The Vegeta Chronicles

by Demod20

What if Vegeta was the hero who killed Cell at his most powerful? What if 17 & 18 were given bigger roles in future Arcs? What if Tien Shinhan and other long forgotten characters were suddenly important? This is the series in which those characters get those big roles, and where the DBZ series is retold through their eyes and their perspective. This is...the Vegeta Chronicles!

17. Home

A/N: Didn't think I was going to post two chapters in one week, did you? Well, I certainly hope this is at the same time as the other Chapter. As lengthy and descriptive as the last guy was, this one is going to be chocked to the brim of transpiring events.

Hope you all enjoy the Chapter :)

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THE VEGETA CHRONICLES

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Chapter 17 - Home

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Sky couldn't believe what laid before her eyes. The man she knew was the future variant Trunks, the son of Bulma and Vegeta. But it was more than simple identity and knowledge of who he was. It was the fact his image seemed to embody everything she adored in the sky itself, along with a strong commanding visage that knew no compromise.

He didn't seem brash, abrasive, or prone to insult as Vegeta had been so quick to do. His calm composure and the way he carried himself. He truly was a god among the heavens, in her mind.

"Uh...miss?" F-Trunks asked with a dubious expression on his face.

"H-Huh?" Sky shook herself out of her reverie, realizing that she was staring and drooling. A heated blush rushed up her neck, turning her cheeks pink as she vigorously wiped away her spittle.

"I was telling you your battle with Vegeta is over," F-Trunks reiterated, almost exasperatedly. Was this truly a woman who was about to kill his own father?

After composing herself, she cleared her throat, doing her best to sound professional, "I see. You seem to have me at a disadvantage, truly, Trunks-"

"How do you know my name?" F-Trunks asked, his glare hardening at the woman's hesitant if not sheepish gaze.

"I-uh...been...er..." Sky tried to explain, but found herself unable to meet his gaze, too embarrassed.

"Sky! Snap out of it!" A dark voice suddenly commanded in her head, causing her to squeak with surprise.

"T-Trench?" She responded within her mind.

"Obviously," an exasperated telepathic tone was heard, continuing, "you're finished. Report back to base immediately. You've gathered all the data and done enough to Vegeta. I'd rather not have you continue any further conflicts. Understand?"

"Y-Yes sir," Sky sighed mentally, closing her eyes outwardly at the ever-growing confused F-Trunks, "I'll report back ASAP."

"Good. See you within the hour," Trench concluded, cutting his link with her mind.

"You alright?" F-Trunks asked, resting the flat of his blade upon his shoulder, settling down into a more nonchalant posture.

"Hm? Y-Yes, I'm fine," Sky cleared her throat, smiling apologetically up at the dashing son of Vegeta. Her eyes dared not meet those stunning, sky-blue orbs that stunningly captured her attention. Turning on her heels within the air, she announced, "I need to report to my superiors. I hope you can forgive me for the mess I've caused."

"Seeing as I wasn't here but a few minutes ago, I don't think it really affects me," F-Trunks shrugged apathetically, tapping his large blade against his shoulder as he continued, "but if there was some sort've misunderstanding with Vegeta that set you off, forget about it. He usually has that charismatic affect of pissing people off at him."

"Thank you..." Sky whispered, just short of her angelic figure shimmering out of sight, her body propelling far away from the battlefield.

---

Vegeta could barely wrap his mind around it.

One moment, he could feel death knocking on his proverbial door. The next, a vaguely familiar figure clocks him in the jaw and deflecting the beam as if were an inconvenience. The visage was unfamiliar, but the aura and the way he held himself was strikingly similar to another swordsman. When the bright, glaring daylight was let loose upon the world once again, he knew who exactly it was.

His son from the future had come home.

As he recovered his energy and his breaths, he felt part of his vitality return. From the pain welling within his chest he could accurately tell that he had half of his ribs bruised and a few more cracked. A great deal of bruising around his gut, which may have internal bleeding, he couldn't be sure. The fiery pain across his arms dictated second and first degree burns from deflecting the majority of that pure energy blast. Cuts adorned across his bloodied body, but nothing of too serious nature.

Rising in a staggering motion, Vegeta's breaths came out haggardly, a hint of wheezing between the hisses ushering from his lips. When he heard the nearly silent tap of his son's feet meeting the ground, he did his best to appear proud and unaffected by his recent defeat. Rising from his hunched stance, stumbling a few inches back and forth, finally standing erect to face his son.

"Well, Trunks. It seemed that you finally found your reason to become a true man," Vegeta allowed himself to say, chuckling behind the painful breaths he took, grating across his damaged ribs.

Trunks' eyes had a vastly different light than what Vegeta had saw during his departure. Gone was the lost, confused boy who failed to truly participate in their battles of survival against the Androids and Cell. Cast away was the look of doubt that seemed to passively hang over the young man's shoulders. Not only had he looked older, but everything about him seemed to traverse past his old self.

But his response, wasn't something Vegeta expected.

Turning his gaze to examine devastation that had been wrought across the countryside, he deflected the question with one of his own, "What the Hell did you do to piss someone off now, dad?"

Vegeta's attention on F-Trunks newfound demeanor immediately dissolved into simmering anger. The best he could do was a guttural growl as he raised up a burned, torn right-handed glove to point at his son, "Watch your tone, boy! That witch may have possessed a delicate, feminine form, but she was far more dangerous than anything you've faced in your lifetime!"

"Seems to me you took one too many concussions to the head," F-Trunks responded dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and arching his head in the direction he came from, "considering that you didn't bother to see I sent the weather wizard who wasted your ass packing. Or is it the fact your flame-haired ego didn't allow your wounded pride to be acknowledged?"

Balling up his pointing hand, he threw it out to the side with anger-filled emphasis, "She's just a human! How was I supposed to know she had that kind of power?!"

"I'm half human, unless you've forgotten. So is Gohan, Goten, and my younger counterpart," F-Trunks stated firmly, his brows knitting into an angry glare of his own, "is it the fact that we're not pure-blooded Saiyans that you acknowledge us as relevant? If so, I'm happy I didn't have a Saiyan for a mother, so I didn't inherit your higher than the heavens ego!"

The last spat caused Vegeta's brows to contort into veins, ushering almost blurred vision to distort Vegeta's eyesight. He didn't care, just as he balled up his fists and growled in his son's general direction, "You...YOU ARE JUST IMPOSSIBLE! JUST AS INFURIATING AS YOUR MOTH-"

It was in that instant, that Vegeta's mind flashed to an entirely other thing. The very reason he set out on foot, to clear his head, and was on his way back home for.

"The recompense!" Trunks' father uttered aloud, turning on his heels to ignite a faint azure aura around his body. As he leaped a dozen meters up into the air, he worked on building momentum and velocity towards West City. He knew where he threw it, so it was just a simple matter of-

BA-BUM!

Everything turned red and white in Vegeta's field of vision. An overwhelming spasm of pain filled his skull, throbbed at his chest, and simmered over his lacerated, burnt, and bruised skin. Within a matter of seconds, Vegeta came tumbling down from the air, thudding to the ground with an unceremonious fashion. With his shoulder bracing most of the force, he was induced with another wave of pain that traveled up his body, sparking with pain all over and from within.

His guess about his estimated damage was more off than he realized.

"D-Dammit!" Vegeta swore aloud, feeling his throat vomit blood out of his own mouth.

Within a few strides, the son of Vegeta leaned down and hauled Vegeta off the ground, wrapping one of his arms over his shoulders, "C'mon. I'll take you to the Lookout. Despite the mess, maybe Dende will consider patching you up."

"Th-The..." Vegeta began to cough out, his weakened state greatly deteriorating his ability to speak clearly.

"What is it?" The prodigal son inquired, leaning his head closer to the wheezing breath of his father's.

"Something I got...to apologize...to your mother," Vegeta confessed, his eyes closed, too weak to look his child in the eyes.

It was prolonged silence that ensued for the next long seconds. Trunks realized that his absence would affect everybody. Hell, he remembered the day he departed as clearly as it was yesterday. Everyone was there to see him off, even his younger counterpart. He grew up with them as much as he sacrificed to protect them from the horrible, yet vague evil that loomed within their horizon.

The fact that his father was being humble enough to try and find a means of apologizing to Bulma meant that their relationship was rocky since his departure.

With a sigh, F-Trunks inquired lowly, "Where is it?"

"Somewhere...back in the outskirts...of West City," Vegeta answered, coughing hoarsely.

F-Trunks nodded with understanding, placing his right hand's two forefingers to rest upon Vegeta's forehead. It only took a few seconds to see the surface thoughts, detailing the location of where Vegeta's gift was thrown and where it approximately landed. Nodding with affirmation, he responded softly as he removed his finger tips, "Alright, I got it. I'll drop you off at Dende's before I go pick it up."

Vegeta went silent afterwards. He didn't say thanks or refuse the kind hands that helped him up into the air. He just accepted it for what it was: His son extending his hand to help his father.

---

The Lookout

"T-Trunks?!" Piccolo's eyes widened with surprise. Upon seeing the slow arrival of the different but memorable son of Vegeta touching down upon the Lookout's tiled surface, he realized he didn't feel or sense Trunks' approach. It fascinated and confused him, knowing the level of strength the Trunks that left had completely disappeared.

"We can catch up later," F-Trunks spoke hastily, lowering the unconscious form of his father to the ground, blood of the latter's already pooling onto the immaculate tiles.

It only took a few seconds for Piccolo to realize the situation at hand. Turning on his heels from the edge of the Lookout, Piccolo bellowed out, "DENDE! WE GOT WOUNDED!"

The Guardian of Earth didn't hesitate a second later. Shimmering into the middle of the Lookout, at speeds complimentary to the present advanced fighters, Dende appeared before the two conscious and unconscious, with new changes that Trunks hadn't noted beforehand.

Having undergone something akin to a growth spurt the past year, Dende was no longer the dwarfed child that he once was. Standing at a height of five and a half feet. The boy's garments seemed less ceremonial and cumbersome than before, sporting similar trappings to that of Piccolo's. Dark blue Gi, a burgundy sash wrapped around his waist, standard brown Namekian shoes, dark blue wrist bands, and what looked like a black backpack strapped over his shoulders.

With Guardian staff in hand, the teenage Namekian rushed over to Vegeta's side. The boy looked down at the wheezing, unconscious form of Vegeta with concern, kneeling down to see the severity of his wounds in person.

"What did this to him?!" Dende asked with a shocked tone, remembering how powerful the Saiyan had become since his arrival upon Earth. His eyes were wide as dish saucers as it moved from the battered form of Vegeta up to his returned son's gaze.

"I'll explain in a bit," F-Trunks announced hastily, his eyes averting Dende's, as an aura of transparent light bathed his body. With a high pitched whine that echoed the airspace of the Lookout, F-Trunks sprinted off the edge of the tiled surface and jettisoned like a rocket down below. In but a handful of seconds, his form disappeared into the horizon like a comet.

"What was that about?" Dende kneeled aghast, shaking his head before administering treatment to Vegeta's broken form.

"He probably knew something regarding of that freak storm beforehand," Piccolo surmised aloud, walking over to Dende's side, stopping but a meter behind the current Guardian.

"Well, whoever was responsible for Vegeta's injuries must have been terrifying," Dende responded warily, his right hand projecting emerald light that flowed onto the wounded body, knitting bones, tissue, and cartilage alike back together, "I haven't seen Vegeta in such a state since Frieza. The damage that he suffered at Cell's hands was all but superficial in comparison to this..."

"I hope this beating taught him a lesson not to underestimate his opponents," Piccolo begrudgingly turned his head away from Vegeta, scowling at the direction Trunks had leaped from, "the fact he needed his time traveling progeny to pull him out of the fire doesn't speak highly of the Champion of Earth."

"Formidable enough to tamper with the Earth's geoenergy and jam all output energy signatures. It must have incredible Ki manipulation at its beck and call," Dende deducted from analysis, as he finished sealing up the last of the lacerations and erasing the bruise marks.

