Adult-FanFiction.org : Gundam, Beyblade, DBZ, FMA

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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Warnings: Talk of rape and sexual assault, mention of sex rings/sex trafficking
*Thank you for your reviews and honest feedback!
He threw some punches, flipped over the cracked tiles of the simulator, and dodged a volley of ki-balls, but his heart just wasn’t in it that day. Vegeta landed heavily on the hot floor of the space-ship, his muscles quivering against the strain of 300 x normal gravity. Sweat dripped down his nose and his black eyes stared, unseeing, at the glowing wall before him. The small training robots hovered around him as if to question the pause, the shining light in their centers glaring at him with silent judgment.
It had been three days since he awoke in the infirmary, his memory of the strange week still missing from his thoughts. The arrogant saiyajin thought for sure he would begin to recall what had happened after his apparent coma, but nothing returned to him. Frustrated, he threw himself into his training, but even that had caused more stress for his already addled brain. His body felt weaker, his energy felt shaky, and he could hardly withstand any gravity compression over 300. It was unacceptable that he had become so pathetic after a week of no training.
And on top of his personal weakness, Vegeta was beyond perturbed by how the Briefs family was treating him. Bulma was acting far too kind, her father seemed utterly petrified of him, yet acted unnecessarily nice to him, and Panchi fawned over him more than usual…something Vegeta hadn’t thought possible as the woman was already obsessed with him.
It made him desperate to know how he had behaved when he had supposedly attacked the other warriors of earth. Vegeta remembered Krillin’s vague response in confirming his dangerous actions upon waking in a confused and out-of-control state. The Briefs’s behavior toward him only verified his suspicion that he had done something dreadful…or worse, he had made his horrid past under Frieza known. That must have been why they were being so kind. They pitied him.
Turning off the gravity machine, Vegeta stood at the console for some time, just thinking about what could have occurred during the forgotten fight three days ago against Kakarot and the other warriors of Earth. Vegeta had committed horrendous crimes in his past. The saiyajin prince was known throughout the galaxy for his cruelty and efficient destruction of life. But he wasn’t insane.
Guilt pressed upon his chest as he wondered if he had unintentionally hurt anyone within Capsule Corporation: the people who had openly given him shelter, first aid, and technology to get stronger. He was concerned about their current view on him, but he was even more uneasy about that fact that he was beginning to care.
As much as he hated to admit it, he would not be able to forgive himself if he betrayed the Briefs’s trust, even if he hadn’t “been himself” at the time. And what of Kakarot? That idiot had been by his side when he came to in the infirmary, but he had been awfully serious. In fact, he had appeared angry…though not with Vegeta. The surly prince remembered watching in shock as the other earthlings had hustled the foolish third-class from the hospital room, almost as if they wanted to silence the words that had started pouring from the clown’s mouth. The fact that Kakarot hadn’t returned to speak to him was even stranger, seeing as how the loud-mouthed annoyance found every opportunity to bother him with useless information.
Perhaps their small battle had affected the seemingly childish, open-minded saiyajin, making him disgusted with Vegeta. Not that the prince cared if Kakarot finally lost interest in perpetually bothering him for a spar or a trivial conversation, but Vegeta did care if the third-class warrior discovered personal facts about him and his tormented past. That thought made the short saiyajin’s stomach twist and he grimaced at the thought. Kakarot already knew enough about him after Vegeta shed his disgraceful tears on Namek. What had the prying baka learned during the conflict that had apparently almost killed Vegeta just a few days ago?
Sighing in defeat, Vegeta grabbed the long-sleeved, black shirt he had discarded during his training, and exited the rounded space-ship, shivering as an icy draft swept through the air. The usually warm, sunny climate was getting colder and Vegeta’s already sour mood darkened even more. Throwing open the backdoor to the enormous, domed building, Vegeta made his way to the fridge, intent on emptying its contents. It hadn’t escaped his attention that his muscle mass had decreased during the days he had lied dormant from the severe head-injury he could not remember. At the rate he was going, he would never become a super saiyajin.
