Chapter 3 – Day One
The First Hurdle

The air was colder, thinner, with feathers of snow, chasing each other in the sky above Bulma's head, landing all over her. She had to wipe them out of her eyes, and each time she looked, the Saiyan trekked further and further away until she could barely see him. She held the radar out, shielding it with her hand. The dragon ball was only a few more meters from here. It felt eerie, like they were backtracking towards the ship, but she couldn't be sure for all the snow was making everything look the same. The faint blue of the Saiyan's clothing was all she had to keep her moving in the right direction. He didn't have the radar, but he was heading in the right direction.

Weird.

She had to grip on to her hood tighter, as the wind pulled at it, leaving her face red raw. Her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, but she tried to shrug it off and think about other things, like her boyfriend, Yamcha. She hoped he was OK. What happened back on Earth … Well, she couldn't remember. That was the problem. She just hoped that Yamcha was OK. She wanted him to be there when she got back, because she was coming back. She'd promised Chichi that they would both make it back in one piece. She needed to keep that in mind.

Bulma jolted half out of her skin when the Saiyan was right in her face, glowering at her. At that moment, she noticed the sky was darker, despite the impenetrable cloud cover. It was dark before, but now it was closing in, and fast. Turning her attention back to the Saiyan, she raised an eyebrow curiously.

"We've walked two hundred meters, now where is it? Check the radar."

"Ok, hold on." She studied the screen, the glowing dot flashing directly where they were standing. "But it's …" Bulma whipped around the area, the wind lashing at her face. There was nothing. Nothing, except snow. "We're standing directly on it, apparently."

"Stand aside," he said, and without hesitation, she did.

He crouched, stuck his hand out, and formed a ball of blue energy, which melted the snow down until the thick, brown soil started to show. Bulma crouched too, looking on, helplessly gripping onto the heavy back pack.

The dirt suddenly flew out, narrowly missing her face, as the Saiyan dug with his hands, tearing at the ground viciously. His shoulders hunched deeper and deeper as he dug further into the ground. Bulma hoped, for her sake, that he was digging in the right location; otherwise they would be there all night. Being out in this weather in the day time was bad enough, but at night? Surely the temperature would drop even further. She'd be dead for sure.

A while later, a muffled chuckle came from the Saiyan. He sprang up from the soil, covered with splodges on his armor, holding a small orange ball. It was smaller than the dragon balls on Earth, but the four stars on it, clarified that it was real enough. Bulma stopped shivering and couldn't help but smile a little. They'd found it. The first ball. They'd been there for four hours and found the first dragon ball. If they continued at this rate, they'd have all seven in no time. He threw the ball into Bulma's lap, causing her to fall back. It might have been small, but it was heavy. Was he expecting her to carry it?

"Where's the next one?" he said, looking over his shoulder distractedly, away from Bulma.

Bulma followed his gaze, but there was nothing there. It was even darker now. If there was a sun, it had definitely gone down. The temperature was dropping quickly, and all Bulma wore was jeans, a tattered t-shirt, and two capsule corp hoodies.

Not bothered about the decrease in temperature, the Saiyan asked her again, "I said, where is the next dragon ball, Earthling?"

His frown soon smoothed, and he shot another glance over his shoulder.

"What's over there? Why do you keep looking over there?" Bulma said, getting to her feet. She swivelled the bag around to her front and put the ball inside it. "I checked the radar before. The next one is too far from here … five hundred miles west."

He turned back. "It's nothing, probably just a creature of this planet."

"A creature? Like, a rabbit, or an owl?" she said, feebly hoping it was just a little mouse or something harmless.

He shook his head. "Stop time-wasting, and check the fucking—"

A rumbling growl sounded from behind him. His eyes narrowed and he turned around, balling his fists like he was preparing for some hand-to-hand combat. Bulma didn't know what was going on, but she didn't want to stick around to find out. She backed away. Whatever it was, she couldn't fight it. She didn't have any weapons with her. Then, in the darkness and winding snow, several red eyes emerged, and the growling became louder, echoing into the vast space.