With a sigh, Dende rose with a smile of satisfaction crossing his face, "Good. All his wounds have been mended. A day or so's rest should be all that he needs to restore his stamina."

"Can't you just restore that too?" Piccolo queried with an upraised brow.

Dende shaked his head at Piccolo, as he explained, "That's not the ability available for a healer. We mend wounds and treat ailments, not grant energy or sustenance for our patients."

"Guess that's one thing a Senzu Bean can do over your healing hands," Piccolo surmised with dry humor.

"Sure, if you're patient enough to wait for every batch of Senzu Beans to be ready for harvest. Its not like you can just reap those kinds of plants anywhere," Dende argued, his brows knitting with frustration.

"You only need to swallow one Senzu Bean, and everything is patched up. You don't need to wait for aggravatingly long periods of time, as we have to cover your green butt from being sniped by a enemy with half a brain," Piccolo countered back, grinning cheekily, enjoying tormenting his younger Namekian progeny.

"Try shoving that Senzu Bean down a crushed esophagus, then! I'm sure that'll solve that patient's problem!" Dende slammed his staff down on the ground, rattling a few of the tiles from the severity of the pommel's impact.

A faint cough from below caught both the teasing and the arguing Namekians' attention. Turning their gazes, they sheepishly met a dryly irate glare of Vegeta's. The blood that dried on his skin looking like black flecks upon the rejuvenated complexion bestowed upon his fully healed visage. With arms crossed underneath his head, he asked pointedly, "Have I interrupted a meaningful discussion, or can I ask you to shut up about damned beans and healing hands?!"

"Uh, sorry," Dende sheepishly apologized, bowing his head, contrasting Piccolo's smirk.

"Well, well. Who did you get your butt kicked by this time?" Piccolo asked with poorly hidden snark.

"Tread lightly, Namekian, or I'll shove my foot so far up yours that you'll be tasting the dirt on my boot's soles for a week!" Vegeta snarled, further emphasized by the veins that protruded from his forehead.

"No problem. I'll just ask Trunks," Piccolo shrugged, turning his back at Vegeta.

"DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, SLUG?!" Vegeta shouted with unadulterated rage, his body rising instantly to its feet, barely restraining itself from launching itself head-on at the ex-Guardian.

"Maybe," Piccolo chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the undeniable advantage he has over the exhausted Vegeta. Turning on his heels, he raised his hands up, mischieviously taunting him, "why don't you bring all four feet of you? Or should I count your stupid hair in addition to your stubby limbs?"

"THAT'S IT!" Vegeta snarled out in a near rabid state, causing Dende to stumble back with fright. He really hoped there wouldn't be a fight breaking out on the Lookout. The damage would be catastrophic, with or without Super Saiyans involved!

But a soft tap of boot soles touching the ground, just a foot behind Vegeta, would immediately defuse the situation.

Vegeta's enraged state turned one into bewilderment. He didn't even feel his son's arrival, let alone detect the sudden performance of admirable super speed. Turning on his heels, he looked up at his admittingly taller son, now at least six feet in solid stature.

A bag was upraised in his child's right hand, causing him to direct his eyes at the untampered affects.

"This is what you wanted, right?" F-Trunks asked softly, though he already knew it was.

Vegeta swallowed a lump down his throat as he lowered his arms and bowed his head, sighing with admission, "Yes..."

A hint of a smile was donned on F-Trunks visage, as he handed the bag to be reluctantly grasped in Vegeta's left hand. Vegeta's hardened stare turned into a confused one as he looked up at his son's eyes, hoarsely asking, "How...how am I supposed to do this?"

It just occurred to the man from the future that Vegeta had never apologized, not once, for a single thing he's done. The fact that he desired to confess his wrongdoings to his wife, even if they would be low among the crimes against nature and life he's committed, spoke bounds of how deeply he felt for Bulma. Any prior hard feelings that he held against father seemed to be abysmal and washed away into the recesses of his mind.

Turning on his heel, F-Trunks simply responded in a solemn tone, "You don't need to think about it, dad. Just say what comes to you, and I'm sure mom will forgive you. No need to complicate things, you know?"

"Right," Vegeta nodded, clearing his throat to shake himself out of his reverie, "let's go home...son."

Dual high-pitched whines signaled the ignitions of power that discharged from the two Saiyans. Father and son, after exchanging one glance to each other, leaped up and powered through the skyline, down and away from the Lookout.

As their images became nothing but blinking lights to their eyes, Dende couldn't help but speak aloud with disbelief, "Is Vegeta...acting...nice to Trunks?"

Piccolo simply stared stoically off towards the horizon, a small smile adorning his green visage, "He's heading in the right direction. Trunks showing up, as uncanny as it was, was probably what Vegeta wanted in the first place."

"Piccolo?" Dende asked, not entirely sure what the aged Namekian meant.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," Piccolo sighed, turning on his heels to walk past Dende. When he was about to pass him, he thumbed towards the edge of the Lookout, catching a dazed look from the young Guardian, "well? What are you waiting for?"

"Huh?" Dende blinked a few times.

"I'm sure you didn't dress yourself up like that for a new fashion sense. Get going already!" Piccolo practically barked at Dende to move.

"Oh! Right, sorry!" Dende chuckled sheepishly, turning to leave in a sprint of his own.

"Guardians don't apologize about personal decisions they make! Its unbecoming!" Piccolo snapped at Dende once again.

"I know!" Dende answered back, leaping up into the air with a flare of transparent Ki wrapped around himself, taking off like a rocket down towards the green earth below, "that's why I'm going, without apologies!"

Sighing, Piccolo shook his head, chuckling with bemusement, "Kids. I may never understand them..."

---

West City, Capsule Corp HQ

It didn't take long to reach the Briefs Residence. Even with the energy that was sapped from his earlier battle, the rejuvenation Vegeta's body received by Dende was enough to restore a modicum amount of his power back. In retrospect, a modicum would be an optimistic view of the paltry amount of energy remaining within his body.

He knew a bed rest was in order as soon as personal matters were taken care of.

On their way, they noted that the damage done to West City wasn't as severe as they feared. With dozens of buildings suffering glass ruptures, a few streets with fissures embedding in their centers, and only a handful of structures with morbidly large holes in them, the damage could have been much worse. Especially for a city as large as West.

As the two of them gracefully landed upon a slightly disheveled front lawn, Vegeta sighed. Looking up at the intact structure of his home appeared so different when he held inhibition to approaching her. The woman he opened his heart to and the one he married.

"Go on ahead," F-Trunks urged his dad on, crossing his arms as he walked away from the front door to keep on the lawn, "I'll join you after you make up with mom. Its better that she doesn't deal with two major events at the same time."

"Tch, as if I needed your support," Vegeta growled out, gulping a short second later to emanate his true emotion of hesitation. With a sharp inhale followed by a deep exhale, Vegeta marched up to the doorstep of his home. Raising his hand, he knocked the door three times, each with a space of time of about three seconds. He then lowered his hand by his side, keeping his gift bag in his left.

Faint shuffling of feet could be heard from within, dictating that his knocks were heard. After but a handful of seconds later of ominous silence, the door swung open, revealing a white tank-topped, jean-adorned, sock-toting Bulma. Tear streaks were plain to see, and a look of renewed relief seemed to wash over her visage upon seeing Vegeta's battered attire upon his dry-blood flecked body.

"W-Woman, I-" Vegeta began to utter, only to have himself be glomped with reckless abandon. He praised his lucky footing, as his body's stamina had only been drained further by the flight back home. Even still surprised, his left hand clenched the bag of gifts tightly, as to not drop what he worked hard in order to preserve.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" Bulma's voice exclaimed, hugging Vegeta's battered frame as her face rubbed into the crook of his neck.

"B-Bulma?" Vegeta sputtered out in near disbelief. Seeing that Bulma wouldn't let go, Vegeta slowly wrapped his own arms around her slender back, pulling her into an awkward hug. Though it was a rare sensation, he knew it was probably the best way to reassure her of his revived vitality.

"I-I...couldn't do it," Bulma confessed, her voice muffled from the close proximity.

"Do what?" Vegeta queried, easing the embrace to allow Bulma to step back and look at him in the eyes.

"I can't be like Chi-Chi. I don't know where she gets it and how she can be so strong," Bulma confessed sincerely, her blue eyes emitting tears to flow down her reddened cheeks.

"Again, what?" Vegeta asked, still perplexed by Bulma's words.

"I can't live like she can. Without Goku and still be okay with that. I can't live without you, Vegeta," She sniffled out her last words, biting her lower lip in an attempt to quell further waterworks.

Vegeta was stunned. In the short few hours he had left her, Bulma's understandable frustration with Vegeta had been defused? With a few blinks of realization, he knew the storm must have frightened her more than he realized. Who knows, maybe she saw some of his fight with the enigmatic opponent he picked out to beat him into the ground.

Shaking his head, Vegeta raised his right hand to rest upon her shoulder, "Bulma, you can't live with someone like me."

"W-What do you mean?" Bulma looked at him with nearly dish saucer wide eyes.

"I mean live with someone like the man I've been," Vegeta explained, tired eyes looking down at his feet, "I've done nothing but push you and Trunks away. I pushed my son from the future away, and I pushed everything I cared for away. All in the stupid effort to match someone who isn't even among the living anymore. Kakarot's absence was meant to be a boon, not a curse to plague my nightmares."

Raising his eyes to meet Bulma's, his hand slowly reached up to cup Bulma's left cheek, brushing away a free tear with an exposed thumb, "I'm going to be a man that replaces the beacon that everyone aspired in overcoming. Even if is temporary, let me become a man that isn't Kakarot in terms of strength and character. But become a man worth respect. And...maybe love, too?"

Bulma's tear-ridden face slowly turned into a bubbling one. Overflown with joy and acceptance, Bulma grasped his hand with her own left, using her other to pull her husband's head towards her. With her lips melding with his, a wave of an entire year's burdens left her like at once. Whatever happened, she would allow him to share in time, she was just glad to see her husband safe and in her arms again.

A gentle rustling of clinking disrupting their kiss, causing them to lean apart and inspect the noise. Chuckling with remembrance, Vegeta raised a bag up, presenting it to Bulma, "I meant to give this to you first. As a gift."

"Awwww, how sweet of you!" Bulma blushed, smiling ear to ear at the gesture of thoughtfulness. Though a part of her suspected it was meant for something else, she couldn't place her finger on it.

"I-It was nothing!" Vegeta firmly turned his head to avert her gaze. A hint of scarlet rushed up his neck and tinged his cheeks, showing his embarrassment.

Bulma couldn't help but giggle, grasping the bag out of his hand, nodding her head towards the interior, "C'mon, Tin Man. Get yourself all cleaned up before that blood rusts your joints. I'll put away your gifts in the meantime..."

"Tin Man?" Vegeta rhetorically inquired, unfamiliar with the idiom. When he received no answer, he rolled his eyes as he entered, blowing his lips with resignation. He never got any answers to Earth's many verbal phrases.

Navigating his way to the nearest restroom to clean up, he noticed that Kid-Trunks was happily toddling across the living room carpet, beaming up at him. It was almost like he could tell what happened between his parents and he was happier for it.

Shaking his head, he couldn't help but let a chuckle escape his mouth when he entered the restroom, "Perceptible little twerp..."

As he did so, F-Trunks finally walked into the entryway, taking in the welling moment of nostalgia hitting him.

It had been a year for everyone he cared about in this timeline. For him, that year felt like an age to be away. Nothing changed from the way he remembered it, from his time was an entirely contrast. The large living room bordering the kitchen, with swerving halls that disappeared from the corners of each room, leading to a much larger series of rooms, labs, and other storage locations.

So lost in his daze that he forgot that he took a dozen steps inwards, almost completely forgetting an inquisitive resident that would give away his entry.

"UNKIE TWUNKS!"

"Wha-OOF?!" Surprised to hear the toddler shout so suddenly, he was caught off guard by the sudden torpedo of blue and black linen tackle him straight in the chest, causing him to take a step back.

