Big thanks to Adli for Beta-reading this chapter.
Contending with Darkness
Chapter 17
It had only been a miniscule creature, but the distressed yelp it created exploded into the open night air of the swamp, gently quaking the limp vines hanging from the trees. Without wanting to attract any prying eyes, Bulma had clamped the thing's purple, slimy mouth shut with one hand, wary to avoid its blunt, yet extremely snappy, teeth, and bunched its eight flailing limbs together, before she darted back inside the ship. The risk of getting caught was palpable, hanging low over her head, but with Goku on standby, she could shrug off the concern and concentrate on the task at hand.
Hours later, and the creature's lifeless, dissected body was sprawled before her, puncture marks across the glistening, marbled chunks of muscle. She'd found a lab, and not just any lab; it had been used as a testing facility by Frieza's men, who had, no doubt, been under orders to pluck the inhabitants of this planet off one by one and use them for his sick experiments. There were vials and jars filled with foreign substances and pickled, shrivelled body parts, all holding an abundance of brand new information for Bulma's mind to gorge upon. As horrific as the sight initially seemed, her heart sang at the prospect of being able to shut herself away for hours on end to scoop a morsel of the life she once had on Earth. She blew the dust off the many cabinets, stripped down the work stations that were crammed with empty petri dishes and rusted scalpels, and set to work on her own twisted, manifested ideas—ideas she'd kept deep in the abyss of her subconscious for days.
Dissecting the creature's venom was simple. All she had to do was extract it via an empty syringe, and then add it to the mixture of chemicals she'd been tinkering with. Her eyes flashed with adoration as the chemicals swirled together and morphed into an iridescent concoction. What she had here was pure genius, which was no surprise, but to gather foreign substances and transform them into familiarities was an achievement Bulma wanted to celebrate. What she had formulated was a sedative, or a poison, which was capable of knocking a living creature clean into unconsciousness for hours. The many subjects she had tested it on—many of which were now dead—had all absorbed the dose and passed out within seconds, some instantly. Though for some it was irreversible, many took the dose and came-to free from side effects. Out of courtesy, she killed them post their participation, something she was finding increasingly easy to do these days. And how she killed them? With her second mixture, of course. This idea she even had to regress from herself, working through them purely mechanically. All her reasons for doing so were solid enough, but to let the second mixture's purpose slip to anyone would mean throwing her chance of escape into the gaping mouth of oblivion.
"Bulma, don't you think you should have a time out soon? You've been in here for days … What are you doing?"
She gradually, needle gripped tight, turned to face an inquisitive Goku, who was creeping on the balls of his feet into the lab, scanning the room of all its oddities. With her free hand, avoiding the smears of blood on the heel of it, she rubbed her sore eyes. For the plan to work accordingly, she had to make sure the substance was effective on a similar subject, someone who was of the same race. She looked Goku up and down. No, she couldn't do that. That was unethical, right? Could she put Goku's life in her hands, even after knowing the potential harm the substance could create?
She sighed. There was no other way.
"There's no easy way to put this, Goku, but … you're just gonna have to trust me," she said, getting him to look her way.
"I do trust you," he said, and laughed for longer than necessary.
"Ok. Good. Then I need you to take this," she said, nodding to the needle, the tip producing a single, glittering glob of fluid.
A feminine yelp echoed in the lab. "A – A needle?" Goku said, backing off, his eyeballs bulging out of their sockets.
There was a heavy throbbing in her temples from either the overexposure to such harsh lighting, or Goku's childish resistance, so she was forced to squint. "Yeah. I know you hate them, but, Goku—"
"No. No way!" He crossed his bulky arms. "Why do I need a needle?"
She took a steady breath. "We're going to get Vegeta back."
He shook his head incredulously. "But … a needle?" As he pointed to it, Bulma could see his hand shaking.
This was expected. Goku's fear of needles was the most baffling distress she'd ever known, coming from a guy who thrived off a bloody battle, yet it was indeed a phobia. Regardless of this minor blip, Goku would have to overcome such a hurdle eventually. Why not now? It was crunch time. Options were excruciatingly limited at the present moment, and Goku was her only viable hope. He had to be persuaded somehow.
She had to reveal the plan, savouring some details for herself.
