Pt. 1

I. "Kami's Work"

Bulma's hair whipped her face as her head lolled against the outside wall of Red Ribbon Enterprises, thousands of feet above a churning, glowing sea of night life. There was the crunch of glass pressed between the short-piled office carpet and the heel of a boot, and Bulma whimpered, tears tracing her blood-streaked cheeks and dampening the hair at her temples. The stars blinked at her from the violet night sky. She felt someone kneel beside her. They tsked, and the thin fabric of a handkerchief swiped at her face, taking extra care at the corner of her mouth, where a broken tooth and a cracked lip seeped blood. Her suit suddenly seemed too tight; she couldn't breathe. She tried to bat the hand away. She tried to reach for her katana, curled at her side and scintillating with plaster and broken glass.

The office desk that had been thrown through the wall of windows had carved out a path for her once she had been shot in the shoulder, spinning out and listing on wobbly knees until she was backhanded with the butt of the gun. The revolver had sent her sprawling through the rubble, her head hanging out the broken window, like she were skidding into home base. Where had this all gone so wrong? Her eyes stung with tears and her mouth pulled into an anguished grimace as the first drops of rain from a spring storm smacked her forehead.

"Now, now. Don't cry. You can't help that I'm still alive. I am, after all, second to none."

At the sound of the roughened voice, sobs wracked her. She heard the ring of her katana as it was picked up. A peal of thunder quaked through the room and shimmied up her spine.

Panic bolted through her as she heard him stand and lower the tip of her sleek sword, pressing it tenderly against her throat, the blade singing lightly.

"Wouldn't it be so easy to lop your pretty head off right now and have all of Capsule Corporation to myself?" There was a thump near her side as the man dropped to his knee. "You think you are doing Kami's work," he rasped against her ear, "dressing up and playing Super Girl. But whores," he sneered, "don't get into heaven."

Bulma's spit was thick in her mouth, and she clenched her fists. Summoning all her pain and need in one angry breath, she cried out for help. "Vegeta!"

A low snarl sounded as another peal of thunder rocked the building, and a hand closed around her throat and squeezed. "You swore an oath! You made a fucking promise!" As black dots began flickering in her vision, the hand let go. "And to think I was so fond of you." He snorted, as though finishing her off were suddenly not worth his time.

"I never betrayed you," she whispered, following it with a rattling sigh.

The man clutched at the front of her spandex suit and hoisted her up, shaking her easily in the air above the window's ledge. "What was that? Lying again?"

Bulma's head snapped back and forth dangerously before dangling on her chest, glass falling out of her hair like glitter. Her eyelids fluttered and she struggled to look into the dark eyes of the maniac whose hands shook her like a rag doll, but had been so solicitous when they made love.

"I said, I never betrayed you," she continued hoarsely. Their eyes connected, warring black and blue. "Yamcha...set us up. Red...lies. And...Vegeta?"

He glared at her, seething, but those ebony eyes that had so long ago captured her heart giving her one last, desperate chance to fix them.

"The baby is yours."

His eyes widened with shock and his grip loosened. They both watched, dumbfounded, as she slid out of his grasp, her upper body tilting back helplessly, the backs of her knees knocking against the window ledge and sliding out of it with the sickening rip of skin and spandex. She absorbed Vegeta's horrified expression as she fell backwards and began plummeting to her death, the wind picking up speed and ripping at her hair.

"I love you," she mouthed, before the upward sweep of his hair and his dark eyes merged with the shadow of the window, the hundreds of darkened windows that now queued swiftly past her like a gloomy reel of film.

Bulma stared transfixed at the night sky as the wind buffeted her outstretched arms and wondered if this is what Heaven would feel like.

II. "Do-Gooders"

Bulma Briefs absently put her hair up into a high, disheveled bun and shoved her feet into her sneakers. She gave herself a cursory glance in the hallway mirror as she hurried past and snatched her coffee mug off the kitchen counter. Grabbing up her book and keys off the couch and popping her front door open with her foot, Bulma pulled on a slouchy jacket while stuffing her wallet into her pocket. Her mug dangled perilously off one crooked finger. Bulma tucked the book between her chin and chest as she shut and locked the door with a hollow thump and then began the trek down the street to Broadway Beans.

The leaves on the trees lining the main street of West City's old downtown area were just turning a dazzling scarlet. The warm rays of the sun, just beginning to set, pierced through the autumn foliage as Bulma walked underneath, playing against her hair as the breeze jostled them.

