The massive Arena flickered to life.
The roar of the crowd... hundreds of scrappers banging against metal railings was deafening.
"THIEVES AND SCOUNDRELS!"
The voice boomed over the crackling PA system, cutting through the noise like a chainsaw.
Dimcha stepped into the center of the spotlight.
He held a microphone loosely in one hand.
He looked up at the bloodthirsty mob, flashing a charming charisma.
"Now, I know it's been a hot minute since we had us a proper hoedown, we been workin' hard. Scavengin'. Survivin'. And frankly, I think we deserve a little bit of high quality entertainment."
The crowd cheered, stomping their feet.
"Today, we got some real special guests, imports. One fresh outta the city. The other's a filthy traitor. Cute little mix, ain't they?"
The massive iron gate at the far end of the arena creaked open.
Grizzlo and Diesella shoved the three prisoners out onto the sand.
Bulma stumbled, shielding her eyes from the sun.
Launch spat on the ground, looking ready to bite someone.
Oolong was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering audible over the crowd noise.
"Look at 'em." Dimcha chuckled, gesturing to the terrified trio.
"We got a pig in pants, a blue haired smart girl, and a blonde spitfire. Now, that's a lineup you don't see every day in the dunes."
He paused, looking down at them from his elevated platform, tilting his head sympathetically.
"Now, I look at these three, and I see fear. I see hesitation. And I say to myself, 'Dimcha, it just ain't sportsmanlike to send lambs to the slaughter without a fightin' chance."
He turned to a nearby grunt.
"Boy, give 'em the armory."
The grunt laughed and tossed three objects into the pit.
They landed with a pathetic clatter at Oolong's feet.
They were three splintered, rotting wooden sticks.
"There you go!" Dimcha announced, spreading his arms wide.
"We ain't savages here! We believe in the right to self-defense! Pick 'em up! Get comfortable with 'em! Because frankly... it ain't no fun for us if you don't wiggle a little bit before you get squashed!"
Bulma stared at the rotting piece of wood in her hand.
She didn't throw it away in a fit of despair, instead, she gripped it tightly.
She turned her gaze to Launch.
"You've lived outside the law, do you see an angle here? Any tricks or a plan?"
Launch picked up her own stick, gave it a experimental swing, and scoffed.
She spat onto the sand, her eyes were cold.
"Yeah, I got a plan, it's a easy one to memorize, Princess. We swing these twigs until they snap. We aim for the eyes and the groin. And we try to take as many of these fuckers with us to hell before they turn us into stains on the wall."
Bulma didn't argue.
She turned her attention to Oolong, who was kneeling in the sand.
"Oolong, look at me... stop shaking. Panic gets you killed. We need to buy time."
She lowered her voice.
"We still have a card to play. You were with Goku. Where is he? Is he flanking them? Is he waiting for a signal? I know he's strong, he wouldn't just leave us here."
Oolong looked up with a face of absolute terror and grief.
He struggled to find his voice.
"He... he's not hiding, Bulma... he... he's gone."
Bulma blinked, and her serious expression wavered.
"What do you mean gone?"
"Dead. I saw it. He fought Yamcha. And... there's nothing left."
Bulma froze.
"That's... that's impossible. He's..."
"He was just a kid, he ran into the boss."
She jerked a thumb toward Oolong.
"The only reason that pig's still breathing is cause daddy warbucks up there didn't wanna waste a good main event. Wants to squeeze a few coins outta the execution. Lowest kind there is, if you ask me."
Bulma's grip on the wooden stick loosened. It slipped from her fingers and hit the sand.
The defiant posture she had maintained crumbled instantly.
"No..."
The word hung in the air, hollow and final.
If Goku was gone.
There was no miracle to save them.
There was only... their inevitable death.
Up on the platform, Dimcha didn't miss a beat.
He tapped the microphone, silencing the crowd for a brief second before he whipped them back into a frenzy.
"Alright, settle down, you heathens!" Dimcha bellowed, flashing a smile.
"Now, I know these city folks look a little... undercooked. So, to make sure this is a fair fight, and by fair, i mean absolutely terrified, I have hand picked three of our finest warriors to welcome them to the neighborhood!"
