I know I posted this once already, but let me explain. My account, along with my fic and all of my reviews was deleted (stupid reason that we don't need to get into here). So that means I had to repost this (or else I normally wouldn't repost the same chapter twice). Besides, I had a lot of errors to fix. I would appreciate it if all of you would re-review this chapter. Thanx.

TITLE: Prologue - The Child From Space
DEDICATION: To the two people who inspired me to write this fic (and kill my chem teacher...*smiles innocently*), SiN and Child of the Fireflies
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except my computer and my clothes. The only thing I may own are the people I make up. I make nothing off this stuff.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Anything and everything I have to say will be said here (if it concerns the fic). For now, this is only the prologue. There will be more. The beginning is a bit slow, I'll admit. I accept all constructive critism. Another thing, Trunks and Pan are of the same age (this is set in an alternate universe remember?) and it occurs during the ancient times. There are no Saiyans, everyone is human. On with the fic. WARNING...this is VERY VERY A/U and different than any other fic. If you don't like different plots and original plots, don't read.





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"Time does not exist. Past, present and future are all the same. To the strongest of minds, time is merely another hurtle that can be overcome."

- Unknown -

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For thousands of years, the greatest evil known to any living creature terrorized the Earth. Eventually, it was defeated by the gods and confined in a shell-like structure. Unsure of what to do with it, the gods decided to give it some time in hopes that it would repent from it's evil ways. In thinking so, they sent it to outerspace confined in a meteor.

With nothing better to do with it's time, the evil twisted and turned, trying to regain some kind of a human form in which to use. Afterall, it could do nothing without a physical form. It had lost it's form during it's battle with the gods. Now, 200 years later, it finally had a form. True, the form was weak and helpless for now, but it would eventually grow. All that the new form, an infant child, was good for at the moment, was living in. When the time came, the evil would break out and control the body it had created. Than, nobody, not even the gods would be able to stop it.

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A meteor sped through the Earth's atmosphere, chunks flying off in all direction as it did so. It seemed unstoppable as it continued to surge forward, not caring what lay in it's path, destroying whatever came near it.

To the inhabitants of Earth, it looked like a shooting star, crashing down in the middle of the night, to become one of them forever. The meteor, now no larger than a boulder, crashed with a tremendous bang, leaving an enourmous dent in the Earth near a small fishing village.

The men of the village who had already seen the "shooting star", went to investigate. Dressed in there regular, grubby, dirty, torn clothes, they inched forward as a group. Each man was more scared than the next. Only the sound of footsteps, chattering teeth and heavy breathing penetrated the complete silence of the night. Inch by inch, step by step, they neared the "fallen star". The tension continued to grow as they got closer and closer to the mysterious object.

A baby's wail broke the the silence making everyone jump back a few feet. The men looked at each other, all feeling embarrassed. To get over the odd moment, they all laughed at each other, making fun of the people around them for being scared of a mere child. Again, the little group moved closer towards the wailing cry of the baby, a sense of heavy tension still lingering in the air.

A few steps further and the object could be seen. A craddle-like shell held an infant child who wailed his cries to the rest of the world. The men looked at each other, utter and complete fear showing through their eyes. They pushed each other forward, willing someone to pick up the child. They couldn't just leave him there. If anyone heard of such a cowardly act, their village would be mocked and hated forever.

After much pushing and shoving, a man in his mid-thirties, stood out from the rest of the group. Shaking down to his very boots, he walked over to the child and picked it up. Almost immediately, the wailing stopped and the child began to gurgle happily in baby language, or so they thought. The man held the boy, that's what it was, a little, infant, boy, as far away from himself as possible. It wasn't because the child was naked, he was wrapped in a white bundle, it was because he would not hold just ANY child against himself. Who knew what this thing was? Perhaps this thing wasn't even really an infant. Perhaps it was an evil monster taking the shape of an infant so it could destroy their village. The man shuddered at the thought.

Arriving back much quicker than when they had left, they strided through the village, infant child in hand. The woman began to come out of hiding, suspicion written all over their faces. Were these people really their husbands, fathers, brothers or sons? Or had some monsters taken over their bodies? Cautiously, they made their way over to the small group of men who stood proudly, as if they had completed some near impossible mission.

Once everyone was gathered, an exaggerated tale was told of how they had found the child. It included fending off a legion of monsters and destroying a beast ten times larger than them and finally ended with finding the child in an underground cave, buried alive in a trunk. Every man swore that the story was true and as difficult as it was to believe, no one dared to argue.

The people of the village were very superstitious and the account of the incident from the men didn't make matters better. What business did these monsters have with this child? Perhaps it was their born leader and burying it was their way of protecting it. Everyone talked about everything and anything, except one topic: what were they going to do with the child? Finally, the man who had picked up the child asked the dreaded question.

"Well, what are we going to do with this thing?"

Utter and total chaos broke out among the villagers.

