Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from DBZ. What I do have is an overabundance of sexual fantasize about a certain Saiyan, but alas that doesn't count as revenue.
A/N: Seriously, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm like suddenly OCD girl. I can't seem to find a fic and stick with it. Every time I want to try out a new style my go-to fandom is DBZ. For this fic I'm practicing writing in the first person. Yikes! It's a lot harder than I thought. Let me know if it works for you or not. Also, after reviewing my fics I realize I have an imprisonment fetish. Go figure.
Warning: In this chapter: Bad Words! Bad touching – not the naughty fun kind. Implications of sexual slavery – again not the naughty fun kind. Implications of rape – there is no naughty fun kind of that.
His To Take
Chapter One
"Identity theft, illegal asset acquisition, production and distribution of malware, production and distribution of spyware, criminal invasion of privacy, criminally malicious cyber assaults against corporate entities endowed with inalienable rights as of Imperial Decree FC 16.91-05."
The squat, flat-nosed humanoid with such an overabundance of pockmarks in his face it looked as though he'd taken a salt rock blast at close range let out a shrill whistle from between flabby lips when he read the last and most condemnable charge on my rap sheet.
"Three counts of unmaking."
"Unproven," I spat. Unmaking was an unverifiable charge. Once a person was erased electronically they ceased to exist. No financials, no status credentials, no public records of birth, joinings or mergers. Nothing. A true unmaking artist could even dispose of the tracer nanites in the blood without damaging the host, and I was a true artist.
Someone unmade by me could stand in front of an imperial officer, and when the biotech didn't register, they officially ceased exist. No official existence, meant no rights. No rights meant no liquidable assets. If you had no assets, you had no value. Being valueless meant you were nothing more than trash to be disposed of.
Most people, as soon as they realized they'd been unmade, ran fast and hard for the badlands before the Agency for Asset Preservation could catch up to them. Either way, the person just disappeared. No body meant it was the perfect crime. Additionally, a full unmaking meant stripping the target of all assets beforehand. It was a lucrative business in more ways than one.
Pockmark just snorted, shaking his head. "All you need for a conviction on unmaking is suspicion."
"Which is complete miscarriage of justice. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty, huh? Or, you know, a freakin' trial?"
Pockmark wrapped one beefy paw around the back of my neck and pushed me down to the ground so I was kneeling on diamond-cut metal grating. "You fuckin' Terrans. You crack me up," he laughed as he flipped on the duster.
I squeezed my eyes closed and held my breath as the thick viridian chalk dust blasted me from all sides. Nothing could be heard over the roar of the duster as it pushed chalk into every crack and crevice of my body, sanitizing me of any vermin or infectious airborne diseases.
There was a click and the force of the air changed direction, sucking dust off my body and standing my hair on end. Unfortunately, the vacuuming process was less than thorough. I still looked like a moon princess that Captain Kirk would break warp speed records to boink.
"Here."
A silver static cling sheet zapped itself to my midriff. It took two hands to pry it off and control the low electrical charge that drew it repeatedly against my skin.
"Thanks." In prison they took everything from you except sarcasm and pride. I had those in spades. Briskly, I rubbed the sheet across my body, collecting any loose particles. I loathed rubbing the sheet through my hair, but unless I wanted to spend my incarceration with sea foam locks instead of my natural deep sea blue, I must. Besides there was enough nervous sweat on the palms of my hands to tame the worst of the static cling effect.
I shook out my hair, and ran my fingers through it a couple of times. There was a subtle difference in texture from the liquitex streak through the front left section of my hair. I loved it. It looked like someone had taken one of those silver glitter gel pens and colored my hair. Best of all it was self-replicating, covering my roots as they grew out. No touch-ups needed. Of course, I hadn't been planning on going to prison when I had the streak put in. Now it only served to make me more noticeable. As if my exotic looks weren't enough.
