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Resolution on a Lonely Planet	By : Ulrike Category: Dragon Ball Z > General Views: 5386 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or the DBZ characters. This is a fanfiction written purely for entertainment. No money was made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Vegeta had only slept for a half hour after their unexpected sexual adventure before suddenly springing upright, his hair tousled, eyes wide, and fingers clutching the sheets. Bulma had managed to doze for a few minutes, her mind rapidly replaying the confrontation with her father over and over again. However, she was very much awake now as the solid body next to her shot from his pillows and remained frozen, as if in shock.
Moving slowly, Bulma peered around the muscled, tan torso of the stricken saiyajin and glanced at his face. The man’s black eyes burned a hole into the opposite wall of her room and an almost haunted shadow darkened his gaze. Bulma had never seen anyone sit so perfectly still before and she wondered, briefly, if she was having some kind of bizarre dream. The saiyajin prince had become a mannequin.
“Vegeta?”
The black-haired alien remained unmoving for a few more seconds before suddenly blinking rapidly as if waking from a dream. His head rolled slowly as he gazed up at the ceiling and then down at the soft bed in which he lay with the blue-haired woman. Peering at Bulma’s concerned face Vegeta seemed confused for a moment before recognition finally clicked within his addled mind.
“How long have I been asleep?” He asked, his voice flat and tired.
“About a half-hour,” Bulma replied. She made sure not mention her father in case the saiyajin had been somewhat lucid during their argument. “I think the use of your powers kind of knocked you out.”
The short warrior let out an arrogant scoff and pulled the covers from his naked body, regaining his strong composure and erecting his stoic barrier once again. Rising from the bed, he gathered his clothing and pulled on his training gear from earlier in the day. Keeping his back to the Capsule Corp. heiress, Vegeta cleared his mind and focused on leaving the room as soon as possible.
He had been having a bad dream right before he awoke, but hell if he could remember it now. Darkness settled within his stomach as he knew it had something to do with his tortures only days earlier, but he could not recall the specifics of the nightmare. A flash of neon-green hair resonated throughout his mind and the sudden echo of a gunshot made him almost flinch. With an annoyed growl he pulled the gray CC gloves onto his hands and strode to the balcony windows, throwing open the vintage frames in a huff.
“I’ll design some new gloves for you…and a new training suit,” Bulma’s voice called to him suddenly.
With his hands on the window sills, the saiyajin’s mouth twisted as the woman offered him things he didn’t even request. Blast her and her fucking kindness. It felt wrong to simply ignore Bulma. It was inappropriate to exit without a word to the person who had not only allowed him into her home, but into her bed…perhaps into her heart?
Nodding curtly, Vegeta gave the woman a sidelong glance, observing the way she sat upright in her bed, clutching a blanket to her naked, pink chest. Being civil was something the brash saiyajin truly had no experience in, and his stomach twisted with the idea of actually having to say the words, “Thank you.”
“I…I would like that,” was all he said before launching himself through her open window.
Smirking, Bulma shook her head and fell back onto her pillows. She understood how difficult it was for the arrogant man to accept help and kindness from others. She wondered if, with the saiyajin’s downright horrid upbringing, he felt more comfortable when people were cruel to him. Perhaps he had only been taught to respond to others through anger or threats because that was all that had been fed to him his entire life. The idea was sad and Bulma became depressed just thinking about it
Glancing at the chrome clock on her wall, the scientist saw that it was already evening. Time had a strange way of working within the past week. It seemed like it had only been a day or two ago that Vegeta had been discovered, nearly a corpse with that monstrous wound marring the entire left side of his skull. However he had been at Capsule Corp. trying to recover from the horrendous nightmare for a little over a week. Yamcha’s explosion had only happened yesterday and everything was wildly out-of-sorts now that she and Vegeta had…slept together.
There was a knock on the door and Bulma’s stomach sank. Dread slowly filled her and she wondered if it was her father coming back for a second round of arguing. Peering around the room, she saw that her robe was tucked in with all the sheets of her queen-sized bed. Pulling on the soft garment again, she crept to the door and hesitated.
“Who is it?”
“Bulma, dear, Yamcha is downstairs and wants to talk,” Panchi’s chirpy voice explained merrily.
Blanching, the blue-haired beauty actually felt her world spin and she sucked in some air. Yamcha…at that very moment? A myriad of paranoid thoughts rushed through Bulma’s head and she felt panic beginning to rise within her as she wondered if he had somehow felt the interaction between her and Vegeta. Or worse….maybe he had come to apologize.
“I’m going to get changed really quick. Tell him I’ll be down in about five minutes.”
