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CHAPTER 21:
Interference
By the time Trunks reached Havana's house, the sun was starting to hang low in the sky. Overhead, wispy clouds painted the sky's canvas shades of white yellow during the golden hour. The hues of the approaching sunset intensified all the colors of the world and foreshadowed a looming night draped in darkness and devoid of moonlight. In the distance, the distant roll of thunder forebode the approach of a low-pressure storm front from the west.
Trunks capsulized his red car and secured it within a small hidden pocket within the front main right pocket of his green and orange letterman jacket. While his hand was there, he confirmed he also still possessed his other capsule, filled with his dragonweed.
He walked up Havana's front stairs, and nonchalantly rang the doorbell of her white exterior wooden door. His hands then returned to find casual refuse in the loose pockets of his jacket.
As Trunks waited, he shuffled his feet, turning to distract himself by observing Havana's neighborhood, and bouncing his feet a bit in the cold.
He watched his breath condense in the chilly air, and amusingly observed that all of the cars along the street coincidentally appeared to be the same shade of black with tinted windows.
His mind shifted right back to the present once he heard the lock turn on the door.
The door quickly creaked open, revealing Havana, looking like a pirate - or at the very least, ready to go on her next big adventure.
Havana was clad in high-waisted brown leather pants which accentuated her toned curves, and her loose ivory blouse with billowy sleeves was tucked into her pants. Her bluish-black, voluminous curls framed her bombshell hourglass figure. Her confident smirk and piercing gaze hinted at her fearless charisma, as if she were a legend of the high seas.
Havana grinned at Trunks, who stood at her threshold, "Did you bring the dragonweed capsule?"
Trunks affirmed with a nod. He subtly shuffled his feet, and he pulled out the capsule. "Here."
Accepting it with an alluring smile, Havana beckoned him with the same hand.
"Come inside," Havana's red lips curved upward her subtle double-entendre.
Trunks held his ground. "I don't intend to stay long."
Havana smiled slyly with a low, velvety cadence, "I also don't intend for you to stay long."
Then, Havana turned and nonchalantly strolled away, clutching the capsule, and leaving Trunks standing alone by the open front door.
Trunks looked unsure of himself as he glanced around, and to the side, and behind him, before returning his gaze back into the house. He still hesitated at the thought of stepping into her home.
Havana made her way to a white door at the back of the living room, which led to her kitchen. She called back from over her shoulder, "Does Goten know you're here?"
"No," Trunks said from the front door.
Pausing by the door, with her hand on the knob, Havana turned to face him with eyes that flashed as she grinned widely, "Does anyone know you're here?"
"No," Trunks shrugged, leaning against the door frame.
Havana's eyes sparkled as she teased, "Oooh, bad boy, sneaking around, just like old times."
The way her dark eyes glistened like stars tugged at Trunks' attraction. He felt drawn to her.
And then, Trunks caught himself in that thought, and was so angry with himself. Trunks felt his temper flare, partly at her, and mostly at himself for even being tempted.
"I'm only here to talk," Trunks scowled from the front door, resistant to the idea of entering her lair.
"Right," Havana grinned, with a gleam in her eye, "So let's talk in the kitchen. I want to show you my new renovation."
She disappeared into the kitchen, and the white door closed behind her.
Trunks frowned from the front entrance, now left alone as he contemplated his next move. He honestly didn't care to see her renovation work. He felt apprehensive and pressured to engage with her beyond his comfort level. He didn't like how she was luring him to the back.
Still, Trunks relented, and he reluctantly entered the house. He closed the front door behind him without locking it.
As he navigated through the living room, past the stairs and toward the back door leading to the kitchen, he was filled with an uneasy feeling.
As he surveyed his surroundings, Trunks couldn't help but feel as if Havana's home existed in a suspended state, frozen in time like a museum exhibit. Nothing appeared to have shifted or changed since his last visit. It felt almost like a staged model home.
Everything in the living room felt sterile. There was no personality to the room, as it was decorated with different shades of gray. It resembled a monochromatic canvas, devoid of paintings or pictures.
Her house could have been a hospital, or an AirDnB. It certainly didn't feel like it was occupied by a Caribou resident for the past two years.
Trunks also noticed something this time around - he found it unusual that there were so many cameras along the walls. There seemed to be even more than before, taking up all the corners as if not to miss a single step.
Feeling like he was being watched, he pushed through the living room to make it to the back. As he walked, he glanced back to the front door, which appeared to recede away from him, creating an illusion of increasingly skewed distance as he made his way to the back of the house.
When he entered the kitchen, Trunks discovered Havana seated at a round glass breakfast table positioned in the back center of her dining space. On the glass surface were several items: a round coconut-carved ashtray, a colorful array of souvenir lighters, a selection of different rolling papers, and a small box of filters.
