his alien strength into consideration. “At least we know it works.”

Vegeta reached for his chest, placing his hand over his heart. That strange tightness that came and went inside his ribcage was particularly strong for a second.

“You alright?” She set her new weapon down and reached for his hand to help him up.

The jolt that had run through his body was indeed painful. Turns out his instincts weren’t wrong after all. But he was back to feeling mostly numb.

“I’m fine.” Vegeta didn’t take her hand, climbing to his feet on his own strength, using the armrests next to him for support.

Bulma lowered her arm, feeling a little guilty. As she looked away to avoid eye contact, she glanced out the windows when a distant lightning flash revealed someone outside. They had an audience again. “That Saiyan friend of yours is back.”

Big Baldy had returned, standing on the tarmac staring at the plane. Vegeta sat down on a seat out of view.

“Did he... notice me?” Vegeta asked.

“I don’t think so,” she sat on the aisle seat across from him.

At first, Vegeta was irritated. Why didn’t that huge idiot mind his own business? If that big oaf was hungry, he should go hunt on his own! Then Vegeta realized the opportunity that had presented itself.

“We should stay.”

“What?” Bulma turned to him.

“Another day. So, he will… forget me.”

“We were supposed to leave tomorrow morning. Besides, there’s no guarantee he’ll forget you at all!”

“One more day.”

“You said that yesterday!” Her voice got louder, and her perfect brows furrowed. Her face flushed with heat. There was that angry face of hers. Gods, she was pretty when she was mad.

“One more!” Vegeta insisted with more authority, inviting more of her ire.

“No!”

“Safer.”

“Every day I spend with you it’s getting less safe. You said so yourself that you have to eat people.”

“I won’t EAT you,” Vegeta leaned toward her, “But… he’s dangerous! If he follows… you die!”

“Then fight him off! I have two feet, I can run!”

“You’re SLOW!”

A bright flash startled both of them. Lightning was getting closer. Then quiet rolling thunder followed.

“Rain.” Vegeta spoke as he turned to look out the window on his side. Sure enough, sporadic drops fell against the glass. No wonder it had gotten darker so quickly.

“I suppose you’re going to say storms aren’t safe either,” Bulma griped.

Vegeta nodded, eager for another excuse to keep her. “Stay here. One more day.”

Bulma groaned in frustration, then got up and stomped toward their open floor space.

Vegeta got up to join her.

“No,” she stopped and held her hand up, “Go away. Leave me alone.”

As he stood frozen, she ignored him and settled into her bedding. It seemed a bit early to call it a night, but he didn’t understand Living sleep patterns, so he couldn’t argue. In the silence, all the flame that had kindled between them died. With his tail dragging behind him, he miserably slunk to the front of the plane and plopped into the front aisle seat.

Feeling bored quicker than usual, Vegeta lazily picked up the snow globe from across the aisle. The flashes from the oncoming storm lit up the couple inside the swirling glitter. He focused on the clasped porcelain hands that held each other: a symbol of companionship, of affection. Connection. He had never realized how badly he wanted it, needed it, until he met her.

Chapter Text

Restlessly, Bulma tossed and turned. She huffed and sighed in anger. Vegeta could sense that she was still awake. Still simmering.

The rain picked up. At first, it was like static, then the pelting noise grew louder, adding to the tension that stretched across the entire cabin like a trip wire. Thunder rumbles turned into thunderclaps. The plane shuddered. Eventually the storm quieted into the steady soothing sound of spring, and Bulma was still.

Hours and hours went by. Wistfully, Vegeta reviewed the time he had spent with Bulma. He was surprised at how vividly he could recall all their conversations and activities. Perhaps he didn’t have anything worth remembering before she came along, because his existence had been so repetitive and mundane. So lifeless.

While Vegeta should have been pleased at the thought of keeping her for one more day, he realized he was acting selfish. And risky. He could get hungry while they waited for clear weather. As he considered this, he clenched his jaw and shook his head in determination. He wouldn’t eat her. He wouldn’t! But if hunger became more of an issue, he might be tempted. It would be hard to enjoy her presence if she became nothing more to him than a piece of forbidden fruit dangling in front of his nose.

Then he remembered his leftovers still waiting for him in the pocket of that red jacket, which was still in the cockpit. It was right there, practically within reach. If Vegeta ate the rest of Yamcha’s brain, that would buy him more time with Bulma.

Unmoving, Vegeta sat on the front row, contemplating. He hated that he was talking himself into this. If Bulma knew what he was doing, she would hate him too. However, now that the idea had crossed his mind, his mouth wouldn’t stop watering.

Using the sound of the rain to his advantage, he slowly crept away to the cockpit. As he stood there in the doorway, he glanced back down the plane toward the area where Bulma remained peacefully resting, then he turned and studied the red jacket lying on the pilot’s seat. Lightning flashed in the distance, as if warning him not to touch it. The muffled thunder rolled several seconds later, like a growling stomach. He felt the choice in front of him. A tug in both directions.

He wasn’t truly hungry. He didn’t need this.

But this is who he was. There was no point in fighting it.

With shame Vegeta locked the cockpit door as he stepped inside, just in case the weather woke her and she came looking for him. He could not risk being caught.

Committed to his terrible purpose, he collected the small amount of brain left in the jacket pocket and settled into the co-pilot’s seat to indulge in his addiction.

He chewed slowly, intending to savor the small portion.

“Why are you doing this?” Yamcha leaned over Bulma’s shoulder as she popped a magazine into place and hefted an assault rifle to her shoulder, “You’ve never shown interest in salvage before.”

The memory was very recent, based on the vivid details. The popping of gunfire and the scent of sulfur brought the scene to life. Stacks of hay bales lined a small section of the concrete wall with body shaped target boards in front. This was weapons training.

“We’re low on research supplies,” Bulma shot once and checked her results. A shoulder hit. Then she pulled the trigger three times in a row. Her aim wasn’t atrocious, but it wasn’t very accurate. The hits spread along the flat wooden body. One was a shot between the eyes, probably a stroke of luck. “I know what supplies I need for the lab. I’ll be able to identify them better than anyone.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Here I thought Mr. Highest Bodycount in salvage was supposed to keep his team safe.”

“If you wanted to spend time with me, you don’t have to put yourself in harm’s way.”

“Believe it or not, Yamcha, this isn’t about you. I’m not making up excuses to see your sorry face. I need materials to continue my dad’s work. In fact, I wish you’d leave me alone.”

“Nice shot, Briefs,” a young blonde woman strode by, holding a gun longer than her skimpy shorts.

“Thanks, Launch,” Bulma hoisted her weapon up again.

“Pull it tighter so the recoil doesn’t throw you around,” Yamcha pressed a hand to her back to steady her as he pulled the buttstock firmly into her shoulder.

Aggressively, Bulma elbowed him in the chest, “Don’t touch me.”

More embarrassed than hurt, Yamcha lifted his hands in surrender and took a step back. “You’re still mad about your zombie pet.”

“Of course I’m still mad about Barbara!” she hissed. With a deliciously angry expression, she tilted her head to line up the shot and fired. Forehead.

“That makes two headshots!” Launch called out, “You’re in, Briefs.”

Yamcha sighed.

“You were hoping I would fail,” Bulma landed her furious blue eyes on him.

Yamcha shrugged. A feeling of uncertainty welled up, shifting states from hope to fear like a coin flipping in the air waiting to land. This development could help improve their relationship or put the final nail in its coffin.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be on your team either, except I know you’ll protect me.” She checked her magazine to count how many rounds she had left.

“Of course I will.”

Bulma popped the ammunition back into place and raised her weapon to her shoulder. After looking at her target, she lowered the gun. “You can go bug someone else now. Let me concentrate.”

“Fine,” Yamcha huffed and marched away behind the other new recruits who were trying their hand at target practice. With a glance over his shoulder, he saw Bulma fire off the rest of her magazine. Some bullets pierced the body, but none found the head.

“They shouldn’t have lowered the recruit standards,” Yamcha muttered to himself.

From there the memory skipped ahead, like the boring parts were edited, not saved to the hard drive.

There was a group of Living in a tiled room with shelves, cabinets, and countertops.

Wait… Vegeta knew this room. It was where he met Bulma.

Yamcha meandered toward the back where Bulma was digging around under the counter, “Find what you needed?”

“Your job is to watch the door,” Bulma reminded him, “Yajirobe is here if I need help.” With a thumb over her shoulder, she pointed to the tubby guy behind her, the one Big Baldy ended up eating. Yajirobe’s chubby fingers rifled through the meds on the back wall’s large shelf. Bulma opened the next cabinet, then grabbed a stash of petri dishes and shoved them in her pink backpack, then reached back for boxes of microscope slides.

“I heard the wedding was nice,” Yamcha tried to start small talk, “I saw you in your bridesmaid outfit, walking to the venue. You looked beautiful.”

“You should have come.”

“It’s not like Goku or Chi-Chi actually cared if I was there. Besides, someone had to be on guard duty.”

“Speaking of which…” Bulma jutted her chin toward the door and moved on to search the next cabinet, strategically keeping her back turned toward him so he would know she intended to ignore him.

Accepting his rejection, Yamcha moved toward the closed door of the room’s entrance. A sound froze him: the stairway door slamming shut down the hall. Someone else was in the building.

“Heads up,” he snapped his fingers twice to capture his team’s attention. The Living took their places, ready for an invasion.

Vegeta had never eaten a brain that remembered its own death. He had never seen himself through the eyes of his victims before. He frowned in confusion as a strange sensation swept over him: a roiling in his gut and a wave of sickly warmth. He swallowed, hoping to end the memory.

But it continued, the taste still lingering in his mouth.

When the door burst open and Corpses poured in, Yamcha gathered the energy in his body into a ball between his palms and shot it at the incoming herd.

“KAMEHAMEHA!” the young man yelled.

A blur shifted to the right and left, strange creatures with tails that moved unnaturally fast. Yamcha lifted his gun to fire.

There was Vegeta: hungry death coiled and ready to pounce and devour.

The snarl, the speed, and the strength were impressive and terrifying and horrific.

Yamcha’s failed attempts to take him down sent shivers of despair into Vegeta’s blunted nervous system as the memory of this final fight continued, refusing to relent, like it wanted to punish Vegeta, like it intended for him to feel what his victim felt.

Yamcha groaned when he was kicked in the stomach.

Present day Vegeta held his own gut after the memory of the kick reverberated through his own body, and the terrible feeling in his abdomen grew worse.

As Vegeta scanned the others in the room, Yamcha carefully reached for a knife hidden in his combat boot, aiming to sneak out his last weapon, his last hope at living. But Vegeta was only sidetracked for a second before he noticed the blade. Yamcha screamed when the Saiyan Corpse stomped on his wrist.

Vegeta stifled a grunt when it felt like his own wrist had snapped.

After dropping the knife, Yamcha managed to open his eyes. The predator grinned wickedly, amused at the screaming. Then he grabbed Yamcha’s messy hair and cracked his victim’s skull against the tile floor.

Even though the vision went black, there was no relief. A searing pain flooded the Saiyan in the cockpit. His hands flew to the back of his head as he felt the death strike and he gritted his teeth in agony. The final memory ingrained in this brain was like a trojan horse, a parting gift that paralyzed the enemy. The pain didn’t fade, it hammered in his head like a migraine, and Vegeta wondered if it would ever end. Eventually the gross sensation that was growing in his stomach boiled over, and Vegeta opened his eyes, searching. Desperate.

In the dim morning light that had eased into the cockpit, Vegeta found and grabbed a nearby trashcan. As soon as he bent over, he vomited, exorcising himself of his last meal.

Gasping slowly, he leaned back against the co-pilot’s seat, waiting for the nausea to fade. A small drip trailed down his temple. He reached up and wiped it away. Was this sweat? That was new. Maybe he should tell Bulma. No. Then he’d have to explain what he had been doing.

With a sudden urge to flee the scene, Vegeta staggered to his feet and opened the cockpit door. Quietly, he shut it behind him, and moved down the aisle to check on Bulma, just to make sure she hadn’t moved, and hadn’t possibly noticed he was sneaking around. It was bad enough that it was already morning.

Her bedding was empty. Was she in the lavatory? No, that door was open.

In a panic, Vegeta rushed to the front of the plane. That pink atrocity of a backpack was gone. Her soiled vest was gone too. She had left without him!

Wrapping his tail around his waist, he put on his scouter and activated the energy search function. Thankfully, she was still at the airport, so she wasn’t far.

As soon as the plane door was opened, Vegeta leapt over the loading stairs and sprinted through the rain, desperate to find her before she got eaten. He slipped and fell on the tile when he first entered the terminal, since the soles of his boots were wet. Regaining his footing, he continued his race toward the only Living energy signature. Some Corpses got knocked over in his rush and growled at him. As he ran through the gray darkness toward the baggage claim, he heard a commotion: snarling, growling, bodies falling, and high-pitched yelping. That’s where he found her, visible in the pale dawn that crept through the windows.

A ring of Corpses surrounded Bulma. Three were already unmoving on the floor, and six were still standing. The zombie blood that Vegeta had used to mark her vest a few days ago didn’t camouflage her scent at all. Perhaps the rain had washed it out. Bulma was holding her DIY cattle prod, lunging at any zombie that dared to approach, aiming for the head. She zapped a woman in the cheek, who turned rigid and fell over. The rich man Corpse with the nice watch attacked next, but he didn’t dodge fast enough and Bulma stabbed her weapon in his open mouth. She crunched her rod into the brainstem and through the base of the head, then he collapsed.

At least she was thrusting using her whole body like Vegeta had taught her. Good girl. He was a little impressed that Bulma had lasted so long and had taken some zombies out. If he wasn’t concerned for her life, he would’ve loved to watch her in action.

Unfortunately, his large Saiyan friend was there right outside the ring, watching her with cloudy gray eyes, trying to understand how her weapon worked and looking for an opening.

 “HEY!” Vegeta yelled to get their attention as he gathered what strength he could. By the time they had turned to him, he had already crossed the distance and aimed his first attack at the worst threat, punching Big Baldy in the chin, sending him tumbling over a baggage reclaim carousel.

 From there, he began taking care of the rest, busting their fragile skulls with his fists and elbows, and kicking one head clean off its body. Even though Vegeta worked quickly, Big Baldy had time to leap over the carousel and knock Bulma’s weapon from her grip. As his huge hand reached for her arm to grab her, Vegeta kicked the giant Corpse in the chest, sending him flying. The large man cratered the wall then fell to the tiled floor in a heap.

“Thank you,” Bulma breathed.

With a huff, Vegeta scowled at her.

“You said a few days,” she explained, as she adjusted the heavy backpack on her shoulders, “I waited and you broke your word. You have to let me go home.”

“Fine,” Vegeta nodded, “But… stay together.”

A loud growl filled the baggage claim space as Big Baldy climbed to his feet. The smaller Saiyan turned his attention back to his zombie friend, hoping he wouldn’t have to destroy him.

With fists at his side, Vegeta stepped in front of Bulma to shield her, then reprimanded his comrade, “Don’t touch!”

“Living!” the large Saiyan Corpse advanced menacingly toward them, pointing a finger at Bulma in accusation. “Eat!”

“She’s not even… your type!” Vegeta argued, “You like fat ones!”

“HUNGRY!” Big Baldy yelled, stopping in front of Vegeta, “EAT!”

“NOT BULMA!”

“Bulma?” Big Baldy’s face cinched in confusion.

“Her name… is Bulma. And you… are a Saiyan,” Vegeta slowly stepped closer, trying to keep the large man’s eyes on him. As they stared at each other, Vegeta finally remembered:

A small training room full of broken, destroyed Saibamen. The door slid up. As young Vegeta exited, he found a huge armored figure waiting in the hall, short messy black hair on top of his scalp, his hands holding small armor adorned with the Saiyan crest and a red cape.

“You’re the best, prince.”

“Stop kissing up, Nappa.”

The memory was fuzzy and distant, but it was real. And it was his own. Finally, his own.

Vegeta studied the tall pale Corpse in front him, a far cry from the man he used to be. But that voice, that mustache, that physique. There was no mistaking it.

 “Your name…” Vegeta spoke quietly, almost reverently, “…is Nappa.”

“Nappa?” the cloudy eyes scrunched, like it sounded familiar.

“That’s right! And I am… Vegeta,” and the words he knew were missing, the title that he had forgotten came spilling out, “Prince of all Saiyans.”

“Prince… Vegeta!” Nappa’s mouth gaped in realization. “Prince Vegeta!”

“Yes!” Vegeta nodded, excited over their progress. Nappa was remembering!

Nappa’s huge hand clawed the left side of his armored chest, and his mustached lip curled up, like he was physically uncomfortable.

“You okay?” Vegeta asked in concern.

“Strange… feeling,” Nappa lowered his hand, the sensation now gone.

“Uh, guys? I hate to interrupt, but…” Bulma pointed at the doorway that led back into the terminal. Seven… no eight Boneys were standing there, crouched and ready to attack.

Vegeta growled in frustration. Unbelievable. He had only stopped patrolling for a few days, and this place was already going downhill.

“Nappa,” Vegeta jutted his chin at the group, “Destroy them.”

“Mmm,” Nappa grunted affirmatively, a grin forming on his face. With heavy steps he raced toward the group of skeletal predators and began to knock them around.

Vegeta grabbed Bulma’s hand and ran with her toward the revolving door, which luckily still worked. Unfortunately, two Boneys got away from Nappa and followed them out.

Vegeta turned to face the pursuers, keeping himself between the threat and the girl. Strangely enough, the Boneys leaped toward Vegeta with open mouths. He managed to take one down with a single kick, separating its skull from its neck, but the other snapped its teeth on his arm before he punched its nasty head off.

“It bit you!” Bulma was horrified. “I’ve never seen a Boney bite a Corpse like that!”

Vegeta looked down at his arm, “I’m fine.” The teeth hadn’t even broken through his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

He took her hand again and led her through the rain to the parking lot. The Corpses milling around the vehicles had noticed the fighting and stared at the two. Vegeta walked slowly, hoping not to trigger their predatory instincts. He wished he could camouflage her scent again, but it would just wash off.

In the front of the group that gathered were the two airport zombie kids Vegeta recognized, standing by each other as they always did. All the Corpses sniffed the air and recognized that Bulma was Living, but they made no move to attack. They seemed more interested in observing this odd couple, staring curiously at their clasped hands.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” Bulma reached over with her free hand and clung to Vegeta’s arm as he came to a cautionary stop.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

The two kids in the front of the group were especially mesmerized. The older boy reached over and grabbed the little blond girl’s hand, imitating Vegeta’s behavior. The little girl’s expressionless face turned to stare at the dark fingers that wrapped around hers, then she lifted her cloudy gray eyes to the friend that had never left her. The boy looked down at her, rain dripping off his curly black hair, and the two blinked at each other, as if something was being born within them. A feeling of connection. And a physical feeling too as something inside their chests strained and squeezed.

Carefully, Vegeta led Bulma past the zombies to the nearest car, a silver Honda Accord, and busted the driver’s side window. She unlocked the vehicle and climbed in. He guarded the broken window while she worked to hot-wire the car. Still, the horde made no move toward them.

Searching for his comrade after finishing off his assigned foes, Nappa lumbered up to the parking lot, “Vegeta!”

The prince turned his attention to his fellow Saiyan.

“Leaving?” Nappa seemed sad.

Vegeta nodded.

“Can I?” he pointed at the car.

“No,” Vegeta shook his head, “Stay.” He did not want a third wheel on this journey.

The engine started up. The zombies in the parking lot jumped at the noise.

“Get in!” Bulma barked out her broken window.

Vegeta walked around to the passenger side. Nappa waved, forcing himself to smile. It looked creepy. Vegeta rolled his eyes and climbed into the car.

Bulma glanced at the zombies that gathered around them. None of them had been aggressive. They weren’t acting like the vicious, hungry monsters she had encountered in the baggage claim. It was clear they were fascinated by her and Vegeta’s behavior. Since they had made no move to hurt her, she made sure to reverse the car carefully, slowly, so they had time to stumble back to stay out of the way. As she pulled out of the parking lot, the two kids followed Nappa’s example and waved.

Chapter Text

“Thanks for that. For getting me out.”

“No problem,” Vegeta answered gruffly. Fighting zombies was far easier than the Living. Not only were they weaker, but their bones were brittle from death. He studied his fist as he imagined how it felt to crush those creatures. Then he realized he had left his gloves behind on the plane. Days ago, Bulma had asked him to take them off, and he had never thought to put them back on.

“You might want to buckle up,” Bulma strapped her own seatbelt across her chest and clicked it into place.

Vegeta snorted, a scoff at the idea of wearing safety gear, until she abruptly swerved trying to avoid hitting a Corpse that had stumbled out from behind an abandoned truck. The vehicle’s movement jerked Vegeta’s body to the right and his head whacked against the window. The car skidded a little before she managed to regain control again.

“That was a close one.”

“Slow down!” Vegeta grabbed his seatbelt with a scowl.

Bulma was eager to get distance from the horde behind them, but she was forced to reduce speed as she exited the airport access road and more cars littered the pavement.

Rain poured into the broken window, soaking Bulma even more. Vegeta reminded her where to turn so they could avoid the clogged streets. Once they reached the train tunnel, getting out of the rain was a relief, but driving over the railroad ties was not pleasant.

“I’m already getting a headache from this,” Bulma’s words vibrated as the Honda Accord bumped along. “Should’ve picked a car with a better suspension system.”

“Almost there,” Vegeta pointed at the light ahead.

Thankfully, the suburban streets were somewhat maneuverable when they exited the tunnel, although Bulma had to take it slow to weave around the abandoned vehicles.

As the car wandered around the lanes and avenues, Vegeta’s mind wandered as well, combing through ideas, trying to think of how he could salvage this thing he had started with her. Maybe if he set up a new home closer to the enclave, he could meet up with her sometimes. Maybe if he offered to scavenge hospitals for her and set up a meeting place outside the wall so she could collect supplies from him, they could still see each other. Even if he had to travel to other cities on foot to get what she needed, what she wanted, he would do it if it meant seeing her again. There had to be a way to make this work. Right?

“We’re low on gas,” she reported as they passed a Corpse staggering down the sidewalk. When it noticed the moving vehicle, it froze and gaped at the sight. “It’s probably safer to stay overnight in the suburbs than get stuck walking through the city after dark. Besides, I’m tired of getting drenched.”

“Mmm,” Vegeta nodded, happy to get one more night with her.

Pulling into a driveway, Bulma picked a house that seemed to have been well manicured once upon a time. The lavender irises in the front garden were blooming taller than the unmowed lawn.

When they approached the house, the front door was locked. Vegeta turned his shoulder and braced himself to bust it down, but Bulma grabbed his arm.

“Wait a second,” she pulled him aside off the rug. “I’d rather not destroy our barrier if we can help it.”

Under the welcome mat she found a spare key and unlocked the door.

“People are so predictable,” she shrugged and smiled.

Stepping inside the home, they breathed in its stale air. Cobwebs were growing in the corners, and the home was cloaked in shadow from the lack of electricity, but it wasn’t too creepy. There wasn’t any decomp odor, so they shouldn’t discover any bodies. With his tail curling tightly around his waist, Vegeta put a hand up to stop her from advancing any further.

“Stay,” Vegeta ordered gruffly as he pulled off his scouter and set it on the coffee table in the living room before he inspected the place cautiously, searching for any zombies. He stepped into each room, opening each door, just in case. Once the bottom floor was thoroughly checked, he returned to where she waited by the front door.

“Is it safe?” she asked, her face showing amusement at his diligence.

“First floor’s clear,” he pointed at the ceiling, “I’ll check upstairs.”

Bulma shed her backpack and wet vest by the living room couch and immediately searched for lighting and food.

Vegeta trudged upstairs and found a large bedroom and attached bathroom. He even checked the walk-in closet. Everything was vacant. The coast was clear. He breathed a sigh of relief and returned downstairs.

“The pantry’s not empty!” she cheered from the kitchen.

He headed to the dining area where she joined him, beaming about her scavenged flashlight and a can of baked beans. A small scented candle was already lit on the table.

“I wonder if I should drink another soda now?” she considered as she used a can opener on her beans and removed the lid. “Or if I should save it for later. If anyone finds out I have them, they’ll want me to share. I might as well drink more before I get home. It’ll be less to carry anyway. Come on, let’s eat at the couch.”

Let’s eat? Vegeta furrowed his brow in confusion. It was weird how she would slip up sometimes and talk like he wasn’t dead. After she motioned for him to grab the jarred candle, which he did, he followed her to the living room and placed her floral scented lighting on the coffee table while she settled on the sofa and put the flashlight on the padded arm beside her. The thin lacy curtains allowed some of the cloudy gray daylight into the living room, so at least it wasn’t too dark.

“Ha!” she laughed at herself, “I forgot a fork.”

“I’ll get one,” Vegeta left for the kitchen and returned with her needed utensil, finding she had already removed her wet socks and shoes.

“Thanks!” she patted the cushion next to her. Vegeta handed her the fork and carefully sat down, leaving space between them. After curling her feet up to one side, she ate her beans quietly, glancing at him often, but not able to keep his unnerving gaze. She noticed he blinked more than he used to. After she had her fill of beans, there was still a few bites left over, so she lifted a loaded fork in his direction.

“Wanna try?” she offered. She didn’t expect him to eat, she was only trying to playfully break the awkward silence.

Vegeta considered the beans on her fork. Would tasting them make her happy? He might as well attempt choke it down. Maybe with all the little changes he’s been experiencing, he could handle Living food.

He leaned over the beans and sniffed. Her eyes grew larger as she kept the fork still, hovering between them.

The beans smelled… sweet? Now he was curious. Opening his mouth slowly, he placed his lips around the fork tines and pulled the beans into his mouth. The texture was weird. The flavor was nearly nonexistent. His tastebuds didn’t work like hers. He forced himself to swallow.

“How was it?” she leaned in, curious.

“Eh,” he shrugged. At least it wasn’t upsetting his stomach.

Dropping the fork in the can and setting it on the coffee table next to Vegeta’s scouter, she pointed at the alien tech.

“What is that? You were wearing it when I met you. Why did you put it on again when you came to find me?”

Vegeta froze, his face full of guilt. “Um, it’s… how… I found you.”

Bulma frowned in confusion. “You used this to find me? How does it work?” she reached for it and he resisted the urge to snatch it away.

“It reads energy? Power? Not sure.”

“Goku can sense energy. Maybe it’s a tech version of that. So, you can detect me on this thing.”

Vegeta nodded.

Bulma pieced it together. She was too smart. “You can detect Living people with this,” when she spoke, she flashed her blue eyes at him, and he looked away, ashamed. “This is why you were such a good hunter.”

“Keep it,” he mumbled.

“What?” she asked in disbelief.

“KEEP IT,” he spoke more clearly, and he motioned for her to take it.

In that moment of conviction, he knew. He didn’t want to hunt ever again. Having the scouter would only tempt him to return to his disgusting habits, and he wanted to quit. Even if it destroyed him, he was done with it. After seeing himself through Yamcha’s eyes, after coming face to face with the monster he was, he refused to be that creature anymore. He was a Saiyan Prince, and he would no longer allow himself to be a slave to such depraved urges. The very thought of eating people made him feel sick.

“Are you sure?” she couldn’t help but ask. Even though the Living would be better off with him not having it, and even though she was itching to play around with his alien technology, this was an important piece of his past. She almost felt guilty for taking it from him. Almost.

He gave a curt nod, not even looking at her.

Bulma was amazed at his offer. She understood what a valuable tool this was for him, but he was turning it over to her, like a token of repentance. As she tucked it away into her pink backpack before he changed his mind, she remembered her drinks and pulled out a root beer, cracking it open.

“Since you’re sharing with me, I can share with you. Would you like me to pour some in a glass for you to try?” she held out her can.

He shook his head, unwilling to let her waste her favorite drink on someone who couldn’t enjoy it.

After a few sips, she stood and wandered around the living room, checking out the photos and books.

“An old couple lived here,” Bulma studied a framed photo of an elderly man and woman, and another with their extended family. “Looks like they had three kids. Maybe seven grandkids. It’s hard to tell if some of these people are married or siblings. I think this girl is married to that guy and she’s got the first great-grandkid on the way if I’m seeing this right.”

Vegeta remained seated, observing her.

“I would ask if you ever wanted kids, but you probably don’t remember,” Bulma glanced over her shoulder at Vegeta.

He shrugged. “And you?”

“I used to. When I was with…” she stopped herself from saying Yamcha’s name, “But I haven’t considered it much lately.”

 To distract herself, she pulled out the photo albums from the shelf. “Let’s see what’s in these.”

She returned to the couch and put the books on the coffee table so they could study them together in the candlelight. Slurping occasionally as she leisurely flipped through the pages, she pointed at the old photos. “This is their wedding. Look at the date. They were married more than forty years ago.”

They saw baby pictures, vacations, and home snapshots.

“They had a full life together,” Bulma commented when she saw the couple holding their first grandchild.

Vegeta could see it in her expression, the wistful jealousy that these people got to live so much of their lives before the world crashed into a nightmare.

“I hope they’re still alive,” Bulma wiped a tear as it escaped while she finished viewing the last album, “I hope they aren’t Corpses wandering around the neighborhood unable to recognize each other.”

When she glanced at Vegeta, she noticed his stoic expression. “Or maybe they’re hanging around together, like you and your friend. What was his name?”

“Nappa.”

“How did you remember him?”

Predictably, Vegeta shrugged.

“Did you only remember his name?” Bulma asked, knowing Vegeta wasn’t forthcoming with explanations, “Or did you recognize him from a memory?”

“Memory.”

“You remembered something? From when? Was it recent or long ago?”

“I was a boy.”

Bulma was intrigued, “Really?”

Vegeta nodded.

“You seemed to remember better with cues. Like the picture of Mars made you think of Planet Vegeta. Did any of the photos make you think of your life before?” She gestured to the photo albums.

“No,” he shook his head. All those smiling faces, the family members gathered together, holding babies, walking barefoot on the beach, enjoying drinks with mini umbrellas. While he had absorbed plenty of earthling memories like this, he couldn’t emotionally connect with any of it.

“I wonder what kind of life you lived before you came here,” Bulma tilted her head in thought, “You told me you were a warrior. You told Nappa you were a prince. Did you lead your people in battle?”

Vegeta’s expression hardened.

“It’s okay,” Bulma patted his hand, “I know you can’t remember.”

“We fought for… someone else,” he had a difficult time expressing what he knew to be true, “Not a Saiyan.”

“You teamed up with an ally?”

“Not an ally,” Vegeta shook his head in disgust. He couldn’t recall who it was, but he knew he hated them. “But a leader.”

Bulma’s mouth moved silently, piecing together the clues. “Were you and Nappa mercenaries?” Bulma guessed bluntly.

“Sort of,” he cocked his head to the side in thought. This term almost fit, but something felt off about it, like a screw that was too small to stay in place. The story of his life was more complicated than a single word like mercenary.

“So, you fought for an organization other than your own government?”

“Yes. I was…” his gray eyes glazed over, trying to piece it together, “…exiled. No. Leftover.”

“What do you mean leftover?”

“Nappa was… all I had.” Although he wasn’t sure how he knew this, it was true. Perhaps there were other Saiyans out there, but Nappa was the only one he felt connected to in that childhood memory. The closest thing to family. The boy that had stepped out of the training room felt proud and strong, but also distinctly isolated. “And my people… are gone.”

This bothered Bulma even more than the idea of Vegeta being a hired killer. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” Vegeta blinked as he processed the truth that was leaking out of the dark corners of his mind, “I have no home.”

Bulma stared at the closed photo albums, letting his words sink in.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say. Here she had forced him to look over all these images of a happy family not knowing he had tragically lost his entire race.

After a few heartbeats, she felt uncomfortable, so she grabbed the flashlight and stood again. “I’m going to check the garage. If they have a car battery, I bet I can rig it to the TV in here if they have the right tools. We can use the Blu-ray player. Go ahead and look through the shelf of DVDs here and pick which one you wanna watch.”

She disappeared from the room. In the hollow silence, Vegeta sat there, needing a second to adjust to her sudden absence. Then he stood up stiffly and stepped over to the shelf by the TV stand. How was he supposed to pick one film over another? He pulled out DVDs, and slid them back into place, one at a time. A lot of them had war settings. Probably favorites of the old man who lived here. There was also an entire shelf filled with whimsical titles that showcased beautiful couples staring at each other or hugging or holding hands. Romance.

War it is. Before he could settle on one, she came back with a car battery, toolbox, battery clamps, a surge protector, and several other items which he didn’t care to identify. She got to work building something with the surge protector as he painstakingly read through the story descriptions.

“Finally. I think I’ve got a functioning inverter. We’ll see if it works,” she set her contraption closer to the TV stand to check the power connection.

Vegeta returned his attention to his options, pulling out the ones that interested him the most. The films centered on resisting an empire or fighting tyranny resonated with him.

“You ready? I got it going!” The TV lit up the room as it turned on.

“Give me a sec.”

“Okay. Take your time, I’ll be right back,” she wandered off to look for a linen closet.

Vegeta narrowed down his options. Braveheart had a tough looking guy in ancient armor on the front. So did Gladiator. Both of those were good options. The film 300 looked like it had its title written in spattered blood. Nice touch. But the muscled warrior on the front wore no armor. Ridiculous. He liked the red cape though.

Bulma returned with a plush turquoise blanket and peeked at his choices. She winced. All three films he was considering had their main characters die in the end. Should she warn him?

He handed her Gladiator.

Deciding not to spoil the plot, she wordlessly loaded it into the Blu-ray player. She settled on the couch under her blanket, but when Vegeta joined her, he made sure to keep plenty of space between them.

While Bulma had nothing against the film, she was more interested in watching Vegeta than the TV screen, curious if he could connect with it emotionally.

He was stiff throughout much of the movie, sitting on the edge of his seat, flinching at times and scowling. The film’s appropriately dramatic score affected him. She caught his chin rising and falling in time to the rhythm.

“You like the music?” she smirked.

“Mmm,” he grunted and nodded once as he kept his attention on the gladiatorial chariot battle.

Silently, she joked to herself that if it wasn’t for Vegeta’s pale skin and eyes, she would’ve chalked up his poor communication skills to him being a typical guy.

There was a brief kissing scene between the hero and the woman who supported him. Vegeta furrowed his brow and averted his gaze. He had consumed so many personal moments like this, and he felt guilty for his voyeurism now. He glanced at Bulma. She was fully invested in the couple, her blue eyes focused on the screen.

“Coward,” Vegeta spat in accusation when the main villain, a cruel Caesar, stabbed the chained hero in the side before the final battle took place. The ending credits rolled after the last two dramatic deaths in the Colosseum. Vegeta turned to Bulma.

“Are you crying?” he was taken aback.

“Yes!” she retorted angrily, “It was sad! Maximus died and he didn’t deserve it!”

“He fought evil! A good death! It’s honorable!”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly sad,” she sniffed.

Vegeta frowned. She had lost her father in a battle against the outbreak. Honorable death or not, it had still grieved her. He chose not to say anything that might make her feel worse.

“Another?” he asked, pointing to the movie collection. They had more time to kill, and this was enjoyable for him.

“Why don’t you look through the sci-fi movies. They have a few on the bottom shelf. Based on what I saw in your plane, you seem to be drawn to that genre.”

Vegeta took her advice and rifled through the bottom shelf. There were a few options that looked intriguing. Predator. Alien. The Thing. Independence Day. The one that caught his interest the most was Pacific Rim. Giant robots fighting monsters seemed like a solid choice.

“This one,” he plopped back into his spot and handed her the movie he had picked. His tail unraveled from his waist and curled up loosely beside him as he leaned back, getting comfortable. She smiled as she studied the case before she got up and put it in the Blu-ray player.

Strategically, Bulma settled on the couch closer to Vegeta. Grabbing her blanket, she held it up.

“Wanna share?”

“Don’t feel cold.”

“Whatever,” Bulma shrugged and snuggled under it, wiggling a little closer so their arms nearly touched. Vegeta pretended not to notice, but on the other side of his body, his tail coiled a bit tighter. He found her proximity strange. Didn’t she understand he couldn’t keep her warm?

The film was full of action with some angst and short motivational speeches thrown in. Vegeta was more relaxed this time, but he was still intrigued as he kept his gaze on the screen, admiring the colors and explosions and destruction.

“Are they real?” he pointed to one of the Kaiju, a huge monster onscreen. He never saw anything like these creatures when he ate earthling brains.

“The monsters aren’t real, no. They use computer generated graphics to create images. This is a work of fiction. The injuries are fake. The deaths are fake. I suppose I should have explained that earlier. We don’t actually destroy cities for funsies.”

“Huh,” he was fascinated. Films were rarely included in memories, probably because they weren’t life-changing events. If a movie was important enough to remember, it was because it typically focused on their viewing partner, which meant the experience was centered more on hand holding, cuddling, and…

Bulma’s head dropped to lean on Vegeta’s shoulder. He turned his head and tensed. Was she tired? What was happening?! That uncomfortable tightness he had been feeling more regularly in his chest squeezed hard and quick, like a spasm.

“Is this okay?” she asked innocently, tilting her head up at him.

“Yeah,” he tried to play it cool.

She moved her attention back to the screen.

The trust she had in him was insane. Thankfully, he wasn’t hungry and the strong scent of life that wafted under his nose wasn’t as tempting as he would’ve thought. He tried to relax, since it was tiring to sit so stiff. Her head moved a little and she sighed, getting more comfortable against him.

The movie didn’t even matter anymore. Everyone could’ve died on-screen and he wouldn’t have cared. Or noticed. The weight of her head on his shoulder drowned out the entertainment.  

To make matters more confusing, her hand slipped into his. It felt warm. IT FELT WARM. The sensation sent a wave of goosebumps up his arm until it hit his chest, making his armor feel extra tight. He even felt a shiver in his tail, traveling from root to tip, leaving the fur all fluffed out.

When he had grabbed her hand this morning to lead her around, it didn’t feel like this. Since when could he feel temperature? What was Bulma doing to him? He remained as still as possible, letting her fingers lace through his. His fingertips were still a little numb, but he could sense the softness of her skin against his palm.

What was she doing?! What did this mean?! He didn’t understand it. Didn’t know how to handle it.

While his zombie mind short-circuited, the rest of the movie was a blur. He couldn’t follow the plot anymore, couldn’t focus. The heroes won and the credits started. Bulma shifted to sit up straight and stretched, yawning as she arched her back.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think I’ll eat something else and head to bed,” she turned off the TV, plunging the room into shadow. Grabbing the scented candle, she wandered into the kitchen.

Motionless, Vegeta sat on the couch in the room, which was darker now that the east facing windows had lost access to the sun. He was unable to process what had just taken place. Her behavior was not normal. Something was wrong with her.

“Hey,” she stepped out of the kitchen holding an open jar of peanut butter and a spoon, “I was thinking. I want to get some samples from you.”

“Huh?”

“You know, like blood, saliva, hair. I want to study you.”

“Okay.”

“Great! As soon as I’m done, we’ll take care of that,” she dipped her spoon in the jar and pulled it out, licking the peanut butter with her tongue as she disappeared again.

Should he sit there and wait or join her? He still didn’t have a good sense of how social expectations worked. Wanting to be near her again, he left the couch and found her in the kitchen eating an old chocolate candy bar as the candle flickered behind her on the counter.

“You want some?” she automatically held out the nougat and caramel concoction. Thinking twice about letting him contaminate her food, since zombie saliva was a vector for the virus, she pulled off a small chunk for him to try. He frowned but held out his hand. After she placed the piece on his fingers, she took another bite as she waited. Again, he sniffed it first. Very sweet. Popping it into his mouth to get it over with, he chewed. Very sticky. But… sweet. He could actually taste it a little bit. He wasn’t used to such flavor, and it made him crinkle his nose.

“Don’t like it?” Bulma smiled apologetically, and patted him affectionately on the arm, “At least you’re trying.”

She ate the rest of her candy bar and took in another spoonful of smooth peanut butter. “I’m taking this home with me too.” Screwing on the cap she jogged away to place it in her backpack, thankful she had drank some soda so she had more room. Grabbing the flashlight from the floor where she had left it when she built the power inverter, she returned to the pantry, peering at the shelves in the dark space.

“Aha,” she handed him a box of plastic zip-lock bags, “Let’s go to the master bathroom. I bet it has what I need.”

Without a second thought, she grabbed his free hand and pulled him upstairs. There was that thump in his chest again.

“Here we go! Cotton swabs!” she announced in triumph as she scoured the cabinet over the toilet. After setting the flashlight on its end so it shined up at the ceiling, she gently held his chin and tugged it down, “Open your mouth for me.”

Obediently, he dropped his jaw and she pulled out a Q-tip and rubbed the cotton against the inside of his cheek. Sealing his sample away in a zip-lock bag, she took the flashlight and aimed it at his head so she could study his hair, wondering how it grew straight up.

“I’m going to pluck a hair,” she warned as she reached past his steep hairline into his mane, feeling for a strand in the middle. She pulled, but it wouldn’t release. Realizing how close they were, and how intimate it was to have her hand buried so deeply, she gave a nervous laugh. “Um… it won’t come out.”

“Your hand?”

“No!” she giggled and pulled her hand out and stepped back. “Your hair! It’s stubborn.”

“Hm,” he grunted, and felt around his head. His fingertips were too numb to feel any one strand, so he used the mirror to guide his movements as she continued to illuminate his hair for him. After successfully singling out a coarse strand on the side of his head, he gave it a solid yank and plucked it for her.