Five minutes turned into 15 and Bulma shakily made her way down to the front living room of Capsule Corp.’s main living quarters. The back of a very familiar head was resting against the cushions of their sectional couch and Bulma took a deep breath, practically hyperventilating as she approached her boyfriend’s side.
The scar-faced warrior glanced at the wary woman and he heaved a great sigh; his expression forlorn and eyes shadowed with guilt. Bulma felt her knees tremble at the sight of his complete helplessness and she wanted to flee the entire situation and never look back. Peering into the kitchen, she saw her mother studiously cleaning and knew right away that the woman was trying her best to eavesdrop without looking suspicious. A tired smile graced Bulma’s lips and she suggested that she and the broken man converse in the enclosed sun-room where she had left Puar hours earlier.
Complying immediately, Yamcha followed his accommodating girlfriend and trudged behind her like a small child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was relieved to have some privacy with her as he needed to clear the air and speak openly.
When they reached the cute, secluded room, Bulma glanced around as if looking for something, her eyes lingering on a little basket full of blankets. When she appeared satisfied, she motioned to the small tea-table in the center of the sun-room and together they sat, a seemingly perfect couple. It was silent for a few minutes before Yamcha opened his mouth to speak.
“I can’t do this to you anymore.”
Bulma pressed her lips together as she felt the weight of his words. She and Yamcha never had a relationship that was considered incredibly deep or emotional. They had always been young, dumb kids going on incredibly asinine or dangerously stupid adventures together. They had fun. They laughed. They argued over petty things, but there had always been a childish love between them. They were each others’ first loves and had grown up together, but Bulma realized at that very moment that there had never been anything deeper than a fun, childhood relationship: Puppy-love, as her mother called it. This entire situation had tested both of them, hurling them into a truly adult issue…and Bulma knew that they had failed the test. Together, they would not be able to hold onto what they once had. Yamcha knew it. He had seen it first, though.
“I can’t ask you to sit by patiently while I try to overcome this and endanger you and everyone around us,” he continued.
Bulma looked at him—truly looked at him. He appeared healthier than he had the day before. Dark, bruised circles still hung underneath his eyes, but he had shaved his chin and styled his hair. Bulma could sense that he was not under the influence of alcohol or any drugs and he seemed to be in the right state of mind. But his body language…his voice. He was so beaten down and Bulma wanted to do something, anything, to pick him up again.
“You don’t have to be alone on this,” Bulma said softly. “You have so many wonderful friends. You have…me.” But even saying the words made her choke, as she realized they were a lie. Yamcha did not have her anymore. How could she say that when she had Vegeta’s scent all over her?
Yamcha nodded and forced his hand across the table. Bulma grasped it and they smiled painfully, trying to hold back tears as they knew their relationship was coming to a final close.
“I know,” Yamcha rasped. “I just feel so filthy inside. I…I want to hurt. I want to hurt as badly as Vegeta had been hurt by those four guys…by me.” He shook his head as droplets rimmed his lower eyelids. “I cannot expect you to stand by my side and give me your kindness and love when I don’t deserve it.”
Bulma’s lips pressed together tightly and she lowered her head, feeling her heart rip in half. His words were so open and honest. Yamcha still trusted her and cared for her deeply while she had just…tossed him aside for an exciting romp in the bed-sheets with the saiyajin prince. It wasn’t fair that he saw her in a positive light. Here he was thinking of himself as some dirty, evil monster, while she and Vegeta were clearly moving on, leaving him to stew in his remorse and regret. Guilt crushed itself upon her chest and Bulma squeezed his hand harder as a shuddering breath escaped her.
“I slept with Vegeta.”
The silence that followed was deafening. The birds outside had even shut-up and the buzzing quiet of the room made Bulma’s heartbeat slam in her ears. The large hand around hers trembled and released, then drew back slowly as if her fingers had grown horrid, gray claws. Feeling a tear finally fall, Bulma forced her watery, blue eyes to Yamcha’s shocked face. His black irises glistened brightly, but no tears fell from the man’s eyes. In fact, his expression seemed to soften, leaving only his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“I’m so sorry, Yamcha,” Bulma stammered. “It wasn’t on purpose—it just happened. Vegeta’s powers came back and he came to my room to show me and he was so happy…so alive. I…it just happened and I was swept up in the moment. Oh Kami…”
Tears poured down her face as guilt and shame swallowed her alive. She wanted to hurl open the sun-room’s doors and leap off the balcony. She had never done something so deceitful or traitorous to anyone in all her life. And now here she was, destroying her suffering boyfriend even more.
“His powers came back?” His soft voice asked.
