A/N: Many sorry for the late instalment!

Warning: Graphic content. Somewhat. Not really. Maybe. Meh.

Word count (excluding author's notes): 10,437.

Citations used: A Dream within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe.


All that we see or seem,

Is but a dream within a dream.

Darkness consumed him and he wondered; with eyes closed and steady breathing, as he laid flat on the ground, the cold, hard tiles piercing through his skin as though he was lying on a plane of frozen stalagmites; would he wake up again this time?

Would his eyes open to see a warm, familiar face or the same cold darkness which he had seen countless of times? Would it be different this time?

His eyeballs shifted rapidly behind his eyelids, and he wondered if the dream had ended or only just begun.

Slowly, his lids fluttered open, dark eyes taking in their surroundings even though there was nothing to see. His throat was dry and tongue was thick, and he swallowed hard, or so he tried. He gulped and then began to choke, gasping desperately for air.

It was as sudden as a drop in altitude whilst flying when he felt an unseen pressure impressing on his throat. His hands shot up to remove the invisible force and his fingers, instead of finding his neck, scraped against the hardness of leather as they clutched around a tubular-shaped object.

Said object moved, ever so slightly increasing its pressure on the hollow of his throat. It was then he realized it was a boot, that someone was choking him. He struggled to push himself up, but with every strength mustered in an attempt to jerk forward, it was met with a greater, more painful, compression from the shadowed presence above. He was a strong warrior, the best of the best; nothing should be able to defeat him. He wondered why he could not move.

The boot against his throat pressed down, further increasing pressure and completely cutting off his airway, only moments from crushing his trachea and ending his life. He kicked forward but his feet were met with nothing; not his killer, not a single furniture, just air. He held out a hand, fingers fanned out and trembling and knuckles constricting, the majority of his motor functions conforming into a near-paralysis trauma. And in that split second moment, he wondered, would he die?

"H-e-lp m-e…" he croaked weakly at the shadowed entity, his eyes stinging with hot tears and getting a glimpse of the only feature his killer allowed him to see – fangs, bearing in a twisted smile and glistening softly against the moonlight. Exhaustion took over his senses and his eyes fluttered close, succumbing to the awakening numbness that was once dormant.

Darkness swallowed him like a black hole draining down all that crossed its path, and Vegeta blinked, regaining his focus amidst the absence of light. He pushed himself up and looked around; puzzled. He rubbed his throat and wondered, as he swallowed thickly, where the pain had gone. It was a dream. Only a dream. The same one he'd always had. And perhaps he had roused but have reawakened in another dream. The same other one he'd always had.

"H-e-lp m-e…"

His eyes flew wide open as the plea called to him desperately in a familiar voice. He spun around to glare into the direction from which it came, and as though a spotlight had suddenly come on to shine upon the star attraction that was taking centre stage, Vegeta reeled back in shock at what he was looking at, breath hitching in his throat. Perhaps he should have expected this, perhaps he shouldn't have been this surprised.

After all, the dream had always been like this.

"Ve-ge-taa…" the broken sound of his father's plea forced its way into his head.

Vegeta stood frozen in the obscure corner of the room, as it was the obscure corner of his mind, spectating his father's demise.

The same shadowed perpetrator stood tall above the helpless king, and the young prince wondered why his father had not stood up and fought.

'How can you be so weak, Father?!' He yelled in his mind, his alarmed eyes darting restlessly and aimlessly in the dark, at the murderer, at his sire, as he searched for the window in which laid the opportunity to strike the man down. His mind simultaneously raced for a strategy and wondered why his father still had not moved.

And then, as plain as white, as clear as day, he saw it.

King Vegeta's tail was held hostage in a death grip within the man's fingers, hence rendering him into a helpless pile of worthless muscle and power. Every passing second was torture for the king – a warrior, a leader to one of the strongest races, the other ruler of the universe – for being unable defend himself at the time of his own death.

And here was Vegeta, standing on the side-line and witnessing his father's undoing. He could save him. He could. But this was a dream, a dream that never once allowed him to do so. A dream that he would forever find himself rooted to the ground on which he stood, hiding in the shadows, clenching his fists, internally screaming, and demanding his frozen limbs to function, to spring into action.

Tears of anguish and desperation glistened against the dim moonlight, rolling down the king's cheeks as the man fought to stay alive. Clearly, he was not ready to die.

Vegeta helplessly watched as his father choked on his last breath. He didn't know what to think. At first, he was disgusted by the apparent weakness the man displayed, then he became agitated. After some re-evaluation of the situation, his composure began to shake. The king's eyes focused on him even though their sight was now lost, glazed over by the inevitable transparent sheen of death of which would soon blanket over his dark irises, rendering them hollow and dead.

The prince remained where he was, teeth clenching and about to crack due to the sheer pressure of his tightened jaw. Big, dark eyes could not look away, and he trembled, shaking with suppressed anxiety, anger, and fear, all mixed together. His father's lifeless hand dropped to the floor with a careless thud and Vegeta drew in a sharp breath, as though inhaling the last of his father's. He reached out and pushed himself forward with all he had, and still, could not find the power to move. And so he cried out.

"FATHER!"

Prince Vegeta jerked awake from his slumber, his breathing pattern fluctuating and lapsing into hyperventilation. His eyes darted restlessly, with alarm, amidst the darkness of his room as though searching for something lurking in the corners. He clenched them shut and cupped his mouth, fighting and swallowing down the threatening bile that was lodged in his throat.

A dream within a dream. He scoffed, running his hand across his face and into his upswept hair, wiping away the sheen of perspiration that coated his skin. How much more ludicrous can these dreams get? He grumbled inwardly. The king is dead, get over it.

'Vegeta embraced a moment's rest, recollecting his thought and composure before getting off the bed. He staggered into the bathroom and proceeded to keep himself awake by splashing ice-cold water at his face. He even went to the extent of filling up the sink to the brim and dipping his face into it.

Five odd minutes ticked by and the prince still had not emerged. Drowning his face and holding his breath was a calming gesture even though he knew it was a bad idea to begin with, but the effects of the numbing silence that took over him allowed his mind to be at peace and think. He delved deep into his most recent bout of nightmare, playing the scene over and over and over in his head.

