One of the nice things about living on this ship is just how predictable crew members can be. Cruelty was the first and last choice of almost any warrior in Freeza Force. They toy with those weaker than themselves, and continue to do so until they're either bored, their target is killed, or someone or something actually stops them. They usually just move on in the case of the first two possibilities, but when someone makes them stop before they believe they've finished? They get mad. Dirge was no exception to the rule.

I glanced at the digital clock on my blaster, provided by the old captain for personal protection. Not likely to be of much help all things considered, but a thought I appreciated. It was 43:02. Something that I had come to understand as the closest thing to night time this ship could come to.

I had barely waited for a few hours, observing the lizard man's feelings as he wrestled with his inherent fear of a stronger opponent, and his hate for the embarrassment a weakling inflicted on him. The Saiyan had yet to be evaluated, but most figured she was destined to die with the rest of the conscripts. For her to successfully attack him so publicly made for a very real blow to his reputation. Promotions could be pushed back, trusted allies could abandon him, and his position in the eyes of the leadership would be all the lower when word spread around, and it most certainly would.

I'm honestly surprised it took him so long to make a move. When all but a few night engineers were asleep he crept out of his room, making his way for the Saiyan's cell in a manner that would have been stealthy if I couldn't feel his energy. As it was he might as well have stomped his way over. I followed him, making sure to always be a hallway or so behind before he got far enough away from the areas someone could hear a struggle and come to investigate. Most who bothered conscripts at this time during our ships daily cycle were here for less than savory reasons, and while few warriors around here cared enough to stop a rape or a murder, they would investigate a large enough struggle.

Full, no holds barred combat on the ship was actually a pretty big offense around here. The only place anyone was aloud to operate with full power on a ship like this was the training center, and only a few at once. These were warriors who could glass cities given the time, and all it took was a fight in the wrong place to breach the hull and kill us all. So while toying with lesser beings was acceptable and even encouraged, an actual fight was usually stopped before it could begin outside of acceptable areas.

Most ships of our class was rated for a power-level of four thousand, but they were notoriously finicky. The ship might remain somewhat intact but life support could fail, or it could be fine but the engines would cut out and we'd be stranded for weeks, even months without supply.

I don't think I can fight Dirge on even terms well enough not to destroy the ship, and I certainly couldn't do it without attracting attention from people who would almost certainly have some questions for me, but I didn't need to. I never liked fighting fair anyway.

The real trouble was stopping him before he could reach the Saiyan girls cell. I got a little closer to him every time he turned a corner, speeding as we neared doors with a power signature I had been working to memorize for hours now. Easily recognizable, vibrant, young, and somehow almost innocently bloodthirsty. A being that had the capacity but didn't care to understand the feelings of other species.

When I was nearly on top of him I let out a short little whistle, something only the two of us could have heard. I particularly enjoyed the little jump of fear he made, and the startled skip his energy gave me as the alien turned on a dime. He whipped around with speed I still found myself envious of in spite of the rush of pride that came up just at being able to track his movement. I stepped into the blind swing he sent my way, smiling at the sound of metal burying its way past scale and into flesh. The sound was so perfect that my smile didn't drop even when his other fist came around, nearly breaking my shoulder and sending me flying down the corridor.

My body froze midair, and I swallowed a growl when I noticed I was inches away from the far wall, the power of flight saving me from tearing through the metal and striking just the kind of suspicion I was trying to avoid. I loosened my grip on my energy, allowing myself to take a knee and catch my breath. I felt a flash of surprise at just how tired I already was. Easy to forget that ki was what kept my body sturdy, functional. My focus returned to Dirge's energy. What I felt excited me, but I kept it hidden as I turned to the alien. He'd figure it out on his own soon enough.

"Dennis! You little rat! What makes you think you can come at me like this with any hope to live?" He shook his head, taking a step towards me. "Don't answer that, It doesn't matter. I've been needing something to kill, and you just volunteered."

I stood up, rising from a crouch as the alien blustered. His features were hard to read, but his eyes were almost no different than my own. It was easy to see the disregard for my life, the petty hatred, that ridiculous arrogance. He snarled, taking a step toward me, before wobbling dangerously. He stumbled forward, and his face twisted into an expression I assumed represented confusion. He didn't quite realize what was going on, but he recognized that something was off.

"Wha-what's happening? I feel-"

"Cold? Weak?" I chuckled at his silence, the lack of response enough of an answer for me. "That, is your energy draining away. Right now its desperately trying to keep you alive, but it's fighting an inherently fatal wound. You don't recognize the feeling because injuries like that don't normally come up until after your energy has gotten low enough for your defenses to come down." My tone was hoarse with the effort of breathing, and the excitement of finally taking some kind of action. When Dirge's wide and slowly unfocusing eyes came up to me I felt more questions in his ki. I sighed, before gesturing to his chest.