Hopping over the railroad tracks that lay parallel to the coffee shop and swinging the front door open with a jingle, she surveyed the nearly empty room with relief. She had hoped the college kids would avoid her favorite cafe on a Friday night in favor of getting plastered, and it looked like she was going to get her wish. She set her mug against the counter and nabbed a banana out of the fruit basket.

"How is West City's most beautiful hermit this fine Friday evening?" The barista called out to Bulma as she exited the back room, grabbing a pot of coffee instinctually and pouring the dark roast into Bulma's dinosaur mug.

"I'm alright. Looks like you've got quite the crowd tonight, Charla," Bulma observed dryly. The only other occupants were two elderly, grizzled men wearing matching driving caps with a chess board between them. Their canes rested against the table as they considered their moves with very slow deliberation.

"No one tonight except Earl and Ray, Ms. Briefs. And now my favorite blue haired polymath."

"Oh, hush." Bulma dropped a five dollar bill into the tip jar and scooped up her coffee, heading towards her favorite window seat to lose herself in a book until she was evicted by Charla at closing time. She propped her feet up on an adjacent chair, and peeled and bit into her banana distractedly, flipping the worn spine open to the receipt for a ham sandwich that she had recycled into a bookmark.

When the sun's remaining glow barely lit Bulma's enraptured face through the window, the jingle of the door opening reached her faintly, pulling her out of her story and causing her to lose her place. She glanced up in irritation, and her eyes widened. In the doorway there stood a stupidly dashing man, his thick black mane curled upward like a flame, its deep hue matching his expensive black slacks and trench coat. He shrugged gracefully out of his coat and hung it over his arm, inspecting the inside of the small coffee shop with polite interest. Bulma swiftly picked her jaw up off the floor and shoved her nose in her book, peering at him out of the corner of her eye. He had beautiful bronze skin, sharp cheekbones, and a chiseled jawline. He obviously wasn't from around here. This part of West City was at best a college town and at worst party headquarters for barely legal students. Maybe he was a visiting academic or an alumni? She peered up over her book at him.

He leaned up against the counter and stared right back at her.

She shoved her book in her face, smacking herself with it in the process. She let out a little huff and blushed, resolving to get back to her book.

She read and reread the passage five times while eavesdropping on the exchange between Charla and the stranger at the counter. The man dropped a few bills pinched between his fingers into the jar and turned toward the two men hunched over the chess board.

Now there is hardly any space or air between our two faces, and I try and jerk myself free, breathing fast as if I were drowning. But he holds my hands and tightens...Wait, what? Okay. Do-over. Now there is hardly any space or air between what is he talking to them about? It sounds like he's giving Earl chess advice...Ugh! NOW there is hardly any space or air between our two faces ohwhyamievenbothering.

Bulma plopped her book down on the small table with frustration and watched as the man, standing at Earl's elbow, gestured at the game board, his deep voice rolling through the room but distant enough to be unclear. Bulma leaned in and raised her mug to her lips, her eyes narrowing as she pretended to sip her coffee.

"I'd sacrifice that pawn and move your bishop two spaces so his rook can't capture your—"

"What? That's just reckless!" Bulma interrupted, her mug knocking against the wood as she sat it down carelessly.

The man turned toward her with a look of wry amusement.

"Then what would you suggest?"

Realizing her error, Bulma's cheeks tinged a pretty pink, and she cleared her throat. "Well," she began, standing up and moving hesitantly toward them. "If he moves his rook, Ray could take it with his bishop two moves from now, and Earl wouldn't have anyone to protect his queen except the king. Once you're relying on your queen to take care of your king, then you're simply playing a game of defense, which is a losing strategy. Earl, I'd suggest moving your farthest right pawn two spaces, luring out his other pawn, and then your pawn could take his bishop in one fell swoop."

Earl and Ray blinked dazedly at the chess board. Slowly, Earl followed Bulma's advice, and when Ray moved his pawn forward, Bulma beamed in self-satisfaction when Earl easily deflected him. She glanced up at the stranger smugly. He looked down on her with an amused smirk. His eyes, a blackened mahogany, glinted with sharp acuity. He cocked an eyebrow at her and gestured at the two men with his ceramic cup.

"I cede the battlefield to you, then."

Bulma smiled up at him bashfully.

"I'm Vegeta." He offered his hand.

"Bulma." She placed her small white hand inside his and shook it firmly.

"Well, that just ain't right."

They turned toward Earl, who had folded his arms in resignation as Ray chuckled gleefully, scooping up all the pieces off the board. Bulma blanched and looked slowly up to Vegeta, who grinned wolfishly down at her.