Little air bubbles fluttered around him as Vegeta remained absolutely motionless, watching them float to the top. These dreams… when will they ever stop? He mused and closed his eyes, switching his focus to the steady and deep rhythm of his heartbeat.

I am suffocating.

His heart pounded frantically behind his rib cage; his eyeballs shifted rapidly behind his lids. And even though his focus was waning by the second, he was more than aware as he welcomed the blankness.

I am losing consciousness.

He felt his lungs burn, his head light, moreover, he felt numb everywhere. He wanted to emerge but he also wanted to push himself to the brink of his limits, to see how much more he could take before unconsciousness claimed him fully.

I am screaming, but why can't I feel the pain?

Blood gushed through his veins and as though said veins have ruptured, all Vegeta could see behind his lids was a blast of white and crimson all at once. His eyes flew open and he threw his head back out of the water, taking in greedy intakes of precious air. He near-stumbled against the sink as he regained his bearings, head hanging low, water dripping off the tips of his hair, nose, and chin. The silence was still apparent in his head, ringing louder as though he had just emerged from an explosion.

After a moment's rest, Vegeta lifted his gaze, straightened himself, and stared into the mirror. What was once youthful was now masked behind a layer of stress-induced lines, dark circles beneath the eyes, and a hardened façade. But the longer he stared at his own deteriorating features, the more his image reminded him of his father. He let out a shaky breath and took a step back, eyes widening at what was suddenly transpiring before his eyes.

It's… it's not real.

No matter how much he repeated that in his head, the warping reflection looking back at him was indeed his father, whose eyes, ears, nose, and mouth were bleeding out as though a large unseen force was crushing his skull. Slightly horrified and absolutely sure it was his mind playing tricks on him, Vegeta gritted his teeth, snarled, and threw a fist into the distorted face of his sire.

Is all that we see or seem,

But a dream within a dream?


So I'll find what lies beneath your sick twisted smile

As I lie underneath your cold jaded eyes

What Lies Beneath by Breaking Benjamin


Ever since Bulma was kept under a stricter surveillance, Kakarot had been diligently keeping tabs on the journey's progress. As of now, he was speaking to his second-in-command, Nion, when Prince Vegeta strode into the command centre, heading straight for the main command chair. He politely concluded his conversation before approaching his friend and taking his place beside him.

There were no greetings exchanged and Vegeta seemed quieter than usual, an act which made Kakarot steal several glances at him. The Royal Advisor observed his prince's side profile, not missing the slight discomposure in Vegeta's demeanour. Kakarot noted there was an unorthodox pause in the movement of Vegeta's left hand whenever he operated the touchscreen desk. Taking these into account, Kakarot knew he would have to step in eventually, but he would have to do so with care. After all, giving the prince advices was his duty.

"Slept well, Vegeta?" he asked innocuously, his eyes glued to the prince's face for any out-of-place reaction he might make. Unfortunately for him, he'd gotten none.

Vegeta, on the other hand, was a little bit more disconcerted than he should be. But due to his hardened and stoic exterior moulded from years and years of learning to mask his true emotions, he had shown no signs of surprise – even though he was – when the Royal Advisor threw that question his way. He turned his head slightly to address his second-in-command and, in a murmur, replied with equal ennui, "Sleep is a luxury meant for fools who think they can't afford to lose."

Kakarot observed his boss from the side, taking in the man's weary expression and the minute twitch on his left eyelid. The prince drew in a slow, quiet breath, and then exhaled even slower with a levelled control through his nostrils. He did this several times. A pattern so peculiar in Vegeta's behaviour that it piqued Kakarot's curiosity, and the younger Saiyan decided that he would not stand to see his prince appearing so enervated – it was unbefitting a galactic ruler, especially since they were so close to home.

"Nightmare again?" Kakarot queried in a hushed tone, loud enough only for Vegeta's ears.

This time, Vegeta's reaction was plain to see; his glare enlarged menacingly as he turned to eyeball Kakarot, causing the younger man to pull away a minuscule amount. At the very least, Kakarot was surprised with his prince's response, but otherwise said nothing as he stood his ground.

"I don't have to remind you of your place," Vegeta chastised in a guttural voice, shoving the images of his dream into the darker abyss of his mind. Kakarot quickly lowered his head in submission, slightly ashamed for intruding, "Cross that line again and I'll make sure you stay rooted to the ground on which you stand."

"Yes, sire," the Royal Advisor replied obediently, feeling dispirited for the first time in a long while. He dared a glance up and found Vegeta quickly returning to that daze he had seen earlier, and it became even more apparent to him that he was genuinely fretting over his prince's internal distress, whatever that may be.

Perhaps it was nothing; that Vegeta was simply exhausted with having to handle the crew, their mission, hypocritical councillors back home, and Bulma Briefs.

The last one listed was truly an unnecessary and unexpected burden – a handful, as the prince had put it. He wondered if Vegeta would eventually decide to do away with her once and for all, and if that was true, he would like to be there to witness for a reason that was currently beyond him.

Saying so, perhaps it was everything, including all that he had listed moments ago. And while he completely understood the weight of the burden, he could only guess the pressure that sat on Vegeta's shoulders.

As he mused, the prince's voice infiltrated his thoughts with yet another command. "Report. How much longer till planet fall?"

Kakarot snapped out of his reverie and replied in a professional manner, providing Vegeta with the journey's status he had gained moments before the prince's arrival. "Approximately ten hours till then, Your Majesty," he gave and waited quietly for a response.

"Increase velocity to its maximum capability," Vegeta ordered firmly after a brief contemplative moment, earning him a pair of surprised dark eyes from the advisor, "Enough of space crap."

"Of course," was all Kakarot managed to say before he went to relay the order to Nion. When he returned to the prince's side, he was in for another surprise as Vegeta brusquely dismissed him, telling him that he was no longer needed in the command centre. And he could do no more than to adhere to His Majesty's wishes.

It seemed as though the hour had been full of surprises, and Kakarot could not help but to wonder about what had possibly happened in his absence. It would appear that he had missed out plenty while he babysitting the Earthling. Therefore, he was not pleased, and that frustrated him to no end. He had to, do or die, stay informed of all things; which was one of the reasons why he had deliberately assigned Nion to keep him updated on matters surrounding the prince in the first place. It was so that he maintained a step ahead or, at the very least, a standpoint abreast to Vegeta.