Devouring his food with furious fervor, the sulking prince tried to calm himself. Scheduling his upcoming trainings in his head, Vegeta closed his eyes and meditated as he ate, envisioning his workouts and focusing on the areas of his skills that needed the most work. As his mind opened, he felt the tension in his body ease. Attempting to trick his own brain, Vegeta tried to open his thoughts to the days before his accident in the gravity room that caused his memory lapse, but as usual, he was simply carried to a dead-end. He couldn’t even remember entering the ship on the day of his head injury, as if the shock of the brutal disaster had caused him to forget the hours before the incident that had led to his coma.
His senses sparked and Vegeta opened his black eyes as Mrs. Briefs entered the kitchen. She held a watering can and had obviously just finished in the front garden.
“Oh my, Vegeta!” Panchi exclaimed. “You are looking so much healthier these days.”
The black-haired saiyajin simply glowered at her and continued eating. She had meant it as a compliment, but Vegeta only understood it as a comment on his weakness.
“How are you feeling?” she chirped.
Vegeta let out a loud sigh and rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, woman.”
“Head is ok?”
“Yes,” Vegeta hissed.
“And your energy, too? No problems with your stomach either?”
Vegeta’s eyes snapped up and he stared at the woman inquisitively.
“Is there a reason I would be experiencing issues with those specific areas?”
The blonde laughed and waved a hand, dismissing his suspicious words with blissful indifference.
“Don’t you worry, dear! With the way you’re eating, it looks like everything is back to normal.”
Vegeta stood quickly. He had had enough of the woman’s obnoxious babbling. He wanted answers. Bulma’s mother couldn’t care less about the ki of a warrior, so why would she have started interrogating him about it right then? Especially since he was having some difficulties with his energy. The question about his stomach caused the alarms to go off in his head, as well. If he had been in a coma for a week, why would his stomach be one of Panchi’s top concerns?
Leaving his half-eaten food on the table, Vegeta stormed in the direction of Bulma’s small life-energy. Her pathetic, human ki had never really stood out strongly to Vegeta before, but for some reason he found he could immediately identify it. She was in the design sector of the compound: the labs as she and her father put it.
His little run-in with Panchi only proved that something strange had happened when he awoke from his unconsciousness. His ki must have been wild, which would explain the exhaustion he felt whenever he trained. But the question about his stomach?
The dark saiyajin entered the dome that housed all the science experiments, inventions, and products manufactured by the Briefs Empire. His booted feet carried him down the eerily silent hallways and his angry scowl slowly melted into a perplexed expression of surprise as he felt construction workers bustle past him. A dull rumble shook the compound and Vegeta peered around the corner of the hallway, his curved eyes widening as he watched a team of workers welding locks and barriers to the large metal doors that led to the labs. The huge doorway hung open and Vegeta’s jaw dropped as he observed the chaos of contractors rebuilding walls and replacing glass windows that had been shattered. Fixtures hung from the tall ceiling and twisted metal lay scattered across the broken, concrete floor.
He edged a little closer and leaned forward to find Bulma’s office being taped-off as men filled a gargantuan crack right outside its door. There were a few Capsule Corp. scientists continuing their labor, but it seemed that there was not a lot of energy in the labs, besides the remodeling. The prince found himself standing directly outside the thick, metal doors of the vast hangar, his heart slamming in his chest as he recognized the kind of power that could cause such destruction. The burns on the floor and the perfectly cut fissures in the hard concrete were created by the energy of a skilled, powerful warrior.
A construction worker pushed past him, uttering an apology as he hurried into the warzone with slabs of metal hanging over one beefy shoulder. Vegeta watched as the man in the hard, yellow hat approached a blue-haired woman in a lab coat. They held a curt conversation before the worker headed deeper into the labs to fix whatever had been destroyed. Bulma rubbed the center of her forehead in exhaustion for a moment before gazing up, her eyes meeting Vegeta’s.
The prince made to move forward, but Bulma leapt into the air and sprinted to the doorway.
“Wait, wait!” she cried. “It’s not safe to come in.”
She stepped over the workers surrounding the door and tried to usher the flabbergasted saiyajin away, but Vegeta wouldn’t budge. He continued to scan the large arena, his sharp eyes noting every loose wire and contorted, overturned desk in the lab.