"Before Vegeta and I became separated, he explained that Frieza was able to control his mind—make him act unwillingly. But Vegeta claimed that, to a degree, he was able to supress it."
Goku whistled. "Controlling someone's mind? This Frieza must be a powerful guy."
"He is," Bulma said, hopping onto the work station and shuffling her bum back so she could rest her aching spine against the wall. "And I know that if he gets his hands on Vegeta, he won't kill him." She sighed, twisting the syringe high against the striking glare of lights, a shimmering rainbow of colours bouncing into her irises.
"He'll torture him until his defences are down." Her unwavering gaze met Goku's.
"Then what?" he uttered, and gulped.
"Then Frieza will have complete control over him—turn him into the perfect warrior."
Goku's eyebrow arched perfectly. "How do you know all this?"
She shrugged. "I don't. It's a determined hunch, I guess." She threw her head back, closing her dry eyes lids for an extended blink for the first time in hours. "So we need this needle. It's like a tranquilizer. Similar to the ones I had shot in my neck when I was held prisoner." Her eyes fluttered open and she sprang off the work station, her boots clumping onto the metal flooring. A rush of fresh anger hitched her breathing and sent her charging towards her friend.
"If Frieza is as twisted as I know he is, then he'll have pounced at the chance to control Vegeta, and turn him against everything he believed in!"
Goku didn't blink.
"Vegeta won't come willingly." Bulma tapped the side of the syringe, her nail clinking against the glass. "So I need to know if this will work on a Saiyan … and for how long." Baited tears sat swilling in her waterlines as she looked up at Goku. The emotions she'd been controlling over the past week had seemingly broken through her power of will, and were now sending her into a frenzy.
He glanced away, beads of sweat scaling down his forehead. "No, I—uh—can't. It's too … sharp."
"Please—I know you don't like them, but …" she said, squeezing his limp hand, the rapid pulse of genuine fear racing from under his skin against the pad of her thumb.
"Can't I just drink that stuff?"
A smile nearly broke through her frown, but the muscles in her face wouldn't condone the action. "No …"
"Ach." His sweaty hand slipped free from her grasp and swung to his side.
"We need to get him back … please," she said, trying to swallow away the intense pressure in her throat.
Goku's eyes narrowed, scrutinising the path of tears down Bulma's face. "Bulma, I—" He sighed, the hurricane of thoughts clear to see in his bewildered expression. "OK. I'll take the dose."
Thirty two minutes and forty three seconds … forty four … forty five.
The soft lines around his eye sockets scrunched up as the feathery ends of her hair tickled the tip of his nose. Even though Goku had been here as long as she had, he carried a lingering essence of home. She'd been hanging over his unconscious body, brimming with the sort of hopefulness one once possessed as a child after a parent making that single promise to take them to the park on a summer's evening. Eagerly, she sat, heeding the drone of the cryogen cabinet, and counting every second that passed. Occasionally, the Orling's whereabouts would slip—unwanted—into her mind, but sealing his existence off completely was vital, so she kept her mind wandering idly. Until, finally, Goku's eyes snapped open, their pupils dilating against the blenching lab lights. The weight in Bulma's chest lifted, and oxygen flowed freely, instead of squirming through her tightened windpipes.
"It worked," she said, and smiled.
Goku groaned as he sat up from the floor, ruffling the hair at the back of his head. "Wow. Now I guess I know what a hangover feels like." His back cricked and he winced. "Jeez, Bulma, you could've at least give me a pillow."
Burning shame prickled over her cheeks. "Sorry, it didn't occur to me … You were only out for thirty three minutes."
His eyes widened. "Was that all?"
"Uh-huh. It's all we got," she said tersely, nodding like the professional she was. Before Goku could protest, she shuffled over to him, and pushed the skin back on his forehead, retracting his eyelids for any abnormalities. "How do you feel? Honestly."
"I feel fine. Great," he muttered, taking her by the wrists, gently pushing her backwards.
"Yeah?" she said, the vacant expression on Goku's face too unconvincing to trust. But why would he lie? It was Goku, after all.
"Why? Shouldn't I feel fine?"
"Um … No, that's good. That's really good. That means we need to get moving," she said, jumping up onto her feet and hurrying over to the work station to gather the two syringes: one green and one blue.
Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "We need supplies. Lots of them," and clipped both needles into an old capsule pouch.
"What's the second needle for?" Goku said, eyeing her swift actions.
It took a few seconds to think of a correct way to phrase the purpose of the second needle. Again, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder, surreptitiously zipping the pouch shut and grasping it.
"Back up plan."
They'd whooshed past one dilapidated town to the other, circling the perimeter over and over, before advancing to another lonely part of the planet. The problem being: not a single trace of life force could be scented. Nothing. Had it all been a lie? Had Frieza been here at all? Or had he snatched Vegeta and left? But, no. The Dragon Balls. There was still one left, and once that had been reached, Frieza would have to make a wish, thus summon the Dragon. But the Dragon Ball was the least of her concerns.
Frieza had to be somewhere.
Ten minutes from the remnants of the last abandoned town, and there were trees appearing, dotted around the sparse wasteland, eventually thickening into a gigantic forest. Bulma, tucked away in Goku's arms, lifted her head to devour the sheer enormity of the trees. They must have been larger than fifty meters. She'd never seen anything like it, but had to shy from the biting wind trying to gnash at her eyeballs. The open air closed in on them as Goku zipped through the trees, where the rapid sun set was instantly swallowed, leaving them surrounded by a bleak stillness. Left and right Bulma heard the sharp snapping of twigs, and cracking of tiring branches. Her heart thudded into her ribcage after every lonesome utterance the forest sighed, thinking Frieza had managed to ambush them by concealing his energy somehow. Under this knowledge, she was finding it hard to conceal her own energy.
"Goku, we need to stop," she spluttered from under the crook of his arm.
Within seconds they thumped to the ground and crunched against the carpet of autumnal leaves. The floor glittered from a shower they'd been too slow to catch, and the early moonshine speared through the thick foliage, casting angelic shadows across Goku's face and everything around him. Bulma's heart flooded with affection for him, and for the astounding fact that he was actually standing right before her, and not six feet under like she'd been lead to believe mere days ago.
She slumped against a tree, grinding her boots into the dirt. "It's no use. I can't sense anything."
Goku slipped a rucksack from his shoulders and dumped it on the ground. "That's incredible."
"What?"
"That you can sense ki."
She shrugged. "Vegeta taught me. It was easy, really."
"Vegeta sounds like a good guy," Goku said, kneeling down to leaf through the contents of the rucksack. "You really are something, Bulma. Not just anyone can do that, you know. It takes a lot of focus." His eyes brightened when he found a yellow food capsule containing beef jerky.
"I'm focusing as much as I can now, and I can't sense a damn thing," she said, and punched the tree hard, splitting the skin on her knuckles. After a couple seconds, a dusting of orange leaves floated to the ground in front of her.
Goku evidently had no clue about Vegeta, but beyond the obvious bravado Vegeta pushed in her face, he was a good guy. Deep down. Forgetting to mention about the handful of times when Vegeta had held her by the throat, or threatened her with a gruesome death, and horrendous torture, was probably for the best for now. Goku seeped goodness. He was the pure soul, not Bulma. If he got wind of how Vegeta really was, maybe he wouldn't be as enthusiastic to help her find him.
Goku looked up and stopped chewing. He'd been looking at her funny the last few days. Every now and again she would catch him observing her with a furrowed brows. An expression that never suited his boyish face.
"Maybe you should get some rest. We'll try again in a couple hours," he said, rummaging again.
"No. I'm fine, really."
He laughed. "No you're not. You're exhausted. Look …" He produced a navy blue body suit, the same they were wearing, bunched it into a ball and chucked it to her.
She caught it to her chest.
"…Use it as a pillow. I'll keep watch."
It was an uncertainty at first, an uncertainty of such kindness. Such advertised kindness. The sort of act you always assumed had something missing—a catch. But there was no catch. And as the warmth of the body suit sank into her chest, she hugged it tighter and shimmied down the tree trunk to the damp floor, where she would hopefully gain some well-earned rest. Though every time she closed her eyes, the slightest whisper of the forest would snap her lids back open again, only to see Goku sitting cross-legged, staring blankly ahead into the forest.
