Chapter 3: Passage

It had been two weeks. Two torture-filled, horrid weeks that seemed like years of agony.

Trunks opened his eyes to find himself in darkness. He forced himself up on his arms and knees, looking about for any sign of life. The last thing he remembered was a horrible ache in his bones as he fell from the wall and hit the floor too hard, and now he couldn't tell if he had simply fallen unconscious or if he had actually, finally, succumbed to the suffering and died.

If he was dead… is this what was what lay afterwards? Darkness? Nothing?

"Trunks…"

He looked up, hearing the voice… the familiar voice…

From the shadows emerged Vegeta, his father! He really was dead…

"Father…" Trunks whispered. "You're… here…"

His white-gloved hand reached out to Trunks, offering to help him up.

Trunks reached out a sore arm towards him, but the hand switched into a fist and nailed him right in the jaw.

The half-Saiyan son fell to the ground, his lip bleeding.

"Ha-ha, he's so easy to fool," The android said, after changing form into that of 17. The other had taken the form of a blue-skinned woman with long white hair that Trunks didn't recognize.

"You don't really get it, do you?" She laughed.

And it was then that he was fully aware that he was still alive.

She stuck her leg through the bars and stomped on Trunks's head.

…

………

…………

When Trunks awoke again, he was surrounded by the others. Even Alusarin had gotten up from her corner and approached, though she looked rather bored.

"Good morning, good day," Cirus grinned.

Trunks blinked a few times and focused his vision. "What happened?"

"The androids decided to smack you around a little bit," Nemora said. "They do that sometimes."

"It's best you just stay away from the bars," Kyanite suggested.

"Rookie mistake," Alusarin shrugged. "You're totally bleeding. I thought Saiyans were supposed to be tough."

Trunks had learned to ignore her comments. Kyanite had told him that Alusarin most likely cared more than she made others aware, but he'd yet to see any proof.

He sat back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. His mother must be worried about him… He'd been missing for three weeks in total. How he wished he could contact her…

Nemora walked over to the bars and peeked out. "Y'know you guys got a lot of nerve to screw around with him like that!" He shouted.

"He wouldn't act all brave if they were actually there," Alusarin smirked.

Nemora turned on her, eyes flashing. "At least I care!"

"No, you don't. Why is Trunks suddenly your best buddy?"

He glared at her. "I didn't say that. He's nice enough, so I like him. We can't all be frigid like you."

"Such a shame," She said flatly and went back to her corner.

So Nemora had decided not to hate him… It was somewhat sudden, and Trunks doubted the affectionate feelings would last for long, but it was somewhat relieving to know he wasn't alone in his efforts.

Not that he had actually made any efforts yet… but he had been having a hard enough time staying conscious in the middle of experiments.

It was about an hour before their daily meal of bread and broth was sent in for them. Kyanite, always practical, separated it into equal parts for all of them… except for his own pieces, which were smaller in order to give all the others just a little more.

The taste was bitter and awful, and at first, Trunks had refused to eat it, but as time started to wear on, and his stomach began to rumble, the taste improved all on its own. Gohan had once told him that hunger was the best spice. He hadn't really understood that until now.

Nemora never ate. Since he was Namekian, he didn't have to. It explained why he seemed to be faring better than the rest of them, who were all haggard looking most of the time, sleeping just to be able to forget that their stomachs were growling.

As days, weeks, months went on, Trunks had noticed his loss in muscle mass as much as his hair growth. His physical changes had become the only way he could be aware how much time had passed. Sometimes he would be unconscious for days, and sometimes only minutes, but it always felt like the same amount of time. He'd tried to keep track of how many days had passed, but he'd lost count after about what he thought was the third month.

The only positive aspect to being out for days was that he would find a fine pile of food left for him, and while it was cold and probably beginning to go bad, he felt every joy in scarfing down every bite and even licking the tray, as if he was some sort of animal. In every aspect, it was what he seemed to have become. His Saiyan instincts for survival had long since kicked in. He ate all that he could, he slept in the corner, facing the others in the room, and he studied his enclosure whenever he could, looking for an escape. There was no room to feel safe with the ones he had started out trusting, for a nervous fever had set in on him because of his lack of good food. He became paranoid and suspicious of his fellow prisoners and did his best to keep as far from them as possible and speak to them only when necessary.

Soon enough, while Alusarin was occupying one corner, he was planted in the other, staring at the wall and the bars, using his eyes to examine any possible crack, any possible weakness in them.

He stayed awake as long as physically possible, but eventually he would find himself waking up when he never knew he had been asleep, usually being awakened by Nemora.

The Namekian never seemed to want to stop talking and asking questions… Much louder than Piccolo. He would try to ignore the green boy most of the time, but sometimes he'd find himself answering questions he hadn't even been aware he had been listening to.

He continued with his apprehensive attitude until his hair length reached his ear lobes.

It was after a particularly brutal experimentation and drawing of blood, right after he'd been thrown back into the cell, that he began to think logically for the first time in… well, as long as he hadn't been. His fever faded away when he saw them all watching him, Kyanite and Nemora showing slight concern but still keeping their distance as Trunks preferred.