“Thanks,” Bulma pinched it from his offered hand and slid it into another baggie. She pointed at the bandage that still clung to his shoulder. “Would you be willing to let me have a blood sample?”

With silent obedience, he turned his injured shoulder toward her.

“The stain on the fabric is mostly gone,” she studied the rip in the sleeve.

“Rain.”

“Oh. Right.” Remembering how Vegeta’s oozing blood had smelled a few days ago, she reached for a first aid kit in the cabinet behind her first, so she could cover the injury again when she was done. However, when she peeled the bandage off and tossed it in the trash, she was surprised to find the wound had a blackish brown scab on it.

“Weird,” she leaned in, peering at the sealed gash. “I didn’t think you had working platelets. Now I’m really interested in getting a blood sample. But I don’t want to reopen this.”

As she considered her options, she bit her bottom lip and tapped her fingers on the bathroom counter. Impulsively, she picked up his hand and examined it with her flashlight. “Your fingertips are too gray. Probably won’t get much blood there. I may need to poke a vein to get results.”

Without asking permission, she made him hold the flashlight for her as she pushed up his sleeve. She got sidetracked when she saw the old bite mark on his forearm and traced the scarred puncture wounds curiously. Shaking her head to regain her concentration, she moved her delicate finger over his sprawling blue veins. The warmth of her light touch traveling on his skin felt like sparks of electricity in his dead limb.

“I’m going to have a hard time finding a needle,” she scratched her head then pursed her lips in resignation, “I’m going to have to use a knife.”

He almost told her he had one. It was still stuffed in his left boot. But he swallowed his words and let her leave. She returned with a sharp paring knife from the kitchen.

“I don’t want to cause serious damage. So, if you’re completely still, I’ll only nick your skin enough to collect a small sample. Okay?”

“I trust you,” he spoke calmly. A part of him was curious if it would hurt.

Biting her lip in concentration, Bulma held the tip of the knife at one of his thickest veins. She carefully put pressure on it, then pulled the blade away, squinting at her chosen spot. The skin was undamaged. “Huh.”

Bulma tried again, poking harder. Still no sign of the skin breaking. Without a word, Vegeta traded the flashlight for the knife and stuck the tip of the blade into his own vein. A thick brown drop oozed out. He dropped the knife in the sink, and she grabbed a cotton swab with her free hand to swipe up the sample. The color of his blood was different than she remembered. It now had a more rusty appearance.

“Thanks,” she sealed it away, “Now all I need’s a semen sample.”

Vegeta blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly, “Uh…”

Bulma snorted as she grabbed a bandage from the first aid kit, “I’m kidding. But you should’ve seen your face!”

“Vulgar woman,” Vegeta mumbled.

“Seriously, though, I appreciate it. I think this will really help my research.”

The fresh wound didn’t smell, perhaps because the puncture was so small, she assumed. After she applied a small adhesive bandage for him, she used the hand sanitizer by the sink, collected her samples and ran downstairs to place them in her backpack. When she climbed back up, she nearly bumped into Vegeta, who was descending.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To the couch.”

“Oh. Um… I was gonna stay in that bedroom up there, and um… you can stay in there too,” she saw his face lean away in surprise, “On the floor, I mean.”

Her cheeks turned pink. Vegeta cocked his head in interest.

“It’s just,” Bulma acted flustered, “I really… I’m not like phobic, but… I would feel better if you were in the room. These empty houses creep me out.”

Like a tree, Vegeta remained rooted. Expressionless.

Embarrassed, Bulma climbed up past him, brushing her shoulder against him. “It’s whatever. Do whatever you want.”

After considering her offer, he pivoted and followed her. She was already crawling under the covers, so he laid down next to the bed on the carpet, ready to pretend to sleep.

“Ugh,” Bulma groaned and climbed out of bed on the opposite side of Vegeta, “My clothes are still too damp. I can’t sleep like this. Don’t look, okay?”

Since she was facing the other way, Vegeta leaned up and peeked over the bed to watch her peel her shirt off, revealing pink bra straps stretching across her back. For a split second, he laid his head on the floor again, but his curiosity overcame his guilt and he craned his neck once more, catching her wiggling her hips as she pulled her tight jeans down.

So much for not looking, he chided himself as his eyes remained glued to her. After she laid her shirt and pants flat on the floor to dry, she turned around to crawl back in bed, wearing only a bra and panties, so he quickly dropped his head back to the floor, pretending he hadn’t seen anything.

Positioning herself to face him, she pulled the comforter over her bare shoulders to try to get warm.

She sighed, “Thank you for saving me.”

He tilted his head toward her.

“It must be the worst. Being stuck in this condition,” Bulma continued, “You try so hard. Harder than a lot of the humans I know. This may not mean much, but… I think you’re a good person, Vegeta.”

She was deceived. She had no clue.

A terrible feeling bore down on him. Like a hot iron in his chest. A pressure around his rib cage. A suffocating sensation. He felt like he would be crushed to oblivion if he didn’t expel what he had been guarding.

As he stared at the ceiling, the confession clawed its way out of his throat, “It was me.”

“What was you?”

Bending his left knee so his foot would be closer, he reached into his boot and pulled out Yamcha’s knife. He displayed his secret souvenir in his open palm, holding it out to her.

Trembling, her fingers grasped the folded knife, and her mouth opened in sad shock as she recognized it. He didn’t even have to explain further. Pressing it to her chest, she rolled onto her back.

“I guess… I should’ve known that,” her voice cracked with emotion. “I must have avoided thinking about it.”

“It gets worse.”

“What do you mean?” she turned her head to study him, her face full of fear of what he might say next.

“I saw… his memories. Some of them. The big moments.”

Her breath hitched. When her lungs started working again, she asked, “How is that possible? Do all zombies see memories when they eat brains?”

“I think so.”

“That’s how you knew my name,” she realized, “I had no idea.” Bulma thought about how her pet zombie would zone out when she ate neurological matter. No wonder Barbara looked like she was tripping out on drugs. “What memories did you see?”

He wouldn’t answer.

She pieced it together, and heat filled her cheeks. “You saw me… with him.”

“Yeah.”

What a nightmare. Bulma raked her hand over her face. To think he probably saw their most private moments. Moments no one else was ever meant to witness.

“Bulma,” Vegeta swallowed, “He loved you.”

“Stop,” she put up her hand and cinched her eyelids closed. Before he saw her crying, she rolled away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. That pain in his chest was spreading now, like smoldering fire.

She sniffled as tears flowed, and he laid there deservedly swimming in his guilt. Gradually, the crying ceased, and her breathing evened out in the darkness. For the first time since he could remember, he felt his eyelids growing heavy and he couldn’t keep them open anymore. His weary lids closed once, twice, and on the third time he surrendered to the fatigue and his mind drifted away into new territory.

Sleep.

The sound of screaming.

The scent of smoke.

He held a ball of light in his outstretched palm.

Was this a memory? It was hard to tell. The edges of it were flimsy and gray, like the details had been erased.

A large man with long Saiyan hair that reached all the way down his back shouted at him, “What are you doing? Finish them off!” The big Saiyan pointed at the little creatures that scattered around the sprawling village below.

“Why?” Vegeta asked. The question was clear and loud, not strained like his real voice.

“What do you mean why? Because we’re Saiyan! It’s what we do!”

“Who are you?” Vegeta shouted over the noise.

“Oh, come on! Don’t act like you don’t know me, Vegeta,” the taller man scoffed, “Don’t you remember? You killed me!”

“What? Why would I kill you? I don’t even remember you!”

“If you’re going to stall, then I’ll do it,” the long haired Saiyan lifted a palm over the primitive alien town below and blasted it with prejudice. The whole area was swallowed in an explosion so bright, Vegeta had to close his eyes.

When he opened them, the scene had changed. Birds chirped so loud, it was annoying. The grass was too green, the sky too blue. Bulma was standing in an orchard, talking to Goku as they picked apples and placed them in a wooden crate. They were so quiet, Vegeta couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Looks like you found Kakarot,” the long haired Saiyan was still standing beside him.

“Who’s Kakarot?” Vegeta turned to his comrade. “Who are you?”

“Kakarot’s my little brother. You really don’t remember me?” the man placed his fists on his armored hips and gave him a smirk.

Vegeta blinked and studied the man. Wait, he did know him. Somehow. “You’re… Rrrr…Rad…. Raditz?”

Suddenly, the man’s hair grew shorter, although it remained a messy black mane, and his stature shrank from huge to more average size. Scars appeared on his face.

“Yamcha,” Vegeta frowned, “I killed you.”

“Apparently you killed Raditz too,” Yamcha shrugged. “Death doesn’t keep us from invading the realm of dreams.”

“I’m dreaming?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty messed up if you ask me. You don’t deserve to escape reality.”

“If I’m stuck here with you, then I don’t feel like I’m escaping anything.”

Vegeta turned his attention back to Bulma and Goku. No… Not Goku. Kakarot. That’s who he was. He was a Saiyan living his life on Earth, nurturing it and protecting it. Vegeta wanted to join them. To belong in the land of the living. Purposely, he trekked toward them, but he couldn’t get any closer, no matter how long he walked. They remained at a distance, unattainable. Becoming more desperate, Vegeta tried to pick up speed, then a hand gripped his shoulder. The prince whipped around, his posture tense, ready to attack.

“Easy killer,” Yamcha lifted his hands to show he meant no harm, but he remained unintimidated, “You can’t join them. You’re too dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“You can’t expect her to forgive you. You ate her ex.”

Longingly, Vegeta turned to gaze at the two friends. Bulma picked another apple and placed it in the crate, then glanced in Vegeta’s direction and smiled. Suddenly, he found he was also in the orchard, right next to her in the shade, as if her mere acknowledgement of his existence had magically brought him into her presence.

“You made it,” her tone was soft, inviting, “I was wondering when you would show up.”

“You… you want me here?”

“Of course. You and I are going to fix this broken world.”

“Together?” Vegeta lifted his brow in hope, “You and me?”

“Not together,” Yamcha was unfortunately still at his side, rolling his eyes, “You’re dead, my dude. She’s talking about her research, and the samples she took from you.”

Kakarot handed Yamcha an apple, and the dead human warrior sank his teeth into the reddish fruit with a juicy crunch. As he smacked away with a grin, he spoke, “There’s no future with her. You’re natural enemies.”

Vegeta watched Bulma, waiting for her to answer, to address Yamcha’s claims.

She grinned coquettishly and reached for Vegeta’s pale hand. Tentatively, he slid his palm into place. With a gentle tug she pulled him closer, and she leaned in with slightly parted lips.

OH GODS.

Right as her lips made contact with his in the dream, Vegeta woke up, panting with an open mouth. Morning light was leaking into the room through the windows. Hearing how loud he was breathing he shut his trap, so he wouldn’t disturb his roommate. When he leaned up to check on her, he found the bed empty.

Not again.

He stumbled down the stairs, nearly falling, and searched for her in the kitchen, hoping she was just eating breakfast. No sign of her. The candle they had left burning on the counter overnight was all used up, nothing left of the wick except the metal stump at the bottom. It felt like an omen. That his time with her had run its course.

He swallowed. With dread, he jogged to the living room. Her socks, shoes, vest and pink backpack were gone.

He rushed out the front door into the chilly air, clinging to a thread of hope that she was still within sight, that he could find her, catch up with her. One glance to his right at the empty driveway, and his hopes were dashed. The Honda was missing. Maybe she had lied about the car being low on gas. Didn’t matter anyway.

She had left him.

And he couldn’t blame her.

He sank to his knees and his hands formed fists as he screamed at the gray sky.

Chapter Text

Vegeta trudged down the suburb streets, his head hanging low, his tail dragging behind him, and his boots scuffing against the asphalt.

So much for dreaming. It was so foolish. He felt like an imbecile. He couldn’t change his fate. He couldn’t quit being who he was. All he would ever be was a stupid, pale, hunched-over, grayed-eyed zombie. Of course she left him behind. He had sabotaged that relationship. Maybe he had done it on purpose. Because it was hopeless. There was no escaping the unspeakable things he had done. And if the images of last night were any indication, he had probably done terrible things in his Living past anyway. Bulma didn’t deserve that. She deserved better.

He exited the suburbs to take the highway back to the airport. Since he was walking, the stalled out abandoned vehicles didn’t matter. He wove sluggishly between the cars, spotting mostly rotten bodies in some of them.

If only he could die the natural way, approaching old age like the couple that owned the home they had visited. Getting gray hair and wrinkles. Having kids and grandkids. Celebrating anniversaries.

He moaned in despair. There he was again. Yearning for companionship. An impossible wish. Too bad he had fallen for her. It was easier when he didn’t care. When he didn’t feel. At least then it didn’t hurt so much.

As if the sky could empathize, it started raining gently, like tears.

The drops soaked into his sleeves and pants, weighing him down as he continued his steady march home. A breeze blew against his cheeks and he shivered, clutching his arms in discomfort. Was he cold? That was new. He didn’t remember ever feeling cold before. It was miserable. Stupid spring. Stupid feelings. Everything was terrible.

“Hey!” A deep voice broke him out of his brooding. Vegeta finally lifted his chin to look ahead and found a huge bald Saiyan waving at him from across the overpass. A group of Corpses trailed behind him.

“Nappa?”

When the Saiyans met up in the center of the bridge, Nappa noticed his friend hanging his head in shame. He slapped a large hand on his shoulder. “Alone?”

Vegeta sighed sadly, “Yeah. She’s gone. Left without me.”

“Tch. Women.” Nappa shook his head in disgust and patted Vegeta’s shoulder a little too firmly in a poor attempt at comfort. Vegeta rolled his shoulder to get him to stop.

Nappa leaned over the smaller Saiyan and sniffed. “You sssmell… different.”

Vegeta probably carried Bulma’s scent. He had certainly rubbed shoulders with her last night. Ignoring Nappa’s comment, the prince grumbled, “Why did you leave? I said stay.”

“Boneys.”

“More?”

“From everywhere. Chasing us.”

“Chasing you?” Finally, he craned his head up at Nappa, frowning in confusion. His eyes widened when he looked at his old friend.

“Your eyes. They’re different,” Vegeta stepped closer. Nappa had pupils now.

“Yep. And we see…” Nappa tapped a knuckle on the faded red car next to them, “…colors now. Right kid?” Nappa turned around, revealing the little blond girl from the airport, who nodded in agreement.

Vegeta gaped at the child. She had pupils too. The young black boy was still with her, still holding her hand, and he had lost the cloudiness of his eyes as well. A woman stood behind the boy, her pupils also visible, and she clumsily laid a hand on the kid’s shoulder. Vegeta recognized her from the airport, the aggressive female with the low ponytail of locs and the bullet hole in her chest. He couldn’t help but notice an uncanny resemblance between the boy and the dark-skinned woman. “Is that… his mother?”

“Yes,” the boy answered.

Vegeta leaned back in surprise. None of the human Corpses had ever spoken before.

“You can talk?”

“I’m Mmm…. Marcus,” the boy held out his hand.

With a look of astonishment, Vegeta gave the child a handshake. “I’m Vegeta.”

Marcus pointed at the young girl next to him. “She’s… Sss… Ssss...”

“I’m Sssarah,” the blonde girl waved shyly.

When Vegeta waved back at her in amazement, she tucked her chin down timidly and partially hid her face behind Marcus’s arm. Encouragingly, Nappa patted her on the back.

“What’s happening?” the prince asked Nappa incredulously.

“Don’t know. We’re changing. Kids… change fffaster. There’s more,” Nappa gestured back at the stragglers that stumbled along, trying to catch up. They were the Corpses that had seen him and Bulma together in the airport parking lot. A quick glance at the closest ones and Vegeta could see their eyes held pupils, and they studied the world around them like they had just been born.

“They all… fffollowed me,” Nappa explained, “After you left. With the Bulma.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes. Language was obviously still a struggle for Nappa. Not that he was a great communicator himself. Speaking of “the Bulma” though…

“She needs to know,” Vegeta stated, “She’s trying to help.”

“Help us?”

“Everyone.”

“Huh. Then… let’s go. Find her.”

“No hunting,” Vegeta warned, his tone firm.

“Not hungry,” Nappa shrugged, “Not anymore.”

Satisfied, Vegeta motioned for the entourage to follow, and together the Corpses traveled through the suburbs and across West City. It frustrated Vegeta that he had to constantly slow down so the others could keep up. He was itching to reconnect with Bulma. At least the rain stopped and the sun chased the clouds away, as if it wanted to give him a glimpse of hope.

Boneys found them along the way, just like Nappa had said. The Saiyans dispatched them easily, glad to have an excuse to get aggressive. But what started as a large clump of changed zombies morphed into more of a scattered line since they walked at different paces, so their defensive tactics had to change.

As the leader, Vegeta naturally watched for attacks closer the front. To help cover the rear of the group, he ripped open and raided several car trunks and handed out lug wrenches to the more able-bodied Corpses and ordered them to take care of the feeble ones in the back. He was pleased that they seemed to understand, grunting and nodding in acknowledgement.

Nappa guarded the middle of the moving line. The huge man was particularly protective of the children and the boy’s mother, who slumped more and more as they traveled.

At one point, as the sun set on the tall buildings, casting shadows over the streets, the prince jumped on a semi-truck trailer to count his herd. He wanted to make sure his human recruits were doing their job and the Boneys hadn’t quietly taken out any of the more pitiful members in the back. Not only were the frail ones still trudging along, but he was surprised to find there were even more Corpses trailing behind in the distance. Why was the group growing? It seemed the change was similar to a contagion, which spread at the airport. The affected Corpses had slowly followed each other out like ants.

A hiss sounded behind him, and the clacking of skeletal heels interrupted his thoughts. A Boney charged at a female Corpse who had stopped at the intersection. With perfect timing, Vegeta leaped and landed on the sprinting attacker, crushing its ribcage under his boots. To silence the muffled shrieks that escaped its exposed brown teeth, Vegeta stomped on the skull with a satisfying crunch.

Motioning with a swing of his arm, Vegeta led everyone down the streets as he searched for a safe place to stay. He didn’t dare bring his horde too close to the enclave barrier, for fear the Living guards would notice the walking dead caravan and shoot them all down. As he examined his choices up ahead, he thought about what he needed.

The parking garage was no good. There were no barriers to keep the Boneys out. The hotel wasn’t a viable choice. There might be survivors living there, and he didn’t want to cross paths with them. The small restaurant he passed would’ve gotten too crowded. Several blocks later he found a ten-story corporate building near the bank where Bulma used to keep Barbara. This would work fine. Vegeta stood at the entrance of the building, encouraging his followers to head inside. There wasn’t a set of cloudy eyes in sight.

The navy-blue sky was dark enough now that a few stars peeked out. If Vegeta waited too late, Bulma would be asleep, and he didn’t want to wait until morning. Plus, sneaking around in broad daylight would be too risky. When Nappa finally arrived with the kids and the boy’s mother, Vegeta held his hand up to stop him.

“Wait here,” Vegeta ordered, “Keep them safe. I’ll be back.”

Nappa nodded, standing at the entrance while the rest of the Corpses continued filing inside.

Remembering the skyscraper where Bulma had used the broken-down escalators, he headed in that direction, descending into the pedestrian tunnels from Yamcha’s memory. The darkness was palpable, like a level of hell. Moist and suffocating. His only sense of depth was the sound of his own footsteps echoing against the tile floors and cinder block walls. Groping blindly, he traversed the abyss, trying to remember if there was a turn he was supposed to take, wondering if he would be stuck here forever, wandering the underground intestines of West City.

A skittering sound crossed in front of him along the floor. He held out his palm and tried to fire ki at it. Then he blinked, confused at his own actions. What was that about? He couldn’t fire energy from his palm. And yet for some reason, his instincts thought he could. His hand had moved automatically. Perhaps he was once skilled at ki manipulation.

The creepy rodent noise stopped, so Vegeta continued, until the air felt different. It was a faint change, but he was definitely getting closer. He suspected the hidden entrance into the human enclave was somewhere in this section. After a few more steps, he sniffed the air, smelling for people. A cool draft drifted down over his cheeks and it brought the slightest scent of life with it. It must be here.

Jumping up and lightly tapping the ceiling, he heard and felt wood under his knuckles. This was it. With a fist held above his head, Vegeta jumped high enough to bust through the wooden slats that covered the hole into the tunnels. He landed on the counter next to the cash register. Looking around in the dimness, he spotted a few items remaining in the abandoned convenience store. Grabbing an oversize gray hoodie with the business’s logo, he pulled it over his armor to try to look less conspicuous, wrapping his tail around his waist underneath it. When he stepped outside and shut the boarded-up door, he studied his moonlit reflection in the window. His hair was… inhuman. Too noticeable. Reluctantly, he pulled the hood up and tucked his mane inside, pulling the string a little to cinch it down further. He glanced at his reflection again. A bit better. Since his ugly gray irises would raise suspicion, he would have to avoid eye contact.

Sneaking around the huts and tents and capsule houses inside the wall, Vegeta maneuvered his way to Bulma’s house. People strolled right by him. Some chattered to each other. A few glanced his way, so he would duck his head down even further. None of them were aware they had just brushed past a monster.

He tried to act alive by swinging his arms more as he walked at a quicker pace. A flock of chickens scattered in front of him when he turned a corner and he was so startled by their squawking that he tripped over one of them and fell. Thankfully, he caught himself with his hands so he didn’t fall flat on his nose, but a young brat witnessed the whole scene and pointed and laughed.

Unsteadily, Vegeta climbed to his feet. He was tempted to growl at the boy, to flash his gray eyes and bare his teeth at him, but he didn’t need the kid raising the alarm to his presence, so he grunted unhappily and plodded away.

It was hard to miss the large domed structure that loomed in the center of the Livings’ safe zone. Vegeta stood to admire it for a second, then he remembered where her bedroom was located, since it had a balcony.

Looking around first, he crept across the well-traveled lawn, approaching her balcony. He could hear Bulma talking! In his excitement, he froze nearby, listening.

“I’m serious, Chi-Chi. We call them Corpses, but that’s just a label for a condition we don’t truly understand.”

“Well, I get what you’re saying based on what you told me, but a corpse flower by any other name would still smell like carrion,” Chi-Chi joked.

“Haha,” Bulma faked a laugh out of sarcasm.

“Come on. We laugh or we cry, amiright?” Chi-Chi sounded more sympathetic now.

“Part of me wishes it wasn’t so dangerous out there. Maybe I could go out and find him again.”

“For your research?”

“Well… not just for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think… I miss him?”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Bulma! I get that it’s hard to find good guys right now, with the apocalypse and everything…”

“I know! I’m crazy, right?”

“I was thinking of another word. And it’s…”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of necrophilia.”

“If the shoe fits.”

“That’s the thing. He didn’t seem dead!”

“I know you said he spoke, but it didn’t sound like he was much of a conversationalist.”

On the ground below, Vegeta scowled. He was tired of listening to this.

“Granted, he was laconic,” Bulma admitted, “I don’t think he could string more than four words together at a time. But he never hurt me.”

“I get why you got attached to him. We’re naturally drawn to strong men. I know I was swept off my feet when Goku rescued me and Daddy.”

“I wasn’t nearly as swept up as you were. You proposed to Goku immediately when he snatched you out of danger.”

“He promised to marry me years ago! I’m lucky he was even tracking that horde near our village.”

“You’re lucky alright,” Bulma sighed, “He’s quite the catch. Strong. Handsome. Kind. Even if he isn’t the brightest bulb.”

“At least he’s not a Corpse,” Chi-Chi teased, but Bulma didn’t laugh, “You shouldn’t feel bad for leaving Vegeta behind. It’s not like you could have brought him in here.”

“But he doesn’t really belong out there either! Imagine being able to think and talk, but you’re surrounded by mindless beings who can’t communicate. It must be torture for him.”

“Look, he wasn’t safe to be around. You know that. That’s why you left him when you could.”

“That’s not true. I left him when I did because… things were getting too complicated. And it was easier to leave when he was sleeping so I didn’t have to say goodbye. Now… I just wish I could see him again.”

This was it. His cue.

“Psst!” Vegeta pulled the hoodie off and dropped it to the ground so she would easily recognize him. “Bulma!”

“Did you hear that?” A chair scrapped as Bulma stood from the patio table and peered down over the railing, wearing pink pajamas and a white fluffy robe for warmth.

“Oh gods!” She covered her mouth to remind herself to be quiet.

“What is it?” Chi-Chi jumped up to join her, “Oh, great mountain of fire! Is that HIM? Your alien zombie boyfriend?”

Reproachfully, Bulma elbowed the girl next to her before she loudly whispered down, “Vegeta, how did you find me?”

“I remembered… Barbara.”

Bulma saw the hoodie on the ground and recognized the convenience store logo, understanding Vegeta had seen the memory of Yamcha stalking her.

“Stay there,” she ordered, “I’ll be down to let you in.”

Briskly, Bulma stepped away from the railing but startled when Vegeta leaped over her head and landed in front of her on the balcony. Chi-Chi yelped and stumbled backward, but as soon as Vegeta turned to face them, Bulma rushed forward and embraced her forbidden visitor.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her cheek pressed against his. Vegeta lifted his arms slowly and wrapped them around her to hug her back, feeling her chest expand as she breathed deeply in relief. For a few seconds they stood there holding each other, then Bulma spoke quietly, “You’re warmer than I remember.”

She took a step back and studied him. Although she felt safe with him, he still looked dangerous. His pale skin was practically luminous in the moonlight and anyone walking by outside might spot him.

“Let’s go inside before anyone sees you,” she gently grabbed his hand and led him into her bedroom.

“Bulma!” Chi-Chi protested, “You can’t be serious!”

“Come in and see for yourself!” Bulma motioned for her friend to follow.

Once Chi-Chi shut the glass doors behind them, she cautiously approached the Saiyan zombie, who gripped Bulma’s hand. Chi-Chi’s head tilted as she studied his tail, which was twitching nervously behind him.

The dark-haired girl crossed her arms over her chest, ready to interrogate him. “So, you’re from another planet?”

Vegeta nodded, clearly intimidated.

“I already told you, he’s Saiyan. From Planet Vegeta,” Bulma answered.

“You said he could talk, so let him,” Chi-Chi narrowed her dark brown eyes, “How’d you die? How long have you been a Corpse?”

Sheepishly, Vegeta shrugged.

Chi-Chi leaned forward and sniffed him. “Hm. Strange. He doesn’t smell rotten. He kinda smells like…”

“A normal guy?” Bulma finished for her.

“A sweaty guy,” Kakarot’s wife furrowed her brow.

Vegeta brought his nose closer to his armpit and sniffed. He had only just started sweating for the first time yesterday morning, but sure enough there was a hint of body odor, faint but detectable. How embarrassing. No wonder Nappa said he smelled different.

“Let’s sit down and get comfortable,” Bulma tried to ease the tension. She led him to a sitting area in her large bedroom where there was a loveseat and a comfy chair. Vegeta took the chair and let the girls sit together.

“How old are you?” Chi-Chi demanded, returning to interrogation mode.

“Uh… I don’t… I’m not,” Vegeta stammered.

“He doesn’t remember much about his old life,” Bulma defended him. “Plus, he’s not from Earth! He wouldn’t measure time the same way we do.”

“Let him speak for himself!” Chi-Chi scowled at her friend.

“How old are you?” Vegeta asked Bulma.

She gave him half a smile, “I’m twenty-three.”

 “I’m asking the questions here,” Chi-Chi nudged her friend harshly with an elbow, then switched her severe gaze back to Vegeta. “Are you married?”

“No,” he shook his head earnestly.

Bulma cocked her head in interest.

“No Saiyan females,” Vegeta explained.

“I’m not sure that proves anything,” Chi-Chi was skeptical, “Supposedly Goku is Saiyan and he’s in love with me, a human. What’s to keep you from having an alien bride on some other planet out there? Maybe some side-pieces too!”

“Chi-Chi!” Bulma hissed.

“How many people have you killed? If you’re in control of yourself now, why didn’t you stop eating people before?”

“I don’t know,” Vegeta admitted quietly and shrank away from her, wishing the chair would swallow him up. He gave Bulma a pleading look.

“Chi-Chi! Take it easy!” Bulma reprimanded her friend, who huffed and finally ceased her rapid-fire questions. Bulma gave Vegeta an apologetic expression, “Sorry. I invited her to spend the night in my room tonight because I didn’t want to be alone. I’m glad you’re here, but you’ll have to forgive her, I think she’s a little surprised to meet you.” The girls glared at each other.

Vegeta sat up straight, “I came… for a reason. We’re changing. Me and Nappa. And my friends.” Was friends the right word? “Other Corpses. From the airport.”

“What do you mean changing?”

“Our eyes. Our minds. Boneys chase us.”

Bulma frowned, “I knew something was off when that Boney bit you.”

Vegeta was pleased that he had successfully snagged her interest. She was smart enough, he hoped she could figure this out. He almost told her he brought the changed Corpses into the city with him, but he didn’t know if Chi-Chi would overreact or report it to the enclave authorities.

“I am already running tests on your samples,” Bulma explained, “I was going to check on them in the morning, but we might as well go to the lab tonight. First, let’s get you cleaned up. Put some fresh clothes on. Probably been a while since you’ve done that.”

He had no memory of ever doing that. She led him to the bathroom and pointed out supplies before she left to fetch some spare clothes.

He pulled off his snug-fitting chest armor first, which was no easy task for his stiff limbs. As soon as it came off, he expected to be able to breathe easier, but instead he felt unexplained paranoia. Even though he should have felt freed from a cage, he could only think of how exposed he was. After convincing himself that he wasn’t in danger, he then moved on and finished stripping.

Taking advantage of his own nakedness, he leaned over the sink to study himself in the mirror. The awful veins that crawled up his neck weren’t nearly as visible. The right side had almost cleared up entirely, and the vein on the left had shrank and faded. He still had circles under his eyes, but they didn’t seem as dark. His lips were no longer bluish, but pale with the slightest hint of peach color to them.

Stepping back, he observed his muscular form and the marks on his body. There were three bite marks along one arm. Evidence of old slashes and gashes were scattered here and there, most of them barely visible.

He traced the biggest scar over his right pectoral. It was particularly deep. There were more large ones on his left side, various widths and lengths. Normally his armor would protect this area. Perhaps he had been wounded when he wasn’t wearing it. No wonder he felt vulnerable as soon as the armor came off, as though his body held the memories that his mind could not. Would he eventually remember the cause of all those old wounds?

The hot shower was amazing. He had it set to scalding so he could feel it cook him thoroughly. At one point the bathroom door opened, and he could see movement through the blurry glass door.

“Just leaving your outfit here,” Bulma cheerily told him, “I’ll launder your other clothes. Hopefully they don’t have to be dry cleaned.” She disappeared again.

After he washed up with the lavender soap and rose scented shampoo, he stepped out and found what she had left him.

“Pink?!” he complained loudly.

“Sorry,” she only sounded half apologetic, “There wasn’t much to choose from.”

He used the new toothbrush she had set out for him and the toothpaste left his mouth feeling strange and tingly. When he stepped out of the bathroom wearing yellow pants and an unbuttoned pink shirt, the girls waiting on the bed turned their heads. Both of them giggled, making Vegeta pout. Bulma, who was no longer in pajamas, but wearing jeans and a Capsule Corp T-shirt, practically skipped over to him.

“I look like… a flower,” he sulked.

The blue-haired woman grinned as she teased, “You smell like one too.”

He moaned.

“Did you want this shirt unbuttoned?” she tried not let her eyes linger too long on the well-defined abdominal muscles that peeked out.

“No, but I have,” he slightly flexed one of his hands, “zombie fingers.”

“Buttons too hard to work with?”

“Mm,” he grunted.

With a smirk, she got to work helping him button up his shirt, enjoying the view.

She stood so close to him. Close like in his dream. He wondered if her lips were as soft as he imagined them.

When she finished with his shirt, she noticed him staring at her mouth.

Chi-Chi cleared her throat to remind the pair that she was still in the room.

“Um, I’m going to take care of your wet towel,” Bulma mumbled and escaped to the bathroom to clean up after him.

“Goku could come back any second and you know he’s going to come in here looking for me,” Chi-Chi warned her, “And as much as I would like him to meet someone of his own kind, I don’t think it’ll end well. You know what Goku will do if he sees him.”

“Go ahead and head back to your room then. I’ll take Vegeta to the lab,” Bulma called out, then reappeared, “Just make sure you keep Goku occupied.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard.”

Chi-Chi left just in time. As soon as she shut Bulma’s bedroom door behind her, she ran into Krillin.

“Hey! You guys back already?”

“Already? Have you noticed how late it is? Planting season has been brutal. Doesn’t help that the tractor broke down today. Although, I guess it’s good that plowing by hand was one of the things Master Roshi had us do for training as kids.”

“It’s just,” Chi-Chi gave a nervous glance at Bulma’s door, “I expected you to take even longer. Where’s Goku?”

“When we checked in at the gate, we heard the news about Bulma and her scavenging team. Goku stayed a bit longer to talk to the general about what happened.”

“As much as I love his personality, sometimes I wish he wasn’t so chatty.”

“Oh, yeah?” Krillin’s eyes flickered behind her to the man in orange that popped into view from the stairwell.

“He’s got so many friends!” Chi-Chi exclaimed, “I feel like I hardly get him all to myself!”

“Hey!” A pair of strong arms appeared out of nowhere and wrapped around her from behind, “It’s been a while since I seen ya!”

“Since this morning, you big lug,” Chi-Chi smirked and patted the grinning face that pressed against her cheek.

“Were you just with Bulma? I heard her entire team died and she’s the only one who made it back!” Goku reached for Bulma’s doorknob to check in on his friend.

“Trust me, you don’t want to bother her right now,” Chi-Chi pressed her hand against the door to stop him.

“Still upset about Yamcha? Maybe I can cheer her up.”

“She’s not in the mood to be cheered up. However,” Chi-Chi playfully toyed with Goku’s chin, “I’m in the perfect mood to spend time with you.”

“What are you in the mood for?” Goku blinked curiously.

“Goodnight,” Krillin waved and urgently continued down the hall to his room, not interested in hearing any more.

“Krillin, wait! I thought we were going to hit the sauna tonight?” Goku reminded his friend.

“Come knock on my door when you’re ready. Take your time. There’s no rush.” Krillin didn’t even look back as he disappeared.

“You really shouldn’t make plans without consulting me first,” Chi-Chi pushed out her bottom lip in a fake pout, “What if I had plans for you?”

“What kind of plans?” Goku’s eyes brightened as Chi-Chi pressed a hand to his back and pushed him inside their room across the hall. The door locked behind them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Listen, one of the first signs of infection is iris depigmentation,” Bulma explained clinically, pointing two fingers at Vegeta’s gray eyes, “The final symptom to indicate that the transition is complete is pupil loss, where the eyes look cloudy. So, while you don’t look like a full-blown zombie, you still appear infected like you just got bit, which means we can’t let anyone look at you too closely.”

“Got it.”

When the muffled talking in the hall went silent for a full minute, Bulma cracked her door open and peeked out. After a quick glance in both directions to make sure none of the other residents of the house were visible, Bulma took Vegeta’s hand and pulled him out of her room. With his tail wrapped securely around his waist under his pink shirt, he followed her to the nearest stairwell, his eyes darting up and down the hall in fear of discovery. When he plodded a bit too heavily down the steps, and she whispered back to him, “Quiet.”

As soon as she brought her attention forward again, she bumped into a young blonde woman when she turned at the landing.

“Launch!” Bulma jolted back, bumping into Vegeta behind her. She released his hand and he ducked his head down to avoid eye contact.

“’Sup, Briefs,” the woman lifted her chin in acknowledgement. She glanced at Vegeta for a second, so Bulma maneuvered herself in front of him and tried to distract the volatile female, who wore a pistol strapped to her exposed thigh and a larger rifle slung over her back.

“Heading to bed?” Bulma chuckled nervously.

“Yup. Shift’s over. Count today was over two dozen.”

“Seems like more than usual.”

“Yeah, the Boneys were active tonight. It was weird. Say, you seen Tien?”

“Nope.”

“I swear that guy’s avoidin’ me.”

Bulma tried to angle to the side to invite her to move on, but Launch wouldn’t quit blocking the stairs.

“Y’know, I got our shifts to line up so we’d be partners for gate duty, but he changed to a solo position on one of the towers,” Launch complained in her rough, low voice.

“You don’t say,” Bulma did a poor job of pretending to care, “You look exhausted. I won’t hold you up anymore.”

“Who’s this?” Launch pointed at Vegeta, “Someone else wantin’ to live here?”

Bulma hoped the poor lighting in the stairwell would hide Vegeta’s condition well enough not to trigger Launch’s aggressive side.

“Yeah, since you know… Yamcha died, Puar took the news hard and moved downstairs today to stay with Chiaotzu and Tien so-”

“Tien has space in his place?”

“Enough for a cat,” Bulma shrugged, “So we have an open room now. Vegeta’s just checking it out.”

“Wow. Replacing Yamcha already,” Launch gave Bulma a pointed look.

Bulma huffed and her cheeks turned pink.

Launch shrugged and held out her hand to the visitor, “Welcome to the compound.”  

Vegeta made the mistake of lifting his head and looking at the armed woman. She spotted his gray eyes and froze. Before she could reach for a gun, Bulma grabbed a handful of blonde hair and shoved the split ends into Launch’s nostrils. The dangerous girl crinkled her nose and sneezed. Her hair turned navy blue, almost black. Vegeta stared dumbly.

“Excuse us!” Bulma waved pleasantly at the confused woman in front of them.

“Oh, was I in the way?” the sweet version of the woman stepped aside, her voice now tinkling like a bell, “I’m so sorry!”

Bulma squeezed past her then noticed Vegeta wasn’t following, since he was still dumbstruck at the woman’s hair color and personality change. Exasperated, Bulma reached back and gripped his arm so she could drag him along behind.

At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and he stumbled into her, knocking her down.

“Why is it you switch from athletic to clumsy at the most nerve-wracking moments?!” she whispered harshly.

“Sorry,” he apologized and helped her to her feet. It was too hard to explain how he had to prep his limbs for faster and more coordinated movement.

“Sweetheart!” a woman wearing an apron called out down the hall. She was about to enter a bedroom, but she waved and approached them instead.

“Mom!” Bulma stepped in front of Vegeta to shield him from her. “What are you doing up?”

“I just finished chopping fruit for breakfast tomorrow,” she untied her apron as she closed the distance. “Chi-Chi wanted pineapple, so Goku got up before the rooster crowed and flew over to Hawaii to bring us some.”

“Mom’s never actually seen a zombie,” Bulma whispered over her shoulder, “Just act natural.”  

Vegeta straightened himself, trying to be passable.

“The kitchen bot malfunctioned while you were missing,” the woman continued, “so cooking has been more time-consuming lately.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Bulma was genuinely apologetic, “I’ll try to fix it tomorrow.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetie! I’m just glad you’re alive and you’re back home!” the thin woman with a blonde bun tilted her head playfully as she sauntered closer, “Who’s this young man, here?”

“Uh, this is Vegeta,” Bulma allowed her mom to step around her and take a closer look, “Vegeta, this is my mother, Panchy.”

He gave a small wave. “Hey.”

Panchy smiled.

Perfect, Vegeta thought to himself. So far, he was nailing this act.

“He’s handsome, I must say,” Panchy’s words were slow and saccharine, “Vegeta, you have the most mesmerizing eyes.”

  “Th-th- thanks?” he stuttered.

“Bulma, I was devastated for you when I heard Yamcha was killed,” Panchy gave her daughter a sympathetic look then gestured toward Vegeta, “but I’m glad you’ve already found a nice-”

“Mom!” Bulma frowned.

Vegeta’s already pale face somehow turned even whiter.

“Goodness, though, he’s looking rather poorly,” Panchy placed her palm gently on Vegeta’s cheek and patted it in a motherly way, “You need some sun. And perhaps a good meal. You hungry? I can scramble together something hot for you.”

“I’m… fffine.” Vegeta’s speech skills were quickly regressing.

“He’s coming with me to the lab,” Bulma stepped away and motioned for Vegeta to follow, “We’re working on something important so don’t disturb us.”

“Ooooh! I see,” the mother winked.

“Not like that!” Bulma groaned, “Just please go to bed, Mom. You need rest anyway.”

“I will. You two have fun in the lab.”

With heat in her cheeks, Bulma rolled her eyes as she led Vegeta to a door at the end of the hall. After a quick security scan, the door slid open to give Bulma access, revealing an elevator.

“Sorry about my mother,” Bulma groaned and pressed a button labeled B1.

“She’s never seen…” Vegeta studied Bulma with interest as the door slid shut.

“No. She knows they’re out there, but Dad encouraged her to stay at home ever since the outbreak began. She’s been well protected.”

“Hmm,” Vegeta nodded in approval. Panchy was far too gentle for the outside world.

The elevator opened to sub-level 1. One step inside the Briefs family lab and he was astounded. The amount of tech that filled the place must have cost a fortune.

A white bot rolled up from the back and waved at them when they entered. “Good evening, Miss Briefs.”

“How are the reports coming along?” Bulma questioned her programmed assistant.

“Cultures are nearly finished,” the bot reported in a monotone speech, “Hair analysis is complete. DNA comparison is complete. Some blood panel results are available. I am studying the other tests so I can formulate a response.”

“Okay, get back to work. Set the computer to notify me when the reports are ready to view.” Bulma grabbed her lab coat from the hook by the door and slipped it on as she observed Vegeta staring at the equipment. He was so impressed his tail came unraveled and fell from his waist, hanging limp behind him. She smirked.

