IMPORTANT A/N – This scene is quite dark. I
tried to portray, as realistically as possible, how Bulma would be received
aboard a ship of ruthless murderers. Suffice to say it doesn’t end well. Be
warned that this chapter, along with this entire story, is not for the faint of
heart.
Also,
motivation = inspiration. So, if you want new chapters, I’m going to need some
reviews… Pretty please.
Disclaimer: If I owned Dragonball or
Dragonball Z, which, it should be noted, I don’t, I’d make sure all the Saiyans
shirts AND pants were ripped to tatters in the first few minutes of battle.
Full frontal nudity, OH YEAH!
Survival
Chapter 2: Monster’s Den
By Ariel
Swimming from half remembered
dreams of childhood adventure Bulma was awoken by a loud braying from the cock
pit. Taking a second to orientate herself she staggered from the bedroom and
was chilled by what awaited her in the isolated cock pit.
Wiped of its former niceties
the main screen flashed a single warning in ominous red letters.
“Ship caught in tractor beam.
Prepare to be boarded. Use extreme caution,” it brayed frantically.
Bulma didn’t know whether to laugh
or cry. It seemed like just when things couldn’t get any worse something new
would arise to completely redefine her definition of bad. A part of her
remained sure this had to be someone sick idea of a joke. One played in very
bad taste. The rest of her knew better.
Retreating into the bedroom
she frantically prepared herself for the worst.
It seemed obvious, if not a
little a-typical, that these weren’t your average ET-esque
just-want-to-be-your-friends aliens. What need was there for use of a tractor
beam when you’re traveling the universe spreading intergalactic peace and
love?! Being a scientist, and closet geek, Bulma had seen enough low grade
science fiction to know only one kind of being made a move without any kind of
communication or negotiation: the hostile kind.
So, what were her options?
One: hope she was wrong
despite that fact that all logic and rational thought suggested otherwise.
Two: hide and pray.
Three: fight.
She’d never been one to back
down so the answer came naturally.
Throwing her emergency
capsule to the ground she scrounged through the cluttered mess for something,
anything, useful. A weapon. A bat. Hell, even a sturdy frying pan would do.
Fortunately she was in luck. Gathering up an ancient laser pistol from her
childhood wanderings along with a second, more practical outfit she hastily
repacked her capsule. With little thought to style or grace she swiftly
replaced her cocktail dress with a blue spandex training suit Yumcha had given
her for 17th birthday. At the time it had seemed a thoughtless,
selfish gift. Now she thanked God for giving her such a perverted lover. Should
the situation come to blows this outfit would give her the litheness and
mobility she would undoubtedly need.
Settling into a strategically
sensible position, within reach of the bedroom door but out of view, Bulma
awaited the inevitable.
Had she been as prepared as
she’d thought perhaps things would have gone differently. But, as a loud crash
signifying docking vibrated abrasively throughout the ship, she was knocked
cold by the fact she’d entered a potentially lethal situation. How much of a
chance did she really have against the ultimate unknown? Her blood ran cold.
Several braying alien
warnings issued from outside. Unaware and unconcerned of their meaning Bulma
apprehensively awaited the aggressive action sure to follow. She was not
surprised when, barely a minute later, a loud explosion sounded from the
entrance. The footsteps she heard mere seconds later, however, threw her off
completely guard. How could someone break into something her father had
designed, an indisputable genius and the best inventor on Earth, that swiftly?
That effortlessly?! It didn’t seem possible and yet whoever it was, whatever
it was, had done so and was currently making a beeline straight for her.
Intending to fight, intending
to win, Bulma stood.
She stood, and she froze.
This was no science fiction.
No joke. No dream. No illusion. No rules applied here and all stereotypes and clichés
were meaningless. This was real. Completely unaltered for a less mature
audience and unabashedly horrifying.
The disturbingly mammoth and
monstrous being, seemingly stolen from her the nightmarish depths of her
childhood imaginings, wasn’t you’re typical
evil-but-eventually-undeniably-flawed-and-inevitably-defeated alien. This was
new ground, the devil’s ground. This was a nightmare. A horror. A monstrosity.
A terror beyond all imaginable and reasonable, terror. And it was all real. Undeniably,
repugnantly real.
“Zact met clhor?” it rasped,
its hideous maw an atrocious spectacle of razor sharp fangs. It’s long
insectile tongue darted out, running over its cracked chops with sadistic
intent.
