Chapter 28

'It's time.' Trunks glanced down at the last notch on his stick and counted the 28 marks for the hundredth time. He positively hummed with satisfaction. This trial was nearly over. 'Only one final test and I can see her.' If he knew his father, then he knew that this test would be the hardest yet to come. After the immediate threat of survival passed, he spent his last weeks training. He refused to allow a full month to pass without honing his fighting skills. Now his body was leaner, harder, and faster than ever before. Whatever test his father had planned, he would triumph.

Trunks gathered his meager belongings - his deerskin hide, the threadbare pants he set out in that were mangled and faded almost beyond recognition, the crude stone-tipped spear because one never knew what lurked in the woods, and a handful of nuts to curb his appetite on the trek home. For a long moment he studied the clearing that had been his home for the past month. Lessons had been learned here that he would not soon forget. This past month saw him triumphing over challenges, humbled by frustrations, and steeled with an inner resolve. Now it was time for him to return to civilization; but he would be much changed. 'I wonder if Usa will even recognize me.' He glanced down at his tanned chest, half-covered in deer hide and grinned. He felt half wild and glorified in the freedom of it. A strange desire crept from his heart. Returning to civilization meant being confided by the rules and expectations of others. Why should he change to be more civilized? 'Instead, I should change civilization to suit me.' With that thought, he started into the surrounding forest. The shade of the canopy provided cool relief from the burning sun.

The warrior prince didn't realize that he walked with a new found stealth that rivaled any jungle predator. His eyes were stark and flat, even as they scanned the surrounding underbrush for possible threats or a quick meal. He stood tall, confident in his place in the world, knowing his destiny would soon be laid out at his feet. The power in his blood hummed with each thrum of his pulse. No longer was the power held separate, but now, he could feel it seeping into his conscience. There was little struggle anymore. It simply folded around his spirit, like a worn in glove. He was the fist to wield it. The first time he felt this melding of spirit, he panicked, thinking that this coating of power may color his perception of his surroundings. While, yes, he was the fist; all the world could only be felt through the glove. How would his perception of the world change? 'It doesn't matter,' he kept reassuring himself. 'The new power is worth it.' He knew things now. He felt connected, confident, like he could hold the world beneath his heel and the universe in the palm of his hand.

The hours passed as he waded through streams, jumped fallen trees, and darted across clearings. Thanks to the torrential downpours of the rains the past few weeks, the path he traveled was vastly different than it was a mere month ago. What were once creeks were now rivers. What was once damp patches of earth and leaves, were now deep marshes and bogs. Wildlife was scarce. It seemed as if nature herself didn't wish to bring down the wrath of the determined warrior. Trunks knew better. So in tune with his new power, he sensed that nature was not yet done testing him.

The attack came while he waded across a river bloated with the recent rains. He clutched his spear and deerskin above his head and swam bare-chested across the rushing current. The river swept along all manor of debris - logs, whole trees even, dead bloated carcasses of wild animals unfortunate enough to fall into the current, and rocks. The water was nearly black with all the churning mud and clumps of leaves swirling across its surface. It would be suicide for a human to cross such a glutted tributary in its headlong rush towards the sea. Fortunately, Trunks was more than human. His powerful legs propelled him steadily through the water. It was slow going because he kept having to dodge the dead animals barreling towards him. Trees were little problems since if they came close, he could break them with one hand. Still, the current took him further downstream than he was expecting. 'It'll be at least an hour of backtracking to reach the landing site I was shooting for.' His jaw clenched at the unwanted delay. If only he could fly.

The angry energy boiled up and yanked him from his distraction to notice one log was not like the rest. Trunks jerked around to stare into the glassy reptilian eyes of a creature that had walked the earth for 200 million years. Its long tail flicked back and forth, propelling him closer. Trunks didn't waste time wondering why the animal didn't want the countless free meals floating by, but wrapped his deerskin hide around one arm and clutched his spear one-handed. He silently cursed himself for leaving behind his makeshift knives because something told him that his spear would do little good against those hard scales. Even though, technically, he reached his 28th day without using ki, the day wasn't over yet so he immediate dismissed simply blasting the creature into oblivion.

