The guest quarters of the Royal Palace were a mockery of the planet outside.
While the rest of Vegeta was iron, stone, and red dust, this room was draped in imported silks from the Kanassa system. The air was scrubbed of the sulfur smell and perfumed with synthetic lilac. It was designed to make the rulers of the galaxy feel at home, but to me, it felt like a funeral parlor.
I stood in the corner, holding a silver tray with a crystal decanter and a single glass. I had been standing there for forty minutes. I hadn't moved a muscle. I barely breathed.
Zarbon sat at the vanity, inspecting his reflection in a mirror I had polished three times.
"The humidity on this rock is atrocious," Zarbon murmured, touching a strand of his braided hair. "It makes everything frizzy. Do you not agree, pet?"
"I am sorry for the inconvenience, my Lord," I replied, my voice flat and devoid of emotion.
"Hmph."
He didn't care about my opinion. He just liked hearing the sound of submission.
It had been three days. Three days of being a ghost in the room. I fixed his datapad. I organized his wardrobe. I stood silently while he ate, waiting to refill his glass before it was even half empty.
He wasn't physically torturing me. In fact, he barely touched me. But the psychological weight was crushing. I had to keep my Power Level at exactly 5, every second of every hour. If I slipped, if I let my irritation spike my Ki even to a 10, his Scouter, which sat on the table like a loaded gun, would chirp.
A chime sounded from the communication terminal on the wall.
Zarbon straightened. His bored expression vanished, replaced by a mask of professional reverence. He tapped the console.
A hologram flickered to life. It wasn't the hulking form of King Cold. It was smaller.
The audio was audio-only, but the voice was unmistakable. It was high, polite, and froze the blood in my veins.
"Zarbon," the voice purred. "How goes the nursery?"
Frieza.
"Lord Frieza," Zarbon bowed in his chair. "The inspection is proceeding. The Saiyans remain... useful, if unrefined. King Vegeta is compliant, though his requests for updated equipment are becoming tiresome."
"Let him beg," Frieza chuckled. "It gives him the illusion of negotiation. Father is sentimental about these monkeys, but I am not. Once the transition of power is complete, I will be reviewing the utility of all auxiliary assets."
My grip tightened on the silver tray.
Transition of power.
In the lore, King Cold steps down and hands the empire to Frieza. That was the beginning of the end. Once Frieza took the throne, the countdown to Planet Vegeta's destruction started ticking in earnest.
"Of course, Lord Frieza," Zarbon said smoothy. "And the 'Legend'?"
"A myth," Frieza scoffed. "Super Saiyan... it sounds like a bedtime story for frightened children. Still, keep an ear to the ground. If any of them show... abnormal potential... purge them."
"Understood."
The connection cut.
Zarbon sat back, tapping his chin.
"Abnormal potential," he whispered.
I stared at the wall, willing my heart to beat slowly. I am furniture. I am a lamp. I am nothing.
"Pet," Zarbon said, not turning around.
"My Lord?"
"Pour the wine. My throat is dry."
I stepped forward and poured the purple liquid. My hand was steady.
Zarbon took the glass. He looked at me, his amber eyes searching for something. Fear? defiance?
He found nothing but a blank slate.
"You are boring," he decided, taking a sip. "Go. Sleep in the corridor. If I hear you breathing, I will space you."
"Yes, my Lord."
I bowed and backed out of the room.
The door hissed shut.
I stood in the hallway. It was polished marble, cold under my boots.
I checked the time. It was late. The palace was asleep.
I waited ten minutes, sensing Zarbon's Ki through the door. It settled into a rhythmic, resting state. He was asleep.
Now the real work began.
I knelt by the security panel next to the door. It was a standard Cold Force biometric lock with a camera feed that went straight to the Royal Guard station.
I pulled a small, homemade splice-chip from my boot, something I had cobbled together back at Zorn's shop. I jammed it into the data port.
Loop feed. Sixty minutes.
The light on the camera blinked green once. To the guards monitoring the feed, the hallway would look empty for the next hour.
I didn't use the door. I walked to the end of the corridor, found a ventilation grate, and popped it open.
If Zarbon woke up and called me, I was dead.
If the loop failed, I was dead.
If I made a noise in the vents, I was dead.
Good, I thought, a grim smile touching my lips as I crawled into the dark shaft. I hate being bored.
The Blind Spot was bathed in shadow.
Ruca was already there. She was pacing, her tail lashing back and forth like a whip. When I dropped from the wall, she flinched, falling into a combat stance.
