Disclaimer: Dragon Ball Z isn't mine. The original chara's are, and so is the plot line.
Warnings: Violence. Angst. Some language that may be considered inappropriate for children under the age of 13.
Losing Innocence
by Taes
Book II: Chapter 6
The daylight hours seemed to be fading all too quickly with the disappearance of that one pocket. Compared to its brilliance the pitiable light that shone through the clouds of dust and debris seemed all too gray, too murky and dark to be of any use. The pilots could feel the hesitation in the air, and it was thick on all sides until the men and women began to recover. Alex was among the first to regain his sense of being, if not his sight. "What the hell is going on?" he wondered, easing his suit into a position better suited for this new threat.
Staring at the image coming into focus on the screen, Trunks found himself breathing uneasily, readying himself for attack even as the things began to realize where they were. " Oh, shit . . ." he groaned, massaging his head with one hand as he furiously scrawled a message on his notebook.
Nora pulled herself and her suit into a crouch as she surveyed the small army around them. "Trunks, what do you know about this new threat?" she asked, her voice quavering only a little as she spoke. "Is this some new weapon the Allies have been developing?" her eyes narrowed. "Or one of your machines?"
"These are nothing of mine," he whispered, and slowly went towards the window, wondering how long he had until the androids regained their composure and began their assault.
"But you are familiar with them." Her statement was simply put, and delivered with her trademark monotonous voice, although even now it held a fraction of what Trunks could only call fear.
Trunks shook his head and swallowed, unsure of how to respond. "I grew up fighting them . . ." he paused, "Everyone, pull back. Now."
Shock, hesitation and some blatant refusal met his demand and all around the battlefield the pilots tensed. "You know as well as we do, our suits are fine, Trunks." David remarked, pulling the dragon into firing position.
There were millions of possibilities that could take place from this point. He could save his friends, these pilots, or he could let them fight a threat unlike any other they'd ever faced. From experience, he knew these two would never tire, he knew their cruelty and the fear they brought with them, wherever they went. "David. You all are spectacular fighters, and very, very good at what you do, but you've been fighting the entire day, and your bodies need rest." He began, quite calmly as he opened the window, pulling up latches and pushing gently on rusted hinges. "You've never met anyone like these two," he grimaced and shook his head regretfully. "I hope you'll never see their like again."
Though he was no longer in a position to see what was happening, the radio was still with him, and the noises they picked up were mostly those he expected. One voice carried through like a knife through butter, cutting into his heart and momentarily paralyzing him. "What the hell just happened?" Seventeen. He'd thought he would never hear that voice again, and here he was . . . cold and merciless as death.
"Are . . . you all hearing what I'm hearing?" Alex asked, confused. The distinctive sounds of his suit's weapons being readied were heard over the links, and Trunks braced himself for the worst.
Laughter, cruel and sharp met their ears as Android Eighteen rapped gracelessly on one of the suits. Trunks prayed it was not anyone he knew, and hoped Kami would spare these lives. "Look Seventeen," she smirked, "a tasty treat all wrapped up in tin foil . . ."
The window creaked as it opened, not wanting to leave the position it had held for Kami knows how long.
Seventeen laughed as well, and by the sound of it, joined his sister at the side of the unfortunate soul and their suit. "I say we open it," he grinned "see what kind of goodies there are inside."
Finally, his gateway to freedom was prepared and the foul smell of burning metal and death assaulted his senses, like it had so long ago. Pushing the window shut with one food proved much easier that opening it, and Trunks pinpointed his friends and again hoped the androids would have mercy, or at least patience, as he made his way over there.
Before they could do anything, however, a single shot was fired. The tri-beam cannon. Energy pooled between the demon's palm joined hands, focusing through the porthole left between the suit's fingers and channeling quickly from the suit's reserves into that one point. Alex may have been reckless, but of all the pilots, he had the best shot.
Unfortunately, the androids had experienced the technique before, probobly at the hands of its creator . Laughter filled the links once more as the twins looked the source of this unexpected problem in the eyes.
Trunks knew what Alex was thinking He'd thought it himself, the first time he saw the androids face to face.
Death.
One knew it when faced with it, and he would always remember that first encounter, as their eyes, electric, ice blue, met his. They were without fear, these two. These twin terrors, and they knew without a doubt that no one here was strong enough to stop either.
Once, Trunks thought there was always a cause for evil, and when this root was severed, peace would return. He thought so because it was right, and because that was the way things should happen.
Once.
He could see it in his mind. The single shot, aimed at the androids, racing towards its intended position like a living thing constructed of energy so pure it tore a whole in the visible light spectrum and absorbed all colors around it. And the twins, black and white blond, turned while joining their hands, mockingly imitating the position Gohan and Goku preformed while pulling their energy together in one spectacular Kamehameha wave.
Collision was inevitable.
Two hands, and both were small, slender and pale.
Flying through the air, he envisioned the scene as he heard the energy pooling once more within the confines of two hands. They were unharmed, of course, armed with enough energy to destroy any suit with ease. Once again, laughter filled their ears, and the sounds of a suit being forced open with raw energy filled Eclipse Valley.
For once, no one said anything.
The screams of the dying man, an Allie soldier, Trunks was relived and terrified to find, filled the air. And then, he was still as the suit fell in two halves.
Eighteen smirked. "Well, looks like we found a few humans in tin suits." She quipped. "Welcome to Oz, Seventeen."
Her twin stared at the dead man on the ground, annoyed. "Five points for each of us." He said simply, and looked around, surveying the large amounts of suits and the carnage that lay bellow. "Here I was thinking we'd finally found a nice place without all these damned humans to bother us." His voice carried enough amusement to make him smile, but there was sine sincerity to his words. "and it turns out they're just playing dress up." He snorted. "Figures."