Catching her breath, Bulma’s sobs quieted and she lifted puffy eyes to Yamcha’s curious face. Out of all the questions or statements Bulma was expecting, this was not one of them.
“Y-yes,” she sniffled. “Vegeta is back to full power. All he wants to focus on is his training for the androids.”
Yamcha leaned back in his chair, his eyes brightening and mouth cracking into an awestruck smile. Bulma blinked in confusion and dabbed her eyes and nose with a napkin.
“Didn’t you hear me, Yamcha? I cheated on you. I slept with—“
“Yeah. I’m a little angry…but somehow…it feels right.” He laughed. “Did it bring him happiness? I mean, when all was said and done between you two, did he seem…better?”
“Yes,” Bulma murmured, completely shocked by the warrior’s lack of fury and betrayal. “Yamcha. None of this was out of revenge. I never wanted to hurt you and Vegeta didn’t…he even asked if I wanted to go through with it, knowing that you and I were still together.”
“No, I know,” Yamcha replied, his voice so calm and even. “But, if Vegeta has found his path of healing through you, then that’s all I need to hear. This…this happened for a reason. Things will be ok now.”
“You didn’t deserve this,” Bulma said sternly. “You should feel betrayed—hurt. I’m a terrible person.”
Yamcha shook his head again. He truly looked healthier suddenly. “I’ve been…on a trip on and off over the past few days. I thought I had found a way to set things right, but it looks like it won’t be necessary.” Bulma opened her mouth to question his words, but he continued. “I do deserve this and now I feel quite a bit better. Thank you, Bulma.”
The beauty’s lip quivered at his honest words and a fresh wave of tears fell. He reached his hand out again and placed his fingers delicately over her quivering knuckles. They sat in silence for several minutes, just enjoying the last remnants of their crumbling relationship. Bulma knew that it wasn’t right or healthy that Yamcha accepted this so willingly. Her deceit should have destroyed him, but instead he felt grateful for the “punishment.” Through his pain and sickening guilt, all Yamcha wanted was happiness for Vegeta; some form of closure. And Bulma had supplied it without meaning to. She had wanted to fix the situation…she never thought it would be this way.
“I do love you, Yamcha,” she whispered.
“I’ll always love you, too, Bulma. But this feels right. This had to happen.”
But even as she shook her head in disagreement, Yamcha chuckled gently and stood from his chair. Bulma kept her eyes lowered in shame as her boyfriend of nearly 13 years kissed her forehead, patted her shoulder, and exited the room.
…………………………….
Vegeta had only visited the Capsule Corporation science labs a handful of times, but this was the first instance where he actually felt uneasy and out of place in the crazy environment. As he approached the swinging, gray doors of the huge arena, his heart pounded loudly in his chest and he actually felt himself sweating with anxiety.
After the blissful experience with Bulma, Vegeta’s first destination was, of course, the gravity simulator within the spherical spaceship parked on the lawn. He had just received his powers again and was eager to test them out at full capacity. However, something else nagged at the back of his mind and he felt the familiar darkness of his wicked days under Frieza resurface with ferocious vengeance.
The calm environment of Earth had soothed his usually erratic, overactive brain and the saiyajin found he had no urge to kill or hurt anyone (without a reasonable cause, of course). His new goal in life had changed from overthrowing a cruel, torturous tyrant to achieving super-saiyajin status and killing androids (then Kakarot later). However, the calmness had been horribly disturbed a week ago and Vegeta’s driving desire for revenge and domination struck him as hard as his powers had only hours earlier.
He was in control, powerful, and angry. Kakarot and friends had defeated him during his first visit to Earth, thwarting his plans to wish for immortality. Kakarot then stole his one goal in life by becoming the Legendary and defeating Frieza. No one was going to take away his right to revenge against the humans who had so terribly shamed and degraded him. The saiyajin prince was no weakling and he would not allow the monsters who had tortured him to continue living.
The saiyajin prince was certain that Bulma or her father would have assisted him in finding the names of the men who had captured him, but he refused to ask for their help. This was his mission, and his alone. Vegeta figured that a good starting point would be in the very labs where Skip had been employed.
“He was working right under my nose the entire time and I didn’t even realize what a fucking danger he was,” Vegeta hissed to himself as he pushed open the doors and entered the vast gymnasium of science.
Men and women in lab coats scurried like mice on the main floor, their dress shoes clacking as they rushed from table to table with Bunsen burners, test tubes, and arm-loads of metal and wires. It was a zoo of human activity that made Vegeta want to slowly saunter back into the dim hallway and disappear. But he was on a mission and no earthling was going to frighten him off.