Trunks watched as Havana uncapsulized the dragonweed capsule to reveal a capsule case, a black grinder, and a large clear bag of a curated selection of the highest quality dragonweed.
The kitchen looked different than when Trunks last saw it. Within the past year, Havana knocked out the back wall to convert it into tall sliding patio glass doors that opened to her outdoor tropical garden, and converted the entire dining area into an indoor/outdoor space, with screens and heaters.
Trunks was admittedly impressed by the new layout and revamped ambience. Now that he had a keener understanding of the value of zeni, he marveled at Havana's ability to afford such a renovation project on an entry-level salary right after high school.
He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he looked around in awe, noting all of the new heating elements such as the heat fan above her dining table, indicative of how often she liked to use the space, even in chilly weather. He inquired about how much a project like this went for.
Havana vaguely responded that she "came into new money through work," and then revealed that her employer, a maritime supply shipping company dealing in imports and exports, rewarded her generously with bonuses for her "side jobs."
Trunks casually strolled by her, keeping a watchful eye on her handling of the dragonweed, ensuring she was only sourcing the green from his personal stash. Satisfied, he let his gaze wander, leisurely taking in the details of the room as he created a mental map of the renovated surroundings.
To the left of the kitchen was a bedroom with a closet door tucked beneath the stairs; and to the right, the bathroom and laundry room.
The back of the house had two giant glass sliding patio doors that opened to a tranquil tropical garden, which boasted young banana trees, a lush key lime tree, and a pond with a trickle-fountain shaped like a palm tree.
As Havana skillfully worked on rolling joints, their conversation shifted from small talk about the renovated space, to musings about the weather, and how her indoor-outdoor space would be great for smoking dragonweed and watching the rainfall.
Havana reminisced about her years in the Caribou Archipelago, and how it was common for her to anticipate this kind of storm almost every day.
As they talked, Trunks' mind was elsewhere.
He knew he was subtly prolonging the inevitable as he was stalling for time. However, it didn't feel right to dive into the main subject just yet.
Trunks was grateful to find solace in Havana's laid-back demeanor. Her buoyant confidence helped to calm his jangled nerves. He looked forward to the dragonweed helping to relax him further, as he knew they were bound for a heavy conversation.
Pausing her joint-rolling, Havana looked up with a mischievous glint and asked Trunks if he fancied any flavored paper.
"Flavors?" Trunks raised a skeptical lip, "They do that?"
"Oh absolutely," Havana replied with enthusiasm, "I've got this new Blackberry flavor I can't wait to try."
Trunks declined, and shook his head, "No. Nothing special for me."
"Of course you get something special, Trunks," Havana grinned broadly and held up two different rolling papers - one black, and one unbleached. "They're Super Size."
Trunks looked between her and the papers.
"I don't plan to stick around long enough to finish that," Trunks reminded her.
Havana's eyes sparkled with a deviously enchanting smile as she cooed, "You don't have to."
She cast a sultry gaze as she sensually licked her fingers, tracing each fingertip with her tongue. Gliding smoothly, she caressed each joint glue edge with long, wet strokes.
"Come," Havana gestured, inviting Trunks to take a seat. She placed each of their joints to the side of the ashtray, which lay directly between them.
As Trunks settled into his chair he felt ripples of uneasiness stir within him. Suspicion colored his gaze as he observed the rolled joints lying side by side like opposing weather fronts.
In a way, they resembled chess pieces, strategically positioned as two kings in a game of power and influence.
Taking the unbleached joint that was placed on his side of the ashtray, Trunks maintained a casual demeanor, concealing his inner turmoil behind an unreadable face.
"Alright, matey." Havana lightheartedly grinned as she lit her black joint with a palm tree-shaped lighter from Jammaka. Leaning in on her left elbow, she exhaled a plume of smoke, "You wanted to talk."
Trunks selected a lighter in the shape of a Crudan cigar. He then took a moment as he slowly lit his joint, and inhaled.
Exhaling a long stream of thick, cloudy smoke, he gazed out at the garden, fixating on the palm tree-shaped fountain.
"Yeah," he finally spoke, bringing his attention back to Havana. "Let's cut straight to it."
Havana met his gaze with a serious expression. "I want to talk about Goten."
Trunks paused, and contemplated her opening move with tight lips.
A flurry of arguments raced through his thoughts, yet were fleeting and elusive. He felt his inner resolve waver slightly, yet he steeled himself, reminding himself that she not posing a direct threat, and he needed to keep his composure.
He took a long, substantial drag from his joint, holding in his breath.
Then, he let it out, exhaling a thick cloud toward the fountain in the garden.
Trunks declared with a nod, "We're in agreement on the topic."
Havana followed suit, inhaling deeply and fixing her piercing dark eyes on him that resembled slits in the reflected light from the heater from above.
