Disclaimer: DBZ is not mine. Story is.

Warnings: Violence. Language. Angst.  Possibly confusing dream sequence (I'd like to note that I'm rather fond of that part…).

Losing Innocence

            by Taes

Book II:

Chapter 5

"PULL BACK!" Trunks shouted, and with the force of his voice, the radio transmitter shook and threw static into his ears. He'd installed these into each of 'his' suits, directing each one to his 'main unit' and having as many channels as needed. For each suit, a private line was established, and the open channel that allowed for all eleven of them to talk at once was rarely used. Mostly this was for Alex's tendency to get overly emotional during a fight, and everyone else's need for a quieter atmosphere to concentrate in.

Frustrated, annoyed and more than ready to throttle the pilot, Trunks fought the urge to join the fight, or at least take out Alex. "You're too damned stubborn, Alex!" somewhere in the back of his mind, he smiled, all to aware of just who he was imitating. How many times his mother had said the same to him, he couldn't tell… "You need to get out of there before your main system blows!" if that happened, he'd take out himself, and every suit around him, including those of his comrades. Knowing Alex, he'd see that as a bonus, even if it did sacrifice his friends' lives. "If you don't get back here now, for one thing you'll be spattered against the insides of your suit, and you know I hate cleaning blood out." It was an ongoing joke between the pilots, actually. Trunks refused to touch anything with the smallest bit of blood across it. It was too much for him to handle, and how could he know if it was the blood of one of his friends? Even if it weren't, it would be disrespectful to a soldier to take so little care with his remains… "For another thing, if you don't get back here right now I'll KILL YOU MYSELF. Understood?!"

He just hoped he wouldn't follow through with that statement…

 "Yeah--ah, I hear ya, Tru--s!" Alex called back, before letting out yet another ear splitting whoop that left his ears ringing and head sore.

 "ALEX!" Groaning in pain and aggravation, Trunks readjusted his headpiece and glared out the window. "Your suit is in no condition to continue!" Why, why wouldn't the headstrong young fool listen to him? "Get your ass back here right now so the demon can get fixed up!" already he was sifting through his supplies, trying to guess what he needed if he wanted the demon to ever fly again. "If your radio's breaking up, I'm more than willing to bet your fire power's fading fast!"

Outside, he could just make out the demon's form as it rammed into an enemy suit, pieces of its armor flying everywhere. "And you'd better pick that up!"
Alex only laughed, and waved cheerfully in Trunks' direction, scooping up the broken pieces of armor as he fled the battle scene. "The--, y-u --py?" Trunks could only assume he wasn't asking for back up, and resisted the urge to scream at him some more.

The 'operating table' would need to be brought out, and every piece he could find would probably be needed, so it'd be a good idea to find out where everything went… "Whatever you say, Alex." He muttered. "I'm transferring out, so get any last words in now." There were a few static responses to that, but not at the right frequency to be interpreted as cries of pain or anything, so Trunks took the liberty of ignoring them in favor of checking up with Corry. "You hangin' in there, Corry?" he asked, cutting into the frequency line as he poured through the scrap heap.

 "--watch your back, Anne!" the young man was saying, just as Hope, his suit, sprung out of the way. "That you, Trunks?"

Trunks smiled with amusement, changing his position to see if he could catch sight of Anne and her Bird from this angle. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Anne and Corry were two of the better fighters when it came to working together, and Corry showed some promise. If he could get his head out of the clouds and concentrate some, he could very well pull Hope into a new level of power. "I see you and Anne have figured the private links out," he noted.

 "Yeah. You might wanna work on the sensitivity, though, 'cause whenever Anne or me fires--" he began, veering to the left and shooting simultaneously.

 "--Anne or I--"

 "Right…whenever one of us fires, the link goes straight out." Though he had absolutely no inclination as to what the young man was doing, Trunks got the feeling he was smiling, because Anne's Bird was becoming quite the spectacle.