A black ball of fur leapt out of the darkness, bounding over the Saiyan and jumping on top of Bulma. It knocked her down, and she quickly shielded her face with the back pack, at the same time feeling an excruciating blitz of pain in her right leg. She bellowed in agony, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. It felt like her leg had been torn in half. The creature on top had stopped attacking her, but there was still a lot of noise going on around, yelping and screeching. It was mind numbing. Bulma covered her ears, concentrating on the throbbing in her leg. She didn't want to look at it. If it had fallen off, she was done for.

Quickly, something latched onto her leg, forcing out another scream. It gripped onto the muscle and dragged her across the floor. That was it. She was a goner. The bag was removed roughly from her face, and snow flew over her, jetting into her mouth as she was pulled faster, hitting submerged rocks and stones. She gargled on her own spit, the panic colliding with rationality quickly, the sound of her own screaming the only thing she could hear, drowning everything else out. She was in a bubble, and soon enough the bubble popped, as did her ability to stay conscious.

Bulma, you, my dear, can achieve anything you want when you put your mind to it.

She awoke with a start, disoriented, the unfamiliar smell of damp wood flooding her senses. There was a crunching sound close to her right. The sky was dark, but there was a bright moon light, shrouded by densely leaved tree tops. It was quiet. The last thing she remembered was being attacked by blood-thirsty werewolf creatures. Like it had waited dormant until she remembered, the pain surfaced in her leg, making her wince. She sat up on her elbows and sheepishly peered at the leg in question. It wasn't too bad. It had claw marks on it, but she hadn't been bitten. Still, there was the chance that it could've carried an infection. She was probably going to find out soon enough. But he wound looked clean, like it had been treated …

The Saiyan was sitting probably as far as he could get, leaning against a tree trunk, crunching into a huge animal carcass. She grimaced. What the hell is that thing? Is it raw? There was blood, deep red, all smeared across his mouth. She should have felt sick, but as she looked on in feign horror, her stomach growled with jealousy. The bag was next to her feet, marred and scratched from whatever had attacked her, but it was still intact. She brought it towards her and hungrily pulled out the metal capsule case.

The area was warmer. It mirrored a typical forest on Earth, except the smell was slightly different, although that could have been the rotting animal the Saiyan was eating. It was still cold, though, so she guessed they couldn't have gone too far, maybe the altitude had decreased. Then it dawned on her. Did he carry her here? Was it him who grabbed her leg? She didn't dare ask him. He was too occupied. Her head was pounding, as if she had the mother of all hangovers. The last thing she wanted to do was spark another bout of violence from the unpredictable warrior.

When the sound of crunching stopped, Bulma swivelled around to face the Saiyan, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at her for a split second, vague curiosity rearing itself, but his attention was swiftly drawn away to … anything other than her.

"Where are we?" she said wearily, holding the bag close to her chest for warmth.

He looked at the skeleton next to him, stripped bare of any flesh, then he said, "four hundred miles away from where we were before."

Bulma's mouth almost dropped to the floor. Four hundred miles? But, how? How long had that taken them? Thinking about it too hard was making her headache worse. If it escalated into a migraine, she wouldn't be able to move at all. She played with her hands, locking her fingers together. "What were those things?"

He sighed, picked up the skeleton and tossed it behind him, like it was a toy he'd grown tired of. The sound of it crashing into a pile of branches reverberated through the forest.

Has he just eaten one of them?

"I don't know, but you should be dead." His eyes met hers, making her feel uncomfortable. "If it wasn't for that fucking anklet …" He threw his arms behind his head and shimmied down against the tree.

"How did you know that was edible?" she gawped, swallowing a lump of bile, her mouth parched.

"I didn't."

Bulma sighed and surveyed the surroundings. At least the snow was gone. After four hundred miles, it should have been. But how strange it was for the area to change so dramatically. Four hundred miles was the size of a small country. Antarctica was huge and almost had the same climate running all the way through it. It didn't make sense. She hugged her legs, crushing the bag against her chest. There was a lot of cracking and snapping going on behind her. If another creature came leaping out, she would be defenceless, again. Slyly, she peeped over her shoulder, and saw nothing but purple trees. They were pretty, but it didn't distract her from how creepy the place was. Her body tensed as she forcibly turned back.

