"Ok geinus, now what?"
"Chill, I'm working on it..." Trunks stared at the containment bubble surrounding the slave camp. Pan had figured a way to get them OUT of that place, but they had not thought about getting in.
'Well, sheesh...I thought this part would be easy,' Trunks thought. 'Who knew they would turn people AWAY. That guard was a real ass...'
"We don' want none a' you skinny wraiths in here!" The tall man had said to them. "We don't got enough food for the slaves as it is, to be takin' in squatters! Now git!" The guard pointed a nasty looking energy sword at Trunks and Pan, and they were forced to retreat.
"This is rediculous!" Trunks exclaimed, "Why the hell have the Reavers been bothering us so much if they don't even WANT us in their camps?"
"Well, at least it proves that they don't know WHO we are."
"Yeah, that's a little comforting. I wonder what he meant by squatters, though..."
Trunks stopped talking. There was something poking his back, and if he had been a normal human being it probabaly would have hurt. He whirled around in surprise and came face-to-face with the skinniest, dirtiest man he had ever seen. The man frowned and raised his crude spear into Trunks' face.
"Whaddya doin 'ere?" The man growled at them. Trunks noticed that the man had no Reaver, no slave collar, nothing to suggest that he was under anyone's control but his own. Relaxing, Trunks put his hand on the spear and moved it away from his face, despite the efforts of the frail man to keep it there.
"My name is Trunks," he said to the angry man, "And this is my friend Pan. Who're you?" The man just frowned and stared at Pan. She returned his look with an arctic glare. They stared at each other for some moments before the man returned his gaze to Trunks.
"You been tryin' ta get in the camp, eh?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"They din't let ya in...shoulda known that'd happen, if ye's claim ta be true squatters." The man cackled for a moment and then slid his spear back underneath a crude leather strap on his back. A long silence grew between the trio.
"I don' know who you's all is," the dirty man said at last, "but that camp there ain't just fer anyone. Them damn bloodsuckers think it's funny that we be out 'ere starvin to death. I mean sure, it ain't like livin the high life in there, but they's got FOOD at least!"
Trunks understood now. The Reavers only wanted healthy humans working in their camps. It was like a cruel joke for them, seeing everyone else surrounding the camps, begging to get in. He could imagine that it had been an insult to them that he and Pan had avoided the camps - the Reavers did not think they were suffering enough.
It all make Trunks want to rip out his hair. Whether they toiled inside the camps or squatted outside, these poor humans were doomed to a grisly death. Trunks figured most of them preferred working themselves to death over starvation. He could hardly blame them - his own body was wasting away before his very eyes. It was pure torture.
Trunks shook his head and returned to reality.
"Sir," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "How many people are living out here?"
"Hell if I know, boy. They's jus too many ta count, ifn' ya must know. We do the bes' we can, but it's hard." The man looked at Trunks and Pan, "But you know that, don't cha?"
Pan nodded and stepped forward.
"Yeah mister, we're hungry most of the time, but me and Trunks are a lot stronger than we look. See these scars?" She pointed to the circular marks on her face. "A Reaver tried to get me, but Trunks pulled it off!" The man gasped and leaned closer to her face.
"Reavers? Is that what them things is called? Hey boy, you's got them marks too!"
Trunks nodded and crossed his arms.
"Well, I'll be damned!" The man exclaimed. "I've seen them things attack before, an' I'd bet my ass than those damn scars ya'll got look just like them probe things the creatures 'ave! You two ain't just normal squatters, is ya?"
"No, not really," Trunks said.
"Well, shoot!" The man was beaming now, "I's been a real ass, that's fer sure. You's two can call me Bart ifn' ya want. It ain't my real name, but it's what my buddies call me, and I's real proud a' it!"
Pan giggled and shook Bart's hand. Trunks sighed and did the same.
"It's nice to meet you," Trunks said slowly, trying not to roll his eyes. The only friend they had made in months and he was a complete dimwit - Trunks knew someone was laughing at them right now.