“I did this,” he said.
Bulma looked into his shocked face and felt her knees weaken. He looked…guilty.
“Come on,” she urged. “Walk with me.”
She grasped his bare hand and pulled him away from the scene. She was quite surprised that he allowed this action and it worried her even more when he didn’t resist her. She had come to understand Vegeta much more over the past week, but he had no memory of their moments together. To him, she was just the same Bulma she had always been. Yet he was allowing her to touch him, to guide him.
As they walked through the silent hallways of the corporate offices, Bulma released his hand and peered into his face, fascinated by the way his downcast eyes trailed along the linoleum floor under their feet.
“You woke up in the infirmary completely confused,” Bulma lied. “My dad was in the labs and somehow you wandered in, but you truly had no idea what was happening. You hadn’t even received a senzu bean and were up and walking around with severe head trauma. When my dad couldn’t answer your questions…you attacked.”
Bulma looked away, her mouth curling bitterly as she spun the web of lies. Of course, Vegeta really had attacked the Capsule Corp. labs, but it was under completely different circumstances. Without his memory, the prince would put all the blame on himself, when in reality, he had been the one betrayed and controlled by her and Dr. Briefs. She knew that although Vegeta couldn’t stand her or her family, he had no reason to bring them harm. His expression revealed the shame coursing through him.
“But since you had been unconscious for so long, your energy wasn’t as strong as it usually was. The labs only received minimal damage. And Goku showed up in time to put a stop to everything.”
Vegeta turned to her, his dark eyes full of self-loathing and guilt. Bulma wanted to reach out and embrace him, to let him know that everything was ok, but she knew he would find the action uncomfortable.
“That wasn’t minimal damage,” Vegeta snarled. “Not for humans, at least. Was…anybody hurt?”
Not that the prince really cared if some random peon had been injured by his energy, but the fact that he could not remember it made him feel nauseated. To know that he was out-of-control, and not having any recollection of his own actions, sent shivers down Vegeta’s spine.
Bulma hesitated, appearing to be at war with herself. “Yes,” she finally answered. “One man was hurt, but he’s doing fine.”
Vegeta ran a hand across his mouth and then looked away, slowly meandering forward as he turned his back to Bulma.
“And my behavior?” he asked suddenly, spinning around to face the beautiful scientist. “Did I say anything? Did I…did I mention anything from my past? Did I recognize Kakarot or the others when they arrived?”
Bulma held her breath, her mind racing as the questions spun in her head. She didn’t know what to say. There was clear panic on his face and she wondered how long the saiyajin prince had been agonizing over the issue. He had been blaming himself, feeling guilty for things that had been warped and embellished beyond what truly happened.
“You just seemed confused, that’s all,” Bulma said gently.
That answer just wasn’t good enough. “Did something else happen?” Vegeta pushed. “Was there something bizarre about my energy? Had I…did something injure me, like a blow to the stomach?”
“What?”
“Your mother…”
He trailed off and then spun on heel, suddenly angry.
“My mom what?” Bulma demanded.
“Forget it.”
“No.” The woman’s small hands grasped Vegeta’s arm. “Did she say something?”
The flame-haired saiyajin continued glaring forward before slowly turning his fiery gaze on Bulma’s alarmed face.
“She asked me if my energy was doing better,” he muttered. “And then she asked if my stomach was experiencing any problems. Quite random questions.”
Bulma’s expression turned dark and Vegeta could see her bristle with anger.
“During the fight with Goku, you received a hard blow to the stomach. That’s all. And like I said before, your energy was a bit weak from not being used for a week…because of your coma.”
The prince stared at her, searching her face for any signs of betrayal. Bulma was certain that he could see right through her, but he merely growled and pulled his arm from her grasp. She knew he was angry and disturbed that he had attacked Capsule Corp., but Bulma understood that it was his lack of memory that bothered him the most.
“Vegeta, this was my fault,” she blurted. When he stopped and looked over his shoulder, Bulma felt her body stiffen with fear. “If I had updated the training bots, I would have been able to prevent your injury. You were a patient in our infirmary and we neglected you. None of this was your fault.”
