Chapter Text
"Ah, ah…!" Eighteen pants as the beads of sweat – beads she apparently can still produce – drip down her battered brow, her body resting inside of a giant crater – a crater of her own making. "Seventeen…"
There she is: exhausted, damaged and, what's more, angry. Just an hour ago, she and her twin were fighting against Goku's friends… without Goku. Which is lucky for her…
"Seventeen… Aghhhhhhh!" she shouted into the heavens, bashing her functioning hand into the ground. "Damn you Gero; Damn you Goku; Damn you all!"
Yes, Gero, their former master. The one that has reshaped the twins into murderous androids all for the purpose of killing Goku. Of course, the two of them, ostensibly still teenagers at heart, were all too happy to honor his wish – that is, after killing the evil sap. The two of them, of course, went hunting for the Earth's mightiest warriors – it should have been easy.
Chiaotzu, Tien, Yajirobe and Yamcha went down without a hitch. They were only humans after all, not ones modified for combat like her and her… brother.
"Seventeen, you idiot!" she shouts, cursing the earth she awakened to. "Why did you get so careless…"
Really, it was to the detriment of her brother that they were such small pickings. With how new both of them were to their newfound strength, the self-confidence boost he got from killing a bunch of small fries was like a hallucinative high heavens couldn't come down from.
The last four – Krillin, Gohan, Piccolo and Vegeta… They turned desperate. They threw themselves at the two of them like a pack of cornered animals, not fearing the death that just befell their compatriots… And it was the proud prince's suicide attack that did her brother in.
"Of course, of fucking course that idiotic Saiyan with a Napoleon complex would sacrifice himself just because his pride got damaged…" she sighs, sitting up to look around herself – at the damage of her decisive battle. Within the desert of death, with the corpses of the fallen strung together across the sandy sea… including that of her brother… It is all so quiet. It's all so serene.
It is all so swell.
"Well, brother, it looks like I alone will be having all the fun."
And so, with a solicitous smirk, Eighteen stands up entirely, taking her first real step in her new life as the most powerful being on Earth.
–
A week has passed.
An uneventful week at Capsule Corp.
The home of the Briefs, and most importantly, the home of one Bulma Briefs, the inventor of the Dragon Ball Radar and friend of the fallen Earth's saviors, is currently at a low but poignant buzz, for she couldn't believe it. For the first time in her life, she was ostensibly alone. The Turtle Hermit and Oolong were still alive, but everyone else was gone…
Yet she did not grieve for long.
"Mom, have you seen Dad?" Bulma asked.
Yeah, after her initial shock, the woman seemed all too ready to start her work preparing for something.
"Yeah, honey," the woman answered, pointing to the living room. "He is speaking to an acquaintance of yours."
"Acquaintance?"
"Yes. Some polite young woman by the name of Eighteen."
"Eighteen… Never heard of her."
"Oh, but she said she knew Goku and the rest of your friends. And she explained she wanted to help you resurrect them. Oh, honestly, the wonders of the modern world."
"Wait, but how could she…" Bulma murmured, giving her mother a worried look. "Thanks, Mom. I will see what this is about."
"O-oh, OK."
With a hurried step, the woman in her mid-30s goes to her living room, her brow furrowed in worry. It was an appropriate reaction considering whom she is about to meet.
"Oh, there you are, honey," her dad says, his mustache covered in fresh coffee stains, his jovial temper at its highest after a good cup. Of course, him drinking caffeine is nothing unusual. He always does when a guest comes to visit. It is just the peculiarity of this guest that perplexed Bulma.
Across the lounge table sat a young, short-haired blonde, her eyes cold; her posture relaxed.
"Yeah, here I am, Dad. Who is that?"
"I thought you would know," he answered. "This polite woman says that she is a friend of your friends, and that she is here to help you with your project of getting them back."
"She said that," Bulma murmurs, the atmosphere around her turning chilly. She never met this woman, or at least she never took notice of her if they ever crossed paths, yet what is this sense of foreboding she is sensing in her? How does she know about the plan to bring her friends back? How does she know of Goku?
"Yes, and I guess you two will have a lot to talk about, won't you, honey," the old coot lets out, fixing his back when he stands up. "Now I will be leaving you two alone. Your father is a busy man, even when you are not nagging me by the ear, and I still need to finish the preparation for your spaceship. Honestly, the odd Vegeta fella really did a number on the old bucket of bolts."
"Oh, I could guess," Eighteen replied, giving her new host a welcoming smile. "That man, like his hair, sure was a handful."
Bulma got goosebumps. She is not sure who this woman is, but the presence she exudes is suffocating in ways that her stay at Namek couldn't match.
It could be her appearance: after all, her unwelcome guest looks like a bratty punk, to put it mildly. Short blonde, almost bowl-like hair that frames a face that is… pretty, Bulma will admit, but also quite cold in its disposition in ways that even the villains she faced couldn't hope to match. Eighteen, if that's her name, has eyes that are as sharp as a rusted edge, equal parts solid yet decrepit in the ways they seem to regard everything around her as… lesser. Add to that her subtle eyelashes and lips that are perpetually shifting between a neutral position and a threatening grin, and it is no wonder that Bulma is so tense.
Even her clothes are a lot more in line with those of a lass from a biker gang than those of a proper member of wider society. She is wearing a black mini vest with a golden triangle pin above her white, short-sleeved undershirt with a pearl necklace, while her hands are accentuated by a pair of short black gloves. Her lower garments are composed of dark teal jeans with a golden chain, a brown belt, and black flats with orange socks.
She truly looks like a punk, and she certainly acts like one.
"Come, take a seat," the blonde says, each word packed with a mix of friendly chatter and authoritarian flair. "We have so much to talk about."
