Chapter Four – Day One
One of Many

The hot air closed them in, keeping them contained within the dry walls of the abandoned town, like they were the only people left on the planet, the bizarre planet with a multitude of climates all crammed into a small space. It was hard to make out the two shapes standing, bracing themselves for battle, as a cloud of red dust loomed at their feet, shrouding Bulma's view to the point where it hurt to look. She didn't want to look. In the next hour, she could be dead. Less than that. How long did it take to fight someone?

With an impulsive crack, the two warriors collided, their bodies hovering off the ground, a swirl of dust following their moves. An instant presented itself, and Bulma took it, bolting the few meters to the Namekian who was struggling to stay awake. She slid across the dirt, meeting the wounded scientist, flinging her bag to her front.

A sharp, deafening ping bounced into her ear drums as a window smashed and exploded on the ground. She flashed a glance at the warriors, hoping they were fighting low and within range of her, otherwise she would be dead. Strangely, she lost the interest in her own life. Seeing the wounded Namekian was enough to make her forget about her own fate. She had to help this one. She couldn't see them fighting, anyway. They were moving so quick. All she could see were bits of the walls crumbling, and feel the ground shaking tremendously.

Her attention was swiftly drawn back to the Namekian. He lay on the floor, cradling his leg. Why didn't he have a pair of boots, as well? She swallowed a lump in her throat and hastily unzipped the bag. There had to be something in there to help the Namekian. She looked at his eyes. They were blood shot, purple veins clawing at the darkening pupils. "What did he do to you?" she couldn't help but utter.

His eyes closed for a moment, the pain clearly too much. "This game … Is not as it seems," he whispered.

Bulma leaned forward, her arm deep in the bag. "What?"

"It's not as it seems." He coughed up clots of blood, grimacing afterwards.

"What do you mean?" She looked over her shoulder again, the fight continuing.

The Namekian held Bulma's arm, and buzz of electricity pulsed through her veins. She was suddenly transported to another place, through a tunnel of pitch blackness. The light opened up, and she was in a field covered in black roses. In the centre of the field, a dark figure stood, but she couldn't make out who it was, or what it was. She started to run towards the figure, thorns snagging at her legs, but when she reached them the figure dissipated into a thick cloud of black smoke.

Like a camera panning back, she zoomed to reality, warped by what had just happened. She was back in the hot deserted town, kneeling in front of the Namekian, his face contorted with gripping pain.

Bulma's mouth was dry, as was her brain. "What did you just do? What the hell has just happened?"

The Namekian coughed again. "What did you see?" he said, letting go of her arm.

She absently searched the ground, her eyes shifting rapidly. "I don't know."

He sighed. He had hoped for more.

Bulma saw the great disappointment on his face, and she tried to recollect the madness of what had happened. "I saw … I saw a field with black roses, and a person, no, a creature … I don't know." She frowned, hopelessly searching for the right words. What did this Namekian expect her to say? She didn't know what was real anymore. She blinked, bringing all her senses back together.

A beam of energy buzzed past them both, flying straight into an empty building. It took a few seconds for the effects to take place, but the building, like someone on stilts who'd be knocked from the bottom, came plummeting down.

Bulma didn't have time to think. She grabbed the Namekian and dragged him backwards until she fell back from the weight. The building missed them by quite a distance, but she couldn't take the chance. Her breathing was heavy now from the adrenalin. She rummaged in her bag for a sensu bean, but she couldn't find it.

"Shit," she said, toppling all the contents on the floor, including the dragon ball.

The Namekian's eyes shone when he caught sight of the prize, but he was too weak to do anything.

Bulma knew that when someone was injured, or falling out of consciousness, the best thing to do was to keep them talking. "Where did you land?"

The Namekian looked at her accusingly. Why did she want to know such useless information? "Not far from here. Two hundred miles, perhaps."

It was very clear to Bulma that the Namekian's English was a lot better than it was before. He was right: the game wasn't all it seemed. "Your English—it's improved," she said, her eyes narrowing.

The Namekian coughed again, this time hocking a handful of blood. Bulma winced, withdrawing. "What happened to you?"

