AN: First of all, apologies for the long delay between the prologue and this chapter. I hadn't anticipated it being this long, but oh well, damage done. This chapter was something of a challenge because it's the part of the story I had previously thought the least about. The rest of the story I have more of a fuller idea about, so the subsequent chapters shouldn't have such a huge delay between them (knock on wood). Enjoy.
Lost but Found
Chapter 1: Trial by Fire
Trunks Briefs is a terrible driver.
Not that he wasn't technically proficient at it. But he took after their mother in this respect. He wasn't satisfied with waiting until it was his turn to do anything, nor did he find it acceptable to stop for turning cars or traffic lights or those pesky pedestrians. So he would zoom in and out of traffic often within inches of the nearby cars.
It apparently wasn't a successful trip if you hadn't given your passenger a heart attack.
Bra was sure the only reason he'd never been in an accident was because of his Saiyan reflexes. Then again, Bulma's driving was quite similar and she'd never gotten so much as a ticket. Honestly, life wasn't fair.
Luckily they were taking the jet. Less air traffic meant less times Bra had to clutch the armrests for dear life. They didn't talk much as they headed out of the city. Normally the two of them got along just fine, but Trunks had been on edge since they'd left Capsule Corps. He'd been in such a hurry he wouldn't even give her time to call their mom and let her know what they were doing, and he hadn't said so much as five words together since they boarded.
But while Trunks was perfectly content to worry and brood, Bra wasn't. The way she saw it, it was probably nothing. Just some boring lump of rock that would probably burn up the atmosphere and leave a basketball-sized whole in some godforsaken island. IF it was someone wanting to fight, between the two of them, they could take care of it. Bra might not look like much compared to her brother, but she wasn't exactly a lightweight. She could handle herself (and depending on how dirty she was willing to play, she could easily take down Trunks in a spar). And IF the two of them couldn't handle it, there was always Vegeta.
She was slouched in the passenger seat, feet sprawled out towards the door. She tapped idly at her phone, texting Pan and checking her email in between glances at her brother's determined scowl. Maybe it was a little naive to think that daddy would always be there to take care of things. It was just... daddy was always there to take care of things. She knew Goku was stronger, but he'd disappeared years ago. And the idea of Vegeta disappearing just seemed absurd to her.
"How much longer?" she asked. Even her phone couldn't save her from boredom - she'd done everything short of check the weather, and she was sorely tempted to do that next.
"Maybe another half hour."
Bra sighed and sank further down into her chair. "We should have at least brought Goten or Pan or somebody with us."
"No time. We'll get there just after whatever it is crash lands."
"Greeeat." Her fingers twitched idly around her phone. "It would've been faster if we'd just flown there."
"All the equipment's on the jet. And it still hasn't even landed. What do you want to do, sit around and stare at the sky for a couple hours?"
"Wouldn't be any less boring than this," she mumbled.
"Bra, stop whining."
"Trunks, have you always been such a stick in the mud?"
"Yes," came his immediate, disinterested response. He spared her a side glance before rolling his eyes. "Bra, just because I don't want to make an effort to entertain you right now like I did when you were five doesn't mean I'm a 'stick in the mud.'"
"Fine," she agreed. It was a pretty small concession given the amount she'd heard of him getting into trouble when he was a kid. The cherry bombs in toilets and BB gun accidents that plagued most parents of young boys were laughably tame in comparison to Trunks' and Goten's escapades. Pretty much all the stories ended with something - a bone, a car, a section of Capsule Corps - being broken and Trunks' standard, "And then Dad beat the crap out of me and I never did it again." Then he'd start his next story which would in fact prove that he did do it again. "But just because in general you're not completely boring, doesn't mean you couldn't stand to lighten up a little right now."
"Fine, Bra, what would you like to talk about?"
She smiled in triumph, but her expression soon settled into a slight frown. "Nothing, Trunks. I was just being annoying. I didn't think you'd actually give in - way to put me on the spot." Instead she said the first thing that popped into her head, "Why are you so worried about this thing?"
He still wasn't really paying much attention to her, for once focused on driving. "I'm not."
"Well, I figured it wasn't anything big. I mean, it's not like you guys ever bring me to this sort of thing if it's actually... life-threatening."
"I don't know if it's 'big' or not."
She sat up, her back cracking at the suddenness of the movement. "Then why bring me?" Bra was perfectly aware that she was yelling. It wasn't concern that moved her, though, but a deep-felt surprise. She had grown up being over-protected by everyone around her, despite her being a Saiyan. Even once she reached Super Saiyan status, she was kept on the sidelines while the boys and even occasionally Pan got to have all the fun.
"Seriously, calm the fuck down," Trunks said with an annoyed glare in her direction. He maintained the harsh look until she had visibly relaxed. Turning back to the wheel, he said, "You remember your first day at Capsule Corps?"
