Chapter Two – Day Zero
Meet and Greet

It was really happening. This game. A game, where she had to gather the seven Dragon Balls, and kill whoever got in her way. She couldn't do that. Chichi was one of those people, who could potentially stand in the line of fire. It wasn't like she could refuse it either. Either way, the future looked bleak at the moment. The phrase 'fight or flight' was whirling in her head like a hurricane, knocking down any rational though and spitting it back out somewhere far in the distance. There was no hope. As it was now, Bulma was standing on the thin line between life and death, her collar bone broken, her ribs, probably cracked, her stomach eating itself inside out. She was weak. Extremely weak. Frieza wasn't going to get much of a show, because she felt like loosening her grip on life.

Her back clicked as she nudged herself upright onto the freezing metal wall of the cell, nursing her sore shoulder, her bare feet soaking and numb from the snow. She watched the warrior doing press-ups in the small corridor, grunting and clapping in-between each set. Was he insane? His muscles twitched and shook with the pressure of each push. There were no shoes on his feet either, but he seemed to be coping perfectly fine, like working in this sort of climate was second nature to him. He looked furious, and had not spoken a word to her since she almost collapsed in a corner to wallow in self-pity. Blinking away threatening tears, Bulma tried—and failed—to stand up. If this guy was her partner, and say, in theory, if they were to contend in this game, shouldn't they have been coming up with some sort of plan or strategy?

He stood up, rolled his shoulders, exposing his built frame. He was impressive. Almost surreal. He looked ready for anything, ferocious, like a gladiator preparing for the coliseum.

"Do you have a name?" she said, keeping a steady balance against the wall.

There was a short period of silence, and he didn't even give her the satisfaction of acknowledgement, before saying, "That's none of your concern," and started rolling his right wrist.

Even though she was on the brink of death, she still knew when someone was being utterly rude to her. She gawped, about to pursue with a tirade of comments about how you're supposed to look at someone when they speak to you, but she thought better of it. She was too ill, and the effort might be costly. Rather than point out his failure to act appropriately in the presence of a leading female scientist, she merely said, "It is … I'm Bulma Brie—"

"The only thing I care about, human, is gathering the Dragon Balls for Frieza," he said, cutting her off completely, and finally taking the time to glare at her.

She kept eye contact. She'd been dumped into the same shit-filled boat with him, so why was he so deft with the remarks? Dying didn't seem like such a bad idea to Bulma. "What?" she said, mustering the courage to hobble towards him, unable to feel the ground beneath her dead feet. "Are you for real?"

He moved onto his left wrist, rolling it around, loosening the stiff joints, while Bulma approached him, burning flames in her eyes. "If we're going to work together, you should at least tell me your na—"

Before she could finish speaking, her back cracked against the wall, as he pinned her, his forearm squashed against her windpipe, severely restricting the air flow. He had her. The flush of fear started from her feet, making its way to her brain, telling her that she wasn't going to make it out this time. He was so close to her, he could see the frightened pulse, beating rapidly in her neck. He eyed her up, scrutinising her panic-stricken blue eyes.

Bulma gargled on saliva that was trying to make its way down the blocked airway, her feet suspended from the ground, her chipped nails clawing and grasping at the taut flesh of her attacker.

"I don't have to do anything for you," he hissed, his nose almost pressing against hers.

"Stop …" she spluttered. "You'll die too …" His eyes were glowing, two black orbs, enlarging at the sound of her desperate plea for help, like a predator about to kill.

For a split second, there was a look of distress on his face, before he shook it away and snarled, baring sharp canines. "Who says I have anything to live for?" It came out more as a statement than a question, but Bulma's vision began to cloud over with a grey blur, the noise returning. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and before death could take her, her broken body dropped to the floor, and she collapsed in a heap.

Everything came rushing back. The oxygen, the blood to her head and legs, the sound of footsteps marching further and further away until they vanished, the moaning wind calling from right outside. She gasped, taking in lungful after lungful of air-or what she assumed to be air—until her mouth was too dry and she had to stop. She stayed on her hands and knees, staring at the meshed floor. She coughed and blood flew out, embellishing the bland grey metal. It stood out so much. The first vibrant thing she had seen in a while. It looked beautiful.