Suddenly, the glassy eyes reared up to reveal a mouthful of razor sharp bony teeth already stained with blood and rotting flesh. Trunks darted to the side and briefly shuddered at the slow glide of scales against his leg. The beast turned on a dime, but he quickly grabbed a passing tree and shoved it between them. Trunks grinned and his eyes glittered with blood lust. The giant alligator dodged under the missile, but Trunks didn't waste time looking for it to resurface. He climbed onto the side of a floating cow and vaulted into the air. With a giant leap, he splashed further down the river, giving himself space to breathe and think. Mostly he was reacting on instinct because the attack was so sudden. This month spent in the wild taught him another valuable lesson - all the fighting skills in the world were useless when faced with beasts. Like the first giant fish he hunted, what use was strength and a perfect fighting form, when the creature could slip through his grasp and didn't have legs to trip? He would have to fight the beast on its would terms.

A flash of jagged scales were his only warning before gaping jaws reared up from the water. 'Close. Too close.' Trunks threw up his arm at the last second and shoved away. A few bony teeth snagged against the soaked deerskin. The beast flipped its tail and rolled them under. Trunks felt the deer hide rend to pieces against his forearm, but used the creature's momentum to wrap his body around its back. His knees clenched hard around its heaving sides. He gritted his teeth and ignored the frantic scraping of the claws of its back feet against his exposed calves. When they broke the surface, Trunks took a quick breath.

They rolled under again.

He jerked his arm loose of the deerskin cover, raised the spear and impaled it in the gator's vulnerable underbelly. Wounded, the creature frantically snapped its jaws, seeking exposed flesh; but Trunks ducked in close, wrapped his arms around the beast's head and squeezed with his whole body. His knees clenched hard and his arms started choking the writhing creature. The current pummeled them both with jagged rocks and snapping branches, but Trunks held his breath and held on. His superhuman strength was stretched to the max until, finally, the thrashing slowed. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he lay there momentarily spent. Man and beast bobbed with the current, until Trunks shook himself from his stupor and swam towards the shore. His deerskin and spear were lost in the struggle, so with use of all four limbs, he gained the far shore in record time. It wasn't until he was walking upstream that he noticed he was grinning. Maybe he had grinned the whole time.


The sun started dipping below the horizon to turn the sky bright orange and magenta by the time Trunks stepped onto the front lawn of his home. The building looked much the same, but Trunks realized with a start, that he held little sentimental value for the place of his childhood. Always before he felt a connection, ownership, even pride in his home; but now he realized those were inconsequential feelings. It was a place to sleep, nothing more. He made his home. It traveled with him and was no longer dependent on a fragile structure. His gaze shifted to the seated figure of his father, who was deep in meditation. Trunks noted how the man's eyes were open and fixed on some infinite point in the grass and his form was relaxed. 'Has he been waiting for me all day?'

A few more steps took him across the huge expanse of the yard.

Vegeta slowly climbed to his feet and was about to make a sarcastic remark on the boy's timing, but the words died on his tongue when he stared at his son for the first time in nearly a month. There was never any doubt that the brat would survive - no one of his noble line could do less. What he hadn't expected was to miss him so much. The prince studied his only son for a long moment. His son's once bright hair was now brown with river muck. Leaves and twigs were tangled so tightly in the knotted strands, they would have to be cut free. His arms were lean and sculpted. His collarbone poked against the muscle, telling of weeks of harsh living. Vegeta absently noted his tanner skin and the countless scratches that marred his chest. Blood steadily trickled down his ankles and the sides of his bare feet. In short, his son looked mean and hungry. 'Not hungry for food, although he'll probably have a fierce appetite,' Vegeta observed to himself, 'But hungry for action...for battle.' He stared into his son's eyes and matching him with a cold stare of his own.

They studied each other for a long moment, but Trunks was content to wait. He had waited for a whole month, what did a few more minutes matter? His father would have to break silence first.

Pride swelled in Vegeta's chest. Maybe the boy had finally learned patience. "You survived to return home." Vegeta crossed his arms. "You entered into the wilderness the same way you entered into this world - with nothing. All advantages of your birth and your circumstances were stripped away, leaving only your wit and your will to live. That you stand here is tribute to your trainers and your skills." He slowly circled around his son, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, so as not to startle the half wild thing. "But, survival alone is not enough to be a man. Any animal can run and hide and crawl back to their den. To be a man is to conquer all obstacles, to adapt, to flourish where those lesser would fail. Now we will test those skills."