He frowned in displeasure, bowing low as he retreated. He had decided that, as he took in the prince's weary demeanour once more, he would let the issue rest for now.


30 minutes later, on the other side of the ship…

Resting within Kakarot's clutches was an average storage box. It contained dark blue velvet trims and two mechanical devices, and was currently being transported to the room in which Bulma Briefs temporarily resided. As he reached her doorstep, he keyed in a code, waited for access approval, and sauntered into the room without as much as a greeting. He immediately placed the box down onto the table before addressing Bulma with folded arms and a firm glare.

Confused, but more so curious of the box behind the Saiyan, Bulma wisely remained quiet as she returned Kakarot with an equal glare, not at all missing his slight disquietude. She stood before the man, her lips parting and shutting as she contemplated making the first dialogue, but Kakarot's sudden movement made her decide otherwise.

The Saiyan dragged a chair out and spun it around. He then took a seat and slouched forward, resting his forearms over the top of the backrest before lazily gesturing for her to sit on the bed in front of him. Bulma did a quick study on his demeanour and concluded that he was deliberately trying to appear too bored to care, pulling off the perfect impression of a rebel's relaxation. She sighed and then sat down obediently, much to his surprise. He didn't comment on her uncharacteristic resign and, as he maintained his silent reverie, looked between her collarbone and wrist and wondered which one of the two body areas she would most likely choose if the choice was presented. After a moment's debate, his gaze shifted to her face.

"How much do you know about Vegetasei?" he asked suddenly.

Bulma reeled back slightly, taken aback by the unexpected question. The first thing that came to mind was Kakarot attempting a ruse conversation, initiated to gauge how much she knew about something that she probably shouldn't know. Careful but wanting to remain inconspicuous, she'd decided to play it smart – be diplomatic about the whole thing, but not without treading with caution. After all, her knowledge of the planet was scarce and limited. She had not known about life outside the Milky Way until a month back. "Is this a trick question?"

"No," Kakarot was quick to answer, his fingers laced together. "But it is important that I know exactly how much you've gathered about my home planet, so don't leave anything out."

Bulma's eye lowered as her face shifted into a contemplative expression. A ruse subject or not, it didn't take her long before she gave a well-deliberated answer.

"There is only so much that I know of your planet and race. As much as I have gathered, Vegetasei is a planet reigned by a single monarch and its people are of a warrior descendant, a heritage in which power, strength, and survival instincts are passed down and preened into you from the day you were born. Your military foundation is obviously strong and the empire does not seem to be lacking in its technological prowess either. As for the planet's natural elements, I have yet to gain any substantial information on them."

Kakarot nodded as he mentally applauded the woman for her profound depth in perception. The only thing left to do was to paint her a more elaborated picture of what she would be facing in her indefinite stay on the planet. He cleared his throat and, collecting his thoughts and the right words to use, enlightened her.

"Vegetasei is known throughout the universe as the Fire Sphere. It depicts not only the passion for fighting burning found in its residence of warriors but also, simply because the planet is red," he shared, earning him a blue gaze filled with amazement and curiosity. He shifted agitatedly in his chair as he found himself getting slightly uncomfortable under the heavy and intense regard Bulma was suddenly paying him. It shouldn't bother him that much but he wished she wouldn't be this attentive towards him. The context of their exchange was not the issue, but the manner in which her excitement was directed at him was. However, he told himself that he had full control of the situation and tried to stay unaffected.

"Unlike your planet consisting of mostly blue, green, and brown, Vegetasei is a constitution of red and brown. The majority of our planet is a makeup of red soil and auburn vegetation; a massive land filled with 60% in earth. Considering your planet is made up of 70% in water, I cannot fathom why it is named 'Planet Earth' for it literally translates into 'Dirt Ball'," he went off-subject, giving her his own two cents and garnering him a delicate disapproving frown, "So inappropriately named. It's the biggest contradiction I've ever come across."

Kakarot maintained his relaxed stance, not in the least bit fazed by Bulma's reaction. But the sudden glint in his eyes did not go by unnoticed, its shimmer indicating that his next words were of extreme import. "Now, I won't go about pretending that I know the physics behind each individual planetary body. But after doing a brief case study on your planet and the way of life of its population, apart from a handful of apparent same-differences with the Saiyans, it has become quite clear that there is one thing that will hinder your very existence."

Bulma stared at him expectantly, brows furrowed in part-confusion, part-anticipation, while Kakarot merely retained a levelled glare. "As opposed to Earth's normal gravity of 1g, you will be exposed to Vegetasei's gravity of 10."

A gasp escaped Bulma's lips, her eyes now widened with surprise. Her brain quickly sprang into action, already working its way towards resolving the matter using all knowledge on physics known to her, but just as she nearly concluded that the issue was a definite dead end, Kakarot presented her with an outcome.

He stretched out behind him to retrieve the storage box she had seen earlier and opened the lid. "Saying so, these come into play."

The two mechanical devices in which the box contained appeared in the form of a necklace and bracelet. Bulma leaned forward and closer to Kakarot, peering into the box as she examined the intricate accessories. The Saiyan observed her bodily reactions, noting that the first accessory she had chosen happened to be the wrist attachment, and he deduced that she must fancy bracelets over necklaces. He had been expecting that.

"How will these things overcome the gravity adjustment?" Bulma questioned as she studied the device in her hand, turning and twirling it around her delicate fingers.

"For a non-Saiyan individual or an individual who is not accustomed to the gravity difference on a certain planet, one has to attach this apparatus to their wrist or neck to counter its force," Kakarot explained, staring at the gadget in her hand as though it was revealing its technological secrets to him. "The mechanics of these devices are simple and straightforward. They are meant for the wrist and neck simply because the arteries in those areas connect to the heart."

"So this is a heart rate monitor?" Bulma questioned condescendingly, lifting the device up with a finger as it dangled in between their faces.

