(Two years before Raditz reaches Earth)
He woke with a breath that tasted like metal and winter.
Not in a pod.
Not on a slab.
Not on a bed.
But standing as if the universe had cut out the old Freeza and inserted him mid-stride.
A circular chamber stretched around him, all polished obsidian metal and quiet machine-heart hum. The observation deck. High above the empire's main flagship. A place meant for the untouchable. A place the original Freeza used only for brooding or destroying something for fun.
But the new one, the man inside Frieza body took in the details with human shock.
The floor was warm under his feet, heated by coolant lines.
The windows weren't windows; they were seamless plates of transparent alloy, thick enough to survive a star collapsing.
Outside, a pale-blue gas giant churned below, its atmosphere swirling with silent storms the size of continents.
He lifted a hand.
It wasn't his hand.
Pearl-white armor reflected the soft glow of the planet. The fingers were articulated but too smooth, too perfect unlike his previous human fingers with wrinkles and creases.
He then looked at the Futuristic looking wall with a mirror attached to it.
His pulse kicked.
Not fear.
Recognition twisted with disbelief.
"Freeza," he whispered.
And the voice that came out was velvet wrapped around a knife.
A breath caught in his chest, human and alien at the same time. His tail — an entirely new limb scraped softly along the floor. The texture was strange: polished metal with a whisper of dust near the seams. Someone had cleaned recently, but not perfectly. That small imperfection grounded him more than the galaxy outside.
He paced to the edge of the glass. His reflection tracked him: red eyes, smooth plates, a body designed like a weapon that didn't apologize for its purpose.
Logic settled in first — always his anchor.
But Then emotion seeped in around the edges: the dizzy rush of power throbbing under his skin, the wrongness of wearing a monster's face, the small thrill at knowing he could rewrite history if he chose.
He pressed a hand against the glass.
It vibrated faintly from the ship's engines — a deep, steady rumble you could feel in the ribs. Comforting in its predictability.
Behind him, the doors hissed open with military precision.
A horned soldier stepped in and bowed so low his armor plates clinked. "L-Lord Freeza, your morning cycle has begun. Shall I summon the Ginyu Force for the monthly report?"
The man inside the emperor's body felt a human laugh claw at his throat. Morning cycle. As if he were clocking into a nine-to-five job instead of commanding an empire.
He turned slowly. Every eye ridge, every movement, every tilt of his head carried that predatory grace the body was built for. But his human mind, disciplined one added something new underneath:
Curiosity.
And a great deal of disgust.
An unwillingness to think before crushing someone.
"No," he said.
He savored the sound: calm, cool, but warmer than old Freeza ever allowed.
"Not yet. I want the ship's full strategic readout first. Planetary statuses. Saiyan deployments. And bring me the logs from the last six months."
The soldier blinked in confusion. Freeza never asked for logs.
Freeza destroyed logs.
"Is something wrong, my lord?"
On the surface: harmless.
Underneath: an alien mouth daring to probe his thoughts.
The human inside Freeza felt his stomach twist, a sharp curl of disgust. It wasn't just the soldier.
it was the room, the species, the empire, the whole gallery of non-human faces he now commanded. And worst of all, the reflection in the glass.
He caught his own image again.
He looked like a purple Dildo.
There was a moment, half a heartbeat, where the human in him grimaced. His lip tried to curl the way it used to, but Freeza's face didn't have the right muscles.
"This body," he thought, "is a joke played by a god with too much time."
The disgust simmered.
Not enough to break logic — but enough to color it.
He turned to the soldier.
The alien was trembling. Small horns, blue skin, armor too tight around the ribs. His eyes were too big, too wet amphibian, glistening. The human in Freeza recoiled internally, a reflexive distaste. It reminded him of deep-sea creatures — the kind you never want to look at too long.
"Wrong question," Freeza said softly.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Soft, which somehow made it worse.
The soldier flinched. "My lord, I—I meant no—"
Freeza moved.
He didn't think.
The body acted on instinct — predatory, efficient, horrifyingly elegant.
His tail snapped forward like a whip. The impact echoed through the chamber.
A wet, cracking thud that vibrated up Freeza's arm even though it wasn't his arm that dealt the blow. The soldier slammed into the wall, armor denting, breath exploding in a violent cough.
He slid down, leaving a faint smear — dark, oily alien blood.Mongrel blood
The smear bothered Freeza more than the injury. It disrupted the perfect lines of the room.
He hated that. Which is surprising even to himself as he usually is a calm and collected.
The alien wheezed, half-conscious. "M… mercy…"
Freeza walked toward him slowly, the click of his heel plating measured, almost delicate. The air tasted of metal and iron now, thick and warm.
"Do not," Freeza said, voice quiet and precise, "question me again."
A pause.
Long enough to let the soldier feel the shape of his mistake.
Long enough for Freeza to feel the faint shiver of satisfaction — then the disgust at that satisfaction.
He hated that.
Hated how the body liked this.
Hated that part of him liked that the body liked it.
He crouched, eye-level with the soldier. He spoke inches from the alien's face, taking in the smell — sweat, fear, something acidic.
It made his skin crawl. If his skin could even do that.
"Crawl to medical. If you bleed on my floor again, I'll tear out your spine and make you mop with it."
The soldier tried to bow, failed, and dragged himself away, gasping, armor scraping against the deck in uneven rhythms.
The room fell silent.
Freeza exhaled slow, controlled and looked down at his own hands again. They were too smooth. Too alien.
"What kind of joke is this?" he muttered.
The planet outside rolled on, huge and uncaring.
His reflection stared back: a monster with a man's mind behind the eyes.
And for the first time, he felt the weight of it.
Not fear.
Not acceptance.
Just a cold, steady, human disgust burning under the armor.
---
So first thing first, l am not a professional writer nor l am a Native English speaker.
Second thing, l am writing this because there are no decent Fan fic of DBZ so l decided to take matters into my own hands.