Disclaimer: I do not own any DBZ characters, nor do I own the story…merely playing with them.

WARNING: As usual, language and all sorts of adult things could pop in here…please don’t read if you are under age.

Forward: This is the part of the story where I profusely apologize to anyone who reads my work that I left hanging. I am getting back to them, slowly, but it is happening. Thanks for your continued interest. I hope you enjoy this new little tale. Hey, Toshiba, thanks for the summary!

NOTE: I am in the process of getting back to Conquest, along with the next installment of this tale. To all the people who have read my work, thank you and hang in there. More is coming.

The lone figure slipped silently up the bluff, gliding upwards as if she were one of the many quivering shadows that wavered in the dim, moonlit night. She had to be successful; there were no other options. They were all counting on her; her planet was counting on her…he was counting on her. Everything rode on this one night’s success.

A twig snapping in the distance stopped her upwards flight, and she dropped quickly to the ground, head swiveling as she sought a place in the darkness to conceal herself. She sighted a small cluster of rocks, nothing huge, but good enough for her small physique to hide behind. Slowly, silently, she slid along the ground, snakelike, until her back was pressing hard against the rocky bank of the bluff and her features were concealed in the darkness that covered the space like a blanket

Listening intently, she heard another snap of something on the ground and she traced the sound somewhere to her right. Slowly she turned her head, squinting into the murky darkness. There was something—she frowned—it seemed ghostlike to her eyes in the flickering black of the night, making its way down the bluff. Which devil of Frieza’s was this on patrol? Why was it floating slowly down the bluff of all places? Shouldn’t they be patrolling closer to their camp? Did they suspect something afoot tonight?

Pressing her back hard against the bluff, Bulma Briefs took heart at the jagged sharpness of the stone and hard earth biting into her soft skin. It was unbreakable against her back just as she must be unbreakable against this enemy. There were no choices.

If she had spent anytime contemplating her current situation, she might have found it amusing at how she had come to be here. There was no time, however, for musing about the past. Her situation was what it was and there was little she could to change it. If she could though…

God there was so much to change.

Compressing her lips, she bit back the anger and hurt that threatened to spill forth from her like hot lava. She had buried it far too deeply to allow it out now—glancing towards her right—where imminent danger lurked.

Carefully, slowly, she slid her hand towards the flap of the rucksack she had strapped across her body. She kept death inside it, and it would be death that she dealt tonight. Her fingers circled round the hard steel barrel of her gun. The tool was merely the instrument of death…not the death that she had personally created to kill the monsters coming from the heavens to kill her planet.

Bulma pulled it out of the bag and brought it to her face, squinting to see it in the inky blackness. A simple gun she had designed, silencer included, not particularly fancy or thrilling, yet as useful as any other weapon she had ever seen. It was the poison she had created to go inside the gun that was the most impressive aspect of it. Each bullet had been handmade and filled with the potent toxin she had created just for these bastards. Silent, fast…her prey would never know what hit it.

Raising the weapon up, she leaned her head back and waited for the sentry to place himself in front of her. As soon as he was close enough, she’d sight him in and take him out. With any luck, no one would hear a thing, though if need be she was prepared to bring down the entire garrison. She doubted she’d have too many problems doing that. She was highly intelligent and quite used to thinking on her feet.

The creature glided towards her, she could feel its presence as it drifted closer, completely oblivious to her presence. Unconsciously, she felt her lip curl and had to force herself to relax. There was no time for disgust at her enemy. She had to focus her mind on what was important.

It was green, and ugly. Bulma inhaled silently, deeply, sighting its hideous face before she pulled the trigger. She took perverse pleasure in watching the look on the creature’s face as it felt the bullet enter and explode within his body as it was designed to do. Death was nearly instantaneous, and she watched as it dropped to the ground, eyes wide and bulging in silent shock.

Shuddering—one never got used to death—Bulma laid her head back and inhaled shallowly. She had not been born to kill, had not been born to take any life, yet here she was, killing with a frequency that would have really bothered her had the recipients not been so richly deserving. Shame flooded through her and she fought it back ruthlessly, yet she could not fight the thoughts that flooded her mind.

That was not the way she had been raised. That was not the morality her father had instilled within her. Yet, neither had she invited these monsters to come down to earth and slaughter in mass quantities. And Yamcha… she choked back a sob, swallowing hard and painfully as it lodged deep within her throat and burned its way down to her heart. Yamcha…

No. This was not the time to relive what had happened. It has been over a year since…since his death. Grief was not welcome here, not now. Pushing the thoughts away, she took a moment to compose herself. At this point, she, along with everyone else left on this planet were fighting for their very existence. Killing was just an unfortunate side effect of the war that they had not asked for.

Shaking the thoughts off completely, Bulma glanced back up the hill, listening intently to the sounds of the night. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the various sounds: crickets chirping, the hoot of a night owl…nothing unusual. Standing, she slipped her gun back into her pack and slid silently upwards again.

Just over the bluff was her destination. The camp of the vicious Saiya-jin, Frieza’s most brutal killers, lay ahead. With any luck, they would never know she was there. She hoped to be in and out, done with her chore before any alert could be given. She felt some fear, but she tried to put it in its place. Fear would get her killed, fear would see the mission fail. She had to conquer it.

