Sanguine
This chapter is brought to you by Dying Grin, Vegetafangirl1 and Daughter of Vegeta.
'Clink, clink.'
Bulma released an exasperated sigh as she wriggled her wrists in the cool cuffs. Why did she have to be in this situation? Why could it not be Goku, like it typically was?
She continued to wriggle and squirm, but her attempts were fruitless, and she just leaned her head against the grimy brick wall behind her. Because they had drugged her again, she had no way of telling how long it had been since she'd been captured.
A deep chuckle resounded off the walls of her prison, and Bulma's eyes searched around frantically for the source. That was, until a dark silhouette stepped from the shadows with a large, feral smirk plastered on his face.
She released a loud gasp, and scrambled closer to the wall out of shock. Had he been standing there all along?
"Well, well," he spoke chillingly, his voice cool and collected. "It's about time you realized your attempts were futile and pathetic."
Bulma's eyes narrowed as she studied his face. Who was this? She knew him from somewhere…
She blinked, and her mouth fell open slightly in realization. Her chest tightened and her skin began to perspire. "You're the pharmaceutical chairman!" she yelled accusingly, her eyes flashing with mistrust.
Dark mirth swirled in the man's coal eyes, and his smirk grew even wider. "At least you are smart enough to figure that out, Bulma."
"So this conspiracy leads all the way back to the head of the company," she spat out. "What do you want?"
He ignored her question.
The tall man placed his hands in his pockets, and he began to pace left and right slowly. The edges of his eyes crinkled in pleasure at her helplessness, and he pursed his lips and began to whistle.
A small, 'thud, thud, thud,' was all that Bulma could register in her mind, and she brought her cuffed hands up to her chest, feeling her scarlet organ beating against her ribcage wildly. "My husband will find me and kill you."
"It is a shame that your husband does not know who I am, no? Nor does he know where to find me." He began pacing once more with crossed arms, the tips of his fingers dancing along his bicep. "Thus, sadly ending in a result of not finding you."
Bulma's eyes narrowed, and the tip of her ears turned deep crimson. "He will find me," she repeated, her eyes narrowing at the man. "And when he does, he won't hesitate to kill you."
The chairman leaned over, his hot breath tickling her face, and tapped her handcuffs. "You have this little beauty on you so it doesn't matter if his powers are… out of this world."
Bulma could only look at him in horror as he left, smirking.
The Namekian took small glances at Vegeta as he flew faster with each passing second. Piccolo sighed at the Prince's impatient attitude with closed eyes but couldn't help but feel sympathy towards Vegeta's current situation. His wife had been captured, his son almost killed. They didn't even hesitate to try and take the man's own daughter. Piccolo opened his eyes again.
He had been worried that Vegeta might hurt Dende but that was stupid, Vegeta wasn't hot-headed enough to hurt an ally. At most, the Saiyan Prince would break a wall or two.
Piccolo chalked up his earlier paranoia to the Majin incident a few years back. But Vegeta had sacrificed himself to try and save the Earth and since then he hadn't regressed back to his murderous ways at all. He deserved the benefit of the doubt.
'In a situation like this Vegeta might need all the help he can get," he thought.
He stopped flying and stood in thought, he was letting his personal feelings for Gohan get in the way of logic. Bulma had been kidnapped, and an extra set of hands would help them immensely.
However Vegeta might not want Goku's son getting involved. Vegeta noticed Piccolo's sudden stop and turned back. "What are you doing, green man?"
Piccolo didn't reply to this and turned his back; Vegeta's hands clenched into fists at the thought that he was being ignored.
"Namekian!" he snapped, his voice like venom.
Piccolo looked at him with an icy stare, "I'm going to let Gohan know what is happening. He'll aid our search. You head on towards the Lookout while I do so."
Vegeta crossed his arms, "You sound like I'm going to get no say in this. I'm right aren't I?"
Piccolo nodded, surprised at Vegeta's cool composure. But that didn't stop Vegeta's icy cold glare.
"It's true that I am in trouble and that I do not like help from the hands of Kakarot or anyone related to him… but when it concerns my family… then that's when I need the help. This is a one off. Because Bulma's involved. If anything happens to her…"
Piccolo nodded, "I understand."
With that in mind he flew down and away, leaving the Prince to find his way to the Lookout.
Trunks had never felt more miserable and useless before in his life.
He clenched a bandaged fist, ignoring his protesting muscles screams. "I'm so weak!" Trunks yelled, slamming his fist down onto the coffee table. The wooden table exploded into sawdust and splinters.
The moody teenager angrily paced up and down the room, running his hands through his lavender hair in frustration. "Dad would've easily saved Mom."
He slammed his head against the wall, cracking it. "Goten would've easily been able to save her too."
"Gohan, Krillin, Eighteen, Goku, Tien… they all would have been able to!"
Trunks slumped down against the wall, cradling his knees as tears brimmed in his eyes. "Even future me would have saved her, no problem."
The demi-Saiyan put his head in his hands. "I'm such a fucking failure!"
"Brotha." Trunks' eyes widened when he spotted Bra standing in the doorway. "Stop yelling."
"Why are you up? Get back to bed, it's late."
"No." Bra quivered. "Scary."
