Mirai suddenly bolted to his feet, sensing a cold stirring sensation in his stomach.
"Do you feel that?" He asked, staring off at nothing and trying to decipher why it felt like Trunks' power level was fluctuating so violently. Gohan shook his head, eyes rolling slightly.
"As if," he sighed. "It's been quite some time since I could discern Ki levels let alone distinguish between them."
Mirai was hardly listening, using his mental radar to calculate just how far away Trunks could be. Why was he suddenly faced with this cold dread in the pit of his stomach? Why were his hands shaking?
"Hell," Gohan was continuing to ramble, oblivious to the fact that he was more or less being ignored. "I can't even sense your power level, even here in this room. It's been that way for quite a while and......"
He trailed off, his face suddenly covered with a dull, confused look. Mirai, no longer hearing the other man's voice, turned to see Gohan stumbling around the room, staring as though he could no longer see anyone else around him. He fell forward as though he were blind, eyes bright red and filled with a bizzare look of puzzlement.
"No," Gohan breathed to himself. "I wasn't here, I was......" he shook his head, blinking hard. "I was sleeping. I was..."
Mirai frowned, torn between staying where he was or finding Trunks as fast as he could, the latter seeming a tad more pressing at the moment. Gohan blissfully decided for him, clumzily tripping over to what must have been his favorite chair and collapsing in an exhausted heap. His thick black hair fell over his eyes and what had been what could be referred to as "supreme confusion" faded into a worn and tired look. With a sigh and nothing more, Gohan collapsed into the binding of his old book, just as Mirai had found him.
"Hm," Mirai had to whisper aloud, shaking his head in wonder. "perhaps I'll have to come back a different day then."
With that he left the dark haired Saiyan to his solitude, the loneliness and darkness as they had been before he came. And closing the door, Mirai could only remark that both must have played a part in what, he figured, was some madness in Gohan. For how could someone choose to bury themself in such poisoness despair and loneliness? The door closed and the room and the man were as though he'd never been there at all.
.........................................................
Blood soaked through the cracks between his knuckles, drenching both arms up to the elbow. The sadistic fire he'd seen so often in his father's eyes now crackled and burned within his own, challenged only by the sick smile that he'd been entirely unable to purge from his face. Ah, this was a delicacy so rarely indulged in and he had to laugh insanely at how much he'd missed its intoxicating effect on his body. Like the violent quakes of an orgasm, feeling the fragile flesh of a victim tear like wrapping paper beneath his hands was in a word, indescribable.
Their screams and pleas were like pure sex to his ears, like the moans and gasps of his own ecstasy. He could close his eyes to it, feeling the break of his fist into the chest cavity of his victim, tasting the spurts of their blood that would pour into his mouth while he laughed deleriously, crushing their pumping heart. He was the tyranical God of ancient times, feared to the point of sheer panic by those that would cross his path. He hunted them from room to room, his keen Saiyan eyesight distinguishing the different shades of their blood as it dripped from every inch of his body, covering him like a sheen of sweat.
God, how long it had been since he'd morphed from mortal man into conscienceless beast? It made blood burn like magma in his veins.
"Please!" A dark haired man screamed, cowering on his knees, soaked to his thighs in his companions' innards. "What did we do?! What did we do?!"
But what were words? What would be the point? And so Trunks merely raised two of his fingers towards the pleading man, allowing his grin to widen as he plunged both into the tear drenched eye sockets. He felt the slippery eyeballs pop beneath his force, pigment and gore embedding themselves beneath his fingernails. And for fun alone, he let his digits continue until he could touch the undeniable filth of what could only be a wet, squishy brain. Cupping the back of the still screaming man, Trunks tore away the face and frontal piece of skull, curious as to what a brain would look like in the palm of his dripping hand.
"Trunks!" A furious and horrified voice cried out over the screams and groans of dying men. "Christ Trunks! What have you DONE?!"
