[Quest] World is Mine

Frieza

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When Frieza first awoke on this strange rock of ice, his first thought had been that he was, somehow, back on his home planet.

Only, that wasn't possible. His home planet had been destroyed a long, long time ago. And even if it had, miraculously, reappeared, why would he be here? He held no attachment to the place. His home was at the seat of his Planet Trade Organization--any ancestral ties he may have to a single planet were completely worthless.

But, no. Wherever he was, the air was different--harder to breathe, but within his limits. And, sure, it had been a while, but he definitely didn't remember his home planet's sky containing a large purple gas giant unlike any planet he'd ever seen before. Which only raised further questions of where the hell he was, and how he'd ended up here. He'd just gone to sleep after a normal day of work, and woken up... here. Wherever "here" was. What's more, he couldn't even fly.

Still, he wasn't going to sit around doing nothing but throwing a fit over this nonsensical turn of events. Like hell he was just going to lie down and die in a place like this. If he couldn't fly, he could walk. This was an ice planet. Ice meant water. Water meant life. Life meant food. And even if this bizarre planet seemed to be limiting his powers to some capacity, he could still fire ki blasts, which meant hunting would be no problem. The only concern was whether he'd find anything edible before running out of energy--but for now, he had plenty. He just had to survive until he figured out what the hell was going on, and from there he could figure out what to do next.

He kept walking. There wasn't much as far as plantlife was concerned, aside from patches of alien moss that clung to the edges of a foul-smelling geothermal vent, and as he continued through the trail of jagged rocks the air grew thinner and thinner. Perhaps he was climbing a hill or mountain--the visibility was too poor to tell. His legs were starting to ache, and for what was far from the first time, he cursed this damned planet for not even having the decency to let him fly. Frieza was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them. Fatigue was starting to set in, but that only angered him further. He pushed past it through stubborn will alone.

For a while, anyway.

Stubborn as he was, even he had limits. Eventually, his body gave out, and he collapsed against a large boulder, shoulders heaving and breath coming in shallow gasps. How long had he been walking? Hours, surely, but he had no way of knowing how many. The sky didn't seem to change at all, and even if it had, he didn't know how long this planet's day/night cycle actually was. Exhaustion flooded his body, and his limbs felt like solid iron. He exhaled, and shut his eyes. No point in not resting. Perhaps this was all some twisted dream anyhow. Not even bothering to clear a comfortable patch of dirt or start a fire, he curled up and fell fast asleep.

A loud roar jolted him from his slumber. Frieza scrambled to his feet. A large silhouette loomed over him, easily as large as his powered up forms and twice as wide. Whatever sort of beast it was, it was clearly not happy an alien interloper had found himself in its territory.

And in that moment, all the stress, exhaustion, and sheer, cold anger that had been accumulating since Frieza found himself stranded on this godforsaken rock, exploded.

"YOU DARE CHALLENGE LORD FRIEZA, EMPEROR OF THE UNIVERSE?!" he screamed, face contorted in rage. "FOR SUCH INSOLENCE, PREPARE TO PAY THE ULTIMATE PRICE!!!"

He fired a volley of death beams until the creature collapsed, and then he fired about fifty more until it was little more than a sizzling, hole-ridden pile of burnt meat. He gritted his teeth together and exhaled shakily, and took a moment to compose himself. In all likelihood it had just been some wild animal, so yelling at it seemed kind of pointless now that the heat of the moment had passed. Whatever. It was dead now, and for the first time since getting here, he became acutely aware of how hungry he was. Well. Meat was meat.

Now re-energized, and much more mentally lucid, Frieza set up a proper camp. Well, it still wasn't much. Just a pile of rocks and a small fire. But it was better than nothing, and he wasn't going to put raw meat in his body if he could help it. It was probably a pretty pathetic sight, but after his earlier outburst, he was too exhausted--and hungry--to care. And it wasn't as if anyone was around to see him like this.

"It went this way!"

Speak of the devil.

A small group--probably a scouting party--of bizarre, tiny aliens broke through the blizzard. They were clad head to toe in thick coats, and wore cartoonishly oversized goggles. He stared at them in bewilderment, skewered yeti arm half-raised to his mouth, and for a moment they stared back, not moving. Then they chattered amongst each other for a moment, and the largest turned back to him.

"You... did you slay that beast?"

The alien gestured to the ravaged beast carcass by his campsite. For a moment, Frieza was still struggling to process this turn of events, but eventually found his voice. "Uh... yes?"

The chattering resumed. Then, finally, they hobbled up to his campsite, and threw themselves at his feet. It was only then that his mind really caught up to what was happening.

"You've saved our village!" the largest spoke. "Please, you must come back with us, so we can bestow you with the proper honors."

Well. This was far from the most unwelcome turn of events. Finally, this weird planet was treating him with the respect he deserved. A smug grin split across his lips. When life gives you space lemons...
 

Frieza

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After some time living on this strange ice planet, Frieza had managed to more or less pick up on the situation.

Firstly, the weird, bean-shaped aliens. They were called the Nomiin, and lived in a settlement along the slope of a shield volcano. Quite frankly, he didn't really like them. They were stupid, ugly, weak, and weird, but he wasn't exactly in a situation to be choosy about his followers. If he were, he probably would have just killed them all and ransacked their civilization. But as it was, that wasn't really an option.

The Nomiin gave him more than just food and shelter--they gave him a temple. Apparently they had gotten the idea that he was literally the mortal avatar of their high god, come to bring them salvation. And, well, make no mistake. Being revered as a literal god was always a good ego-stroker. But it wasn't the first time he'd inspired a reigious cult throughout his reign, and the novelty of it had worn off. Religious followers were more unpredictable than employees, and really not all that much more devout. They were also prone to destroying themselves in holy wars, misplaced zeal overruling self-preservation, which... wasn't good for business.

No. That wouldn't do. The only religion Frieza would accept ruling was CAPITALISM.

Still, the Nomiin were very stupid. Very, very stupid. Once he figured out what was going on, he decided to nip it in the bud by firing the self-appointed cult leader. By which he meant firing a death beam, right through their skull. "No! None of that. Shame on you."

This had about the same effect as disciplining a cat for bringing you a freshly killed mouse. Rather than coming to the sane, reasonable conclusion that they should maybe stop the offending behavior, the Nomiin doubled down on it. Obviously, Frieza's ire meant that they just weren't worshiping him hard enough. So they doubled down. Erected shrines, temples, brought him offerings and live sacrifices. Fine. Whatever.

God or not, he wasn't going to weaken his credibility by saying he genuinely had no idea how he ended up here. He fished for information more subtly, by asking the Nomiin to tell him about their civilization. Apparently they were going through some pretty tough times because the Inverxe--that was the planet's name--Natural Gas Company was exploiting them and their natural resources in order to make a profit.

That got his attention. He could work with this.

"Exploiting your people for wealth, you say?" said Frieza. "In that case, I think I'd be interested in meeting with a representative of this 'Inverxe Natural Gas Company' myself."
 

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Frieza had his opportunity to meet with a representative of the Inverxe Natural Gas Company after what felt like a week on this godforsaken rock, when a group of much less stupid and ugly aliens parked their ship further up the volcano and came to collect the Nomiin's biweekly gas harvest. Upon arrival, they were apparently told that the Nomiin would no longer tolerate being exploited for their labor, now that their god had come from the heavens to save them. So, naturally, they came to visit this "god," and barged in, guns pointed, on Frieza reclining on his velvet and gold throne eating grapes, accusing him of challenging their claim to this planet.

"Frieza, your challenge to our rule of this planet ends now! Come quietly, or we will fire!"

He froze, grapes midway to his mouth, and gave his intruders a perplexed side glance. That... was very much not what Frieza had meant when he said he was interested in meeting with a representative of the Inverxe Natural Gas Company. Quite frankly, he had no interest in challenging their claim to this planet's resources, much less ending the exploitation of its indigenous population. But the Nomiin were stupid, so of course that's what they assumed.

Once the initial shock wore off, he straightened his posture, set down his grapes, and laughed haughtily.

"My, my, what do we have here?" he said, grinning. "I'm sorry to say, but I think you have the wrong idea. By all means, continue harvesting whatever resources you please from this speck of a planet. I merely wish to have a piece of the metaphorical pie for myself, you see."