When she saw it was me, she didn't relax. She looked horrified.
"You're alive," she whispered.
"Disappointed?" I asked, landing softly.
"I thought he killed you," she said, walking over and grabbing my shoulders. She looked me over, checking for burns or broken bones. "Everyone says you're his... pet. That you just stand there."
"I do," I said, pushing her hands away gently. "I hold things. I pour drinks. I listen."
"Cress, you have to stop coming here," Ruca hissed. "The risk is too high. If he catches you..."
"If he catches me, I die," I interrupted. "But if I stay in that room for one more night without moving, I'm going to lose my mind. I need to hit something, Ruca. Now."
I didn't wait for her to agree. I flared my energy, internal, tight, dangerous.
I attacked.
This wasn't practice. I launched a straight, vicious kick at her head.
Ruca blocked it, but the force drove her back a step.
"Whoa!" she shouted. "Calm down!"
I didn't calm down. I spun, using my tail to sweep her legs. She jumped, but I anticipated it. I drove a Ki-infused fist into her stomach.
She gasped, the wind leaving her.
For a second, I wasn't fighting Ruca. I was fighting Zarbon. I was fighting the beautiful, teal face that looked at me like I was dirt.
Ruca recovered. Her eyes narrowed. She stopped holding back.
She slammed a palm into my chest, knocking me back. I skidded, dug my heels in, and launched myself at her again.
We traded blows for thirty minutes. It was ugly. It was violent. By the time we stopped, my lip was split again, and Ruca was nursing a bruising shin.
We sat on the cold ground, panting.
"You're angry," Ruca said, wiping sweat from her forehead.
"I'm motivated," I corrected.
"Is he taking you?" she asked. The question hung in the air.
I looked at her. "I don't know. He hasn't said. He just calls me 'pet' and complains about the humidity."
Ruca looked down at her hands. "If you leave with him... you vanish, Cress. Nobody comes back from the personal retinue. You end up on a ship halfway across the galaxy, or you end up dead in a ditch because he got bored."
"I know."
"Then run," she said, looking at me with intensity. "We can hide you. The Wastelands are deep. There are caves—"
"He said he'd burn the Iron District," I said quietly. "If I run, he kills everyone. My mother. My brother. You."
Ruca fell silent. She knew the Cold Force. She knew it wasn't a bluff.
"I need a favor," I said.
Ruca looked up. "You're in no position to ask for favors."
"I need to know what the King is planning," I said.
"You want me to spy?" Ruca laughed nervously. "That's treason."
"That's survival," I countered. "Zarbon isn't here for a vacation. He's assessing us. And from what I heard... he's not impressed."
I stood up. My hour was running out.
"Find out what the King knows," I said. "Please."
Ruca stared at me. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Go back to your cage, pet," she whispered. "Before the monster wakes up."
--------------------------------
The Throne Room was a cavern of red stone and trophies. The skulls of conquered kings lined the walls, but tonight, they brought King Vegeta no comfort.
He sat on his throne, his fingers digging into the armrests.
"He demands another feast?" King Vegeta growled, his voice echoing in the vast chamber.
"Yes, Sire," Commander Garl replied, standing at attention. Next to him stood a younger, broad-shouldered Saiyan named Nappa. "Lord Zarbon claims the local livestock is 'stringy' and requires imported meat."
"Insolent reptile," Vegeta spat. "He sits in my palace, drinks my wine, and treats us like servants."
"It is a deliberate provocation," Nappa rumbled, crossing his massive arms. "He killed a supervisor yesterday over a fuel leak. And then he took that... Low Class... as a valet."
"That is the greatest insult," King Vegeta muttered. "He kills a loyal subject and replaces him with a greasemonkey. He is showing us that our hierarchy means nothing to him."
The King stood up, his cape flowing behind him. He paced the dais.
"Tell me about this Low Class," the King demanded. "Cress. Unit Two. Who is he?"
Commander Garl cleared his throat. "I looked into his file, Sire. Low Class birth. Power level of 5. Parents are nobodies from the Iron District. He worked supply, then maintenance. No combat record."
"And yet," King Vegeta narrowed his eyes, "Zarbon chose him. Zarbon does not choose trash. He chooses things that are useful or beautiful. This 'Cress' is neither."
"My daughter..." Garl hesitated. "Ruca. She mentioned him once. Said he was the mechanic for her squad's pods. Said he was surprisingly... competent. For a grunt."
"Competent," the King mused. "Or planted?"
The room went silent.
"Sire?" Nappa asked.
