Disclaimer: The characters of Sailor Moon and Dragon Ball Z are not mine, nor will they ever will be.

Author's Note: I want to first apologize to all of the readers of "Ripple Effect". Due to extenuating circumstances involving a certain life even that I mentioned in that story, I essentially lost the drive to continue writing it. As of now it is on indefinite hiatus, and after trying to write more of it over the last few months, I decided to move on with a story that was separate and without influence over someone that I lost.

This story is much darker than Ripple Effect, and is entirely AU on the side of Sailor Moon. Additionally, this whole story will be told in first person instead of my more preferred third person format. I'm not sure how often updates will happen as my schedules are hectic as usual, but right now this story has my full interest to the point I can't wait to write more of it every day.

Thank you for your understanding and support!

The Catalyst
Chapter One

As I sat in the front passenger seat of my mother's modest four-door sedan, I stared miserably out the window beside me and watched as the rain made numerous rivulets against the other side of the glass. West City's evening rush hour was well underway, making the traffic erratic and causing the streets to become clogged to the point which kept commuters at a standstill. Because of the darkened sky of the passing storm and twilight fast approaching, most of the vehicles had their headlights on to improve visibility as they attempted to reach their destinations in the sluggish traffic. The rain, as it had done most of the day, continued to pelt the earth and everything on it in an almost unmerciful fashion.

Mom had not uttered a single word since we departed the doctor's office, and knowing that her silence was due to the fact that she was beyond frustrated and angry had made me feel uncomfortable and tense. If it had not been for the occasional rumbles of thunder and the sounds of the windshield wipers gliding back and forth over the glass in front of us, I was certain that I would have found a way to awkwardly break the quietness between us much earlier. Still, I was determined to endure the discomfort of the wordless trip home than engage in conversation which would eventually open the door to an argument that had to take place.

I was cruel for having let Mom entertain her delusion that I could be "cured" for so very long. I guess I had hoped that she would come around on her own, especially considering that every medical professional that we had seen told her that what I was afflicted with was not something that the study of medicine could remedy. Yet, no matter how many times Mom had been disappointed by the conclusions of the numerous specialists and doctors we had seen, she remained desperately hopeful that we had just not found the right person to treat me yet. I honestly didn't know if Mom truly believed that modern medicine could help me or if she just didn't want to accept the other alternatives that were available, but in any case, she wasn't about to make the hard choices that I needed her to make.

Being seventeen and with Mom having primary custody of me, she had all of the power in regards to my welfare and treatment. If I really wanted to, I probably could have sought methods of which I could have ascertained my rights much earlier than the legally adult age of eighteen, but I knew that would hurt Mom far more than I already had. As much as I believed that she was making all of the wrong choices in this situation, I still loved her more than anything or anyone else in the world. And, regardless of the happiness that I had deprived her of and how much I had taken away from her over the past five years, she still had the capacity to love me as well.

"We'll find another doctor," Mom said suddenly, her voice very quiet and strangely calm. The way that she spoke, with her each word even with the other, unnerved me more than the silence did before it. This is how Mom acted when she was far past the point of being upset, withdrawing into herself and turning on autopilot until she was able to recuperate her mental state—something that I noticed was becoming much more unstable as time went on. The volatility of her psyche was of no doubt my fault; I was literally driving my mother to the brink of a mental breakdown, and that is of no exaggeration.

I did not want to have this conversation in the car, but I was afraid that I would lose my nerve if I waited any longer. I could not let my mother drown herself in false hopes any longer, and if she was not going to listen to the countless many medical professionals who had already stressed to her that they could not help me, perhaps she would listen to me.

In my cowardice, I continued to stare out of the window as I spoke with a quiet and unsteady voice, "I don't need another doctor."

If I had thought the atmosphere within the car was uncomfortable before, it had increased by a hundred fold after the words had left my mouth. I could hear Mom's fingers tighten their grasp upon the steering wheel, and I was certain she was wearing a look that teetered on the borderline of disappointment and fury. Without a shadow of a doubt I knew Mom understood the inclination of what I had just said, and I was certain she probably felt that I had betrayed her. My violet eyes shut tightly as my heart constricted painfully within my chest, knowing well that I had hurt my mother yet again even though I was convinced that this was for her own good. I refused to let her continue putting her hopes into some misguided belief that I could eventually be fixed with the tools of modern medicine. This was just unhealthy—for the both of us.