"Don't be so shallow-minded," Kakarot berated, lightly swatting her hand away before he went even more in-depth with his explanation, "It does monitor your heart palpitations but not for the reasons you are assuming. The key mechanism of this device is to drill into its wearer a substantial modification in bone density so that the user is able withstand an x amount of gravity. In other words, it can decrease or increase the solidity in your bones to accommodate the gravity levels you are exposed to, keeping tabs on both physiological response and behavioural counteraction to the changes made."

A moment of silence flitted past them. Despite having so much to digest in such a short duration of time, compounded with the fact that Saiyan technology had found an absolute way to counter gravity, Bulma was, to say the least, speechless. Awed, but nonetheless, speechless.

"The technological breakthrough is..." Bulma started, but then trailed off to stare at the device in her hand. She took a deep breath and then chuckled lightly as she glanced up at Kakarot, "Well, what can I say? It's impressive. The theory is not unfamiliar but the actual implementation is far beyond my limitation."

Bulma went back to toying with the gadget, this time picking up the neck attachment to assess and compare the build and details of each respective device. Kakarot granted her the privilege to do so, at the same time realising his growing amusement in watching her work. 'Intrigued', just as she was at this given moment, would be the more precise term. Her subject of interest being the device while she was his were the only difference.

"What do you call these things?" She asked, placing the neck piece back into the box.

With the storage box still held firmly in his hands, Kakarot answered, "I don't know and frankly, I don't care to know. These things are usually dispensed to those who require them without me getting involved. But because you are under my supervision-"

"Yea, yea, I get it. I'm your responsibility. But what is the scientific name for these things?" She cut him off, not really caring for his usual scripted speech of supremacy.

Kakarot frowned heavily, his glare hardened and set agitatedly on her face. "G-Neutraliser is its official name," he finally gave, stressing the name a little more than expected. However, the slight lift in his expression told Bulma that he had obviously given this some serious thought before, "I'd personally give it a fiercer name like Bone-Driller or De-Gravitron, but again, I don't care," he said simply, honestly uncaring.

After hearing that, Bulma found herself nearly smiling for the first time since she boarded this ship. It dawned on her that perhaps there was more to Kakarot than he portrayed himself to be. In fact, if one could remove his smug, anal-retentive attitude, he could even pass off as your typical boy-next-door type.

How old did he say he was again? She thought, unable to remember if he had even divulged that little piece of information to her. She swallowed her snicker and, not wanting to throw him off his bad-boy game, refrained from commenting on this little discovery. Instead, she simply nodded in agreement and went back to the serious matter at hand.

"So how does this control one's bone density?"

"There's a soft touch button on the top panel of the wrist attachment, or middle panel on the necklace. Press to activate."

Intrigued even further now, Bulma excitedly slid the contraption on her wrist, but Kakarot stopped her before she could do anything more.

"For a supposedly intelligent being, you really are quite careless, aren't you?" he said sarcastically, earning him an incredulous gape. Bulma, comprehending his hidden quip, quickly removed the device from her wrist. She threw him a wary glance and, with much more care this time, tested it out as-is.

She pressed on the button and observed as it beeped, the sound indicating that the device had been activated. It started by attempting a heart rate read, but when detected no pulse, it prompted the user if he or she would like to proceed with the de-gravitising process. She gave Kakarot another glance, but the man was staring back with the enthusiasm of a lazy, uncaring house cat. Though, he did – minutely – gesture for her to continue with the progress.

And so she responded to the prompt, allowing approval for the device to engage de-gravitising mode. Once the process was deployed, a slight whirring sound started to play at the base. It gradually became louder and Bulma, after turning the gadget over to examine it, wished she hadn't.

Within the circumference of the bracelet, four needles whirled out from four hidden holes – two at the top and two at the base. All four tips met in the centre, and anyone who had seen or been subjected to this device knew that the needles would drill right into the bone. Bulma gasped as she connected the dots. She could not even begin to imagine the pain this condemned gadget would cause its wearer.

"You weren't kidding when you called this a 'Bone-Driller'," Bulma muttered, her voice shaking slightly. She glanced up at the Saiyan and, her face scrunched up with concern, shook her head in a silent look of disapproval.

"This is brutal," she commented softly, almost sadly.

"Now you know how it works. Technically, the needles drill into the bones that are closest to the artery which leads to your heart. Once the needles are secured within the bones, the density control commences."

"It's a painful process! How can you people not bat an eyelid?!" Bulma argued, her anger becoming apparent as evidenced by the tightening grip on the contraption.

"Not denying it, but a moment of pain prevents you from being crushed to death. The way I see it, practical significance outweighs everything else."

"I can't accept this," she stood her ground, "This is just vicious! There must be another way."

His eyes never left hers and, as clear but murky blue liquid began to fill up the spaces in the tank, Bulma panicked and slammed her hands onto the glass surface. Her tiny fists thumped desperately against the thick glass as the water level continued to rise at a startling speed, and all she could do was stare helplessly back at him. He was sure that she was on the verge of screaming her lungs out but the anaesthetic gas was released through the mask, and he was also sure that she would soon feel an extreme case of light-headedness. Just as he had expected, she seeped into unconsciousness within seconds and any trace of apparent panic would evidently drown away within the healing liquid.

He stood before the tank and continued to observe the humanoid. For a full fifteen minutes, he studied the way her cerulean hair waved against the soft current and took in the little twitches the nerves on her face would make. Now that she was immobile, she appeared absolutely calm; frail, delicate, vulnerable even. And while he may not realise it yet, the very thought of her weak and defenceless aroused a sense of protectiveness in him.

He pulled up her vitals and anatomic profile and studied them almost diligently. After doing some minor calculations in his head, he moved to punch in a series of buttons. When he was done, his finger hovering hesitantly over a green-coloured button. He became contemplative for a moment, and just as he was about to press on it, the head practitioner's voice stopped him.

"It is irreversible," the doctor warned knowingly, taking a stand beside Kakarot as they both stared at the enchanting entity floating within the blue healing water.

"It would be in the prince's best interest that she functions as normally as though she is a native. Any complication following this procedure can be overcome. Humans are known to be creatures of habit, she'll adapt eventually," countered the Royal Advisor calmly.

A moment of detached silence hung amidst them before Kakarot finally decided to hit the green button. The doctor released a light sigh through his nose, adjusted his glasses, and nodded regrettably, "Just thought you should know, every living being deserves the right of choice."