"Hn. Pathetic," the Saiyan commented, looking away.

Her stomach growled again, eager for something—anything to eat. She hadn't eaten in two days, but the thought of eating anything made her feel sick. She tore the bag and took out the capsule case again, cracking it open, revealing twelve shiny capsules with her company logo on them. The sight of the logo stirred sadness in her heart. Home … One of the capsules had a red label on it, which meant it contained food, but it was nothing special. It wasn't like roast beef, drizzled in steaming gravy was going to appear. She peeled it free from the container and clicked the top, releasing a single bag of dried beef jerky. Any other time she would have enjoyed a greasy bag of beef jerky, but now, it wasn't having the desired effect. She could feel the Saiyan watching her as she popped the bag open and pulled out a handful of the dried meat. It looked grey, despite the use by date ranging for another two years.

Did it always look this gross?

She brought a slither close to her lips, the salty smell drifting up her nose, making her swallow another lump of rising bile. She opened her mouth and quickly placed it on her tongue, snapping her mouth shut and chewing.

"No wonder the human race are a bunch of weaklings," he said, frowning at her and shaking his head with severe distaste. Whatever it was she was eating, it looked like it had barely enough protein in it to strengthen an ant, let alone an Earthling. If she kept eating food like that, she wasn't going to last out another day. That was her own doing, though.

Bulma swallowed, somehow gaining a slight appetite for more, and she dug her hand into the bag. It wasn't going to last her long, she knew that. She stopped scarfing, a mouthful of food, and looked at what food supplies she had left. Three dried punnets of apricots, two mango, an energy drink, and two more bags of beef jerky. That wasn't going to last her another day, let alone seven. She sighed through her nose, rolled the bag up and recaptured it in a capsule. When she looked back at the Saiyan, he had his eyes closed. Whether he was sleeping or not, she didn't know, but the notion of him not being awake if something attacked her again sent her skin tingling with anxiety. She should have been more anxious about whether he was going to attack her again. That possibility had a greater outcome.

She watched him for a while, taking in his broad shoulders, the protective chest plate. She wondered if it was real gold. What kind of warrior had she been paired up with, exactly? One who wore gold, evidently. Did all the warriors wear this kind of thing? Her mind drifted to all the other 'teams' and what they were doing right now. Did the other warriors try and kill their partner? Probably. Maybe. She didn't know. For all she knew, they could be holding hands, skipping to where the next dragon ball was in a whirlwind of bliss and warmth. More than likely, though, they were being treated like scum. She worried about Chichi. She'd probably been paired with a huge brute, who kicked her around and much worse. Suddenly Bulma felt quite lucky with her warrior.

Her warrior? That didn't sound right.

She closed her eyes and tried to settle, but the cogs in her mind wouldn't stop turning. The problem with having such intelligence meant that it was difficult to switch off, not when there was so much to think about. There were so many questions. Like, why, when the Saiyan was so adamant about searching for the next dragon ball straight away, was he quite content with resting now? None of it was making sense. Something, other than those stupid rules set by Frieza, was going on. What was she really doing? Her brow furrowed. She was going to try and find a way to get the device off her leg. That was it.

She opened her eyes again, stretched out her leg across the damp grass, unlaced a boot and kicked it off, inspecting the anklet. She spat on her thumb and rubbed the dry blood away, picking and scratching the crumbling remnants on her skin. The skin surrounding it was tender and too painful to touch with very little pressure. It was funny—until she looked at it, she barely knew the anklet was there anymore. It was slowly becoming a part of her and she'd only been wearing it for a day. The device was a ring of metal, trapped around her ankle, and when she looked closely, she could see the intricate details on it. It was quite fascinating. There was a tiny green light glowing on the back of it. She assumed it indicated the life in it, or … the life in her. Would it flash red if she died?

She changed her mind; she didn't want to look at it anymore. Quickly she put the boot back on and drew her legs into her chest again.