Slowly, she lifted her head and gazed out at the expanse of snow. He was gone. Her shoulders loosened, a shot of pain running up her left shoulder and concentrating in her collar bone.

What the hell was going on?

She knew what was going on, but didn't want to admit it anymore. Giving up didn't seem like an option anymore. She wasn't going to wish for death, and she wasn't going to allow some warrior with serious anger issues get the better of … her life. If he wanted to kill her, then he should've done it. He didn't and that was a choice he made. Unless …

Her eyes widened.

Unless he was walking out of the boundaries, killing them both that way.

She grimaced as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, her teeth chattering even though the cold didn't feel present anymore. Like a tidal wave, drowsiness washed over her, overwhelming her, her eyelids feeling like feathers falling from an empty sky.

She started when something banged against the floor beside her. There, by her feet, was a huge back pack, with patches of snow on the top. She looked up. He was back, his arms folded, scowling down at her. She didn't feel scared of him, for some reason. After all, what was the worst he could do? She was already suffering way beyond her pain threshold. His eyes narrowed, as if he was expecting her to say something, probably disappointed that he couldn't get an excuse to strangle her again.

Absentmindedly, she rubbed her neck where his arm had been, still warm from his touch. Then she looked at his feet, bare, showing no signs of the plummeting temperature. He'd been wading through the snow without shoes on for about ten minutes. Wasn't he in agony?

"I'm a Saiyan," he said proudly. "You're an Earthling. That is all you need to know."

Bulma closed her mouth, dropping her eyes to the old, well-used bag, carefully reaching out to dust the snow off the top. A Saiyan. She knew exactly what race that was. Her best friend was a Saiyan. Goku. A fresh batch of tears gathered behind her eyes, but she forced them back quickly. Saiyans were a fearless, powerful race. She briefly did some research on them, but there was seldom evidence that they existed anymore, excusing Goku.

"What is this?" she muttered, noticing that he was still watching her intently, a confusing look, one she couldn't determine, in his eyes.

The word 'partner' kept appearing in her mind like windshield wipers going back and forth in torrential rain.

"Supplies," he said, then looked off to the side.

It was probably best to leave it at that. She focused on the bag, brushing the last bit of snow from it, her mouth opening when she saw the faded Capsule Corp logo. A question arose. How the hell? Like a kid on Christmas day, she ripped the bag open, her hands clawing at the sea of items until her nails grazed against something small. Two, in fact. It was as if all her ailments knew that they were about to be saved, when she produced two small beans. Sensu beans, given to her by Goku before …

Laughter escaped her lips, and she took one of the beans, swallowing it whole, forgetting about the nameless Saiyan watching. What happened after that was hard to describe. It felt like everything fitted back into place, like everything woke up from a long sleep and decided to function again. Her stomach even growled gratefully from the small token. The best part was being able to move fully again, being able to roll her shoulders without searing pain. She wanted to cry.

He blinked, his eyebrow arched. What the fuck did she just eat? It didn't matter. He wasn't there to watch what she did- the pathetic excuse of a living–being. She was shit on his shoe, for all he cared. He just had to walk her off until the Dragon Balls were gathered, and then-

Bulma cried out with joy, rummaging through the rest of the bag, pulling out little trinkets and gadgets. It was the bag she had packed for emergencies. Everything was there. There was a small plastic case, containing twelve capsules, some food, some clothes and a few vehicle capsules. Something she didn't pack, though, was two pairs of steel-capped boots. She pulled them out and held one at arms-length. They were leather, with laces running right up the top, which ended at the top of your calves. They weren't hers. Suddenly she felt sick, and dropped them to the floor. Had Frieza done this? Somehow got her belongings and added a few bonus items to keep her steady? She looked at the Saiyan's feet again, and gulped. She pushed a pair of boots towards him.

It felt freezing cold all of a sudden.

It didn't take long before the Saiyan picked the boots up, slid his feet inside them, crouched down and started lacing them up. They seemed to fit perfectly around the anklet. It seemed all too natural to him. Bulma felt like she'd been torn away from a moment of oblivious happiness. For a moment, she felt totally sheltered, as if she was searching through that bag in her own bedroom. The unfamiliar footwear sent her plummeting back down to planet zero-one-six-zero, and it hurt. Her hands were clasped into tight fists. No matter, she had to do something. Picking up the case of capsules, she decided that she'd better start making a move, whether the Saiyan liked it or not.