The two grunt soldiers exchanged confused glances at one another, guns held slack. This... was very much not what they were expecting. They put down an ill-conceived rebellion every month, but a strange alien appearing out of nowhere and offering to join them was a bit unprecedented, to say the least.

After some wordless deliberation, the grunt on the left pointed his gun again at Frieza. "What are you playing at?!" he demanded.

Clearly they weren't used to peaceful negotiations. Well, he wasn't really one to talk.

Frieza sighed. "Quite frankly, I could ask the same of you. After all, I was just minding my own business before you so rudely barged in and started waving those weapons of yours around." With a single gesture, the guns were wrenched from the soldiers' grasp and flung against the wall, breaking to pieces. "That's better. Now we can talk properly."

The soldiers began panicking, having no other means of defense than their weaponry, and flung themselves to the floor. Clearly they had just expected him to be an upstart Nomiin, if they'd only sent two powerless soldiers to apprehend him. How insulting.

"P-Please, don't hurt us!" cried the one on the right.

"Were you not listening?" Frieza irritably tapped his tail against the edge of his throne. "I've no interest in crossing you, so please discard whatever foolish notion you had of me being an ally of these people." He chuckled. The very idea. "I merely wish to speak to whoever is in charge of this 'natural gas company' of yours. Surely you find this agreeable?"

"Yes, of course!" said the one on the left. "We'll take you back to our ship."

"Good." Frieza stood up with a wicked smile, hands folded behind his back. "Oh, and one more thing."

He fired a death beam through the shoulder of the grunt on the right. "From now on, you will address me as Lord Frieza."
 

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(note: until otherwise stated, the contents of this thread are set before Dante's Abyss)

Frieza's sudden departure from the Nomiin settlement caused quite a stir. Apparently they were too stupid to realize he was leaving voluntarily, and kept sobbing and flinging themselves at his feet to stop him from being taken from them. One of them even self-immolated, which was... funny, but incredibly ludicrous. Yeah, the ego boost of being literally worshiped was not enough to be worth dealing with the Nomiin a second longer.

He followed the goons sent by the Inverxe Natural Gas company into their spaceship. It was small, a bit too cramped for three people, and more than a little awkward sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with two people who had just tried to kill him, one of whom was still bleeding from where he had shot them earlier, but whatever. The moment they took off and the Nomiin settlement receded into the distance, out of sight, Frieza felt a wave of serenity flood over him. Never before in his life had he the displeasure of interacting with such a detestable species. He didn't even have any particular desire to slaughter them all, he just wanted to never see them again, ever.

(But, given his track record, that didn't mean slaughtering them all was entirely off the table by any stretch of the imagination.)

The journey wasn't that long, thankfully, so Frieza had to only spend maybe five to ten minutes in that cramped space pod. Neither of the goons he had just threatened, as it turned out, were particularly in the mood for conversation, either with Frieza or each other. Which was a good sign, in that it meant he had successfully asserted his dominance, but also meant that the trip was at least five to ten times more awkward and boring than it really needed to be.

Also, the space pod's seating hadn't been designed to accommodate people with... girthy tails. Frieza had to lean forward, on his knees, and wrap his tail around the base of his legs just to sit somewhat comfortably. So much for affirmative action.

Eventually, they arrived in orbit, and the ship landed in the hangar of a small space station. Frieza stepped out of the space pod, and took a moment to stretch his limbs. Right then. First item on his agenda once he took over this place was redesigning these shitty space pods.

The goons followed him out in short order. The one with the injured shoulder hobbled off in the direction of what Frieza could only assume was the medical bay, while the other cleared his throat.

"Right then," he said. "Our CEO is usually pretty busy, but, uh. I think he'll be able to fit you in. Right this way, F--uh, Lord Frieza."
 

Frieza

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Frieza was led into a medium sized, well lit office, with fluorescent lights that were slightly headache inducing, cheaply painted white and blue wallpaper, and ugly navy carpeting that made him feel itchy just looking at it. The desk, meanwhile, was cluttered in half-finished paperwork and assorted knick-knacks. Frieza clicked his tongue derisively at the sorry spectacle. Had the CEO no budget, or just no sense of aesthetics? Either way, it wasn't an excellent first impression.

The CEO himself was a surpsisingly young looking humanoid male, with wide-rimmed glasses and sleeked back hair, and a perplexed expression directed at the goon who had brought him here. The nameplate on his desk read "K. L. Enton," along with a handful of titles in smaller print that Frieza couldn't make out from this distance.

"May I... ask who this is?" asked Enton, gesturing at Frieza. "Not to mention why you've decided to barge into my office unannounced at this time of day."

"W-Well, uh," said the goon, glancing nervously at his boss, then at Frieza, then back to his boss. "We were sent to capture the individual that the Nomiin were worshiping as a god. You know, the small, surface dwelling aliens? Well, he came willingly, but also, uhh... threatened us, and said he wanted to speak to--"

"I grow tired of this," Frieza interrupted sharply, smacking his tail against the ground. The carpeting dulled the sound, but it was still enough to make the goon jump slightly. He strode up to Enton's desk. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Frieza. Contrary to what you and your subordinates seem to believe, I am not affiliated with the Nomiin. I simply happened to be passing by, and they jumped to their own conclusions. In other words, I have no quarrel with you."

The company president drummed his fingers on the hardwood of his desk, and aimed a perplexed look at Frieza. "That's... good to hear, I suppose," he said. "But if that's the case, why come all this way? Once the misunderstanding was cleared up, my soldiers would have been happy to leave you be. There definitely wasn't any need to speak with me in person, or anything."

The manner that this Enton addressed him was... not exactly rude, but definitely less formal than Frieza preferred in business settings like this. He sighed. "Shouldn't it be obvious? I'm here to negotiate."

Enton blinked. "Negotiate... negotiate what?"

Was he really this dense? Probably. "You're a man of business, are you not?" Frieza smiled. "I want to work for your company. Or, perhaps more accurately, I'd like to be in a position of some authority. Low level grunt work has never been my style, you see."

Enton stood straight up. "What?! You can't just... you can't just force your way into a high level position just like that! Who do you think you are?!"

Frieza's polite smile widened into something unmistakeably sinister. He circled around to the far end of the office, and pulled a spare office chair to the opposite side of Enton's desk, causing Enton to flinch away from him as he entered the man's personal space. How on earth had someone like him ended up in a position of any corporate authority? Nepotism, no doubt. Some people just weren't built to lord over others, and it showed in their every action, how they carried themselves.

Frieza liked to believe that his high power level was only part of the reason he was so successful in inspiring such bottomless terror wherever he went. The other reason was the delicate art of presence.

He pulled the rolling chair up to the other end of Enton's desk, tail fitting comfortably in the gap between the seat and back, wrapping around the base of the chair as he leaned forward and clasped his hands.

"I could answer that question," he said slowly, "or perhaps you, instead, could ask why only one of the soldiers you sent to retrieve me seems to have returned."

Enton paled. "Is that a threat? Surely you don't think you can just barge into a business and demand the CEO relinquish his position to a stranger!" He laughed, but there was a note of apprehension.

Logically, he must have reckoned that, whoever this upstart Frieza fellow might be, one man couldn't fend off an entire army, no matter how powerful he was. Logically, he held no solid claim to what he demanded. Logically, he could just call him out on his rudeness and demand he remove himself from the facility.

However.

There was just something about the way Frieza talked, the way he carried himself, that screamed to Enton, on a visceral, primal level, that this was not an individual to fuck around with.

And that was the value of "presence." It was a carefully honed and crafted skill as much as it was a natural drive to lead and command, and this Enton fellow possessed neither.

"Oh, come now," Frieza said sweetly. "Let's not jump to violence so quickly, shall we? We're businessmen, not savages. And you'd be right. I don't expect you to hand over your title here and now--that would be ridiculous. First things first, I'm interested in hearing more about this establishment of yours."

A bead of sweat rolled down Enton's brow. "Well, you could speak to our PR manager about--"

"No, that won't do at all." Frieza twitched his tail. "I don't want the watered down, PR friendly version of your company's mission statement. I want to hear it from you, the one in charge." He leaned in closer. "So, tell me your story. Tell me everything there is to know about this 'Inverxe Natural Gas Company.'"
 