He was getting close to the field of battle, and before they saw him coming or sensed his presence, Trunks focused his energy, pain and anger and felt his energy lift as he took the form as what was known as the legendary transformation, now called Super Saiyajin.
Closing the space between them in moments, he took the time to once again hail his friends. "Retreat now. You have no idea who you're fighting."
Once again, they were too stunned to respond, all eyes flickering between the dead man below and the new threat. None noticed the difference in frequencies as he passed them, too fast to see, and nobody was paying enough attention to hear the air whistle as he approached.
Trunks attacked, taking both androids by surprise, sending both flying in opposite directions until they regained their composure. Twin sets of eyes were on him now, and he smiled, all too aware of their attention.
Eighteen snorted. "Oh, look" she sneered, flipping her hair and smiling coldly as he came closer. Alert, Trunks braced himself for an attack. She tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed. "Blondy's back, and just as annoying as ever." She rolled her eyes and grinned at Seventeen before meeting Trunks' gaze again. "Why couldn't you stick with purple? Haven't you had enough of copying me?"
Seventeen laughed outright, seemingly appearing out of nowhere as he caught Trunks' arms behind his back. "So this is where you've gone to . . .we thought you'd gotten bored and died someplace." He sounded mockingly mournful, but his expression retained the same pitiless look. "You know the rules, Saiyajin." he crowed, "we're the only ones who can kill you."
Eighteen smiled, and began her attack, pummeling the struggling Super Saiyajin as her brother kept his arms in place, coming dangerously close to snapping them as he slowly increased the pressure. "Your Mommy missed you, by the way. We felt sorry for the haggard old thing." Her expression never changed, and in her blue eyes Trunks saw nothing.
Hurting and outraged, Trunks found the energy he needed to force Seventeen away, and charged the blond android with an unusual burst of speed. "Leave my mother out of this." He snarled, punching her in the stomach and hurling her like a doll into the ground, aware only of her slender figure in the newly-formed crater below. Forming a ball of energy in his hands, he took aim, and fired just as Seventeen flew into him, cracking ribs and successfully knocking him out of Super Saiyajin, sending the energy blast well out of his sister's way,
For a moment, they both stared in amusement, laughter filling their eyes as they looked at his white hair and into his endless eyes.
"Trunks?" Alex wondered, his demon in a strangely unprepared state. "What . . .?"
"Get out of here!" he screamed, and wished that they would do as he wanted and needed them to. But they wouldn't, not when it was important, not when their lives were being asked for no reason at all. "Don't you get it?" his voice was little more than a whisper, but it rose with each word. "This isn't your fight! They'll kill you."
"No way, man. We don't leave friends behind, remember?" Michael replied, speaking for all the pilots as they moved into formation, completely forgetting the Allied soldiers around them.
Seventeen smiled, advancing with the cool ease of a natural predator. "Listen to this, Eighteen… the kid's finally found some friends to sacrifice." His trademark smirk in place, he grinned at Trunks. "And it seems to me that he's gotten a makeover," he roughly took hold of the boy's neck, keeping him frozen in the air as he got a good look at his eyes, hair, and skin. While he wasn't gentle, there was a definite air of curiosity about him as he looked the boy over. "Permanent, or like your cheap imitation of Gohan's form…what was it called?" he drawled, rolling his eyes to the sky, as if it would tell him. "Super Saiyajin?" he laughed shortly, meeting Trunks gaze for gaze.
Letting out a frustrated scream, Trunks pooled energy into his hands, focusing as much chi as he could spare at his captor, trying desperately not to cry for friends he'd failed. Seventeen didn't flinch. Even so, the demi-Saiyajin smiled, and nodded. From ten different angles, the pilots attacked, and the android was startled into releasing Trunks. He glared menacingly at them, and aimed one swift kick at his long time adversary while directing an attack eerily similar to Krillin's disks in a boomerang arc.
"MOVE!" Trunks suggested, and once again picked up his assault, forcing himself to the next level as he prepared himself for a simultaneous attack. Even with his defense, the barrage left him dazed and helpless to each subsequent blow, unable to find his feet.
Throwing all that was left of his force into one enormous energy attack, Trunks managed to drop down enough to gain some measure of awareness as he directed the wave in two directions.
The androids, unfortunately, knew this was coming, and seemed to step casually out of harm's way.
Trunks sighed, and wished he had time to regain his strength as he forced his already aching body into direction, flying towards Seventeen, ready to block and deliver any blows while trying to keep aware of his twin's whereabouts and exactly what she was doing. The next few minutes were blurs of pain in Trunks' mind, and through desperation he managed to come up with tactics that never would have occurred to a fully sane person. Whether or not this was a good thing he wasn't certain, but it kept him alive for the time moment, so he didn't stop to think about what he was doing to his body or the people around him.
So intent was he on the androids that he completely forgot about the pilots, and when they attacked, they not only caught the twins by surprise, they took some of Trunks' concentration as well. Not prepared for an assault from so many different angles, Trunks reacted out of instinct, pulling energy from some unknown reserve and directing bullet like streams of chi towards the unknown assailants. Just before they collided, the demi-Saiyajin realized exactly whom he was about to murder, and with some concentration, he managed to heave the missiles out of their way.
"Warn a guy next time," he muttered, adjusting the radio with one hand.
A protest filled with static met his ears, and unsurprisingly, it was Alex who managed to form the first distinguishable words. "We DID! You just weren't listening!"
Trunks blinked, and inwardly marveled at the seemingly indestructible headpiece, wondering how that managed to work out. "Oh."