"There is," Kakarot murmured, his eyes glazed over from recalling that memory. Could he be wrong in dismissing her right to choose what was best for herself? He blinked and return to all seriousness. No, he wasn't wrong. It really was for the best. Besides, she'd soon find out how this particular change would be an advantage to her.

A pair of azure eyes fixated themselves upon Kakarot's face, staring at him expectantly.

"Genetic enhancement," he gave simply, earning him a confused look. "The regen tank which you were occupying earlier was not used only to heal your injuries," he paused there, allowing the true weight of his words to sink in.

"So you-; did you-; am I-" Bulma stammered, revelation slowly seeping in, "Are you saying… what I think you're saying?"

"Yes."

That single powerful word stumped Bulma, her face faltered and vacant. Her glare was the only indication of what was possibly boiling beneath her skin. She was angry, furious, enraged; but most of all, she felt deceived. She grappled the device in her tiny fist, and then without a word, hurled it at the offensive man.

Kakarot, in spite of his great reflexes, remained still and accepted the flying object with his face. Though he had expected an incessant verbal assault laden with profanity and lewd suggestions, this physical reaction was not too far from it either. In addition, he figured he had underestimated the strength in which she used to pitch that blasted thing. It hurt. A little.

"How dare you?" she seethed in a low voice, fists tightening into balls with the best of her strength. "How dare you do such a thing? Without my consent?"

Aside from the first time he'd met her, she was the angriest Kakarot had ever seen. However, what disturbed him even more than this was the fact that he found himself unwilling to retort. Could it be due to the very fact that she was right? It was for the best, wasn't it?

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Bulma raised her voice, and Kakarot cleared his throat.

"I did it with a clear conscience, so yes, I know exactly what I've done and why I've done it. The ideology behind genetic alteration is not at all foreign, maybe to you Humans it is, but not to us. It is a process commonly practised to amend one's power or appearance to fit their environment and purpose. The very fact that you were healed via a regeneration tank conveys the very notion that your body has already undergone some level of enhancement."

Bulma listened to his explanation, but he'd be out of his mind if he thought she'd accept it so easily.

"Regenerating cells and modifying one's genetic build are two entirely different concepts. The latter is an unconscionable process. Whether on Earth or out here in space, I know that some people would die to have themselves genetically altered but I believe that life should not be tampered with by way of neither creation nor death."

"What are you getting so worked up for?" Kakarot argued, "Didn't you say that the G-Neutraliser is a brutal method? One way or another, you'd still need the density increase. Regardless of your righteous beliefs, the enhancement is clearly the least painful decision. Will you not seize the better, most practical option to survive?"

"If you were a vegetable; entirely paralysed – you can't see what goes on around you, but you can very well hear me and I say, 'pull the plug because he isn't ever going to wake up'; would you have allowed me to pull it without your conscious consent?" Bulma countered to prove her point.

Kakarot sneered at her, disliking the analogy she referred him with. "Look, you can either choose to use the attachment or carry on without it. That's all there is to it. With the device, your safety is secured. Without it, you may suffer some complications which follow the alteration."

Bulma scoffed, folding her arms, "No shit, Sherlock. Of course there will be complications, we're talking about you modifying my entire genetic build!" she flailed a hand in frustration and rambled on, enraged scientist mode engaged, "Did you ever think, for one second, if my human anatomy could even accept the change? Of course you didn't. You're no doctor," she continued and started pacing the floor, "A single mistake could mutate me into an entirely different species or worse, cost me my life, and then who is going to-"

"QUIET!" Kakarot suddenly boomed from his seat.

The human piped down almost instantly but she would not retreat her stance. She stalked up to him, fists on the hip, and leered down at his face even though his head nearly reached her full height even while seated. A staring competition began as they glared, sneered, and scowled at one another. But this was not a game.

"You want to survive the planet, then shut up and listen," he growled, his voice low.

"I will shut up and listen when you start telling me important information like the goddamn advisor you're supposed to be."

Kakarot's eye twitched. He wanted to reach out and pull her head back, and while her neck is bare and exposed, he would wrap his fingers around it and then… and then... "Fine," he murmured, turning his head to avert her gaze and shaking the images away, "What do you want to know?"

Bulma backed up and reclaimed her position on the bed, seemingly much more relaxed now that he relented. She fidgeted some and then suggested, "I want to know the pros and cons of both methods; their benefits and repercussions. And don't leave anything out."

The Saiyan collected his thoughts and structured the words he wanted to convey. They had to be constructive as his goal was for her to be on the same standpoint as him. After all, he just didn't want her to choose the lesser, more painful option.

He went on to explain how the G-Neutraliser was invented and the ideology behind it. Bulma understood why the theory was implemented in such a way, drilling into bones and increasing their density; it was a straightforward and sure-safe concept. But it came with a price. Those who wore it would have to bear with the eventual scars it'd leave behind if and when removed. She cringed at the fact that while her flesh may heal and seal those drill holes, her bones may not due to the over-exposure of continuous running statics and electric currents.

After that he tapped into the subject of genetic enhancement, speaking in a manner much more positive from the first method. He explained how altering her genetic build by increasing the density in her bones would not make her stronger but much more resilient to her surroundings in a natural way. The complications he mentioned earlier would most likely range from loss of balance and coordination to vertigo and slight shift of internal organs, but they were not unadaptable. He even told her that if and when she returned to Earth, or any planet with a lesser gravity force than that of Vegetasei, she would experience and realise the substantial difference in weight and strength.

"So, what's it going to be?" Kakarot asked after allowing her a 30-minute deliberation window, his gaze lazy and lost in space through the porthole on the far end of the room.

Bulma blinked slowly as her eyes drifted from Kakarot, to the porthole he was staring through, and then back at him. At this point, her decision seemed to lean towards the latter method, considering that it was irreversible. This would mean that she'd have to accept whatever difficulties she'd face. Her head lowered, lips pressed into a thin, determined line. She took in a deep breath, and as she exhaled, out came her answer.

"I'll brave the complications."

Thirty odd minutes later, Bulma was still sitting in the same position she had before. Kakarot left right after she had made her decision, taking along what he had brought with him. Those devices were on the forefront of her mind ever since and she could not understand why the Saiyans, as a race that was so advance in space technology, could subject foreign visitors to such brutal contraptions.