Having been in the lab yesterday, the prince eyed Bulma’s sectioned-off office, seeing that a group of contractors were re-installing the broken glass windows that had been shattered by Yamcha’s powers. Vegeta’s black eyes scanned the area and he soon became overwhelmed by the size and dimensions of the workplace; some sections full of cubicles while other parts were lined with metal tables covered in chemicals and glasses. In the distance, machinery could be heard and Vegeta peered over to see people in hardhats cutting through metal and grinding pieces of invention together.
“Can I help you, Sir?” asked a tall man with wavy, blond hair. Vegeta glanced at the lanky person and then snapped his attention back to the madhouse before him.
“There is a scientist who works here.” He hesitated, finding it hard to even say the man’s cursed name. “Skip.”
The blond-haired, brown-eyed man before him blinked in surprise and nodded seriously. “Skip Sato-Jenkins, yes. He’s been missing for about a week. Do you know him?”
Anger began to build within Vegeta’s small frame and he crossed his arms tightly, glaring forward as the mousy, little bastard’s face floated into his vision. Feeling his energy beginning to raise on its own, the prince clamped down on the fury flowing through him and clenched his teeth.
“His desk. Where was he situated?”
The tall scientist blinked again at the curt, obviously cranky man and pointed to an immaculate, wooden desk settled just behind the science tables. Vegeta eyed the desolate area but made no forward movement. His stomach squirmed with a swirl of different emotions and he found it hard to focus on the task at hand. The mere thought of approaching anything that belonged to the awful creature who had orchestrated his tortures made the saiyajin feel dizzy and shaken.
“Do you see it, Sir?”
Vegeta gave one sharp nod and pried his feet from the linoleum ground. Walking away from the puzzled human, the saiyajin prince focused only on the shiny desk, his mouth becoming dry as he confronted the memory of Skip and the insane methods he had used to destroy him. Reaching the lonely workspace, Vegeta circled the squashy office chair and ran a gloved finger along the glossy wood of the desk. His black eyes lingered on the high-tech computer, knowing that it was the key to his questions.
Vegeta glanced around the busy lab, seeing that no one had particularly noticed his presence. The man who had greeted him at the door, however, eyed him momentarily before turning away, disappearing down a narrow hallway in his haste. Feeling his stomach clench, a wave of paranoid panic washed over the saiyajin and he wondered if the man was somehow in cahoots with Skip. In fact…were all the scientists at Capsule Corp. in one like-minded union? Had he walked into an obvious trap just as he had a week earlier in the woods?
Swallowing the unfamiliar taste of fear, Vegeta slowly sat in the gray rolling-chair and hunkered down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. But he was unnerved. The prince had never dealt with such uncontrollable paranoia before and he found he could not ignore the waves of anxiety rolling over him. Suddenly everyone in the vicinity felt like an enemy and he even readied himself for an attack or a flying dart at any second.
However, the ambitious scientists continued their flurry of movements, the inventions and chemicals within the lab far more critical than Vegeta’s presence. Besides his tall hair and lack of a lab coat, the saiyajin was definitely not the strangest phenomenon in the vicinity. One scientist rushed past him screaming with annoyance as she chased a herd of fuzzy creatures across the floor. Vegeta powered-up the sleek computer at Skip’s desk and waited. His fingers tapped anxiously on the hard wood of the desk and he slowly realized that he was biting the insides of his lips in agitation. The surly prince really did not want to face the nightmare that had occurred only days ago, but the hideous, dark thirst for revenge lurked silently within him and he knew he had to act before his fury unleashed itself without his control. It had been quite a while since the prince lost power over the horrid demons that caused his blind rages, and his scowl deepened at the thought of returning to the vile, animalistic creature he had been while serving Frieza.
His experience with Bulma, though brief, had been amazing and Vegeta slowly wondered if he could actually become…content with life. One sexual spree in bed could not undo a lifetime of evil, but the prince felt something attempting to calm the hatred and tumultuous loathing creeping in his broken depths. He would use Earth’s primitive Internet to find the locations of Hal and Hikaru, finish the job he so desperately craved, and then return to his goal of reaching the status of super saiyajin. Once he achieved that, he would fight Kakarot on equal ground and this time…he would not lose.
Now all he needed was the password for Skip’s computer. Vegeta’s eyes narrowed in annoyance and he stared at the solid screen requesting a username and code for CC database access. While saiyajins themselves were not technologically advanced, his race did quickly learn how to use the information and sciences that had been handed to them by the Kold Empire. Vegeta’s time in Frieza’s army allowed him to use his saiyajin genetics to memorize codes, blueprints, and engineering transcripts…however he was not certain how to get around the firewalls protecting the Capsule Corp. computer.
