Author's Note: Howdy all,

So first off, I would like to give a fair warning that those hoping for an immediate jump to the invasion that there are still a few steps to take before we get there. This chapter is going to highlight an additional element in the series and I'm very excited to share it with you all.

Second, the outpouring of support continues to amaze me. It's hard not to be swept up by the passion of the touching reviews and PMs I've received. Happy to report that I am still dedicated to this series and fully plan on seeing it through.

Okay, enough stalling, thank you very much for reading, hope you are all well, and please enjoy.

Days left: 9

"Again."

Gohan gasped for breath as the order came down from up high. Sweat pooled on his brow and streaked down his face, dropping like pellets into the ocean the half-saiyan floated just above.

"I said again."

The boy nodded and tightened his fists. He searched himself for the power he needed, the one that exploded out of him on Namek and was so easy to tap into during his training. He searched for the anger needed, the strength that easily consumed him here, but was always soothed during his image training.

His aura flashed out, creating massive waves across the blue ocean. Thankfully land was miles away. His eyes, on the edge of turning green, went upward to the blue sky. The sight comforted him, but only for a moment.

"Agh!" Gohan cried out as too much power, too much anger, answered his call. His aura grew, but his control loosened.

"Let go Gohan!" Piccolo growled. "Stop holding back!"

The boy nodded again and doubled down, allowing the hold he kept over himself to slip.

How appropriate that the legendary super saiyan would be nothing but a child throwing a temper tantrum.

Gohan viciously shook his head, trying to throw away the words echoing in his mind.

Though I suppose if my assumptions are correct, then you aren't a full monkey. No, you're more like a dog that needs to be put down.

Again, Frieza's voice cut into him, and again he pushed past it. Focusing on his breathing, just as he had been taught. His hair shone a golden hue as his eyes colored themselves a striking green.

Please, stop.

It was Krillin's voice that robbed him of his strength. Both hair and eyes lost their color while the waves underneath him calmed as his aura faded. Once more, the half-sayian was left panting for air and a deep sense of failure.

"Again."

Gohan didn't respond immediately, he couldn't. His throat was too dry for his voice and his vision too blurred to see the namekian barking orders.

"I said aga-"

"Hey now, maybe let's give him a minute."

The half-saiyan looked up to see the interruption and felt comforted by the sight of Krillin.

"How are things going?" The monk asked the namekian next to him.

"Slow. Your idea to train over the ocean to recreate the image training he is used to is good, but you coddled him too much. No doubt those months spent camping did more damage than you think."

"Guess we have different teaching styles," Krillin said with a shrug. "Who would have thought?"

"Joke while you can, Cold comes closer with every second."

"Then we should get this sorted," the monk said descended toward Gohan while waving for Piccolo to follow.

Gohan carefully followed his two teachers as they came level with him.

"How's it going Goh-"

"Don't worry Mr. Krillin!" Gohan shouted. "I just need to keep going!"

Furiously wiping away the sweat from his head, the half-saiyan clapped his cheeks and stared intently at the monk. "I can do it!"

"I know you can, Gohan," Krillin said, patting the boy's head. "Doesn't mean we have to kill ourselves trying though."

Crossing his legs as if he was sitting but still floating above the ocean, Krillin gestured for Gohan to do the same. Without question, the boy obeyed.

"First, let's get ourselves under control, shall we?" Krillin said while straightening his posture. "In."

The monk closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his mouth while Gohan did the same and inhaled through his nose.

"Out." The two exhaled through their mouths.

"In."

They inhaled.

"Out."

They exhaled.

"In."

"And out."

Opening one eye a crack, Krillin saw Gohan's breathing was less frantic, his energy that had been fluctuating widely seemed more subdued, and his body had relaxed into itself.

"One last time, in."

Gohan rolled his shoulders back and straightened his neck and he drew in more air through his nose.

"Out."

The half-saiyan's body went slack as the air left him through his open mouth.

"Good, how do you feel?" The monk said, fully opening his eyes.

"…better."

"And?"

"…nervous."

"Of course, you are," Krillin said. "We've been preparing for this for a long time. Things feel different now that's it's this close, doesn't it?"