Until something jutted her awake, disorientation sinking into her bones, telling her that she'd missed her mark and slept for too long, because Goku was no longer there, and footsteps were stomping towards her through the mass of darkness. The sludge of damp leaves left the steps sounding hollow, but with every intake of air she took, they grew closer, louder, and more violent. She scrambled to her feet, blood rocketing to her head, clouding her vision with a fuzzy, black hue. The blades of white moonshine were now a morning amber, bouncing into her darkened vision and radiating with warmth.
Someone was after her. This was it. Goku had been killed. Or maybe he hadn't been there to start with—a figment of her deprived imagination. Either way, she was going to die. Her hands searched for the reliable sturdiness of a tree trunk, when instead of collapsing onto the rough, padded bark, she tumbled through a hollow into the cold sludge at the bottom.
Fingers pressed into her collar bone.
"Shhh … There's two big power levels headed this way. We need to lay low for a while."
The soft tones of her ally flew through to her frazzled mind, expressing that she was out of the danger zone. Yet the words he spoke were of no comfort. She turned, glared behind Goku's gigantic frame, at the large opening in the tree trunk, where the dull day light was creeping in and the thick, dewy scent of nature hung low. The hollow was just big enough for Goku to stand with his head titled forward, and just light enough to see the shimmer of mould and algae slicked against the sides.
"I can't sense a thing," she whispered, backing into a slimy wall.
Goku only shook his head, his features darkening as he used his arm to barricade Bulma further into the wall, letting her know they were cornered. Like a bolt of electricity shooting up her spine, the force of the two energy levels became present, searing into her skull. So close she swore she could smell the dried sweat on their skin.
"You heard what happened to Burter. You want the same thing to happen to you?" One of the male tones said, a real gravelly sound to his voice.
Bulma had to hold her breath to stop from whimpering. The two bickering voices were right beyond the hollow of the tree, lurking beyond a wall so thin.
"But Captain, I swear, I could sense it right here," a slightly Australian voice replied.
"It was probably just another one of them mutants. You're wasting your time, Jayce."
"But I'm starving. A little snack won't hurt."
"You know what will hurt? Frieza's foot jammed up your ass." He laughed.
"Sh, sh, shh … I can smell it. We're getting warmer."
As Bulma exhaled, the slightest murmur of fear passed her lips, forcing Goku to clamp his palm over her mouth and drag her further into him. She closed her eyes when a head of thick, golden hair peered into the hollow, only squinting straight ahead. She'd been cornered again. Living the diminishing days of her life in fear, only being advised to back out, to lay low and hide. All her life she'd known what she wanted to achieve, and she grafted relentlessly until she got it. It was impossible to hold back any longer. She had to fight back. The need itched under her skin like a parasite.
A high pitch beeping, emitting from the warrior's scouter, broke his concentration and he reeled back into the open air.
Goku refrained from loosening his grasp.
"It's Frieza. He wants us to report back to base immediately," the 'Captain' announced, receiving a sigh of protest from the blonde warrior.
"Right now?"
"Yes. Right now, you fucking moron. You'll have to eat when we get back."
In the midst of their fading argument, Goku released Bulma, and she crept to the splintered ridges of the hollows' opening. The warriors' energy faded, but she kept her mind's eye on the direction they were heading in, and turned to Goku.
"We have to follow them," she said, grabbing his arm.
"They'll lead us right to Frieza," he said, and smiled.
The adrenaline subsided and she let go of Goku, remembering all the times he'd roped her into tormenting situations and jumped too soon into danger. Sure, what she was doing could be classed as no different, but she wanted to do this meticulously, without getting caught. Goku always seemed to thrive off the prospect of being captured, simply so he could show off his prowess towards his enemies. That was a long time ago, though.
"Don't do anything hasty, Goku."
His eyes bulged. "To the monster who killed my wife? No way."
She sighed. "I know. But Frieza is too strong," she said, taking the backpack from him. "We need Vegeta first."
Tailing the two warriors at a safe fifteen minute distance, they were lead to a vaporized valley, where Frieza's mammoth ship was stationed in the centre. Amongst the debris of a landslide, Bulma and Goku peered beyond the rubble at the mass gathering of soldiers, all stood before one overbearing creature—Frieza. They were too far to decipher what was being said, but they were all murmuring amongst one another, the anxiety tangible. Bulma chewed the inside of her cheeks as she squatted behind the barrier of stones, wanting nothing more than to get inside that ship. She peeped over, scrutinising the cluster of warriors, scouting for Vegeta, trying to sense his energy. The obsidian spikes of hair she'd grown accustomed to seeing were definitely not in sight now, so she slumped back.