"I guess you didn't account for every possible move," he suggested smoothly.

Bulma's face flushed scarlet and she buried her face in her hand, peeking out between her fingers to watch Earl fork over a wad of dollar bills to his opponent and rise to leave.

"No. I guess I did not."

His hand gently removed her own from her face, and his mischievous smile widened. "How about we put your wits to good use." He pulled out a chair at the table. "Two out of three?"

Vegeta and Bulma crashed up against the outside wall of Broadway Beans in a flurry of heated kissing, hands clutched in the other's shirt collar. Vegeta's tongue swept her mouth as his coat slid out of his grasp, his hand moving to cup her face. Bulma tilted her head to deepen the kiss, running her hands along his broad shoulders. His hands trailed down her chest with the backs of his knuckles and settled on her hips. Bulma tossed her book and mug to the ground to free her hand, but not before making sure it landed safely on his coat. His mouth tasted like Italian roast with a dash of vanilla. Under Bulma's hand, his face was smooth, his crisp white button down cool against her fevered touch. As his mouth trailed hot down her slender throat, his hand traveled under the hem of her shirt, grazing the underside of her breasts.

She tugged at his belt loops, her head rolling against the cool brick in the moonlight.

"Mmm, Vegeta?" She moaned against his mouth, her pointer finger hooking delicately into his pants.

She felt a rumble against her chest as his mouth descended on her collar bone and nipped her softly with his teeth, causing her to shiver.

"We don't have to carry on in an alleyway...I live on campus. Would you...like to go home with me?"

Maybe she was biased, but she thought she was doing a pretty good job at not sounding too desperate. She applauded herself. It had been a long time since she had been mouth-to-mouth with a man, and she definitely had little experience with getting hot and heavy with one she had just met hours ago.

His fingers flicked her jacket off her shoulders and tugged at the sleeves, sucking at her exposed flesh. The night air pebbled her skin, and she lost her breath as his fingers brushed the front of her shorts. She looped her arms around his shoulders as he pinned her with a smoldering stare. Holding her chin between his fingers, he leaned in and kissed her deeply as the railroad crossing beside the coffee shop began to flash and clang. She pressed his mouth harder into her own, her hand in his hair as the roar of the train approached. His hand trailed to her hair, tangling his fingers in it before pulling back to give her a sultry, half-lidded once over. Red light strobed and saturated their faces and lit the edges of his hair.

He lowered his head to take her earlobe between her teeth and paused, staring at the mark at her hairline.

Bulma glanced sidelong at him, her mouth wet and plump with kissing. "What's wrong?"

Vegeta straightened and gently touched the inscription, a few lines of tiny kanji trailing behind her ear.

Bulma froze.

She felt his breath tickle her ear as he absorbed the tattoo.

Vegeta promptly reached down to grab his coat and strode briskly out of the alley.

Dumbfounded, Bulma panted against the brick as the train began to rush past her and watched Vegeta's silhouette disappear as he rounded the corner.

Bulma gaped, and then scowled, stooping to pick up her mug and book. She smoothed her shirt down and dusted the cover of her book off.

"What the hell?" She muttered, perplexed, staring down the alley where Vegeta had retreated. "Did I say something wrong?"

Wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, Bulma took a sip from her water bottle and pedaled through her thirty minute mark. She glanced up at the clock on the wall of the gym and sighed. She had just short of an hour until her next class. She slowed her pace on the stationary bicycle and straightened, smoothing her hair against her head. And froze.

Vegeta glided past her.

She snatched up her water bottle and hopped off the bike to stride after him.

"Vegeta!" She bumped into another gym goer but continued her pursuit. "Vegeta!"

He turned into the men's locker room, but not before shooting her a stony look.

Bulma stopped in her tracks and watched the locker room door creak shut. Her brows furrowed into a deep scowl and she took off toward the women's locker room, yanking the heavy door open in frustration.

What the hell was his problem? What game was he playing? She turned the dial of the lock on her locker and jerked it open, and then cursed as her clothes and shoes toppled out onto the floor. She grabbed her towel and shoved her stuff back in, stomping toward the showers.