“Once we realized the outbreak was out of control, Dad and I focused our time and resources on finding a cure. Turns out a lot of viral research requires very specific technology, and tech is what Capsule Corp is all about. Now finding a lab assistant with a shrinking labor force was a challenge, so I created this guy to help me. He’s cheap, he can’t get sick from the samples, and he can work more hours than I can. Let’s just hope he doesn’t unionize and demand better work hours,” she joked, “Although, he’d have a tough time negotiating with me.”

When Vegeta didn’t laugh, she sat at a nearby desk and computer and began typing. “I’m using your hair analysis for comparison. Humans didn’t mutate after infection, but since you’re alien, I couldn’t rule that out. Knowing how Goku’s hair never grows, I figured your hair would contain your original DNA, so we can compare it with the DNA in your blood.”

After a minute to skim over the results, she commented, “Looks like your DNA shows no mutations either. For an alien, you’re surprisingly similar to a human.”

She clicked over to the available blood panel report. “Your blood cell count seems decent, but that might be because you haven’t been injured much since you died. Your platelet count is good. Whether that’s because you’re Saiyan or because you’ve changed is hard to tell,” she sighed, as if the next portion was disappointing, “Other than that, so far, your blood doesn’t appear to be much different than all the other Corpses I’ve tested. No blood sugar, no triglycerides, imbalanced electrolytes. I can’t figure out how the dead are even capable of moving.”

She leaned back in her chair and bit her lower lip in thought. “I’ve run so many tests over the last year and I keep thinking I’m close to cracking it, but I have a nagging feeling that I’m missing something.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe there’s something going on that our science can’t measure yet. For example, when you ate brains, did you feel any different? I mean, besides experiencing other people’s memories,” Bulma spoke with a clinical approach, more interested in the raw truth than sugar-coating it, “Like was there a physical difference? Less fatigue, more energy?”

After some consideration, Vegeta nodded, “I’d feel better. More energy.” He opened his mouth to add more, but snapped it shut. Bulma recognized the guilt that clouded his features.

“This is not the time to hide information. What were you going to say?”

Vegeta clenched his jaw. His tail twitched.

“Vegeta,” she sounded like she was rebuking a child.

“I used to hunt… powerful people.”

“People with higher energy levels.”

“Yes. Because,” Vegeta paused, trying to figure out how to word it, “they made me feel… stronger.”

Bulma eyes moved as she mentally incorporated this piece of information with all the other data she had catalogued. “The device that you wore on your head-”

“The scouter.” The term came to him easily. He didn’t even have to concentrate. As pleased as he was to be able to use his brain so efficiently, it also hinted that it was only a matter of time before he unburied the memories of his past, and who knew what that graveyard would look like.

 “The scouter,” she stood and looked around, trying to remember where she put it when she emptied her backpack in here hours ago, “It measured energy, right? Lifeforce. You used it to find the best targets.”

Guiltily, Vegeta nodded.

“Maybe that’s what zombies are craving. They need lifeforce because they can’t maintain their own. They’re hunting for ki.”

Bulma then wondered if the small changes in Vegeta were occurring because he was beginning to produce ki of his own. Was that why a Boney bit him?

Maybe she could use his scouter to measure his energy. Intending to search for her backpack, she stood and grabbed his wrist to tug him along. Once again that strange feeling thumped inside his chest.

Bulma felt a faint throb under her grip. She stopped. “Do you have a pulse?”

Vegeta blinked.

With a head tilt she paused, waiting with her hand still holding him.

“Maybe it was nothing,” she muttered, trying to talk herself out of it, but she pulled his hand up and pressed two fingers against his wrist. Frustrated at feeling nothing, she impulsively reached for his chest and pressed her palm over his thin cotton shirt. Something about the warmth of her hand in that particular spot nearly made Vegeta dizzy. She glanced at him, and the instant their eyes met, she felt a deep lurch in his chest.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she stared at him, “Your heart. It just moved.”

“Huh?” That was a heartbeat?

“Vegeta… you’re alive!”

Just then the computer let out a pinging noise, an audible notification that reports were ready to view. Her hand fell away as she rushed to sit in front of the monitor.

“More results are ready,” she announced then remained quiet as she read through the program’s analyses. “Interesting. You’re showing signs of having hormones that Corpses normally lack. Your levels aren’t healthy, but they aren’t nonexistent. There’s even a decent amount of oxytocin in your results.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a hormone. Women can produce it during childbirth and breastfeeding.”

Vegeta scowled and folded his arms over his pink clad chest. “I’m a MAN.”

“Trust me, I’m very much aware,” Bulma chuckled at him, “Oxytocin can also be produced during… intimate contact.”

“Sex?”

“Yes,” Bulma blushed a little, “But cuddling too. Like what we did during the movie.”

Vegeta’s unpredictable heart squeezed hard at the memory of having the weight of her head on his shoulder and feeling her hand slide into his while they watched that movie. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised that her effect on him was measurable in a blood test.

“Really any social contact can help boost oxytocin levels,” Bulma regained her composure, “It’s the hormone related to bonding and connection. All the zombies my dad and I tested were devoid of oxytocin and other mood regulation hormones. Of course, we assumed that was because their nervous system was degraded. He was experimenting with synthetic hormones for treatment to see if they would become less aggressive. But was oxytocin the trigger for your recovery or the result of it?”

“How should I know?”

“Think back. Did you notice when your heart started beating again?”

He nodded. He remembered that first uncomfortable strain in his chest.

“When was it?” She leaned forward curiously.

When he ate Yamcha. No, after he ate Yamcha. More specifically, “When I found you.”

Bulma’s face heated under his gaze. Her attention returned to her screen.

“Connection. Or the hope of it. Maybe that’s the key,” she mused as she scanned the results of one of the cultures, “Nappa remembered his connection to you. It probably helped change him. As for the other Corpses… they saw us together holding hands. They saw you protecting me, a Living person. Seeing what you were capable of… maybe it gave them hope.”

“Or triggered memories.”

“Do they remember?” She clicked on the monitor to open the saliva analysis results.

“That boy. He found his mother.”

“Wait, for real?!” Bulma was dumbfounded, “This is incredible!”

“I know.”

“No, I mean what I’m seeing on the screen right now. I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“You’ve beaten the virus.”

“Huh?”

“Vegeta,” Bulma stared up at him in wonder, “you’re a miracle.”

“But, I’m still sick,” Vegeta self-consciously rubbed the side of his neck where a dark vein was still visible.

“You still have residual symptoms, but that’s all it is. The virus is dead. The samples prove it. I even did a test mixing some of your viral sample with my blood and my cells didn’t die.”

“Really?”

Giddily, Bulma laughed and stood from her chair, pulling up her lab coat sleeve. “You could bite me right now and it wouldn’t matter!” She approached him with her wrist held out, “If anything, it would inoculate me.”

“No!” Vegeta shoved her hand down and stepped back. She was crazy.

“What’s the matter?” she teased as she put her hands on her hips and took another step toward him, making him back up against a work counter, “Am I not good enough for you? Should I be offended?”

“Don’t,” he warned her. The fur on his tail stood on end as he tensed up.

Slowly she leaned in toward him, even tilting her head so he had better access to her neck. “You sayin’ you don’t want to take a nibble?”

Her smooth neck was so close to his mouth now. And he couldn’t help but imagine sinking his teeth into that skin. Vegeta’s heart pounded once, hard enough to send a chill through his body as a horrific chain of events played out in his mind. Where he lost control and...

No. He wouldn’t do it. The new hunger was a powerful thing. And he didn’t want to toe that boundary, not even for her.

“What if I like it?” Vegeta whispered in fear as leaned away from her, “I may not stop. I could kill you.”

Realization washed over her face. With a gulp, Bulma stepped back and sat on the edge of her desk. “I’m sorry. It’s like I’m tempting an addict who’s trying to stay sober. That wasn’t fair.”

“I’m not… I don’t…” He struggled to figure out what to say, and he gripped the edge of the work counter behind him.

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t being totally serious. I was only trying to prove how certain I am that you’re better. But I can be reckless sometimes. I’m curious though, do you still feel the hunger?”

He sighed and shook his head. He wasn’t truly tempted to eat her. But he didn’t want to awaken the urge either.

“Okay. That’s good,” Bulma relaxed a little, and bit her bottom lip.

That’s one thing he did want to test with his teeth. That pink pillowy bottom lip of hers. He didn’t want to break the skin, but he thought if she enjoyed biting it so much, maybe he would too.

“Your symptoms should get better in time,” Bulma circled back to her analytical persona, and she pursed her mouth in thought, “If your heart started working more normally, I think it would help you improve even faster.”

Her expression brightened as an idea came to her, and she walked to another portion of the lab, gathered equipment in her arms and piled it on a roller cart. “We’re going to the gym.”

Chapter Text

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered as soon as she parked her cart in the home gym and shed her lab coat to hang on a hook by the door. Vegeta was so busy studying the weights, punching bag, and exercise equipment that he didn’t hear her. Taking matters into her own hands, she marched up and started undoing the buttons on the pink shirt.

Vegeta flinched when he felt her fingers fiddling around on his chest. His tail curled tightly around his waist.

“Relax! I need access to your chest so I can monitor your cardiovascular system.”

Her fingers quickly freed the last button and she stepped back to let him strip. Pulling the shirt off slowly, a frown settled on his face. Having noticed all the scars on his skin when he was in the bathroom, he felt self-conscious, like damaged goods.

She swallowed, unnerved as she watched him, reading the mysterious past carved on his body. The corded pecs and defined abs under his thin white skin made him look even more unnatural, like a marble work of art, chiseled to perfection with exaggerated masculine features. The myriad of scars that screamed of the battles he’d fought only made him that much more fascinating, because they showcased how much he had endured, and yet he was still standing. He was a conqueror. A triumph. And to think he was a prince too. Of all the Corpses she could have met, she had hit the jackpot.

Interrupting her hypnotic state, he draped the pink shirt on a hook by her lab coat and saw the back for the first time. “Bad man?!”

Bulma snorted, “Sorry. People on Earth like wearing funny shirts.”

Unhappy at being a joke, Vegeta scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge and making Bulma forget why they had even come here. All she knew was that she was itching to get her hands on him, explore those muscles of his.

Oh, she could touch him when she hooked him up!

“Come ‘ere, I need to stick some things on you,” she beckoned him to step closer and he obeyed, dropping his arms. She took her time applying sticky electrodes on his chest. Reflexively, he tensed and jerked as she dug her fingers around near his sternum, pressing on the ribs one by one.

“Sorry, does that tickle?”

“No,” he lied gruffly.

“I’m not trying to play around, I’m counting out the intercostal spaces so I can place these correctly.”

Vegeta’s jaw hardened as he fought the urge to slap her hand away. “Where did you learn…?”

“What, playing nurse? My dad and I gave ourselves a crash course in anatomy. We knew we would need to document zombie and Living biological differences. And we had the foresight to download a bunch of medical journals and sources to our own server farm in sub level 2 in case the internet failed, which it did. Dad was really close to identifying how to treat an infected person when he died.”

Infected person. A euphemism for zombie. Was she adjusting her language for his sake?

Her brow furrowed and a quiet sadness settled on her face as she placed another electrode. Vegeta could read between the lines and he remembered what Yamcha had said about how her father had died. “Was he bitten?”

“Yeah. Dad was old and didn’t take the best care of his health, so he turned pretty quick. I was in the lab too… so I had to shoot him.”

Vegeta inhaled a sharp breath. He wasn’t aware of that detail. Maybe she never told Yamcha.

Bulma placed the fifth and last electrode under Vegeta’s left pec and blinked her glistening eyes. “Before I pulled the trigger, I promised him I would figure this out.”

As her fingers lingered on his chest, a pair of tears trailed down her cheeks. Compassionately, he pressed his hand over hers and held it against his skin.

She sighed as she felt the strong singular beat of his heart under her palm.

“I want… to help you,” his voice was low and comforting.

“I know,” she sniffed, “and I want to help you. And your friends. Let’s save the world, okay?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Faster! Harder! Don’t stop! Keep going!”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and continued pounding his bare feet against the treadmill track.

“Ugh! I’m barely getting a reading!” she complained, staring at the screen of her electrocardiogram machine.

The treadmill speed was now maxed out. Apparently, the resting ECG wasn’t very useful, and she was convinced if he just exercised, his heart activity would be more measurable on the monitor, but she hadn’t gotten the results she expected.

Vegeta wasn’t as discouraged. He could feel his body getting a little warmer. Surprisingly, he wasn’t feeling as tired as he normally would after so much movement. And he could tell from the huge mirrors that lined the wall in front of him that his posture wasn’t as slumped and awkward as it used to be.

Still, she eventually got frustrated and slammed on the stop button of the treadmill’s controls. Vegeta spread his feet to the sides and caught himself on the safety bars so he wouldn’t fall from the abrupt ending of his sprint.

“I don’t get it. You have a heartbeat sometimes, but it doesn’t get faster with exercise.”

She was exhausting her options. She already had him try lifting weights, but they ran out of space on the barbell and he was never even challenged. He might as well have been lifting pillows. After that, she had him doing the stair climber machine, which he was tripping on at first, but once he got the hang of it, he maxed out the speed and the machine started smoking. Boxing the punching bag was a disaster since it exploded after one blow. None of her ideas worked.

“Let’s call it and head back downstairs,” she accepted defeat and began plucking the machine’s wires off his electrodes. “Maybe a workout isn’t strenuous enough. I mean, you aren’t human. Goku probably wouldn’t break a sweat doing this.”

As if she had conjured him by the mere mention of his name, Goku burst into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. Having just exited the sauna room at back of the gym, he was dripping with sweat.

“Hey Bulma!” Goku waved as he grabbed his light blue boxers from a nearby bench and quickly slid them on, “I thought I heard someone else in here. I’m so glad you made it back!”

Instantly curious, Krillin rushed out of the sauna and appeared beside Goku, also wearing a towel, “Bulma’s exercising?!”

After adjusting the waist of his boxers, Goku ripped the towel away to wipe his face down, “Naw, looks like it’s… wait, who is this?” The half-dressed man near Bulma looked incredibly strong, but ghoulishly pale.

Vegeta’s tail tightened defensively around his waist at the attention and his gray eyes flashed at the intruders. While he recognized them as Yamcha’s friends, he had no reason to trust them. Kakarot in particular could be problematic. Vegeta didn’t even need a scouter to know the Saiyan in front of him was more powerful than any of the Living he had come across yet. The prince’s posture dropped into a crouch.

Goku sensed the danger immediately and whipped out a palm with a glowing ball of ki. Instinctively, Vegeta pulled Bulma behind himself to protect her from the energy attack and growled fiercely, baring his teeth. He poised on the balls of his feet, prepping his legs for battle.

“Bulma, step away!” Goku ordered, his tone uncharacteristically firm, “He’s infected!”

“Goku, don’t!” she yelled, “He won’t hurt me!”

The energy sphere grew brighter as Goku concentrated it, preparing to annihilate this strange looking being. Krillin stepped back from his friend, unsure of what was happening.

“Goku, STOP!!” Bulma begged, and she pulled on Vegeta’s shoulder, “Vegeta, quit acting like an animal! It’s not helping!”

Ignoring her, Vegeta leapt forward into action, aiming a fist at the larger warrior’s gut.

“VEGETA!” Bulma cried out.

With fluid motion, Goku flipped over his attacker and attempted to blast Vegeta in the back of the head. Vegeta dodged, mostly, but the top of his left shoulder caught some of the energy wave and it burned him. He hissed and angled that arm away from the other warrior. That stung!

“STOP! BOTH OF YOU!” Bulma’s screaming bordered on murderous now, but it didn’t affect the Saiyans at all.

Kakarot aimed quick but powerful punches and kicks at Vegeta’s skull, clearly intending to kill him. That method would’ve worked on a typical Corpse, but not Vegeta. The prince dodged back and forth, looking for an opportunity to fight back, but Kakarot’s guard was never lowered enough for him to counter with an offensive strike. Still, as Vegeta kept up his defensive stance, focusing on Kakarot’s footwork and pattern of swings, he began to formulate a possible response.

Meanwhile, Krillin stepped further from the fight, his jaw dropping as Goku struggled to land a hit. He and his friend fought zombies daily, but none of them were ever a challenge. What was with this guy?

Predictably, Kakarot’s footwork shifted before he swung a kick at Vegeta’s left temple. Seeing it coming, Vegeta leaned backwards, feeling the whoosh of air as a bare foot skimmed just above his nose.

Placing a hand on the ground to maintain his balance, Vegeta saw his opening and spun with a kick of his own, landing it in Kakarot’s right kidney. The tall young man stumbled sideways, then crouched and gritted his teeth.

Goku wasn’t used to such a strong opponent, but it spurred him to push his limits. To adapt. The slightest growl escaped him, not in anger at his enemy, but in determination, as he realized he was going to have to pour more of himself into the fight.

Suddenly a gust of air exuded from Kakarot, as if a small explosion had gone off. The mirrors on the wall rattled, nearly breaking.

Vegeta’s eyes widened. What was happening? Did Kakarot just increase his battle power?!

With his energy raised high enough to deal with the threat now, Goku rushed forward like a missile and threw a punch at Vegeta’s gut. Somehow Vegeta managed to catch the fist before it landed, only to have Goku anticipate this defensive move. The taller Saiyan yanked his fist out of Vegeta’s grip, which caused the prince to take a step forward to regain his balance. In that instant of vulnerability, Kakarot flung out another kick aimed at his opponent’s head. Vegeta ducked and tried to block the incoming foot with his right arm, but both bones near his wrist snapped cleanly at the contact.

Vegeta’s hand drooped from the mangled limb, but before the shock of the injury set in, he used his left arm to punch Kakarot in the jaw. Goku staggered back a step, and Vegeta let out a guttural roar, born of pain, but with enough strength and rage behind it to vibrate the floor and intimidate his larger opponent.

“That’s enough!” Bulma sprinted between the Saiyans and shoved Goku away, standing in front of Vegeta to keep them apart.

Stupid brittle bones. Vegeta cradled his broken arm against his chest, as waves of stabbing pain shot through him. Experiencing this kind of agony felt foreign and overwhelming. His brain struggled to handle it. Right now, it wanted to shut down and reboot. There were stars at the edges of his vision, but he blinked and stilled and breathed a little deeper. He would not allow himself to lose consciousness, not after that embarrassing display of weakness against that other Saiyan. Deep down, he knew if he was healthy enough, he could pound Kakarot into the ground.

“Does it hurt?” Bulma asked Vegeta, but he refused to answer. As she reached for Vegeta’s arm, he flinched and took a step away so she wouldn’t touch him. She shook her head apologetically, “Not so numb anymore, are we?”

While Goku recognized Vegeta’s wounded behavior was unusual for a Corpse, he kept his hands in fists, ready to fight again if necessary. Blood ran from the taller Saiyan’s lip down his chin.

“Look what you’ve done!” Bulma glowered at Goku, then she pointed at the sauna, “You had no right to destroy my house, you idiot!”

Goku’s opening ki attack had streaked into the sauna room and blasted a hole in the exterior of the home. They were now exposed to the cooling weather and chatter from West City residents that lived nearby.

“Everybody okay up there?!” someone called from outside.

“WE’RE FINE!” Bulma shouted loud enough for the people below them to hear.

“No zombies?”

“No zombies! I promise!” Bulma glared at Goku to make her point, then turned to yell out of the hole in the wall, “Just an experiment gone wrong!”

“Those Capsule Corp folks are crazy,” a different bystander griped.

“Yeah,” another enclave resident agreed, “Come on, let’s get home.”

“Goku,” Bulma slammed the door to the sauna room to keep the cold night air from seeping in and keep their conversation from leaking out. “Go get a senzu bean for him. NOW.”

“But that’s not gonna do any good,” Goku argued.

“Yeah,” Krillin agreed, “It might heal his arm, but we already know senzu beans don’t work against the disease. He’ll still lose his mind once the infection-”

“He’s not infected! Now one of you get me a bean or I’ll evict you both from my house RIGHT HERE, RIGHT N-”

Slam!

Arriving late to the party, Chi-Chi came rushing into the gym with soaking wet hair and nothing but a white fluffy robe covering her frame. She slowed her approach when she took in the scene of Bulma separating two half-naked men, with a third smaller half-naked man appearing very confused.

“I heard the noise,” Chi-Chi cinched her belt.

“A little late now,” Bulma griped at the newcomer, “You had one job!”

“You said you’d be in the lab!” Chi-Chi marched forward, “He wanted to visit the sauna!”

“I thought you were gonna distract him in a different way! You know, use your ASSets!”

Chi-Chi pulled her robe tighter around herself and glared with a crimson face, “I already did! It just didn’t last long!”

The girls glanced at Goku to see if he even understood, but he was too busy staring down Vegeta to notice the discussion of his bedroom performance.

“Geez, Goku. I told you to take your time,” Krillin muttered.

“He’s still learning,” Chi-Chi hissed at the small man, “And it’s not like I didn’t enjoy it while it lasted.”

 “Yep, I’m leaving now,” Krillin pulled his towel a little higher up his waist as he marched off, “I think the senzu bean pouch is in my room anyway. I’ll be right back.”

“Come on, Goku,” Chi-Chi pulled on her man’s arm as she sneered at the other woman, “Let’s leave Bulma to her new boyfriend. Sounds like she wants privacy!”

“I’m not leaving her alone with him,” Goku resisted his wife, “He’s about to turn! Just look at him!”

“He’s already turned,” Chi-Chi rolled her eyes.

Vegeta scowled, hating how they talked about him like he was old soured milk.

“He’s not dead yet,” Goku gestured to him, “but he’ll start biting any second! Bulma, what’s goin’ on? Why did you bring him here? Why is he so strong and fast? Where did this guy even come from?”

“SHUT UP!” Vegeta yelled hoarsely and the ugly vein on his neck bulged in his anger. Goku clamped his jaw closed. With a deep breath to calm himself, Vegeta groaned, “Let. The woman. Explain.”

Bulma stepped aside to let Goku get a better look at the surly pale man.

“He’s not dangerous,” she gestured at Vegeta.

“I disagree,” Goku furrowed his brow and wiped a long drip of blood from his chin with a fist.

“Just listen! This is the guy who helped me while I was stranded away from the wall. He kept me safe. He was a Corpse for quite some time. See these bite marks?” she pointed along his arm, showing the evidence of where teeth had sank into his skin, “They’re old and scarred over. He turned a long time ago. But lately he’s been getting better. He’s remembering bits of his past. His heart is starting to work again. Tell me, can you sense his energy?”

“Yeah,” Goku scratched the back of his head, “Barely.”

“You see? His lifeforce is coming back. He’s not dead anymore. He’s alive! At first, I suspected he was different because he’s an alien, but…”

“Whoa, what do you mean he’s an alien?” Goku tilted his head in confusion.

Vegeta stepped closer to the tall young man. He stiffened his posture, holding himself as regally as possible, but he still clutched his broken arm to his chest. “I am Vegeta. Prince of all Saiyans.”

“What’s a Saiyan?” Goku leaned in a little, feeling curious.

Vegeta let his tail unfurl so Goku would recognize what it was.

“Oh hey! I used to have one of those.”

“You’re Saiyan too,” Bulma explained, “You’re not from Earth.”

Goku chuckled, “What’s that s’posed to mean? Course I’m from Earth.”

“Actually,” Bulma chuckled nervously, “you’re from another planet. You must have come here as a baby since you don’t remember.”

“Are you hearin’ this?” Goku looked over at his wife, “She’s sayin’ I’m an alien!”

Compassionately, Chi-Chi nodded in agreement, “It seems to be true. Honestly, I can’t believe we didn’t figure it out sooner. You’re too extraordinary to be human.”

“Your true name,” Vegeta’s expression softened slightly, “is Kakarot.”

The other three stared at the prince, stunned at this revelation.

“Kakarot? You know who I am?” Goku asked quietly.

“I knew Raditz. Your brother. He’s dead.” Vegeta decided not to admit to killing him just yet.

“Do I have any other family out there somewhere?”

Vegeta shook his head, “The planet’s gone. Destroyed.”

The weight of the statement silenced the room. He was glad they didn’t ask him how his home world had been lost. He still didn’t remember.

“Are we the only two left?” the larger man suddenly sounded small, childlike.

“Well… there’s Nappa,” the prince glanced at Bulma to invite her to finish explaining.

“Nappa is another Saiyan Corpse that’s changing like Vegeta. But there are other Corpses changing. Human Corpses. I’m in the process of figuring this-”

Bulma was interrupted when Krillin returned wearing plaid pajamas and carrying a small brown pouch. He tossed it across the room to Goku and turned back to the door to exit.

“Krillin, you leavin’ already?!” Goku pulled out a bean and handed it over to Bulma. “You won’t believe this. They’re sayin’ I’m an alien!”

Krillin sighed, “I’m too tired for this.”

“Aren’t you surprised?”

“Somehow, no. I’m not. But you can tell me all about it tomorrow,” Krillin could read the tension in the room and had no desire to stick around. He gave a small wave and promptly left.

“Eat it,” Bulma ordered, holding the bean up to Vegeta’s mouth.

Vegeta curled his lip up in distaste. “Why?”

“It’ll heal your injury.”

“Replenish your energy too,” Goku added, “You could use a little help in that department.”

Vegeta scowled at Goku.

“Just eat it!” Bulma demanded.

With his arm still held tight against his chest, Vegeta sullenly opened his mouth and leaned forward to carefully take it from her with his teeth.

“Gross,” he muttered as he chewed, but he managed to swallow it down. His stomach felt instantly full, uncomfortably so. Then miraculously his broken arm stitched itself back together and the burn on his shoulder faded to his normal pale skin color. Even the slash that Yamcha had given him disappeared without a scar. Vegeta suddenly felt stronger too. The fatigue that he had carried with him for so long lifted from his bones and he took a deep breath. Was this what it felt like to be alive?

While Vegeta checked out his healed arm, flexing his fingers to test their movement, Bulma turned her attention to the electrodes on Vegeta’s chest.

“Look, I had everything under control until you interrupted us, Goku,” she peeled off one sticky electrode after another, “so if you’ll let me work, and stop trying to ruin my case study…”

“My bad,” Goku shrugged and licked blood from his busted lip, “You can’t blame me for wantin’ to protect you. He looks…”

“I know how I look!” Vegeta snarled, then flinched and sucked in air through his teeth as the last electrode was ripped off his skin. Feeling pain was annoying.

Goku smirked, “Boy, you’re feisty, aren’t ya? That senzu bean probably helped a lot, huh?” The prince had a more noticeable power level since he ate the senzu bean. Goku poked around inside the brown pouch and his small grin faded into a pout, “Now I only have one bean left.”

“Maybe you should visit Korin then,” Bulma suggested as she motioned toward the gym’s exit while she headed toward her equipment to gather it up.

The younger Saiyan gave Vegeta another lingering glance, obviously concerned. The gray eyes that stared back were so creepy.

“She’s safe with me,” Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest.

Chi-Chi tugged on Goku’s hand, and reluctantly he let her pull him along this time. As soon as they left the lab, Vegeta approached Bulma, who rolled up her cart to the exit and pulled her lab coat from the hook and laid it on top of her gear.

“How do you feel?” she grabbed her stethoscope and motioned for him to come closer.

“Good,” Vegeta admitted with a shrug, as he stepped toward her so she could reach him.

After listening to his heart for a full minute, she groaned and placed the tool back on the cart, “Your heartrate is still terrible, even after that fight and the senzu.”

Her gaze landed on the automated external defibrillator, stored in a red box on the wall by the stair climber machine. Impulsively, she moved toward the box and curiously, Vegeta followed, seeing she was up to something.

“What are you doing?” He glanced at the AED device she was approaching.

“I’m thinking we might try returning your heart to a normal rhythm with this thing.”

“How does it work?”

“It shocks your heart-”

“Nope,” Vegeta already let her shock him once. He wasn’t doing that again. He grabbed her wrist to pull her away from the device.

“Oh, come on!” she tugged against his hold, testing to see how serious he was, “I know CPR if you need it.”

Like a rope, he reeled her in backward and wrapped his tail around the front of her waist to restrain her better.

“I’m alive now,” he quietly reminded her, his breath in her ear, “Which means… I could die. Again.”

Bulma pressed her back against his chest and turned her head toward him, her face dangerously close now, “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

With his hands comfortably holding her slim upper arms and his tail still coiled around her, he held her against himself, intending at first to see if she would make a run for it, but she continued to lean against his body and her chest worked harder to pull in air. And he found his breathing matched hers for once as his own lungs begged for oxygen.

After his hands relaxed and his tail loosened the hold on her waist, she didn’t retreat. She simply twisted around to face him and placed her hands on his bare skin. One palm landed on his chest over his heart, which pounded once against her touch, and one on his neck, fingers curling into his hair. As her face hovered in front of his, inching closer, Vegeta allowed his hands to fall to her waist. He swallowed, staring at the swell of her bottom lip.

They moved in together and the instant they kissed, his heart squeezed again. He was thrilled and relieved that he could have this with her, that she really wanted him.

The initial contact was gentle, and he matched it well, but when he tilted his head a little to the right, Bulma layered their mouths more fully. As he captured her upper lip and pulled her hips securely against his body, she eagerly gripped his neck tighter.

Good. She was enjoying herself so far. Taking that as a green light, he took her plump bottom lip in his teeth, gently raking the pink skin through his bite. It was even softer than he had imagined. His chest thumped again. And again. Their mouths moved in tandem into a more rhythmic dance.

The thick dark liquid that used to creep along in his veins picked up speed and rushed through him. All at once, he could feel his fingertips again, and he dug his hand under her T-shirt fabric and rubbed it across her lower back. Suddenly hyper-aware of how her skin felt under his touch, he explored her body, tracing the length of her spine with his thumb, then running his palm along the curve of her figure. His other hand rose to her face, letting his fingertips graze her cheek before they tangled in her silky straight hair.

As if it wasn’t overwhelming enough, having everything come alive in his body all at once, Bulma had carefully gained entrance in his mouth with her tongue and was encouraging him to do the same. His mouth became just as busy as hers, and just as passionate. But it was catching up with him, all these new sensations.

His heart worked harder and harder, pounding faster and faster. A whine escaped him, even as he tried to keep kissing. But his chest hurt! Releasing her head, he leaned back and gasped as he clutched her hand over his heart.

She stared at his chest, feeling the strong regular beat that drummed inside of him. Then she glanced up at the grimace he wore.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” he panted, trying to calm himself, “Are you trying to kill me, Bulma?”

She smiled, noticing how clearly he spoke, and how he strung his words together so effortlessly. The quality of his voice held no trace of the strain it used to carry. The sound of it was rich and deep, threatening to turn her organs to jelly.

“Seems to me, you’re more alive than you’ve ever been. Even your cheeks are flushed, a sign of vasodilation.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you did this just to help my condition improve.”

“So what if I did? Listen to how well you’re talking now. I’d say I did an excellent job.”

He gave her a stern look. She lifted her chin defiantly.

 “I kissed you because I wanted to,” she glanced down at his chest, where she could still feel his cardiac system working at full speed, “Now that your heart’s going strong, do you feel any different?”

“I feel everything. That’s definitely different.”

“Maybe that’s the cure,” Bulma joked, “I just need to make out with all the other zombies.”

“Obviously, I won’t allow that,” he narrowed his gaze at her playfully, and she grinned, then her smile faded as she stared at his irises.

“Vegeta, your eyes are changing!”

“They are?”

The pale sickly gray seemed to sparkle as it slowly turned into a beautiful azure.

“They’re blue!”

“Blue?” Strange. He was certain that wasn’t a normal Saiyan eye color.

“I swear, they’re prettier than mine!” Bulma grabbed his hand and pulled him to the huge mirrors that lined the wall by the free weights and treadmill. They stopped in front of his reflection. Sure enough, his eyes looked healthy. Even his skin was regaining some color. The hideous vein on his neck and the gray circles under his eyes had disappeared.

“I don’t look dead.” He could hardly believe it. Maybe he could stay behind the wall. With her.

Gently, Bulma pulled his chin toward her so he would face her. She leaned in close to examine him.

“No sign of depigmentation. I’m pretty sure you’d pass the scanners at the gate. Whoa, they’re changing again! They’re turning green!”

When she released his face, Vegeta leaned in closer to the mirror. She wasn’t wrong.

“Why are they doing this?” he stared at the unique color.

“Maybe they’re gradually regaining their original pigments,” Bulma guessed as the color shifted again, “Now, they’re hazel.”

An amber shade of brown grew, spreading out from the pupil and swallowing the remaining flecks of green. The color darkened to chocolate and slowly the pupils disappeared into pools of inky obsidian.

“This is the right color,” Vegeta regarded himself in the mirror, “This is me.”

“So, you’re saying I’m meeting the real you for the very first time?”

“Maybe?” He turned to let her see him, his midnight-black eyes gazing at her.

“Nice to meet you, Prince Vegeta,” her half-grin toyed with him, “I’m Bulma Briefs.”

Suddenly, he felt disturbed. Anxious. She had come to like him while he was sick before he had fully changed. Would she be as curious about him now that he was healthy?

She sensed that he was insecure about something, and thought maybe it was his new irises. “I like your eyes. Did you know pupils dilate when they see someone they’re attracted to? Your black eyes look like giant pupils. They send the message that you really, really like what you see.”

His glance traveled down her body and landed back on her face. “Maybe I do.”

“I like what I see too,” Bulma leaned in, guiding her mouth to his again, letting him wrap his arms around her as she threaded her fingers in his thick mane of hair. Luxuriously, they kissed, taking their time with each other. When Vegeta’s heart threatened to overreact again, he stopped and hugged her, trying to breathe deeply.

Keeping her tight in his embrace, Vegeta finally broke the silence, “We should check back with the others. I want to make sure they’re still safe. Maybe you can examine them too.”

“Your Corpse friends?” she snuggled into his neck, not ready for the moment to end.

“They’re waiting for me to return.”

“Back to the airport?” Bulma didn’t like that idea.

“No, I brought them to the city with me. They’re in a building not far from the bank where you kept Barbara,” Vegeta released her.

“You should have told me,” Bulma complained and stepped back to see him better, “They might be worried. If they’re capable of it.”

Vegeta took one look at her and the tiny amount of color he had regained in his face drained away.

“No,” he frantically grabbed her face and watched her eyes as his glistened with tears, “Nonononono!”

“What! What’s wrong?!”

“Bulma, your eyes! They’re turning gray!”

Chapter Text

“Okay. It’s fine. Everything’s fine!” Bulma’s high-pitched reassurance to herself was failing as she stared at her gray irises in the mirror-lined wall. Her breathing became rapid as she lost control of her panic.

Vegeta pulled her away from her reflection, thinking it was only making her feel worse. He pressed his hand to her heart. It was pounding in her chest. At least it was still beating.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault,” he gave her an apologetic look, “I… I didn’t think about the consequences.”

“No! It’s… it’s probably a side effect. Like when I was a kid I got a rash with the measles vaccine. A dead virus can still cause symptoms. It’s likely temporary. Right? I mean yours went back to normal. Maybe I can just sleep it off?” She finally stopped rambling to take a breath.

“Do you… are you… feeling any different?” he searched her.

“What do you mean?”

“Like feeling numb?”

She patted herself down, as if that would help answer the question. “No?”

“Are you losing memories?”

The quiet that followed stretched out as she thought. “No. I don’t think so.”

Keeping her mind engaged was helping. She was calming down. Then he remembered the second symptom of anyone transforming.

“Are you… hungry? Are you tempted to bite me?”

She smirked mischievously, “Well, if I’m being honest…”

“Woman, no joking around. Answer me.”

“You don’t smell like food.”

“Good,” he felt like he could breathe. For now. “Listen. I need to get you out of here.”

“Why? I feel fine!”

“If anyone runs into you, they’ll think you’re infected and blast your brains out. You’re going to be targeted,” he didn’t mention that her symptoms might worsen and she might try to eat her friends, but it was still a possibility he kept in mind, “Besides, we need to meet up with the other Corpses anyway. I want to check on them and give them an update.”

“Fine. I’ll go meet your friends. But I want to grab a few things first,” she moved toward the door.

Vegeta snatched her wrist to stop her, “Don’t go out in the hall without letting me check first!”

“Fine! Go ahead and be a gargoyle at the entrance while I contact my lab assistant,” she yanked her arm away and furrowed her brow at him before she headed for the intercom panel by the door. Her annoyance settled his nerves. At least she was acting like herself.

Conveniently, Vegeta “forgot” his pink shirt as he stepped outside the gym and waited by the entrance. The home was eerily quiet, a sign of how late it was. After Bulma used the intercom system to summon her lab bot to bring her backpack and some supplies upstairs, Vegeta escorted her back to her room. Thankfully, no one ran into them this time.

Once they returned to the bedroom, she pulled out her nightstand drawer and grabbed a small box of capsules, thinking through which ones she wanted to use, and laid them on the bed.

“Miss Briefs.” A montone digital voice announced the bot’s arrival. After a nod from Bulma, Vegeta opened the door. The lab bot entered with a rolling cart of items she had requested. Bulma pointed at the tray of blood collection tubes, then gestured at Vegeta.

“He’s the subject. Begin phlebotomy protocol.”

“What?” In confusion, Vegeta glanced from the robot to the woman.

The bot split each of its arms into two so it had four limbs.

“Bulma, what is it doing?” Was phlebotomy another word for gruesome dissection?!

She tried not to laugh at his anxiety, but her amusement was plain on her face.

“Woman, explain!”

“Now that I know you’re a walking miracle, I’m gonna need more blood. It won’t take long.”

After a blur of movement collecting materials at the cart, the bot rolled up to the Saiyan with a sterile needle, a strong-smelling ball of cotton, a tray of tubes and a stretchy tourniquet. Vegeta stepped back warily.

“I already gave you a sample,” he aimed his objection at Bulma.

Holding out a hand to indicate to the bot that it should pause its advances, she stepped between them, “I’m lucky I have the most advanced medical tech on the planet because I barely had enough of a sample from you to do the tests I did. I need more to be able to create a vaccine or a cure.”

Understanding there was no point in arguing, Vegeta sighed and complied, holding his arm out to her. After all, he had told her he wanted to help. No point in going back on his word.

With a smirk, Bulma took the tourniquet and stretched it around his arm above the elbow as she tied it. Then she took the wet cotton ball and swabbed down the skin along one of his bulging veins. The smell of alcohol burned his nose.

“You’re lucky I’m allowing this,” he grumbled.

“You’re lucky you’re too strong for me to strap you down to a gurney.”

Something about that imagery made his cheeks turn pink.

Giving him a grin, she patted his face, “Aw, you’re blushing!”

With a growl, he turned his face away from her. Having his feelings on display was not a perk of being alive.

Since the bot was sturdy enough to poke his vein, Bulma allowed it to take over the process while she unloaded some of the medical supplies from the rolling cart. Once a tray of collection tubes was filled, Bulma slapped a small bandage on Vegeta’s arm and shooed her lab assistant away.

 “I supposed you should get dressed,” a slight pout formed on her face. Then she yawned and pointed at her closet, “Check the dryer for your clothes. I’ll finish packing up what I want to bring.”

Finding his old battle attire where she said it would be, Vegeta redressed himself in the clean blue outfit, feeling a sense of relief when he pulled his armor over his chest again.

While he was putting on his boots, he felt something caught in the toe of one of them. When he reached in and retrieved the object, he found his strange remote with the buttons. He still hadn’t remembered what it was for. Sliding his foot in, he tucked the device in the side of his boot again to keep it safe.

When he stepped back into her bedroom, Bulma was standing by her bed where a jacket and her backpack were laying on her comforter. She held a small object in one hand, lost in thought.

“With eyes like these, I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay outside the wall,” Bulma yawned. Dark circles had formed under her eyes. Her face was slightly pale. “Maybe I should bring my entire stash with me.”

“Stash?”

 Bulma clicked a button and tossed her object in the air. When it popped open, a crate of food and drinks appeared.

Vegeta had seen this sort of tech in earthling memories, but he was mystified at how it worked. He stepped closer and bent over the crate to inspect it.

“The stash of things I didn’t wanna share,” she appeared sheepish as she joined him to mentally count the contents. There was a variety of unhealthy choices, mostly snacks. Two cans of root beer were placed on top, soda she had saved from his plane. Vegeta gave her a curious look.

“What? I didn’t steal this stuff from anyone else,” she was needlessly defensive, “it was just treats I found that-”

“I don’t care how you sourced it.” As if he could judge her for whatever food she was hoarding. It wasn’t that long ago he was killing and eating people.

“I remember wishing I had packed it with me when I was staying with you. But I’d hate it if I lost it.”

Vegeta stood up, ready to watch her encapsulate it again. “If you lose it, I’ll help you find more.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.” He had seen a lot of these types of treats in different places around the city. In people’s pantries, in vending machines, in abandoned convenience stores. “But how does this thing work?”

“Oh! My dad invented this tech. He’s the founder of Capsule Corp. That’s why we had so much money we could pour into medical research. The crate is rigged to collapse in space and time, preserving its contents indefinitely.”

“It collapses space and time?” Vegeta’s brow raised. He was clearly impressed. “Your father created this technology?”

“Yep! Watch this!” She reached down and pressed a button along the bottom. The crate disappeared and the original capsule reappeared in its place. She tucked it in her jeans pocket, still grinning at him.

No wonder she was drowning in assets. This tech was incredible.

No. She was incredible. Even in this dead world, she had never lost hope, never lost her fire. She saw past his disgrace and allowed herself to see the man fighting for life underneath. She had resurrected him. As her smile warmed him through and through, he thanked every divine entity that ever existed for letting him find her.

“You mind carrying my backpack for me?” she asked sweetly, pointing at the item in question on her bed.

