Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or the characters/intellectual properties contained in the manga or anime. This story is not a challenge to the rightful holders of those properties. This is a work of fan fiction. The story and original characters are mine.
After the destruction of the Androids and Cell, humanity had a chance to rebuild from near ruin. Trunks, Bulma, and Capsule Corp. did what they could to help the survivors by handing out power generators, food, and housing capsules, but the demand for such things far outweighed supply. Capsule Corp. only had one working manufacturing plant, and it was never fully repaired after the androids attacked, due to lack of parts. Still, they were trying.
But it wasn't enough.
Most of the survivors became nomads out of necessity since nearly every town and village was razed to the ground. The people banded together in gangs, traveling from place to place, stealing or taking whatever they wanted from the ones who were trying to eke out a living in the blasted lands. Farms were destroyed, fathers and sons were pressed into the gangs, and women were taken for more nefarious purposes. Anarchy was law outside the pitifully small number of fortified villages and towns.
Raids on the villages and towns increased in frequency and ferocity when winter approached. Due to the vast environmental damage caused by the androids, the winter months increased year after year, and each year was colder than the last. The growing season was getting shorter and less and less crops were produced. Word was spreading that another ice age was coming. Food was already in short supply and raids from the gangs further compounded the problem. Starvation was a common event in most parts of the world.
Natural resources were also scarce. Nearly all of the world's oil refineries were destroyed or used up after the androids were gone. The ones that were still running were guarded against intruders on a 'shoot first and ask questions later' basis. The Oil Kings, as they became known, lived like pampered prisoners inside their fortified compounds, fearful of the outside world.
Trunks saw the look of despair and hopelessness everyday in the people around him. It's not supposed to be like this, he thought to himself, how could we have sunk so low? He had the same conversation with himself everyday for the past two years, and was still no closer to an answer.
The small village didn't have a name, and was the recipient of a recent gang attack, judging by the swath of destroyed homes. Trunks couldn't get there in time to stop them, which was frustratingly becoming the norm. The people were a hardy folk, but gang activity was increasing in the region, and their resolve was fading fast. Trunks shrugged off his backpack and opened it. He took out a small plastic case that had the Capsule Corp. logo on it. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked over to the village elder's house.
"Why aren't you protecting us? They took my baby," an elderly woman cried as she watched him pass.
Trunks looked at her with sorrow and a bit of guilt. He tried to tell her that he was busy giving badly needed medical supplies to another village, but the words caught in his throat. "I'm...sorry," was all he could say. It never stops!
"They killed my son! They killed my son!" an old man wailed.
Soon others gathered around Trunks, demanding explanations, and venting their frustrations out on him. Trunks took the abuse stoically and continued inside the elder's house.
The interior of the house was sparse and plain. A simple bedroll was rolled up and stashed on one side of the one room building. A large, crudely cut, chunk of wood on shaky stilts served as a table. Large smooth rocks served as chairs. Sitting on one of the rocks was the village elder, a wrinkly, withered old man clad in rags. The old man rose slowly and unsteadily from his sitting position as Trunks entered. The look on his face was one of sorrow, partly for his people and partly for Trunks.
Trunks breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. The wailing and laments from the people outside were diminished but not entirely out of earshot. The village elder regarded Trunks with a look of pity and regret.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said in a wheezy voice, "you don't deserve it."
"Don't I?" he replied quietly. "If I was a bit faster I might have been able to stop the raid."
The village elder smiled softly at Trunks. "You can't be everyplace at once, young man. Stop beating yourself up over it, we'll survive."
"It shouldn't be like this," Trunks said feeling his anger rise, "We've been given a second chance and we're squandering it."
"Not everyone. If it wasn't for you and your mother we wouldn't be alive today. Those solar generators you gave us last time may be small but they did provide enough heat for us to get through the winter. I can't thank you enough for that." The old man bowed reverently.
"Please, elder," Trunks said raising his hand and shaking his head. It always made him uncomfortable when they treated him like this. "We do what we can, but it's not enough. It never is."
"You can do only what you can and nothing more. Thanks to you many lives have been saved."
