I OWN NOTHING

"What's going on?" Trunks asked, getting half-dragged through the parking lot. "Who are the Norwegian sleigh men and where is Canasia?"

"Remember those tunnel tremors in Latberia last solstice?" Question asked.

"No, I-"

"Of course you don't," he said quickly, "Your hair is too long; you were wiped before you noticed they were even there."

"What does that-"

"But that's not the point," Question said even faster, "the giant nuclear meltdown in North Korea, the robberies all over America and the past few missions everyone has been on on are all connected. The Norwegian sleigh men are riding on this connection, so is the balance of Canasia's economy."

"The clowns-"

"Correct," Question said, "but that's what they want us to think! A feign attempt to make us laugh! Don't you get that?"

"But I-"

"Groupings of villains across the world, henchmen wearing a lot of make-up in each mission every single one of us goes on- I've read the mission logs even when Batman tells me not to- has something in common," Question said. He stopped walking and turned to Trunks. "Well? Aren't you going to ask what it is?"

"Well, I know that the clowns are working for the Joker and that he has a huge part to play-"

"The next uprising will happen at four fifteen this afternoon and will feature two people fighting for nature against two who know that's not the case, or us," Question said. "I used the Freed Terrorist Pattern Theory, written by me, and the rule of direct-inverse timing, also written by me. We have approximately twelve minutes until it happens, so we need to move fast."

"How do you know that?" Trunks asked, even he was confused at his partner's deduction.

"I've been around," Question said. "Let's get moving."

"You still have not mentioned where we are going," Trunks said.

"Where's the largest factory in the world, kid?" Question asked.

"Where I'm from, it was in Washington," Trunks said. "I don't know how many parallels we can draw between your world and mine, but-"

"Boeing Everett Factory makes too much sense, but so would the enemy thinking that we over-thought it. Now are you starting to see?" He patted Trunks on the back. "There might be hope for you yet, Saiyan." He pulled out his communicator. "Batman, could you send us to the Boeing Everett Factory?"

"I thought you didn't use communicators," Batman said.

"Poison Ivy is going to try to steal some planes for the underground army under the guise of a lost protestor, I'm calling it now," Question said. "You know how much I hate American Airline missile launchers, and I'm certain they have at least fourteen, fourteen being the number of CEO's who have run the company."

"Poison Ivy?" Batman said. "Today is the anti-pollution rally." He sighed. "You hacked into Black Canary's Facebook account, didn't you?"

"What does she have to do with any of this?" Trunks asked.

"She's a socialite," Question said, "when celebrities make moves at events like these, she'd be the first to know about it. One of her friends is going to be there as the celebrity endorser; it's all stupid if you ask me," Question said. "I'm predicting that Poison Ivy won't be alone," he said, "and it's going to be an undercover assault. Two will be on the outside, two on the inside collecting data on their inventory and all of the company's partners. I'll handle the detective work inside and Trunks will keep anything on the outside from getting out of hand."

"That sounds like a plan," Batman said. "Stay still." A white halo encircled Trunks and Question. A sharp jolt went down Trunks' spine. They materialized in a clear, sunny, humid area of dirt on a long, wide stretch of badly paved road. Orange lights lined both sides of the road. The sound of roaring plane turbines startled the two heroes.

"Move!" Question exclaimed. They ran off the road, barely dodging the huge, blue airplane that rushed by and took off into the air.

"I think we're here," Trunks said.

"We don't have time to stand around," Question said. "Let's go."

Trunks followed Question for three miles to the gates of the testing area. Trunks took Question's hand and hopped over it effortlessly. To their left was the front of the gigantic, T-shaped factory with several wide chimneys pumping all kinds of nasty pollutants into the air. Hundreds of protesters rallied in front of the factory's main entrance. "You're not to be seen," Question said. "Investigate in the back of the factory. I'll take the main work up here; Poison Ivy is more than likely on the outside and she won't be alone, but whoever is in charge won't waste big-timers on a job like this. You can take them as long as you keep Ivy away from you. Just don't be seen, got it?"

