Exams... exams
--
My arm hung uselessly at my side, throbbing in time with the warning klaxons. Ruca was slumped against me, her breathing shallow, her ribs likely cracked.
"System Failure," the computer droned.
"We're almost there," I rasped, my throat raw from the Belurian air.
Through the cracked viewport, the stars were streaks of cold fire. The massive curvature of Planet Vegeta loomed ahead.
Silence.
No ping. No clearance code.
Just the void. I looked out the window.
My heart stopped.
There was no beacon. There was a chair.
Floating in the absolute zero of the vacuum, unshielded, unbothered, was a small figure. He sat with his legs crossed, his tail draped elegantly over the armrest of his hover-pod.
Frieza.
He wasn't on his ship. He was outside. Waiting.
Directly in front of Broly's pod.
He raised a hand. One finger extended.
A point of violet light gathered at the tip. Concentrated. A Death Beam.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't monologue to the vacuum. He had seen the data from the surface. He saw the anomaly. He was cleaning up the mess before it could wake up.
Microseconds.
I couldn't fight him. I couldn't move the pod. And I certainly couldn't breathe in the vacuum of space. I should've asked that to shenron.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins.
Think.
I slammed my good hand onto the comms console. I bypassed the encrypted squad channel. I tore through the frequency protocols.
"Open channel!" I screamed at the computer. "Direct broadcast! Target signature: Frieza!"
The link snapped open.
"Don't dispose of him simply because he has potential, Lord Frieza!"
The transmission cut through the silence of space.
Frieza paused. The violet light at the tip of his finger hummed, destabilizing the space around it. He tilted his head slightly, the movement smooth and eerie in the zero-gravity environment.
His voice came through the speakers, crystal clear, bored, and terrifying.
"Bold monkey..."
The beam didn't fade. It hovered inches from Broly's hull.
"Give me one reason," Frieza whispered, his voice echoing in the cramped cockpit, "why I shouldn't incinerate this... variable."
"Because he is mindless!" I shouted into the mic, sweat stinging my eyes. "He is a raw asset! If you kill him, you lose the strongest weapon in the sector out of fear! If you keep him... you own the monster that King Vegeta is terrified of!"
Silence stretched. The universe seemed to hold its breath.
Frieza chuckled. It was a dark, wet sound that made the speakers crackle.
"You do realize that King Vegeta is an ant to me, right?" Frieza asked, his tone dripping with amusement. "I do not need monsters to scare insects."
"Then keep him for amusement!" I countered, desperation sharpening my voice into a blade. "An ant farm is boring if the ants don't fight back! Watch him break! Watch him serve! Don't break your toys before you've even played with them!"
The violet light pulsed.
Then, it vanished.
Frieza lowered his hand. He smiled, the smile of a child who had just found a new way to pull the wings off a fly.
"You are an amusing one," Frieza murmured.
He gestured lazily with his hand.
The darkness around us shifted. The massive shadow of Frieza's flagship de-cloaked above us, blocking out the stars.
The tractor beams engaged.
We weren't going to the spaceport.
--
The transition from the cold void to the pressurized hangar was jarring. The hiss of the airlock cycling felt loud in the sudden silence.
The tractor beam lowered our pods onto the pristine, polished floor. The metal groaned as the landing struts, damaged from the battle, buckled under the weight.
The hatch blew open.
I fell out. My legs gave way, and I hit the floor hard. Pain shot up my dislocated arm.
"Cress!" Ruca scrambled out after me, catching me before I could faceplant. She was favoring her ribs, her breath hitching, but her grip on my good shoulder was iron.
"I'm fine," I lied through gritted teeth.
To our left, Broly's pod opened.
The boy stumbled out. He looked groggy, his eyes unfocused. He looked around, blinking at the harsh, sterile lights.
We weren't alone.
Standing in a semi-circle around the pods were five figures clad in matching armor. They weren't standard grunts. They stood with a bizarre, theatrical confidence.
"So this is the baby that broke the scouters?"
The voice was deep, booming from a massive human with orange hair. Recoome. He really had a pineapple head. He loomed over us, arms crossed, chewing gum.
"Looks like a normal monkey to me," Jeice sneered, flipping his white hair. "Bit dirty, isn't he?"
I struggled to my feet, leaning heavily on Ruca.
In the center of the formation stood Captain Ginyu.
He looked like a performer waiting for applause. He stepped forward, his purple skin gleaming under the lights. He raised a hand to his scouter, the lens glowing green as he swept it over us.
He paused on me.
"9,000," Ginyu read aloud. His tone was dismissive.
He lowered the scouter. He looked at my battered armor, my broken arm, the mud caked on my boots.
"Disappointing," he muttered.
But then, he stopped.
His eyes, sharp and intelligent beneath the theatrics, narrowed.
For a split second, Ginyu's eyes showed interest. Then, his gaze slid to the right.
It landed on Broly.
Broly was standing there, confused, radiating a latent power that made the scouter tremble without even giving a reading.