"And for what?" Trunks sighed tiredly. "I feel like I'm fighting a battle that can't possibly be won."
The village elder put a shaky hand on Trunks shoulder reassuringly, "I don't have any answers for you, young man. But I know you are doing a good thing, and even though some people don't appreciate the gifts you have others do."
"That reminds me," Trunks said as he handed over the small box to the elder man, "Here are your supplies. There's medicine, another generator, a housing capsule and a food synthesizer capsule. That's all we could make for now."
The village elder took the small box and smiled warmly at Trunks. "Thank you, our village is forever grateful for your help!" He bowed again, causing Trunks to blush.
The chronometer on Trunks's wrist beeped. He looked at it and cursed himself silently for taking up too much time. "I'm sorry elder, but I have more capsules to deliver. I have to go!"
Before the elder could say anything Trunks was already out the door. He heard the telltale sound of Trunks powering up and then the whoosh of him taking off. The elder cradled the box of life-giving capsules in his shaking hands. Good luck Trunks, may the Spirits bless you!
The day was the same as all the others for Trunks. He was the only person left with saiyan blood and his powers were a double-edged sword. Some villages worshipped the ground he walked on, which he abhorred. Other villages treated him as an outcast and were envious of his powers. Some people ran away from him as he approached, visions and memories of the androids still lingered in their minds. Others were downright violent, spitting, cursing and worse, thinking he was an abomination and should be destroyed because of his power. Aside from a few exceptions, there was never any middle ground; it was either one extreme or the other.
One village he went to that day was no more; a gang had destroyed everything they couldn't take by hand. That hit him pretty hard; the village was just starting to produce its own food and become more self-sufficient. Now all that was lost; a shining ray of hope was gone. He cried out in anger and frustration, his ki spiked and flared in response to his emotions. His fists smashed the ground, splitting the earth, but the wanton display of destruction didn't make him feel any better. Composing himself, he continued about his tasks for the day.
He arrived back at Capsule Corp. just before midnight. He was tired and emotionally drained, just like all the other times. He smelled food from the kitchen, but didn't feel particularly hungry. He walked over to the kitchen and put his backpack on the chair in front of the food. The food smelled good, but was cold. He went to the cupboard to get a bowl to put the food in so he could save it for tomorrow.
"Rough day, huh?"
"Mom? What are you still doing up?"
Bulma walked into the kitchen. She wore sleeping clothes and a long robe with the Capsule Corp. logo on it. She smiled at him. "I couldn't sleep. We ran into trouble down at the plant today. Two generators decided to quit working, which stopped all production. I was able to get one of them back online, but the other looks like a lost cause."
Trunks shook his head; the weight on his shoulders suddenly began to feel a bit heavier. "How bad is it?"
"Tomorrow I'll have to do some reconfiguring of the power conduits, but we'll have enough power to continue production."
Trunks sighed in relief, "That's good! You had me worried there for a second."
"We'll have to cut back on the number of capsules we make so we don't strain the generators any more than we have too."
"That's what, the second generator failure in as many months? How many are still operational?"
"Three," she answered, "The other four are reserved to power the city, and they're working fine." She saw the grim look in his eyes and knew he didn't like the news. She decided to change topics. "I made beef stew for dinner; I added all those spices that you like."
"I'm not hungry," he said tiredly, "maybe tomorrow."
"But Trunks, you have to eat. You've hardly eaten anything all week! How do you expect to keep your strength up?"
"I know, "he sighed.
Bulma's 'mother voice' kicked in, "Well, I'm not going to let you leave this kitchen until you've eaten something, and that's final!"
Trunks thought about arguing with her, but decided against it. She's right, he thought. He heated the stew in the microwave and sat down at the table. The smell of the stew hit his nostrils and the pit of his stomach rumbled. He was hungrier than he first thought. In a matter of seconds Trunks began devouring the bowl of stew. Bulma smiled to herself, that's more like it! She sat down at the table across from her son. "Tell me about your day."
Trunks swallowed a mouthful of the stew before starting. He told her everything, including the destruction of the village by the raiders. She took the news as hard as he did.