Trunks nodded and adjusted his mask. "Got it." He vanished. Question pushed through the crowds of protesters, profiling every single one he brushed past and made it to the line of security guards. He flashed a fake police badge and walked right past them, much to the anger of the protesters. He stopped by the door next to another security guard.

"Can you tell me where the administration offices are?" Question asked. "I need to speak with Mr. Helden."

"I'm sorry, sir," the guard said, trying to look at his face. "He won't allow anyone in until the protesters leave."

"I have an appointment," Question said, knowing what was to come next.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't-"

"I can have you fired again, Milheim," he said, flashing his fake badge. "Do you know who I am?

Milheim didn't want to get fired again; he didn't know who this guy was, but this guy knew him. "Right this way, sir," he said quickly, opening the door. Question tipped his brim down lower and walked into the bustling forefront of the factory, the business side to it. The building was crawling with suit and tie workers like worker bees in a hive, efficiently working toward the same materialistic goal. Question briskly walked toward a directory sign and read it, memorizing it almost instantly. He turned down a hall and walked up a flight of stairs to the second floor that was even busier than the first. He walked all the way to the end of the hall and into a room labeled "Supply Information". It consisted of a single desk guarded on each side by two stuffed filing cabinets. A short, balding man with a comb-over sat in the spinning desk chair busily stamping paperwork. Question knocked on the door and walked up to the desk.

"Go away," the man said bluntly.

"That's no way to talk to a supply inspector, now is it?" Question said.

"You're not scheduled for today, Mr. Brake," the man said, not looking away from his work. "Go away-"

"If I came on my scheduled day, you guys would be on your best behavior," Question said, "wouldn't we, Krauss?"

Mr. Krauss sighed. "Always our best, up to the test," he said dryly. "What do you want, Mr. Brake?"

"I want to know how many planes you currently have on the factory grounds," Question said, "and if they're allowed to be tested locally."

"One thousand eight hundred and seventy three," he said, "and no; what kind of question is that?"

"Would you care to explain why one of your planes just took off from the back of the facility? It is a major hazard to anyone in and around the facility." Question said. "Look out your window."

Krauss laughed. "I assure you, Mr. Brake, we do not allow airlines to collect property until everyone has evacuated the premises! We've halted collections until the protest ends-"

"Look out your window," Question pressed.

Krauss rolled his eyes and turned around in his chair, looking out the window. Question swiped Krauss' ID card off his desk and replaced it with a face-down, fake ID. He silently slipped out of the room. "Mr. Brake, there is nothing there, now please, let me do my work." He heard silence and nodded with approval. He won.

Question quickly walked up another flight to the administration offices, guarded by a secretary desk. Question walked up to the desk. "I have an appointment with Mr. Helden," he said sharply, before the bubbly blonde could say anything. He slid Krauss' ID card through the electronic lock on the door to the right labeled "Inventory Manager" and walked into the white, spacious office with a wide window overlooking the front of the factory. He walked over to the desk by the back of the room to the old manager sitting at his desk with a computer. His eyes were shut. "Called it," he said, hearing the cocking of a pistol behind his head.

"Very good, detective," a deep, Russian accent said from behind him. "You managed to talk your way up here, but I don't think you'll be going back down." The gunman fired a silenced shot, putting a hole in Question's hat. Question whipped around, kicking the tall, muscular Russian man with a black jumpsuit and mask and a gun replacing a hand, in the side of his head. He slid across the shiny floors and up against the glass window.

"KGBeast," Question said, "Batman put you under the jail."

"Your perceptions never fail to amaze me!" KGBeast said, firing four more shots at the rolling vigilante. Question dived behind the desk and yanked open a drawer, pulling out a stapler. He opened it and locked it from collapsing. He leaped out from behind the desk as KGBeast reloaded, slapping a staple into his cheek. KGBeast yelped in pain and stumbled back. Question kicked him in the chest and into the wall, hitting him in the head again with the stapler. Question held his gun arm to the wall and slapped him with the stapler over and over until he passed out from the pain. Question ran over to the desk and checked the manager's pulse.

"Alright," Question said, "he's still alive." He checked the manager's pockets and pulled out a green ID card labeled "Supply Catalog Terminal Room". "Simplicity," Question said. "Not as fun, but it gets the job done." He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. "I'm taking a break, Martha," he said in a forties New York accent.

