Guess who's BAAAAAAACK.

Okay, so I never left. But guess who has another story for her wonderful readers?

Yes, it's the all fabulous KimiruMai!

I still find it hilarious that my penname started out as one of my OC's. She was a sort of were-cat, strong as a Super Saiyan, even. Of course since that was my first story my writing technique was still crap, but hey, it's only been…what, 7 months? 8? Anyhow, here's that story I've been promising in my poll!

Summary: After Chikyuu is screened and destroyed, Bulma is forced to to build advanced weapons to help destroy worlds just as hers was. As she does so, she finds a trapped man who's energy isn't his to command, who holds the key to ending a war that promises to last far longer than many lifetimes. She must find her way in a muddled world of legend and truth, refuge and retreat, war and bloodshed. In a game of war and deception, she must decide who she can trust, who is her enemy, and who she can love in a universe where the lines between good and evil aren't always so easy to decipher.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Please enjoy my new story.


Weapon of Mass Creation


Chapter 1: Start of The End.

It was not the most fantastic of situations.

The lab was beautiful, complete with every possible tool she could ever need in her life. Anything from screwdrivers and wrenches to wires and test tubes, you name it, and this lab had it. It was enormous, even for the large amount of people working there. It was modern, and though it wasn't brightly colored, the grey metal was just shiny enough to look spiffy.

But it was still not the most fantastic of situations.

She had been given a day's rest, no more, no less, before she was ruthlessly dragged into this marvelous place that she loathed with all her being. She was given safety goggles and a white lab coat with a high, foldable collar, dark blue pants, ugly, ankle high shoes that could pass for white, shoelace-less high-top sneakers with gold tipped toes, latex gloves, and a ponytail holder.

Before she had been permitted that day's rest, however, or access to the Mega-Lab, she had been beaten, tied down to an examining table, and given sedatives that knocked her out cold for hours. When she awoke, she was in a tank recuperating; suddenly everyone on the ship spoke English, and there was a very small scar at the top of her head.

She was just thankful that they hadn't taken away her memories.

She was so furious and depressed and just broken, she wanted to scream and throw a hissy fit and let them kill her. But no, they wouldn't do that. They would simply proceed to beat her within an inch of her life, put her in a tank, and get her back to work. She was not allowed to die, not until she had caused enough trouble to reach Frieza himself.

It never did reach him, of course. No one was willing to be the messenger, so they handled it themselves. After a while, Bulma stopped trying.

She worked nonstop all day, every day, only getting an hour off to eat and five minutes every 4 hours for a bathroom break. She was to awaken at precisely seven in the morning, go and eat her breakfast and report to the lab by 8:00 sharp, not a second early and not a second late. After working her twelve hour shift of relentlessly inventing things, she left the lab at 8:00, went for dinner, and had to be in her room by 9:00.

If you were out a second past then, the soldiers were allowed to do as they pleased with you.

It went like that for days upon days until Bulma had lost count of the time that had passed since she came to this hell-hole. Frieza's ships used what was called Standard Universal Time, and she had no idea as to how that would relate to Chikyuu's. Besides that, remembering how long it had been since her capture hurt. By Standard Time, she had been on the ship for a month.

She had made acquaintances, not friends.

"Bulma, you need to finish that."

She blinked and looked up from her work, which she had been staring at with unfocused eyes as she went over the past…month? that she'd been there. "Hm? Oh, sorry, Citadel. I'm just a little bit tired."

Citadel – the main scientist in Mega-Lab. He was in his mid-thirties, though he didn't look it, handsome, average height, and very stern with his work. He was from the planet Zasshuken-sei, and his people were called Aeshu-jins. He had chocolate brown hair that fell to his shoulders, which he always wore in a short ponytail at the base of his neck. He had long, pointed ears like a faery, and soft brown, cat-like eyes. He had copper-brown skin and pointed nails that went just past the edge of his fingertips, which were surprisingly not as intimidating as she had originally thought. His canines were sharp, though in an almost gentle way, and the sweet man didn't have a mean bone in his body…

Unless you were procrastinating. Citadel hated procrastinators with a passion.

His sharp gaze softened ever so slightly, though he didn't look at her. After all, that would convey that he was concerned. "Didn't you go to sleep at Lights Out last night?"

"Yeah," she shrugged, picking up a screwdriver-like tool and tweaking the machine part in front of her. "I just didn't sleep well."

"Well, you need to get that fixed, love," he said, as if it were some type of mechanical failure. "I don't want my inventions screwed up because you couldn't get some shut-eye."

Translation: Poor dear. I hope those nightmares stop soon.

Over the past month, Bulma and Citadel had developed a sort of code. The two had got along from the start, what with their intense love of machinery and vast knowledge on the subject. The code was so that no one would think that there might be some type of bond between them.

After all, it was unwise to have "friends". Acquaintances were much better, safer.

"I'll work on that, Citadel," she huffed, somewhat agitatedly.

Translation: Thanks, but I doubt it.

She suddenly smiled a large, though halfhearted smile as she realized that she had finally fixed the part she was working on. She held it up to Citadel, who thoroughly inspected it and grinned. "Well done," he praised. He took it gingerly from her hands, as if it would break into a million pieces at the slightest jolt, and swiftly carried it over to his main desk, where a beautifully monstrous contraption sat. Citadel quickly put the piece on the gun and screwed it on.

"It's done!" he announced.

The scientist in Mega Lab cheered and patted Bulma on the back.

"Ready to do the first test run, Miss Briefs?"

The speaker's name is Chalin. He was short, with greying red hair, salamander-brown, scaly skin, and big purple eyes. His nose fit more into the muzzle category, favoring a Komodo dragon, and he had webbed fingers with short black claws.

"Yes," she said, though she wasn't really.