The prince was surprised. After the gravity room explosion weeks ago, Bulma had reacted differently, screaming at him from the visual communications link to stop training. “You’re going to end up killing yourself, you freak!!” he remembered her shrieking. Yes, she had watched over him while he had recovered from his injuries, but she made certain to throw a biting comment at him every chance she got.
For some reason, this most recent series of events made her extremely concerned for him. Her compassion was unsettling. Perhaps he had come closer to death than he realized.
Bulma saw that he was at a loss for words and she approached him slowly, her eyes downcast as she drew uncomfortably close to his rigid body. Her arms were crossed, but she pressed into him, her elbows leaning into his arm.
“I don’t want to lose you, you stubborn saiyajin,” she whispered. “This time, it was too close. And it would have been my fault.”
Her arms lowered and she suddenly pressed her forehead into the shocked creature’s iron chest. Tentatively, her hands lifted and she wrapped herself around his waist, breathing in the unique, alien scent that she adored when they had made love to each other.
“Are you sure your boyfriend would allow this?” Vegeta asked, his voice losing its usual arrogance.
Bulma hugged the prince tighter. “We broke up while you…were unconscious.”
The hallway remained silent as Bulma simply held the muscled warrior, her eyes closing as she lost herself in the warmth of his soft, black shirt. And then, very slowly, firm arms wrapped around her weak frame. The two stood together silently, simply sharing the quiet comfort of each other’s touches.
For three days police officers had come and gone, questioning the Capsule Corp. workers who hadn’t already quit their jobs since the attack in the labs. The aftermath had spurred Bulma and Dr. Briefs to have a very tight-lipped meeting with the scientists who had chosen to stay. Many of the employees knew that the black-haired, angry man who had almost decimated the workplace actually resided within the Briefs’s home, so they did listen when Bulma and her father spun an elaborate tale of Vegeta’s addled mind. They told their employees, and the police, that they were housing a person who was suffering from mental trauma. He had somehow sabotaged the experiments and inventions to self-destruct during one of his “episodes.” A lot of apologies and conversations with lawyers seemed to settle the situation surprisingly well, however.
So Bulma’s stomach sank as the sound of footsteps approached her and Vegeta in the quiet hallway outside the labs. An officer in a black uniform strode closer and Bulma released her hold on the distraught prince, praying that the cop wouldn’t start questioning Vegeta, as well.
“Ms. Briefs,” the mustached officer greeted. “How is everything going?”
“Very well.” Bulma glanced at Vegeta and saw the saiyajin staring at the uniformed cop suspiciously. “My father and I have sent our houseguest to a clinic for further help. The labs are being locked-down and fitted with new alarms as we speak.”
The blue-haired scientist saw the spark go off in Vegeta’s head and she winced as the saiyajin’s eyes widened. He realized she was covering for his actions.
“That’s all very fine, Ms. Briefs, however, I have come today with some bad news.”
Bulma’s face paled and her eyebrows drew together. After everything that happened so far, she couldn’t imagine what else had cropped up.
“I would actually like to question you about the disappearance of an employee who used to work here. Skip Sato-Jenkins.”
On instinct, Bulma’s large, blue eyes snapped to Vegeta’s face, but she saw that the name did not affect him. The saiyajin looked curiously at the cop and then at her, his heavy brow lowering as he saw the clear panic on her face. Forcing herself to recover, Bulma found her voice again and straightened.
“Yes,” she rasped. “Please, let’s talk in one of the conference rooms.”
With a formal bow, Bulma lowered her head toward Vegeta and then spun on heel, her professional demeanor in place once more. Vegeta stared at the two retreating forms quizzically, before slowly walking in the opposite direction. Gazing over his shoulder one more time, the saiyajin prince eyed Bulma’s form as she sashayed down the hall. He wasn’t sure why the weak, brazen creature drew his attention so, but it felt as he knew her much better than he had before his accident.
