The scene was oddly familiar: The crater of scarred earth, belching smoke and raining ash. Instead of charred soil and seared sand, there were twisted street lights saluting shattered buildings that reached like broken fingers towards the sky, and a flood of sewage water spewing into the air. Still, as she gingerly made her way to the edge of the cracked asphalt, she almost expected to see Radditz bleeding at the bottom.

Instead, in glimpses through the fog and mist, she saw the ruinous remains of what once must have been a person – of sorts. It obviously wasn't human. The Saiyan she had encountered before in the alley hovered over the prone form of the fallen alien, repeatedly striking down on the pulp of what remained of a skull.

Just at that moment, he jolted – halfway between bringing his fists down again – and looked in her direction. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, trying to smother her startled and horrified cry too late.

And then suddenly… in a blur he was gone.

She fell back when an abrupt mass morphed into being directly before her. She would have fallen completely if an iron grip hadn't snatched her wrist from the air to catch her. Instead, she half stood, half hung from his grasp. She could do nothing as he brought her closer to his face, cocking his head to the side. He blinked as he studied her with mild interest, nostrils softly flaring, lips partially open as if tasting the air.

Then, as if speaking to himself, he spit out two harsh sounding words. She flinched but his voice had been without emotion; like he was simply making an observation – likely, "Oh. It's just you."

He held her that way for a few moments, considering her intently as she stared back at him. Slowly, curiosity replaced her fear. He watched the shift of expression on her face with a curiosity of his own. Silently, they stared at and blinked at each other, each waiting to see what the other would do, each wondering to themselves why they did so. They were both on the cusp of speech when he stiffened and looked over his shoulder to peer across the crater.

Unceremoniously, he dropped her and turned to face what had grabbed his attention. Without him holding her up, Bulma crumpled to the ground in a heap. Annoyed at the sudden, harsh landing, Bulma got to her hands and knees and was about to stand and give him a piece of her mind when she looked up. She couldn't see beyond a few feet in front of him, but by the way he stood, peering out into the gloom, she knew he was on full alert.

As his gaze shifted from left to right, scanning the darkness, she suddenly frowned that he had so easily put his back to her as if she were not a threat. Her ki-gun lay where it had fallen when he had grabbed her. As she retrieved it, she chastised herself internally for dropping it instead of using it. Grudgingly, she admitted she wouldn't find herself a threat in his position, either. But as she considered his rigid form, standing on the cusp of destruction as if fearlessly challenging all that was dangerous and unseen, a small voice in the back of her mind told her to be flattered that he had shown her trust at all.

She crushed the thought. This alien trusted no one. He was likely as aware of her, even facing away from her, as he was with everything else. Taking a cue from him, she decided that if anything that could command his attention this completely was out there, it would have to be extremely threatening.

Peering into the gloom that blanketed them like heavy fog, the night somehow made sounds seem muffled and directionless. Though her senses told her nothing, she knew that he somehow knew what was there.

When she heard the well-known, high-pitched sound of an overly charged ki-rifle discharging from somewhere unknown, he crouched and raised his hands as if to block the impending attack. She distantly wondered why he bothered to block the attack if he could simply dodge it. Almost the same instant, she realized she lay directly behind him and flung herself as low to the ground as she could – just in time for the blast to make contact.

The impact of the detonation seared her eyeballs though her face was pressed to the ground and her arms covered her head. The sound was inconceivable; it echoed through her skull, twisted throughout her body, and vibrated in her bones. The Earth shuttered beneath her and just as a wave of heat lit her clothes on fire, a backlash of air snuffed it out.

Everything sizzled and popped with an electrical buzz. In a trance, she slowly pushed and pulled herself to unstable feet. Dazed, she stumbled to the ground before picking herself up again. The world seemed tilted and she kept listing to her right. Landing hard on her sternum, she dragged herself to her hands and knees and dry wretched until her insides felt like they were her outsides. When she thought the world had stopped moving, she lifted her head. She closed an eye so that she could focus on one of the two versions of the scene mere feet in front of her. And her blood froze.