"That warrior—"

A loud roar erupted, causing Bulma and the Namekian to drop their futile conversation and look towards the warriors. What she saw, she knew, would haunt her for the rest of her life. Suspended ten feet from the ground, was Vegeta, holding Pui Pui in what looked like a head lock. The shrilling scream that left Pui Pui was soul wrenching, but what was more tormenting, was the look on Vegeta's face. He was smiling, sadistically, as he squeezed harder, his biceps looking like they were going to pop. She couldn't see the damage clearly, but Vegeta looked pretty roughed up, mentally and physically.

She held her breath, trying to force the anticipation of a victory to the back of her mind. She didn't want anyone to die, but something about Pui Pui set a rage within her. What he had done to the Namekian wasn't even worth half the pain he was enduring.

There was a dull crack, and Pui Pui's body, previously wriggling and animated from trying to escape Vegeta's grasp, hung limply. Vegeta grinned and let the body drop to the floor, listening out for the cracking of more bones as it collided with a puff of red dust. He descended back to the ground, kicking the lifeless body of his opponent, just for good measures.

Bulma couldn't even blink. Her hands were shaking as she dropped the bag and turned to the Namekian, who was staring at Pui Pui's carcass. His eyes were fixed on its tormentor. Bulma touched his shoulder. "Are you OK?" she said.

The Namekian was still alive, even despite the rules and the anklet. The anklet. She looked at it, the light, green on the back. Nothing had changed. Everything was as it was. What was going on? Was it a glitch? She got to her feet, shaking a little, and held her hand out. "C'mon, we have to get out of here, now," she said, unsure what she was doing.

The Namekian shook his head, his mouth agape.

Bulma felt an itch of irritation. "C'mon, now." She pulled at his arm, but he somehow mustered the strength to wrench free of her hold.

He blinked a few times, long green eyelashes fluttering, stared at the anklet, which was now glowing red, and then he looked to Bulma, whose eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Trust … no-one," he said, and shot a certain glance at Vegeta, before his entire body started to rack violently, his limbs thrashing on the ground. He rolled onto his hands and knees, took fist-fulls of the dirt and hammered it back down, dust spurting into the air. The screams were indescribable. His eyes filled with purple blood and oozed out of the tear ducts, and then out of his mouth like flowing water. He cried out in a foreign language, his life being drained by the hands of Frieza.

Bulma sobbed, covering her mouth with both hands, her eyes filling up with so much water that it was like she was looking through frosted glass. This shouldn't be happening. She'd never seen anything like it in her life.

The blood died the orange ground to a deep brown colour, a huge puddle gathering, until it stopped abruptly and the Namekian collapsed, without moving another muscle.

Everything Bulma had ever imagined, left a window in her mind, only leaving the image before her now. The only thing she could see now was a dead body, and it felt like she had done it. She was part of a team, and because of that, this innocent creature had to die. Because of her. Without warning, her stomach gargled and brought up a mouthful of bile, making her fall to her knees and retch. The smell was putrid, the dead bodies already cooking in the sun. She felt dizzy as the tears unyieldingly controlled her. The moment she stopped crying would be the moment it all sank in properly, and it would all become real.

"Get up," a familiar, unwelcome voice said.

His blood spattered boot was visible in her peripheral.

A long idle second passed by, as Bulma sat covering her face from the sight of death.

"Get up," Vegeta said again.

"He's … dead," she said, her voice croaking.

Vegeta looked at the dead body, and looked at the Earth woman, his facial features impassive. Of course they were dead. If they weren't dead … then he would be … and she would be. Was this woman so dim to understand the point of the game? She was hunched up like a primordial creature, a weak creature that had obviously not seen a dead body before. Or had she? The sun was beating on his back, the heavy armour making him sweat uncontrollably.

"Earthling, I said get up," he said, vowing it would be the last time, before he dragged her tiny frame along with him.

"But they're dead!" she screamed, swivelling round, revealing her tear stained face to him, her eyes red, mucus smeared under her nose.

Partially stunned by the ferocity of her voice, Vegeta's mouth opened a bit. Again, he had to remind himself that the anklet was in control. Frieza was in control. He couldn't kill this woman because of that, but she was making it a mentally strenuous task. Killing Pui Pui was too easy, and Pui Pui was an elite warrior. Killing her would take little to no effort, at all. That wasn't an option, though. He clenched his jaw, evaded her gaze.

"One of many. Now take the dragon ball and get off the floor, you pathetic piece of shit," he said, throwing a seven star ball in her lap, making her jump.

