AN: I don't own anything. Like I said in the Prologue, this is an AU fic. Have fun reading and hopefully, you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, please please please review! I greatly appreciate all of your words, both good and bad.

On with the Fic!

Chapter 1: Gi

The sea spray splashing back against the breeze seemed to heighten the azure and bullion backdrop of the private beach. The tiny island was just close enough to its larger brother that the opposing coastline was still visible, yet far enough away to give the affluence of isolation. Those two qualities were definitely hard to come by in Japan, and it was a time like this that moving to the island was the better compromise than into the mountains like his friend tried to entice him with all those years ago. He wanted to move to Tahiti or the Bahamas for retirement, not Mount Fuji. Yes, this was better. The enormous sea turtle to his side seemed to concur, sunning itself contentedly near a large boulder. It claimed the place before he did, so the only chivalrous thing to do was welcome the comrade with open arms and enjoy the cliffy flat together like two old farts should.

A small boat approached to the side of the scenic view that the old man was peacefully observing within comfort of a plastic lawn chair. The hat he wore was too small but the brim covered everything important. Overtly large sunglasses were positioned like goggles on his straight thin bridge, and a long face quirked with a sly grin to welcome the newcomers.

"See?" He motioned to the turtle with his drink, "I told you they wouldn't be late."

Leisurely rolling out of his chair, he sniffed and straightened his back giving a call to the white stucco home farther inland, "Mika! Krillin! Get your tushes out here and welcome our guests!"

The miniature yacht slid beside a dock built just for it; the passengers already prepared to jump deck before the ropes were even tide into place. The elderly teacher, sucking down the rest of his near empty beverage, peered over with bushy knit brows and noted his favored pupil backing away with hands held high. The tall, built man stood a good head height above his contender, yet quivered fearfully from whatever wrath she was about to bestow. It never fazed him to know that the boy would pick a feisty wife.

"NO!"

"Ah, come on Chi. It's just an outfit."

"I know exactly what that outfit is and I said NO," and the lively creature revealed herself standing at the bow of the ship. Spine straight, arms folded delicately across her navy chest wrap, the woman carried herself with a sense of confidence that defied all stigma associated with the traditional attire she insisted on always wearing. The old man smacked his lips, putting down the drink on the back of his companion, and sifted for the owner of the vessel.

One of the two men waffling impatiently on the dock hastily interjected while his younger sibling secured their transport for everyone else, "Goku, did you really have to bring this up now? I mean, come on, we just got here and you're already picking a fight."

He gave an unappreciative side-glance before frowning at his spouse, "But I wanted to show it off to everyone."

Chichi glared viciously, huffing through her nose, and it was instantly understood that if she was not appeased, there would no food for any of them.

"Chi, knock it off," came the flat voice of the controller from below deck. The sensei smiled roguishly as the petite woman popped her blonde head out. She just cut her hair again; the wind-bullied tresses catching the light wind only further emphasized the nymph-like quality of her physique, "It's just a gi. Now, out! I'm thirsty and your arguing is getting in the way of my drinking. Off!"

Before Chichi had the opportunity to accompany dialog with the affronted expression, Bulma met her height and pushed her closer to the dock edge, motioning everyone else out of the boat while she was at it.

"Just a gi. Just a gi," the conservative brunette muttered to herself, bypassing the sensei without so much as a word into the house behind him.

The old man pursed his lips together watching her pass before returning to the crew following in toe with a stash of supplies. With a nod to each, "Tien. Chaozu, boy you've grown up. When was the last time I saw you?"

"Two years ago, sensei," Tien answered for him, nudging his brother to deliver the rice parcels before the woman completely lost it in the house. Both were equally tall and American, an odd addition to the group considering most customs were so butchered by the time they had the prospect to learn them. A military aura was splashed with Caucasian buzzed scalps and demeanors too straight edge for the informal attitude the teacher developed over recent years. The old man would just have assumed shave them, but it was the style, "He just got done with ROTC last spring."

"Ah, out of school now," the elder prodded with recognition, "Are you going to have him come out for the summer?"