What about foreign politicians? She wondered, revelation gradually kicking in but not quite there yet. Surely the Saiyans would not clamp these things on them. There must be something more to it. I'm certain that Kakarot is hiding something. I'll find out sooner or later.

On the other hand, Bulma stressed, scooting back towards the headboard and drawing up her knees, I had no knowledge of this genetic alteration method until Kakarot mentioned it. I didn't even feel the slightest change in my body, therefore I didn't have to know. Why did he tell me? Why did he allow me to choose between the two methods if I was better off with the modification, if I was better off not knowing?

It doesn't make any sense, her brows furrowed deeper, confusion plastered on her face. Could it be that he regrets what he did?

Bulma's eyes widened at that assumption. She blinked and glanced at the door, at the spot where she'd last seen the man. If what she'd assumed was true, then perhaps there truly was more to Kakarot than what he portrayed himself to be.


After leaving Bulma to dwell on the recent happenings he had so graciously dumped her with, Kakarot headed straight for the command centre. They'd be home in another approximately eight hours, and no doubt there'd be so much on his plate to catch up on. He estimated it'd be months before he could be free enough to take a day off or two, especially since he'd wounded up with a certain blue-haired charge. Ever since the last meeting Bulma had with his prince, he was almost certain Vegeta would tie a leash around her neck, with him left holding the handle.

He frowned and shook his head at the thought of Bulma, turning the last corner and then stopping dead in his tracks. Could things get any worse? He wondered as he took in the sight of his second-in-command and possibly the entire flying crew gathering in the hallway outside the command centre.

"Nion! What is the meaning of this?" barked Kakarot.

The onion-top haired man walked up to the Royal Advisor, saluted in greeting, and then reported, "Sir, shortly after you left the command centre, His Majesty dismissed us all."

Kakarot listened intently to what was conveyed, his mind trying to piece the puzzle together. His brain hurt for a second as he found himself unwilling and too tired to think. What the hell are you doing, Vegeta?

"And no one else is in there with him?"

"No one, sir."

Having gathered all he needed to know, Kakarot nodded wordlessly and sauntered past the crew. He made a short stop by the entrance and, before entering the now open slide door, threw over his shoulder, "Don't wander too far. Resume your positions at my command."

Vegeta, who was occupying his seat in the centre of the room, lounged as he mulled over his most recent dream, among many other unnameable inconsequential issues. Granted, this wasn't the first time he had had the nightmare, but this time it was a little different. This time, the untold anguish he had felt surging through his body and psyche was so much more intense than before.

As a result, he had been dazed from the second he had woken up and, needing to stay centred but not wanting the entire crew to witness his uncharacteristic reverie, had conveniently dismissed everyone in sight. It was blissfully peaceful, until the sliding open.

"What did I tell you?" He asked the moment Kakarot stepped up next to him.

"You said that I'm not needed here," Kakarot replied, his tone and manner controlled, amused, and slightly softer, as though he was chastising a temperamental child to his best efforts, "But the ship isn't going to fly itself, Vegeta. Dismissing the entire crew was not the most conducive of ideas," he advised as he rubbed the back of his nape, ending with a light chuckle. He then approached the nearest co-pilot's chair and proceeded to observe the dashboard.

"You fly it, then."

"You know I would if I could," Kakarot said with an amused smirk, but was met with silence. However, the amusement slipped off his face almost instantaneously as he took note of the silent beeping light on the console.

"Vegeta?" He called suddenly, voice dropped, suspicious, and slightly laden with urgency.

The prince groaned, rolling his eyes and palming his face as he did so, "What the fuck do I have to do to get some peace and quiet around here?"

"My apologies, Your Highness, but..." Kakarot cajoled lightly for he was about to impose a direct demand on Vegeta, "How long has this been beeping?"

"Who the fuck cares?"

The prince was obviously uncaring, but Kakarot was now near desperate – as an advisor, as a second-in-command – the need to know every little detail rising at a rapid rate. A bad feeling suddenly crept up his spine. What if it was related to something extremely important? What if something had happened back home?

"Vegeta... please," he implored seriously, already meddling with his scouter to connect to the call.

Vegeta's bored gaze roamed towards Kakarot, an ordinary glance that turned into a glare the longer he stared. He studied the advisor's demeanour and, seeing no reason to hold back, decided to relent but not without rolling his eyes and looking away. "One hour... or two."

"Thank you, sire," Kakarot murmured, pressing the button as he opted for an audio call instead of a video one. Vegeta had other ideas as, after a second's contemplation, seized the call and put it on loudspeaker.

"Royal Shoren. Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?" a monotonous drawl came through.

"This is Royal Shoren. Speak."

"This is Perilla 281X, requesting direct communication with His Majesty or the Royal Advisor," the speaker croaked.

"This is Kakarot," the Royal Advisor said simply, eager to grasp the suspense hidden behind the man's voice.

"Your Excellency, Shoren has been non-communicable but we've received no distress signal. Is the ship still intact?"

"Of course it's still intact, you idiot," Vegeta chimed in, head resting against his fist and bored as hell.

A light sound of surprise was heard followed by a brief moment of silence, and the messenger spoke again, "My apologies, Your Majesty, but we have a situation."

"What is it?" Kakarot asked calmly, staring ahead and into nothingness as his brain clicked into gear to prepare himself for the worst.

"Well, there's a, the er..." the man stammered, suddenly finding it difficult to project his thoughts.

"I know exactly who you are and when I return I will kill you if you don't start talking!" Vegeta threatened, his patience running dangerously thin. Kakarot, whose patience was just as low, supposed it was better that Vegeta had been the one who lost it instead of him.

"Prince Frieza is in the palace, Your Majesty. He landed six hours ago, along with 12 delegates from Atria of the Lyra quadrant. They have been enquiring your return, sire," the man finally blurted them all out in one breath.

Kakarot digested this and was quick to refute, "But we are not expect-"

"We did not expect Prince Frieza to have arrived this early," Vegeta cut Kakarot off firmly, giving the advisor a knowing glance that earned him another look of surprise. "We ran into a minor collision but you can expect our arrival in another eight hours. In the meantime, do keep our guests warm."

