Legend

A/N: This story, I think, will be the most concentrated one I've ever written. I thought of it after reading several Trunks/18 fics and this will kind of be one, too. Only it won't be like a total romance one because I've decided to make Trunks' age twelve and there's a huge age gap there. They'll strongly befriend each other, though. I'm trying to make this like . . . well, let's just say Trunks has a rotten life and his depression, his anger and misery makes Juuhachigou a bit curious on that.

This chapter will kinda be a sort-of prologue.

Okay, sorry about the delay. Onward with the story that will be in Future Trunks's POV. And this is an AU of his timeline, I'd say. Because in this, he actually knew Vegeta. And there will be no italic sentences where there should be because something's screwed with the uploading sequence. *As in a featured Trunks dream.*

I've never seen them before yet, but I've heard legends. Legends on just how blood-thirsty and savage they were, killing everything in their paths.

I've seen evidence though, every time my Mom and I had visited different towns. The destruction. The macabre puddles of dried blood. The dead bodies. It was horrible.

I knew they were real, though. Not just creepy folktales to wound me for life. And not just because of what I'd seen. It was because what my Mother had seen. They'd slain all of her friends . . . killed things that meant everything to her.

But they'd murdered my father. They'd made her watch them do it.

They'd traumatized her. I'd known my Dad for approximately six years. He was unaffectionate most of the time, but you always known he cared. For my mother especially. You could see his eyes melt when he looked at her.

But Dad had been killed when I was six. They'd held my mom hostage, forcing Dad to go rescue her. It was a trap. It'd been all along. And my mom had to watch them beat him to a pulp, watch him die for her. They made her.

Like I said, they scarred her really badly by doing that. Mom hardly ever talked to me anymore, almost never tinkered in her lab. When she did speak to me though, it was to tell me to be careful.

I often screamed at her, asking her how I should be careful when she wouldn't even tell me what they looked like! What I should beware about them! What they'd even done to Dad. And then I'd apologize when she'd burst into tears, wailing about how she was so, so sorry, but it was for my own good that I didn't know.

Mom kept me safe by keeping secrets. I guess she didn't trust me.

But I couldn't blame her. She was just sick; it wasn't her fault.

And so, I knew they were real. Nothing fake could've messed up my mom like that. Only true monsters could do that. Only mechanical villains. Only the androids. They were real.

There were dark shadows, oddly showing up against the darkened streets, projecting off the buildings.

They were following me, I noticed. Every turn, every waver, step for step.

The shadow bodies pursued me as I continued heading for an unknown place, getting nearer . . . closing in. I swerved around an alley, my breath fast and ragged in my chest.

My throat was burning, my heart racing. My legs ached as I kept on running, rounding corners.

There was no one on the streets. Weird. It was just me and my two shadow-people stalkers.

They were laughing at me. Snickering sardonically at my panicked state. No one was there to help.

I slid over a car hood, not glancing back. I still knew they were on my tail. They always were.

And then I blinked. Dead end. A giant wall had materialized out of nowhere, blocking my path.

The laughter grew louder in my ears, the street growing darker as the shadows showed up in front of me, faceless and intimidating.

I could just make out what they were chanting: "We killed your father! And we'll kill you! We killed your father! And we'll kill you."

Anger and fear bubbled from within.

They advanced upon me, forcing me into a corner.

My heart was thudding noisily in my ears, my knees knocking.

They both raised their arms, sharp and pointed at the ends, ready to strike me.

I took a shuddering breath.

They charged me, arms extending, ready to penetrate me right in the heart and—

I jolted up in bed, desperately clutching the sheets at my sides, trying to calm my breathing.

My covers and forehead were drenched in sweat, my heart rate still speeding by miles. My unique, lavender hair was matted against my scalp.

Unintentional tears began to well in my eyes.

I dreamt of shadows almost every night. Shadows of the androids that taunted me about murdering my father, laughing at my loss. Shadows because that's all they were to me . . . my imagination. I couldn't see them correctly . . . Mom would never describe them to me. I've never seen them on the news or in real life either.

My father was dead because of them . . . the Prince of half of what I am . . . a Saiyan. Like Gohan and his dad that he'd lost too.

Gohan. My mentor, my best friend, my everything. He was the one who I'd been with when the incident happened. He knows I still beat myself up for not being there, but instead playing with him.

But I know I should've been there to help my family.

Gohan uses logistics though, telling me to ask myself what a six year-old could've done.

I usually shut up after that.

I sighed, glancing at the window on my right. It was still completely dark, everything night-like and tranquil.

My Dragonball clock that Mom had assembled long ago read 2:03.

Damn it.

When I have nightmares, all I ever wish for is that the night could be over. That I could see the lilting sunlight streaming through my blinds. That my mother was well again. That my father would scowl at me one, last time.

Anything.

Because everything was a nightmare.

I sunk lower under my Choo-Choo train blankets. Though I was twelve, they comforted me somewhat . . . reminded me of when I was younger and when Dad had accidentally stepped on one of my toy trains.

And when it had broken, I'd cried, wailing on how he'd wrecked my toy, how he always wrecked my toys.

Dad had yelled at me, arguing that I shouldn't have left them lying everywhere for him to step on, though it was my room.

A slight smile tinted on my lips, a soft tear sliding down my cheek. Father was really something. Had been really something.

Warmth from the thick quilt quickly dried my tears as I adjusted my head better on my pillow, slowly shutting my eyes.

My mind was at peace . . . for now.

A/N: I personally think that's a great start and probably an answer to most of the questions about just how AU it is. I hope you liked it though. Review please.