The alien ship drifted through the emptiness of space — silent and efficient. Razor watched 18's reaction but didn't care. He had a feeling he was forgetting something — something important.
Then he remembered — the dropped beans.
After searching around the room, he found the small pouch wedged under a metallic panel. "Still here," he muttered, tying it to his belt. They could be useful later.
Then, as always, he began to train.
Two months had passed since Razor had awakened, and the once-quiet halls now echoed faintly with the rhythmic thuds of his training. Inside the training room, Razor was fighting holographic figures, their movements fast and precise. On his forearm was a metallic band, and whenever one of the holograms landed a hit, Razor would grunt in pain as the band flashed red.
His every movement was minimal and efficient — each punch calculated, each kick sharp enough to send a gust of wind through the chamber as the holograms flickered and reformed. Sweat streaked down his arms as sparks crackled erratically around his body, threatening to ignite into a transformation before sputtering out again.
18 would often watch him train against the holograms, her arms crossed as he grunted in pain from their strikes. She had asked him once why he felt pain from holographic attacks, but he ignored her the first few times. Persistent as always, she continued mocking him, saying he must be too soft to grunt over fake hits.
Eventually, he snapped. "The band senses the holograms' contact with my body. The sensors send signals directly to my brain — it registers the pain as real."
18 blinked, then smirked. "So… you're basically electrocuting yourself for fun? Didn't know Saiyans were into that kind of kink."
Razor glared at her. "It's the closest thing to a real fight I can get on this ship."
That answer surprised her more than she cared to admit — his relentless pursuit of strength was almost inhuman.
But Razor didn't care and continued training. He was chasing something — that fleeting surge from his last battle, that explosion of power when he'd fought Goku and Gohan, when even Cell had pushed his broken body near death. A glimpse of something beyond Super Saiyan 2. But his injuries had stopped him then. Now, no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't find that feeling again.
Training alone wasn't enough.
From the corner, Android 18 leaned against the wall, watching his struggle with a mix of annoyance and fascination.
"For someone obsessed with power," she drawled, "you don't look like you're getting anywhere."
Razor didn't stop. "For someone who does nothing, you talk a lot."
Her brow lifted. "Excuse me for not being impressed by the guy who kidnapped me and then decided to play hermit in space."
"I didn't kidnap you," he said evenly, dodging a falling punch and kicking the holographic figure to shards. "You were there. I left. You came along. Coincidence. You could've left when we landed on that previous planet to resupply."
"Oh, right." She smirked mockingly. "Accidentally abducted. Happens all the time. And sure, I totally know how to pilot alien tech and survive space travel. Been to a lot of planets before, you know."
Razor didn't answer. He focused on his breathing, his aura flaring for a moment — a bright flash that made the air tremble. When it faded, he exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing.
Still not enough.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.
Their strange coexistence took shape — Razor's relentless training filled the ship with thunder, while 18's sarcastic commentary cut through the silence. Whenever the ship landed on distant worlds for supplies, she'd wander off, ignoring his warnings, which annoyed him greatly as he couldn't sense her life signature.
Once, she returned with a mountain of new clothes and some kind of alien jewelries with a smug grin. And returned his empty pouch in which he kept the money for supplies.
"What is that?" Razor asked flatly.
"They're called clothes and jewelries," she shot back. "You might've heard of them."
"That," he said, voice low with irritation, "was supposed to buy supplies."
"Yeah, well, battle armor isn't exactly my style." She flipped her hair. "You should thank me — at least one of us looks good now."
Razor had stood there, silent for a long moment, fists clenched, before walking away. She always seemed to have the upper hand in verbal battles. It was good that he would occasionally loot the foolish space pirates mistaking the pair for easy targets. Her mocking laughter followed him down the metallic corridor as he went to buy the supplies for now.
Now, six months later, the two of them sat in the cockpit — the infinite void stretching out before them.
Razor's gaze was fixed on the stars, expression unreadable.
"You're still planning to just keep wandering?" 18 asked finally. Her tone was cool, but her eyes were sharp. "You could've gone back to Earth. Faced them. Maybe they would've even welcomed you."
"I told you," he replied flatly, "I have no reason to return. I don't need their welcome or acknowledgment. And they can't push me now."
Her jaw tightened. "No reason? You nearly destroyed everything there — and now you're just running away?"
He turned his head slightly, eyes glinting. "Running? You misunderstand. I'm sparing them from a destruction they wouldn't want to see. I choose not to waste time. Earth's fighters served their purpose. They pushed me. That's all I needed."
18 scoffed. "You sound like a spoiled child who lost a game."
His aura flared for a second, the temperature in the room spiking. "Watch your words."
"Or what?" she shot back, stepping closer. "You'll kill the only person keeping this ship from falling into boredom? Go ahead — see how far your pride takes you then."
Razor stared at her for a long, tense moment. Then the corner of his mouth twitched — not a smile, something colder. "You really don't know when to shut up."
"Maybe," she said, crossing her arms again. "But at least I'm not the one hiding from a planet full of people who kicked my ass."
He turned away, the faintest sound escaping him — half a laugh, half a snarl. "You have spirit, I'll give you that. But don't mistake it for strength."
"Funny," she said, voice sharp as glass. "That's what every overconfident idiot says before getting punched through a mountain."
He turned back, for a moment, they just stared at each other — pride clashing in silence, tension thick in the air. She had always been like this since they met, winning every verbal argument which annoyed him greatly.
Finally, Razor exhaled, his expression cooling. "Say what you want. You're still here."
"Not by choice," she muttered. "But someone's gotta make sure you don't blow yourself up chasing your next ego trip."
The silence stretched — until a sharp beep broke through.
Razor glanced at the console. A transmission — fragmented, old, but clear enough. Messages like these weren't unusual; they could be warnings, distress calls, or something entirely unexpected.
"Unidentified lifeform… adapts to all attacks… no survivors… anyone… stay… Planet Xirx… *beep*."
Razor's eyes lit up. "A creature that adapts to all attacks?"
He rose from his seat, aura flickering faintly. "Perfect."
18 groaned. "You're seriously going after that thing? You don't even know what it is."
"That's what makes it worth finding."
She threw her hands up. "You've got issues, you know that?"
He smirked. "And yet, you're still on my ship."
"Don't remind me."
The engines roared, the stars shifting as the ship veered toward the distant planet — where a monster waited, and with it, the promise of a new battle.