"We really need to get in that camp," Pan said. "We're gonna find out about the Reavers and stop them!"
"Oh are ya? Ain't nobody gets in there 'less their strong, little lady."
"We ARE strong," Trunks said. "We just look like shit, that's all. That's how it is when you miss a few hundred meals."
"well, I ain't got no idears for ya. The way you's two look, I'd think ya'd keel over any minute." Trunks grunted at this. He was weak by Saiyan standards, but hidden ki or not, he could still beat the shit out of every human on the planet.
"Pan," Trunks said, turning away from Bart, "I think we're gonna have to SHOW the guard that we belong in that camp."
"Show him?" Pan was confused.
"Yeah, I say we challenge him to a fight."
Bart gasped. "Are you nutty? That brute'll rip ya'll into tiny pieces! They made 'im a guard cause he's real strong! I don care whatcha say, you can't beat no camp guard!"
"We'll see," Trunks said, smirking much like his father. "Come on Pan, we have work to do."
"You's a fool, boy! Don't take that poor girl wit ya! He'll smash her!"
Pan smiled and waved to Bart as she and Trunks headed towards the camp.
"It's ok!" She yelled, "I'll beat him up real good, you'll see!"
Bart shook his head and watched the pair head back to the camp.
"They's good as dead," He mumbled. Still shaking his head, Bart turned his back to the camp and headed into the woods.
***
The guard laughed for several minutes before acknowledging Trunks and Pan once again.
"You two want to fight ME?" He said, chuckling. "You must have a death wish! Too bad for you, cause I ain't allowed to kill squatters. They's gotta suffer!" He began laughing again, louder than before.
"Well," Trunks said, crossing his arms, "It looks to me like you're AFRAID to fight us."
"WHAT? Why you little sonofabitch! I'll rip your eyes out!"
Trunks just smiled. He knew a little something about pride, and no self-respecting strong-man would turn down a challenge like that.
"Whaddya say we get on with this then," Trunks said cheerfully. "You can fight either of us or both of us, whichever you want."
The tall man growled. Trunks could almost feel the anger emanating from him. He could beat this guy with his eyes closed - so could Pan.
"I don't care if she IS a little girl!" The guard guestured to Pan, "If she's runnin around with slime like you, she deserves to die!" Trunks' eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Pan. He did not want her to get too mad - no ki in this fight. He touched her shoulder to remind her of that. She just nodded, keeping her eyes on the guard.
Pan made the first move, swiping away the guard's energy sword with her left hand. Protesting, he reached down to grab her, but Trunks' foot made contact with his face before he could get there. Pan followed this up with a punch to the guard's stomach. Gasping for air, the man fell to his knees in shock.
"Who....who ARE you people?" he stammered.
"Just lousy squatters," Trunks spat at him. "Now, how about letting us into the camp, hmm? Or would you care to feel my foot smash into your face again?"
Trunks was enjoying this. He had not gotten to prove his stregnth against a weakling in a long time. Grinning, he nudged the guard with his foot.
"Well? Are you gonna let us in, or what?"
The guard growled and got to his feet. Then, reluctantly, he pressed a series of buttons on the large metal door that was the only entrance to the camp.
As the door slid slowly open, Trunks noticed Pan slip something into her sleeve. He wanted to ask her what she was up to, but that would have to wait.
"When you get inside," The guard said angrily, "Report to the Keeper. He will see what jobs you are suitable for. He will also fit you with collars."
Trunks shuddered. Those damn collars were the one thing he and Pan could not find a way around. He knew it was the major hitch in their whole plan. They had simply decided to wait until they were fitted with them, to see what they were like. Trunks could only hope that the mechanical skills he inherited and learned from his mother would pay off. He could also only pray that the Reaver's had not used his mother to MAKE the collars.
***
The Keeper was an odd-looking man, only about five feet tall with a beard nearly as long, but Trunks was pleased to note that he was a kind man. It was reassuring to find that not every slave was as malicious as the guard. He had feared the collars would have the same effect on the body that the parasites did.