Suddenly she didn’t seem so amazing anymore.

“It’s pink!” he complained.

“But I’m really tired!” she pushed out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

He frowned at her. While he could see she was fighting fatigue as the minutes wore on, he hated being manipulated.

“Besides,” she coyly tilted her face toward him, and rubbed her hand on his arm, “you’re such a strong man and I’m just little me.”

“Little?” When he was barefoot in the gym, she was a smidge taller than he was. Thankfully, his boots had decent heels.

Bulma furrowed her brow in warning, “Don’t you dare call me big.”

With a not-so-subtle cock of the head, he allowed himself a glance at her scrumptious rump.

“I saw that!” she accused, “Now you owe me!”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes and took the bag from the bed and pulled the straps onto his shoulders, then jutted his chin at the door. “Ready to go?”

“I guess so.” She grabbed the warm jacket from her bed and pulled it on, feeling a little apprehensive about leaving the safety of the wall again. Who knew when she would be able to come back?

“Stay with me,” Vegeta insisted, his deep voice now quiet, “And don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“To be fair, that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Hm,” he grunted in agreement. She was eye-catching. No doubt about that.

“Especially if I’m standing next to you,” she gestured toward him.

Glancing down at his white armor and boots and tight blue clothing, he realized she was right. He would stand out like a sore thumb with this outfit, with his Saiyan hair and wearing her pink backpack. Perhaps it would be best for him to garner more attention than her though. Then no one would examine her too closely. He could be the misdirection.

Cautiously, he led her out of the room as she pulled her hood over her hair and tucked the loose strands behind her ears. Hearing a muffled growling snarl behind him, Vegeta stopped in his tracks and whipped his head around.

“That’s Goku,” Bulma whispered, pointing a thumb back at the Son couple’s door, “He snores.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and continued. As discretely as possible, they exited her home together.

The beaten dirt paths outside were clear now, it being late enough that the residents of the enclave had all retired to their crowded homes. As Bulma followed behind him, she kept yawning and getting slower.

“Keep up!” he hissed.

“I’m trying! It’s like my legs are made of lead now.”

This worried the Saiyan, since he knew exactly what that felt like. As he kept his eyes peeled for guards, they passed quietly through the shadows. They almost made it to the abandoned convenience store before a guy popped out from behind a shack pointing a flashlight at them. Thankfully, his weapon was holstered on his hip.

“Yo! It’s past curfew!” A male voice called out.

“Sorry Bruce!” Bulma waved, then covered her mouth as she yawned again.

“Is that you, Miss Briefs?” The beam of light shone directly at her face.

“We were running a quick errand,” she squinted and shielded her face with one hand, trying to hide the color of her eyes. As inconspicuously as possible, Vegeta shifted his feet to angle himself in front of her.

“You can do it in the morning,” Bruce approached them, scrutinizing Vegeta’s face and exotic hair, “You’re new.”

“Yep.” Vegeta remained eerily motionless, unflinching even when the light shone directly in his black eyes. The guard felt a shiver run through him.

“What are you two doing?” Bruce studied Vegeta’s strange attire and the pink backpack on his shoulders.

“We’ve got all kinds of goodies!” Bulma forced herself to sound cheerful, and pulled out her crate capsule, popping it open in front of them. “You wanna come check it out? We can let you pick something for yourself if you want!”

Vegeta took advantage of Bruce’s distraction as his attention moved down to inspect the contents. When the guy leaned down to reach for a root beer, the Saiyan whacked a firm hand on the side of Bruce’s neck, hitting him hard enough to knock him unconscious. The guard crumpled over the crate, completely limp.

“Vegeta!”

“What?” Vegeta turned and frowned, “I thought you were distracting him for me so I could take him out.”

“I was trying to bribe him! You can’t just attack an innocent guard!”

“Clearly, I can,” Vegeta gently kicked the guy off the crate.

“I meant you shouldn’t!” She reached down and encapsulated the crate.

“It’s not like I killed him,” Vegeta retorted, “Besides, he was going to take your root beer. It’s your favorite.”

With a frustrated moan, she tucked the capsule back in her pocket. “I’d rather share a drink than have him hold a grudge against you!”

The Saiyan prince frowned. He hadn’t considered that he might need to build a good rapport with these people. He was still thinking of them as threats. Enemies.

 Bulma huffed and marched off toward the convenience store, and Vegeta sullenly followed.

Inside the store, Bulma turned Vegeta around and dug out the flashlight from her backpack. After she lit up the space behind the checkout counter, she invited Vegeta to jump into the tunnel entrance in the floor first. He landed nimbly. Once she tossed him the flashlight, she lowered her legs over the edge of the hole.

“I hate this part.” Normally she had to make the jump by herself. One time her feet hit the floor wrong and she twisted her ankle. Since then, it usually took a minute or two to work up the courage to do it. As weak as her legs felt, she’d probably twist a knee this time.

“I’ll catch you,” he assured her, sensing her anxiety, “Just jump in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me.” He set the flashlight on the ground and lifted his hands.

With a deep breath, she pushed herself off the edge and fell into Vegeta’s arms. The force of the landing knocked the hood off her head.

“See?” His deep voice tickled her ear.

Bulma was breathing hard from the scare of falling. Slowly, he lowered her legs so she could stand while she clutched his shoulders for stability. When her feet touched the floor, she didn’t let go. In the cool damp air of the tunnel, she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. She inched her face closer, letting her nose find his. He flinched at the contact and moved his face away.

Disappointed, she relaxed her hold on his shoulders, but he wrapped his arms more firmly around her, not wanting her to get the wrong impression.

“I don’t…” he cleared his throat, “I’m not sure if this is a good idea. I’ve already made you sick.”

“I see.” She considered arguing with him but thought better of it. He might be right. If her immune system was already struggling with the dead version of the virus right now, giving her gray eyes and crippling fatigue, she probably didn’t need another dose. But still… “Can you hold me? Just for a moment?”

With his arms securely holding her, he buried his face against her neck, feeling her smooth skin against his cheek. She gripped his neck and threaded her other hand into his hair as he pulled her against himself. His body felt warm. Hot even.

Vegeta turned his face, letting his lips graze her neck until they found her ear, then he took her earlobe in his mouth and tasted it, playfully evaluating its softness with his teeth. Bulma sighed and melted into his heat, relaxing in his arms. When she kissed his jaw, he pulled her tighter against him, wishing for once that he didn’t have his armor on so he could feel her body against his chest.

Finally, he stopped squeezing so tight as he pressed his lips against the top of her cheek. Then it occurred to Vegeta that Bulma’s skin felt a little cool. Feeling concerned, he pressed his hand over her heart.

“What is it?” she asked.

Her heart was still going strong, having been stirred up by his affection.

“Nothing,” he released her so he could grab the flashlight from the floor and hand it to her, “You feel any different?”

“Well, I’m exhausted,” she admitted with a yawn, “But it is gettting late. If there weren’t rats in here, I’d probably be happy just snuggling up and calling it a night.”

“Let’s keep going,” he insisted. Once she stayed put too long, she’d probably want to stop moving altogether.

With the flashlight, she led the rest of the way through the tunnels to the broken-down escalator as Vegeta faithfully carried her girly gear. When they climbed up into the ground level of a skyscraper, Vegeta lifted his chin in the direction of where he had told his followers to hide. “They staying near the bank where you kept Barbara.”

Bulma came to a standstill and stared at the glass doors in fear.

“What’s the matter?” Vegeta turned and faced her.

“I’ve never wandered out there in the dark before.”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

“You better. I’m too pretty to die.”

“I agree.”

Bulma blinked her bright gray eyes at him, seeing his sultry smirk, then did her best to match it. She had no reason to doubt him now.

“You want your hands free?” he turned his back so she could access her backpack. The moon was full so there was enough natural light to see and the flashlight wasn’t strong enough to shine very far anyway. Taking his advice, she packed the flashlight away again.

“Just do me a favor,” she zipped up the backpack, “Don’t look at the moon.”

“Why?” Immediately curious, he looked out the window.

She slapped him on the shoulder. “I said don’t!”

“But you didn’t say… Ooooh!” his eyes widened in realization.

“Exactly! There are enough monsters out there and I don’t need you to add another one to the mix.”

“Right,” he nodded, remembering how crazy Kakarot had behaved when he had transformed. As a prince, he wanted to believe he wouldn’t act as feral in the giant ape form, but now wasn’t the time to test that theory.

 Together they exited the building. She stepped onto the sidewalk with Vegeta, who peered cautiously up and down the street.

“Just down one block and around the corner,” he whispered as he took the lead, “Remember to stay quiet.”

They crept along together, but as soon as they turned the corner in the direction of the ten-story building where the changing Corpses had congregated, they froze.

Boneys surrounded the windows and entrances. There was no way in.

“Back up!” Vegeta hissed as he snatched Bulma’s hand and pulled her backwards. The sudden scrapping of shoes against concrete drew the attention of the Boneys. They snapped their necks to face the couple, then started sprinting.

“Go back!” Vegeta turned and ran around the corner again, dragging Bulma along with him. As soon as he pulled her out of sight of their pursuers, he came face to face with another group of Boneys, who were blocking their retreat back to the skyscraper with the tunnel entrance. Vegeta glanced left across the street. More Boneys.

“Where are they coming from?!” Bulma screeched.

“Everywhere.” They must have caught the scent of Vegeta’s airport horde and tried to track them down. Now that he and Bulma were out in the open, they were the new targets.

The sound of skeleton heels and toes clacking on the ground gave Vegeta a disturbing sense of how surrounded they were. There were too many to fight off. There was no way he could take them all down and keep her safe at the same time.

“Hang to me,” he hugged her tightly.

“Are we going to die?” she whined, worried that this was his way of trying to give her peace in their last moments.

“Not today.”

He crouched and leapt high into the air, carrying her along with him.

“Aaaahhh!” she screamed as they sailed above the Boneys and landed on the roof of a nearby restaurant. Bulma started hyperventilating.

Still holding her securely, Vegeta leapt again toward the bank.

“Not agaaaain!” Bulma wailed.

When they landed this time, they skidded a bit and nearly tumbled over. Vegeta steadied her when they came to a stop. “You okay?”

“I think so?”

The Boneys ran after them, surrounding the bank and trying to scale the walls to reach them. Some of them were successful as they climbed over the top of each other.

“What now?!” Bulma backed away from the encroaching hungry creatures.

Vegeta ran to the first one that made it over the roof’s edge and kicked its skull off.

“Over here!” Bulma pointed to the other side, and Vegeta rushed over to protect that side too, yanking an arm lose from a clawing skeleton, and with a strong swing, he used the humerus to decapitate the predator.

“They won’t stop!” Bulma yelled as two more were crawling over the edge in the back.

“Agh!” Vegeta tossed the dead limb away as he studied his surroundings and made a quick decision. “We’re going to have to jump.”

“Again?!” she groaned as he collided with her and held her tight. Crouching to prep his legs, he aimed his feet at the ten-story building across the street. He could do it. He could make it to the top. Surely.

When a Boney clambered over the bank roof’s edge and raced toward them, Vegeta launched himself into the air as he clutched his precious cargo against his side.

He must have been stronger than he expected, because as they rose above the corporate building, they sailed over his goal and missed the roof.

“NO!” Vegeta twisted in the air and reached with an outstretched hand to try to catch the edge, but he had overshot it and they plummeted toward the ground.

I’m sorry! he thought silently when he realized he had doomed them.

 Bracing himself for impact, Vegeta maneuvered in midair under her body, hoping he could take the brunt of the fall and save her, even if it killed him. With a grimace he tensed every muscle as he wound his arms and tail securely around Bulma, willing for gravity to have mercy on them, wishing their fall would slow down.

Somehow the air around them stilled, and miraculously they never hit the ground.

“Vegeta?” Bulma whispered in his ear, her breath coming hard and fast, “You’re flying.”

Vegeta opened his eyes and craned his neck around, studying his surroundings from his horizontal position. They were hovering in the air about twenty feet from the ground. “I can fly?”

Boneys came sprinting around the corner to the street underneath them.

“Can you control it?” Bulma still panted, “Get us out of here?”

Gradually, the couple rose in the air, and Vegeta managed to shift their bodies upright. Changing direction while moving was a little more challenging but he took it slow and they lowered gently to the rooftop.

Bulma took in a huge lungful once her footing was secured. She leaned her forehead on his shoulder and sighed, “You did it. I thought we were goners.”

“I can’t believe I did that,” Vegeta admitted.

“I doubt you learned it for the first time. You were probably good at flying before you got infected.”

“Huh,” he considered the implication. He wondered if he could use ki blasts too. As he stood there, Bulma retrieved her flashlight from her backpack again and headed toward the roof’s access door, motioning for Vegeta to follow. He busted through the lock and climbed down the steps, but after the first flight of stairs, Bulma’s legs buckled out from underneath her and she fell, barely catching herself on the banister.

“You hurt?” Vegeta helped her back to her feet.

“I’m fine. I’m just exhausted.”

Without another word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her as she continued to light their path.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke after he descended another flight.

“What for?”

“For being a burden.”

“Nonsense. This isn’t a bother.”

It was his fault she was declining. Helping her was the least he could do. She wrapped her arm around his neck and shoulder and sighed as they continued their descent. While it was cozy holding her like this, his guilt over her condition and his fear of tripping prevented him from fully enjoying the experience. He concentrated as he took each step with measured movements, praying to that unnamed deity again that he wouldn’t fall and that she wouldn’t get any sicker.

As soon as he placed her on her feet on the first floor, they opened the door to the lobby. A large group of tired creatures greeted them. Some of them waved awkwardly. A few of them successfully groaned out a greeting of “Hhhey.”

“There’s so many of them,” Bulma clutched Vegeta’s arm in fear.

“They won’t hurt you,” he assured her quietly, and placed his hand on hers to help her steady the flashlight as she shone the beam on their pale faces, “See their eyes? They’re different.”

About forty or fifty changed Corpses huddled together, feeling safer in a herd as the Boneys clambered around outside. Someone, probably Nappa, had the foresight to barricade the doors because there was heavy furniture stacked in front of each entrance.

“Nappa!” Vegeta called out, not seeing his comrade.

“Vegeta?” Nappa’s head popped out from where he was kneeling behind a security desk. “Help!”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Rosa!”

“Who’s Rosa?”

“My mom!” Marcus stood up and waved for the new arrivals to come join them. Bulma and Vegeta rushed over to see the problem and found Marcus’ mother lying on the tile floor with little Sarah sitting beside her, holding the woman’s hand. Nappa was pressing his large palm on the woman’s chest, and dark blood leaked around his fingers.

“She’s bleeding!” Sarah cried.

Rosa squinted in the beam of the flashlight. At least she was still alive. Her heartbeat was still at a crawl, so it wasn’t pumping out the blood very fast.

“What happened?” Bulma asked.

“Mmmmm,” Rosa groaned.

“She collapsed,” Nappa stated grimly.

“I think she had a gunshot wound to her chest that never healed,” Vegeta explained as he took off the backpack and set it on the floor. “I didn’t realize it would kill her slowly.”

“Oh gods. I can’t fix this,” Bulma gestured toward the woman.

“You can’t help?” Nappa was beyond worried. He seemed frayed and worn after being trapped here, hanging onto hope that his prince would show up with a solution. If Vegeta had to guess, his big bald friend had gotten attached to this woman.

“The only thing that can help is a senzu bean,” Bulma gave a pleading look at Vegeta, “Goku has one left in his room, across the hall from mine. If we get her a bean in time, we can save her before she dies.”

“Okay.”

“You can fly now. You don’t even have to take the tunnels. Go straight over the wall and come right back!”

“You make it sound easy.”

“You can fly?” Nappa studied Vegeta curiously.

Vegeta shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Go!” Bulma shooed him away, and asked Nappa, “Was there on exit wound her in back?”

The large Saiyan confirmed with a nod and Bulma sighed, relieved that she wouldn’t have to dig out a bullet. When she looked up again, Vegeta was gone.

Since it wasn’t practical to exit on the first floor, given the barricades and the Boneys right outside, Vegeta rushed to the stairwell and ran up the steps in the dark, tripping a couple of times before he made it to the second floor. At full speed he sprinted toward the nearest window and lifted off the floor into flight. With an arm shielding his face, he crashed into the glass, exploding it on impact. Unfortunately, he was soaring too fast and careened shoulder-first into the building across the street, cratering the steel exterior.

“Hngh,” he grunted, realizing he wasn’t quite in control of his flight abilities yet. Slowly, he lifted out of the giant dent he had made and shook off the minor pain as he flew toward the enclave wall at a less impressive, but more controllable speed.

“Stop! Identify yourself!” a man called out from the watch tower. Vegeta narrowed his gaze at the source of the voice. A bald three-eyed man held his hands in a triangular formation by his chest and formed a ball of light.

“I’m a survivor!” Vegeta managed to pull himself to a stop in midair near the tower. The last thing he wanted was to take another blast of ki.

“Your name!”

Vegeta growled. He wasn’t interested in putting up with a verbal questionnaire. “Why don’t you share your name first, Three-Eyes?!”

“I’m Tien Shinhan,” the guard answered with surprising calm, but he still held the ki ready in his hand formation, “Listen, Mr. Nameless, everyone has to check in at the gate.”

“I don’t have time for a formal check in. I’m heading to the Briefs home to retrieve something, then I’ll leave. I can fill out the paperwork later,” Vegeta gradually moved forward to see if Tien would let him pass, but the glowing sphere grew brighter. Vegeta paused his flight again.

“I have to protect this community,” Tien warned him, his voice stern, “Go to the gate so we can scan you and make sure you’re not infected.”

Not happening, Vegeta thought. Even if his eyes pass the pigment test, they might find his bite marks along his sleeve and decide to put him down. Choosing to risk it, the Saiyan bolted past Tien and crossed over the wall.

“Tri-Beam, Ha!” The shout rang out as a stream of light blasted from the watch tower. Vegeta twirled through the air to avoid being an easy target, and luckily the shot missed him and passed over the enclave village. The Saiyan dropped to a landing on Bulma’s balcony as guards outside yelled and fired at the man Tien had attacked. Vegeta quickly disappeared behind the balcony doors.

“Still being shot at,” the prince muttered as he angrily marched across her bedroom and crossed the hall to Kakarot’s place, which still leaked muffled snarls. The door was locked, but Vegeta yanked it open anyway, ripping it from the hinges.

Chi-Chi screamed. Startled, Goku threw a small blast at the destructive intruder, and Vegeta barely ducked out of the way in time. The ki exploded behind him and shattered Bulma’s bedroom door into smoking splinters.

“Will you stop trying to kill me?!” Vegeta growled.

“Oh,” Goku yawned, “It’s you again.”

“HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING?!” Chi-Chi screeched.

“Seriously,” Goku rubbed his bleary eyes as Vegeta stomped around in their room, “Why are you here?”

“We’re married!” The wife threw her fists down in rage. “Our privacy is sacred!”

“I could hear him snoring in the hallway. Didn’t sound sacred to me,” Vegeta picked through the stuff on their dresser.

“It’s a matter of principal! Or were Saiyan princes raised in a barn?!”

Vegeta ignored her, “Where’s the last bean, Kakarot?”

“The senzu?”

“YES!”

Goku pulled a brown pouch from his nightstand drawer and tossed it to him. Vegeta checked inside and found the bean. He disappeared without a word of gratitude.

“You’re welcome!” Goku called out in irritation.

Just as Chi-Chi caught her breath, she screamed again when guards rushed into their room with weapons, looking for Vegeta.

“Aw, come on!” Goku plopped backwards onto the mattress. “Let me sleep!”

Vegeta soared low over the shacks, keeping his eye on Tien’s watch tower.

“There he is!” a guard called out below. He sounded familiar. Vegeta happened to glance down and saw Bruce, the guy he had knocked out. Bruce open-fired.

Vegeta spiraled upward to avoid catching a bullet, but the added height put him in the sights of other guards. More shots rang out, so Vegeta launched forward, flying faster. Right before he crossed over the wall, Tien shouted out another Tri-beam attack, so the Saiyan dipped lower to avoid it. The guards at the gate took advantage and aimed at him. A slew of ammunition whizzed around him, and he nearly avoided the spray, but a bullet grazed his forehead as he sped off toward the building with his treasure still in hand.

Using the broken window as his entrance, he skidded onto the second floor and raced back down the stairs, tripping in the darkness on the way down and tumbling head over heels into the stairwell door on the first floor. It flung open as he spilled out onto the tile: a very undignified entrance in front of a large audience. One of the watching Corpses actually snorted a laugh.

Vegeta hopped to his feet before Bulma saw him crumpled on the floor.

“Got it!” he dug out the bean from the pouch and jogged over with it. Nappa took it with his free hand and studied it in the light of the flashlight Marcus was holding.

“Nappa, give it to her,” Bulma instructed as she pulled on medical gloves she had brought, “Rosa, you need to eat this. Understand? I know you probably won’t like it, but this will help you heal.”

While Bulma prepared some items from a large first aid kit that was already open on the desk countertop, Nappa placed the bean in Rosa’s half open mouth and moved her chin to encourage her to chew. Rosa scrunched her nose up a little in disgust. As soon as she swallowed, she smacked her lips.

“How long?” Nappa asked Bulma.

“It should be fairly immediate. Can you take your hand off and I’ll check the wound?”

Nappa gave the scientist a look of uncertainty.

Rosa tapped Nappa’s hand to reassure him. When he removed his palm, Bulma poked around the bullet hole in her shirt and used a wad of gauze doused in antiseptic to wipe at her skin.

“The wound is gone! She’s all good!” Bulma announced. Nappa breathed a loud sigh of relief as Rosa sat up and hugged her son. Sarah reached for a roll of paper towels they must have scavenged and handed it to Nappa. Bulma gave him the bottle of antiseptic so he could clean up.

Bulma finally turned her attention to Vegeta and gave him a concerned expression. Stiffly, she stood and pulled off her latex gloves and tossed them into the nearest trashcan. She reached for the flashlight from Marcus and he gave it to her, still smiling in gratitude.

“You okay?” She shined a light on Vegeta’s face. His forehead was bleeding.

“I’m fine.”

“Did the guards give you trouble?”

“Tch, no.”

“Then what happened?” She pointed at his wound and handed him a piece of gauze. He patted the injury and saw how it stained the material.

“I, uh… fell down some stairs,” he shrugged. Somehow that seemed less embarrassing than admitting a guard had hurt him.

“At least your blood is a nice bright red now,” she watched him with drooping eyes as he wiped up the drips, “I should probably collect samples from the others now. Since I’m here and they don’t have anything else to do.”

“No. You should rest.”

His suggestion reminded her of her exhaustion. She yawned, “You’re probably right. I’m so tired. I’ve been fighting fatigue ever since you left. I feel like I can sleep right here.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Vegeta still wasn’t sure how her condition would progress, so he wanted to keep her separate from the others.

Once Bulma patched up Vegeta’s forehead, he picked up her backpack and slid it onto his shoulders while she told Nappa where they would be. Then they both left with Bulma trudging slower and slower. As soon as the stairwell door closed behind them, Vegeta stopped her and picked her up bridal style, carrying her the rest of the way.

“Mmmm. Can I spend the night here?” she snuggled wearily onto his neck and shoulder as she cradled the flashlight on her lap, “Seems like a good spot. Nice and warm.”

Avoiding the second floor since his hasty exit had exposed it to the elements, he took her to the third floor. Vegeta picked a large corner office with a huge window that faced east. He hoped to see the sunrise with her.

“You want me to find cushions?” he offered as he set her on the floor.

“No. I’m crashing now. Can’t wait any longer.” She laid on the carpet facing the window, using her arm as a pillow. One hand still held the flashlight.

Vegeta placed her backpack by the desk and sat behind her, carefully pulling the flashlight from her grip and switching it off before setting it aside.

 At least she hadn’t shown signs of the new hunger. But even though it was well past midnight, her fatigue was so extreme it had to be a symptom. How long would she have these gray eyes? Would she ever be able to live with her people again?

“Lay down,” she mumbled.

He obeyed, straightening his body next to her as he supported the back of his head in one hand. She rolled over and snuggled into him, settling her head on his shoulder and letting her hand rest on his armored chest.

Funny how he had crashed through a building, dodged explosions and bullets and fell down a flight of stairs, but none of that made his heart race the way she could. He had a difficult time imagining he would sleep at all.

He reached up and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She was still running cool. That wasn’t good.

“I’m worried,” Bulma admitted.

“You’re going to be fine,” he told her, hoping it was true.

“Not about me. About the others,” she explained wearily, her eyes still closed, “Rosa isn’t the only one with injuries.”

“Are there others dying downstairs?”

“No. While you were gone, I checked everyone else and bandaged a few with the worst wounds. They’ll survive just fine, but… there are so many Corpses out there riddled with bullet holes… even if we can get their hearts going again, it would kill them. I don’t have enough senzu beans to fix this.” Her voice cracked at the end and her lashes grew wet with tears.

Even with the hope they had found in this new development among the zombie community, there was tragedy imbedded within: not everyone could survive resurrection. She didn’t even mention the Boneys, it was obvious they were beyond salvation. But still, Bulma wanted to cure as many as she could and her heart broke at the thought of people losing their second chance because they were too damaged to recover.

“It’s a problem we’ll have to talk about in the morning,” Vegeta kissed her on the forehead, “Get some rest.”

Bulma heaved an emotional sigh as she moved her arm to wrap it around Vegeta’s waist. Vegeta curled his tail around her and allowed himself to relax as her breathing soon slowed into a quiet snore.

Turns out he was able to sleep after all.

“Hello, little monkey,” A sinister high-pitched voice pierced his mind. Vegeta turned but there was nothing there. Only a pitch-black vacuum surrounded him. No air. No ground. There was no context at all.

“What is this?” he called out. His voice was young, like a little child’s, but it had a hard edge to it as he did his best to disguise his fear. “Where am I?”

“Don’t you recognize it? Look at that star!”

A red dwarf sun appeared in the distance. Vegeta squinted at its brilliance and shielded his eyes.

“A fitting tombstone, don’t you think?” the disembodied voice continued with a hint of glee, “All ablaze just like your planet when it died.”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your Lord and Master.”

Vegeta bristled. “No one commands me. Not anymore.”

A petite figure gradually appeared. He wore purple armor with wide tan shoulder guards. He had horns, a tail and three large toes on each foot. All five of his limbs were pink. Oh, how Vegeta hated that color.

“You will listen,” the creature spoke with chilling confidence, “Or I will make you suffer.”

“Hmph. Try it.” Vegeta crouched into a fighting stance, holding three fingers like claws in one hand and a full fist in the other.

“Oh-Ho-Ho! I never said I physical suffering. Although that sounds delightful too.”

Like lightning, the thick pink tail whipped around and smacked Vegeta in the gut so hard it made him curl up and gag. He found himself falling and landing on a hard metal floor. He was in a room now. A cell. It stank of feces and urine.

“Do you really think you can defeat me, Vegeta? No one can.”

Vegeta climbed to his feet, gritting his teeth, “I won’t give in.”

“Ah yes! Such a high tolerance for pain! Befitting a regal beast, I must say. But I’ve wondered… Would it be more effective if I punish your family and friends in your stead? Or do you even care about anyone else? Perhaps you primates are not capable of such tender feelings.”

Suddenly Vegeta was looking in a mirror, and he didn’t see a child version of himself, but a grownup. He wore a goatee, a red cape and unique red symbol on his armor. The man stared back with furious intensity.

“Never show weakness, son.”

No. Not a reflection at all!

“Father?” Vegeta’s small gloved hands reached out for the image and it disappeared like a mirage.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to see your dear old daddy again?” the small tyrant grinned, “So you CAN get attached. How touching. It’s too bad he perished along with that Planet of the Apes.”

Vegeta studied the satisfied smirk on the purple lips that taunted him. A fiery loathing filled the prince’s mind. “YOU did it. YOU destroyed my home world!”

“That’s right!”

“You’re proud of it!” Vegeta accused, his voice deepening in rage. He grew in size, shifting into his adult self.

“Of course I am! I did the universe a favor. Your disgusting species was so focused on breeding out the greatest warriors, they lost all resemblance of class and gentility. You were beastly animals with no respect for their emperor.”

“Anyone willing to send an entire civilization into extinction deserves no loyalty! No respect!”

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” the ruler wagged his finger in correction, “Be mindful, Vegeta. You’ve razed plenty of planets yourself. All in MY name.”

Vegeta opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Oh gods. It was true.

“Do you remember me now? I’m the one who shaped you and made you who you are. And you will obey me until your dying breath.”

“Serve you or die? I think I’d rather die. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“So that’s how it is? What about her?” Frieza gestured to the blue-haired woman that appeared in the cell with him. She was sleeping on a bench by the wall, completely unaware of the danger she was in.

What was she doing here? This can’t be happening!

“This isn’t real…” Vegeta shook his head.

The emperor snarled and pointed at her. A tiny red dot appeared at his fingertip.

“NO,” Vegeta stepped in the line of fire to shield Bulma, “You can’t.”

“Oh, can’t I?” the evil creature sneered.

“You’re not real! You’re a nightmare!”

“Aw, what a compliment! But I’m far more real than any fantasy you’ve been living out the past several days.”

The red dot grew bigger on the purple nailed fingertip, aiming at Vegeta’s forehead.

“Goodbye, simian filth,” the creature snarled, then he coughed. His brow furrowed as he began choking. He clutched his chest and his slanted eyes bulged as the tiny red irises turned gray. The emperor’s body turned to ash and crumbled away, along with the prisoner cell walls. Even Bulma disappeared.

Now Vegeta was standing outside on a high point, surrounded by a landscape filled with grassy mesas. The breeze tousled his hair and he heard the sound of fabric flapping in the wind. He turned toward the noise.

“What?” a tall green-skinned man scowled down at him, his white cape flowing majestically.

“Who are you?”

“You really don’t keep track of your victims, do you?”

Something tugged at the prince’s memory. A conversation he had with Bulma. “Are you Kami?”

“What’s a Kami? I thought you said I was Namekian.”

“Namekian…” Vegeta mulled the word over in his mind. Something important was happening. There was truth he needed to discover, a connection he needed to make. He dug around in his memories, desperate to find the relevant pieces and weld them back together.

“Oh. Oh no. It was you,” Vegeta realized, “You are Kami’s counterpart. Which means… it’s my fault.” Guilt rose up in him, burning his throat like bile.

“You know what you have to do,” the tall green warrior cocked his brow.

“Vegeta?” Bulma’s voice echoed around the landforms.

No. Not now! He couldn’t face her!

“Vegeta, wake up!”

Bulma nudged the prince, who startled awake, blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the window. She was leaning on one elbow and hovering above him, concerned.

“Hey there,” her hand rested on his chest, “You sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

“Your eyes,” Vegeta reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, “They’re blue again.”

“Really?” She smiled softly, letting him take in her appearance.

“Yeah,” Vegeta sighed in relief and pinched the bridge of his nose. His skin was clammy.

“You okay?”

Vegeta untangled his tail from Bulma’s body and sat up next to her, staring out the window at the orange and purple sunrise, “I remember. I remember why we came to Earth.”

Chapter Text

Over One Year Ago

“Frieza’s dead! I repeat, Frieza’s dead!”

“Did you hear that, Nappa?” The young Saiyan stopped blasting the last village on the now desolate planet for a second so he could communicate with his older comrade, “A virus killed Frieza!”

Nappa started chuckling as he flew over the smoking ruins and landed next to Vegeta, who laughed even harder. The joy the prince felt took over his senses as the scouter’s announcement continued, the shrill frantic voice on the other end.

“All operations are now under King Cold’s orders. Almost all outposts have been locked down. The mother ship is quarantined. Report your status but remain at your post until further notice. This disease had been bioengineered to spread and eradicate the elite soldiers of the Cold Empire. Signs of mutation are becoming apparent! Do not come in contact with another Frieza For-”

Vegeta turned off the scouter com. While his joy could not be erased, he felt some frustration in it. “Someone got angry enough to take him out. It was only a matter of time. My only regret is that I didn’t do it myself.”

“Isn’t this better though? If we had tried to attack him, we would’ve taken on the risk and…”

“That’s how it works, Nappa. There is no honor without risk,” Vegeta sighed. While Frieza got what was coming to him, the prince felt he had let his father and his people down by not avenging their deaths himself.

A stupid villager pulled out some kind of fancy artillery and fired at Vegeta while he was distracted. The young Saiyan turned toward the noise, underestimating its caliber. As he fired back with a precise beam of ki through the gunman’s chest, one of Vegeta’ shoulder guards was destroyed by the attack. The prince scanned the area for life again. None detected.

“Idiot pests,” he muttered in annoyance.

“I heard it was his brother,” Nappa scratched the back of his head, “That’s why Frieza had him taken out.”

“Cooler was killed? Where did you hear that rumor?”

“Cui,” Nappa shrugged, knowing this wasn’t a trustworthy source.

“In that case, who knows if it was true.”

“Cooler had motive, right? He wanted the empire. And Frieza must have suspected he was up to something or he wouldn’t have put such an irresistible price on his head.”

“Practically half the galaxy had motive, Nappa,” Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Conspiracy theories aside, Cooler and Frieza are now out of the picture.”

Nappa sighed, “Now what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Now that Frieza is dead, what should we do next?” For years, their shared goal as they worked for the PTO was to get strong enough to kill Frieza. This turn of events had collapsed their entire purpose.

“We already have a man in play. Let’s check in with him,” Vegeta connected to Raditz’s line. “Raditz? Did you hear the news? Raditz?”

Vegeta waited patiently, knowing he was rousing his comrade out of hypersleep. Raditz was traveling to a distant planet where Kakarot had been hiding for years. A few weeks ago, Vegeta had sent the long-haired warrior away when he first heard the emperor was ill. He had felt this was an opportune time to team up and take revenge against Frieza. “Raditz, answer me!”

A deep groggy voice responded, “Yeah?”

“They’ve made an announcement. Frieza is dead.”

“Really? Am I dreaming?”

“You’re awake!” Nappa laughed.

“Sounds too good to be true,” Raditz yawned audibly. “Does that change anything?”

Vegeta kept his orders discrete in case anyone was listening to their conversation. “Continue with your planned route. We’ve finished here, so we’ll leave now and meet you at your final destination.”

“Works for me.” At least now Raditz wouldn’t have to convince Kakarot to leave with him. He would just have to behave himself for a few weeks after he arrived.

Vegeta turned off his scouter’s communicator and a grin formed on his face. “Well Nappa, we’ve finally been set free. Once the virus burns through the Frieza Force, I’ll be the strongest in the universe! I can create an empire of my own!”

He gave a laugh of triumph as they headed to their attack pods. This seemed a worthy goal. Perhaps that would appease his ancestors. To revive what had been lost.

“You wanna operate like the PTO?” Nappa asked.

“Tch. Real estate sales? I’ve no patience for such business. Frieza stretched himself too thin and made too many enemies that he couldn’t control. I’d rather revive the Saiyan methods. Conquer and collect.”

“Taxes and tech and slaves,” Nappa nodded. “Earth might be a good place to start then. It was supposed to be untouched by the Colds.”

“Depends. I’d prefer a populated planet. A few Saiyans is too small a workforce.”

“Right. And Kakarot may have wiped out the planet’s civilization.”

“We’ll see what state it’s in when we arrive. If nothing else we can scour it for resources.” As Vegeta loaded into his pod, he glanced down at his broken shoulder guard.

“I’m directing our course to the same outpost Raditz is going to visit before he heads to Earth. I want new armor and we’ll need supplies. And with any luck, we’ll commandeer a ship that’s more spacious.”

“Didn’t I hear something about the outposts being closed?” The older Saiyan wasn’t trying to question his younger companion, but he wondered if the euphoria of the situation muddled Vegeta’s attention to the announcement on the coms.

“Who cares if they’re closed? As if that’ll stop us.”

“Right,” Nappa chuckled, “No more rules now.”

“None at all.”

After plotting out their course, Vegeta programmed a pit stop at the outpost along the way. Thankfully, it wasn’t far off their path alignment to Earth. It only took a few standard months to reach their first stop and from there it would only take another month to catch up with Raditz and Kakarot.

When they approached the moon where the PTO outpost was located, the spherical ships landed with the usual jolting crash. The Saiyans climbed out and Nappa scanned for life on his scouter.

Nothing.

“It’s showing no life signs,” Nappa reported, “You think it’s abandoned?”

“Maybe. Regardless, we should check for supplies.”

Wordlessly, the pair of warriors flew over the dusty landscape, pock-marked with craters from meteors, and landed on the roof of the building. When they peered over the edge to view the landing zone for the crew, they found it devoid of ships.

“Guess we’ll have to stick to our attack pods,” Nappa complained.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Vegeta shrugged, “Frieza’s death meant emancipation for everyone. No one would feel obligated to stay.”

They descended into the building, taking the opportunity to bathe and change. While Vegeta washed and dried his clothes, Nappa found the mess hall. The pantry in the kitchen was already raided.

“There’s nothing left to eat!” Nappa moaned on his com.

Vegeta picked up the scouter that he had set aside on a bench, “Check medical and see if there’s anything worth taking.”

Nappa wandered around and found the medical wing. Since the door was locked on the inside, he looked through the small window. A doctor was on the floor, unmoving, and his head was cracked open from what he could tell. Tools and supplies were scattered like there had been a fight.

“Looks like there was scuffle in the med room. There’s a body.”

“I don’t care, Nappa! Check for supplies!”

Nappa broke the door and stepped inside. It stank like decomp. Nappa gagged and covered his mouth and nose, feeling thankful he hadn’t eaten anything after all. Stepping past the control panel for the recuperation tank, a jerking movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Thud.

Nappa flinched.

Thud.

The tank’s inhabitant was banging its bald head on the glass.

Thud.

Nappa checked his scouter again. No life reading.

“Weird,” Nappa spoke while pinching his nose.

“What?” Vegeta’s voice was distant, like he wasn’t holding his scouter to his face.

“There’s a live one here, but the scouter won’t read him.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s in a recuperation tank,” Nappa leaned forward toward the jerking body. The eyes were gray and glassed over. The skin was ashy white. Although he appeared sick, Nappa couldn’t be sure if this wasn’t the alien’s normal appearance.

“How long has he been in the tank?”

Nappa read the control panel. “About twenty-three standard days.”

“That’s a lengthy visit. What’s wrong with him? Is it trying to rebuild him from scratch?”

“I don’t think so,” Nappa stepped away from the tank, watching the alien bare and snap its teeth at him. He wasn’t easily spooked, but he had no desire to be in this room anymore.

“Whatever. Maybe the tank fluid wasn’t properly flushed,” Vegeta’s voice was louder now, since he had put on his scouter again, “He ended up there around the time Raditz would’ve stopped by. Perhaps our comrade had to get aggressive. Leave him alone. Gather whatever you can and get back to the pods.” Vegeta adjusted the straps on the armor he had picked, having switched to a simpler chest plate without shoulder guards. “When you load up again, restart your scouter programming and let it recalibrate itself.”

“Good idea.”

Taking a deep breath to hold it, Nappa released his nose to free his hand and hurried to the cabinets, stepping on scalpels and crunching glass syringes under his boots. There wasn’t much left, just bandages and antiseptics. He gathered what he could in his huge hands and headed out, relaxing his lungs as soon as he escaped the smell of death behind him. It was a relief when he stepped out of the building.

Vegeta was already standing at his pod. When Nappa joined him, the prince inspected the loot, taking about half of the supplies.

“That’s it?” Vegeta asked.

“Yeah,” Nappa admitted sheepishly.

“Whatever. Let’s scram.”

After ducking back into their cramped ships, they launched away and headed straight to Earth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like their civilization wasn’t destroyed,” Vegeta peered at a distant skyline, as his red eyepiece reported the collective energy total, “I have never been more grateful for such incompetence.”

Indulging himself, he took in the pink and purple shades of the sky. The colors were so vibrant it was distracting. This planet was gorgeous.

“They’re pretty weak creatures here,” Nappa commented, reading singular energy signatures.

“The large buildings are a good sign, though. This society isn’t too primitive,” Vegeta had a good feeling about starting his new empire here. He clicked on his communicator. “Raditz? Report.”

Silence.

“Raditz! Come in!” Vegeta barked.

No answer. A cold gust of wind was the only sound.

“There’s a strong energy signature that way,” Nappa read the eyepiece on his recalibrated scouter and pointed to the horizon, in the direction of the mesmerizing sunset.

Vegeta stopped staring at the sky and checked his own scouter. “That’s not quite strong enough. Could be Kakarot. Perhaps he’ll know what happened to Raditz.”

With a leap, Vegeta took to the sky heading toward the descending golden sun through the cold biting air and Nappa followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Piccolo took a deep breath. After a training session with his clone that ended with him lying on the ground in exhaustion, he climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. Weighted clothing had helped him increase his stamina and strength. Now that he had reached a height that made him taller than every earthling he had run across, he was certain he would have the upper hand against Goku in the upcoming World Martial Arts Tournament.

Those two new powerful ki signatures that appeared earlier seemed to be getting closer. They were too horrible to be Goku, and since he had no intention of starting a fight with anyone else, he did his best to ignore them.

A strange sound caught his attention. His large pointed ears twitched as he tried to decipher it. Slobbery growling. Maybe a rabid beast? Whatever it was, it was on its way from the nearest village, where he could hear muffled screaming and crying, like terrified families trying to hide in their homes. Piccolo preferred to keep to himself, but he must have traveled closer to civilization than he had intended during his spar with his clone.