"Mom," I began with my tone sad but resolved, "I'm going to kill someone eventually. Even right now, I'm doing all I can to control it."

"You've controlled it for five years already, Hotaru!" Mom nearly shouted in exasperation, the despair in her voice enough to make my eyes sting with the threat of tears and causing the dagger within my heart to dig a little bit more deeply. "Can't you keep it in check for a little while longer until I can find someone who can help you?!"

Mom just didn't understand, but how could I possibly expect her to? Yes, she had seen me struggle almost every day as I mentally battled the raging and blood-lusting beast inside of me, but I knew it had always been difficult for her to wrap her mind around it. She had seen the moments that I had faltered in keeping it bound, the dark energy inside of me slipping out and striking whatever unfortunate object was in its path. Often, it was her that was cleaning up after whatever mess I had made from the latest lapse in control, but she had treated cleaning up those lapses no differently than cleaning up after what disarray a young child would create after a tantrum. Mom knew that the beast—that my curse—existed, but she always chose to ignore it.

"I don't want to hurt anyone again," I admitted sadly. "Do you remember when I was thirteen, and those girls…?"

I knew I didn't need to finish my sentence; I didn't even think that I could. Memories of that time flooded into me, recalling that one autumn afternoon that I had been invited to hang out with the group of popular girls after school. Had I bothered to take heed of the signs, maybe the whole incident could have been avoided entirely; after all, the group had been notorious for picking on girls that they perceived as unpopular and weak, and even I had heard the rumors of the things they had gotten away with because their parents were some rich big shots that could get their children out of any bad situation. The group had done well in buttering up a thirteen year old friendless girl that wanted nothing more than to fit in—to be normal—and making her believe that she was finally going to be accepted amongst her peers.

Unfortunately, they had heard the gossip about me as well, and they decided to theme their hazing of me based upon that. I still can remember their chanting as they threw the gasoline on me, saying, "Hotaru Tomoe is a witch—burn, burn, burn!" It seemed like an eternity as I stood there, damp with gasoline and its smell burning my sinuses, but it was probably only actually for a couple minutes or so. I could clearly remember the shock on their faces as one of the girls—the most popular and prettiest one of them all—produced a lighter, flicking the switch until it produced a flame. Looking back, I knew that most of the group had believed that their bullying would go no further than me being drenched with gasoline and being made fun of; actually burning me was likely never in the plan before that very moment.

I don't remember much of anything after that. When I regained consciousness, I was in the hospital suffering burns only to my forearms—scars that remained visible to this day. Mom didn't want to tell me what had happened to the girls that had bullied me, but I managed to find out through word of mouth and through various social media posts from my school's student body. The girls apparently suffered critical injuries of unknown origin that landed them all in intensive care, and some of them took weeks to wake up from a coma from which there was no apparent cause. They all eventually recovered, but Mom knew just as well as I did what it was that happened to those girls; they had tried to hurt me, and the dark powers that dwelled within me decided to hurt them back.

I hadn't been back to a public school since.

"They were bullying you," Mom replied tersely. "As far as I'm concerned, they deserved it. Besides, that was four years ago and you haven't hurt anyone since. You're doing fine, sweetie."

How difficult was Mom going to make this? What dark truths would I have to reveal to her in order to make her understand that I was no different than a time bomb just waiting to go off? Sighing, I reached up to tuck a few of shoulder length strands of black hair behind my ear. "I haven't been able to hurt anyone because I hardly leave the apartment anymore, except for when I'm going to the doctor's office for another pointless visit. Besides, I've busted plenty of things around the apartment that should make it obvious by now that my control is only hanging by a thread.

"Mom," I continued with resolve in my voice, "you know, I could probably level the apartment building if I became just a little too distraught—or a little too unstable. If I became angry at you and hurt you on accident, I would never forgive myself. The fact that I'm hurting you now, and the fact that I've hurt you so many times throughout the past five years, is nearly unbearable. I need to do this differently. Let's just do what every other doctor has suggested and consult a scientist before I do something irreparable. I don't want to be a murderer, and I don't want to turn into the kind of monster that these…powers want me to be."