"Kill it."

"Bring him back to where you found it."

"Burn it."

"Drown it."

The infant, which had fallen asleep, woke up at the sound of frightened yet loud voices. However, instead of crying as most babies do, he opened his eyes and gurgled happily at them, bringing a deafening silence to the group.

A few screams erupted as some of the elders fainted. Everyone panicked and began running over or into each other as they ran off to hide in the safety of their own homes.

Once the dust settled, all that remained was the man who had picked up the "thing" and the "thing" itself. The man sighed. He could not imagine killing anything, unless it was a monster. There had been no monsters with it when they had found him. He had not been buried in a trunk. None of that was true. He had no reason to kill this child. He could not do it.

Knowing that his wife would probably hate him forever, he picked up the child and began to walk home. People stared oddly at him as he walked past them, all backing away from him or running off in fear. He shook his head. They were his friends, his family, the only people he had ever known, but they really needed to work on their suspicious ways. This was only a child for God's sake.

Arriving at his door, he sighed and gently pushed it open. His wife stood in front of him, hands on hips, face contorted between anger and fear. "Tom? That isn't what I think it is, is it?"

The man, Tom, stepped into the house. "Honey, you see..."

"Don't even come one more step into my house with that thing."

"It's a child for crying out loud people! Are you all really that blind?"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" His wife had always been the controller of the relationship between them, even before they had gotten married. People laughed at him a lot for that, but he didn't care as long as he knew she loved him.

"But Mary..."

"Don't but me. Get out of the house and don't return until that child is....gone!"

Tom's mouth dropped open. His own wife was like the rest of them, a narrow minded person who based everything on suspicions. When had this begun? He shook his head and walked out, the child held protectively in his arms. He planned never to return to this village again. He couldn't believe that he was leaving the village, the only place he had ever called home.

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Tom watched the boy work. It was because of that one boy that he had lost everything. His wife, his home, his life. Everything. Gone. All because of one decision that he made seven years ago (ahem, for those of you who didn't figure it out from that statement, this is seven years later). He didn't regret it and he certainly didn't blame the boy, but he couldn't help but be mean to the little child. How could you not be mean to someone who had made you lose everything you had ever known?

The boy looked up at him as he sighed. "Damn boy. Scrub those floors until their spotless, you hear?" He was cruel and mean to the boy, but he really did love him. He just couldn't show it. In fact, it seemed as if he didn't need to show it.

No matter what Tom said or did, the boy never seemed to get mad. He would only go away for awhile to let Tom cool off and than return later, never expecting an apology. The boy was silent, never asking many questions and when he did ask a question, it was always deep and profound.

Tom had never given him a name, never saw the need to give him a name. He responded to "boy" and didn't seem to mind. Tom had told the boy the entire truth, not wanting to hide anything from him. Unlike most children, the boy wasn't devasted. He just took it in and gulped it down, never bringing it up again. Why was the boy so quiet? Why couldn't he just talk back? It frustrated Tom that the boy was so good because everyone expected him to be so evil.

He felt sick at the way his people had reacted towards a perfectly innocent boy, one who was so quiet and good no less. He couldn't take it anymore. Violently he lashed out at the bucket of water the boy was using, knocking it over and spilling it's contents all over the room.

The boy looked up with emotionless eyes and did what he normally did at times like this. He left. Without a backwards glance, he edged closer to the village. He knew he stood out from the rest of the people there. They all had black hair and brown eyes while he had lavender hair and blue eyes, but he didn't care. They all seemed so interesting.

It was about a ten minute walk to the little village, but the boy didn't mind. He had accidentally stumbled upon it when he was much younger and was glad that he had found it. He asked Tom about it once and Tom had exploded at him in anger. Since then, the boy had never asked again.

The boy inched his way closer to the village, hoping he wouldn't be spotted. He didn't like being spotted. The people usually weren't very nice to him even though he had never done anything to even alarm them. He watched in awe as the people continued to bustle around, making sure to keep busy and not waste a single moment. A group of little boys spotted him and ran out to meet him, rocks and sticks in hands.

One boy, obviously the leader, stood out. "Look boys, it's little Trunks."

The boy could only stare at them hoping they wouldn't do what they usually did when they saw him. The name they had given him was because he was supposedly found in some trunk or something. He still couldn't understand it all. To him, it was all mumble jumble.

'Trunks', as they called him, began to twitch nervously on the spot.

"We give you five seconds Trunks."

Trunks had no need to ask what that meant. He already knew. Taking the precious time they gave him, he turned around and sprinted as fast as he could. A few seconds later, sticks and stones came flying at him, some striking him, others coming close. They followed him for a few minutes before hurling one last assult of flying rocks and stopping. The boy huffed and puffed hearing the laughter of the other retreating boys.

What had he ever done to them to deserve such treatment?

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"Humankinds worst enemy is destiny itself."

- Unknown -