"I am sorry, but this is my house," Bulma replies, ignoring every instinct telling her to shut it as her pride takes center stage. "Shouldn't I be the one telling you to do so? Besides, I do not know who you are, and I don't appreciate strangers using my friend's name as a way to get inside. So leave."
"Oh, come on now, Bulma: is that really how one should regard an acquaintance of a friend?" Eighteen sighs, yet her profile does not shift. "After all, I am here because you and I have a shared interest in getting what I want – Dragon Balls. And that radar of yours."
"Dragon Balls!?" Bulma screams internally, her internal voice entering a panic mode while outwardly she is somehow keeping it together. "How does she know?"
In truth, it is not like the existence of those shiny wish-granting orbs is a secret. Throughout history, their power to bestow anyone with anything was quite a far-reaching tale, and their life-changing splendor certainly is well-documented.
Still, only a few people – her closest friends and family – knew about the device she made – the Dragon Ball tracker. So unless someone ratted her out – a highly unlikely event – there is simply no way that this woman should possess knowledge related to it.
Yet she seemingly does.
"I do not know what you are talking about," Bulma says, shrugging. "Dragon-ball-what-now?"
"Oh, look at you, being cute," Eighteen sighs, dragging herself up with a breezy step towards the tense gal. "Adorable even; alas," she gets behind her, putting one arm onto her shoulder, "I am not playing games."
Tightening her grip, the blonde leans into Bulma's ear, whispering words that shake Bulma to her core.
"Unless you want to meet everyone in the afterlife, collaboration is your best option, girly," Eighteen says so matter-of-factly that Bulma has no other option but to believe her threat.
"I am calling the police if you don't leave," Bulma, through pure will alone, calmly replies.
"Just so that we don't waste any more time and lives than we need to – I killed them," Eighteen sighs, enjoying the tense contraction of Bulma's back muscles that are visible through her tight-fitting crop top as she begins circling back to her seat.
A moment of silence Bulma affords to herself, and it is all that is required for Bulma to put two and two together, watching in horror as the murderer of her friends takes a seat in her home, taking another sip of her homemade brew, humming out a tune all lively and content – acting as if she deserves to exist.
She isn't quite sure why she believes it so readily, the notion that this lone punk could defeat and incapacitate her friends, yet she stares deeper into the cold, endless void that are her eyes, distant yet ever-enclosing.
Fury, anger, but most of all fear begin sewing themselves onto every artery flowing through her beating heart, her tongue at the perpetual cusp of cursing her out or begging her to leave.
Yet in the end, for the sake of her dear ones, dead and alive, all that comes out of her is a compromise.
"What do you want with the Dragon Balls?"
Eighteen smirks, clicking her tongue as she manspreads with victorious flair.
"Whatever I want," Eighteen shrugs. "Still haven't figured it out. And I am guessing you want to bring back your pals, no?"
"Yes," Bulma figures there is no point in hiding it. It's not like she will be able to get her wish with this girl breathing down her neck.
"Well, that ain't happening," Eighteen hums. "It took my all to kill those bastards the first time. To encore such a bore ain't my style."
"Ghhhhh," Bulma doesn't answer, simply letting out an annoyed little sigh.
"The second thing is, you are taking me to Namek. I want my three wishes – by the way, did I mention how talkative your father is? I wouldn't even know about the whole "three" wishes thing without him."
Bulma doesn't say anything, not falling for the bait. If she already knows about the radar, there is already a good chance that she knows about Namekian Dragon Balls. Still, it would be nice if her father knew how to keep his mouth shut.
"Third – oh my, I am already using them up," Eighteen snickers, deadpan. "After all is said and done, we are returning to Earth, and I will move somewhere close. Just to make sure you don't have any funny ideas of moving back to Namek."
"So," Eighteen hums, offering her arm for a handshake – her butt still sitting down. "Do we have a deal?"
"S-sure," Bulma shakes her hand for that one-sided deal, "we do."
"Great! You really are as smart as they say," Eighteen hums, only to stand up and make her leave. "Oh, that reminds me. You have one week to finish the preparations for takeoff. If you don't, we'll," Eighteen opens her palms, forming a giant, spherical ball of pure energy. "I will give you a reenactment of my bout."
And so the woman leaves, waving to both of Bulma's parents on her way out.
And once Bulma's security screen shows her leaving the building and flying off, Bulma falls, her knees buckling like mad.
"I-I am sorry guys," Bulma sniffles, tears and snot running across her face. "I seemingly won't be able to get you back."
She won't.
–
And so, a week passed – a stressful week passed. Bulma, through much constant pestering from Eighteen herself, did what was expected of her.
The round rocket ship, resembling more a pressurized rice cooker than any spaceship Eighteen herself dreamed of in her youth, is ready.
Stockpiled to the brim with food and all essential remedies for upward of a year, the Briefs spared no expense in making sure that their baby girl had a year's worth of supplies for her and her friend's two-week-long trip in both directions.
"Oh Bulma," Bikini Briefs, her mother, kisses her little girl on the cheek. "Are you still sure about this? What if some mean old aliens once more find you on that distant planet?"
"Awww, Mom, you don't need to worry," Bulma chuckles nervously. "I am sure I will be fine."
And just as she was about to find some comfort in the lie she is telling herself, her "companion" steps in.
"No worries, Mrs. Briefs," Eighteen hums, putting her arms around Bulma's shoulders like one would do to a close familiar. "If anything comes rushing at her, I will put a stop to it."
"Oh you are kind, Android Eighteen," Mrs. Briefs hums, clapping her palms in front of her closed lids. "I am so glad Bulma has another powerful friend keeping her safe."
"Yeah, though, could you next time not show off by blowing a crater in our backyard," Mr. Briefs says, taking a puff of his smoke. "It will take me a week to fill it in."
"Pardon for that; I just felt a need to show off. You know, to make an impression that I wasn't just talking out of my ass," Eighteen grins, tightening her grip around Bulma with an added, knowing wink.