Mom became silent again, and I knew she was retreating back into that bubble she had been in only moments earlier. I supposed that this was a good sign; she wasn't flat out disregarding what I had just told her and suggested, and I wasn't really expecting an immediate turn around on a stance that she had held firm for the last few years. Even more than she hated the dark powers that had dwelled within my body since I was twelve years old, she hated scientists and their potential to abuse their science even more. I would like to argue that her loathing was unfounded, but from my experience with them in the past, I knew that Mom had her reasons for feeling the way she did.

Dad had been a scientist, and while he never admitted it, we were both certain that he had been the cause for these powers of mine to suddenly appear. Mom and Dad separated when I was too young to remember them even being together, and it had been after a visitation with my father at the age of twelve that I had suddenly become able to destroy objects and structures by my will or completely against it. I was at the age that I should have been able to remember my visit with my father, but for some reason I had absolutely no memory from the time I left Mom's apartment until several days after I had returned. Before anyone could accuse my father of using his questionable scientific practices on his young daughter, he had disappeared and not been seen since.

It seemed perfectly logical to me that, if science had somehow bestowed these terrible powers upon me, that it would be by science that they could be taken away. Mom, however, was more frightened that I would completely lose my humanity if I were to willfully venture down that road. There was far too much that could be taken advantage of, she said. She fretted that I could be completely removed from her custody and become a ward of the government, at which point I could be used as a tool—as a weapon—for them to do with whatever they saw fit. Furthermore, if my powers were something that could never be controlled, Mom feared that I would be killed out of fear for what I could potentially do. Both outcomes were possible, but she refused to accept the countless other and more positive conclusions if we actually found someone who could really help.

Eventually, Mom drove the car into the parking lot just beside our apartment building and parked the car in her usual spot. She turned the key to shut the engine off, the windshield wipers halting and the displays in front of her becoming dark. She removed the key from the ignition and, for a moment, she examined the key in her hand and I could see within her eyes the war of thoughts that were battling within her mind. I felt hopeful; she was finally and truly considering turning to a scientist that could figure out what my power was and the source of it. She had to know that my words had merit, and that going from doctor to doctor only to get the same answer each time—that they could not help me and could not understand what was going on with me—was fruitless and far too costly. Going to a scientist made sense.

However, as Mom's head began to slowly shake back and forth I could feel my heart breaking into a thousand little pieces and my breath hitch in the depths of my throat. She turned to me, her eyes narrowed and cold, and closed her fingers over the keys that resided within her hands.

"No," she told me firmly, "no, Hotaru. This is a big city, and this world is bigger yet. There has to be a doctor out there who might be able to figure something out that no one else has. Just give this time, honey. We don't need so-called 'men of science' to mess around with your body any more than it already has been."

I pressed my lips tightly together, the frustration and anger within me boiling up towards a point that I knew was dangerous. At that moment, I could not remind myself that Mom was just thinking of the best for me and trying to keep me safe. The only thing that was going through my mind was how done I was with these stupid doctors' visits and their stupid tests that amounted to absolutely nothing. I just felt that Mom was being terribly selfish and ignorant by her own choice, that she didn't give a damn about how I suffered and was only concerned about what pain she might have to endure if someone took me away from her.

My control fragmented ever so slightly, allowing just enough energy to slip out and strike towards a target of its own choice. There was a street light that stood not far from where the car was parked which illuminated a large portion of the lot, and as my power eventually reached it, the light buzzed soundly for several moments before the light began flickering. Soon after, it exploded in a stream of sparks and glass that joined the rain in its descent towards the ground below, causing darkness to fall over us.

X

"The Cell Games"

I had typed the phrase into the search engine and hit enter, and within a fraction of a second my monitor was filled with hundreds of thousands of results about one of the most famous events in Earth's recent history. Pretty much everyone not living in a cave knew the story of The Cell Games; some strange creature named Cell who had been wreaking havoc throughout the world and killing massive amounts of people had decided to use the template of the World's Martial Arts Tournament and challenge only the best fighters in a battle to save the planet from destruction. The challenge was met by many, and as the official story went, Mr. Satan defeated Cell and became the World Champion.

Only by chance had I become interested in the topic of The Cell Games, for even though it was a significant event for our planet, it had occurred almost eighteen years ago and was now dated news. A few months ago, I had spent an eventless morning watching television when a documentary on the Games came on with some original footage from the fights. For the most part, the documentary was mostly playing homage to Mr. Satan and his "heroics", but there were several clips of the other fighters that had also come to fight Cell—fighters that had been dismissed by historians and Mr. Satan himself as nothing more than clever tricksters. The mysterious group of men and one child that were present at the Games were frequently seen flying about in the sky like birds without wings, and they were even shooting energy from their hands as they used it as a weapon against Cell.

