The world returned in a rush of bubbles and the hiss of draining fluid.
I stepped out of the tank, my boots splashing onto the wet floor. The air hit my skin, cool and filtered, smelling of antiseptic and ozone.
I took a deep breath.
Power.
I clenched my fist. The air inside my palm seemed to compress with a sharp pop.
"Cress."
I turned.
Ruca was stepping out of the adjacent tank. She shook her hair, sending droplets of green fluid flying. The bruises were gone. Her muscles looked denser, more defined under her wet under-suit.
She looked at her hands, then at me. Her eyes widened slightly.
"You feel it too," she whispered.
"Of course," I confirmed, grabbing a towel from the rack. "Broly made us eat dirt."
I reached for my Scouter, which had been cleaned and placed on the side table. I put it on and tapped the calibration button.
I pointed it at myself.
Beep.
The numbers scrolled.
10,000... 15,000... 20,000...
It kept climbing.
25,000... 30,000...
It settled.
32,000.
I pointed the scouter at Ruca.
29,000.
"I would have never thought I would be this strong." Ruca said.
"We are still very weak, I'm not sure we are even ants in front of Frieza." I replied.
"Stop ruining my mood."
Ruca walked over, reading the numbers over my shoulder. She let out a low whistle. "If Nappa sees this, he'll have a stroke. He's probably sitting at what? Eight thousand?"
"If he's lucky," I said.
I took off the scouter. "We can't walk around like this."
"Suppression?" Ruca asked, toweling off her hair.
"We need a new floor," I calculated. "If we stay at 9,000 after surviving Broly and the Belurian army, it looks suspicious. It looks like we're hiding something."
I tossed the towel into the bin.
"Fifteen thousand," I decided. "It's high enough to command respect, but low enough to remain beneath Dodoria and Zarbon. We need them to think we are strong, but manageable."
Ruca nodded, closing her eyes.
"Done," she said, opening her eyes. "15,000."
I did the same. It was as easy as breathing air, Training with kami skyrocketed my control.
"Let's get dressed," I said, picking up my armor. "The King is waiting."
--
The Throne Room was empty of the usual sycophants and guards. It was just the King, standing by the massive viewport that overlooked the launch pads.
Outside, Frieza's flagship cast a permanent shadow over the city.
The doors groaned shut behind me.
King Vegeta turned. He looked tired. The lines on his face were deeper, and his eyes darted around the room.
"You are recovered," the King said. His voice lacked its usual booming authority. It was tight, anxious.
"Ready for duty, Sire," I said, kneeling.
"Rise."
I stood.
King Vegeta walked down the dais steps. He stopped in front of me, looking at my armor. He noticed the Garl crest. He noticed the scouter.
"Frieza has taken you," the King said bitterly. "He has stripped Nappa of command and placed the Royal Youth Division directly under his supervision. With you as the handler."
"It was not my choice, Sire," I replied calmly. "Frieza does not ask."
"I know." The King paced away, hands clasped behind his back. "He is trying to sever my arm. He takes my son, my best prospects, and puts them under a leash I cannot hold."
He turned back to me, his eyes intense.
"But you... you are the key, Cress."
He walked closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You exposed the wiretaps. You saved the squad on Beluria. You are the only one who can control the mutant, Broly."
He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was a heavy, kingly gesture.
"I need to know that despite the change in chain of command, your loyalty remains with the Throne."
"I am a Saiyan, Sire," I said neutrally. "My loyalty is to my race."
"Good." The King nodded, stepping back. "Because you are a hero of the Empire now. And heroes should be rewarded."
He gestured to a table nearby. On it sat a heavy, ornate box and a scroll.
"I am promoting you," the King announced. "Captain of the Royal Guard. It is an honorary title while you serve Frieza, but it carries the weight of the Crown. No Saiyan, not even Garl, can question your authority on this planet."
He opened the box. Inside were rows of high-grade credit chits. Enough to buy a small planet.
"And this," the King said, "is for your... personal expenses."
"You are generous, Sire."
"There is one more thing."
The King smiled. It was the smile of a politician trying to close a deal.
"You are young, Cress. But you are powerful. And now, you are wealthy. It is time you looked to the future. To your legacy."
He picked up the scroll.
"I have drawn up a list. The daughters of the Elite Houses. House Corni. House Rabe. Even a cousin of the Royal Line."
He held the scroll out to me.
"Take a wife, Cress. Breed strong sons. Bind yourself to the blood of the Elite. Establish yourself and stand beside my son when he takes the throne."
I stared at the scroll.
It was a bribe. He wanted to tie me down.
I gently pushed the scroll back.
"I am honored, Sire," I said, my voice steady. "Truly. To be offered a place in the lineage is the highest reward."
I bowed my head.
"But I cannot accept."
The King's smile faltered. "You refuse?"
"I have a mission," I said. "Frieza is watching me. He is watching Broly. If I take a wife... if I have children... Frieza will see them as leverage. He will use them against me. He will threaten them to make me dance."
I looked the King in the eye.
"I cannot afford weaknesses, Sire. My focus must be absolute. Until Frieza is... dealt with... I am married to the mission."
It was a perfect lie. It played into his paranoia about Frieza while making me look like a dedicated soldier.
The King studied me. He saw the logic.
"Pragmatic," Vegeta murmured. "As always."
He set the scroll down.
"Very well. The offer stands. When the time is right... we will revisit this."
"Thank you, Sire."
I picked up the box of credits.
"If I may," I said. "Frieza has summoned me."
The King winced at the name. "Go. Play his game. But remember who you are."
"I never forget."
I turned and walked out.
The credits were heavy in my hand.
--
As I exited the palace grounds, two soldiers intercepted me.
They didn't salute.
One of them shoved me.