At first, he considered flying off, back to his typical secluded spot in the wastelands. But when he peeked back to see what creature was making that racket, he spotted a tall figure in the distance, just cresting a hill. His silhouette in the sunset showed that he had arms and legs like a human. But what Piccolo found strange was there was no ki detectable from this person. It might as well have been an apparition.

Out of pure curiosity, Piccolo held his ground, watching the scene before him. The armored man jogged awkwardly toward him. He didn’t limp, but his pacing was uneven, and his posture was slumped. He tripped and fell on a stone, then got up again, moving a little slower. At this rate it would take awhile for him to cross the distance.

Piccolo grinned, flashing his fangs. This would be a great time to test out his technique. If it works, he could use it on Goku. He pressed two fingers to his forehead and groaned as he concentrated, gathering the energy he needed for the attack.

The closer the strange man came, the better Piccolo could see him. The growling beast wore a device on his face that covered one eye with a green lens. And the spattered blood on his pale arms and legs was even more mysterious. Some of it was old and brown, some was a fresh bright red. Was he injured? Or was he a killer?

Either way, he was going down.

When Piccolo felt the right amount of spark ready to fire, the pale man was a mere twenty feet away.

“Special Beam Cannon!”

It hit! The energy blasted right through the man’s armor, piercing his chest and leaving a gaping hole. The long hair down the man’s back remained mostly undamaged, likely pushed aside when the blast went through. Feeling triumph that the attack had pierced its target, Piccolo smiled with pleasure. But only for a second. Because the creature he should have killed simply stood there staring at the giant wound and then looked up again. The green lens on his face registered something Piccolo couldn’t read. With smacking lips, the creature started approaching Piccolo again, a snarl forming on his face.

“What are you?!” Piccolo shouted, “What do you want?”

The monster lunged, so Piccolo flew up and tossed a ki ball at him. With impossible speed, the creature dodged the explosion, but he didn’t run off. His gray eyes were fixed on his prey.

“If you want to fight me, come on up!” the green warrior called out, motioning an invitation with his hand. The long-haired beast only stood there on the ground, peering up and baring his teeth.

“Can you not fly?” Piccolo sneered, “Looks like this fight is over then.”

Suddenly, Piccolo realized the powerful ki signatures were closing in on him. Another energy attack might draw unnecessary attention to himself. And he preferred not to showcase his techniques to whoever was approaching. Since the thing below him couldn’t fly, Piccolo deemed it less of a threat and decided to perch on a nearby rock spire so he could focus on who was coming. Standing tall with his pink and green arms folded over his chest, his white cape flowing in the chilly winter wind, he waited. He was trying his best to seem unintimidated, but his jaw clenched in fear when he finally saw them. These armored warriors reminded him of the unkillable beast below. Except they had enormous ki and they could fly.

As much as Piccolo disliked the idea of acting diplomatic, their power levels forced him to hold back his typical aggression. His own father, King Piccolo, was killed because he had overestimated his own strength. No need to test the limits for these visitors. Hopefully once they got what they came for, they would leave.

Vegeta and Nappa landed on a rock spire in a landscape full of hills, grassy mesas and buttes, finding the source of the higher-than-earthling energy level.

“That’s definitely not Kakarot,” Nappa shook his head as he landed behind the smaller statured prince.

“Who?” Piccolo asked with a deep gruff voice.

“That’s a Namekian,” Vegeta frowned.

“What’s a Namekian?” the green man’s brow furrowed more severely.

“Don’t you know what you are?” Vegeta gave a single derisive laugh, “You look nothing like the natives of this planet!”

“I’m Piccolo,” the warrior answered, trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt that this small brash man seemed so certain of what he was. At least these men were willing to talk, though. Perhaps they could explain what was going on. “Based on your appearance, I’d say you might be after your armored friend.”

Vegeta snorted, “Friend’s a strong word.”

“Our comrade,” Nappa sneered, “You know about him?”

“He’s right down there,” Piccolo reached out and pointed down at the side of the spire.

Vegeta scowled in suspicion and jutted his chin out toward the edge of the landform, indicating to Nappa to go check it out. With silent obedience, Nappa stepped to the edge to peer over the side. Sure enough, he found a hairy Saiyan with broad brown shoulder guards slowly climbing up the side of the rocky landform. The bald giant couldn’t see Raditz’s face very well, since he wasn’t peering up at them.

“Yep, that’s him,” Nappa tapped his scouter, “But I’m not picking up his energy reading.”

“If your scouter’s worthless, then quit wearing it!” Vegeta demanded, too arrogant to double check the reading with his own headgear.

Nappa tossed his scouter to the ground and smashed it under his boot. No sense in leaving equipment behind that could be used against them. He leaned over the edge of the landform and yelled, “Raditz, what are you doing?! Fly up here!”

Piccolo swallowed. They weren’t aware that Raditz couldn’t fly? Did they know how hard he was to kill?

When no answer came Vegeta stepped over to join Nappa at the edge. Raditz still wore his scouter, so Vegeta yelled down, “Has your com malfunctioned? We tried to contact you when we landed!”

“Has he gone deaf?” Nappa wondered aloud.

The Namekian cleared his throat, “He’s been following me for some reason. He’s in pretty bad shape, so I’ve been keeping an eye on him from a distance,” Piccolo decided he wouldn’t tell them that he put a hole in their comrade’s chest as he stepped over to watch the scene. “Can those devices you wear over your eye track lifeforms? Perhaps that’s why he’s been tracking me.”

“Something doesn’t look right, Vegeta,” Nappa warned. He noticed the Saiyan climbing below had lost the normal color of his skin. The hands sloppily gripping the rocks and the jerky arms pulling the large body up the rockface had lost its usual tanned appearance and turned a sickly pale hue.

“He’s not responding, Nappa. Go get him,” Vegeta ordered.

“You should be aware,” Piccolo warned them, hoping to gain their trust so they didn’t see him as an enemy, “He doesn’t seem to like talking. In fact, I don’t think he’s in his right mind. He’s injured, but he’s still dangerous.”

Unceremoniously, Vegeta held out his palm toward the Namekian and released a ki blast at the tall green warrior standing next to him. Piccolo staggered back, and dipped his chin down, staring at the hole in his chest. He groaned as he returned his gaze to the small man with upraised hair.

“Of course he’s dangerous. He’s SAIYAN,” Vegeta enunciated the last word as if it was the only explanation that was needed.

Piccolo fell back and collapsed to the rocky ground. With a haggard gasp, he wheezed, “Who are you?”

The young man crouched down and whispered to the dying Namekian with his lips curled in delight, “I am Vegeta. The Prince of all Saiyans. And I am the most dangerous of all.”

As the life force of Piccolo quickly faded, his last strained breath leaked out giving Vegeta a sense of satisfaction. Nothing made the prince happier than watching his victims die. When he stood straight again and flicked his black eyes to his huge devoted comrade, Nappa leaped off the edge of the cliff to check on Raditz, catching himself with ki flight so he was level with the climbing man. Raditz turned and snarled, baring his teeth enough to show off his short Saiyan fangs. Slobber stretched between the teeth as he opened his jaw for a hiss. His brow was furrowed over gray cloudy eyes. He didn’t even have pupils.

“Uh, Vegeta! Come look at this!”

“Just bring him up here!”

“I don’t want to touch him!” Nappa floated backwards in disgust and gave Vegeta a pleading expression.

“Stop whining and grab him by the hair if you must! Toss him up so I can talk to him!”

Raditz peered up at the shouting voice, and his scouter read Vegeta’s energy. Suddenly, the sick Saiyan was enthused, and quickened his lethargic climbing pace, peeking up at his new target. With Raditz now distracted, Nappa finally got the courage to obey and grabbed a fistful of long black hair. Yanking him away from the cliff face, he tossed Raditz up to the prince.

Vegeta would’ve dodged, except he was frozen in shock by what he saw coming at him. Raditz had a large hole in the left side of his chest, his armor completely pierced. Obviously, a wound like this should be fatal, but somehow the man was still able to move, still able to growl, and still able to open his mouth.

The sick man plopped on top of Vegeta, knocking him to the earth. Immediately, Raditz grabbed Vegeta’s head and with all his strength he whacked it once against the ground, like he was trying to bust open a coconut. Luckily, a Saiyan skull is a hard nut to crack, but the force of it still stung. Vegeta snatched the other Saiyan’s arms and yanked them from his head. Raditz gripped the younger Saiyan’s wrists in return, then lunged and bit Vegeta on the shoulder. His teeth pierced the blue fabric and dug into the muscle as he thrashed his head around like he was trying to rip Vegeta’s arm off.

“Aaaaugh!” Vegeta screamed and writhed, trying to push him off, but Raditz’s grip, both his hands and his teeth, proved formidable. Vegeta landed a punch to the kidney but it didn’t even faze the larger man.

Nappa appeared above and attempted to wrench off the eldest son of Bardock, only for Raditz to ferally lunge and snap at Nappa, whose large thumb got caught in his teeth. The bald soldier flinched away, giving Raditz a chance to dig his fangs into the prince again. The feral Saiyan struck like a snake, landing bites on Vegeta’s bicep and forearm, before Vegeta successfully leveraged his feet against his attacker and kicked him off.

With reflexive precision, Nappa caught Raditz with his uninjured hand. The oldest Saiyan separated his comrades, holding the sick man by the back of the armor away from his own body. While Raditz twisted and flailed, he acted like a wild animal, snarling, growling and clawing at Nappa’s arm behind him.

Jumping to his feet, Vegeta held out his palms together, heel to heel, gathering energy for a blow big enough to kill Raditz quickly. Nappa dropped the squirming target, afraid he would lose his own hand in the process.

“FINAL FLASH!” Vegeta yelled, spraying ki directly at Raditz’s head. The entire upper half of the diseased Saiyan was obliterated, and the lower half of the body tumbled and fell off the edge of the spire, plopping to the sparse grass a hundred feet below.

Nappa inspected his injured thumb. It bled a little and it stung. “You alright, Vegeta?” He stepped closer to check the prince’s injuries.

“I’m fine,” Vegeta rolled his bleeding shoulder and shook out his arm. The bites hurt, like acid burns.

 “We need to get the wounds cleaned up,” Nappa frowned in concern at Vegeta’s arm. “There’s med supplies in the pods.”

“Right. Let’s do that, then we’ll resume our search for Kakarot. He would be a valuable source of knowledge about the planet even if he’s not a very capable warrior.” Vegeta took off from the pinnacle and Nappa followed. They flew back the way they came, fleeing the sunset and entering a dusky gray light that seemed to leech out the colors below them.

While Nappa felt a sense of urgency for his prince, Vegeta didn’t seem to carry the same haste. His flight speed slowed as they traveled toward a big city. In truth, the bites had spread the burning sensation up Vegeta’s arm to his chest and the wounds themselves had gone numb. His energy was slowly faltering and he began to worry he couldn’t maintain his position in the air much longer. So much the better, because before they hit the city limits, the young Saiyan began to feel hungry.

“Nappa, you wanted something to eat. Let’s stop here. Something smells good,” Vegeta carefully dropped lower toward a landing strip on the west side of the urban area. An airplane took off right before he reached the tarmac. Inside the terminal there were loads of passengers standing by the windows, waiting, and outside the tarmac past the landing strip, there were people trying to climb the high fence, like they wanted to flee a disaster.

After arriving beside the prince, Nappa studied their surroundings, massaging his wrist above his injured thumb, wondering why it felt like it was on fire. “You think there’s food here?”

“I smell something…” Vegeta sniffed the air and turned to Nappa. He froze.

“What? Do I stink?”

“No,” Vegeta nervously swallowed the extra saliva in his mouth, tugging at the neck of his armor, “Something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

The prince panted, trying to shake off the strange sensation of wanting to bite his comrade. But it only grew stronger. “Nappa, stay away from me.”

“Your eyes. They’re turning gray!” Nappa stepped forward to examine him closer, but Vegeta pushed him away.

“I said stay back! I’m not right…. Something’s wrong. I’m… I’m losing myself!”

“No!” Nappa lunged forward and grabbed Vegeta’s shoulders and shook him desperately, knowing whatever had happened to Raditz was happening to the last remnant of Saiyan royalty, “No, Vegeta! You have to fight it!”

“I don’t know how! GET BACK!” Vegeta shoved Nappa in the chest. With a snarl of frustration as he fought the overwhelming urge to attack the loyal man who had stayed by his side since he was a small child, the prince stepped backwards and gripped his own hair in his hands.

The huge Saiyan took to the air to get some space between them, but he wouldn’t abandon the boy he had watched grow into an amazing warrior. If anyone could resist this, surely it would be him.

“Remember who you are! What you are!” Nappa yelled down at him.

The prince grit his teeth in determination and squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled with the growing pressure and burning pain in his chest. I am Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans.

“Remember your pride!”

I am Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans. The young man pounded one of his fists against his armor. Why did it feel like his heart was about to explode? The cardiac muscle squeezed hard, throbbing in a losing battle.

“Don’t lose yourself!” Nappa pleaded.

I am Vegeta. A Saiyan. The prince opened his mouth in agony, choking back a cry.

“Fight it!!”

I AM VEGETA! His entire body spasmed as his blood thickened and his heart stopped.

I am… me. The change was complete and he relaxed. The newborn zombie opened cloudy pupil-less eyes, finding a world filled with gray shapes. But… who am I? What am I?

The winter breeze wafted a delicious smell into his nostrils, then he snarled.

I am HUNGER.

Chapter Text

Present Day

Waking up with a better understanding of his history disoriented him. This person, this lovestruck man he had been cosplaying for the last week, was a poorly constructed, fragile mask. He wasn’t soft and gentle. He was ruthless and uncaring!

And yet those eyes. Those sparkling blue eyes that looked at him with all the compassion in the world. They anchored him to the present so he didn’t sink into the depths of his past.

So, he clung to man he had become. The man she had created. Fear settled inside of him as he gripped that persona tightly. Fear of discovery. Of him being triggered and her seeing his deplorable nature. How long could he deny his true self?

“Why?” Bulma asked him, innocently curious. She straightened her posture to sit next to him. “Why did you come to Earth? Were you under orders?”

“No. We defected from that organization,” Vegeta rubbed his temples, trying to suppress the feelings that came with the memories. How could he explain this? She wouldn’t understand. Besides, it didn’t matter anymore. His ambition died when Raditz bit him. He could give her a piece of truth though, enough to satisfy her.

“I sent Raditz here to find his brother, Kakarot, when I first heard about the viral outbreak. He must have caught it and brought the plague to Earth accidentally.”

“So, Goku’s brother is the mysterious patient zero.”

Gravely, Vegeta nodded. Even if he didn’t intend for this to happen, it was ultimately his doing. He had inadvertently destroyed this world.

Bulma sensed his guilt and rubbed his arm. “You didn’t know.”

He avoided her gaze.

“How did you and Nappa end up here?” she leaned in, trying to reengage him.

Bulma didn’t need to know about his plans for a Saiyan empire. She would either be horrified or laugh. Both were unacceptable. Prudently, he kept his explanation vague, fudging the events a little so she wouldn’t ask questions. “Nappa and I lost contact with Raditz, so we came to find him.”

“Lost contact,” she tried to imagine the situation, then remembered the headgear Vegeta wore, “Are those scouters communicators too?”

“Yes. They can connect to our ships as well. When we arrived, we ran across Raditz and he attacked and infected us. We’ve been stuck here ever since.”

“I see.”

The Saiyan sighed, ready to change the topic, ready to move the attention off himself, “How do you feel?”

“My joints are sore. I feel like I aged a few decades overnight. Hopefully I don’t look like it too.”

“You look gorgeous.” He tucked some loose blue strands over her ear. Her lips curved up right before she pressed them to his cheek. Then she leaned back and gave him a smile, the soft kind that meant she was perfectly content.

Who ARE you? The thought surfaced in Vegeta’s mind, its tone cold and full of disdain as if it came from another being. Because you’re not me. The Prince of all Saiyans would never genuinely give anyone such high praise, especially an exotic weak alien female.

Clenching his jaw, he argued with himself: He would if he adored her.

That seemed to silence the man from the past. For now.

“Let me check your forehead,” she reached for the gauze that she had taped on the previous night and peeled it back to check his wound. “It’s not bleeding. In fact, it’s almost healed.”

This was a good sign, that his body was beginning to return to its natural Saiyan heartiness. That broken arm he got from a low-class warrior like Kakarot was embarrassing.

Lethargically, he stood and stretched, then helped Bulma to her feet. She moved to the window, studying her blue irises.

“Thank the fates,” she yawned, “I can go back to the lab later.”

“Do you still feel tired?” Vegeta didn’t want her pushing herself.

“I’m no more tired than I would normally be when I wake up. But I am hungry,” Bulma admitted.

Vegeta glanced at her nervously.

“For regular food! Relax!” she chuckled, digging out her stash capsule from her pocket, “Besides feeling achy, I feel better. I promise.”

Popping open her crate, she dug out a package of peanut butter crackers and offered it to him, “You want something?”

“No.” He still hadn’t regained an appetite for anything. Besides, that bean he had last night felt like concrete in his stomach.

As she settled next to her crate to rummage around, Vegeta began to feel uneasy, strangely claustrophobic. He could sense something boiling under the surface of his consciousness, something clawing its way out. He needed space to think. He needed to get away from her.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” he answered curtly.

With a sense of urgency, he marched out and crossed to the west side of the building, searching for a window. Closing an office door behind him, he approached his reflection. The glass stretched from floor to ceiling giving him a full view. He studied his forehead, which was mostly healed. The bullet graze was reduced to a pink scrape that held a thin strip of a scab.

He regarded the rest of himself. His father’s hair and naturally stern expression. His mother’s more compact stature. The physique he had honed for battle was still recognizable. Somehow he thought seeing himself would help him get a better sense of clarity. About who he was. What he should do next.

This mudball’s ruined. No point in staying, his old self intruded in his mind again.

“No,” he spoke aloud to himself, if for no other reason but to prove this current version of him was in control, “I have every reason to stay.”

Every reason? You mean a hot piece of -

“SHUT UP!” Vegeta punched his reflection in the face and the reinforced window shattered. The shards sprinkled three stories down to the street.

He could hear the growls in response to the noise of destruction. He leaned out of the window and peered down. Unfortunately, a huge swarm of Boneys still surrounded the building, with some of them pacing outside on the sidewalk and others pounding skulls or fists against the tempered glass.

Vegeta lifted into the air, appreciating the crisp coolness of the morning, and flew out of the window to better view the disgusting creatures below.

You would have ended up just like them if it weren’t for me. I kept you moving. I kept you hunting.

“You were the man who died. I was the man who came back. I don’t need you anymore,” Vegeta spread his hands over the skeletal swarm, thinking now was a good time to test his ki abilities. But his hands didn’t come to life. Not a blip or a spark was at his command.

Without me, you’re pathetic. Weak.

With a hard expression, Vegeta flew back inside, stepping carefully back into the office.

You’re not worthy of your own bloodline. What did father tell you? Never show weakness. And that’s all you’ve done since you met her.

As if to prove his point, a memory surfaced. All black and gray and white. The only color was touches of red.

Red capes. Red emblems. A red rising sun.

Red flames.

A funeral pyre.

He looked up at a man who towered over him, the man with a precisely trimmed beard and a hairline just as sharp as his own, pointed like a blade.

His father.

Not a flicker of emotion could be detected. The only movement on the man’s face was the reflection in his black eyes of the dancing fire that consumed his wife.

It infuriated the child prince.

Once the drums and pipes ended the dirge, and the flames died to reveal nothing left but ash, the King and his heir retreated through the waving red banners back to the palace.

As soon as they stepped inside the cold stone walls, young Vegeta ran. Down the halls, past the guards at every turn. In record time, he arrived in his spacious room. An elderly servant woman was remaking his bed.

“GET OUT!!” he screamed. He wanted privacy. He had held in his grief far too long.

As the woman finished her work, straightening the blood red cover on his mattress, she scowled, unfazed, obviously used to his tantrums, “I had to change the bedding, your highness.”

She motioned to the pile of fabric by the door. It was sullied by his weeping, smeared with snot and tears. She meant to hide the evidence of last night’s sorrow. Perhaps she was ordered to do this. Or perhaps she was doing him a favor, trying to keep him out of trouble. Either way, he had no patience for it.

“Leave now…” the boy growled, “Or you will join the Queen in the afterlife!”

“VEGETA!” a deep voice startled them both. The servant bowed to the King as he entered. The man jutted his chin toward the bedroom entrance and she left, gathering the dirty linens before she shut the door.

Young Vegeta’s jaw tightened.

The King’s disapproval was plain on his face, but he didn’t speak. He waited.

“You didn’t love her,” the prince burst out in accusation, and the tears he had fought back all morning gave way.

“Is that what you think?” A heavy black brow lifted.

“She’s dead and you don’t even care!”

“I assure you, I care a great deal. But blubbering isn’t going to bring your mother back. So, I gave her the respect she deserved. I showed my strength. My resolve. Today everyone saw that the King of all Saiyans is not broken. Do you understand? Frustration, tragedy, pain, loss… it is all an opportunity to remember your pride. As royalty, we represent the epitome of our warrior race. And we will act as such.”

With the heels of his palms, the prince wiped the wet trails from his cheeks, scowling at the advice.

The steel behind the King’s voice dulled, but remained quietly firm, “Let this be the last of your tears. Never show weakness, son. We must be strong for everyone’s sake.”

Past Vegeta, the one that came to conquer Earth, had brought this event to mind as a reminder not to get attached. That attachments meant weakness. Reliving the memory certainly made an impact. However, it hadn’t reinforced its intended lesson because the context changed everything.

The only reason Vegeta felt guilty over his feelings for Bulma was because of how he had obtained them in the first place: by killing someone who loved her. He was otherwise not ashamed of his attraction to the woman. She was highly intelligent and beautiful and while she lacked the physical strength of a Saiyan, her strength of spirit was incomparable.

Now that he had experienced what it was like to care for someone else in this way, he better understood his father’s advice, which settled heavily on his heart like iron. Since the prince knew who he was and what he had done, he would have to make the responsible choice. Vegeta would have to be strong and take the hard road. For her sake. For everyone’s sake.

With a new resolve, he returned to the office where they had slept and found her still sitting by her crate of snacks licking her fingers and covered in crumbs. Vegeta grabbed and slid on her pink backpack.

“Let’s check on the others,” he told her.

Once she encapsulated her stash, he held out his hand and helped her to her feet, then together they went down the stairwell.

“You want me to carry you?” he offered, having noticed how stiffly she took each step.

“That’s okay, I probably need to work out the soreness anyway.”

He remained at her side as she descended carefully, holding onto the banister. Her pace was driving him nuts, as she moved slower and slower down the steps. He couldn’t help but glance at her in worry. She tried to give him a reassuring smile on the second landing, but when she winced at the next stair step, he gave in and scooped her up.

“I’m fine,” she complained at his actions, but she didn’t fight it.

“You can move around as much as you want when we get to the lobby.”

Carrying her down the second flight, he soaked up her scent, something wholly different to him now. Not like the life he used to smell, but a feminine essence, almost floral. Her body felt warm and soft in his arms. Something stirred in his chest beyond his own heartbeat, a new kind of heat. He intended to treasure the closeness, but an intrusive thought ruined the moment.

Should’ve shagged her when you had the chance, his past self sneered.

Vegeta growled angrily in response.

“What’s wrong?” Bulma flinched at the aggression, “Is there someone else in the stairwell?”

She wasn’t wrong. But if he told her the truth, he would sound insane.

“It’s fine,” his jaw hardened, “I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing.” How to murder his former self. Was that possible? He hoped so.

Bulma sensed he didn’t want to be probed, so she let him focus on descending the rest of the stairs in silence.

When they entered the lobby, pale faces met them, eyes still gray, but livelier. The noise of the skeletal creatures hitting the windows outside drew their attention next.

“I hate Boneys,” Vegeta growled.

“I don’t think they’re capable of recovery,” Bulma sighed, “They’re too far gone.”

Bulma took her backpack from Vegeta and got to work on collecting samples and labeling them. She used a permanent marker to write numbers on the zombies’ hands so she could keep track. Meanwhile, Vegeta joined up with Nappa, who was hovering around Rosa. The mother was sitting on the floor resting against the security desk with two sleeping kids using her lap as a pillow.

“Did Bulma tell you the news? We’re coming alive.”

“She explained,” Nappa nodded, “Last night.”

“Have you felt your heart beating again?”

“Yeah. Sometimes,” Nappa turned his attention to Rosa, as if mentioning his heart had reminded him of her. Vegeta noticed the large man’s voice was a little clearer.

“They’re already able to sleep?” Vegeta gestured at Marcus and Sarah.

“Yeah. I’m jealous.” Nappa admitted quietly, his lips curving up a little at the precious sight. Rosa stroked Sarah’s blonde hair.

“Can you sleep?” Nappa asked.

The prince gave a nod, “I’ve slept the last two nights.”

“Must be nice.”

Vegeta decided not to mention the nightmares.

Marcus stirred and rolled over to change positions. After he relaxed again, Rosa glanced up at the Saiyans and put a finger to her lips.

“Nappa, we need to talk,” Vegeta pulled the large man away from the scene to a more private area by the elevators. “We can’t stay here.”

Nappa nodded in agreement, “True. Should we fight?” He was feeling antsy, ready to destroy the growing threat outside.

“I mean you and I can’t stay here.”

Nappa appeared crestfallen. “You want… to leave them?” The large man turned his head toward Rosa with pain etched in his face.

“There’s no place for us here. You and I… we’re monsters, Nappa.”

“We’ve changed!” Nappa turned to face his prince, “I won’t hunt! I promise!”

“I’m not talking about being a Corpse. Don’t you understand? We were dangerous before we ever came here!”

“We… were warriors.”

“We were killers, raised under a genocidal regime. Do you remember Frieza?”

Nappa’s eyes shifted in thought, then they widened.

“Lord Frieza,” Nappa gulped, “We serve him.” A wave of terror washed over the huge man and the hair on his arms raised on end. Vegeta recognized the fear response.

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s dead.”

“He’s dead?” Nappa was incredulous. “You killed him?”

“I wish,” the prince rolled his eyes, “I’m making the point that we were finally free of him. And do you know what we planned to do when we arrived on this planet?”

“We were… mmm,” Nappa paused in concentration, trying to recall their purpose, “Looking. For Raditz. And Kakarot.”

“We came here to conquer, to subjugate these earthlings under a new Saiyan empire.”

“No,” Nappa shook his head in horror, “Not anymore!”

“Maybe not. But we don’t know what kind of people we’ll become as our memories return and our strength and bloodlust are restored. We should leave. For everyone’s sake. Besides, I might have a way to help them.”

“What’s this talk about leaving for help?” Bulma interrupted holding a fresh swab and zip-lock bag labeled Nappa.

There was an extended silence. The large bald man shared a look with Vegeta.

“Why are you two being so secretive?” Bulma pointed at Nappa’s mouth with a cotton swab. Obediently, he opened wide and bent down so she could reach to swab the inside of his cheek.

Vegeta sighed. He might as well tell her now, so she wouldn’t get any more attached.

“Listen,” he kept his voice quiet, “Nappa and I… we never should’ve come here. To Earth.”

Bulma zipped up the sample in the bag, her brow furrowing in confusion, “But you’re here now, so why does it matter?”

“My memories are coming back. Not all of them, but enough to know what I was,” the Saiyan’s gaze dropped to the floor, “What I did. I’m the reason you lost the dragon balls.”

“You killed Kami’s counterpart?” Bulma sounded surprised.

“Quite easily,” Vegeta bragged a little sheepishly, “But I might be able to fix that.”

“How?” Bulma frowned.

“There are legends I need to chase down across the galaxy.”

Bulma chuckled in disbelief, but then realized he was serious. “You’re not leaving now, are you? You’re not going to strand me here, right?”

“No.” Vegeta assured her and gestured toward the group of recovering Corpses that filled the lobby, “I’ll leave as soon as this situation has been resolved.”

“Can I come with you?”

With a frustrated huff, Vegeta shook his head. He should have known she would try to invite herself along. “Our ships are designed for a single passenger. Besides, you have to stay here and help these people. Continue your research.”

“How long will you be gone?” Bulma looked at Vegeta, then up at Nappa, who avoided her gaze. When neither of the Saiyans spoke, she raised her voice, “How long?!”

“Go away, Nappa,” the prince jutted his chin toward Rosa and the kids. Nappa was eager to escape this conversation. As soon as the large Saiyan was out of earshot, Vegeta admitted quietly, “We have no plans to return.”

“Why not?!”

“We’re dangerous. We don’t belong here-”

“Then where do you belong? Huh?! You don’t have a home anymore, remember? Why can’t you make one here?” Bulma pleaded.

“You don’t know who we really are. We killed countless people before we ever came here.”

“You think that surprises me? You think I didn’t notice all those scars you carry? Of course, you fought and killed people. You’re a survivor.”

“You’re painting me as a hero. That’s not who I was.”

“So what, you wanna go back to being someone else’s weapon?”

“No…”

“Then why do you have to leave forever? You could build a life here. Promise me you’ll come back!”

“I promised I would help you. And I have. And if I find the legend that I hope exists, then I would still be keeping that promise. But I don’t deserve to live in a world that I helped ruin.”

“But we’re fixing it!” Tears formed and dripped down Bulma’s cheeks as she pointed at the tranquil horde, “Look at them! They sensed that you had broken the chains of death and it gave them hope! You brought them back to life! You did that!”

“No,” Vegeta shook his head and stepped closer so he could speak softly and still be heard, “That was all you, Bulma. You gave me a reason to live again. And that hope you sparked spread to the others.”

“I don’t want to do this without you,” she cried, “I don’t understand. You care about me. I know you do!”

“I do,” he leaned his forehead against hers, “But I didn’t come by those feelings naturally. Don’t you see? I stole them. From Yamcha.”

A sob caught in her throat.

“I don’t deserve you,” his strained whisper betrayed his pain, “When it’s time for me to leave, you have to let me go.”

She sniffed, “What about what I deserve?”

“You deserve to have as much restored to you as possible,” Vegeta gently pinched her chin, “I’m going to try to make that happen.”

After a few more shaky breaths, she knew she had run out of words, so she leaned in and kissed him firmly, trying to show him how strongly she felt. Vegeta allowed it but he wasn’t as passionate. Instead of matching her intensity, he cupped her cheeks with both hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. When the kiss ended, they held each other, arms wrapped in an embrace. Bulma sniffed, chiding herself for being such a hypocrite. She had left him without warning, not once, not twice, but three times. Now he gave her the courtesy of letting her know his plans, and she had the audacity to try to control him?

This wasn’t fair to him. She had begged enough. He wasn’t leaving just yet anyway. Perhaps he would change his mind. If he could lay aside his own guilt, maybe he could allow himself to love her.

Or maybe she would have to resign herself to the inevitable in the little time they had left together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miss Briefs is still unaccounted for.” A guard told Goku as he checked in for his morning exit with Krillin. “We searched the entire community.”

“You couldn’t find that guy she was with? The one with the tail?” Krillin asked as he signed the exit sheet. The top brass of this settlement liked to keep track of people coming and going.

“What was his name?” Goku scratched his head, “Tequila? Bekita?”

“Vegeta,” the small bald fighter corrected his friend, remembering how Bulma had screamed it in the gym. It made Krillin a little jealous. He’d love to have a woman shouting his name like that, all desperate and worried.

“We didn’t send out a search party for him,” the guard opened the gate. “Tien reported the illegal entrance sometime after midnight, and it wasn’t long before he had fled back over the wall.”

“If he trespassed over the wall around midnight, that means he must have snuck out of the enclave after we met him,” Krillin pieced together the order of events as he took a hand-held radio communicator from the guard and clipped it to his gi belt. “I wonder how he left the first time without being seen. He could’ve taken Bulma with him then.”

“You think she was kidnapped?” Goku asked as they walked through the gate.

“No. But I do think she’s reckless.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there. I wonder where they coulda gone? I want my senzu pouch back.”

“There’s no telling. If this guy can fly now, he could have taken her anywhere.”

“Can you do us a favor?” the guard asked as the two lifted up into the air together. Goku and Krillin looked down at the guard. “There’s been an unusual number of Boney sightings, starting last night. Can you do a flyover in the downtown area and tell us what you see?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

While Bulma packed up a large handful of samples in her backpack, she motioned for Vegeta to come speak with her.

“I’ve finished with all the samples. We need to come up with a plan. I need to get back to the lab.”

“I can fly you back to the building with the escalators.”

“What about them?” she gazed at the slumped figures around the lobby, “I’d feel guilty just leaving them here.”

Vegeta shrugged. “There’s no rush. They’re not hungry.”

“I’m hungry,” a small voice interrupted. They both turned to see Sarah.

“Her eyes have turned green!” Bulma whispered to Vegeta.

“I’m hungry too,” Marcus spoke from where he sat on the floor, and he flashed his warm brown eyes at the couple. “Is there a kitchen? I can cook toast.”

“And they’ve already gotten their appetite back,” Bulma was amazed, “You haven’t even recovered to that point yet.”

“I guess the children weren’t as affected as the adults,” Vegeta speculated, “They never even had the urge to hunt. Makes sense they would recover faster.”

While Bulma gently held Sarah’s wrist and checked her pulse, pleased with the little girl’s healthy heartrate, Nappa searched around the security desk and pulled open a drawer. He found peppermints inside.

“Candy?” he held up his find, and the kids scrambled behind the security desk to accept his offering, both of them savoring the sweets with a smile.

“Rosa?” Nappa reached over the desk to hand one to the woman. She took it, but instead of unwrapping it, she slid it into her pocket, planning on saving it for her boy.

Bulma’s guilt only grew. Right as she dug into her pocket to retrieve her stash so the kids could have something more substantial to eat, an explosion blasted her into Vegeta’s arms. Nappa’s large body managed to protect the kids. Glass shards scattered everywhere across the tile floor.

“Hide!” Nappa barked at the children, and they crawled under the desk as Nappa jumped over it and checked on Rosa.

Another flash of light and subsequent detonation hit the other side of the building, and Vegeta bent over Bulma, doing his best to shield her from the flying debris. Nappa hugged Rosa’s face to his chest to protect her from the second blast, then he helped her climb over the desk to join the children.

Some Boneys were destroyed in the attacks, and some began clambering inside lobby through the broken windows.

Nappa and Vegeta went into action, one taking the east side, the other taking the west. The Saiyans couldn’t cover the north side, though, so when Boneys invaded through a couple of busted windows at the front of the building, the Corpse horde stepped in, taking cues from their Saiyan leaders. They fearlessly tackled and stomped and ripped the intruders apart. Between the screeches of the skeletal monsters, and the crunching sounds of their decrepit bodies meeting their final end, a few more minor blasts went off outside, taking out the Boneys that fled and scattered.

Krillin landed on the street in front of the building, holding a ball of ki ready on one hip. What he saw baffled him. He reabsorbed his energy sphere and grabbed his radio.

“This is Krillin! I’m seeing a new development here. Hello? There’s something strange going on!”

“What is it?” a man’s voice responded.

“Corpses are fighting Boneys!”

“What?!”

“CORPSES ARE FIGHTING BONEYS! WHO DO I KILL?”

“Kill this guy!” Nappa, armed with a dried-up femur, whacked a brown withered zombie at Krillin’s feet, and Krillin kicked the skull free from the body.

“Nice!” Nappa grinned at the tiny bald man.

Krillin put his radio away and considered jumping into the fray, but it looked like the large number of Corpses had it handled. Besides, he preferred fighting at a distance if he could help it. Why invite the risk of getting bit?

“I think I got the last of ‘em,” Goku yelled as he came down for a landing after the horde had finished off the last of their skeletal attackers.

“You gotta see this,” Krillin pointed at the group huddled on the first floor.

Goku was startled to see all the gray-eyed people inside.

“Don’t hurt them!” Bulma yelled out, waving from behind the Corpses. Vegeta took her hand and led her through the slouching throng. When they appeared in front of their orange-clad friends, the prince spotted a skull nearby that was still capable of moving its jaw. He stepped over and crushed it under his boot.

“Glad we found ya!” Goku grinned, “Folks are wonderin’ where you went. Are these the ones that were changin’?”

“Yes. I suspect Boneys can sense their lifeforce returning, so that’s why they’re being targeted,” Bulma explained.

“They must be able to sense it better than I can,” Goku swiped his thumb over his nose, “Because I can’t feel their energy at all.”

“I need your help getting them to the wall. We need to be able to protect them and care for them as they recover. Eventually they’ll end up like Vegeta,” Bulma gestured to the man beside her.

“Would ya look at that!” Goku cocked his head and peered at his fellow Saiyan, “His eyes look like mine!”

Krillin got on his radio and started relaying information to his superiors. Bulma fetched her backpack so she wouldn’t forget it.

“Kakarot?” Nappa ducked out of a broken window and stood to his full height.

“Whoa,” Goku opened his mouth in excitement, “I bet you were really strong when you were healthy.”

“Not as strong as me,” Vegeta muttered.

“Is this that Napkin guy you told me about?” Goku asked, his hands excitedly curling into fists.

“Nappa,” the big bald man corrected, offering his large hand.

The young man reached out and shook it, “Hi! I’m Son Goku!”

They both squeezed hard, smiling with clenched teeth as they tested each other’s grip. Goku was absolutely giddy.

Once a team was dispatched from the enclave to sort out the situation, Bulma spoke to the leader and used the kids and Vegeta as proof of their transformation. Even Goku and Krillin could attest to Vegeta’s changes just since the previous evening.

“One of the first symptoms of improvement is the reappearance of pupils,” Bulma explained.

“I have to say, while they are unnerving to look at, they do seem peaceful,” the general admitted as he studied the strange beings that stared at him. “Are these the only ones or are there more out there like this?”

“There could be more. We should check the airport,” Bulma suggested.

“We’ll make that a priority in the next 24 hours. For now, let’s get your miracle cadavers to the gate and process them. We’ll set up a quarantine zone until they’ve fully recovered. I’ll contact the other settlements and let them know about this development.”

As the general signaled for his team to move out and escort the group to the wall, Krillin and Goku took to the air for a better vantage point, in case their group drew the attention of more zombies. Bulma searched for Vegeta, who had walked off to speak to Nappa. The horde filtered around the two Saiyans as they stood there, except for Rosa and the kids who followed Bulma. When Vegeta saw her approaching, he reached into his boot and pulled out his remote, pressing a button that was labeled “recall” in galactic lettering.

“You comin’?” Goku called out from the air at Bulma and the Saiyans.

“What are you doing?” Krillin pointed at the collection of barely living humans that trudged down the street, “It’s time to go!”

“I agree,” Vegeta answered, his face grim, “Which is why we’re leaving.”

“Already?” Bulma fought back tears.

“Go back to your settlement with Kakarot, woman. Do you still have that device? The dragon radar?” He recalled from Yamcha’s memories that she had invented it.

“I do,” she wiped a finger at the corner of each eye, “Somewhere.”

“Check it every so often. If I succeed, then someday you should detect the wish orbs again.”

“Wait, take this with you!” As she rushed up to him, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her capsule, “I want you to have it.”

Vegeta studied the small piece of tech in her palm. “But… they’re your favorites.”

“Please. You probably need some kind of rations anyway.”

Vegeta sighed, taking the offered gift. Bulma smiled softly despite her sadness, happy he would be taking a piece of her with him. As his hand twitched, feeling the urge to reach up and touch her cheek, two white attack pods appeared, crashing into the asphalt behind him.

The commotion startled everyone, including the troops down the street, so the guards halted the progress of the caravan.

“What in tarnation is going on back there?!” the general called out.

Vegeta pressed the open/close button on his remote and the doors hissed open.

Krillin spoke into his radio, “Just a couple of empty… spaceships? We’ll catch up in a sec. Carry on!”

The general waved at his soldiers to keep moving.

Krillin shook his head, “The world’s so weird now.”

“Come on, Nappa,” Vegeta motioned for the man to follow, “Let’s load up.”

“No.”

Vegeta whipped around to face his older comrade. “Excuse me?!”

Nappa glanced at Rosa, then back at Vegeta, giving him an imploring expression. “Let me stay.”

The prince marched up and growled at the larger Saiyan, “I am your prince! Your commander! If you don’t obey me, then I’ll beat you unconscious, fold your massive body like origami, and cram it into your pod myself!”

Vegeta couldn’t figure out what irritated him more, Nappa being rebellious, or the fact that human culture was so deeply ingrained in him that he was even using words like origami.

Nappa frowned, then gave a nod.

“Don’t leave!” Sarah ran to Nappa and hugged his thick leg.

Nappa patted her on the head. “I have to. Duty calls.”

Rosa stepped forward with Marcus. While the boy tried to coax the girl off the Saiyan, the mother peered up at the giant. “Coming back?”

Nappa shook his head.

Rosa’s face fell. She swallowed thickly. “We’ll… miss you.”

“You will?” Nappa’s eyes grew large with emotion.

Rosa nodded, tears forming. Nappa reached out and drew her in for a hug, dwarfing her frame. His tail wrapped around the kids, squeezing them affectionately. Marcus gently grabbed the furry appendage and used the tip to wipe Sarah’s tears and snot.

Bulma edged closer to Vegeta, to watch the scene with him.

“They’ve known each other for what, two days?” he muttered in complaint. His own tail swayed back and forth in irritated flicks.

“They’ve only been alive for two days,” Bulma reminded him, “Which means, in a way, they’ve known each other for their entire lives.”

His tail ceased its movement as he glanced at her. When she gave him a tender but melancholy gaze, his eyes drifted down to her mouth. As he started to fantasize about kissing her, he looked away, feeling heat in his cheeks.

