Special thanks to Springandbysummerfall for helping me with this chapter. If it wasn't for your constructive criticism, questioning and insight I doubt this would have ever gotten finished. Love ya!

"Feel better?" Brighid asked.

"Uh-huh." Was the distracted reply from Bulma. She lay with eyes closed and drinking in the sun.

The old adage that one should appreciate what they have before it's gone was a phrase familiar to Bulma. Never before did she have the misfortune to feel the full impact of the weight of those words until now. After being held prisoner, she could now fully appreciate such wise advice. Even during her imprisonment with Hearken, then Frieza, she wasn't aware of all the seemingly insignificant complexities of living that had been stripped from her.

Sterile, unwelcome corridors with florescent light had been the closest thing she had to a 'nature walk' in over a year. Her breeze was stale oxygen circulating through the ship as it was propelled through space. The food was bland at best, tolerable at worst with foods mostly overripe or out of season and picked over by Frieza's soldiers leaving little to stomach for the help.

Frieza's ship was more oppressing then Bulma could have ever realized.

Now she lay with eyes closed and inhaled deeply, basking in the warmth of the sun as it washed over her. The fragrance of dirt, trees and living things enveloped her. Never did she imagine how much she could miss the caress of a breeze against her skin. She welcomed the tickling of the tall grass against her face as it swayed, compelled to dance in the gentle wind. A songbird tittered in a nearby tree. Its melody blending seamlessly with the hum of insects chattering to a mate in the reeds at the meadow's edge.

All of this Bulma absorbed, her parched soul greedily drinking in her surroundings.

Earlier this morning, Bulma was given clothes similar to what Brighid was wearing. The garments required the same amount of fashioning with leather chords to keep them from slipping out of place. Brighid and Bulma laughed as Brighid had to teach her how to fasten each strand so the fabric wouldn't pull or slip.

Brighid had also trimmed Bulma's hair. She had almost forgotten that her long tresses had been singed away during her escape. She watched the burnt strands fall to the floor, each one a silent witness to her survival.

With the sound of each snip, the reverberation of an explosion rocked Bulma's memory. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost smell the stench of fire mingled with the tinny smell of blood. She didn't realize she had broken into a sweat, damp and clammy, until she felt a pair of hands holding hers. Fingers rubbed her palms as Brighid's soothing voice repeated itself, the words Bulma didn't understand, as the hallway splattered with deep crimson and merciless death faded away.

Brighid had been watching her intently as she continued to repeat a string words Bulma didn't recognize yet instinctually knew were meant to calm. It's funny how the tone of one's voice can easily overcome an obstacle like language.

Since she woke up in the strange dwelling, the memories of her escape continued to surge unexpectedly. At times, she felt like she was looking onto a pool of rippling water, the shapes and details obscure but the feeling tied to the shifting images crystal clear. Things like the task of strategically placing exploding devices to create a diversion were easy to recall. Others were only impressions. An emotion would rise to the surface that lacked context of the how or the why. She fathomed a type of post-traumatic stress disorder had manifested after she escaped from there to here.

Before touring the village, Brighid had insisted that Bulma conceal her hair in an elegant cloth of golden ochre dotted with rust-striped shells. Bulma had enough insight from different Earthly cultures to agree without question. It seemed odd, but who was she to judge why she had to have her hair covered? The last thing she wanted to do was upset the people going out of their way to help her. Brighid expertly twisted a knot to secure the wrap in place before they left.

When they first stepped out of the dwelling, the villagers didn't pay them much attention. As they wound through the streets, Bulma was surprised by the ornate huts build from massive logs and topped by twig-thatched roofs. Each was decorated in different colors of hand-woven cloth, animal hides, shells and paint. She could only imagine the personalities of those living within by the outside décor.

As they walked, people began to take curious notice of the odd visitor among them. Dismissing the fact that the village was small and it seemed everyone either knew or knew of everyone else, Bulma would have stuck out even if she were a member of the village. Her almost sickly-pale complexion was a stark contrast to the sun-kissed people they passed. Shades of orange hair, from dusty peaches to vibrant apricots, were all unique and the complete opposite from her own tresses.