Ginyu's eyes widened. A slow, greedy smile touched his lips.
I saw the look. I felt a chill go down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
"You," Ginyu said, pointing a gloved finger at me, breaking the tension.
I stiffened.
"The messy one," Ginyu critiqued, shaking his head. "You have potential... but your posture is terrible. No style. You slouch when you bleed. Disappointing."
He waved his hand dismissively.
"Boring but useful. Get them out of the way, Recoome. The Emperor is descending."
I let out a breath. He wasn't interested in me. I was too small. Too boring.
"Understood," Recoome grunted, stepping aside.
The hangar doors at the far end hissed open.
The air pressure in the room seemed to drop. The Ginyu Force snapped to attention, striking a synchronized pose that would have been ridiculous if the aura of death entering the room wasn't so potent.
He was in his hover chair, relaxed, holding a glass of red wine. Behind him were his two shadows: Zarbon, looking elegant and disdainful, and Dodoria, looking brutish and eager.
Behind them, looking pale and sweaty, were the "guests."
King Vegeta stood rigid, his cape hanging heavy. Nappa was beside him, looking furious but cowed. Paragus was practically vibrating with terror, his eyes locked on Broly.
Frieza stopped his chair ten meters from us.
He took a sip of wine. He looked at Broly. The boy shrank back, sensing the malice.
Then, Frieza turned his red eyes to me.
"You claim to be the handler?" Frieza asked softly. "The one who holds the leash?"
I forced myself to stand straight. I released Ruca's support, standing on my own two feet despite the agony in my shoulder.
"I am the only one he listens to, my Lord," I said. My voice didn't shake.
Frieza studied me. "Is that so?"
He glanced at Zarbon.
"The logs confirm it, Lord Frieza," Zarbon said smoothly, though his eyes were narrowed at me. "During the incident on the surface... the unit known as Cress was the only one capable of de-escalating the subject."
"Excellent," Frieza purred.
He floated closer.
"Then I have decided. King Vegeta's management of these... assets... has been inefficient."
King Vegeta flinched. He stepped forward, his pride warring with his survival instinct. "Lord Frieza, these are my subjects. They are untrained. If you allow me to—"
"Silence," Frieza said.
King Vegeta closed his mouth, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
Frieza turned his chair toward Nappa.
Prince Vegeta had just arrived, running onto the deck, his small chest heaving. He skidded to a halt next to Nappa, looking between his father and the Emperor.
"Commander Nappa," Frieza said, looking at the giant Saiyan as if he were a stain on the floor. "You left valuable equipment behind in a warzone. You prioritized your own survival over the retrieval of superior weaponry."
Nappa swallowed hard. "My Lord, the situation was chaotic. And it was Cress tha—"
"You lack the intelligence to control a weapon like this," Frieza interrupted. "You are relieved of command."
Nappa's jaw dropped. "Relieved? But... I am the Elite Commander! Who will lead them?"
Frieza smiled. He raised a finger.
He pointed at me.
"You."
The room went dead silent.
"You are now the Squad Leader," Frieza announced. "They all report to you."
He leaned forward, his eyes burning into mine.
"You report directly to me."
The weight of the sentence crashed down on me.
I looked at Prince Vegeta. The boy was shaking. His gloves creaked as he squeezed his fists. To be placed under the command of a former Low-Class... it was a torture worse than death for him.
I looked at King Vegeta. He was horrified. But behind the horror, I saw a flicker of calculation. He knew about the bugs. He knew I had exposed them. He thought this was part of the game. He thought I had infiltrated the inner circle.
'You fool,' I thought bitterly. 'This isn't a victory. This is a cage.'
He separated the "monsters" from the King's influence and put them under a handler he could execute at a whim.
"Do you accept the honor, monkey?" Frieza asked.
I knelt. The pain in my arm flared, but I ignored it.
"I live to serve the Empire, Lord Frieza," I said.
"Good." Frieza spun his chair around. "Kikono, have the medical droids patch them up. I want them combat-ready for the next rotation. We have a schedule to keep."
He glided away, his cape flowing behind him.
"Oh, and Zarbon?" Frieza called back.
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Ensure the new Squad Leader understands the penalty for failure."
"At once, Lord Frieza."
The Emperor vanished into the lift.
--
Back on planet vegeta, the silence was brittle.
Paragus rushed to Broly, checking him over frantically.
King Vegeta stared at me for a long moment. He gave me a barely perceptible nod, 'Play the part',before turning and storming out, his cape billowing.
Nappa stood there, looking lost. He had been stripped of his rank. He looked at me, not with anger, but with a strange, dull confusion.
"You..." Nappa muttered. "You're in charge?"
"Apparently," I said.
"Get to the healing tanks," I ordered the group. "We have a new schedule."
"I will not."
The voice was small, but sharp as a knife.
Prince Vegeta stepped forward. He stood between me and the exit. His eyes were burning with royal indignation, tears of rage pricking the corners.
