The metal bars of the holding cell shut tightly with a heavy resounding clank. Beneath the coliseum that the brawl had broken out in, this literal dungeon was dank, moist, and forgotten. One couldn't help but taste purple mold while breathing. A distinct pounding in his right eye, which was nearly swollen closed, pulsated painfully on Thouser's attractive mug. So the rose had thorns, he thought playfully to himself with a small smile beginning to crawl across his face. The brightly colored Jeice was still unconscious from what he could tell, as they were mere inches from each other.
Both former residents of Cooler Plant 98 hung in an unnatural way, their arms stretched far behind them while leaning forward still on their feet. Painfully their wrists were cuffed by metallic rings that administered corrective electro-shock pulses if the restrained tried to escape. Both men hung forward facing each other with their noses nearly touching. Thouser's shoulders were burning beyond belief due to his arms being forced behind him as he was forced to hang forward with all his weight on his thick deltoids. Although his body was trained to the brink of physical perfection, he wasn't sure how long he could survive in this environment. He began to whisper to Jeice, tilting his head to the side to lean in even closer to him.
"Rose Boy, you bruised my eye," said Thouser, sure to load the derogatory nickname with a delicious satisfaction in his voice.
"I bruised more than that," croaked Jeice who had not yet opened his eyes, but caused Thouser to wonder how long he had been awake, "and if you lean in any closer, you won't like it."
"Are you sure about that?" offered Thouser, his voice layered with intrigue. Slowly the rose colored eyelids peeled backwards to reveal yellow ovals. Jeice sighed and looked around the dark cell as his eyes gradually adjusted to the lack of light. Carefully the tactical soldier inspected the corners, ceiling and the the bruised Thouser before him with intense precision. Reeling from being groggy, Jeice looked with sleepy eyes at the cell door made of a steel that he or Recoome could easily bend, but the wrath of King Cold or Lord Frieza would be beyond imagination. The rulers of the galaxy and lords of the Ginyu Force were powerful enough to vaporize a man in an instant. As he pondered to himself quietly, Jeice could still feel Thouser leering at him as they shared intimate space just a few inches apart.
"What is your problem with me?" asked Jeice, his shoulders throbbing from resting all his leaning dead weight on them.
"I hear a lot of talk. I hear a lot of talk about you saying that you're a better fighter than me, a superior tactician, and better looking," the blue alien spat sharply with a hushed voice in response.
"Mate, you're blimey mad. I am too busy playing with me boys and leading the Ginyu Force with the Cap'n to spend more than one second thinking about you," Jeice said dryly with a matter-of-fact tone, his plush hair rolling to cover his eyes as he allowed his head to hang forward. "And now you've ruined both our careers, so give yourself a round of applause. Oh wait, we can't clap because we're bloody strung up like puppets!"
Thouser did not have time to respond as the two prisoners sensed someone standing at the bars. Both men turned their heads to look at Zarbon, the chief bodyguard of Lord Frieza. The alien was relatively tall, somewhere approaching six foot with long bright green hair consisting of thick luscious strands that ran alongside slender cheekbones featuring a skin color similar to the blue Thouser. As far as Jeice knew, Zarbon was not related to the two as Jeice and his cellmate were likely cousins on Planet Brench.
"If you two are done squabbling, I would like to offer you a chance out of this hellhole," said the newcomer, who placed his hands on his hips. The rumor in the Frieza Force was that Lord Frieza had obliterated Zarbon's homeworld but recruited him due to his strength. The green haired alien wore a jewel studded headpiece and some dangling ceremonial clothing. Jeice could only assume this was correct as he opened his eyes wide at the chance to escape.
"Well hell yeah, get talkin'. I mean, we ain't having a walkabout," Jeice retorted, who looked over at Thouser who seemed to match his enthusiasm. Both soldiers were shaking from the exhaustion of hanging from their toned arms, the gradual torture having begun to take effect dramatically. After laying his hand on a biometric scanner to unlock their dank cage and fling the sliding door open, the royal to a fallen planet gingerly stepped with his boots and dark blue fabric leg warmers in to the gross cell. Presenting himself to both Brench-seijin, the boys hanging forward nearly nose to nose at Zarbon's waist level, the elegant bodyguard slid two delicate fingers up the carotid artery and adam's apple of both men before lifting their heads in unison with a fingertip underneath both of their chins to gaze up at him. Jeice could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his scarlet forehead, presumably caused by this peculiar display of dominance by Zarbon. He had always heard rumors concerning how strange and heartless the man was.
"Both of you look to still serve his majesty King Cold, correct?" asked Zarbon, still standing with his briefs nearly touching the cheeks of the two restrained warriors. Both Thouser and Jeice nodded slowly in unison as the slender teal fingers held their chins up against strained necks popping with veins and exhausted muscles.