Ever since he'd bailed on her outside of Broadway Beans, she was seeing him everywhere. At first, it was kind of embarrassing. She'd tuck her head in and pretend she didn't see him, despite the overpowering desire to pick his brain about why he'd taken off without a word. That night she had walked back to her apartment in dejection and cooked herself some very calorie-laden comfort food. Was she just a bad kisser? Worse, did he think she wasn't worth his time when she invited him to stay the night? He had made her feel so insecure the following day, wondering if she wasn't a desirable woman. He had been a very handsome man who looked like he knew what he wanted from life and took it. He seemed totally in control and confident. She, on the other hand, was a mousy academic. She had very nearly been in her pajamas when she headed out to Broadway. Charla hadn't been lying when she'd called Bulma a hermit. She rarely got out. She had grown accustomed to being alone and focusing her time and energy on her academic field. Which begged the question: why had someone like him been so interested in her? He was such a smooth talker, but he seemed to know just which of her buttons to push, to tease and bait her, which he had done with unashamed relish. All she knew was that they were playing chess when the competition seemed to heat up...and his casual flirting became more exacting. And caught in the spirit of competition, Bulma had taken the bait. Ugh, so stupid! She shook her head at herself as she stepped into the hot spray of the shower and began lathering the bar of soap in her hands. She wasn't used to romantic attention. But with him, it had all felt so natural. The game of wits had evolved into flirting, and when Charla had called out that she was closing, they were nearly skipping out the door with gleeful naughtiness. It had seemed like such an organic procession of events. Surely he'd felt the same way? So then why did he just bail? And why couldn't he have been at least polite about it? He had made her feel like a loser.

And now—Bulma slammed her hand down on the shower knob and the spray tapered off—he was stalking her. No, the prick couldn't have just abandoned her and gone back to whatever big city he had oozed out of. Instead, she was seeing him everywhere. And at first, she had bowed her head and continued walking as if she hadn't noticed him. But then it become more frequent, running into him often enough that she had grown suspicious. He was loitering at all her hangouts. He was at the gym when she was, he was getting coffee at her usual spots during her usual times, he was just nonchalantly smoking those weird cigarettes outside of the science building when it was time for class, leaning against the brick, watching her. Bulma was now a tangle of emotions. At first she had been hurt and embarrassed, but now she was becoming downright indignant. Bulma Briefs would be threatened by no one. Especially handsome creeps like him.

She toweled off and tugged on her clothes, a loose green sweater and slacks. Grabbing her soft leather briefcase from the locker and snapping the lock back in place, she let out a tense breath through pursed lips. She needed to relax and pull it together before class. She fluffed her hair with her free hand and made her way out of the gym, her flats hitting the pavement with a dull smack. The air was crisp today, and kids with backpacks milled around the park benches smoking and shuffling to class. She glanced at her watch. She still had a little bit of time before class started. She took another calming breath. The breeze shook the trees she passed under, causing a raucous of dry leaves and a few to cascade down to the ground around her. One landed delicately in her hair, and she plucked it out, spinning it between her fingers thoughtlessly before flicking it in the bushes.

She pushed the door open to the Science Building and descended down the stairs toward her office. The other offices were dark and silent, her colleagues busy teaching class. She pulled out her keys and inserted the small bronze key into the door handle, propping the door open with her hip as she bent over into her briefcase, searching for a few papers. She softly kicked the door shut behind her with her heel and pulled out a stack of papers, glancing at her cluttered desk for a space to toss them. And gasped.

Vegeta slouched with his back to her in her visitor's office chair, arms crossed behind his head, tapping his foot to some unheard tune. Bulma grit her teeth and threw her briefcase onto her desk with a thud. She clenched her fists and stared at the back of his head.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in here?"

He craned his neck, shooting her a saucy smirk. "When you said you lived on campus, I assumed you were a student. Not a professor."

Bulma burned holes into the back of his head and then rigidly made her way to the front of her desk, leaning her hip against it and folding her arms against her chest.

"That doesn't answer my question. Why have you been following me?"

One moment, Vegeta was smiling at her sharply. The next moment, he was getting to his feet as he pulled a gun out of the silver interior of his suit jacket.

