When you were a little kid, more than anything in the world, you wanted to be an astronaut. You’d always dreamed of going to space, exploring new worlds and coasting along the stars like some kind of modern-day space-faring Lewis and Clark.
Now that you’re here, though, inside a strange-looking ship surrounded by stranger-looking aliens in armor, you’re beginning to think that space isn’t all you first thought it was cracked up to be.
Sitting in an armchair that might as well be a throne, an armored alien at either side, is the coldest-looking, scariest son of a bitch you’ve ever seen. His body is a Frankenstein-esque mismatch of robotic parts fused with the organic. He’s by no stretch the biggest or even the most intimidating alien you’ve seen in the relatively short time since being abducted, but there’s something about his eyes that screams cold blood-thirsty psychopath.
“So,” he sneers, leaning forward in his throne. “This is the monkey’s bride?”
The alien behind you–the lizard-lipped one who brought you here–stands at attention. “Yes, Lord Frieza.”
The one called Lord Frieza stands up from his seat, moving towards you with slow, purposeful steps. He kneels down until his face is level with yours and grabs your chin, turning your head this way and that way. You gulp and his lips quirk as his eyes follow the bob of your throat.
“Tell me,” he says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, “How loud must I make you scream to bring Son Goku running here, hmm?”
“Goku.” His brows rise at your lack of response. “Your husband.”
“Husband?” You blink. “I hate to break it to you, mostly because you look like the type of guy who kills the messenger, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not married. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
“I hope you don’t think that you can lie about your identity to protect your precious primate. I detest liars, especially those who aren’t any good at it.”
You shrug as casually as a person staring Death in the face can. “Hey, man. If I’m lying, I’m dying.”
Frieza’s hand tightens on your chin, fingertips pressing into your skin with enough pressure to bruise. He jerks your head forward, bringing you nose-to-nose as he looks deeply into your eyes. You stare back, your own eyes open and your expression as neutral as you can possibly manage.
Finally, he loosens his grip, pushing you backwards with an irritated growl. You fall back on your ass but are no worse for the wear.
The same cannot be said for the lizard-lipped alien behind you.
“You brought me the wrong human.” Frieza’s tail whips back and forth behind him, much like a cat that’s ready to lunge.
“Please, Lord Frieza, forgive m–”
Before the words are fully out of his mouth, Frieza’s hand pierces through the center of his chest. It goes all the way through, the tips of Frieza’s fingertips poking out from his back. There’s a breathy gasp as the alien looks down at the wound, then back at Frieza, then up into the back of his skull.
Frieza pulls his hand back, and the man falls to the floor, stone cold dead. Bright pink blood dribbles down Frieza’s arms in dripping rivulets.
“You’re forgiven,” he smirks.
Frieza bends down to wipe off the blood onto the front of the alien’s breastplate. He inspects his own hand, fingers extended as he nonchalantly turns his wrists left and right. Satisfied, he kicks the body aside, causing it to slam against the wall with the sickening crack of breaking bones.
“Now…” He turns to you and you cringe. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right where you stand.”
Because I want to live, is the first thought that pops to mind, but you keep it to yourself. You get the impression that this guy doesn’t value sentient life the same way you do.
Instead, you decide to appeal to his sense of practicality.
“Well, I hear bloodstains are a real pain to clean up. And let me tell ya’, I’m a bleeder.”
“Oh?” he raises a brow, a dark half-amused glint flashing in his eyes. “Maybe I don’t mind a little blood. This room could use a fresh coat of paint, don’t you think?”
“True. I see you’ve already started redecorating,” you say, nodding towards the dead body sprawled across the room. “The pink’s a nice touch; really brightens the place up. But, you see, my blood’s red. The colors would clash something awful.” You snap your fingers in an Aw, shucks! sort of gesture. “Looks like you’ll just have to murder somebody else.”
The corner of his lip twitches into something akin to a smile. He breathes out a soft chortle, that grows into a moderate chuckle, and finally explodes into a loud ear-aching cackle that bounces off the walls of the spaceship.
You and the two aliens still standing on either side of Frieza’s chair share a look, the three of you equal measures of confused and creeped out.
“Ah,” Frieza wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, laughter settling. “I haven’t laughed like that since I blew up planet Vegeta. Congratulations; you’ve earned your life.”
“You’re welcome.” Well, say what you want about his psychotic penchant for cold-blooded murder, but at least he’s got good manners.
Cautiously, you rise from the floor, keeping your movements slow and non-threatening. Not that you could ever be a threat to this maniac, but the last thing you want is for him to think you think you could be a threat. “So, does this mean I get to go back home?”
“You misunderstand.” He paces around you, arms folded behind his back and tail swaying casually. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I find you amusing. You will remain here with me until you have outlived your novelty.”
“This will be fun,” he smiles. The cold look in his eyes matched with the tight grin on his face is the most terrifying thing you have ever seen. And you literally watched this guy punch his fist through a man’s chest like he had been made out of paper. “I’ve always wanted a pet.”
“Yes, a pet.” His eyes narrow into slits but that tight-lipped smile remains. “Unless your sense of misplaced pride is greater than your will to live. Do you have anything smart to say to that?”
“Uh, woof woof?”
He chuckles again, placing his hand on the top of your skull.
You wince. You can feel the sharp tips of his fingers even beneath the material of his gloves.