The prince searched the drawers of the desk and felt his anger starting to rise again as he was thwarted by a stupid icon barring him from accessing the information he needed. The human had to have written his password somewhere.
“I’m sure if you waited in Ms. Briefs’s office, she would help you find Skip’s login info.”
The irritable prince snapped up from his crouched position in the plush chair and eyed a little red-headed scientist. Her large eyes appeared curious and Vegeta could see that she was not a threat.
“She has a list of all the employees’ usernames and passwords.”
With a huff, Vegeta nodded and stood, brushing past the timid woman without saying a word. Traipsing past the team of workers carefully installing fresh windows into Bulma’s office, the black-haired saiyajin dropped into the blue-haired woman’s chair, surprised that her office seat was not as comfortable as Skip’s had been.
“Fucking little shit,” he hissed under his breath.
Leaning back in the chair for a moment, he gazed around the square office, observing how unbelievably disorganized it was. Papers were strewn across the desk and all over the floor, boxes lay half-opened in a cluttered mountain in one corner, and a little trashcan by the desk was almost overflowing. Vegeta shook his head in disgust and sighed.
He was not going to wait for Bulma and he sure as hell was not going to ask anyone for help. On this planet especially, with the bunch of do-gooders the woman surrounded herself with, Vegeta would not let anyone know that he was on the hunt for human prey. Had he his powers and ability to sense ki when he awoke in Skip’s cabin of terrors, Vegeta would have easily been able to pinpoint Hal and Hikaru’s life energies. As luck would have it, he had been rendered completely helpless when he regained consciousness in their hands and had no idea how dark their own living ki had felt.
A wave of shame swept through him and he stood, pacing the office as he cleared his mind of the dark thoughts that were slowly creeping into his head again. The female scientist said that Bulma had a recording of everyone’s computer codes. He would focus on that.
Knocking papers from the shelves of Bulma’s enclosed space, Vegeta paid no mind to the mess he was making. It was already a pigsty. His searching hands lifted up printed documents, his eyes quickly scanning lists for employee names. He moved to a filing cabinet and carelessly sifted through the folders, his fingers gliding past papers with impressive speed. A little, leather-bound booklet kept getting in his way and he tossed it onto Bulma’s desk, his attention drawn back to the thousands of documents all over the floor and in the shelves.
After several minutes of searching, he slammed a cabinet drawer closed with a livid curse. The nearby workers flinched in surprise before moving away from the fuming saiyajin. Vegeta’s anger radiated from his small frame in waves and his teeth clenched as he moved toward the office chair again, flopping into it in defeat. Pressing his fingers against his temple, the saiyajin rubbed his skull as a headache slowly began to form. His dark eyes stared into the ground littered with papers and he ground his teeth angrily as he tried to think of another plan.
Something black came into view and Vegeta remained unmoving as a tiny cat sauntered into the office. His eyebrow quirked as the bright-eyed creature swayed almost drunkenly, its hind-end rubbing against his ankle with affection. Many earthlings believed that black cats brought bad luck. A ghost of a smile graced Vegeta’s tired face and he tilted his head to observe the loving creature’s actions. He couldn’t imagine the defenseless critter carrying such a hapless omen on its back, but the prince also knew that if something bad were to happen, it would find him first. The little cat certainly looked familiar, though.
“Vegeta?”
Snapping out of his wandering thoughts, the flame-haired saiyajin looked up to see Dr. Briefs standing in the doorway with the tall, blond scientist behind him.
“Hans told me that you were here looking for something.” The doctor’s pale, blue eyes dropped to the little, black book on Bulma’s desk and then quickly rose to meet Vegeta’s cutting gaze. “Did—what did you need help with?”
Vegeta watched as the old man’s pet leapt nimbly from the cluttered floor and landed swiftly on his shoulder where it clung to the threads of his lab coat without any issues. The prince did not want to deal with the woman’s father, but he knew the intelligent scientist would not leave without a solid answer.
“I merely wish to get onto a computer.”
Dr. Briefs and Hans blinked in surprise and the periwinkle-haired man quickly fished around in his pocket for a cigarette.
“The computers in the home also have Internet.”
The saiyajin felt his cheeks redden as he never considered that option. Vegeta figured that the web access within the science labs of Capsule Corporation would have had a better connection and a vast amount of information from the database. In fact, the more he thought about it, Hal and Hikaru’s addresses or phone numbers would not have even been in the company database—only Skip’s. Vegeta felt stupid, which meant his anger was reignited, as well. Thumbing the worn pages of the tiny journal on Bulma’s desk, the saiyajin prince acted unruffled.