Havana stated casually, "I want you out of Goten's life."
It was so nonchalant, that Trunks questioned if he had truly heard her correctly.
He looked at her in question, and she stared him down.
The audacity of her demand caught Trunks off guard. He fought to contain his anger, but his eyes betrayed his rising fury as he watched as the corners of Havana's lips curl into a feral grin.
"Not a chance," Trunks asserted with a cool and collected demeanor as his eyes burned into hers.
He flicked his joint at her.
Undeterred by the rising tension, Havana reclined back in her chair with an amused glint in her eye.
"Alright, I'll speak your language, then." Havana slyly grinned. She tilted her head as she inhaled from her joint, and then released a long, ominous cloud of smoke. "What's your number?"
Trunks was taken aback, unsure if he heard her right. "What?"
"How much for you to walk away from Goten's life?" Havana repeated, with confidence akin to a bull pawing the ground in anticipation as she blew smoke out of her nostrils theatrically.
Incredulous, Trunks nearly dropped his joint. The realization hit him - Havana was trying to buy Trunks out of Goten's life.
It was the exact thing that Trunks had come here to do.
The notion struck Trunks as so ludicrously absurd that it prompted a deep, resonant chuckle to erupt from the depths of his chest, which cut the tense atmosphere.
"Hah… Hah!" Trunks couldn't contain his amusement, with laughter cascading like waves, "Hahahahahaha!"
Suddenly, everything felt like it was too funny, like some kind of staged prank.
This had to be a prank.
With a mild chuckle, Trunks looked around as if to find a camera crew, and eyed the cameras along each room corner. But, nobody was jumping out in surprise. They were alone as Trunks watched the shelves of her kitchen shake in a low thundering rumble of the approaching storm.
His chuckle swiftly faded into a stoic frown.
Trunks realized that Havana was genuinely serious about this bizarre proposal, and somehow believed she had the financial means to afford to pay off Trunks Briefs.
She was delusional.
Trunks would never leave Goten for any reason, or for any amount of money.
Everything that Trunks fought for was to keep Goten, and protect him.
Trunks realized her words also implied her own unyielding stance about Goten.
Trunks wondered if Havana had broached the subject merely to toy with him, knowing his answer.
"Relax, Trunks," Havana teased with a smile, "I'm just joking."
Unamused, Trunks aimed to set the record straight. "You can't buy me out."
"I know," Havana took a long drag, "And it's good you're here, too."
"Why so?" Trunks followed with his own drag.
"Because I wanted to personally apologize."
Trunks erupted in laughter, "Ahahahaha!"
It was insane. It had to be a prank. This could not be real life.
He hacked up clouds of smoke in his incredulity, "Ahahahahaha! Apologize!?"
Havana gazed into the garden with a distant expression, "I originally went into this not wanting anything serious, but things have changed."
Trunks nodded, and agreed.
Havana's words sailed forth with a teasing breeze, "And would you know it? Along the journey, I fell in love with that buffoon."
… fell in love…
The words reverberated and bounced in his head until they actually registered in his mind.
Suddenly, things weren't funny anymore.
"Huh?!" Trunks could only gape at her, completely taken aback.
Aghast, Trunks had never entertained the thought that Havana could harbor genuine feelings for Goten.
Havana beamed triumphantly, "And now, I've charted our course! We're going to sail off to the sunset together," she said sweetly. "We're going to embark on our own adventure."
Trunks narrowed his eyes to her in challenge, and infused every syllable with threat, "I would never let you take him like that."
"Oh?" Havana seemed amused, swinging her feet under the glass table, "You think you can keep him away from me like his Mama?"
"Fuck you, Van. You don't deserve him."
"Who are you to say who deserves him?! Goten's an adult, and he chose me," Havana patted her chest twice.
Trunks felt a storm gathering in his thoughts. "You don't love him. You're using him."
"No, Trunks," Havana gestured out to the garden pond, "I'm free as the wind, and so is Goten. He's not meant to be tethered as a number-two." She raised her arms theatrically, "He's a superhero - and he deserves a future filled with real battles, love, and endless adventure."
Trunks scornfully stared her down and emphasized his words, "He already has that with me."
"No, Trunks, all you offer is your history of adventure." Havana turned her gaze back to him. "With me, he'll reign as a king of the High Caribou Seas, battling for treasure and teaching lessons to the Marines!"
"That's nothing but a fantasy," Trunks scowled at her.
"Your past only shackles him, Trunks! All his future with you is an escape from corporate life."
"No!" Trunks growled, "I refuse to live a corporate life, and he knows it, too."
Havana rolled her eyes, "Get real, Trunks." She gestured to him with her chin, "Were you planning to subject Goten to fourteen hour days stuck behind a desk? Is your idea of adventure playing video games in your virtual reality room? Or playing cowboys-and-superheroes cleaning up crime like Clean God, complete with 'a cool cave and a cool car'?"