Pockmark took my cling sheet away and replaced it with a horrifically unattractive mustard yellow jumpsuit. Yellow because I was a woman. Men received red ones. I found that deeply unfair and more than a little gendered bias. Mostly because it wasn't as if any other gender considerations were taken into account at Primas. The maximum security intergalactic prison didn't see gender only criminals. They also didn't see the rape, murder or any of the other unsavory goings on inside the prison. This was because once you passed through its walls you no longer existed as a sentient being with rights. You became the coded polynomial etched into your skin above the wrist that denoted date of conviction and date of admittance to Primas. All that was left unmarked was an expiration date, because no one left Primas unless it was in a vacuumed sealed disposal unit carrying your ashes.
Pockmark watched with a leer as I struggled into the jumpsuit. I'd been naked since they stripped me down in preparation for cold storage. The transpo jump from Nish-et-Leyer where I had been convicted for crimes against the empire to Primas was three years. Since I traveled in cold storage it felt as if no longer than twenty minutes had passed since they laid me down in the cryotube. My whole body ached as though I'd just woken up from a particularly unpleasant nap, but from the moment I entered cold storage time had ceased to have meaning. Everyone I knew had aged three years, while I still retained the body and mind of my twenty-four year old self. Freak me the fuck out.
Needless to say, Pockmark had been eyeing me since they thawed me out in the receiving bay. I knew the look. In the ten years since the decolonization of Earth, I had been in my share of seedy places and with my gorgeous good looks I attracted the wrong kinds of attention. Usually I was too smart to get caught up in a situation I couldn't control, but there was nothing about this that was under my control. I was in prison for Kami's sake. Not just any prison. A death max with a reputation. Primas was nicknamed The Tower for a reason. Things were about to get pretty freakin' uncontrolled.
"People said you were too good to get caught." Pockmark leaned up against the wall next to the door for the entrance corridor to general population. This was the last stop before hell; making small talk wasn't on my agenda.
"I am too good to be caught." And that was the freakin' truth. An artist of my craft, I am the best cyber criminal in the empire. No one can slither in and out of the subspace net like I can. Data doesn't just talk to me. It sings. A sweet siren song that tells me all its secrets. If it hadn't been for that squealer Oolong ratting me out to save his own curly-tailed ass, I wouldn't be here. Kami! I wouldn't have even been doing business face to face with the porker if I hadn't been desperate.
"Here's the run down. Through this door is gen pop. Gen pop's where everyone goes unless you're special. You are not special. Thus you're goin' to gen pop. There's only one way in and out of Gen Pop and that's through Devil's Gate." Pockmark nodded to the door he stood beside. "There ain't no other exits," he stressed.
"What happens if there's a fire?" I meant to be facetious, but Pockmark wasn't amused.
"Then you'd better put it out, 'cause Devil's Gate won't be openin', an' there ain't any fire suppressant systems."
"You'd let us burn?" How appalling. And it was the prisoners who were supposed to be the animals.
"Once you're in, there's no leaving 'less you're dead."
"Aren't you worried that the fire will spread to the rest of the station?" The thing about Primas that made it so inescapable was that there was nowhere to escape to. It was an untethered space station that drifted at the edges of the known territories. The only way to find it was to hone in on its repeater signal, which changed hourly and was sent only to transpo captains with scheduled incoming cargos.
"Firewalls," Pockmark shrugged dismissively. "Now, The Tower has the area of roughly fifty-seven thousand square feet and is thirty-three stories tall."
"So that's…" I tried to do the math on how many prisoners gen pop could potentially house. The numbers were coming up in the thousands.
"If you're askin' me about capacity, I can tell you we ain't capped out. The prisoners maintain their own population control. Who knows how much space is occupied or by whom. Guards don't go beyond the central collection point. CCP as its known. An' once you're in The Tower, you're on your own." He gave me a long meaningful look that made my guts squirm.
"You secure your own cell, one's not provided for you. You provide for your own security, we ain't here for your protection." He shoved his thumb towards his chest, his thick, orange talon pressing against his uniform shirt. The scratchy black material looked like polyester, but I knew it was Imperial issue, self-cleaning slipweave. "We're here to make sure you don't escape. Food's replicated in the CCP once a day. You must-"
"Let me guess. I must secure it myself," I said dryly.