Yes, even if she was native born, she would be noticeable no matter where she went.

Despite their curiosity, everyone was friendly - slightly apprehensive, maybe, but friendly - and smiled as they watched the pair pass by. Bulma listened as Brighid pointed out important people or buildings while leading her through her village. They passed through the marketplace where stands selling colorful fruits and vegetables, jewelry and animal hides lined the street. Bulma was shown the kilns, blacksmith and what she imagined was a school building. Although tired and a bit overwhelmed with all of the information, she loved learning about the town.

They only covered half of the village before Brighid led them away and into the tall grass of a nearby meadow. Once she was hidden from curious eyes, Bulma took her first fully relaxing sigh since…was it already two years ago that Hearken's ships appeared? She felt the tension adjusting from new surroundings ease away now that she was surrounded by the sounds and smells of nature. Brighid's father had been right - Brighid truly was a gifted healer.

A firm tug pulled Bulma's head covering down reminding her she wasn't alone.

Bulma smiled. "Thank you." She turned her head to look at the girl. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Brighid nodded while folding her legs under her as she joined Bulma in soaking up the sunshine. "The Saiyans," she said as she dug into her satchel. Pulling out two folded cloths, she offered one to Bulma. "You said that they would never hurt you?" Brighid unfolded the wrapping and pulled out a sandwich. Eating her lunch, she gestured at Bulma to do the same.

Unwrapping the stone-fired bread cradling meat, root vegetables and slathered in a thick gravy, the smell of the hearty sandwich made her mouth water. "No, they never would." She answered before taking a bite. The mixture of flavors was beyond decedent. The last time she had eaten anything this succulent was in Frieza's quarters. The memory of the dinner that sealed her and Vegeta's fate formed in front of her. Understanding now that Frieza had planned their humiliation and annihilation so long in advance that they never would have escaped his ship together and unscathed, she wondered if Vegeta was still alive. Oh, how she ached with hope that he could have survived Frieza's plan for him. "What did they do that makes you think they would?"

Brighid picked at her sandwich in thought. "We've been taught many things in our learning groups and from our parents. Our history tells us that our ancestors had become star walkers. They had found a way to explore the heavens where they found a utopia beyond the sky. It held a promise of establishing a great civilization. Our ancestors left this world for the Otherworld. Two generations lived in the Otherworld's grace until the arrival of the Saiyan demons."

"Oh no," Bulma groaned. She had already anticipated this conversation from Brighid's curiosity about Vegeta's picture. Understanding that Vegeta's ancestors were foraging new planets for the Cold regime before Brighid's story made the hair on Bulma's neck stand with uneasy knowledge.

Brighid nodded. "They took that world from us. It is said that there was a great battle to defend what we had cultivated but in the end we lost too many to continue our fight. Those that remained fled back to our ancestral home. Any reference to traveling among the stars or objects used to explore anything beyond our skies has been forbidden ever since. We are not the great people we once were and anything that threatens the integrity of our safety has been banned."

They both sat in silence as they ate their lunch. Bulma had experienced the torment Vegeta had felt when he had been forced into Frieza's ranks. She also knew how the killing, gore and hopelessness of his situation allowed him the opportunity to become the entity that Brighid's people had grown to fear. Was there any way to convey to a person, to an entire people, that had been conditioned to fear and hate a race because of orders that threatened horrors if they didn't comply?

Brighid broke the silence first. "So why do you have a picture of a Saiyan with you? And why do you say they would never hurt you?"

Bulma smiled sadly at the bluntness of the questions. There was no accusation in Brighid's tone. Only unruly teenage curiosity with an undertone of a passion with a drive to understand. This young freckled girl reminded her of her younger self. Wild abandon going wherever her interests took her, wanting to know anything and everything about whatever she could get her hands on.