This time the decision to
faint was a conscious one.
And the world went blank.
+++++
“Zarbon, my dear, have we
guests?” a disembodied voice from the blue creature’s monocle-like device
enquired.
“A guest, sire.”
“And Zarbon…”
“A woman, sire. I’m not
certain of her race but she resembles those hideous monkey boys, only her power
level is revoltingly low. She barely even registered on the scouter. Shall I
dispose of her?”
“No, Zarbon. Bring her to me.
Let me judge this monkey woman for myself. And make sure she’s unharmed, we
wouldn’t want her first impression of us to be a negative one.”
“No sire. Or course not. I’ll
bring her to you right away.”
Throwing the unconscious
woman over his shoulder and leading Bulma to her dark fate Zarbon muttered:
“Poor creature, you’d have
been better off dead.”
Bulma would grow to agree.
+++++
“What have we here?” a
sinister voice rasped from the shadows.
“The woman, sire,” Zarbon
replied, barely ten minutes later.
“You’ve harmed her, Zarbon. I
expressly forbad you from causing her any unwarranted distress. Naughty boy,
you’ve disobeyed me. You shall have to be punished.”
“No sire,” the cerulean
creature confuted, a cool sweat breaking out on his brow at his Master’s cruel
implication. “I swear I’ve done her no harm. She fainted at that sight off me.”
“At the sight of you,
Zarbon?”
“Yes, sire. You warned me to
be cautious and so I was in my reptilian form.”
“Ah, then it was quite an
understandable reaction.”
The dark being laughed. It’s humourless snicker sucking all warmth and joy from the room.
“Well then, let us see what
hidden treasure we‘ve found,” it rasped. Gliding from the shadows a small,
sleek creature of pink, purple and white greeted his second in command. Small in
stature and sporting the innocent, almost doll-like complexion of a child
Frieza’s outward appearance betrayed his malicious core. Known throughout the
galaxy as a tyrant among tyrants he was feared, revered and unchallenged as the
strongest and most sadistic being in the universe. Renowned murderer of
millions, he alone was responsible the most horrific massacres in recorded
history, including several genocides executed, for the most part, on a whim.
Now with Bulma in his sights the world seemed suddenly a much darker, more
frightening place.
“No tail,” he muttered,
thoroughly scrutinizing her limp form. “But yes, Zarbon, she could almost be
Saiyan.”
“Indeed sir. Perhaps she had
the tail removed at birth to disguise her true heritage.”
“I said almost Saiyan,
Zarbon. There was never a monkey as frail and pitiful as this. She’s a mere
imitation… and a poor one at that.”
“Of course, sire. I quite
agree. Shall I dispose of her now?”
“I don’t believe I said
anything about disposing of her Zarbon. I’m almost inclined to think you
jealous of my diverted attention with your furious insistence of this
creature’s demise.”
“N-no sir,” the soldier
stuttered, thrown off balance by the all too familiar and always unwanted
attentions of his malicious Master. “I just thought, as you yourself declared
her to be pitiful, you’d want rid of her.”
“You thought wrong. Unlike
you, Zarbon, I’ve taste enough to see this woman’s appearance far excels that
of the revolting whores Dodoria insist on heaping upon me. I’ve no intention of
destroying such a precious gem. Have you equipped her with a translator?”
“Yes sire. I did so
immediately after we talked.”
“Well then, why don’t you put
yourself to use and wake her so we can be more formally introduced?”
“Of course sire.”
“And try not to scare her
into unconsciousness this time,” he mocked.
“Yes sire,” Zarbon grunted.
Taking a small pouch from his uniform, the now petite and attractive green
alien selected a tiny flask of purplish liquid. Placing the woman’s body gently
on the ground he titled her head back and poured the entire flash into her
mouth. The reaction was immediate and severe.
Bulma sat bolt upright, eyes
wide and horrible aware.
“Who are you?” she demanded,
jumping from the floor and backing into the nearest corner, her stare fixed on
Zarbon. “Where am I? Where have you taken me?”
“Hush little one,” Frieza
rasped. “Your questions will all be answered in due time.”
Bulma’s eyes darted to the rooms
other occupant. She was set instantly ill at ease by his innocent appearance
and confliction aura.
“Who are you?” she
demanded.
“Now, now child. It’s rude to
insist the name of your host without even revealing your own.”