The Saiyan must have been asleep, because she'd made quite a bit of noise and he hadn't stirred. It was too quiet to sleep. She'd grown accustomed to the sound of the other prisoners breathing or snoring, or the bust pipe letting water tap onto the floor. There was barely a breeze in the air. Even the cracking sound had disappeared.

Hours passed and Bulma could see light emerging, bringing the forest to life. She rubbed her tired eyes. The Saiyan had been asleep the entire time. It must have been the huge meal he ate. As the daylight broke through the space between the branches, Bulma glanced around. Even in the light, the trees were purple with blue leaves. They looked so beautiful. They almost looked edible, like a kind of dessert. The grass was blue too. The majority of the natural life in this forest was different shades of blue. No wonder her eyes could hardly adjust in the darkness. Just out of curiosity, she took the radar from her pocket, switched it on.

It bleeped.

"What the …" she mused aloud as the orange dot flashed against the green screen. All of a sudden she felt like retching.

"What is it?" the Saiyan grumbled, coming back to life.

Bulma blinked in astonishment, looking over at the Saiyan, who was standing tall, stretching his limbs. He came bounding over, his feet thumping into the marshy dirt, the soft sponge muting the harsh footsteps.

"The dragon ball has moved."

"What? Don't be absurd," he said, snatching the device from her nimble fingers.

Again, he didn't have the faintest clue what the radar was reading. He grunted and handed it back.

She gave him a quick glare, before returning to the radar. "It's definitely moved. It was one hundred miles west of here, as of last night. Now it's only eighty five."

He shrugged. "I must have flown further than I expected then. What is a measly fifteen miles?" Why did he have to put up with such idiocy?

"No, I don't think so." She had a gut feeling about something. The time she had spent, sitting awake in the forest, she had been thinking a lot about how easy it had been to find the first ball. "I think someone has it …" she mumbled, staring distantly at the screen.

The Saiyan's eyes lit up and he grinned. "Good. I'll finally get a chance to fight against another warrior," he said, cracking his knuckles.

Is he crazy? Bulma gulped. Either that or he was a complete idiot. There was the bait, glowing on the screen, and he was going straight in, snapping his jaw. It had to have been a trap. She was convinced.

"Get up. We're going," he said and started trudging through the forest.

"Wait," Bulma said, gathering her things and running after him. There was a slight sting in her leg but it was manageable. Before she threw the bag onto her shoulders, she grabbed the small case, snapped it open and took out a capsule.

They walked for twenty minutes before they came across a clearing. It was a wide field of lush blue grass, shimmering in the sunlight, almost like the calm water of an open lake. Momentarily taken aback by the beauty, Bulma stopped and watched the sky. It was clear. The weather was so dramatically different now, as if they were half way across the planet.

The Saiyan stopped almost as soon as she did, turning round with agitated curiosity. Bulma clicked the yellow labelled capsule and threw it. The vehicle was released with an explosive puff of smoke, and a mechanical screech. As the smoke cleared, Bulma held onto her breath, awaiting what kind of vehicle would emerge. She hoped it was a high flying ship, or a hover vehicle at least.

The Saiyan's mouth was open slightly, watching the machine appear in front of him out of a tiny capsule.

There, before them, was a single-seated air craft, able to withstand four hundred pounds of air pressure. Bulma ran over to it, squealing excitedly. She couldn't believe it. It was blue too. Perfect camouflage in this environment. She hugged the wing of the air craft and closed her eyes tight. She was a genius.

"What the … What the fuck is this? How … Never mind," he said, huffing.

"It's a ship," Bulma stated matter-of-factly.

"No shit," he snarled. He looked the vehicle up and down, weighing it in his mind.

"Now I can get around quicker."

"Is that so." He crossed his arms.

"Yeah. The next dragon ball is eighty three miles away. We'll be there in no time," she said confidently, even though that was the last place she wanted to travel to.

He invaded her space, glowering at her. "I will go ahead. You will follow, is that clear, human?"

"Ok, fine." She nodded, accepting the conditions, because she didn't like the thought of him choking her again, and climbed into the ship.