"You're back! You're back! You're back!" He repeated over and over, holding onto his older counterpart's shirt tightly, rubbing his face into it. Feeling the F-Trunks' hand pat him on the back reassuringly caused him to raise his childish face to smile with adoration and love at the "big brother" of his.

"Yeah I am, kiddo," F-Trunks smiled softly at his surrogate kid brother, picking him up in his hands and playfully throwing up towards the vaulted ceiling a few times, "miss me?"

"YES...YES...YES!" Kid-Trunks shouted with affirmation, each and every time he rose to the ceiling followed by meeting F-Trunks hands.

"Missed you too, kid," F-Trunks responded with a grin, ruffling his hair as he sat him down on his own two feet.

Once he tried to turn away, the child latched onto his left leg, using his legs to anchor himself firmly to the now adult's slacks. His eyes were squeezed shut and a content smile was donned upon his face as he whispered, "Not leafin' agan."

"Nah, I'm not leaving," F-Trunks raised his brows with query, gently trying to shake the child off his leg, "but I have to talk to-"

"T-Trunks?!" Bulma's voice suddenly squeaked out, clearly unsure what she was seeing.

The man from the future couldn't blame her. He had left as a boy in his late teens and came back looking like a full-grown adult. Thick bands of stark white hair framed his strong jaws, only matched by the thigh long mane of hair flowing over his coat-covered back. The faint sign of facial hair growth upon his face indicated a lack of certain hygienic habits.

It didn't matter to Bulma. Her big boy from the future was home.

"Hey, mom," F-Trunks greeted softly.

"Mommy! Unkie Twunks is back!" K-Trunks implored giddily, still latched firmly upon his surrogate brother's leg.

"Yes...yes he is," Bulma swallowed, trying to process this new information as best as she could. Walking slowly towards him, as if not to break the illusion of his return, she approached his larger frame with trepidation. Reaching up with trembling hands, she cupped both of his cheeks, causing him to furrow his brows with confusion. When she saw the focused, too serious stare, she smiled softly in knowing.

"It is you," Bulma whispered, throwing her arms around her son's neck, pulling him into a tight hug, "I'd know that serious scowl anywhere!"

"N-Nice to see you too, mom," F-Trunks gasped out, feeling slight tension around his throat from the awkward hug he was pulled into. Still, he didn't refuse a chance to embrace his mother with a tender hug of his own. Closing his eyes, he let out a shaky breath, feeling the memories of his past and this present collide in his mind's eye.

"He's trembling?" Bulma thought with surprise. She could feel the calm, hopeful, assured man trembling in her arms. Was he that homesick? She couldn't imagine why her big boy would feel nervous, let alone afraid.

Releasing him from her hug, she couldn't help but stare at the stark white bangs that arched up and over each side of his jawline. Scrunching up her eyes, she playfully smirked up at her son as she flicked her fingers through it curiously, "What's with the new hair dye? Don't tell me there's a salon in the future, is there?"

"Uh, no..." F-Trunks leaned back from his mother, turning his head to the side in sync with a retraction of his arms from his parent.

"You, sir, need a big haircut," Bulma poked F-Trunks' chest, rolling her eyes as she gazed at the rocker-like new style her son adopted.

"I'd rather not," F-Trunks protested, albeit in a soft tone.

"No buts about it," Bulma wagged her finger in the air, pouting her lips as she let loose a maternal glare at him, "if you're going to be in this household, let alone go out in public, I want you to look decent. Not look like someone out of a rocker band!"

"I said I don't want to," F-Trunks retorted firmly, balling his fists with restrained tension building up from within.

Sighing, Bulma reached up to run her fingers through some of his leftmost bangs, "Okay, we don't need to cut it. But maybe a little trimming wouldn't hurt-"

"Mom," F-Trunks interrupted, grasping her wrist with one hand while turning to face her with saddened eyes, "I didn't keep my hair like this for aesthetic reasons. I kept it as a reminder of...that day."

Bulma's hand pulled back immediately. There it was, the confession that she knew what was hiding behind his newfound visage of strength and absolution. There was pain laced within those two simple words, more pain than she knew she could possibly understand.

Kid Trunks looked up with concern and confusion. It was obvious that his surrogate uncle and big brother was talking weird. He almost sounded sad, but he couldn't wrap his mind around it.

As Bulma bent down to pick up her toddler, to cradle him in her arms, she silently stared at his eyes with a piercing, empathetic gaze. She tried to not pry, and she knew from what little he told them of his past that he lived in an awful place, where very little companionship and hope was around. His only friend and companion was murdered, and everyone else he would've known as a child were slaughtered by the Androids. She didn't want to burden him by reopening new wounds upon older scars, but she wanted to at least understand.

After a painfully silent minute went by, she heard Vegeta stumble back into the living room, witnessing the awkward silence firsthand.

It was when he saw both parents and his younger counterpart all in one place, F-Trunks let out a sigh, "Its best you both take seats, if you want to understand what happened to me in the future. The most recent trip there anyway."

"Trunks," Vegeta uttered out, a groan emitting from his throat as he waved a now glove-less right hand towards him, "I've gotten by butt kicked by the Weather Mistress from West City to the mountainside. I've nearly spent every ounce of energy just to survive and get here. Is it alright if we have this maternal pep talk after I take a nap to recoup?"

"I'd rather get this off my chest now, while I'm willing," F-Trunks grated out in a low tone, his eyes shifting to the floor before raising back up to Vegeta's more distant onyx orbs, "you're welcome to rest, though. You can have mom fill you in afterwards."

Vegeta scratched the back of his head, sighing heavily as he closed his eyes. He knew this was important, whether he cared to pay attention to it or not. Bulma would certainly listen and he knew the best way to start changing for the better, would be to sit down and listen to his son's tale. Much to his chagrin, his heart overrode his gut instinct this once.

"I deman-nnnngh!" Vegeta began to say with an upraised hand, cutting himself off sharply with a growl. After he opened his tightly shut eyes, he let out a calmer, ragged voice, "I...request a strong caffeinated beverage before we get this started. If I'm going to hear this, I'd rather stay conscious."

Bulma couldn't help but giggle slightly, seeing Vegeta's attempt to be courteous. Rolling her eyes, she carried K-Trunks with her as she meandered into the kitchen.

In what would be a few minutes, Bulma would return to a couch-seated Vegeta, handing him a steaming cup of coffee. With potency equivalent enough to sate even her Saiyan husband's exhaustive needs, she left it in his hands as she kept only her toddler in her arms as she sat beside him to face her son from the future.

Hunched over on the edge of an easy chair, F-Trunks clasped his hands to rest in front of his mouth, his eyes looking down upon the carpeted floor. He wondered where he could possibly begin his tale, where they could see the dramatic turn of events that molded him into the man he was now. He knew they needed to understand the immersion he felt, as much as the rapid decay of what was a semblance of normalcy he had back in his time.

He then remembered.

"Let me start with the day I left for the future," F-Trunks began his tale, his eyes now level with Bulma and Vegeta's, "and the day everything changed for my life."

---

15 Months Ago (9 Months After the Cell Games)

F-Trunks waited for the machine to shift.

He was already seated and had a complete view of West City. The beauty and awe that held him captivated since his earliest days spent among his past-timeline friends and family, the metropolis of incredible magnitude looked untouched from the horrors their battles with Cell and the Androids have wrought. Everything was perfect, just the way he wanted it to be.

"Now, its my timeline's turn," F-Trunks spoke lowly to himself, flipping the switch, causing everything to blur into transparency in turn causing his own machine to disappear from sight.

Time: AGE 785

Location: West City

After casting a glance towards the read-out, seeing it was all good, the transition of two timelines took place. Lights of all colors flashed before the glass, spewing forth across its display shield. The weird inertia of transporting across the fabric of the spatial fabric forward hit him, causing a spell of dizziness to take hold.

In what seemed like minutes, a few seconds have passed, and he arrived at his destination.

"Oh...Hell..." F-Trunks exclaimed, his complexion paling at the sight he witnessed.

The urban gem that was the past timeline's West City was nothing but scorched ruins. A thick smog held the atmosphere captive, with pillars of flames clinging to the tallest of structures in the horizon, and nothing but debris for miles in any direction.

"This is the Androids' handiwork. No question about it," F-Trunks swallowed heavily, these thoughts crossing the forefront of his mind as horror-stricken eyes gazed across the entirety of the disaster-ridden city, "these flames and thickness of smoke means they struck recently. I wonder if they were looking for mother's laboratory as they strafed-"

BA-BUMP!

"-here?!" F-Trunks finished with a startled gasp, as the descending machine shook upon landing. What used to be the partially ruined dome of Capsule Corp, was now a smoldering crater. The vast underground laboratory that Bulma worked painstakingly to keep hidden and running was in ruins, with each floor cooked from incendiary power that tore through each layer. The simple patch of grass he took off from a year ago was non-existent, as was the only piece of home he had left.

"No!" F-Trunks shouted with alarm. Quickly, he raised the ship back up, away from the pit to park upon the upper edge where it dropped down. Collapsing it back down into Capsule form, F-Trunks quickly shoved it into his jacket pocket as he leaped down into the remains of the lab.

Each floor that was ransacked, torn, and burnt was another good memory tarnished. Every piece of metallic flooring, every fragment of ceiling, each part that held it up was burnt and scrapped in some form or fashion. Muscles tensed and his heart ached, as his eyes saw everything he grew up in shambles. His breathing grew ragged and tears began to well up within his eyes.

When his feet touched the ground, he let out a yell, "Mother! Where are you?!"

The lowest level was dark, lacking any form of lighting from the flickering on the upper levels. He could barely hear anything, and the smell of ash clouded his sense of smell. Trepidation filled his being as he ignited his hand in an azure orb of Ki, raising up to fill the room with luminescence.

What he saw, took his breath away.

In large smoldering burn marks were letters across the far wall. It stated in bold letters, "WELCOME HOME!" on its surface, with a single solitary figure standing in between the two words. The word standing would be used lightly in this state. The figure hung limply by what looked like half of a light pole and a piece of wrenched metal going across, making the effigy of a cross.

Barbed wire wrapped around the wrists, similarly what was bound around the ankles, with a single rod embedded within the midsection.

As F-Trunks approached the figure with shaky breaths, he stumbled forward, feeling his stomach turn and twist at what he saw.

"M-Mom?!" F-Trunks croaked out, tears held back now flowing freely down his cheeks.

A weak moan exited blood-soaked lips. Her visage was broken, as the majority of her body was riddled with bruises, lacerations, and primarily her own blood. Her hair hung loosely over her shoulders, now matted with ash and caked in shallow cuts to her own head. She could barely whisper out in query, "T...T...Tr...Trunks...?"

"No-no-no-no-no-no!" F-Trunks uttered out with pure horror, swiftly running up to the badly wounded woman. Analyzing her broken form with grief-stricken eyes, he could tell this happened all within the last hour, and it was just enough time for the injuries to be mortal-

"I can't think like that! Not right now!" F-Trunks shook himself out of it, swiftly thrusting out his hands at the restraints on his mother's person. The wire snapped off like threads, allowing the woman to fall uninhibited into his arms.

"Mom! Mom!" F-Trunks called out to her, trying to shake her out of her exhausted stupor, "its me! Trunks! I'm home!"

"T-Trunks?" Bulma asked faintly, her eyes opening to see her son's tear-glazed eyes. A ragged sigh exhaled out of her lips, a satisfied smile adorned her blood-soaked mouth, "you're...alright. That's...g...g...good..."

"Save your strength!" F-Trunks hurriedly urged, feeling as if he was a child once more. The helplessness creeping in, just as he felt when Gohan was left to fight on his own, dying in the dark rain.

"I won't let someone else die! Not while its within my power to stop it!"

Reaching towards the piece of metal wedged into her abdomen, he wrapped his hand around it, "I'm going to pull it out!"

"D-Don't," Bulma whispered.

