Bitter

The air was still. Only the buzz and hum of insects broke the heavy silence, the silence that descends when a predator draws near. The wind blew through the tall orange grass, upsetting a flock of birds with dull orange feathers that almost perfectly matched their surroundings. An eerie quiet settled over the land once more. Seconds passed, then minutes. Still nothing stirred. The only sound for miles was the wind in the grass.

He took a slow, steady step forward, making no sound, barely breathing. Close. He was so close. One more step and he would have it. One wrong move and it would be lost. Stealth was his best weapon. He unclenched his fists and raised his arms painstakingly slowly. He could practically taste it he was so close. The scent was driving him mad, his hunger pushing him ever closer. He could see it now, just an arm's length away. He reached out, ready to pounce.

A loud growl erupted behind him. His prey disappeared.

Vegeta whirled around, no longer concerned with being quiet, and punched Nappa hard in the stomach. "You idiot! One more minute and I would have had it! You fool! Can't you ever learn to control yourself?"

Nappa doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach with both hands. He groaned as he straightened and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Vegeta. I can't help it."

"That's just great. Who knows how long it'll take to find something else edible on this dump." The saiyans had been tracking that one beast for four long days. Animals on the planet were few and far between and notoriously swift. Even a saiyan couldn't catch one once it decided to run, and firing ki beams was ineffective as the animals leaped, dodged, and zig-zagged through the tall grass that reached Vegeta's shoulders and Nappa's waist.

"We could leave this planet and find food somewhere else," Raditz suggested.

Vegeta scoffed and rested his hands on his hips. "And where do you plan to find food in this dismal corner of the galaxy? Frieza's ship is closer than any planets with life on them and you know he's going to refuse us food after you buffoons botched the last purge." His tail uncoiled from his waist and twitched with his growing irritation. Nappa and Raditz were lately proving themselves to be a liability more than an asset. Nappa didn't think before he destroyed and Raditz was weak and lazy, sometimes foolishly overlooking natives rather than killing them. Vegeta turned around and fixed his coldest glare on his underlings. "I suppose if I get hungry enough I wouldn't be above cannibalism." His sharp canine flashed under his curled lip.

Nappa gulped and backed away from his prince with hands raised to shield himself from attacks. "Don't joke about that, Vegeta."

"Who's joking?" Vegeta advanced a step toward the larger saiyans. He cracked his neck from side to side and grinned devilishly. "Either of you would be more than enough for one meal." His grin faded. "Lucky for you saiyan meat is awful."

The others breathed a sigh of relief. Vegeta was more unpredictable than ever, more ruthless than Frieza's lackeys. He put them in regeneration tanks more often than the rest of Frieza's army combined. One they recovered he would make some snide remark about their power increasing some pitiful amount. They couldn't hope for salvation from their often unearned punishments from Vegeta's superiors – not that they would ever want it. Frieza got a great deal of amusement from Vegeta's short temper and his explosive behavior. If anything, he encouraged it. Neither wanted to believe Vegeta would actually resort to killing one of them for food, but they couldn't entirely convince themselves that he wouldn't. His mind was warped. His honor was gone. All he had was anger, hatred, and pride. Nothing else mattered to him other than strength. He held weaker beings, including Nappa and Raditz, in contempt. More than ever they were sure someday they would die by his hand when he finally lost all patience with their blunders.

The saiyan prince sneered at their cowardice as they kept a safe distance from him. His already foul mood was intensified by his unsatisfied hunger. His prey was scared off and he would never find it again. No, he was going to stay hungry for a long time. Bitterness gnawed at his sanity. He had to struggle with himself not to blast Nappa into the next dimension. The only thing staying his hand was his duty as prince to protect his people. Even that restraint was weakening over time. No one else in the universe cared if he was the Prince of all Saiyans, why should he? His title, the only piece of his identity he could still cling to from his life that should have been, was meaningless. He was a prince of nothing. Nothing but dead warriors and space dust. That was no kingdom. He was no prince. He was a slave. That was all he would ever be. He would never savor the sweet taste of freedom, only the bitterness of forced servitude.