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At first, Enton was tight lipped about any information beyond surface level. The Inverxe Natural Gas Company, or the Enton Drilling Company as it was more officially known, was exactly what it sounded like. They mined natural gas from Inverxe. Though, with some prodding, Frieza was soon able to get a good sense of what was really going on here. As he suspected, the man sitting in front of him was not the company's founder, but rather he had inherited it from his older brother, who had died shortly after his father. So, naturally, the current CEO had been woefully underprepared for the position thrust upon him.

That was part of it, anyway. The full story had a bit more to it. Inverxe as a whole had a reputation for attracting off-world mining companies who wanted to extract the dangerous, inhospitable ice moon's natural riches, and the Enton Drilling Company was no exception. Most of them ventured into the labyrinthine natural tunnels that coiled beneath the moon's core to extract the rare, precious minerals from deep within. Though lucrative, this was also highly dangerous. Nightmarish creatures lurked within the bowels of Inverxe, lying in wait of unsuspecting adventurers to devour... or worse. Not to mention that the subterranean tunnels were subject to unpredictable tectonic and volcanic activity, which meant that entire expedition teams were frequently wiped out without a trace. And that wasn't even going into the slow setting madness that gripped anyone who stayed beneath the surface too long, tempting them deeper and deeper within the moon's core until they all, inevitably, vanished without a trace.

The Enton family had a less suicidal idea for how to make their fortune: stick to the surface. The surface of Inverxe was still crawling with dangers, of course, from ferocious wildlife to the thin atmosphere and frigid climate, but was, on the whole, more predictable. Though there weren't many minerals valuable enough to be found through regular surface mining (at least, not valuable enough to justify the interplanetary shipping fees), drilling for natural oil and gas was perfectly viable, and plenty lucrative. The founder, Enton Sr., assembled a team of highly skilled geologists to construct a geophysical profile of the moon's crust, and immediately lay claim to the largest hot spots. The venture was a success, and the Enton Drilling Company quickly became one of the dominant financial powers on Inverxe.

However, this success was not to last. Even before Enton Sr.'s passing, the company had fallen on hard times. The Kaalakiota Corporation had taken notice of the Enton Company's success, and had begun expanding their subterranean operations to the surface, as well as imposing harsh tariffs on oil and gas bearing the Enton brand. The decreased profit margin meant less money for equipment, which meant the Enton bigwigs began cutting corners to continue lining their own pockets, which meant a higher rate of equipment malfunction and on-site accidents, which meant bad press and workers going on strike... all in all, a complete mess. Not to mention the personal scandals that the elder Enton brother had gotten wrapped up in shortly after inheriting the company.

Frieza hadn't really wanted to hear the younger Enton brother giving his full life story, though. He considered cutting him off as he began delving into his own troubled childhood, being overlooked in favor of his elder brother and his own attempts to carve a name for hismelf ending in failure, but he decided to let the man babble on. That didn't mean he needed to pay attention, though. No, Frieza's mind was elsewhere, gears turning as he processed the situation laid out before him. It had been quite some time since he had needed to come up with a business strategy beyond "send in the troops, claim the bounty." Sure, he did on occasion run into precarious political or financial situations that required a delicate touch, but nothing on this scale. It was vexing, but... strangely exciting, to be faced with a situation that required him to rely solely on his own strength and expertise, rather than the raw power of his armies and accumulated wealth. After all, he didn't have the backing of the Planet Trade Organization here.

But that didn't mean he was powerless.

And before he knew it, a plan had begun to formulate.
 

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There was one major, unique advantage Frieza had over literally everybody else working for the Enton Drilling Company: he could survive on the surface of Inverxe with no protective gear.

It wasn't just the cold that was the problem, though even that was intense enough to prove fatal for most non-native organic beings without high-tech insulation equipment. The thin atmosphere also meant low air pressure, as well as low oxygen levels and higher than normal levels of radioactivity. Of course, there were beings native to Inverxe who could survive these conditions just fine, but many of them were unintelligent if not outright non-sapient; good for hard labor, but not much else. More importantly, very, very few offworld speculators could boast the same. Even some of the species which had long inhabited the subterranean tunnels, such as the Dwemer, could not survive for more than a few hours on the surface.

To Frieza, however, it was downright mild.

Well. That was an exaggeration. It was well within the bounds of what he could survive, yes, but it was harsher than he was used to. From what he remembered of it, the climate of his home planet had been similar, to the point where it had been miraculous that intelligent life had been able to evolve at all. The vast, barren fields of ice were almost... nostalgic. That was a strange thought. He'd never been one to dwell on the past, always marching toward the future, but the piercing chill and the vast, glistening ice fields of Inverxe stirred within him memories he'd thought long forgotten. Nothing of importance; images, feelings, fond memories. He'd frequently ventured out into the snow as a child, hadn't he? He'd even gotten lost once or twice, and caused a bit of a stir. He didn't understand why. He always survived.

He pushed the meaningless sentimental thoughts from his mind. That was a long, long time ago. The thought that he might have been growing soft since then left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Still, he was able to grit his teeth and ignore the chill that, while only slightly irritating to him, was deadly to most everyone around him, and that alone had begun to turn heads. Practically speaking, it didn't make that much of a difference. Anyone could suit up and head to the surface, so it wasn't like Frieza was the only one capable of performing surface operations by a long shot. Not to mention the number of drones that patrolled the surface, so they really didn't even need to head to the surface in person most of the time.

But it was a big deal.

It was a big deal because when he'd casually mentioned it to President Enton, his jaw had hit the floor. It was a big deal because just based on that alone, he'd been easily able to secure a position as supervisor for surface operations. It was a big deal because, unlike all the other higher ups and supervisors who went down to the surface of Inverxe in person, he was able to show his face on scene, not obscured by gas masks or thick furs or other protective gear.

It meant people would remember who he was. It meant he could start bending them to his will with the sheer power of his presence. The simple act of standing before them, unaffected by the ice moon's extreme climate, the climate which they needed to go to such lengths just to survive, was a colossal show of dominance. President Enton may have been too inexperienced to realize it, but Frieza knew full well what he was doing when he strode up to the small maintenance crew, wearing nothing but his standard armor and a smile, and told them he would be in charge.

Even with their faces obscured, Frieza could feel the apprehension in the workers' every movement, shooting furtive glances his way as they tried to rush through the routine repairs. Perhaps word of his assault on the low-ranking soldier had spread among them.

They finished in record time, with no complications. And Frieza hadn't even needed to lift a finger.

This was going to be fun.
 

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The Enton Company space station had a wing set aside as a living space for its employees. Many of them were not native to Inverxe, and although the Dwemer were open to conducting business with outside representatives, their borders were very firmly closed to permanent immigration, with very few exceptions. This meant that one of the greatest barriers of entry to setting up a business venture on Inverxe was getting somewhere for you and your workers to stay, as interplanetary commute was... inconvenient. There were a few general research settlements scattered about the surface (anything below the surface would be considered an infringement on Dwemer territory), but for the most part, offworld visitors to Inverxe had to set up camp in orbit. Meaning the business facilities also had to function as small cities.

Now that Frieza officially worked here, that meant he had been assigned a suite of his own. Before the end of the designated workday, he was given a key, assigned a number, and told to report back in tomorrow.

The suite itself wasn't terrible. It was about the size of a studio apartment, with sleek white furniture that was actually more comfortable than it looked. There was a single bed, one bathroom, a kitchenette, a set of chairs, a kitchen table, a sofa, a coffee table, a wall-mounted television, a desk, a computer, and a leafy green potted plant nestled in the far right corner. It was perfectly serviceable, but it was so... ordinary, that it was downright surreal.

How long had it been since Frieza had had standard accommodations? Back in his home universe he tended to travel back and forth between bases often enough that it would be impractical to have a palatial mansion on every ship, every planet he owned, but it was always very clear that whatever quarters or place of residence he happened to use belonged to the one in charge. Although even here he possessed a degree of authority beyond what his position as a mid-level supervisor would indicate, it... wasn't what he was used to.

He could have just stayed in the temple built by the Nomiin, where he was treated like a god. But ruling over one small, relatively primitive alien settlement was nowhere near fulfilling, by Frieza's standards, and the lack of upward movement would have grown maddening. On the other hand, he could have just threatened the life of the Enton CEO and maybe some other bigwigs, and forced his way to the top. Truthfully, he had considered it. But, he reminded himself, he was in a precarious position, and couldn't act rashly. Though he still retained a good deal of his power (and, as he confirmed once he was alone, the ability to transform), perhaps even enough to win the hypothetical battle against the entirety of the Enton Company, he was essentially back at square one in terms of the type of power that really mattered for cementing one's rule: influence over others. He might be the strongest one here, but that meant next to nothing without people willing to follow him. Direct threats to others' lives could only go so far without economic and social leverage, and those needed to be rebuilt from scratch even if he did just start shooting people into compliance from day one.