I watched the documentary intently from then on, and after it concluded, I escaped to my bedroom to do more research on the Games myself; more specifically, I was researching the "group of tricksters" whose relevance had long been dismissed by the general public. I found streaming websites with longer and unedited footage of the fight, watching as a man with golden hair battled with Cell in a way that seemed impossible and against all logic. Their speed was too fast for the camera to keep up with, their movements appearing little different than a blur at times with the camera view often pointed at an empty place that the two fighters had been only a brief second before. I could definitely see how the typical person would have had a difficult time believing that this was nothing more than an embellishment of the truth—that it was some sort of trickery.

I wasn't the typical person, and I knew that the things that Cell and the golden-haired man did were within the realm of possibility. While I wasn't able to fly—or even sure that I could—I did know that energy could be used as a weapon. These people seemed to have a control over their powers that I could only dream of, and they seemed perfectly comfortable with using it at their will. I saw this mysterious group of people as an answer that I had been desperately searching for, and it filled me with a hope that I hadn't felt in years. This was the lead that I had been trying to find, and it had been right in front of me for almost the entire time.

Filled with resolve, I opened a drawer on my computer desk and pulled out the notebook that I had been writing notes in about the Cell Games for the past few months. I decided that today I was going to go a step further than just jotting down notes about an event that I had studied for hours upon hours; I was going to track these people down and ask them the questions that were burning on my mind. How was it that they were able to do these extraordinary things so simply? What was this energy had been a constant and growing pressure inside of me that frequently whispered into my mind its pleas for release? Could I one day be able to learn how to control it as they did, or did they maybe knew of a way that I could get rid of it once and for all?

I flipped open my notebook to the pages that had what information I had already gathered on the mysterious fighters. Some had already been identified due to their past affiliations with the World Martial Arts Tournament, but since their significance in the Games was believed to be slight if nonexistent, no one really cared to seek them out to get a detailed account of their version of events; the otherworldly-looking man with green skin was believed to be Piccolo, the man with scars and black hair was thought to be Yamcha, the three-eyed man with no hair was rumored to be Tien, and the small monkish man was widely surmised to be Krillin. All of these men had taken part in Tournaments before, and all of them usually got very high placements at the end. They were already established fighters that did not need trickery to prove anything.

I turned another page that was dedicated to the golden-haired man and the child, who had remained largely unidentified over the years. After having invested so much time in hunting down information on them, I had come to a plausible identification of the golden-haired man that had performed all of the feats that I had been interested in; Goku Son. While the hair color and eye color were drastically off—Goku's hair and eye color were black, while the golden-haired man was obviously golden-haired with turquoise eyes—the gi that the man wore matched the one that Goku traditionally wore and, furthermore, their apparent ages were close if not exactly the same. I could only guess that the boy was his son or some other relation to him, but I just wasn't sure.

And then, there was the mystery of the frightening-looking man with spiked black hair and a young man with lavender hair. If the Cell Games had occurred today, it would have been no stretch to believe that the lavender-haired man was Trunks Briefs, the incredibly rich heir of Capsule Corporation and its future CEO. The likeness between the lavender-haired man and Trunks Briefs were uncanny; they both had the same hair color, the same exact face, and the same piercing blue eyes. However, the Cell Games had taken place eighteen years ago, and as Trunks Briefs had only been an infant at the time, that pretty much ruled him out.

I stumbled across the identity of the frightening-looking man only accidentally as I researched Trunks Briefs and Capsule Corporation. There were only a few photos of the man with the spiked black hair, but it was enough to confirm that he was the husband of Capsule Corporation's current owner and Trunks Briefs' mother, Bulma Briefs. That more than likely made the man Trunks's father, but for some reason, there was absolutely no public record of the man or even a wedding certificate indicating of who he was. It was like he was there but didn't officially exist, which only served to heighten my interest of him.

I had names and I had places, but what should I do with them? I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest, staring down at the pages of my notebook as I fell into deep thought. A simple phone call would probably be the most logical thing to do, but there was a slight problem with that; my cellphone plan was combined with my mother's and she would likely start asking questions if the phone statements suddenly started showing me making a bunch of different phone calls. I didn't have any friends—no one that I talked to aside from my mother—so my betrayal would likely be quickly uncovered.