Bulma was already trying to formulate her answers to the unasked questions the police officer was certain to voice. Her teeth ground against each other as she led him to a quiet room, her heart pounding within her chest as the situation became too real. Gesturing to an open seat, Bulma sat at the head of the long, wooden table and she forced her face to remain open and innocent, as if she didn’t already know what had happened to Skip.
“Ms. Briefs,” the cop began, “when was the last time your employee came in for work?”
“We haven’t seen Skip in quite a while,” Bulma responded. The intelligent woman knew she had to remain cool and collected. She could not answer the questions too precisely, lest they sounded scripted, but she could not appear too aloof either. “It has been over a week. I want to say Skip was at his desk on the 28^th or the 29^th.”
“And you never called to ask of his whereabouts, to see why he hadn’t come to work in eight or nine days?”
Bulma viewed the question as an accusation and her usual quick temper returned.
“Capsule Corporation hires employees and freelancers,” she snapped. “As Skip is one of our top leading scientists, there is a general understanding that he can come in to work on projects as he wishes OR he comes in if called. While Skip has never gone so long without checking in, I…” she found the following sentence almost impossible to say, “respect his level of work enough to not call him at home and hound him.”
The cop held up his hands defensively. “There was no intended accusation on my part, Ms. Briefs.”
“Bulma,” she muttered.
“Ms. Bulma,” the mustached man added with a smile. “It’s just that my team of officers investigated Mr. Sato-Jenkins’s condo and found he had no messages or missed calls from anyone.”
Bulma folded her arms and stared at the man. His nametag read Officer Ayama.
“Why was Skip’s home searched? What happened?”
Ayama removed his black hat and placed it on the table in front him. He was an older man with wisps of gray hair. He looked like a cheerful guy, but his eyes were shadowed with unease.
“Skip Sato-Jenkins’s body was found at the bottom of West City’s Pride Leap bluff in the Capital Forest. He was discovered by some nature-enthusiasts who just happened to be out for a stroll in the woods.”
Bulma’s hands tightened into fists as they rested on the table top and she suddenly felt nauseated. Although she hadn’t heard the explicit details of Skip’s gruesome death, she could still imagine what his small, weak body looked like, broken and twisted at the bottom of the steep plummet. Everything felt surreal, as if the police officer’s spoken proof finally cemented the reality of what had happened.
“When was he found?” Bulma asked softly.
“Yesterday, but forensics believe he had passed about seven or eight days ago.”
Bulma didn’t know what else to say. Skip, who had been brutally killed by Vegeta, was finally found by other humans. The situation was far too strange; nothing like the extreme, powerful battles her friends fought. This was a completely heartless crime that held no happy ending or glory.
“Does Capsule Corporation do a background check on all its employees?”
“Yes,” Bulma answered at once. She quickly became curious, wondering if the cop had discovered Skip’s true, vile nature. “Why?”
“And you never noticed anything strange about Mr. Sato-Jenkins? No weird habits or obsessions?”
The coldness that gripped Bulma’s heart was strong and she found she could not speak.
“Oh, you mean the little, black booklet filled with designs on how to subdue a sentient alien and torture him? You mean Skip’s unhealthy love for Yamcha that made him do completely horrendous things to the saiyajin prince? You mean those weird habits and obsessions?”
“No,” Bulma squeaked, shaking her head. “H-he was mostly just quiet. Worked quietly, focused on his projects, kept to himself.”
Officer Ayama wrote down her answers and then sighed.
“Yep, that’s pretty much what his other acquaintances have said. That’s what people say about most psychos.”
“Psycho?” Bulma barked, eager to hear more.
“I really shouldn’t. It’s confidential. Let’s just say, it looks as if Skip Sato-Jenkins was involved in some very, very dark business.”
“But, he was employed here,” Bulma pushed. “I think it would be best for me know as much as possible to ensure that my other employees are safe…to ensure I don’t hire anyone like him again…if he really did do something bad.”
The genius woman’s curious brain kicked in and she was consumed with interest. She needed to hear about Skip’s record to satisfy her inquisitive nature. The more she knew about the man who tortured and assaulted Vegeta, the more she could piece together the prince’s suffering, even if he could not remember it.