"Trunks, behind you!" Anne called, urgency filling her voice as she aimed a few well-directed projectiles at a target moving too fast for her to clearly see. None of them hit, but the warning was enough to get him moving again before his muscles began to stiffen and cramp.
Unfortunately, he hadn't realized the attacks he'd assumed one android had enacted was in reality performed by both, so while he distracted himself unnecessarily by looking for the other, the twins slammed into him with enough force to send him once again back to his normal state and into unconsciousness.
Seventeen smiled, and caught the boy's body before it hit the ground. "That was fun," he remarked, eyes glimmering with something that could only be called malice.
Eighteen nodded, and pulled the half Saiyajin from her brother's arms and tossed him none too gently to Alex. His armor provided the satisfying crunch associated with broken bones and dented metal, and because the suit itself was a well honed weapon, Trunks' skin was broken and blood fell.
"Make sure he stays alive for a little longer," she suggested, smiling coolly at the stunned boy. "He's ours to kill." She and her brother turned, and looked casually up at the darkening sky. "Nobody else's."
"Sleep tight," Seventeen nodded something of a farewell, and with that, they disappeared, leaving the battlefield empty of life except for the pilots and what few enemies remained after so vicious a battle.
Wordlessly, they exchanged glances, unable to speak.
Finally, "Joel, you're the fastest of us, so it's up to you to get the hatches open." Michael suggested quietly, directing everyone's attention back to their present sate and away from the teenager who seemed no older than a small child as he lay still in the arms of a machine so much bigger than he, dripping his lifeblood onto the suit for which he'd worked so valiantly.
The Angel nodded, and where that would have been a strange, comical sight at another time, it only reminded his fellows of how much they'd gone through that day, and what they could very well lose if they weren't careful. "Right," he replied, and sped off, intent on his duty as the others trailed behind him.
No one spoke. It would have seemed inappropriate, and besides, no one knew what to say.
You have no idea who you're fighting, Trunks had said. These enemies from his past were indeed like nothing they'd ever faced before.
But Michael was right; they didn't leave friends behind, and when a friend needed help, they'd do everything in their power to give it to their companions, even if neither were certain of the friendship they shared.
By the time they got back to the hangar, everyone had realized how tired they were, and how much they'd really given up by staying on the battlefield. And for once, they were quiet as they helped one another out of their suits, and voiceless as they put Trunks in the arms of doctors, heading once again for the hangar to clean up their suits as best they could. For a time, it was enough.
"We…all of us…need to get some sleep," Nora began, and smiled wearily at her constant companions. The expression didn't fit her personality, but they took comfort, nonetheless, from her gentle concern. "We can finish this in the morning, when our minds are working properly. Right now, the best thing we can do is get some food, and rest."
Nodding wordlessly, the group of pilots, friends and partners alike, made their way out of the cavern like room, and into the light. The androids' words hung in their thoughts like an ill omen even as they talked quietly of home over a warm meal, and though none of them said it, they all felt the same chill whenever their eyes wandered towards the single window in the room.
He's ours to kill. They knew what she meant; they'd seen it in her eyes. Trunks would die by their hands, and when he did, there would be no one left to keep them from killing everyone and everything in sight.
Sleep tight…If only they could.
*****
"Here, drink this," an unfamiliar voice instructed, pressing a warm mug into Trunks' hands. His fingers closed around the smooth surface instantly, and something about the familiar scene reminded him of all the times his mother had done precisely what this man, a doctor, he presumed, had done.
Trunks groaned, not opening his eyes. "Not so loud," he begged, and looked into the cup. It was filled with an amber colored liquid, gently steaming and smelling wonderfully of honey and rich tea. "And how did you know I was awake?" he croaked, and became suddenly thankful for the drink in his hands, and sipped gingerly at it. When he found it to his liking, it swiftly vanished from the mug to his stomach, and Trunks absently placed the empty container on the table next to him.
The doctor smiled, and filled the cup. "You blinked," he said simply, watching as Trunks swallowed yet another serving of the tea. Wordlessly, he passed the pitcher to the boy, and after he finished that, the doctor filled it with boiling water, added a few tea bags and generously doled honey into the mixture while administering small amounts of sugar. Amused, Trunks watched with interest as he did the same three times over before deciding he'd had enough to drink, and surrounded him with loaves of buttered bread, toast with various kinds of jams, baskets of assorted fruit, jars filled with nuts, a few pitchers of milk, and a healthy platter of eggs.
Grinning, Trunks quickly polished off the eggs and was beginning on the toast between sips of milk as the doctor spoke up. "You've been sleeping for the past three days. Your wounds have been cared for, but we couldn't force you to eat as much as you need," he gestured to the piles of food. "Thus we've been preparing ungodly amounts of food for the past few days, and letting the pilots, mechanics, and other such fellows finish off what you didn't." his eyes twinkled. "We've managed to make quite a few people happy." He noted, seemingly genuinely pleased.
Trunks sobered at the mention of the young pilots, and looked around the room, half expecting to see one of their faces. "Are they--"
"Just fine," the doctor assured him. "The Allies haven't attacked us in about as long as you've been sleeping, so we're in good shape. Everyone's well rested, and they claim to have managed to repair the most complicated damages made to their suits," he shrugged. "seeing as I don't understand any of that mechanical stuff, I wouldn't know if that's true or not." He admitted, and gestured to a piece of bread. "You don't mind if I--" he asked hopefully.
Trunks raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Ah. Thank you… I haven't eaten since five, and it's half past eleven now." He smiled at Trunks, and happily helped himself to a few pieces of toast and a small glass of milk.
For the next few minutes, they ate in silence, and after they'd both completed their meals, Trunks closed his eyes, and hoped nothing terrible had befallen his friends. "What of the androids?" he queried, his voice soft against the tumult of everyday life.