Frieza threw himself down on the mattress and exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he planned his next move, mind whirling through strategy after strategy. It was a difficult situation. He could remain patient, calm, and logical even in this surreal, degrading situation, but that didn't mean he liked it. Not one bit.

He'd managed to pick up a bit of information regarding this place he'd ended up in, without managing to betray his own lack of knowledge. Apparently this solar system was known as the Crossroads, and it was far from unheard of for people from other worlds to just... turn up here mysteriously. The Crossroads civilization spanned multiple sovereign planets, and was advanced enough that it was easy to travel between them, but not to the point of grand scale interstellar production, or even harvesting the energy of their home star.

In other words, although Frieza himself was not a scientist, and certainly did not know how to create hyperdrive engines or dyson spheres from scratch, he knew what direction to steer innovation in order to get there again.

But that was still a long, long ways off. For now, he was still a mid-ranked supervisor at a petroleum engineering company. How long had it even been since he'd ever had to really answer to someone else? Granted, the Enton CEO was spineless and would probably cave to his demands, but still. President Enton wasn't even his direct superior. The Enton Drilling Company was divided into roughly two branches: the Exploration and Production branch, comprised mainly of geophysicists and engineers probing into Inverxe's crust in order to find rich sources of petroleum and optimize techniques to extract it; and the Drilling branch, which did the hands-on extraction, construction, handling, on-site management, et cetera. Frieza's job fell into the latter category. Each branch was run by a different vice president, both of whom reported to Enton himself. Enton, as far as Frieza could tell, did little hands on work related to finding or extracting oil and gas, and mostly handled the external, business related side of things (which mostly involved selling the crude oil in bulk to the Kaalakiota Corp, the company responsible for shipping and production.)

No wonder the Enton company was in such dire straits.

Tomorrow, he was going to introduce himself to the vice president of the drilling branch. All he knew about her was her name, and no-nonsense reputation. At the very least, she sounded more respectable than Enton himself, but that just meant she actually knew what he was doing, meaning Frieza would need to work harder to make a stand-out first impression. If he wanted to rise through the ranks quickly, he needed to both impress and terrify everybody he met. And he wanted to spend as little time working for someone else as possible.

The first order of business, then, was to learn as much about the ins and outs of petroleum engineering as he could. He'd handled oil and gas mining ventures himself during his tenure as Emperor of the Universe, of course, but never up close and personal enough to be directly responsible for on-site operation. The science was for the engineers to worry about, and the labor for the miners, but Frieza still needed to know what he, and they, needed to be doing. Information was power, and power was what he needed. He stretched, and got off the bed, prepared himself a cup of coffee, settled into the desk chair (which, once again, didn't make room for his tail, much to his annoyance; this would be the first thing he changed, once he was in charge), fired up the old Space Google, and prepared for an all-nighter.
 

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The following morning, Frieza, running on about a gallon of coffee and starting to regret his life choices, made his way down to the Enton Company's business wing. The CRVIX Hub was massive, enough for hundreds of businesses like the Enton Company to set up shop in orbit... for the right price. It wasn't just mining and prospecting companies, though. Retailers, restaurants, luxury stores, and the like were stationed within the Hub as well, though Frieza noted the prices were marked up quite exorbitantly. Honestly, it was less a space station so much as... a grand metropolis, open to all would-be venturers.

All would-be venturers willing to pay up, of course. He grimaced at the pricetag of his breakfast sandwich. Living here would not come cheap.

It was crowded, too. He didn't mind being physically shorter than most others in his first form. Really. He didn't. But from a practical standpoint, it made it easy to lose his way amidst the sea of people, and he didn't think he was currently in a position to deal with the backlash of just... threatening them to cut a path. Mundane living was surreal, but far from unbearable.

That didn't mean he wouldn't curse the fates that stripped him of everything he had, everything he was. He would not rest until he struck down whatever power was responsible for bringing him here. Until he reclaimed what he had lost.

To that end, having to awkwardly stand in a crowded rail train, wearing a fitted suit, was far, far from the limits of what he could bear.

It wasn't a long ride, fortunately enough, nor was it a long walk from the station to the Enton Company offices. From there, he just needed to take an elevator up to the executive offices, head down the hall, 718, 719... there it was, 720. He knocked thrice on the door, was told to "come in," and pushed it open.

So, this was Vice President Nena. She was a well built middle aged woman, with broad blue lizardlike features that reminded him a tad of Zarbon's transformed state, dressed business-casual with her hair pulled back in a tight bun and her intense gaze windowed by gold rimmed glasses. Her office was orderly, with few personal affects save for a potted plant and a photo of herself along with two children and a spouse (likely husband, but he wasn't going to risk appearing insensitive by assuming when he knew next to nothing about their race). She looked like as much of an expert on managing hard labor as she was on performing it, and Frieza knew right then and there that he would have to stay on his toes around her.

The vice president smiled at him cordially. "So, you're Frieza, I take it?" She extended a large, clawed hand adorned with jewelry. "A pleasure."

He accepted the handshake, and sat down across from her when she gestured him to do so.

"Enton says you caused quite the stir the other day," she said, a wry smile creeping along her features. "Most entertaining thing I'd heard all day. Don't expect threats and intimidation to get you so far under my employ, though. We're not like the silver tongued paper pushers over at E&P; it doesn't matter who your daddy is, how big you can talk, or if you injure a laborer or two. Here at Drilling, we only care about the numbers you can rake in. Everything else is secondary."

Frieza ran the numbers in his head. This Nena character clearly wouldn't be as easy to push around as her boss, and even if he could overpower her in direct confrontation he highly doubted she would cave to his demands. That was fine; meritocracy was his language, and he was more than capable of climbing the ranks the old fashioned way. What intrigued him, however, was the implication of animosity between the two halves of the Enton Company. He filed that away for future reference. Perhaps this was a crack he would be able to worm his way into.

That was neither here nor there, however. He chuckled. "So that's why the President sent me over to you, then. Clearly you're far more capable of dealing with difficult characters than he."

Nena laughed. "I like you already, Frieza. But you're not gonna get anywhere just by getting on my good side." She leaned in, and steepled her scaled fingers. "So, then. Tell me what you can do."
 

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It was difficult, for Frieza to tiptoe his way through the subject of what he could offer to the operations on Inverxe without betraying his cluelessness about this strange new universe. For all Nena knew, he was just an ambitious offworld interloper who'd decided to start his ascent to the top with a bang. And he'd prefer to keep it that way.

He probably didn't really need to. From what he'd gathered, it wasn't even that uncommon for people from other universes to find themselves stranded in the Crossroads. But that meant he was a newcomer, which meant he was inexperienced, which meant he was advertising that he would be weak and easy to take advantage of. Out of the question. But at the same time, lying about how long he'd been in the Crossroads presented a practical problem. Running the universe's largest, most successful interstellar real estate company was more than enough qualification for any business management position he pleased, but he didn't exactly have any available references. If he boasted about his true qualifications, it'd seem like he was just talking hot air. He'd be pushed into having to explain why, exactly, they'd never heard of this 'Planet Trade Organization' that was supposedly so grand, or admit he was a newcomer. And being caught in a lie would make him look even worse, so he didn't outright want to pretend to be a native, either.

However, that just looped into the obvious problem of his references being a tad out of reach, at the moment. If he continued the "I was actually a powerful space emperor back in my home universe, trust me, I'm qualified," train of thinking to its logical conclusion, he could claim whatever qualifications or position he wanted. There had to be some safeguards against that, short of giving out math tests to those who claimed to have been STEM experts.

So he took a different approach.

"I have an extensive background in business management, personnel management, and real estate, and have closely partnered with teams in engineering and research in the past," he explained--truthfully, for the time being. "Have you ever heard of the Kraw Property Association?"

Nena gave him a look that was puzzled, intrigued--but not doubtful. Perfect. "No, I don't believe I have."