Her mocking tone fueled Trunks' anger."What?!"
"You're a dead end for him, Trunks. Goten sees his future with me."
"Fuck you," Trunks spat in a surge of fury, "You're a cheat."
"Not anymore." Havana leaned back and held up her joint, "Those days are behind me. Turns out, we're getting married."
-DOOOOM-
A bombshell hit, detonating chaos in Trunks' mind which pounded with the resonance of her unexpected revelation.
"WHAT?!" Trunks erupted with anger muffled by fog in his head. He barely moved as his eyes went wide in shock. "That's a LIE!"
Havana pulled out her phone.
She held pressed a couple buttons, then then held it out to his face, displaying text bubbles in a conversation which was the smoking gun in her argument:
Let's run away, get married, and live out the pirate tale we always wanted together!
Yes, let's sail off to our happily ever after.
"That's…!" Trunks' eyes were popping. He couldn't believe it, and the room felt like it was spiraling. "That's not real!"
"Goten is mine." Havana tucked her phone away with a triumphant smile.
"You won't have him!"Trunks seethed, but the cloud in him stifled his rage, reducing his expression to a threatening frown.
"Oh?" Havana grinned with eyes gleaming like those of a predatory shark, "But Goten loves me!"
"He wouldn't love you if he knew the truth!" Trunks raged, with escalating concern for Goten.
Havana just laughed, "What is the truth anyway?!"
A lump caught in Trunks' throat as he realized the futility of reasoning with Havana.
He was gripped with worry, fear, and a petrifying realization that Goten might actually love Havana.
If Goten did love Havana, Trunks would lose Goten, no matter what.
But the thought of losing Goten would be a catalyst for Trunks to finally unveil the truth. Trunks firmly believed that Goten deserved to know what he was marrying into.
His inner turmoil tore at Trunks. It pained him to know he might have to self-destruct everything in order to save Goten. But… at this point, it might be inevitable.
Trunks might have to sacrifice his friendship with Goten in order to protect him.
But he would protect him from this wicked woman, no matter what.
He loved him.
Trunks' eyes burned with newfound determination, "I'll come clean to Goten. He deserves to know the truth."
Havana rolled her eyes dismissively, "No you won't."
"I will!" Trunks was adamant. He knew what he had to do.
Havana looked down at her phone as she sorted through some buttons, "It's useless for you to tell Goten the truth. He'll always believe me."
"Wrong," Trunks glared, "He trusts me with his life."
"Not after he sees this," Havana held up her phone.
Time slowed for a moment.
tick...
tick...
The second that Trunks saw what was on her phone, his eyes went wide, and his ears began to ring.
Ba-bum… ba-bum… ba-bum…
There were screams of pleasure from the phone, and bodies that fused.
"Ahhhh! Aaaaah! Ooooh! Oooouuuu so good, oh yes, Trunks, yeessssss," came Havana's voice from her phone.
"Ahh, Ahh, Ahh…"
On her phone was an amateur sex video edit of Trunks mounting Havana on her bed, filmed from four different angles.
In the video, Trunks moaned, "Havana, love me instead! Leave Goten for me."
The voices continued as, in the video, Trunks pounded her with his hips into the bed, rocking it with his intensive thrusts.
"Ahh, Ahh, Ahh…!"
Trunks felt the blood drain from his face, as he watched the video in a stupor, "What… is that…"
"You know," Havana rolled her eyes again with a grin as she continued to hold it up, "When you were trying to steal me away from him."
Trunks' eyes were wide, and his body trembled.
His sharp eyes shot to hers, and were darkened by madness.
"What is that," Trunks' throat was dry, as his mind couldn't comprehend what he was seeing and hearing. "WHAT IS THAT?!"
"It's called a deepfake video." Havana grinned wildly, "Software and artificial intelligence can make you say anything I want you to say!"
"I NEVER SAID THAT!" Trunks was beyond reality as sparks lit everywhere in his mental fog, and shades of red fury consumed him.
It hit him that she was trying to lure him into another trap.
"Duh." Havana flipped her big bluish hair, "But Goten won't know that," Havana grinned and brought her phone back.
"YOU'RE LYING TO HIM!" Trunks was irate as his emotions exploded within him, catching everything in a blaze of crimsons and yellows.
"Not if you don't snitch." Havana grinned victoriously.
Trunks was so angry that the world spun in colors and erupted like fireworks.
Trunks was done.
He was through with negotiations.
He needed to see Goten now.
He needed to come clean.
This was the time to do it - right at the precipice of their two-week Holiday Break.
Trunks intended to sit Goten down and work out through his words, and do everything in his power to keep Goten calm throughout the entirety of his confession.