The younger man could only roll his eyes, turning to glare at the offender.
"Why I've planned a picnic Mirai," He growled sarcastically. "What the fuck does it look like I've done?"
"But.... why?"
Before he could spit out a witty comeback, the sound of a bullet slid through the air next to Trunks, eyes watering as it sliced deep into his cheek. The shooter stood in horror, wide brown eyes unable to believe that he'd missed. His knees turned to putty beneath him as he began to pray feverishly in his own language.
"You son of a bitch," Trunks hissed between clenched teeth, eyes suddenly ice cold with rage. He stomped over towards the man, blood from his cheek mingling with dry, cracked fluid that coated his neck. In the back of his mind he could hear Mirai screaming in panic, pleading as they had for his mercy; for his sanity. He even felt the steel, hard fingers of his other version grabbing for his shoulder, useless words of reason bouncing off unhearing ears. The terrible smile and cruel laughter were forgotten and replaced by teeth clenched so hard that any moment they could burst into dust upon his tongue. Every inch or fiber of his being that had at one time resembled human was burnt to cinders and he craved blood with the thirst of a legendary vampire.
Grabbing the arms of the sobbing man, Trunks placed his foot upon the quivering chest, kicking off so hard that the sockets released the appendages with a splash of crimson, veins and flesh still dangling as the armless body was heaved through a wall.
Ah, there was the smile and laughter again.
Trunks cooly tossed the arms across the room, letting them complete a pile of loose appendages that he'd been collecting since his massacre had begun. Mirai was breathing so hard Trunks thought for an instant that he might very well faint from it; a ghostly pale beauty amongst the wretched filth of this abhorrent ghetto.
"Why?" Was all Mirai could breathe between panted breaths. "Why Trunks? Why?"
"Why not?" Trunks asked, geniunely confused by the other's behavior. "These men deserved it Mirai. You must know that."
The other simply stared at him in disbelief. Trunks growled in frustration, angered that his justifiable actions were being so distorted.
"They killed her!" He screamed, pointing to the multiple bodies that lay scattered like so much garbage. "They killed that girl and left the remains a fucking shell! Fucking NOTHING! And you're going to ask me why I did it? Shouldn't I be asking why YOU haven't sooner? They deserved to die!"
"Like this?!" Mirai cried out, shaking in his horror. "Slaughtered like farm animals?!"
"They deserved WORSE," Trunks screamed, a moment later visibly trying to calm himself. "Susan will spend the rest of her life remembering what they did to her and dying every day as a result. Them? They got off easy and they had it coming."
"They had it coming from you?" Mirai cocked his head to the side, anger replacing all astonishment on his features. "You who are NO better than any one of them?!" He pointed towards the corpses, voice cracking as he screamed over the groans and sobs. Trunks merely stared in rage, shaking from it. "You have more victims than any one of these poor bastards. Sure, maybe people don't display their pain on the outside or physical wounds when you've tired of them. But how many Trunks? How many of those master pieces do you think slit their beautiful skin in a bathtub when you'd cast them to the side like trash? Hm? Like NOTHING?!"
Trunks looked away, chest heaving.
"Or have you never thought of that?" Mirai continued, voice shaking. "Is it an easier pill to swallow when you don't have blood on your hands? Is it easier to sleep at night without the corpses at the foot of your bed? Is it?!"
His voice boomed, actually making Trunks jump for an instant, refusing to let any emotion register either inside himself or out.
"And I don't know why I even try Trunks," Mirai whispered, lips quivering. "Why... when you are DEAD inside?!"
His beautiful lips suddenly formed a sob, Trunks barely able to believe his own eyes. He remained quiet watching as sadness passed over Mirai like waves in a shallow pool, the only sound a broken, sorrowful sigh.
"Your heart," he whispered. "Is cold."
..............................................................