The gate on the opposite side of the arena began to open.
"First up!" Dimcha swept his arm toward the darkness of the tunnel.
"He's slippery, he's nasty, he hasn't taken a bath since the last rainy season! Give it up for... GREASE, THE SLICK!"
A man slid out of the tunnel, literally.
He was coated from head to toe in thick oil.
He moved with a disturbing fluidity, flexing his glistening muscles as the crowd cheered.
"Next! He's got the manners of a wild boar and the subtlety of a Gorilla! Put your hands together for... GRAVELAXE, THE INDELICATE!"
A towering brute stomped out, dragging a axe made of sharpened rebar.
He roared at the audience, then proceeded to hawk and spit a massive glob of phlegm toward Bulma, proving his title immediately.
Dimcha paused, squinting at the index card in his hand.
He then shrugged.
"And finally... rounding out our trio of terror... We got... BIG CHEESE!"
A large, round man waddled out wearing a helmet shaped like a wedge of cheddar.
"He is... uh... well, he's the man who... really likes cheese. That's it. That's his whole thing. Apparently, he's very passionate about dairy products."
Dimcha tossed the card away and leaned over the railing, grinning down at the terrified captives.
"These three fine gentlemen have volunteered for the glory of crushing the refuse of the big city! So, without further ado... let the festivities begin!"
The three scrapper champions marched forward, kicking up sand with every step.
The crowd roared.
"TEAR THEM APART!"
"RIP THEIR LIMBS OFF!"
"MAKE THEM SCREAM!"
"PAINT THE SAND RED!"
The air vibrated with the collective desire for violence.
But Launch didn't flinch.
She spat into the sand and cracked her neck.
"Step back." she ordered.
Bulma looked at her, eyes wide.
"What? What are you thinking? You can't take them alone!"
"I'm not thinking, Princess. I'm done."
She reached down and snatched up one of the rotting wooden clubs, testing its weight with a grimace.
"I hate this place, the smell, the noise, and definitely waiting around to be butchered."
She turned her back to Bulma and Oolong, facing the approaching monsters.
"I'm checking out first. At least I'll go out swinging. You two can clean up whatever's left of me."
She began to walk toward the center of the pit.
A lone, small figure against three giants.
Gravelaxe, the indelicate, dragging the axe made of rebar, saw her coming.
He stopped, letting out a chuckle.
He took a step forward, separating himself from Grease and Big Cheese.
A macabre, toothy grin spread across his face.
"Well, well, looks like the little blondie wants to be the appetizer. Don't worry, sweetheart... I'll make it messy."
Launch widened her stance, digging her heels into the loose sand.
She gripped the rotting piece of timber with both hands, holding it low like a baseball bat, her eyes narrowed into slits.
She looked only at the massive man walking toward her.
Gravelaxe dragged his weapon behind him.
He didn't rush.
He moved with confidence of an executioner.
"Well, ain't this a treat!" Dimcha announced, his voice booming like a ringmaster at a twisted circus.
"It appears the little lady has chosen her dance partner! We got ourselves a classic duel, folks! One on one! In the red corner, weighin' in at 'pure muscle and bad intentions, the crusher of concrete... GRAVELAXE! And in the blue corner... weighin' in at 'please don't kill me', the Blonde with the stick!"
The crowd roared with laughter and bloodlust.
"Let's see if grit can beat tonnage!" Dimcha shouted.
Up in the VIP box, the mood was different.
Yamcha sat on a chair with his chin resting on his fist.
His eyes were locked onto the arena floor.
To his left, Puar floated, clutching his tail.
Grizzlo leaned forward, arms crossed.
Diesella was on the corner, smirking, clearly enjoying the show.
"She's not trembling." Yamcha told to himself. "
Stupid... but brave.
"RAAAAAH!"
Gravelaxe swung his axe in a horizontal arc intended to cleave Launch in two.
The air rushed past violently as the axe sliced through the space where her head had been a split second before.
Launch dropped into a crouch, letting the heavy weapon pass harmlessly over her hair, and then exploded upward.
THWACK.
She swung the rotting piece of timber with all her might, connecting solidly with the back of Gravelaxe's neck.
"Gah!"