Vegeta pulled out a long black strip of cloth. "If you did not feed yourself adequately, then your strength will fail you. If you did not flourish on your own, then you would not have the time to devote to training. If you languished your time away, then your lack of discipline will be your downfall." He firmly tied the cloth around his son's eyes. "Now, I give you an obstacle you must overcome. We will spar, and I will see exactly what you have been doing with your time alone."

Trunks tilted his head and strained his eyes, but to no avail. The darkness was complete. There wasn't a gap for even one ray of light to lead him. "I have completed my period of isolation. Will ki be permitted in this spar, father?"

Vegeta smirked and glanced at the lowering sun. "The day has not yet ended."

Without warning Vegeta kicked low and swept the legs out from under his son. Trunks let his momentum carry him forward and somersaulted perfectly to land on his feet. A faint rustle of waning footsteps signaled that his father was heading away, probably wanting to get away from the house and out into the open. Trunks shrugged and followed. He didn't want one of them to ruin the house and possible endanger Usagi. 'Usa...' For a moment, his attention was dominated by the thought that he was closer to her now then he'd been in a month. Briefly, he considered abandoning this fight to search the house for her. 'Focus,' his mind cautioned. His father was a ruthless opponent who would require all of his attention, especially since he was blindfolded. 'Damn Dad and his stupid tests.'

Trunks stumbled to a halt, sensing that he was far from the house. The late afternoon smells drifted around him - the jasmine that bloomed in the evening and the smell of freshly cut grass from one of the distant neighbors. Not a sound gave away his father's position, but a warning sense had him diving from a fist from heaven. "Not fair! You're flying."

He heard his father chuckle. "I'm already a man. I can use ki whenever I fucking want to."

Trunks gritted his teeth when he heard the familiar crackling of energy. It was the building heat that enabled him to flip over and dodge every ki ball while slowly moving forward. Especially without his eyesight, he knew that he couldn't dodge forever. He'd have to get close enough to force his dad to fight hand-to-hand. Every time he got close, his dad would laugh tauntingly and fly back. It was maddening. Trunks felt the familiar mercurial churn of rage course through him. Apparently his power wasn't fond of the cat and mouse game either. 'I refuse to be the mouse.'

He froze. For some reason he just knew that the sun finally set. 'The day is over.' With a merciless grin, Trunks called on his ki for the first time in so long. The ground trembled beneath his feet. A crackle of energy danced up his body and sent his muscles twitching. He would have spent the whole night reveling in the renewed sensations, but a displacement of air signaled something high. Trunks blocked the kick with his forearm and retaliated with a barrage of ki punches. It was time to end this silly game. A quick thought flashed across his mind. 'The sooner this ends, the sooner I can see Usa.' He grinned and launched himself at this father. He grabbed him by the waist and threw him to the ground.

They were on each other like a couple of rabid dogs. Punches flew, blood arched, and growls of rage and frustration echoed across the yard. Vegeta kept trying to land more than one hit at a time, but as soon as he connected, his son would dart away and attack from a different direction.

Trunks couldn't see to block most of the blows, so he just put up with the pain or dodged. Soon pain didn't even register to his rage-fogged brain, only the will to dominate.

Vegeta threw the boy back a fair distance and blasted him with one of his more powerful attacks.

Trunks just grinned and waited for it to hit him.

The older prince stared in shock, when the blinding flash cleared and he saw his son standing, untouched, with a glowing symbol of their people scored on his forehead. "Impossible..."

Trunks' grin slipped away when he noticed that his father stopped moving, stopped breathing. Something wasn't right. The sudden uncertainty after such a flood of confidence was enough to bury the burning rage. "Dad? What is it?"

Vegeta stared at his son, watching the last of the red symbol slowly fade, and didn't know what to think. He would have to spend a lot of time training to work out this puzzle. It was almost nice to have a new mystery to tackle. "Nothing, son. The fight is over." There was no way he was going to tempt the power awake again. He wasn't willing to fight his son to the death. Carefully, he untied the black fabric. When he saw the familiar crystal blue eyes of his son, he breathed a sigh of relief. Vegeta launched a ki blast and set a nearby tree aflame. The crackle of burning wood blended with the rising sounds of the crickets.

Trunks followed his father and let the warmth of the fire chase away the slight chill of the evening. Trunks shivered slightly, goosebumps danced up his bare chest. His father folded the blindfold and gently mopped away all of the blood from his calves where the alligator scratched him, from his chest where the river rocks scraped him, and from the various wounds won in the fight. Trunks stood passively and watched the older man toss the sopping fabric into the flames.