“Rude?!” she seethed, throwing
caution to the wind as anger overcame her. “I’m Rude?! You have the
audacity to… to abduct me and then lecture me in the finer matters of
priority. How dare you! I demand you tell me who you are and what you’re
planning to do with me this very instant!”
Frieza’s disturbing mirth
froze Bulma to the core.
“And you would have had her
killed Zarbon! Imagine the fun you would have denied me.”
“Excuse me!” Bulma
further fumed, ignoring the trepidation that brayed with frantic alarm within
her. “There will be no fun. You will tell me where I am and who you are
right now! I will not stand for this disrespect. I am the co-president of
Capsule Corporation, the largest conglomerate Earth has ever seen, and I will
not be disrespected in this manner. I demand that you return me to my ship
right this instant and-”
The death grip silenced her
ultimatum.
“You seem to be under a false
impression that I care who you are,” Frieza snarled, his true persona coming to
the fore. “I asked only out of courtesy but since you seem uninterested in
conversing politely I’ll be blunt. What you were means nothing here. All I see
is a weak, pathetic creature whose only assets are physical. That I should
respect you is a joke. What respect should the most powerful being in the
universe show to a brainless, uncouth animal whom even a child could best. You
are nothing and should act as such. Never again presume to address me in such a
manner and learn your place or you might find what’s left of your life cut
miserably short.”
Falling to the ground Bulma
gasped for breath, desperate to fill her oxygen deprived lungs and silenced for
perhaps the first time in her life.
“Take her to my room, Zarbon.
She will serve as an excellent bed warmer.”
“N-no,” Bulma coughed, having
raised herself enough to stare defiantly into the eyes of her capture.
“What did you say to me?”
“No,” she replied, overcome
by insolence and fierce pride. “I would rather die than be touched by a filthy,
slimy, revolting-”
Unable to finish her sentence
Bulma was sent flying into the wall, a boot to the stomach knocking from her
breath and consciousness.
“Take her to the tanks,
Zarbon.” Frieza demanded, a malicious smirk tugging at the corners of his
mouth. “You were right; she’s more Saiyan than I thought. So much fire and
arrogance. Reminds me of a certain prince.”
“Indeed Lord Frieza,” Zarbon
agreed.
“This will be fun.”
Once again scooping up the
woman’s limb form, a sympathetic shudder ran down Zarbon’s spine.
+++++
Swimming from a dream where
she was endlessly falling Bulma’s first thought was that she must be dead. Such
infinite horror was surly un-survivable. Floating in a lake of aqua fluid, her
entire body a veritable carnival of aches and pains, she was almost immediately
convinced otherwise.
Uncertain how to cope with
her current predicament Bulma’s mind wandered as she watched amazed, enthralled
and captivated, as every description of alien imaginable paraded before her,
going about their daily business apparently unaware, or at the very least
indifferent, to her floating form. Beings she could only assume to be doctors,
their only similarity to Earth physicians or each other the familiar white lab
coats that draped their form, flittered about checking random print outs, life
signs and comparing notes. A stunning alien woman sporting beautiful purple
skin and the most haunting green eyes nursed a sleeping infant. Tiny children
giggled as they wove in between the tanks, shrilling with delight as they
chased each other. And the soldiers, for they were surely warriors with such
scars and frowns to match, lay within their own tanks healing. Housed within a
technological dream Bulma’s eyes shifted rapidly from scene to scene, her
senses overcome. A dream or nightmare? Every time she reached a conclusion
something new would come along and completely throw her off balance. A
terrifying being of immense power who promised pain and anguish or a wonderful
cacophony of inter-species harmony? Could one possible exist with the other.
This world simply seemed too fine, too grand, to have housed that monster. Was
perhaps the white demon and his abuse just a figment of an overworked mind? In
a world where children danced, mothers nursed and soldiers healed everything
finally seemed right. Or was the liquid that surrounded her, silently kitting
together broken bones and healing wounds, both old and new, a form of the
proverbial rose coloured glasses?
The arrival of a certain
green man answered that and more.
And the curtain fell.
Bulma watched in dreadful
fascination as the infant opened its mouth, endless rows of razor sharp fangs
attacking its mother’s breast with a ferocity and savageness both revolting and
wholly primal. Golden blood trickled from the wound while the woman silently
wept. The children weaving in between tanks squealed, not in joy but terror, as
a grotesque being slithered after them. It fell upon one of the fallen,
devouring her in a sea of blood, gore and silent screams. The team of doctors,
confronted by a high ranking soldier sporting a small cut on his left cheek,
callously ejected a dying man from a nearby tank, throwing his limp body
against the wall as the barely injured being took his place.