"Come on," he growled. "We're not going to find anything to eat here. We might as well return to the ship." He levitated high off the ground and disappeared in the haze left over from the smoke and fires of their purge. The golden sky was a dull yellow now, ugly to look at. The atmosphere, usually filled with the stench of sulfur, was oppressive, making the saiyans nearly choke as they flew through it toward their space pods that were in the center of a leveled city.

The three saiyans climbed into their space pods and prepared for takeoff. Their purge had taken almost two weeks even without the failed hunt. There were many great warriors with powers comparable to Vegeta when he wasn't at his best, and when they ganged up on him he had a handful to deal with. They were quick and sneaky fighters with unrivaled endurance. Vegeta found the only way to defeat them was to single one out, somehow separate him from the others, and then outsmart him. A master tactician at the age of 24, Vegeta had little difficulty killing them off once he drew them away from each other. Their safety was in numbers. He realized that and used it to his advantage. He did learn some useful techniques, mostly defensive, but he learned to mimic them and put an offensive twist on them. Other than the unbridled killing, learning new moves was his favorite part of purge missions. Each civilization he crushed added to his already extensive arsenal of attacks.

'At least this mission went without a hitch and with time to spare,' Vegeta thought as his pod lifted off the ground. He wasn't trying to convince himself that their success would be rewarded or would lessen Frieza's lingering anger over the last mission. He already knew that was a lost cause. What he was counting on at the very least was no additional punishment. He pushed the button to enter stasis and fell into another dreamless sleep.

…

Bulma sighed and held onto Yamcha's arm a little tighter. She smiled at them fondly. One she hardly knew and the other was one of her very best friends, the little boy who so greatly changed her life. Well, he wasn't a little boy anymore. He had grown into a tall, handsome man, but he retained his childlike personality, love of food, and heroic attitude when faced with any dilemma. She was truly proud of him. He had grown in so many ways over the past few years. Physically, yes, but he had turned into a formidable warrior with a pure heart where he was once a boy who liked to fight for its own sake. Now he fought with a purpose. Now he was Earth's greatest hero, just as Fortuneteller Baba predicted six years earlier.

'What is wrong with this picture?' she wondered, somewhat sardonically. She looked up at Yamcha's face, his eyes glazed over with his intoxication. He'd had a few too many glasses of wine at the party. She could smell it on his breath and his feet were unsteady as they moved across the dance floor. 'Wrong?' she asked herself. 'Nothing is wrong. Everything is just like it's always been.' And that was exactly what the problem was. She rested her head on Yamcha's shoulder, no longer in the mood to dance and celebrate. Everything was the same. It was doomed to always be the same, going nowhere, never progressing, nothing. They were stuck in a rut. More like a ditch. There was no escaping it.

"Thank you so much for coming!" The young brunette bride wrapped her arms around Bulma after she broke free from Yamcha's drunken embrace. "I know we haven't had a chance to get to know each other well, but I'm sure we will."

Bulma forced a smile. "Of course, Chi-Chi. Maybe now that all this fighting nonsense is over Goku will be able to have a somewhat normal life instead of tramping across the world to do his training. Where will you be living? With your father?"

Chi-Chi shook her head. "No, my father built us a new house near where Goku grew up with his grandpa. On Mount Paozu."

"Oh, really? I'll know exactly where to find you then. That's where I first met Goku."