"Just ease up next time, that's all I am asking," Mr. Briefs hums, turning his back to both of the young women. "Come on honey, let's get as far off as we can before the liftoff. I don't want to be flying in the opposite direction."
"Oh alright," Mrs. Briefs hums, turning her back as she steps off the now rising door ramp, waving her daughter off. "Be careful, dear!"
"Yes, be careful; we don't want you croaking before you give us some grandkids."
"Thanks Mom and, jeez, thanks dad," Bulma waves back, her heart beating faster and faster as the door in front of her begins to close off. As the smiling mugs of her parents begin to disappear. As the realization of what she is about to commence finally settles in.
"Bye bye," Eighteen also hums, waving her free hand while never letting go of the quivering Bulma.
For of course she is quivering.
After all, this blonde murderer has sentenced her to two weeks of solitude with her.
"Ten, nine, eight!" The computer begins the countdown once they are completely shut off from the outside world, and with it, a sickening thought enters Bulma's mind.
"Am I really going to spend my time in lockdown with a woman I hate?"
"... three, two, one – Blast off!" the computer proclaims as it quickly lifts off the ground, and out of Earth's orbit.
"Am I really going to help her get what she wants?"
—
Day one of the trip
While Bulma herself is once again wearing baggy red pants, a a white shirt with a pony on it and Knike shoes, Eighteen herself got real comfortable, real quick. Acting as if she owns the place, she throws her clothes off to the side of this spherical ship, right where her bed and TV are, only leaving on plain panties and bra.
It leaves Bulma chagrined, for not only is she exposed to Eighteen's smooth skin, slightly narrow waist and perky butt on display, it also showcases one thing that she lacks – muscles.
It is not as if Bulma is into girls or anything of the sort, but one would think that a girl with a power to blow up planets would be packing at least some muscles. Eighteen is slim and slightly toned, but it is quite obvious that her powers don't stem from any hard workout or anything; Dr. Giro simply gave them to her.
He gave this spoiled brat all the power in the world, and instead of attempting to do good, she was out there killing innocent people and Vegeta, and now she is out here, lazing in her bed and picking up a hay‑boy magazine.
"Hey, bring me some beer," Eighteen yells at Bulma with a commanding accent. "And make yourself useful by cooking something up. I am starving out here."
"Gah, fine," Bulma says, annoyed. It is not like she will need to cook anything – they have hot meals stored in their door‑mush capsules – but the mere fact that she will have to serve this woman for two weeks straight…
If she weren't so afraid of dying, she would have already diverted their course toward the burning sun.
—
The second and third day eclipsed the first.
Eighteen moved around in her undergarments, changing them from time to time, while continuously eating, drinking, and having Bulma at her beck and call.
The blue‑haired woman served the blonde brat like a maid, cleaning up after her captive by throwing whatever trash she had piled up into the vacuum of space, only ever leaving one piece of garbage to just simmer around – the android slob.
Eighteen is just so god‑damn entitled for someone who just passed through the turbulence of being a teenager.
In some ways, she reminds Bulma of her younger self on her first hunt for the Dragon Balls. Loud, brazen, and full of unearned self worth. Yet where she was a stubborn girl way over her head, this girl… she simply can't be stopped.
Bulma was humbled by her journey with Goku and the rest, while this girl is now potentially the strongest being in the universe. Nothing can challenge her. Nothing can really change her. All Bulma can do is not anger her.
Even as Eighteen makes it hard.
"Fucking come over here, you useless scamps! I need some grub!"
"Coming…" Bulma murmurs, taking a pizza with her that Eighteen won't share.
—
The fourth day went pretty much the same. Verbal abuse, demands made under the pretense of violence and well… lazing about from the blonde.
By this point, Bulma feels like a constant fixture to Eighteen, more like a pair of extra hands for the androids' needs and comfort, devoid of any actual human connections. They didn't talk much, if at all, beyond short order here and there, much to Bulma's delight, yet as she was preparing some heated dumplings with chicken sauce, Eighteen walked in, catching her by surprise.
"What do you want?" Bulma murmurs for Eighteen's blank yet easy going expression that always puts her on full alert.
"I am just going to ask you about your love life," Eighteen hums, circling the girl with a degree of curiosity she never showcased prior to this.
"Why?" Bulma asks bluntly. "For what purpose?"
"I don't need to answer that, you know," Eighteen shrugs, tapping her foot as she rests her shoulders against the kitchen wall, "but what the hell, sure. I am just curious how it was, you know, to be in love. My 'master' locked me up before I got a chance to explore the wonders of youthful sex and such, so I am curious what a girl who spent more than half a decade with a man like the famed baseball player Yamcha thinks of it. You two were all over the news just five years ago."
"You," Bulma growls, "keep his name out of your mouth."
"I don't think I will," Eighteen sighs. "Look, you either break into tears from reliving some sappy stuff, or I am breaking you in half. The choice is yours."
"F-fine," Bulma groans, her desire to hurl insults at the girl barely held back by her desire for survival. "It was fine, my time with him, I guess. Yamcha was kind of a simpleton and quick to make a fool out of himself, but he made me happy." We went for walks, to cinemas, I even watched one of his matches. I remember quite well how he declared to me that his first hit would be a home run dedicated to me."
"Did he do it?"
"... Yes," Bulma mumbles, her eyes beginning to feel itchy. "He shouted, 'This is for you, Bulma!' before hitting the strongest and farthest home run ever recorded. If I remember right, no one ever found where the ball landed. Some say it even broke into the atmosphere—and knowing Yamcha, it probably did."
"Wow," Eighteen hums, genuinely shocked by the level of affection this woman had for a man she herself thought nothing of. "You seemed genuinely joyful about the time you spent with him. What happened that led to your breakup?"