Trunks nodded, and scratched a few notes in his notebook, hoping the quick scrawl would remind him to check up on that. "Uh-huh…so how's your suit holding up? There any significant damage?" from this perspective, it looked a though his suit was slowing a bit, but that could be put on Corry's shoulders…he and Anne were forming something of a relationship, and the two of them tended to stay up long hours talking about home and what they'd do when this war was over. Nevertheless, if he was tiring, it was time to pull him out of there.

 "Nah, we're doin' good. Anne's left wing's a little stuck, but so far as I can tell--" he cursed as he was hit, careening towards the ground for a good twenty feet until he regained his control.

Trunks sighed, and wished he had time to get something to eat… "That's great, Cor, but what about your suit?" At that point in time, Alex's demon entered the hangar, still steaming and covered in dirt. Trunks wrinkled his nose at the smell, and motioned for Alex to step out.

With all the hissing and tightened metal creaking, Trunks had to strain to hear Corry's response. "--but overall, I'm fine."

Walking over to give Alex a hand down, Trunks frowned into his radio. "Could you repeat that? Alex just pulled in and I can't hear over all the noise…"

Corry laughed, amusement flavoring his voice even as he struck down an enemy suit, falling back to allow for Anne's advancement. "Yeah, he's always been a loud one. Even his suit is ill tempered!" he laughed again, and maneuvered his way behind the suit he and Anne had cornered.

Alex rolled his eyes, looking a bit worse for wear as he reached for a glass of water. "--I heard that," he gasped between gulps, and sat down in front of the window, his dark eyes scanning the sky as he tried to gauge their progress. "We're nowhere near beatin' them, Trunks, so the sooner you get me patched up, the better." He advised.

Trunks motioned for him to slow down and leave him alone. Corry's voice continued through the com link, running off a quick list of inefficiencies as Trunks jotted a few notes down. "Right. Keep your ears and eyes open, and watch your left side," he advised, and turned his attention to the demon. He groaned. "How is it that no matter how well everyone else is doing at keeping his or her suits together, you two always manage to sustain the most damage?" he complained, running a hand through his hair.

Alex shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess." He grinned, and started rifling through the scrap heap, spreading a few things out while he watched the battle above.

Trunks glowered at him. "Right." He muttered, and flipped the com link on open channel as he set it on the stool he never used. Reaching for a primitive programming pen, he flipped open the still steaming chest cavity, and began to survey the extent of the damage.

 "Uh, Trunks?" Alex ventured. "You realize that thing's hot enough to burn wood right now, don't you?" some amusement colored his voice, but mostly exasperation and a small amount of concern found its way to Trunks' ears.

With one foot, Trunks scooted the wooden stool away, and began pulling pieces of the armor into the light, forming a small chi globe to better illuminate the situation. "Gotcha." Alex rolled his eyes, and privately hoped his insane friend would keep all the skin on his body by the time he finished with the demon.

 "You have got to be the strangest guy I've ever met," Alex noted, and squinted out the window as he tried to wipe away the dirt smudges. Trunks just smiled, and continued working.

*****

The air around him was little more than a thin veil disguising the overwhelming hatred between the two forces as they sat alongside one another, bitterly repairing their suits underneath the pale glow of the single overhead lamp. Like a dying star, it cast no warmth, and just barely illuminated the hangar so one could just make out the forms of the towering giants that were their weapons.

Unnerved, Trunks looked from one face to the next, seeing his friends as they would look decades in the future; they were old, wrinkled and gray, while the new recruits, just barely over ten all, swiftly evaded their elders as they attempted to fix and repair the giant-like suits. Such hate filled their eyes…no matter if they knew one another or not, the children saw with tinted eyes, looking at childhood-- and how that word seemed ill suited, when these children were trying so hard to be adults --friends as enemies and siblings as their foes.

They knew nothing of the beauties of life they supposedly fought for, and when the elders spoke of freedoms, they only smiled, as if to indulge these magnificent, if senile, veterans in their silly hopes and dreams so they, the children of war, could one day take up their arms and fight. These small beings, miniature demons, cared only for bloodshed, and thought nothing about the lives they ruined with their thirst for blood.