"The first drops of blood as a man are a fitting sacrifice to the War god, Raseri."

Trunks frowned in confusion and stood next to his father as they watched the last of the black cloth whither and burn to ash.

"Trunks."

He was startled when his father addressed him by name, something he rarely did.

"You're mother is anxious. She took the day off to be here." He clasped him on the shoulder. "Welcome home."

He blinked and stared at the mansion, not comprehending that it was over. After the struggle of the past month, it didn't seem real. Slowly a grin stretched across his face and he sped across the yard faster than he'd ever moved in his life. His mother had already thrown open the door and was wrapping him in a fierce hug before he caught site of her.

She kept trying to talk, but the words came out in unintelligible stutters. Finally, she gave up and laughed at her sorry condition. She pushed him at arms length and gasped. Her shock helped her find her voice at last. "Into the shower! You smell worse than a skunk in a sewer. And your hair!" she admonished.

Trunks rolled his eyes and marched himself to the bathroom.

"I'll have dinner ready by the time you're done!" she called after his retreating back.

It took half a bottle of shampoo and a sturdy pair of scissors to finally return his hair to its normal lavender softness. His cut was shorter than he was used to, but it would grow back. 'Hopefully Usa will like it.' If not, then he'd go get it professionally styled. For whatever reason, she hadn't been downstairs to greet him, but he was grateful. He didn't want to look like a ragged smelly waif the first time she saw him after so long. 'I'll be perfect.' The hot water beat down over his shoulders and he literally groaned with pleasure. Hot water was a luxury he'd gladly never again do without - cold streams and frigged waterfalls were not even close. The river muck, leaves, and accumulated grime was carefully soaped off to reveal smooth bronzed skin underneath. He ducked his head under the streaming water and washed the last month away, wincing at the sting of the bruises and cuts from his recent spar. Hopefully his dad didn't disfigure his face.

By the time the hot water started getting cold, a small eternity later, Trunks stepped from the shower and grinned at the small pile of folded clothes waiting for him. His mom had probably planned his return outfit for days. He shrugged and dressed quickly, it would cost him nothing to please her with this small thing. Besides, she had good taste. After a month of hard living, his body had changed and the clothes didn't fit quite the same. Trunks frowned over the feeling of actually clothes. The soft fabrics seemed almost alien to him. Again, he shrugged. It wasn't as if he could run around half naked anymore; not that he wanted to. It was just something else he'd have to get used to. The wonderful smells wafting from the kitchen finally pulled him from his steamy sanctuary. He cast one last look at his reflection and arrogantly nodded in approval.

As he walked to the kitchen, he even marveled at the mirrors and seeing an even reflection. Looking in a pool of water was too barbaric. He was definitely never taking luxury for granted ever again. The veritable feast laid out on the table had him swallowing repeatedly in appreciation. His stomach rumbled and almost sent him vaulting to the table, mouth first. Instead, he sat down and started shoving food in as fast as he could lay hands on it. Then he froze and glanced around. All he saw were his parents looking back. "Where's Usagi?" The senses he had become so in tune with had a chill racing up his spine. Something wasn't right.

His mom laughed nervously and started scooping a little bit of every food on a separate plate. No one answered him.

"Where's Usagi?" he repeated, his voice low and deadly. Then he remembered he had no restriction on his ki. He raised his energy and relaxed a little when he felt her upstairs in her room. She had to know he was home. 'So why didn't she come down?' He was going to find out. With a quick jerk, he shoved away from the table and climbed to his feet.

"Leave it." Vegeta put a hand out to stop him. "She has yet to finish her own ritual."

Trunks frowned and then remembered that she was locked away from him and any male contact. "We were to start at the same time!"

Bulma flushed. "I couldn't find someone to help care for her right away."

Trunks gritted his teeth as the rage whipped through his system. He was so furious, he could barely think straight. His fist clinched tight to keep from grabbing something and breaking it. "How long?"

Bulma stopped when she found herself edging closer to her husband. 'This is Trunks, what am I thinking?' It did occur to her that he had lived in the wild for a whole month, so it was probably good to be cautious. Doubtless, he wasn't thinking too clearly. "A week longer."

Trunks actually did grab something and break it. The chair was literally hurled across the room and shattered into a million pieces. Bulma jumped, shocked at the sudden violent display.

