While Chi-Chi takes on her new role, the rest of the world stirs. With the fall of the old government, each region had regained its autonomy. West City now stands alone, clinging to the ideals of their fallen union. The fate of the west weighs on the shoulders of a woman named Bulma, who currently stands before a bathroom mirror to calm herself.
Her outer coat is peeled back and sags at her elbows, revealing her black sleeveless top and those pale shoulders of hers. Her figure is wilted like a willow, and leans against the sink. Those eyes of hers stare off into nothing as the last drops struggle to free themself from the faucet. A comb is clutched in one of her hands, a single grey strand among several of her natural blue.
Splat.
She winces as it smacks the sink.
"Bulma?" A man's voice calls from beyond the door.
She doesn't answer. A moment passes and then the voice continues.
"We'll get through this, dear. You have a good head on your shoulders. You'll find a way out of this mess as long as you remember that." His voice is unconvincing.
The woman's eyes narrow after processing his words, and they finally meet her reflection. She looks weathered beyond her young age. The pressure of a failing world rests on those bare shoulders of hers, and it strains them. With a slow pull she covers them with her coat.
In the next moment, the door flies open. An older man with lavender hair staggers back, her father. He returns her haggard glance with a gentle smile.
Plop.
Bulma plants herself into her chair. The nametag before her reads 'Capsule Corp', a table she shares with her father. At the head of the room a banner provides the name of their organization, 'Western Province Provisional Government'. WPPG for short.
It's a makeshift seat of power centered in the world's western capital. Out of the remaining major cities in the world it stands the brightest. A continuing reminder of the world that had been lost, if only a shadow of it.
But it's not without its cracks.
There were many who felt the old world had failed to protect them, many who sought a stronger world than the one that had broken beneath them. New ideas emerge. New movements form.
"Bring the representative forth," commands an emotionless voice.
It comes from the massive man sitting at the desk labeled Mayor-Governor Metallitron. His chiselled face is unemotive and a pair of sunglasses cover his eyes, never seeming to be removed.
Another door opens opposite of the one Bulma had come in from. A woman with black hair and a military coat is escorted to the center of the room by a guard. She snaps crisply to attention with an audible crack.
Lights flicker behind the Mayor-Governor's eyes, and then he addresses the woman. "I've identified you as Mai, a key figure in the Pilafism political party. You have a message. Speak."
The woman closes her eyes for a nerve calming deep breath. When they open, determination joins her intense gaze.
"Disband your government by noon today, or West City will fall by the end of the month," she says.
"Tch!" A man grumbles from his desk from high above her. His desk reads 'Mr Shu,' and 'department of education' is crossed out, annotated with 'department of discipline' in its place. He's a pompous looking man, large glasses, a thin mustache lining his lip to his jaw, and a ball of messy hair clings to his head like a head of broccoli.
"You come making threats?" he says.
Mai shakes her head, then speaks with sincerity. "It's not a threat. We are not your enemy. Reforming under chairman Pilaf is the only path to saving this city from total destruction."
Mr Shu is quick to respond. "Hmph. Do you take us for fools? I used to be a private tutor, you know? You stand before the finest minds in the civilized world, and you think you and your little imp can manage things better than we can? What a laugh."
Mai's eyes meet Mr Shu's, then she moves her gaze to the council member opposite of him. "Mr Spopovich."
Her change of attention startles the man bearing that name, causing him to drop the pen he was playing with. He's a large muscle-bound brute with a big red mullet, current champion of the World Wrestling Union after Mr Satan's unfortunate passing. Somehow he found himself sitting among the so-called 'finest minds in the world', wondering just how he got there.
Mai continues on. "West City alone houses a population that will eat through the whole region's reserves before the next harvesting season. Do you have a plan to ensure your people don't starve?"
"Uhh…" groans the brute.
"Chairman Pilaf has an answer. Several rogue warlords have amassed in the recent chaos. How do you plan to ensure security against such threats?"
"Umm…"
"Chairman Pilaf has an answer. Spopovich, how does being part of a fake wrestling organization qualify you for political office?"
"Fake? Wrestling's not-"
"-Chairman Pilaf has an answer. You see, Mayor-Governor, Mr Shu, under this government you've neither recognized nor prepared for the struggles to come," Mai concluded.
"No," a voice from behind Mai. Bulma's voice. "Not everyone in this room is as unqualified as Spopovich, ma'am. Capsule Corp has already assessed each of these concerns. We don't need help, least of all from a fanatic like you."
"Fanatic?" Mai says from a sideways glance. "How unfortunate."
Mai turns her attention back to the Mayor-Governor. "Mayor-Governor, rest assured that very soon we'll see which of us can truly build tomorrow. I offer this again on behalf of my chairman. Submit to the future, or die with the old world. We won't be waiting around for you any longer."
The woman unfurls a banner from her pocket and displays it across her chest. A solitude red star is proudly centered on a pale yellow backdrop. She holds it with pride and the professionalism of a dutiful soldier.
"Become the Democratic People's Republic of Pilaf! Rebuild the world, one pilaf at a time!" she shouts with gusto.
Bulma's face twitches, bewildered disgust plastered across it. She swings a finger at the woman mockingly and leans over her table.
"Look here, toy soldier," she says with condescension. "I've had a rough morning trying to hold this city together, so I'm gonna drop the civility. Get! Out! Of my territory!"