"Here," the Keeper said, handing Trunks and Pan their collars. "Put these on, and make sure not to get them too tight. We've had people strangeled by them, and once it's on, it doesn't come off."
"Never?" Pan asked.
"Nope, never," The Keeper said quietly. "The collars are designed to kill anyone who messes with them."
"How do they do that?" Trunks asked. The Keeper sighed and leaned closer to him.
"I'm really not supposed to be talking to you, you know, but I'm curious about you two. I've never seen such scrawny, starved, mangey squatters coerce the guard into letting them in. I'm actually quite impressed." Trunks grumbled at this. The Keeper adjusted his small glasses and continued. "You see, when someone tampers with their collar, three large prongs insert themselves into the slave's neck, killing them instantly."
Trunks laughed. "Is that all? I was afraid you were going to tell us something scary, little man."
"Don't be foolish! Those prongs are extremely powerful - they can pierce metal!"
'Yeah,' Trunks thought, 'But can they pierce the skin of a Saiyan? I guess Pan and I will have to risk it.' Trunks did not like that idea, but they had little else to go on at that moment.
"You two had better put those on," The Keeper said. "It's almost time for the evening work shift to start, and I've got you both on kitchen duty." Trunks sighed and put the collar up to his neck. It repulsed him to do it, but there was no alternative. He shuddered as the collar snicked in place, sealing it's bond on him. Pan winced as hers did the same.
"Now, get out of here," The Keeper said, "I've helped you WAY too much already. You owe me BIG for putting you on kitchen duty, you should know that."
Trunks and Pan smiled at the old man and headed for the door. As they left, Trunks noticed the old man sigh - he really had helped them out, Trunks realized, possibly at the risk of his own life. Trunks was grateful. They would need all the help they could get.
***
Reviews! AAAACK! Must have...reviews! Come on folks! Do it for me, I know you want to!
-- Stacey G.
PS
Ok, I might actually finish the next chapter today too...I'm not sure. It will most definately be about Pan and Trunks' experiences in that camp. Stay tuned!
"Chill, I'm working on it..." Trunks stared at the containment bubble surrounding the slave camp. Pan had figured a way to get them OUT of that place, but they had not thought about getting in.
'Well, sheesh...I thought this part would be easy,' Trunks thought. 'Who knew they would turn people AWAY. That guard was a real ass...'
"We don' want none a' you skinny wraiths in here!" The tall man had said to them. "We don't got enough food for the slaves as it is, to be takin' in squatters! Now git!" The guard pointed a nasty looking energy sword at Trunks and Pan, and they were forced to retreat.
"This is rediculous!" Trunks exclaimed, "Why the hell have the Reavers been bothering us so much if they don't even WANT us in their camps?"
"Well, at least it proves that they don't know WHO we are."
"Yeah, that's a little comforting. I wonder what he meant by squatters, though..."
Trunks stopped talking. There was something poking his back, and if he had been a normal human being it probabaly would have hurt. He whirled around in surprise and came face-to-face with the skinniest, dirtiest man he had ever seen. The man frowned and raised his crude spear into Trunks' face.
"Whaddya doin 'ere?" The man growled at them. Trunks noticed that the man had no Reaver, no slave collar, nothing to suggest that he was under anyone's control but his own. Relaxing, Trunks put his hand on the spear and moved it away from his face, despite the efforts of the frail man to keep it there.
"My name is Trunks," he said to the angry man, "And this is my friend Pan. Who're you?" The man just frowned and stared at Pan. She returned his look with an arctic glare. They stared at each other for some moments before the man returned his gaze to Trunks.
"You been tryin' ta get in the camp, eh?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"They din't let ya in...shoulda known that'd happen, if ye's claim ta be true squatters." The man cackled for a moment and then slid his spear back underneath a crude leather strap on his back. A long silence grew between the trio.
"I don' know who you's all is," the dirty man said at last, "but that camp there ain't just fer anyone. Them damn bloodsuckers think it's funny that we be out 'ere starvin to death. I mean sure, it ain't like livin the high life in there, but they's got FOOD at least!"
