Of Ladyfingers and Radishes by `InSaNe`/Schizophrenic Eggplant.
A/N: This was originally started over a year ago as a story involving my friend Silke developing a major crush on a certain Saiyajin in DBZ. It's not Vegeta though, (he's mine). If you guessed Kakarot, you're close, but not quite there. My friend came up with the character Okura. She belongs to Silke and I am only borrowing her.
Prologue – (A small peep into the future, year approximately 736, before the destruction of Planet Vegeta).
The WHAT Force?
In the middle of cold space, dotted with stars in varied degrees of aging, five white jagged lines streaked across like the nails of some supreme being had scratched through the thick blanket of endless nothing to reveal a new universe beneath. It was not so in this case, it was merely the jet-streams of five round, smooth pods, as they rocketed along, heading back to their base – a small planet that could hardly be visibly identified throughout the miasma of other shining, twinkling celestial bodies. On the doors of these pods, an insignia was emblazoned, to announce that they were different, not like the rest. This insignia comprised of an orange circle, pierced thrice at its circumference at equal distances by a white triangle pointing downward, inlaid with a smaller blue triangle.
This was Frieza's most fearsome attacking force ever, the ones who went the furthest, to conquer planets that were not part of the tyrant's empire, but branding them as such by the time they had masterfully completed their work in their masters name.
They were: The Fringe Force. Or the Double F's, as a less formal alternative. They were the most loyal to Frieza, bordering on fanatical. They would do anything to please him, and hardly ever failed. There was no-one above them but Frieza himself. They had no internal command, they sometimes made their own rules, for the good of the empire of course. Only they had the authority to alter some of Frieza's strict constitution, for they were skilled tacticians so they very rarely made any critical errors. They were revered and idolised by some, and despised and envied by others. For good reason.
They were paid much higher than Frieza's regular soldiers, treated almost like royalty, and privileged beyond most desires. It looked like they had their freedom, to those with tunnel vision. It was quite the opposite. They had gone through the most rigorous brainwashing and hadn't been turned into blubbering messes, they had been exposed to the most heinous physical training ever conjured up by the sadistic mind of Frieza, and survived. They were slaves to the extreme, having given up their whole person, forgetting truly who they were, not even having the small liberty of remembering how, and what they used to be. All they knew was to serve Frieza, and they indulged in it, and enjoyed it, and that is why they were rewarded so bountifully.
And then there were the drugs.
For some who had made it past the physical and mental screening programmes, the drugs had been introduced. It was a toxic combination, that wasn't compatible with most immune systems, but so some, with possible mutated DNA, the chemicals enhanced certain bodily functions beyond normal capacity. Only five superior systems could handle the cocktail of drugs. They were now currently in those very space pods.
Guldo – a small, squat dwarfish froglike being with two big eyes, and two more buggier ones at both sides. He was sturdy, and had a thick skin, which had prevented him from being seriously injured by the physical training. His fighting ability was slightly on the poor side, but what made up for the lack of raw physical strength, was the mind-boggling telekinetic skills he had attained with the aid of Frieza's potent formula. The drugs had affected his respiratory system, so that when he inhaled deeply and concentrated, he could freeze time. Cool huh? He could also manipulate large objects with his mind. Apart from that, there was nothing much to speak of.
Jeice – the pale, beautiful one. Well he used to be pale, and his hair was a lot shorter back in the day, not to mention dark. Physically, the drugs had altered him dramatically. They had increased the beta-carotene content in his skin pigments, making him appear orange. It also made his short dark hair grow long, and completely devoid of colour, but so full of body and bounce! His lithe, acrobatic, compact form had saved him from the brutality of the physical tests, and like most individuals on Frieza's formula, his muscle mass bulked up substantially, but not to hinder his smooth, fluid gymnastic body. It also gave him the ability to switch from something resembling a Liverpool scouser accent while on the full dosage, which, as it wore off, changed to his normal accent, which was similar to an Australian one.
Burter
– Tall and stocky in the beginning, with smooth blue skin, Burter was a
creature of speed, but not fast enough to incur some slight damage in the
merciless physical training, and still miraculously survived. If the drugs had only weakened him instead
of killing him like they could have, there was no way Frieza would have let him
live. However, that was not to be. The effects of the potentially lethal
chemicals transformed him into a lean, mean speed machine. It is said that there is no-one faster than
him in the whole universe, save Frieza himself, but that was still an untold
secret, because no-one in Frieza's army had ever seen the lizard-like warlord
in close combat situations – they just assumed Frieza was the best at
everything – that's why he was in charge, right?
Burter's physical strength was also boosted, as well as his ki-level, which wasn't that impressive in the beginning, and his blue skin sprouted smooth latticed scales, to decrease any drag caused by running or flying too fast. They would repel the air around him, giving Burter almost no air-friction while he conducted his feats of speed. His eyes, which used to be the usual iris and pupils set into a white sclera, grew a protective red translucent coating that prevented wind damage, and looked really styley. If you didn't know Burter, and not many did – and lived, or only saw him as a blur, looking into those red eyes was most unnerving. One couldn't tell what he was thinking, whether he was lying, or bluffing, or being downright honest. He appeared to be a cold, blue, soulless reptile. Jeice knew better though, and saw through the hard exterior, and with his happy-go-lucky nature, befriended the tall blue creature. Being Burters favourite team-mate, he got to know the playful, humorous side of the speed-demon. Burter wasn't a jokester in the strictest terms, but the occasional contrast from his usual serious side was undoubtedly comical, and he could pull it off nicely. He was the one who was always concealing bars of chocolate in his uniform.
