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THE SIEGE

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Chapter XIV

Visitation

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Lingering beneath the dim, somber glow of an overhead light, Vegeta paused in silent contemplation from where he stood at the intersection of two empty corridors. The long winding passages lined with many matching doors reminded him of Frieza's mighty mothership, although somehow far more melancholy. One would only know it to be night by the diminished light and the emptied halls. The constant reminder of being confined to this place was agonizing, so he would have to find a means of distracting himself.

With that woman's most recent wound and until she repaired that rusted device, they would both be forced to delay their next move towards finding Kakarot. All these hindrances were weighing upon his waning patience—and his own self reassurance. If, somehow, any one of Frieza's multitude of soldiers knew of his survival in the assault on his starship, it wouldn't take long for them to find him on Earth. This puny, little planet had only barely sustained the first siege of Freiza's armada, and it certainly would not last a second. No, Vegeta would need to move quickly.

However, the woman seemed highly confident in her ability to mend the radar. Furthermore, she was adamant about the validity of her story, to find these seven Dragon Balls, so he would have to rely on her meager human capabilities for now.

With a gruff sigh, Vegeta meandered down a randomly chosen path in search of this so-called "exercise room", as she referred to it.

He knew what her true intentions were when they finally gathered all of the Dragon Balls. Surely, she assumed he was oblivious to it, but he could sense her persistence. He often studied her troubled face as she looked upon the hollow remains of the city above. He had seen her struggle written upon her features on that forsaken planet where he had found her. Since arriving on Earth, Vegeta had noticed that she had become determined, more resolute. Whatever hope had been rekindled within her, it was driving her towards a newfound purpose. Perhaps revealing this valuable secret was but a panicked decision made in the face of certain death.

Having planted her feet on familiar earth, she believed in the possibility herself. Once gathered, she intended to use her wish to return this world to how she once knew it. Having once experienced that yearning himself, he knew it to be a hopeless prospect.

Vegeta would let her chase whatever dwindling hope she desired. When the time came, he would summon his old adversary and in their next encounter, he would be triumphant. How ever fate should befall that woman and this pitiful planet in the aftermath would no longer be of his concern.

Still yet, he greatly anticipated witnessing how the coming trials would test her resolve.

Passing beneath the lackluster light dispersed several strides apart, Vegeta could sense the scattered energy that lived just beyond the thick walls around him. Like many stars, they glimmered brightly in the darkness. Somehow, these lost souls had come to call this dingy prison a safe haven.

A plastic plaque at another crossing directed him to fitness room, where a single lonely light fixture reflected upon a sparse collection of exercise equipment, all of which were foreign to him. The presence of a large mirror at the far wall created the illusion of nonexistent space. Descending a small flight of stairs, Vegeta advanced towards a rack of cast iron weights. Deciding these would suffice, he removed the fitted, black shirt the woman had supplied to him and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Mulling over the selection of weights, he chose the largest of group and removed it from the rack with ease.

As he extended the weight to and from his shoulder, he caught his own reflection in the mirror behind the rack. The wound he had sustained from his attackers aboard the starship had healed, but the scar it would leave behind was apparent. No matter, he had many others and there were too many to count.

Bored of weightlifting, Vegeta returned the weight to the rack, shifting his gaze to a nearby fitness contraption. Before he could turn away from the mirror, he caught a glimpse of a small child's reflection as she stood just beyond the reach of the light. He hadn't sensed her presence when he had entered. He turned his head abruptly towards her, but there was nothing more than cluttered equipment casting deep shadows onto the padded walls. Searching the room, Vegeta grew uneasy. While his eyes may have deceived him, the energy was unmistakable. Maybe the confinement had truly affected him…

With a caustic exhale, Vegeta shook off the odd encounter and returned to the rack and absently reached for another weight.

A sensation of utter dread consumed him. Instinctively, as if something was beckoning him to do so, his eyes returned to the mirror. Once more, he could see the vague suggestion of a small girl watching him from a far corner of the room. Her head was tipped just slightly to one side, and her sodden locks drooped over her eyes, concealing her face. What little he could distinguish of her frame, she appeared to be human. Yet, this overwhelming odious energy that she exuded was unlike any human he had encountered.

He had felt this same terrible manifestation before; this energy had presented itself to him that day in the commissary. It dwelled among the crowd of awestruck faces, taunting him. A malicious energy.

Whatever emanated this horrible feeling that crept up his spine so palpably, like cold fingertips against his skin, it was certainly not like any other being. Just as he had that day, he could sense Freiza in it.

He felt fear, an emotion that was foreign to him, but one that he had closely associated with the callous monster that had oppressed him since his youth. With fists clenched tight, he refused to let his apprehension consume him.

"Who are you?" His own voice sounded odd as it broke the silence.

The eerie figure remained still, foregoing a response. A crooked, ghastly smile was just distinguishable as he gazed upon her reflection in the mirror. The thin white gown she wore clung to her thin, pale shoulders and listlessly swayed in some unknown breeze. Whether it was fear or agitation that drove him, Vegeta pressed further with a vigorous tone.