Imbedded into the marble frame of a government building was the alleyway Saiyan. His armor was in ruin, half melted and smoking. His body suit beneath was torn, and barely covered tattered, oozing flesh. On the spider-web cracked walls around the hole his body had made, the marble was charred and flaking. She didn't know how he lived, but he looked more dead than alive as he struggled to dislodge himself without success. His hands kept slipping around the hard edges of the crumbling crater. Bulma noticed it wasn't for lack of strength in his hands; with every failure to pull himself out, chunks of stone turned to pebbles and dust in his squeezing fingers and fell to the ground. Every time his hands failed to find purchase, a new smear of blood was left behind.

Somehow, she found the strength to drag herself towards him. She didn't know why, but she couldn't bear to see him this way. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to end this way. Radditz was supposed to have found them and enlisted their help. They should all be on the same side, fighting monsters – but instead of finding help, both aliens found death on the planet that should have meant freedom for them all.

Just as she reached a boot - the same boot that a few hours ago filled her with terror - he fell out of the hole and collapsed on his side. His breathing was harsh and ragged and reminded her, with painful clarity, the way Radditz had sounded as he took in his last breaths. Bulma's lower lip trembled and she reached a hand to touch his boot. She didn't know why. To offer comfort?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't want it to be this way."

His one good eye popped open; if it was the sound of her voice or her touch that stirred him, she didn't know. Slowly, he lifted a hand towards her. She wasn't sure if he was asking her to take it, but understood his intent when a soft glow started to form around his bloodied fingers. She closed her eyes, expecting – and accepting - this to be her last moments. Beneath closed lids, two fat tears paved two paths down her cheeks, washing soot away as they fell. She held her breath. And.. nothing.

Opening her eyes, she saw his hand still raised, but the glow softly faded and disappeared. He let his hand drop and his head fell back as if he were too exhausted to hold it up any longer. He spoke, his clipped, sharp words saturated with bitterness and sarcasm even as he chuckled. She had no idea what he had said, but she had no disillusions. He hadn't spared her life; she simply wasn't worth the precious energy it would take to kill her. She sighed. From relief that she was alive or from indignation that she wasn't worth the effort to kill, she didn't know.

A sound behind her startled her. With more speed and strength than she knew she possessed, she stood and spun around. She almost kept spinning; apparently the world could still tilt if she moved her head too quickly. She caught herself and was able to remain standing, but her vision took a few more moments to catch up. Disoriented, she was proud of herself this time for remembering she was holding a ki-weapon – probably because the thing had saved her from falling over by helping her to correct her balance.

She half-heartedly pointed the thing in the general direction of the sound she had heard. Or at least, she thought it came from that direction. Her ears were still ringing. Drawing herself up as well as she could, she tried to look controlled and menacing. "Who's there?"

She'd have fired first and asked questions later, but she wasn't sure if, in her condition, she'd reveal herself to be utterly incapable of control and menace. From the darkness, hidden by smoke, a soothing voice called out to her.

"It's ok, Bulma. It's just me."

"Us," added a second voice.

The first responded sheepishly, "I mean us. Uh. Goku and Krillen. Tien and Chautzu are somewhere over there on top of that building. Piccallo is with Gohan right over there. And Yamcha is over there across the street. Oh. Nevermind, here he comes."

She had no idea where he was pointing, as she was only now able to their outlines through the wisps of smoke as they came closer. When her eyes confirmed what her ears told her, she sagged in relief, but stood her ground. She was - afraid? Her breath fluttered over her lips. She knew her friends would never harm her. But she couldn't make her feet budge and she couldn't deny that she was afraid of them coming any closer.

"S-Stop," she breathed, not quite understanding why.