There was always a way out of something. Bulma resolved that fact as she gently touched the device on her ankle, studying it for any weak spots, or detachable parts. If worse came to worst, she would have to rip it out of her leg, but, then, she would bleed to death. The pain alone would knock her out. She couldn't do that, anyway. It was screwed in. Tight. Two bolts running right through the bone in her leg. Every inch she moved, it was there, tugging at the nerves, making sure she was aware of it. The pain had subsided, mostly. It was more of a dull vibration. No more painful that pins and needles.

But there was always a way out.

Bulma frowned, pulling the huge, ugly, steel-toed boots over. She'd do whatever it took to stay alive, and if helping the Saiyan find the Dragon Balls was what it took, then that's what she would do. That wasn't her main concern, though. Getting this device off her ankle was all she could think about. Without the device, she had a fighting chance. And then she would find Chichi. There would be places somewhere on this planet, rich with the right materials to execute her plan. Manipulating the Saiyan into taking her to these unknown places was going to be a challenge. But it was her only hope.

Once she put the disgusting boots on, she scrambled for the empty bag on the floor. She'd ransacked it of its supplies, all the emergency items she'd packed, but not enough for what she needed now. There were capsules of dried food, tiny packets of apricots, coconut and slithers of beef jerky. They'd be rationed. The Saiyan didn't know of the edible possessions, and she didn't have to tell him. Not yet, anyway. She didn't trust him. Not after he almost choked her to death.

He walked back into the cell, a thunderous look on his face. Bulma grabbed the loose items, ready to cram them back in the bag. When she pulled open the top of the bag, she noticed a gleam from the corner of her eye. There was still something in there, a small, oval object. She snatched it and smiled broadly, rolling it over in her palm, allowing the cool metal to warm. She couldn't believe it. "No way …" She laughed, grabbing the attention of the sullen Saiyan.

He'd been waiting for ten minutes for her to put some decent clothing on, and she had yet to finish that simple task. He should've choked her completely. If it wasn't for the anklet, she would be dead, not sitting on the floor, laughing at a metal object.

His shadow loomed over her, sending a cold breath of air through her body. She ignored him, because she had, in her possession, the one device that set them miles apart from anyone else—the dragon radar. She brushed the screen free of dust, happy to see that it had survived unscathed, until she turned it over again, peeling off the battery pack, revealing a severed wire. She clicked the power button on the top. Nothing. She tapped it a few times. Sometimes those kinds of devices needed a decent kick-start.

"No, no, no …" she said, pinching the tiny wire and examining it closely. "Shit."

The Saiyan exhaled heavily through his nostrils. She jumped a little, almost forgetting he was there. She needed to get on his good side, if he even had a good side. So far, it wasn't going in the right direction. Her cool façade was fading quickly. The dragon radar was like the diamond in the rough, and even that had been buried in sand now. She stood up, zipped her capsule jacket up right to the top, and grabbed the radar tightly.

"All this stuff … It doesn't matter how it got here, but this," she said, holding the radar out, allowing the Saiyan to get a good look. He barely glanced at it, before looking away. "It could make this game a lot easier."

Something in her words sparked another bout of anger from him. His eyes alit and his nostrils flared. "Whatever it is, you can forget it. I don't need this to be easier, and I don't need your help. Fortunately for you, you've been paired with the strongest warrior in the galaxy. All you have to do is keep within distance and keep silent, so I can finish this before we die." He'd had enough of waiting around.

Bulma had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "How are you going to find the Dragon Balls? Do you even know where you're headed?"

He took a threatening step closer, able to see the naked distress in Bulma's eyes.

"This device …" she said again, panicking and holding the radar close to his face. It almost felt like she was a sales person, trying desperately hard to show him the latest item, except, this was literally a matter of life and death. "It's mine … I mean, I made it."

His face softened a bit, which spurred her to continue.

"It's a dragon radar. It tracks the energy the Dragon Balls provide, and points to their exact location." She sighed.