"That energy, how are you able to conceal it until now? What do you want?" Vegeta snapped, coarsely. The figure continued to taunt him in silence from the shadows, and he grew impatient, "I order you to answer me! What do you want?!"

There was no response to his angered question; nothing more than a low, sickening cackle.

Vegeta felt ill; he turned his head to see the hideous creature in the flesh, but she was gone. But her vile laughter persisted. Returning his gaze to the mirror, her ghostly frame had encroached with unseen movement. The light struck through her oily strands, illuminating two black orbs.

The sounds of shattering glass resounded though the room and down the corridor followed by the heavy clang of a weight against the concrete floor. Finally, the hideous apparition was silenced, and the dreadful energy vanished elsewhere. Vegeta's senses chased the elusive entity, but it had escaped him once again. He studied the shattered portion of the mirror; fragmented shards littered the floor and there was a significant depression in the concrete wall exposed behind the smashed glass.

Vegeta could hear the sounds of footsteps clamoring towards the fitness room, accompanied by a cowardly energy. He felt relieved for a moment, but that would soon change. The annoyance dressed in familiar orange garbs entered with an urgent expression on his scarred face. He carried a white rag over his shoulder, seeming to have similar intentions.

"What in the hell was that?" The woman's pet, whose name escaped Vegeta, demanded in a shaken tone. He lumbered down the stairs and took several aimless steps as his gazed darted from either side of the room, before resting on the prince. His interrogation continued as he pointed at the jagged hole in the mirror, "Hey! What's going on in here?"

After the unwarranted encounter with that unknown being, Vegeta had no interest in getting into another quarrel with this fool. Glass crumbled beneath his black shoe as he attempted to brush passed his faint-hearted interrogator, who foolishly refused to let him go. With a shout, he grabbed at Vegeta's shoulder but was easily deterred when the prince spun to meet him with a caustic glare.

The man's crass forefront faltered, but only for a moment, and he went on to bark, "I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just come here and destroy everything you please!"

The fool was clearly some sort of fighter, to Vegeta's amusement, and if he had any capabilities he should have sensed that dark energy as well. However, he seemed blind just he had been the last time he confronted Vegeta.

Opposed to explaining what had transpired to this incapable oaf, the prince folded his arms across his chest and, with a smirk, retorted, "Hmph, what would a sorry excuse for a warrior like you do about it if I tried?"

The man seemed taken aback by Vegeta's haughty threat, and he struggled for a response through gritted teeth. Clenched fists shook visibly at his sides; his disdain and fear were apparent. There had been little interaction between the two, but his animosity for Vegeta already seemed personal.

"Look, man, the only reason I've kept my mouth shut about your being here is for Bulma's sake," The man's admittance was clearly a matter that burdened him. He averted his gaze to the floor before going on to say, "I don't understand why she puts her trust in you."

"Then perhaps you should continue to keep your mouth shut," Vegeta snapped, coldly, sickened by the fool's prattling. Whatever his revolting obsession with that woman was, it was of no interest to Vegeta. He turned once more towards the exit, eager to leave.

"Hey!" The oaf shouted at his back, "I'm warning you, pal, if you lay one finger on her, I'll…"

Facing him a final time, Vegeta could see he had his fists raised, prepared to fight, but he was clearly no match for the prince. Scowling, Vegeta pressured, "You'll what? Heroically come to her rescue? Don't make me laugh."

The man was plainly bothered by the taunting, but before he could muster some idle response, Vegeta turned and headed up the small flight of steps and towards the doorway. Pausing at the threshold, he muttered over his shoulder, "Whatever it is you harbor for that woman, I couldn't care less. But if you value her safety, then I would suggest that you keep out of my way."

Reserving himself to the dimly lit corridor, Vegeta left the pitiable man to stand alone in the remains of the fitness room. Turning a corner and heading towards the destitute hole that was his lodging, he heard the heavy clamor reverberate through the walls.

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Days passed, followed by several more in tow. Bulma spent much of her time secluded in her room, although being confined to a chair, she had no other choice. On the desk, leaning against the base of the lamp, the One-Star Dragon Ball served as one of her few motivations. The dated photograph of her mother and father she had recovered from the remains of her home was now taped to the wall behind the desk. It, along with the ball, was a constant reminder of why she must press on through all of the struggles thrown at her.

Sitting at the desk, painstakingly toiling over the radar, she enjoyed the peace and quiet, to some extent. She had heard of the commotion in the fitness room, Yamaha had made it a priority to berate her for her actions. But there was nothing she could do about it, except continue with her work in haste. As for Vegeta, she had seen very little of him since., and she couldn't complain. Every now and again, he would come to pester her about her sluggishness, then leave.

She would often her him at night, making a ruckus in the next room. She imagined it was in shambles, unable to withstand his constant brooding.