He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he had to resort to drastic measures. Goten needed to know.
This was an emergency.
Trunks was finally prepared to bring in Gohan and Chi Chi if he needed to.
Trunks rose from his seat with a determined resolve.
But then the room spun, and a weakness suddenly overcame him as his knees gave out.
-BADOOM-
Trunks collapsed back into his chair. As he fell, his right hand relaxed and dropped the joint that he was holding onto the glass table.
Trunks blinked for a moment, unsure of what happened.
For a fleeting moment, Trunks thought his vertigo was related to the dragonweed.
Trunks tried to stand again.
But as he rose, he smacked into a swirl of bright colors and shapes that clouded his vision and caught him off guard. He unexpectedly lost his balance mid-stand, and then tumbled back into the chair.
What? What? What?!
The effect came from nowhere. Trunks hadn't even sensed it creeping up on him.
Trunks looked to his right hand, lying limp on the table, realizing he couldn't move it.
His eyes went wide, as he choked out, "What did you do?!"
The room shifted in hues and lights that danced.
Trunks looked down to his unresponsive body as his pounding heart intensified. He furrowed his brows as he intensely tried to focus his energy to fight gravity and stand.
He formed a cycling wind ki as he forced his body upward, pushing against an invisible anchor that was dragging him down a whirlpool in the floor.
"Ooooh," Havana cooed as Trunks' ki swirled around him, "That's a fun trick."
Trunks grunted, steeling his core as he stood, balancing himself as he leaned against the glass and stared ahead at a whirl of colors.
He tried to think, but all his thoughts folded in on the colors and became origami butterflies that cycled and fractalized in on themselves as they swirled.
He tried to take a step into the kaleidoscope, but his sleeping legs gave out, and he collapsed forward.
As he fell like a waterfall of colors, he caught himself with his hands. But then his arms also gave way, and he SMACKED against her white kitchen tile floor.
It was cold and hard, but he couldn't feel it. He just knew he had to fight.
He charged his ki to move his body, and struggled to lift himself, with mild success.
He poked his head out of the painted water, breaking a surface. He lifted his head enough to stare wide-eyed at the ground and panted in confusion as if he were falling into the engulfing whirlpool of Charybdis.
Havana laughed from the other side of the table.
Her sultry words stung him like poison, "Scylla Venom - it takes over nine thousand men to harvest it from the sea monster, but it works every time."
"W… wh…" Trunks struggled to push himself up, to escape the whirlpool; to escape for his life.
-KAK-KAKOOOOOOM-
The entire house rattled with a nearby lightning strike.
Trunks felt his body convulsing as he jerked, unable to control his ki.
"It's a nerve-agent that becomes a psychoactive drug when smoked, that paralyzes you into a hypnotic trance."
Trunks fought against the drug, pulsing his ki through his body to force it to move.
"I hear it's quite the trip. You might even like it," Havana mused.
The walls waltzed around him. The air hummed. The whole ceiling morphed into an undulating ocean that fell like a rain that shattered from the sky in bits and pieces that swirled in current of paisley colors, which bloomed into patterns that circled and cycled like spiraling candy that trapped him inside an intricate twirling dance.
Trunks was losing his mind. He couldn't see through all the movement and bright colors that addled his vision.
He tried to transform into Super Saiyan, but the trigger for it was out of his reach. He couldn't find it; he didn't know what he was looking for, anymore. He didn't know what he had to do to get it back.
He didn't know how to find anything. He couldn't find the front or back. He didn't know where to find up or down.
He was sideways. Everywhere. All of it was spinning.
But he fought. He was a warrior. He would not go down easily.
-KAKOOOOOOM-
He focused ki within points of his body that he tried to manipulate through telekinesis. He was fairly weak at it, but at least it was enough for him to pull himself up to lean on the chair, panting hard as he tried to collect himself for the next round of puppeteering of his body.
His eyes kept seeing the colors, no matter if they were open or closed. He fought to remember where the front door was. He focused his ki as he tried to pull himself up.
Havana sat back in her chair, and took a puff from her joint as she watched Trunks in amusement.
She spoke slowly, sensualizing each word with her red lips, "Your body will fall asleep in layers of consciousness - it starts in the limbs and moves its way toward your head."
Trunks could barely hear her. He remembered where the front door was. He had to get to the front door. There was still time. He could still move.
He pushed himself off from the chair, and methodically pushed ki through his legs as if he were treading with iron shoes through a magnetic bog. He sensed the world move around him, but all it did was spin, and he was caught against the drag.
He took a step. He took two. He took three - and the door to the kitchen came closer. He was almost there - almost.
Havana didn't seem too bothered, looking at her nails as she exhaled a plume of smoke.
Trunks made it to her kitchen island, fighting a current that pushed at him and wavered the air with streams of light that cascaded and fell like an ocean of coils.
