I know, I'm acting like a bad kid right now. This is three stories I have up at the same time (if the Yaji one-shots count), but this idea just hit me this morning. And this is doubly-bad, considering this is very, very much centered around main characters. Yes, yes, I'm bad, but I promise that this'll only be a few chapters. I've never written a mystery before, and I hope that this intrigues you guys. As usual... enjoy!

Rays of sunlight shone through the window blinds of one of the many living spaces of the Capsule Corporation building, streaks of light illuminating the plush carpet of the floor. The mounted television droned on, set to a low volume so that it was merely mumbling that could be heard. A few kittens were tussling at the foot of an overstuffed sofa, pouncing on top of one another and running about madly in the early morning. They continued at this until the room's overhead lights flickered on, brightening the dim space and sending the critters off to scamper in the direction of the central conservatory.

The perpetrator of the room's darkness was none other than Bulma Briefs, her blue hair tangled and a scowl on her pretty face. Age had been kind to her, but the night hadn't. She grumbled quietly as she shuffled further into the room, placing her hands firmly on the back of the sofa and glaring at the television. That child of hers was always leaving electricity going even when she explained that, though it may have seemed like they had an endless supply of money, resources were still not to be wasted. And so she stooped down in her white bathrobe and snatched the television remote from one of the cushions, lumpy from one too many a Saiyan having sat on it, and made to shut off the thing.

But before she could so much as press the red button to turn off the television, she lowered her hand and watched as the program made the transition from commercials to a news broadcast. She frowned, her brief anger towards her son disappearing as she realized that he hadn't been the one watching television. At ten years old, Trunks was interested in cartoons, not the news. She wondered for a moment just who might have been watching the news late last night, though she quickly realized who it must have been.

Vegeta, strangely enough, had taken to watching the news channels lately. He had let up on his training some after the Majin Buu incident, instead devoting himself to more worldly things. So every once in a while he would simply plop down on the sofa, a reason of just why it was so lumpy, and spend his night watching men argue over some of the most senseless things. The matter that really got to him was the matter of politics, something that had interested Bulma at first. But after hearing him go on and on for the umpteenth time about how ridiculous it was to have a dog for a king or how absurd the division of the planet into forty-three sectors was. Why forty-three? Not even Bulma could answer that question.

And this had become his newfound obsession. After realizing that fighting wasn't really getting him anywhere, he had decided that debating over politics was his next big thing. Bulma, however, had had enough. It had been too long since she had even seen him step into the Gravitational Room, something that she deemed strange, and she had finally confronted him the night before about this. But he had gotten so worked up over his request to get over this new obsession that, after throwing a few unkind words in her direction, he stormed off and took to the sky. And thus, she hadn't gotten much sleep that night, therefore looking rather haggardly in the morning.

She grimaced slightly, prepared to turn off the mumbling television as a few anchormen talked of some new construction projects over in East City. But before she could try pressing the power button, the television blared sirens as loud as it could on such a low volume, ending up with a rather unimpressive squeak. But it shocked her enough to lower her hand once more, watching as the words 'Breaking News' flashed on the screen. She clenched her teeth together and felt her grip tighten on the remote, subconsciously turning the volume up.

"King Furry has been kidnapped. I repeat, King Furry has been kidnapped, as confirmed by the police."

Bulma felt her jaw drop a little as she watched pictures of their alleged king pop up on the screen, and her knuckles turned white with the force she was gripping the remote with. This certainly wasn't news she was expecting, not at this time of the morning. Barely eight o'clock on a Saturday, and already, somebody was planning on taking over the world.

Of course, this had happened so often that her surprise vanished quickly enough, leaving her to wonder just who the kidnapper was. Probably not a monster, she thought, like Buu or Cell. They didn't have to hold the king hostage to take over the world, seeing as they were powerful enough to destroy it on a whim. But it had to be somebody smart, somebody brainy enough to be able to get past security and be able to get his hands on the king. And so, she was utterly surprised when she saw who was on the screen.

Mighty Mask?

A picture of the fighter in his signature teal hood with a white tunic on, wearing those atrocities that were his yellow gloves, appeared along with a narration. "The known kidnapper is a World Martial Artist finalist named Gary Ripley, assuming the alias of Mighty Mask whenever in the ring. There are several pieces of footage, caught by the castle's security cameras, that show this criminal at work at four o'clock this morning. King Furry wasn't found to be missing until two hours later."