How could she forget? She'd always assumed she'd have an easy transition from part-time inventor to full-time co-President. After all, she had little to no hands on experience with the latter aside from the press conferences she'd attended and the business meetings she'd been forced to watch. But Trunks gave her the same abrupt push he'd received years earlier from their mother. He'd given a brief tour of the office, gone over the agenda with her, and when she came back from a coffee break found her brother had ditched her. She'd spent the day not as co-President in training but rather the only acting President available, handling absolutely everything including things she didn't even know were part of her job. By the end of the day she was exhausted and nearly in tears, hating her brother.
But to Trunks' credit, she'd never had a day that rough since. Everything else had been almost easy in comparison when Trunks was actually around to help and take the brunt of the work.
He took her silence as an affirmative. "You need to be more involved in this stuff. Goten and I can't be the only ones taking care of this shit. Everyone's got to be able to handle this when it comes up." He paused slightly. "Consider this your trial by fire."
The rest of the trip passed in silence (Bra had to wonder if this was Trunks' intention all along) as she considered the potential seriousness of the situation. She'd never been in a real fight before in her life. Everything had been a spar with carefully controlled conditions. Even when she managed to piss off her brother enough for him to come at her with a little more force, she had never felt she was in any real danger. The fight would always end if she said she'd had enough. Hell, she could rig a cheap victory against most of the guys by pretending to be hurt and crying then snapping her elbow back into their guts as hard as she could. It'd even worked on Pan once or twice.
And now they were headed into the complete unknown. If there was an incoming enemy, they had no idea on how many there were or how strong they could be or anything else. Bra's stomach did back flips in anxiety as she realized that, not only was it just her and Trunks out here, but they hadn't even told anyone else. No Pan. No Goten. No Daddy.
The thought of no backup almost had her hyperventilating.
We don't even know if there's anything even there, she reassured herself. Maybe you'll get lucky and it's just some unregistered satellite crash landing.
But even as the logical part of her could easily dismiss any danger, a deeper, darker part of her couldn't help but think, But where would the fun in that be?
As usual, Trunks' steadiness had a calming effect. Trunks could let a lot of things go. If it wasn't worth getting upset about, he'd ignore the problem (though how Bulma Briefs and Vegeta's son could have such a laid back manner and an almost complete lack of a temper was beyond her). It was just that much harder to be upset around him if he was cool and collected.
Any remnants of panic that might have surfaced were well under control by the time they arrived at the coordinates. Bra tried not to sigh in relief. She just wanted to figure out what the hell was going on and get back to work.
Ugh, she never thought she'd actually want to work.
She followed her brother to the main exit hatch where he was packing a bag with equipment. He examined each piece carefully to make sure it was working, and if not he'd rattle it slightly before giving up and replacing it with a working model. She watched for probably a couple minutes before she felt completely useless and out of her element. In an attempt to keep her hands busy, she grabbed another pack – a dark red one that seemed somewhat familiar – and started going through it.
A slight laugh escaped her as she realized it was, in fact, her own backpack from years ago. She must have left it one of the days her brother had been nice enough to drive her to class. A winter jacket with a CC patch, a Differential Equations textbook stuffed with notes, some crumpled up dollar bills for lunch money, and a mini-skirt that she had no doubt meant to change into once out of sight of her protective older brother.
Dende, this must be from High School. A jacket AND a mini-skirt? What was I thinking? she thought with amusement. Their family must be rich indeed if she could lose her entire backpack and not even notice.
She didn't even bother to unpack it – may as well take it with her when she went home later (she should probably find that textbook a proper home) – and instead began to investigate the shelves of equipment lining this part of the jet. Row after row of sophisticated gadgets that would make any electronics store look out of date. And these were just the spares they didn't need in the labs. Her hands itched to pick up some of the more sensitive items, but while unique and absolutely fun to play with, they probably wouldn't be much use.
What does one pack before encountering a potential enemy? That was something that sure didn't come up in her tech classes.
Her brother seemed to be interested in the larger items they used for tracking electrical pulses and energy signatures. She shrugged slightly and started grabbing a mish-mash of smaller items. If it was just a satellite, these tools would help them dismantle it and salvage parts for further study or identification.
"Here," was the only warning she got before her brother chucked something at her.
Barely catching it before it made a dent in her face, she thanked her father's ancestors for super-human reflexes before examining whatever the hell her brother had just tried to kill her with.
Saiyan armor. She blinked, as if that would change the object in her hands.
Her cheeks flooded rouge as she processed what was going on. Trunks wanted her to wear this in public? Sure, they'd all worn the stuff before, but that was only to appease their father in his rants about the degradation of the Saiyan race. But never ever ever had she worn it where someone might actually see her.
"We always wear it."
"What?"
Trunks had already ducked into the bathroom to change. "When we're not sure if there's going to be a fight. We always wear it, just in case," he called out, his voice muffled by the door.
She looked back down at the white armor chest plate and bright red spandex, the matching boots still on the rack. "It's not the combat I'm worried about," she muttered, but waited her turn to change.