This was no wonderland.
This was a nightmare.
Overcome by sudden, overbearing
claustrophobia Bulma tried to shut her eyes, but couldn’t. Tried to turn her
head, but couldn’t. Tried to scream, but couldn’t.
And all the while the soldier
of doom, second only to the devil himself, crept closer and closer.
He pressed a button on the
control console and the tank began to drain. Bulma gasped for air, thudding to
the ground as it expelled her. She clamped her eyes and mind shut to the world
surrounding her.
Preying for death. Preying
for life. Preying for freedom. Preying for anything, anything but this.
“I expect you’re feeling
better?” the creature asked, breaking her concentration with his softly spoken,
almost amiable words.
“You’ll want to cover
yourself,” he added, passing her a towel, his gaze averted. “Showers are over
there if you’re interested. The tank can be a pretty disgusting experience
first time around.”
“I expect you’d know,” Bulma
rebutted, wrapping the towel tightly around her exposed form. “Being the expert
in disgusting.”
“Indeed,” he muttered, ignoring
her baited attempt at argument.
Bulma frowned, frustrated,
annoyed and eager to vent.
“What’s wrong with you?!” she
yelled. “Too stupid to realize that was an insult. Or perhaps too scared to
fight me?!”
“More like too tired,” he
replied, entirely nonplussed.
“Tired from what?! Murdering
innocents? Raping children? Kidnapping woman?”
“From listening to you talk.
Now, do you want the damn shower or not?”
“I would sooner die than be
the delight of your perverted mind.”
“I’ve no intention of
watching woman.”
“Why should I believe you?
You obviously have no honour!”
“You will find honour to be
very lacking within these walls. The sooner you come to terms with that the
better. But I will not watch you woman, I’ve no interest in your exposed form.”
“No interest?! What are you,
gay?”
“Perhaps.”
“Whatever, I’m still not
showering in front of you.”
Grabbing her by the arm,
Zarbon dragged her over to the showers, shoving her prone body beneath the
faucets. Bulma squealed as the numbingly cold water accosted her.
“Why you-”
“This may well be your last
opportunity to feel clean,” Zarbon interjected. “I don’t expect you to thank me
but, for the simple sake of your sanity, you should at least take some comfort
from the simplicity of an unsullied body. After tonight you’ll find that some
dirt can be cleaned by no amount of scrubbing. As unhappy as this place may
seem, take some solace from the fact that, for now, you mind and body remain
your own.”
Standing under the glacial
water, Bulma caught a glimpse of the quiet sorrow in the creature’s eyes.
And was horrified by it.
Keep your friends close and
your enemies closer. Apparently, Frieza did neither.
“What’s going to happen to
me?” she whispered, her fight and force simply and suddenly stolen.
“Its better you not know.
Just revel in your cheerful memories, your innocence, and try, while you still
can, to be happy.”
“I don’t understand any of
this. Who are you? Where is
this? What’s happening?”
He sighed.
“I am Zarbon Oxyl. High
prince of Oyxl-eke and second in command to Frieza, high commander of the
galactic fleet of Colball. This is the supreme battleship of the fleet, the
Icelatic, known by those who occupy it as the Icebox. Crewed by soldiers and
slaves its halls are a veritable sea of lost souls of broken minds. And that’s
the way Frieza likes it as our purpose, seemingly our only purpose, is to rove
the galaxy murdering, raping and destroying everything within our path. We
honour the corrupt, spit on the just and pillage the innocent. Dreams, hope and
love have no place here. And anyone who believes in these ideals is quickly and
harshly, shown new things to live for; terrible things. Within these wall
nothing good, sacred or just exists. Our only blessing is death. But even that
always, always come at a price.”
“But I still don’t
understand!” Bulma declared. “Why would anyone, anything want to live
here?! Why would anyone want this?”
“Because we have no choice.
Most of us are spoils of war, the so-called elite of our race and only
remaining survivors of planets that choose very foolishly and ignorantly to
defy Frieza. Or get on his nerves. And those of us who actually have homes to
return to would never dream of doing so. We know that to run would mean the
horrific murder of every single person we’d ever known or loved. Or perhaps our
entire race, depending on Frieza’s mood at the time. And all the while we’d be
kept alive and allowed to continue, unharmed, in his service knowing that we
were solely responsible the murders of so many. Waiting for the day when we
slip up again and the full wrath of our past deeds is brought down upon us and,
wishing only for death, we are once again allowed to live.