He alone was unchanged. His skin was white as it was when he'd first met Mari, Carlos, Alex, and Corry, and his eyes remained the same. He was regarded with interest, and certainly fear, for an immortal among men is always distrusted. There were no signs of the other pilots, and no signs of his other friends, but in the air, what he'd taken to be smoke were spirits, trapped in a world that spoke only of death, decay and more blood than he would ever care to see.

Other world was overrun with souls, and these pitiful creatures were barely recognizable after so much pain and suffering. There were old, and there were young, and amidst the endless swarms of faces Trunks saw friends and foes alike, people from this world like Mary, and those from his own…but how could that be?

In this world, this endless hangar with dismal light where the air was thick with hatred and lost souls, there was no other world. And the shadow universe had no after life to speak of when the entire cosmos was destroyed, so where else could they go, except with their destroyer? It was his fault. He created everything, and led this world to its doom…

Heart sick, Trunks tried to keep his mind from such things, and turned almost frantically to the machines, ignoring the pointed faces of children with sharp teeth and fangs, who hungered…hungered for death…

The suits were not, as he first expected, the general suit that populated the armies when he first came to the world. Hundreds of Fire Demons, Angels, Avengers and their like had evolved into these…giants…and the world was in ruin because of it. He knew that outside this hangar, there was only dead earth. No living thing survived out there, and the cities and towns that once ranged across the countryside were forced under the surface, where supplies were more plentiful and they could turn the raw materials into metals used by the armies…

It was a world that existed only for war. Only…it only existed for a victory that would never come. It could not, until the entire human race was gone and long forgotten. But what kind of a victory could that be?

The Rebels, the Allies, no one knew the names of their 'people' any longer. They just…were. They fought, they died and they lived for the sake of fighting, killing and destroying what was left of their wondrous planet.

What could he do, but despair?

And what…what should he do?

There was, like in his personal hangar, a single window for these hundreds of people, and this window was rather small. It let in no light so far as Trunks could tell, and whatever purpose it was made for was small, at best. Looking up at it now, he thought he saw something…shapes up above that did not move like the suits, and were too small, besides. Curious despite the warning stirring in his heart, Trunks found himself moving closer, headed for the thing…no, the things that lay in wait.

His eyes could not focus on them, as if he was subconsciously delaying the ultimate terror until it was too late.

Ghosting in and out of the material space, his essence formed a plausible form for itself, and spoke at a length with the planets, stars, asteroids and other space junk from within the confined walls of the hangar. It was all in his memory, what he did now, but he relived it to see, to wonder, and to find if he could do something, anything for this planet before he met that terrible doom waiting for him… And in his memory, he felt everything as if it were happening now. He realized that life everywhere in that shadowy place, it all knew an end was coming. And they knew there was little enough they could do to stop it.

Some wept and wailed while others sent warriors to stop him. But in that state he was everything, and nothing at all. He was little more than light, and against the nature of the universes, his body became the center of it all, absorbing what it could. In other places, other great universes, all that were, all that had been Center knew that something was wrong, and turned their all seeing eyes on him. These things, these objects, and upon rare occasion, these beings that were Center saw as not even he could, and they knew-- as he did --that death was coming for one of their own.

But they could only watch.

And as Trunks went about his business, in his memory of space, setting right the wrongs he'd created, these things that were All remembered. And here, somewhere in this universe, the glowing white light of a star shone all the brighter. In his memory, it was the beginning of the end. Some planets sorrowfully relinquished their hold, and others did so without regret, without that sadness. It was as if they were tired, too tired to continue.

Their beauties didn't go unnoticed to him, and he knew in his heart of hearts that he would never forget them, and in all other universes, they would not forget him. Those shadow planets were works of art, but they all lacked in something . . . in areas where one should not be lacking, even for a planet made of ice or some other such thing. They all knew, as only a great thing like the massive bodies of the universe can know, that they were not all.