His gaze dropped to the device in her tiny hand. A dragon radar? Something about the item was intriguing. It looked faintly archaic, but familiar. But, he couldn't have seen it before.

"It's broken, though," she said, showing him the tethered wire.

"Well, what fucking use is that?" It was becoming increasingly difficult not to kill this Earthling. He'd had enough. He was going to have to just go ahead and start searching. She would just have to follow. And if she got in the way during battle, then he would kill her himself. Rather that than have her make a mockery of his name. He turned and headed for the outdoors, the snow fall becoming increasingly heavy. Sooner or later, they were going to get stuck. Or, she would. Vegeta wondered what he had done to displease Frieza so much for him to give him such a pathetic partner. But, deep down, he knew the answer to that.

"If I have the right tools, it can be fixed," Bulma shouted after him, stopping him in the doorway, the harsh wind manipulating his hair style.

For a moment he just stood, taking the words in, syllable by syllable, as if he were translating them. He didn't have the time to be helping her out. He was furious that he had to be paired up with anyone. He was capable of doing this alone. Every time the Earthling spoke, he wanted to blast her into another dimension, like he did with most people who stood in his way. But the prospect of having a fully functional Dragon Ball tracking device did seem appealing. That way, he could get this game over and done with. Nothing else mattered.

"What is needed?" he said, without looking back.

She watched his back muscles twitch in irritation. "I don't know … uh … Something to connect this wire back to the system, something to stick it to," she said, flipping the radar over in her hand.

He stormed over, making her flinch, and grabbed the device. "I will find something for this, and you'll fix it. That will be your role in this poor production."

She really didn't want to argue with him, because she didn't know what he was capable of, but if he was capable of choking someone for merely asking him his name, then she would take a step back. For now.

She nodded.

"Right," he huffed, and headed for the door, Bulma in tow, lumbering the bag on her back. It wasn't too heavy, but heavy enough that it would soon ache.

They both stepped outside, suddenly everything becoming real. They were beginning. Bulma's body stiffened. What would happen if someone was to jump out at them now? She couldn't do anything. Those prisoners. They were innocent people. She wasn't going to do anything to harm them. She looked at the back of the Saiyan's head.

But he would.

The snowfall was heavy, forcing her to pull the jacket hood over her head, encasing her ears with an oblivious humming sound. She could have had her head in a fridge, foraging for one of her mother's homemade chocolate puddings. The Saiyan stopped dead in his tracks, sending a bolt of panic into Bulma's heart, and then he hovered off the ground and quickly accelerated.

Bulma screamed. "Wait. Stop. What are you doing?" running after him, before it was too late.

He stopped, dropping to the floor, glowering at her, his hair catching him in the eyes. He looked surprised for a moment, then the anger and disappointment washed over his features. "Oh, you have to be fucking joking, Frieza?" he roared into the empty atmosphere.

Bulma wanted to wring his neck. Shouting like that could get them killed. She squinted, her eyes almost closing.

"You can't fly, can you?" he said, stalking back.

She shook her head. The cold was beginning to reach through her clothes. She couldn't stay outside for much longer.

"Shit … " He paced forwards, then back to her again, the stress palpable in his stride.

Bulma shifted the bag, awkwardly waiting for him to do something. He looked like he was battling against himself, willing himself not to do anything too drastic. They would have to walk. That's what she'd set out to do, anyway, so that was half the battle done already. But how far they would have to walk was unknown.

Within thirty seconds, their ship had become a distant memory in the snow storm, no sign of it ever existing. It was like they had walked for hours. Bulma decided to carry on walking, past the Saiyan, and into the blank canvas ahead. What else could she do? It wasn't long before she heard the snow crunching behind her.

They'd been walking for an hour, Bulma having to stop to get another capsule jacket, and still, there was nothing in sight. Frieza was right, the conditions on this planet were horrendous, and it looked like she had been dumped in the worst possible place. It was looking like an early exit. The Saiyan hadn't spoken a word, quietly marching behind her the entire time, occasionally huffing, but she knew that it wouldn't take much longer for him to crack up. Trudging through the thick snow was taking its toll on her tired legs, and she was beginning to lose the sensation in them again. Or, that's what she thought, until her calve thudded against something hard.