"I don't know yet. That's really up to him anyway," he replied with bow. His height returned to a smiling visage of the short, tanned monk suddenly standing to his side, "I'm sure it would do him some good to stay here for a while."

"We'll see what we can do. Krillin here has had excellent progress in, what is it now…"

"Three years," the midget answered with a wide grin. His reticence was lost only in his expression as he greeted his friend warmly, "The sea is a distraction, though. I spend too much time watching it."

"Well, it's not Songshan that's for sure," Tien complied. The monk was recommended to the old man by one of the Shaolin temples after Goku left. In some ways, it was an excuse to occupy the teacher with activities other than terrorizing the young women in the nearest town, "Say, would you mind helping me get the rest of Chichi's things? I don't want to leave my brother in there for too long. He's not used to her behavior when she's angry."

He smiled sympathetically, a gesture well endowed by the Tibetan, "I see that Goku has said or done something to upset her again?"

"Again?" The tone was incredulous as they directed themselves back to the boat, "I swear every time I see her nowadays, she's upset about something."

"Now, where's my shutsuran?" The elder muttered, letting the two go to spot others loitering the dock. Goku spent some time introducing a young boy to the island edge, who was taking the tide warily as it lapped lazily into the sand. Bulma watched on the side, attempting to drag an ice chest filled her intoxicating method of escape before it was received cordially by Tien with his second load. It was only then that she caught the leering eye of the old man before he could pounce.

"Roshi Sensei!" Goku peeked up with a smile that could blind the sun. The elder shifted his gaze back to his pupil and a jovial slap on the shoulder followed their greeting. The woman was next.

"Roshi, where's your flavor of the week? I brought some things for her," Bulma was prepared for this, giving a swift bow before hiding behind her taller friend.

But the sensei wanted a hug from this one. "You brought me packages," he said with a smile as Bulma pulled her hands up defensively to her chest and accepted the invasion into her personal space like a cat ready to flee. A fake grin plastered on her face as she leaned back to lock eye contact with the bearded man, "Roshi, I brought some things for Mika. Now if you please, kindly let go of my packages."

"Oh, I'm sure she'll like whatever you have for her, Bulma," he smirked with sheepish satisfaction as Bulma readjusted her crème sundress, driven up over her bare shoulders, and fussed toward the house in retreat, "Goku."

The younger apprentice looked down and to his side for the boy once standing near the dock. In the time it took for everyone to be greeted, the turtle managed to climb over and inspect the yacht. The tall glass was still precariously balanced on its checkered shell as it passed slowly by the ogling child. He jumped impulsively as his father's shadow covered him, a Cheshire grin beaming down guided by a loving voice, "Gohan, you remember Roshi Sensei, don't you?"

The boy jerked out of his reverie to acknowledge his father quietly. Like his mother, he was dressed in rather traditional clothing; a round cobalt cap hiding most of his inky hair, almond eyes looked upward to the slightly bent man.

"He's shy," Goku confirmed gently, "He hasn't traveled much; something I intend to remedy."

"I imagine Chichi is protective, ne?"

His student snorted an agreement, ushering his son up on his shoulders, "She means well."

"Yes, well as all mothers do."

Now that the most notable were present, cheery hellos resounded back and forth even before the entry was met. This was the yearly ritual. All of the gang would gather at the sensei's place on the lonely island to catch up on the past year. Usually to celebrate the oncoming summer with some beach play and technical practice now rusty in some form or another. Dubbed 'Kame House' for the resident turtle and similar appearance of its hunched companion, trips like these had become a tradition since many of the visitors' teen years. The little boy shifted slightly to imply his desire to get down, running up to the front door and screaming his greeting to everyone. Although Gohan could barely walk since he last saw many of them, he had a swift memory and like all children, he looked forward to the attention.

"So, I see the player and the pig made it before us," Bulma drawled as she entered the tall open foyer. The windowed space represented more of a porch than a living room, but with the lovely view, it was used as both for such occasions. Two men sat on one of Roshi's couches glaring up at the smug intruder. She rolled a pale shoulder hefting a bulky striped satchel as she passed for the kitchen, dragging a palm across the stouter one's arm, "Aw, it's ok Yajirobi. I mean it in the most loving way."