She wiped her nose, and breathed calmly. As much as she hated Vegeta, he was right. Not about her being a pathetic piece of shit, because she was far from that. She'd just seen him crack an opponent's neck with a haunting smile on his face, so she didn't want to argue against him. But, he was right. She was going to see more of this, so she had to up her game, meaning she had to become ignorant to people dying.

That wasn't what she meant.

She didn't know what she meant. So much had happened in a tiny fraction of time. Actually, how long had it been? An entire day would have passed, but it wouldn't have mattered. Not now, anyway. As much as she wanted to move, her body wouldn't allow it. She couldn't leave a body. Never, in all her life, had she seen someone die so brutally. The image wouldn't leave her mind. It was glued.

Permanent.

She placed her hands on her lap, the harsh heat blistering the tops of her arms.

Vegeta took the time to pick the flecks of Pui Pui's blood from his chest plate. He didn't realise he'd drawn so much. Most of his attacks were aimed to cause more internal damage, yet he was plastered with disgusting traces of that ugly weakling's blood. A few seconds passed by and the Earthling had yet to rouse herself from a state of post traumatic transfixion. He didn't have time for it. Not now. Not ever. He'd call her bluff.

"Fine. You sit nice and comfortably, while I go find the other dragon balls," he said, turning on his heel and pacing back through the desolate town.

Whatever he just said, she barely heard it. Every sound, apart from the Namekian's foreign cries for help, whirring and whirring, had become nothing but a crackle, like a poor radio reception. She sniffed, vacuuming the dripping mucus from her nasal passage, and briefly looked over her shoulder to see what Vegeta was doing. He was about twenty yards away, pacing with purpose. It wasn't like he was going to get anywhere. He couldn't. She looked back again. He was still walking. Now half way into their space entitlement, and it felt like the walls were closing in. What was he trying to prove? Her fingers drummed on her thighs as she watched him walk further on, a couple heat waves distorting his figure. He isn't seriously … He was literally about ninety meters away from her now, about to turn down the same alleyway they came out of before. She could just about see the pile of skeletons. The gruesome landmark.

The malicious grin, when Vegeta cracked Pui Pui's neck, flashed into her mind.

The lack of motivation ebbed and she shot up, thinking it better to not look back at the dead bodies around her, and she ran as fast as her body would allow, taking the backpack and the two dragon balls with her, her tears completely dried up in the boiling heat. She trundled down the alleyway, stopping a few meters shy of him. He didn't stop, or turn round, or even grace her with a side glance. It was as if she didn't exist. Truthfully, she felt happier that way for the moment. She'd rather mean nothing to him, than have him give as much attention to her as he did Pui Pui.

Against the blinding sun light, Vegeta's body was a black mass. The only way she knew it was him was his hair, the gravity defying peak, pointing towards the sky. It looked stupid. She frowned and turned her focus to the dirt floor again, passing the same items. The empty food cans and packets. But something shone in the corner of her eye, and like a magpie, she was drawn to it. She stopped, breathing steady, and saw it properly. It was silver, sharp. Sharp enough to defend with. She bent down, snatched it and shoved it in the bag. A knife. She'd found a knife. Never had she felt so relieved to find a knife. It was small, but it would pack a punch. She carried on nonchalantly, not that Vegeta had even glanced her way.

The steep, rocky embankment they travelled down on the way looked a lot more daunting than it did before. Bulma bit her lip, as Vegeta easily made his way up, creating a slight downfall of tiny stones and dust in the process. It loomed over her, taunting her, knowing she had no chance with the shred of energy she had left. She thought about taking the other sensu bean she had, then she'd be up that hill in a flash, but then she'd have none left. Besides, she couldn't find it. It probably fell out the bag when she was being dragged through the snow.

The hill wasn't particularly high, but after everything that had happened, she couldn't do it. She hated thinking she was incapable of doing anything, but this was tiring just looking at it. She shook her head, mentally berating herself, and nodded in affirmation, before taking four bounding steps forward. Those four steps knocked everything out of her, and she fell onto her hands and knees, scrambling to get further, sharp stones jabbing palms. Dust was creeping into her lungs, making her dry mouth absolutely moisture free, and forcing exasperated breaths. The heat made her skin agonisingly itchy. She just wanted to pick her clothing off and throw it back down the hill, but she continued. Somehow. She slipped down a few inches, only to clamber back up again until she stepped carelessly on a bit of unsteady earth again, over and over in a vicious circle. Finally, she glimpsed the top, throwing her body towards it, latching onto a clump of spikey weeds for leverage.

