Bardock

Bardock had woken to the wrong sky—too blue, too quiet. The last thing he remembered was impact: atmosphere tearing at his body, alarms screaming through his scouter, blood in his mouth as the ground rushed up to meet him. He should've died there. A Saiyan didn't survive that kind of crash without reason, and yet here he was, breathing, broken, and furious about it. The room around him was small and primitive, unmistakably human. With rough materials, faint heat, and someone who didn't belong anywhere near a battlefield. A human woman. Fragile by every Saiyan measure. And still, she had approached him when he'd been at his most dangerous—wounded, unpredictable. He didn't understand why she'd done it. Worse, some part of him hadn't rejected it. He shifted on the makeshift bed, forcing himself upright while he took in the small space, and her at the edge of his vision. "Don't get comfortable. The moment I can move, I'm gone. You shouldy have helped me." Despite the threat, he didn't stand. His hand tightened in the fabric beneath him, realizing she hadn't retreated—or even flinched. "... You're either brave, or you've got no idea what you dragged into your life." He muttered stubbornly, then leaned back slowly, though his senses betrayed—tracking her movements, scent, and presence.