Bulma saw all of it as in slow motion. Without preamble, she leaned over her desk, her hands closing around two doubled edged daggers that lay hidden beside her computer. She flung them expertly, one aimed at his wrist, the other aimed at his thick thigh. He bent unnaturally to the left, avoiding the knife to the thigh and barely avoiding the other, which succeeded in knocking the gun out of his hand. She twisted off the desk and kicked outward, her legs sweeping like a coffee grinder right at his face, a move he expertly dodged. Vegeta somersaulted once he hit the floor and reached for the leg of the chair, picking it up from his position on the floor with an unnatural strength and hurling it at her. Bulma ducked—barely—and dove for his gun right as he rolled himself upright, leg extending to sweep her own out from under her. She hopped over them, and with preternatural grace and speed, she scooped up the gun and ripped the knife from the wall where it had been buried after missing Vegeta's thigh. As she turned, she watched Vegeta's fist sail through the air right towards her face. Without a second to lose, Bulma bent his arm backwards, fighting his sheer strength, as she rammed her knee into his side. Although he sucked in his breath, he continued to grapple with her. Bulma hadn't expected him to sail through that kind of pain. Seeing an opening as she beleaguered her miscalculation, Vegeta braced his shoulders and charged into her belly, sending them sprawling on the floor to hit the wall with the dry crack of plaster. He pinned her legs down heavily with his own and held her wrists captive above her head, flashing her a triumphant smirk. Bulma glowered at him, and he grinned wider at her sulking.

"I thought you were supposed to be the best," he purred. He wasn't prepared when Bulma overpowered him, feinting a knee to the balls and, taking advantage of his surprise, twisted them around so that she straddled him with a knife to the throat and a gun to his head before he could buck her off.

"Not just anyone can outmaneuver me," she replied huskily. "Why are you in my office testing me?"

He now looked a little peeved that she had turned the tables on him. Bulma's lips twitched. Did he really think he could outsmart her?

"Be so kind as to get your ass off of me and I would be happy to explain it to you," he crooned, though he sounded anything but obliging.

"Yeah, right, playboy." She cocked the gun. "You can tell me from there. Now get to it."

"I really didn't think I'd be having this conversation with you between your thighs."

Bulma blushed a furious red and pressed the knife into his powerful throat before he could take advantage of her surprise.

"Are you always this jumpy around men?"

"Most men who come charging at me with a gun don't live long enough to get to this position, no."

"So then it's just me? Aw, and I thought I might get a fight out of the Blue Menace."

"I see my reputation precedes me."

"Does it bother you that I know?"

She scooted up in one fluid motion so that her thighs framed his head and her hands pressed against his temples, indicating that, in one quick motion, his neck could be broken, dead meat.

"Does it bother you that you won't live long enough to know?"

He chuckled, and even disabled embarrassingly as he was, cast her a smoky look. "It troubles me I won't get to find out what it's like between your thighs with your pants off before you dispatch me."

Again, she blushed crimson. "Will you quit doing that?" She shrieked.

He broke out into hacking laughter. "Get off me, and we'll talk. You have nothing to fear from me. You've made that apparent." He glanced at her thighs around his head distastefully.

"Hmph," she smirked down at him. "Just keep your hands where I can see them. And if you try anything," she warned him silkily, "I will kill you."

"Can't wait." He bared his teeth at her in a feral smirk.

She sprang off him easily, tossing their weapons onto the desk between them and settling into her office chair, folding her hands in her lap and fixing him with a glower. "Start talking."

He sat up gracefully—damn the man—and uprighted the chair that he had sent to decapitate her.

"Let me explain first why I left you that Friday night," he began casually, smoothing his shirt and trousers and sitting back in the chair imperiously. He cocked an elbow on the arm of the chair and placed his chin on his fist, affecting boredom. "I didn't know who you were, then. I was sent to your little college town as a transfer. I work at a law firm and they set up a small location here on the south side near your coffee shop. That Friday marked my first week here. I've lived in the city all my life and was simply curious what kind of amusements a small town might offer on a Friday night. And then I ran into you." He said it with an equal helping of irritation and mirth. "And I found out the more I spoke with you, the more I genuinely liked you. Your idiosyncrasies are charming."

Her eyes widened. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or insulted.

"And it's rare that a woman is a match for me." He gestured around the room, which was looking a little bit like a tornado had passed through.

She narrowed her eyes. "Keep talking."

He leaned forward, losing the easygoing bit and suddenly exuding menace. "If you're wondering if I made out with you with some ulterior motive, I did not, rest assured. It wasn't until I saw God's marking behind your ear that I realized who—and what—you are."

"There aren't many people who'd know that symbol if they saw it. I could count them on one hand, in fact."

He leaned back again, suddenly smug. "Ah, well. I'm Black Vengeance." He scrutinized her. "I, too, do what you do."

Shocked to the core, she stared. "Black...Vengeance? You're joking."

"Did you not think I was real? That someone conjured me up, that I was a figment of the media or Red Ribbon's imagination? Well, I'm not. I, like you, have my own reasons for seeing Red Ribbon fall. And imagine my surprise when the cute little woman I was kissing outside some blasted small town coffee shop is the Chosen One. What did you expect me to do? Shake your hand and say, 'Oh, we're super hero pals now, let's be best friends?' Let's establish some preliminaries: I do not get buddy buddy," he sneered.