The indignant expression intensified on his round, stubbly face, "For your information, men with my stature are very prized in some arenas."

"Yeah, if you're a sumo wrestler, Yaj," she shot back sweetly. "The only thing you've wrestled lately is a giant plate of rice."

"Leave him alone, B."

"Oh, I'm just joking!" She tipped back out the kitchen doorway toward the trimmer asian, "Besides, I could deal with a jolly coward far better than a cheating one."

"Here she goes," Chaozu grumbled, snatching a bunch of vegetables and handing it absentmindedly to a fuming Chichi.

"I did not-"

"OK!" Tien stepped in, handing a drink to Bulma, "Take this and go outside. Mika's out there," and then leaned in to mutter at his friend. "We agreed Yamcha. No fights."

The athlete raised a hand in subtle acquiescence to resume watching the ocean spray. Their fight was long since coming, but to the behest of their friends, was often pushed aside so that they could enjoy themselves. Bulma no longer seemed to care since she finally caught him in the act and dropped him like an outgrown habit. She still managed to keep civility, but let loose every once in a while when she caught wind of his most recent exploits. The latest one, clad in a bikini and currently placed by the front entry with a confused expression, did not need to introduce herself as Bulma already knew that she was most likely not with the heavier set fellow beside him and was definitely not Mika.

She wondered if it was ploy to make her jealous or just an immature attempt to rub it in her face. Bulma told herself that it was pointless to give a shit, looking around for the red head sipping martinis near the shoreline on the west end of the house. She promised to bring a set of colognes and other beauty products purchased during her extended stay in France. The woman was not the brightest marble, but she was attractive and Roshi liked her, allowing women worldwide some temporary peace.

"No, no, that would never stop Roshi."

"What was that?" A cheerful older face turned to the blonde muttering at herself, "Oh Bulma, I didn't hear you come up. You shouldn't go sneaking around on people like that."

It amazed her that the Japanese teacher even looked at women over 30, "Heh Mika, I don't think I could sneak if I tried. Besides, you have Roshi, which is certainly a much bigger threat than I could ever be."

A playful giggle came forth that made Bulma instantly regret making the statement, for it pulled in images she earnestly did not want playing behind her corneas. Grabbing the straw with her forefinger, Bulma took several long swigs, nearly gagging on the strength of the alcohol, "My God, what is he doing, trying to kill me?"

Another titter gushed, "Oh that young man knows how to make a drink, doesn't he?"

"You're telling me," wide eyes tried to adjust to the serving readying itself for the drunken banter and the woman slouched into a chair tugging a sigh, "So, you wanna see what I brought you?"

Placing her glass down, Mika clasped her long defined hands together like a child on Christmas morning, "Please!"

And there started another hour of fashion talk mixed with stories the younger really wished were not relayed about the old man. The cologne was to be an anniversary gift coming up within a month. The 'fashion' was lingerie, something that Bulma was sure he probably cared little about, but would refuse to complain over. The saving grace was a call from the white house to her side and a signal from Krillin reeling her back to the group.

"I think we're being called in, Mika." The smile could crack her jaw, "Care to join me?"

"Oh no, hun. I'm content sitting right here with my sunset."

"Ok, then," she pressed, leaving her empty glass on the table between them and turned back to the monk, mouthing the words 'thank you' as she approached.

He smiled, genuinely oblivious to their conversation, "So, how was the tour?"

"It was interesting," she swallowed subtly as they walked back up to the house. Chichi's delicacies were already wafting across the island, instantly wetting the palette, "Same old shit. Same company." They knew each other the longest out of everyone, Krillin introducing Goku to her followed by mixed affinities with the others. Seeking enlightenment under Roshi was merely the cincher that brought everyone together on a regular basis. He accepted how secretive Bulma was about her life and only shared those details with the select privileged. He just happened to be one.

"How are the capsules?"

A snort escaped, "Still blueprinting. At the moment though, I wish I had some."

"Give it a year," he nodded, hands clasped before him.

"You think it'll be done by then?" She inquired, "You've got some high hopes, monk."

"Perhaps."