They had to stop a couple miles shy of the dragon ball's destination, because if there was someone guarding it, they didn't want them to know they were here. The air craft engine rumbled loudly. It would give them away far too easily.

Bulma gasped, astounded by the intense climate change once again. In a range of five hundred miles, she'd been subjected to sub-zero temperatures, to temperatures reaching about forty degrees. What kind of planet could withstand that? She stripped both her jackets off and tied them around her waist, following the Saiyan, who was walking up ahead. She didn't want to hold his hand or anything, but he kept walking a bit too far ahead. It set her on edge all the time. From this far back, she couldn't determine the exact distance between them. Even a millimeter out of the boundary, and they could both die. The thought of her combusting into a pile of ash clawed through her mind.

Her feet scraped across the desperately dry ground, kicking lumps of red clay, as they reached the top of a hill, which overlooked an old shanty town. The Saiyan crouched. She copied. Down below, the tiny buildings were shaped like domes, all a similar dark brown colour to blend in with the surrounding area. The streets were empty. There was not a single sign of life. There was rubble everywhere, collapsed buildings, piles of rubbish. Whatever had happened here, it had happened some time ago. Everything looked so neglected. Also, Bulma couldn't see a single car, or any form of transport, for that matter. This town was set out a bit. The people who lived here must have been an exclusive group. She felt bereaved all of a sudden, as she imagined a bustling, close-knit community.

The radar showed the ball to be moving within the town. Only slightly, but it was definitely moving. Hands shaking, Bulma slid the radar into her back pocket, then wiped the sweat from her brow. It was too hot to even think straight. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, now.

Abruptly, the Saiyan got to his feet and paced down the gritty hill, leaving a cloud of red dust behind him. Bulma quickly followed, tripping over a large stone and tumbling down to the bottom. She regained her standing, patting herself down. Her disgusting grey t-shirt was now covered in red dust. Great. She wasn't fazed by the fall. Perhaps she was getting stronger.

"Idiot," the Saiyan huffed as he marched past, headed for an ally, which he guessed lead into the town.

"Don't you think we should be a bit more cautious going in there?" she said, whirling around to check for any uninvited guests.

"No," he said firmly.

"But I just—"

He turned. "No, but I do think you should shut up. If someone is in there, and you keep running your big mouth, they will find us before we find them."

Bulma snapped her mouth close. He was right-because the town was so small and confined, any sound would bounce off the walls and travel to the other side. She shifted the backpack to a more comfortable position and carried on after him, a little less confidence in her stride.

They passed through a narrow alley way, the sound of her breathing tight and close to her ears, the hot air making it difficult to concentrate on whatever it was the Saiyan was doing. His shoulders drew together a bit as they approached the end of the alley. Her breathing became shorter and quicker, her hands curling around the straps of the backpack, ready for an encounter, or to run. She didn't want to check the radar again, because the bleeping would give them away. She kept her eyes on the floor, watching out for bits of rubble and trash. There were so many familiar products on the floor. A can, which she nearly tripped on, looked like pet food, with a scratched out picture of a creature resembling a domestic animal on it. Unless it was a native? She also stepped over an empty bag with some sort of vegetable on the front, an orange vegetable with a similar shape to a butternut.

They made it out of the entrance and out into the town. It was a mess. Rubbish discarded in every corner, windows broken, glass on the floor, planks of wood. And the smell was rancid. It actually smelled like something had died. Bulma's eyes followed the trail of destruction, and widened in horror when they landed on a giant pile of bones. She trembled backwards, trying hard not to scream.

Oblivious to the mass of bones, the Saiyan continued, treading lightly now, through the town, cautiously scanning the building tops and—every so often—over his shoulder. Not once did he look at Bulma. She wasn't much of his concern as long as she stayed alive and kept out of his way.

All she could look at was his back, and in a moment of ignorance, she wondered why his clothes were so tight.

They walked like this for a couple more minutes, when the Saiyan came to a standstill. Bulma almost walked into the back of him, nonplussed by his action. She was itching to check the radar, just a peek, to see how close they were. Her nerves shattered when she heard something been toppled over, something heavy, like a wooden cabinet. Instinctively, she stood further back behind the Saiyan.

