Chapter One

Bulla stood in her mother's laboratory, staring at the strange machine before her.

For many years, they had prepared for this. After death and destruction at the hands of the androids, she and her mother knew something had to change. It might be too late for their world, but it most certainly wasn't for a different one.

"Are you scared?" her mother asked, watching Bulla as she examined the piece of equipment before her.

"No," she answered thoughtfully. "At least, I don't think so."

Bulma gave her a look—one mixed with concern and pride-before reaching out to grab her daughter's hand. She did not know what was to become of Bulla, but she knew she was strong and proud. Her face might've reflected her own, but Bulma knew inside her was the beating heart of a warrior, one hell bent on avenging the world that was crumbling before her.

"It's okay to be scared," Bulma said softly, interlacing her fingers with her daughters. She smiled at the young woman. "It's normal to be fearful of the unknown. It's all about how you conquer that fear, my love."

Bulla brushed back her long blue hair behind her ears with her free hand while gripping onto her mother. A squeeze—that was their secret language-when things became unbearable and impossible the two looked to one another and joined hands.

"Was father ever scared?" Bulla asked quietly.

Bulma paused for a second, considering what the true answer was.

"I think he'd never admit it, but I believe there were times when he was," she said.

Bulla nodded, letting go of her mother's hand, and turning toward their house.

"I better get some sleep," she said, purposefully not glancing back at her mother's worried face.

"Goodnight, my love," Bulma said to her.

"Goodnight, mom," Bulla replied.

As she walked into her bedroom, Bulla surveyed its contents. It was nothing spectacular, but it was all she knew. It was much better than those of the resistance fighters, that was for sure. They had been forced to go underground in abandoned subway tracks, creating makeshift bunks with loose blankets and pillows amid leaky pipes and rats.

She sat down on her bed and hung her head between her legs. What she was about to do was a tall order, one she felt she could accomplish, but one that stressed her out nonetheless. She wondered what her father would do in her shoes. She often wondered about this. The only pieces she had of him were a single photograph taken by her mother and a handful of stories.

Some of them were second hand-stories he had told Bulma during their brief affair. Those were the ones she liked the most. They were filled with sprawling adventures across the universe, albeit ones filled with death. Sometimes she asked her mother to leave the destructive parts out.

"He was not a monster," her mother would say. "He was forced to be that way. At times, he was gentle and kind."

Bulla liked to picture him like that in place of the ruthless killer in his stories. She liked to imagine he struggled under Freiza's imposing rule, even though she knew it was definitely not the case. Her father was never truly a changed man. At best, he was more enlightened after falling in love with her mother. She was the one who urged him to stay on Earth and he reluctantly agreed. She was the one that convinced him to protect her planet after Goku had suddenly died from a virus.

"No one is beyond saving," her mother would remind her from time to time. "Though some are unwilling to hear that."

She slipped into her pajamas and laid on her bed. She studied the ceiling as if it was the last time she might see it. She adjusted her weight and lifted herself up on one arm, reaching her other underneath the bed to pull out a shoebox she kept safe there. In it were the few treasures she had left in this world-including the picture.

It wasn't the best picture she'd ever seen. In it, her father was standing with his arms crossed. He was standing next to her mother, who looked so young and full of life. She was holding a very small baby Bulla. Both mother and daughter were smiling from ear-to-ear, elated to be alive on that sunny day. Vegeta, on the other hand, looked terse.

I don't think you ever liked me, she thought to herself, tracing his face on the photograph. Vegeta didn't like children in general—it wasn't her in particular. Bulma had said that frequently as a means to soothe Bulla's fears. She could've been anyone—a boy even—and it wouldn't have made a difference. But her mother's words just made her more anxious. If he had had his way, he would've never had children, let alone an Earth child.

Defeating the android was her main motivator for training, yes, but secretly she fought to be her best in hopes her father might be proud of her efforts. Maybe he was in Other World checking in on them and was impressed-stunned, even-that she had managed to become a Super Saiyan.