Trunks sat quietly, so absolved in his own thoughts that the world around seemed to revolve without him, leaving him behind with enough questions to last him an eternity. He couldn't understand it. He just couldn't. Men who raped a 16 year old deserved to die, deserved to suffer, deserved to feel the pain they inflicted. Certainly he had taken out far more than 6, but who amongst them was innocent?
He shook his head, seeing her pale blue eyes in his mind, seeing the shallow shell that had once been animated with life and hope. Seeing a 16 year old girl that had the eyes of an 80 year old war victim. And yet still he couldn't bring himself to accept the reason as to why he saw her. Did he actually care? Was that why he sought such justice? Because he needed that revenge to fill the shell that had become himself?
He didn't know why the world was so bent on feeling and caring and all that bullshit. Wasn't it easier before? When he wouldn't find himself consumed and eaten away at by a complete stranger; finding himself sitting around and thinking only of her? Wasn't it easier to watch the world destroy itself and be numb to the results? Wasn't the life of sex and drugs and cruelty so much smoother and kinder?
Vegeta had walked into the room, staring strangely at Trunks when the usually predatory youth would have made some quick sexual remark and had failed to do so. Trunks still remained oblivious to the prince, glancing up in surprise when his father sat across from him.
"You're hurt," Vegeta said blandly, nodding towards the deep cut that was the direct result of a bullet grazing Trunks' cheek. The younger Saiyan only nodded, eyes returning to their space on the countertop.
"It's nothing," He said quietly. His father could only scowl in disappointment, grabbing both sides of his face with surprising gentleness and analyzing the wound. Dark eyes swept over the cut, a soft thumb slightly examining the damage.
"It's deep," Vegeta acknowledged, softly patting Trunks' cheek. "but I think you'll live."
A rare smile crossed the tantalyzing lips and it suddenly dawned on Trunks that this was probably the closest his father had been by choice for a long time. And what struck him as even more disturbing was that even with this realization, he felt no immediate temptation to take advantage of that fact. Truly, life was easier the other way.
Vegeta sighed slightly, letting his face rest on his hand as he gazed at his son.
"You're not yourself today," He breathed. "What has you so upset Trunks?"
The better version of himself would have come up with some sexually harrassing remark or even some off-the-wall insult, Trunks had to think sorely. Yet now he simply sat in contemplation, wondering idly why his father even cared.
"What are you thinking about?" Vegeta implored, seeming to sincerely give a damn. It was a rare thing to be sure.
"Revenge." Trunks said plainly, thinking that there was simply nothing else that could sum it up so well. "Revenge... I just don't...."
He shook his head in frustration, laying his chin upon his hand. Vegeta cocked his head to the side, probably completely unaware at just how irritably tempting he could look just about any which way he moved.
"You don't understand it?" The prince asked.
Trunks growled in frustration. "I just don't get the point of it. Is it right? Is it wrong? And even if it feels right to you, it's undoubtedly wrong to someone else. Is it wise or is it foolis-"
"Trunks," Vegeta almost laughed, cutting him off. "I don't understand why you care so much regardless. Isn't it always you that says "fuck em' all"? Aren't you the one that simply preaches that Saiyans shouldn't adopt human ideals of thinking? Or let such effect them in any way? Why would you care?"
The son could only sigh, angered slightly that his father could use his own words against him. Or maybe, angered more that his old beliefs struck him as something of a contradiction to the ones he'd been pondering lately.
Seeing that his response had had a distancing effect on his son, Vegeta rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair.
"I may know a thing or two about revenge," he began. "Or maybe I still don't. In my younger days, I believe I indulged in it often enough, though I never really saw the point myself. Revenge was a handy justification for violence. It wasn't something holy or emotional so much as....." He paused thinking. "so much as a scap-goat. Or better yet, it was a reason or excuse for me to make people look as ugly on the outside as I felt on the inside."
Trunks looked up at this, swallowing hard.