"Alright," Martha said to the back of Question's head. "Your shift starts again at six."

Question briskly walked down three flights of stairs to the basement level. A door that matched the label of the card had already been entered; Question's pass card would not help. "Damn," he said. "I was too slow." He knocked on the door.

"Go away, please," a man sounding just like the security guard outside said. "I'm doing business here."

"This is Officer Bradley, Milheim," Question said, disguising his voice. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I was told by Grewer that I had to switch stations with him-"

"Grewer is on vacation," Question said, knowing just as much about the police force in the area as whoever was behind the door did. "Remember? He went to Maui. Open up, son."

"Well, alright," Milheim's voice said, unlocking the door. "Come in."

Question pushed the door open and ducked a punch. He rose to his feet, stapling his nose. The tall, Russian student of the KGBeast fell back into the small, well-lit room. "Look at who we have here." Question closed the door. "NKVDemon. Not the catchiest name, but I guess it works." He turned around, slapping a clown thug in the temple with a staple. "I love this thing!"

NKVDemon hopped to his feet, looking just like the KGBeast except taller and younger, and charged with two box cutters. Question dodged a swipe and a jab and smacked another staple into his head. The Russian intelligence agent stumbled back holding his face. "That is surprisingly effective!"

"I know, right?" Question said. "If we weren't trying to beat each other up, I'd recommend it."

"You take my comment as a compliment," he said, aiming his hand at Question's chest, "but I am like my teacher!" His fingertips opened into large holes.

"Oh, boy," Question said, barely dodging four buckshot rounds. He grabbed the Russian man's hand and flipped him, leaning back before his head would be blown off. He knelt down and stapled the Russian man in the nose and cheek, the sheer pain being enough to make him pass out. He walked to the half-hacked terminal in the back of the room and swiped the inventory manager's ID card, bringing up a long list of plane models, their numbers, and all other information pertaining the planes being built and sold. "Heathrow Airlines West bought four hundred and fifty planes last week," he mumbled. "They don't have that many terminals and that violates their maximum capacity laws by at least two hundred air crafts. I know where I'm going next."

NKVDemon let out a battle cry from behind him. Question pushed his chair back and whipped around, slapping a staple into his ear. Question punched him in the face, sending him reeling back into the wall. NKVDemon lifted the chair and whipped it into Question, knocking him into the terminal. Question rolled off the desk, dodging another chair swipe. He punched a staple into the Russian's leg in exchange with a chair leg to his back. Question yelped in pain and hopped to his feet, blocking a strike and moving in. He prepared to staple the Russian's cleft chin together but his swing was caught. They came to a standstill, trying to use their brute strength to gain the upper hand. They dropped their weapons and immediately went to strike. Question deflected a punch and threw his own, starting a lightning fast chain that was the result of extensive training in Chinese martial arts. Question broke the chain by clinching the Russian around the waist and slammed him into the wall. The Russian threw all of his weight forward, throwing them to the ground with him on top of Question. He grabbed the broken chair leg and started beating Question with it. Question kept his guard up, even when on the ground, and rolled around, beating the Russian all about the face. He grabbed his stapler again and went for a swing. NKVDemon shrimped backward and planted his feet in Question's stomach, throwing him into the glass lamp hanging from the ceiling. Question fell, taking a chair leg to the face. He hopped to his feet, taking blow after blow until his back hit the wall. He ducked a swing and punched him in the groin, doubling him over. He grabbed the Russian man around the neck and crashed his head through the terminal glass. NKVDemon screamed in pain and pulled out, glass shards sticking out of the sides of his head. Question clapped him on the ears, driving some shards deeper into his skull. Question kicked the man in the stomach and smashed a half broken lamp bulb across his face, making him stumble back toward the wall.

"Die!" NKVDemon shouted, tackling Question to the ground. The two started grappling, escaping a hold as fast as they were put into it. Question found his legs wrapped around the Russian's head and he grabbed the stapler and the chair leg, beating him with both. NKVDemon grabbed Question's thighs and threw him into the wall. He stood up and grabbed the silenced pistol of the clown thug and aimed it at Question's head. "Stand up."

