Alma: Your examples went away! I think I can figure most of what you were saying out; the last one is a little confusing still though. Anywho, the quotation thing is something that must have happened while uploading or something (I went back to check my hard copy, just in case, and they were there, and I could have sworn they were there when I previewed but apparently I don't have the eagle eyes I would like). The your you're thing is a problem I have, I know the difference and usually I can catch it, but sometimes it slips by, sorry! And whatever that last quotation problem was I'm sorry about that too! Thanks for the praise; we all know I lap it up! I think the story will get a lot more character driven from here on out (though who knows what really will come out of this little head of mine).

Misty, you slacker! Hee hee. It's lovely to hear from you darling! "Please explain these mysterious people" Uh-oh, I thought I was only being ambiguous about one person...er...entity...whatever.

And, as Misty and Alma were the ONLY ones to review the last chapter (I felt very abandoned and unloved) I suppose I just have to go directly to the story.

Wait, one more note that was neglected last update. Apparently I suck at writing dream sequences. No, Trunks is not thirteen, that was a dream. Maybe I should just stop writing dreams, except I can't because I really don't think in any sort of linear fashion, so I'll just tell you now, The first part of this story is A DREAM. Got it?

On with the show.

You, what do you want here?

There was hatred burning in her bloody eyes.

You've taken enough from me.

Her slender fingers reached to wrap themselves around his throat.

Get out.

Her voice seethed with anger, even as the last breath left his lungs.

I am Misery's mother.

His vision went dark and she slipped away into the mist.

"When?"

"A few hours ago, no more."

"So long?"

"It's not the sort of thing people proclaim in the streets sir."

Trunks let out a ragged breath and wearily passed a hand over his face. "That makes it three"

"Yes sir"

"Seventy five people"

"No sir," Bran corrected, "sixty"

"Sixty?"

"Yes sir, only about half the sector this time."

"Survivors?"

"Yes sir."

Trunks muttered a curse and shot off into the air. Three attacks in two weeks, and suddenly now there were survivors, suddenly now he could get the answers he needed, suddenly now there was a chance to fight back.

You've taken enough from me.

The prince shook his head and tried to erase her voice from his mind. It was enough that she had haunted his dreams...

I am Misery's mother.

He could not afford to let her disrupt his day as well.

Trunks landed in the corner of the sector furthest from the wall. People wandered through the streets. Lost and confused they huddled together in silent groups or wept alone. The people here had seen nothing, but they felt the effects of what had happened nonetheless. Many had lost friends or family, many more wondered if they had.

As he traveled closer to the wall the wailing grew quieter. People stood about empty eyed and frozen, their arms wrapped about themselves as if they were afraid of crumbling in the middle of the street. Here, doctors and collectors and various other workers milled about with more purpose, tending to broken buildings and shattered souls.

The prince carefully approached a man who seemed less brittle than the others.

"Sir?" he asked, gently placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "Sir, can you tell me what happened?"

The man blinked slowly and turned toward the prince. "She went to the market." He said in a ragged voice, "She went and she didn't come back."

"Can you tell me what happened to her?"

"She went and she didn't come back."

Trunks sighed and left the man, heading nearer to the wall. By the time he reached the first casualties he could feel the weight of the sorrow around him. It settled on his shoulders and tightened in his chest. There was a woman not two feet in front of him, shrieking for the child that hung limp in her arms. The doctor kneeling at her side was trying desperately to calm her, but she refused to be comforted.

After a moment Trunks gently pulled the doctor aside. "Did she see anything?"

"She saw too much sir" the doctor said, "That's the problem."

"You can't get anything out of her?"

"Screams, tears, a whole lot of pain, give her time, maybe more."

"How much time?"

"It's hard to say, some people take maybe a few days, some take months, some never recover."

The prince blew out a frustrated breath, "Alright, thank you."

He turned on his heel and nearly trampled a woman who was crouched behind him. She sat all alone, huddled in upon herself, muttering something softly. He wondered for a moment how he had missed her; she sat not two feet from him. Carefully he crouched beside her, hoping desperately for any sort of information.

The woman froze, her lips stopped in the middle of whatever word she'd been repeating to herself. She blinked and looked up at him. The prince watched in silence as her brow knit and her head cocked to the side. Reaching up a hand, she took a strand of his hair and held it for a second before letting it drop and returning her gaze to his face.

This would be the part, he assumed where she would shudder and pull away from him. Where she would remember the stories she'd heard of his legendary temper and cringe. To the prince's surprise, however, the woman only stared at him.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked softly.

The woman's head cocked even more and her brow knit tighter before she shook her head.

"Did you see anything?"

She nodded.

If Trunks had been any less his father's son, at that moment he would have jumped for joy. But he was too much a Saiyan prince, the control he held over any emotion that wasn't rage was too tight. His only reaction was to take a calming breath in anticipation. It took him a moment to realize the woman wasn't speaking.