The second option was to pay them a personal visit, something that was easier to pull off during the day while Mom was at work and leaving her none-the-wiser about what I was doing. Unfortunately, I was an incredibly introverted person and the thought of dropping by someone's personal residence and asking a lot of personal questions made me shrink back in my seat. I would probably stumble over my words as I tried to find them, making a terrible fool of myself and likely not getting the answers that I sought because of it. No, just showing up at someone's house out of the blue was definitely not an option; the possibilities were just too mortifying to think about anymore.

An idea suddenly occurred to me, and I reached forward to turn the pages of my notebook to the information that I scribbled down on Trunks Briefs. He was taking classes at West City University, a campus that was located just a few miles away from my apartment building. His father was the one certain connection to the Cell Games that was within reasonable public transportation distance, and maybe if I talked to Trunks himself, he could help me out by telling me what he knows or I could otherwise convince him to talk to his father for me. Yes, I would be forced into a social situation that I knew I wasn't comfortable with and it would likely be a recklessly stupid move on my part, but I really didn't have much of a choice. This was something that had to be done in person so Mom couldn't find out about it; if she wanted to live in her oblivious little bubble, then so be it. I needed to do something different.

There was also an issue with just going down to West City University and finding Trunks Briefs; the campus was huge, and it was more than likely that I wouldn't even catch a glimpse of him. How many students took classes there? A lot. How many buildings were there? Too many. However, being that Trunks was likely taking business management courses as he was poised to take over Capsule Corporation when he graduated from college, it wouldn't be difficult to narrow down which buildings he probably took classes in. Unfortunately, college schedules varied and there were multiple different class times for a single course several times a week, which made the possibility that I would track down Trunks Briefs on the West City University campus diminish greatly.

Still, if I was going to do anything about the downward spiral my life was heading towards, this was it. I didn't know how much time I had left before my control would completely combust, but I could feel that it was drawing ever closer.

X

I felt like a stalker.

I sipped at my thermos filled with coffee, trying to look as inconspicuous as I could while "Day Three of Keeping an Eye Out for Trunks Briefs" was well underway. Just as the previous two days, I had occupied a bench in front of a fountain that was located next to the main entrance of the Business and Economics building of West City University, studying each face that I saw. I had tried to appear as a student that was merely hanging out on campus, with my backpack resting on the vacant spot of the bench beside me with a pile of books resting on top of it. In-between classes I would resume whatever book I had left off in, trying to pass the time as I waited for another swarm of students to arrive or leave. I wore attire that was typical of people my age in the early stages of fall; a dark lavender jacket that was zipped up to the base of my neck and a pair of my favorite blue jeans that were naturally faded from too many washes.

So far, this whole scheme of mine seemed more hopeless than the doctor's visits, and I was beginning to question the idea completely. If I were any bolder, perhaps I could have asked if any of the students had seen Trunks or knew of his schedule, but that would have probably made me feel even more like a stalker than I already did. The bench was comfortable for a shy person like I was, staring at the crowds from a safe distance as I tried to avoid attracting attention to myself. Besides, as long as I was keeping myself decently far away from every living soul here, I wouldn't have to worry so much about any lapses in control thanks to my current state of nervousness. It would be immensely bad if I lost my control here.

It was almost ten-thirty in the morning when I caught a glimpse of lavender, and the sight of it was so sudden and unexpected that I had to do a double-take to make certain that it wasn't a figment of my imagination. It wasn't. He was leaving the building with a rather large group of students, wearing a moody look on his face as he walked at a pace that was much faster than every other student around him. He wove through the crowd fluidly, the features of his face twisting in annoyance whenever his body came into contact with someone else's, but he continued on without a word. He was dressed stylishly but comfortably, his backpack thrown over his shoulder as he held on to the strap of it with one hand.

I was extremely excited and terribly anxious at the same time, shoving my books into my backpack hurriedly before grabbing it and standing up from the bench. This was it! After the past few days of looking for this young man, I had finally found him! I was finally going to be a step closer to finding a solution to the frightening power within me, and the possibility of being a normal person once more filled me with a happiness that I had never felt before. My regrets for going behind my mother's back were forgotten, and I now sincerely believed that I had done the right thing.