The doctor seemed only puzzled by the question, and curiously tilted his head. "Androids?"
Trunks blinked, and realized his mistake. The doctor had no way of knowing the complex history behind the twins, or even the most basic knowledge. "The twins, Seventeen and Eighteen, they're cyborgs." He tried to explain it as best he could, but was having a difficult time remembering the words he was searching for. "The people where I'm from call them 'artificial humans,' but that's not really true. I grew up thinking they were androids, but they were once human, mechanically redesigned to become what they are now." He shrugged, and bit his lip.
His smile becoming somewhat strained, the doctor leaned closer. "So you're telling me you know these…androids?" he seemed both hopeful and wary, as if he were unsure of what he should think or do.
Trunks nodded. "I've been…fighting them…my entire life." He looked away. "Until I came here, and got caught up in this war," he corrected himself knowing that wasn't completely true any longer.
"You're not from here," the doctor stated, and climbed shakily to his feet.
Trunks shook his head. "No, I'm not." He paused. "I'm from a different planet, and so are they." He sighed, and looked away. "Can you get the pilots, please?" he pursed his lips, and looked around, feeling for their chi. Then he stopped and stared up at the doctor, alarmed and somewhat taken aback. "They're here." He sighed again, both frustrated and somewhat relieved. Well. At least now they knew the basics…the doctor seemed a little guilty, and murmured something about needing to tend to other patients.
"Alex, tell the others to come out from their hiding places," he called, frowning and trying to appear displeased. "I need to talk to all of you." One by one, they revealed themselves. Too tired to keep up the charade of annoyance, Trunks smiled and eyed each of the pilots with some amusement. "It's not polite to eavesdrop," he chided, and motioned for them to take a seat. "But nevertheless, you know now what the androids are."
Alex glowered down at him, pulling one of many chairs to the side of Trunks' bed, and sat. "How do you know them, and why didn't you tell us anything?" he demanded.
Shoving guilty thoughts aside, Trunks tried to regain his composure, found that a useless exercise, and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. "Would you have believed me?" he asked, trying to prove a point and get an answer. Alex snorted, probably remembering the first time he'd talked to Trunks, and proclaimed him incurably insane. Even that thought was not enough to cheer the demi-Saiyajin; it seemed pointless in comparison to waste time on anything else when he needed to know if what hew as doing was right.
But these were not the people who could do so.
Those people were dead.
The silence was enough o answer his question, and Trunks smiled, albeit he did so tiredly. "I didn't think so." He murmured, and pulled uselessly on the sheets, trying to find something for his hands to do. "I'm not entirely human," he began, not looking any of them in the eyes. "My mother was, but my father was Saiyajin." he fidgeted. "He was killed by the androids when I was a child."
Alex sulked quietly, the very picture of a hurt infant betrayed by someone he trusted. "But you said--"
"That I met him?" Trunks met Alex's gaze, but swiftly averted his eyes. "I did. Where I'm from, technology used to be more advanced, before the androids destroyed everything." He pulled a small container from his inner pocket, and clicked it open, tossing it to a cleared area. The capsule exploded into a filing cabinet, filled with various odds and ends Trunks had collected over the past few months. "A capsule. It can hold just about anything and keep it in a pill-sized container that fits in your pocket." He recited, quoting one of the old slogans Capsule Corps run a while back, and sighed. "My grandfather invented them.
"Anyways, I just wanted to show you that things are…different." He paused, trying to find the words he needed. "Those two have massacred over two thirds of my planet's population, leaving those that are remaining in cities that are little more than rubble. My world has gone to dust because of them." He gestured futilely, and fumbled over his sentences. "They may have been human once, but as you may have noticed, they hate anything that's even remotely connected with living things." Trying to smile, he stopped, swallowed, and stared up at the ceiling. "They don't die, they don' get tired, and they don't need to sleep. Their energy is enormous, not to mention it doesn't run out. The only thing that's kept them from destroying everything is their cruel desire to see us suffer." He was near shouting now, ignoring the pain it caused his throat and trying to keep his mind steady.
"And me. They haven't killed everyone because of me…" he added quietly, and sighed. "I amuse them, so they keep enough people alive to keep me fighting, and torment them just enough to keep everyone living in fear." He shook his head sadly, and wished for one moment that he could be more like Gohan, and explain things to these pilots gently and clearly as possible while still getting his point across. And he wished…
He wished he'd been strong enough to stand up to those abominations.
He wished…so much.
…maybe…?
Too much.
Corry smiled bravely, and raised one hand, as if to interrupt. "You must be one strong guy, then," he offered, and the others murmured their muted agreement.
Trunks laughed, and met their gazes, one by one. "I wish I could believe that…" by the confused expressions they wore, he knew they didn't understand. Pained by the sudden memory of everyone that'd given his life for some kind of peace when he lived even now, Trunks' patience grew thin. "But they have killed people who were much better warriors than I am. My father, my teacher, Gohan, and countless others. They're why my Mom built it. To try and stop them from getting out of control before it was too late…"
"Built what?" Nora asked quickly, her soft brown eyes urging him on. "Tell, us, Trunks. What did she build?"
Amused, Trunks had to laugh at their enthusiasm. "It didn't
work. The time machine brought me back, but it didn't change our
future…just theirs." He smiled wearily at Alex. "That's how I met my father,"
he explained. "But…it didn't work, and now I'm not even sure if there's a home
left for me to return to." He closed his eyes, and thought about everything the
androids had said. "It's broken, anyways. I've tried countless times, and nothing
ever happened…"
"But we can beat them! Mecha against mecha! We have the brains and the
firepower to beat their asses--" Alex protested, fire lighting in his dark
eyes.