"Please," he said, taking her hands into his without thinking "please, I need to know what happened."

The woman looked down at her hands and then back up before she pulled them away from him.

"Please," the prince tried again, pulling his hands back and folding them in what he hoped was an innocuous way in his lap.

The woman shook her head and put a hand to her lips.

"I swear," the prince said confused "if h- it threatened you, you'll be protected, but I need to know what happened."

She shook her head again and repeated the gesture.

"Are you hurt?" the prince asked, trying a different tactic.

She shook her head.

"Have any of the doctors looked at you?"

Another shake.

Trunks called to the doctor he'd been speaking to earlier. "Has anyone looked at her?" He asked when she arrived.

The doctor pursed her lips, "I don't think so," she said shaking her head, "I can't imagine how we missed her."

"She isn't speaking," Trunks said, backing away to give the doctor more room, "I need her to speak."

The doctor nodded and knelt in front of the woman. Carefully checking her over, murmuring in soft tones and smiling gently. After a few moments she stood and shook her head.

"She's fine as far as I can see," the doctor said, "no physical reason for her silence, shock maybe."

Trunks felt like screaming. All the hope he'd so carefully cultivated that morning had gone to seed in a manner of moments. Fifteen people, fifteen survivors, fifteen and only two had seen anything and both were equally unreachable.

The prince turned back to the crouching woman and sighed. "You should head home," he said quietly, "your family will be worried."

As she stood the woman smiled sadly and shook her head. She dusted herself off and gave one lingering glance at the screaming mother before she took a deep breath and stepped away.

"Where do you live?" The prince asked, just as she was turning.

The woman glanced back and gave him a puzzled look.

"I need to know what happened, I need to know where to find you, so that when you can speak again..."

The woman seemed to be struggling to keep from rolling her eyes.

"Where do you live?" Trunks asked again.

She put her hands together and worked them up and down as if she were scrubbing something and then plucked a little at her skirt.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

She looked helpless and repeated the gesture.

"The washrooms?" Trunks asked after a moment.

The woman beamed and nodded.

"What are you doing all the way out here?"

She blinked and looked down at her feet.

"You're not supposed to be out here."

She shook her head, still looking down.

Moved by some odd impulse Trunks stepped up beside the woman. "I'll come with you," he said, "they won't yell at you if I'm there."

The woman hesitated for a moment and then nodded without a smile.

She led him back through the sector, weaving through bodies, ducking around people so deftly that he had to work to keep up with her. When they reached the ruins he paused, assuming she would skirt them. Instead she continued on, stopping only when she realized he had fallen behind.

"You're not afraid of them?"

The woman shook her head as if he'd just asked the strangest question and waited as he caught up.

"I thought everyone was afraid of these ruins."

She only shrugged and continued walking.

Her hand began to tremble as she reached for the door, but she seemed to steady herself with a slow breath as she opened it. As they stepped in the entire room froze. Every eye turned toward them. The woman shuffled uncomfortably, as if she were unused to being so visible and seemed to try to shift behind him. An older, matronly woman was bustling toward them with purpose written on her face. The prince could see the woman beside him tense and, unconsciously took a small step in front of her. The older woman, however, did not spare him a second glance. She swept the girl into her arms, hugging her to her breast without saying a word.

After a moment the older woman pulled away from the girl and turned to the prince. "Your highness." She said with a slight dip.

Trunks resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the title and the show of deference. "She was in sector seven," he said instead, 'the doctor said she's fine, though she may be suffering from shock."

At his mention of the sector the woman's eyes widened. "What were you doing there?" she asked, turning to the girl, who only looked sheepish and shook her head.

"She hasn't spoken since I found her." The prince supplied.

The old woman only chuckled. "Sir," she said with a small smile, "she never speaks."

The prince felt his mouth go dry and any grasp on hope he had retained slip away. "Never?" he managed to choke out.

"No sir, she doesn't speak."

"Won't, o-or can't or ... what?"

"I don't know sir, she just doesn't"

Trunks closed his eyes and managed to hold down his anger. He gave a curt nod and left the washroom without another word. As he headed home he resisted the urge to blow something up in his frustration and contented himself with scuffing the ground.

She doesn't speak.

Even in his anger he could see the irony. This was the only woman who could tell him what had happened and she couldn't tell him because she couldn't speak. There were fifteen survivors and he was nowhere nearer to finding out what had happened than when there had only been bodies.

Trunks shook his head and cooled his temper. His mother would be waiting with dinner and he should have been home half and hour ago. He muttered a curse and shot off into the air.

So this is probably the last update for a while, I'm off to college on Saturday. Hey, does anyone notice that Trunks mutters a whole lot of curses here? I think I may be over fond of that phrase (It's mirrored at the beginning and end on purpose, but I bet it shows up in other chapters)

So have fun kids, and if you are bored go bug Misty or Talysmin to write something, I'm getting impatient (hee).

Niamh