Question slowly rose to his feet with the stapler behind his back.

"That's it," the Russian said with a confident grin, cocking his weapon. "You finally stopped making this hard on your-"

Question stapled NKVDemon's index and middle fingers together, making him yelp in pain and hold his hand in pain. Question cried in rage and grabbed him by the collar with one hand and putting thirty staples into his head with the other. NKVDemon finally dropped in a forming pool of his own blood and Question kicked him in his head twice. "Once to be sure, twice for the hell of it." He stuffed the stapler in his pocket and walked out, closing the door behind him. "I'd better get to the back to see if Saiyan needs any help," he said to himself. He started his brisk walk to the actual factory, hoping Trunks was having an easier time than he was.

He wasn't. On the factory workshop, Trunks was getting aggravated. "Just stay down!" Trunks said. cutting another six-foot tall plant humanoid with red eyes and bark and vines for a body. It still couldn't see him darting around the mile-wide factory floor filled with hundreds of finished planes. The large garage doors that kept them inside from the take-off lane were open and their chains were melted with some kind of acid. Trunks stood on one of the high walls of the workshop, looking down at the hundreds of plant men making their way toward the plane.

"Come out!" they shouted, their voices rattling through their wooden throats. "We know you're there!"

Trunks fazed out again with both blades drawn, slicing through hundreds of the plant men with ease. This time he watched how they regenerated. The lower halves of their body would start regrowing the bark of their torsos and then a new head and arms would pop out, the face with the same red-eyed, disturbing grin. "The stem," he face-palmed, watching them frantically search for him. He spiked his aura and dropped into the center of the floor. He dropped his swords and put his hands up. "I give up!" he said loudly, drawing all of the plants' attention. "You win, Floronic Man!"

The Floronic Men jumped off the planes and surrounded Trunks. "You are smart, hero," they said, "but not smart enough! Rip him to shreds!"

Trunks pulled the swords to his hands as they charged. He raised one sword. "Chi barrier!" he exclaimed, doming everyone in a yellow field of chi. Trunks smirked and let his blades fly, turning into mere glints of shining blades slick with green liquid. Trunks stuck his swords in the ground and raised his hands, filling the dome with intense chi rain at the plants' legs. By the time he dropped the field, the plant were nothing but glowing balls of green goo. They weren't supposed to be glowing, nor were they supposed to be growing. Trunks' eyes widened. "Shit," he said, creating another chi barrier around him and his swords as the balls exploded into golden pollen that flew out of the facility faster than a jet. Trunks dropped the barrier and looked up, both amazed and terrified at the alien physiology of his opponent. He wondered where they were going.

"That was amazing!" an enchanting voice from behind a plane exclaimed.

Trunks sheathed his blades. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here." A tall, beautiful redhead woman with dark green eyes and full, blood red lips ran out from behind the plane Trunks was standing in front of. She wore a tight white tee shirt with a picture of an ivy bush in the shape of a halting hand, blue booty shorts, and a pair of sandals, squeezing her curvy body in such an alluring way that Trunks couldn't look away. Trunks could have sworn her light skin had a very slight green hue to it, but all he could think about was wanting to embrace her and kiss her passionately. He could smell her alluring perfume from ten feet away.

"I'd better keep my distance," Trunks thought. "She's not normal." She rushed forward and extended her hand, almost knocking Trunks back as the perfume overwhelmed his senses. "What the hell is that?!"

"My name is Belinda," she said, "I came here for the rally and got lost on the way. Thanks for saving me, despite the fact that you cut down hundreds of innocent plant people. May I ask the name of my savior?"

"I am the sole member of the most powerful warrior race in this universe and the next," the Saiyan said in his father's voice. "I am the Saiyan."

"'Saiyan', huh?" Belinda said, trying to look him in the eyes under his black hood. "That sounds exotic."

"I am the only one," Saiyan said. "Please, do not try to look under the hood or take off my mask, civilian." His scouter beeped, indicating a power level of about three hundred.

"Why is that?" she said, reaching for it now. "You probably look as good as you fight. I won't reveal your identity. I promise."