Even as their conversation continued Bulma's mind was elsewhere. She stole a sidelong glance at Yamcha who had taken his seat and was pouring himself another glass of wine, unconcerned with the amount he was pouring on the table as well. She sighed, unable to hold her smile any longer. She was happy for Goku and Chi-Chi, really she was. They were young and in love… well, maybe. How well did Goku even know the girl? It didn't matter, they had already tied the knot. Things would work out for them. Nothing ever went wrong, not when Goku was involved. Her, on the other hand, her life was nothing but a series of mishaps, mistakes, and regrets. What she was starting to think was her single biggest mistake was currently spilling wine on his new tuxedo. Figured. He could never keep anything nice for long.

"What about you and Yamcha?"

"Pardon?" Bulma was brought back to her conversation with Chi-Chi when she heard the name of her on-aagain-off-again boyfriend.

"Are you and Yamcha planning on getting married?"

There it was, the question Bulma hated more than any other. The question her parents, especially her mother, enjoyed asking her on a regular basis. The question she heard from Krillin, Launch, and even Roshi. The question Goku so innocently asked several years ago and hadn't brought up since after her minor emotional explosion. Why should she hate a simple question so very much? Because she didn't know the answer to it. She could answer about any other question she was ever asked. How many pounds per square inch can this material hold? How many watts of electricity would his generator produce using the newly developed fuel? What kind of signal does the dragon radar use to detect dragon balls? What does the Guardian of Earth look like? Who defeated Piccolo, Jr.? How many million zeni is left on the medical department's annual budget? She knew the answer to all these questions. Questions no other person would know right off hand. After all, she was a genius. But the one question, the question possibly more important to her than all the rest, she had no answer to. Was she planning on marrying Yamcha, her teenage sweetheart?

"Not anytime soon, Chi-Chi," she answered glumly. She turned away from the newlywed, unable to bear seeing her beaming smile, the radiance that spoke of her joy. This was her wedding day, the day she was united with the man she had come to love since the first time she met him when they were young. Young. They still were. Bulma couldn't help the bitterness she felt, the resentment. Who were they to get married? They were only eighteen years old, hardly adults. She was 22, and Yamcha had turned 23 a few weeks earlier. They were old enough to marry. Yet marriage didn't seem to be on the horizon. With a half-hearted well-wish, Bulma left Chi-Chi to join her never-to-be husband at their table where she could sit and sulk.

Traditionally wedding receptions were a time of feasting, dancing, drinking, and gift-giving where all the guests would celebrate the joining of a man and his wife. Bulma wanted nothing to do with it. She had a glass of wine, she picked at her food, she had a dance or two with Yamcha before he was too unsteady on his feet to bother, and she gave them a capsule with a set of the finest cookware money could buy. Chi-Chi would need it if she was going to keep her new husband fed. But Bulma wasn't celebrating. She knew it was selfish, but she could only think about her jealousy. She wanted to settle down and get married too. Ok, she didn't want to settle down so much. There were still plenty of years to have fun and exciting adventures all over the world before she settled down, but she wanted to share those adventures with a husband. Was Yamcha the man she could see herself with ten years down the road? Twenty? Fifty? She wasn't so sure. He was sweet and handsome, especially now that he had the rugged-looking scars on his face from his harsh, solitary training, but Bulma didn't think that was enough. It wasn't enough to make a successful, happy marriage anyway.

She couldn't even broach the topic of marriage with him. Not now, not ever. The last time she did made her forget ever being the one to bring it up again.

"So, Yamcha, I've been thinking." Bulma stroked his cheek with one hand and leaned on her elbow. He turned to face her, his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead. She gently pushed them aside.

"What is it, B?" he asked, wrapping one arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She felt his warm skin brushing against her own.

She suddenly felt shy. She couldn't ask this of him. But then again, why not? Who was he to deny her? Why would he want to? He loved her, didn't he? Besides, she always got what she wanted. She was Bulma Brief. He would be a fool to let her get away. She strengthened her resolve with a deep breath and plunged into the question she had wanted to ask him for several months now. "Are you ever going to ask me to marry you?"

He froze. His brown eyes widened, then shifted away from her, unable to meet her gaze. "B, I don't think we need to talk about that right now, ok? Maybe some other time. I mean, there's no rush, right?"