"Excellent. His Grace demanded a clandestine mission to retrieve an important asset," Zarbon began just as Thouser interrupted him to ask a question.
"What kind of asset?" asked the captain of the Armored Squadron which caused Zarbon to simply cup the man's face and smoosh it against his bare thigh to silence him.
"The clandestine type. Weren't you listening, Brenchie?" spat Zarbon continuing, "As I was saying, this is a black operation and is completely deniable by the Cold Clan. The two of you will rendezvous with a team of my choosing and ascertain the asset for King Cold. He plans to share the find with his sons, if you're worried about allegiances but only after he has control to keep from a galactic war breaking out," Zarbon finished before suddenly dropping the skulls of the two young men causing their foreheads to clunk together unexpectedly with hushed expletives following.
Spinning dramatically so as to cause the short cape attached to his pristine armor to flutter behind him elegantly, Zarbon exited the dank cell leaving the door wide open for a hasty escape. The emissary from King Cold stopped short of freedom and raised his gold ring covered hand to set against the wall before thinking twice as it crawled with grime.
"Jeice, you're in charge because you didn't interrupt me," commanded Zarbon which resulted in Thouser to nearly choke on his saliva. Jeice simply felt his thin lips stretch in to a gentle smirk as he looked to Zarbon making his exit. "Also, you two should grab the imprisoned war criminal down the hall as he is imperative to the mission success. Oh! One final tidbit, you should make haste as Recoome and his yellow compatriot are causing a riot right now which will serve as your escape distraction".
Zarbon waved coyly as he left the cell and disappeared from their combined sight. Suddenly the cuffs released their hold on the aching wrists of the two inmates a moment later. They collapsed to the icy, wet, and sticky floor in a pile of groans as their legs gave out completely. Pulling back with numb forearms and triceps, Jeice unstuck his cheek from the gnarly tile floor. Slowly and agonizingly he pulled himself to his knees, straining to tuck his legs underneath him. Looking up in a hurry as he remembered the urgent time constraint, he saw a gloved hand reaching down to him: Thouser. The blue warrior lacked his signature armor and the purple top that normally resided underneath it was gone, exposing the man's defined azure abdomen. Clasping his hand in the white glove of Thouser, Jeice hoisted himself up to meet him at eye level. They were both worse for wear as Thouser's right eye still squinted and was now an indigo color from bruising.
Jeice looked down at himself glistening from the moisture that covered the stone floor, the Ginyu Lead Officer still wearing just boots, briefs, and gloves from earlier. Acting quickly, Thouser patted his relation's shoulder before heading out the cell and looking both ways for guards: Coast was clear. Down the hall beyond a door that read "Cafeteria" were grunts and yells emanating from what sounded like a struggle. Jeice recognized the voice of Recoome who sounded as if he was enjoying himself. If the distraction that Recoome was creating was going to serve them, the unlikely pair now had to move with urgency. Quickly both men moved down the dark hall to a final cell, which appeared to hold nothing but shadow.
The final containment cell on the dungeon's block was masked in almost sheer darkness. Whatever had been living in this prison had been doing so for a considerable time, and must have had a great level of feral survival skill. Jeice ran his tongue across his dry lips as he looked nervously at the floor behind the bars, the small amount that was visible with a wall-mounted light. Littered with the carcasses of what he presumed were former cellmates, Thouser pointed to a missing arm of an insect-race humanoid where teeth marks had removed large chunks. The whereabouts of the insectoid's body was an unknown.
Clearing his voice and raising a hand, Thouser spit residual blood from his mouth to the side. He had grown tired of this. He did not have time to be a prisoner, to aid in the escape of galactic trash, or to be commanded by Rose Boy. A violet ball of energy illuminated in the sky-blue alien's hand, casting a purple hue on the shadow of the cell. In the corner of the grimy box was a figure cloaked in a pale fabric, where only an outline could be seen. Dark hair that stuck in several directions, and eyes that nearly glowed with ferocity enough to break through the darkness. The creature inside the cell stood to full attention. It wore a dark blue armor that seemed to come from a jailing guard as the lifeless body lay at the man's feet.
"A Saiyan," said Thouser through his teeth.
"Turles," responded the man, the blue armor shined beyond the cloak with Thouser's light, "What business do you have of me?" The face of a low-class warrior covered in scar tissue and a fierce gaze, the monkey warrior spit on the ground in front of the two Brench-seijin. Turles was a very developed warrior, his thighs bulging with muscle and not a bit of fat on them. The triceps behind his overly developed and peaked biceps resembled a horseshoe as his body was finely built for combat. Clearing his throat and slinging the door open as the mechanical locking mechanism exploded producing an alert siren, Jeice stepped in front of the ragged Saiyan warrior.
"Congratulations, you've been drafted," said Jeice, placing his hands on his hips. He was in command now.