And they knew they were not right.

He realized that now.

Everything but the life supporting planets knew they'd existed for sparse moments only, that this boy, Trunks, had created them, and this boy would undo his wrongs. It could not be the same, intricate and finely detailed as the other universes, because he was not the same, because he was not Center, and should never have been…These planets, these stars, they were born of his belief, and of his will they would pass away.

But alas, life is a stubborn thing, and though many a black hole, great things that they are, gave in as easily as anything. Their inferiors, small planets like Earth, they fought to the very last. It was a marvel to behold, and a most curious thing. Species upon species met him, but few would acknowledge his justification, and some were able to pause his movement. There were, after all, creatures of the light in substance matter, and they knew how to stall one's essence.

But he was, after all, his father's son.

And not even they could prevent him from doing that which must be done.

He would have thought that this planet, like all the others, would have realized his role in the doom of another universe, but it hadn't. It was strange, because everything, living or nonliving, felt that. In all existences, no matter how far, it all knew what he'd done. This place had no parody in the shadow universe, but it felt similar. There was the same wrongness, but to his mind, there was nothing to do but wait. This was no job for him; there was more to it than 'just' convincing the planet it was time to give everything up.

So he came out of his memories, and felt the universe's eyes turn away from him, and he looked up, trying to determine what stood just outside the tinted panes, and what mockery it meant for him. He opened his eyes, and as he made out human forms, his heart sank.

He already knew what was there.

He'd known it all along.

Their eyes, electric, ice blue eyes, spoke of amusement, and promised pain, suffering and yet more destruction on a planet that needed no more. Black and white blond, mirror image twins that loved nothing more than a fight to the death and cruel, pointless murder. The monsters of his childhood, materialized before him now to claim his death…they promised once, long, long ago, that he was theirs for the taking.

That only they had the pleasure of stopping his heart and ending his life.

*****

With a pounding heart, Trunks opened his eyes, only to find himself inches from the floor. Panicking, Trunks dropped, unable to do anything but stare in utter relief, forehead resting on the cool floor. It was a dream…just a dream…

Breathing heavily, he rolled onto his back, and looked around, trying to make certain he was in all truth in the cabin, and not some foul smelling hangar. He swallowed, and sighed, allowing his eyes to close for a moment. He wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight that was for certain. There was no way in hell he would voluntarily go back to the realm of dreams when they waited for him.

In the back of his mind, he knew it was not true, that the androids couldn't be waiting, not in his dreams at least. But it's a difficult thing indeed to fight nightmares, when part of your mind knows, or at least thinks it does, that the threat could very well be real…

 "Trunks!" someone hissed. Startled, and jumpy to say the least, Trunks found he was off the floor and in fighting formation within the space of a second, ready to attack at a moment's notice and aware of every living thing's presence in the room. "Woah…" recognizing the voice and realizing his chi was more active than any others in the room, Trunks relaxed visibly, and smiled up at Alex, though the expression was a bit strained. "You all right? I thought I heard something hit the ground an' all, and…uh…well, what's up?"

 "I'm fine," Trunks replied, and blinked. Talking hurt his throat, and his voice was more hoarse than he could remember it ever being, except, perhaps, after falling into this planet's atmosphere. It was as if he'd been screaming for hours on end, or…crying. "Just a nightmare,"

Alex whistled, a low, melodic sound that didn't suit the dark, sleepy surroundings. "Must have been some nightmare," he marveled. "Nothin' scares you," he grinned in the dark, and fumbled his ways out of his covers as he made his way down the bunk bed's ladder. It was a perilous, rickety thing, that ladder. One of the hinges that kept it in place was completely broken away, and the other was half on at best, so to avoid the entire mess falling apart and being sent sprawling across the floor, one's balance had to be fairly precise.

Trunks laughed hoarsely, and shook his head. "I wish that were true," he murmured, and pulled his cover off the floor. Exhausted by the day's activities and his private training, he had little choice but to sit down again, and starred regretfully at the walls, wishing for some sort of window so he could see the stars.

