This is my first fic on this network so bear with me…I just fixed the chapter separation thingy. Please r/r. Any response would be appreciated. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I don't own Piccolo or any of the other colorful characters in the Z clan…though God willing someday I will!...sorry…I do however own Syn and the Varans…they're MINE so back off!!...sorry again.

A rare peace found its way to earth and the Z fighters. It had been almost four years since the Cell games and Goku's heroic sacrifice, and the heroes were settling into lives more ordinary. The treacherous evil was gone, and the fighters found they could now rest without the fear of losing a loved one at any moment. The cities had lapsed into a state of almost complete ignorance of the actual events that took place at the Cell games. Consequently they also retained no real knowledge of the Z fighters, so the gang was left to live their lives peacefully.

Vegeta and Bulma watched their son grow in their humble home near Capsule Corp. Krillin had found love in the beautiful yet powerful form of Android 18, and the two often kept company with Master Roshi and Turtle on Kame's Island. Yamcha...well he seemed to be around. Gohan now labored endlessly at his studies. Chi Chi was determined that her young scholar catch up on everything he had missed. Gohan paused only to spend time with his idolizing little brother, Goten, and visit his old companions in the city, hoping to see his oldest friend and mentor there. After the games, Piccolo returned to the serenity of the mountains. He had, however, over the years grown accustomed to the friendships he had gained and returned often to, if nothing else, meet a challenge to a friendly bout with Krillin. In this manner the Z fighters continued their lives, hoping the worst was behind them.

Piccolo watched from the corner of his eyes as Yamcha paced to yard. He, like Piccolo, had come to pay a visit on the Briefs' household. Gohan and Goten were often found here, perhaps to escape the ever-burning wrath of their mother. The two half Saiya-jins were currently engaged in a tireless wrestling match with the now five-year-old Trunks. Krillin was also visiting this day and was engrossed in what was probably a highly argumentative discussion with Bulma. Vegeta was nowhere in sight. *Good thing* Piccolo thought, letting a smirk cross his face. He had been meditating in the shade of an oak until Yamcha's pacing had become too much of an annoyance and his attention had been turned to the human.

"It's too quiet."

Yamcha said, yanking Krillin and Bulma out of conversation.

"What are you talking about, dude?"

Krillin rubbed the black fuzz on his head, perplexed. After a lifetime sporting the queue-ball hair stylings of a Buddhist monk, he was now trying to grow it out. 18 really had made him a new man.

"It's been too long."

Yamcha continued. The two only stared blankly back at him. Piccolo saw that the children had stopped wrestling and Gohan was now sharing much the same look as Krillin and Bulma.

"The world has not once needed our protection since Cell was destroyed. We all thought we would be in trouble without Goku around but here we are, almost four years later, sitting on our butts, watching the flowers grow."

Yamcha motioned to Bulma's small flower garden at the side of their dome shaped house. Piccolo hated to admit that the human was right. He himself had sensed a change, as if something was coming.

"Our time of peace has been too long. Any day now, an unspeakable evil that seems beatable at first but who's power will increase with every horrible act it commits until it becomes some sort of unstoppable super evilly bent on destroying our planet will fall from the sky right into our laps!"

He finished with a flourish of hand gestures and stood awaiting a response. The others remained blank and speechless, surprised by the outburst. Piccolo pondered briefly whether or not Yamcha had sensed the same disturbance he had. But as if on queue, a distant sound caught his attention. It was very faint but he immediately identified it. The harsh sound of crunching metal accompanied by the cracking of tree limbs, all followed by the shuddering of the earth as it broke the fall of something big. There was a crash somewhere in the east. He glanced around; knowing no one else had heard it.

"If you will excuse me."

He said, his deep even voice breaking the silence. He stood up and grabbed his cape that hung on a nearby branch. He took off toward the origin of the sounds, offering no more explanation. He heard the protests of the others but knew they would not follow him. If he had required assistance, he would have asked. The landscape was soon a blur beneath him. He calculated just how far east the crash might have been based on the intensity of the sounds he heard. It should not be far by his standards. He scanned the scenery in front of him, looking for a sign and soon found one. A trail of smoke made its way lazily to the top of the sky. At the source lay a dull honeycomb shaped pod, wedged between two massive trees. A line of destruction extended possibly 800 meters to the south where trees and brush had been flattened to the earth.

He landed a short distance from the ship, wary of what could be inside. Hearing no movement in or around the pod, he approached cautiously. The craft was old. Worn markings in the hull suggested it had seen battle or perhaps other landings like this one. He moved aside a fallen branch to examine the inscriptions on what looked to be a door panel. Finding these writings unfamiliar he felt along the edge of the panel in hopes of finding a handle or switch to open the ship. His hand moved along a depression in the hull, and he heard a click. A small lever extended from the panel. Piccolo drew his hand back. He found the way in. He hoped he could handle whatever came out. He took hold of the lever and turned. The handle twisted completely around three times before there was another click and the panel gave. It slid to the side and Piccolo was met with a billow of smoke. He coughed and waved the smoke aside. As he stepped inside, his keen eyesight adjusted quickly to the dim and flickering light. The pod was only large enough for one and he had to duck in this small back portion of the ship. He shifted to the front of the sip and turned the pilot seat toward him. His eyes widened momentarily.

A young woman was slumped unconscious in the chair. He first thought her to be dead but on closer inspection saw the faint rise and fall of her chest. She was slender built and looked small in the dreary ship. The lights overhead played across creamy olive green skin. Her chestnut brown hair was matted against her face, framing high cheekbones. Though she was trapped in unconscious sleep, her face held a look of willfulness. He leaned toward her and swept the matted hair from her forehead. He stood back and let his hand drop to his side. What should he do with this creature? Her wounds were not extensive, and she would probably wake in only a few hours. If her intentions were evil, would they be safe with her in their custody? Her power level was difficult to read while she was unconscious, but her body did not suggest any extensive training. He decided the best course of action would be to take her to Bulma's so that she could be treated and then watched. He bent to remove the restraints and noticed there was more holding her than just seatbelts. She was bound to the chair. Her legs were bound and there was evidence that at one time her hands were too. Her wrists were red and covered in crusted blood where two metal rings had bound them to the arms of the chair. Piccolo quickly undid all restraints and hoisted the creature into his arms. In moments he was back at Bulma's.