She wailed from the shock of the connection, and the Saiyan pushed her out of the way as he dug through the snow, his hands shovelling huge clumps of it out of the way. Bulma gazed in amazement as he dug deeper and deeper.

"I knew it," he muttered, more to himself than to Bulma, and he reached out to lift open a small man-hole cover.

It creaked piercingly loud, but Bulma didn't care. It was shelter, somewhere for her to rest, and possibly find the right equipment to fix the radar. There was a spasm of hope within her, brutally pushing away the huge doubt. The Saiyan jumped down the hole, disregarding her presence at all, and perhaps forgetting about the distance they had to share. She panicked for a moment, thinking that the drop could possibly be more than one hundred meters, meaning her death was imminent. But the oxygen still flowed through her lungs freely.

Gingerly, she leaned over the opening to the hole, checking the drop, but all she could see was darkness. She'd been with the Saiyan for less than two hours and she already hated his guts. She was a sitting duck outside on her own. Did he not realise the definition of a partner? Thankfully, Bulma noticed the rusty-looking metal handles of a ladder, leading down the hole, so step by step, she made her way down into the black. The further down she climbed, the more terrified she became. They were marooned on an uninhibited planet. God knows what kind of things could be lurking around. One thing the hole did determine, though, was that there was a civilisation here once. Or beings who were somewhat civilised.

She closed her eyes as her foot tapped the floor below and she let go of the bars, landing firmly on solid ground, the noise reverberating back up the hole. There was the faint sound of water pattering somewhere, but no sound of her partner. She wanted to scream, as the overwhelming smell of mould caught her suddenly.

There was nothing worse than the darkness.

She shifted the bag on her back again, trying to boost her confidence, and turned around, opening her eyes and willing them to adjust.

A dull light flicked on, and there he was, standing in the corner of what looked like a bomb shelter, watching her intently. She curiously glanced around the room, at the damp ceilings, the rotten wooden table with paper strewn all over it, the single chair, and a mottled bed sheet, which was covered in dark stains. It was a tiny room. Bulma's heart sank when she realised that everything she could see was everything the room contained. There wasn't anything remotely useful. Even a pair of scissors would have made a difference. She had to remind herself that this was a different planet, and whoever used to live here, wouldn't have the same luxuries she had back at home.

The Saiyan threw the broken radar at her. She caught it.

"Well?" he said, his tone sharp and accusing. "What now, Earthling? There is nothing of use in here, so if you don't have anything to suggest, I say we take your little device and flush it down a fucking toilet."

She frowned, defeat gripping her. There had to be something she could do. It was her only chance to claw her way out of this mess, and she was growing tired of sitting silent, while he ran his mouth at her. She held the radar at her side, valiantly stiffening her upper lip.

"We'll find somewhere else, then," she said.

He laughed, the sound so tight and confined in such a small room. "Oh, really? And where would you suggest we go next? But, that's right, you don't know." He approached her again, but this time she stood her ground, trying to show no fear. It was as if something derailed him from the assault, and he stopped. "We're wasting time. I should have knocked you unconscious before." He growled.

Bulma was baffled. What a weird guy. She felt emotionally drained with the Saiyan and she barely knew him. It was interesting seeing someone so virile and outwardly confident, but also being able to see something deeper. There was more than meets the eye to this Saiyan.

"Look, you can threaten me all you want, but I didn't ask for this, and honestly, if you want to kill me, you go on ahead. You won't gain anything out of it."

"Was that a challenge?" his eyes flickered at the word 'challenge'.

"Let's just fix this radar, and if it doesn't work, I'll follow you," she said, peering at him.

His eyes widened and he sent his fist into the dry plaster on the wall, leaving a gaping hole, and shaking the entire room. "I'm not following orders from you," he yelled, and a faint blue aura drifted up the length of his body, heating the room substantially.

Bulma stood tall. He was beginning to grate her skin. He was like a spoilt little kid, throwing his toys around when he didn't get what he wanted. Something clicked in her head for a second. That aura. The heat it produced. She stepped towards him, and he looked faintly surprised by her action.