"Move it, monkey," the soldier sneered, pushing me toward a hovering transport skiff. " The bosses are waiting. Don't drag your feet."
I stumbled slightly, catching my balance.
I could have killed them both in less than a second. I could have ripped their throats out before their brains registered the movement.
But I didn't.
"My apologies," I mumbled.
"Pathetic," the second soldier laughed, kicking me into the skiff. "This is the new Squad Leader? Frieza must be scraping the bottom of the barrel."
I sat in the back of the skiff as it ascended toward the massive disc-ship hovering above the city. I stared at the back of their heads.
'Enjoy it,' I thought. 'Laugh while you still have mouths.'
The skiff docked in the upper hangar of the flagship.
"Out," the soldier barked.
I walked down the corridor.
I reached the designated door. Zarbon's personal quarters.
I pressed the chime.
"Enter."
I stepped inside.
Zarbon was standing by a vanity mirror, applying a layer of moisturizer to his teal skin. He didn't turn around when I entered.
"You kept me waiting," Zarbon said softly.
"The King detained me, Lord Zarbon," I replied, bowing at the waist.
Zarbon turned. He looked me up and down. His amber eyes were cold, filled with a mix of disdain and possessive pride. To him, I was still the mechanic who poured his wine. The fact that I was now a Squad Leader was just a whimsical administrative change by Frieza.
"You look cleaner," Zarbon noted. "At least you learned something from your time in my service."
He walked over to me. He circled me, his cape swishing.
"Let us be clear, Cress," Zarbon whispered, stopping behind me. "Frieza may have given you a title. He may have given you command of the Prince. But do not think this promotion makes us equals."
He leaned down, his voice dripping with venom.
"You are still a pet. You just have a new master. If you forget your place... if you think you can stand tall..."
He placed a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed. It was meant to be painful.
"I will remind you. And I will not be gentle."
I stood perfectly still.
I focused on his Ki.
23,000.
I focused on mine.
32,000.
I could reach back, grab his beautiful braided hair, and slam his face into the floor with enough force to liquefy his skull. I could break his arm like a twig. I could end the 'Right Hand of the Emperor' right here, right now.
The fear I had felt years ago... the terror of standing in his presence... it was gone.
I could end him right here, right now...
I bent my knees. I lowered my head further.
"I know my place, Lord Zarbon," I said, injecting a tremor into my voice. "I am yours to command."
Zarbon smiled. He patted my cheek.
"Good boy."
The door hissed open.
Kikono, the chief scientist and strategist, bustled in. He was a small, yellow alien with a large head and zero interest in theatrics.
"Lord Zarbon," Kikono nodded, ignoring the tension. "The briefing data is ready."
He turned to me, thrusting a datapad into my chest.
"Unit Two. Or 'Captain' as the paperwork says. Here are your orders."
I took the pad.
"Planet Drak," Kikono stated. "High energy potential. Frieza wants it cleared within the month."
He adjusted his glasses.
"However," Kikono added, his voice dropping to a serious monotone. "Lord Frieza has added a specific condition to your deployment."
I looked up. "A condition?"
"The child," Kikono said. "Broly."
My grip tightened on the pad.
"Lord Frieza was amused by the outburst on Beluria," Kikono explained. "He appreciates destruction. But he values order above all else."
Kikono leaned in.
"If the boy goes berserk again... if he threatens the cohesion of the Force or damages Imperial property due to a lack of control..."
Kikono paused, letting the weight of the message settle.
"...Frieza will execute the entire squad. Starting with the Leader."
I looked at the datapad. 'This isn't getting easier.'
"Understood," I said.
"Good," Zarbon waved a hand. "Get out. You smell of anxiety."
I walked out of the quarters. The door sealed shut behind me.
I started walking toward the hangar bay. I needed to get back to the surface.
I turned a corner into the main loading dock.
"Well, well. Look who it is."
I stopped.
Blocking my path was a group of five soldiers. They were standard Frieza Force grunts, Appule-tier trash. They were leaning on crates, looking bored and malicious.
The leader, a horned alien with a blaster rifle, stepped forward.
"Captain Monkey," the alien sneered. "I heard you got a promotion. Did you beg for it? Or did you just do tricks?"
The others laughed. "Does he need a banana?" one jeered. "Hey, Captain! Shine my boots!"
I looked at them.
I was tired. I was stressed. I had just been threatened by the King, threatened by Zarbon, and threatened by Frieza's proxy.
And now, this trash was in my way.
"Move," I said quietly.
"Or what?" the leader laughed, stepping closer. He poked his rifle into my chest. "You gonna cry to Zarbon? You're just a Saiyan. A grunt. Just because you have a fancy title doesn't mean—"
I stopped.
I just... let go.
I released the Killing Intent. Pure pressure.
It washed over them like a wave of freezing water.
The leader froze mid-sentence. His eyes dilated. His breath hitched in his throat.
The soldier behind him dropped his weapon. Clatter.
Another one fell to his knees, hyperventilating, clutching his chest as if his heart had stopped.
They couldn't move. Their lizard brains were screaming at them: RUN. HIDE. DIE.
The leader trembled. The rifle shook in his hands. He looked into my eyes, and for the first time, he saw what was looking back.
"I said," I whispered, stepping forward.
The leader scrambled back, tripping over his own feet. He fell on his ass, scuttling backward like a crab.
"M-move!" he shrieked. "Let him pass! Let him pass!"
The soldiers scattered, pressing themselves against the walls, terrified to even breathe.
I walked through the gap they left.
They were trash. And trash wasn't worth the energy it took to burn.
I was still going to lay low but I wasn't going to let trash order me around.
--
Short Chapter but I hope you enjoy it, I'm trying to write as much as I used to, but it really is difficult to write after a certain point.