They entered the now lively home bustling with chatter and music. Goku's wife seemingly calmed herself by taking her hostility out on the cutting board. A mountain of rice, noodles, meats, and pickled vegetables were piling to one side geared up for serving. Sushi and saki were passed and missed, much to Bulma's chagrin.

"I saved you some," Chichi chimed emphatically, stirring the pot before her and pointing to a small tray by the entry.

Crystal eyes lit with gratitude as she picked up the prepped plate. The saki was still warm, "Thanks, Chi."

"Bulma, come here!" A much less stressed Tien caught her attention at the doorway, waving her forward. She could almost hear Chichi growl, "You have to see this."

With beverage in hand, she stalked to the doorframe and looked into the crowded living room. There in the center stood a beaming Goku, clad in a pristine orange gi. Hands on his hips though, he was not preening himself, for standing timidly next to him was a miniature version with freshly cropped hair and a set all his own. Bulma did not think the father's smile could get any bigger as he caught her eye. An uneasy laugh responded as it hit her exactly why Chichi was so heated over a simple outfit. Stupidity flushed across her face.

"That's a training gi," she said definitively.

"It sure is," Goku responded, "I think he's old enough, now. Kami, I was barely his age when I started under grandpa," good spirits getting even higher, "I think it would be good for him to learn some confidence and discipline."

A hard chopping sound resonated from behind Bulma, "Roshi, I think you'll need a new cutting board when we're done here."

A dismissive wave from the old man pushed the conversation forward, "Where are you thinking about training him?"

"Well, at home in the mountains for now. Chichi just got him into an early private school, so he starts that in a week. I figure we could have slow sessions in the afternoons when he gets out."

"It would be a great way to bond with him," Yamcha smiled at the boy from his crouched position on the couch.

"What do you think Bulma?"

Everyone turn to the woman as she stood there motionless, cursing her position between the gang of martial artists and the antimony wielding a blade behind her. Ever since Gohan was born, Chichi had been struggling to ensure that he was sent to a good school. The issue was solidified when Goku became ill some months later, a blood disease slowly, painfully killing him in a way no physical adversary could. For her, the emotional damage of losing him and any financial support that accompanied was too great. It became so incredibly important to her that Gohan was educated and make something of himself that eventually, slowly a wedge developed within the group she used to be so fond of. Where before, they were good influences, they were all now poor role models. Even her own experience in the martial fields was suppressed so that she could drive home the message that her son, her little boy, would have a better life than what she was destined.

Instead of directly answering the question, the civilian most familiar to the group knelt down in front of the five-year-old with a blush to get his attention. Innocent eyes pierced back followed by a disarming smile, "Well aren't you just handsome, little guy. Do you like your present?"

Gohan nodded, looking down in a flirtatious gesture only a child could pull off. Bulma could nary help but admire how much like his father the boy appeared in the moment. Even his natural stance and charming visage were one and the same.

Now securely out of harms way and in the confines of the windowed space, she looked to her friend with approval, "If you think he can handle it and his studies. You know how Chi won't deal with him not focusing on the important things in life."

"Well, of course. There's always balance, Bulma."

"Good. Then, I'm going to go outside and sun for a little while. Let me know when dinner is ready, hm?"

With some relief she exited, followed some time after by her friends as they began their annual duels, although she refused to acknowledge it. The afternoon was reaching its zenith, of which she was almost welcoming the burning sensation on her skin. She was pale from the months in meetings and endless flights over the past eight months. It seemed that the older she got, the more demanding her life became. The Kame tradition was the only time she saw most of them anymore, save rare visits from Krillin and Goku when she happened to be in Japan, and even then, it was becoming a strain to make these occasions. The famed rumors and latest marketing endeavors publicized through her company made it even riskier to leave the civic identity behind for her more personal, more tangible life. The dual reality was beginning to take its toll, and for that, she often dropped off the face of the earth for months at a time.

When she did return, she had to refamiliarize herself with everyone again. They were all growing up, albeit slower and differently than she. One by one, they were developing careers or raising a family. Even Chaozu, the youngster she met when Tien was only in his mid teens, was now graduating secondary school and going off to college or the military or wherever. How much longer could they keep their bonds they so candidly formed from their youth?