And several clips had been hashed together, all showing a rather bulky man running through some of the thinner corridors of the castle with surprising finesse. But there was more to the report as the news anchor continued, "Police stopped by Mr. Ripley's home after this incident to see if he might have returned there, only to find him still in bed, rather disoriented. He is now in custody, denying all involvement in the kidnap."

Denying all involvement? A part of Bulma believed him, though a part of her didn't want to. If he wasn't involved in this crime, then he had been framed. And at that moment, what struck her was that his disguise could easily be worn by many people, being such a mysterious one. Even two little kids had managed to wear the costume and get away with it, she snorted with disbelief as she stood there, very rigid. Trunks and Goten at the Twenty-Fifth World Martial Arts Tournament, only two years ago, had gotten away with the disguise in front of hundreds of thousands of people... Her son... and Chi-Chi's son...

At that moment, Bulma felt her blood boil very quickly. She wasn't an idiot, and she could fit two pieces together. After all, who could be so stupid as to dress up as a masked warrior in an attempt to take over the world? Only a pair of kids, she was certain. So, as soon as she managed to unlock herself from this rigid position, she turned away from the television with the remote still in hand and yelled hoarsely at the top of her lungs, "TRUNKS!"

She crossed her arms across her chest furiously, knowing that this conclusion had to be true. Though, when she thought about it, would Trunks really be here if he had participated in the kidnapping of Earth's king? Probably not. But she still waited for a moment, deciding to give him a minute to come down, though she doubted he would. She was surprised, then, to see the ten-year-old run into the room a bit breathlessly, exhausted after having been awoken by her screeching.

"M-mom?" he stuttered uncertainly, standing up straight and looking up at his looming mother. He brushed some of the purple hair out of his eyes, messy from having made such a hasty entrance, and he watched her both wearily and warily. It was never a good sign to have his mother call for him so angrily, but he did notice her angry expression dissolve into one of slight astonishment. His father had obviously trained him well, teaching him that slacking off was unacceptable on any term. But she was also relieved, glad to see that her son hadn't been the one to kidnap King Furry, unless he had the poor dog in his room. But Trunks didn't seem to have just kidnapped Earth's leader, as he let out a tiny yawn, trying to hide it from his mother in fear that she would lash out at him if he so much as breathed.

Bulma only leered down at the ten-year-old for a few more seconds before deciding that she couldn't be so harsh on him when his eyes shone with innocence. In a loud and demanding voice, she asked, "Have you heard anything about this?" It was easier to keep the anger out of her voice than she had anticipated as she pointed to the television, gaining Trunks' attention for the first time all morning. It would be better to go about this in a roundabout way rather than to accuse him straight away and make him defensive. He only furrowed his thin eyebrows slightly, his nose wiggling a little as he examined the picture of Mighty Mask and listened to the anchorman.

"No, I've been asleep," Trunks replied, giving a little nonchalant shrug as he crossed his arms, assuming a position so like his mother's. It was Mighty Mask up on the screen, somebody who he vaguely remembered having taken the costume from to fight in the World Martial Arts Tournament. But why would Mighty Mask kidnap the king? Suddenly, even this early in the morning, Trunks' interest was piqued. This Mighty Mask guy was obviously cooler than he remembered him being. He wanted to find out exactly who he was.

His mother huffed a little, tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth. She didn't even notice as Trunks slipped off, eager to get away before the interrogation lengthened. He was determined to find out who Mighty Mask was, deciding that he would visit Goten later that day so they could play the good guys again. But Bulma ignored the retreating boy as she turned around, resting the palms of her hands once more on the back of the sofa. She sighed and rewound the clip with the remote, pausing it on an image of Mighty Mask running away with the King Furry. It couldn't possibly be Trunks or Goten, she deduced quickly by looking at his thick arms. But the picture was too grainy for any other details to be picked out that could help her know exactly who had dressed up as the failure of a martial artist.

A wave of fear passed over her as she wondered if this could be Vegeta. The height was about right, and Vegeta's arms were large, though it was hard to tell whether the imposter's arms were large due to muscle mass or simply fat. Probably the prior, with the ease that he was carrying King Furry. And the pointy tunic would provide an ideal place for Vegeta's pointy hair to hide. But Bulma found it difficult to believe that Vegeta would dress up in a stupid costume like that one to overthrow the government, no matter how obsessed he was with politics now. Knowing him, it would be far more likely that he would appear and blow the whole palace to smithereens, though Bulma knew he would never do that. Why would he proclaim himself the king of all Earthlings when he was already the Prince of all Saiyans? Vegeta would never degrade himself in such a way, a relief as much as it was an insult.