“Old man, I am simply requesting a password to Skip (what was the man’s last name?) Sato-Jenkins’s computer.” Vegeta’s black eyes glared at the papers on Bulma’s desk, knowing that his words carried a lot of weight; words that Dr. Briefs would clearly understand. As he peered up at the flustered scientist, Vegeta couldn’t help but notice how closely the human observed his gloved hand that carelessly shuffled the pages of the black booklet.
Puffing on his cigarette, Dr. Briefs nodded to Hans, directing him to go back into the fray of scientists in the lab. Taking a few steps forward, the little man pushed his hands into his pockets and gave the saiyajin a stern look. Vegeta could see that he was trembling slightly.
“Vegeta.” The usually relaxed and innocuous man seemed to swell in height suddenly as he approached the grand desk. The black-haired saiyajin kept his sharp eyes glued to the elder’s face. “What are your intentions here? What do want with Capsule Corporation and my family?”
Blinking in shock, the mercurial warrior hadn’t expected such questions. Dr. Briefs was angry. But more-so, he was accusing. Besides his first couple days of threats and rage after he had been “rescued,” Vegeta hadn’t been a danger to the man’s family at all. At least, he didn’t think he had caused any problems.
“I haven’t a clue as to what you are implying,” Vegeta growled, “but I just want one thing: access to Skip Sato-Jenkins’s computer. Give me his username and password.”
“So you can go find the men who hurt you? Then what? You go after poor Yamcha and then Goku!?” The old man bristled with rage. “You’ve already gone after my daughter. What more do you want?”
A choked sound of surprise escaped Vegeta’s mouth and he wondered how the intelligent scientist had discovered his relationship with Bulma, which had only started about an hour ago. Red fury caused the muscled saiyajin to shake uncontrollably and he had the insane urge to rip the man’s head from his shoulders. Who was he to question the actions of the Prince of all Saiyajins? And furthermore, how dare he make assumptions about his plans for the other Earth fighters? The saiyajin had his pride, but he also had honor. He would destroy the ones who deserved their punishment, but he refused to assassinate any of the Earth warriors in an unsuspecting act of cowardice. Hal and Hikaru would be slaughtered like the pigs they were. As for Yamcha…Vegeta hadn’t decided yet, but he would face Kakarot in a battle of true saiyajin warriors.
And Bulma: he would never hurt her.
Vegeta swallowed down his rage as his flipped open the black, leather-bound book under his shaking hand. He refused to make eye contact with the fool hovering over the desk. He was not worth the prince’s time.
“Leave before you get hurt, you idiot,” Vegeta warned, his voice dark and trembling with barely restrained rage. “You don’t know what you’re talking…”
The saiyajin’s voice trailed off as his mind finally made a connection with what he was looking at. Through his building anger, he hadn’t absorbed the information that had been scrawled across the beige pages of the flimsy journal between his fingers. His breath caught in his throat and the suffocating office tilted sickeningly as his black eyes darted from one sketched image to another. Jagged handwriting accompanied the horrid creations within the booklet and the saiyajin felt his stomach lurch in disgust and absolute horror.
“Once IT is subdued, the subjugate-chip will be inserted into the whore anally….”
A remote. A large red button, a dial that read the levels 1-5. Yes…Vegeta knew this device and he understood precisely what the invention could do to a person’s body. The words upon the pages spun through his head and he felt dizzy and nauseated.
“The chip will collect the alien’s energy into one point.
….release the creature’s energy into its own body.
Burn Fuck-toy, burn.”
Someone’s voice rang through his head, but all he heard was Skip’s mocking taunts. Hal’s crowing laughter boomed within his ears and swore he could feel Bruce’s sweaty hands gripping his face and petting his hair as if he were some kind of animal. Vegeta’s mouth had gone dry and it felt as if his stomach was attempting to jump into his throat. The leather book was crumpled in his hand, but Vegeta wasn’t there; he was not in the Capsule Corp. office. He was in a dark basement and his innards were charred and burning in agony. His mouth was filling with blood and his organs were trying to survive wave after wave of enormous, murderous energy…his own energy.
“Vegeta!”
His soulless eyes slowly rolled toward a concerned face. Blue irises, shielded behind thick glasses. A bushy mustache…Vegeta knew this man, yes?
“You should go back into the living quarters and rest.”
An aged hand tugged at the crushed mess of papers in his unyielding fist, bringing Vegeta quickly back to the current situation. He stood, knocking the rolling chair backwards into the wall with a loud crash.
“You knew,” the saiyajin hissed, his voice cracking with manic tension. “You knew Skip had invented such a device and you kept it secret? You even had the designs?”