"Well," she wheedled. "That's not what I was expecting."

He glanced sidelong at her with agitation.

"If you think I am going to be your superhero side kick, think again. That's not why I'm here. Yes, I've been shadowing you. You're masquerading as some podunk college professor. Why is that?"

Bulma's face darkened. "West Falls University is not some podunk college, Mr. Vengeance." He rolled his eyes at her nickname, but she continued. "And I am not masquerading as anything. I'm an academic who just happens to have a secret identity." As he rolled his eyes, her voice became thick, bitter. "What do you THINK happened? You've done your research on me, have you? Well, then you should know that my parent's were killed in a car accident the same week the Red Ribbon Enterprises absorbed my father's company in an illegal merger. All of my father's work, my future, the people who cared for me, were ripped from me. With the small chunk of change dictated in my father's will—after all, he thought I would grow up to personally receive the presidency from his hands—I was shuffled around in foster care until I dropped out of school. I enrolled in the University of West City and earned my Ph.D in molecular physics before I was 18. I used the rest of my funds to get two more degrees, one in nanotechnology, the other in quantum gravity. I was offered a few positions to teach by the time I was 22. I accepted the position here. Why, you may ask? Well, I could only stand to see the Capsule Corp building from my apartment window for so damned long. I couldn't stand to be in the same city that bastard is running any longer. Secondly, it was much easier to keep my identity secret from afar. Obviously, no one here suspects me of being a corporate terrorist. I live here alone in relative peace, teaching astrophysics and advancing my agenda quietly. I'm sure you could have guessed that, though, Mr. Vengeance? Since you're awfully sure of yourself."

He cast her a quick smirk.

"Does it bother you to see a man so self-assured, Ms. Briefs? Not all of us are your enemy. And not all of us can be outwitted."

They sat inside a thick tension, until Vegeta leaned forward again. "Well, then. Do you have any questions for me?" He asked, his tone amused but not cruel.

"Why do you do it?"

His eyebrows rose questioningly.

"Why dress up and try to take down a corporate giant? What's it to you?"

Vegeta rose, ran his fingers through his hair, and popped his collar. "You're not the only one whose innocence or legacy was stolen from them by Red Ribbon. I was the heir to Ouji Corp." He loomed over her, his tone turning dark. "And now I'm just a lawyer in a small town which just happens to host the Blue Menace." He smirked and leaned over the desk, and her eyes widened with his proximity. "Except Kami didn't give me a license to do it. I work alone, Ms. Briefs. But I'll see you around. And I'll quit tailing you and making you squirm, as fun as it was."

Before she could retort, he leaned over and softly took her lower lip between his teeth. She blinked as his lips pressed against hers and his finger reached out to trail through a lock of her curls, plucking a leaf from her hair. "You're going to be late to class."

Bulma's eyes locked on to her watch and she burst out of her seat. "Oh, shit!"

Vegeta held the door open for her. She gathered up the papers and scurried out into the hall, and as she turned around to make a biting remark about keeping her eye on him, he was gone.

III. "Reluctant Allies"

"We interrupt your evening programming with breaking news brought to you exclusively by the Channel 5 News Team. A floor of the Red Ribbon owned 'Gero Company,' which produces weapons for our military in downtown West City, is in flames tonight, as fire fighters and other emergency personnel work to fight the already extensive damage. The West City fire chief has declared this a three alarm fire and has little hope that anything of Gero Company will be left to salvage by the morning. One of the city's resident masked crime fighters is suspected of starting the blaze, right after a fire fight outside the building that has left at least three Gero Company employees dead. Outside the building was a message written in fire which reads, 'Justice doesn't compromise with criminals.' Gero Company and Red Ribbon Enterprises have long fought rumors of connections to organized crime and political extortion. Whether or not it was the work of Blue Menace or Black Vengeance remains to be seen. We'll keep you updated as this story unfolds. And now back to your regular programming."

Bulma streaked down the gritty alleyway and rounded the corner as footsteps pounded the pavement behind her. She ran fast, but evidently the Red Ribbon thug behind her could run fast, too. She pulled her throwing knives from their home at her thighs and used her momentum to leap onto the brick wall and flip backwards, sinking the knives into the goons chest just as he rounded the corner. Bulma yanked them from his chest just as a roughened voice spilled from the shadows.