I turned my body towards his direction, but I found that my body refused to move even a single step from where I was. I bit my bottom lip, my wide-eyed gaze locked on to his hurried form as my apprehension froze me in the very spot where I stood. My brain screamed at me, "He's here, stupid! Just go!" as my body remained mute to its every beckoning. Each breath came through my nose uneven and hard, and I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage as I stood there and did absolutely nothing.

He walked by me without sparing a glance while I just continued to stare, and I merely watched as he eventually left the campus grounds and disappeared from my sight.

When I eventually broke out of my daze, I felt beyond angry with myself. I spat out curses and swears in frustration, stalking towards the exit of the campus and heading back towards the direction of my apartment. Is this what I came here to do—just waste my time and gawk at the man that I so desperately wanted to speak with? Well, I certainly was doing a fine job so far.

I needed to settle down as I felt my power began pulling against its manacles, sensing a weakness in my mental stability as I burned with fury at myself. I was still in public and there were people all around me, and no matter how upset I was I just couldn't lose my grip because of one missed opportunity—even if that opportunity could have been the first and the last I would ever get. I tried to remind myself that this was progress, that now I knew I was in the right place at the right time, and I only had to repeat it the following week.

The passage of one week to the next dragged by terribly slow, and after working up the nerve to return to the West City University campus and attempt to meet with Trunks Briefs again, I returned. Instead of arriving at the campus a little after eight in the morning as I usually had, I opted to come around nine-thirty, keeping in mind that classes sometimes let out a little early and I most definitely didn't want to let him pass by me again. This time I didn't bring my books with me as I probably wouldn't have had the concentration to read them anyway; I was trying to soothe my jumpy nerves, trying to coax myself into doing something more than nothing when I saw him again. Today was warmer than the last, but I still wore a long-sleeved black shirt to keep the scars on my forearms concealed from view and a dark washed knee-length denim skirt. My backpack rested on top of my thighs as I sat, and I patted my hands against its fabric in anxiety.

Keep calm, I kept telling myself. All I was going to do was ask some relatively harmless questions, and if he couldn't answer them, I would beg him to forward those questions along to his father. I hoped that he wouldn't consider my requests rude or too much to comply with, but if he did, I would have to do my damnedest to convince him that I was someone that desperately needed his help.

It was around ten-fifteen this time when students began departing from the Business and Economics building, and I immediately stood from my bench, keeping my backpack grasped within my trembling hands in front of me. I was not going to be a coward. I was going to be everything that I wasn't; strong, bold, and determined to find answers. He was not just going to help me because I asked him to, but I showed the resolve enough to deserve it. I had been fighting the demons inside of me for far too long to keep up this weary battle for much longer, and he would help me be done with it—he would.

His lavender hair once again stood out amongst the crowd, and his attitude appeared no different than it was last week. This time his hands were shoved into the pockets of his pants and his eyes were narrowed, focused before him and not even somewhat glancing at anyone else around him. He was more hurried this time, wearing a look on his face that seemed much more agitated than the week before. I noticed that there were a few students that were bold enough to say something to him, but he ignored them completely, seemingly disinterested with everything and everyone around him.

It was then that I recognized that look—that attitude—and became uncertain with myself again; that was a look of someone who hated the world and everyone in it.

I don't know how someone who literally had the world at his fingertips from the day he was born could possibly abhor it, but he definitely did. He couldn't stand this place or the students that were obviously just trying to be friendly with him, and all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there. That's why he walked so fast, why he shut himself down and paid no mind to anyone else. It was sort of the opposite situation that I found myself in; the world wanted him and he wanted to get away from it, and the powers inside of me wanted out into the world but I was doing all I could to stop it.

As he walked down the walkway in front of me, I forced my body to move this time, pressing my feet against the concrete and starkly walking towards him. My breath became short as I quickly ran to catch up with Trunks, his taller build and longer limbs allowing him cross distances much more quickly than my petite frame. I wasn't used to any sort of exercise and I honestly couldn't remember the last time I had done anything more than a brisk walk, so my body just wasn't use to maintaining such a speed for any length of time. Trunks, meanwhile, did not seem affected at all by the pace that he was currently moving at.

"Briefs!" I called out to him in a half-shout, my voice already sounding winded as I was already tired of chasing after the young man. "Trunks Briefs!"