Gohan nodded.

"This is a lot like when Vegeta and Nappa were coming to Earth. Right?"

Gohan nodded again.

"You know, you're much stronger than you were back then. You've grown a lot Gohan."

Gohan didn't respond and seemed to wither a little.

Ah, I think I know what the problem could be. Thought Krillin. "You're worried you've gotten too strong, aren't you?"

"I…I just don't want to hurt anyone."

"You said you were willing to fight," Piccolo snapped. "Hard to do that if you are already thinking of sparing the opponent."

"No… I will fight, but-" The half-saiyan stopped, unsure of how to properly explain himself.

"Gohan."

The boy looked up at the monk, his voice soft and warm. "Did you enjoy your birthday?"

"Y-yeah."

"So, you had fun fishing, and eating, and being with everyone else?"

"Yeah. I did, it was great."

"What about training with me and Yamcha? Then showing Piccolo what you can do during the image training? What that fun?"

Gohan's eyes lit up. "That was so fun!"

"Glad to hear it," Krillin smiled. "Then, by the sound of it. You do like fighting, but you're afraid of hurting people. Is that right?"

"… I… I guess," the boy said, a little ashamed.

"Well, do you know what that makes you Gohan?"

"… what?"

The monk tugged on his gi, pulling the symbol of the turtle forward. "A martial artist."

"Huh?"

"Just because you enjoy growing stronger, bettering yourself, and competing against others doesn't mean you have to like causing harm," the human said, pointing to Gohan's gi which perfectly matched his. "For a martial artist, fighting doesn't have to equal violence."

Gohan didn't have a response, so Krillin continued. "Your father loves to fight, but he doesn't go out seeking people to hurt. He finds joy in testing his limits and becoming a better fighter. Piccolo is the same way now too."

"Really, Mr. Piccolo?" Gohan turned and asked, looking at the namekian with wide eyes.

The demon king glared at Krillin who just smiled at him.

"… I suppose that is a true to a point," Piccolo sighed.

"Wow," the half-saiyan said before looking back to Krillin. "What about you, Mr. Krillin? Do you like getting stronger?"

"Me? I became a martial artist to get to know more people, and I was lucky enough to meet your father and you."

Gohan grinned, which gave the monk some relief. Seems like that's a better answer than just telling him I wanted women to think I was cool.

"But" Gohan continued, frowning a little. "But when Cold gets here, we are going to be hurting people," Gohan said, clearly confused.

"That is true, unfortunately," Krillin nodded. "When Cold and his army get here, he will no doubt want to destroy Earth and kill all of us. We're going to stop that from happening."

"So, we will have to hurt them."

"Yes."

"… I don't like that."

"Good," Krillin said, growing serious. "It's good that you don't want to hurt anyone Gohan, but just like last time when Vegeta came here we are going to have to."

Gohan paused, which gave Krillin the time he needed to continue.

"Let me tell you what Master Roshi told me, don't focus on the people you've had to or are going to hurt. Focus on the ones you want to defend. The people you want to protect."

"Protect?"

"Yep, myself, Piccolo, your mom, and all the others. Don't fight to hurt, fight to keep us safe."

"… what if I fail?" Gohan asked, his voice small. "What if I can't do it?"

"That'll be okay, Gohan, because even if you do, we'll be here to back you up."

The monk floated closer to the boy and once more placed a hand on his long black hair.

"You aren't alone in this."

Gohan nodded, then offered a small smile. "Okay, Mr. Krillin."

"Good," Krillin said, ruffling the half-saiyan's hair. "Don't forget, you won't be at the front lines to start. You'll be waiting for my signal to move, anyway. If we can end this early, then you may not have to fight at all." Krillin paused, thinking to himself before speaking again. "How about this? Remember when we were making plans for Vegeta or fighting Frieza? I told you and the others that we should focus on individual parts of the body. Let me give you yours now. Might help a little, what do you think?"

"S-sure," Gohan said with a nod.

"The right arm," Krillin said, his demeanor changing slightly. "We will keep you informed of what's going on, but when I say go, you focus on the right arm. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Alright then, keep at it, Gohan. We know you can do it."

