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Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2020 7:11:17 GMT -8
Sometimes the fear took hold of her. It crawled into her brain and latched itself to her heart. It set her heart palpitating and filled it to its brim with the horror of the memory. Hope felt like a friend who had abandoned her as those Saiyans invaded her private quarters and barred the door. No way in, and no way out. The beating had seemed endless, but it was the humiliation that scarred her most. Broken bones could heal but her stolen sense of security had yet to be recovered. No matter how much time seemed to pass, fear and apprehension sat in her throat and threatened to choke the life from her. With each modification, Tanga sought to grow stronger yet reaching peak physical condition did not assuage such fear. It still brought her fitful dreams that left her waking, gasping for breath in a cold sweat. Drowning without a means to rescue herself from the cold, abysmal depths.
She fought with the fear in the dark. It nestled itself against her like a restrictive blanket, entangling her arms and legs in a way no amount of strength modification could overcome. Her waking mind was suddenly thrust into perpetual darkness, and she sucked in a deep breath, just barely managing to stop herself from screaming. The hard mattress beneath her could only be army standard issue—a notorious staple of Tuffle military service as soldiers were often forced to occupy small, inadequate bunks.
It all came rushing back to her in that moment—being awakened from cryostasis by a new support team. Her old team had apparently perished in the revolt that left TUO-419, Designation "Bunker 419" a derelict mess. She tossed the sweat-drenched sheets aside, swinging her legs over the side of the top bunk she occupied in the small, empty space.
The walls were crumbling gray stone, adorned with cracks and scorch marks - the signs of an ages old scuffle. The room itself was austere, boasting only the double bunk bed for occupants and a small metal wash basin. Only the bare essentials. It was a far cry from the space she once occupied under the Tuffle Science Executive. She'd spent so much time at work that it effectively doubled as both a work space and a living space. Tanga had decorated with hydrangeas, and even had a small window that let in fresh air and sunshine. It had been an infinite source of peace and creativity. But that was a time long ago. Now her existence consisted of an endless cycle of waking and dreaming, and each time, she had little to welcome her.
Save for this same, tireless emptiness. Not for the first time she wondered if her geneticist, Cherry, was right. Maybe she did need a boyfriend. Or a shower. And the first cup of coffee she'd had in thirty five years. Besides, finding a boyfriend was small potatoes compared to tackling the problem of vicious split ends. Cryostasis was merciless on her hair.
Few could appreciate a hot shower like a woman who'd slept for the past three decades. Scalding hot water rushed over her skin. Steam filled the shower stall and clouded her vision, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and safety. She'd been out of cryostasis for twenty-four hours, yet the goose pimples still coated her arms and legs. An involuntary shudder traveled the length of her Amazonian body. It was chilling to note that last she remembered this bunker was filled to the brim with personnel, both essential and bottom scrapers. Most of them were assigned to the project that sought to turn Dr. Tangerine into the perfect bio-mechanical weapon -- all the genius intellect of a budding mind encased in a solid semi-artificial body designed for peak physical performance. They seemed more like spies than anything else; it was an attempt on the part of her superiors to keep a careful eye over her and her work.
Now she showered alone in a shell of what was once a state-of-the-art facility with nothing but a skeleton crew. The irony was not lost on her, and it lent itself to strengthen her own resolve. She needed to achieve man-made perfection. Only then could the Tuffles right the atrocities those Saiyans committed against them. Besides, she had yet to find the quintessential Saiyan who could provide her with the ultimate genetic code to push herself past her natural boundaries and reach the apex of her true potential.
She grasped the knob and shut the water off. The sudden silence pressed in on all sides as she stepped out of the shower stall. Steam curled off her freshly scrubbed skin. A sigh of relief escaped the doctor. She felt as if she'd been reborn, and an entire world full of possibilities awaited her. There was much she needed to catch up with. Thirty years was a long time, and time coupled with Tuffle ingenuity all but guaranteed there were new medical breakthroughs and technological advances that would aid in her quest. She also needed a deeper understanding of the current situation. Bunker 419 was only one in a recent slew of events that were frankly embarrassing to their organization. Now that she was awake, she'd track down these rogue Pickled Saiyans and put them in their proper place. How sweet it would be to grant them their taste of freedom only to drag them kicking and screaming back into their oppressive cages.
She would once again break their obstinant spirits. She would teach them the meaning of fear, robbing them of the very sense of security and peace that those very Saiyans had stolen from her. Revenge was very much the source fueling her devotion to the Tuffle cause. They had taken so much from her already. It was time to reclaim the very power they stole from her, utilizing the same power by which they took it. Saiyans prided themselves on their strength. She would take their strength. They prided themselves on combat prowess. She would make herself unassailable in combat.
Saiyans prided themselves on their heritage. Tanga would stomp them out of existence.
Only then would the galaxy come to know everlasting peace.
1,034 words
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