"I'll see her now," he declared and started for the hallway.

Vegeta had been quietly observing until then. "I can't let you do that." He slowly climbed to his feet.

Trunks didn't even break stride. "Try and stop me," he spat.

"Trunks."

The sound of his own name from his father's lips was still too rare. Before he realized, he paused with one foot on the bottom stair.

"She deserves the right to be a woman. If you barge in now, you spoil the ritual. She'll be trapped as a girl, and you would be a man." Vegeta paused and let him think about all of the ramifications. "You have no right to take that from her."

Trunks trembled with barely suppressed rage, his eyes were glued on the top of the staircase. He was so close he could practically smell her.

"You need to stay away." Vegeta watched, fascinated, as his son visibly struggled between what he wanted and what was right.

After a long moment, Trunks released an inhuman snarl and slammed out of the house. He had to breathe, to remove himself from temptation before he did something he would regret. He stalked down the street and disappeared into the dark of the night.

Bulma blinked. "What just happened? I thought you said the month alone would help him. He's angrier than ever!" Her voice rose in dismay.

Vegeta filed away all of his observations until later. "It did help. Notice how he didn't go crazy and start attacking. He's not in complete control, but we can reason with him. That's a step. Before, he was just a raging beast of power. Before," Vegeta trailed off in thought, "He wouldn't have been able to walk away."


'What was the fucking point?' Trunks was furious. All that time, all that effort was for nothing! They were still treating him like a child. He didn't wait for a whole month to see Usagi only to have her locked away from him for another week! Usagi was supposed to be there waiting for him with open arms and a warm smile on her face, instead he was the one stuck waiting. He stalked down the rain-slicked city streets, his blood almost boiling over with fury. His anger kept him blinded to the fact that he was wandering into the less reputable part of the city where the alleys were darker, the bums dirtier, and the street hawkers were meaner.

This past month he had survived on his own, lived by his own rules, obeyed no one but himself and the burning power within. Rules were his to make and his to break. The world was his playground...and now he was back home, under his parents authority, and pissed that they would dare order him around. If he wanted to see Usagi, then he should see her. They had no right to keep her away from him.

A large chunk of stone landed at his feet.

Trunks looked up, startled and realized that he had punched a gaping hole into the corner of a run down warehouse. His fist was actually shaking. Trunks knew that he was perilously close to losing his temper and doing something violent, but for once he didn't care. So, what? If he was going to suffer, someone else might as well suffer along with him. His blood seemed to hum with approval.

As if the universe heard his thoughts, the sound of a flesh hitting flesh echoed a few alleys down from the warehouse. Curious, he made his way through the shadows until he was almost on top of the fight. 'More like a slaughter..' It was at least half a dozen to one. Two guys held up the loner, while two others took turns abusing him. One guy drilled out a flurry of questions, while the last stood watch at the alley.

"What location is he hitting next?" Punch.

"What judges does he have in his pockets?" Punch.

Trunks winced when the man vomited up blood. Still the wounded man remained silent. In fact, he seemed to grin back in defiance. The questioner cursed and motioned for the enforcers to deliver another blow.

'What the hell,' Trunks thought as he stepped into the street light, making his presence known to the scout. In this moment he particularly admired defiance. He was sick of all the injustices in life. It was time to help out the underdog.

"Boss," the scout called out in warning before he moved to block Trunks' path.

"Get out of here kid before you get hurt," the guy waved a gun threateningly.

Something dark moved behind Trunks' eyes. Kid. This guy had just called him a kid. 'Bad move.' Trunks flashed forward and rammed his elbow into the scout's throat. The man promptly dropped his gun and collapsed to the ground, clutching his neck and making gurgling sounds, trying in vain to breathe around his crushed windpipe.

"Whoops," Trunks stepped over his gasping form, "I guess this kid just slipped." He turned his attention to the other men who had stopped and drawn various weapons. One of the enforcers had a blood-tipped crowbar, while the other pulled a wicked looking dagger that flashed under the streetlight.

"You're going to pay for interfering," the guy doing the questioning, apparently the leader threatened before motioning his enforcers forward.

Trunks just laughed. "You guys really don't know who you're dealing with. I don't normally waste my time on pathetic weaklings like you, but I'm spoiling for a fight tonight."