Suddenly remembering what he'd seen behind the window in his dream, Trunks shuddered, and retracted his wish.

He didn't need to be any more nervous than he was already. A window would only mean he'd spend all his time looking out it just to make sure he truly saw nothing.

Were dreams really nothing more than left over thoughts from the day, or could they be something else? Did it mean anything to dream, or were they in truth 'just' dreams?

Lying down, Trunks stared up at the top bunk, and sighed. "Go back to sleep, Alex." He murmured. "You need to get some rest if you're to be of any use."

Alex frowned, annoyed at the abrupt dismissal. "And what about you?" he challenged. "If something happens to us tomorrow, and we don't got you to fix our suits, then how long you think we can last?" he pulled a short stool next to Trunks' bed, and sat down. "My Da always told me that nightmares never really go away unless you talk about 'em, and settle your fears." He began, smiling ruefully. "I always had a hard time talking about mine, 'cause my Da was so strong…I didn't want him to think I was weak."

Trunks smiled. "I didn't meet my father until…" he sighed. "Recently." Taking a deep breath, he looked at Alex. "He wasn't a thing like I thought he'd be." he chuckled, and wondered vaguely which 'father' he was talking about. 

Alex smiled, and shook his head. "Na, nobody is ever completely the way people make 'em out to be. Usually folk will just gloss over the picture and tell you all about their good points and forget the bad stuff." He shrugged. "That's life, though." Trunks nodded, and for a moment, the two boys were silent. "What's he look like, this father of yours?" curiosity filled his voice, and his entire face was alive with the want of knowledge.

 "He doesn't look a thing like this," Trunks had to laugh at Alex's expression. "I look more like…used to look more like…my mother." he smiled. "I have his build, and sort of his height, but neither of my parents were spectacularly tall, so that could have come from either one." He looked ruefully at his hands, and stared at his skin. "My Mom says I'm a lot like him…proud, arrogant, stubborn and…willing to give everything up for what I believe in." he sighed again, and met Alex's gaze. "I used to have blue eyes, and violet hair, like my Grandpa…my skin wasn't this kami-forsaken color, either."

Seeming interested, and altogether confused, Alex opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. Finally, he asked, "What happened?"

 "A lot of things…"

 "Tell me about it. You're so goddamned secretive! None of us know anything about you." Alex prodded, gesturing excitedly with his hands.

Trunks looked into the air, and remembered. "I killed them." Visions of the world ending filled his mind, and his heart ached with that too familiar loss. "My family, my friends…" he shook his head. "Everybody."

Alex opened his mouth, his face the very picture of surprise and delight at finally having solved a mystery, but decided against whatever he was going to say, and looked a bit confused. "Oh." He seemed ready to say something else, but the words didn't come forth, and Trunks wanted, more than anything, to be forgiven.

But he couldn't continue. It hurt too much, and Alex would never understand.

 "Good night, Alex."

 "Uh….yeah…g'night, Trunks."

By the time Alex fell asleep, Trunks had managed to leave the cabin for the relative peace of the hangar, and for the remainder of the night he brought the pilots' suits up to the best condition they'd been in since their creation, and put everything in its place. He cleaned the window so one could barely tell it was there, and fixed the only stool so it wouldn't rock. Right down to the smallest details, everything in sight was fixed. He even worked out the problems with the radio, and got the scrap pile in working condition, which is to say, he made sure he'd be able to find everything.

After that, he trained.

Unlike the other training 'sessions' he'd done, he didn't just practice…he went all out. Everything fell into place as he found his rhythm, and slowly, he found peace. The problems he'd been having with certain maneuvers disappeared, and for the first time in ages he began to progress noticeably, furthering his skills the way he would never have believed in what seemed like another lifetime.

When he had no more energy to burn, and everyone else was beginning to wake, Trunks finally felt comfortable returning to bed, and without saying a word to anyone he went to sleep.