The kitchen island was salvation at sea. He leaned against it, panting hard, and feeling like no matter how deeply he breathed, he couldn't get enough air.
The room was so thick. The heat of the lamps was so hot.
"You know, if you smoke enough of that stuff, you could accidentally paralyze your lungs. It's an old trick of the trade to drown someone."
Havana turned her head to watch Trunks, "And, I've gotta hand it to you - I've never seen anyone make it so far down one of those joints. You smoked enough of that paper to paralyze a gorilla. It's like you're not even a fucking human."
Trunks choked, trying to breathe, but all the air was thick with paints. It was all liquid, all around him, and he was drowning.
He needed to get out of there. He needed the front door. He needed -
He took another step.
Then, Trunks collapsed by the kitchen door, landing hard as his head SMACKED on the tile.
"Be careful!" Havana called out from her chair, "We don't want any damaged goods."
Trunks flipped to stare wide-eyed at the ceiling, which was the sky, which was the sea, which was a carnival ride that cycled and swirled with lights.
He choked on his breath, trying to regain his bearings of the world.
Everything was dancing. Everything was moving. Everyone was swirling and caving in and expanding out, and growing inwardly like a fractal that kept zooming in, and in, and in…
"H… how…?" Trunks croaked.
He tried to control his ki, but it felt like there was a wall of water; a current that abated his grasp. But it was almost in reach. He felt a trickle. But he couldn't grab it. He couldn't control the flow.
"Oh!" Havana held up her joint to point at Trunks, "You're wondering how I caught you in the end?"
Trunks turned his eyes to her and tried to shakily lift his head as she strolled forward confidently in her brown pants.
Havana stood and theatrically bowed her joint toward Trunks.
"It was the infused rolling paper," she grinned, "Nobody ever expects it, especially after I pair it next to a color like my brand new Blackberry paper! You'd never guess the paper was infused."
Trunks heard her words. They registered.
He remembered the set of different rolling papers that Havana had on her glass table when he first walked in.
The… rolling paper…
"I have a perfect capture rate." Havana dominated with a haughty grin.
Trunks' tongue was heavy, and he was still in shock, piecing her words together like a stained glass puzzle that kept shattering. "Ca…pture?"
Havana walked up to Trunks and stepped on his chest with her right foot, as if she were posing for a photograph with a poached gorilla.
She grinned down at Trunks wickedly, "I found you, Seven-Leaf Dragon!"
"W-what?!" Trunks coughed, confused, "Dragon?!"
"YOU." She smiled as proudly as if she had won a gold medal, "You're famous for stealing an entire mountainside of dragonweed in one afternoon."
"Huh?" Trunks swallowed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to focus on her.
"Five years ago, remember?!"
Havana grinned triumphantly down to him, and from behind her, she pulled out a rolled piece of paper from her back pocket.
She held out the paper. It was a Bounty page - a copy of the famous flier within all pirate pubs in Caribou:
WANTED
DEAD
SEVEN-LEAF DRAGON
฿5,000,000,000 berries
The writing was big, and bold enough for Trunks to be able to decipher through the swirls.
"What…?!" Trunks swallowed deeply, feeling his throat dry, "Wanted… Dead...?!"
Havana feigned a sing-songy tone of disappointment, "Yes, it's unfortunate, but this bounty is from the cartel itself." She looked down to him, and stated darkly, "And they don't take prisoners."
Trunks' face contorted to sneer in anger.
Havana continued, pulling back the page to look at the text, "And then I found out that Goten was part of your supervillain team."
Trunks' eyes went wide at the blasphemy of the word.
Trunks pushed past all the effects of the drug as his adrenaline soared, and he spat out in a rage, "Supervillain?!"
Havana laughed as if Trunks had told a hilarious joke. "Surely, you don't believe a hero steals over $900 billion of dragonweed from the drug cartel?"
Trunks' eyes shot wide and he inhaled sharply in realization, "W-What?!"
"Did you even know what you did?" Havana laughed, "And did you never realize that when you play superhero, you make supervillain enemies?!"
Trunks bared his fangs at her and got a hold of his ki, burning it to blast away whatever the fuck the drug was that she got him with.
"Your innocence was probably your best feature," Havana mused as she glanced down his body, "Other than… well, you know..."
Trunks choked a gurgle, feeling rage pump like fire through his veins.
"You're really quite bad at thieving, you know," Havana grinned as she returned her gaze to his eyes, "It didn't take much brainpower for me to hypothesize that you might have been behind the act."
"H-H-ow…" Trunks struggled with a grimace.
"How did I know it was you?!" Havana laughed wickedly, "Someone would have needed an extra large capsule to store that entire field." Havana rolled up her Bounty pamphlet, and mused, "Only someone mega rich would have a capsule that big and expensive." She grinned, "Even the cartel lords know to not travel with all their weed at once."