Trunks understood now. The Reavers only wanted healthy humans working in their camps. It was like a cruel joke for them, seeing everyone else surrounding the camps, begging to get in. He could imagine that it had been an insult to them that he and Pan had avoided the camps - the Reavers did not think they were suffering enough.
It all make Trunks want to rip out his hair. Whether they toiled inside the camps or squatted outside, these poor humans were doomed to a grisly death. Trunks figured most of them preferred working themselves to death over starvation. He could hardly blame them - his own body was wasting away before his very eyes. It was pure torture.
Trunks shook his head and returned to reality.
"Sir," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "How many people are living out here?"
"Hell if I know, boy. They's jus too many ta count, ifn' ya must know. We do the bes' we can, but it's hard." The man looked at Trunks and Pan, "But you know that, don't cha?"
Pan nodded and stepped forward.
"Yeah mister, we're hungry most of the time, but me and Trunks are a lot stronger than we look. See these scars?" She pointed to the circular marks on her face. "A Reaver tried to get me, but Trunks pulled it off!" The man gasped and leaned closer to her face.
"Reavers? Is that what them things is called? Hey boy, you's got them marks too!"
Trunks nodded and crossed his arms.
"Well, I'll be damned!" The man exclaimed. "I've seen them things attack before, an' I'd bet my ass than those damn scars ya'll got look just like them probe things the creatures 'ave! You two ain't just normal squatters, is ya?"
"No, not really," Trunks said.
"Well, shoot!" The man was beaming now, "I's been a real ass, that's fer sure. You's two can call me Bart ifn' ya want. It ain't my real name, but it's what my buddies call me, and I's real proud a' it!"
Pan giggled and shook Bart's hand. Trunks sighed and did the same.
"It's nice to meet you," Trunks said slowly, trying not to roll his eyes. The only friend they had made in months and he was a complete dimwit - Trunks knew someone was laughing at them right now.
"We really need to get in that camp," Pan said. "We're gonna find out about the Reavers and stop them!"
"Oh are ya? Ain't nobody gets in there 'less their strong, little lady."
"We ARE strong," Trunks said. "We just look like shit, that's all. That's how it is when you miss a few hundred meals."
"well, I ain't got no idears for ya. The way you's two look, I'd think ya'd keel over any minute." Trunks grunted at this. He was weak by Saiyan standards, but hidden ki or not, he could still beat the shit out of every human on the planet.
"Pan," Trunks said, turning away from Bart, "I think we're gonna have to SHOW the guard that we belong in that camp."
"Show him?" Pan was confused.
"Yeah, I say we challenge him to a fight."
Bart gasped. "Are you nutty? That brute'll rip ya'll into tiny pieces! They made 'im a guard cause he's real strong! I don care whatcha say, you can't beat no camp guard!"
"We'll see," Trunks said, smirking much like his father. "Come on Pan, we have work to do."
"You's a fool, boy! Don't take that poor girl wit ya! He'll smash her!"
Pan smiled and waved to Bart as she and Trunks headed towards the camp.
"It's ok!" She yelled, "I'll beat him up real good, you'll see!"
Bart shook his head and watched the pair head back to the camp.
"They's good as dead," He mumbled. Still shaking his head, Bart turned his back to the camp and headed into the woods.
***
The guard laughed for several minutes before acknowledging Trunks and Pan once again.
"You two want to fight ME?" He said, chuckling. "You must have a death wish! Too bad for you, cause I ain't allowed to kill squatters. They's gotta suffer!" He began laughing again, louder than before.
"Well," Trunks said, crossing his arms, "It looks to me like you're AFRAID to fight us."
"WHAT? Why you little sonofabitch! I'll rip your eyes out!"
Trunks just smiled. He knew a little something about pride, and no self-respecting strong-man would turn down a challenge like that.
"Whaddya say we get on with this then," Trunks said cheerfully. "You can fight either of us or both of us, whichever you want."