Her mom had made all three of them new Saiyan armor, each in their own color so they could still feel like themselves even though they looked like a team. Red was her favorite color. Trunks got black. Their father still sported his royal blue. The Sons all wore black or blue – whatever fit. Vegeta rarely ever got on their case about it, so they really never needed to wear it.
Wearing the armor again made her feel so out of place. Her mother always said she had a "fighter's spirit," but in practice she didn't excel at it the way the rest of the Saiyans did. She could throw a punch, take a hit, and power a ki blast, but she didn't have the knack for it the rest that they all seemed to. It had always been a source of contention between her and her father and brother. Bra was obviously Vegeta's favorite, but Trunks always got the special attention for training that she craved. And while he wouldn't say anything, their father could hardly hide his disappointment in her fighting. And of course Trunks no doubt had some resentment towards Bra; he was, after all, the one who put literally blood, sweat and tears into his relationship with his father, yet without any effort his sister got all the attention.
By the time they had exited the jet, Bra's anxiety had returned, though the source was a little less clear.
"Whatever it is, it probably landed just after we did, about a half mile east of here."
Couldn't have gotten us any closer? Geez, but her nerves made her keep the whine to herself.
They walked at a brisk pace, one that would probably wind a human, following the beeping of the tracker. The beeping sounded eerie – a mechanical tone in the natural hush of the wooded area they walked through. From their burrows and dens, the wildlife watched them curiously. Bra tried not to feel self-conscious about the armor.
Don't be stupid, they're animals. They wouldn't care if you were naked. But her hands lifted to cover her chest and she walked practically on Trunks' heels.
Neither sibling found it necessary to talk. It wasn't until about 100 yards from the crash site that Trunks turned off the scanner and slung it around his shoulder. The forest, sparsely populated with trees at best, gave way to a valley. The valley stretched down before them, a small smoldering pile of metal visible halfway down the slope.
The two looked at each other briefly.
Bra raises an eyebrow. Should we go down?
Trunks shrugs his shoulders. May as well.
Fifteen feet down the gentle incline and so far, no signs of life.
No signs of life. No birds flying overhead, no more curious animals peeking around them. A metal object that just happens to miss the forest and trees and ends up in a valley. A metal object strong enough not to break up in orbit but that doesn't survive the crash. A fire that strangely the grass can't seem to catch.
Bra stops about a second before Trunks does, their senses on overdrive as they mentally search the area for a more substantial reason to be nervous.
A slight whoosh is the only warning before Bra is hit in the back and goes flying face first to the ground.
She hears the sound of another blow, but Trunks doesn't join her on the grass so he must have dodged it. Bra quickly checks for injuries, but the backpack and armor cushioned the blow and fall.
Another whoosh but this time she knows better, rolls out of the way to miss the foot that has now left a solid indentation in the ground. She looks up into the thoroughly displeased face of her attacker, a woman about twice her size with dark features that stand out against her slightly blue skin, ears coming to a point and then twirling in on themselves. The two stare at each other, one with unsuppressed disdain and the other with absolute astonishment. The sound of two men fighting nearby the backdrop for this surprise encounter.
"Naiidoona," the woman spits, clearly an accusation. Her eyes have moved from Bra's to the armor at her chest. "Saiyan," she says with disgust.
Bra's not used to the pressure of a real fight. The idea that the opponent is striking to kill or the speed with which things escalate. She's on her feet and struggling just to avoid the blows dealt her way. The style's different, comes in places she doesn't expect and the first minute has her bruised and out of breath. But then she notices the pattern of her enemy's movements, the weight shifts that suggest different attacks. The second minute has her at least getting the chance to throw a punch or two of her own. The opponent, the strange blue woman with the onyx eyes, lets her anger get the best of her. Too much force behind the blows, not enough thought. The round house kick to the temple takes her down to her knees, the knee to the gut has her gasping and spitting blood.
Bra bounces slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting for the woman to get up and come back at her. Surely she hasn't incapacitated her already. That was merely round one, a probe into each other's defenses.
But she forgot about Trunks. Which means she forgot about Trunks' opponent. So when the blue woman just looks up at her with a knowing smile, she can't understand why until she feels something heavy swing right into her right temple. She has enough time to think that it's probably the hardest she's ever been hit in her life before the pain insures her that, yes, it is.
She's on her hands and knees, no, she's fallen to her elbows now, and she feels unconsciousness rolling around her like waves on a beach. She looks at her attackers, unsure if she's seeing them in double or triple but there's no way she can focus. She knows she should be going over her options – fight, flight, hide – but beyond that her mind just won't function.
They say something, many things maybe, as she tries to find some thought to cling to. She can't even tell if it's English, her ears give her nothing but a ringing sound. Maybe they laugh. Nothing's clearing up. In fact, her vision barely has room for them anymore as dots of black threaten to force her under.
The new attacker, the one that must have beaten Trunks, now has something in his hand and she wonders when it appeared. It's pointed at her and she thinks vaguely that it looks like a gun. The idea amuses her, and she has no idea why.
It goes very bright as the weapon fires, then very very dark.