I followed his gaze down to the blood pooling to the ground from his chest. We both looked at a neatly carved gash trailing from his lower stomach and up to his lungs. His hands came up to the simple kitchen knife embedded in his chest, easily pulling the cheap steel from the cavity. I shook my head at the stupidity. "I'd say you have around-" I paused, attempting to measure the drain on his energy. "-two minutes to live without my help, give or take a couple seconds. So If I were you, I'd listen very carefully to what I have to say. That is, if you want to live past that two minutes?"

It took a few seconds for him to process my words past the blood-loss, before he nodded at me slowly. "Very good. Now, here's the deal-" I slapped him across the face, hard, keeping him conscious."-You answer to me now, you stay out of my way, and you don't tell anyone about what happend here. Is that clear?"

Even with the fear, and the not so distant approach of death, he hesitated. He didn't say a word as I brushed my thumb over his injury. The smile on my face dropped as the seconds ticked by. I shook my head, before roughly plunging my thumb into the wound. The lizardman howled, the sound quickly being cut off a second later, muffling to a manageable volume as I shoved a washcloth into his mouth. I traced along the wound, pushing ki through the appendage and melting the flesh together with pure heat. When I pulled away he curled into a ball, weeping at the pain.

"I'll ask again. Am I understood? I drawled, the patience quickly leaving me. I would not ask a third time.

"Y-yes." The response was quiet, and broken.

"Great! Then I'll take you to the healing pods." I pulled him up, tucking myself under his shoulder and dragging Dirge towards the medical bay, before I stopped. "And Dirge?"

He looked up at me weakly.

"When they ask what happened, tell them it was the Saiyan girl that hurt you. Tell them she should be a warrior."

Low-class, weak, pathetic. A disgrace to the Saiyan people. The same insults that had followed her for as long as she could remember seemed to circle her head as she sat inside a prison made for slaves. As if she needed anymore evidence of her own failures. Apara growled, slamming her fist into one of the walls, putting a new dent alongside the dozens already scattered along every wall. It wasn't fair!

She was supposed to prove herself, to grow strong on the world she had been exiled to, eventually laying waste to the land in it's entirety and returning to her home a warrior worthy of her name. Instead she spent nearly nine years barely surviving wild animals, living off of stolen food and what little meat she acquired from those few animals she could overpower. Yet even after all that time she was barely a threat to a single individual on whatever world she had been sent to. It didn't matter that she was ten times as strong as she had been when she arrived, it didn't matter that her survival had been a near miracle.

Because she was still too weak, because the world she struggled so greatly against was one with gravity nearly a tenth that of Vegeta, because her mothers parting words still burned so greatly against her already tattered pride.

She struck the wall again, this time leaving a splatter of blood inside the dent she created. She was the weakest Saiyan ever produced by the blood of her great-grandfather, Spargus. She had failed, been presumed dead, and now she would be a slave in the very ship that had destroyed that world in her stead. She was chained to the very instrument of her failure. What was a Saiyan to do with such indignity? What was a proud warrior when they were trapped in such a weak form?

There was only one answer. Die fighting. She had allowed herself to be captured once, and now it was time to approach the destiny she had struggled against with her head held high. The next person to open her cell door would be her final opponent.

And so, with indignity on her mind and something nearing redemption at the door she waited for her killer. It would only be hours later when he finally arrived. A portion to one of the walls opened, and what stepped inside was yet another disappointment. A male in rags, haggard and hunched over himself, stepped inside, limping painfully up to her. His hair was dark, long and unkempt. His beard was full, but did a poor job of concealing the lack of teeth along the right side of his face. His form was startlingly reminiscent of her own people, if they were so clearly and so disgustingly weak that even the most untrained of eyes could see it.

Immediately the fight left her. This was no warrior, this was just another slave. She considered ending his life, before he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Tell me, girl, do you believe that Saiyans are a warrior race unlike any other?" She tilted her head at the strange man. Such an obvious question.

"Of course." She replied. "No other race in this universe can stand before Saiyan might."

He nodded. "Then you no doubt want to live up to that title?"

"Yes." She ground out, fast growing annoyed with the man's questions. "Are you going somewhere with this?

"I'd like to make a deal with you. I know of your peoples power, I know secrets to your strength that many of your people have forgotten, I know how to make you stronger than any Saiyan alive today." He smiled gently. "And all you have to do to learn these secrets is keep me alive when you are strong enough to do so."

A refusal had nearly left her lips when she felt it. Power washing over her. Power on par with any of the warriors on this ship, power completely unbecoming of a crippled and wounded slave. His gentle smile grew into a grin filled with what she easily recognized as blood lust. The pale blue of the man's eyes, the only thing she noted as distinctly unsaiyan about him, began to glow a deep, burning orange.

"Interested?"

Power Levels-

Dennis- 183

Saiyan Girl- 62