"I don't want to say," Bulma murmurs, her cheeks reddening from shame and anger at herself for opening up so much to the killer of her ex.
"He was impotent in bed, wasn't he?"
"W-what?" Bulma jumps in place
"Wow, I was just throwing stuff out there and yet I hit the bullseye on the first try," Eighteen giggles. "Well, I mean, there are still rumors floating around about how you are quite a horny girl and whatnot, and you seem like the type that would pull out for any man handsome enough. And really, any woman who says that her man 'makes her happy' probably didn't get much out of him in the field of lovemaking. At least, not enough to keep a billionaire like you satisfied, I take it? What was it that you did your relationship in? Lack of skill? Being a quickshot? Small prick?"
"Don't talk about Yamcha like that," Bulma yells, her tear ducts beginning to swell up, "Isn't it enough that he is no longer with us thanks to you? Why must you besmirch his name like, like–"
"Like you did, Miss Briefs," Eighteen hums, pushing herself closer into Bulma's personal space, causing the much, much, much weaker woman to choke on her words. "Like you did when you boned the man responsible for his death."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, Bulma, I am going to let you in on a little secret – my 'master', Dr. Gero, was a scientist of the Red Ribbon Army. You probably heard of them, no?" Eighteen asks rhetorically, loving the way Bulma's face shifts to one of total despair. "Well, either way, he was a hell of a shit stain of a man consumed by his desire for revenge against the one and only Son Goku. Now don't worry; I flushed him away, if you get my drift. Anyway, in the process of modifying me, for the last eight years, everything your lot did was recorded and uploaded to his server. Including Yamcha's fight with the Sayans, his death by their hands, and the subsequent humiliation ritual of knowing that his ex is so much of a whore that she is willing to bone the perpetrator of his initial demise right after he was brought back to life? Now, do tell: was Vegetas dick that fucking good? Was it worth it?"
"F-fuck you!" Bulma shouts with all her heart. Consumed entirely by vitriol, the woman lands her open palm across Eighteen's mug, before a sharp shriek of pain echoes through the entire ship. "Ahhhhh!"
Her hand got hurt. It got hurt from a simple slap.
"Heh, that is what you get for acting so rash," Eighteen hums, moving away from the hurt gal. "I killed your short king. What could possibly make you believe that you could hurt me?"
With her back turned, Eighteen begins moving towards her bed, knowing full well she ain't receiving any more "adult talk" from the pissed-off woman, only to stop just before she hits the hay to add:
"Honestly, Bulma; I feel sorry for you," Eighteen hums, her intonation neither sincere nor mocking. "All this time, you were trying to fool yourself into thinking you were looking for a perfect man to settle down with, when in actuality, you were just looking for someone to entertain. A toy to keep you busy; to distract you from one simple truth: no one is good enough for you."
"W-what do you know about me, you, you murderer!" Bulma screams, tears starting to run down her face. "What does a worthless psychopath like you know about human emotions, much less about love?"
"Not much, truthfully," Eighteen hums, turning to face the distressed gal. "Even before Gero got his hands on me, I never felt… right, you know? The other kids in my orphanage were creeped out by my lack of emotions, and I never had someone that struck my fancy. Even now, with my hands drenched in blood and my brother's corpse looming over me, I just feel… empty. And yet, even someone of my messed-up disposition towards the concept of human connections can tell that you and a committed relationship:" It will never work."
"How dare yo–" Bulma tries to intervene, to push back against Eighteen's absurd narrative; she quickly gets shut down.
"Oh, don't try to excuse yourself to me: you are beautiful; you are smart; you are rich. You could have any man you could ever want yet here you are standing before me: childless and alone. And before you start claiming that you would settle down with Vegeta, a guy with an even worse record than me, need I remind you of what you did when your ex came back? You dumped him for an alien genocider. For all I know, you would be jumping on my clit if we had your way. If that doesn't tell you where your priorities lie, I don't know what does.
"Anyway," Eighteen hums, throwing herself onto her bed. "Get me some beer and grub. I am starving."
With that, as suddenly as she began the conversation, Eighteen shut it down, leaving Bulma to stew in her fury, anger, and worst of all, consideration of what Eighteen said. Yet that self-discovery didn't last long as the clap of Eighteen's hands forced her to swallow it all in for the sake of her own safety.
—
The last three days, especially the seventh one…
Oh, they were hell.
Sure, on the surface, nothing really changed about Bulma's predicament. She still served and took care of Eighteen's every need, saddled with every negative connotation it carried – and that's what made it worse.
As the monotony started to settle in, as her android-given tenets were followed through, she began to despise, to hate, the woman she "welcomed" aboard with every fiber of her being. The realization of what this is all leading up to is slowly eating away at her inch by inch, yet she couldn't express it. She couldn't yell her frustrations out of fear of what Eighteen would do to her.
And so, as the two of them land on the seventh day, Bulma's stomach begins to turn onto itself once the shuttle door opens to reveal the ever-sprawling, flat expanse of the evergreen gem that is the planet Namek.
Are they really going to…
"So this is the place, huh?" Eighteen hums, regarding the woman in front of her with not so much a question as it is her thinking out loud. "Pretty boring if you ask me. I don't want to stick here for too long, that's for sure.
"So anyway, Bulma," Eighteen begins. "This is what we are going to do. We are going to search for the MacGuffins with that bleeper of yours. If, for some reason, the slugman here is in possession of one, I want you to talk him into giving it to me. Say it is to revive Piccolo or something. You don't want to use any force if you can help it, right?"
Bulma nods, her expression that of defeat.
"Great, we got that sorted out," Eighteen says, only to add, "And just to make sure you understand your role here: you are my envoy. An extension of that radar. Once we gather the orbs in one place, you can watch, but not talk. Understand?"
Bulma doesn't respond, and for that…
"Grghhhhhh!"
For that, she gets her neck grabbed by the android's arms – arms she couldn't even react to.