Citadel picked up the gun, cleverly dubbed M.A.C.E.

Missile Armed Cannon Explosive.

It was a gun for the larger fighters, one's with the more abundant muscle mass. It was a hefty over-the-shoulder attack launcher, and it fired missiles of multiple sizes and Ki Balls with adjustable densities. It was for soldiers who couldn't bring Ki out on their own; apparently, only Elites could actually use Ki without the aid of a weapon.

This fact still stunned her, because it meant that Elites had been sent to purge Chikyuu; which was strange, since Chikyuujins were apparently much weaker than even substantially powerless aliens in the universe.

Actually, Chikyuu had not been purged. It had been screened. In the same way miners screened dirt for gold, or the way apples were screened to separate rotten fruits, humans were screened to see who would provide the most use to Frieza. Pretty people were either sent to his personal quarters, never to be seen again, or to the harem, where the longest recorded time a person of any species had stayed alive was three months. People like pilots and map makers were kept for directory services, mechanics for shuttle repairs, doctors for medical assistance, and scientist like her were brought to fix or create weapons. No elderly, sickly, or crippled were accepted, no matter how great their skills.

Only 14 humans had been deemed truly worthy. Her parents were not among them. Bulma was one of the three people who hadn't been sent to the bed chambers. She was the only scientist, and she was the only Chikyuujin still alive. Even if there had been survivors left on the planet, hidden away safely, they were no more as well. After a troop of soldiers had died of malaria in the jungles, the blue gem had been efficiently blasted out of space.

Tears burned at her eyes as she thought about how horribly her home had been destroyed, and it truly broke her heart that she was helping the Cold Army inflict this horror on others. But it was the only way to stay alive, the only way to keep working long enough to figure out some scientific way to take down the lizard tyrant.

She had never seen Frieza, and from the descriptions, she hoped it never happened. Not until she was ready.

It still shocked her numb that Goku had not appeared out of the blue to save them all. Goku always saved them. She hadn't seen him in five years, but somehow she immediately assumed he would be there to save her. His name was the first thing that had popped into her mind as a soldier had burst into her home and took her away. She hadn't seen what happened to her parents, only that her home had been set on fire before the soldier flew her too far away to see it anymore.

Why hadn't Goku come?

Citadel hefted the M.A.C.E. over his shoulder and stepped into the test room, every scientist in the lab following. They stood behind a protective shield, surrounding Bulma as they watched eagerly. Citadel's lips quirked up in an excited smile as his index finger hovered over the trigger. It was dangerous to be in the testing room; other labs had robots to test their weapons, but Citadel always wished to do it himself.

He was very brave, in that aspect.

He fired the M.A.C.E., and a small missile shattered the red target into pieces. A second later, a small Ki ball completely disintegrated the next, and both left dents in the metal walls. The entire team burst into cheers and whoops (except Bulma). After all, the fact that it worked on the first try meant that they wouldn't die today, and they might even get a few extra credits in their accounts for finishing early.

Bulma did not care about credits. Even though she had only been here roughly a month, her superior intelligence had placed her as "second in command" of Mega Lab, only one position under Citadel. Her account already had 400,000 credits in it – at that rate, she'd be a millionaire (again) in a little less than two months.

How ironic.

People like Chalin and Citadel had accepted their fates. While they would break away in a heartbeat if given the chance, they were content to do the work they were born to do, so long as they weren't in Frieza's presence. They did their jobs somewhat cheerfully; after being here for years, they had learned to look at the bright side of things for the sake of their sanity.

Not Bulma. She was going to keep the hatred in her heart so she could remember her purpose. She was not a tool to be used to conquer the universe. She was a person. And even if it killed her, God forbid, she would find some way to stop the tyranny. She would find a way to end Frieza.

"Bulma?"

She blinked and looked up. "Hm?"

Citadel grinned at her, clearly pleased that his idea for such a machine had worked so well. "You finished the last piece of the M.A.C.E.. Would you like to present it to Frieza?"

The look of horror on her face was unmistakable. Bulma's small fists clenched at her sides, and she gaped at him for a moment, eyes wide with panic. "No," she whispered. "No. You do it."

He frowned a little, then nodded understandingly.

While the rest of the team continued cheering and celebrating, Bulma darted back to her worktable and furiously began working on another project. She worked blindly, letting the feel of metal in her hands drive away all thoughts of meeting with the monster who had stolen her life and replaced it with that of a robot. Her blue eyebrows furrowed tightly, and she breathed heavily as she worked. Anything, anything, to get that lizard out of her head. Oh, how glad she was that she had never seen him, for she would surely faint and have nightmares about his face were it to ever happen.

And she wished that someone would come and rescue her, tell her that it was all a joke. She wished that someone would shake her and say, wake up, you're in a coma, and she would open her eyes and stare at the ugly cream ceilings of a hospital. A nurse would come and say, honey, you hit your head on a falling ladder, or honey, you only fell down the stairs, and her parents would show up and smile at her. They would say, dear, let's go home, and her mom would make her cookies and her dad would show her the newest generation of Hoi Poi Capsules. She would take a shower with soaps that smelled of strawberries and put on her favorite pajamas, and she would sleep.

And when she woke up, she would resume her stupid, pointless, lifelong dream that some dashing handsome Prince would come and sweep her off her feet, and she wouldn't have a care in the world.


A/N: I'm gonna do it. I swear, I am. NO VEGETA FOR KIMIRU! I am trying to keep him from appearing till chapter three, so I can actually develop this. I can do it, I can do it!

Dammit, this is difficult.

But ya'll love me for it. Ooh, this chapter is short. But all first chapters are. I think maybe this story will be long but less wordy, but eh, you know me. I can't predict myself worth crap.

TIME TO BREAK OUT THE OC'S.

~KimiruMai