After Marcus managed to peel Sarah off Nappa’s leg, Rosa stepped back and the large Saiyan waved sadly at his little makeshift family.

Vegeta grumbled, “It’s time.”

The two Saiyans stepped into their ships. When Vegeta settled inside his pod, it felt like sliding back into the womb. His body could sense how much time he had spent here. After placing his ship’s remote and Bulma’s capsule in a storage compartment, he flipped a few switches, which lit up the control board like a Christmas tree, and Vegeta’s mind along with it. He knew this machine inside and out. His fingertips traced over the panel, then reached for the button that would close the door. His hand froze there, hovering. Uncertain.

“Bye, Vegeta! Bye Nappa!” Goku called out, “Don’t be strangers!”

“Bye guys!” Krillin waved.

The kids clung to Rosa for emotional support as she held a hand up in farewell. Nappa’s door closed.

Vegeta dared to look up, and found Bulma staring at him, pleading silently. He gulped. His fingers trembled above the button that would seal him away from her.

Bulma could have sworn she saw his jaw clench, and his black eyes glisten before he tilted his head down and pressed a button on the control panel. The pod hissed closed.

When the ships rose up at incredible speed and disappeared in the blue sky, all those left watching craned their heads up. Goku and Krillin stared in wonder. Rosa and Bulma felt like something had been ripped away from their soul.

Rosa clutched her fist against the stain on her chest as tears streamed down her cheeks. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Bulma pressed a hand to her own chest, feeling a painful throb in every heartbeat.

Chapter Text

As the Saiyans sped past Earth’s moon, Vegeta rubbed the heel of his palm against his cheek to wipe off a tear that had escaped.

Look at you getting all weepy. And you call yourself a Saiyan.

“I am Saiyan.”

You’re contaminated. Corrupted. You’ve lost touch with the reality of who you are!

“I know who I am. Prince Vegeta. A proud Saiyan warrior.”

Proud? Warrior? His old self scoffed, Then why are you afraid of me?

“I’m not afraid of you. You’re nothing but an arrogant prick. You have no honor.”

And you have no spine, you foolish sentimental sap. What were you expecting? To settle down and fill her belly with half-breeds?

“I hate you,” Vegeta whispered quietly.

I AM YOU.

“I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!!” he screamed. His fists shook in front of his face in rage. Buttons blinked and sparks escaped from a few switches. Seething through clenched teeth, Vegeta slowed his breathing so he didn’t damage his ship.

Did you forget who you really hate? The one who forged it in your soul?

A brief memory flashed in his mind without warning.

A large viewport. Frieza’s unmistakable horned profile faced the turquoise planet they were orbiting.

“I summoned you from your cell to discuss my expectations. Not for you to make demands. Zarbon, instruct the spoiled prince of all monkeys that he shouldn’t address me without using my title. It’s disrespectful.”

Little Vegeta turned to see the large green warrior next to him smiling with perfectly white teeth.

“It would be my pleasure,” Zarbon pivoted to better face the boy, and Vegeta took a small step away in apprehension.

In the PTO, instruction didn’t typically include words. With a backhanded swing of Zarbon’s hand, Vegeta’s head was knocked to the side so harshly that he lost feeling from the neck down and crumpled to the floor, paralyzed. His cheek throbbed with a stabbing pain, and his jaw was loose, likely broken. Saliva pooled in the side of his cheek. It tasted like blood and fear and hatred. Drool dripped out of the corner of his open mouth.

“We’ll send you to join the other apes when we have a spare shuttle available. Trust me, I don’t want you here either,” the emperor turned his head, and his disdain shifted into pleasure. “Oh dear. Zarbon, I think you’ve broken him.”

Frieza laughed as the pink warrior Dodoria picked the prince up by one ankle and carried him out. Vegeta’s little hands drug against the floor all the way to the medical bay, where Dodoria tossed him at a doctor.

Shuddering, Vegeta blinked his eyes as he tried to snap out of it, still hearing the demon’s cackle. That had been his first trip to the healing tank.

An uncomfortable ache settled in his gut, a cauldron of feelings being stirred. It steamed like a poisonous fume. Mentally, Vegeta tried to stuff it down, tried to smother it. He didn’t want to remember his old life anymore. Not to this extent, not with such detail and emotion attached. He would have to be more careful with his thoughts. More guarded and selective. From now on, if he had to rummage through his past for information, he would view his pre-Corpse memories as facts, as images, not as his own experiences. Like a student reading a history book. Or like a zombie eating brains.

Yes, that was the solution. He was used to compartmentalizing the memories he had stolen, since he knew they weren’t his. He could do the same with his own past. Use the intel and reap the benefits, not the trauma. This is how he could separate from his old persona. This is how he could silence him: dissociation.

And for the first time since he had awakened that morning, his head felt clear. That inner voice that had lurked in the background of his mind was gone. Taking a deep breath, Vegeta flicked on the ship-to-ship connection.

“Nappa, this is me,” Vegeta sniffed, trying to focus on the task at hand, “I’ve linked the controls on our pods since I’m assuming you don’t remember how everything works just yet. I’m thinking about changing the time settings on our ships from standard to Earth, since we’re both more familiar with the length of their days, months and years now. That okay with you?”

“Fine.”

Vegeta changed their time setting defaults, then he flipped on the galactic positioning system. It displayed a star map in the viewport. After tapping a couple of prompts, he found their last visit before arriving on Earth, which was an outpost not too far away. He punched in the coordinates and set his partner’s ship to the same destination. “I’ve set up our first route.”

“Where we goin’?”

“Ultimately, we’re going to Namek.”

“Where’s that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You don’t know?! Then why’d we leave?!” Nappa’s tone didn’t hide his frustration.

“Stop acting so whiny!” Vegeta demanded, and for a moment he wondered if he was speaking to Nappa or to himself.

Nappa remained sullenly quiet.

Vegeta huffed, “If we retrace our steps, we should be able to recover galactic data from a PTO station and track down the planet from there.”

Now that their first destination was determined, Vegeta’s finger traced the blinking communication light on the left. There were messages waiting for him. He wondered how old they were. Thinking he needed all the intel he could get right now, he began to play them, oldest one first, turning up the volume loud enough for Nappa to hear through his ship’s coms.

An empire-wide statement began, the announcer’s words shrill with panic, “Frieza’s dead! I repeat, Frieza’s dead! All operations are now under King Cold’s orders. Almost all outposts have been locked down. The mother ship is quarantined. Report your status but remain at your post until further notice. This disease had been bioengineered to spread and eradicate the elite soldiers of the Cold Empire. Signs of mutation are becoming apparent!”

Vegeta remembered this old message. It’s what spurred him to desert the PTO and go to Earth.

The announcer continued, “Do not come in contact with another Frieza Force member. If you exhibit symptoms of illness, report them promptly so we can send in someone to examine you.”

“By examine, they mean terminate,” Vegeta scowled.

“Symptoms include pale skin-”

Vegeta punched a button to skip to the next message. He didn’t need a description of the condition that defined his existence for so long.

“This is an official announcement,” the same voice as last time came on, but the manner was calm instead of frantic, “Trade will resume as soon as the plague subsides. If you have not yet reported in since the death of Frieza, you are still expected to do so. Any PTO members not complying within the next five standard days will be considered traitors and subject to execution.”

“Guess we’re traitors,” Nappa declared flippantly.

The next message was the last one. “King Cold has been apprehended! I repeat! King Cold has been apprehended! The Galactic Patrol has taken advantage of the PTO’s decline and moved in a coordinated strike.”

“Since when is anyone in the Galactic Patrol strong enough to take on King Cold?” Vegeta frowned.

“Zarbon’s final orders until further notice are to hide, blend in, and avoid capture at all costs,” the announcement ended.

“Sounds like the PTO doesn’t exist anymore,” the prince deleted the announcements from the archive, “It only took a galaxy wide plague for us to finally break free.”

There was no pride in Vegeta’s words. He wished he could’ve killed Frieza and avenged his people. If he had to think of what to do after his quest for Namek ran its course, maybe he could track down that menace Zarbon and kill him instead. He might get some satisfaction from that. However, he and Nappa would have to train first since they weren’t strong enough to fight him. Zarbon was Frieza’s right hand man for a reason.

Vegeta shook his head. Whether they should pursue a battle with an old enemy would have to be decided later. He stared out of the viewport as Saturn and its glorious rings approached fast. They were still accelerating and would continue to do so until their pods reached top speed.

“Time to sleep, Nappa.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“You didn’t think you would be awake for the entire trip, did you? The outpost is about a month away.”

“A month?” Nappa groaned.

“You won’t remember it,” Vegeta assured him, as he remotely triggered the large man’s sleeping gas, then his own. A quiet hissing indicated the process had begun, and Vegeta’s lids drooped as he fell into dreamless hypersleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beeping.

An alert.

He yawned and stretched his neck and tail as he squinted out of the viewport. Clearly, they weren’t close to arriving yet. The stars seemed to crawl along as his ship traveled at incredible speed. As he switched off the alert system, he noticed why he was awakened. His message light was blinking red. There was an incoming signal. Since the remnants of the PTO went into hiding about an Earth year ago, it was disconcerting to find his ship was receiving any sort of communication. Waiting until the light turned from red to yellow, indicating the reception had ended, he played the recorded message. A familiar feminine voice sent goosebumps down his arms.

“Heyo, this is Bulma Briefs.”

“Bulma?” he whispered in shock and confusion. Then he remembered he had left his scouter with her. Of course she figured out how to use it. He should’ve known he couldn’t escape her so easily.

Her cheery voice continued, “The following is for Mister P-O-S. You know who you are. Use the code I gave you to decrypt the rest of my messages.”

What code?! And was Bulma calling him a piece of…? No, wait. It was a clue.

He attempted to play the next message that was waiting, and the small display screen on his console asked for a five-digit access code. He typed in MRPOS using the most comparable galactic letters. The message began.

“I knew you’d figure it out, Mr. Prince of all Saiyans.”

That’s what she meant by P-O-S. Vegeta rolled his eyes.

“While I’ll admit it took me a couple of weeks to translate your scouter’s text, you can’t be that surprised that I cracked it. The only reason it took so long was because I’m swamped with other research and I could only fiddle with your tech in my spare time. Once I whipped up a pattern recognition program that could correlate our writing system to the characters in your eyepiece, it wasn’t long before I understood what the command functions could do. Imagine my excitement when I discovered how to contact you! But given the existence of alien civilizations, I didn’t know how dangerous it would be to communicate without some kind of security in place. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m connecting directly to your spaceship, but who knows if anyone can just listen in, you know? Anyway,” she chuckled a little nervously, “hey, it’s me. That girl from Earth.”

“Of course it’s you,” Vegeta grumbled. He didn’t even know message encryption was possible. She was incredible.

“I wanted to give you an update. We came up with a term for what happened to you and the other Corpses: spontaneous resurrection. And the people you brought to us, we call them the Recovering. They’ve all slowly reintegrated back into normal life. It takes time to completely clear the virus from their system, but once they do, they’re allowed to leave the quarantine area.”

With his interest now piqued, Vegeta shifted in his seat.

“Every day we keep finding more. The spontaneous resurrection effect is spreading. Most of them are coming to the enclave, like they know they belong with the Living. We’ve had to change our security measures not to fire at the Corpses anymore.”

She paused, and when she spoke again, her tone had shifted to sound graver.

“Right now, our biggest challenge is dealing with their injuries. We have doctors ready to operate on the ones that are riddled with old bullet wounds. Goku was able to get three more beans and we used them on a few newcomers that were beyond surgical repair, but the beans don’t mature very quickly, so when we run out there’s nothing we can do. Some of the Recovering have died because there was too much damage,” her voice broke with emotion. It hurt Vegeta to hear her like this.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, “I wish it was all good news. For the most part it is. You should see how happy they are. The ones that came with you and Nappa. Turns out they don’t remember being zombies at all. And while that’s a relief, since that existence was horrible, I worry that…” she stopped and he could hear her opening and closing her mouth, like she’s trying to come up with the right words, “this sounds selfish, but I worry you may have forgotten me, since we met while you were infected.”

Vegeta’s brow furrowed. He was tempted to call her back. To let her know he could never forget her.

“I’m hoping that isn’t true,” she continued, “Regardless, it doesn’t matter. Since you had such a big hand in getting us to this point, you deserve to know how things are going. Because whether you remember me or not, you need to know how you helped save us.”

A pain grew in his chest. After all the worlds he had destroyed, this woman was giving him credit for being a savior. He didn’t deserve it at all.

“I’ll keep updating you as things progress. Take care of Nappa. And yourself. Signing off.” The message ended, and Vegeta stared at the signal light that had gone dead. He wished it wasn’t over. He wanted more! More of her voice!

Without a thought, he reached out to press the com to try to reach her, but he stopped himself. He didn’t know how to initiate a secure conversation. And if the wrong person heard there was a cure for the virus on her planet, then Earth would be at risk.

Besides, there wasn’t much point in talking to her, reassuring her. He would only be drawing out the goodbyes they had already spoken. There was no sense in it.

The encryption code flashed.

MRPOS

MRPOS

MRPOS

As if it were mocking him.

He pressed the button by the small display screen, which gave him a prompt.

PRESERVE ENCRYPTION CODE FOR LINKED SOURCE?

YES was green, and NO was red. He touched the red button but didn’t press it. His fingertip rested there for few seconds, testing the feeling. The idea of refusing to even listen to her made something twist in his chest.

Before he could change his mind, he quickly pressed the green option for YES, then the display flashed:

CODE SAVED

His heart fluttered. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that this update from Bulma didn’t change anything for him. To avoid overthinking about what had just happened, he selected the button for hypersleep to continue and surrendered himself to unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beeping again. Another alert.

As soon as the noise registered in Vegeta’s brain, adrenaline rushed through his system, counteracting the effects of the sleeping drug. He snapped awake.

Was it Bulma again? He saw the blinking red light.

No, he told himself. He shouldn’t.

But she was right there! Waiting!

Impulsively, he turned on the com to listening mode so she couldn’t hear him.

“Give it back, mom!” Bulma sounded distant like she wasn’t wearing the scouter. He could hear loud music in the background.

“I just don’t understand why you’re not willing to use this instead of broadcasting your depression across the entire house,” Panchy’s voice was clearer. She was holding the scouter, but it wasn’t against her face.

“That may look like a headphone set, but it doesn’t connect to my stereo system,” Bulma came closer and there was a muffled thump. Maybe the scouter was tossed onto her bed. Obviously, this wasn’t an intended message. This was equivalent to what the earthlings might call a “butt dial”. Vegeta continued eavesdropping.

“Can you turn the music down? Goku, Chi-Chi, and Krillin have all complained.”

“Why can’t they let me mope in my own way?!”

“At least turn it down at night, when people are trying to sleep.”

“But that’s when I feel the saddest!” The music volume was lowered, but it was still audible on the scouter.

“I understand you still miss Yamcha,” Panchy tried to sooth her.

“Ugh! That’s not even what this is about! Of course, I hate that he died. But we weren’t close anymore. Our relationship was already distant when he was killed. I grieved him in my own way a long time ago.”

“Then is this about your father?”

“It wasn’t, but now it is,” Bulma started crying, “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. There’s so much that’s gone wrong in your life, I suppose you have every right to be sad.”

“It’s so dumb. The world is finally getting better and I should be thankful. But all I can think about is how lonely it must be to travel across the galaxy, trapped alone in a tight space, leaving behind someone who cared about you.”

Vegeta stiffened.

“Ooooooh,” Panchy crooned, “You’re talking about him.”

The girls were quiet while melancholy music continued in the background.

“You two must have really connected for you to hurt this much over him,” the mother spoke empathetically, “I wish I could have gotten to know Vegeta since he meant so much to you.”

“Me too,” Bulma answered woefully.

The song in the background changed, almost like a cue for the mother to leave, “I’ll let you work things out in your own time then.”

“I’ll keep the volume down,” Bulma muttered.

Vegeta could hear the door close when Panchy left. The song in the background played on. Curiously, Vegeta turned his com volume up so he could better hear the music and the words. He listened to the rough male voice that sang mournfully:

…. So, before you go

Was there something I could’ve said

To make your heart beat better?

If only I’d have known you had a storm to weather

So, before you go

Was there something I could’ve said

To make it all stop hurting?

It kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless

So, before you go

He heard Bulma mumble something, then she gasped, and his red com light turned off. She must have discovered that the scouter was on.

Even though the music ended, Vegeta could still hear it in his head. The lyrics replayed over and over, haunting him. Bulma had seen how troubled he was before he left. Did she wish she could’ve helped erase some of the guilt he carried?

Instead of pursuing immediate sleep this time, he opened his ship’s archives and replayed her first encrypted message, so he could hear her voice a little longer. As he listened, he sat in his pod, staring out of the viewport and watching constellations streak by.

Stars, how he already missed her. He wondered if he would ever have another waking moment without her on his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Vegeta kicked a chunk of debris in frustration. It soared over the charred remains of the outpost, through the thin air and disappeared. Of course, the Galactic Patrol would have targeted any PTO stations it could find.

“Now what?” Nappa asked, yawning. Hypersleep was designed to preserve their physical states because it lessened their chances of dying from illness or injury in transit. This meant that despite the time it took to travel here, Nappa was still fatigued from infection, still carried an ugly blue vein across his thick pale neck and his irises were still gray. “Can we go back?”

“No. We’re going to track down Namek. But we need data.”

Vegeta flew back to the ships. While Nappa trekked back on his own, the prince flipped on the galactic positioning system again, pulling up the coordinates for the location before this one. It was about three months away. That was the planet he had been clearing when he and Nappa first got the news of Frieza’s death. No point in heading there. Vegeta clicked to the location prior to that purge. His memory couldn’t recall this one. Maybe it was another station they could visit. Luckily, it was closer, only about six weeks from here.

Vegeta locked onto the destination, but before he sealed his pod, he noticed he was feeling peckish. Thankful that Bulma had thought of giving him food before he left, he dug out Bulma’s capsule from his storage compartment and popped the top. Once he tossed it outside his ship, a crate full of snacks appeared. Sitting on top were two cans of root beer. Vegeta stepped out of his pod and gingerly picked up one can and studied it. He remembered her smile when she had tasted it in his plane, and how she wanted to hide her stash so she wouldn’t have to share it.

Cracking it open, he took a sip. The sweet bubbly liquid came alive in his mouth. No wonder she liked it so much. Eagerly, he drank down some more, as if he finally understood how thirsty he was, then he took a breather and poked around the rest of the food. Not much of it looked appetizing to him, but he might as well give something a try.

The peanut butter she had saved from that old couple’s home was in here. Chugging the rest of the root beer, he tossed the can aside and pulled out the jar and unscrewed the lid. She had used a spoon to eat it, but he didn’t have one. Dunking a finger in the tan concoction, he pulled it out and stuck it in his mouth. Not bad. Messy though. When he had sucked his finger clean, he realized he had left his gloves on Earth. He’d have to find new ones if he could.

As he took another sample of peanut butter, he carefully poked around in his memories, like peeking into boxes without fully lifting the lids.  He was testing to see if he could remember more without drudging up emotions – or his past persona. He didn’t recall spending much time with his father, and when he did, the man was stern with him. Most of his younger years were spent with Nappa and Raditz. There were other Saiyans they worked with, but he couldn’t recollect their names or why they had gradually died out. His life was spent traveling, killing, eating, traveling again. He was a talented fighter, and his skill with ki was deadly.

Vegeta sucked his finger clean again and held out his palm up in front of him. How did ki work? If he could use it to fly, he should be able to use it to attack. He focused, trying to concentrate energy into his hand. Nothing happened, almost as if his attempts were hitting a firewall.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the dusty gray dirt distracted him.

“You hungry?” Vegeta asked when Nappa finally caught up with him. The big man shook his head. His normal appetite hadn’t returned yet. Vegeta studied him with a hint of concern. “Try to stay awake longer before you hit hypersleep. Your body needs a chance to heal itself.”

Nappa muttered reluctant agreement.

Vegeta hugged the jar of peanut butter to his chest and encapsulated the crate the way Bulma had shown him before he tossed the capsule back into his ship. “Load up. I’ve got another spot we should check.”

Climbing in as Nappa trudged to his own ship, Vegeta settled into his seat with the jar on his lap. He intended to stay awake for a bit while he finished off this snack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bulma didn’t give up sending him messages. The next time he was awakened from hypersleep, he automatically flipped the com on listening mode again.

“It’s been five weeks since I last saw you,” Bulma informed him.

Vegeta yawned and stretched, smacking his lips. Did he have enough space to pop open the crate on his lap? He decided to try, so he dug out her stash capsule.

“I think I’ve come up with a theory on how the zombie virus works,” there was tempered excitement in her voice, “It kills the victim, but it allows the lifeforce to remain stored in the Corpse tissues. They can’t produce more ki of their own, so they crave it in their diet. That’s why zombies are capable of movement, and that’s why you and Nappa were still so incredibly strong. You Saiyans probably had better ki absorption and storage capacity.”

“Naturally,” Vegeta spoke even though she couldn’t hear him. Of course, his race would make a more formidable zombie.

“The stored ki is not detectable by scouters, other zombies or even someone like Goku because energy is no longer emitted from the body. Your scouter detects lifeforce emission. Think of it like sunrays. A star is constantly producing radiation, releasing it in space. That’s why we can observe it. If light wasn’t released from a star, we couldn’t see it at all. Like a black hole. We can’t see a black hole, we can only see the… oh gods, I’m rambling.”

Vegeta snickered. He clicked the capsule open and let the crate fall onto his lap. The pressure change in the cabin made his eardrums feel a little funny, but otherwise, it looked like snack time would be a success.

“Sorry. Sometimes I get excited about super nerdy stuff,” she sounded embarrassed.

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” Vegeta smirked in amusement, as he picked out a package of Oreos and put the crate back in capsule form.

 “There’s no one around that’s educated enough to follow my train of thought about stuff like this. Chi-Chi listens politely, but she zones out. Goku doesn’t pay attention at all. Yamcha used to pretend to listen, but it was obvious he had no clue. Krillin will freely admit he doesn’t understand anything I’m talking about.”

As she paused, Vegeta’s munching was the only sound. These Oreos weren’t too bad. He wasn’t a fan of the overly sweet crème as much as the chocolate wafer cookie.

“I used to bounce my ideas off my dad,” Bulma continued quietly, “I really miss him. I wish you could have met him. He was not only super intelligent, but he was so kind. Do you have any idea how rare that is? Most geniuses in my world are complete jerks. My father was a treasure.”

Vegeta quit eating, not wanting to miss what she was saying.

She took in a heavy breath, “I guess we’ve all lost someone we love dearly, so that doesn’t make my circumstances any more difficult than anyone else. If anything, experiencing that loss only makes it more important to me to save as many people as possible.”

Something stirred inside of Vegeta. He already knew his mission was important, but hearing her talk like this only strengthened his resolve. She needed her planet’s dragon balls restored. He could not fail. That would be unacceptable.

“Well, I’m tired. And I guess I don’t have much else to say. Talk to you later.”

The ending felt abrupt, but he couldn’t blame her for not prolonging this one-sided conversation. It’s not like he was encouraging her to continue.

After stuffing the rest of the Oreos in his mouth, he did his best to wipe the black crumbs off and settle in for more sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’ve been gone for almost two months now,” Bulma began her newest message. Vegeta was still using listening mode, still unwilling to speak to her. “The settlement closest to ours has reported cases of spontaneous resurrection. Goku had to fly me over so I could explain my findings and show them how to test and treat them.”

Vegeta growled a little at the thought of Kakarot carrying her around.

“The Recovering are taking over a lot of the work outside the wall, jobs like farming and scavenging, because the Corpses don’t attack them and even if they get bit, they can’t get reinfected. So that leaves Goku and Krillin free to eliminate the Boneys. I’m trying to develop a vaccine based on your samples, but that’s going to take time, if I can do it at all. Even if I could, I’d have to inform people of the possible side effects, and you can imagine how hesitant people would be to try it. I’m making better progress coming up with a cure, but I haven’t created a viable serum yet. I could go into the science of why it’s so difficult, but I don’t want to sound like I’m rambling again,” she gave a soft nervous chuckle, “Of course I’ve basically been rambling this whole time anyway.”

When she sighed, Vegeta frowned, hearing the sadness in it.

“Maybe you’re not even listening. There’s no telling. But I hope you’re getting my messages. I hope you know I still care.”

When the light went off on the console, signaling the end, Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose. He had thought her voice would lift his spirits, but hearing her melancholy sentiments was starting to make him feel worse. Maybe he should ignore her. Maybe that would be easier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Turned out the location Vegeta had picked wasn’t an outpost. This was a purged planet. They had landed near a huge crater, the outskirts of which were populated with dry skeletons amid overgrown vegetation and crumbling ruins. The air was disturbingly still, as if to emphasize how dead this world was.

Neither of the Saiyans spoke as they viewed the work of their hands. Such devastation. Such wanton waste.

Vegeta remembered laughing when he was clearing out the stragglers on this planet. Joking about how they squealed like pigs. Nappa had speculated on whether they would taste like the tusked boars he grew up eating on Planet Vegeta. They were running low on rations, so Raditz suggested they find out.

“They didn’t taste good,” Nappa remembered, his face serious. His eyes were still gray, his skin still pale. He hadn’t spent enough time out of hypersleep. But the mental rest was allowing him to recall a little more of his history.

“See, Nappa? We didn’t need to be infected to be monsters,” Vegeta turned on his heel and marched back to the ship.

“Where now?” Nappa whined. “I wanna go back. This isn’t working.”

Vegeta whipped around to face him, scowling, “Do you have any idea how many planets we destroyed? Huh?”

Nappa shrugged sheepishly.

“For once, we finally have a chance to fix one. We are not giving up so easily.”

“We tried! But… it’s taking too long!”

“Trust me, I’m not interested in wasting our time either.” He didn’t want Bulma to wait for results any longer than necessary. “But what’s got you in such a rush?”

“I… I don’t want… Rosa to forget me.”

“Rosa, huh? The boy’s mother?”

Nappa gave a pitiful nod.

Vegeta shook his head, exhaling in frustration. “She might have a husband, you know. He could have recovered by now.”

“But what if…” Then Nappa stopped himself, feeling embarrassed.

“What if what?” Vegeta snarled.

“What if she’s alone?”

“She has her son.”

“You know what I mean.”

Vegeta crossed his arms and glared at the pale giant in front of him. While he should be grateful Nappa wasn’t embracing his former tendencies, the maniac that loved killing and explosions, this vulnerable side was getting annoying. He was acting more like a…

Suddenly, Vegeta’s shoulders slumped in realization. His old self was right. “We’re contaminated.”

“What? The virus? I thought we beat it.”

“No. I mean our minds. We’ve corrupted ourselves with stolen memories for so long, it’s changed us. We’re not wholly Saiyan anymore. We’re part human.”

Strange that he hadn’t considered this before, but maybe that was because he still maintained his Saiyan identity.

“I don’t feel… human,” Nappa rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I’m not saying we’ve turned into earthlings, but we’re definitely under the influence.”

Was this the reason Vegeta was so different from his former self? More importantly, if he and Nappa had appropriated a portion of humanity’s values, tendencies and dreams, then did this mean it would be safe for them to return to Earth?

Vegeta began to question his decisions. Not about Namek, but about what would come after. Was it necessary to leave Bulma behind? To rip Nappa away from a budding attachment?

To what extent had the Saiyans changed? Was the effect temporary or permanent? These were the real questions.

His jaw hardened in determination. Leaving was the right choice. After all, their true natures could resurface. They’d be better off training, then hunting down Zarbon. Saiyans weren’t meant for a peaceful life. They were bred for battle.

But… Kakarot was making it work. He seemed happy.

As Vegeta pondered their psychological changes and the choices that needed to be made, Nappa tapped him on the shoulder.

“There’s a ship incoming.”

Vegeta peered up at the purple sky. Something was approaching from the distance and it was fast. There was only one organization that had ships capable of such speed: the Galactic Patrol. Now that the Frieza Force had dwindled away, the patrolmen were having an easier time tracking the attack pods that used to sneak past them. He should’ve anticipated this issue.

“Let’s go,” Vegeta rushed into his pod.

“Where?” Nappa followed suit.

Vegeta yelled as his door closed. “To a station, hopefully!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next stop was only a week later, and it looked more promising. At least whoever cleared out this place didn’t destroy the structure completely. Broken plastiglass crunched under Vegeta’s boot as he crept through the abandoned building - at least he thought it was abandoned until he heard evidence of movement.

“Vegeta?” Nappa glanced around, trying to find the source of the noise. The clacking and clambering came closer and closer, but the echoes in the hall made it hard to pinpoint the direction of their origin.

“There! Up ahead!” Vegeta pointed to the stairwell entrance. Sure enough, two skeletal Frieza Force troopers came tumbling out in a tangle, still wearing their armor and helmets.

“Frieza Force Boneys,” Vegeta sneered, “A combination of two things I hate.”

The dead creatures scrambled around, tripping and falling until they finally gained enough footing to race alongside each other.

“I’ll take em,” Nappa grinned and crouched, then rushed forward like a linebacker. He grabbed both of them by their necks and held them up like trophies, turning to Vegeta and laughing like the stupid brute he was. The desiccated troopers flailed and kicked.

“Don’t play with your victims, Nappa,” Vegeta rolled his eyes and waltzed toward the stairwell. Nappa threw down one Boney and stomped it in the face since that was the only part of the skull that wasn’t protected, then as he attempted to rip the helmet off the other dead soldier, the head came off with it.

“Whoops,” Nappa watched at the helmeted head bounced along the floor down the hall. The teeth inside snapped together a few times, then all movement ceased. Nappa tossed the headless body down, “Oh well. Same difference.”

Vegeta turned to head down the stairs. The data vault was likely in a lower level here, protected underground.

“You good?” Nappa asked from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah,” Vegeta crept down into the shadows, “Focus on your task. Look for scouters and rations. And gloves.”

Nappa’s heavy footsteps faded behind him as Vegeta explored the depths of this abandoned outpost. A shiver passed over him, a leftover remnant of him absorbing humanity’s innate fear of the dark. He wasn’t afraid, but his mind was trying to convince him he should be. Adrenaline pumped through his veins in response, and his senses were enhanced.

Arriving in the pitch-black basement, he felt along the wall for an emergency power switch. When he found it, he pulled the lever. Several consoles lit up, but the overhead lights didn’t. Still, it was enough visibility. The data console that the officers used was located right in the middle. He made a beeline for it.

Right when Vegeta was about to search for Namek, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his tail curled tighter around his waist. His heightened senses detected a disturbance. A sound. A breath. His muscles twitched, and his hands closed into fists, ready for combat. Someone was behind him near the stairs.

No… Not now. Not when he was so close. Failure wasn’t an option! He couldn’t let Bulma down!

With a twist and a lunge, Vegeta moved so fast he could feel the drag of the air against his fist, which flew toward his would-be-captor, a small man with lidless yellow eyes. The little man shot something from his blaster, and Vegeta dodged the beam of blue light as he swung. The punch landed squarely in the small creature’s round jaw, sending him flying into the stairs. The body went limp. Vegeta remained crouched, ready for the man to get up, but he didn’t move. Was he dead? It was hard to tell in the dim lighting.

Cautiously, the prince crept forward to study his victim, who wore the Galactic Patrol symbol on his chest. His face was strange, shaped like a white heart with a purple scalp and blunted widow’s peak. Was it a mask? The blaster was loosely gripped in his tiny hand. The slightest movement of the ribcage indicated he was still breathing.

Snatching the blaster away, Vegeta crushed it in his fist and dropped the broken bits onto the floor.

The urge to kill him was deeply instinctual. He could feel it. There was no doubt now that he was still very much Saiyan.

Bending over, Vegeta reached down toward the small man’s head, intending to yank it at just the right angle to break the patrolman’s neck, but something stopped him.

This was an opportunity to test himself. Was he in control of his ingrained behavior, or was he ruled by it? Was he capable of avoiding violence?

Vegeta clenched his jaw, angry at even considering such a gamble. Why should he leave loose ends that could come back to bite him? This moment required cold hard logic. It made sense to end this person’s life so he could cover his tracks.

Or… maybe he could be better than this. He didn’t have to resort to such extreme measures.

Vegeta scoffed audibly, clicking his tongue. He had killed so many people. So many. What was one more?

But this little man was so weak! Standing up straight, Vegeta lifted his chin in pride. At the very least, there was no glory in beating such a pathetic excuse of a soldier.

Decisively, he returned to the console and searched for Namek, not noticing the red blinking light in the corner of the screen indicating that his activity was being remotely monitored.

When the star map loaded, it showed a green planet with three suns and no night.

Bingo.

After zooming out, he studied the galactic map, and had the route calculated and remotely sent to his pod. Excited to have fulfilled this part of the mission, he jogged upstairs to search for Nappa.

“Hey!” Nappa waved him down in the supply room, “I got gloves! And scouters!”

“Excellent,” Vegeta pulled on the fresh gloves and picked a scouter with a red eyepiece, leaving Nappa to wear the green one. “We need to leave. Someone tried to capture me downstairs. I’ve incapacitated them, but there could be backup on the way.”

“But… I’m not done. What about rations?”

“I’ve located Namek. We’ll hunt for food when we get there.”

The two Saiyans exited to find a red and white Galactic Patrol ship waiting within sight of the outpost. Vegeta scanned it for life and found none. With a glance back at the building, the prince second-guessed his decision to let that patrolman live. However, even if the small man woke up in the next few minutes, he wouldn’t be a threat without a working blaster. And if Vegeta destroyed the ship, they wouldn’t be followed anytime soon. The little guy would be stuck here, waiting for someone to retrieve him.

“Go on ahead,” Vegeta pointed toward their attack pods in the distance, “I’ll disable his ship.”

Nappa hiked off and Vegeta flew up to land on the top of the GP vehicle, which was shaped similar to Earth’s ladybugs. He punched at the viewport canopy, hoping he could break it, but it was too strong for him and he only succeeded in bruising his knuckles.

“Tch,” Vegeta slung his hand. If only he could blast it with ki. He held out his palm and concentrated, but after a minute of failure, without even the faintest hint of extra warmth in his fingers, he gave up that idea.

Frustrated, he huffed, trying to think. If the canopy was reinforced so well, maybe there was another part of the ship that was easier to break. With a hop, Vegeta leaped to the sparsely vegetated ground and stepped back to study the ship better. It was well streamlined, likely well shielded. He might be able to pry open the side door though. Once he approached the alternate entrance, he kicked at the door’s bottom edge and bent it just enough to make a small gap. Shoving his fingertips in the tight space, he pulled and ripped the door open, mangling it in the process. The inner sealed doors were easier to open, he just had to pull them apart, and from there he climbed up to the cockpit.

The space was clean and boring. Vegeta considered searching for rations in the compartments, but he had a feeling that he had spent too much time here already, so he punched the dashboard several times and completely destroyed it. One lever was left in tact, so he tore it free for good measure, then moved on to catch up with his comrade.

As the prince flew to their attack pods, he noticed Nappa still hadn’t loaded into his own ship, instead he was standing outside Vegeta’s.

“Your com light is blinking red,” Nappa pointed toward Vegeta’s ship, and without even asking permission, the huge idiot reached in to turn it on without using listening mode.

“No, don’t!” Vegeta tried to stop him, but Nappa succeeded and Bulma’s voice poured out of the ship.

“…and they’re saying we might need to… wait, hello?” she paused, hearing something on the other end for the first time, something like wind or static. Or Vegeta growling. “Is someone there?”

“Is that Bulma?” Nappa gaped at Vegeta, who snarled in irritation. The fact that he wasn’t murdering Nappa on the spot was more proof that he was in control of his bloodlust.

“Nappa? Can you hear me?” Bulma yelled frantically. “Is Vegeta there? Is he okay?”

Reluctantly, Vegeta climbed into the ship so he wouldn’t have to shout to be heard, but he left the door to his pod open so Nappa could hear the conversation, “We’re both here. You caught us as we were about to take off again.”

“Vegeta!” she sounded relieved and thrilled, “So um…Hey!”

“Hey.”

There was an awkward silence.

Bulma cleared her throat, “I’ve been contacting you for over two months.”

“I know. I’ve been listening.”

Nappa glared at him accusingly. Vegeta scowled back.

“How’s your search going?” Bulma asked, her nerves making her vocal pitch higher than normal, “I’ve been checking my radar every day.”

“Yeah, um, I think I’ve figured out where we need to go. But I have no idea what we’ll find when we arrive.”

“How long will it take you to get there?”

“Let me check.” Vegeta flipped on the star map in his pod and loaded the coordinates he had sent from the Frieza Force data console. Then he set up a route and checked the time settings. “It’s about five weeks from here.”

“What if it’s a dead end?”

“I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” Vegeta still hadn’t decided if he would set his sights on Zarbon or not. Every time he heard her voice, chasing revenge was becoming less appealing.

“Can’t you come back?”

“Woman... we’ve talked about this--”

“How’s Rosa?” Nappa intervened.

“Oh, Rosa’s fine!” Bulma spoke louder, “She’s been keeping both kids with her. They’ve recovered their memories from before their death. We think Sarah’s parents were killed, not infected. So, if I do get the dragon balls back, I plan to wish for everyone who was killed by zombies to be revived. We’ll see if Sarah can get her parents back that way.”

“Maybe that would bring back Marcus’ father too,” Vegeta suggested.

 “Maybe, but I wouldn’t know. He didn’t live in West City,” Bulma lowered her voice like she was spilling gossip, “Rosa told me that she was divorced.”

Nappa’s eyes grew huge in interest.

“Did you hear that, Nappa?” Bulma was grinning, Vegeta could hear it in her voice, “She’s asked me about you. Are you doing well?”

“He’s fine,” Vegeta rolled his eyes. The large Saiyan gave him a pleading look, and before Nappa started begging to go back to Earth again, Vegeta tilted his head toward his comrade’s ship, “Go to your pod and sync up your new scouter to your console. Let me finish up with her.”

Nappa grudgingly disappeared.

“Bulma,” Vegeta’s tone was formal, unemotional, “I approve of the wish you’re planning to make. It will bring back Yamcha as well.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “But I didn’t choose it because of Yamcha. I was trying to think of what would accomplish the most good. I’d wish for the Corpses to have their bodies repaired, but they could easily get shot again before they’re on the road to resurrection. Then I thought maybe more senzu bean plants would be nice so we could heal more of the injured Recovering as we find them, but ultimately…”

“The Living who were killed deserve their life back.”

“Exactly,” Bulma paused for a second before continuing, “Now listen, even if I can bring back Yamcha… he’s not going to be a part of my life. Not in a way that matters.”

“Bulma, he loved you.”

“He ruined it,” she insisted, her bitterness evident, “That ship has sailed.”

“My ship has sailed. Out of your solar system.”

“You can always come back.”

Vegeta swallowed.

“I know what you’re doing is important. And I’m not saying you should give up. But what are you going to do once you’ve reached the end of this journey?” She spoke quietly, hiding her desperation as best as she could. “Nappa wants to come back, I know it. And I…”

His heart leapt in his chest, yearning for what he thought she might say.

Bulma whispered, “I want you here.”

Why had he said that he would never return in the first place? He had told himself it was because he was dangerous, but if he was being honest with himself, he was also running away from his own guilt. Because he was a coward.

Vegeta thought about how much he missed her. How scared he had been about letting her down when he realized someone had tracked him. About how sad she had been since he left. He had thought she would be able to move on, but she wasn’t giving up on him, even though she knew his life held a trail of bodies behind him.

Why shouldn’t he come back to her? He had disposed of his old persona and he wasn’t interested in returning to the life of senseless violence he had once lived. Hadn’t he proven that he was in control of his own aggression? Plus, with the Galactic Patrol on his tail, he might as well find a spot to settle and stay out of their crosshairs. Why not stay where he’s actually wanted?

Forget Zarbon. That old grudge wasn’t worth his time. But Bulma deserved his pursuit.

At this realization, fear gripped him. He was teetering on the edges of something that felt riskier than combat. If he agreed to come back to her, he wasn’t just signing up for a travel plan, he was committing to a relationship. He knew this. And it was terrifying. Despite his shallow breathing and pounding chest, he mustered his courage.

“Alright.” It was all he could manage to croak out.

“Alright? You mean you’ll come back?!”

Her audible joy surrounded him and permeated his skin.

“Yes,” Vegeta nodded even though she couldn’t see him, “We might as well.”

“We’re going back?!” Nappa appeared. Turns out he was eavesdropping. Bulma started laughing.

“We’ll try to go back after our trip to Namek,” the prince grumbled at his comrade, “Now get in your pod and seal it!”

Nappa gave him a huge grin and lumbered away. When Vegeta heard the door hiss, he sealed his own door. “But listen, woman. There are patrolmen out here looking for men like us. If you don’t hear from me after we’ve landed on Namek, it’s possible we might have been apprehended.”

“Patrolmen? Like the Galactic Patrol?”

“That’s right. You know about them?”

“Yeah, I met a guy once who worked for that organization. His ship broke down and I repaired it for him, so he kinda owes me. His name was Jaco. He works in my planet’s sector.”

Technically, Vegeta was still in the same sector as Earth. Maybe Jaco was the guy who had tried to sneak up on him. “Small guy, large yellow eyes?”

“Yeah! How do you know him?”

“I’ve run into him before.” Minutes ago.

“Why would patrolmen try to track you down?”

“We weren’t exactly petty thieves.”

“You didn’t strike me as one,” there was clearly a smirk on her face, but then her tone got serious again, “Were you working for a criminal organization? I know you said you were mercenaries.”