"That's terrible! Something needs to be done about those barbarians!"
"I'm trying, but I can't be everywhere at once."
"I'm not blaming you Trunks, but there's got to be something we can do. Maybe I'll spend some time in the workshop; see what I can whip up."
Trunks finished off the stew and got up from the table. "Well, I'm going to turn in; it's been a hell of a day. Goodnight mom."
"Goodnight Trunks. See you tomorrow."
Trunks bypassed the shower and went directly to his room. The day was particularly draining, emotionally if not physically. It's always the same, day in and day out. Nothing ever changes, things just get worse. Trunks fell onto the bed and closed his eyes. It still took him a while to fall asleep, and his dreams didn't offer any solace from his feelings.
The next day was the same as before, and the next, and the next after that. The routine was always the same, except for the occasional run-in with a gang. Trunks relished those times as it gave him a moment to release some of his frustration. Most of the gangs were armed with weapons stolen from army depots, so Trunks never had to fear any real injury. Normally he wouldn't go out of his way to kill them, just cause them to scatter; he still held a high regard for human life. There were times when he wished for an opponent worthy of his skills and power. He was always holding back, and for good reason; the half-saiyan easily had the power to destroy the galaxy several times over. The thought nagged in the back of his mind that he could change things for the better if he used his powers to make the populace fear him into doing what he wanted. But that path was the path of the tyrant and despot, and how would that make him any better than say Freeza, or the way his father used to be before he met Bulma? He knew deep in his heart that was a choice he would never make. Life was too precious.
In truth, he pitied the gangs. They led a much harsher life than the people who scraped by in the villages and towns. Aside from fighting the elements they also fought each other for dominance, plus a sizable minority of their populace was pressed into service. They didn't ask to be members, but when the only other choice was death, what other alternative was there? Trunks respected their strength and resilience, but not their methods. Their lives out in the badlands hardened their hearts and eroded all thoughts of compassion for their fellow man. They would gun down a child without a thought just like they would do the same for an adult. It was like they were human in name only. Still, more often than not, Trunks could not bring himself to take one of their lives, which made his task harder.
Trunks returned home after another successful day of delivering supplies. The day had been better than most, he didn't encounter and gangs and didn't run into any trouble with the villagers and townsfolk. All in all it was a good day, and Trunks felt good for the first time in a long while. The moon hung high in a clear sky, and stars broke the monotonous blackness of the dark. When he got inside he was a bit surprised to find a note on the kitchen table. It was from Bulma and it said that she was working late at the plant and dinner was in the fridge.
Trunks put the note back on the table and decided to reward himself with a hot bath before eating. After he finished, he put on a pair of dark sweatpants and a black tank top. He tied his long hair into a ponytail and went back out to the kitchen.
Bulma was there by the time he arrived. She was covered in dirt and grease and looked exhausted. "What happened, mom?"
Bulma let out a long breath as she closed her eyes, "I had some trouble with the power generators again. They're overloading and shutting down. What they need is a complete re-haul, and we don't have the parts or equipment necessary for that amount of work. If the damn androids had left me one other plant functional we wouldn't be having these problems!" Bulma slammed a fist down on the table in frustration.
"What about the generator here? Could we take it out and install it at the plant?"
Bulma shook her head, "No, it's too small; it can't generate enough power." She threw her hands up in the air, "I don't know how I can keep the plant running. The damn generators are too old and worn to be of any use, but they're all we got!"
"What's going to happen to the plant?"
"It's going to be offline until I figure out a way to get those generators stable again."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
She shook her head, "Nope, my engineers and I are the only ones with the knowledge and skills to get past this problem."
Well, there went my day, he thought to himself. They sat there in silence until Bulma got up and got the food out of the refrigerator and heated it up. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, Trunks, but no. We won't have anymore capsules for at least a month; that's if we're able to fix the problem within the next few days. It could be longer."
"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"I don't know; you'll find something to do. Take a break and relax for a few days, or you could hunt down a gang or two."