Trunks stared in amazement at the young man. "No. You can't, and we can't. Anything you do will not faze them. Any tactics we could devise would have not effect whatsoever; some of the greatest fighters who ever lived died because of them. With these two, firepower's all that matters, and none of us have anything that even comes close."
Frustrated, he tried to make them see. "The only thing we can do is wait, and hope we can come up with something that can shut them down. Now…go. Leave me alone…I need to sleep…"
With that, they left, each one glaring sullenly at him as they passed.
*****
As soon as Trunks felt well enough to leave bed, he helped himself to a healthy snack and left for the hangar, intent on fixing whatever problems remained with the suits. If they worked together, they just might be able to inflict some damage…despite his earlier words, Trunks found himself looking for answers to questions he hadn't asked in a long while.
What were their weaknesses, and how could he exploit them?
Even as he fiddled with the suits, his mind was elsewhere, building off old tactics that had worked before against significant firepower. Unfortunately, the firepower came more often in the form of sheer strength, so there wasn't much adapting he could do.
These…suits, they were his creation, and full of little devices and tricks he'd learned about while dissecting the androids. While they weren't as insanely complicated, some of the basic designs were in play within each suit and the same structures could be assumed to have approximately identical problems…but no suits were completely alike, not even the four kinds of Birds he'd modeled after one another. They were built to fit the pilot, and the troubles that insured were specific to each weapon.
I wish they were all a dream…I can't do a thing against them…How many times had he been in a situation like this? They'd taken advantage of his inability to let people suffer too many times. He should have learned long ago that trying to get human civilians involved rarely ever paid off, and more often than not it ended in tragedy. Many images of carnage and destruction surfaced in his mind, scenes of utter desolation amidst the human people, where hopelessness went unrivaled. Because of these two, he'd seen grandparents burry their families alone, struggling to dig a grave deep enough o keep scavengers out and trying to finish the job before the bodies rotted.
So many dead…
The armies of his world were all but annihilated, being allowed pitiful results and numbers too small to do anything but keep their facilities guarded. And yet the people relied on them. Easily satisfied with the thought that someone would protect them, the civilians ignored the past results and insignificant figures. So the militaries were shamed without realizing it, compelled to go on with their duties because there were dependents. So, time and time again, they were insulted and torn about, without ever truly understanding how helpless they were against two whose might stood unparalleled.
And now they had the chance to do it all over again. But this time, there were so many more complications to consider. If they chose a side with one of the forces, Allies or Rebels, there would be people who saw them as saviors, and that would be a dangerous thing indeed.
If he died, there were none left to follow him.
So there's only one way this can end, Trunks decided, smiling to himself. Just one…
*****
He heard them long before he saw them, and he sensed the demolition they caused long before that. Within his heart, he knew this was a trap, and that they sought only to bring him out of his 'chosen' battlefield and into their clutches. There would be no survivors, but he had to try, nonetheless.
Among the suits, he'd devised another radio receiver and transmitter, guessing that there would be a time when the pilots wouldn't have their suits to communicate with, and assuming a time would come where he would need their advice. It was a standing microphone type piece that sat on the thick table, connected to a power device similar to the ones he'd installed in the suits themselves. Knowing they'd be able to find him, he flew out of the hangar window at a relatively slow speed, for there was little reason to waste his newly recovered energy on the road to the battle. There was no telling how long this would take, and it was more likely than not for him to wind up half dead before they gave up.
He was confident the pilots would make the right decisions, and just in case, brought his head set with him, thinking they might need to contact him.
All he could do was hope they wouldn't follow. Suffering from lack of time would bring him to a disadvantage, but there were few things he could do besides getting out of the vicinity. He was torn between wanting their assistance and needing them to be kept safe, unsure if he wanted their suits up and ready so he'd receive something of a hand, or if he wished their ultimate survival above all else. With the suits half broken, it wasn't likely they could get out of there until evening anyways, if not later. With this knowledge, he could be at ease.
Unless…
Unless they skimped on the repairs and followed him out sooner, or worse, brought a less powerful suit to the battlefield.
Then there would be trouble, no doubt about it.
With a wry smile, Trunks felt he finally understood why teenagers, especially himself, had frustrated his mother so much. Impertinent young people who rarely ever thing things through or consider how much damage they'll do to themselves… it was a grim thought, and melancholy memories of his mother filled his mind. Now was not the time, however, and he had a serious need of a clear head.
He picked up speed as he flew further out, desperately seeking out the town that'd been massacred. Knowing what he'd find didn't help any, and if anything, it made it worse. There was little he could do for the injured in times like these, even if that's what he wanted the most. Ironically enough, he had absolutely no idea what had been done, though something told him it would be much like other massacres he'd seen, with the unfortunates left to die slow deaths while he attempted to make it up to them.
What else could he do?
He could very well devise another control to shut them down, but without the supplies, it wasn't likely that any adaptations he could make would work. It'd been difficult enough to devise one with all the supplies money could offer, and that was one procedure he'd rather not repeat. Besides, without anyone to distract they androids, they could and would make short work of any who tried to oppose them.
Trunks knew himself. He knew that he would be of no help if he were building something complex as that small remote, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sense the androids' coming. He'd be a sitting duck, helpless to their tantrums, as vulnerable as a child to their parents' chiding. What he needed was time. Without time, and a way to keep the android out of his hair while he built the damned thing, they'd all be doomed. This go around, there was no Vegeta to distract them, nor much hope of any 'mere human' doing the same after they'd already become accustomed to killing all her attempted opposition. No…there was nothing to help him, not even his mother, who'd built one such gadget in another time…
What can I do?