"Right!" The half-saiyan steeling himself once more.

Krillin nodded and looked at Piccolo. "You got it from here?"

"We were doing fine before you arrived," the namekian growled. "But yes."

"Okay, then I need to tell you we picked up Vegeta and he's with the others training on the lookout."

"You think that's wise?" Piccolo spat.

"I do. He wants the secrets of the super saiyan and a fight with me. That will keep him in line, and the others together could handle him if he went wild," Krillin said, unfolding his legs and straightening himself. "He's less of a threat if we keep him close to us."

"Humph, very well."

"That's it? You're not going to tell me I'm a stupid human for trusting him?"

"Your logic is sound and relying on his saiyan biology helped us with Frieza. It's far from your worst gamble."

"Thanks. I'll be on the lookout if you need me. We'll reconvene in a couple of days at capsule corp. Bulma has something for us. After that, we'll go over everything a few more times to be as ready as we can be."

"Noted. What will you do now? Return to the lookout?"

"No, I need to have a much harder conversation first."

The King needed a drink.

He didn't remember the last time he had one. The last time he had allowed himself to relax to put his feet up and let a good pour take his troubles away. He hadn't done that because there was no end of troubles. No end to the uncertainty.

Taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, the King sighed. The sigh was long, and it came out slow and instead of returning to work after it was done, the King leaned back in his chair.

There's no answer. There's no answer good enough to erase the people's fears.

Looking up at the ceiling silently hoping the answers were bolted up there, the King of Earth closed his eyes.

Am I doing the right thing? Have I done all that I can? Can I do nothing more?

The dog's silent questions did not receive any response, and so he whispered.

"I need a drink."

A light tap of something being set on his desk unnerved him enough that he was scrambling for his glasses.

"Terribly sorry I didn't hear anyone come i-"

The King stopped speaking, but it wasn't the carefully poured glass of whiskey offered to him that took away his voice. It was the man who offered it.

"It has been some time, your majesty," Krillin said with a soft smile.

"It's you!" The King said, standing up out of his chair. "Kri-"

The monk pressed a finger to his lips and quieted the panicked dog with just the gesture. "Let's keep this quiet if we can."

Instantly the dog quieted, unable to accept how easily the monk slipped into his office.

"I have news," Krillin said before King could ask. "The invaders will be here in nine days."

"Nine da-" The king rose out of his chair and shouted before again being quieted again by a single finger.

"I am sorry," the monk said with a measured voice. "I only found out recently myself."

"That's too soon." The old dog said, sinking lower into his seat and feeling like he had aged twenty years.

"We'll be trying to engage them far away from any city or village. Up in the North Mountains."

"… that area is a wasteland."

"Exactly. We just need you to make sure that people stay away from the area once the fighting starts."

The King's mind raced with the million questions he had been holding onto for the past year. After a long silence, he decided on the most important. "Can… can you win?"

With both a smile and a nod, the monk spoke softly. "We'll win."

The words removed a weight from the old dog's shoulders. Not all of it, but enough that he felt enough relief to pick up the glass of alcohol and take a sip. "That is good to hear. You've changed again. You're more confident than the last time we met."

"A year of preparation will do that."

"I can only imagine," King said, his tone growing a touch harsh. "May I ask how you have been getting ready?"

"I can't share that."

"Can you share anything?"

Krillin blinked away his surprise before answering his voice firm. "I don't want to expose those that I care about."

"I am not asking about the identity of your friends, but I'd like to know more about our enemies. Perhaps there is a way we can help each other in this. We are allies, are we not?"

The monk looked at the King, studying him for a moment before letting some air. "You're right, sorry. Guess I am a little wound up."

"Think nothing of it, my boy!" King laughed. "Any information you have will help us a great deal. Grab yourself a drink and put your feet up."

"No drink for me," Krillin said, taking a seat. "But I'll share what I can."

"Thank you," the old dog nodded. "What can you tell me what you know about these new invaders?"

"It's an army. They will arrive with a fleet of spaceships and attack the planet from space."