She'd made it.

Incongruous laughter left her body as she lay flat out at the top of the hill, which overlooked the place where her nightmares would reside. She was numb from everything, from the heat, the pain in her legs, the sound of Vegeta chuckling darkly beside her. She sat up slowly, wincing, her head spinning to see where he was. There, next to a slight coverage of trees, was Vegeta, staring at the aircraft she'd travelled in.

Getting up, laboriously making her way towards him, her breath hitched when she noticed what he was laughing at. Her ship had been vandalised. Claw marks, made with three talons, had scrawled right down the length of the ship. The pulse under Bulma's skin quickened. That wasn't everything, though. On the bonnet, there was three words scratched meticulously, reading 'Death is coming'. Bulma couldn't think of anything to do other than laugh along with Vegeta, but as soon as she started, he stopped. Her laughter petered out, and she gulped.

"Is someone here?" she asked, haphazardly surveying the area. She was too exhausted. She hadn't slept properly for days.

He shook his head. "If someone had come to kill you, they would have easily picked you off while you collapsed miserably up that hill." He rubbed one of the claw marks with his thumb, and shrugged.

Bulma sighed, her pulse regulating again.

Vegeta looked like he was about to say something, but he stopped and walked away from the ship, crossing his arms. He only casually remarked, "The next dragon ball. Where is it, human?"

The way he said that really pinched her skin. Narrowing her eyes, she calculated what the chances were of her actually accumulating the energy to go on another—possibly eight hour—journey. There wasn't much chance. While he slept soundly last night, she was wide awake, trying hard to ignore the sounds of potential mutant creatures coming to kill her. She needed rest.

"I can't," she finally stated.

They locked eyes.

"What?" he said, approaching.

She closed her eyes, but had to open them again for fear of actually falling asleep.

Vegeta watched her, the way she barely held her body up, the way her face was drained of colour. He clenched his fists. Why? Just why? He didn't want to think about it too much, because something bad would happen, so he closed his eyes and exhaled, allowing the rage to subside. They were a day in and had retrieved two dragon balls. It was quite a satisfactory rate, but he would rather have the whole thing done and dusted in a couple days, rather than drag it out. But this Earth woman was dragging him down.

"An hour. Just give me an hour, please," she said, her eyes shining with promise.

Something about it rendered him momentarily speechless, before he dropped back down to sanity. "No chance. Get your little radar out, locate the next dragon ball, and get on your fucking way," he sneered.

Bulma focused on the deep frown engraved in his brow. "I can't. Vegeta, please."

His eyes flickered, unmasking a moment of unguarded behaviour. He looked surprised for a split second, before placing his hard, stone mask on again. She shouldn't be calling him by his name. That wasn't what he wanted. Nothing about this could be personal. They were stuck together unwillingly. Names were unnecessary. Without thinking, he charged at her, picked her up by the scruff of her t-shirt, opened the roof of the ship, and threw her in.

Bulma didn't even have enough energy to put up even a little bit of a fight, not that it would have made any difference. Her head hit the soft cushion of the ship's upholstery seats, and it was all it took to pull her under, the scent of home taking her back.

"Alright already, it's almost done." Bulma laughed, nursing a dozen spitting steaks on the barbecue, flipping them over. They were cooked on the outside, but still relatively raw on the inside, even though the majority of the guests would've been happy to eat them as 'blue' steaks. The thought made her queasy. The weather was working in her favour today: sunny, but not too hot, with a slight breeze. Standing over the grill was cancelling out the nice warm weather, though, the heat and smoke making her cough.

"B, we've been waiting for ages," Yamcha said, giving her a peck on the cheek and taking over the maintenance of the barbecue.

She smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You take care of it, then. I'm gonna ring Chichi. She should've been here by now. I mean, it's half four already," she said, digging into her jeans pocket for her cell phone.