"Wait, that energy …" she said, looking at the fading blue glow. It was the same heat she felt across her face when she walked out into the snow. "You can control that, right?"

He didn't say anything, just stared incredulously.

"Can you concentrate it to a fraction? Like, a tiny spec of energy?"

"Of course I can."

She grinned. "The heat it produced can melt the wire back together. The radar will work that way," she said, almost fidgety with excitement. She opened the back of the radar and handed it over to him.

He gingerly took hold of it, glancing at her, the sheer joy on her face being too foreign to him. What a stupid, delusional creature. It didn't matter, though. All he had to do was this one thing, then she would stand back and just deal with whatever happened next. He placed the wire between his finger and thumb, closed his eyes, furrowing his brow, to concentrate the energy to such a low level. With him being extremely powerful anyway, it made this task a bit of a challenge. But he did it, the glow lighting up the disgusting shelter, warming the area.

Bulma felt the warmth wrap around her small frame. For that single moment, she felt at peace. Then the room returned to a morbid grey colour, and the Saiyan shoved the radar into her chest.

"Done. Now make it work," he said, gesturing to the radar.

Jeez. She took a deep breath. It had to work. There was nothing else she could do, other than become this Saiyan's slave. When she pressed the power button, it took a few intense seconds before the screen came to life. Her shoulders sank. Thank God. It just had to be reprogrammed to track Dragon Balls on this planet, which was easy enough.

"Just give me a minute. It needs to be tuned."

He crossed his arms. "You have to be kidding …"

Deciding to ignore him, she got to work. The task was far too easy for her, so she started to wonder about the Saiyan: how he got himself into this mess, whether he was merely an innocent bystander like her. The more she looked at him, the more she doubted that. There was something about him that made her edgy. He knew who Frieza was. Why? Before all this, she was completely oblivious to the name, yet he knew it. The whole thing was too distorted for her to try and comprehend. What kind of sick monster would do this? And, for the Saiyan to be affiliated with Frieza, made her question what kind of partnership she'd been dumped in. It was apparent that they were working for Frieza, finding the Dragon Balls for his benefit only. That was what she was doing, anyway. The Saiyan, though, he was too anxious to dive into the challenge. She knew what Saiyans were like. Thirsty for a battle, and the spillage of blood.

'I know exactly who you're going to be paired up with …'

The words Frieza used echoed through her mind. He'd purposely chosen who to pair her up with. Why this Saiyan? It made her wonder for a moment about all the other 'teams'. Who had Chichi been paired up with, and would she understand why? Probably not. She screwed the power button back into place.

"Phew," she said, clicking it repeatedly.

The Saiyan stood in front of her, leering over the radar to see what she'd done.

The radar bleeped every time she clicked it, then she gasped as a little orange glow appeared on the screen. "Whu … what?"

He grabbed the device. "What is it?"

"Give it back," she said, reaching for it.

He held her shoulder back. "Not until you tell me what's going on." He squinted at the screen. "What does this mean, Earth woman?"

"It means there's a Dragon Ball," she said, giving up and folding her arms.

"And?" he prompted condescendingly.

"It's close."

"How close?" You could see him itching to go.

"Very."

"Tell me where. We're wasting time!" He grabbed her jacket, lifting her off her feet.

She held onto where he had gripped. "I'm not telling you anything until you put me down."

He searched her eyes, flicking back to the radar. He didn't have a choice. He couldn't determine what the image on the screen meant. It was merely a grid with an orange dot on it. There was no indication of distance or time. He let go of her, and gave back the radar. It was humiliating enough.

She straightened her jacket up. "Let me see …" She clicked it once more. "It's … That's weird."

"What now?"

"Does Frieza know where the Dragon Balls are located?"

"Of course he doesn't," he said, glowering at her incredulously.

"It's just … The Dragon Ball is only a couple hundred meters from here. It's practically a two minute walk." She brought the radar right up to her face. That's what the device said. Unless it was broken.

"Well, I'm not going to wait around, listening to you blabbing," he said, barging past her to the entrance of the hole.

Bulma watched as he ascended up the tunnel. She'd better move, and quick. If the radar was right, which she hoped it was, then they had a head start, a step closer to freedom and finding Chichi. They'd located the first Dragon Ball.