Pockmark grinned and I could see his pink tongue behind his square, yellow teeth. "If you starve that's one less body to watch."
"Charming."
"Oh, we haven't even gotten to my good qualities yet." Pockmark rubbed his hand suggestively down his chest towards his standard issue belt buckle. Squick me out. This guy was giving me all kinds of bad vibes. "Now, do you want to hear about the accommodations for the special prisoners?"
Not really. I arched a brow. The haughty look was one I had practiced in the mirror for hours when I was twelve to deter the older children from making fun of my overabundant intelligence. That was two years before Lord Frieza had conquered Earth. It had served me well since.
"Why? You said I'm not special."
The smirk that spread across Pockmark's face was not reassuring. "Specials get their own cell in Cylinder D. That's far away from gen pop in case you're wonderin'."
"I'm not." Really, really not.
"Cy-D is mostly women. A few men. They share two communal bathrooms, but population's low. Just under two dozen at last head count. They also get three squares a day and protection from their very own four team squad. How's that sound?"
Like forced sex for security. "It sounds…special." I hid the sick feeling in my stomach behind a cold mask of indifference.
"Oh, it is. It's special invitation only for a reserved few. A one time offer to taste a bit 'o heaven now you're here on Primas. Like I said, once you're in gen pop, you don't come back out." He paused, letting me soak in that bit of information. Once he was sure I got his implication, his nasty grin spread across his flat face. "Now, why don't you come over here, get on your knees, and show me how badly you want me to give you the special treatment?" Pockmark cupped his erection that was visible behind his black, stay-clean, uniform slacks.
It was a battle not to sick up a little in my mouth. "I'd rather choke on broken glass."
Pockmark grinned like my response was exactly what he was expecting. He rubbed himself, but I kept my eyes above his wrinkled neck. There was absolutely nothing I wanted to see down there.
"I get you. You want to see what's behind door number two, thinkin' that maybe you'll be able to handle yourself once you're in there. Let me give you a run down, Terran. When you go through the gate an' into central collection you'll have about five seconds before the first of those beasts are on you." Pockmark shrugged indifferently, either not noticing or not caring about the sudden pallor of my skin.
"Typically, it's a gang bang situation, but you're gorgeous enough you might catch the eye of some established badasses right off. If that happens, count yourself lucky. The knights, those are the self-proclaimed badasses that run The Tower, don't like to have the goods sullied before they've had their taste."
I swallowed hard, trying to fight down my fear by engaging my intense rationality. My brain, my ability to apply logic to almost every situation has saved my bacon more than once throughout the years. "So that's the hierarchy here? A handful of badasses that call themselves knights lording over the common riff raff?"
Pockmark narrowed his eyes as he considered the question. "Well, there's the Prince. He runs the joint. But you needn't worry about him. I ain't ever seen him with a woman. Those two monkeys of his probably bend over whenever he gets the urge. Then there's the Wyrm King, but who knows if he's still alive. He hasn't been recorded in CCP in over a year. So yeah. All you got to worry about are the knights. They'll either fight it out for you or come to an accommodation to pass you between them. The longest I've seen a greenie hold a badass' interest was six months, but Ash is a sentimental fella. Kept his mum's head front in center of his freezer for years."
Sure, I could see that. Mum's were special. I swallowed down my bile. "Greenie?"
"All newcomers are called greenies. The nick name lasts about as long as the chalk dust."
"And what happens when a knight tires of a greenie?"
"Well, they don't just run The Tower because they're the most badass fighters in there. They're magnanimous fellas as well. They'll hand you over to gen pop."
"Big words for a moron," I muttered. Pockmark heard me and covered the distance before I could cower away. He wrapped my long hair around a fat fist and stared down at me with his pink, piggy eyes.
"I know all kinds of words." His free hand came up to toy with the collar of my jumpsuit. The magnetic lapel hissed as it disengaged, and I felt the rush off cool air as my jumpsuit gaped open.