“Speak of it only to your father and no one else,” Ayama explained. “The discovery of Skip Sato-Jenkins’s body in the forest led us to a dilapidated, demolished cabin deep in the woods. After we picked it apart, we found DNA samples of people (mostly women and girls) who have been missing for quite some time. According to forensics, Sato-Jenkins may have been the conductor of a…” the officer trailed off, suddenly disgusted and angry, “sex-ring. Sex trafficking, Ms. Bulma.”
Bulma’s lip quivered, but she said nothing. The man before her shook his head and stood suddenly, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced.
“Whoever killed Sato-Jenkins opened up huge doors to the police force. We managed to track down a participant in this disgusting crime. It appears this other accomplice was involved in whatever was happening when that cabin finally collapsed on itself. Skip’s half-brother was barely alive when we found him crawling through the forest. With his DNA, we managed to trace his actions to other sex-rings around the surrounding cities. We’ve managed to find three girls who had been abducted and ra…well…all that matters is that they are safe at home now.”
Bulma listened, absolutely fascinated and horrified. Vegeta and Yamcha’s involvement had allowed the police to uncover Skip’s horrid evil, but the fact that the meager, little man had been doing such things for so long was absolutely terrifying. Working at Capsule Corporation this entire time was a murderous, sick rapist. How long had he been obsessed with Yamcha? How long had he preyed on Vegeta? And Bulma had him personally work on the ki-subduing solution that had trapped the saiyajin prince. She had handed the killer the knife and said, “Go ahead!” Bulma brought a hand up to her mouth as she wondered if she had unknowingly assisted Skip in creating other things that had allowed him to trace and abduct his victims.
“And the little freak didn’t stop there either,” Ayama added, ranting suddenly. “When we swept the bowels of that destroyed cabin, we found traces of blood closely related to monkeys! Sick fucks.”
Bulma’s eyes widened and her head snapped up as she was carried quickly from her racing thoughts.
“What’s that?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Bulma,” the cop muttered as he pulled his hat back on. “I have two daughters and it sickens me that monsters like this exist.”
“But that part about monkeys?”
“Oh, well, forensics says that there was a lot of blood down in the basement of that place. The freshest blood wasn’t human. Apparently its DNA strains were closely related to that of a monkey or an ape. Similar to a human’s, but not matching.”
Vegeta, Bulma thought sadly. She bit her lower lip and looked away.
“Yep, when they couldn’t nab a girl, they went for animals.” Ayama shook his head. “What is this world coming to?”
Bulma stood finally as it seemed her officer guest was about to leave.
“And Skip’s half brother. What of him?”
“Hal Jenkins, yes,” Ayama replied. “He’s in the hospital now. He keeps screaming about some navy officer named Bruce or Hikaru or something, saying he’s the one to blame. But the brother’s DNA is all over everything. He may be a bigger threat than Skip was.” Ayama looked up and saw Bulma’s shocked expression, thinking she was more worried than utterly perplexed. “But don’t you fret, Miss. Hal Jenkins is going away for a long time. No one from that messed-up family will be a threat to Capsule Corporation.”
Bulma gave a curt nod and saw the officer out, thanking him for his time.
“Please feel free to let your team search Skip’s desk or computer files. I-I just never knew…”
The cop tilted his hat and sent her a grim look. “I’ll have officers in and out of here for a couple of days to check out his desk; whatever helps with finding his other victims. We were hoping to get some info from the brother, but we’re not quite sure he’s stable. Ranting about aliens and such.”
Bulma’s stomach clenched even more and she swallowed down the rising bile in her throat. The cop’s details on the situation brought her back to the horrid memory of finding Vegeta’s corpse-like, broken body writhing in the grass of her front lawn. Everything had happened, just as Yamcha explained.
After the officer left, the distraught woman entered the large space that was a second home to her, her blue eyes gazing sadly at the destruction Vegeta’s anger had brought. She circled around the bent, metal desks that were strewn about and then stood just a few feet from the shiny wooden desk that had belonged to Skip. For a long time, she simply stared at it, her mind flashing back to all the instances where the quiet scientist had sat in his large, comfortable chair, calmly perusing the Internet and jotting notes into his many notebooks. What had he actually been doing that entire time?