“I said we were sort of mercenaries. The truth is we weren’t given a choice, so there wasn’t a payment contract. Just free clothes, rations and medical care.”

“Wait, you were forced to be a soldier for a foreign regime? That’s slavery.”

Vegeta furrowed his brow, “I suppose when you put it that way, I can’t argue. Slaves or not, though, we would be held responsible for the crimes we committed during our tenure.”

“I see. Yeah, the Galactic Patrol would be a problem. Contact me when you get to Namek, then, okay? Use the encryption code.”

“How did you do that? I’ve never use encryption before.”

Bulma laughed, “It’s in the security settings. There’s a password required to access them, but I hacked it.”

“Of course you did,” Vegeta tapped on his new scouter and linked it to his pod and the scouter she was using. Then he switched on the security settings, and the eyepiece prompted him for an access code, “What’s the password?”

“It’s vocal. May Emperor Frieza live forever.”

Her spoken words immediately unlocked Vegeta’s security options, and he chose encryption and picked MRPOS as the key.

“Done. Same key as yours.”

“Perfect.” Her voice was clear and happy. “Can’t wait for you to test it out.”

“Hm,” he grunted.

Bulma chuckled, “That sounds familiar. Like when we first met and you could barely talk.”

“Shut up.”

“You were so intense. You wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

Because she’s gorgeous. “Are you done embarrassing me? Because Nappa and I need to leave.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry. Have fun on your trip.”

“Just so you know… I’m sleeping through most of it. So, I’m not too… lonely.”

“Ugh, I wondered if you heard that,” she paused, “So it hasn’t seemed like 81 days to you?”

“No.” She was counting the days?

“Wow, I must come across as so needy and annoying.”

“NO!” Crap, that was too loud. Now he was the one that seemed needy. “I mean… I liked hearing about… everything.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

For a few breaths, they were both silent. He had to say goodbye again, but it wasn’t the same kind of goodbye as the last one he had given her. Now that there was hope kindling between them, he wasn’t sure how to end this conversation. Before he could figure out a way to wrap it up, she prodded him.

“I’m curious though, I thought my signal would take time to reach you. How is it we’re able to communicate in real time like this?”

“The tech is quantum linked,” Vegeta answered.

“Are you serious? Earth hasn’t come close to cracking that.”

“Don’t be so hard on your race. You’ve been busy with an apocalypse.”

“If you had more time, I’d love to talk shop.”

Then he realized he didn’t have to end the conversation. He could talk to her as long as she wanted.

“Give me a second,” he selected the route on the star map displayed on the viewport and sent the command to Nappa’s ship. Both of the pods left the outpost behind in the blink of an eye and sped toward Namek. “Alright, we’re in transit. I’ve got plenty of time now. You want to know how quantum communication works?”

“Wow. You really know the way to this girl’s heart,” she answered flirtatiously.

A heat bloomed in his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

Vegeta spoke to Bulma once a week. After she ended each transmission, he would often remain awake and stare out of the viewport, letting his mind relive the time he got to spend with her. If an old memory threatened to surface, he would push it back, refusing to let it breathe. It became easier and easier to catalogue them away, skimming over them without dwelling on the past. In this way he became more familiar with his history without associating himself with it. After all, he wasn’t that person. Not anymore.

About four weeks into his trip to Namek, he got yet another message alert. He flipped on the coms.

“Hey there, homeboy!” Bulma had gotten increasingly brazen with each new conversation.

“Lay off the nicknames,” Vegeta griped with a yawn.

“You’re always so grumpy when I call,” she teased.

“Because you’re waking me up,” he pulled out the stash capsule and popped it open. Every time she called him, he would open the crate on his lap and rummage through the snacks, picking one or two or half a dozen to try. He never cracked open the other root beer though, since he intended to bring it back to Bulma.

“You eating again?”

“Yeah. Gotta keep up my strength somehow. Although, with the garbage you’ve given me, I’m going to get downright flabby,” he complained as he pulled out a bag of spicy chips and studied it, “I’m not sure if there’s much value in any of these snacks of yours.”

“Hey! You should be grateful you have them at all!”

“Hmm,” he grunted, showing he didn’t want to argue.

“How much longer now? A week?”

Vegeta turned on his star map, then studied the console for progress. “Less than a week now.” Keeping the chips in hand, he returned the crate to capsule form and put it back in the small storage compartment. “Did you look into ki capacity for Recovering Corpses?”

“Yes. I played around with energy readings like you suggested. As you know, the scouters are worthless at reading life force if the virus is still affecting someone. So, I did strength tests over a varied sample of Recovering patients. As far as I can tell, humans retain most of their physical strength when they’re infected. Around 90%.”

“That much?”

“Yes. By the time their eyes return to normal, they are pretty much back to full strength.”

With a deep unpleasant tone, Vegeta hummed in thought.

Bulma continued, “We already knew Saiyans recover differently, since you guys haven't forgotten your time being... dead."

"You don't have to measure your words with me."

"Right. Sorry. When you were zombies, you and Nappa were stronger than everyone else, but considering what you told me about your power levels before, you must have been more heavily affected by the virus."

“The virus has stronger effects on higher energy individuals,” Vegeta deduced.

“I believe so. I know you told me Nappa hasn’t fully recovered. Maybe he’ll be better when you land?”

“Maybe.” But Nappa wasn’t the only concern. Vegeta didn’t feel fully recovered himself. What if he never regained his old strength? Who knew whether the virus had permanently damaged them. “If I can manage to avoid conflict, that would be best for him.”

“I agree. Just remember everything we talked about.”

“I won’t forget,” he rolled his eyes, remembering her insistence in their prior conversations about using diplomacy. “Did you take a reading on Kakarot like I asked?”

“Yes, I know you said you thought you were close to his level of strength when you met him. Goku’s energy fluctuates though. When he powers up, he can basically double his scouter reading.”

“Really? His power level changes?”

“You didn’t know that was possible?”

“No.” But it made sense now. He was holding his own with Kakarot until that strange surge burst from him. That must have been when he had done it. Kakarot had managed to raise his energy during their confrontation. No wonder he had broken Vegeta’s arm. “So, when my eyes were gray, I probably wouldn’t have registered anything on the scouter.”

“That’s right.”

“But if I was as strong as Kakarot, how much energy had I actually stored in my tissues?”

“Given what you told me about your previous power level, that means you only retained about three to five percent of your strength when you died.”

This is why he had asked her to research these things. His shoulders slumped, “That’s a huge difference.”

“I agree,” she admitted grimly, “But it tracks with what you told me two weeks ago - that the virus was created to target higher powered members of the Frieza Force.”

“This is helpful. If I run into another infected population, our scouters will be worthless. I’ll need to understand how strong their Corpses might be.”

“When you fought for Frieza, were your battles really so dependent on these scouters?”

“The PTO was obsessed with power levels. Your position and rank were affected by it. And it affected combat assignments, because we used the readings to determine who would handle which sectors of the battlefield.”

“I see. I wish I had more data to give you so you could estimate their strength better. Anyway, based on my findings, if they’re a weaker race, their zombies will be comparable to their Living. If they are a more powerful race, their zombie form would still be strong, but they wouldn't retain most of their energy.”

“I suppose in the end, that’s good news for us,” Vegeta finally opened the chip bag. An interesting smell escaped: savory but it almost burned his nostrils. He pulled a chip out of the bag and studied it. There was an orange powder on it.

“But my research was limited," Bulma reminded him, "and some races may not follow this trend. So, let’s hope you don’t see any more infected people. In fact, I would prefer your time at Namek is boring and unadventurous.”

Vegeta popped a chip into his mouth as she spoke. The spice made him crinkle his nose and sneeze.

“You okay? You’re not getting sick on me, are you? Are space colds a thing?”

Vegeta swallowed and the heat hit his throat. “Haugh!”

“Are you puking?”

“No!” he wheezed, “These chips are… gah! They’re trying to kill me!”

“Are you trying the habanero potato chips?!” Bulma started laughing, “Oh gods, that’s hilarious! I love spicy food. Have you seriously never tried anything spicy?”

Vegeta cleared his throat, “Not like this! It feels like poison!”

“Take another bite! As you get used to the heat, you can appreciate the flavor.”

Vegeta winced and ate another chip. He could taste the savory seasoning now, but the burn got worse. “Agh! How do you eat this?!”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

Vegeta growled and rolled up the top of the chip bag and pulled out her stash of snacks again. “I’m picking something else.”

“Go ahead. But don’t be surprised if you start craving more of those chips in a minute or so.”

It was then that he realized his forehead was sweating and his nose and eyes were watering from the spice. Absentmindedly, he wiped at the corner of one eye that was threatening to leak. Then his eyeball felt like it had caught fire.

“GAAAAH!” He blinked furiously, as his eye watered in pain.

“What’s wrong?”

“I touched my eye! It burns!”

“Of course it burns! It’s the seasoning from those chips!”

“I HATE YOUR SNACKS!!”

“Can you not wash your hands? Or at least lick your fingers?”

“How was I supposed to know I had toxic chemicals on my gloves?!”

“By how it felt in your mouth!”

When he popped open the crate, he eyed that root beer, thinking maybe he could use it to wash out his mouth and considered pouring it in his eye too, but he shook his head in determination. That drink was her favorite, and he had every intention of returning it to her. He pulled out a chocolate bar instead, ripping open the wrapper and scarfing it down. He sighed. His mouth felt relief. His eye gradually felt better as his tear ducts went into overproduction.

“Alright,” he sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve, “I’m done for now, woman. I need to return to hypersleep.”

“Okay. Want some music to help you?”

“Sure.”

 She had done that before, playing her favorite calming songs to help him relax. Not that he needed it since the gas did all the work, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

“This is called Gonna Fly Now,” she told him.

Horns blasted in a brass fanfare, vibrating his surroundings. The syncopated melody wasn’t soothing at all.

“Bulma, stop! What is this?!”

“This is the Rocky theme song! This is the music that plays while he trains for an upcoming fight! It’s perfect for you!” she giggled a little.

“I’m not training! I’m recovering from your stupid snacks!”

The music turned off. “Don’t you DARE call my favorite snacks stupid.”

Vegeta huffed, “I’m grateful for them. But I never know how they’re going to taste and I really wish they were made of meat.”

Bulma gave a soft chuckle, “When you come home, I’ll make sure you get a nice barbecue, okay?”

HOME. Stars and galaxies, how that sounded glorious.

“I look forward to it. But do me a favor and don’t invite your friends.”

“Why not? Do you hate my friends too?” she was clearly offended.

“No… I just want to spend time with you. Alone.”

“Oh,” her tone changed completely, “Careful, Vegeta. You almost sound romantic.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed in agreement as he imagined sitting out on her balcony in the summer sun. A plate stacked with smoked ribs on the table and a bikini clad Bulma sitting across from him. Vegeta was nearly drooling now.

Suddenly, he wanted more of those spicy chips, but he didn’t want her to hear him digging back into the bag. Then she’d crow at him and demand for him to admit she was right. Unacceptable. “Are you going to play better music for me or not?”

“Fine,” she put on something less offensive, and it opened with pure vocals at first. A soft male tenor voice crooned sadly.

"This song is called Past Lives," she told him.

Vegeta leaned back and watched a blue and gold nebula pass by slowly as he listened to the lyrics:

Past lives couldn’t ever hold me down

Lost love is sweeter when it’s finally found

I’ve got the strangest feeling

This isn’t our first time around

Gentle percussion eventually joined the song.

Past lives couldn’t ever come between us

Sometimes the dreamers finally wake up

Don’t wake me, I’m not dreaming

Don’t wake me, I’m not dreaming

“Is this acceptable?” she asked quietly, trying not to spoil the moment.

“I like it. It’s perfect.”

“Good,” she was grinning, “Sweet dreams then.”

“I don’t have dreams in hypersleep.”

“Well, that sucks.”

He disagreed. He liked avoiding the nightmares. “Do you dream of me?”

“Sort of. I hear your voice sometimes when I’m about to drift off.”

“Hopefully I’m not yelling at you.”

“Not exactly. But you are very stern. Usually, you tell me I need to rest because I’m working too hard.”

“Good.” Vegeta had been saying that for weeks now, so he was glad she was hallucinating it.

“Remember that picture I drew of you in that spiral notebook? I updated your eyes so they look black. I keep the drawing in my room and I study it every day, so I don’t forget what you look like.”

“Am I really that forgettable?”

Bulma snorted, “No, I guess not.”

Vegeta smirked, “I think you just like looking at me.”

“Maybe I do. Wish I had drawn your muscles though,” she sighed wistfully, “I can’t wait to touch you again.”

A tingle traveled across his arms and legs and his tail fluffed out. It was amazing how easy it was for her to get under his skin. He couldn’t even see her and he was drawn to her. Pulled to her. She was light years away and he hadn’t escaped her field of gravity. What a powerful woman.

The song filled their silence for a second, before she timidly admitted, “I really miss you.”

“I miss you too.” It felt unfair to even admit it. She was spending a lot more of her waking hours without him than he was without her since he spent so much of his time sleeping. But even though it was nice to wake up hearing her voice, he longed to hold her in his arms again too. He tried not to think about the extra month it would take for him to get back to her after his quest on Namek was complete.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Nappa and Vegeta were awakened as they entered the solar system, and they watched their destination grow closer. Namek was a strange planet, with terrain that gave the impression it was trying to recover from catastrophe. Grass blanketed plateaus and mesas with only a few scattered trees. A series of interconnected lakes and seas stretched across the planet in such a way that it appeared to be one sprawling body of water.

By the time Vegeta landed, the floor of his pod was littered with empty bags, containers and wrappers, including the bag of spicy potato chips, which he did eventually devour. When the door hissed open and Vegeta stepped out into the sunlight, some of the trash caught on his boots and escaped with him. Seeing how pristine the landscape appeared to be, he felt guilty for cluttering up the ground. After grabbing his remote, he kicked the garbage back into his pod and pressed the button to seal the doors, then tucked his device into his boot. If his scouter got damaged, the remote was an important back-up.

Villages were scarce, but thankfully with their scouters, the Saiyans would have no trouble locating them.

The only problem was Nappa. He was still symptomatic, still pale, a bit lethargic and his eyes still held that blasted shade of gray. Vegeta took an energy reading of his comrade. It flickered between one and two. Nappa was barely emitting any ki. He might as well have been a blade of grass. Granted, his strength equivalent might be more like 300, but it was likely the Namekians were much stronger.

“I can fly, so it would be easier if I take on the task of collecting the dragon balls by myself,” Vegeta suggested as they both stretched, “You should stay here with the ships. I don’t know what the locals are like. They could be aggressive, so if they approach you, you need to contact me.”

“How long will it take?”

“I don’t know. I’ll keep in touch every few hours.”

“What should I do?”

“You should eat something nutritious. Start a fire and roast some fish,” the younger Saiyan pointed at the nearby shoreline, “We should try to take advantage of natural resources while we can.”

Vegeta reached into Nappa’s pod and opened a storage compartment under his seat. He dug out a small welding torch, meant for ship repairs. “Don’t start too large a fire, mind you.”

“Hmmm,” Nappa nodded, taking the tool from his younger comrade, “No fire department.”

“I mean, we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves. But you certainly shouldn’t let it get out of control either. No sense in ravaging the landscape. We’ve killed enough planets as it is.”

“I’ll be careful. I’m not stupid.”

Vegeta lifted his brow.

“What?!” Nappa seemed offended, “You think I am?”

Uninvited memories cropped up, but Vegeta held them at arm’s length, careful not to feel the emotions they held.

From the day they met, Nappa treated Vegeta as an authority figure. He was rarely an advisor to the child and rarely questioned him. Instead, Nappa asked for his opinion and wanted his approval, and he even let the kid order him around. Their relationship was backwards from what it should have been, and it was only now that Vegeta was even realizing it. But what had caused such dynamics? Vegeta’s power level, his title, his bloodline?

Growing up, Vegeta could’ve used someone in his life as a role model, someone who could’ve properly corrected him, but from the moment he was taken from his father, that hole was never truly filled. If Frieza thought the young Saiyan prince needed correction, he would beat him to near unconsciousness with a few flicks of his tail, or he would ask Zarbon or Dodoria to inflict the punishment. There was no true guidance in the PTO, not in terms of character or morality. Nappa’s method of mentoring Raditz and Vegeta was acting like an immature show-off with a mindless penchant for destruction. The boys had quickly lost respect for him as an elder.

At least as a comrade, the giant Saiyan had been as loyal as family. And it wasn’t Nappa’s fault he was an idiot.

Vegeta kept his tone subdued and pensive, “You’re old enough to be my father, and yet you’ve deferred to me since I was a small child. Why is that, Nappa? And don’t give me the excuse that it’s because I’m a prince. There were plenty of people at the palace that refused my demands.”

Nappa shrugged.

“Why do you think you always depended on me to make decisions?” Vegeta was insistent that he answer.

Nappa gave him a sullen expression. “Because I’m dumb?”

“Indeed.”

Nappa hung his head in humiliation.

“However,” Vegeta paused dramatically, causing Nappa to lift his chin with a glimmer of hope, “feasting on human brains for a year could have boosted your intelligence. You absorbed some of their memories, right?”

“That’s right,” Nappa nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, as shameful as that whole experience was, perhaps some good came of it,” he gestured to the torch, “You know how to use that?

“I’ll try. Ki would be... easier to use," Nappa flexed his fingers as if trying to summon energy, "But I forgot how."

Vegeta held out his hand and tried to focus his ki into his own palm, but, just like his other attempts, nothing happened.

“I can’t seem to remember how to do that either,” Vegeta clenched his hand into a fist. Hopefully this wouldn’t become an issue if the Namekians were hostile. “What’s my power level, Nappa?”

Nappa tapped his scouter and took a reading, “Over 9,000. Not bad.”

“Tch. Pathetic. I used to reach 18,000. Perhaps I haven’t fully recovered yet.”

“I'll catch fish. Maybe you need... decent food too."

“I agree,” the prince nodded, his stomach growling in response, “Save some for me. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Vegeta took off over the horizon and contacted Bulma on his scouter using the encryption code.

“Uuuuugh,” she groaned into his ear.

“What’s the matter?” he barked at her.

“Not so loud! It’s three o’clock in the morning right now, Vegeta!” she yawned loudly, “I’m barely awake.”

“Ha!” he gave a mischievous laugh, “Now you know how I felt every time you woke me from hypersleep!”

“Would you get to the point?” she whined.

“I’m here on Namek, headed to the first village. So far there’s no sign of any patrolmen.”

“That’s good. Remember what we discussed. If you get the women on your side, they’ll convince the men. Try to work with the Namekians, don’t threaten them.”

“I know,” Vegeta rolled his eyes. To be sure, she had a lot more experience in gathering dragon balls from random civilians, but he wasn’t good at negotiating. She had coached him through several scenarios on the way to the planet, but now that he was here, he wasn’t sure if he was capable of patience if the locals wouldn’t cooperate.

“If you explain your cause, surely they’ll understand,” Bulma insisted.

“You are far too trusting,” he muttered.

“I have good instincts! That’s how I knew you were a good person.”

“I disagree.”

“That I have good instincts? Or that you’re a good person?”

“Both.”

“Vegeta… don’t hurt anyone.”

He growled.

“VEGETA.”

“Fine. I won’t kill anyone unless they attack me first.”

“But don’t go provoking-”

“Comin’ in for a landing. Gotta go.”

He turned off his com and landed in a crouch in the center of a village. Smaller Namekians ran in terror, larger ones approached him with suspicion. He was familiar enough with zombie behavior, and no one here was acting dead.

Vegeta observed the domed shelters, the small garden of saplings, the primitive vests, scarfs and loose pants. While it seemed there were children, there were no females that he could spy. There went Bulma’s suggestion of appealing to women since she assumed they would be more reasonable.

“What brings you here, stranger?” a bulky, tall Namekian crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin in challenge. Vegeta slowly moved his hand to his scouter and took a quick scan of the crowd. No one here was stronger than himself.

“I am Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans,” Vegeta announced with an authoritative air, “And I require your assistance.”

“We are a peaceful people,” an older, short and stout Namekian stepped forward tentatively, “We don’t mind helping, but we don’t have much to offer.”

“I’m looking for dragon balls.”

All the inhabitants of the village seemed to freeze, all the background murmuring silenced. The breeze tousled Vegeta’s hair as he waited for a response. His brow furrowed when he saw their hesitation.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I need to make a wish, then I’ll be on my way. I have no intention of hurting you, but I do have a mission to complete. The guardian of a planet called Earth was lost, and I intend to wish him back. He was one of your people.”

Bulma and Vegeta had hoped that telling the Namekians he was planning on saving one of their own would encourage them to help. Instead, looks of confusion passed between the villagers.

Vegeta continued, “Surely, you can allow me the use of your dragon, so I can mend this tragedy.”

“My apologies, this has never happened before,” the old Namekian stepped forward, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Moori. I’m the elder of this village. But if you want access to sacred magic, you should speak your case to the Grand Elder Guru. He is the wisest of our people."

“You want to take him to Guru?” The tall Namekian questioned the elder, who gave him a nod of reassurance. There were hushed whispers among the locals. Vegeta could tell from the murmurs that Guru was highly regarded. They were all concerned for the Grand Elder’s wellbeing if the prince was brought to face him.

The Saiyan warrior eyed the inhabitants. It crossed his mind for a second that he could kill them all and search the buildings easily enough, but he had not only promised Bulma he would avoid combat, he had also promised himself that he would do better. That he wouldn’t revert to the ways of his past.

With a glance at one of the trembling children, the prince sighed.

“Fine, slug-man. Take me to your leader,” Vegeta rolled his eyes, “Hard to believe even a planet as primitive as yours has bureaucratic red tape.”

Moori gave the tall muscular Namekian a knowing look, then flew off toward the horizon. Vegeta had no choice but to follow.

When the two finally landed outside a strange horned structure on top of a tall rock spire, the young warrior standing guard outside examined the Saiyan sternly. This Namekian was tall, but thin like he was still growing and hadn’t finished filling in his frame. There was no way this was the elder of which Moori had spoken so reverently.

Vegeta could observe the young man’s discomfort by his stance. He wasn’t in a full crouch, but his feet were appropriately staggered, and his hands were in fists at his hips.

“I have a visitor named Prince Vegeta here to see Guru,” Moori explained, “There’s a situation he needs to discuss with him.”

The guard remained in the way, “He doesn’t appear peaceful. He wears battle armor.”

“Let him in, Nail!” A deep elderly voice boomed from instead the structure.

Despite Nail’s concern, he obeyed and stepped aside. Vegeta gave the guard an equally hard scowl as he entered the shelter with Moori. Ahead of them, seated on a throne-like chair, was a large rotund man covered in wrinkles. Above the massive Namekian’s head was a dragon ball resting on the back of the stone throne. It fit Bulma’s description perfectly, with a single red star that seemed to float inside the golden sphere.

“Welcome, Saiyan.”

Vegeta frowned at the large man, who wouldn’t even open his eyes. “You know what I am?”

“I am old enough to know much more of the universe than my children,” Guru coughed, and caught his breath, “Why have you come?”

“I need to gather the dragon balls on this planet so I can restore the guardian of Earth. He was one of your people. A Namekian.”

“Really? Is that so?”

“Do you know of whom he speaks?” Moori asked politely, “I couldn’t make sense of it. I’ve never known anyone to leave our planet.”

“A calamity nearly destroyed Namek. One of my people sent his child away as the disaster struck, hoping to save him from the wrath of nature. He was right to do so. Everyone died but me. I alone had to repopulate this world.”

The prince frowned at this revelation. No wonder everyone revered this old man. He had fathered them.

“So that child made it after all,” a small smile tugged at the elder’s wide mouth, “And he became a guardian. What was his name?”

“Who, Kami?” Vegeta asked.

Guru wheezed out a strained laugh, “Kami. His name meant ‘god’. A bit pretentious.”

Vegeta folded his arms over his chest, “Can you help me or not?”

Guru rubbed his belly and groaned. “You want a guardian to restore Earth’s dragon, is that right?”

Vegeta gave him a firm nod.

“Step back then,” Guru cleared his throat and straightened in his throne. His large oversized gut heaved. Given the how the old man’s mouth opened wide, Vegeta jumped back, thinking he was about to get hit with vomit. Something did come out of the old man’s gullet, but it wasn’t what the Saiyan was expecting. A large egg was expelled across the room and Nail stepped up and caught it, his arms covered in green slimy mucus.

Vegeta pressed a fist to his mouth, fighting back a gag.

With a cough, Guru slouched back in his chair, “I would recruit one of the village leaders to accompany you back to Earth to replace your lost guardian, but I can guarantee none of them would desire to leave their home,” he gestured toward the egg in Nail’s arms, “However, this exceptionally gifted little one should fill the role. He’ll be the same kind of Namekian as myself, capable of creating a dragon.”

Vegeta glanced at the egg in disbelief, then glared at the old coot, “I want Kami back, not an infant to replace him!”

As if he couldn’t hear Vegeta’s complaint, Guru announced, “We’ll call him Dende.” Then he motioned for Nail to give the egg over to Vegeta, who lifted a hand up in refusal.

“This isn’t why I came here!”

“But I’ve imbued my most important memories into this child. Dende will have all the necessary wisdom. When he comes of age, he’ll be a fine guardian. He’ll know how to heal, how to make a dragon, and he’s young, so he’ll last longer than whatever decrepit old man you want to dig up.”

Moori, Nail and Vegeta gave Guru a questioning look.

“Yes, I know I’m not a sapling myself,” he coughed, “but that’s why I’m already preparing my people for my death. I have plenty of elders among the villages, each of them capable of taking my place. Kami had no one to replace him, which is why you find yourself in this situation. Why would you cling to someone who was born centuries ago. Were you two close?”

“I’m not interested in explaining my connection to the man,” Vegeta retorted sullenly, “And I am also not signing up to be a mother hen and wait for some hatchling to come of age. Time is of the essence. The Earth needs its dragon balls back now.” He didn’t want to admit to being the reason for Kami’s demise, and he wanted the murdered Living brought back sooner rather than later. Why drag out the sorrow of those who still survived?

“Perhaps it would be easier for me to understand if you showed me.”

“Showed you wha-” Vegeta’s last word was cut off as Nail gave him a firm kick in the backside. The Saiyan stumbled forward into Guru’s outstretched hand, which engulfed his forehead.

Memories sprang to life in Vegeta’s mind, faster than he could process them. Guru worked backwards, from the present to the past, speeding through his trip through space and his relationship with Bulma. When the Grand Elder arrived at Vegeta's day of departure from Earth, he noticed the prince admitting to killing Kami’s counterpart.

Guru hummed in thought, “Mmmm. Kami had a counterpart who died? He had split himself? I wonder… ah, he must have purged the evil inside of him in order to become a guardian. Such drastic measures! A great price to pay. A child of the dragon clan would be too strong for even a Saiyan such as yourself to overpower. Tearing himself in two left each version of himself weaker. No wonder Kami’s gone.”

Before Vegeta could request for this mind reading session to be over, Guru pilfered through more memories, curious to learn more about the situation on Earth. The time the Saiyan spent eating people made Guru grunt in disgust, but the Grand Elder didn’t speak a word about it. When he rummaged back far enough to watch Piccolo’s execution, he groaned in understanding. At that point, Guru attempted to go further back into the prince’s past, but Vegeta fought against the mental intrusion, not wanting the elder to see him purging a planet. With a low growl, the Saiyan gritted his teeth and tried to pull himself away. It wasn’t that Guru’s hand held a particularly strong grip, but the telepathic connection made it almost impossible to physically move. Thankfully, Vegeta’s resistance worked, because Guru gave up and mentally released the Saiyan, who stepped away with balled up fists, scowling.

“I see,” the old man furrowed his brow, “There is more at play here than the loss of a guardian.”

A surly expression was Vegeta’s only answer.

“The woman you call Bulma… it’s interesting that she wants to revive everyone who was murdered after the plague started.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Our dragon is not capable of granting such wishes. We can only revive one person at a time.”

A flash of concern flashed over Vegeta’s face. “You’re saying she won’t be able to make her wish?”

“She has made wishes on Earth before, correct? Perhaps Kami’s dragon is capable of such things. Every dragon is given unique powers and limits from their creators. Although I suspect there is a time constraint in this case.”

“Such as?”

“Perhaps the dead can only be revived if they died in the past year. That is how often the dragon balls can be used.”

“An Earth year?” Vegeta’s voice quieted. The epidemic started about eighteen months ago. Bulma’s wish probably wouldn’t even resurrect Sarah’s parents.

As Vegeta processed this information, Guru cocked his head up, as if something had caught his attention. After several seconds, he tilted his large head down again, his focus returning to the Saiyan warrior. “I’m willing to negotiate.”

Vegeta squinted skeptically, “Negotiate?”

“You may use our dragon balls, and I’ll even try to contact Kami in Other World. I can advise him on how to temporarily boost his dragon’s powers so he can help your woman achieve her goal.”

A faint blush hit the Saiyan’s cheeks when Guru called Bulma his woman. But there was no denying this was a tantalizing offer. At least the old toad was willing to compromise. “What do you want me to do?”

“I sense people coming to my planet. Prove that you have good intentions by protecting my children from them.”

“You can sense people coming?” Vegeta glanced around nervously, “How many?”

“Two.”

“Probably Galactic Patrol. They won’t bother your people. They’re only after me and my comrade. If you would just grant me access to the dragon balls, I could leave and you wouldn’t have to deal with them at all.”

“I highly doubt these are Galactic Patrolmen.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I can sense their evil intentions. These men have hearts filled with malice, not justice.”

“Can you sense how powerful they are?”

“More powerful than you in your current state.”

Another flush of heat filled the prince’s face.

“Then send your man after them,” Vegeta gestured angrily toward Nail, “Let him deal with these intruders.”

“My place is with the Grand Elder!” Nail objected as he shifted the large egg from one arm to another.

“Easy, Nail,” Guru lifted a hand to encourage the young warrior to calm down before he turned his attention back to Vegeta, “This is your chance, Prince Vegeta. Prove yourself and I will give the order for the village elders to gather the dragon balls and summon the dragon on your behalf.”

A growl escaped the Saiyan. “You already said they were more powerful than me. Are you expecting me to die in battle so you don’t have to fulfill your side of the bargain?!”

“If you agree to help us, I can increase your chances of winning.”

“How’s that?” Vegeta snarled warily.

“Do you intend to unlock his hidden potential?” Moori asked, a hint of unease in his expression.

“No. I cannot. But I can help him recover what power he has already lost.”

Vegeta’s brow twitched with intrigue. This old man knew from that brief look into his memories that he used to be a formidable warrior. But how could an old Namekian help him?

“Admit it, Prince Vegeta,” Guru coughed and cleared his throat, “You can’t even use your ki to attack anymore.”

“Do you really think humiliating me will convince me to take your side?”

“You can use ki to fly, sure, but that’s only a manipulation of the energy inside of you. In order to pull energy outside of your body, you need a better sense of your own self, better control. You have to stop fighting within your spirit. Not only that, but you’ve lost access to nearly half your power because your life force is on the verge of splitting. Like Kami and Piccolo.”

Splitting in two? Part of him liked the sound of purging evil Vegeta from his body. But having that version of himself roaming the galaxy without a single moral whim to stop him seemed questionable. What if evil Vegeta stopped by Earth and wreaked havoc there? He’d probably kill Bulma just to bait his other self into a fight.

Vegeta shook his head to clear his thoughts, “What are you going to do, train me? Because I doubt we have time for that.”

“You spent so long viewing the memories of others, that you are viewing your own past in much the same way, as if it belongs to another person. You will not be able to return to your former strength unless you see yourself as you truly are.”

“But I don’t want to be the man I was before.”

“You don’t understand. You ARE that man whether you want to be or not. And this new version of yourself is a part of you as well. They are woven together in the same story. But if you deny what you were, you will only be able to grasp bits of the skills you spent years forging and developing.”

“You’re saying I need to tap into the murderous side of me again?”

“No. Acknowledging the choices you made does not mean you are repeating them. If anything, it will allow you to see what those decisions have wrought and you will be more confident in what you choose to do next.”

Anxiously, Vegeta’s tail curled tighter around his waist. His eyes drifted above Guru’s head, studying the one-star ball. He wanted to take it and run. But what if the old man was right?

Guru leaned his head down and spoke a little softer, “I can help you. But you must stop observing your past from a distance and let yourself feel it.”

After no small amount of hesitation, Vegeta stepped forward with a sigh, begrudgingly ready to surrender. Understanding the root of his problem now, the prince bowed in submission. He closed his eyes and felt a large warm hand on his forehead again.

Vegeta expected Guru to invade his memories like last time, forcing his way through, but he didn’t. Instead, the dark chambers of his mind took shape. The prince found himself standing outside his early childhood home, the Saiyan Royal Palace. Wind whipped around the prominent hilled cliff upon which the structure was built. His body felt heavy and the air that swirled around him was cool and thick, almost like liquid. A waxing gibbous moon was the only source of light.

How did I get here? Vegeta wondered as he glanced around, viewing the dark sea, the pale beaches, and the distant forest. Not a single person or creature populated this space, except him. It was beautiful and desolate.

This is your mindscape, Guru answered telepathically. Go inside the palace. Your memories are there.

Nervous, but intrigued, Vegeta marched through the wide portico, past the tattered red banners that waved between the weathered columns. Entering the building, he crossed the foyer with echoing steps, heading to the lower wing. When he arrived, he found the stone hall was longer than he remembered. The passageway was dim, lit by small torches of all things. With a squint he peered down to the end of this hall, finding the pathway branched in three directions: to the left, to the right, and up a sloped hall which led to the upper wing of the palace. The layout was different than he remembered.

You’ve organized your past in separate sections, Guru explained, Seems you’re very methodical.

So, what would he find here in the first wing? The nearest room didn’t even have a door, but a wide arched entrance. When Vegeta peeked inside, he found the walls lined with bookshelves. A library.

Vegeta glanced at the shelf closest to him, studying a few titles: Reading – Galactic Characters, Reading – Earthling Letters, Advanced Guide to Flying, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Anatomy- Intermediate Level I, Modern PTO Technology. They held knowledge he could pull out as needed. No emotions, just facts and skills.

You’re wasting time. Move on, Guru reminded him.

Vegeta quietly exited the library and stepped back into the hall. “Which way?”

This is your mind. Follow your instincts.

Vegeta took note of the doors in this area of his mind. They were all open and well lit. There was nothing hiding here. Obviously, these were rooms he was comfortable visiting. As he moved down the hall, his boots rhythmically tapping the polished marble floor, the chambers he passed gave way to memories and emotions of his time recovering from death. He spotted his plane, the old couple’s home, Bulma’s lab, her gym. He felt longing, connection, and hope.

He stopped near the end of the hall when he saw Bulma’s bedroom. She was curled up under her cream white covers, asleep.

Strange. This wasn’t a memory.

“Bulma’s here?” Vegeta whispered as he stepped into the shadowed space onto the carpeted floor, careful not to wake her.

That’s not her, that’s your projection. This is what you imagine her to be doing.

That’s right, she said he had woken her earlier, so she should be asleep at her home right now. He noticed the spiral notebook that was open on her nightstand. It was her drawing of him. His sketched eyes were gray, but then he remembered she had updated them to black, and they switched colors right in front of him. Indulging himself for a moment, Vegeta moved his attention back to Bulma, gazing at her peaceful expression and the aqua hair that spilled over the pillow underneath. His hand reached out, fingers hovering over her face, seeking the softness of her cheek.

Make haste, Saiyan. This is not why you’re here.

Feeling a little embarrassed that Guru was aware of his fantasy, Vegeta quickly left the room and jogged along to the hall junction, where he considered his choices. On the left, there was a path that led down cobwebbed stairs into a foggy gray haze. The small torches that lined the stairwell held unnaturally colorless flames. The stench of death wafted up in a cold draft.

On his right, the stairs that curved down were not lit at all. The steps descended into utter darkness.

He chose the forward path, running up the sloped flooring of a narrow corridor that connected to the higher parts of the palace. Through small arched windows, pale moonlight leaked in and reflected all around him. At the end of the corridor, he found a maze of rooms. This area held a variety of wooden doors. Some reinforced with metal bars, some with peepholes, some with windows for easy viewing. Most of them were closed, even locked.

Pushing aside his own apprehension, Vegeta wandered to a nearby room, curious as to why it was securely bolted. He gripped the iron lock that held the bolt in place and crushed it in his hand, letting the broken pieces fall to the floor. Then he pushed back the bolt and pulled the heavy wooden door open. The old hinges creaked in protest at being disturbed. Inside was a well-dressed room with floor-to-ceiling crimson and gold drapes. It screamed royalty. 

“I am with child,” a feminine, but firm voice startled Vegeta. He dared to peek further inside.

A child version of himself stood by a roaring fireplace, his head of spiky black hair far too large for his small frame, like a crown that was too big for him. He already wore a heavy frown and his tiny hands were in fists.

His mother sat on the edge of her crimson covered bed, her sapphire dress flowing out from under a pearl white armor bustier. Her face was proud and sharp with intelligence, her dark mane tamed in a complicated braid adorned with rubies set in gold.

“Come closer,” she patted the spot next to her, but the boy refused to obey. Lifting his chin defiantly, he crossed his little arms over his chest.

“I can hear you from here.” He knew she would touch him. Tousle his hair, pat his cheek, rub his arm. She knew exactly how to calm him, and he wasn’t in the mood to be pacified. “Why would you do this?”

“You dare question your mother, the Queen of all Saiyans?” she cocked her brow up, her dignified tone verging on playfulness. “Why are you angry?”

“Because it’s unnecessary.”

“You’ll have a little brother.”

“I don’t want a brother,” the selfish brat grumbled.

“I didn’t ask if you did. I’m informing you as a courtesy,” his mother’s lips curled up in amusement. She always did that. Found him funny when he was trying to be serious. Adult Vegeta would have found the child’s behavior humorous too if he weren’t feeling such sadness in remembering her.

He moved on, ready to speed up the process, knowing this journey would be easier if he didn’t dwell too long on each moment. As if sensing his permission, the doors no longer needed to be unlocked or even touched to be opened as he walked by each room. The doors swung wide automatically. He glanced at the scenes they housed, letting them sink in, letting the emotions flood into his mind. His brother’s departure and likely death carried guilt from Vegeta’s selfish wish that Tarble had never existed. Losing his mother when he was far too young came with overwhelming sorrow. King Vegeta’s stern lessons and high expectations spurred young Vegeta to pour his focus into training so he could fulfill the dream of being legendary. When his father informed him that he was giving him over to Frieza, the child was left feeling rejected.

The labyrinth ended like a twisted loop, and he found himself back at the beginning, back at his mother’s chambers. But now a little sullen boy stood in the hall, blocking him from the corridor. The fiercely scowling child persona was dressed in his full armored princely regalia, ready to be taken by Frieza.

Adult Vegeta was breathing a little heavy, feeling tightness in his chest, processing the weight of all the loss, grief, anxiety and abandonment he had collected. Even though the boy showed no sign of pain, bitterness or terror, Vegeta knew exactly how broken he was inside.

Hoping to comfort him, Adult Vegeta reached out to lay a hand on the child’s oversized shoulder guard, but the boy shrugged it off.

That’s not how this works, Guru finally spoke in Vegeta’s mind again, You’re still thinking of this as his pain, but he is you. This is your pain.

Adult Vegeta’s hand retracted to his side, and the boy gave him a hard gaze. Understanding passed between them. Then like smoke, the child faded from view as the sense of unity melded the two together. Vegeta could feel it, like a part of himself that was lost had been found. It hurt but it made sense. It gave him clarity.

Excellent progress, Guru’s disembodied voice encouraged him, Now you’re better prepared for what’s to come.

Vegeta ran down the sloped corridor again, passing the moonlit windows and returned to the stairwells. He didn’t need to revisit his life as a zombie. He needed to descend into the darkness to the dungeon where he had locked his old persona away.

Grabbing the nearest torch from the wall, Vegeta walked down the spiral staircase, nearly choking on the dread that threatened to suffocate him. The air was moist and the rock walls were growing a slimy mildew.

When he finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, a long row of locked doors lined the cell block on the right, stretching too far for the end to be seen. The metal doors were heavily armored and most of them were padlocked. Some were cracked open, because he had peeked at them before. For some doors, the rust was so extensive, it seemed Vegeta’s old self had hidden memories here before, many years ago.

Clenching his teeth in determination, Vegeta strode along allowing the doors to open in quick succession. Being a child soldier should have been harrowing, but the little prince didn’t know any better, didn’t know how damaging this was to his soul. As he trained, met his fellow soldiers, and wiped out civilizations, Adult Vegeta relived the thrill of the fights, the agony of injury, the claustrophobic trips to the healing tank, and the pride of his own growing power.

Then one door opened that changed everything. He knew it was coming, but he didn’t expect it so soon, so he wasn’t prepared for it. Adult Vegeta stumbled and fell and dropped his torch on the cold floor, gasping, trying to breathe. His esophagus burned and his head pounded. He peered into the cell, knowing he needed to reintegrate this core event back into his mind.

Covered in smoke, dirt, scrapes and spattered alien blood, his young self quietly sat on a log, eating purple fruit Raditz had gathered. He observed his older comrades discussing the latest mission they had completed. Another Saiyan soldier ran up and announced that Planet Vegeta had been destroyed. The adults were naturally bothered by the news, chattering suspiciously about whether it was truly a meteor or not. The not-so-secretive consensus was that Frieza had done it. They kept glancing across the distance at young Vegeta with concern and pity. The child prince couldn’t stand it, so he buried the intense grief and pain into a charade of apathy. A mask. And the toxic hatred that he had already been nursing in his young heart grew to acrid proportions.