The man with blood dripping down his chin took slow painful breaths, grateful for the reprieve from his beating. His arms were still held tightly, but that didn't stop him from dragging his head up to examine his would-be rescuer. He blinked bruised swollen eyes in surprise, certain that a blow had rattled his brain, because it looked like a boy who was barely a teenager was threatening his rivals.

Crowbar guy grinned like a simpleton, flashing a few rotten teeth. He stalked close, trying to use his gorilla size to intimidate his opponent. "Die," he growled out before taking a swing with his weapon of choice.

Trunks ducked and rolled his eyes. 'Very original.' He rammed a fist in the man's gut sending him to his knees, gasping for breath. Trunks jumped gracefully and kicked at the back of the man's head, sending him face first into the cracked asphalt. Before he had a chance to appreciate his fallen opponent's groans, the other enforcer scuttled forward swinging and jabbing his knife.

Trunks jerked back and growled when he noticed that the guy had actually sliced his jacket. "No touching the threads." Thwack. Everyone froze when they saw that the teenager had grabbed the enforcer's wrist, stopping the knife when it was a mere hand's width away from cutting his face. Trunks grinned and tightened his grip, slowly. The knife clanked to the ground and still he squeezed. He could feel the fragile bones start to rub against each other until snap. Knife guy let out a high-pitched shriek, his other hand feebly clawed against the vice-like grip. Trunks didn't let up until the man finally passed out from the pain.

Click.

The leader of the thugs had pulled a gun. "You're going to pay for messing with the Yakuza."

Trunks eyed the gun and smirked a challenge. "Am I?"

Pop. Pop. Shots from the silenced weapon echoed loudly within the close confines of the alley.

Trunks appeared behind the shooter. "Missed me." Before the man could turn, Trunks grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head against a dumpster. The gun clattered harmlessly to the floor as the man slumped into unconsciousness.

When he turned his attention to the remaining two thugs, all he saw were their hastily retreating backs. He scoffed and shook his head at the lack of loyalty. Here he thought criminals were supposed to have a sense of honor. Not only did they leave their fallen comrades, but they also left their target slumped against dumpster bleeding. 'Talk about incompetent.'

"You alright?" he called out, not really caring now that the fight was over. It hadn't been much of a fight anyway.

The man looked up, blinking as if dazed. "Yeah. I'll make it."

Trunks shrugged and turned to leave, but the man's voice stopped him. "Hey, wait! You just saved my life."

He didn't even bother to turn around, "Yeah, so?"

The man didn't know what to make of him. "Well," he started hesitantly, "Let me buy you a drink or something, it's the least I can do."

The half Saiyajin scoffed, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. "Right. Didn't you notice? I'm too young to drink." However, he turned back to watch with no small amount of admiration as the man slowly staggered to his feet without even acknowledging how much that action must have hurt.

The man chuckled weakly, but winced when his ribs protested. "Age isn't a problem. There are places that wouldn't deny me despite the law." He walked closer and examined his rescuer with a critical eye. "What's your name anyway?"

Trunks shrugged. "What do you care?"

The man remembered his earlier comment. "So I'll know who I'm dealing with."

Silence. "You can call me Trunks."

"Well, Trunks," the man walked forward and gestured to a polished luxury aircar that was parked in the shadows and had previously gone unnoticed by the demi-Saiyajin.

Reluctantly, Trunks was impressed. Not only did the guy have a nice ride, but he had the guts to park it in this part of town. What was more impressive was that there wasn't a mark on it. Not one street thief had attempted to jack it or borrow any spare parts. Who was this guy?

They rode in silence, entering into the upscale part of the city a few minutes later before finally pulling up to a flashy casino. An overeager valet quickly approached the car. Trunks noticed that the valet's eyes never left the pavement, a word never passed his lips, and he was bowing low in submission.

The man led him through the revolving door and into a world of bright lights and loud machines. A couple of hundred people were eagerly gambling their life savings away and most seemed happy about it. He didn't stop to examine the chaos, but followed his new friend into a private room off to the side. A formally dressed lady bowed them into the room and quickly took their drink orders before making herself scarce. Not one person had carded him or even looked at him; they just obeyed without question.

When the woman returned, placing the drinks before them with much ceremony, Trunks saw the man slip her a folded piece of paper which she accepted with both hands. Quickly, she disappeared leaving them alone once more. "What was that about?" Trunks sipped the beer tentatively before grimacing at the taste. 'Why do people like this stuff anyway?'