F-Trunks' eyes widened. Swallowing hard, he couldn't believe what he heard. Was his mother telling him he couldn't help her? To give up on saving her life? No, this couldn't be the woman who raised her, who gave her hope and saved his life from the hands of the Androids. It couldn't be!

"I...I don't...have...long," Bulma coughed out, tired eyes looking up at her child's averted gaze, "I want...to know. Did...it...work? Did you...stop...them...?"

"How can I tell her no? How can I explain all that has happened in the past? Nothing was what we thought it would be, mother! Why are you asking me such frivolous questions when your life is on the line?!"

After hearing nothing but stifling gasps and sobs from her son, Bulma could only take his silence as an affirmative. He wouldn't come back looking so healthy, so strong from his journey if he didn't help stop them. So she didn't mind the lack of answering that question.

So, she whispered out instead, "Did...you see...your father?"

F-Trunks eyes turned to look into his mother's eyes. Quivering lips barely held back his cries, as his eyes continued to pour forth waterworks down his cheeks and onto his mother's face. With a rapid nod, he reached out and brushed her grime-covered bangs away, "Yes...Yes I met him. He was gruff, distant, and almost impossible to deal with. But in the end...he put his pride aside and saved us all. He saved us all."

"I...see," Bulma smiled endearingly at hearing this, a pair of tears welled up within her own eyes, "I'm sure your...presence...was...what helped...him mature. I never thought...he...would be the one...instead...of Goku..."

"Let's get you out of here, mom!" F-Trunks urged, walking towards the center of the laboratory's decimated basement.

"Trunks..." Bulma whispered, her left cheek resting upon his now blood and soot covered shoulder.

"I'm going to save you!" He assured her, as much as he tried to assure himself.

"Trunks, I...I love..." She wheezed out, after coughing up moore blood.

"Please, be quiet and let me help you!" F-Trunks begged, stopping just at the dimmest lit area, directly below the torrential hole that tore through their home and sanctuary.

"I...love...you," Bulma shut her eyes as she inhaled shakily, exhaling with finality, "my...beautiful...boy."

"I know," F-Trunks' tears began to flow, as he gripped her body tightly in his arms, "I love you! So much!"

Silence finally ensued.

The wheezing and raspy breaths had ceased, the life burdened within his grasp now fading away. It finally dawned onto the young man that the last sole remaining person who meant anything to him had just died. Died a horrible, disgraceful, and cold death, right in his arms.

Falling to his knees, F-Trunks' mind began to snap, as his tears flowed freely along with belly-aching sobs. Howls and screams erupted from his throat, as he squeezed the lifeless form of the last precious thing in his life. They echoed the dark spaces of ruins that used to be his home, his childhood, and his whole treasured life. Any memory of happiness was torn to pieces by them.

The Androids.

Cries transformed into anguished yells, his body spasming with an abrupt overflow of power. Thrumming out in an elliptic shockwave, it pulsed every few seconds, as golden light began to rise from his pores. Drowned onyxes flashed into emeralds, lavender locks stood on end into golden threads, and muscles expanded appropriately.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Every pulse cracked the fabric of the crumbling foundations, slowly but surely bringing down the entire laboratory complex around the perimeter. Spiraling fissures of azure-white bioelectrical energy discharges from the ground around him, as his body continued to convulse with every throat-tearing yell. Golden energy spewed around him as his hair spiked further, brimming with an even stronger intensity his being every felt before.

But he couldn't feel his body. All he could focus on was the cold, lifeless body in his arms, the blood soaked upon his body. And the mother that he would never get back.

"I will make them pay!"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

His roar continued to build in octave, volume, and intensity, just as surely as the energy that built around him continued to rise. Like a geyser of light, his aura expanded and discharged upwards through the collapsed home, jettisoning out into the sky. Its connection with the dark, smog-coalesced sky quickly turned the atmosphere chaotic and angry. Thick tendrils of lightning spread all across the horizon, as the golden glow continue to spread across the entire fabric of the city.

"Their lives will come to an end!"

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRG! NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG! GRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

West City, in all of its ruined, burning misery began to shake with a violent intensity. Skyscrapers crumbled, just as fissures of azure lightning struck the surface from the heavens, and toppled piles of debris turned into fragments from explosions of vibrant golden light. Streets split into bisected fissures, gas lines exploded fantastically at points that still retained its fuel, and miles upon miles of devastated infrastructure was brought down into the earth.

"They will experience true fear! I will make them cower before me! I will make them regret ever touching you, mother!"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

The golden geyser of light pierced through the fabric of the violent storm that spread across the skyline. From orbit, the light seem to swirl in a maelstrom, spiraling over the eclipsing darkness that held Ryuchi's darkened landscape captive into an unforgiving glare. The light's blaze across the planet's atmosphere seemed to carry across its kinetic pulses, shaking it for thousands of miles around, even sending abrupt fissures into the void of space.

"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE THEM! FOR GOHAN! FOR FATHER! AND FOR YOU, MOTHER!"

The energy finally collapsed the entire burning and smoldering landscape of West City. Blowing out like an erupting star, nothing seemed to escape its blinding rays, indenting the earth into a deep dark chasm. In what would be described as the most ferocious quaking event to transpire in the age, the violent blast finally ended, along with the outpouring fissure of light.

What remained in the wide, several kilometer indention in the land was a single, glowing being. Wrapped in a silhouette of blinding golden-white light, the features of F-Trunks were all but indiscernible. The only thing that was would be the bloodied and quiet body of Bulma in his arms.

Bending down, F-Trunks laid her softly upon the ashen soil, gently and without disturbing her broken form further.

Rising to his feet, the vibrant spectre of vengeance rose high into the air, blazing red sockets ebbing tongues of Ki searched the land for the closest area of disappearing energies. The overwhelming inferno, in comparison to the prior furnace of energy that billowed about his body went nearly unnoticed by the anguish-ridden man. He only knew his senses were heightened to astronomical levels, to which detecting a being suffering at the Androids' hands would be easy.

Feeling what he could assume death in a proximate direction his senses told him, the blazing avatar of wrath disappeared within a flickering flash.

---

Parsley City, 50 Miles Southeast of West City

17 was growing impatient.

Despite the delightful game he and 18 had participated in not but an hour or so ago, there was no guarantee the blonde-haired (or was it lavender?) boy would come straight for them. It would be satisfying, to beat him when he was angry and grieving, savoring every moment as they crushed his skull under their heels. Then they would be rid of his meddlesome hide, just like they got rid of that scar-faced friend of his.

To satiate their hunger for more blood, 18 suggested they hit up Parsley City, having heard there was lingering survivors clambering for supplies there. He didn't deny the offer, knowing it could take days, weeks, even months before their elusive troublemaking friend would show back up. He had to do something to pass the time, so why not lay waste to more trash?

It didn't take long.

There was barely a couple dozen. It quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse, as the two of them dogged them around the debris covered city, keeping their speed down just low enough to keep sight of them but not overtake them too quickly. When they had the gall to open fire at their backsides, 18 forgot that they were trying to keep them alive, quickly igniting an entire city block into a magnificent explosion.

They decided to start leveling the tallest structures the refugees were rushing about, quickly turning the air into a shower of molten glass and crumbling concrete. If 17 care that the air tinged of sulfur and ozone, he would wrinkle his nose at the repugnant scent. The only thing that kept 17's smile alight was the colorful flames that billowed about below his hovering feet.

The two of them had laughed in synchronized maniacal glee, proud of their work.

It was only soured by the fact one of them had managed to scurry away. An older man, wearing a plaid shirt and torn jeans, holding a single magnum in one hand as the other held onto his profusely bleeding forehead.

How he missed him, he had no clue.

Dropping to the ground with a graceful tap, his sister landed just a handful of meters behind him, sighing belatedly.

"Oh look, another stubborn cockroach. I swear no matter how thorough we are, there's always one stubborn survivor that ruins the fun of our scorched earth methods," 18 muttered irritably.

"Don't worry, I got this," 17 said smugly, taking slow purposeful steps towards the old man.

"Y-You monster," The old man growled at 17, raising his gun towards the abominable cyborg, squeezing the trigger, "you killed my family! My friends! I won't forgive you for this!"

"Yeah yeah," 17 waved dismissively, pulling out his own peacemaker from his holster, the one true possession he kept on him for special occasions, "I've heard that line a hundred times before. Trust me, its starting to get as old as you are."

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM! "Stay back!" The man demanded, out of fear and anger in equal measure, as he squeezed the trigger several times.

The high caliber bullets did little to slow or even phase the cybernetic death machine. Each projectile sparked across the surface of his skin, fizzling out of view, as it disintegrated into nothing but dust. It was truly a horrifying, inhuman sight to behold.

As the last of his bullets fired out, a distinct clicking could be heard. The elderly man gasped with fear, realizing that he ran out of ammo for his sole source of protection. Albeit, the point was moot when they did little to impede 17's advances, but it was the sheer emptiness of resistance he had left that utterly drained him of courage.

"P-Please don't," he raised his hands up, letting the gun slip out of his fingers, clattering to the rubble strewn ground below, "don't shoot me!"

"Sorry, old timer," 17 raised his gun towards the man, squeezing the trigger back, "you shot first, so fair's fair."

As he pulled the trigger, the sound of thunder could be heard, followed by a flash of golden light. It flashed directly in between the few meters of distance between 17 and the old man. It was during that instant, that the cyborg lost all sense of feeling along his elbow to the tips of his fingers.

When his eyes blinked a few times past the haze, his mouth slowly opened with aghast horror, before letting out a pained yell, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"W-What the Hell just happened?!" 18 just gasped aloud, barely registering the flash of light that just ripped her brother's arm off.

A sudden, haunting tap was heard, just a dozen meters to their lefts. What they saw shocked them to their cores.

Thrumming with power that constantly distilled the air in a billowing effect, violent snaps and cracks flourished around a brilliantly blinding aura of golden light around the figure in question. Vibrant enough to obscure the finer details of the humanoid in question, but enough not to mask the grated voice, filled with anguish and wanton for murder, "You're...finished...monsters!"

"Who the Hell are you?!" 17 snarled, waving his free hand out at him with pure ignorance, "you got some nerve, wrecking me like that without warning! You got a death wish, pal?!"

"H-Hold on, 17!" 18 uttered aloud, her lips quivering and her complexion paling, "there's only one person left that can do something like this! I think we pissed him off more than we thought!"

"Wait...is that...that kid?!" 17 queried aloud, bewildered that this brilliant arc of pulsating light and murderous intent was the same punk they beat up not but a little while ago.

"You...bastards...killed...her!" F-Trunks continued, as bioelectrical spasms snaked across the ground, causing the earth to rise with unimaginable intensity. The entire city started to shake to emulate the sheer rage overflowing from the Super Saiyan's body, and the wrath it is on the verge of wroughting upon them. Blazing red eyes that sizzled a constant flow of tears glared remorselessly at the pair, striking genuine fear into their eyes, "you...have...no souls! No hearts! Your deaths...will be mourned...BY NO ONE!"

With a single gesture, it was over for 18. Her scream didn't have time to exit her mouth, as a geyser of golden flames discharged from his right palm, searing a path across the city before detonating into the wasteland far beyond in the horizon. Even as the glow faded from his energy's distant eruption, the haze of steam that trailed of what was left of 18 still cooked the air, leaving not even ashes to make out from the attack discharged by Trunks' hand.

"Y-Y-You...killed her!" 17 gasped aloud, stumbling backwards from where his sister was vaporized.

"Yes," F-Trunks answered with curdled satisfaction, his angered gaze turning towards him, "just like my mother was...by your hands! Just like...Gohan, when you murdered him! Just like...you're going to be!"

"N-N-Noooooooooo-!" 17 shouted as he recoiled, lifting up his hand in a desperate attempt to fire a retaliatory blast back at his attacker.

It didn't do any good.

The same outstretched hand sent another wave of destructive energy towards him, enveloping his whole body in a single instant. He didn't feel the skin peel off his organic alloy, or his battery erupt into a white ball as it was dispersed in the sheet of golden fire. His eyes exploded along with his skull, his remaining arm, and his entire torso. In just as quick manner as his sister had been, he was annihilated past the point of recognition or acknowledgement.