Recoome – The most unlikely candidate to end up in the Fringe Force. His overbearing uncle Fritz had forced him to try out, saying that it would heighten the credit of his family name that his nephew would at least make an attempt. Little did Recoome know, his uncle wanted him out of his life because was insanely jealous of the boys brainpower, especially when it came to programming, and machinery. One day, Fritz flew into a rage, destroying all the little robots that Recoome had made from old junk and rejects from cybernetic factories, and a small laptop which he wired into a chip and programmed them with. He wanted the lad to become a warrior like his late parents, and himself, and signed him up for the Fringe Force hopefuls. Like the shy, wiry, red haired boy Recoome was, he didn't raise his wispy voice against the stentorian tones of his uncle, so he reluctantly attended the trials, and was endlessly mocked by other entrants. Some of that mocking stopped after the ultra-brainwashing session, when the weak minds of those former braggarts could no longer form a coherent sentence, while Recoome's became clearer than ever, and with one sole purpose. To live his life for Frieza. It was like a new self that had always lay dormant, had come awake within him.
Forgetting his uncle partway through the mind-purge and thought restructuring, and the horrible way he had always made him feel like nothing more than a speck of dirt in his presence, Recoome felt a surge of confidence. He now had the chance to prove himself, to use the remarkable intelligence he was born with, and could now, without scolding or demeaning comments, or physical abuse. He used this Kami-given gift only once more, and it had saved his life. Like the other handful of candidates in the awaiting queue for the gruelling death-match, he had watched the slaughter of the ones before them, as their numbers dwindled. He held his breath at the ones that made it through, secretly envious of their physical prowess, whether it was in brute strength, speed, or agility, or even their genetic makeup. He would have been more afraid if the gruelling challenge was an organic opponent, but it just so happened, it wasn't. He observed the movements of the machine, that sliced, mashed, pulped, tenderised, juiced, crushed, squeezed, skewered, whisked, grated, skinned, gutted, and performed every form of killing there was. The machine was a re-modified version of a multi-purpose kitchen implement, called Kitch-N-M8 made by Cold Corporation, King Cold's little entrepreneurial project, to replace, and duly punish, unreliable kitchen slaves. Recoome wasn't fazed at the sight of blood and exposed organs, flesh and bone now, as with the others, the gore-desensitising was enough to stay their stomachs while the most horridly morbid displays of inside-out-ness carried on in front of them, quite frequently.
To cut a long story short, Recoome not only survived the physical test, he also defeated the machine, by use of a small version of his laptop, no bigger than a ball-point pen, that expanded when the owners thumbprint was pressed against a certain part of it. The only physical thing that Recoome did was lunge at one of the times when the machine was switching methods of severe mutilation. He attached a magnetic connecter to the surface of the oversized kitchen implement of doom, and just as a blade came crashing down, communication was established, halting on its path to cleave Recoome's skull in two.
Deftly, Recoome's hands moved over the touch-pad keyboard before the Kitch-N-M8 could override the temporary halt and make any more moves. A smirk of success decorated his face, that flickered with the light off the monitor, shadowing it in an almost evil contrast of bright on dark. His mop of bright red hair flared like a strobing flame atop his head. In less than two minutes that seemed like two hours, the machine had succumbed to his programming. Once he had finished, the smirk grew into a grin, and he compacted his electronic weapon, before calmly standing up, showing absolutely no sign of fear. He turned to the Kitch-N-M8 and uttered one single word, to confirm his victory.
"Sit."
With a clatter and a clang of stainless steel meshing together, it looked like the menacing, kill-in-a-microsecond kitchen tool had organised its parts into fore-limbs and hind-limbs, a head, with eyes of yolk-separators, and was that an egg-whisk waving at the back? It sat at his very command. Recoome had created a giant… Chia pet!!
Frieza was irate when he heard about what happened, but impressed nonetheless with the young boy's ingenuity. Maybe the chemicals might enhance his intelligence further.
How wrong he was.
At first, there was hardly any effect. After two days under observation and tests, Recoome showed signs of slight retardation in his voice, a few days later, he had trouble focusing on the complex code and equations that he used to find so easy. Instead, his frame bulked up immensely, becoming solid, large, and very defined muscle.
He became what his uncle wanted him to be, only Recoome didn't remember his uncle at all, it's a shame really, because Uncle Fritz would have been awestruck to have witnessed the final result, before finally accepting Recoome as part of his family, as someone completely different, at such a high price to pay – as identities usually are.
With the aid of the super-chemicals, Recoome was a fearsome adversary. Although he only retained about 25% of his original intelligence, he used it to be a superb warrior, finding his opponents weaknesses in no time, and effortlessly annihilating them with no second thought.
These four made up four-fifths of these handpicked warriors. The fifth one is whom half of this story is about.
As always, there had to be an odd-one-out. You could always point out the obvious, that she was female. It wasn't just that. It was so much more. That she was the only Saiyajin? Granted, but the others were different races also, and her origin was the biggest kept secret ever. So big in fact, that there was only one who knew the truth, and that one individual wanted it to stay that way.
The real reason she was the odd one out, is that she never had to take part in the challenging tests of physical and mental strength. Why? Was she one of Frieza's favourites? 'Was' being the operative word. Frieza had long since moved his attention elsewhere, leaving her confused about herself and her identity, although she has proved herself, time and time again, as a competent fighter and hard worker.
She was Okura: Drown in her plight, soar with her might – share in her sight. Dwell in her past, the die has been cast – see truth at last.