"Yes, sire."

"Anything else you'd like to report?"

"No, sire."

At that, Vegeta dismissed the call without another word to the man. He then calmly reclined in his seat and stared emptily up at the ceiling, his hands lounging upon the armrest and fingers clenching into tight fists.

"Vegeta, we are not expecting Frieza," Kakarot repeated. He was exasperated and at a near-confused state. But he understood that one cannot be too careful where Frieza was concerned. Taking the extra step ahead was necessary.

"I'm aware of that," Vegeta snapped, straightening up to glare out the large porthole that displayed the view of his home galaxy. So near yet so far. "What the hell are you playing at, Frieza?" He wondered out loud.

"If my speculation is accurate, he is here to personally see for himself the cause of our long-term absence. After all, we have been away and nearly unreachable for six months," gave Kakarot, a hand cupping his chin as he frowned behind his fingers, contemplating hard.

"Regardless, he has no reason to be on my planet unannounced. There is no way he could have learned of our intention, and even if he has, how the fuck is 'intergalactic political affairs and mass purging within my quadrants' any of his concern?" the prince grumbled, his temper rising.

"Someone internal must have tipped him off," Kakarot suggested.

"No shit, Commander Obvious," Vegeta snapped, whipping his head to glare at his second-in-command, "I want you to find that fucking traitor and skin him alive; nice and slow; in front of me as I enjoy his favourite meal."

While Kakarot agreed with Vegeta's method of punishment, because treachery is unacceptable, he couldn't help but cringe at the way the royal mocked him. He knew he had heard it before, and he also knew exactly who had said it and when she had said it. This made him wonder, how uncanny it was for them to hate each other so much and be so alike at the same time – bitter, sinister, shrewd, loud, demanding, and the list would go on. He frowned heavily and sighed with resignation. It really did make him cringe.

However, there were direr matters at hand, namely Frieza, who had entered their domain as though he owned the planet and its people.

"Have someone keep you covertly updated on the situation in the palace. Report to me immediately should anything be amiss. Also, in the entirety of the lizard's stay, keep all of our newly acquired scientists and military talents from him and his men," Vegeta ordered as he stood up. He leaned slightly forward, palms firmly planted on the desk, and thought to himself.

You want to play, Frieza? Let's play. Any game, any weapon. I will win.

With that pledged, Vegeta pivoted on his heel and stormed out of the command centre, leaving Kakarot to tend to the issues of the ship. For now, there was only one weapon in his mind he planned on safekeeping, and it was one that required a little bit more polishing.


Weakness.

A crime that everyone was guilty of since they were torn from the comfort of their mother's womb.

Everyone had it. It could be 1 or it could be 99. But one thing was for certain; everyone had it. No one was spared, including Bulma, and on top of her established claustrophobia, one of her many weaknesses was a good, relaxing hot bath. Even an hour-long shower could not compare and the human scientist had never been more grateful when she discovered that the room Kakarot gave her had a decent-sized bathtub in it.

Bulma had just emerged from the bathroom, drip-drying her hair, clad only in black lacy bra and panties. She decompressed a capsule containing her wardrobe and laid out on the bed a pair of dark blue jeans and black long-sleeved button-up blouse.

She wore her jeans and posed before the mirror to evaluate her shrunken asset. She gave her reflection a disapproving frown before moving on to shrug on her blouse, fold up the sleeves, and adjust her collar. She had only managed to button her shirt midway when suddenly the door slid open, and Prince Vegeta came bursting into the room. Bulma's eyes widened, completely stunned in place as the man took a stand in front of her and rudely intruded into her personal domain, while she was barely dressed, too.

Bulma figured he had his fingerprints or the master key code to override all doors so when her initial shock waned, they stood glaring at one another, with Vegeta in his typical stance of folded arms and an ugly scowl, and Bulma in her poised posture and analytic manner. Her icy glower was the only clear indication of her obvious irritation, but Vegeta was set in his hardened ways, scarcely affected by her. He glared right back into those ocean depths but went no lower than her cheekbones, well aware of her rather exposed chest.

"I'm curious," she started slowly, "Have you ever knocked on a door in your life?"

"Of course I have. What do you take me for?" Vegeta replied with much indifference, earning him a frown on her delicate lips.

Bulma froze and considered his response but then decided not to react to it, mainly because she didn't know how to. Instead, she released a soft, exasperated huff and turned away to finish buttoning her blouse. But before she could even get another button in, Vegeta's left hand shot out to her right wrist and he lightly yanked her towards him. She struggled some, grunting softly as pushed him away. But the prince was relentless and merely leered down at her face until their noses were practically a hairsbreadth away.

"I'll consider your terms," he said, instantaneously rendering Bulma to stop her fussing.

A light gasp escaped her parted lips, her wide blues eyes shone into his dark ones. And while he was reducing her into disbelief and temporary paralysis, the uncivilised grip on her wrist naturally went by unnoticed.

But he was not finished. "So long as you abide by mine."

Her brows dropped into a frown and her glare returned. Of course, she thought, I strike a bargain tough for you but you just have to knock me down with a tougher one.

"And what would they be?" she questioned with care, anticipating the worst.

"Earn my trust. Show me your worth. In exchange for your service and loyalty, your wish for freedom will be reviewed. And when you leave my planet, you leave as my most trusted ally."

A moment of tension and silence flitted in between them before Bulma angrily yanked her hand out of his powerful grip, but only because he'd allowed her to.

"As delightful as this development sounds, don't you think courtesy is imperative?" she argued, moving a step back as she cradled her hand, "Perhaps in exchange for my service and loyalty, you should first earn my respect and assure my faith in you, and you can start with knocking on the door before you enter."

Exasperated but unyielding, Vegeta gave his dry lips a fleeting lick and closed the distance between them once more. He tilted her chin up with his fingertips and gazed into her eyes.

"What I think is imperative is that it's time you face reality. As much as I admire your unbreakable resolve, you are under my jurisdiction," he cajoled softly, eyes hooded as his gaze fell from her eyes to her lips and back up, "I'll take care of you so you need not worry. And as I have said, I pass fair judgement when my demands are met, so all that is left for you to do is work your up… work your way out."