In that instant, the oppression holding his world captive had been wiped out. The Androids, the twin cyborg terrors, were destroyed.

But at what price?

---

"...as I destroyed them, I asked myself what kind price was paid in order for their destruction to be achieved. Could I have changed anything? If I arrived earlier, could I have saved my mother? For the months to follow that question haunted my nightmares. After awhile, I came to the conclusion that fate was destined to take my mother from me," F-Trunks closed with his thoughts, his eyes having lowered raised back up to stare into his parents' eyes, "if they just so happen to choose a mere hour just before my arrival, then it could've happened at any point. No, there was nothing I could have done. The only thing I've reaped from the anguish that was sowed into my soul was the new ascension of strength I never felt before. But with nothing left to fight for, in that future, then I only had one thing to return to. The only home I have left: This place, is the only one, I can now truly call home."

Trepidating silence. That was all that was to be described of what the vacancy of replies that just came about.

Bulma's visage was horror-stricken, with eyes swelled up with reddened eyes overflown with tears. She couldn't find the strength to cry, nor the state of mind to respond immediately. How could she? She just heard her son confess that her own future counterpart died in his arms, bringing about an avenging bout of destruction that annihilated the worst threats they ever faced in their lifetime.

There was no satisfaction for this victory, as it was a hollow one at best. There was no one left for him to save, and the ghosts of those he couldn't haunted him in the time he spent away from them.

She didn't once see him cry during his retelling of his story. Her heart ached so much to see him just explain everything with such a grated, matter-of-fact tone. She felt and heard genuine emotion before, but explaining his past just now...seemed irrelevant to him, that it may have not even happened at all.

"No wonder he trembled in my arms," Bulma rationalized, sniffling as she used a free arm to wipe her eyes, "he hasn't had a mother to hold him for over a year, to tell him everything's alright. He must have been so lonely without his family, and so heartbroken!"

Vegeta was also silent. Having guzzled his coffee early on, he merely took his gaze off his son to occasionally look back into the bare contents within the bottom of his mug. He never interrupted or dozed off, not while such a heart-wrenching event that took place in his son's life was told to him in such eloquent detail. There wasn't any way he could forget what was told.

Still, it didn't explain a few things.

His eyes looked up, noting that F-Trunks looked more than a single year older. While traumatic events can possibly lace aesthetic age upon them, there was no mistaking the radical change in stature and facial hair growth came over the course of more than a single year. That and the enormous sword. Having been removed from his back and leaned against the back of the seat, it was easily taller than Trunks' own six foot height, and was crafted remarkably well.

Certain things weren't being added up, and it was obvious that he wasn't telling the whole story.

But for one reason or another, he was okay with that.

"Well," Vegeta exhaled smoothly, setting down the mug on a nearby coffee table, before walking briskly away from his family, "I think I've heard all I needed to hear. Going to try and sleep this off and...stuff. Wake me when something...happens."

As the two heard him mumble his last words, they saw him disappear around the corner, heading to the bedroom to recover his sapped energy.

"Well," F-Trunks started dryly, "he took that remarkably well. Did he hear anything I said at all?"

"He did," Bulma said softly, returning her gaze to the morosely silent K-Trunks, having quietly sat through the entire story with very little noise uttered, "he just doesn't know how to show it. What you said is a lot to take in, and he doesn't know how to process it all at once."

"I see," F-Trunks sighed aloud, clasping his hands together, looking down at his entwined digits, "sorry I had to burden you with this on the first day back. Not exactly the reunion you wanted, I'd wager?"

"Don't say that," Bulma sternly responded, earning her older son's gaze as she stared hard back at him, "I want you to feel comfortable here, at home. No matter what you feel like, I want you to come to me and let me know what's wrong. I don't care if it is good or bad news. Whatever happens, I am your mother. Past, present, or whatever crazy future is in store for us."

F-Trunks couldn't help but feel in awe. The sheer integrity and strength she had, even in the face of such foreboding tales, convinced him that no matter where he went, his mother would always be the steadfast pillar for him to lean upon. A genuine smile crossed his face, as he rose to his feet, "You're right."

"And don't you forget it!" Bulma wagged her finger in mock anger, smiling past her own forcefully knitted frown.

Two things happened that would cease the mood of the moment at once.

The first, was Bulma's phone ringing. And from the sound of the ringtone, it was Yamcha. Sitting down the quiet toddler at her feet, Bulma dug her phone out of her pocket, flipping it open and cocking her head to the side to take the call, "Bulma here!"

The second, was a pair of memorable Ki signatures rapidly approached the Briefs residence. F-Trunks immediately recognized them, and a wide-eyed look of dawning just occurred that they hadn't seen him yet. Reaching over the easy chair, he quickly re-fastened the strap for his sword's scabbard back over his shoulders, racing out to meet them head-on.

"Yo, Geek! I got a toy for ya that I wanted ya to take a peek at!" Launch's voice demanded, albeit in a hurried tone.

"That's a tempting offer, but the fact you're using Yamcha's phone begs the question what kind of toy you're referring to?" Bulma queried, a wry grin working up her face, wondering what the mischievous thief wanted her to check out. Anything related to her work was always dubious at best, but she never sounded any bit worried before. She could only fathom what kind of trouble got her spooked.

"I'll have to show it in your lab! This shipment we...uh...appropriated is a bit shinier than usual. Its intricate and has stuff I've never seen before. Seeing as you're the local expert on strange, unexplained, smart crap I thought to see if I can swing by your place," Launch proposed, in her own way.

"Fine, come in through the back way. It better not be something that'll be missed," Bulma muttered hesitantly, though the lights behind her eyes already gleamed excitedly, "I might look at it longer than you'd like."

"Fine, Fine! As long as you can tell me what it is, who made it, and how it works, you can keep what I give ya!" Launch promised, panting in aftermath. Was she running? "Gotta jet! I'll be there in a little bit!"

As the phone clicked in hang-up, Bulma could only wonder aloud, "What the Hell have you got yourself into this time?"

---

"TRUNKS?!" Gohan shouted out in an incredulous exclamation, just as his feet touched down on the Briefs' front lawn.

"Wow, it really is him!" Videl blurted out with a pair of dish-sized eyes, landing right beside Gohan, "he's gotten big!"

"Nice to see you two," F-Trunks responded with a grin.

As Gohan and Videl approached the taller, longer-haired, buster-sword-toting man they knew from a year ago, they could only stare in amazement at the changes he underwent. It was like he was the same, yet an entirely different person altogether.

"Wow, a year in the future and you already look ten years older," Videl quipped, whistling aloud as she placed her arms behind her head.

"Videl!" Gohan hissed slightly, earning an unapologetic rasberry from his girlfriend.

"Its alright. A lot has happened in my time and I doubt I look the same as I did a year ago," F-Trunks responded with a soft smile, nodding to Videl and Gohan equally.

"Well, its good to see you back," Gohan said with an appreciative, childish grin. Outstretching a clenched fist towards him, he was glad to see F-Trunks eagerly return the gesture with his own fist bump, "welcome home."

"Good to be home," F-Trunks said with genuine thankfulness.

Unfortunately, their collective reunion would be woefully cut short.

"Videl!" A voice suddenly rang out in the young girl's mind, causing her to widen her eyes with surprise.

"Master Roshi?" Videl thought back, her eyes turning to and fro, wondering if he was near.

"I need you to come to the Central City's mountain range. Sorry to cut your time with yer boyfriend so short, but its quite important," Roshi calmly explained.

"Uh, okay," Videl responded with a nod, catching both F-Trunks' and Gohan's attention.

"The sooner the better. I'm sure you're going to like what I have in store for you," Roshi vaguely implied, before letting go the telepathic connection.

With a sigh, Videl turned to Gohan with a sheepish expression, "Sorry, Gohan. Roshi's calling me to meet up with him. Its probably another new training session he wants me to try out."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to keep him waiting," Gohan smiled back, placing a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "you go on ahead. I'll meet up with you later."

Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it tenderly back. With a smile of appreciation, she leaned in and lightly placed her lips onto his, leaving a parting kiss for her boyfriend before she separated, "See you later, tough guy."

"Yeah," Gohan whispered out. A dreamy smile adorned on his face as Videl floated gently up into the air, even long after a white glow enraptured her body and jettisoned her body into the horizon.

F-Trunks couldn't help but smirk down at Gohan, commenting, "So, it seems you two finally hooked up?"

Blushing hotly, Gohan nodded, shuffling his feet and scratching his head in emphasis, "Three months after you left, we had our first date. Besides running into a big snag at the end of the date, we've been together officially for a year. Best thing ever to happen to me, really..."

"Guess I messed up on the exact dates," F-Trunks muttered to himself, frowning when he heard the exact time of Gohan's blossoming relationship coinciding on a different time slot than he accounted for, "I came back three months later than I intended to. My bad..."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Gohan recuperated from his own spell of bashfulness, winking up at his surrogate older brother, "what matters is that you're here and you're back home."

"I guess you're right about that," F-Trunks chuckled. The irony that he came back later than intended, but still in the knick of time to save his dad wasn't lost to him.

"Things sometimes do work out for the best, even if its not the way you planned it," F-Trunks thought to himself sagely.

Then, the most curious sight took F-Trunks and Gohan by surprise.

Flying over on a current of azure light, came three figures, all huddled up in close proximity to each other. When they seemed to drop in front of them, Gohan's jaw dropped as much as F-Trunks' eyes widened with comedic fashion.

Launch was piggybacking on Yamcha's back side, while Maron herself was being held bridal style. The man in question seemed to have a cross of enjoyment and anxiousness. Feeling someone like Launch on his back wasn't unappealing, but the way she gripped his sides with her knees and his neck made it quite uncomfortable. It was only balanced out by how cute Maron's adoring smile and big eyes batted up at him.

"I swear, one of these days I'm going to work up the nerve to pop the question," Yamcha thought to himself with reddened cheeks. This line of thought was only halted by a violent yank via headlock by Launch, causing him to gargle with bugged-out eyes, "that is, if Launch lets me live to see that day!"

"Hey!" Launch shouted down at the duo, smiling down at F-Trunks' figure mostly. As Yamcha's feet stumbled onto the ground, Launch released him from her hold, letting him fall to his knees to gasp for air. Uncaringly, she trotted up to F-Trunks and Gohan, wolf-whistling with a mischievous light in her eyes, "well hello hunk! You certainly seemed to have bulked up, last time I seen you. Could do without the man-mane, but hey, I'm agreeable."

"Uhhhh," F-Trunks' eyes dilated, as his cheeks flushed to the color of cherries.

"Awww, he's still bashful!" Launch snickered. With a playful punch hitting his solid left shoulder, she spoke reassuringly, "don't worry. You may be buffed, but you're nowhere nearly as ripped as my man Tien."

"Really?" F-Trunks asked, his eyes widening further with surprise.

"Oh yeah. I haven't seen him most of the time since you left, but a few months ago we stopped by to say hi. He's almost a completely different person. Except he didn't grow long hair, haha!" Launch explained, laughing with aftermath as she pointedly gestured towards his long hair.

"Yeah, I can only imagine," F-Trunks chuckled sheepishly.

"Hey, Launch!" Yamcha wheezed as he rose back to his feet, with Maron humming happily beside him, "if its not too much to ask, can you not stall us any longer with your bout of flirting and show Bulma what we got?"

"Oh, right!" Launch fist-palmed, turning on her heels, "everyone, follow me! If you want to see some strange, yet awesome sci-fi kinda crap, then you might want to see what we got!"

As she started to march towards the front door, a high pitched squeal was heard. Launch's eyes nearly bugged out of her skull, as she turned on her heels to investigate the source.

"T-T-That sword!" Maron sputtered out, pointing at F-Trunks' sheathed weapon, "w-where did you get that?!"