Bulma felt her heart sinking. "Right," she murmured.

The blue-haired woman turned her clutch purse over in her hands a few times, admiring its baby blue color that perfectly matched her dress. Finally, she stood up and excused herself to go to the powder room. She almost ran to get there, not wanting any of her friends to stop her and talk. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing heavily as she tried to hold back her tears. 'What the hell kind of relationship do we have? Are we going to date forever?' She wiped away a stray tear, aggravated with herself for being so emotional and upset that she would have to fix her mascara. 'It's not fair. I want to be happy too! Why can't we just get married?' Bulma went to the mirror and set her clutch down on the counter. She didn't raise her eyes to look at herself in the mirror. She already knew she wouldn't like what she saw.

The door opened, letting in the sounds of chattering, music, and clattering dishes for a moment. The sounds were again muffled when the door shut. Bulma heard the clicking of stiletto heels on the polished marble floor, but she didn't turn to see who was behind her. She didn't care. Instead, she opened her clutch and pulled out her makeup to touch up before venturing out into the crowd of people, most of whom she had never met and didn't care to meet.

"Bulma, are you feeling alright? You looked upset."

Bulma looked up at the mirror for the first time and brushed some blush on her cheekbones. She could see a young woman with dark blue hair and big, innocent eyes standing behind her. She shrugged. "I'm fine, Launch. Go back to the party. I'm sure Tien Shinhan would like another dance."

She could see Launch blushing in the mirror as she put on another layer of lipstick. "He says he doesn't like dancing very well."

'Dumb men,' Bulma thought bitterly. She put the cap on her lipstick and dug around in her clutch for her mascara. That was really all she needed to fix anyway. She growled when she couldn't find it. "Do you have any mascara?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." Launch pulled her mascara out of her purse and handed it to Bulma.

"Thanks."

"It was a beautiful wedding, didn't you think?" Launch asked as she leaned against the counter. She looked and sounded so dreamy Bulma nearly gagged. At the moment the last thing she wanted to think about was the wedding.

"Yeah. It was great." Bulma handed Launch her mascara and primped her hair a little. "Well, what say you we go back out and enjoy ourselves?" She forced herself to smile and act cheerful. She had to for her friends' sake. This was one day where it would be horribly inappropriate to lose her temper. It wasn't about her. It was about Goku and Chi-Chi and their new life together. She had to remember that. She had to stop thinking about her and Yamcha and how they were never going to get married at the rate they were going. She would never have a family, never settle down, never… Bulma grit her teeth and shoved her hopeless thoughts from her mind. Not now. Maybe tomorrow, but not now.

What was the point of dwelling on the parts of her life that never seemed to go right? There were so many things to be happy about. Krillin, Chiaotzu, and Roshi had been brought back to life when Kami fixed the eternal dragon. She finally got to see Goku after his three years of private training with Kami. She at least had a boyfriend. Not a husband – yet – but she had a boyfriend. She was still young, beautiful, rich, brilliant, and famous. She had the best group of friends she could ever ask for. The world was no longer in peril because Goku defeated Piccolo, Jr., stopping his reign of terror before it could ever begin. In doing so Goku won the World Martial Arts Tournament after being cheated out of it in his first two appearances. The wine was good, the party was fun, and her little Goku was celebrating his marriage to a beautiful young woman with a spitfire attitude and caring heart. Bulma had a lot to be happy about. As she thought about all these things, her smile became more genuine. Life was good. Everything would turn out alright in the end. It always did.

…

Vegeta stepped out of his space pod in the ship's hangar and stretched. The trip from their purge mission wasn't too long, only five days. It was hardly worth going into stasis for that long, but sitting still for five days with nothing to do and no room to move was excruciatingly dull. On either side of the saiyan prince, Nappa and Raditz were getting out of their space pods and also stretching out their stiff muscles.