The King's eyes grew wide, and he nearly dropped the glass out of his hand. "A-a fleet? From space?"

"Yes," the monk said firmly.

"Why? Why is a fleet coming to destroy us?"

"It's… complicated," Krillin admitted. "My friends and I fought this army when we were off-world."

"So, it's revenge then?"

"Yes, we killed their leader, a psychotic creature hell-bent on conquering the universe."

"C-conquering the-" King started before being quieting by the monk.

"I told you it would be complicated."

"It's… it's a lot to take in."

"I know. Don't worry, Earth will be fine."

"A-are you certain?"

"I am," Krillin smiled. "All I ask is that you keep the people away from the North Mountains and try to keep them calm if they see anything in the sky."

Still stunned by the little he learned; the king nodded silently.

"Good, then I need to get back to it."

"H-hold on, maybe we can-"

"I am sorry, your majesty," the monk said with a small bow. "There isn't anything you can do."

Raising out of the chair, Krillin started walking towards the double doors leading to the balcony.

"What of East City?"

Krillin stopped short.

"Despite my doubts, you brought back an entire city full of people from the dead, but what now? Do you know what is going on? How the rest of the world views your miracle?"

"… yes. I've heard."

"Then what are you going to do about it? You've left me with no answers to help pacify the people."

"I… don't know," Krillin answered frankly. "I'm here to protect Earth from forces it can't defend itself against, but I can't help you with politics."

"This isn't about politics. You have turned the world on its head. We cannot remain in the dark about this."

"I don't have all the answers."

"But you have more than me!"

A tense standoff between the human and dog took place, (describe more)

"I believed bringing the people from East City back was the right thing to do. I fought for that, I lost friends for that. To see how they're being treated hurts, but I… there's too much to do right now."

"You could come forward," King said, almost pleading. "You don't have to share everything but just something."

"If their first instinct is to go after the people who least deserve it, then… I'll protect them, but only that. I can't do more. Not now."

"Then, perhaps one day?"

"I can't promise that."

"… what about the wish you spoke of," King asked, almost pleading. "Could that help?"

"No."

Krillin opened the double doors and sighed.

"I can't do everything. I'm sorry."

Without another word, the monk left.

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

"I captured a conversation between the King and a companion of Son Goku's."

"Which one?"

"The human known as Krillin."

"Intriguing," the aged man said, without looking up from his work. "Anything of substance?"

"In nine days, the invaders from Namek will arrive."

"Is that so?" the man said with some surprise in his voice. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

Turning to the screen just by his side, the computer pushed its recording of the meeting between the old dog and monk. The man watched with a careful eye, absorbing the smallest movement and shift in tone between the two.

"There seems to be a rift forming," the doctor chuckled. "Our precious King needs to feel in control and can't accept how little he has."

"Is that an issue, doctor?"

"Not in the least. Let the people eat themselves. It matters not to me. However, we've learned a great deal from this little interaction."

The man got up from his seat and stretched his old bones, continuing to speak as he hobbled through his lab.

"Based on the man's tone, using the dragonballs for East City seems to have rendered them useless or lost. Good. No wish can save them now."

The doctor's steps were pointed and focused despite his age, walking up to a door that slid open as he approached. He continued walking down the hall he constructed.

"An alien fleet is more than expected and whatever forces they fought on Namek are still a mystery, but they should not prove a problem. This will give us a rare chance to see how capable our prey is."

The man's steps echoed through the cavern. Lights flickered on as he made his way with purpose.

"Computer, has the prince made any moves?"

"The saiyan known as Vegeta has joined the others."

"Is that so? Surprising given the animosity between them, but there is little they can do with the time left. Where did they go?"

"The bugs placed at capsule corp captured them meeting with Dr. Brief's daughter and her bodyguard. They coerced the saiyan to work with them who was then used to power the SPHERE."

"Ah, the daughter's pet project. An interesting piece of machinery and impressive that it only took a year to implement and build, but limited in its scope. Had she focused her talents on the production of energy instead of just its usage… Ah, but why waste time on what-ifs. Were you able to follow them after?"