Nothing. He could do nothing but wait for them to tire of the mockery they called 'battle' and hope they left him in good enough condition to get some work done on the blueprint that formed in his mind. Trunks smiled. Hope…
That has a nice ring to it, he mused, and finally met up with the two beings he'd never wanted to see, not now, not ever. There was nothing for it but to face them.
Despite his attempts to remind himself of exactly what the androids could do when they were so inclined, taking sight of the town was too much for any one person to handle. He found himself transforming before he even caught sight of the twins, but it was too late to employ that tactic; he'd need to spend days like this to actually have made a difference in the amount of energy it saved, and he just didn't have time for that.
It was all horribly familiar; he'd seen this before, long ago. His mother had finished the time machine because of a similar situation, and seeing it again filled his heart with dread. There were bodies all around even now, before the real fighting had even started, and the hot sun baked the air with that all too familiar smell. He knew what he'd find when he caught up with the androids, and he knew he'd be the cause of an accident so profound he didn't want to think about it. They'd make sure of that, forcing him to relieve his last, possibly most acute defeat at their hands. It was all part of one complex scheme to make him insecure in his skills, his abilities, and remind him why he left the world to begin with, and why all the twins could have ruined while he was gone.
They didn't want to kill him.
Not yet.
First, they'd show him how very helpless he was.
They'd show him how to forget hope, the way they'd shown so many others…
Well, Trunks thought, looking around with growing despair as he observed the scene. If I fall, there will be another to take my place… maybe not now, or any time in the foreseeable future, but they will be overcome. The realization gave him a small amount of comfort, though he couldn't quite say why. Whether or not they were defeated was one thing, but how many would die before then was quite another.
Already, they'd begun something too terrible to think about.
Somehow he found his way to them without having to search too much, seeking out the life forces he knew were there, and offering aide where he could. In all actuality, he would have much preferred to help more before fighting, but this could not be.
Like some horrible production, it was all playing out as he remembered it, and when he found the twins, Seventeen held a man, near dead, by the throat, nearly one hundred stories from the ground as he tortured the man. Whether he realized it or not, Trunks' heart contorted at the sight, and he attacked blindly, not thinking where any of this would get him or the man. The androids, however, were expecting just that.
"Well, well, well," Eighteen remarked simply, pushing Trunks higher in the air just as he got his hands on the victim. "Look what we've got here…"
Seventeen smirked. "A lost warrior and his pet," he laughed, unresponsive to Trunks' energy assaults. They were as carefully aimed as he could make them, but there was little he could do while holding someone much larger than he, and Trunks knew he rant the risk of injuring the man further simply by keeping him here. "Do be careful, Super Saiyajin, we wouldn't want you to die before your friends got here…"
That stopped him faster than any physical assault could have. "Leave them out of this, Seventeen!" he snapped, glaring at the android with an undiluted sense of distrust, hate, and some amount of fear. They'd always been want to distract him with painful words during a fight, and this more than anything else they could have done brought him to a new level of skill. Unfortunately, this also brought him to distraction, just as Eighteen proved, flying into him with enough force to shatter his right arm and leave him dazed as the man, one of the few survivors of the day, fell to his doom.
Laughing at Trunks' dilemma and pain, Seventeen and his twin quickly joined forces, using a technique Gohan had referred to as a 'double.' The two advanced with enough speed to keep Trunks' attention, but he could never be sure if one was hiding behind the other, or if that missing twin would come from another direction. It was a simple technique if one had the speed and ability to perform it, and the sheer number of possibilities left their opponent guessing, no matter if he or she recognized the plan or not. But they knew more about him than he would have liked, and both knew he would not stay still for such an attack, and that he would undoubtedly try to save the man before he hit the earth. So Trunks had very few choices indeed, and the only one his conscience would let him make was the one that would lead him into a trap he'd felt coming. But there was no way he could stop it. This man's life was in his hands, and no matter how slim the chance of saving him was, he would take it without regard to the risk he put himself in.
Stupid teenager… he thought to himself, vaguely amused as his course of action, but remained all the more determined to save this person, this man who had a life, a family to go home to. Never caring how much harm they do themselves…
Well, when forced into a decision, all he could do was hope for the best, and try and take advantage of the ones that made the trap. When it seemed everything was falling into place, they would get cocky, over confident, and prone to making mistakes they would not have made otherwise. Besides, this particular snare could very well work both ways…with a little improvising; something could definitely be made to work. And when it came to finding things to work off of, Trunks knew exactly what to do.
It was risky, with little opportunity for mishap, but he would have to manage. After all, it wasn't like he had an infinite amount of time to come up with a plan. As expected, he dove for the falling man at a break-neck speed, hoping against all odds that he'd find a loop hole in their plan that wouldn't be used against him. Unfortunately for Trunks, the double technique was of two vantage points, where one twin, Seventeen, he thought, careened after him from above, the other remained unseen, hidden somehow. Whether Eighteen was behind a building, or merely ages above his head, Trunks didn't know. Unexpectedly he veered in the opposite direction, hooting up and out, past Seventeen, and then down again, coming towards the man as he steadily gained speed and momentum. If I don't get him quickly, this will end in both of us hitting something, and while I might survive that, he would not.
There should have been some intervention at this time, from Seventeen or his sister, but there came none. It was as if everything around him had paused, giving him blessed time, enough to catch the man by the arms before either android made an entrance.
As he caught him, sure to catch the tortured victim by the arms instead of waist, making certain he kept his neck safe and supported as he dared. As it was, simply by catching him caused quite a bit of impact. For while his body wanted to keep moving, there was one undeniable force, but ironically unproven, keeping him from doing such, causing an upward trend that carried through his arms, but the restraint being practiced similarly met resistance. The result ended with two sickening cracks as the man's arms broke. Thankfully, his neck and spine remained intact, so his goal was accomplished. He was alive, and now he'd have a chance of actually surviving the rest of this damned incident.