"Get off me." He held me tight as I struggled, brutally reminding me of just how lacking in power I really was. Ki levels were common knowledge before the decolonization of Earth, and surviving on my own in the universe since I was fourteen had taught me quite a bit about circumventing them. However, without my tools or specially made weapons I was pathetically helpless against most species.
"Know me some Terran words." He roughly cupped my breast. "Like tit." The utterance caught me off guard. I hadn't heard my home language in years. I didn't have time to wonder how he knew them, because acid bile washed against the backs of my molars.
"I know cunt." Pockmark ran his hand down my midriff, his smooth orange talons scraping my tender skin.
"Stop." I refused to beg or whimper. Tears were building in my eyes, but I'd rather die than shed them.
"I know—"
Pockmark didn't finish, because I vomited usaves, a Nish-et-Leyer delicacy and my last meal, all down his front. He thrust me away with a grunt of disgust. I tried not to laugh as I quickly did up my jumpsuit and wiped my mouth on the back of my shaking hand. Pockmark was busily wiping himself off with my discarded cling sheet and the vibrantly green flexware turned spotted pink.
Pockmark growled at me. "Think you're cute, do you? I was tryin' to do you a solid. As a special you'd only have to spread your skinny, stick legs for me and the three others assigned as your squad. Now, you're gonna service all The Tower. I doubt you'll make it a day before they fuck you to death."
He gripped me by the arm, his talons pinching my delicate skin and yanked me towards the door. He swiped his DNA tab over the lock and the door slid open, revealing a long curving corridor. As we stepped through, the axillary lights bolted to the walls began to flash yellow. Pockmark removed his griever from its sheath and shook it out so it lengthened into a two-foot long metal stick. He slammed it against the metal walls, making me jump as the sound ricocheted all around us.
"Fresh meat!" he bellowed. His call was echoed by a discordant roar of dozens, maybe even hundreds of people at the end of the corridor.
He banged his griever again and gold sparks showered out the tip. "Fresh meat. Come and get 'er."
We made our way around the curve and at the end of the corridor was a barred gate. Beyond it was a large, cavernous room with metal tables and welded benches, all of which were bolted into the metal grate floor. The walls seemed to go up for miles, each story ringed by prisoners whose curiosity drove them to watch, but not to join the mob gathering in the CCP.
The smell hit me in a rush. It was sweat and desperation. The stink of the unwashed mixed with the cold antiseptic of recycled air.
There was a red line on the ground that squared off twenty feet from the gate. There was a slight shimmer in the air above it, denoting a force field that kept prisoners from crossing the line when the yellow hazard lights were engaged. Pressed obscenely against the invisible wall was a crowd of men staring at me with ravenous eyes.
Fear clutched my heart, squeezing all the air from my lungs. I dug my heels into the ground, but Pockmark just chuckled and dragged me along.
"No, please," I whispered through tight, bloodless lips, breaking my rule not to beg.
"See if you hadn't puked on me. I might be tempted to take you back. Fuck you at my leisure. But tail's easy enough to come by, and you seem too high maintenance for me."
He placed his hand on the gate. There was a loud buzz and click and a man-sized door swung open. Distractedly, I noticed that there were different sized doors built into the steelwork, allowing entrance through the gate for various species, some of which were much larger than a human man. In fact some of those gigantoids were staring at me now. The hunger in their eyes had little to do with my sex and everything to do with how tasty my marrow might be.
Pockmark kept his hand wrapped around my upper arm as he shoved me slightly in front of him and just barely through the portal. He leaned close to whisper in my ear, the rancid reek of my last meal assaulting my nose.
"See if you'd been even a little sweet to me, I'd hold you long enough for the knights to be called. But 'cause you've been such a bitch Bulma, I'm goin' to stand here and watch you get torn apart."
And with that he planted his hand between my shoulder blades and shoved. As I lunged forward I heard the metal clang of the gate slamming behind me.