"Let's report to Frieza," Vegeta said. He crossed his arms over his chest and left the hangar with the others trailing after him.

"If we're lucky he'll let us eat," Raditz said to Nappa. The bald saiyan grunted his agreement.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't count on that." He stopped in front of the doors to the lizard's throne room and glared at the guards. "Well? Are you going to open the damn doors or do I have to blast them down?"

The guard to Vegeta's right, a tall amphibious creature with pale yellow-green scaly skin and gills on either side of his throat frowned at the saiyan prince. He was weaker than Vegeta, but he had the authority to let soldiers in and out of the throne room when they weren't summoned by the space tyrant himself. "You'll have to wait, you saiyan monkey. Lord Frieza is meeting with someone else at the moment."

The flame-haired saiyan growled and grabbed the creature's throat and pulled him down to eye level. "You will show me respect, you miserable freak." He dug his fingers into his neck, hurting his sensitive gills.

"Ye – Yes, Vegeta, sir."

Vegeta's teeth bared as he shoved him into the wall. "Stupid fool. I should kill you." He rolled his shoulders back and stepped away from the door. "Let Frieza know that we have returned from our mission when the idiot who's in there leaves."

"That's Lord Frieza to you," the guard muttered as the three saiyans strode down the corridor toward their quarters.

Vegeta heard his comment, but he didn't respond or show any sign that he heard. It wasn't worth it. He called no one Lord. He may be a slave, a soldier in the lizard's army, but he would never truly respect his master. The only respect he gave was a show for the sake of self-preservation. He disgusted himself every time he kneeled before his throne, every time he called him 'Lord' or 'Master.' He was destined to greatness, but there he was, groveling at the feet of a diminutive lizard with unfathomable power and an affinity for sadism. Vegeta reached the door to their quarters and put in the entry code. The door opened and he stepped inside. The room seemed smaller than usual, but it was only his imagination. He hadn't grown since he was fifteen. He was no larger, the room was no smaller. He was just sick of it. Sick of the hard cot, sick of the tight space, sick of the lack of privacy, sick of the smell of Nappa and Raditz. But at least it was a place where he could separate himself from the rest of Frieza's foolish soldiers. He sat down on the edge of his cot, never uncrossing his arms. He scowled at the far wall. He would wait for Frieza to summon him, then he would report their latest purge.

His stomach growled. He was famished. Because of Raditz and Nappa messing up the last purge before the one they just completed, they weren't allowed to have anything to eat on Frieza's ship until further notice. The idiots allowed a small band of the planet's inhabitants to get away in a spaceship. Not only that, but they severely marred the planet's geography, which lowered its sale value in the Planet Trade. Frieza was furious. So was Vegeta. He never asked for them to become his purge team. They were given to him when he was a boy. Now he was starting to wish they had died with the rest of his race. At least then they wouldn't cause him so many problems. It had been three and a half months since his last meal. He was starting to feel weak from lack of nourishment. That was part of the reason he had as much trouble as he did on their purge of Planet 5009VH. He was tired, hungry, and angry. Not a good combination for going into battle.

He heard Nappa and Raditz's stomachs growling as well. He didn't pity them. He didn't empathize. In his opinion, they deserved to starve. It was their fault they were all being punished anyway. As the leader of their little squadron, it was his duty to make sure things went according to plan. Even though he was on the other side of the planet slaughtering civilians when it happened, he was still held accountable for the escape of nearly a thousand natives and the destruction of one of the most glorious mountain ranges in the galaxy. He wondered why saiyans with functional brains couldn't have been spared from Vegeta-sei's destruction. Why did it have to be those fools who lived to serve him? They weren't doing an outstanding job. More than anything they got him into trouble. When they did something wrong, he was the one who paid for it with his own blood. The only retribution he received was a substantial boost in his power.