Frieza's lips curled into a smile. "I thought not." He chuckled. "A pity, too. Had our enterprises properly gotten off the ground, I've no doubt you would have. Had they not been... nipped in the bud, so to speak."

A touch of worry flashed across her face. "What do you mean?"

Frieza shrugged dramatically. "Oh, it's a trifling matter," he said. "The company was founded by myself and a handful of peers some years back. I suppose officially you could consider it a real estate enterprise, but truthfully, it was more akin to an army. We'd stumbled upon an untouched offworld paradise ripe for habitation, you see, minus the pesky natives. I was in charge of acquiring and industrializing land, whilst my colleagues divided the construction and marketing--the more white-collar sides of operation--amongst themselves. It was all very under the table, you understand. Nobody wants the Arbiters throwing a fuss over 'sapient rights violations,' and the like. Surely you understand?"

Nena nodded slowly, warily. What Frieza described was hardly any different from what the top players on Inverxe were doing. "...Go on."

This was perfect. The web of lies had been spun taut right around Nena's bulbous neck. Frieza clasped his hands together before him. "It was quite the lucrative business model. And so we inevitably came to the problem of how to expand. I was of the opinion that we should stick to what we started with--that is, land sale and development, primarily residential. My colleagues, on the other hand, were more keen to... sell out, shall we say. They pursued deals with larger companies that were lucrative in the short term, but spelled ruin for the long-term prosperity of our brand. They'd strip and mine the land to nothing, and then what would be left for us? So I pushed back, but my associates would hear nothing of it, content to do nothing but sit back and line their own pockets. Not only that, but having been the one responsible for hands-on land acquisition meant that even though I bore the majority of responsibility for our success, my hands were the dirtiest. And unfortunately, my associates soon found it prudent to throw me to the wolves once these deals of theirs were settled. Once they believed I was no longer useful.

"But they miscalculated." Frieza couldn't stop his cruel smile from widening, winding around his face. "They believed our troops answered to the nebulous concept of 'the company.' Oh, no. The troops answered to me. The concepts of fear and respect, of knowing how to get your hands dirty, held no weight for those sniveling cowards who had reduced themselves to brown-nosing and paper-pushing. And so I decided to show them myself the error of their ways. After all, I was already being set up as a scapegoat for the genocides committed in the KPA's name. What was a few more bodies to the count?

"However, that alone wasn't enough. While the majority of employees defected to my side in the conflict, there were plenty who had not. Examples needed to be made. Oh, it was quite the spectacle. To this day I can vividly remember the screaming, the sea of blood and mangled corpses. Why, it was the most fun I've ever had! And so the conflict--and carnage--dragged on, until the number of survivors simply was not enough to resume operations as before. This posed a problem, you see, because at this point even the loyalists served no further use to me, except as potential witnesses to my crimes. And so I eliminated the evidence. I tracked down and killed every surviving employee, destroyed every record of my involvement. I scorched and salted the earth, and left Kraw to start building from the ground up once more. And thus I came to Inverxe to begin anew."

Frieza leaned back in his seat, satisfied, while Nena stared at him absolutely aghast. He got the sense that she, too, was not the type to give a damn about anyone's life story. But how could she resist a tale so gripping, so terrifying? Still staring at him wide-eyed, slack-jawed, she slowly removed her glasses and began cleaning the lenses.

"That's... wow," she finally said. "That's definitely a lot to take in. But why--why would you tell me all this after going to such painstaking efforts to cover your tracks?!"

Frieza grinned. "But that's exactly why. Even if you shouted it from the rooftops, you wouldn't be able to prove anything. Nobody can prove anything. I made absolute certain of this."

Of course she couldn't prove anything. None of it had happened. But now, even if she dug deep into the history of Kraw, even if she searched the world up and down and came up empty-handed, convinced herself beyond all reason that Frieza's story couldn't have been true, there would always be a seed of doubt in her mind. Not that any of it had been particularly out of character, anyhow, but the best lies were always built upon a grain of truth.

"B-But why?!" she sputtered. "Surely you'd amassed enough wealth by the end of this to be set for the rest of your life! Why come to Inverxe after all that?"

Nena's composure had been shredded to pieces, and oh, it was a thing of beauty. Frieza was already smiling wickedly, but now it took active effort to restrain himself from outright laughing maniacally at how well this had gone.

"The simple answer to that, is that covering my tracks so thoroughly did not come cheap. There were plenty of people I needed to pay off and double-cross later, plenty of high profile suicides and accidents to elaborately fake," He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands in front of his face as he leveled a freezing stare at Nena. "But that's not the real reason. While I was running my branch of the KPA, I realized that my associates and I had come into this venture with fundamentally different goals. Perhaps they were merely seeking profit, or perhaps real estate and land appropriation were their genuine passions. For me, however, neither money nor land development were my true desire. No, I'd joined the business to build an empire. And this time, I intend to make it happen."

Frieza's voice echoed through the chill air between them, the force of his words permeating every corner of the room. Obviously Nena had underestimated her ability to handle him, and that was exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. She looked equal parts horrified and impressed, and what's more--he knew the angle he'd played, of heading the branch of the company that did all the hands-on worked and getting screwed over as the corporate side of things became too bloated, struck a chord. Frieza was dangerous, terrifying, yes, but also--a possible ally, should the tension between the two halves of the Enton Company erupt into an outright schism. And Nena had too much blood on her own hands to suddenly start feeling self-righteous about a little mass genocide.

Finally, Nena broke the silence. "Well. That was... quite a story. Either you're an incredibly shrewd businessman or an amazing liar, and either way you're a batshit sociopath, and I'm impressed." She straightened her glasses, and adjusted her posture. "But I am going to need more information about your exact qualifications. What sort of work did you do? How much experience have you had working with engineering and research firms? Do you have any formal education or training? And the like."

This was the easy part. Now, he could be honest. The story was that, while he wasn't native to the Crossroads, he had been here for about ten years and knew full well how things worked. While he did indeed have formal training in business management, he didn't exactly have a diploma on hand to prove it. Apparently that was indeed a problem hiring firms often ran into, which is why hiring was rarely a job delegated to low wage personnel anymore. Still, Frieza was more than able to prove his expertise in general business and management when drilled, as well as real estate, and both from personal experience and his late night research binge were more than enough to demonstrate that he solidly knew his way around the ins and outs of an engineering firm like the Enton Company.

And that was it. He was officially hired.

"I'm assuming you're looking for a job in management," said Nena. "No offense, but I get the impression from looking at you that you aren't exactly one for heavy physical labor."

Frieza laughed. What a shame that scouters weren't a common accessory here, so she'd know how deeply, deeply wrong she was in her assessment of his physical strength. "Oh, you'd be surprised. I'm much stronger than I look, you know. But we both know that assigning a skilled, experienced worker to unskilled labor would be a highly inefficient distribution of resources."

She returned his smirk, her bravado having begun to regrow after his merciless attack. "Very true, very true. Alright, I think I've got a position for you at the drilling site near the northwest delta caverns, but I'll give you a call once we've got the details straightened out so we can negotiate hours and wages."

She extended a hand, and Frieza shook it firmly.

"Welcome aboard."
 
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There were, of course, still a few more hurdles Frieza needed to jump through before being "officially" hired.

Nothing out of the ordinary, though. A physical exam to make sure he was physically capable of the demanding shifts a job at an oil/gas rig required, a blood sample to make sure he was clean of drugs, alcohol, or any contagious diseases, and the like. The impression he'd made, as well as his apparent qualifications (which... may have been only half-truths, but what was true was that he knew what he was doing here), were indeed impressive enough to qualify him for the position of tool pusher (that is, rig foreman) he'd been gunning for.

Though, in that regard, he supposed he should consider himself lucky. As Emperor of the Universe, yes, he absolutely had enough clout to land whatever administrative job he wanted, even if his experience in petroleum, while not entirely nonexistent, was limited. However thoroughly he'd managed to impress Vice President Nena, though, and convince her of his administrative prowess, that didn't change the fact that he still had no tangible references to back up his purported experience on the job. Which meant that he may have had to... bend the truth a little, to imply he did indeed have direct experience co-administrating a petroleum rig. Or, at least, being the person the actual tool pusher directly reported to. This wasn't a total lie, but there were definitely a few more ranks between them in the chain of command than that.