Stepping carefully over the construction workers filling in the cracks on the floor outside her office, Bulma went to her desk and retrieved the torn, crumpled journal that held the worn pages of the torture device still embedded in Vegeta’s stomach. It was time to burn the evil booklet once and for all.
Soon Bulma found herself standing in the enormous, quiet living room of the Capsule Corp. living quarters. A flame blazed in the fireplace and the genius’s eyes stared coldly into the dancing heat as yellow and orange light consumed the blackened pages of Skip’s little journal. The paper crumbled and rose with the hot ashes, disappearing up the exhaust chimney and dying along with the horrid memories of its creator.
It was time to move on. Yamcha had collected the dragon-balls on and off during the week of Vegeta’s recovery. Bulma had been so distracted with the saiyajin, she never noticed that the dragon radar had gone missing. It explained Yamcha’s frequent disappearing acts and gave Bulma more insight into why he had always returned to Capsule Corp. looking exhausted and stressed.
“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.”
Yamcha told her that he was already planning on using the dragon-balls. She just never took the time to focus on what he had been saying.
Though cowardly and selfish, Yamcha’s actions allowed Bulma and Vegeta to draw closer to each other. In the future months to come, the scar-faced fighter would meet Bulma outside the Capsule Corp. property; too afraid to face Vegeta in case he ran into him. He knew that if he saw the prince, he would break down and reveal everything that had occurred.
“Here,” Yamcha said, handing the dragon-ball locater to Bulma.
The tall fighter had a different hairstyle, his once shaggier black hair now cropped short and spiked.
“I’m sorry I took it without telling you. I…I was not in the right state of mind.”
Bulma took her invention and gazed at it lovingly. She had so many grand adventures thanks to her own genius creation. She, Krillin, Goku, and Yamcha: they had all been so young and full of life, naïve to the true evils of the world.
“I’m amazed you found all seven dragon-balls in just a week,” Bulma said gently, trying to lighten the situation. “I mean, you were at Capsule Corp. at least every other day.”
“Like I said, I wasn’t really myself. I wasn’t sleeping and I was, well, not exactly sober. Time didn’t seem to matter.”
Bulma looked at her ex-lover and observed the way he spoke to the ground. They stood on a sidewalk down the street from her enormous home.
“How are you now?”
“Seeing a therapist,” Yamcha replied with a dry laugh. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I can’t exactly give a lot of details about what happened, but she’s really helping me out. Got some good anti-depressants and stuff.”
“Oh, the therapist is a lady, huh?” Bulma asked slyly. “How am I not surprised?”
Yamcha rolled his eyes. “She’s like 70.”
The two laughed. They were trying too hard to make the scene less uncomfortable, but Bulma was glad to see that her close friend was on his way to getting better.
“And how about you and…Vegeta?” Yamcha almost whispered.
Bulma couldn’t hide the small smile that appeared on her face. It had been almost five months since the nightmare and somehow she and the saiyajin prince were right back to where they had left off before he found out about the microchip and control device. Vegeta had no memories of their first adventure in bed together, but there was still a connection between them regardless.
“We’re…doing great. I don’t know how it works, but we are drawn to each other.”
Yamcha’s eyes softened and he nodded. But his expression darkened somewhat as he seemed to remember something.
“Piccolo warned me that the wish may not be as strong as we thought.”
Bulma jerked in surprise and stared at her ex-boyfriend in shock. Yamcha’s dark eyes glanced at her and then into the sky.
“I asked the dragon to block Vegeta’s memories. Piccolo told me that the word blocked was too vague.” Yamcha turned fully to the wealthy, intelligent woman. “So, let us know if his memory starts returning. It most likely won’t, but the memories are still present. Vegeta just can’t obtain them.”
With a sad smile, the weary fighter said his farewells and turned away. Bulma looked down at the circular, green radar in her hand and frowned. She felt so happy with Vegeta. She prayed that the memory of his tortures and her betrayal never returned.
- 13
- 14
- 15
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Resolution on a Lonely Planet