Sighing, Bulma held the shell of the radar in one hand and studied a bundle of newly installed wires. The clock on the desk read a quarter to nine in the evening. Her father would be in soon to tend to her healing foot. Sliding opening a squealing drawer, she placed the various parts to the radar and her many tools inside. For now, she would rather keep as few others from knowing about her intentions to find the Dragon Balls.

Resting her aching arms on the desk, Bulma gazed at the photo on the wall. She desperately missed the times before all this carnage. She missed her mother. Bulma would continue on with her search for the Dragon Balls, hoping one day she would see her again.

Turning in her chair, Bulma rose to her one uninjured foot and hobbled towards the bedside. She landed on the cushioned surface with great enjoyment. Her work on the radar was nearly finished so, in the meantime, she would enjoy a much needed break.

Soon, a gentle rapping was heard at her door. Her father entered with a small box of various medical items. He was as scatterbrained as ever, going on about many things. Few people could find the joy in such little things. Listening to him talk about a new dietary supplement he was developing, Bulma couldn't help but feel sadness.

Gently holding her pale foot in his hand, her father mused over the wound with a hearty nod, and stated, "I think you are healing very well, my dear. I imagine another few days, and you should be in tip-top shape."

Bulma studied her foot; the wound was clean and she felt little pain when he brushed his fingers over the stitching.

"Yes, I do say, I should be able to remove the stitches soon. I encourage you to stay off it for the time being. It is better to be safe than sorry!" Dr. Brief chuckled as he wrapped her foot in a clean layer of gauze dressing. Scratch, resting on his shoulder, perked up as he stood and placed his hands on his hips, satisfied with the progress.

"Thanks a lot, dad," Bulma said with a wide smile, "I can't wait until I can walk again, I'm getting cabin fever being locked upon here."

Her father chuckled again, pinching a few tufts of his thick mustache between his fingers. Scratch pawed at his hand, demanding his attention. Dr. Brief bent and retrieved the box of supplies and turned towards the door when I exclaimed, "Ah, Mr. Vegeta, I am also glad to see that you are doing well."

Struck with that same anxious feeling, Bulma leaned to one side to peer around her father's thick lab coat. Vegeta was propped against the door frame, with arms crossed and a scathing expression on his face. He said nothing to her father as he made his way towards the door, but Dr. Brief took no notice to his childish attitude.

"Ah, good news about your suit and armor," Dr Brief announced, pausing in front of Vegeta with one insightful finger pointed to the ceiling, "I find the material to be quite intriguing, it is unlike anything I've ever seen."

Bulma expected the prince to say something in regards to his own superiority, but he remained silent. Once again, her father took no notice of Vegeta's perpetual egotism. Yet, there were few things that could disrupt her father when he was on the subject of science.

"Yes, I do believe that I have some synthetic material that will work nicely. I will continue to work on them and return them to you in due time. I do appreciate your patience," Her father said, nodding. It was an odd expression that made Bulma nearly laugh. "Patient" would be one of the last word she would use to describe her haughty companion.

"In the meantime, I will leave you two alone," Dr. Brief concluded, seeming to chuckle to himself.

Bidding him goodnight, Bulma watched him vanish around the corner and waited for the sound of his hasty footsteps to dissipate. Reluctantly, her eyes fell onto her sullen guest, who stared back. His cross scowl spoke for him. She sighed and drooped her head to one side as she groaned, "Let me guess, "you're too slow, "you're wasting my time", "I'm sick of this place", blah blah blah."

In truth, Bulma enjoyed picking on him; she had decided he was beyond the point of dispatching her himself, or he would have already done so. He was stuck in a rut no different than she, and he depended on her. Whether he agreed or not, they were equals. As she goaded him, Vegeta seemed far less amused.

"Yes, go on and make your jokes," he retorted, breaking his gaze to close his eyes in some sort of reflection, "while you do so, you're pathetic planet falls more into disarray."

Vegeta knew such talk would upset her, although she had asked for it. Shirking his hateful comments she had come to expect, Bulma stated, proudly, "Well, I'm almost finished fixing the radar, and as long as my injury heals quickly, we should be good to go in a few days."

The prince seemed mildly amused by her claim to success, which he indulged with a blunt scoff. While he stood propped against the door frame, studying the Dragon Ball on her desk, Bulma watched him closely. He was dressed in a fresh Capsule garments; a pair of black trousers and a fitted black shirt brandishing the familiar crest. She had to given credit, he didn't look to shabby, when he wasn't roughed up from some sort of squabble. When he suddenly discovered her staring, she quickly looked towards her feet and smiled, wryly.

Plainly put off by her perusal, Vegeta lowered his arms and turned to exit, hastily. He peered over his shoulder to make a final, flustered remark, "Well, quit wasting time, woman. I'm eager to get out of this place."

Before she could reply, he had already disappeared down the hall. Listening as his loud steps echo against the tall, metal ceiling, Bulma couldn't help but surrender a chuckle. Letting herself fall backwards onto the comfort of the sheets, she deciding to disregard him and call it a night.

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I hope this has been an enjoyable chapter after so long. Please leave a comment and let me know!