"Doubtful," she whispered to herself. Gingerly she placed the photograph back into the box and shoved it back under her bed.

She was not afraid that going to the past would somehow make the future worse. What punched her in the gut was the thought that he would be occupying the same world as her father for a brief moment in time, and there would be no permissible way for her to see him. No matter how hard she would want to, she would not be able to ask him about his life or tell him all the things about hers. She would not be able to touch him, to hug him, to cry in his arms like a small child who needed saving.

Her whole life he had been this mythical creature who she only knew was real because of the others who met him. All she wanted was for one second with him, even if just to catch a glimpse of his face.

She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. It wasn't like a warrior to cry. But tonight she was no warrior. She was a daughter who needed a father.

It was morning before she knew it. Bulla collected her things in a small bag, adjusted her sword and hopped into the time machine's cabin. It was small, but that was inconsequential. The journey would be short.

Before securing the dome above her, she took a moment to look around. She often tried to picture the laboratory in its full glory. Hell, she wondered about the entirety of the Capsule Corp.'s once sprawling compound. The androids were unsuccessful in ever completely annihilating it, thanks to Bulla's efforts to stop them. But the Briefs family wasn't totally immune to the androids' lust for blowing things up.

The lawn looked more like the surface of the moon than a yard. The dome on the main house was partially collapsed, which forced the family to occupy just one side of the building. They made a makeshift wall that reinforced the crumbling ceiling and separated what once was from what now is.

Once, what seemed like millions of years ago, Bulla and Bulma Briefs had shared their home with Gohan Son. After his mother, Chi-Chi, was killed by the androids in a vicious attack meant to incite Gohan, he had come to live at Capsule Corp. It gave Gohan and Bulla more time to train, which they did from sun up to sun down.

Bulma was never crazy about her daughter fighting. While she was never one to buy into gendered stereotypes, it just seemed strange to throw her daughter to the wolves. Maybe in another life, Bulma thought, Bulla would've been focused on different things-school, shopping, perhaps boys-but the life she was thrust into didn't allow for that. She had the power of a Saiyan running through her blood. She could not afford to ignore her natural inclinations for fighting and war.

Gohan was a great teacher, too. They both understood the pain of losing their fathers, of seeing the world helpless. They both understood their duties. So from the time Bulla was small, she and Gohan worked to make her stronger. He taught her how to fly, how to channel her ki, how to raise her power and push beyond all known levels.

As hard as she tried, she was never able to become a Super Saiyan.

But three years ago, just after Bulla had turned 16, Gohan was struck down in a bloody showdown. He had been killed by them, tossed aside like a rag doll, and left out in the rain to wash away to nothing. When she found him, she promised her master that she would be the one to end this chaos. On that day, the cloudy skies above parted and Bulla broke down all her barriers to ascend. It felt powerful and pointless at the same time.

Bulma hatched a plan. With Gohan gone, it seemed their last glimmer of hope rested on the shoulders of her young daughter. That just wouldn't do. It wasn't that she had no hope her daughter could succeed in defeating the androids, it was that she just didn't have enough time. She was outnumbered both literally and figuratively. As hard as she trained, the androids trained harder. When she saw an opportunity to attack, they saw her coming from a mile away. It seemed with every step forward she was forced to take three steps backward.

As she lay awake late at night, Bulma filtered through all the possible solutions. The future of this world could not rest on Bulla's shoulders alone. Something needed to happen to give her some relief. With no reinforcements, what could they do? What would it take? The opportunity for Bulla to train untested for a period of time, giving her a chance to finally overtake them? Could there be a way to send a message to the past, telling them of a grim future, warning them of the events set to occur?

Then it clicked. There was a way to do both. All it required was Bulla going to the past.

For three years, Bulma and Bulla toiled away at this crazy idea. The machine had been built, the theories had been tested. All that was left to do was go to the past and set out for a better future.

Now, as Bulla sat in the time machine, her coordinates were set. She knew what she had to do. The only way to save the future was to change the past-even if it meant risking everything.