"Uh...I made it," F-Trunks answered, looking at her with perplexion, noting the stars that filled her eyes.

"Ooooooooooooooh!~" Maron awed, cocking her head to each side, hopping to and fro around F-Trunks' rear flank to get every angled look at the weapon, "its so cool! Sleek, yet commanding! I love it! So awesome!"

"MARON!" Launch barked at her female compatriot, pointing commandingly at the Briefs' from door, "focus!"

"Oh, right," Maron defused, chuckling sheepishly as she scratched her head, "my bad!"

Sighing, Launch rolled her eyes as they all began trudging in with their blonde-tressed leader muttering to herself, "I hope we don't get any other unexpected surprises..."

---

Elsewhere

"...and that concludes my report," Trench finished speaking, standing erect within the glaring ring of light he stood upon. Flanked on each end were two mutually ranked Captains of the Agency, taking their own.

On his right, was Kyoshou, Captain of Master Squad. The ponytailed man held an eager disposition about himself, hands pocketed under the folds of his kama-skirt as his eyes fixated upon the figures in front of him. His bare arms flexed the impressively endowed muscles, rustling his sleeveless black jacket and grey muscle shirt. It was clear he was anticipating a mission worth his time.

On his left stood an imposing, armored being, Captain Gaze. Wearing what seemed to be a motorcycle equivalent of a helmet over his head, two conical shaped horns seemed to arch out of each side, making him appear almost demonic. Obsidian dyed plates meshed with a violet and black hued body suit that stretched over his large torso, all four limbs, with a belt holding a number of specially designated capsules made him looked both professional and prepared. The fact that he was nearly the same height as Trench made him a physically intimidating being as well.

While Trench stood impassively with his arms at his sides, they all looked at a row of life-sized proportioned avatars representing the Inner Circle's leaders.

Standing at the forefront stood the Inner Circle's leader, Shukun Akikaze. A white hood covered most of his visage, only leaving his lower jawline and occasional mouth movements visible to his subordinates. With arms crossed over his own imposingly muscular torso, most of his entire being was etched with snow white hued elastic material, showing every recess and curve his body had. Hands tapped around his forearms and white boots tapped, with a flickering cloak that flapped around his entire being. He remained adamantly silent during the entire debriefing, stoically soaking in the entire array of information.

To Shukun's right was a remarkably civil and all-business appearing man, Stephen Kneel. With a military cropped style of hair, a strong gaunt, a charismatic smile and stunning blue eyes that wore a business blue and black suit naturally, he appeared to be the most "normal" of the assembled leaders. It seemed that he passively held a large black briefcase in his left hand, despite the fact he was in a meeting.

On Leon's right stood a white labcoat adorned woman, Dr. Halo. With a slightly disheveled crop of blonde hair, strands haphazardly splaying out across her crown to emphasize her constantly busied state, she sported a pair of thick-lensed glasses over dazzling emerald eyes. She constantly adjusted them, looking jittery from too much intake of caffeine to keep her going, as well as stable throughout this particular meeting.

To Shukun's left appeared to be a man of seemingly polar opposite in terms of distinct hued appearances, Ryukage. Wearing more curved shades than Trench's stockier sunglass brand, the man possessed a trimmed beard that framed his jawline from sideburns to his chin and around his upper lip. Ryukage donned a long black coat, with a black shirt and pair of slacks with black shoes and pocketed black gloved hands to match, with only his long smooth hair being a striking dark brown to contrast with the dark tint of his attire. The sharp angled face of Ryukage's never twitched, as his body hardly moved a muscle. It was only as unnerving as his nearly passive silence he held at every meeting, almost having no words to share and was almost as much of an observer as the subordinates attending were.

And finally to Ryukage's left stood what looked like a child in comparison to the adults that stood to her right, Mellow Dee. With big turquoise eyes, a lithe yet fit body with a evenly proportioned musculature, and silky cyan colored hair flows down the back of the twelve year old's back, touching her heels. Dark blue overalls strapped over her bare shoulders with bare feet gave her a childish innocence that the entire company Inner Circle agents lacked. With pink and black nailed fingers snapping at her hips, her toes tapped the ground in rhythm with a low volumed hum vibrating from her throat. Her smile seemed to light up the darkened atmosphere within the debriefing room by seven fold, making the foreboding mission assignment that much more tolerable.

Introductions aside, the silence that ensued after Trench finished his report was relatively only a minute long, but seemed to be dragged further by the total silence by all those who were present.

Shukun, with an eloquently light-hearted tone, asked Trench, "Did any of the Z Warriors see you and Void?"

"No sir," Trench responded smoothly, "not even the Namekian, through the thick of the storm's veil, could have the capability of seeing us. We masked our presences well enough not to be spotted."

"Very good," Shukun smiled, showing a row of pearly white teeth, "your discretion is as thorough as always. Have you disciplined Agent Sky?"

"She is under personal quarantine in her quarters until her services are needed," Trench responded curtly, his features grimacing at the audible reminder his own subordinate going against his directives.

"Don't feel bad, Agent Trench," Shukun reassured his Captain, cocking his hooded head to the side as he shrugged, "Agent Sky has always been a very inquisitive, and impulsive girl. Despite her personal vendetta and obsessive fascination with Vegeta, she apparently found a way to gain some sense of closure. In the meantime, you managed to gain valuable data from your analysis of her battle with the Saiyan, am I correct?"

"Of course," Trench smiled darkly, reminded of the boon he received from Sky's battle not too long ago, "there's no doubt in my mind that was the full extent of Vegeta's skills, even with the amassed power he's attained after these last couple years."

"So, are we going to go after Vegeta?" Kyoshou inquired pointedly.

"Patience, Kyoshou," Gaze chided in a sing-song, deep tone that echoed through the audio projector in his helm, "it would be rude for us to assume what our directives should be. With the Champion of Earth weakened, there are a number of variables to consider that you can't possibly think through."

"But it would be stupid not to take advantage of this opportunity!" Kyoshou snarled, taking a step forward to turn halfway at the horn-helmeted Captain, raising a fist with indignated emphasis, "with Vegeta weakened, we can take him out of the picture. With him gone, it'd be easy to deal with the half-pint runt with ease. Any one of my squad can take care of him as he is now!"

"Oh sure," A sarcastic edge came out of Gaze's mouth, his head bowing to shake with disbelief, "just like how Edge managed to perfectly handle the 3 Star Bandits. How's that coming along, by the way? Has he finished eating dirt or is that part of the doctrine your Master Squad handles things?"

"Why you-!" Kyoshou began to take a step forward, his fists balled up with preparation.

What stopped him was a series of giggles, causing him to turn and face the Mellow Dee's amused grin, "Oh don't mind me! Continue to squabble! I'd love to see how such grown men handle their personal problems like kids, hehe!"

Dr. Halo sighed, pressing her right forefingers up the bridge of her nose, adjusting her glasses, "If you're quite done with your childish display of tolerance, I'd rather you shut up. We have more important things to do than entertain your wild fantasies and watch you bicker incessantly!"

"Aw, poo!" Mellow pouted her lips, crossing her arms over her chest with a harumph, "I wanted to see them hit each other!"

"Just because you're the Combat Specialist doesn't mean you have to see it wherever you go," Dr. Halo facepalms, groaning aloud, "that's for your off-time anyways."

A gentle clap by Shukun caused the two outermost leaders to compose themselves, smiling with good humor as his voice took the dominant hold in the following conversation, "Alright, now we got all opinions aside, let's continue. Considering your field report, Agent Trench, I'm going to assume that subtlety has been achieved in your movements. As far as this freak storm is going, how are things going on your end, Mr. Kneel?"

Clearing his throat, the large man to Shukun's right smiled in his direction, as he debriefed everyone as a whole, "Well I managed to contact members of the World Government. Through some coercion, I gave them the impression while it isn't out of the question this is another phenomena at the hands of an otherworldly adversary the Z Warriors are dealing with, I made sure to keep this downplayed. The last thing our beloved leaders need is questions about harboring potential threats that can spread across international waters."

"And that is why you remain Diplomat for Ryuchi and chief aide to his majesty, Mr. Kneel," Shukun complimented with a nod. As faint glimmer of his eyes caught the three Captains' collective sight, he then announced, "this issue we're having with the Z Warriors is becoming more than a simple nuisance. Toleration has exceeded levels of acceptance. We're going to end their little band of vigilantism and domineering control over this planet once and for all."

"Hehehehe," Kyoshou chuckled menacingly, glad to hear that his assumption wasn't for naught.

"Doctor," Shukun uttered aloud, his smile disappearing into a more impassive expression, "the 3 Star Bandits may have capsuled the majority of the shipment within their possession. Can they be traced?"

"Of course," the scientist smiled with assurance, "in the chance that they were ever stored in DynoCaps, they were to emit a transdimensional frequency for us to track. If they were ever unpacked, the tracers would be able to be easily followed, wherever they may be."

"Excellent," Shukun applauded with a smile, his hooded visage turned towards Gaze, "Captain Gaze."

"Sir!" The Captain reported with sing-song, resolute attention as he stood straighter than an arrow.

"I want your squad and a company of our Proto-Troopers to head to the Briefs Residence. It is most likely if the 3 Star Bandits have any idea what they have in their possession, they will take it to Bulma Briefs in the case that Dr. Briefs isn't present. She is most likely still at Capsule Corp HQ," Shukun ordered his Captain.

"Any directives we should take in mind?" The attentive squad leader inquired.

"If you come across any resistance, terminate with extreme prejudice. Also, if you feel if there are any beneficial additional objectives you wish to carry out, feel free to do so at your own judgement," Shukun appraised his Captain casually.

"I will do so at once!" Captain Gaze responded diligently, clicking his heels and saluting towards Shukun in a military manner. After he received a half-hearted salute from his superior, he crisply turned on his heels and vacated himself from the debriefing room.

"Kyoshou," Shukun continued, his faintly lit eyes turning to catch the eager captain's eyes.

"Yes?" He asked anxiously.

"The Z Warriors themselves are scattered out and about. The independent spirit and versatile abilities endowed to your squad is most suited in taking the majority of them out. Use discretion when in public areas, but exercise extreme prejudice in isolated parts of Ryuchi," Shukun commanded Kyoshou, with a wave of his hand.

"I'll do so at once!" Kyoshou announced, bowing halfway with respect before leaving with a swift turn of his own.

As the latter captain departed, Trench inquired curiously, "What of Edge? Shouldn't you advise Kyoshou how he should act next?"

"I've already relayed a personal command to him," Shukun he spoke with a relaxed tone, cocking his head to the side habitually, "he's going to give West City a wide berth when it comes to his tasked assignment. Considering the infamy of the 3 Star Bandits, they will most likely withdraw themselves as soon as their business is concluded at the Briefs' home. After all, they may be iconic heroes of the people, but the authorities have put them upon the Most Wanted list."

"Understood," Trench nodded with affirmation.

"If you're curious what your mission is, Trench, I don't have anything specific that suits your squad's talents," Shukun informatively explained, waving his arms out before clasping them in front of his waistline, "but due to the precarious nature of these assignments, both informed and unknown, anything is capable of proceeding to levels of unacceptable outcomes. I will keep you appraised of the situation of your fellow Captains' missions, as well as outlying movements by any threats we may need to deal with."

"Of course," Bowing his head, Trench spoke reverently, "whenever you deem my presence necessary, Master, just say the word."

With an amused smile, he silently accepted the man's acceptance of the situation. When the large, imposing man left the room, his smile retracted into one of a serious demeanor.

"That lasted longer than I would have liked," Ryukage muttered lowly with irritation.

"I know you have your operations to take care of, Ryukage, but you have to be aware of these assignments. Seeing them on pen and paper or through a screen isn't always the same as witnessing a debriefing in person," Shukun lightly chided.

"I don't see the point," Ryukage dryly retorted.

Sighing heavily, Shukun facepalms, dragging his hand across his fair complexioned face, "While we're on the topic, then, is operation Wilderness going along with your timetable?"

"The task force left the moment this meeting began," Ryukage responded curtly.

