Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
Bulma
Year 750
She strides quickly through the corridors, picking the path that soldiers frequent the least. When she climbs the stairwell leading onto the main deck, however, it becomes impossible to avoid Frieza's mercenaries. She keeps her head down and moves past them wordlessly, and the aliens- all shapes and forms and colours- ignore her.
It is a relief when she steps into the med bay. The door hisses closed behind her, and she is alone once more.
The job she's been assigned is another typical one. It seems that the muscle-bound morons on this ship are all too dense to open a regen tank properly. Every week she tends to at least twenty repair jobs in any of the fifty med bays scattered around the ship. When it's the glass panels on a tank that need repair she has to call in for assistance, which she hates, because it means dealing with the creepy Corshinan guy that has to sign off on the various equipment kept in storage in the bowels of the ship. Thankfully, it's only the control pad that's been messed with this time, and it's something she can easily manage herself.
The work is relatively simple, and it gives her time to think as she kneels on the floor, her fingers deftly reconnecting wires and replacing microchips. As of late she's begun a torturous game, replaying all of her favourite pop songs from Earth in her head as she works. It hurts to remember them and the rest of her old life, but it would hurt her more to forget. She's seen the way some of the other techs act; they're empty shells, mere shadows of the people they used to be. She's determined not to become one of them.
Her reverie is broken by the hiss of the door, and two huge soldiers wander in, the larger one carrying what she assumes is their injured comrade in their arms. She looks away quickly, but not quick enough to miss the blood pooling on the floor. That, accompanied with the overpowering stench of male sweat, makes her feel a little sick.
They don't notice her, preoccupied as they are with getting their bleeding buddy into the other tank in the room. She risks another glance at them and finds that they've already stripped the unconscious person and put the slumped body in the tank.
They're all of the same race- that much she can tell, despite the fact that one is bald while the other two vary in degrees of hairiness. She's seen the two conscious ones around the ship before, but she doesn't know what they are. They're humanoid, though, and something about the smaller of the two- who still stands around seven feet tall- seems unnervingly familiar.
Perhaps they feel her eyes staring at their backs, because both men turn suddenly to face her. Their dark eyes are striking in their intensity, and their expressions are mean. But the larger, bald one snorts and says "It's just a tech," and they both relax and turn away and she knows she is safe for now. She keeps her eyes focused on her work until she hears the door to the med bay hiss open again and their heavy footsteps leaving, the words 'Don't know why he took on Cuiā¦' carrying back down the hallway. She sighs in relief.
When her work is complete she cannot help glancing into the murky green fluids of the tank in use. She blushes when she sees that yes, this third alien is also very male, and does her best not to stare at his nether regions after that.
He has been submerged in the tank for less than an hour, but already his wounds are almost healed. She knows she's playing with fire, endangering herself by lingering in a med bay so often used by soldiers, but the soft humming of the regen tank is calming, and she is mesmerized by the boy inside.
She realises now that they must be of a similar age, and she wonders why she hasn't seen him around before. She knows he must be dangerous, but in his current state he seems harmless. He is thin, but muscular, and his face is handsome, with high cheekbones and full lips and a widow's peak that she finds oddly attractive.
But it is the tail that truly captures her attention. It is brown and furry, and she's met a boy with one like that before. It doesn't make sense to categorize Goku with these alien men, but somehow she knows it's true. He had to have been one of them.
She leaves the room then, moving quickly down the corridors and stairwells once more, pondering just how the boy she once knew could fit into the equation. She remembers Goku alive, laughing at her from across a campfire, and then she remembers him dead, his eyes staring blankly up at nothing. She passes another tech in the hall, whose eyes still see yet stare with the same blankness of the dead, and she vows to herself that she will never forget who she is.
She is alive, though she is trapped in this hellhole flying saucer.
She still dreams of freedom.