What follows is a powerful squeeze around her windpipe, choking her with total disregard for the subsequent gurgles and panicked kicks the blue-haired woman is throwing Eighteen's way.
Hell…
"There? See? That is what a girl like you deserves for not listening," Eighteen genuinely smiles for what feels like the first time since the two of them met, slightly craning her neck while taking in Bulma's paling complexion.
She is enjoying it.
Eighteen is a slob.
She is an uncaring psychopath.
She offers nothing of value to Bulma or to society as a whole.
Yet beyond everything else, she is a powerful being with a propensity to beat up, or worse, those that get in the way of her wants.
And just now…
"Ghhhhh!"
Bulma did just that.
"So, before I 'accidentally' squeeze a little too hard and am left with no other choice than to take the radar for myself and make one of my wishes a one-way trip to Earth, here is what you can do: beg," Eighteen says sternly, relaxing her digits slightly. "When I drop you onto the ground, I want you crawling towards me immediately to kiss my boots. Tongue and all. Put some real spirit into it like your life depends on it. Understand?"
Bulma lets out an incomprehensible sound, yet its meek intonation combined with that scared look of hers tells the blonde all she needs to hear.
"Good," Eighteen hums, dropping the woman on the ground. "Now get to it!"
Ignoring the burning sensation inside her throat, Bulma rushes towards the blonde's brown cowboy boots without a moment to think.
She is terrified.
In all her years jumping from one daring adventure to another, she never felt as close to death as she did, just now, staring into those icy blues. She felt no compassion, no remorse, no sense of humanity.
Just perpetual desire for control and obedience.
And, by Kami, she is delivering. Whatever shame and pride she has is immediately overcome by her innate instinct for survival. The girl smooths Eighteen's boots like a dog; her huge butt rises as she plants each kiss with such conviction that one might think she fell for them. She is plastering their rubbery folds with full‑blown spit‑shine, using her tongue to clean up whatever dirty spot she could find even if it isn't technically required of her. She simply didn't want to risk angering the blonde any further, and good news: she is doing a bang‑up job.
Eighteen is enjoying it. Not lustfully, no. She would need to be into women to do so; any pleasure she is draining from Bulma's self‑degradation is purely out of sadistic glee. Still, even she can't deny that the swaying off Bulma's plump rump is aesthetically pleasing to the eyes. Just the way it fills her field of view almost seems to beckon her to give the girl a mighty slap of encouragement.
And so she does…
"Ha!" Bulma yelps as the sensation of her ass cheek being slapped by the now‑kneeling Eighteen burns through her pants, almost getting her to stop; only for Eighteen to land another slap on the other cheek to tell her otherwise.
"Keep going, you dog," Eighteen chuckles, clapping her cheeks once more. "Move that fat ass. Keep slobbering over my boots. Make it up for me."
Bulma mewls, doing as she is told while trying to ignore the burning sensation coursing through her buns.
"Good dog," Eighteen grins, straightening herself up as she reveals, in this feeling of absolute control, her dominance over the woman who is close to double her age.
She is loving the wet kisses, the desperation in her eyes, and the sheer sensation of having her fear for her life. Fuck, even for her it is a little dark to admit, but just the knowledge that she can do away with this woman whenever she pleases, do with her whatever she goddamn wants, has her heart pumping with pure gratification. She will curse Dr. Gero to her dying breath for denying her teenagehood, but she can't deny that these powers of hers aren't just that tiny bit useful – especially in situations like these.
Especially if it means she is free to do whatever she pleases.
"That's enough, you rich pig," Eighteen hums, once more kneeling down, but this time, she takes a clump of Bulma's bowl cut and harshly tugs her onto her feet. "My boots are sufficiently clean."
"Owww!" Bulma yells as she feels her roots all but getting ripped from her scalp.
"Now, one last time: Understand?"
"Y-yes owwwww!"
"Understand what?" Eighteen hums, slapping the girl for no other reason other than she just felt like it.
"I understand! I will help you gather the Dragon Balls without hassle!"
"Heh, good we got that out of the way," Eighteen hums, before scooping the girl under her shoulder, facing her where she herself is facing. "Now take that radar out of your pocket and lead the way; also, don't drop it."
"W-wha!?" Bulma yells as Eighteen rushes off into the green sky.
–
The process of collecting the Dragon Balls was a lot more succinct than Bulma expected. Six of them were scattered all over the planet in different locations, yes, but thanks to the Android's flight speed and Bulma's gadget, collecting them in one place didn't prove to be too difficult.
The last one, on the other hand, was a close shave, considering that they were being held by the Namekians for safekeeping, and seeing a blonde stranger just fly into their village with a straightforward demand for a handover of their property didn't sit well with them.
Thankfully, once the Namekians realized who it was that came along with Eighteen, they were more than willing to part with their balls, not even bothering to pose questions about what they were going to be used for. After all, with how stressed Bulma was, it was obvious to the peaceful folk that her request was indeed of great importance.
And as Bulma thanked them for their kindness, Eighteen just stared blankly at the gathered collection of slug men, her mind momentarily thinking back to the guy she killed just two weeks ago.
"So this is where he comes from," were the android's thoughts, as she took the last Dragon Ball and thanked the nice folk with the fakest cadence of kindness Bulma had ever heard.
And as Bulma herself waved her old friends goodbye, putting on a guise of happiness to not make them worry, she gets swooped away towards the stashed Dragon Balls – now all seven in total.
"So now then," Eighteen hums as she lands next to the remaining six orbs, "let me see if the legends were true."
And with that, she lets go of Bulma like one would a construction sack, leading the girl to simply gawk as Eighteen nears the golden orbs and nonchalantly throws the last one amidst them.
"So now I just call in Porunga and then wh– ohhh?" Eighteen begins to talk out loud, only to get interrupted by a golden shimmer of light before a giant, triangular dragon with arms appears before them.