*****

After Kami-knows how many hours of dreamless sleep, Trunks' world erupted in a tumult of jarring noises, not the least of which being the sound of war, and the odd, scraping sound the bunk beds made as they rolled impossibly across the floor. Annoyed, confused, and altogether unprepared for such a rude awakening, Trunks bounded out of the room, sprinting down the halls toward the hanger even as he cursed his inattentiveness.

When he reached the hanger, as he expected, he found the room empty of all the suits, and the supplies untouched. Grabbing his headpiece, he flipped on the open channel as he scanned the skies, hoping to get some glimpse of the battle he knew was ahead. "Why didn't anyone tell me there was a battle going on?" he demanded, annoyance, anger and frustration flowing through him as he paced the length of the room. "And where the hell are you guys?!"

Amused laughter met his ears, and Alex's unmistakable war cry carried clearly through the link. "You needed your sleep, Mistuh Genius. And we're on the north side of the Eclipse valley, for your information." He could practically hear the young idiot grinning. "We got tired of you dictating our moves, so we got the battle over where you couldn't see it."

Trunks decided to ignore that remark.

 "What's this new feature, anyways?" Nora asked, curiosity flavoring her normally monotonous voice. "Everyone else's had one too…"

Smiling, Trunks walked across the room, and flipped a switch. "That'd be a temporary video link. If you'd kindly flip the switch, I'll be able to see whatever you're seeing, barring interference and really heavy electrical storms." Somehow he'd managed to rig a system from what spare parts he had remaining, and in no time at all he'd salvaged everything he needed for the display unit.

One by one, a section of the screen was lit up by individual perspectives, ten different angles were shown, one for each pilot. Beneath each portion was a small data read out, giving the approximate count of energy, fuel, and resistance of each suit. If the read outs told him anything, the pilots had been fighting for quite some time, and many of them were desperately in need of repairs.

Cursing under his breath, Trunks debated against which pilot needed recovery most, and sighed in frustration. "What are you people going to do when you actually start bringing your suits to the enemy, huh? Think I'm gonna tag along with you just so you can get the advantage of having your own personal mechanic?" he grumbled. "Believe me, my devotion does not go that far, so try to practice some conservative methods, alright?!" he seethed. "Fred, Nora and Rob, get yourselves out of there now. If any of you don't get here soon, then you're as good as dead. Everyone else, cover them as they retreat." Looking from one name to another and trying to decide who'd work best with whom; he began to wonder at the possibility of any of them surviving this fight.

 "Corry, you and Anne team up with Michael, okay?" not waiting for their confirmation, he tried to decide who else needed a partner. "Joel, you're with Elizabeth." Biting his lip, he wondered if it'd be safer to pair David and Alex, who couldn't seem to get along, or to leave David without a partner and hope he could get by… "David, you're on your own until Nora gets back. Alex, keep an eye on David and make sure he's covered from behind, all right?"

This would be one monstrous nightmare when it came to processing. Here he was, watching ten different perspectives at once like some abominable fly, trying to convey to their respected pilots exactly w hat he wanted them to do so they might actually work together. Instead, all he got was one hell of a headache, and seven confused, frustrated pilots trying to make sense of demands that were too obscure to help.

With his Saiyajin instincts for fighting and his learned mind for processing many different patterns at once, it only took a few minutes to become accustomed to the new viewpoint, and with some improvising; he did eventually get his suggestions clearly across.

 "Alex, your back, David get over there!" he called, just as the three suits he'd ordered to retreat pulled in. "Uh, Joel, turn your switch a quarter turn to the left, okay? Right then, Corry, Anne and Michael start heading towards Joel from three of the compass points, but a third of the way there, pull up. While they're doing that, Elizabeth, come in from underneath and see if you can surprise 'em." One by one, he helped each of the pilots out of their suits, and shoed them over to the view screen as he looked over their suits.