Through his terror, Dr. Briefs saw the door open to his solution. He had to be careful. One wrong word or misstep and he would land his daughter in trouble. Bright light shined into his mind’s eye and the intelligent brain raced through his options, carefully planning how to speak to the crazed alien. The harried man would finally be rid of the warrior’s presence and sever the connection between Vegeta and Bulma. Releasing Skip’s awful book of tortures, Dr. Briefs took a cautious step backward, hoping his defenseless posture would keep the saiyajin at bay.
“I thought it would be wise to redesign the remote that controlled the microchip within you in case your body could not handle your amazing ki when you awoke in such an unwell state,” Dr. Briefs explained, stretching the truth a bit. “You were in such a delicate predicament we couldn’t risk allowing your energy to damage your organs or body any more than it already had.”
Vegeta’s breath wavered as one hand gripped the corner of the desk and the other squeezed the journal. His jaw was clenching painfully, but his eyes were wide and seemingly blind.
“Does this mean the microchip is still inside of me?” Vegeta rasped.
Dr. Briefs nodded, feeling sympathetic for the tortured being, but still fearing for his life. He knew he could not allow the saiyajin to know that it had been Bulma who redesigned the remote control, but he had to let the shocked alien understand that his daughter had known about his trapped powers the entire time. He had to end the strange attraction that had grown between them.
“I was unable to remove the chip before the senzu beans healed you. I…I thought it best to control your powers to allow a better healing process.”
Vegeta let out a sickened laugh and shook his head, before finally snapping his eyes up to the quivering man’s scared face. Darkness settled on the prince’s features and his body hunched in an unsettling fashion.
“No. You wanted to control my power because you feared me.”
Dr. Briefs swallowed and took a step back, wishing he had the remote on him right then. “Of course not, Vegeta. We just wanted to make sure your body was ready for your power to return before we fully released it. We didn’t want—“
“We? WE! Who is WE!?”
Dr. Briefs winced and wrapped his arms around himself as the office gave a quaking lurch. His black cat leapt from his shoulder and sprinted from the labs, seeking safety from the wild energy. The construction workers around the windows eyed each other sourly before quickly rushing from the scene.
“Bulma and I. But Bulma only knew about it. She had nothing to do with controlling your powers or creating the new remote.”
Vegeta took a step back as if he had been punched. His knees shook terribly and he lifted a clenched hand to his forehead, pressing his knuckles into his widow’s peak to hide his face. Dr. Briefs heard the saiyajin’s shuddering breath and reached a hand outward in support.
“No one else knew,” he insisted. “And like I said, Bulma was aware that—“
“Why were the designs in her office?” Vegeta’s dead voice hissed. His eyes peered out from under his hand.
“They just ended up in here.”
“LIES!” Vegeta flung his hand forward, cracking the office floor with an earthquake of power. Dr. Briefs was thrown off his feet and hurled out the open door of Bulma’s enclosed space. “She’s as much a scientist as you are—probably with stronger skills! She participated in caging my energy somehow. And even if she didn’t…” he hesitated and the old man sat up painfully, adjusting his glasses just in time to see the saiyajin’s lip quiver with betrayal. “She knew what was happening. You both allowed this horrid microchip to fester within me. You both created a controller based off the designs of a madman who had…had….”
With an agonized scream, Vegeta’s fingers dug into his temples and his energy sparked around him, dancing around his trembling frame as his rage finally exploded. Scientists scattered and tables were incinerated. Glass burst and rained throughout the lab like deadly hail. Nearby inventions twisted and metals crushed in upon themselves as if alive. One scientist grabbed a phone, punching in numbers to some emergency service, but was instantly thrown backwards by a direct shot of energy to his chest. The purple ki burned through the man’s shirt, leaving a bloody mess upon his human skin, but the blast had not been enough to slice directly through him. Still, people screamed in terror as they looked at their fellow scientist who lay unmoving on the floor. Vegeta wasn’t sure if he had killed the man and at the moment, he did not care.
“You traitorous humans,” he growled. “You’re all alike.”
He lifted his palm toward the scampering Capsule Corp. employees, his heart pounding with the desire to annihilate anything that moved. He wanted to sear the skin from the weaklings who cowered before him. He wanted to finally be rid of this planet once and for all. He wanted to burn along with it. Instead…he lowered his hand and stared at Dr. Briefs, who lay trembling on the floor. With a grimace of disgust, the saiyajin tossed the crumpled, ripped journal at the pathetic human, unable to even enjoy the satisfaction of watching the damaged book collide with the petrified man’s skull.