Bulma wondered up the coastline of the private beach, grabbing handfuls of sand as she went. The oscillating ocean tide felt relaxing on her feet and after a while, she flounced down into the water. Falling back, she viewed skyward to the ever blue dome. She could understand how therapeutic the surges resonated and why relaxation tapes always had something drifting in and out like the internal hum of a seashell rocking one to sleep. Sensing the volume rise and carry her outward, she heaved herself back up into a sitting position. Her dress was soaked and she could care less.

Turning her head to the side, a blurred image formed on the flat devide between the golden green floor and indigo heavens. She blinked several times, wondering if it was Krillin or even Yamcha coming to fetch her for dinner. Standing up and facing it, she smiled and readied herself for more company, the salt water draining down her legs and into the source to be swept back out to sea. But the image was not the right shape or height for those two, rather taller and darker. Fleetingly, she thought of Goku and concern cinched at her belly with worry that something was wrong. She took several skipping steps up the shore before the figure became suddenly in focus.

Almost immediately, she backed herself up. The figure was male, but not one she recognized, which was unexpected enough considering the size of the island and Roshi as the typical inhabitant. His clothing was particularly unusual, russet legs and arms that appeared to mold to his form covered by a white plate of some kind on his upper body. Bulma squinted, frowning. If she had to guess, it might look like a bizarre set of armor. Minute, horizontal stripes traversed across his chest and glancing up, she noticed an item attached to his face. On his right side only.

A motion slipped in her stomach, dropping it like a ton of bricks. Something told her that this was not right. Taking a few steps back, a rock reached out and tripped her, a padded thump causing panic to ensue at the base of her skull. Flying to her feet, she was off, refusing to look back in case the trespasser felt the need to chase after its prey.

Reaching Kame House was quick, and Bulma slowed her pace toward the attention now directed at her gasping, shaking form.

Goku was the first rush to her, "Bulma, what's wrong. You look white as a sheet."

For some reason, words could not pass her lips as her jaw refused to still itself, "Up – up the – the shore. There – there was someone – there."

Krillin and Yamcha were close behind, looking at each other in bemusement.

"What do you mean?" He tried again, "Did someone hurt you?"

All she could do was shake her head mutely. The three comrades looked to the horizon unsure of what they might see. Only the salt spray permeated their vision.

"Why don't you come inside with me?" Krillin offered. Bulma hesitantly took his hand, the unease in the pit of her stomach growing with each step she took away from the shore. Yamcha followed blindly, looking back to his friend still focused on the coastline.

Goku decided not to budge. Something felt out of place earlier in the day; something that he chose to let go considering that there was no obvious threat to justify it beyond Chichi's fury. Now, it returned nearly coincident with Bulma's fear. Looking back, "Who did you see?"

She did not want to face the unknown, only pivoting her head around to see him out of the corner of her eye, "I don't know. But he was dressed funny and he had something attached to his face," she paused, "and long, dark hair."

"That's odd," Yamcha commented, verifying their isolation in Goku's direction.

After moment, the most experienced spoke, concerned now that Bulma may have fallen ill, "I think it would be best if we all go inside."

"Yes, sensei." Goku affirmed, his eyes still transfixed.

They beelined back to the refuge of the windowed room, accepting Chichi's cooking as a substitute for playing in the sand. The stern woman eyed the returning delinquents and unnervingly pale Bulma with an intolerant stare, "What's wrong with you?"

"It's nothing," Roshi cooed with all his charisma, forgetting that it never really worked on Chichi, "I think Bulma needs to lie down. She was in the sun for too long."

That explanation sufficed long enough to turn herself on the boys, "Get cleaned up. I won't have dirty hooligans eating at my table."

"Yes ma'am," was the unison reply.

The dinner was chatty as could be. Mika managed to climb out of her chair long enough to put some clothes on and seat herself properly. As she had done for the past three years, she made something for Chichi as a thank you from Roshi. Yamcha's escort sat prettily to his side and the rest sort of scattered around the long, low table.

"So, she finally makes an appearance," the cook appealed, looking up at the wave of sickly blonde in the doorway.

"Bulma, you look awful," Mika placed her chopsticks down and began to get up before she was halted by a reassuring reply.

