Disclaimer: I don't own dbz or any of it's characters...please don't sue me, I'm already broke as hell!

A.N: I've finally gotten to Bulma. I got a bit of inspiration and decided to write about Bulma's interview for the Lab job. No warnings this chapter.

The Wringer

The room was bare and white, with only a desk and two chairs, one which sat behind the desk and the other in which Bulma was now seated.

When she entered the room, the woman peered at Bulma from over the top of her glasses with a cold gaze and then looked at the clipboard she held in her red-fingernailed hand. She was tall and straight-backed with skin the color of Bulma's own. Her hair was pulled back neatly into a dark bun at the back of her head, which made her fiercely cut bone structure even harsher. She had the bluest eyes Bulma had ever seen, even bluer than her own. She looked human yet not, and while Bulma was curious about that, she didn't think she was in a position to ask.

This was not a real interview, not in the sense that Bulma understood, anyway. The Empire was big on facts and figures and calculations of people's abilities. The real interview had taken place days before, when she had taken the various tests the Laboratory Sciences department had deemed necessary, tests many of the other scientists had taken as children on their respective home planets. This was one final test. She sat nervously in the uncomfortable, but expensive, oak chair, fiddling nervously with her hands, compulsively smoothing the wrinkles in her black skirt. From the look of her painstakingly ironed and creased labcoat, this woman did not seem like the type to tolerate messiness.

"Lets see here, it seems you've tested very high in Scientific Aptitude, your Creativity Aptitude levels are exceptional, and your overall Intelligence levels are off the scale," the woman spoke all of this in a monotone, her facial expression was annoyance thinly disguised by boredom.

There was a pause as the woman looked over the clipboard. Her hard expression seemed to falter briefly, a slight look of shock that was almost immediately replaced with the annoyed expression.

"Your Father was , founder of Capsule Corporation, Earth's most lucrative company before its...demise. Interesting."

Bulma was surprised. How could this woman know of her father if she wasn't from Earth?

"My-my father? You know of him?! "

"The Cold Empire has extensive records on noteworthy people throughout the universe. As cliche as it sounds, it is always important to know one's enemy. Your father was looked at as a potential asset to the Empire to be acquired before the destruction of earth."

Bulma's stomach hurt to think about her father. She tried not to let it show. She knew that weakness was something every department in the empire despised and used as a weeding out tool. She understood that even though the decision had already been made, it could be changed based on the results of the interview(which really wasn't an interview at all in the sense that Bulma understood it). This woman was testing her. It was so obvious that the woman expected her next question, would probably have continued to goad her into it if she hadn't asked herself.

"Why wasn't he chosen?" Bulma asked, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

"He was too old to be made to understand the way things work in the Empire. He would have come here with some silly notion of "changing" things. Besides, his estimated Creativity Aptitude was waning and he was reaching his peak. While teaching an old dog new tricks is possible, they generally don't pick them up as quickly as the young dogs. Young dogs, like you, are simply easier to train and offer fresher ideas. A brilliant boy from Razik suited our needs quite nicely instead."

So life isn't important to you people at all?! Don't you care about anything besides how much someone is worth you in terms of capital gain?! Bulma thought bitterly. Would she become like this? Coldly professional, deciding whether people deserved to live or die by facts and figures and hypothetical analysis? She thought about how those poor lower class Saiyan kids must feel, knowing they were deemed worthless from such an early age, their whole lives decided by Strength Aptitude and Power Level tests administered before they were even old enough to understand.

Part of her wanted to stand up and run as far away from this interview as possible, but the other part remembered the small, freezing apartment she shared with 6 other people and that horrible diner where men twice her age sexually harassed her everyday.

"Well, what would benefit the Empire most is best." Bulma spoke quietly, seriously, but the sarcastic version sounded better in her head.

"Indeed...," The woman replied softly. She went down what seemed to be a list with the pen in her other hand. "You live in the lower class district, so I don't suppose a relocation would bother you. No bastard children we should know about, are there?"

Bulma's lips pursed involuntarily at the rude question. She saw herself standing up and punching the woman in the face in her minds eye, which amused her enough to allow her to speak in a professionally unoffended tone.

"No, no children."

"Any vices: drugs, alcohol, etcetera?"

"None."

"We didn't come up with names of any living deviants associated with you, so that's always a plus. No boyfriends, no family...sad, but the less distractions the better, i always say. There is one friend, though. A boy named Kakarott..."

"Yes, he's-"

The woman turned a few pages on the clipboard.

"Kakarott, birth number 570029-EV6, bearer, born low class to Soldier Bardock and Soldier Okura, brother of Royal Guard Raditz, betrothed to Commander Nappa. We know quite well who he and every Saiyan born on this planet is. As I've stated before, our records are quite extensive, Miss Briefs."

The woman let the pages fall and looked again at the first sheet.

"Well, everything looks in order, then. I must tell you now, however, that you were not accepted by the Laboratory Sciences department, " she said smugly, a slight smile curving her thin lips, which seemed almost unnatural.

"WHAT?!" Bulma was nearly out of her seat, her hands gripping the arms of the chair, propelling her body forward.

"You can calm down now, Miss Briefs. While you did not originally apply there, use has been found for you in the Weapon Sciences and Technologies department. Congratulations."

Bulma was in shock. She wasn't sure whether she should be happy or upset. She had never thought about working is that department. She had seen it on her initial application, but had ignored it.

She had seen first hand what the weaponry from that department did to innocent people's lives and had not wanted to be a part of it. People like her family and friends from Earth. Yet she couldn't bring herself to turn down the job. She wasn't even sure she could form a rejection coherently.

Everything suddenly felt very strange and wrong, like she was in someone else's body. The woman was smiling a real smile now, one that showed pearly white teeth. The smile of a shark. Bulma felt herself stand, her hand extending to accept the woman's own extended hand.

"Now, if you could just take a look at the contract and sign your name at the end, we can get started."

Bulma's eyes scanned the contract, not really reading it. It was several pages long, so she simply waited a reasonable length of time before turning to the next page. There was nothing in the contract that she didn't already know. She was quite sure that by signing on the dotted line, her soul would belong eternally to the Empire, that death would be the only thing to unbind her.

Part of her wondered if she wasn't trading one prison for another, but she realized she didn't really care. She supposed that this prison would be much more comfortable than the last.

Before she could review the neat scrawl that was her signature, the contract was plucked from her hands by the shark. For the first time, Bulma noticed the name-badge pinned to her labcoat. Corriander. A pretty name, Bulma decided, a name that didn't seem right on such a severe woman.

"Welcome to the family," Corriander said, tearing of Bulma's copy of the contract. Bulma felt a chill run through her as she accepted the paper.

"You've been assigned suite 5 in the south western wing. There's a little community there dedicated to Planet Vegeta's non-military personnel. Makes things a bit safer for us. Your things will be picked up from your current residence tomorrow. You will begin work next week. Again, congratulations. I know you will do very well."

Corriander handed her a keycard with her name and department on it and left the room quite quickly, leaving Bulma standing alone in the small bare room.

This is certainly going to be interesting... Bulma thought, looking down at the keycard. She wondered absently what Kakarott was doing and if he was as confused as she was.

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AN: Hello all! Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I thought it was time I wrote Bulma's piece. I'm currently writing the next chapter, which will belong to Kakarott and will be much more exciting. It won't be long, so be patient!