“Create the original remote,” Vegeta’s lifeless voice demanded. “Exactly how Skip had created it.” For everyone else in the vicinity, the disturbed fighter created a furious ball of energy in his hand. “No one moves or you will meet the same fate as your friend there,” he barked, nodding to the bleeding worker on the ground. “Dr. Briefs is just going to create a little toy for me and then I will be on my way. None of you will ever have to see me again.”
Dr. Briefs was on his hands and knees now, attempting to stand on shaking legs. His droopy eyes stared in absolute shock at the saiyajin. “Vegeta, it took Bulma almost 4 hours to create the updated remote. I can’t…”
He trailed off as he realized what he had just said. Vegeta closed his eyes as a defeated smirk appeared on face before retaining his stoic, cold demeanor.
“Just what I thought,” he murmured. “You have a team of some of the smartest scientists in the world around you. I’m sure you can manage to create the remote in only a few minutes.” He stared at the old man with hard eyes. “Do that and you needn’t worry about me anymore.”
“But…why, Vegeta?”
The prince aimed his glowing palm at the trembling fool, but said nothing. His mouth in a firm line and eyes glimmering behind the violet glow of his energy, Vegeta only nodded at the man. With a sickened gulp, Dr. Briefs turned away and motioned for Hans and one other employee to come to his aid. Together the three geniuses went to work, silently piecing together the monstrous device that had brutally tortured Vegeta—a device that had been created right there in the very lab where they stood.
It took 20 minutes for the small, gray remote to be completed. Dr. Briefs turned toward the blank saiyajin, his face pale and ghostly from the stress and horror of what was happening. Vegeta’s dead eyes dropped to the joystick, but he betrayed no signs of fear or unease.
“Set it to the first level,” Vegeta instructed. He had to see if it was true. Was the microchip still within him? And furthermore, he had to make sure that Bulma’s father hadn’t just created some defective decoy. “Click the red button.”
The frail doctor silently mouthed the word ‘no’ and shook his head, his eyes closing as his face turned toward the floor.
“Come now,” Vegeta’s silky voice spat. “You allowed Skip to create such a thing under your very nose. After I was nearly killed by this contraption, you and your daughter felt it necessary to continue using such barbaric means of keeping me caged like a pet monkey. Now you don’t want to see its true potential?”
“Why are you doing this, Vegeta?”
“Click the fucking button or I blast every one of your precious employees. No more Skips to worry about then, eh?”
The jolt of electricity that gripped him suddenly sent the saiyajin crashing to his knees as he felt his energy sucked together into one tight spot within his stomach. The glowing flames that had been in his hand immediately disappeared and it felt as if a white-hot poker had been stabbed through his intestine. It had only been a quick tap from the remote in the old man’s hand, but Vegeta’s haunted memories washed into him in waves. Trembling, he wrapped his arms around himself as he clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the throbbing agony deep within him.
“My dear boy,” Dr. Briefs said softly, “this is not necessary. We can fix this.”
“Your lying bitch of a daughter said the same thing. Humans are not to be trusted.”
Climbing to his feet, the powerful warrior phased-out from the Capsule Corp. workers’ vision and reappeared directly in front of the horrified doctor. Snatching the device from the man’s hand, Vegeta stared coldly into the wet, blue eyes of the seemingly kind-hearted, trusting human. Dr. Briefs remained frozen as the onyx irises scanned his face as if searching for something. With a disgusted snarl, Vegeta turned away.
“I know you have another remote hidden somewhere that can also bind my power, so feel free to use that whenever you want. I’ll be flying high in the sky so a quick plummet to my death would suffice, as well.” The saiyajin stopped his retreating feet and peered over his shoulder. Dr. Briefs had never seen such lost, defeated eyes in his life. “I won’t cause any harm to your planet. It’s about time you earthlings learn that when creatures die…they need to stay dead. I’ll fix one of your mistakes today.”
Dr. Briefs finally felt tears fall as the slouched-alien trudged his way from the broken, damaged labs. The arrogant, proud prince had been defeated by the people he had slowly begun to trust. In that moment, the old man realized how much Bulma had meant to the saiyajin. It seemed that even Vegeta hadn’t been aware of how much he needed a caring touch or a safe space, and now that everything had been ripped from him, he had no idea how to continue forward. The old scientist had pushed his daughter into betraying the broken warrior and they were going to pay dearly for their harmful ways.
“Vegeta, please don’t leave.”
But the prince had already disappeared from the workers’ space, his ears deaf to the pleading gasp of the old man.
*Sorry this chapter took so long. I ghostwrite short stories for publishers, so when I’m commissioned to write, I have to complete my assignments before updating my fanfic. Don’t worry, this story will be completed! Thanks and let me know what you think!
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Resolution on a Lonely Planet