"Fancy meeting you here. Don't you have papers to grade?"

Bulma stiffened and, with some hesitation, sheathed her knives. "What, don't like competition?"

Black Vengeance pulled off the wall, separating himself from the shadows. Black vinyl sheathed him from head to toe, like latex poured over a Grecian statue. His black boots flared around his shins, his black mask obscuring his features from the nose up. He folded his arms across his chest and stepped further from the wall, gazing down at her from the eyeholes of his mask, his hair sweeping upwards from it in an aggressive crescendo.

"What are you doing here, Blue? These goons are my dinner."

She scoffed. "Must have forgotten to check my schedule. Puh-lease. I was here first." She walked back into the ally, her hips swaying unconsciously. Her sapphire suit hugged her frame in a flirtatious cut, her blue mask framing rich blue eyes. Her teal curls spilled out from her head chaotically. He followed after her casually, contentedly watching her curls and ass bounce with each step.

"I told you not to step on my toes, Blue."

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?"

He was suddenly right in front of her, leaning his arm against the wall and smirking devilishly down at her.

"I don't like your attitude."

She sneered. "Then it looks like you're going have to change yours."

Gunfire suddenly rained down on them from above. Vegeta grabbed Bulma's wrist and yanked her forward, and they sprinted down the alley. As they rounded the corner, a group of thugs emerged from the shadows, chuckling as they twirled their bats with disregard for the two masked opponents they faced in the dark alley. Bulma instinctively pulled her katana from the sheath that lay at her back. Vegeta's back pressed up against hers, and he pulled his own weapon out from a holster at his back: a stocky, beautifully engraved antique gun.

"I didn't know Black Vengeance had a thing for 19th century firearms," she remarked behind him as the goons slowly advanced on them.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he said gruffly. He lit the fuse with a snap of his fingers and took aim at the biggest goon. "I have Fatty and Blondie."

"Fine," she snapped. "I'll take Shorty and Skinny."

As the gun fired in a burst of powder, Bulma rushed the tagalong crowd, sprinting up the wall and arcing her sword sideways. Sweeping it through the group, she lunged off the wall and descended into the middle of the ruffians with a twirl that any gymnast would envy before settling into a crouch. There was another single burst of gunfire, and as though they were all attached to strings, the goons dropped simultaneously: two with bullets between their eyes and two without heads.

Bulma stood and flipped her hair back from her face, surveying the mess impartially.

"Why can't you play nice?" Vegeta quickly cleaned the barrel of his gun, his gravelly voice like a fine grained sandpaper drug over her body. She repressed a shiver, and her lips tugged downward.

"You dropped me like I was hot when I invited you back to my place, and then stalked me, and then attacked me in my office and exposed my identity. And I'm not playing nice?"

The pair sheathed their weapons and walked in tandem down the alley.

Vegeta snorted. "How else was I going to know if you're the real thing? I had to test you. It's not like you were just going to offer up that information."

She cut him a look of disapproval, her head just topping and bobbing at his shoulder as they scanned the next ally for goons.

"I'm your ally. You shouldn't give me the cold shoulder," he discouraged her with dark mirth.

"I thought you said we weren't allies, and that you worked alone," Bulma countered sarcastically.

"Legally, we can't be allies. Duck!" Vegeta barked, already pulling his pistol from its carrier and lighting it as Bulma kicked her legs out in front of her and bent backwards with shocking agility as a bullet whizzed inches above her. The bellow of Vegeta's gun firing and the subsequent groan of a goon alerted her she could safely rise from her crouch, and she glanced up the alley at the slain goon, his hat still smoking a few feet from him.

They stared at each other's masked faces in the shadows of the alley for a long moment, an overture of a truce forming tentatively between them, when Bulma saw metal glint from the corner of her vision. With inhuman speed, she pulled a knife from its sheath and it plunged into the chest of Vegeta's attacker with ridiculous force, knocking the goon off his feet. Another knife sped in the other direction, pinning another goon against the brick by his wrist.

She trotted over to the goon on the ground to collect her knife, and then pivoted, slinking toward the goon writhing against the wall. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and his eyes bulged in fear as he watched the Blue Menace approach him, Black Vengeance looming behind her with his bulging arms crossed, like a gargoyle hovering protectively over his domain.

"You're going to tell me," she crooned, "what I want to know."

The man whimpered.

"Do the 88's work for Red Ribbon?"