The sound came from a larger building, about thirty feet away to the left, less rounded than the others. If it once was a town, then this building looked like the town hall, or something. Bulma chewed the inside of her cheek, waiting. The Saiyan clenched his fists, taking a stance.

It was really happening.

"Whoever is in there, you better come out now, before I blast the place to oblivion," he shouted raucously.

The sound really did travel around the entire town.

No one came out. All Bulma could hear was the Saiyan breathing harder. She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, but there was no hole to hide in, and she had to stay close to him. The sun was bleaching everything, so she could barely see as it bounced off a pane of glass into her eyes.

An instant later, something came tumbling into view, right in front of them. Someone. It was a Namekian. He collapsed onto his hands and knees, purple blood trailing out of his mouth, draining onto the dirt. Bulma gasped; the need to run over and help was too overwhelming. The Saiyan wasn't looking at the Namekian, though. He was still focusing on the doorway of the building.

Angry tears bubbled in her eyes at the sight of the Namekian. It didn't look like he had been given any supplies like she had, and there was much more blood on his leg from the device. He was wearing the same clothes from the prison, except they were mere straggles of material, clinging on to his battered skin. What had happened to him? The Namekian looked right at her, and Bulma made an unfamiliar noise, like a strangled laugh. His eyes were watering, and he mouthed 'help me' to her.

She choked, crouching now, her legs wobbly as if the bones had been reduced to a substance similar to plasticine.

"Ah, I thought I recognised that voice," a squeaky voice called out from the shadowy doorway.

Slowly, a tall figure stepped out across the dirt, its skin purple and its eyes a bright, luminous green. Its armour was different, almost chalk-like, covering his head and chest. It was horrifying. It stood in the centre of what used to be a walk way, close to the Namekian, and stood confidently with its legs shoulder-width apart, a dragon ball tucked under its arm.

The Saiyan bared his teeth. "I thought this place smelled like shit. I guess we know the root cause for it now," he barked, his feet digging into the ground.

The creature laughed. "Oh, don't flatter me, monkey. Isn't this interesting … Frieza's favourite pet condemned to death. What an odd thing to do, don't you think?" He grinned, his fish-like lips spreading wide across his face.

The Saiyan cracked his neck. "Hn. Say what you want, but I'm not the one who's going to be dying, Pui Pui."

Pui Pui? What kind of name is Pui Pui?

It sounded like the kind of name you'd give to a cat. This wasn't a cat, though. It was a warrior, and by the looks of it, even more fierce than the Saiyan. Bulma kept low, holding the backpack tight.

Pui Pui outstretched his arm, aiming right at Bulma. Horror trickled down her spine like wet paint and she froze, unable to move a muscle.

"No? How about her, then?" he bellowed. "We all know how that will end."

The Saiyan leaned forward, pointing a fist at Pui Pui. "You coward! That snivelling insect isn't even a fraction of a challenge." Spittle flew out of his mouth, and sparkled in the hot air.

He looked so pent up. She could tell that he was dying to rip this Pui Pui guy apart, but he was holding back. For some reason, she almost wanted to shout for him to get that guy, but then, the Namekian … She glanced over. He was still lying on the floor, watching the two warriors argue. Is this what she had become—a weak spectator to a battle that determined whether she lived or died? Two God-like creatures sparring, for what looked like sport, and all the while she was left to sit and watch.

After a few back and forth comments, Pui Pui put his hand up to silence the Saiyan. Bulma had already made up her mind. She knew what she was going to do. As soon as they started battling it out, she would run over and help the Namekian as best as she could. Was it a fruitless effort, though?

She had to do something.

"Fine, Vegeta. Have it your way," Pui Pui grumbled, reluctantly placing the dragon ball on the floor, and making a fighting stance, bringing both his fists up defensively.

Beyond the fact that they were about to engage in battle, and despite the fact that Bulma was quivering in terror, she was partly distracted, staring at the back of the Saiyan, except, he wasn't just The Saiyan anymore.

He was Vegeta.