Laughter met his ears, not silence. " 'Fool me once, shame on you,'" Seventeen quipped, quoting an old proverb Trunks had heard a few times before, usually from his mother. Trunks didn't' have the time to wonder what he meant, for just as he was about to get out of there, a heavy body rammed into him, jarring him and loosening his hold on the man he held. Cursing under his breath, Trunks stared in awkward amazement, trying to become less dazed and fuzzy before another attack followed its predecessor. " 'Fool me twice, shame on me,'" the blatant merriment in his voice was more than evident, it rang in the depths of each word, and tainted the air with the foul stench that Trunks could never place.
Eighteen had come from behind, attacking not Trunks himself, but the man he held, trying to strike blows that would never heal, that would break his mind and spirit as much as it could harm his body. Trunks was at a severe disadvantage here, their numbers were greater, and singularly they would be able to take him out. With both of them, he had little chance of coming out of this unscathed. Their hands were free, and they remained unencumbered, whereas Trunks tried desperately to keep his hold on a man much taller and broader than he while simultaneously fighting two creatures beyond his strength.
In that moment, someone decided to put his radio to good use. "TRUNKS! Are you listening to us?" Alex, naturally, was screaming his lungs out, trying to get the young scientist's attention and successfully distracting him. …I forgot there were disadvantages to this device, he thought grimly, trying to bite back a scream as he was pummeled from front and back.
The only limbs he had free were his legs, and while that mattered very little on the ground, in the air anything that could move was an advantage. Trunks wasn't likely to overlook that. "Busy," he croaked into the receiver, tasting blood as he licked his lips. Why…? He wondered, annoyed and somewhat crestfallen. Something tells me this is not a good sign.
"Oh look, Trunks-kun has friends on the line," Seventeen cooed, rolling his eyes in amused frustration. "You really should devote more of your attention to us, kid. We're the ones you're entertaining, not them." Eighteen's expression did not change, and she kept up her assault, not paying much attention to either the twin or the voices coming across the transmitter. Seventeen either didn't seem to notice his sister's lack of attention, or didn't care, and continued his conversation without regard to her. "You're not much of a host, now are you?" he laughed, patting Trunks' hair with so-called 'affection.'
In response, Trunks laid one well aimed blow to Seventeen's nose, successfully distracting him long enough to gain some distance before Eighteen pulled him back into place, catching hold of his shirt and jerking he and the man back where they'd been moments before. Frustrated, Trunks ignored the shouts for him to give answers, noting in the back of his mind that it was mostly Alex's voice that carried through, and Nora's, both of whom had unusually high pitched voices when they wanted to be heard. They were loud, besides.
For what seemed like ages, they fought, getting nowhere and causing Trunks no small amount of discomfort as he strove for the relative safety of the ground. Never before had he wished to this extent that most humans were capable of flight, for as much as he wanted this man's life to be saved, he was costing him valuable maneuverability and forcing him to take blows he should have been able to dodge. Unbelievably, the man remained alive, breathing shallowly even under the most severe amounts of strain, managing to function past all Trunks' expectations. It was marvelous to behold, and certainly inspiring. If one man could hold on this long, there was no reason he should tire, not when a being such as this fought for life even as Trunks fought for freedom, safety, and indeed, existence.
So impossibly he found his way to the ground, with no small amount of damage to himself, but little enough to the man. He could survive, and with luck, he would. Despite everything, Trunks smiled, looking the twins in the eyes as he flew back to meet them, unaware of everything but their mirrored frowns of annoyance, not noticing the laughter that danced in their eyes. "No more hostage, eh?" Eighteen asked, pouting a little. "Guess you finally figured it out; we don't give a damn about you or your humans…the possibility of hurting one is just a bonus."
Seventeen laughed, and nodded. "Bonus points, that is," he clarified, materializing behind him as if by magic. Trunks whirled about in surprise, ready to face an assault from two angles. Instead, only one took the initiative. Eighteen took him by the waist and threw him forcibly into the air, aiming for an office building that doubtless held hundreds of lives.
The final puzzle piece…his failure, and ultimate defeat at their hands.
Unable to keep his momentum from building, and too worn to influence his path, Trunks would have careened into the side, toppling the thing like a stack of blocks a child would make. But these were no children, and their target was much more important than a few pieces of wood; human lives were at stake, and the amount of damage this one accident could cause…well. It was best not to think about it.
And yet…
Somehow, miraculously, he did not hit.
Once again, as he had when entering this planet's atmosphere, he felt a pressure too familiar to be described as foreign, but too unusual to be recognized instantaneously. He was slowed significantly, directed in an altogether different direction, away from civilian life and into a tower that was blessedly empty.
The wall he collided with shattered, as he expected, causing a literal landslide as the building tumbled in on itself. He'd hit in such a way that kept everything in a confined pile, barely sprawling into the surrounding land, but stories high, with Trunks buried underneath a good deal of it.
"Wh--t j--st --ened?" Michael asked, his voice filled with static over the radio that'd gone into a few too many pieces to be completely clear.
Trunks stared up at the rubble surrounding him, and wondered that himself. "…I hit a building…" he murmured, hoping they'd be able to understand him. Looking at the shards of cement, glass and metal, he very much doubted they could, and he mostly got mostly indecipherable words and a long few buzzing noises more than intelligible conversation. He could barely move, and it took quite some time for him to regain sense of himself enough to get out of that grave. Indeed, he felt that nearly an hour had passed before he gathered his strength.
He moved the blocks aside with renewed determination, not so much bothering with physical handling them as he blasted the rubble into harmless specks as he found his way out. Predictably, the androids were above and waiting, hushed as they'd been the first time. Silent and death, and perhaps wiling to take up the Grim Reaper's task if it meant getting rid of him and everything he loved.