He clucked his tongue in irritation; if they'd stayed out there much longer, they'd have died, no question about it. The amount of energy seeping into their skin would leave a few marks today, that was for certain… "You three, get something to eat." He ordered, grabbing his pen. "And make sure you don't touch any electrical outlets…at this point, I imagine you're all very good conductors," he added cheerfully, ignoring his stomach's demand for food. "Oh, and on your way back, could you get me some breakfast?" the three pilots groaned, and muttered something along the lines of an affirmative. They'd all seen how much he could eat, and lugging all that back here was going to cause problems.

Looking over his shoulder, he watched for a moment as their plan was executed, and smiled at the accomplishments they'd made. "Alex, keep on the offensive, my friend, you're too brash to get anywhere with defensive tactics," he murmured, and turned back to the suits.

Some hours and a large breakfast later, Trunks let the three pilots back on the field and called four more inside. By the time he was back to watching the screens, he'd seen each of the suits at least once, and the battle raged on. Mostly they needed little direction, with the sole exceptions of Alex and Michael, and Trunks was able to concentrate on whatever suit he was fixing. Now, however, his attention could be focused on the battle.

 "ALEX, DON'T TAKE THAT HIT!"

 "I can take it!" the hotheaded young man protested.

Trunks growled in frustration, clenching his fists and wishing he had something to keep his hands busy. "That may be, but if you take too many of those, you're back here. Remember what I said about conservative tactics?"

Alex muttered something away from the radio, and pulled out before his suit could sustain any damage. "…happy?"

Trunks smiled grimly. "Immensely."

Everything was fairly normal, all things considered, aside from the large numbers of Allied forces intent on destroying their base, and the screens showed nothing out of the ordinary. Something nagged at Trunks' senses, and his instincts told him something was not right…and just as he was about to suggest an all out retreat, the world erupted in light brighter than anything Trunks had seen in a long while, and he felt his chi rising instinctively to protect himself.

The sky above rippled with suppressed energy, with lightning dancing across its surface as it sparked and whirled in unfamiliar patterns. The daylight faded in comparison to this awesome rift, a pocket of the purest power imaginable forming before their very eyes. It only intensified as time went on, and the sheer intensity of it forced all but the half-Saiyajin to look away.

And from this pocket, he could discern two figures that at first appeared as one. Two figures that did not move as the suits did, and were too small besides.

His gaze focused on these two, and even from this distance, as the brilliant light began to fade, he saw their cruel, bright-eyed smiles.

And then his world was still.

*****

tbc…

Next part should be up by Friday the 17th, if not sooner, depending on how fast I can write it on notebook paper and retype it on the downstairs. (This is where having two computers really sucks…when the disk drive breaks on the upstairs one, and your story is on the hard drive, you start to wish you'd just done it all in one place…somebody say thank you to Meghan. She's doing most of the hand copying stuff…Yeah well. If the disk drive gets fixed-- not likely, due to lack of money --then it could be up sooner rather than later.)

*Beams* I finished writing. Now it's time to edit…*groans* I hate that part.

Thanks be to Juunanagou4ever, and Raen!

Junanagou4ever, why thank you. (Authors love being told they're good…I'm no exception, even though I enjoy critiques even more than praise…*shrugs* call me strange, I thrive on the prospect of a challenge.) Too perfect is something we all must strive against. *Rolls eyes in amusement* uh, no offense meant. That's just my strange sense of humor showing up… Just out of curiosity, who would you like to see Trunks with?

Thank you Raen! That was one of the most intelligent, inspiring reviews I've read in a bit…You give your feelings, and then tell me why you feel that way. *Beams with pleasure* I love that…

Red is rather strange. Originally he was gonna have more to do with the story, but…*shrugs* he faded away unexpectedly…uh, sorta. He does have some influence in some of the other chapters…I never got the chance to explain where, so you'll just have to guess. ^__^

Oh, geeze… *blushing, embarrassed and amused* another person who calls me poetic. (My sister does that…I don't understand poetry. She writes some of the most liquid poems I've ever read…)

Thanks again to both my kind reviewers.

Rants, reviews, comments and critiques are always appreciated.