Anyway, if he were the one hiring, he absolutely would not have just taken the word of a mysterious interloper who'd just shown up out of nowhere, impressive as it may have been. No tangible references meant no tangible references, and everyone needed to start at the bottom until they demonstrated something he could use--though, he would have probably informed the direct superiors of the mysterious interloper to keep an eye on them to see if they were indeed as skilled as they claimed. Though, if he were the one hiring, power level also would have been a factor in what he ultimately decided to do with the prospective employee, and clearly things worked differently in the Crossroads in that regard anyway.

Fortunately for him, though, Vice President Nena did things a bit differently. He supposed the hiring process was... a bit difficult, when highly skilled workers had a habit of just blipping into existence out of absolutely nowhere, with nothing to prove their credentials other than their own word. It would just be impractical to start everyone from square zero. For instance, if someone showed up claiming to have been an accomplished scientist in their home universe, it was less efficient to make them go through the process of earning their doctorate all over again as it would be to refer them to another scientist in the field they claimed to specialize in, to assess how much they actually knew and decide what to do with them.

Scientific knowledge was an easily testable skill, however. Raw administrative experience was not, but ultimately the principles of it stayed roughly the same. You'd be drilled on the specifics of your previous work by a known expert: what you did, what your training was, how long you'd done it, what you'd done prior to that, how much you'd earned, and the like. The idea was to focus enough on the minutiae to trip up would-be impostors. Or, at least, would-be impostors who weren't already skilled in the art of bullshitting their way through reports by picking up the key details through cursory research and filling in the blanks through wit and context clues alone.

Frieza couldn't help but find it strangely hilarious that the actual truth of his origins and credentials would be so much harder to believe than this lie he'd concocted.

Apparently his rapid promotion had ruffled some feathers. Well. He supposed it wasn't that surprising, that people would be annoyed to have worked in an industry for years, slowly accumulating influence to rise to the top, and being shown up by an alien who showed up out of literally nowhere. Whatever. He could deal with some petty jealousy.

There was, apparently, another stroke of luck at play in his promotion. Oil and gas rigs on Inverxe actually needed two tool pushers each, to rotate on two week shifts in order to combat the effects of the madness. All personnel were rotated in and out on two week shifts, actually, which Frieza thought was a very inefficient way of handling things. Surely the natives had some way of dealing with this "madness" themselves? But that was another matter entirely. What this meant, was that there was twice the normal demand for workers. And with the company having fallen on hard times as of late, there was a shortage of skilled workers that could fill high level positions. Combined with the fact that one of the foremen had recently come under fire for ignoring safety regulations and engaging in workplace harassment, and it meant that a position with Frieza's name engraved on it was practically gift-wrapped and handed to him on a silver platter.

He pulled on the standard issue white jumpsuit and goggles, examined himself in the mirror, and sighed. He looked ridiculous, like a walking plastic bag. Not only that, but it had to be at least a size or three too big for him. Normally the jumpsuits were only worn indoors, under the layers of protective, insulating gear to shield weaker life forms from the piercing cold. Frieza had no need of such things, and it was true that being able to show his face above surface was inherently an astronomical show of dominance over the other workers. But he did wish he had more say in the dress code here. At least it zipped in the back, so as to leave room for his tail, even if the zipper uncomfortably dug into his flesh. The uniforms would be the second thing he changed once he was in charge, after the discriminatory seating.

The rig he was assigned to was stationed in the middle of the ocean... or, rather, in the middle of a field of ice. It was all ice, and fog, as far as the eye could see. But underneath that ice was ocean, and underneath that, a vast sea of liquid and gaseous hydrocarbons waiting to be extracted. The rig was the size of a small city, the lights of urbanized life and day-to-day living twinkling in the eerie purple twilight. Mining operations on Inverxe tended to be atypical due to the ice moon's unusual landscape and biosphere, but it seemed that petroleum mining was more or less the same wherever you went. And no matter where you went, petroleum was, without fail, pure economic gold.

As soon as Frieza arrived, the whirring of heavy machinery assaulted his eardrums, overpowered only by the stench of petroleum. He wrinkled his nose instinctively, but forced himself to become accustomed to it. It wouldn't do to appear out of his element in any way. He strode through the facilities, turning heads as he walked by the throngs of faceless workers. A ghost of a smirk peeked along the corners of his lips. Good. They were already beginning to recognize that this strange newcomer, able to withstand the frigid air of Inverxe completely unprotected and carrying himself with regal poise, was a big deal.

They weren't important, though. Let them gawk, if it so pleased them. The only thing that was important was--

"Frieza, I presume?"

He looked up. Standing in his vision was a smiling humanoid fellow about twice his height, features largely obscured by his fullbody protective gear.

Frieza gave him a professional smile. "So you're Valman." His fellow toolpusher, at Northwest Delta. He extended a hand. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Valman accepted the handshake, though it was bulky and awkward through the protective gloves he wore. "The pleasure is mine. Please, come to my office. I'm sure you're well prepared for the job already, but since it's your first day, I figured we should probably go over some of the details. Help you familiarize yourself with the layout, what you'll be doing day in and day out, and whatnot. I'll be sticking around for a few days, then you'll be on your own. Sound good?"

That was to be expected. Frieza didn't know how much Valman had been told about him. Probably not a whole lot, since he'd spent at least the past week on planet, and he seemed to regard him with optimism and camaraderie rather than bottomless terror. Well, that was his prerogative. If that's what suited him, then so be it. Hopefully Valman's lecture would prove to be somewhat productive rather than just an exercise in patience, listening to the abnormally cheery fellow prattle on about what should be common knowledge. Admittedly, there was plenty he didn't know. The teams of workers on the rig, for instance, or even how to navigate his way around the rig.

It was important to seem in control of the situation, and knowing what he was doing was an important part of that. But, he supposed, he realistically couldn't be expected to know absolutely everything.

"Of course," said Frieza. "Well then, lead the way."
 
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After several hours of being lectured by Valman on the basic specifications of the Delta rig, sitting down to watch mandatory safety videos, and going over recent specific issues, Frieza had finally begun to get a clear picture of what he was specifically going to be doing, beyond a nebulous idea of "supervise the equipment and personnel, keep everything operational, and do paperwork." It... wasn't really all that different from any other managerial or administrative position, conceptually speaking. There were just a lot of details he had to memorize. Jargon, the names of employees, yes, but more importantly, all the machinery and what it did. Fortunately, Valman seemed quite sympathetic. He knew this was a lot of information to unload, even on someone who had been working on petroleum rigs for decades. Fortunately, Frieza had a sharp memory, and though he certainly would not admit as much openly, internally he was quite relieved that Valman would be sticking around for a few more days to make sure he was situated. Left to his own devices at this stage, he'd probably end up misplacing crucial information somewhere along the stage and blowing up the entire rig. That wouldn't be good for business.

Valman didn't need to know any of the details of Frieza's life story. He'd asked if Frieza had "done this kind of work before, right?", Frieza had told him yes, more or less, and that was that. That was all he needed to know.

Those first three days working alongside Valman were, more than anything else, an exercise in looking like he knew more about what he was doing than he actually did. His initial assessment hadn't been wrong, it really wasn't that different from any other managerial position. But there were so many moving parts that he needed to memorize, most of which had to do with fields of knowledge in which he only possessed cursory expertise. Valman was good-natured and understanding, and Frieza was grateful for it, but having to rely on it made him feel deeply uneasy. The sooner this was over and he could run this place on his own, the better.

"So," Valman had said over lunch the first day, sitting across from Frieza and speaking between bites of carbonara--fortunately, his table manners were not quite so terrible as to spew food across the table as he did so, "how are you feeling? Confident? Nervous? Excited?"

Frieza absentmindedly speared his fork through a bit of fish, laced it through some spaghetti, and twirled it into a sizable bite. The food was surprisingly good, but his mind was occupied just trying to keep track of all the new information that had been crammed in today. He wasn't really 'feeling' anything.

"Overconfidence is the first step in pride before the fall, which is a fool's errand," he said, meticulously considering every word. "So let's call it 'feeling well prepared' instead."
 

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The majority of workers weren't there by choice. Everyone who was entrusted with any modicum of actual responsibility, yes, but the service staff seemed to be comprised mostly of Nomiin slave labor. A few of them had recognized Frieza, and when they'd thrown themselves at his feet in reverence of their leader, he'd smiled coldly, and told them to get back to work.