"Excellent!" Shukun clapped, smiling a bit more darkly than before, "with events unfolding out in the open, the shadows we extend will most definitely bear fruit. In one way or another, our mission will succeed, and the Z Warriors will cease to be a nuisance."

"If that is everything, then I will take my leave," Steve announced with a satisfied grunt, raising his right hand to look at a golden watch, "I have a scheduled meeting with our contacts in China. Production for our ground forces and the Proto-Divisions is going to increase by 150%, and I need to oversee any changes in this development."

"Go on," Shukun nodded with a smile.

As his image winked out of view, Dr. Halo yawned, "Oh gosh, my caffeine is wearing out. I gotta get back at it before I collapse!"

"You do that," Shukun sighed with acknowledgement.

DING! A sound that radiated from the background of Mellow's location caused her to suddenly squealed with delight, "Oh! My brownies are done! I better get them out before they burn!"

As her image winked out of view, Shukun felt a distinct emptiness radiate the room. Lowering his head, he sighed, turning to look to his left, "So Ryukage, sometime later would you like to-"

Shukun saw that before he knew it, Ryukage wordlessly left, leaving Shukun to stare at nothing.

"Damn you, Ryukage," Shukun twitched comically with irritation, "you antisocial jerk!"

---

Capsule Corp Lab

"Whoa!" Gohan gasped out with wonder as he stared with amazement.

Wide eyes synonymously were shared with the huddled group that bent over Bulma's shoulders. It made for a comedic gathering, as Bulma examined the material splayed out on the equivalent of a operating table, which continuously gave off a blue glow that sent analysis readings to the computer that she was examining.

The item in question appeared to be a golden-red tinted suit, compacted into several parts: two shin-guard armored boots, a harness strapped belt, a torso piece with attached pauldron sets.

Wearing the gloves of the set, was none other than Launch, one whom had been adamant in not leaving them. Placing her left gloved hand on Bulma's chair, she looked at the data readings and the detailed 3-D synopsis of the armor splayed out on the table behind them, "What's the sitch, doc?"

"Well, for one thing, I can tell you Capsule Corp didn't make it. If anything, I think this might be under talk and discussion for potential pieces of advanced technology. I doubt any government funded military has this in their possession yet," Bulma explained, leaning back against her plush leather chair.

"It sure packed a wallop!" Maron said with a smile, tapping Launch's other armored hand with explanation, "the pirate samurai guy who wanted these back got blown away! I didn't even see him get back up afterwards!"

"Pirate Samurai?" Yamcha queried at his girlfriend's description of their avowed assassin, "is that what you called him?"

"Yup! My newest friend!" Maron exclaimed proudly, thumbing towards her chest as Yamcha just gawked from the other side of Bulma's chair.

"Friends?! Maron, he tried to kill us!" Yamcha argued with an incredulous expression to match his aghast tone.

"I know! He did a good job trying, huh?" Maron inquired with an oblivious smile.

Facepalming, Yamcha went to lean against a far wall, a comical cloud overcasting his form to emulate his state, "Sometimes, I don't know who you are..."

"Wait, this man tried to kill you for taking this stuff?" Gohan asked with alarm, looking to Launch with confirmation.

Launch turned away from Bulma, shrugging as she looked at her gauntlets, "Honestly, I never saw the guy. All I heard was the noises of the battle going outside. Considering how serious Maron got and that even Yamcha pitched in, the guy was certainly no amateur."

Gohan's brows furrowed as his gaze drew downwards at the gauntlets. Cupping his chin with his left hand, he murmured out, "I don't like this. A freak storm appears simultaneously within a failed attempt to get back stolen merchandise that exceeds the current generation of technology by a high margin. The fact Bulma said that Vegeta was resting now in the middle of the afternoon, when he usually trains vigorously way into the night, means that storm was created by a being of unnatural origins. This may be just my opinion, but I think there's more to this merchandise than simply weapon and tech smuggling."

"You mean my father's attacker could be linked to the man who attacked them?" F-Trunks asked, sweatdropping slightly at letting loose the fact that Vegeta had been involved.

"Ha!" Yamcha crowed from the wall, now leaning cockily against it with arms crossed, "should've known mister big shot was responsible. No way that storm was just a freak occurrence of nature being pissed at us!"

"I practically fought against the weather that threatened West City. It almost seemed alive the way it kept trying to break it apart," Gohan acknowledged Yamcha's statement with a nod of his own, turning around to pace from the table in a horizontal alignment, "this seems like some bizarre conspiracy. There's no way to confirm how either of these events and even this advanced weapon tech has anything to do with each other. Which means I need to find the most traceable source."

Stopping in front of the table, Gohan leaned against it, raising his head to glance at Yamcha's line of sight, "Do you know where your...uh...commandeering took place?"

"You mean the drop-off point for the dozens of crates? It was a giant airfield near a dessert wharf, bordering the wastes valley near a man-made road," Yamcha explained, thumbing to his right, "it was about fifty, fifty five miles southwest of here. Though I'm not sure you'll find anything leading back to their production facility."

"Why?" Gohan furrowed his brows inquisitively.

"Cause the tip was on the off-hand supposition this was a World Government operation," Launch explained, earning Gohan's attention, crossing her gauntlet-wielding arms over each other, "it was already hush-hush to begin with. Sneaking on foot, then using a vehicle to barge in on their operation, we took them totally by surprise. It was only but a handful of minutes after we took their truck and began driving it away a thundering sound of an explosion was heard by us. If these guys are as discreet as they are thorough in handling situations, its most likely dust."

"That's fine," Gohan replied, confidently smiling at Launch with a hardened stare of determination, "I bet I'm the only one who can possibly find some sort of trace where the shipment came from. I don't need to know anything about the base, just the breadcrumb trail back from where it was shipped."

"Its worth a shot," F-Trunks complimented with a shrug, smiling with impressment at the young boy's deductive reasoning.

Gohan immediately sprinted out of the lab, towards the exit, "I'm going to check it out! Wish me luck!"

Yamcha could only chuckle as he saw him disappear around the corner, "What a champ. Hope he doesn't get caught up in something nasty."

"Speaking of which," Launch began, waving her metallic-laced hands, "we should get going. Considering how we're still not favorites of the fuzz, we should make sure we head to one of our storage areas to deposit our payload. Until we know what we're dealing with, we should bury it and wait out this heat."

"I second that," Yamcha pushed himself off the wall, pointing to the exit, "we'll see ourselves out, Bulma. Call us if you find out little green men or zombies were involved with this stuff."

"Will do!" Bulma waved without turning her head, her eyes now glued at the screen, as her jaw was open with a glazed smile of fascination on her face, "going to keep looking at this!"

Rolling his eyes, Yamcha joined Maron and Launch on the way out, waving back at his ex-girlfriend, "Take care of yourself!"

As the trio vacated themselves from the lab, F-Trunks' eyes widened. It felt like something fluctuated, faintly, on the tips of his fifth sense. They tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, causing his eyes to look up with a hardened glare.

"Something is happening," F-Trunks thought with a growl, "and I don't like it!"

---

Kame House

"Well, whatever that freak storm was, its gone now," Tien responded coolly, lowering his hand from his 3rd eye as his gaze turned away from the glare in the sky.

"Yeah," Chiaotzu sighed with relief, smiling as he looked up at Tien, "good thing we kept Kame House from being totalled, huh?"

"Yeah, that old hermit wouldn't have been too happy about that!" Tien chuckled with agreement.

They shared a mutual laugh. After all they been through with each other, throughout their entire lives, they were glad that the peaceful moments. Even in death, their reunion was as joyful as their journey back to life.

A thought was voiced aloud by the short younger surrogate brother, "Is Oolong and Puar getting along inside?"

"Yeah, they've warmed up to each other since Yamcha went back to his bandit tendencies with Launch and Maron," Tien nodded, thumbing over to the open doorway of the small house on an island, "they may act like they don't like each other, but they're still good friends. Considering how less they've been able to participate in these crazy battles, I can't help feel a bit sorry how often they stay cooped up."

"Better they don't get hurt, like I did with the Saiyans, and regret participating. I'd hate for Puar to go through what I had to, and I know Yamcha would too," Chiaotzu confessed, twiddling his fingers as he shuffled his feet.

Clasping a hand on his hat, ruffling it onto the younger child-like friend's head, Tien smiled as Chiaotzu giggled, "Don't worry yourself about it. Yamcha hangs out with Puar often enough to keep their friendship kindled. Besides, if Puar really wanted to tag along, there'd be nothing that scar-faced jerk could do to keep him from doing so."

"I guess you're right," Chiaotzu grinned up at his triclopian friend.

A brief pause in their conversation lapsed, as the sound of waves and gulls were all they heard in the background. It would reemerse, as the shorter of the two companions turned to gaze upwards, with his cloaked compatriot standing beside him.

"Still," Chiaotzu mused, his eyes looking up at the now crystal clear sky, "I wonder what kind of power could have generated such a storm?"

"Beats the Hell out of me," Tien shrugged honestly, "though whatever it is, it wouldn't surprise me..."

A sudden whistling was heard, as a pulse of energy emission washed over both of the companions' senses.

Tien's eyes quickly saw a bristling comet-like energy head towards their island, obscured by the brilliant glare of the Sun. Leaping up into the air, he quickly reared back his right hand, charging it with his own Ki. As it began to near him, now sounding like a bottle rocket to his ears, the azure hued aura of energy around his hand manifested sharply.

"HA!" Tien shouted aloud, thrusting his palm into the projectile, generating a Kiai in its midst. With a sound breaking pop splitting the air, the flames were quelled and the attack was staved from impacting the island below.

"Impressive," An exotic feminine voice uttered behind the prominently capable warrior, "to think you knew to use a concussive wave, rather than an energy blast to nullify those flames. Instinct or just luck? I can't decide which one guided your hand."

Tien turned about in the air, all three eyes glaring stoically at the woman who floated in the air a dozen meters away, "Who the Hell are you?!"

"You may call me, Flare," the woman announced, clenching and unclenching upper-arm long leather gloved fists. Her emerald eyes held a crimson tint that flashed momentarily, holding a captivating allure as much as her alabaster complexion, with a toning that was similar to that of a model, with long golden blonde curly hair that dropped all the way to her ankles, flowing hypnotically in the air. Her leather leggings fastened into her boots, but what skin was not covered seemed to expose the top of her cleavage, her navel, and her lower back with only a corset fastened over her midriff, "but you may call me your executor, if you prefer!"

---

Central City Mountains

"Are they here yet?" Videl whined, her arms crossed as she sat cross-legged on a cliff face.

"Nope, just be patient," Roshi stood firmly behind her, allowing his beard to flow with the harsh billowing current of the high altitude held.

Groaning, Videl leaned back, allowing her solitary ponytail to fly back into the current of the gale's current, not bothering her as much as her boredom. Despite the fact she wore only a short-sleeved black shirt, jean shorts, tall white socks with mutually stark hued shoes and black laces, with a pair of orange cuffed black gloves she didn't feel the least bit chilled. Her aura seemed so instinctive and relaxed, she felt as if she could be comfortable in any harsh environment.

"You called me, away from my boyfriend-"

"Which I apologize for," Roshi said impassively.

"-to bring me to the mountains-"

"Very beautiful at this time of year, by the way," Roshi grinned thoughtfully.

"-to wait for a pair of vaguely termed...sparring partners?" Videl asked dubiously, looking at her master over her shoulder.

"Yes. I've been feeling them move out and about for quite some time," Roshi admitted, nodding with certainty, "I thought they gave up for today. But after this storm, there's no question about it. They're going to show up any minute."

"The way you describe them," Videl inquired, letting her feet dangle from the cliff nonchalantly, "its almost like you know them. And I mean know them in a bad way."

"Nothing to worry your head about," Roshi reached down, scruffing up the crown of Videl's raven hued tresses, causing her to scowl and turn her head away, "just be ready for anything."

"You keep saying that," Videl growled, waving her hand with exasperation, "but I don't know what to be ready FOR!"