They were no more than victims, like him. They had no qualms with him. They didn't sic the androids on him. They weren't the androids in disguise (All of these were vicious ideas that had run through his mind into the depths of the night when he forced himself to stay awake).

Relief washed over him as he slowly regained his senses. He was safe in the company of these people… well, safe as he could be.

Still he went and sat in his corner. He no longer held them accountable for anything that had been happening to him, but he wasn't about to try and get on their bad sides either. Even with trust, it seemed that the longer he was imprisoned, the more ferocious his mind and demeanor became. He was on edge constantly, and the last thing he wanted to do was shout and throw punches at the few people he could trust.

A few… what he could assume had been days went by before he was approached. The Namekian took a seat next to him while he sat in the corner and ate. "So…" He said. "Uh…"

He hesitated. Trunks could tell he wanted to ask him a question. While he waited, he stared at the green boy and realized he too had stopped faring so well. He looked sickly and tired.

"Did… you ever come up with an idea to get out of here?" He asked quietly.

Trunks swallowed but didn't speak. He didn't want to tell him no… even if it was the truth… He looked like he was ready to lose all hope. Experiments never ceased on any of them. On days when Trunks wasn't practiced on, one of the others were, and while he very seldom experienced listening to them (because he was usually asleep or unconscious) he knew first hand what they had to go through. The only reason Trunks had yet to break and give up so far was because he had an ingrown sense of stubborn pride from his father.

And so he just didn't say anything.

-

Scream.

Trunks jolted awake and found Nemora next to him, also started from rest.

The young boy, Cirus, sat hunched on the floor, electric blue eyes wide in the dim light. The androids were kicking at him through the bars. Cirus never slept, so he must have been playing or counting cracks in the floor when they spotted him close to the bars.

Everyone watched the little boy get kicked around, heard him yelp out, but they weren't about to try and stop them. What good would it do?

Finally the child seemed to understand that he was under attack and scampered to Kyanite's side, bruised and bloody, but already forgetting that it happened.

And that was when Trunks saw it.

As the android removed its hand from the bar… the seventh bar from the right… it vibrated slightly…

"Loose…" Trunks murmured.

Cirus suddenly burst into tears, and Kyanite cradled the child in his large arms. He wailed loudly and obnoxiously, as most children did when they cried… and it was so sad that Trunks felt his heart sink. For the moment he had forgotten the bar and thought only of his family and the ones he couldn't see. His mother, probably worried out of her mind… Gohan, dead. Vegeta… dead…

And suddenly he was wailing too. Tears spilled from every single one of their eyes.

It was a needed release.

-

While he slept, Trunks once again dreamed of his past. He was nine years old. His mother had burned dinner, and he had stubbornly refused to eat it.

"Well, if you don't like it, than you just don't have to eat tonight!" She had said, after a long argument… and she'd sent him to his room.

After a bit of time fuming, he had decided to show her what-for and sneaked out. He flew out into the city, deciding to get a meal for himself using the money he had stashed under his bed when suddenly the alarms went off and the city went under fire.

He distinctly remembered the fear that welled up inside of him when an explosion sent his body flying into the rubble of a building. As he crawled free from the destruction, he found himself only feet away from Androids 17 and 18. He was only thankful that they had yet to spot him.

He ducked underneath the rubble and watched with terror as they shot energy beams through homes and workplaces, through… anything that did or did not move.

I should do something… He had thought as he trembled in his hiding spot. He had some fighting ability, though he'd never been formally trained… He'd watched Gohan practice time and time again and learned a few of his moves when Gohan didn't know he was watching.

I must stop them.

He started to move, but it was unneeded. He was frozen in spot when the two androids were suddenly stricken by an orange and blue blur.

Gohan.

Fearful, Trunks didn't watch the fight, covering his ears and keeping his eyes shut so that he didn't have to see his best friend injured.

He probably hunched underneath the debris for over an hour before he removed his hands to find it had gone quiet. He peeked through to see Gohan looking about, bloody and bruised but generally okay. The androids had quite obviously escaped, by the look on the half-Saiyan's face.

It didn't matter. Trunks burst from his hiding place, shaking and fighting back tears. Gohan, still on edge, had turned with his fists ready to fight, but he quickly realized who he was facing.

"Trunks…"

"Gohan!" He had yelped, running to him and throwing his arms around him.

"What are you doing here? Your mother is probably worried sick about you!"

Trunks's eyes opened. He'd caused his mother so much pain…

"You look sad."

Cirus.

"I'm fine," Trunks replied quietly.

"About what?"

"…" He realized the child had forgotten. "Never mind."

"About what?"

Trunks didn't reply, letting the short amount of time pass until the child forgot he had asked a question at all.

So strange…

"The robot people are bad," Cirus suddenly said, staring out into space.

"Y-yes, they are."

"They did a bad thing, and then they pretended to be my parents. Now I'm here."

Trunks looked back to the bars, staring directly at the seventh bar from the right.

If he could get it out… they could probably escape… but how was he going to break it without his strength?