She had been well trained by the best of the best as far as assassins went. A refugee from another planet that Frieza’s army had laid waste to in its march across the galaxy. He had come along with many millions of others to make a last stand on Earth in hopes of finally putting to an end the horror of the Cold’s regime. Ryslin had taught her well and she would not disappoint him tonight.

Scrambling upwards, she cursed as her booted foot caught in loose stone and sent it skittering down the bluff. That was not part of the plan. Squatting, she sat still for a moment, listening again to any sounds that were out of place in the night. After a long moment, she stood again, and finished the climb to the top.

Reaching the crest, Bulma pulled out a pair of night binoculars. Laying flat on her belly, she pressed them to her face and silently surveyed the area. The camp lay below her, silent; the only sounds the flags, of what she guessed represented either their clans, or their planet, flapping weakly in the slight breeze that wafted by them. There seemed to be little activity. The monkeys, as she liked to call them, seemed to be laying low tonight. Even killers had to rest sometimes, she thought bitterly.

Slowly, she turned the binoculars towards the left, zooming in on the location of the tent that she knew by heart. How many times had she and Ryslin gone over the information that spies had collected for them? There had been enough analysis for her to know this camp better than her own quarters. The information h ad cost their side dearly, but it had been worth every life to know where the Saiya-jin leader laid his head. Now it was time to ensure that his head never rose again. Vegeta, that was the bastard’s name.

Bulma closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the cool night air to sweep over her. She was amazingly calm considering the chances of her escaping this were slim and none. A virtual suicide mission…

No, dammit! She was Bulma Briefs, smartest woman on this damn planet if not the known universe and she would not allow herself to be killed here. She had too much to offer the resistance to bite it now. She would get in there, kill Vegeta and make an escape that would amaze even Houdini.

Giving the area another once over, she slowly stood, preparing to make the descent that would take her into the heart of the Saiya-jin camp. There was really only one way in and out. Granted she could approach it from several different angles, and she and Ryslin had gone over that. The descent and angle she was currently at had been decided upon as the best possible way. Vegeta’s tent had been put up slightly away from the other tents, possibly to ensure the Ouji’s privacy, and it was no far from the base of the bluff. She could slide in amongst the shadows, slip inside his tent and pump him full of her toxin before—and this was where it got tricky—slipping back out with no one alerted to her presence. She’d be shocked if he did not have some sort of royal guard posted somewhere near his tent.

Pushing her fear away, Bulma inhaled deeply, and began to slide as gracefully as possible towards the base of the bluff. Her boot caught on a loose rock and sent it plummeting ahead of her, causing her to curse viciously. There was nothing like announcing her arrival ahead of time. She brought herself to a stop, cursing again as her knee caught on a sharp rock.

Seeing no activity or motion, she propelled herself forward again, until finally, she reached the bottom. Bulma slithered her way behind a small strand of trees and waited quietly, listening to any and every sound she could possibly hear. It was absolutely silent, eerily so, and it made her nervous. She would have at least expected to hear conversation, snores…anything would have been preferable to this dead calm. It made the hairs on her arm stand up and she shivered, wondering if this was some sign that things were not right. Ryslin had told her to follow her gut and right now it was screaming at her.

Taking another deep breath, Bulma attempted to still her racing heart. Gods, it was beating so loudly it was a wonder the whole of the Saiya-jin camp had not heard it. It seemed, at this moment, her pounding heart was the only noise she could pick up in the struggle to perceive the sounds around her.

Caution and instinct told her to climb back up the bluff and go home. Caution told her that something was wrong here and that she was making a huge mistake, but how could she possibly go home now when so many people had died for the information that had brought her here tonight? How could she possibly go home and admit failure to all the people that were counting on her? Closing her eyes, she rubbed her brow tiredly, and reached into her pack one more time. She had to go in there. She had to see this through, damn the consequences.

Quickly—time was of the essence—she loaded up the clip of her gun, making sure there was one ready and waiting in the chamber to shoot off. Her survival depended greatly on the speed she could deliver the fatal blow and get the hell out of the tent and camp. It had to be fast and she had to be ready.

Inhaling deeply, holding her breath, she made her break, scurrying quickly towards the tent’s opening. Just a few more feet and she would be within killing range of the Ouji. Bulma felt almost giddy at how easily things were going for her. Perhaps the gods were finally on their side, perhaps they had seen the rightness of their cause and decided to lend a helping hand.

Shakily, she pushed open the tent, sliding in. It was dimly lit, one flickering globe light that sat in on a low table in the corner. Where was he? Whirling she glanced around, gun raised and ready to shoot. There was no throne, none that she could see, which seemed strange to her since he was royalty or at least so she had been led to believe. There was some kind of gauzy curtain strung up…she squinted to see through it in the low light…was that where he slept? Was he back there now?

Bulma pushed through the curtain, and gaped. It was empty. There was no one in the bed. Where in the hell was he? She had been told that he would be here, that the Ouji retired early and alone almost every night to his tent. Eyes narrowing, she gritted her teeth together in frustration. Where in the hell was he?