"Step aside, Bulma," came Krillen's stiff voice. He had thrown his ki-rifle at her feet, ensuring she had seen him do it. Watching it as it came to rest on the broken ground, she looked back to Krillen's face for an explanation. He grinned at her smugly, as if to tell her that he had found the limit of its power. The thing was barely recognizable as it lay in a smoking, twisted ruin.

"Er..What?" She stammered, not quite following his meaning and wondering why he sounded so angry.

"That thing behind you," came Yamcha's voice from somewhere behind Goku and Krillen. "You're standing in the way. Move."

Bulma jolted and half looked over her shoulder. She had almost forgotten the wounded Saiyan. No. That wasn't right. She still hadn't moved from her protective stance. And her fear… it was definitely fear. For him. Surprised, as if she had lost control of her own body, she looked down at herself and realized she was still pointing her ki-rifle towards her friends. She swallowed.

"I can't do that," her voice was thin and she almost laughed. Even her own throat spoke as if it were separate from her. She hadn't known she was about to speak and the words she had said – did that really come out of her mouth? And what? Would she shoot her friends now, too, with a body that should be hers but acted without her permission or guidance?

She dropped her rifle next to the still-smoking one and watched them clatter together. Looking up, she saw the puzzled looks, and her mouth pressed into a line. She knew these looks. She had been on the receiving end of them for months. Something in her mind….surrendered. No. She was not crazy. She didn't know if her dreams had been memories from a tortured, violent mind or if they had been nothing more than nightmares – but that didn't matter. She knew – knew – she was right in this. The Saiyans were not their enemy.

And she would defend the Saiyan behind her. At any cost.

Ha. Now she was starting to feel a little crazy. A few moments ago, that Saiyan had been about to kill her.

Yamcha stepped forward to grab her arm and pull her out of the way. Without thinking, she slashed his face with her nails – the second time she had done so since the start of the invasion. She watched the look of shock and hurt on his features shift into anger and confusion. She raised her chin in the air and spread her arms wide, defying them – all of them – to challenge her.

"You. Will. Not. Touch him!"

A crowd was growing behind them, forming a semi-circle around the scene. She backed up until she stood directly in front of the injured alien. She glanced over her shoulder to assess him quickly. He was sitting up now, but was hunched over, his hands holding a bleeding wound on his side. His panting was ragged and shallow, but his breaths were steady and no longer sounded labored. He flicked his single good eye up and met her gaze for a moment before scanning the growing crowd in front of her. He looked… surprisingly stoic. But she did notice his eye darted from place to place as if still seeking escape before shifting back to her face. For the briefest moment, he looked so lost and confused. And so very angry. But then - his expression was blank again.

She looked back to the crowd, and squared her shoulders. With as much ferocity as she could muster, she harpooned Goku's eyes with her own. "Whatever happens to him, happens to me."

Goku – with eyes that looked as lost and confused as those of the man behind her – stared at her and said nothing. It killed her, seeing him like that; like he thought she had chosen a stranger over him. But slowly, he nodded.

"I trust you, Bulma," he whispered.

"But I don't!" Hollered Yamcha. "That murdering bastard got into her head just like the last one did. He's using her to save himself!" He quickly glanced behind her before his eyes returned to hers. "He's mostly dead, anyway. All we have to do is wait. In the meantime…" he spat scathingly, "I know exactly what to do with them. Both of them. To keep them safe and out of the way."

In three steps, he was on top of her, grabbing her behind the head to crush her ear to his lips. "I've waited a long time for you to get your fucking head on straight, and now I have to start all over. But I'll do it, Bulma. Because I don't so easily forget as you. I remember when the only thing you cared about was me."

He shoved her and stomped away angrily. As she watched him disappear in the fog, she couldn't help but feel a stab of regret. It was much less than she would have anticipated, and she felt sadness at this realization. She had tried many times to tell him, but he would never hear her. So instead, she said it to his retreating form and wished she could force her thoughts into his mind like Radditz had forced his thoughts into her own. I care, Yamcha. But it was never – will never - be enough for you. Because you will never be the only thing I care for.