It was almost at that exact moment, emphasized on her last word, something did happen.

A single heartbeat would occur, as a projectile whized by Videl's head, straight for Roshi's chest. As her ponytail swung around in a pendulum motion, with her head moving to keep her eyes on the blurring object, she in turn saw Roshi pivot on his right heel, swiveling out of the way of the object. As it struck the upraised mountain peak behind them, it looked harmless on its own, a rock not larger than Videl's hand.

But when it made solid impact with the rockface, it suddenly became more than that.

CRRRRRAAAAACK! In a single instant, the entire peak shattered behind them, causing it all to become brittle slabs of rock to collapse on a perfectly level plane with the cliff. It was breathtaking, and a perfect employment of energy control, if not something more entirely. Videl felt her breath hitch, sweat beading down her forehead at what she just witnessed.

"Nice one, old man!" A voice crowed in the distance, causing Videl to warily turn her head to look towards a mutually altitude facing mountain peak. It was a ponytailed man with black threaded hair that slicked back over his crown. His haughty jacketed and skirted appearance gave him the indication he was both a martial artist and from the malevolence he glared at them with certainly depicted him as an enemy.

"I thank you for the compliment!" Roshi cupped his hands playfully over his mouth, shouting back enthusiastically, "may I have another? I need the warm-up for our sparring match!"

"Sparring match?" Kyoshou inquired, his smile retracting from his face as a look of irritation and confusion dawned upon his features.

"Yes! That's why you took your time getting here, right? To spar with a veteran in martial arts, right?" Roshi asked coyly.

Kyoshou chuckled darkly, stepping off the cliff's edge, allowing himself to hover in front of the mountain with hands splayed out in a declarative manner, "You must think this is some kind of joke, Muten Roshi. I assure you, I am not here for anything as playful as sparring match. Neither is my buddy!"

With that said, a man seemed to materialize next to Kyoshou, light refraction giving him a near mirage entrance. Castle's muscular, armored visage and flat butch-hairstyled visage gave him a distinct militaristic appearance. The way he cruelly glanced at Videl's direction gave the distinct impression that he was looking forward to doing an unsavory action against her.

One Videl knew she wasn't anxious in finding out.

"Well, it seems you're going to have to fight the big one next to mister show-off," Roshi said matter-of-factly, patting Videl's now alert standing frame on the shoulder, "good luck!"

"Gee, how thoughtful of you," Videl sarcastically drawled out, rolling her eyes as she looked back at the man floating in the air, next to the attacker. As she settled into a stance of readiness, she knew this would definitely be a tough fight. She only hoped she can prove her mettle, before death claims her instead!

---

Storage Location #3, 30 Miles East of West City

"Finally found it," Yamcha muttered aloud, grasping a large metal container, numerical codes lining the front of where the opening latch was, "can't believe I have to dig twenty meters underground to get to this..."

"Its the only way no wayward scavengers claim our loot!" Launch crowed down from the edge of the wide pit, holding the shovel she made him use.

"Why do you constantly use me for your grunt work?! Its so demeaning!" Yamcha growled in complaint, floating back up to set the box in front of Maron and Launch.

"Stop complaining!" Launch snorted derisively, uncaring to Yamcha's plight, typing away at the codes upon the storage case's front.

"Why me?" Yamcha sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, looking up at the sky as if it had the answers.

"Don't be sad, Yammy-poo," Maron cooed reassuringly, hugging him from behind, "I'm here if you need me. Remember that."

"Awwww," Yamcha smiled at her intimiate gesture, causing him to lose almost all prior stress, "shucks, Maron. You're so sweet."

"I try to be," She sighed, giving Yamcha a tender squeeze across his waist, smiling softly as she felt Yamcha's hands grasp hers.

With a click, the container opened at Launch's touch, showing hundreds of capsules stored within the storage chest. Colors of various hues, with designations marked on each one, holding many valuable trinkets yet to be sold or valuables equaling the extravagant amount of funds they've received in the elongated time they started working with each other.

Fishing into her jacket, Launch eyed at the capsule that held the Semi-Truck full of smuggled goods, "Another one to add to stockpile. At least, this one near West City."

"Can't believe we have a dozen of these," Yamcha mused aloud, watching her drop the capsule into the bin, before promptly closing it, "wouldn't it be a good idea to store it in a large warehouse instead?"

"Oh yeah, and on the off chance its discovered, lose everything we worked hard on liberating into our mits? No thank you!" Launch sternly rejected the idea, kicking the crate back down the deep hole, hearing a resounding thud as it hit the bottom, "now bury that! The sooner we do that, the sooner we can hit the road and see what else we can find!"

"You bury it!" Yamcha groaned, arching his head to the side with indignation, "I'm sick of doing all of your dirty work. Both the figurative and literal kind!"

"Yamcha, do I have to repeat this discussion a thousand times?! You don't contribute to ANY of the legwork involving our heists! Zilch, nadda, zero! Knocking out guards and taking out pursuit cars is great, but I mean you don't even touch a SINGLE cent's worth of the goods. What, are you trying to preserve your bandit code of not actually gaining ANY loot of your own?!"

"Its not the same without Puar," Yamcha admitted honestly, turning to glare back at Launch, thumbing over at Maron who peeked out from the side to look past Launch and Yamcha into the horizon, "I'm only here to keep you two out of real trouble. If left on your own, you could get some SERIOUS heat following you. Even if you're doing criminal work, at least its for good causes, right?!"

"We're not the lad and lasses in tights, scar-face! We're thieves! Stop trying to warp my way of doing things!" Launch poked Yamcha in the chest, glaring heatedly at him that was thrown back at her with equal measure.

"Uh...guys," Maron began to implore.

"What, so you'd rather take money from people who need it? You'd rather help the underworld instead of hinder it? I thought you were better than that, Launch!" Yamcha growled back, slapping the blonde's gauntlet-covered hand away.

Tugging on Yamcha's bandit shirt, Maron said with greater alarm, "Guys!"

"We could be the filthiest rich people in the world, and you want to give 90-95% of everything we make to charities and orphanages?! We're not supposed to be heroic, yet you're making us out to be. Why? Are you trying to convert me into one of your Z Warrior buddies? I don't belong in that world, Yamcha! Tien may mean the world to me, but I don't need to join him on a damned crusade!"

"So, you're scared, is that it?" Yamcha asked, almost with a smug grin of knowing that caused Launch to rear back one metal fist.

"Take that back, or you'll be getting another scar!" Launch threatened.

"Go ahead, take your best shot!" Yamcha turned his scar-free cheek, urging Launch to swing.

In a single instant, both of them were knocked off their feet, as Maron pulled them into the hole.

"OW!" Yamcha yelped, as his face struck the case far below, causing him to feel spasms of pain roll up and down his skull.

"Ugh!" Launch groaned, her haunches striking the pit directly onto her buttocks, causing her to feel a wave of pain roll up and down her spine. Wincing, she covered her mouth, to keep from the spare bits of dust from causing her to go into a sneezing fit, "what's wrong with you, Mar-"

SHEEEEEEOOOOOW! "That," Maron pointed up, as a shimmering blaze of light seemed to encompass the air they were standing not but moments ago. Thunderous crashes were heard and their pit rocked hard enough to cause some of the pit to cave in the bordering clods of dirt, halfway burying them. Luckily it was brief enough for them to not be entirely buried or feel the true power of the surprise attack that rocked the valley above.

Funnily enough, the shovel that rested on the edge of the pit tipped over and fell directly onto Yamcha's head.

"OW!" Yamcha growled, feeling the metal bounce off his head, causing another spasm of throbbing pain to course through his skull, "GUH! Who's attacking us this time?!"

Flames seemed to ignite out of the gauntlet's recesses, somehow responding to Launch's emotions. As the flames ebbed off the golden metal plating, a dark silhouette of overcast covered her upper features, just as she stood to her full height, "I don't know. But whoever it is...I'M KICKING HIS ASS!"

Running up the side of the pit, Launch got to the surface first, with Maron and Yamcha following behind. The grains of sand seemed to sizzle with an unnatural residual haze of heat, causing the entire valley to feel super-heated. Ironically, the newfound intoxicating temperature caused beads of sweat to emanate across Launch's skin more so than her gauntlets.

And because of her less than extreme methods of training, Maron and Yamcha appeared less affected than she appeared to be.

As Maron pulled out a sword she un-capsuled, a bright smile seemed to dawn upon Maron as she noticed the apparent flat nature of the ground around them, as well as the origin of faint energy emission. With a chirping declaration, she chirped aloud, "My friend is baaaaaaaaaaack!~"

"Who?" Yamcha asked, grasping the hilt of his own sword, thumbing it partially out of its sheathe, "what?!"

"Oh no," Launch murmured, remembering exactly who Maron mentioned.

It was then, they all noticed a dozen katanas fall from the sky. Each one struck about thirty meters away, creating a perfectly circular barrier around their partially collapsed hole. Wrapped around the hilt of each sword was a piece of cloth, with distinct kanji spelling out "Reject, Seal, Forbidden" in a continuous manner all around them. Almost in a sense of a feudalistic, crudely crafted ring, they seemed to have a sense of enclosure around their proximity.

Stepping over the barrier, in a methodically calm manner, came Agent Edge. Despite prior injuries he had sustained in his prior battle, his skin looked unmarred and untouched from both Launch's surprise attack and Maron's own strikes upon his person. Now adorning only a simple kosode and hakama, a single burgundy tinted scabbard was seen on his left hip with a simple yet elegant katana in his right hand. His single eye gazed at Maron and the other two companions.

"Don't bother burying that hole," Edge responded with a cold, damning tone, as he raised his blade to point offensively at them, "by the time it is over, your bodies are going to need a grave."

---

West City, Capsule Corp/Briefs Residence

F-Trunks made a slight aesthetic change as he exited the front door of Capsule Corp HQ. His stark white hair flowing down his back was now bound into a slick ponytail, making it more manageable and less cumbersome. The hardened glare that assumed his visage hadn't softened a fraction, even as he left his mother to continue tinkering with the strange high-tech armor. In fact it became more icy as he glanced at the lawn and street that occupied around the Briefs home.

Grasping the hilt of his sword, he unsheathed it in a slow, provocative manner as he called out to his invisible assailants, "Come on out. I know you're there, watching my every move. Might as well meet me head-on, like real men. Or are your numbers not reassuring enough?"

Impaling the earth with his large sword, he finally saw them.

Like mirages coming to life, the refractions of light dispersed as suddenly as it had hid them. They were all different in their own way, having a few with cybernetic limbs, others with advanced mechanized armor, and others with post-modern rifles in hand. It was clear they all had the synonymous midnight hued flak jacket appearance. Each one with a distinct golden circle emblazoned upon their shoulders.

Their preparation indicated resistance of a lighter kind, or perhaps they were a scout force?

Either way, they showed themselves, willingly enough to confront him.

"You made a serious mistake, challenging us!" The leader of the squad spoke through his auditory speaker, apparently glaring through his obscured visual lense on his bullet-proof helmet, "you should have just walked away, now it gets painful!"

"Funny," F-Trunks dryly retorted, raising his hands up to crack each knuckle in an audible, intimidating fashion, "I was about to say the same thing back to you!"

---

A/N: And finished, and in the nick of time! Whew! A lot more than I originally anticipated but I still cranked it out :D

With F-Trunks story told, I purposely kept things as vague as possible. More revelations of what happened back in the future will be revealed in a later chapter. I hope you all liked seeing tragedy mold his Trunks into a warrior of formidable power =w=

And with the Inner Circle's leadership revealed and their motives more clear, we now establish a clear battlefield for our heroes to face. Will further conflicts arise? How can they handle facing these unnatural and abnormal beings of incredible power? What is the truth that lies within the shadows that the Inner Circle weaves? One thing is clear, however: The world that they knew will radically change!

Expect to see an update on my profile when I plan to write out the next VC Chapter. Until then, I'll see you all in the next Chapter, of The Vegeta Chronicles!