Mulling Brighid's question over, she carefully tried to decide how to answer. Not sure if Vegeta's reputation had wound its way through the cosmos to this seemingly friendly people, she thought maybe it was best to speak more generally. Instinctual fear warned her that her relationship to Vegeta, and her being colleagues with his team, might cause her stay to become an imprisonment once again. Did they even know that the Saiyan race was on the brink of extinction?

Yes, being as non-specific as possible would be wise.

"The Saiyans I knew, four of them actually, had protected me while I was being held captive." Staring at the turquoise and violet planet overhead, colors muted from the day's sunlight, Bulma recalled the way Raditz, Nappa and Kakarot looked out for her while she kept her vigil at Vegeta's side as he teetered on the brink of death. "The one in the picture and I had an agreement of sorts – I was to help him with his training so he could overthrow our captor and he would give me protection against another that I was too weak to defend myself from. He and I became close but he was sent away before I escaped. I never had the chance to say goodbye. He didn't know I was going to make an attempt to leave. I'll probably never have the chance to see him again." Pretending to itch her eye, Bulma wiped away a wayward tear. She wasn't ready to face that reality. Saying it out loud seemed to further solidify the distance between them.

It was Brighid's turn to sit quietly and think. Hesitantly she asked, "Did he love you?"

Bulma couldn't help but laugh at the question. "In his own way, I believe so." She lamented, still chuckling that even the teenagers on a completely different planet were just as obsessed with love as those back on Earth.

Her and Vegeta's conversation about love – of how Vegeta would not allow himself to love – and his accidental admission that he wanted to love replayed as if it had just happened yesterday. In another universe, I could love you, he had said in almost a whisper. In another time I could feel moved enough to command heaven and hell for you. That's when she knew - knew that he wanted to but had been forced to compartmentalize his emotions for so long that he literally wouldn't allow himself to feel even when his words betrayed him.

Trying to keep the building well of emotions at bay, Bulma continued. "I don't think either one of us meant to end up caring for the other. We were in a high-stress situation and forced to spend long periods of time together. It would be more of a wonder if we didn't become somewhat affectionate towards one another."

Brighid laughed. "You believe that?" she scoffed, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Bulma. "What about the other three Saiyans? Was there the same level of affection with them?"

"No but –"

"Then there's more to it than a tense situation and time." Brighid interrupted pointing a finger a Bulma. "If that were true, then your feelings for this Saiyan should have the same depth as the others."

Before Bulma could counter Brighid's quick insight and understanding – more evidence that her father was correct about his daughter's skills – a shuffling in the grass startled them both.

"Guys?" called out a voice from the edge of the meadow.

Bulma sat up, immediately on edge. Looking to Brighid, she watched the girl's eyes close after an annoyed glance in the direction of the call.

Bulma anxiously watched as someone barreled through the tall grass. A young boy with freckled face and pale skin crowned by fiery orange hair emerged from the swaying stalks. Bulma pulled her legs in to avoid the boy tripping over them in his excitement as he ran towards Brighid.

"There you are!" The boy gasped, hands on his knees to catch his breath. "I found you!"

"Congratulations," Brighid sighed in annoyance, rolling her eyes. "What do you want Torc?"

"Is this her?" He pointed to Bulma. "Is this the girl we found? Are the other villagers right? Is she really going in front of the Elder?"

"Torc, you're being rude!" Brighid snapped. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with your learning group?"

"I snuck away." Torc grinned sheepishly digging a rock out of the ground with his toe. "But they're on break so I'll be back before they even miss me."

Brighid lay back on the ground with a loud thump and closed her eyes again. "Dad's going to kill you. You know we're not allowed to go anywhere without checking in with either him or the Elder for the next million lifetimes."

"Wait, you skipped class?" Bulma asked with amusement. Seeing such a normal exchange between a brother and sister was refreshing.

The boy, Torc, finally looked at Bulma and shrugged. "We were working on Ancient Antiquities. I got bored so I left."

"Does everyone have to report their whereabouts with the Elder?" Bulma asked. Being under another reign of scrutiny and control didn't sit well.

Brighid shot a dirty look at her brother before answering, "No. Usually we are free to come and go as long as our responsibilities are fulfilled. Only special circumstances create the need for the Elder to intervene."