Among the workers who actually mattered, on the other hand... from what he could glean, reactions to his presence seemed much more mixed. For the first day, he'd spent most of his twelve hour shift listening to Valman's explanations, following his directions, and following him around the facility. By the end of it, he was so worn out that he hadn't even bothered to change out of his work clothes and just collapsed onto the bed, suddenly extremely grateful he hadn't been forced to bunk with anyone.

In other words, it wasn't until the start of the next day's shift, during the morning report, that he got the chance to officially introduce himself to the rest of the crew.

"A pleasure to meet you, everyone," he said cordially, with a light diplomatic bow. "My name is Frieza. I've been appointed as the new foreman of this facility, and from now on I will be working alongside Mister Valman."

A thuggish-looking driller, judging by the uniform, crossed his arms and eyed Frieza suspiciously. "Who the hell are you supposed to be, showing up out of nowhere and saying you're our new boss? Lemme guess, you're one of those outsiders, just showing up out of fucking nowhere and acting like you've been here forever." He turned to Valman. "You seriously expect us to listen to this shitty pink gremlin?"

Frieza suppressed his anger from showing to the best of his ability, and managed to confine it to an irritated twitch of his tail. Valman spoke up. "Taragon, that's absolutely no way to address--"

But Frieza waved a hand to silence him. He pressed the surge of emotion into a cold smile, calming his raging nerves by plotting how to make this Taragon fellow's death look just enough like an accident that it would be clear what had happened without there being enough evidence to lock him up, and looked him in the eye.

"That was an impressive display, I must admit," he said. "Under other circumstances, I might applaud you for your boldness. But unfortunately, the rest of us have neither the time nor patience to entertain your inferiority complex. I ask you to please vent your frustration over having been passed over for promotion in favor of a newcomer somewhere you're not interrupting our productivity." The 'maybe that sort of behavior was precisely why you didn't get the job, you cretin,' was left unsaid, but was palpable in his tone. He turned to the rest of the group, and spoke sharply before Taragon had a chance to retort. "Does anyone else have anything to add, or shall we go ahead and get started with the meeting?"

Nobody did. It wasn't a unanimously positive first impression to make. Taragon had been out of line, of course, but the fact remained that he was someone the majority of them had known and worked with for years, and competent and terrifying or not, Frieza was still a newcomer. Now wasn't the time to make waves.

Still, it was an impression. Even Taragon was stunned into silence. There really was no comeback to that, at least not one that would make him look like anything less than a self-absorbed fool. He shut his mouth, and glared at his new superior angrily.

Frieza smiled. "Good. Then let us proceed."
 

Frieza

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After that little incident, nobody else really made any trouble for Frieza--though every now and then he could feel ice-cold daggers being glared into the back of his head as he made his way around the facility. Not that it bothered him, to be hated or feared, but he made a mental note of it all the same. Even a weak enemy was still an enemy. Still, he doubted Taragon was that popular, so perhaps it was just that apprehension around foreigners, especially those who rose in the ranks too quickly, was a common trait around these parts. Not that he could blame them, really, but it wasn't his problem.

Most of the staff didn't really seem to care one way or the other, though. They were wary of him, sure, but Frieza sensed little to no genuine hostility from the majority of them. They kept to themselves, followed instructions, and did their jobs. Frieza did his job, too, aided by Valman less and less over those first few days until his colleague looked over his shoulder at the stack of paperwork Frieza was working through, gave him a literal thumbs up, and said he'd gotten the hang of it. And then he was on his own.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He still reported back to Valman via video conference, as well as Vice President Nena, who doubled as the central superintendent. One of his jobs as toolpusher was to keep a tally of supplies and machinery and the like, so that meant it was his task to request new supplies or parts and tools and the like, and they were in charge of making sure they were delivered on schedule. And, in turn, they made sure that the delta rig was pumping its expected quota of petroleum to the central storage facility, where all the Enton-owned rigs pumped their extracted hydrocarbons via pipeline to be tallied and packaged for proper sale. So far, there were no complications.

It was a lot of work. A rig as big as this one was built from a labyrinthine web of moving parts, and his job was to keep every last one of them perfectly greased, so to speak. Though he was far from lacking in the physical endurance required for such long stretches of nonstop work, as far as his mental endurance was concerned the stress still took a toll. Lots of running between different parts of the rig that required his attention, lots of paperwork, lots of cost-benefit analysis, and lots of interacting with people.

That last one wasn't usually a problem for him, but...

On his fifth day alone, after a long morning helping to clear up a particularly nasty pipeline blockage that threatened to cause a catastrophic gas explosion and oil spill, having all the knowledge he'd crammed into his skull over the past week put to the test, he'd trudged into the cafeteria, exhausted and hungry after having delayed his lunch break for three hours to make sure there were no loose ends that required his attention. Quite frankly, after all that he needed a fucking drink. But unfortunately no alcohol was allowed on site, because dangerous, expensive heavy machinery that required fine motor skills and inebriated workers were a disastrous combination. So instead he settled for coffee (with cream and sugar, for once--it helped him de-stress) and a luxurious seafood platter. The food here really was sublime, absolutely not what he was expecting from--

"Hey, do you mind if I sit here?"

Frieza looked up to see a burly, somewhat jolly feline derrickhand with an impressive mane whom he'd worked alongside that morning--Lanton, he recalled his name being. There were other places to sit, but the lunchroom was more crowded than usual, so every table had at least one person sitting at it. Frieza shrugged lightly, and waved a hand in acceptance. There wasn't really any reason he could think to turn him away.

"Thanks, Mr. Frieza!" He grinned, and sat down across from him, putting his rather pungent meatloaf down on the table in front of him. "We worked together this morning, but I don't think I ever properly introduced myself. I'm Lanton! Lanton Graves!"

He smiled politely. "Yes, I remember you. You performed quite well." Frieza had a knack for names and faces, and on several occasions in the past had surprised some of his lower level subordinates by actually remembering who they were. It wasn't anything personal, he just had a good memory, but it did tend to make people feel unjustly flattered.

And, indeed, Lanton's dumb grin widened. "You know, I wasn't sure what to make of you before, but you really showed your stuff out there! You're pretty good at this!"

That... came across slightly backhanded, which Frieza could have pointed out, but instead he chuckled contentedly. "Naturally. Why else do you think I would have risen the ranks so quickly?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Lanton seemed to seriously consider it. "I dunno, nepotism, I guess. But whatever, I think you've proven your mettle to the crew by now. I've been working the rig for seven years, and some of the guys here have been here even longer than me. Some people were a bit, uh... skeptical of a newcomer being promoted to the top of the food chain so suddenly. I admit I kinda felt the same, but frankly I'm impressed!" He took a large bite of meatloaf, thankfully chewing and swallowing before continuing. "So, what's your story? Clearly you've done this kind of work before. Guessing you're a foreigner."

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Frieza said, decidedly coy. "I'm no newcomer to the Crossroads, if that's what you're insinuating, but yes, I did immigrate from another universe some time ago."

"Yeah, figured as much," Lanton said, a bit redundantly. "I dunno how to put it, but you have the stench of someone who wasn't born and raised here. No family connections or anything. Also, I've only ever met one other alien who looked anything like you, and she's also a foreigner. Doctor B, over in E&P, do you know her? Uh--I hope it's not like... racist to assume you know everyone else of your species, but I figured since she's probably from the same universe you might have met?"

Frieza stared across the table blankly. This Lanton fellow sure was talkative. He didn't really like the fact that apparently he seemed approachable enough for a subordinate to start blabbing up a storm in his general direction, even if the notion of there being another of his species working for the Enton company was quite intriguing. He'd have to look into this "Doctor B" in his own time.

So, all he said was, "No, I don't believe I've met her."

"Aw, really?" Lanton scratched at his mane. "Well, I've only spoken to her a few times myself, found her a bit standoffish. So, get this--there was this one time when I was at a mixer with some coworkers, we brought a few buddies, and she tagged along with us. Well, her and a few other scientists. Anyway, she seemed to have a stick up her ass the entire time, and got snippy with me whenever I tried talking to her. Not only that, but apparently she used to date one of my buddies, and spent the whole evening glowering and throwing shade at him! Can you believe that?! He didn't tell me they had history until we were on the way back home, and boy, did he have some wild stories to tell. She's a geologist, y'know, specializes in studying alien planets and whatnot. Anyway, she brought some rock samples with her on a date once, spent the whole time paying more attention to the rocks than him, and apparently even started licking them! Isn't that nuts?!"