He's doing it again. He's manipulating you, she repeated those words in her head like a mantra, to ensure that she would not derail from the rational track. Those eyes and that voice; you hate them. You hate them with everything you have. You hate them all. You hate him.

Silence waved through them once more as Vegeta paused long enough to make an emphasis of his next words. His fingers slid down the arc of her slender neck, feathered over the outline of her collarbone, and stopped at the top of her left breast just before the bra line. Gently, he pressed two fingers on the soft bosom; on the flesh right above her beating organ.

"I am giving you what you want," he said under a whisper, his eyes glancing down at the plumpness of her breast as though speaking to her thumping heart, "Is that not what you desire," and he glanced back up into her eyes, his gaze deepening, dark eyes hooded behind thick lashes, "… Bulma?"

Bulma inhaled sharply and reached up to grip on the intrusive, masculine hand, pressing his fingers further against the softness of her breast. At the sound of her name rolling off his lips, she recalled a time when she had called out his in the exact same manner to exploit his weakness and massage his ego – soft, sensual, and filled with an undeclared thirst for lust. Could he really stoop down to that level and play her at her own game?

Bulma knew for a fact that she would forsake a part of her modesty to get what she ultimately wanted without sacrificing too much of herself. But could he, would he go all the way and do the same? In the end, one of them would have to lose out more than the other, but who? For the love of all known deities, she hoped he did not just use this against her.

Vegeta smirked inwardly. He could tell that she was battling against herself, against her better judgement. What he was doing to her was only a means to distract her, just like she had done so with him.

Tough bargain after tough bargain was struck, and it would seem as though they had reached a happy middle ground, but for whatever reasons that prompted the prince to finally give her want she wanted was beyond Bulma. Regardless of his reasons, she would be glad to assume that he was merely looking out for both of their best interests.

Meanwhile, Vegeta was confident. He knew that she would have to agree to his requirements because, for one – there was clearly no other way about it if she wanted her freedom so badly; and two – he gave her absolutely no reason to refuse him. After all, his terms were benign and achievable even for a mere child. The only unspoken term was that there was no deadline to the alleged evaluation of her freedom.

But Bulma knew that. Even if it was unspoken, her intelligence and own shrewdness would not allow her to let that slip. Despite his crafty tactics and the feelings they were evoking in her, she had no choice but to deliberate on his offer with a rational mind. Granted, they weren't the best of terms but both parties knew they would serve everybody well in the end. The only setback in this arrangement was the undeclared and indefinite duration in which she would have to serve him and his empire. Could she live with that?

Bulma closed her eyes and concluded that this must be his final offer. This was his middle ground and it was all left to her to decide if she'd meet him halfway. If she didn't accept it now, chances of him being this tame, lenient, and reasonable would cease to persist. She didn't come this far only to survive. She wanted to live. And she couldn't possibly do that if she was discarded to the streets or dead. Her shoulders sagged and she let out a resigned huff, reopening her eyes and glancing up at his.

"You have a deal," she breathed out, her words travelling into his ears in a sultry whisper.

A glimpse of the slightest smirk was all Bulma could capture before Vegeta slid his other hand behind her head and crushed her lips into his. The rest of their hands, now trapped tightly in between their bodies, pressed against the softness of her breast.

As they kissed, Vegeta had to fight the urge to caress her, devour her, and take every inch of her; while Bulma's thought process failed her immensely as she remained absolutely still. His lips moulded softly against the contour of her closed stubborn ones. He was demanding yet controlled. His kiss was firm and slow, as though he was testing the water that was her mouth before deciding if he should dip in deeper or drown in it.

The woman, however, was reluctant in reciprocating his kisses. She had not struggled against him either. She just simply wasn't moving. Moments into the kiss, she finally caved, but when he felt her responding to the movement of his lips, he decided to pull away, finishing the kiss with an abrupt end.

Bulma managed to not whimper from the loss of contact, but she did nearly melt against him. Her blue eyes open and she glanced up, crystal depths glazed with an untold desire matching the haze of lust hidden within obsidian eyes. They stared at one another, both unmoving, unspeaking; breathing heavily.

"It is sealed," Vegeta purred with a voice low and husky, a clear indication of the desire stimulated from that single kiss. He briefly wondered if his yearning for her would continue to escalate or diminish once he had had her.

Bulma gave his hand a squeeze but the prince gently yanked it out of her grasp and, without so much as another word, turned to walk out of the room. His business here was done and she was left there to stare at his retreating back and comprehend what the hell that kiss was all about; surely it wasn't meant to just seal the deal. Once he was out of her room and that she knew it was safe to let out her feelings, she dropped to the edge of the bed, the hand that was on her chest now clutching her breast.

She could still feel the ghost of Vegeta's touch lingering and feathering across her skin, the area now cold and vacant. The absence of his touch only made apparent that the gesture had been warm and intimate, never mind the tingling feeling in her nether regions which he left her with when he ended the kiss. Did she think he would go further, or did she want him to go further? As she regulated her breathing and regained composure, she thought – she should be shocked, surprised, disgusted with herself; but instead she found herself confused and slightly curious.

She gave her lips a lick, suddenly wanting to taste him all over again, and when she captured the foreign essence that he left behind, her heart pounded and the whimper which she had held onto so stubbornly was finally released. She was thrown into disbelief with the way she responded to him.

How… am I this weak?

She clasped her dainty fingers around her neck and wondered – if this was a weakness, then it was a crime. And if this was a crime, how would she pay for it?


I think I am pleased with this chapter. The development in each character is starting to show.

Flagship name rationale:

Shoren is a derivative of Horenso, which means spinach in Japanese. Spinach has always reminded me of strength, as evidenced by the impeccable power it gives Popeye when he eats them. Lame. I know.

Trivia:

Lyra: Ruled by Frieza and is one of four quadrants of the universe, two of which are under Vegeta's ruling. The remaining quadrant is still unnamed and it belongs to Frieza.

Atria: The largest and most valuable sector in the Lyra quadrant.

Well, I hope you enjoyed the read. Do leave me a review with feedback of the plot, anything which you don't grasp, constructive feedback, flaming, basically just anything. Sorry for errors spotted though.