"My brother is a very powerful man. He is often busy with ... meetings, but he would want to know what happened tonight." The man eyed him. "Do you know who I am?"

Trunks leaned back in the booth and studied the man he had saved. It was hard to tell the color of the man's eyes since his face was so bruised, but he thought they might have been a deep blue. The man's hair was so black that it seemed blue under the light. "No. Should I?" he questioned defiantly. He wasn't used to not knowing things.

"Fascinating. And yet you still rushed in to help me when the odds were against your favor."

Trunks raised an eyebrow. "Were they?" His question was cocky sounding.

The man chuckled. "Apparently not." He sipped his liquor and winced when it burned the cuts around his mouth. When he became accustomed to the taste, he threw back the rest of the shot and let it burn its way down his stomach. "Where did you learn to fight like that? I've never seen anything like it."

Trunks frowned. "That's none of your business."

Before another word could be said, the door slammed open and revealed a small group of men. The one in front who's hair was so blond it appeared platinum under the light flicked his wrist, motioning for the other men to wait outside. He was quickly obeyed. The door closed with a soft snick.

The man he saved quickly knelt at the blond's feet, his head bowed. "Brother."

Trunks was surprised because they couldn't have looked more different, but then he noticed that they both possessed the same dark blue violet eyes.

The blond brother studied his younger brother's abused face for a very long moment. "Before you explain to me how this happened, I want you to know that those responsible will die. Soon."

Trunks could hear the quiet fury in the other man's voice and sympathized; after all fury had been his companion this past month. He also noticed the man's utter confidence...or arrogance. It appeared he harbored no doubts about his absolute authority on such matters as ordering murder. Trunks smirked. He definitely had experience with arrogance and ruthlessness too. He was liking this new addition more and more.

"Rise." The blond seemed to notice him for the first time. "Who is this?" He didn't look pleased to see an unfamiliar face.

Trunks smirked back insolently.

"Brother, this is Trunks. He is the reason I am here to report and not left for dead in an alley near the docks."

The blond spun around. "The docks? You're a fool to wander in enemy territory chasing after some skirt without proper escort."

"It was not forbidden."

"I forbid it now. You will not see that woman again without proper guard."

"Yes, brother."

Trunks noticed the telltale blush creep up the dark-haired man's cheeks. 'So there is a female.' He thought about Usagi and how many times he acted the fool around her. The thought of her sent his anger boiling again. 'They can't keep me from her.'

"You are lucky the Yakuza didn't capture you. They would have quite a bargaining chip with the only brother of their rival."

"They did." The dark-haired man lowered his eyes to the table as if in shame. "There was a small contingent of soldiers, six men total, who ambushed me walking to my car. The results," he motioned to his battered and bruised face, "They attempted to extract information before they brought me to their lieutenants. During the course of the beating, my new friend happened upon us and disabled four of the six. The other two fled."

The blond turned to study the lavender-haired young man sitting so silently across the table. He took his time and noticed that there didn't seem to be a mark on the boy and that he didn't appear to have any weapons on him. Of course, he couldn't be absolutely certain about the weapons without searching him.

"Disabled? How were these four disabled?"

The other man shrugged. "I suspect two of them will die from their injuries," he thought about the scout who struggled to breathe and the leader who's head made a sickening sound when it slammed against the dumpster. "One was left relatively unscathed with a concussion, and the last will never use his right hand again."

The blond raised his eyebrow and struggled not to look impressed.

His brother continued, "I have never seen anyone fight like him."

The blond was instantly wary. It was a very important moment when someone killed for the sake of their clan. 'But to kill two of their enemies and save the boss's brother at the same time...' There was something too serendipitous about the situation. It wasn't unheard of for government officials to try and infiltrate their ranks.

"Why were you near the docks?" he eyed the teenager's nice clothing and knew that he came from a nicer part of the city.

Trunks shrugged. "I go where I please."

The battered man looked up in surprise. "You were spoiling for a fight, you said."

Trunks decided to be honest. "Girl trouble." He shared an understanding smile with the dark-haired man. "Who are the Yakuza?" He eyed the two men, "And who are you?"

The two men shared a look. The blond actually chuckled. "So you brought me a lamb did you?"