Havana stuck the rolled-up page in her back pocket again and looked down to Trunks. She continued, "I figured, since the surplus of premium dragonweed never entered into the black market, it became clear that whoever did steal it was enjoying it as a hobby instead of trade."
She lowered herself into a kneel beside Trunks, "And whoever did steal it was able to operate without any machines or flying gear, and somehow was small enough to stay under the radar!"
Havana leaned over him, with a haughty grin, and then grabbed Trunks' jacket collar.
She pulled Trunks' face up to meet hers so he was unable to look away.
Havana continued, staring him down, "And then I heard about a superhero duo in this part of the world." She tsked, "So I decided to do a little research and follow some rumors and I learned that the duo spoke to each other like teenagers."
She grinned toothily, "And so I went to the high school where the richest dragonweed hobbyists might go to school - Blue Hal Preparatory."
Trunks swallowed as his eyes widened, realizing that Havana was actually onto the truth. She was clever enough to actually figure out who he was.
"And as it turns out," Havana continued, "One of the kids in the school was rumored to 'vanish' every time X-2 appeared. Kinda suss, right?" She winked, "And then, what would you know - turns out Goten could fly."
Trunks sneered up at her, "That means nothing. So can his seven year old niece!"
"Sure it means something," Havana reached out her right hand and brought it to Trunks' face, "There's only a handful of people who fly, and only two of them were teenagers."
Havana tenderly stroked Trunks' cheek as she held him up by his collar. Her smile widened as she watched his eyes flare from her uninvited contact, "It turned out to be a life saver for you."
Trunks said nothing, uneasy about her hand on his face, knowing he didn't have the strength or coordination to bat her away.
He still fought, though. She couldn't take his pride.
He glared hard, challenging her eyes.
Havana continued, "It didn't take much for me to realize that you, Trunks Briefs - you were X-1!"
Havana beamed at him, stroking his face, and continued, "And when I realized you were more than just the Seven-Leaf Dragon, I saw an even bigger potential with you!"
"W… wh…." Trunks choked, widening his eyes.
"Do you know how lucky you got last year?! I'd even go so far as to say that Goten saved your life last year."
Trunks swallowed, and watched her closely, confused.
Havana smiled alluringly to him, "It's because I saw Goten fly that I changed my mind in the lighthouse that I tried to lure you to, and decided to keep you alive a little longer. He bought you a little time."
Havana nodded to Trunks, as if to signify that he should feel gratitude, and then continued, "I was hoping I'd get more solid evidence to prove you were X-1." She licked her lips in anticipation, "Because, as it turns out, X-1 had a higher price on his head than the Seven-Leaf Dragon."
Trunks could only barely breathe. His throat wasn't working. His tongue was as thick and heavy as lead.
Havana stood, stepping back so that she could hold out her arms and speak with her hands, "So it turns out I had two options." She made wide gestures as she spoke, "On one hand, I could get the equivalent of $1.2 trillion zeni for Seven-Leaf Dragon," she grinned, "Or on the other hand…"
Her eyes turned dark and fiery with lust, "... I could get $2.5 trillion for X-1."
Trunks gagged.
He had never heard of any amount that high for any one thing. That was just shy of the current valuation of the entire company of Capsule Corporation.
Havana reigned in her fire and dropped Trunks flat to the floor, "But they needed proof that you were X-1…" Her lips curled into a coy grin, "And then Goten confessed a fun little secret to me in bed."
Trunks watched her, as Havana kneeled fully, and then lifted his left arm. With deft fingers that spoke to years of experience with sleight of hand, she unfastened his custom wristwatch, which had a button on the side to transform into his Saiyaman X-1 costume on command. "This gadget. Right here."
She stayed kneeled down by him as she slapped the bracelet onto her own wrist and secured it right. "I'm not even bothering to figure out a ransom for you. I'm not interested. Honestly, I just want you gone."
Trunks breathed heavily, feeling himself hyperventilating with how deeply he was inhaling to try to regain control of his body.
"You're just a rich, spoiled, selfish brat, Trunks Briefs." She looked at him with a contemptuous smirk, "And your days with Goten are done."
Trunks tried to resist, aching to gurgle out his dissidence as Havana then turned and started to pace, talking with her hands in grand gestures as if she were a messiah and Trunks was meeting his deliverance.
Havana haughtily continued, "You will never use my fiance as your play toy or sex toy again."
Trunks could only make choking sounds, thrown out of whack by her accusations that he couldn't get any bearings with.
"I will protect Goten from you, at all costs," Havana declared sanctimoniously, "And I'm going to make us both a shit ton of money off of you."
"W…wh…?!" Trunks croaked.
"Despite how much you're a lost cause, it turns out you're special, X-1," Havana grinned like a rabid hyena, "Your buyer is making me doubly-rich."