"Think, Nappa," the King snapped. "A Low-Class with no power, suddenly elevated to the Royal Sector, and within days, he is hand-picked by the right-hand man of Frieza? It is too convenient."
King Vegeta walked back to his throne and sat down heavily.
"Is he a spy?" the King whispered. "Did the Cold Force plant him in the slums years ago to watch us from the bottom up?"
"If he is a spy," Garl said, his hand drifting to the energy blaster at his hip, "I will execute him tonight."
"No," the King ordered. "Not while he is under Zarbon's protection. If we touch him now, Zarbon destroys us. But..."
King Vegeta's eyes glowed with a dangerous light.
"Watch him. Put a tail on him. If Zarbon takes him off-world... fine. He is their problem. But if Zarbon leaves him behind..."
The King clenched his fist.
"If he stays, I want him in the interrogation cells immediately. I want to know exactly what he whispered into the monster's ear."
--
The morning suns of Planet Vegeta beat down on the VIP landing pad, baking the white stone.
I stood at the base of the ramp, clutching a small, velvet-lined case containing Zarbon's grooming kit. My knuckles were white.
This was it.
Zarbon stood before me, checking his reflection in the polished hull of his ship. He adjusted his cape, then turned his amber eyes toward me. He looked me up and down, as if deciding which pair of boots to wear.
"The inspection is concluded," Zarbon announced. "King Vegeta is suitably cowed, and the food here remains inedible."
He took the velvet case from my hands.
"Now," he mused. "What to do with you?"
My heart slammed against my ribs. I kept my eyes on his boots. Don't take me. Don't take me.
"You are efficient, Cress," Zarbon said. "You anticipate my needs. You are quiet."
He sighed, a long, dramatic exhalation.
"But you are boring."
I blinked, staring at the ground. Boring?
"I prefer my pets to have a little... spark," Zarbon continued, gesturing vaguely. "Fear. Defiance. Something I can break. You? You are like a piece of office furniture. Functional, but dull." he said as he patted my face
He turned away, walking up the ramp.
"I have no need for dull things. Stay here."
Relief crashed over me so hard my knees almost buckled. I forced myself to remain rigid.
"However," Zarbon called back, pausing at the airlock. "You are still my property. You will maintain my quarters in the East Wing. Keep them pristine. If I return and find a speck of dust, or if I hear you have been reassigned by the monkeys... I will peel you."
"Understood, my Lord," I said, bowing low.
"Goodbye, pet. Try to develop a personality before I return."
The airlock hissed shut.
The engines roared to life, kicking up a storm of dust and heat. I shielded my eyes as the sleek ship lifted off, punched through the atmosphere, and vanished into the black.
He was gone.
I was alone on the landing pad. The wind whipped at my grey jumpsuit.
"I survived," I whispered.
I turned back toward the palace.I needed to—
BOOM.
The door to the landing bay exploded inward.
Debris showered across the platform. Through the smoke, a massive figure emerged.
It was Nappa.
He wasn't smiling. He wasn't the goofy brute from the anime. He was a wall of muscle and violence, flanked by four Royal Guards.
"There he is," Nappa growled, cracking his knuckles. "The pet."
I froze.
I calculated my odds. I could fight. I could flare to 670. I could Zanzoken past them.
And then what? I'd be a rogue agent on a planet full of warriors who could fly. I'd be dead in an hour.
Submission, my logic screamed. Play the role.
I dropped to my knees. I raised my hands. I let my face crumble into terrified shock.
"Lord Nappa!" I stammered. "I... he left me! I'm just—"
Nappa didn't listen. He crossed the distance in a blur.
His hand, the size of a shovel, clamped around my throat. He lifted me off the ground like a ragdoll.
"Shut up, traitor," Nappa spat.
He squeezed. My vision swam.
"The King wants a word."
The interrogation cells were deep beneath the palace. They were carved directly into the bedrock, damp, cold, and smelling of dried blood and rust.
I was thrown into the center of the room. I landed hard on the wet stone, scraping my chin.
I scrambled back, huddling against the wall, making myself as small as possible.
The heavy iron door creaked open.
King Vegeta walked in.
He looked majestic and terrifying. His red cape dragged through the muck on the floor, but he didn't care. His eyes were burning with a paranoia that bordered on madness.
Behind him stood Commander Garl and Nappa.
"So," King Vegeta said, his voice low and dangerous. "This is the creature Zarbon whispered to."
He stopped five feet from me. He looked down with supreme disgust.
"A Low Class," the King muttered. "Power level of 5. And yet, you spent three days in the viper's nest."
