Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
Vegeta
Year 750
He lies awake, listening to the restless noise of his subordinates as they sleep. Their quarters are hardly big enough to fit three grown Saiyans, but it is all they will ever have on this ship.
He is filled with a bitterness that eats at his insides. He is the Prince of all Saiyans, and yet he is nothing more than a glorified slave.
His own dreams haunt him, weaving false tales of Saiyan might and victory and freedom that only ever disappoint him. He dreams of his father's death often, though he never witnessed it.
He cannot remember his mother's face.
All these thoughts race around in his head until they blur together. He is exhausted, but sleep evades him. The night carries on, and the snores of his only subjects surround him.
He is trapped. He never had a chance. He never had a choice. Frieza toys with him constantly. Frieza killed the Koribian, he is sure. He is paranoid. He is…
"… she was carrying your whelp." They're Cui's words, but it is Frieza's voice he hears. Whether it is true or not, Frieza has succeeded once again. It's getting to him.
He longs for sleep, and it never comes.