Trunks gulped down the food quickly, even though his appetite was lost. He considered his options, and didn't like the outcome. Having nothing to do was worse than what he did day in and day out. At least then he knew he was helping people. Now the people that depended on him would have to go without.
"I guess I'll go to all the towns and villages and tell them what happened. They deserve to know."
Bulma nodded, "That's a good idea. I'll try to get those generators running and stable as quickly as I can. In fact, I'll be heading back there after I take a quick shower."
"But you need to get some rest, mom," Trunks protested.
She shook her head, "We don't have time, besides, we'll be working in shifts so we'll be able to get some sleep."
Trunks didn't like it, but she was right, they didn't have much choice. After Bulma finished, he washed the dishes and went to his room. He heard Bulma leave and wished her luck. He fell asleep dreading the next day.
He was right to dread.
Every village and town was nearly in an uproar at the news. Panic spread like wildfire and Trunks was hard pressed to put it out. Luckily he was able to diffuse every situation before they became violent. It was late in the afternoon by the time he finished. He would never forget the pitiful looks of the people as they watched him leave, time after time, village after village.
I hope you get the plant working soon, mom, he thought. Too many depend on those supplies. We can't fail them now!
Trunks was slow in returning home. The comforts and stability it had always provided made him feel even more guilt. At least I have a roof over my head, he thought, it's more than what most people have. Hot water, food, electricity, it's all in short supply, and we have an abundance. It's not fair! There should be enough for everyone to go around.
He was still lost in thought as he flew over the ocean. He was caught completely off-guard as a meteor sailed passed him. It only took Trunks a fraction of a second to get under control, and he directed his attention to the falling object. By the time his eyes focused, the meteor impacted on a small island. There was a blinding flash, followed by a concussion wave from the force of the impact. Then everything was still.
A bomb suddenly exploded inside Trunks's head. His senses were on fire! He felt something he hadn't felt in years: a strong ki signature! For a moment, he didn't know what to do. Then he felt the ki signature drop significantly, and it started to fade. Throwing caution to the wind, he blurred to super speed and reappeared close to the center of a large crater. At the bottom of the crater was a rectangular, metallic box, almost twice the size of Trunks. Wires protruded from several openings and sparks flew from electrical discharges. The box, whatever it was, was almost completely destroyed.
The ki signature emanated from inside the box and it was fading fast. Trunks grabbed a part of the box that was partially torn open and forced it open. The heat was intense, but his aura was able to dissipate the worst of it. The metal screeched in protest, but it moved. A figure moved inside the box. Trunks tore through it to get at the body. He stopped suddenly as his eyes widened in shock! A man with black hair, tied in a braid, lay inside. He was battered and bleeding from multiple wounds and was heavily scarred. The reason why Trunks was so surprised was the man's furry, prehensile tail. Could it be? Could he be a...saiyan? Trunks gently cradled the man in his arms and slowly got him out of the box.
The man's breathing was shallow. His ki was still dropping fast. Trunks was almost in a panic. He laid the man down on the ground and began ripping pieces of his shirt off. He remembered most of the first aid stuff he learned from Gohan back when they were fighting the androids and he tried to put that knowledge to good use. The man's injuries were extensive and all he succeeded in doing was slowing his ki from dropping.
"Uhhh..." the man grunted, startling Trunks.
"Don't talk," Trunks said quickly, as he dressed the wounds.
"W...where...am...I?"
"You're safe," he replied back, "now quit talking."
"Safe? No...place is...safe...cough"
The man went through a coughing fit, blood poured from his mouth. Trunks tried a different tactic and let some of his own energy into the man in an attempt to stabilize him. For a moment, it looked like it was going to work. The man opened his eyes and strained to focus on his rescuer.
"I...I don't...know...you."
"Trunks," he replied simply.
"How did...you...escape?"
The question confounded Trunks, he didn't know how to reply.
"She'll...find...you. You must...run."
"Who? Who did this to you?"
The man opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. His eyes glazed over; he was gone. Trunks stopped the flow of energy, and stared at the man for a long time. Who did this? He said "She'll find you". A girl? What the hell's going on here?