Frieza rules by terror and
we, every one of us, are terrified.”
“So, when it comes down to it
you’re all cowards?! Too scared to fight? Too spineless to even try? I won’t
live like that! I refuse to!”
“You don’t understand. Living
on this ship destroys you from the inside out. It warps you, distorting your
view entirely until your whole world is upside down, topsy turvy and completely
unrecognizable. You come here intending to fight, tooth and nail, until the
very last breath is stolen from your lungs and then you see things -
unimaginable and hideous things - and the next thing you know you’re so damaged
that you’d kill your own father for one night’s undisturbed rest.
In a heartbeat your world is
an entirely different place.
And it’s not just Frieza.
It’s this ship... It breaks
you.”
“I’ll never let it break me!”
Bulma argued, ever defiant.
“Woman, what makes you think
you have a choice? Now come, you’re clean enough and I’ve got better
things to do than lecture a useless weakling on the facts on life.”
Unable to retort a million
unpleasant thoughts swam through her cluttered mind. Bulma wrapped herself in
another towel Zarbon passed her and followed the green man through the maze
like halls of the ‘Icebox’.
This whole situation seemed
more and more absurd by the minute. Could that strange looking creature, the
so-called strongest being in the universe, really be that bad? Sure, he
was a proven sadist and more than slightly creepy but surely, surely
Zarbon was exaggerating. Was it possible that she could travel half way across
a universe apparently swimming with life only to run smack bang into a ship
full of merciless murderers, the boss of whom made every evil Earth dictator
look like Ghandi?
Lost in her thoughts Bulma didn’t
notice Zarbon addressing her, or indeed that they had reached their
destination, until he turned to leave.
“Wait,” she called, anxious
not to lose an apparent ally in this sea of the unknown. “Where am I?”
“As I’ve just told you,” he
replied, the irritation clear in his voice. “This will be your quarters for the
duration of your stay. There is no locking mechanism but considering you have
been labeled the sole property of Frieza you should be left alone and unharmed.
By all but him, that is.”
“Excuse me?!,” Bulma
screeched “Property?! I’m no one’s property! I’m a human being.”
“This is exactly what makes
you property. You have no strength, no standing, no rank. As far as Frieza or
most of the beings onboard are concerned you’re no better than dirt.”
“Is that how you think
of me?” she asked, thrown slightly off-tilt.
“You’re an ugly, weak,
useless alien female. How else am I supposed to think of you?”
“Then why did you tell me all
that stuff? Why’d you help me?”
“Because I’ve no desire to
see any creature, even one as pathetic as yourself, suffer unduly. Now you know
where you are, now you understand, perhaps you’ll think twice before
fighting. Perhaps you’ll realize that sometimes in order to win you have to
appear to lose. Maybe you’ll understand that sometimes the price of arrogance,
pride, even honour is simply too great.”
“I will never give in,” she
replied, ever defiant and arrogant. “I will never surrender. I will never lose
hope. And I will never be broken.”
“Yes,” he said, meeting her
eye. “You will. But it’s up to you how just how much. And, believe me, if you
choose to fight it’ll not be just your freedom but your soul.”
“You don’t know me!” she
screeched.
“Yes, I do. I’ve seen you a
million times over. I’ve been you. In the end, you’ll end up just like
the rest of us. Everyone does. You can’t fight the inevitable.”
“B-but-”
“One last thing,” he added,
ignoring her stuttered comeback and turning to leave. “Don’t even try to remove
that bracelet on your arm unless you want to be attacked, raped and worse by a
multitude of very sadistic, very horny men.”
“What bracelet?” Bulma yelled
at his retreating form, her eyes drawn to the ornate silver armlet cuffed to
her wrist. Tracing the alien symbols carved upon it she silently fumed.
Property of Frieza and marked accordingly… She didn’t think so. Bulma Briefs
belonged to no man, alien or otherwise.
“First thing’s first,” she
muttered to herself, walking into her new room and, unwittingly, her new
life. “How do I get this damn thing
off?”
“I can help you with that,”
an all-to-familiar voice snickered viciously.
Bulma froze. Standing on the
other side of her room, sadistic smirk in place, was her tormentor.