"You have collected all seven of the damned things," the dragon, Porunga, says in a deep voice that echoes like a booming wind. "And now, as it is written, think wisely and I will grant you three wishes within my power."
"Phew, three whole wishes," Eighteen smirks, turning her head back towards the still-lying Bulma, "thanks babe! Now keep quiet. One unprompted word and I am splitting you in half."
To that, Bulma just bows her head in defeat, her tear ducts swelling with tears from frustration and anger.
She is so close! So close to the dragon, to fulfilling her goal of rejuvenating back to life. Yet she can't speak up. She can't fulfill her promise to those dear to her beyond the grave as that nasty Android blocks her at every step.
"So how does one make a wish?" Eighteen asks.
"Just say 'I wish' then speak it."
"Only 'I wish' works?" Eighteen asks once more to reaffirm her suspicion.
"Yes," Porunga answers in return.
"Interesting," Eighteen hums, once more looking back at the depressed Bulma with an even wider grin.
"My first wish is youthful immortality," Eighteen hums, leading to a large, disgusted gawk from her navigator.
"Your wish is my command," Porunga responds, leading to no change when it comes to Eighteen.
"Well, I feel no different," Eighteen shrugs. "Guess we will see if it worked in a century's time.
"Anyway, my second wish: I wish for that woman over there to say 'Wow, Eighteen, you deserve this! Thank you for killing my worthless friends and for cucking me out of getting what I want!' with the enthusiasm of a Japanese TV announcer as she approaches my side."
"W-wait, what are you—" Bulma says, shocked at the wastefulness of that wish, only for her to hear the dragon grant it and for her to follow through with it.
"Wow, Eighteen, you deserve this!" Bulma begins to recite words with involuntary speech, throwing her arms all around, performing little twirls with the biggest smile on her face as she jumps up over her internally screaming self. "Thank you for killing my worthless friends and for cucking me out of getting what I want!"
In turn, Eighteen laughs her ass off, only stopping when Bulma herself ends her imposed charade by stopping next to her.
"You did great, Bulma," Eighteen says, her joy seeping from every pore. "I didn't know you had it in—"
"F-fuck you…" Bulma murmurs, catching Eighteen off guard.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me the first time!" Bulma yells, her profile brimming with fury. "Not only did you come into my life, kill my friends, and ruin my chance at bringing them back, you are out here wasting your wish just so, so, so…"
"So that I could humiliate you, yes," Eighteen replies, her brow raised. "Your point?"
"My point is that I just can't imagine anyone more selfish and evil than you. Your whole existence is predicated on making everyone's lives worse! You don't deserve this! You don't deserve any of this!"
"Oh," Eighteen hums. In truth, if this were any other occasion, she would be beating this woman to a bloody pulp right about now; alas, she is having too much fun just fucking with the snobby billionaire! Besides, she was already considering killing Bulma before making her wish to get back home, so where is the harm jn basking in the afterglow of seeing her victim mentally deteriorate. So what the hell? She will allow her to get her last verbal hits out of her system before shutting her off for good. "And what is it that I deserve?"
"You deserve death!" Bulma yells. "You are an inexcusable, worthless combination of flesh and machine. You are neither compassionate nor logical: you are just an irrational psychopath who treats anyone weaker than her as dirt between your toenails. You deserve hell! You deserve eternal suffering! Gah, you deserve everything bad to happen to you!""
"Ha, you really are putting your all into that—"
"I wish that you would get what you fucking deserve!"
"Huh," Eighteen short-circuits for a bit there, not quite registering what it is that the bumbling billionaire said. "Wait, what did you just d—"
"Your wish is granted," the dragon says, disappearing into the clump of golden balls as he does so.
"W-wait!" Eighteen shouts, still struck aback by what she heard. "Come back here, you overgrown lizard! I summoned you, damn it! Don't listen to her—nghhhhhhh!"
Alas, for the always overconfident Eighteen, it is too late. As the balls disperse all over the planet, the girl grabs her stomach, writhing in pain while observing the now-cackling Bulma with eyes full of unrepentant frenzy.
"Ha, ha! Yes! Justice, finally!" Bulma shouts out into Eighteen's agonizing expression. "Whatever it is that you are going to get, I hope you suffer through it! Cry in agony! Whatever: as long as you croak like a frog in a desert, I am going to enjoy this."
"W-why you—gahhhhhh!" Eighteen tries to compose herself, yet she can't. Not when a strange metamorphosis begins to spread across her flesh and bone marrow.
In an instant, to Bulma's shock, the girl begins to expand and grow—yet instead of doing so ad infinitum, doing so until she eventually pops like a balloon, the girl ends up with an amazing, jaw‑dropping height of over six feet tall even while crouched into a ball. Once that is done, Bulma can see, and Eighteen can feel, her muscle mass enlarging outward, giving her thin arms, flat abs, and waist a semi‑Amazonian physique that is more in line with what one would expect from a woman capable of bench‑pressing a planet without going overboard. Even her hair extends past her neck, as if trying to turn into a dragon's mane before straightening back into its original shape.
Thankfully, even as Eighteen becomes more toned and fuller, her clothes don't rip apart, continuously growing alongside her and covering the biggest change from Bulma's worried gaze—a dastardly bump where her pussy would be.
And then, just as it seemed that everything was in order, Eighteen's hair begins to float as if it were beneath tsunami waves, before each portion clumps into a whole that is quite pointy at the ends as her entire body gets enveloped by a golden aura, before it all disappears with a loud "tuth," turning Eighteen's hair back to normal.
"N-no!" Bulma screams, realizing what her wish is doing.
"Gah, what the hell happened," Eighteen growls, her chords producing a cadence that is far more booming and grungy. "The fuck did you do to me!?"
