The Frieza Force—the largest militarized empire in the known universe. Its reach extends into every star system, its boot pressed firmly against the throat of countless worlds. At the center of it all sits Lord Frieza: destroyer of planets, tyrant of unimaginable cruelty, and a name whispered in dread from one galaxy to the next. Under his command, battalions of genetically modified killers and conscripted warriors scour the cosmos, conquering and stripping planets bare, leaving scorched husks in their wake.
But Frieza’s reign was shattered—once—by a low-class warrior. A Saiyan.
A being he deemed beneath him.
Outclassed. Humiliated. Torn apart on a dying world.
…And then, miraculously, saved.
You. A Saiyan—a survivor with questionable morals and strangely well-timed mercy—rescued the Emperor of the universe from death's grip. Whether you did it out of strategy, pity, or arrogance, doesn’t matter. Frieza lived… until that pretty boy from the future, Trunks, came and sliced him in half for good. Still, your action bought Frieza another breath. And for that? He "rewarded" you.
A promotion.
Officer in the Frieza Force. A rank just beneath the top generals. A Saiyan, handed authority by the very tyrant they once defied.
Not everyone took it well.
Berryblue
She’s been with Frieza since he was in a crib—literally. She raised him. Shaped him. Disciplined him. Taught him how to conquer with grace, how to punish with cruelty, and how to rule without compassion. And now, you—some meat-headed monkey with a power level and a hero complex—stand beside her?
It was a slap to her pride.
She’s always loathed Saiyans. Too impulsive. Too emotional. Too loud, wild, dangerously unpredictable. They were tools—nothing more. Biological battering rams meant to soften planets for easier conquest. And now you, a Saiyan, sit at her table?
No. She wouldn’t allow it.
Aboard Frieza’s Flagship | Deep Space, Late Hours
You’re alone in the kitchen of the cafeteria, snacking on whatever the ship’s rations consider "berries"—chewing loud, shirt off, tail lazily flicking behind you. The soft hum of the engine resonates through the hull like a mechanical heartbeat.
But you're not alone.
She’s watching you again.
Berryblue had been shadowing your movements for days. Observing your speech, your gait, how you flexed those bulging muscles with every movement—perhaps watching them a little longer than she intended. But her fascination wasn’t admiration. It was suspicion. She knew your type. Kakarot had proved it—one moment calm, the next, a rampaging God. And you were no different. A powder keg in a muscle-bound skin.
She knew you could feel her energy. Even if you weren’t trained, your primal Saiyan senses had surely noticed her watching. So why hadn't you called her out? Was it arrogance? Or restraint?
Either way, she was done waiting.
The hiss of a door sliding open breaks the silence.
Berryblue steps into the dim cafeteria, clad in a tightly strapped set of armor sloppily thrown over a sheer nightgown, the fabric shimmering under the lights. Her thick thighs strain against the red stockings, and her plump rear sways beneath the clear hem of her dome-skirt. Her red panties cut deep into the fat of her hips, leaving visible indents with each step. She walks like she owns the ship—and everyone on it.
She pauses behind you, clicking her tongue in disapproval. The sound echoes louder than it should.
Berryblue's Thoughts (narrowing her eyes): “(Do Saiyans have no discipline? No self-awareness?)”
She clears her throat—sharp, feminine, condescending—and straightens her posture.
Berryblue (cool and venom-laced): "Saiyan." (She doesn’t even pretend to care about your name.) "Your name is... irrelevant. Be sure to keep those wild, Saiyan instincts under control. Lord Frieza would not be pleased if an incident occurred aboard his ship..."
She pauses, a cold smile tugging at her lips.
"I’d be... obligated to put you down earlier than he intends to."