"I will not follow you," Vegeta hissed. "You are Low Class. You are beneath me. I am the Prince of all Saiyans! I do not take orders from a mechanic!"
He pointed a finger at my chest.
"I don't care what that Lizard says. You are nothing."
Ruca stiffened beside me. She moved to step in, but I held up a hand to stop her.
I looked at the Prince.
I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel the need to slap him again.
I laughed.
It started as a chuckle and grew into a dry, humorless laugh that echoed off the metal walls. A grin spread across my face, but it didn't reach my eyes.
"You think this is about rank?" I asked softly.
I stepped closer to him.
"You think I want this? You think I asked for this?"
I gestured to the ceiling, to the ship, to the crushing weight of the Empire that surrounded us.
"Then explain to Frieza why you're disobeying his direct order," I whispered, leaning down so only he could hear. "Go ahead, Prince. Tell the Emperor that his command is invalid because of your rank. Tell him you're too special to listen."
Vegeta froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"I'm sure he'll be very understanding," I mocked. "He might even give you a treat."
Vegeta's face paled. He realized the trap. Disobeying me meant disobeying Frieza. And Frieza killed for less.
The Prince trembled. He looked at Nappa, who looked away. He looked at Raditz, who was cowering. He looked at Broly, who was staring blankly at the wall.
He was alone.
"Get to the tanks," I repeated, my voice hard. "That's an order, Soldier."
Vegeta stared at me with anger. But he stepped aside.
He walked past me, his head lowered, his fists clenched so tight blood dripped from his palms.
I watched him go.
"Come on," I said to Ruca. "Help me walk. I think my arm is falling off."
Ruca wrapped her arm around my waist, taking my weight.
"You just made an enemy," she whispered as we limped toward the medical bay.
"I don't care," I said, looking at the sterile white ceiling.
--
Far removed from the smog of Planet Vegeta, far beyond the reach of Frieza's scouters.
It was an inverted pyramid floating in a nebula of pink and gold. A massive, ancient tree grew from its flat surface, its roots tangling deep into the stone.
By the edge of a crystal-clear lake, a tall, slender figure stood. He had pale blue skin and white hair that defied gravity in a perfect coif. He held a long staff with an orb floating above it.
He was humming a tune, tapping his staff against the grass in a rhythmic beat.
Suddenly, the orb flickered. A ripple passed through the cosmic order.
"Oh my," the figure murmured, leaning in to peer at the glass. "It seems there has been a restructuring in the cold reaches of the North Quadrant."
A few meters away, atop the stump of a giant tree, a shadowed figure stirred. He was curled up, trying to nap, but the humming had disturbed him.
"Quiet, Whis," the figure groaned. His voice was scratchy, bored, and irritable. "I was dreaming of a planet made of good food. What is it now? That old devil Cold? Did he blow up another star system while I was napping? The noise gives me a headache."
"Quite the opposite, my Lord," Whis replied, tapping his staff again. A holographic projection materialized in the air, a live feed of Frieza's massive flagship hovering ominously over the red sphere of Planet Vegeta.
"He has stepped down," Whis explained, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. "He has handed the reins of the Empire to his son, Frieza. They are calling it the 'Frieza Force' now."
The shadowed figure yawned, a long, jaw-cracking sound. He stretched his limbs, his joints popping with the force of a supernova.
He stepped out of the shadows and into the starlight.
He was a purple, hairless cat. He wore Egyptian-style garb, and his build was lean, almost skeletal. But his golden eyes held a weight that made the surrounding stars seem dim.
Lord Beerus, the God of Destruction.
He scratched his ear, looking at the image of the tyrant's ship. He looked unimpressed.
"Frieza..." Beerus muttered, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "The small, nasty one? He has a habit of acting like he owns the universe. It's tacky."
Beerus floated up from the stump. He drifted toward the projection, inspecting the tiny, arrogant lizard sitting in his hover-chair.
"He is ambitious," Whis noted. "He is collecting quite the collection of saiyans down there."
Beerus narrowed his eyes. A dark, violet aura began to flicker around his index finger.
"Ambition is fine," Beerus said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "But if he gets too arrogant, he might forget who allows him to rule."
He tapped the air near the projection, sending a pulse of Destruction energy that made the image distort and static.
"Perhaps I should pay him a visit soon," Beerus mused, a cruel, jagged smile spreading across his face, revealing sharp fangs. "And remind him of the pecking order."
Whis chuckled. "Shall I prepare a lunch for the trip, my Lord?"
"Something spicy," Beerus decided, turning back to his nap. "Destruction always makes me hungry."
The attendant, Whis, lingered by the lake. He looked down at his staff one last time.
The image of Frieza's ship faded, replaced by a brief, flickering static. For a microsecond, the image resolved into something else. A boy with a ponytail standing on a barren rock.
"Hoho," Whis chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with secret amusement. "Now that... is rather interesting."
He tapped the staff, clearing the image, and turned to follow his Lord.