My emotional outlet

Is consuming the better part of me

And apart from the wrong words

A tortured cry is making me see

~ The Gathering, 'Marooned'

Destruction

"Again?!" The shriek bounced off the plated walls of the bridge. Bulma didn't even notice, she was too busy adding curses to her outburst. Frantically, she ran a hand through her aqua bangs and read the reports on her screen once more. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," she cursed. "No mistake, it's true..." She rummaged through a stack of papers and found Vegeta's list of inhabited planets. He had added that he had no idea which planets had survived the chaos that had ensued in the galaxy after the fall of the Cold Empire, but her current data did not stroke at all with any scenario they had thought of. Maybe it was really true? Maybe her suspicions were not so dumbfounded after all? "No… not again," she whispered, her voice breathy. She was right. It was one of the planets on Vegeta's list. And all that was left of it was a cold, silent planet, with no life readings of creatures bigger than the palm of her hand. Again. This was the ninth planet she had discovered in this particular state of being.

She had wanted to ignore it before, had told herself it could be coincidence, but it was not. She could not deceive herself anymore. The positive thing she could think of right now was the fact that they were far from the space quadrant where Earth was situated. This part of the former Cold Empire was dead. It had been completely and utterly destroyed. This could not have been caused by any war – it had been total annihilation.

She had to check with Future Trunks.

Landing a well-placed kick against the wall, she left the bridge and entered the hallway to Trunks' room he shared with Bra. Bulma shivered, and tried to push the feeling of foreboding doom far away. Sometimes she wished she did not have such a vivid imagination, and this was one of these moments. Images Trunks had described of the ending of the world, images of the desolate planet they had just passed, images and flashes of a possible future were irking her to no end. The pressure of knowing the world is going to end unless you do something about it was making it hard to breathe. What if she failed? What if they failed?

No! Don't even go there! We changed the future once, and we will do it again! We're already changing it! she scolded herself as she opened the door.

Trunks was present, fortunately. He was sitting on his bunk, his back against the wall, his eyes closed. His presence in the room was so overwhelming that it took her a few moments before she noticed that Bra was there too. Her daughter was lying on the floor, totally caught up in a book she was reading. She looked up when Bulma made a sound, and jumped up happily, hurrying over to her mother. Bra whispered urgently: "Trunks is doing some mind tricks Piccolo teached him, mum, can you feel it?"

"It's taught, sweetie. Not teached," she corrected absently. "And yes, I can feel it. Can I disturb him?"

Before Bra could answer, Trunks opened his eyes. "Yes, it's alright. What's up?"

Those haunted blue eyes... It again struck her how he kept looking worse the longer they were on the spaceship. It had been almost four months now, and her future son looked like he died a year ago. Oh, his body was in top shape, no question about it. He trained extensively these days, his physical training as intense as his mental one. Sometimes she almost felt the heavy telepathic communication in the spaceship. It gave her the willies, but she'd rather die than admit she felt left out (also because her young daughter was turning out to be as able a telepath as her past and future brothers). His body was as fine as it had ever been, every young woman's dream, but the way his lavender hair hung in his eyes, lifeless, the lines around his mouth, the feverish sparkle in his blue eyes, it was just wrong. The sparkles of energy that surrounded her younger son were simply gone. It looked to her that part of him had simply died inside. Her heart bled every time she thought of him.

"Could you come over to the bridge, Trunks? I want you to acknowledge something for me."

"Sure," he nodded, rising from the bed. "What can I do for you?"

***

…-It was there, inside of him.

It was jittery, filling him to the brink with wild emotions, using axes and spears, trying to fight itself out of the cage he created for it. It kept sawing and hacking its way out, up until the point that Trunks was afraid to even sneeze. Anything could set him off, he felt like a walking stick of dynamite, wary of sparks around him.

At night, the cage weakened and melted, letting the feelings flow out to torment him.

He barely slept because of it, waking himself with the echoes of his own screams or the wetness of his pillow. Eventually he barely slept at all, afraid for the monster in the cage. He did not dare to let it out.

They knew, probably, but Vegeta kept expecting the best out of him, and Piccolo grew impatient with his mental instability. They still wanted him to perform.

He was impatient, too. Nervous, mostly, as if he were walking on hot coals. Shards of glass, maybe. Sometimes he wanted to scream, power up and fill himself with ki until he would explode. He craved release, but inside the spaceship he was not allowed to give into those feelings. Which put him even more on edge-...

***

"So it's true," he heard himself say, his voice amazingly devoid of any emotion. He felt Bulma looking at him with blue eyes that might have been frightened. She was probably checking if he would break down.

"What is it, mom?" His younger counterpart was trying to peek over his shoulder. Where did the boy come from? He had not felt him coming. And why did he feel so strangely detached? Where was the rest? And why did this happen?

His past mother wouldn't see him crack. He hid everything deep down inside, in the cage. He had to. If she'd know how he felt, she'd probably freak. He supposed he was in denial right now; he felt as if he were dreaming, wrapped in cotton, floating two feet above the floor. Unreal. Detached.

Yet he had to… keep it inside.

And he had to focus. He had not noticed his younger counterpart entering. Neither had he seen or felt Goten. This was not good. He had to focus.

Planet! Silver Terror! Stay awake!

"It's happening."

***

…-Sometimes it was so bad he didn't know where to crawl.

Sometimes it was so bad he curled up inside a corner and sobbed desperately.

Sometimes it was so bad he let Vegeta beat him up so badly he lost consciousness for a period of time, just to find peace for a moment-…

***

"Those silver guys have been here?" Goten asked incredulously. Sometimes Bulma was surprised how remarkably fast the mind of the youngest Son could be in crisis situations, while he usually appeared rather dense. She supposed he took after his father. "They killed all those people?"

Bulma gave a slight nod as answer, not taking her eyes of Future Trunks. Maybe she should have checked with Vegeta first and broke the news more carefully to him. Or maybe she shouldn't have told him at all. Although there would probably break it to him in any easier way. He'd take it personally anyhow. He'd hurt over it. In his current state, everything hurt him. And he would have found out eventually. Kami, how she wished she could spare him. Poor, poor boy.

Future Trunks produced a choking sound in his throat before he spoke up. It was short, and hardly understandable, but she knew what he meant. "How many planets?"

She did not want to say it. "This is the ninth planet I have found."

***

-…And all the time, it was there. Deep down inside.

Jitter, jitter.

Kami, he wanted rest. He wanted out.

But most of all, he wanted RELEASE…

He knew it would not come.

It would never come.

All that would come was blood, pain, and insanity.

And all that was there were bodies of his loved ones, piling up, their blood spilling over his feet as he would cry for them The images. The agony.

All that would come was battle.

Battle… and destruction…

***

In the end it was Bra's weeping that kept him from destroying the whole bridge in his white-hot rage. He had hardly noticed he was doing it.

Kami, they would pay.