The giant stumbled forward.
The blow didn't knock him out, but it definitely rang his bell.
He shook his head like a wet dog, turning around with a look of humiliated rage.
" You little bitch..." Gravelaxe growled, with veins bulging in his forehead.
"You're gonna regret that!"
He roared and charged, bringing the axe down.
Launch stepped in.
As the axe handle came down, she raised her stick to block the forearm holding it.
SNAP.
The rotting wood shattered into splinters against Gravelaxe's massive biceps.
But the block did its job, it halted his momentum for a fraction of a second.
That was all she needed.
Launch dropped the broken handle, grabbed Gravelaxe's wrist with her left hand to pull him down, and drove her right elbow squarely into his nose.
CRUNCH.
It was a perfect strike.
Gravelaxe's head snapped back with blood spraying from his nose.
His grip loosened and the axe fell right next to Launch.
"Whoa! Did you see that?" Oolong gasped.
"I knew she was tough, but I didn't know she was THAT tough." Bulma whispered.
High above, Dimcha leaned over the railing, clapping his hands slowly into the microphone.
"Well, butter my biscuits and call me Sally! Am I seein' things, or is Gravelaxe gettin' the absolute business from a girl half his size?"
He laughed and it echoed through the stadium.
"Folks, I think we might have underestimated the entertainment value of our guests! That little lady is givin' the big man the fight of his life!"
Yamcha watched silently.
"Don't sleep on her." Grizzlo spoke from the back of the box, rubbing his nape as he remembered the earlier fight.
Yamcha glanced back at him.
"I fought her back at sewers. She's fast, and she ain't just flailing around down there. When she hits… she hits heavy. She's got iron in those fists."
Gravelaxe groaned, rolling onto his knees and shaking the sand out of his eyes.
Blood streamed from his broken nose, matting into his beard.
His hand instinctively swept the ground beside him, searching for the comforting cold weight of his weapon.
His fingers clawed only empty sand.
Confusion momentarily replaced his rage.
There she stood.
The small blonde woman was holding his axe.
"Hey! That belongs to me! Put it down before I really get mad, girlie!" Gravelaxe bellowed, pointing a shaking finger at her.
A wicked smile spread across her face.
"You want it back? Come and take it, tough guy."
Gravelaxe's ego snapped.
"No one talks to me like that. I'll tear your head off and drink your blood."
He let out a roar, lowering his shoulder and charging like a enraged rhino.
He didn't believe she would actually use it.
He expected her to drop it in terror the moment he got close.
He was going to crush her flat.
He closed the distance in three massive strides.
"RAAAAAARGH!"
Launch didn't budge an inch until the very last second.
She planted her feet, twisted her hips, and swung the massive concrete axe with all her might.
CRACK.
The sound was sickeningly loud, echoing off the arena like a gunshot.
The head of the axe connected squarely with the center of Gravelaxe's forehead.
The giant's momentum stopped instantly.
The roar died in his throat.
For a second, he just stood there.
Then, like a felled skyscraper, Gravelaxe tipped backward.
He crashed into the sand flat on his back, his arms splayed out at his sides, stone dead before he even hit the ground.
The entire arena went silent.
No cheers.
No screams.
No laughter.
Gravelaxe didn't move.
Then the crowd realized he wasn't going to.
A ripple of disbelief rolled through the stands.
"What…?"
"Did she—?"
"Is he—?"
Someone laughed in disbelief.
Then—
The arena erupted.
In ecstasy.
"BY THE WASTES!"
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"
"AGAIN! DO IT AGAIN!"
Metal railings rattled as scrappers slammed their fists against them, howling with laughter and adrenaline.
"BLON-DIE! BLON-DIE! BLON-DIE!"
The chant caught fire, spreading through the stands in seconds.
Dimcha's smile froze on his face.
"Well I'll be... well, ain't that a turn of events."
Up in the VIP box, Puar's hands flew to his mouth.
"She… she did it."
Grizzlo let out a low whistle.
Diesella's smirk vanished.
Yamcha didn't move.
His fingers tightened against his chin.
"…She didn't hesitate, not for a second."
Launch spread her arms slightly, soaking it in.
"Who's next?"