Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.
Bulma
Year 751
It's not hard to pack; she has very little in terms of belongings, anyway. Her small amount of clothes- a week's worth of white underwear and tech robes- fits neatly into a single bag. She tucks it under her arm and takes a look around the tiny room that has been her only refuge in the past eighteen months.
Toiletries. Remembering, she steps slowly through the small gap between the wall and the bed, careful not to scrape her shins on the metal edges of the cot as she makes her way into the basic bathroom. Toothbrush, toothpaste and tampons go from the top cabinet shelf to the bag. She hesitates, and then picks up the comb that's sat untouched for nearly six months. It goes in the bag, too.
She looks in the mirror, and someone she hardly recognizes stares out at her. This person is too thin; her cheekbones jut out in a way that isn't at all flattering. There are dark circles around her eyes. Her blue hair- only two inches long- is messy and unattractive.
She looks again, her eyes narrowing critically. She bites her bottom lip, and then her top one, until they are a rich pink. She squeezes her cheeks and watches as the colour floods into them. She takes her comb, brushes her hair and makes it sit in a way that looks right.
She's still wearing the shapeless tech uniform. She grabs a bunch of white fabric at the waist, pulls it behind her until her figure is visible beneath the cloth. She's grown since she was taken from Earth; her breasts are full and her hips are wide, and with the robe pulled back like this it almost looks good, like some exotic Egyptian gown with the wide neckpiece and shoulder guards jutting out in navy blue and brown.
She feels attractive.
She lets the fabric go and it falls back into place, becoming a shapeless curtain around her once more. But she feels better, like she's remembered something important. She looks into the mirror and thinks That's me.
She leaves the small room behind, bag in hand. Everyone on board is departing here, and she falls into line amongst the other techs and medical personnel. They shuffle slowly down flights of stairs until they reach the bottom level. There's a bright light at the end of the corridor, and for the first time in so long she feels a breeze on her skin as air whistles through the open door.
She steps down the ramp, drinking in the sight of the planet around her. It's brown and grey and ugly, but there is dirt under her boots and it feels so good. She waits in line with the others until it is her turn to be called by a low-lever soldier. Stepping forward, she gives him her outstretched arm. He's rough, and she winces as he twists her arm over, moving a small scanning device back and forth over the inside of her elbow. It beeps as it picks up the microchip embedded under her skin, and she watches as her information is relayed to him through his green scouter screen.
"Report to lab 359," he grunts, and she is shoved towards the milling crowd of techs. Most soldiers from the ship have already moved on, and she spots only a few in the distance.
She looks around once more, taking in details this time. The huge skyscrapers before her are alien in design, bulbous things in pink and white. They stretch towards a sky shrouded in grey cloud, blocking much of the natural light so it is as if the whole world is covered by shadows.
She's been told she'll be based here on Frieza 71 for at least a year. Frieza himself will only stay on the planet for a week. After that, many of the techs and soldiers and servants- including Zarbon- will leave with him again. That in itself is a relief.
She steps forward, and though she is concerned about her future, she is thankful to leave the ship behind.