He buried the man at the small island, giving a silent prayer to let the man find peace in the afterlife. He turned to the shattered metallic box. Maybe mom might be able to salvage something useful from it. It was still mostly intact, but the impact sure did a number on it. He picked it up and then noticed a faint beeping noise coming from inside. He put it back down and looked inside. A tiny light flashed rhythmically to the beeping on a small box. Trunks didn't know what it was, but thought that his mom would be able to figure it out. He picked it back up and headed straight for home.
"...and that's it." Trunks said, finishing the day's events to Bulma in the kitchen.
"I'm sorry Trunks, I don't know what to say."
He shrugged, not knowing what else to say. An uncomfortable silence hung over them for a few minutes before Bulma spoke up again. "Where did you put the box? I'd like to take a look at it."
"I put it in my room for the time being, since the workshop is full."
"Well, let me grab my toolbox." She got up from the table and left the kitchen. She returned a minute later, "Let's go."
It only took her a few minutes to determine what the box was. "It seems to be some kind of escape pod. The power is generated by solar cells, but they're shot, just like everything else." Then she heard the faint beeping. "What's this?" she asked herself as she focused on the box.
Trunks tried to peer over her should to see what she was doing, but she was almost inside the thing. Then she let out a cry of excitement.
"What is it, mom," Trunks asked in alarm.
"I got it! This is a transponder. It's sending out a signal to wherever this thing came from; I'm surprised this thing is still working."
Trunks felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and a cold feeling started to form in the pit of his stomach. "It's still sending out a signal?"
Bulma nodded, "It must have an emergency power source."
"Give it to me," trunks said.
"What? Why?" Bulma asked in protest.
"Just do it," he said.
The concern she heard in his voice overrode her curiosity about the box and she gave it to him. As soon as she handed it to him he crushed the thing with his hands.
"Trunks! What did you do that for? I could've used some parts from it!"
She'll find you. You must run. He didn't know why he left that part out when he told her what happened. Maybe he didn't want her to worry. Yeah, right. Like we don't have enough problems around here! "Mom," he said, "There's more to the story."
"Huh?"
He told her.
"Oh. Uh, well, good boy. I wished you would've told me sooner!"
He hung his head apologetically. "I'm sorry."
"What are we going to do?" she asked, fear rising in her voice.
"I don't know," Trunks responded, sharing his mom's feelings.
The technique of dimension hopping was more of an art than science. The subtle ways the ether winds influenced the cosmos, the ever shifting balance between the opposing forces of entropy and positive energy (yin/yang, creation/destruction, life/death, etc.) all had a hand in it. Everything needed to be taken into account. Sure there were quadrillions of mathematical calculations and computations to be done, but that was what computers were for. The real artistry of the process, the beauty and purity was during that split-second when everything came together and that energy was released. Not many beings were capable of such a feat, not even the gods. But she was. And she was good at it. Dimensional portals were a beautiful thing, and there was power in bending the cosmos to performing your will. The exaltation of control and the rush that came with it was stronger than any other sensation, period.
Opening a portal had so many different uses, like transporting vast armies. It could also be used for attack. You could open a portal in the same space as say an opposing army and you could swallow them up instantly. Used like that, it was a good propaganda engine. Not many beings have the will to fight when you can strike at them anytime, anywhere.
Even with all that power, there were always a few who still tried to resist against it. She knew they left, but they were insignificant. The transponder signal from one pod stopped sending, but they already traced its location back to a backwater planet called Earth. The monkeys were barely useful to her, but their power kept some of her worlds in check. If one pod made it there it stood to reason that the ship, or more pods would be close behind. The arrogance of those monkeys! They came to her for help after they found out that their world was destroyed. She took them in, gave them a reason for living again, and this was how they repaid her? Distractions and annoyances, that's all they were. None of them had the power to challenge her directly, hell; a clean-up crew could do the job! But, their attempted flight was a direct affront to her rule, and she wouldn't allow that. No, Earth was now the primary target, and she would finish the job that Freeza had started: kill every last saiyan...personally.