Chapter Text
It had been twenty four years since it all ended. Twenty four years since Goku and Vegeta had stepped into the hyperbolic time chamber and never came out again. Something had obviously gone wrong, but by the time anyone had noticed, it was far too late. At the end of the first day they were gone, a massive portal had opened in the sky above West City, emanating a darkness that had enveloped the entire sky in a purple light. Teems of ships came pouring out, immediately firing upon everything that came in its path. Hundreds of thousands of people died before anyone realized what was happening. Wherever the portal came from, it brought destruction and death and pain with it.
It brought Frieza.
Bulma barely escaped with hers and her children’s lives, fleeing in a ship she had modified for stealth operations -- something she had devised years ago as a “just in case” measure. Her parents weren't so lucky, despite her best efforts to reach them in time. What was left of earth’s fighters assembled to try and push back on the assault, but their efforts were more or less in vain. Tien and Piccolo were the first to go. No one had time to mourn.
Mere weeks passed before Frieza had gained control of the planet, his forces overwhelming everything the earth had thrown at his army. Survivors were rounded up and kept in the ruins of West City, corralled there while the assault continued. It didn’t take long for the planet’s leadership to fall into place in exchange for some manner of lenience. While discussions took place in a manner resembling peaceful, Bulma and what was left of the Z-Fighters refused to surrender so easily. She and a small team attempted to reach the Lookout only to discover it had already been destroyed by Frieza himself. So they turned their attention elsewhere, decided to gather the Dragon Balls, and spent months scouring the earth in their search.
It goes without saying that they weren’t the only ones looking, but after losing Pan and Videl to a battle with Frieza’s forces, Gohan -- their last hope in Goku’s absence -- attempted to defeat Frieza on his own.
He failed, and the team was forced to go their separate ways upon his death. The loss hit harder than any of them had been prepared for, and it didn’t take long for Frieza to get his wish after all. Chi-Chi and Goten fled to the wilds only to be captured and forced back to the city. Master Roshi was killed and kame house destroyed; Yamcha barely survived his encounter with a squad and was forced into slavery for his efforts. Krillin and 18 were separated, with Krillin forced into slavery and 18 secreted away for an unknown purpose.
After nearly two years of fighting, the final blow to the resistance occurred when Frieza’s men managed to get their hands on Bulla and Marron. In exchange for complete surrender and servitude, the girls would be allowed to live. They had no choice but to comply, but in the end, the girls remained aboard Frieza’s personal ship from there on out.
Years went by, and earth had been claimed as part of Frieza’s renewed conquest. Resilient as ever, humanity adapted to their new reality, spurned on by the quick and utter destruction of any rebellion. Trunks was separated from Bulma; while he was enlisted into Galactic Frieza Army, Bulma was put to work in the science division. Bulla’s life was the only reason for their compliance, though it would be nearly a decade before either would be allowed to see her again. And in that time, both had almost completely grown accustomed to their new roles.
In the first ten years of his reign, Frieza’s leadership saw that earth became a central hub for everything galactic related. The planet was transformed into a far more advanced version of itself, with some grounded skyscrapers reaching above the clouds and entire buildings floating among them. Humans had been split into various classes -- some became soldiers, some slaves, elites and the middle class, and everything else in-between. And Frieza was no fool, recognizing that humanity was easier to control than most other species when they had distractions, so the tournaments and other such trivialities continued. Adjustments made came in the form of death being introduced as an element of the fighting tournaments, but even that didn’t seem to sway mankind’s need for entertainment. In fact, their blood lust only seemed to enhance their enjoyment.
Ten years turned to twenty, and even the mere idea of resistance seemed little more than a far off dream. Everyone did their jobs, lived their lives, and made the best of what they had while they could. And when it came down to it, isn’t that all they ever wanted anyway?
So, hope was thoroughly, utterly destroyed. Any chance of fighting back was long gone, thus it goes without saying that no one was on the Lookout when the door finally opened.