A noise brought her attention up and she whirled again, making a dash for the front of the tent. Something had gone horribly wrong here. She should have trusted what her gut was telling her and left when she had a chance. What in the hell was she going to do now if she was caught? It did not bear thinking upon what these savages would do to an enemy woman caught alone and prowling through the tent of their Prince in the dark of night.

The opening to the tent was before her. She could almost reach out and touch it as she rushed towards it. She could hear the sounds of the Saiya-jin as they apparently returned to camp, and suddenly she understood why it had been so damned quiet. They had not been here. She had no clue as to where they had been, but they had not been here and she had made a horrible decision in continuing with her mission when she had known that something was not completely right.

Reaching her hand forward, Bulma meant to push through the tent opening. In her rush, she had allowed her gun hand to fall to her side and so she was not prepared for the beast that was suddenly in front of her, as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He was large; she’d give him that, she thought dimly as she tried to bring her gun upwards. Gods, there was no time. His eyes flared wide in his ugly face, and the thin moustache he wore seemed to twitch as he curled his lips downward.

"What in the hell?" he bellowed, bringing his meaty, fisted hand up, smashing her viciously in her jaw and knocking her backward across the space.

This is it…

Her thoughts were random, flitting dimly through her mind as she tried to fathom what had gone wrong and come to terms with the fact that she was going to die, as the brute stalked towards her. She tried to move backwards, but his first blow had knocked her silly, and it was all she could do to form a coherent thought, let alone attempt an escape from this monster.

Yamcha…

She was going to die here. She was going to be joining Yamcha far sooner than she had anticipated. He was upon her, wrapping his club hands around her throat, lifting her up, squeezing mercilessly. She struggled to breathe. The sound of it was horrible even to her own ears.

Bulma felt the gun slip from her hands, and she jerked as blackness edged around the corners of her eyes. A tear slid down, despair that not only had she failed, but she had just handed the enemy the one weapon they had managed to have any success with against them. They would be able to analyze it and make some sort of antidote for it.

"Nappa!" through the sound of her blood pumping in her ears, Bulma heard the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. Deep, sensual…cold…it seemed to flow around her, wrapping her up in its rich tones. "Drop her!"

"Ouji, I caught her in your tent…she had this…" Nappa nudged the gun with a toe. "She was planning to kill you."

"Nappa, are you making me repeat myself?" the cool voice held a note of irritation and warning. "Or do I need to blast you into Hell?"

Sneering, Nappa released her. Bulma gasped as she hit the floor hard. Panting for air, she laid her hand against her throat. That had been close, but what did the other one want with her. Why had he let her go? Had she heard Nappa—she thought that was what he had been called—correctly? Was that Vegeta whose voice was so amazing? Eyes narrowing, she tried to wrap her mind around it all. Vegeta stood just a few feet away. She was dead anyway. She had no doubt that Vegeta would do something horrific to her and then kill her. She might as well make a go at taking him with her. Her eyes sought out that gun. She had one chance in hell to make it, while they were distracted with each other.

"What are you going to do with her?" Nappa demanded. "As your personal guard, I have to protest this to you. Give her to the men, kill her, but do not keep her in here."

"Nappa," Vegeta snapped. "Do you think me sniveling and weak? Do you think that I am unable to fight off a woman whose power level is lower than the dirt on this ridiculous planet?" He stalked menacingly towards Nappa. "I have my ways of finding out information from prisoners and I would know what she knows before you or any of your other men rape her or render her otherwise incapable of giving me information." His fist clenched, Vegeta came face to face with Nappa, staring at him coldly. "Now if you wish to stay alive…" his sentence was cut off as he noticed Bulma on the floor, hands closing around the barrel of her gun.

He smirked, kneeling down before her, closing his gloved hand around hers. "Brave fool…so rare on this rock, I am intrigued…" Ebony eyes met clear blue and for an instant he felt a bit dizzy at the woman’s obvious beauty. No Saiya-jin bitch had this kind of delicate beauty. The weak thought irritated him and he sneered, crushing his hand over hers, snapping the bones of her hand.

Bulma gasped in pain as he casually snapped the bones of her hand, the sound of it making her wince. She watched hopelessly as he removed the gun from her now limp grip and stood with it. Her chance was gone.

"Get out, Nappa." he growled. "The woman and I have things to discuss."

NO! Bulma wanted to scream at Nappa as he nodded brusquely and turned to make his exit. No! Kill me! It would be better to be dead than live through whatever this monster had planned for her. Black despair and rage edged their way towards through her mind and she sucked back a sob of frustration. She had been so close.

Again blackness crept around the edges of her vision, and Bulma struggled to stay alert, to stay conscious. She could not sleep now. Struggling, she fought it off, biting her lip hard to keep herself awake, but her head throbbed, her throat ached fiercely, and she was fighting a losing battle at keeping the cold at bay. It was around her, squeezing its tentacles around her, and as the Ouji knelt before her again, she allowed her eyes to meet his… Gods how could anything this coldly beautiful be such a monster. Perhaps that was the irony of all things. The blackness crept around her and this time, she could not fight it.

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