"So that's Frieza, huh?" Goku muttered, his features impassive.
"That's him."
"For some reason, I thought he'd look a little less … female," he mused.
Bulma scoffed. "Don't let that fool you—"
Goku crouched lower, splaying his fingers against the stone. Bulma mirrored his actions, listening out as the warriors scuffled against the dirt.
"You all know the objective. I want that Dragon Ball found … and whoever returns empty handed will find their life no longer useful to me." The unmistakable snarl of Frieza reverberated around the valley. "It appears that you saps are incapable of completing such a simple task. In the light of this, I've no choice but to participate … And if the outcome falls into my hands, then you will all remain on this planet after I've made my wish, and sit patiently while I blow the damn thing to oblivion! And if you spot that blue-haired bitch, do not hesitate to put her out of her misery!"
The valley dropped to an eerie silence.
"Well? Get out of my sight!"
There was a slither of panic within his little speech. A genuine fear laced within every word he spoke. Perhaps he thought Bulma had left the planet, taking the remaining Dragon Ball with her. She wouldn't have any use for that kind of plan. Whatever move she made, it had to drag Frieza into as much torture as possible, otherwise she would not rest.
An uproar of feigned jeers shook the valley, as the warriors dispersed into different directions. Bulma kept her head down and her heart in her throat as three flew directly above her head, including Frieza. Accompanying him was the same blonde-haired guy as before. They'd obviously discussed the so-called 'lead' they'd found back in the forest.
Their climactic exit battered around the valley long after they'd dispersed, like the voices of lost souls wandering the land. With no time to think, Goku took Bulma by the hand, jumped over the barricade, and ran to the ships' entrance. It was a little unsettling to see the lack of security around such a powerful overlord's ship, but the adrenaline spurred her to forget such things and focus on getting inside. The wind howled as they stood at the bottom of the ramp, gawping at the twenty foot steel doors, which required no sign of security protocol, as they were already open.
Everything seemed all too easy. Goku didn't see this as he barged through, gallantly strolling into the main corridors, Bulma jogging in tow, her head whipping in all directions.
The ship was embellished in red and gold décor, similar to the ship the Orling had acquired. The carpet was worn down from heavy plated boots, but nonetheless of expensive taste. There were drapes of satin sheets across the walls with a bizarre, horned emblem embossed upon them. The same emblem kept flashing in her peripheral as they trudged down the corridors, beginning to pass a small dispersion of warriors.
Bulma grabbed Goku's hand. "Wait. Something's not right."
Goku shrugged nonchalantly. "We can't just sit around," he mumbled, nodding his head towards the gathering of warriors. "Act calm. We're dressed like those guys, so we should fit in fine."
That was evident. She knew that. Regardless of that fact, her angst would reveal her false façade, and they'd both be killed. Goku slipped his hand free and continued to stroll down the hallway, right past the warriors who barely spared him a disinterested glance. She followed suit, sweat trickling down her spine, and only one tore himself free from a foreign discussion to check her out. She kept her head down and moved on, smacking into Goku.
"I-I don't believe it. Sir, you're—But I saw you—"
The formal, silky-toned accent grabbed Bulma's attention towards a stout creature, clad in a white overcoat, grasping onto Goku's hand, with wonder shining in his one, black eye. The same emblem was printed on the right breast pocket of his coat.
Goku flinched back, but the creature's grip was unyielding.
"I've been waiting for this moment, plotting revenge," he said, forcing Bulma to check the distance between them and the warriors they'd previously encountered. Hopefully far enough for them to keep out of ears-reach.
"I never stood against you, sir. Never. Remember that," he said, frowning and dipping his head gravely.
"That's—uh—good… I guess?" Goku said, laughing.
Time wasn't a factor they could spare, so Bulma stepped between them and addressed the creature with such authority he had to pay her an ounce of attention. "I'm sorry, we have to be moving to the main quarters. There's something very important we must attend to—"
"Oh! And what do you have planned, Sir?" he said, disregarding Bulma's presence, giving Goku the cow eyes.