Trunks fazed out, reappearing behind her. He couldn't keep his eyes away, but his other senses started to resist. "I said no."

"What's the matter?" she said, her enchanting voice overriding his resistance. "I just want to show you how grateful I am."

"Well," Trunks said, his mind going blank. "I guess it wouldn't hurt." He slowly reached for his hood and pulled it down, revealing his long, lavender hair, tan skin, and blue eyes. The strange woman gasped and ran over to him, her scent making Trunks' insides turn into jello. She felt his hair, twirling it with her finger.

"It's so soft," she said, "it's the complete opposite of your eyes, cold, icy, blue. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"N-no," Trunks stuttered, his expression hardening again. His mind was back in control, but his body was not. "I know what you're trying to do, Poison Ivy."

"Maybe you need someone to warm you up," she said sultrily, tracing her fingers up his chest plate. "I can do that. I can keep you warm at night, comfort you when you're not fighting the big bad super villains-"

"Get away from me," Trunks said, backing away. "I know who you are."

She stepped forward again, putting a delicate hand on his shoulder pad. "Let me show you how much I'm starting to care, Saiyan." She slowly took the edge of Trunks' mask and rolled it down. "Wow, you're hot," she whispered, wrapping him around the waist. She grinned seductively and leaned in, puckering her lips. Trunks threw his head back and rested his chin on the top of her head, making a kiss impossible.

"Baby," Poison Ivy, or whoever this lady was, said, becoming annoyed at his obnoxious way of avoiding her. She didn't like tall people for the most part. "Don't be like that. Despite what you've heard, a lot of super heroes love me. Why don't you see for yourself? You are a leader, a strong-minded individual, aren't you?"

"Damn it, newbie! Her kiss is toxic!" Question's voice shouted from the back of the factory floor, snapping Trunks fully back to reality. He broke free of her grip and hopped back, concealing his face.

"I am," Trunks said, "and maybe you're not Poison Ivy, maybe that green skin is just a fluke and maybe you do have your own super hero fan blog or whatever, but I'm not going to have any part in it." He spiked his aura and the ground started to rumble.

"Saiyan!" Question shouted, running to his side from the other side of the floor. "Knock it off! You're gonna tear the whole thing down!"

"That's not him," Ivy said, giggling as the ground cracked beneath her feet. "It's me!" The area under Ivy split as three giant fly-trap plants rose from the ground, all writhing with several thick tentacles. She stood on the head of the center fly-trap with a bright red head and it raised her thirty feet into the air. "Seize them!" she ordered. The the other two fly traps whipped tentacles at the two supers. Trunks grabbed Question and fazed out, reappearing on top of the finished airplane directly straight towards the take-off lane. Its engines roared to life and it started to move, startling the two heroes.

"I'll take care of the schmuck who's flying this thing and block the exit," Question said, running to the front of the plane. "You take care of Ivy!"

Trunks nodded and flew to the ceiling, dodging tentacles left and right. The plants grew taller that even on the ceiling, Ivy could look Trunks in the eye. "Come and get it!" Ivy exclaimed, the three plants charging at Trunks.

Trunks flipped around, landing on the ceiling. He hopped back, dodging a tentacle swipe and charging a wide, flat, yellow disk of chi. A tentacle wrapped around his waist, rapidly pulling him toward the mouth of one of the two lesser plants. "Destructo Disc!" he exclaimed, throwing the disc and watching it behead the plant.

"My baby!" Ivy screamed in horror, grimacing at the young man. "Your death will be slow and painful!"

"Destructo Disc!" Trunks shouted again, chopping down the second lesser plant. The stems of the two crashed into a few of the planes, knocking them to the side but not really doing any damage. Ivy screamed again and hundreds of tentacles charged at Trunks at once. Trunks glanced down at his swords and pulled them to his hands again, starting to cut the tentacles as fast as they sprouted from the stem. Question rolled out of the way of a falling stem but the impact of the plant hitting the plane threw him onto the wing.

"Jesus, kid!" Question shouted, punching through the emergency exit in the plane and prying it open. He swallowed as several machine guns were aimed at his face. The plane was full of clowns. "Of course."

Will Question get out of this? How will Trunks defeat Ivy?