Power. It was all he craved, all he lived for. Gaining power was his singular purpose in life, his only goal. Power was the only guarantee that he would survive another day. He had surpassed almost every soldier in Frieza's ranks. He was among the super elites, which was one of the main reasons he was one of the few who lived on Frieza's ship, given frequent purging assignments, and his own squadron. As much as he resented Frieza's favoritism, he was willing to accept his own space pod, his own quarters on the ship (shared only with Nappa and Raditz, a major step up from the barracks the other soldiers lived in), regular meals (when he wasn't being starved as punishment), full access to all training facilities, and freedom of movement within the ship. Though he never used it, he was given permission to use the whores kept on the lowest deck of the ship, he was allowed to take showers daily, and he was almost never disciplined for fighting with or even killing lower ranking soldiers for any reason. He had become Frieza's pampered, beaten pet. But at least he was alive. And his power, it was growing.

Everyone, except perhaps the pink fool himself, knew that Vegeta had grown stronger than Dodoria over the past year. His power level was a little over 25,000 with no signs of reaching an impenetrable glass ceiling. There were no limits to his power as long as he was permitted to continue battling and training. And recovering from beatings and near-death experiences. He trained obsessively when he wasn't being sent on purges, and he forced Nappa and Raditz to train more hours than they really wanted to, insisting they grow in strength so they would be at least somewhat useful to him on their missions. Nappa's power had grown to a dismal 10,600 and Raditz was struggling to make it past 5200. Vegeta's power soared. When he was angry enough, he could push his power to over 27,000.

Not that it was ever satisfactory to him. He would never be strong enough. He would be the bastard's little plaything for life. There was no way to reach the power Frieza had. It was rumored to be in the hundreds of thousands, maybe even higher. Vegeta couldn't compete. Not unless he ascended. But he had long since given up hope on that foolish legend. That was all it was, a legend told to saiyan children to explain how their people came to live on Vegeta-sei. Sometimes he heard Nappa or Raditz thinking about how long it would take him to become the Legendary. When he did, he scoffed at their pathetic imaginations. He was not going to become a super saiyan. He was not going to be his people's savior, or at the very least their avenger. He was nothing. He would always be nothing.

He was broken out of his thoughts when he heard a knock on the door. He stood up and opened the door. One of Frieza's foot soldiers was standing there, literally shaking in his boots when he was faced with the saiyan prince's intimidating scowl.

"Vegeta, Lord Frieza has requested your presence," he stammered. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face and dropped off his chin. Vegeta sneered at him and shoved him aside. He started toward the throne room, soon joined by Raditz and Nappa on either side of him. When they arrived at the throne room, the doors were already open. Vegeta led the way inside and knelt before the throne of Frieza. Behind him, Nappa and Raditz also knelt.

"Back so soon?" Frieza asked. "Report."

Vegeta swallowed back his humiliation over having to respect the lizard and told him, "Yes, Lord Frieza. We completed the purge in two and a half weeks. The planet is cleared of life and ready for sale."

Frieza reclined back in his seat and frowned slightly. "And I suppose you want to be rewarded for your quick work?"

"Only if you so desire, Lord Frieza."

The tyrant huffed. "If I recall, you monkeys have not been allowed food these past three months. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Lord Frieza." To Vegeta's greater humiliation, his and the other saiyans' stomachs growled in unison, as if begging for food.

"I'll make you a deal, prince," Frieza said. "I will allow you and your subordinates to eat if you scrub the floors of the ship. They have gotten filthy and as you know, all my servants are dead. It seems a certain monkey thought they would make for good target practice." Zarbon and Dodoria, always at Frieza's side, laughed when they saw Vegeta's indignation.

'You have got to be kidding me!' Vegeta slowly, subtly shook his head. Starve or stoop to the lowest level of slavery? Either way it would kill him. At least if he chose to starve there was the chance that he would be assigned a mission where he could hunt for food. But if he chose to scrub the floors his pride would never recover. He would never live it down. Every soldier on the ship would see him. They would witness his humiliation and ridicule him. He couldn't kill all of them. As much as Frieza took sick pleasure in his murderous ways, he wouldn't stand for having all of his best soldiers killed because he wanted to protect his pride.