She paced across the lawn and past her mother, who was holding a tray of cakes. She'd already told Bunny that she wasn't to bring the cakes out until after the others had eaten. Now they were just going to eat them all, with no room for the real food. Bulma rolled her eyes, but was far more distracted dialling Chichi's number and holding her phone to her ear.

'Hi, this is Chichi-'

"Hi, Chi, it's Bulma-"

'I'm not here at the moment, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can.'

Bulma heaved a sigh of disappointment. That was the third time she'd been directed to voice mail. Something wasn't right. She made sure to invite Chichi well in advance, and as far as she knew, Chichi said she was available to make it. If Bulma knew her best friend, which she did, she would have given a reason for not turning up, and would have explained prior to the event.

"Hi, Chi, it's Bulma … again. Just wondering why you haven't shown up yet. I hope you're OK. Let me know, alright? Call back, please, Chichi," she said, hoping she did sound so desperate. But when your best friend says they're going to show up, it's very unusual for them not to.

"Everything alright, Bulma?"

She spun round, composing her furrowed brow, to see Krillin with a half-eaten burger in his hand. He smiled, but it was polite, not genuine.

"Yeah, well … um … No, actually. Chichi should be here now. I'm a little worried," she blushed. Now it sounded like she was overreacting.

Krillin laughed. "No kidding," then he realised that Bulma was being serious, and he frowned, a bit too much. "Well, yeah, she should be here, but, you know, she's probably just caught up in traffic or something."

Bulma cocked a finely plucked eyebrow.

Krillin chuckled nervously. "Or work. Yeah, working. She's always working." He honestly didn't know what to say to Bulma. Sure, Chichi wasn't here yet, but she wasn't the life and soul of the party, and it wasn't like it was the first time she hadn't showed up to something. Since Goku … Chichi hadn't really been in the right frame of mind to attend these get together things with friends. It reminded her too much. He felt for Bulma, though. She was trying really hard to get Chichi back to normality.

Bulma sighed, seeing two circular objects flying through the sky in her peripheral. The smell of burnt steak brought her back to life, and she sprinted to her boyfriend, who was supposedly looking after the now blackened, charcoal encrusted steaks.

Bulma opened her eyes to a bruise-blue sky; dark and clear. She felt calm, her entire body relaxed, like waking up from a long restful night of sleep. For a delirious moment, she thought she was back home, lying in her bed, but the reality of the day came plunging back, sucking any shred of happiness in her mind. It was quiet, again. Any notion of silence was deemed negative now. She needed to know that Vegeta was still there. But, of course, he was somewhere close, otherwise …

She closed her eyes, hoping to return to the strange dream she'd just had.

Chichi.

She needed to know everything was OK, even if it was a two second phone call. Any form of contact with Chichi would be a blessing right now.

That wasn't going to be possible, though, was it?

It dawned on her how dark the sky actually was. She shot up, pressing her face against the glass. How long had she been asleep? She only meant for an hour, but by the looks of it she'd been out cold for the entire afternoon. She stretched her arms to the ceiling, just grazing the roof of the aircraft. It felt like she'd been asleep for hours, too. Her energy had replenished. If she was presented with a challenge now, her knees wouldn't buckle under the pressure. Not to say that she would be able to put up a decent fight, but she could stand, at least.

She leisurely took the dragon radar out of her pocket and clicked it a few times, her lazy eyes scanning the screen. A yawn pushed its way up her throat but was caught short when the radar bleeped. There it was—the third ball. Right before her eyes, yet again. The fresh colour in her cheeks must have drained because she felt sick all of a sudden. She'd hardly had the chance to recuperate from the last stint and now she had to go on another wild chase, and face another opponent. It was too suspicious. All of it. It had been a day, and everything was falling in to place too easily. Looking at the radar, the glow of the newly found dragon ball, she was starting to work out what was going on.

Leaning forward, she opened the window and took a look around. Vegeta was right by the ship, fast asleep, his arms crossed, and standing? It looked funny. Perhaps he was just resting his eyes, but, then, he would have woken her up ages ago, his eagerness to fight overpowering the rest of his sense. She took a deep breath and cracked the door open, alerting Vegeta straight away. He blinked warily, before straightening his body, almost as if he was feigning his slip-up slumber.

"Where is the next dragon ball?" he blurted out, as Bulma stepped on the harsh ground.