Adult Vegeta sucked in a deep breath, picked up his torch again and stood, trekking further into the darkness.

The chambers that followed were filled with death and destruction. The smoke that spilled out smelled rancid. The screams and explosions echoed down the dark passageway, giving Vegeta an eerie sense of depth. Behind the child’s mask, a simmering rage grew along with his ego and body. The scenes that passed by revealed a stronger and stronger young Vegeta, with limbs stretching, muscles bulging, insults spewing, and animosity building. Meanwhile, his race dwindled, dying out one after another after another. As the legacy of his people was reduced to nothing but smoldering embers, the pride inside of him held on by a fraying thread, refusing to break. The only joy his younger self could find was in killing, in domination. But the pleasure was fleeting because the multitude of his innocent victims were poor substitutes for his true enemy, and his ruthlessness only made him more like the very creature he hated most.

Finally, a huge metal door appeared in the shadows. The end of the dungeon. The final boss. The door’s edges appeared to be welded shut. There was no handle. He had never intended for this prisoner to be released.

There were dents the size of fists in the door, formed from inside the chamber. This savage creature had tried to escape and failed.

With his head craned up, current Vegeta wondered how he would open this enormous barrier.

You must recognize and relinquish your fear, Guru answered the silent question. Because that is what sealed it in the first place.

Right. Vegeta was afraid of losing himself. And now he was worried about losing Bulma in the process.

But knowing his life now, seeing what he had endured, what he had survived, he knew he was strong enough to do this. And he knew he wouldn’t lose her because her influence wouldn’t be so easily erased. She had brought him back from the dead! It was an insult to Bulma to think his past persona could escape the fire she had lit inside of him.

Holding up his torch, his confidence grew and the welded edges cracked, breaking the mental seal.

Sensing his cage had been weakened, something behind the door pounded hard.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The man waiting in the hall stepped aside, right before the door burst out from its frame, revealing the dark persona inside, his foot still in the air mid-kick. His black hair was dusty from battle, one of his shoulder guards was missing - broken during his last purge. Placing his foot back on the ground, the enraged inmate turned his attention to his captor.

“You thought you could lock me away?!” former Vegeta screamed, his voice laced with enough power to shake the very foundations of the planet. Then he lunged with blinding speed, driving a fist to his captor’s face.

The impact sent the current version of Vegeta sprawling on the stone floor, and slamming into the rock wall. The torch fell from his hand. Stars burst at the edges of his vision. Staggering, he climbed to his feet and crouched, ready for battle. That punch had stirred something inside of him. All the memories, the resentment, the wrath, the grief, and the hatred came together, integrating deep into his soul. He let out a shuddering gasp, and a single tear fled down his throbbing cheek as his fingers tightened and curled into a claw like formation.

“How dare you claim to be me! You’re an imposter! A weakling!” The dark persona’s furious expression slowly appeared as he approached the dropped torch. Standing by the small flame, he took a fighting stance of his own.

“You’re the one who’s weak!" the real Vegeta accused, "You’re only fueled by hate, animosity and disdain! You can’t see farther than your own ego!”

“Because that’s all I have left!”

“Not anymore.” The prince steeled himself as his persona lunged forward again, aiming for the gut this time, but new Vegeta caught his fist and crushed the knuckles in his grip. The persona roared ferally and swung his leg at his opponent’s side. The hit was brutal, but the revived man took it with gritted teeth. The persona swung his other fist, but the real prince caught that one too, trapping his attacker. The former persona groaned in pain and frustration as the new Vegeta tightened his hold on the fists in his grip, then threw his head forward in a headbutt, cracking former Vegeta’s nose.

“Gaaah!” The persona hissed as his knuckles remain trapped in a vise-like squeeze. Blood poured from his nostrils. “How?! How are you so strong?!”

“Because I’M YOU!” the current Vegeta yelled bitterly, then his voice lowered into a deep growl, “And I’ve found something truly worth fighting for.”

Together they panted, staring at each other with matching scowls.

Sensing his new self’s resolve and passion, former Vegeta’s nostrils flared and his lips curled up in interest. In unspoken agreement. As his fists were released, the persona turned into mist and disappeared into the darkness.

Guru lifted his hand from the Saiyan’s head, releasing him from his mindscape.

Vegeta fell to his knees and tilted his head up. He gasped, as though his lungs were starved. Seeking a cathartic release, he forced the air from his chest all at once in a roaring scream at the ceiling. The walls vibrated around them. Moori and Nail stiffened with concern, but Guru simply cleared his throat.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” Vegeta sucked in air, trying to recover from re-experiencing the tumultuous life he had lived. Slightly trembling at the fusion of his mind, Vegeta opened his bloodshot eyes wide and climbed back to his feet. He felt raw. Somehow both broken and whole.

“You’ve done it. You can access your former power now. And I tossed in some regenerative energy as well. That should give you a small boost.”

As his chest heaved, Vegeta realized Guru was right. He was incredibly strong, like all the power he had been missing had been returned. And more. He felt about three times stronger now!

“Grand Elder, those new intruders you speak of,” Moori rested his hand on Guru’s arm, “I believe they’ve arrived.”

“Hmmm,” Guru smiled, as if he expected this, as if everything was going according to plan. “I believe it’s time for you to prove yourself, young Saiyan.”

Feeling abundant confidence now, Vegeta gave him a cocky smirk, “Are there any conditions on this battle?”

“Deal with the threat. Don’t let a single one of my children die. Then we will summon the dragon for you.”

“I will hold you to it,” Vegeta narrowed his eyes at the large elder, then with his head held as high as his short stature would allow, he marched out the door.

Chapter Text

With a leap away from Guru’s home, Vegeta went airborne and checked his scouter, tracking the energy signatures. They hadn’t landed yet, as if they were searching for something.

The prince sped along, pushing his limits. Eventually the intruders quit moving, settling near a thin trail of smoke that rose in the distance.

Nappa!

With a frustrated growl, Vegeta reached deeper for more energy, channeling it behind him for more speed. The air around him glowed from the friction and his cheeks felt the burn. His already ripped sleeve, which was cut by Yamcha’s sword, tore off at the shoulder from the extreme air resistance.

Within moments he landed at the small fire Nappa had built by the shore not far from their attack pods. The large man had constructed a small spit with several fish already cooking on it and there were more fish laid out on the grass nearby. However, Nappa was nowhere in sight. But what bothered Vegeta most was the familiar disc shaped ship that had landed about 100 meters away. The ramp opened and out came a pair of faces that he had always loathed.

“It’s Dodoria! And Zarbon!” A man’s voice yelped from behind one of the pods.

“Nappa?!”

The man in question peeked out from behind his small ship.

“Stay there!” Vegeta warned him, holding up his hand. His weakened friend would only get in the way. He walked closer so Nappa wouldn’t try to move from his hiding spot. The prince bit off his glove and pulled the detached sleeve off his arm so it wouldn’t bother him in battle.

“How’d they find us?” Nappa asked, his voice hushed even though Frieza’s henchmen were too far away to hear, “Was it the smoke?”

“Of course not, you idiot,” Vegeta pulled his glove back on, and rolled his shoulders to warm up, “They didn’t track us all the way across the galaxy because you started a fire. They probably tracked our ships.” In hindsight, he realized sending Namek’s coordinates to his pod may have been what got their attention. They must have been monitoring the remaining PTO outposts. “Listen, Nappa. Back on Earth, when I first I kissed Bulma…”

“You kissed her?” Nappa’s eyes grew huge in shock and excitement.

“Yes!” Vegeta’s cheeks turned scarlet, “Shut up, and listen! When I kissed her, her eyes turned gray and she grew extremely tired. It sapped her energy. You understand what I’m saying?”

Nappa craned his neck and watched the oncoming men who were now flying in their direction, “You want me… to kiss them?!”

“No, you imbecile!” Vegeta raked his hand over his face in frustration, “I’m saying if you have to fight, bite them! You can still infect them!”

“I bet they taste bad.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes and huffed, “Just stay down. Don’t attack unless they find you.”

As Zarbon and Dodoria landed in front of Vegeta, Nappa remained hidden behind his attack pod out of sight.

“Hello, Vegeta,” a rich velvet voice called across the short distance.

“Zarbon. Don’t tell me you came all this way to see me. I’m flattered, but you’re not my type. Although, you do have a better boob to waist ratio than Dodoria.”

“Very funny,” Dodoria put his chubby hands on his hips.

“We thought you were dead,” Zarbon’s smile indicated he was unaffected by Vegeta’s provocations.

“Who says I wasn’t?” Vegeta sneered.

“You have two ships here. Which comrade did you bring with you?” Dodoria asked, checking his scouter. Vegeta could see Nappa’s boots from his angle. The large man tucked his knees closer to his chest.

“I no longer have any comrades,” Vegeta lied, “Raditz succumbed to the plague. I brought Nappa here, but when we arrived, he rebelled against my orders, so I killed him.”

Dodoria nodded at Zarbon, confirming there was no sign of Nappa’s energy signature.

“Savage!” Zarbon gave Vegeta a smile that showed he was impressed, “You finally got annoyed enough with that moron to put him down?”

Vegeta flared his nostrils in anger. Only a Saiyan should insult another Saiyan.

“Did you miss the final orders for the Frieza Force? To report in?” Dodoria asked.

Zarbon crossed his arms over his chest. The jewel that hung on his forehead glimmered in the bright sunlight.

Vegeta’s arms and legs twitched, itching for a fight, “I didn’t feel the need. Why? Are you here to enforce the rules of old? Do you honestly think you could replace Frieza?”

Both commanders grinned at each other, as if they shared an inside joke.

“Of course not,” Zarbon explained, “The PTO operates a bit differently now. We’ve down-sized, but we’re still clearing and selling on the black market. Smaller operations make it easier to avoid the Galactic Patrol. We could use a warrior of your caliber.”

“I bet you could. But that’s not going to happen. I’m done following orders.”

“That’s just fine,” Zarbon lowered his arms, “If you don’t comply, we can still use you.”

Vegeta laughed, “How’s that?”

“Release him, Dodoria,” Zarbon smiled.

Dodoria pressed something on his scouter. In the distance, a creature on all fours crawled out of their ship. A thick pink tail whipped around with each stride. Its elongated horned head held a familiar purple armored scalp, although the purple was faded and dull.

“What is that?” Vegeta peered at it in interest.

“That’s Frieza,” Zarbon answered as he and Dodoria rose up in the sky out of reach, “You might not recognize him because he’s stuck in his third form. The doctors thought transforming would help. They were wrong.”

“I thought he was dead,” Vegeta tried to scan Frieza on his scouter. His eyepiece read zero.

“He is very dead,” Dodoria grinned maliciously, “And he’s also very hungry.”

“Wait, don’t tell me… you made Frieza, Lord of the Cold Empire, your own personal attack dog?!” Vegeta laughed. “How do you cage him back up?”

“It took time, but we’ve trained him,” Dodoria glanced over his shoulder at the beast.

“Like an animal,” Vegeta studied Frieza again. He was wandering in their direction now.

“King Cold had him locked away and muzzled when he lost his mind,” Zarbon elaborated, “When he gave the orders to the physicians to put him down, we convinced the medical team that we would take him planet-side and do the deed ourselves.”

“And you absconded with him instead. And let me guess,” Vegeta narrowed his eyes up at the hovering men, “You arranged for King Cold’s arrest.”

“Anonymously, of course,” Zarbon shrugged in false modesty.

“Leaving you in charge of the organization,” Vegeta glanced at zombie Frieza again. He could hear him growling.

“The PTO was already in shambles,” the green skinned warrior expounded, “We lost the Ginyu Force and most of our strongest soldiers from the virus. Many of the consigned members like yourself had deserted. Dodoria and I were willing to pick up the few pieces that remained and keep our most loyal clients satisfied. I must admit, lower overhead costs have been more of a benefit than I could have guessed. Business has been quite lucrative.”

“I see. You’ve come to recruit me, because you’re tired of clearing planets yourself.”

“Oh, Frieza does most of the purging these days. He has quite the appetite. This planet isn’t heavily populated. I imagine it would take him maybe a day to prepare it for sale,” Zarbon yawned as if he was bored. “But with you we could double our clientele. I suspect you could work just as quickly as he does.”

“Just as quickly,” Vegeta snorted, “Don’t insult me. I could clear this planet in minutes.”

“If you do, we can split the profits,” Dodoria offered.

Vegeta stalled, trying to gain control of his ki throughout his body, “Would we split the profits four ways?”

Dodoria chuckled, “Of course not. Frieza doesn’t need a share.”

Vegeta nodded, “Right. What was I thinking? And what happens if I refuse?”

“Frieza would eat you first.”

“Would he now? Maybe I’d like to see him try.”

Bulma had said that Corpses don’t attack those who had recovered. Vegeta suspected it was because they could smell the difference between the Living and those who were once dead. But in this form, Frieza had no nose. Perhaps he would eat anything with a heartbeat.

“Are you sure you won’t join us?” Zarbon crooned, “This is your last chance.”

“As if I’d ever join with you.”

The ugly face of Vegeta’s old master came into better view, close enough for him to see the cloudy gray eyes of a zombie frost demon. Strings of drool dripped off Frieza’s chin. Oh, how far the mighty emperor had fallen.

A smile blossomed on Vegeta’s face and his tail thrashed behind him in excitement. “This is perfect, Zarbon. You have no idea how grand a gift you have given me.”

The green commander frowned, “You can’t be serious.”

“He seems confident,” Dodoria muttered.

Deciding the scouter would be more of hindrance than a help at this point, Vegeta removed it from his face and tossed it aside. Then he crouched in a ready position, his feet properly placed with one foot forward and one hand shaped in a three fingered claw. His tail cinched tight around his waist.

Vegeta remembered how Kakarot had raised his battle power. Starting with a low growl, the Saiyan Prince gradually raised his voice into a roar, and gust of energy released.

All the scouters in the vicinity broke. Startled, Dodoria and Zarbon took off their broken tech and glanced in confusion at each other.

The noise spurred Frieza into a frenzy and he launched into a four-limbed sprint, leaping at his target like a leopard. Vegeta twisted to the side and dodged, using the momentum of the turn to kick the Corpse on the back of the neck. Frieza flipped head over heels a few times, then regained his footing and whipped around, appearing uninjured.

“You’re a sturdy one, aren’t you?” Vegeta frowned. There was no telling how strong Frieza was, but one thing was certain, he shouldn’t be able to fly. Vegeta rose in the air to get out of reach. Frieza jumped the incredible height and snapped his teeth successfully onto Vegeta’s boot.

“Naughty, naughty Frieza!” Vegeta flicked his boot around and tried to fling him off. His bite power was certainly very strong. Vegeta thought his toes might be broken.

Zarbon and Dodoria both laughed as they remained in their spots in midair.

Vegeta sped upward, higher than Frieza’s caretakers. As he flew, he drew his energy out of his fingers. Glancing down, he found a glowing sphere in his palm. A surge of thrill passed through him. He could do this! He could defeat all of them!

He cast the energy at Frieza’s body, but he twisted out of the way, so the energy detonated on the ground below. Zarbon and Dodoria laughed behind the dust that billowed up.

Vegeta smirked. He had created the perfect smoke screen. Giving in to gravity, he fell lower in the sky, kicking his foot to see if he could free himself from the jaw strength of Frieza, but his teeth only dug deeper.

No matter. He’d deal with him in a second. For now… if he aimed just right… lining things up…

With an abrupt stop, Vegeta paused in the air in the perfect position. He moved both of his hands to his left hip and prepped his body to become a cannon. As soon as the breeze gave him the slightest visibility, he made his move.

“Galick Guuuun!” he screamed as he pushed the energy out, hitting two targets: Dodoria and Frieza’s shuttle. The hideous pink commander screamed as he disintegrated in the blast and the spacecraft in the distance blew up.

“What were you thinking?!” Zarbon widened his eyes at the loss of his ship and turned to face Vegeta.

“I’m destroying Frieza’s cage. Seems a shame to treat him so poorly when he was nothing but nice to you. Isn’t that right, Frieza?”

The zombie growled in response, his teeth still clamped on Vegeta’s boot.

Zarbon yelled, throwing his fists down, “You’ll pay for what you’ve done!” Realizing Vegeta must have surpassed the scouter’s highest power limit, Zarbon gritted his teeth to start transforming himself.

Reaching up for Vegeta’s leg, Frieza dug his sharp nails into the Saiyan’s thigh. Hissing, Vegeta released blast after blast in Frieza’s face, but frost demon skin was naturally armored. Frieza wouldn’t let go.

Nappa, who had been watching the battle above him all this time, saw that Vegeta was occupied and knew what Zarbon planned to do. Worried for his prince, he swiftly hopped on top of his attack pod and from there leaped up toward Zarbon from behind, grabbing him by the neck and arm.

“What is this?” Zarbon twisted and turned, trying to shake off the giant that had latched onto him. Nappa opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into Zarbon’s ear.

“GAAAAAH!” Zarbon shouted as his ear got ripped off.

Vegeta glanced at the commotion. Why wasn’t that big bald idiot hiding?!

“Blegh!” Nappa spat out Zarbon’s ear. “Vegeta! He tastes BAD!”

 The handsome green man transformed in his rage. His physique shifted so quickly into a larger, more monstrous form that Nappa lost his grip and fell off Zarbon’s back. Before he dropped out of reach, Zarbon turned around and grabbed Nappa by the throat, then punched straight through his armor into his lower gut.

“NAPPAAAA!” Vegeta screamed as his comrade fell off Zarbon’s fist and plummeted to the ground below.

Frieza pulled himself up onto Vegeta’s body and bit into the Saiyan’s bare arm. Vegeta groaned in pain and tried to shove the demon off. As the Saiyan pushed and pulled, Frieza dug his teeth in tighter and Vegeta’s skin and muscle tore, making it too painful.

Zarbon threw a blast up in his direction and Vegeta pivoted to throw Frieza in the line of fire. The demon’s tail burned away.

“Thanks for the assist!” Vegeta snarled down at Zarbon, who changed tactics and flew up in his direction.

Frieza kept his teeth firmly planted on the Saiyan’s bicep and reached for his face, digging his nails into the skin and leaving three parallel scratches from forehead to cheek. Vegeta grabbed the offending hand and ripped it away, breaking the wrist. Frieza couldn’t feel the pain, and he kept floundering with his other hand, grabbing and pulling at the Saiyan’s hair. Vegeta spoke to the demon through clenched teeth, as blood dripped down into his eye, “Have I ever told you how much I hate you?!”

With incredible speed, Zarbon punched Vegeta in the chin. The prince tumbled in the air with the zombie still attached. Then Zarbon kicked him firmly on the back, sending the tangled Saiyan/zombie mess to the planet’s surface.

Frieza’s teeth finally lost their grip. After summersaulting across the ground, the dead frost demon pulled himself up on all fours, then he fell to the ground, convulsing.

Keeping his weight on his uninjured foot, Vegeta regained his balance and spat out blood. He studied the sky, wondering if Namek had a moon. Then he remembered. He didn’t need a moon!

His thoughts were interrupted by an incoming blast. He barely leaped out of the way, and the explosion knocked him sideways, making him skid across the grass on his back.

Zarbon lowered himself to join his Saiyan opponent, taking a stance in his new bulky, bulbous form.

Determined to keep fighting, Vegeta climbed back to his feet in a crouched position and put his hands out. His sight in one eye was impaired from the bleeding scratches leaking into his vision.

“You’re doing better than I thought, Vegeta,” Zarbon taunted him with his now rough and gravelly voice, “But you will not defeat me. You’ve been bitten. Even if you don’t die from the fight, you will most certainly die from infection. I expect you’ll turn at any moment. And then you can join Frieza in clearing this planet. I’ll be back to retrieve you both when I secure proper transportation.”

“I’m not dying today, Zarbon,” Vegeta announced with renewed vigor, “You know why? Because I’m immune! I’ve already been infected! You think death can defeat me, THE PRINCE OF ALL SAIYANS?!”

In fury, Vegeta launched in flight at the larger fighter, only to be met with a brutal punch to face, kick to the gut, then a double-fisted slam to the spine. Lifting his face from the dirt, and flipping to his back, Vegeta wheezed and coughed up bloody spittle.

“You should have joined me,” Zarbon held a glowing hand in front of Vegeta’s face, then the sphere slowly died before he was able to fire it. The green warrior stared at his hand in confusion, and his irises turned gray.

“Haha,” Vegeta laughed weakly, giving his hideous green opponent a bloody smile, “Feeling tired?”

“What’s happening to me?” Zarbon stared in dismay at his warty hands as they lost their thickness and shrank back into the smoother skinned version of his more handsome form. The green warrior shook and panted, feeling suddenly exhausted.

The sound of footsteps approaching stole their attention. Now walking upright, Frieza strolled up in a disturbingly calm manner, with one of his hands flopping a little more than the other since it was broken at the wrist. Then the demon stopped. He shrank from his third form into his smaller first form, and his eyes were no longer cloudy, but held tiny pinpoints of pupils in the midst of icy gray.

“Frieza! Kill him!” Zarbon pointed at Vegeta, then attempted to fly to get out of the zombie’s path, but all he could manage was a small leap off the ground. When he landed, he stumbled back a few steps. Realizing he couldn’t access his ki, making him grounded, the green warrior’s eyes widened in terror.

Gritting his teeth in pain, Vegeta slowly stood and stumbled away with a limp since his crushed toes were sending waves of stabbing pain up his foot. Once he put space between him and the other two, they stood in a triangular formation.

Surprisingly, Frieza didn’t come for Vegeta. Instead, the demon kept his murderous gaze on Zarbon. Taking advantage of the situation, the Saiyan pulled a hand behind his back and discretely worked on a ki technique he hadn’t used since he was a teenager.

Frieza finally stepped forward, making his decision.

“Easy now!” Zarbon nervously backed away and waved his hands at the former emperor, “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you!”

“You…” Frieza drawled out the word, making it an accusation, “You… kept me…. CAGED!”

“Oh Lord Frieza! You’re… You’re getting better! You can talk again!” Zarbon kept stumbling backwards, “I’m so thrilled for you!”

Vegeta smirked, knowing right now there was one thing Frieza would abhor more than the injured “monkey” standing before him, and that was the face of betrayal. The Saiyan watched in morbid curiosity, wondering if the demon would actually eat his longtime loyal general.

“You wouldn’t eat me? Right?” Zarbon pleaded when the demon growled. He knew he couldn’t outrun Frieza. “I’ve always been loyal to you!”

“I’m not… hungry,” the emperor paused his steps, but his uninjured hand formed a fist and he narrowed his eyes, “But… I want blood.”

“Please! Please understand, Lord Frieza!” the handsome warrior begged, falling to his knees, “We kept you from being destroyed!”

With a blur of movement, the frost demon launched forward and thrust his good hand through Zarbon’s face, killing him instantly.

As the dead commander fell to the ground, his handsome face now a horrific mess, Vegeta held out his hand, palm upturned. A glowing white ball pulsed in his grasp. With a toss, he pushed it up high in the sky, so it would mingle with enough atmosphere before the light reached him.

Time was of the essence now. He assumed Frieza’s condition was improving because he had gotten a taste of Vegeta’s cured blood. It must have given him antibodies. The demon would only get stronger from here.

Frieza turned around and set his sights on Vegeta, “Now you…. look familiar.”

“Excellent. I was worried you might have forgotten me, Lord Frieza.”

Seeing the angry flick of Vegeta’s furry tail, and Frieza’s lips curled in disgust, “Oh. A monkey.”

“Not just any monkey,” Vegeta looked up and let the blutz waves course through him. A throbbing sensation began at the root of his tail. It spread throughout his body like acid, burning his muscles, his skin. The world turned red.

Frieza gazed in horror while the Saiyan grew a snout, sharp teeth, and fur spread across his face. Vegeta’s chest and limbs expanded and stretched into the formidable Oorazu form.

“I am the ALMIGHTY PRINCE VEGETA!” the roar rumbled across the landscape. In pure instinct and rage, Vegeta pounded his chest with both of his fists, and the drumming sound reverberated into every cell of the demon’s body.

Frieza turned on his heel and ran, but Vegeta caught him in mid leap with a grasp of his gloved hand.

“Easy now,” Frieza gasped as the huge fingers squeezed around him, “Vegeta! Wait! We can… come… to an… agreement.”

Vegeta growled and bared his enormous sharp teeth.

“You and I… can be allies!” Frieza struggled against the hold.

“I’m glad you can speak again. That mindless version of you wouldn’t have been as fun to kill.”

Frieza’s face snarled in anger, “Just listen!”

“You brought this on yourself. Everyone hates you. Even your own loyal lap dogs turned you into their own pet when they had the chance.”

Frieza pulled one of his hands free, so Vegeta squeezed tighter, making it almost impossible for the demon to breathe.

“And the hate that you carelessly inspired caused someone to create a disease so powerful that it not only killed you and destroyed your empire, but it ruined the lives of people across this entire galaxy!”

“I’m glad… to have had… such an… impact,” Frieza snarled even as he wheezed, “At least… my name… will be renowned.”

Vegeta roared in fury and bit down on Frieza’s horned head, ripping it from his body with his huge teeth. He spat the skull across the grass and it bounced and rolled until it hit a rock. Frieza’s head blinked in shock. Vegeta crossed the distance and crushed the head with the heel of his boot until he heard a crunch.

Satisfied, he dropped the limp body and tossed a small ball of energy up to destroy the blutz wave ball in the atmosphere. Once it detonated, Vegeta’s body shrank and he stumbled forward. Landing on all fours, he spat some more to get the taste of Frieza out of his mouth, then he allowed himself to roll onto his back. The Great Ape form was draining and left him weakened. But he was alive.

The joy of triumph and the satisfied bloodlust that surged through the victorious prince left his exhausted body filled with bittersweetness. He wondered if he would ever have a reason to kill anyone again. At least this time he had battled people he truly hated. No other fight could have been as fulfilling.

He had done it. He had avenged his people.

But at what cost? Nappa was gone.

“Are you okay?” a voice called out in the distance.

Vegeta indignantly scrambled to his feet.

“I’m fine!” He scowled at Moori, who stood over by their attack pods. Vegeta limped forward, looking around for Nappa. There was a pool of blood where he thought his comrade had fallen, but his body wasn’t there.

“I can help if you need…” Moori began.

“I said I’m fine! I fulfilled my end of the bargain, didn’t I?!” Vegeta barked, “Why aren’t you off gathering MY BLASTED DRAGON BALLS!”

Startled at Vegeta’s enraged shouting, Moori quickly flew off. Then to Vegeta’s shock and surprise, Nappa stood from behind his ship and waved at the Namekian.

“Thanks, green man!” Nappa yelled out before turning his gray eyes to Vegeta.

“Nappa?” How was he still alive? Vegeta was dumbfounded. He limped closer, studying his friend. There was no trace of the wound that should have killed him.

Nappa saw the prince’s shocked expression, “Guru sent him... To watch us. Good thing, huh? ‘Cause I feel better.”

”He healed you?”

“Yeah!”

“Hmm,” Vegeta grunted, feeling relieved and a little out of breath. Too bad Moori couldn’t heal Nappa of the virus too. “You hungry?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Let’s eat something.” He peered at the firepit Nappa had dug out by the shore. During the shockwaves of the fight, the fish and the wood had been blown away into the water.

“But… your arm,” Nappa pointed. Vegeta looked at the bare arm that Frieza had torn into. Blood was pouring down into his glove.

“I’ll clean it up. Get the food going.”

While Nappa left to retrieve more wood, Vegeta dug around in his pod and found the medical supplies that Nappa had scavenged before they ever came to Earth. He cleaned out his bite wound with disinfectant, hissing in pain, and wrapped up his arm with a wide bandage.

After Nappa deposited some more large branches in the fire pit, he dove into the water nearby to catch a couple more fish. Vegeta arranged the wood and started the fire with a small blast of ki, then set up a new spit.

Once Nappa got the new batch of fish cooking, Vegeta studied his reflection in the water. Blood dripped from the huge scratches Frieza had carved. They were deep enough they would most certainly leave a permanent mark. Facial scars were often worn with honor among the mid to low class Saiyans, but not necessarily among the upper elite. Scars meant wounds, and that meant weakness. Still, he had earned this in battle against the enemy of his ancestors. He tried to pride himself in that. Then he imagined what Bulma would say when she saw him again.

“She’s not going to like this,” Vegeta muttered as he scooped up water in his hands and washed the blood off his face.

“Hello?!” a small voice called out. Both Saiyans looked up in the air. A Namekian child waved down at them.

“Hey there!” Nappa waved back, then gestured at the fish, “You want some?” He decided he wasn’t that hungry after all and he would rather give his portion away.

“No thanks,” the child answered, “I only drink water.”

“Suit yourself,” Vegeta turned his attention back to the water and continued washing his face.

“Thank you for keeping my people safe,” the boy spoke as he landed next to Vegeta, “The elders asked me to see if you were ready for us to summon the dragon.”

“I suppose so,” Vegeta wearily stood from his kneeling position, unsure if he had the energy left to fly.

“You can stay here. I will share your words with my elders.”

“I’d prefer to speak to the dragon myself,” Vegeta frowned, not wanting to delegate such an important job.

“Porunga will only grant wishes spoken in Namekian.”

“Seems like a detail that should’ve been mentioned earlier,” Vegeta gave the boy a stern expression, “I’m going to be very upset, little slug, if my wish isn’t communicated properly.”

“I promise I won’t change a thing you say.”

After a moment of thought, Vegeta gave a grunt and a single nod. The boy looked into the distance. Suddenly the sky grew dark, and a huge muscular dragon appeared a few miles away.

“You may begin,” the boy gazed up at the prince.

“Alright. I wish for Piccolo the Namekian to be revived on planet Earth.”

The boy turned to face the dragon.

“Well, what are you waiting for?!” Vegeta motioned for him to get going, “Tell your elders my wish!”

“I already did. With my thoughts.”

“YOUR WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED!” a loud voice vibrated across the distance, making the ground beneath them tremble.

“What’s your next wish?” the boy asked.

“Next wish?” Vegeta gaped at him. He had no idea he would get two wishes. What should he ask for? Bulma was already planning on wishing back the Living who were killed. But she had also considered a wish that would help the injured Corpses who were recovering. “I… I wish for every Living enclave on earth… to have a greenhouse full of mature senzu bean plants.”

The boy cinched his eyes closed and passed along the message telepathically.

“YOUR WISH HAS BEEN GRANTED!” rumbled the dragon across the horizon.

Vegeta couldn’t wait to talk to Bulma again. He only regretted that he wouldn’t see her face when she saw what he was giving her.

“And now for the final wish?”

“I get three wishes?!”

“Yes,” the boy nodded, his face serious. “Please make your decision quickly. Porunga is very patient, but he cannot remain in our dimension too long.”

Vegeta wracked his brain now, trying to figure out what Bulma might want. Then he remembered what Guru had told him, that the dragon follows the rules of their creator, so different dragons have different limits.

“Can Porunga bring back someone who died from infection?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile on Earth, Bulma drank some fresh milk and ate the cheesy quiche her mother had made. Even with limited ingredients of cream, butter, cheese, flour, eggs, and a little sea salt, Panchy could create a masterpiece. The single-serving quiche was still hot because her mom had waited to bake it so it’d be ready when her late-rising workaholic daughter woke up. Every bite scalded the roof of Bulma’s mouth, so she used the milk to soothe the burns, wishing for the days when she had access to coffee.

The sound of a dish crashing to the floor in the kitchen startled Bulma. “You okay, Mom?”

No answer.

“What is it?” Bulma stood from the table and hurried toward the kitchen. Panchy was frozen in place with shards of a broken ceramic plate around her feet while she stared out the window, her face blanched like she had seen a ghost. Her daughter followed her gaze and saw what had caught her attention.

She sprinted to the back door and flung it open. As soon as her feet hit the paved path of the garden, the lavender haired man with a mustache looked her way.

“Daddy!” Bulma ran and buried her face his shoulder, which somehow still smelled like Scratch and cigarettes.

“Hey, Sweetie,” he stroked her hair and hugged her.

“I’m sorry!” Bulma cried, “I’m so, so sorry!”

“None of that, now. You did what you had to do to protect yourself. I’ll always regret that it came to that.”

Bulma raised her head up, tears flowing, “I missed you so much.”

“I know. Is your mother around?” He glanced at the back door, and found Panchy standing there, her fist clutching her chest like she was struggling to breathe. “Oh, Honey!”

“How? How is this possible?!” Panchy whispered as he approached her.

“Someone made a wish to bring me back!” Dr. Briefs grinned as he took his wife in his arms.

Bulma frowned in confusion. Vegeta must have done this. But how? He was supposed to wish back Kami’s counterpart. Had he changed his mind?

She was about to go check on the status of the dragon radar, when Chi-Chi called out from the far end of the garden, where she had been weeding the radishes, “Hey, Bulma?!”

The bluenette jogged over, sniffling and wiping her eyes, “Chi-Chi, you’ll never believe this!”

“What, that a new greenhouse just materialized?” Goku’s wife stood and stretched her aching back as she pointed at the village square, which had been swallowed by a glass dome full of vines.

“Honestly, Vegeta,” Bulma cocked her head to the side, and let out a laugh of confusion and delight, “What is going on?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Goku sensed it immediately, the sudden reemergence of a strong energy off on the edge of the wastelands. He didn’t know who it was, but he had a hunch, since it was similar to a villain he had killed years ago.

But what interested him more was another presence, a more familiar one. It reminded him of being on Kami’s lookout. Although it was faint, it tugged his attention away from where he was flying.

“Uh, Goku?” his best friend called out from behind him in the air, “You passed the farm we were supposed to stop at!”

“I’ve decided not to head to the fields right now. I’m going to stop by Korin’s tower instead. We’ll grab the hay bales on the way back.”

“That’s a good idea, he’ll probably have more beans. I’ll head that way too so I can visit Upa and see if his tribe is willing to trade for venison.”

The two flew onward. When they reached the tower, Krillin descended to the village of natives that guarded it and Goku flew up to the lookout. Landing on the circular platform, he searched for the familiar presence that he detected.

“Kami?” he spoke to the wrinkled green man in the distance, who was bent over a glass case with a clay dragon inside. As Goku jogged forward, Mr. Popo approached him, holding up his hand.

“Just wait, Son Goku. He’s concentrating,” Kami’s companion warned him.

“What’s he doin’?”

“He’s reviving the dragon.”

“Oh! Can I see?” Goku strode past Mr. Popo, but the stocky assistant snatched the Saiyan by the back of his gi and yanked him back.

“I said wait.”

“Sorry,” Goku pouted and watched as Kami chanted in some other language he couldn’t understand. Streams of light burst out of the dragon model and speed across the planet in all directions. Mr. Popo released Goku, letting him approach the guardian.

“That should do it,” Kami stood as straight his bent spine would allow and smiled at his former pupil, “Now your friend, Bulma, can make the wish she’s been planning.”

“What wish is that?” Goku blinked.

“She wants to revive those that were murdered when the virus first came to our planet, about a year and a half ago. I’ve boosted Shenron’s power temporarily so he can grant this wish, but the dragon balls will be inert for eighteen months after as a result.”

“Kami… wishes aside… I’m really happy you’re back. Maybe you can finish my training!”

“What are you wanting to learn that you haven’t already, young man?” Kami grinned at him, patting him kindly on the shoulder. Suddenly, both of them frowned in unison, sensing a menacing presence heading their way.

“I guess I wouldn’t have time for training at the moment anyway,” Goku turned to face the incoming visitor. He shook out his arms, warming them up.

A green-skinned warrior in a turban landed on the lookout and took in the scene. His large white cape flapped behind him in the wind.

“Hello, Piccolo,” Kami greeted him with a grave expression.

“I’m not here for you, old man,” the young Namekian pointed a finger at Goku, “I’m here for him!”

The Saiyan furrowed his brow, feeling the malicious energy that radiated from the stranger.

“I’m familiar with someone named Piccolo,” Goku placed his hands on his hips, “He called himself a King. But you’re not him.”

“I have his memories! And I’m here for vengeance!”

“This is the one I told you about,” Mr. Popo explained in a whisper to Goku, “Kami’s counterpart.”

“I see,” Goku narrowed his eyes. Bulma had told him Vegeta was going to wish this guy back.

Krillin flew up over the edge of the lookout with a handful of beans, “Hey, Goku, I stopped to see Korin and he said he hadn’t seen you, so I got some beans…” as he approached his friend, he saw where Goku was staring and paused, “Hey, is that Kami?”

“That would be me,” Kami raised his cane.

“Nice to meet you,” Krillin turned and gave a nervous wave, but he couldn’t help bringing his attention back to the menacing man at the platform’s edge, “So… who’s that?”

Piccolo fired off a blast of ki at the short man, but Goku yanked Krillin out of the way.

Mr. Popo stepped in front of the Guardian of Earth to protect him, although it was unnecessary. Piccolo knew better than to damage the man whose life was tied to his own.

While Goku was glad Vegeta had succeeded in bringing back Kami, it would seem this wish opened a whole new can of worms. A fight was inevitable, but if Piccolo died, then the earth would lose Kami again, and Bulma wouldn’t be able to make her wish.

Goku sighed. Wasn’t it enough that he had kept this dying world from starving when it was on its last legs? Why was this problem left up to him to solve?

With concern etched in his face, he glanced at Kami, who gave him a nod of confidence. Goku considered all the contributions from his friends, how they worked so hard to protect this world. Krillin was always working and fighting by his side. Yamcha and Yajirobe died in the line of duty. Bulma was helping the Recovering get used to living again. Vegeta had pulled his weight by traveling across the galaxy to restore Earth’s guardian.

There was no question, no doubt left. Hope would not die here. Goku would continue to play his part and deal with this new threat without killing him. Without destroying Kami. He clenched his jaw in determination.

Ready to begin their fight, Piccolo dropped his cape and turban to the tiled flooring. Goku couldn’t help but smirk. This guy was strong. The anticipation of battle stirred his Saiyan blood.

Taking the beans from Krillin, Goku stuffed them into the pouch he kept on his belt.

“Thanks, buddy. This is perfect.” With budding confidence, Goku approached his challenger and faced him. “I’ll fight you. But you need to promise me, you won’t attack anyone else.”

“Works for me,” Piccolo sneered, looking forward to sending his Special Beam Cannon straight into the man’s chest. “You’re the only one I care to destroy. You were my only regret when I was sent to Hell. And I will not waste this opportunity to defeat you!”

“Look, I get it. You just got resurrected and you’re all excited. Let’s go fight it out now, okay? Get the wiggles out.”

“That’s not…!” Piccolo growled at Goku, who flew off and grinned back at him, “Augh! I hate that guy!”

He launched after the Saiyan.

“Uh, Kami?” Krillin asked as he watched the two disappear toward a less populated area, “Is Goku going to be alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” the guardian turned around to casually retreat to his pillared home, “Even if he dies, there’s always Shenron.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

While Nappa was reclining by the fire near Vegeta, who was finishing off their fish, another Namekian visitor appeared. Nail landed near their fire, cradling the large egg in his arm.

“Couldn’t get out of nursemaid duty?” the prince chuckled, popping the last chunk of fish into his mouth.

“Don’t forget to take Dende,” the Namekian warrior handed the egg to the seated Vegeta.

“Hold on, I didn’t agree to-” Vegeta tried to hand it back, but Nail stepped away.

“I don’t think you realize what a gift this is. The Grand Elder is giving you his own son. He prepared him especially for you.”

“You mean for Earth.”

“For Earth, yes, but also for you,” Nail rose back up into the air, “He sensed from the beginning that you needed this child. Do not take his wisdom for granted. It would be disgraceful for you to refuse.”

Disgraceful? Vegeta bristled, offended at the accusation. “You dare to manipulate me, the Prince of all-!”

Nail flew off.

“HEY! How would I even take care of it?!” Vegeta considered chasing the man down, but Guru had made a good point about Kami needing a replacement someday. Huffing in defeat, he set the egg on the ground between him and Nappa.

“What is it?” Nappa reached out and tapped the eggshell with his knuckle curiously.

“Knock it off, Nappa. It’s a baby.”

“What kind?”

“Namekian,” Vegeta sighed, “This is how they procreate here.”

Nappa’s gray eyes widened, “Wait, you mean… while you were gone, you… procreated with them?”

“NO!” Vegeta yelled, his face turning crimson, “It’s not my kid!”

In frustration Vegeta grabbed the egg and stood to limp back toward the pods, carrying Dende on his hip. Something caught his attention, a blur of movement. Then a strange man appeared in front of him, with lavender skin and short grayish blue hair wearing a galactic patrol uniform.

Hell’s bells. Why couldn’t he just get a break?!

The patrolman tapped the com on his ear, “Is this the Saiyan who assaulted you, Jaco?”

“Yes!” a distant shrill voice called out. Vegeta looked up to the top of the nearest plateau and saw a tiny speck of a man. He sighed. Should have killed him after all.

Putting the egg down carefully, Vegeta slightly bent his knees, keeping most of his weight on the toes of his good foot. He pulled energy into his fingertips, preparing himself for a quick fight. “You came at a really bad time.”

The stranger appeared calm without a hint of concern, waiting for Vegeta to make the first move. Vegeta took the bait.

Whipping out his hands, Vegeta showered small ki attacks at the stranger, then launched himself into the blast zone where he expected his foe to be blinded, if not injured, but despite the speed, the man dodged Vegeta’s incoming fist and shot Vegeta in the back of the neck with his gun. A stunning jolt ran through the Saiyan’s body and he fell to the ground unconscious.