The tall man growled. Trunks could almost feel the anger emanating from him. He could beat this guy with his eyes closed - so could Pan.
"I don't care if she IS a little girl!" The guard guestured to Pan, "If she's runnin around with slime like you, she deserves to die!" Trunks' eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Pan. He did not want her to get too mad - no ki in this fight. He touched her shoulder to remind her of that. She just nodded, keeping her eyes on the guard.
Pan made the first move, swiping away the guard's energy sword with her left hand. Protesting, he reached down to grab her, but Trunks' foot made contact with his face before he could get there. Pan followed this up with a punch to the guard's stomach. Gasping for air, the man fell to his knees in shock.
"Who....who ARE you people?" he stammered.
"Just lousy squatters," Trunks spat at him. "Now, how about letting us into the camp, hmm? Or would you care to feel my foot smash into your face again?"
Trunks was enjoying this. He had not gotten to prove his stregnth against a weakling in a long time. Grinning, he nudged the guard with his foot.
"Well? Are you gonna let us in, or what?"
The guard growled and got to his feet. Then, reluctantly, he pressed a series of buttons on the large metal door that was the only entrance to the camp.
As the door slid slowly open, Trunks noticed Pan slip something into her sleeve. He wanted to ask her what she was up to, but that would have to wait.
"When you get inside," The guard said angrily, "Report to the Keeper. He will see what jobs you are suitable for. He will also fit you with collars."
Trunks shuddered. Those damn collars were the one thing he and Pan could not find a way around. He knew it was the major hitch in their whole plan. They had simply decided to wait until they were fitted with them, to see what they were like. Trunks could only hope that the mechanical skills he inherited and learned from his mother would pay off. He could also only pray that the Reaver's had not used his mother to MAKE the collars.
***
The Keeper was an odd-looking man, only about five feet tall with a beard nearly as long, but Trunks was pleased to note that he was a kind man. It was reassuring to find that not every slave was as malicious as the guard. He had feared the collars would have the same effect on the body that the parasites did.
"Here," the Keeper said, handing Trunks and Pan their collars. "Put these on, and make sure not to get them too tight. We've had people strangeled by them, and once it's on, it doesn't come off."
"Never?" Pan asked.
"Nope, never," The Keeper said quietly. "The collars are designed to kill anyone who messes with them."
"How do they do that?" Trunks asked. The Keeper sighed and leaned closer to him.
"I'm really not supposed to be talking to you, you know, but I'm curious about you two. I've never seen such scrawny, starved, mangey squatters coerce the guard into letting them in. I'm actually quite impressed." Trunks grumbled at this. The Keeper adjusted his small glasses and continued. "You see, when someone tampers with their collar, three large prongs insert themselves into the slave's neck, killing them instantly."
Trunks laughed. "Is that all? I was afraid you were going to tell us something scary, little man."
"Don't be foolish! Those prongs are extremely powerful - they can pierce metal!"
'Yeah,' Trunks thought, 'But can they pierce the skin of a Saiyan? I guess Pan and I will have to risk it.' Trunks did not like that idea, but they had little else to go on at that moment.
"You two had better put those on," The Keeper said. "It's almost time for the evening work shift to start, and I've got you both on kitchen duty." Trunks sighed and put the collar up to his neck. It repulsed him to do it, but there was no alternative. He shuddered as the collar snicked in place, sealing it's bond on him. Pan winced as hers did the same.
"Now, get out of here," The Keeper said, "I've helped you WAY too much already. You owe me BIG for putting you on kitchen duty, you should know that."
Trunks and Pan smiled at the old man and headed for the door. As they left, Trunks noticed the old man sigh - he really had helped them out, Trunks realized, possibly at the risk of his own life. Trunks was grateful. They would need all the help they could get.
***
Reviews! AAAACK! Must have...reviews! Come on folks! Do it for me, I know you want to!
-- Stacey G.
PS
Ok, I might actually finish the next chapter today too...I'm not sure. It will most definately be about Pan and Trunks' experiences in that camp. Stay tuned!