"I don't even know why it felt good to have reasons or why I even felt I needed them in such a morally lacking time in my life. Maybe it was my excuse to be a monster and pass it off as being a saint. Hiding my devil behind a holy mask." He shrugged. "It seldom served any purpose other than that. I never felt better as a result and you can take revenge on anything. Someone killing your family to someone stepping on your toe by accident. I guess there could be good reasons and there are more often times bad. But mine? I don't really consider any of them justifiable."
A sad face suddenly passed over Trunks' features, taking Vegeta by surprise. The vulnerability he'd seen for only just a second had a bruising effect, never having seen such a thing on his son. Where arrogance and sexual promiscuity had once reigned, now a thoughtful, troubled person sat replacing them. It was suddenly very overwhelming.
"Then I think..." the younger Saiyan whispered. "I think I did something wrong."
Another revelation that nearly caused the prince to spring to his feet. For 25 years, he couldn't remember EVER having heard those words spoken by Trunks before, despite the offense.
"I don't know why I did it," his son continued.
"Did what Trunks?" He implored, pushing more than he figured he ought to. "What did you do?"
"I punished them," Trunks breathed, looking up, his face covered with guilt, seeming so youthful suddenly. "And I..."
The young man looked down, seeming almost shameful. Vegeta had to check himself over, blinking his eyes to adjust to what he was seeing. It was almost like a transformation right before him, the face usually so stoic and calm twisted with an actual look of care. Like seeing the same beautiful face... only on someone else.
"I think I did it to make me feel better here," Trunks placed two fingers over his heart. "to make that pain go away. To.... pass it off. But it didn't and Mirai....."
He trailed off, staring at his father's suddenly pale face.
"Mirai what?" Vegeta asked. "What about Mirai?"
Trunks shook his head violently, struggling to get his sorts about him. He ignored his father's imploring, the dark, hungry eyes all but invisible for a moment. Had he really said that? Was that really how he felt? Pain that he so desperately tried to beat away against the faces of monsters? Had he done it for the same reasons that his father had? To savagely destroy and dessimate in an attempt to rebuild what felt suddenly broken?
The heart, he thought, could seem so much like a deep ocean at times. Occasionally you got a wave of certainty, of pure acknowledgment of what you were feeling. But most times, it felt like dipping into an endless abyss of feelings, a bottomless well of pain, of doubt, of happiness and of sadness.
And why, he asked himself. Why did he delve into a place that ought not to be tampered with? Why look for feelings and emotions when they'd only cause you harm? What WAS the point of guilt? Was life not better when there were no apologies, no regrets? The fuckers deserved to die, deserved to suffer. And it was done. No guilt or shame would bring them back and God so help him, if he gave two shits about either one and had the power to erase it, he STILL wouldn't.
So why then, was he sitting here trying to give a shit? Why?
"Fuck it," He laughed, flashing his most arrogant smirk. “Nothing. Nothing at all daddy.”
Grabbing the back of Vegeta’s neck, Trunks pulled him into a crushing kiss, snaking his tongue just slightly across the opening of his father’s mouth. He loved how tense the muscles became instantaneously, his father pulling back in disgust and even the smallest traces of desire. It never ceased to amaze him that Vegeta's sense of morality far exceeded any of the Saiyans. His self control was limitless it seemed, a fact that continuously grated on Trunks. The prince meanwhile stuttered an amount of curses, visably trying to keep his temper in check. Trunks merely shrugged, pushing back his chair and standing.
Standing as his old self again, untainted by a ridiculous sense of feelings.
"Your heart is cold."..... The words suddenly echoed in his mind, as though Mirai had spoken them right next to where he stood. And he smiled against them, replying quietly that there was simply no greater feeling in the world then no feeling at all.
“We simply MUST have these little chats more often Vegeta,” He taunted, grinning wildly as he stood in the door frame. “nothing like a little father/son time is there?”
And with that he left the room, his father’s face still pale with confusion.