"I'm fine," the woman brushed a hand over her freshly cleaned face, "I must have just drunk too much before going out, so don't fuss. It won't happen again."

She meandered over the side between Yamcha and Goku. In the moment, it no longer mattered that she had issues with her ex as she calmly seated herself with a view toward the foreboding beach. Bulma could not for the life of her understand why the person frightened her so other than he looked so strange. The scientist did not often react impulsively to a situation, rationally thinking through it until an answer revealed itself. In this case, she had to convince her brain that this must have been some heat-induced delusion, and even if this was fallacious, she had the best protection surrounding her. That alone should have been adequate consolation for her nerves. Still, all she could think about now was the underlying gut thought that they were being watched. That something was terribly wrong. Her eyes darted around the panels and along the sand dunes beyond.

"Are you not hungry?"

Distracted, she picked up her chopsticks, muttered her thanks and began fidgeting with the food closest to her, occasionally glancing back out in search for what she knew to be there. Then, as though her prayer was alert on catching what it was that claimed her sanity, the dark haze once again peered over the sand pile in front of her. Halting all movement, a vegetable halfway into her mouth, the woman had to be sure that the image was not another hallucination. Her foot not so subtly kicked at a neighbor's shin.

"Ow," feigned her friend as Goku looked over to a frozen Bulma. All conversation ceased as the rest of the party finally gathered her unease followed by slow turning of heads to the direction she was focused on. The dark figure nudged up from the dune and around the side.

Within that instant, all of the cheery activity was but a memory as every defending member of the group leaped out the side entry and surrounded the now unoccupied dune.

"Who was that!" Chichi demanded from the frame.

"I don't know."

It did not take long to answer, however, as the male appeared within a meter of the tallest of them. Long hollow features, tall muscular physique and a serious countenance punctured the conversation, all directed at Goku.

Rochi's favored student turned to face him at eye level, a familiarity seemed to hold both silent for a moment. Almost challenging.

"Who are you?"

The intruder refused to answer, instead remained vigilant, evaluating his opponent.

Another moment of silence passed, "Answer me!"

The response was quick, harsh, and incoherent. Goku shifted his line of vision slightly to Krillin, who shaking his head was unsure of what he heard.

The male took a step in the process of saying something similar, perhaps repeating the phrase. Apprehension reverberated around the circle as their hearts quickened from the threat. It was uncertain whether this action was sensed by the individual too, for it only fueled the aggressive response as he took another step and then another, backing the tall fighter up until he no longer felt comfortable with how close he was to the house.

"Chichi, Bulma," he motioned, "Take the others off of the island. I don't like this."

The two women stepped into the living room to withdraw out another exit, when the felonious perpetrator slugged passed his target and to the cutch. The movement was so quick that the rest had little chance to follow before the bulky figure blocked the front entry completely. Immediately, the fiery brunette stood between the other women and the male protectively as she deflected a forearm past her face and into the frame by her side. Mika fell back screaming against her unnamed house guest, who promptly fainted in the middle of the room. Chichi ducked down, grabbing Bulma as she went, but not quickly enough to grab her son.

Another jumbled demand sliced the air as the enemy jerked the boy up by the collar to shoulder height.

"NO!" Gohan's mother cried as she flung off the doorframe with a well intended palm to the back of the offender's neck. An arm reached out to her side before she reached him though, slamming the fragile woman against one of the window panels.

Everyone tensed. The male stepped back farther away from the door, now seemingly comparing what he saw in the little boy yelping frantically and the target he obviously came to interrogate. After a moment, his eyes squinted, an enraged grimace engulfing his long face. Another sharp toned phrase jolted the group.

"Let him go. We can talk this out," Goku tried to speak as calmly as he could while at the same time surveying his chances of separating the two forcefully if necessary. His comment was only responded with a shorter bark, a shaking of the collar to emphasize his anger. A snap in the father's gut screamed out his sense of alarm, "I don't want to hurt you!"