Bulma plucked a blade of grass and pulled it apart absentmindedly. "So what does that mean? Why do I need to meet with your Elder?"

"Because," Torc answered excitedly. "You're – "

"That's enough!" Brighid was on her feet and grabbing a fist full of her brother's shirt before he had a chance to continue. "I'll drag you back to the village and let dad deal with you if you don't go back to your learning group right now."

"Come on, sis," He protested. "You wouldn't really do that to me, would you?"

"Try me."

"Okay fine." The boy twisted out of his sister's grip. "I'll go back, sheesh! I know where to find you later anyways." With a longing look at both of the girls, Torc turned and disappeared in the same direction he had come.

Brighid shook her head with a roll of her eyes. "Sorry about him. Little brothers are the worst."

"Yes they are." Bulma laughed settling back into the grass. Drained from her walk around the village, rehashing memories she wasn't ready to revisit and Torc's abrupt interruption, Bulma closed her eyes to signal she was done with conversations for the time being. Brighid didn't press a conversation and an awkward silence fell between them.

Uneasy with apprehension, the light start of a friendship suddenly felt like a sinking brick. It was so easy to feel comfortable in Brighid's presence. The girl instinctually knew what to say and how to respond to help make Bulma feel at ease. It was easy to relax and unwind with her around - to forget the desperate shadows clawing at the edge of her consciousness, biding their time until they could drag her to the depths of hopelessness.

Her mistrust deepened with the knowledge that Torc had impression that Bulma's presence was more significant than just a traveler who accidentally crash landed on their planet. Her worries grew with the knowledge that she had no family, no friends and no protection from these people if they turned on her.

She felt more alone and scared now then ever.

She wondered to herself how she was going to handle this new mess as she dosed in the sun, sighing with the soft breeze.

Raditz set his drink on the table, amber liquid swishing against the smooth glass. He barely flinched when a firm hand slapped him on the back. The chair next to him groaned in protest as a figure dropped heavily in its seat.

"Enjoying our time off?" Kakarot asked sarcastically while flagging a barmaid for a drink.

"More or less." Raditz answered as the merriment of some of the universe's most dangerous criminals surrounded them.

"You should be lost in paradise." Stretching his arms out wide, Kakarot gestured at the noisy crowd. "Surrounded by the most wanted and hated on an uncharted planet far off Frieza's radar? What more could you ask for?"

Raditz shrugged and tipped his glass against the tabletop. Kakarot nodded in silent agreement and folded his arms to stare into nothing. After working together the last few years no words needed to be exchanged to describe the worry they both shared.

"Do you think…?" Kakarot's voice trailed off. The unspoken question was bothering them both.

"Vegeta's gotten himself out of worse messes then this one." Raditz picked up his glass and held it hesitantly in front of his face. "I'm sure he will be here sooner or later." Unconvinced himself, he downed the liquid.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Absentmindedly, Kakarot watched the barmaid weave through the crowd to deliver his order. "I think what we need is a distraction." He smiled slyly as the women drew closer.

"Your drink, sir." The barmaid announced, placing Kakarot's glass in front of him. She squealed when he grabbed her arm and dragged her into his lap. Laughing, she playfully slapped his hand away.

"Like this decedent beauty right here." He half-whispered against her neck as she bubbled over with giggles. "We should enjoy the rare freedom we have for now." He righted the woman back on her feet and gave her a light smack on her butt as she walked away, hips swaying seductively as she looked back over her shoulder.

As tempting as it was to get lost in the temporary security of the planet they fled to, Raditz knew it was only a matter of time before their sanctuary among the black-market riffraff turned hostile. Frieza had more then likely sent out scouts to the farthest shadows of the universe to look for the Saiyan troupe already. He had to have marked Raditz, Kakarot and Nappa for death.

Now it was a deadly game of hide-and-go-seek.