The heat wasn't half as intense as it had been before. Again, it was so bizarre. Usually, the heat would only decrease marginally in such a hot area, but this was a massive decrease. It was easy to walk around in, similar to the temperatures back home.

"Six hundred miles East," she said, absentmindedly casting a glance in that direction, like the dragon ball was a mere five minute walk away.

Vegeta rubbed his eyes. "C'mon, then." Taking a stance, he scowled at her, prompting her to get a move on.

She shook her head, squeezing the radar for support. "No."

"What did you say?" he hissed, regarding her with heavy malice.

Bulma couldn't help but stand her ground around Vegeta, no matter what he did. And she knew what he was capable of doing. Heck, she'd received a first-hand demonstration. Still, something deep down told her that she could act confidently. "Don't you see?" She held a hand out imploringly.

He scoffed. "The only thing I see is a human arguing with a Saiyan, a Saiyan who could kill her in a split-second."

His ego had had a huge boost since defeating Pui Pui. Nothing and no one could get in his way. This game would be over soon, and he needed to make damn sure that this woman didn't prevent him from pursuing the next step. Who did she think she was, constantly biting back like a rabid dog? When it's over, he reminded himself, he would kill her first.

Bulma ground her molars together, trying hard not to spit venom at him. "We found the first dragon ball right where we landed," she said, pausing for his reaction. He didn't give her one. "Pui Pui and the Namekian had a dragon ball. The next dragon ball has been found." She pointed at the bleeping dot on the screen, which was accompanied by two yellow triangles.

Vegeta peered at the screen. "More reason for you to shut up and get a move on."

"No. Frieza has purposely chosen where to spread us out on this planet, all so we each find a dragon ball, and have to kill each other for the rest." She felt exasperated, like pulling her hair out in clumps. Why was that so hard to see? Vegeta couldn't have been that dense, could he? The way he fought against Pui Pui was so meticulously carried out; she had assumed he was highly intelligent. Now she wasn't so sure.

Vegeta huffed, shifting his accusing gaze to the dark sky, surveying the empty space. Bulma noticed his arms quaking. Whether he was scared or angry, she was unsure, but she didn't like it. Her concentration was split between the sky and his hard, stony eyes.

She was caught off-guard when he next snapped, "So what?" crossing his arms, gathering back his cool façade. "Sorry, Earth-girl, but this isn't a stroll in the park, if you hadn't noticed."

Bulma blinked, perplexed by his peculiar behaviour. The beaten ground seemed more appealing. She was stuck, again, trapped between what she knew to be fact and what she was forced to do. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to make sense of it all. Vegeta didn't care what she thought, that was too apparent. No matter what she said to him, he wasn't going to cave and let her take the reins.

That was what Frieza set out to do—create a partnership of brains and strength. So far she'd had very little say in anything, other than the radar, and had been left to trundle after him wherever he went, carrying the supplies like a pack-mule. She was Bulma Briefs, head of capsule corp …

She shrugged, losing composure. Who was she kidding? She wasn't head of capsule corp. Not anymore. She was, however, still a genius, and something was definitely corrupt in this game, excusing the obvious. Defeated, she climbed back into the ship, set the course for six hundred miles East, switched the ignition on and sat waiting for Vegeta to make his move.

Three hours ticked over quicker than Bulma could've imagined. When time was sparse, it flew by. The seven days of her life were dwindling away, and she felt indifferent about it all. Maybe it hadn't registered that it was happening yet, even though she'd identified her death being around the corner. They'd been flying low across a vast ocean for the most part of the journey, the sky reverting back to a hazy summer's afternoon. It was fascinating, but also totally confusing. It meant that her track of time was distorted. The days were merging, and she'd have no clue of when her time was up. Maybe that was better, though.

The sea was a crystal blue, not too deep, shining brightly under the intense glare of the sun. Keeping hold of the accelerator, Bulma took out the dragon radar, curious how far away they were from reaching their next goal. She quickly observed Vegeta, flying just in front of her, his hair fluttering back in the wind. The sight was somehow so common to her now. Dragging her attention back to the radar, she clicked it twice, waiting for the destination to be revealed. She had to rub the screen, thinking it had malfunctioned, when she read the results. It must have been broken. Surely the results hadn't changed from before.

But, how?

Instead of the radar showing one dragon ball, it was showing two, two guarded by a single team.