Trunks's steps only slowed somewhat, his head slightly turning so that he could stare at me out of the corner of his eye. I could see that his lavender brows were furrowed over his piercing blue eyes as his lips pressed together tightly, obviously seeming more annoyed with my presence. He stood at least a head above me, and I could see now that I was so close to him how broad his shoulders were and how muscularly thick his neck was. The muscles of his arms made them as thick as my thighs—no, perhaps even a bit larger than that—but he didn't appear overly bulky. His build seemed to be like a long distance runner that dabbled in body building, and it made him all the more intimidating than just his stare alone.

After regarding me coldly for a few moments, Trunks snorted and turned his head away from me, resuming his hasty steps. What in the world? I shook my head in disbelief at the rudeness of his actions. Was this how all rich people acted when the "little people" dared to approach them? Well, I didn't give a damn about what chip he had on his shoulder or why he seemed to be so disgusted by the presence of others around him. I was sure that I had plenty more reasons than he did to hate the world, and for someone that had been blessed with so much, I could find no justification for anyone to act this way aside from being a spoiled brat that had never been disciplined in his life.

I ran up to him, grabbing on to the sleeve of his shirt and giving it a hard yank. In my mind, a very different result was supposed to happen from my actions; I was going to make him stop in his tracks, getting his attention so that he would at least acknowledge for more than a second. However, he seemed completely unfazed by what I had just done and my grasp upon him—as he had not hesitated in his walking in the slightest—caused me to stumble into his back, and therefore caused him to stumble forward as well.

"What the hell is your problem?!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, pulling himself free of my grasp and turning towards me, fire burning in the ocean of his eyes as he glared at me.

Okay, now I had his attention and I never felt so small in my entire life. My hand joined the other in grasping my backpack once more as I held it tightly to my chest, not unlike what a child would do with a stuffed animal when frightened. I hadn't been the center of someone's anger like this in a long time, and I was uncertain as to what to do. Was he at all capable of being lucid enough to listen to me? Did I have the courage to do what I came here to do?

"I…" I began in a quiet voice, my heart beating furiously in my chest. "…I would like to speak with you, Trunks Briefs—in private."

Trunks openly rolled his eyes at me. "If this is some heart-felt confession, I don't care and I don't have time for it."

Ugh, he was so completely full of himself! Still, I was determined to play nice with him, knowing I would have to if I wanted to get what I was seeking out of this. "It's not that. I need—um—information that I think only you or your father—or even your friends can give me."

An incredulous look appeared on his face as he listened to my words. "Dad? Are you some reporter or something?" he asked, though I could hear the doubt in his voice. He definitely did not believe me to be a reporter of any kind, but he wasn't yet able to determine who else I could be. I didn't doubt that reporters had bugged him about his family before, being that he was the richest heir on the planet.

"I'm not a reporter," I told him. "I'm just a person who's in a really bad situation and no one seems to know how to help me."

"Oh, you want help," Trunks sneered and shook his head at me. "Look, if you're getting bothered by someone, go to the police. That's what they're there for—you know—to serve and protect."

"No one is bothering me!" I insisted, unable to help the slight groan in my words. "Just listen to me for a second, okay? I have this...this thing I've been afflicted with for about five years now. I've hurt people without even knowing what I'm doing and I break things if my control even slips for a little bit—and you acting the way you are is really pushing me to my very limits—so I need to talk to someone who knows something about…energy."

Trunks arched a lavender eyebrow, seeming unconvinced of my words. His head slightly cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed, and I was almost certain that he believed I was some sort of liar or was crazy at the very least. His pink lips parted as if he was going to make some smart-ass remark, but nothing ever came. I noticed as his blue eyes widened just a bit, making the muscles on his face relax somewhat as he no longer looked as irritated as he did moments earlier. Then, his eyes narrowed again—but this time in confusion—as he leaned toward me especially close, invading a space that I didn't feel comfortable with him being in.

"What in the hell…" his words drifted off, sounding completely dumbfounded. His gaze left my eyes as he glanced over my body, not in the way that was at all salacious or creepy, but in a way similar to how one would inspect an object that they had never seen before in their lives. He was inquisitive, his head tilting from side to side with his nose wrinkled just slightly, and then his eyes widened more as a realization crossed over the features of his face.

"You're telling the truth…" he stated, pulling away from me and staring into my eyes in clear astonishment. "…Come with me."

x

To be continued!