They had combed through their pods as soon as they landed to find and destroy any tracking devices installed into the circular ships. They left the pods intact and safely hidden for the extremely real possibility of needing to flee. Leaving their armor in a shoddy hostel, they donned regular clothes to blend in better. As an extra precaution, their tails were hiden under their clothes to make them less noticeable. It only took one imbecile to recognize one of them as Saiyan and tip off a member of Frieza's guard to their whereabouts for a payoff.

"Whiskey and Bourbon are the joys I partake in." Raditz tapped his empty glass with a wink. He thumbed towards Nappa whose fist was locked with another behemoth as they struggled through an impasse of arm wrestling. The crowd around them cheered on their favorite giant, money in-hand as they placed bets for their hopeful winner. "Nappa seems to have made himself a name here already."

Kakarot shrugged. "We all have our vices, more or less. Well, I'm off to interrogate that barmaid to make sure she isn't an enemy spy or something. I might have to include a strip search just to be safe."

Raditz shook his head with a laugh. Although apprehensive about the length of time it was taking Vegeta to rendezvous with them, Raditz had to admit it was nice having a little breathing room for once.

Standing, Kakarot winked at Raditz and weaved through the crowd in search of his accused female spy.

Ignoring the outburst of cheers and cursing as Nappa finally forced his opponent's hand against the table, Raditz waved to a nearby server for another round. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should be doing something, anything, other than laying low and waiting for Vegeta to join them. It had been over a week since orders were barked at them to change course and head to a planet with the universe's most volatile inhabitants. Vegeta had turned off communications with them after discovering the ambush waiting for all of them. If he survived, he should have arrived by now.

His stomach twisted when he thought of the cunning woman who unknowingly saved his, Nappa and Kakarot's lives. If it wasn't for her altering the scouters to give them a secure line, they never would have been able to abort Frieza's mission and find temporary sanctuary. Was she smart enough to get off the ship alive? All three of them were worried about her and unable to come to terms with the likely possibility that both she and Vegeta were dead.

The feeling that something was terribly awry hung over him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his gut told him something had gone terribly wrong. The urge to leave, to investigate what had become of Vegeta and Bulma grew stronger every day. Paranoia of being watched, feeling exposed despite their diligence ate at Raditz as the hours ticked mercilessly by.

Eyes sweeping the crowd in search of one of Frieza's men or a wayward bounty hunter, Raditz couldn't stand being in the crowded bar any more. Leaving payment for the drink under his empty glass, Raditz walked out to find a place to clear his head.

Almost, Artiria thought as she concentrated.

Closing her eyes, she grit her teeth as another wave of electricity burned through her skin. Shaking with the effort, she tried to ignore the searing sensation as she focused on the pins in the cuffs. She could see the lock's shear line in her mind. Three pins were already raised to the correct position. The cuffs' reaction to her raised ki were taking a toll on her concentration. She didn't have enough time to start over. She had to make the last pin move. Fixated on it, she shook with the effort while keeping her ki from turning inwards any worse than it already was.

Up, up, up, up, UP! She screamed inside of her head as her sizzling nerves threatened to undermine her efforts.

Sweat dripped from her forehead and into her eyes. The clammy air made it difficult to breathe. Still, she pushed through it, willing the little metal pin to respond.

As if resenting the effort to make the move, the pin barely nudged upwards. Artiria groaned with frustrated exhaustion, giving the stubborn thing an exasperated mental tug. With a shudder, it jerked towards the shear line until a satisfying click softly whispered in submission.

"YES!" She yelled out in elation, only to be rudely reminded why the cuffs where on her in the first place. They responded with an agonizing sizzle reminding her that although they were unlocked, they were not yet discarded.

Panting as she lowered her ki for relief, she rested the back of her head against the wall and stared up at the ceiling to wait for the burning to subside. The shocks reluctantly receded as they left her dripping in sweat from her efforts. She hated them, the ugly horrid things. They were one of the worst inventions ever created and she would be happy to see them wiped out of existence.

Moving her wrist a fraction, she felt the usually snug-fitting shackles loosen.

Staring in udder disbelief at her bindings, she still couldn't believe it.

It worked. It actually worked!