But there were more surprises in store for him, it seemed, but these were not in the form of enemies, but allies. When he emerged, he saw suits of Allied make, finding their way towards him with unexpected ease. "How…?" Trunks asked, dumbfounded.
Joel's voice came cheekily over the transmitter, sounding a great deal closer than before. "We snitched a few suits, not as good as ours, to be sure, and followed the radio waves. When we're going in the right direction, we get less static." He informed him, happy to explain something to Trunks when it'd so often been the other way around.
Another voice, flattened by the strange system being used, filled his ears. "We copied the design you made for the receivers, too," Michael began, and when looking from one suit to another, Trunks was unable to discern who was who, despite the radical differences in everyone's fighting style. "And we completely severed any possible links these suits have to the Allies," he sounded particularly smug about that feat. "So we should just be help, and not the pig's blood trail that led the hunter, or in our case, the Allies, directly to us."
Trunks laughed tiredly, glad they'd been able to do something of use, and pleased they'd learned so much in the last few weeks. "You've done well," he complimented, and set his gaze on the enemy. "But remember what I said…not even with your suits could you hope to defeat them…but you're welcome to try. However, as soon as yours is damaged, get out of here, do you understand me?"
He could practically hear the defiance simmering underneath the supposedly compliant silence. "You're not exactly in the best of shape, Trunks, maybe you should leave." No one but Alex had the courage, or even the desire to make that comment but he.
Trunks had to roll his eyes. "I'm Saiyajin. You're not. I'll live. You won't." he paused momentarily, waiting for that to sink in. "Understood?" that had to be the most blatant racial slur he'd ever made in his entire life, but if it kept them alive, Trunks didn't give one wit about politeness, or being politically correct.
Dutifully, they all replied the expected answers, but something told Trunks it'd take a hell of a lot more than a warning to get them out of here, and he was afraid that 'something' would come in the form of a body, most likely one of their friends.
So far, things were not looking good.
From above, there was not a sound, not even the passing of wind as the two androids flew closer, until they saw eye to eye with the half Saiyajin. "Well, Trunks," Eighteen noted calmly, looking from he to the suits steadily coming closer. "A sacrifice is all very good and well," not surprisingly, her voice suggested otherwise, as it was completely devoid of emotion, "but you should know, your friends will not help you."
Seventeen smirked, knowing the truth behind that statement. "Indeed. Although I admit, I'm getting a bit bored with the situation as it stands," he drawled, looking around with an altogether disinterested feel about him. "How about we liven things up a bit?" From the two twins there radiated a brilliant light, slowly gaining intensity as time passed. Trunks stared in confusion, the sense of apprehension and some recognition filling his mind. He'd seen this once before…only once, and that had been from a distance too great to actually qualify as 'seeing.' No, this was felt, not seen.
And Trunks clearly remembered where he'd encountered this before.
Where it all ended.
Where it'd began.
Gohan. Trunks stared in shock; he'd thought they'd not go to such extremes now, when they'd kept him alive all these years. This was show they killed Gohan… and amongst that brilliant light, something began once more, a deadly technique that left only the strong standing, and the weak dead and far beyond 'gone.' Nothing. He could do nothing to stop them, and if they targeted his friends, there was absolutely nothing he could do to end their course of action.
And yet…
And yet he knew they would not leave him to face this awesome power by himself. Not even to save their lives, thereby preserving those of their people. He hadn't asked them. They'd just responded to an unvoiced plea for justice, and purity on this planet he dared not call Earth.
In his heart, he knew he wouldn't-- couldn't --survive this day. None of them would, except, perhaps, the androids. Trunks lifted his head, and calmly let his defiance show in his eyes, darker than the night itself, until he transformed, pulling all the color towards the center and lighting until they shone a blue green that rivaled the sea, and nothing, no emotion, naught shown through.
And then he smiled.
He might not kill the two, but he'd give them a hell of a lot to remember him by.
Through it all, Trunks felt a power growing unlike anything he'd ever sensed before, or come to familiarize himself with. It was similar to the breach that brought the twins here, but more manageable in nature, perhaps a cousin to that very rift. In his mind, Trunks knew this was wrong, that it should not happen like this, but he looked past that, and concentrated solely on destroying these two things that had so ruined his life, and those of his family.
Gohan.
My father.
My mother…
These people needed vengeance, alive or dead, their souls demanded justice. Nobody should be forced to live in fear, least of all those proud, strong people who upheld the world.
Not his family.
Not his teacher.
For this, the twins would pay, and they would pay dearly.
Without warning, Trunks attacked, pushing the two androids aside with a flying kick that had little to do with force and everything to do with timing. They'd expected him to erect a shield, or at the very least attack them with chi, not an all out physical assault. He was tired, broken, and he ached, so it was the exact opposite of what his body would have wanted, so he went with it. The results were pleasantly rewarding, and the twins' energy was pulled down to something more manageable.
The light, however, remained.
And to this light, Trunks' attention was drawn, as energy he recognized just as easily and as well as his own emerged from a rip in the fabric of reality.
His mother.
*****
tbc…
The next chapter will hopefully be up by the 25th of January.
Two chapters remain, and two 'specials' that aren't really part of the main story. *Smiles* hopefully they'll be done soon.
I do apologize for being a day late, but in my defense, it takes a hell of a lot of time and paper, to get these chapters from the upstairs to the downstairs. (I think I may have mentioned it, but my disk drive is broken, so the upstairs comp. is completely segregated.)
Thanks go out to Raen! You're definitely one consistent reviewer! Really cool thing to be.
Comments, criticism, rants and other such reviews are always appreciated.