It was at this point that Frieza started kind of wanting Lanton to shut up so he could go back to his lunch. "She certainly sounds like a... unique individual."

Lanton laughed, seemingly blind to how awkward Frieza was starting to feel. "Right?! Like, I know what it's like to be married to your work, but that's taking it too far! Though, I guess in my case it's less that I'm married to my work as much as it's kind of hard to have a serious relationship when you're spending half your time living on an oil rig, you know? I started seeing this one guy in retail not long after coming to the Hub for work, and things got kinda serious, but in the end he couldn't fully commit to someone who'd only ever be there half the time. Sucks, but that's the kind of life we live here. Don't get me wrong though, I like my job a lot! Great people here, great pay, and great food too!" He took a swig of soda. "Anyway, what about you? I know you only just started working for Enton, but how have you dealt with the work-life balance issue in the past?"

Frieza blinked, having completely zoned out of the conversation. He had absolutely no idea how to respond. It wasn't as if Lanton was being rude in any way, or even particularly out of line. He was just... overly friendly and talkative. Uncomfortably so. Frieza didn't outrank Lanton by that much, so it wasn't as if he wasn't allowed to speak to him directly or casually. Had he encountered someone like Lanton in his old position, he would have been far more amused, even impressed by their boldness in speaking to him so casually, though would have dropped them a threatening reminder of exactly whom they were speaking to. But so long as they never stepped outside of the bounds of respect, it would have been genuinely entertaining. In fact, that was roughly the relationship he had had with Ginyu, though not even Ginyu was quite this talkative.

But here, without that comfortable gulf of power between them, it was just irritating. Frieza was not his friend, and he never would be.

Lanton finally noticed his apprehension, and a look of concern washed over his features. "Aw, crap, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or anything! Sorry about that, I know I can be long-winded and come on a bit strong, but I'm just trying to be friendly, y'know?"

Though Frieza was very grateful for Lanton's offer to shut up, he definitely didn't want to come across as outright socially awkward. "Oh, there's no need to fret. Believe me when I say that it would take more than you're capable of to genuinely bother me. But you'll have to forgive me for not being in a terribly talkative mood right now--I'm just a bit tired still from this morning, you see. I was hoping to spend my break relaxing--quietly."

Lanton grinned. "Hey, no, I get you! I'll lay off for now. You're a hardworking guy, and I respect that! But when our shift's over next week, how about I take you out for pizza? I know a great place--my treat!"

Frieza smiled politely, but inwardly grimaced at the thought. "Perhaps, if I have the time."

"Great! I'm looking forward to it, then!"

Technically Frieza hadn't actually agreed to the offer, but he didn't feel like splitting hairs over it right now. Lanton wolfed down the rest of his meatloaf in relative silence, bade him farewell, and as soon as he was out of earshot Frieza breathed a deep sigh of relief. From now on, he'd make sure plot his break schedule around Lanton so he would never have to be trapped in a painful "casual conversation" with him ever again.
 
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Frieza

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By the end of his second week, Frieza had more or less fully adjusted to his new position. It was difficult, stressful work, yes, but once Frieza had fallen into the rhythm of it, he found it wasn't all that different from his old work, just on a much smaller scale, and almost comfortable in its familiarity. It wasn't a dream job, but for the time being, his mind was too occupied with the tasks at hand to spend much time daydreaming about the next steps in his climb back to the top of the food chain.

It was, in a strange way, relaxing. He enjoyed his work--not on a deep level, it didn't satisfy a fundamental need in the same way ruling the universe had. But it scratched a baser itch he had for productivity, to manage and optimize the world around him. Though Frieza had no desire to spend the rest of his days managing a petroleum rig, for the time being, it was... alright enough, he supposed.

For the first time since arriving in the Crossroads, Frieza didn't feel completely out of his element, like a fish out of proverbial water.

And then the malaise hit him.

Maybe it hit him sooner than usual because he'd already spent a few weeks living among the Nomiin and had only spent a handful of days on the Hub in the interrim, or maybe it was something about his biology or character that made him uniquely susceptible to its effects, or maybe it was just bad luck. Whatever the cause, he was wrenched awake in the middle of the night by his heart pounding against the walls of his chest, the force of his blood pulsing painfully through his veins, and an indescribable sense of dread coiling and twisting around the back of his mind. He sat awake, clutching his chest, gasping for breath as he tried, unsuccessfully, to will his body into a state of calm.

He stood up, unsteadily, grinding his nails against the wall as he struggled to support himself. What was happening to him? He didn't feel ill in any way, yet his body had completely activated its fight or flight instinct at two o'clock in the morning, while he was in the dead of sleep, as suddenly and intensely as if he'd been injected with mind-altering drugs. Exhaling slowly, he willed his brain into compliance, to try and begin retracing his steps to figure out what was happening.

Need to go outside... need to go... underground...

What?

Where had that come from?

The bizarre impulse pierced through the fog clouding his mind, and it was enough that he was able to force himself into a state of lucidity. He took a few deep breaths, and trudged to the bathroom to pour himself a cup of water. It was absolutely frigid, with an unpleasant chemical aftertaste that made his lips curl, but he gulped it down like he was dying of thirst.

So this was the madness, then. He knew of it already, of course--the mysterious malaise that inevitably gripped all off-world visitors to Inverxe. Though people seemed hesitant to speak of it, and this was his first time experiencing it first-hand. Quite frankly, the word "malaise" did not do justice to what he was feeling. It was awful, like a cold, slimy tendril reaching up through the planet's core to snake its way around his heart and drag him into the abyss, and the harder he tried to resist it, the more intensely he was flooded by wave after wave of sickening dizziness and throbbing nausea.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to get any sleep until this sickness passed--if it passed--and his thoughts immediately went to his work. He still had one more day before his shift ended, and he wasn't going to humiliate himself by bailing one day before the end of his first shift. Not to a malady the rest of them had been dealing with for years already--that would be utterly pathetic.

But why did the malaise seem to be affecting him so much more intensely than the hearsay had led him to expect?

Pressing a hand to his head to keep it from splitting in two, Frieza made his way out of his quarters, down to the main building, over to the medical bay. It was, of course, fully staffed and operational 24/7, and there had to be something there that could help.

Paying no heed whatsoever to how much of a walking disaster he appeared right now, he walked through the double doors, right up to the nearest white-coat medical official, and slammed his fist down on the counter.

"Give me whatever you have to combat the malaise," he all but snarled. "Immediately."

The medic gave him a perplexed look, but nodded, and hurried over to a cabinet near the back of the room without a word. After a moment, she procured an orange bottle of pills, and brought it over to him.

"These should help," she said. "Make sure you follow the instructions on the bottle. Now, mind you, it's not a permanent cure; it only dampens the physical symptoms for people who have them, and there are some nasty side effects if you take it for more than a week at a time. But for our two-week shifts, it's a functional workaround. The only real cure we have for the malaise is to get back to the Hub and rest."

Frieza inspected the bottle, only half-listening to her. Lots of small writing, lots of headache-inducing large words he wasn't even going to begin to try and pronounce right now. Whatever. He wasn't going to worry about it. This was his lifeline to get through the last day of work, and just holding the bottle untwisted some of the knots that were churning in his intestines.

In a low, exhausted voice, he said, "I'll try to keep that in mind."

"First time dealing with the malaise, huh?" The medic offered him a sympathetic half-smile--but it just came off as mocking.

He didn't answer. It was all he could do not to kill her, for making such a patronizing comment. He didn't want to dwell on it. He just wanted it to stop. And so he left the facility without another word, returned to his quarters, and took the medication.

Finally, after what was apparently only twenty minutes but felt like hours, which Frieza spent shifting in bed restlessly with his teeth gritted, fists balled in a mess of blankets as he cursed the world for his fate, he felt his body begin to calm down. The medic was right, it wasn't a total cure. His heart and breathing returned to normal, and he could finally sit still, but his head was still spinning.

And more than that, he still felt that dreadful, sickening feeling of cold, wet, unearthly tendrils twining their way through his insides.

He still felt the unsettling, resounding call of Inverxe's abyss.

Frieza exhaled through clenched teeth, suddenly flooded by the exhaustion his body had been fighting back. Just one day. All he needed to endure was one more day.
 
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