Not able to contain the mixed emotions after freeing herself, she erupted into laughter. It was wild, loud and manic, and drew a shuffling sound from the other cell. She looked towards it and saw her spectator melt back into hiding. Vegeta, the lurker of the shadows, shot her his disapproving frown before he vanished. She grinned at him in response, ecstatic that her plan had worked.

Artiria knew Vegeta had been discreetly watching her the minute she started to work on the tumbler inside the torture device. Part of her plan was to draw his attention, but the nature of her getting free would have done that anyway.

There was no key to slide into the lock and no way she was going to get her hands on one anytime in the near future. She had to pick the lock without any tools or help. Just her telekinesis coupled with pure grit and determination.

To move the pins she needed her ki. The delicate balance of allowing enough of it to be used without being debilitated by Frieza's personal insurance of subordination was trickier then she had guessed. It had taken a physical toll that left her weakened and shaky. She had a hard time concentrating and her first few attepts were absolute failures. There was no trouble in getting Vegeta's attention, or irritation, when she couldn't keep her focus and was overwhelmed with the cuffs. Repeatedly, she endured the backlash for raising her ki yet she didn't give up. Now that she was completely alone and Frieza tipped off that she was, at the least, some kind of an informant, she was absolutely terrified of what was in store for her future.

The timetable she was working against was the other driving force in her rush. She had been working frantically, taking as few breaks as she could manage, before she was dragged to another interrogation. She wasn't sure how she survived the last one – only Frieza's will to keep her alive allowed her the opportunity to break free on borrowed time.

Artiria smirked at that thought. If Frieza only knew she had the ability to free herself earlier, she probably wouldn't have left the room alive.

Now, that was child's play in comparison to the second phase of her plan.

What she was about to do was beyond suicidal.

A conversation floated down the cellblock before two figures materialized from the entryway. Shifting so that her knees were pulled up against her, she hid her hands between her torso and lap. Using her legs as a shield, she slipped off the metal shackles.

To be free of the damned things was euphoric.

She made note of the loose gravel against the wall. In the cell next to her there was a piece of discarded rebar near the door. The chains above her head - how many days has it been since they no longer saw her as a threat and stopped securing her to the wall? – hung innocently in anticipation.

She thought she saw Vegeta perk up a little.

Maybe he noticed the air around her starting to stir? Could he tell that the cavern seemed to still in anticipation, holding its breath waiting for the show to begin?

As Artiria waited for them to get closer, she visualized her plan one more time. The element of surprise was on her side. She would have seconds, possibly a minute or two before reinforcements came. Would it be enough time for her?

The guards stopped in front of her cell. The one laughed at some joke the other made as the door to her cell whined opened. They stood waiting for her to rise as they continued their conversation.

She stared at her knees and ignored them both.

Their chatter hushed when they realized she didn't move. They looked at her quizzically, used to her normal compliance.

"A176, let's go." The taller one barked.

Artiria did not make any indication she was going to listen. She continued to sit silently without acknowledging the order.

"Did you not hear me A176?" The guard snarled with irritation as he stepped into her cell. "Get moving before I make you move."

Again, Artiria ignored the orders.

He stepped closer to her, leering over her in silent threat. His partner shuffled curiously into the doorway. "This is you're last warning. Get up and get walking."

"No." Artiria replied calmly.

"Why you little…" he muttered. "You're going whether you like it or not!" He reached down and grabbed her under the arm to yank her up and towards the door.

As soon as his hand wrapped around her arm she sprang to her feet.

Grabbing onto him with both hands, she whipped him around and threw him against the back wall. The other guard reacted instantly. With as much speed as he could muster in the small space he charged her. Reaching out in the direction of the rebar, she braced herself as she was tackled. Before she hit the floor with a loud oof, the rebar was nestled safely in her hand.

Kicking him off her, she swung at him with the rod. It made contact with the side of his head and he staggered backwards from the impact. "Support needed in cellblock D!" he bellowed into his scouter, finger mashed into the side of the device as it shifted awkwardly sideways.