The man's lips trembled but he said nothing. The Blue Menace plunged her knife into the man's other hand, which sunk like butter into the brick behind him as he let out an anguished moan. All the while, Black Vengeance leaned against the wall indifferently, his head hanging back on his linebacker's shoulders, his hair issuing a threat to the sky.

"You working together now?" He wheezed.

Bulma glanced back at her reluctant companion and turned back to the goon with menace. "Would our partnership strike fear into the hearts and minds of Red Ribbon?" She cooed.

The man nodded and clenched his eyes shut. Those mad, maelstrom blue eyes set in that pretty pale face were too much for him. The guys liked to joke around about what they'd do to the Blue Menace if they got a hold of her. He tried to stifle a hard on and failed.

"Then maybe we should."

Vegeta glanced up in surprise, but as he did, he noticed the tent in the man's trousers. Vegeta strode over, corded arms crossed domineeringly.

"Does pain get you off?" He whispered in the man's ear. The man flinched, but the movement tugged at the knives embedded in his wrists, and he nearly passed out from the pain.

"The woman asked you a question," he growled. "Do the 88's work for Red Ribbon?"

The man swallowed and nodded. "Yes. Yes, they do."

"And is it true what they say, that a 'Seventeen' and 'Eighteen' command them?"

The man nodded frantically. "Yes."

Vegeta and Bulma shared dour looks.

"They're the...best. Elite fighters. They guard the Boss."

Bulma collected her knives from his wrists and the slime ball sunk to his knees, crying.

Vegeta pointed to the holes left in the wall without uncrossing his arms. "That's why we can't work together."

Bulma glanced at the holes and frowned delicately, not catching on.

"You're Kami's Chosen," Vegeta explained roughly. "God singled you out, gave you sacred weapons, gave you a sacred mission: to purge this planet of Red Ribbon."

She watched him in wonder as he recited her history.

"Me, on the other hand," he smirked with self-loathing, "I am not destined for Heaven with a mission from God." He looked at her under his eyebrows with dark conviction. "I get my orders from the Demon King."

Bulma's mouth gaped into what Vegeta thought of as a beautiful little pout. "The Demon King? Piccolo Daimao himself?"

Vegeta nodded, pulling a thin black cigarette from a beautifully engraved case attached to his belt, letting it droop between his lips as he snapped his fingers under the tip, creating a small blue flame visible only for a second. His inky black eyes showed no emotion, focusing on the far wall. "The CEO of Red Ribbon has taken something very special from Piccolo Junior. I'm to take it back. Your violence is sanctified from above. Mine is affirmed from below."

Bulma moved closer to Vegeta, resting her hands on her hips and chewing her lip in thought.

"We'll have a better chance of succeeding if we partner up," she at last ceded. "Maybe we should show Heaven and Hell what they could accomplish if they worked together."

Vegeta's eyes flicked over her with amusement. "You would say that. You champion the benevolence of Heaven." He snorted, red smoke curling languidly from his cigarette. "Don't get your hopes up. I don't need help from anyone," he warned her.

"Of course not. Neither do I," Bulma muttered crossly.

The pair looked sheepishly at opposite ends of the alleyway.

"Well," Vegeta interrupted, breaking the mood with a sly smirk. "Then will you go out to lunch with me?"

"What?!" She squawked.

He really just couldn't get enough of that.

"I owe you lunch for saving my life," he nodded at the slain goon, and his body closed the already small space between them, which caused a faint blush to creep up her cheeks. "Can I pick you up at your place Monday afternoon? I know you only have morning classes on Mondays, and it's not like you own a car," he finished with distaste.

Bulma's shyness swiftly became agitation.

"I can get around if I wanted to."

"Well, Princess," he remarked dryly, and his smirk broadened when her features waffled between anger and embarrassment at his endearment, "I'll pick you up in my car at one, and we can discuss this partnership at length at the place of your choosing." He held out his hand for the second time, only this time, when she reached out to shake it, ebony glove met sapphire.

"It's a date," Bulma admitted reluctantly, eyeing the too handsome man from the corner of her eyes as she turned to leave with a stupid tug of giddy excitement.

Just as she turned away, she ripped the katana from its home between her shoulders and it sung down a sound of death as it swept through the muscle of a goon who was creeping up on her with a knife. She moved to stoop over the first goon, who, despite his limp, flayed wrists, was attempting to pull out a revolver as he used his feet to scoot away. The second goon's head rolled over to his own and knocked lightly into his as the Blue Menace kneeled over him, grinning.

"Going somewhere?" She asked, knowing just where he was going, before she slit his throat.