As if reading the saiyan's thoughts, Frieza continued, "I will not have any purges for you to complete for several weeks, Vegeta. The Planet Trade is not attracting any customers with sufficient funds at this time and I have all the resources I need already."

'Damnit! Why is that bastard always one fucking step ahead?'

"What do you choose, Vegeta?"

The Prince of all Saiyans, the mighty Vegeta, bowed his head before his master. His shoulders sagged as he answered, "I'll scrub the damn floors, Lord Frieza."

Frieza smirked. "Very good. Get started. Nappa and Raditz may get food from the mess hall while you're busy cleaning." What sounded like granting permission was really a veiled command. Everyone knew better than to argue. The two large saiyans immediately rose and left the throne room on the way to the mess hall, guilt weighing heavily on them. They knew what Vegeta was willingly subjecting himself to. Perhaps it was not entirely for their benefit, maybe not at all, actually, but they were the ones being rewarded through his humiliation. When they were gone, Frieza turned back to Vegeta. "I presume you know where the servant quarters are? Get a bucket of water and get started. If there's no scrub brushes, just use your tail. Go."

Vegeta stood and barely managed to lift his chin. He stalked out of the throne room, followed closely by the sounds of Frieza's laughter. He went to the lower level of the ship and found the bucket. And no scrub brush. He sighed. No doubt there had been one, but it was taken away in anticipation of this chore. He filled the bucket with ice cold water and carried it to Frieza's throne room. He heard soldiers around him snickering, laughing, swapping jokes about him finally being put in his place. His free hand clenched into a fist and a low warning growl shut many of them up. He would have his revenge on them all someday. He moved to the far corner of the throne room, squatted down, dipped his tail in the freezing water, and started scrubbing the floor. He was going to be busy for a long time. Each passing minute his stomach growled louder, his own personal slave driver.

Betrayed by his own body, made weak in his hunger, he had never felt such embarrassment. He could have survived for many more weeks, even months, without food, but he had no doubt Frieza would outwait him. Without food for so long, he would be made physically weak and vulnerable, and the other soldiers, the vultures of Frieza's ship, would rain down on him without mercy. Again, he was forced to throw aside everything that mattered to him – power, pride – for the sake of survival. And it was all because of Nappa and Raditz. Those fools. They more than Frieza were the bane of his existence. He hated them.

A/N: I'm celebrating 100 favorites on this story! Thanks everyone!

I've pretty much made a break from canon here on out. It still parallels canon, but with my twist. So hopefully that'll make things more interesting concerning Bulma. It's not my fault she had a happy, luxurious life (ok, it technically is because this is my story, but you know what I mean). Seems things are on the rocks with Bulma and Yamcha, anyway. We'll see what happens with them...

So Vegeta has finally gotten some discipline for killing people on Frieza's ship. Funny how Frieza cares more about his servants than his soldiers. Oh, well... anything to put Vegeta in his place. Of course it accomplishes another major goal other than humiliation involving two other saiyans... hrm. Personally, I thought this chapter was pretty good, and the next couple chapters get a lot better (in my opinion). They're also very important in Vegeta's development before meeting with Bulma again. You've made it through the long, boring part of the story, congratulations!

A novel is at least 50,000 words. I think I've written almost 300,000 for this story so far. I've never taken a writing class (fiction) in my life. Yet I seem to be a pretty prolific writer. Crazy. I'm working on writing chapter 43 right now. It's been kind of fun, if not confusing. Actually, I think 42 was more confusing to write. Lots going on. I can't wait to post them. Until then, review! It's been a review dry spell lately. :(

Vegeta: 24
Bulma: 22