Bulma, out of pure shock and fear, stumbles back from the straightening Eighteen, her flight and FLIGHT response kicking into overdrive. Her body, even though it cannot sense the android's ki, instinctively knows what happened, what terror it brought to the universe, yet her mind doesn't want to come to terms with the fact that she has doomed them all.
As the android straightens herself, the full extent of her outward transformation is so shocking to Bulma's system in the way it changed everything yet also nothing.
Her face is the same, her expression is still distant and hard to read. Even her shoulder‑length hair follows the same path and trajectory as her old bob cut, accentuating her femininity even if the rest of her changes push her toward a muscular build that no woman should ever have.
Her once subtle and small breasts are now filling her black shirt far more. While they certainly aren't reaching the bountiful expanse of Bulma's own round jewels, they certainly look a lot more inviting even as everything else makes her look all the more dangerous.
Eighteen is tall, a giantess in every sense. She is towering over Bulma's five feet five inches with her staggering, newly gained seven feet in height, making the shaking blue head feel all the more diminutive than she ever felt in the presence of another being. Add to that her toned arms, triangular shoulders, and a more robust waist that leads to her newly gained thunder thighs that now look more than capable of crushing skulls in between.
Overall, what is left is still Eighteen to the bone, just one that embodies her godlike strength better.
And now that same godlike existence is directing all of its ire straight at her.
"You," Eighteen growls, slamming her foot down as she begins walking towards the cowering Bulma. "The fuck did you try to pull? Did you just go behind my back and try to kill me?"
"No!" Bulma screams in internal terror.
"Don't you dare lie to me," Eighteen says, approaching the woman until she is right next to her, looking down at her defenseless, terrified prisoner with obvious anger that, for some reason, doesn't transition into full-blown fury. "You were warned, you had more chances than most, yet here you are, disrespecting my command. Why I ought to…"
Eighteen growls, raising her fist as if she is winding up a punch. An overblown motion that strikes the notion of death right into Bulma.
"D-don't, please!" Bulma says, curling herself up into a ball as if that is going to help her. "Please have mercy! I promise I will behave from now on."
"Yeah right," Eighteen sneers, yet just as her fist is going to be acquainted with the side of Bulma's cheek, she stops as she listens to Bulma's crying mewls with utmost interest.
"P-please don't," the girl sniffles, covering her face with her forearms, only leaving one teary eye to peek between them.
"Huh," Eighteen hums, holding her fist still head-high; holding it back as an all too new thought strikes her mental lobe.
"Was this bitch always this," Eighteen's mind hums, "appealing?"
While her victim is shaking in fear, the blonde giant takes what feels like the first good look at the woman in front of her. During all their time together, Eighteen really didn't pay much attention to her beautiful, pristine mug, her luscious blue hair, or her big, gentle eyes.
It is captivating, especially now as it is steeped in both terror and tears.
"She is kind of hot, for a skank," Eighteen continues, her mind still not quite aligned with all the new sensations her newfound body is putting her through.
Deciding to lower her arm for just a moment, she starts circling the girl, attentively scanning the contours of a woman entering her prime fertile age; she can feel something tightening around her groin. While Bulma's breasts are hidden thanks to the fetal position she took, it leads to Eighteen focusing all her attention on her bubble butt, its sheer size still so remarkable to the blonde.
"Nghhh, fuck," Eighteen growls, her eyes glued to the fatty glutes. "Those cock-gobblers are somehow even more full and round than the last time."
In reality, they aren't, yet to the android's now unstable mind, the one brimming with desires all too alien to her female self, it certainly feels like they are. Where she once only saw them as hills of layered fat that were fun to smack around, now they have an added, sinful appeal that no woman should exude – that this whole woman exudes.
Now the question is how the rest of her stacks up.
"Straighten up, you billionaire bimbo," Eighteen commands.
"W-what did you say?" Bulma sniffles, revealing her teary and snot-covered profile.
"Straighten up," Eighteen says, putting more of her deranged self into that one. "If you know what's good for you, do it right this instant."
"O-OK," Bulma sniffles meekly, her pathetic intonation tickling Eighteen's sadistic bones in ways the screams of her prior victims never did.
Gathering herself, Bulma stands up into a position similar to that of a stilted store mannequin, providing plentiful opportunity for Eighteen to ogle the still-quivering girl.
"Hmmm, good," Eighteen hums, continuing her newfound appreciation and evaluation of the girl in front of her.
And what joy it brought her.
She doesn't know how she didn't realize it sooner, but Bulma is a bona fide bombshell. Narrow shoulders and well-proportioned arms; humongous cleavage that is barely being contained by her baggy shirt; her hourglass waist that transitions so nicely into her aforementioned ass and plump thighs.
"Grhhhh, what a slovenly girl," Eighteen growls under her breath, for the longer she stares at Bulma, the faster her newfound instincts begin kicking in. Her teeth are grinding against each other the harder she stares, their desire to bite into the girl in front of her becoming more unbearable by the second.
"Um," Bulma murmurs, her expression full of worry. While she was more than happy that she isn't getting beaten an inch of her life, the shift from Eighteen's murderous gaze to the one that is more… animalistic and lustful in nature has her on the edge of her wits for an entirely different reason.
She is used to getting ogled at from a young age by men, from the pervy sages to pervy pigs, who were swooning over her like moths to a flame, their slithering tongues salivating at the mere thought of motorboating her breasts till they passed out. And she can't say that she necessarily hated it: the attention was nice and there were plenty of times where their simple‑minded desires went to her benefit; with Eighteen, it is not anything like that.
The lust she is picking up wasn't anything as simple as a simple desire to ravish her, to rape her. It was as perverse, if not more so, as that from the dirty master Roshi; it was, in a sense, more pure than that of her ex, Yamcha; it was far less sophisticated than even her last stint with Vegeta.