"It's confidential," Bulma said.
The creature sighed. "And who are you, may I ask?"
"She's my right hand," Goku said in an extraordinary, and patently awful aristocratic voice, while tapping Bulma on the shoulder. "Now, if you don't mind, we must be going to the main quarters."
The creature blinked, his mouth hanging open, before he unarguably stepped aside to allow them past. Goku waited before the curved corridor erased the creature from view, and smeared his palm down his thigh, grimacing.
"What was that all about?"
"I dunno. But he knew who you were—or, at least, thought he did," she said, upgrading their stroll to a pace.
"Crazy, huh?" Goku said, constantly looking over his shoulder.
"We don't have time."
On their travels through the ship, they suffered several more hindering encounters, and copious strange glances being cast towards Goku, some warriors growing pale at the sight of him. She tried to ignore it, but couldn't. Nevertheless, Vegeta was still their main concern, so they paced on, up a grand staircase, which lead to yet another towering set of doors. This time they were frosted glass, transparent enough for a mottled kaleidoscope of colours to shine through.
A huff of air pressed between Bulma's lips as they came to the top of the staircase. The energy she'd accumulated over the past few days had ebbed drastically in such a short time. There was no doubt beyond the fact that she was weak. Vegeta had been right. She clutched her knees, gesturing for Goku to check the area. He gently pushed the door open, smiled, and ran in.
"Goku," she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "Goku!" And she ran in after him, the air zapping clean out of her lungs at the sight of the room.
It was a ballroom, lavished with frills of pinks and purples, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, tables lined against the perimeter, topped with empty wine glasses and pristine cutlery. Marble pillars and cream marble flooring shone immaculately, drawing her in one sedated step at a time. The glittering banners and balloons all had 'Welcome' painted over them, with countless exclamation marks. At the top end of the room was a large banquette, which Goku was tucking into, throwing back bones and meatless carcasses without a care to name.
It was all too simple. They'd strolled onto this ship, breezed past numerous warriors with no more than a shifty glare, and entered an empty ballroom that had been glamourized for someone's arrival. She froze, every muscle in her body tensing. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or the lack of food, but the truth crept in, slapping her face and insulting and mocking her for being so careless. All she wanted to do was see Vegeta. That notion had driven her blindly into something she couldn't comprehend. Even after seeing him, even touching him, she hadn't intended on actually executing the plan. It was selfishness that took her here, and now she and Goku were going to pay dearly-
Because it was a set up.
"Goku! Stop!"
Before she could reach him, he spun round, a slab of meat falling from between his teeth as his eyes widened. "Bulma!"
Searing heat blazed across her ear, and her back whacked the solid floor, shadows dancing before her eyes. Warmth enveloped as the pain ran around her body in a carnivorous frenzy, biting every inch of muscle. That feint essence of home drifted around her, dragging her back towards it, back to her family and friends. She smiled at them all waving to her, beckoning her to join them. Her mom, her dad …
"Bulma! You have to get up. Now!"
"No. I don't want to."
She opened her eyes as a heavy crash resounded next to her head. Goku was on top of her, shielding her from the crumbling marble. He stood up, dragging her by the arm into a standing position. Something warm crawled down her neck. The crumbling of marble petered to echoing taps of tiny splinters dashing across the floor. It was too much to gather, until her heart stopped.
Directly above the demolished banquette, stood an overviewing balcony. Standing upon the mahogany railing, clad in nothing but tattered spandex shorts, was Vegeta. Thick lacerations were painted across his chest, and deep crimson grooves ran around his wrists and ankles, still glistening with fresh blood. There were hollows under his eyes, making him look gaunt, as if he hadn't slept for weeks. By Bulma's estimated guess, she would say he was inches away from dying.
A dry lump became lodged in her throat as she tried to call out his name, but only succeeded in extricating a weathered gasp from her lungs.
He lifted his arm high above his head, fingers splayed wide apart, and grinned.
Why couldn't either of them sense his energy? Had he been concealing it? Did he not want to be found? She had predicted all of this, knew the outcome, had the blueprints traced around the inside of her skull. But, somehow, seeing it unfold in the realm of reality was hard to swallow.
She stepped forward, a single step champing into powdered stone.
Vegeta … What's Frieza done to you?