The challenge was met almost as though he was trying to provoke it, tossing the child violently aside and slamming into his opponent before the others had any opportunity to react. Goku skid into the sand dune behind him with a powerful thud, immediately to his feet again and back at unidentified male. He made painful contact with his torso first, then jaw; however, managed to only force the other back a step and not bow or turn as he expected. Knuckles popped decisively with recognition of the hard plate covering the target's chest. The male quickly grabbed his shoulder, tunneling strong fingers down through the ginger cloth and into his skin while a flat palm attempted to excise his rib cage. A staggering cough rumbled out, Goku's body hurled away while still attached by his upper arm.

Tien seized a piece of dense drift wood decoratively placed by the porch step, turning the side at the taller foe. The offender intuitively caught wind of it before Tien could rap his skull, letting go of his objective to repel the object and promptly, wordlessly slug the military man in the upper sternum. Just in time to take his shorter sibling by the scalp and knee him swiftly in the side.

A moment of silence followed. Krillin and Yamcha, ready to enter the struggle, looked to each other with the simultaneous thought that they were next to be taken out.

Roshi beat them to the punch, calming stepping forward, an insulted gestured huffed in a manner rarely viewed by the spectator, "You do not come to my island and attack others without provocation. Now, leave or I will force you out."

The intruder twitched, another guttural response filling the space between them. Roshi took this as a no, hunching down with hands in a narrow line, and charged. Although small and aged, the sensei had his own set of tricks he chose to play, aiming at the opponent's ankles instead of his well protected trunk. His adversary was stealthy, but failed to react, eventually tripping down on one knee. A well placed blow to his joint was all Roshi required to finally sucker the base of his wrist against the underside of the male's nose. The opponent swiped out with a hand as the old man jumped back out of harms way, signaling for his student and guests to finally make their advance.

Krillin resolutely motioned behind him, attempting another cut to the base of the male's neck, using Yamcha's front as a decoy. The kick would have issued contact, had the male not bent down to push forward on his injured leg. A brutal surge rushed forth on the bait, long arms reaching outward to ram fists into the athlete's stomach and throat before he could reply. Stomping down on his extended foot, the small monk skittered back before another low arm swiveled around to meet his side.

The bloodied male stood then, eyes shifting back and forth at the group now half battered. Goku sat observing in horror from the side lines at what just transpired, still regaining his breath and holding a bleeding shoulder socket. Gradually, an internal vague emotion began to click into place; a feeling he almost forgot existed since he was very small. He kept telling himself that all he needed to do was incapacitate the villain, but each attack seemed to gather a more vengeful judgment on the unknown assailant who out of nowhere decided that this was a good day to seek murder.

From the opposite end of Goku's sight, Bulma peeked a shaky head out of the doorway. Concern filled her eyes as she assessed the damage over such a short duration, the back of her fear now to her. Taking this good fortune, she jerked her sight to the small boy hyperventilating in the sand farther from the scene.

"Gohan," she hissed as quietly as she could while creeping out of the building. The child at first did not hear her, his face flushed and wide-eyed. She tried again, noting that the boat was not far beyond him; an escape was still possible. Feebly, she erected herself, tip-toeing away from the trauma, her heart pounding at her throat. Trembling hands reached down to her bundle, ready to sprint before a shrill call came to her. Turning, she caught the angered male stalking in her direction, adrenaline pumping wildly as she whirled the child into her arms and booked it up the sand. She wished she was fast enough, strong enough to protect them both, the mini-yacht enlarging at an inch-like pace. Unseeing though, she felt the large hand at her mid-rift thrusting her back to the ground, and she gave a blood curdling scream.

She did not want to die.

This must have been the broken straw. Before she could wrangle herself out of the terror's arms, she was instantly set free with by gust of power she never felt before. Without looking back, the petite woman again seized her close friend's son and tried for the boat once more. Sound left her. She untangled the rope, setting the now wailing boy onto the deck below and jumped for the engine within the floor. The motor surged far less vigorously than she would have preferred, pushing them out to deeper waters.

It was not until she was nearly half way to the other side and her heartbeat slowed enough to process that they were no longer being chased, did she turn the engine off and glance back at the island. There, in the whirling sand, sat her friend heaving on bent knees over an unmoving object. She did not have to guess as to his expression.

She screamed out, "Goku!"