The front door burst open, and Bulma's finger instinctively twitched, turning the television off by pressing the power button. She dropped the remote on the lumpy cushion, knowing who this had to have been, simply by the ferocity with which he forced open that automatic door. And she was right, she realized, as she heard him growl from a few rooms down the hallway, "Stupid contraption..."

Hearing his voice reawakened the dormant anger within, and she made it her business to stomp down the tiled hallway barefoot, not even taking into account that she was supposed to be pestering Trunks at the moment. No, Vegeta had definitely gone too far this time, what with her getting no sleep the night before. He hadn't even come in to check on her, so enraged by her view on his desire to discuss politics. But she believed she had a right to be angry, and now she had a dollop of fear thrown on top. What if he was Mighty Mask? Had he spent that night kidnapping the king?

When she made her way from the hallway to the front room, she saw him shooing away a robot that was trying to take his coat off, something that she found bizarre. Never before had she seen this jacket on him, though it did look fairly familiar. It was made out of tweed and had a plaid pattern across it, very simply looking, though it looked extremely strange on him. It was too large for him, and it trailed down almost to his knees, the sleeves having been pulled up to his midarm. But she was too frightened as he glared at her to question him right off the bat. Instead, she simply stood her ground and crossed her arms once more, muttering, "Vegeta."

"Bulma."

It hadn't been until recently that he had really started to use her first name, something always catching her off-guard. But she remained firm as she watched him kick the pitiful robot away, finally knocking it into the wall to keep it from bothering him and succeeding in breaking it. She gave a tiny grunt of disapproval but said nothing about it, instead asking, "Where have you been all night, mister? I've been worried out of my mind!"

He watched coolly as he approached him, waggling her finger rather condescendingly. "It's none of your business," he finally retorted, about to shrug the coat off himself but thinking better of it. Instead, he decided to simply readjust the red sash around his waist that tied it in place, its ill fit being less recognizable because it had been tightened around his rather small body.

Vegeta attempted to get past Bulma only to have her block his way and say, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you're going?"

"To bed," he answered abruptly, and not even his most terrifying leer did anything to stop her. She was determined to get the truth out of him, even as tired as he looked. Her sympathy didn't stretch so far as to be offered to the Saiyan.

"I don't think so," she snapped, daring to grab him by the front of that ridiculous coat he had on, trying to think of where she had seen it before. He scoffed, turning away as she hissed, "Do you have any idea of how badly I slept last night?"

"At least you slept."

And that was true, something that Bulma couldn't argue with even though it had been only for a few hours. But she couldn't let Vegeta win, not after how he misbehaved the previous night at dinner. "I didn't sleep well."

"That's your fault," he said without hesitation, pushing past her quite effortlessly.

"VEGETA!" she exclaimed furiously as she lunged forth and clasped on to his shoulder, determined to get some answer out of him. "Where were you last night? Why weren't you here?" Then, without meaning to, she asked, "You kidnapped King Furry, didn't you?"

Vegeta halted at this accusation, only turning his head around to meet her faded blue eyes. And he opened his mouth as if to say something, though he settled with just leering at her for a moment before saying, "I'm going to sleep. You may join me or not."

Bulma clenched her teeth at this choice he was giving her, finally giving in. "Fine, but you have to tell me something. Are you Mighty Mask?"

His expression, contorted with frustration, relaxed slightly as he replied, "No." Her jaw was set, not surprised by the lack of hesitation in such a response. Vegeta wasn't hesitant on anything, something that was of no help. He could either be Mighty Mask and have had such an answer prepared, or he could not be Mighty Mask and have been genuine in what he said. But Bulma was not in a place to negotiate, finally deciding that there was really no decision to be made but to believe him. And so she snuffed a bit angrily, storming past him and clearly making her way to their bedroom.

He took advantage of this anger, this eagerness to get back in bed on her part, and crept back into the kitchen. There, after glancing around, he pulled the hideous frock-like coat over his shoulders, tossing the heavy thing to the ground easily. It revealed a large, deep slash into his shoulder blade, and he cursed slightly to himself as he pulled the first-aid kit out of one of the drawers. There was a reason why, apart from the future version of his son, he had never liked swordsmen. And this was it.