… buyer…. buyer…
Havana seemed to remember something, and then she looked back to the breakfast table, and then turned her head to grin at Trunks, gesturing toward the table with her chin, "And by the way, thanks for $900 billion zeni of dragonweed."
Havana knelt again by Trunks, and hovered over his face. She brought her head down to be dangerously close to his, and he could feel the heat of her breath on his cheeks.
"When I smoke it with Goten by my side on the open seas, I'll think of you."
Trunks couldn't see her face anymore, through all the colors and light that flashed in and out of darkness. He could hear her words, but they were faint and barely registering.
He couldn't think. Nothing worked. He couldn't speak.
-KAKOOOOOOM-
The house shook.
"You're mine, now, X-1."
No…
"And I'm going to make you realize just how helpless you are."
He couldn't move. No…
She stood over him, and grabbed his jacket collar, and then dragged him across the kitchen tiles, toward the guest room.
He vaguely sensed moving lights. No…
He sensed somehow being lifted, like she had the strength to push him up onto the bed, where it was dark, and then light, as if she rolled him.
No…
He heard the creak of the mattress and only dimly sensed her shadow over him as she climbed on top, over his jeans.
He stared up, unable to feel his face. There were so many clouded colors, he wasn't sure if his eyes were actually open anymore.
"You're going to enjoy this."
"N… N…" Trunks moaned, unable to get his words out.
He tried to see, but everything was unfocused. All the lights were dancing, and he couldn't move his head.
Havana brought her mouth down to ravage his numb lips.
She was smothering him. He couldn't breathe.
A tear ran down Trunks' face as she forced her face against his, and he tried again to force his ki through his body, to resist her, and fight back.
His numb lips were useless against her, but he fought enough to turn his head to the side, and struggled, "Shto…p… shtp… sh.."
Undeterred, Havana pressed her hand against his jaw and compelled another forceful kiss before she pulled her lips away with a SMACK sound and a triumphant light in her eyes.
"There… That's what I was looking for." Havana's grin was victorious and smug as she fixed her eyes on Trunks' wild, desperate, and unfocused gaze.
"Yessss… the fear …. Give me more."
Havana slapped Trunks, hard.
He could hear the slap, but couldn't feel it.
His body lay prone, paralyzed, trapped in a state of sleep paralysis.
Trunks was afraid.
Fear coursed through him as his active mind struggled against his unresponsive vessel.
He couldn't speak; he couldn't scream.
Havana brought his face to meet her gaze, holding his jaw with fingers that exuded desire. Her lips pursed, and her eyes danced with a wild hunger as she savored Trunks' fearful and pleading expression.
Leaning towards his left ear, Havana whispered seductively, "Wanna know a secret?"
Trunks, gripped by fear, could only manage a short moan.
"You're my 500th mark; congratulations!" Havana pulled back with a triumphant grin, "I've arranged a special treatment for you as thanks."
Her words blended into nonsensical patterns in Trunks' mind, clouded by visions of swirling clouds and paisley patterns.
"It's a shame to lose you, X-1," Havana's voice echoed amid the fractals, "You really were the best lay I've ever had."
Then, the light to his peripheral vision flickered.
He couldn't turn his eyes, but he saw shadows move.
He couldn't sense the kis, but he knew there were people - a lot of people that seemed to come out from the door that was meant to go to a closet, but it appeared to have stairs. Or something. They came from somewhere.
Havana shifted off from him, and then he was alone in a flickering light and darkness.
There was a long siren sound. It sounded like his voice, warped in a vortex. All the sounds were muffled by whirling winds.
A gruff hairy hand slapped down on his mouth to silence his scream.
Shadows multiplied – six, twelve, twenty-four – blurring as his vision spun.
Doors multiplied, as ten of every door became a hundred, and then a thousand.
It all was just math. It all was just numbers now.
He knew this place. He knew this calculus. It was all so easy now.
A voice cut through the fog, "We got 'im, boys. Let's pack it up."
He watched the angles of the room dance in their trigonometric breakdance, making new shapes and forms like the angles and curvature of life and new planets. He felt like the universe suddenly made so much sense - that there were patterns in everything.
There were so many voices, just like the fractal patterns - and the sounds played like instruments amid the cacophony of rain that started to fall against the windows.
The music was a symphony as many hands carried him like a divine procession to his rapture, and he became a nebula of daydreams amid layers of voices and blurred lights.
He was carried under the stairs - through a trapdoor in the closet.
Gravity tumbled around him as he was carried down, like a ship caught in the undertow of a fathomless trench.
He descended into gray, his lighthouse fading into the fog.
And then he couldn't hear anymore.
He didn't know anymore.
Goten…
Trunks couldn't cry.
––––––––
––––––––
–2/8/24–