Trunks smiled softly at her. "Nightmares, huh? Come sit on the couch for a while."
Trunks moved to the couch and Bra plopped down on his lap. "Brotha," Bra asked quietly, "where's Momma?"
Trunks sighed, "You noticed that, huh?"
Bra nodded, sniffling. "I wanted her to tuck me in, not Grandma."
The teenager ruffled his sister's hair. "She's just gonna be a little late, she's on a business trip."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Trunks sat her down on the ground, "Now off to bed."
Bra smiled, showing off her few teeth proudly. "Okay!"
Trunks sighed as she ran off, Bra totally believed his lie.
He was such a failure.
Gohan sighed as he leaned against the balcony railing. "What's going on?"
Videl appeared beside him. "Gohan, come on it's late. Let's go to bed."
Gohan glanced at his wife, Kami he loved that he could call her that now, and smiled. "You're right, sorry."
Her blue eyes bore into his onyx ones. "You sure you're okay?"
The demi-Saiyan laughed, "I'm fine Videl."
"Okay… come to bed in a second." She closed the balcony door behind her as she entered their suite.
"Shit," Gohan cursed under his breath, "what's going on guys?"
He gripped the railing, his knuckles white, "The sporadic rise and fall in ki, the ki's bitter nature and the fact I can't sense Bulma."
Gohan winced as the sound of screeching metal reached his ears; he had pulled off a piece of the railing. "Did something happen to Bulma?"
The Z-Fighter calmed himself. "No, if something that big had happened I'd have been informed." He glanced behind him and caught Videl slithering under the satin covers through the screen door.
Son Gohan sighed and massaged his temple as he turned back around to face the scenery, he stared up at the starry sky. "It's just a coincidence, I'm just overacting," he said out loud.
"I've been tense lately, expecting something along the lines of the Buu fiasco. Peace usually doesn't last this long." Gohan reasoned to himself. The demi-Saiyan nodded. "There's no reason for me to leave and go check it out," He thought to himself.
Gohan dropped the scrap metal over the edge of the balcony and entered the hotel suite. "I'm just worrying over nothing."
He hated that it sounded like he was just coming up with excuses.
Trunks had been blankly staring at the TV while channel surfing when the power had gone out. The second the lights went off, he channeled some ki around his body to see. Clad in a blue aura, Trunks searched for other ki's in the house. Bra was asleep and his grandparents were in one of the lounges.
And ten intruders were zeroing in on their position.
Trunks growled, a feral sound deep from the back of his throat. "Like hell," he snarled. His eyes narrowed into rageful slits.
Trunks shot down the hall, his socks making no sounds on the floor. The blue ki aura making him look like a vengeful phantom. He heard a feminine scream coming up ahead.
He extinguished his aura and slipped into the darkened room. Two goons were in the middle of tying up his grandparents. The other eight kept assault rifles trained on the defenseless elderly couple.
"Bit excessive," the teenager commented from the shadows at the back of the room.
"Yeah," one of the goons grunted, "but it's the creator of capsules so we gotta be careful."
"You don't know what kind of tricks he might have up his sleeve," another goon agreed.
"Still," Trunks said as he walked along the room edge, trailing one hand along the wall. "He's not a young man in his prime anymore, and his wife has done nothing to deserve this."
"True," another goon sniggered as Trunk's grandparents were completely tied down, "she's a ditzy blonde."
"She asked if we were lost when we barged in," a bald goon guffawed.
The demi-Saiyan tried to reign in his red-hot anger. "I forget, is there any other backup in the house?"
"Christ Joey," a scarred goon groaned in exasperation, "how many times? No!"
"Uh, Boss." A goon raised his hand. "That wasn't me."
The scarred goon raised an eyebrow, "Then, pray tell Joey, who wa-"
Trunk's fist smashed into the scarred goon's face, throwing the intruder into the far wall. "That would be me." Righteous fury burned in his azure eyes as he pulled back his bloody fist.
Trunks roared, a blue aura ignited around him as the intruders opened fire. The noise in the room was deafening between his roar and the sound of bullets firing. Some goons screamed as bullets ricocheted off the aura and back into their chests and legs.
The enemies lay in a pathetic mess on the floor, groaning and whimpering. All except for one.
The last goon had his rifle pointed at Trunk's grandfather's temple. "How about you back up now sonny," the intruder said cooly.
In an instant, the Z-Fighter had disappeared. A fist smashed into the goon's face, sending him staggering back a few metres and making him drop his weapon. The goon desperately looked around.
"Stop hiding!" He screamed in desperation, "where are you?"
"Behind you," a voice as cold as ice whispered in his ear. There was an audible snap as Trunks kicked him away. The man hit the ground, unmoving.
All of Trunk's bottled up anger and frustration now had a physical target. He saw red.
The teenager was on the downed man in an instant, punching and kicking. Seconds later, the bloodlust faded away and left Trunks an empty husk.
He was dimly aware that he was bathed in a sanguine fluid and that the dead, mangled body behind him wasn't recognizable as human anymore.
Trunks looked up at his grandparents and at their sickened, horrified gazes. He stared at his bandaged blood-soaked hands in horror.
He was such a failure.
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