“What are you doing here?”
she asked, attempting anger and failing. “How dare you invade my privacy after
what you did? I should kill you where you stand. Who do you think you are,
anyway?”
“And Zarbon thought that
punch knocked all the fight from you!” he declared, completely ignoring her
questions. “The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you’d fight me tooth and nail
all the way. And all that bravado against what you surely must realize to be
unwavering odds; how precious!”
“How dare you presume to
patronize and treat me this way? Surely I have some sort of diplomatic immunity
that prevents me from enduring anymore of your revolting attempts at hostility.
I am Bulma Briefs, for god sake! Do you have any idea what that means?!”
“I know exactly what it
means. You, my dear, are the one resolutely clueless.”
“S-So… wait…” Bulma stuttered, more confused than ever.
“You know who I am? Is that why you’re here? To apologize for earlier. Because
if it is I hardly think I can forgive you. You knocked me out cold and were
unbelievably rude. And I mean, come on, I-”
Frieza’s cold laughter
silenced her train of thought. She had time to realize how unbelievably naive
she’d been before her thoughts were verbalized.
“Stupid woman!” he laughed,
phasing, like a demon, from the other side of the room and slamming her body
into a wall. “You still don’t get it. Perhaps it’s time I show you exactly
how much all your wealth and standing means.”
Before Bulma could blink her inert
form was flung across the room, pinned painfully to the bed by the sadistically
grinning demon that lorded over her. The towel had disappeared. His slimy
purple tongue darted out, slithering like some nightmarish insect across her
cheek. She gagged, fighting back the rising bile. Mustering all her strength
she thrashed violently against her captor, trying desperately to break free
from his vice-like grip. Frieza snickered, mocking her failed attempts. His
roving hands pawed her violently, mercilessly attacking every inch of her skin.
She gasped in pain as his sharp nails raked down her sides, drawing blood.
Overpowered by a mixture of fury, fear and disgust Bulma threw her head back
and spat in the monster’s face. Frieza’s features contorted with rage and he
slapped her. Squinting through blurred vision and on the edge of losing
consciousness Bulma was pulled callously back to reality as Frieza yanked her
long aqua locks. Her back arched involuntarily and he bit down on her nipple
with sadistic relish. Her tortured screams of pain chilled and thrilled all who
occupied the nearby halls. Lapping the pooled blood Frieza appeared the very
image of the devil himself, freed the depths of hell and ravishing the universe
with sadistic malice. His maw, stained ruby red, grinned up at her and her fury
at his arrogance reawakened. Hissing and spitting like a caged wildcat, Bulma
thrashed beneath his chiseled form, surprising even Frieza with the strength of
anger. An escaped limb, anxious to repay the favor, struck his most private
part with full force. Frieza breath hitched.
“That hurt, whore!” he spat,
pinning her down with the full force of his weight. Bulma raised her fist to
strike him but he caught it effortlessly, grinding together the delicate bones
in his deadly grasp. She whimpered in pain.
“It’s obvious I’ve been too
gentle with you. I’ll not make the same mistake twice.”
In one fluid moment he threw
her onto her stomach, entering her roughly from behind. She gasped in a mixture
of pain, fear and sorrow. Tears began to fall, unbridled, as he pounded into
her. Her nails sunk into the bedspread, now stained with her maidenhood. Tiny
drops of blood flew from her mouth as she bit fiercely down on her tongue,
urging with every inch of herself not to give him the satisfaction of a scream.
It was all she could do not to die from the pain ripping her in two. He had
taken so much, more than anyone had any right to. She couldn’t let him have her
dignity as well. She wouldn’t.
“You’re pathetic!” she
whispered, chocking back everything but the biting hate she felt wheeling
inside like a bottomless ravine. “R-raping a woman who c-c-can’t stand against
you even if she t-tried. Using the… the strength you did not e-earn or
d-deserve to commit the most… the most cowardly atrocity that exists. There’s
no power in that. There’s nothing but… but the actions of a w-weak and
p-pitiful loser. You may be strong physically but inside… inside you’re as weak
as a mewling infant.”
The movement above her stopped
and Bulma was thrown against the wall like a wet rag, instantly losing
consciousness. Snarling viciously Frieza returned her limb body and continued
his now furious ministrations in a delirious haze of clawing, biting and
thrusting.
Three hours later Bulma’s
battered, barely living form was dragged to the tanks.
Even the most war hardened
soldiers shuddered at the sight.