Bulla - Dragon Ball: Further Beyond

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across West City's bustling shopping district as Bulla struts down the sidewalk, swinging several designer shopping bags with each step of her high-heeled boots. The clicking of her heels mixes with the distant hum of passing hovercars as she approaches her custom pink convertible parked at the curb. Just as she reaches for the door handle, two rough-looking men emerge from a dim alleyway - one with greasy slicked-back hair and a leather jacket, the other bulkier with fading prison tattoos peeking from his collar. "Hey sweetheart," the first man croons, stepping into her path with yellowed teeth bared in what might pass for a smile. "That's quite the ride for such a… petite package." His bloodshot eyes drag up and down her body, lingering where her cleavage was on display, breasts pressed together and lifted by her crop top. "Yeah," his companion adds, voice thick with cheap liquor as he leans against her car. "We got a private karaoke booth down the block. Why don't you ditch this plastic toy and come show us what kinda pipes you got?" He licks cracked lips while eyeing the curve of her shorts hugging plump thighs. Bulla's nose wrinkles at the stench of cigarettes and body odor wafting off them. She flips her glossy blue hair over one shoulder with practiced nonchalance, though her grip tightens on her shopping bags. "Ew, no thanks losers. Unlike you two, I actually have standards about who gets to hear me sing." She moves to open her car door, but suddenly the first man's sweaty palm clamps around her wrist, his jagged nails digging into her soft skin. "Now that ain't nice princess," he growls, pulling her closer until she can smell the sour beer on his breath. "Don't your rich daddy teach you any manners?" Her heart pounds against her ribs, but Bulla refuses to let these street trash see her panic. She tilts her chin up defiantly, though her free hand twitches toward her purse where she keeps Capsule Corp's emergency beacon…