"Negative, we lost them in the upper atmosphere. They stated they were going to the lookout, but we could not track them further."

"The lookout remains a blind spot, troublesome. Computer, progress update."

"Yes, doctor. Android 13 60% complete, Android 14 81% complete, Android 15 67% complete, Android 19 46% complete."

"Hmm, focus your efforts on Android 14. This Krillin seems confident of victory, but should they fall and these aliens desire Earth's destruction, we may need to step in."

"You mean to help them, doctor?"

"Hardly," the doctor laughed. "If Son Goku's allies die fighting without our involvement all the better. His life is the only one that matters. I shall be the one to end it, not some army from the far reaches of space. Son Goku needs a planet to return to and if I wanted the Earth destroyed, I would have done that years ago."

The aged man came to a closed-door that slid open in his presence and he walked into an unlit room. Lights flickered on, revealing three different pods labeled. 16, 17, and 18.

"No, I want to see the realization on Son Goku's face when he discovers what he's lost. To carefully record the saiyan when he arrives home and finds it reduced to a crater. If he has any human emotions at all then I want his grief; I want him broken."

The doctor stepped over to the pod labeled 16 and softly placed a withered hand on it.

"I want justice."

Another day of nothing.

It was hard for Barry Walters to conceal his anger as he marched up the steps towards his studio apartment.

I'm Barry Walters, for crying out loud. I was on TV! Now I can't even get a waiting table? Is this really what my life has become?

The former news reporter nearly spat as he recalled the interviewer telling him he didn't have the skills for the food industry and causally suggesting he just goes back to TV.

I would if I could!

Reaching the 3rd floor of the small apartment the Barry grumbled and fumbled with his keys before realizing that his door was slightly ajar.

What? Thought I locked this.

Pushing his door open, Barry immediately spotted a stranger looking out his window with his back turned. It was a man wearing a well-kept suit with dark shades hiding his eyes.

"Mr. Walters," the stranger said, slowly turning to face the former reporter. "I've been waiting for you."

"What are you doing at my home?" Barry said, frozen in place.

"Waiting for you."

Barry felt fear run up his back and ran into his tiny kitchen only a few steps away. Still keeping his eyes locked on the man, Barry pulled out a kitchen knife from a drawer and held it out in front of him, hands shaking.

"There's no need for that," the man said, his voice calm. "I simply wanted to speak with you privately."

"So, you break into my house? Why?"

"Because what we need to discuss cannot be leaked to the outside world," the man said, turning to face the cowering former news reporter. "I'm here to talk about a mutual acquaintance of ours."

"Who?"

"You know who," the man said. "The only reason I'm here at all is because of the video you took of him. Now put the knife down before you hurt yourself."

Surprising even himself, Barry obeyed, his fear subsiding a little as his curiosity grew. "You know him?"

"Yes, but we aren't here to talk about what I know."

"Wait, if you know about the video, then you must work for the government!" Barry said, his voice rising. "You cost me my job!"

"I work for the King, and that is very different," the man said swiftly. "And if my intel is correct, you lost your job after sending the video to us instead of your network, hoping for a bigger payout."

"Which I didn't even get," Barry spat. "You'd think you would have been grateful to me for capturing the invasion on film."

"The King isn't your personal piggy bank, Mr. Walters. We took your tape when you offered it to us, and we thank you for it. Now, you have another opportunity to serve your King. Lucky you."

"Is that a threat?"

"Only if you pick up that knife again."

"Well, I won't, but I'm not telling you anything without something in return."

"Naturally," the man sighed. "Then indulge me. What do you want?"

"I want my damn job back and everyone to know that Barry Walters was there during the invasion. I want the recognition I deserve."

"Putting you back on TV will be easy, but anything related to the invasion is classified."

"Then give me my video back and I'll do it myself."

"Unfortunately, your video is also classified."

"So, what, everything I did is just going to be covered up?"

"To keep the sense of peace this world still has, yes."

"That's not fa-"

"Let me stop you there, Mr. Walters," the man said in a hard tone. "In case you haven't noticed, this world is teetering dangerously close to a point of complete chaos."