"I... I didn't want to!" I cried out, injecting a tremor into my voice. "He forced me! He killed my supervisor! I had no choice!"
"Silence!" Nappa roared, kicking me in the ribs.
It wasn't a lethal kick, but it hurt. I curled up, wheezing.
"You didn't just pour wine," Commander Garl said, stepping forward. His voice was sharper, more analytical than Nappa's. "My daughter tells me you are observant. Zarbon isn't the type to keep a fool around. What did you tell him, boy? Did you give him our defense grids? Our patrol routes?"
"I don't know anything!" I sobbed, burying my face in my hands. "I just fixed his datapad! I just held his mirror! Please, I'm just a mechanic!"
King Vegeta leaned down, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head up.
"Do not lie to me," he hissed. "Zarbon thinks we are filth. He thinks we are monkeys. But he kept you. Why?"
I looked into the King's eyes. I saw the fear behind the anger. He was terrified that King Cold was going to replace him.
I needed to give him something. Not the truth about me, but the truth about them.
"He... he laughed at you," I whispered, my voice trembling.
The King's eye twitched. "What?"
"He told Frieza you were compliant," I stammered, the words spilling out fast. "He said... he said your requests for equipment were 'tiresome.' He called you a beggar."
"Frieza... The son of King Cold..." King Vegeta whispered.
King Vegeta released my hair, standing up straight. His face was a mask of fury.
"But..." I added, dropping the bait. "He stopped laughing when Frieza mentioned the Legend."
The room went dead silent.
King Vegeta froze. "The Legend?"
"Frieza asked about it," I said, looking up with wide, fearful eyes. "The Super Saiyan. He... he sounded scared, Sire. He told Zarbon to watch for 'abnormal potential.' He thinks... he thinks you're hiding something."
King Vegeta stared at the wall, his breathing heavy. A slow, dark grin spread across his face.
"Scared," the King whispered. "The lizards are scared."
It fed his ego perfectly. It confirmed his bias.
"They should be," Vegeta muttered. "We are the strongest race in the universe."
Commander Garl wasn't buying it completely. He stepped closer to me, his Scouter scanning me.
"He's shaking too much," Garl murmured to the King. "Look at his eyes, Sire. He's terrified, yes. But he's articulate. He remembers the exact words? For a Low-Class grunt traumatized by Zarbon, his memory is remarkably clear."
My heart skipped a beat. Ruca's father was sharp.
"He is a mechanic," Nappa shrugged. "Maybe he has a good memory for details. Who cares? He's useless."
"No," King Vegeta said, turning back to me. "He is not useless."
The King looked at me with a new expression. Not as a threat, but as a tool.
"You heard Frieza's voice?" Vegeta asked.
"Yes, Sire."
"And you survived Zarbon's presence for three days without wetting yourself?"
"Barely," I squeaked.
"He has utility," the King decided. "He is invisible. Zarbon marked him as 'his property,' which means we cannot kill him without inviting an inquiry. But we can use him."
"Sire?" Garl asked.
"If They are watching for potential," King Vegeta said, "then we must be careful. We need eyes in the logistics chain. We need to know what supplies are coming in and out."
The King pointed at Nappa.
"Nappa. Put him in your squad."
Nappa blinked. "My squad? But Sire, we're Elites. I don't want a babysitting job."
"You need a dedicated maintenance officer for your pods," the King countered. "And I want him where I can see him. If he steps out of line, if he tries to contact the Cold Force... crush him."
The King looked down at me one last time.
"You work for me now, boy. You are a Low-Class. You are nothing. But today, your ears belong to the Throne. Do not forget it."
"Thank you, Sire! Thank you!" I groveled, bowing my head to the muddy floor.
"Get him out of my sight," Vegeta waved his hand.
Nappa grabbed me by the back of my jumpsuit and hauled me to my feet.
"Come on, Runt," Nappa grunted, dragging me toward the door. "Looks like you're moving up in the world. Don't get used to it."
As I was dragged out of the cell, I caught a glimpse of Commander Garl. He wasn't looking at the King. He was looking at me. His eyes were narrowed, calculating.
He didn't trust me.
But I was alive.
And now, I was in Nappa's squad. I was now in the frontlines. Unable to escape.
I let my head hang limp, playing the part of the traumatized victim, but inside, my mind was racing.
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Author's note: As you may have noticed, I'm being a bit harsh on Cress right now. But that's how it should be. He's falling today so he can rise higher. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Leave a comment and a stone.