A pair of arms wrapped around her neck. Instinctively she folded herself over while grabbing onto the back of her assailant's armor, flipping him over her back and onto the floor. She was knocked forward from behind and stumbled head first into the bars of her cell. The metal rod clanged against the floor as she lost her hold on it. Flicking her other hand, the gravel along the back wall pummeled the face of her second assaulter. He yelled out as he frantically scratched at his eyes, giving her the opportunity she was looking for. With a hard back kick, she forced him against the back wall. Grabbing the shackles, she locked them around his wrists.

She yanked the key used to open her cell door off the key ring and snatched the rebar from the floor. With a spin, she stabbed it into the side of the man picking himself up from the floor. He howled in pain and lurched to his feet, ripping the metal out of his side as blood flowed freely down his hip and pooled on the floor. He groped to catch hold of anything on her, succeeding in fisting her hair and jerking her sideways. Pain raking across her scalp, she twisted herself around and fell facing Vegeta's direction.

They locked eyes for a heartbeat.

Vegeta had finally peered out from his curtain of shadows, his surprise clearly visible. With a wink, she threw the key at him before being yanked her back to her feet.

She clawed at the guard's hand tangled in her hair trying to get a secure grip on him. Despite his trying to shake her off, she was able to wrap both hands around his wrist. Gritting her teeth, she sent out a grounding pulse temporarily binding them together. It took almost no effort to break through the mental wall he had. Taken by surprise and generally weak-minded, she easily shattered through the little resistance he had and burrowed as deep into his memories.

She was looking for any kind of information that would help aid in their escape. Nothing was too minute or mundane because each had its one value. Frantically, she looked through as much as she could to see if there was anything that held a spark of hope for them.

A sharp pain stabbed Artiria in the back and resonated within her head. A hard crack exploded across her face as her connection from the guard was violently ripped away. A horrid scream echoed deeply within her. The feeling of excruciating pain traveled through her nerves as the yell faded away.

"What a mess you made." Tsked a voice behind her.

Thrown back against the hard floor, she gasped for air as the ceiling pulsed in and out of focus. Nauseous from disorientation, she rolled over and dragged herself onto shaky hands and knees as she coughed and gagged. She recoiled as the guard's death continued to reverberate in her head. All of his pain, his surprise, his feelings of violation and helplessness were crushing. It was a side effect she always tried to avoid – one that she hated about herself the most.

Slowly looking over her shoulder, her eyes were still having a difficult time focusing on the shifting room, she saw the man who had broken her connection standing over the guard's lifeless body. He stood tall with arms crossed over his chest, uniform impeccably white and topped with a luxurious cape accented with lavender underneath. His mint green skin was framed by darker green hair braided neatly as it cascaded down his back.

Zarbon – the name popped into her head instantly from the guard's memories. Mixed emotions of fear and disregard surfaced. The guard didn't have a lot of respect for him, yet knew he was dangerous enough to be feared.

Staggering to her feet, she faced Zarbon with caution. Recognizing him as the soldier Bulma was with before the explosion, Artiria tried to piece together the overall importance of this man.

"Did you get a bit bored here in your cell?" Zarbon jeered. Unfolding his arms, he revealed the ki cuffs he was holding.

Artiria chose not to answer his question.

"It's interesting…I never imagined you would be this pugnacious." Twirling the cuffs around his finger, he watched, waiting for her to decide how she wanted their encounter to play out.

Turning away from him with arms folded expectantly behind her back, Artiria rested her aching head against the cool bars of her cell. Zarbon snapped the cuffs back on, the too-familiar electricity almost welcome as they chased away the impressions of the guard's last living moments.

Vegeta hadn't returned to the shadows yet and was still watching her intently. She nodded subtly at him as Zarbon pulled her away from the bars and lead her out of the cell. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vegeta's nod in reply before he melted back into the darkness.

She paid no mind to the rough shove hurrying her along. Instead, she was smiling to herself as she climbed the stairs. Her plan had worked. She had made an ally, willing or unwilling, and an escape might be possible now.

Silently she hoped that he would be willing to listen to her to help them both.