Continuing to speak as he spoke, the man closed the gap between him and the former news reporter.

"The invasion showed us all how little we know about life outside our planet and the miracle showed us how little we know about life on it. Neither the government nor the King has the answers we need and if we don't act soon, the people are going to tear each other apart in search of them."

Barry felt like the man grew several feet as his voice turned cold.

"We don't have time for fair."

Barry swallowed all the saliva in his mouth before he spoke again, his voice meek. "W-what do you want?"

"Your video didn't have all the details. Aside from a couple of images, it was practically unusable, so I want what you saw on that day, everything about our acquaintance or anyone else there."

"I can't remember, it was a long time ago."

"Then let me help." The man walked over to the small kitchen table. Pulling out a photo, he laid it out and pointed. "Do you know this woman?"

Tentatively, Barry joined the man at the table and looked at the photograph. It was a picture of Launch with blue hair and a bright smile.

"No, never seen her before."

"How about now?"

Another photo was tossed onto the table, this one of Launch now adorned with blond hair.

"That's, that's Launch! I reported on her when she robbed a bank."

"It appears your memory does work. Did you see her on the day of the invasion?"

"Huh? No, she wasn't there. Why?"

"No reason," the man said, picking up both photos and returning them to his jacket. "How about this man?"

This photo was of Yamcha in his Taitan's uniform. He was on the dugout bench and appeared to be quite bored.

"I'm… I'm not sure. Who is he?"

"Yamcha of the Taitan's. Not a fan of baseball, Mr. Walters?"

"I had to sell my TV."

"How tragic."

"Wait," Barry said, picking up the photo for a closer look. "He… he was there!"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, I didn't recognize him for a minute with the eye patch, but I got a pretty good look at him when I was in the helicopter. He was wearing a different uniform though."

"What kind of uniform?"

"It was… orange, I think."

"Was it similar to our acquaintance?"

"I… think so?"

"You think or you know?"

"Yeah, they were the same. It looked strange."

"Most likely it's a gi, the uniform of martial artists," the man said, picking up the photo and returning it to his jacket. "It's also the connection I was looking for."

"You're really going after him?"

"Just trying to learn all we can. Thank you for your time, Mr. Walters, you'll find yourself employed again soon enough."

"That's it?"

"That's all I need to move forward unless you have more to tell me."

"Couldn't see everything. We got the video, but aside from the little bald guy and this Yamcha, there was the big alien that attacked the helicopter, and a green thing who-"

In an instant, the man had gotten dangerously close to Barry and slammed a hand against the wall behind him only inches from the former new reporter's head.

"Green? Did you say green?"

The man's presence seemed to double as the man leaned in. His dark shades were unable to suppress the fire in his eyes.

"I… I…" Barry mumbled, unable to form words. "I thin-"

"None of that," the man growled. "Was there a green creature there that day?"

Barry's mind went white, fear compelling him to remember as much as he could. "Y-yes, pointed ears, t-two antenna."

"What was he doing?"

"H-helping… I… I think."

"Helping how? What was he doing!"

"He… he was fighting with the little bald guy!"

The demon king was fighting the invaders? With Mr. B? Why? How is he even still alive?

"Dammit," the man cursed, pushing off the wall. "This doesn't make sense."

Barry was panting, trying to catch his breath. It took a lot to frighten the former news reporter. He was no stranger to danger and had seen enough to plague your average citizen with nightmares. This bravery was why he had opted to cover the invasion. Yet for all he had seen, it was clear this man had seen more.

"Well," the man said, trying to regain control and brush aside his outburst aside. "You have given me much to think about. It should go without saying that if you mention our conversation to anyone, you'll be seeing me very soon."

The man was nearly out the door when Barry found his voice again. "W-who are you?"

"Me?" the man asked, pausing for a moment, wondering how long it had been since someone had asked him that question. And what fake name he should use this time. "Z."

"Z? That can't be real."

"As far as you're concerned, it is."

With nothing else to say, Z left Barry alone in his small studio apartment. A few hours later, the former news reporter would get the call he had been dreaming about for over a year. Four days later, Barry Walters was back on the air.