Mai's body gradually softens from its rigid pose. Her drooping head turns back Bulma's way with genuine bewilderment. She struggled to accept that her demonstration hadn't won the room over.
Mai looks everyone over. Every chair seems to support Bulma's declaration, either out of agreement or fear. One seat is simply out of the loop entirely, occupied by a sleeping elderly man named Yuzukar who appears more fitting in a retirement home than a government council.
"Very well.." Mai mutters in defeat.
She allows the guard to escort her out of the room, but as soon as the door opens another guard bursts between them. He's in a panic, frantically trying to get his words out.
"Confirmed contact with unknown sea-born adversaries! Long range radios jammed, they're right on our doorstep!"
The whole room falls silent, mouths agape and pale with fright.
"Capsule Corp," Mayor-Governor Metallitron says.
"On it, sir," Bulma replies.
The room's main monitor descends and a map of the city illuminates on it. All eyes stare in anticipation as new data populates.
Red dots appear, accompanied by 'Signal lost'. They form a ring along the port side of the city, and more lights flip to the status by the second.
"Mai!" Bulma shouts.
Mai shakes her head. "It's not us."
Boom!
The building rocks from an impact and the power cuts out.
Everyone rushes out of the room. Spopovich is the first to exit, bolting in total panic. Bulma nudges the old man awake and walks him out. Soon the whole council is standing on the steps of city hall.
An early morning yellow sky. Black smoke. A mismatched fleet. Some ships are wooden with sails, others are iron with smokestacks. All fly the same banner, a pair of crossed machine guns on a red background. Several Military vessels sink among them as wreckage.
Boom!
A full volley explodes from the armada. The cloud of destruction pelts the ground in a wave, crashing upon buildings like a tsunami of iron. It reaches the steps in a second.
Whooom!
The air displaces around Bulma's head. Her hair stays frozen for a moment, retaining a circular gap where the ordinance had passed it.
Then the explosion comes.
A ball of fire silhouettes the council members from behind. Bulma hurls skyward, her father's desperate arm failing to take hold of her. For a brief moment she's flying, then the horror of her descent dawns upon her. Screams follow.
Death crosses Bulma's mind as the concrete ground approaches. She shouts the only thing that comes to mind.
"Goku!"
The world in her eyes goes white. Then those arms wrap around her. That goofy smile. That wild hair. All her stress vanishes for a moment, taken by the hero she wishes would return.
The image fades, and the true face of her savior becomes known to her. That woman, Mai, with all her determination and conviction. She sets Bulma down on her feet and steps back.
"It looks like your test has come early, provisional government. Prove to the people you're worth their support." says Mai.
A military style motorcycle approaches the scene with a blinding headlight. The driver wears a similar uniform as Mai.
All eyes follow Mai's gaze, landing on a small passenger behind the motorcycle driver. He's tiny, sitting on an elevated seat in the same military coat. His blue skin and pointy ears shine in the morning light. An ushanka cap sits on his head with the red star proudly emblemed over the front. Large eyes stare out into the adversarial fleet without fear, squinting to the point of nearly shut.
The imp. The chairman. The hero.
He pulls a flare gun from his side and fires it into the sky. It's soon joined by a dozen more from across the city. Sirens, bells, and war cries ring out. Hundreds fill the streets armed with whatever weapon they have available. Armbands with red stars cover some, others seem to follow their lead.
The motorcycle speeds off on a direct path towards the enemy, then disappears into the crowd. Mai steps foot onto her own motorbike.
"What are you going to do?" Bulma asks.
"I'm going to follow him. That's what good soldiers do," she says with pride.
Then she speeds off in the same direction.
Bulma's father rushes to her side. His terror slowly subsides for tears as he finds his daughter unharmed.
"Your mother, I have to make sure she remembers how to use the panic room!" he exclaims.
Bulma gasps. Her mind resumes its full capacity. "Capsule Corp. This is still our city, dad. Let's show those fanatics that we're not about to lose it."
She turns to the Mayor-Governor standing atop the steps. The rest of the council cower under the cover of his body.
"Governor," she says. "I can more effectively enact countermeasures at Capsule Corp. I'm headed there now."
The Governor nods. Bulma reaches for her vehicle capsule, but the screeching of tires stops her. It's a capsule corp car, driven by her best chauffeur. She's a finely dressed woman with a big red ball of hair on her head.
"Capsule Corp, Cynthia" Bulma commands while her father and her hop inside.
"On it!" the driver shouts, and the car rockets down the street.
The race to defend West City commences. It's not only a battle for survival, but for the people's confidence. While they scramble, their mysterious mutual foe prepares for their next phase. Aboard the capital ship, a large bear-man with an eyepatch and baggy pants approaches his queen.
"Queen, the enemy has shown little resistance. We should begin the invasion," he says.
"Yeah?" she says in a mannerless tone. "'Bout time. Let's get this show going, Bear Pirate."
Her fingerless-gloved hand stretches into the air. Her massive yellow curls flow in the wind with the red ribbon within them. She's slender with a brutish face and a bear pelt forms a cloak around her body.
"Was hoping for a real fight, but… whatevs," she says.
There's a shriek from the air, and a shadow from above covers the ship. It carries a gust that rocks the vessel. As it passes, the blonde woman leaps over the edge, landing on the back of a great winged beast from a prehistoric era. A pterosaur, cruel and monstrous, now steered by reigns held by its master.