It didn't take a genius IQ to guess that being called a lamb was an insult. Carefully, deliberately, Trunks locked eyes with the blond leader and let him glimpse the beast, the power that had become his only companion this past month. A raging fury burned in his eyes, promising pain and misery to his enemies. He let the man glimpse the demon within and smirked when he caught the faint scent of fear. "Perhaps you misspoke."

The leader leaned back in his chair and examined the teenager for a long moment. "Perhaps." A moment later he seemed to come to a decision.

The man snapped his fingers. The door immediately opened and the same formally dressed lady approached with a bottle of red wine propped against her forearm and a single wine glass. She quickly popped the cork and filled the glass with the red liquid. He swirled the wine for a long moment, while the lady anxiously waited for his reaction. Slowly, he brought the glass to his nose and sniffed deeply, closing his eyes to better examine the complex smells of his favorite vintage. He took his first sip and with a nod of approval, he motioned her out of the room. "I find lengthy explanations are more bearable with a pleased pallet." He nodded for his brother to begin.

"Trunks, you sit in the presence of Diamond, head of the most powerful organization in the world, the Black Moon clan. My name is Sapphire, his adviser."

Trunks scoffed and held up one of his legs. "Here, why don't you pull the other."

Sapphire blinked. "You don't believe me?"

"First, you are named after jewels?" He laughed. "Besides, you two are too young to be the head of a business that large. It takes years of networking, investments, and lots of money to control 'the most powerful organization in the world'. You two are what? In your early twenties? Maybe?"

"I agree. We are young. I am only 19, while my brother is 20. Our age means nothing, however, since it was our father who first started the Black Moon," he glanced at his brother, "There was a change in power. My brother became leader at age 18 when our father..." he paused again. "Passed. He has since doubled the organization's size and scope, proving himself more competent than his predecessor. As for the jewels, they are our code names. Everyone who has power within our ranks are gifted with such a name. It makes it harder for the authorities to identify us much less start any litigation."

All of the pauses didn't go unnoticed. Trunks wondered at exactly what went unsaid. Nevertheless, their story was plausible, but he would have picked a different set of code names. Maybe different weapon names or styles of combat, definitely not something so girly as jewels. How could gems strike fear into the hearts of their enemies?

"What exactly does the Black Moon do?"

Diamond spoke for the first time. "We rule."

He sipped his wine and studied the interest that flared in the teenager's eyes. 'Aah, so that is what the young boy desires.' "There is very little in which my organization doesn't have a controlling interest. Politics. I have provincial leaders, senators, and even presidents ready to do my bidding. I simply have to pick up my phone."

He swirled the dark red liquid. "Business. I not only own large amounts of stock in almost every major business on the stock market, but I also control the unions of laborers. There isn't a construction project, a merger, or a bank loan in nearly every major city that doesn't have my approval."

He paused again to finish his glass and pour himself another. "Law. Dozens of judges, lawyers, and cops all draw a paycheck from me and make sure that my secret dealings remain just that, secret. Money." He smelled his second glass and nearly hummed with pleasure. "Many people pay dearly for my protection as well as other hot commodities that never hit legal markets. Others simply pay for the pleasure to do business within my territory."

He leaned forward, his eyes intense, "I have power and influence. People respect and fear me. Tell me, Trunks, is that something you want?" His smooth honeyed voice was temptation itself.

Some dark emotion flared within him. Trunks knew that it was his power. This time it wasn't triggered by Usagi's presence, instead it was triggered by the promise to rule as it once ruled. Ruthlessly. Lawlessly. Absolutely. He thought back to his time on Vegeta-sei, when he stared at the kingdom that would have been his. He was born and bred to conquer, to wreck havoc on beings lesser than himself, to hack a bloody path through history; and all that had been denied because his birthright had been destroyed before he was even born.

"You have saved my brother from the pain of his idiocy and you've saved me a great deal of time and effort trying to recover him. Such noble actions should be rewarded. I may have a job for you." Diamond examined his well-manicured nails and waited.

"Money and power I don't need."

Diamond raised an eyebrow. "Influence, respect, and fear?" he inquired.

Trunks' smirked matched his. "Those I'll take."

The deal was struck.

Diamond chuckled and toasted his new ally.


AN: Dun Dun DUUUN! Review and let me know what you think about this new twist! My laptop broke recently, so updates are a little harder for me, but I'm going to keep trying to get them out in a timely manner. I'm also moving to San Diego at the beginning of Feb. so I'm going to be busy next month. Review, Review, Review!