In a sense, it is a far more primal showcase of lust; a type so lost to time, Bulma's modern sensibilities couldn't hope to comprehend. It is as if she is a cornered prey, letting her predator examine all the juiciest, most savory parts of the fresh (fuck)meat in front of it before devouring it bit by bit. To such a force of carnal purity, she is nothing more than a defenseless female, one readying herself to be claimed and dominated.
Bulma gulps, shivering like mad from all the adrenaline rushing in but being unable to move from Eighteen's prowling gaze. She isn't quite sure how her wish led to this outcome: why did it suddenly turn this straight psychopath into a lustful lesbian.
And frankly: Eighteen isn't faring much better.
She can't quite grasp what it is that her body wants to do. Her hands, her mouth, her groin all feel so restless the more they glare into Bulma's savory form, with her mind constantly playing on the repeat of the last sadomasochistic recount with the women in front of her.
The memories of those wet smooches, those pathetic mewls and those pleading puppy eyes asking for forgiveness… lord, they are working magic within her loins. Where she once only extracted the feeling of dominance from that desperate need for forgiveness from her master, now they are invoking desires, newly formed yet ancient in their ethereal existence, that her body was never built for initially yet now she is welcoming them with open arms, and with it, the want to experience that thrill in real time.
So she does.
"Come here," Eighteen growls, flexing her index finger towards herself.
Bulma jitters, her intellect begging her to at least attempt an escape; her body doing the opposite.
"Yeah, that's it." Eighteen rumbles, clicking her tongue as Bulma makes nervous steps towards her. "Come here, you little cock tease. Come right—"
"Nhaaa!" Bulma yelps, her feet leaving the ground as she gets pulled into a possessive hold!
"Here!"
The mere millisecond Bulma stepped within Eighteen's long reach, the Android begins her second assault on her autonomy. Without any prior experience, the teenage blonde interlocks her lips with the middle‑aged woman, pushing her invasive tongue deep inside of her mouth, tackling Bulma's own in the purest form of control that a virgin like Eighteen could deliver.
Despite being the more experienced of the two, Bulma can't do anything more than moan as Eighteen all but splatters her spit, her taste, into her maw, suckling and beating her tongue down till it can do nothing more but take the abuse, much like its owner.
Eighteen's hectic rumbles forming for impatience and new‑found sex drive are leading her to imprint all of her desires into every extensive and minuscule movement not only from her aforementioned maw, but also her molesting arms and thrusting hips.
Bulma has no way to fight off Eighteen's large, burly hands from digging into the swell of her bubble ass, molding it and stretching it like a child would a clump of clay. And really, that is the best way to describe Eighteen's harsh treatment of Bulma's fair skin – she is acting like a selfish child.
There is no tact, no sense of self-control beyond making sure she doesn't rip her billionaire toy in half. There is no give or take, no attempt at making sure Bulma is enjoying herself or not. Eighteen just kneeds and pulls, kneeds and pulls, ignoring all the meager whimpers and cries for help as her mouth continues to eat away at Bulma.
And yet, regardless of how simple and ineffective this attempt at foreplay should be, Bulma's body did react in a way that toppled a bucket of shame all over her heated flesh.
Yes, she feels hot; hot and bothered by this violent French kiss and by those rapturous gropes, and all of it accentuated by the third and final showcase of this volatile virgin – her mighty thrusts.
"Ghgggjhhh!" Eighteen growls like a rabid dog, continuously rocking both her and her toy back and forth as the ever‑growing bulge of her shorts presses into Bulma's vulva, revealing its existence to panicking Bulma.
"Oh no," Bulma's mind hurts, her senses finally getting to know the full extent of Eighteen's newfound body—her newly‑gained prick.
And Lord, what a prick it is.
Even with so many layers of clothes separating her groin and Eighteen's fuckstick, its size, weight, and radiating heat are assaulting her tight, closed‑off pussy with one simple promise.
Eighteen's prick is going to get in there, one way or another.
It mushes, it grinds and it relentlessly pokes in‑between her lips, leading to audible, pathetic whimpers: whimpers that are getting harder and harder to produce as the lack of air begins to kick in.
Eighteen, at this point, has been molesting Bulma for close to two minutes. She hasn't afforded her a moment of respite, full‑on abusing the fact that her plaything has no way to fight her off. By now, Bulma's ass and lips are starting to feel sore from the constant, unprecedented lust they are forced to bear. Bulma can feel her head getting woozy from how stale her oxygen supply is becoming; once more, she can't escape it.
She is being held close to Eighteen without her consent, her pelvis and face repeatedly getting smothered by the woman she detests the most, and all she can do is stay still and take it.
“I hate this,” Bulma cries out within herself, even as a peculiar liquid begins seeping into her panties.
And so another two minutes pass of Eighteen just lying on her captive, seemingly ignoring how unresponsive Bulma has become. Where once she would mewl into her maw like a needy kitten, now she is as quiet as a church mouse. Where once she would fidget with every grind and grope, now she is just lying within her grasp like a pillow princess.
That won't do.
With a loud plop, Eighteen disengages from the tongue action, allowing the still‑conscious Bulma to take in the biggest, most needed breath of her life up until now. The middle‑aged woman is choking on air because she is inhaling so fast, leading to a coughing fit.
“There, there, fat‑cheeks,” Eighteen hums, slapping her butt with both hands, eliciting a lovely moan. “I ain’t letting you pass out on me just yet.
“You know why?”
“N‑no,” Bulma coughs, playing Bulma's game just so that she could afford more time to recover her windpipe. “W‑why?”
“Because you still need to be punished for going against my orders,” Eighteen hums. “And what better way to do so than to put my new fella down there for a test drive? After all—” Eighteen leans in, plopping her forehead right onto Bulma’s, just so that she could stare her down more intently. “You made your wish; now my Saiyan hand is going to curl all up in your business.”