---790, July 5th, Kame Sennin's island

"Hey baby... Give me some nachos, huh huh..."

Marron broke into peals of laughter as Goten very convincingly pursued the impersonation of his favorite cartoon character. At the other end of the couch, arms crossed on his chest, head sunk into his shoulders, Trunks sat in brooding silence .

"Like hell I'm gonna sit through Beavis and Butt-head!!" He mumbled.

"He said 'wood', huh huh..."Goten continued, pinching his nose.

"Ok, that's it," Trunks snapped angrily as he reached over Marron to snatch the remote control from Goten.

"Hey! I like Beavis and Butt-head!" the latter protested.

"Goten, we all know you can relate with the show on a deeper level than most of us do," Trunks retorted, "But I just don't feel up to the intellectual challenge today."

Goten straightened himself up on his seat, a feigned look of hurt on his face. "Now I resent that remark."

"Deal with it," came the terse, testy reply.

"You know, "Goten began as he carefully inched closer to his irritable best friend, "I feel so much contained anger here, and frustration, and restlessness, and...and..."

Trunks started zapping furiously, his fingers threatening to crush the remote control.

Goten raised an eyebrow. "And yet more anger. You wanna like, talk it out or something? You know, while we're still on this nice little couch," he babbled on, patting a cushion, "you'll just have to lie down and I'll be showing you flashcards with funny little pictures on 'em..."
 
Trunks glared at him.

"No flashcards with funny pictures on 'em?" Goten asked tentatively.

The intensity of his friend's icy stare did not subside.

"All right, all right! No talk, no cards. I was only trying to help."

"Mama, mama!" Pan chirped merrily as she hopped into the kitchen, Mister Satan coming in after her.

"Hi, cookie," Videl replied, looking up from the cutting board. "How was your day?"

"Grandpa Satan took me to the mall!" the girl said proudly.

Mister Satan pulled out a chair and wearily sat down. "And here I used to think amusement parks were exhausting..."

Bulma chuckled and turned to Videl. "I told you. Tomboy or not, they reach ten years old, and they're all mall rats."

"Did you get anything, Pan-chan?" Chichi asked.

"Just new shoes for gym class," Pan replied.

"But we had to go through four stores to find them," Mister Satan added.

"And you think that's a lot?" Bulma sneered. "Do you know that everytime Bra goes shopping, Vejita takes her to at least three different malls? Do the math, that's a lot of different stores."

"Vejita-san goes to the mall?" Chichi asked, bewildered.

"That he does, " Bulma replied gleefully. "Actually, Bra takes a certain delight in picking out her daddy's clothes for him. How do you think his vestimentary tastes so dramatically improved in the past two years? And for the longest time I was wondering why my girly half Saiyajin daughter never cared to play with dolls... I should have known she had a lifesize, anatomically correct and gorgeous looking one at hand!"

Bulma glanced around as the people in the room fell silent.

"What?" she asked, frowning.

With a knowing smile, Eighteen patted her shoulder. "Whatever rings your bell, girlfriend."

Mister Satan laughed softly as he leaned against the window sill, breathing in the fresh night air. However, he abruptly pulled away with a frightened yelp.

"What is it?" Chichi asked him.

"A mo...mo-mo," he stuttered. "I think I saw a monster outside."

"That's no monster, silly!" Pan chided her grandfather. "That's Piccolo-san!!"

Chuckling, the little girl flew out of the window and into the Nameccian's arms, which mechanically wrapped themselves around her small frame.

"You oughta get those eyes checked," Piccolo advised Mister Satan in a dangerous low voice.

"Ha-hai!" the latter nodded, slightly trembling.

Pan gave Piccolo's arm a light slap. "Don't do that! You know it scares Grandpa and it's bad for his heart."

"Do what?" Piccolo wondered with genuine innocence.

"That thing you do when you're looking down with your eyes like this," Pan explained and gestured at the same time, "and when your cape starts flying around even when you're not flying."

Piccolo frowned. "What do you suggest I do about it?"

Pan thought for an instant. "I know," she said, as her hands came up to his face. With a mischievious giggle, she gave his left cheek an affectionate, soundly peck. Piccolo's eyes widened in surprise, and he promptly turned to an embarrassingly bright shade of purple.

"Ha ha! So that's what happens when he blushes!" Bulma sniggered. "He actually looks cute now!"

Vejita closed his eyes once more and silently laid back on the sand. The indigo night sky above him was clear and shimmering with myriads of stars, but even so he could sense the auspicious summer weather wouldn't last. The air felt heavy, charged with the electricity of a budding storm.

An image suddenly flashed by in his mind. There was another star filled sky just like this one, but with a full moon, and a sparkling, grandiose city below. A *Saiyajin* city.

The epiphany lasted only a second, and faded as quickly as it had appeared.

No. He honestly didn't miss any of that. Not anymore. He liked this planet. He liked this place. The long, slender palmtrees swaying gracefully with the ocean breeze. The quiet rumbling of the waves as they washed over the shore. The happy squeals of his daughter mingling with the chirping sounds of dolphins that had come closer to the beach to play with her.

Even the silly looking white house and its red roof.

And the ocean itself, all at once deep, brilliant, beautiful and blue like...

A loud crash coming from the kitchen pulled Vejita out of his reverie.

"KONO HENTAI KUSO-JIJIII!!!*"                                 *YOU FUCKING OLD PERVERT!!!"

Yes indeed. Blue like her.

Bulma was roaring loud enough to unhinge every door and window in the house, and Vejita didn't have to guess what had happened. A wail from the old martial arts instructor as he was being unceremoniously kicked out of his own home through the kitchen window confirmed the Saiyajin's assumption.

"No respect for the elder or the disabled..." Kame Sennin muttered as he dusted himself.

"You keep your hands off her," Vejita calmly threatened him, "or I'll teach you the true meaning of disabled."

With a horrified gasp, Kame Sennin looked around for a possible shield.

"And leave that turtle alone," Vejita warned again, surmising the old man's thoughts.

The latter gasped again, and quickly re-entered his home through the front door.

Vejita silently laughed. Tonight, he was almost grateful for the runt's inappropriate behavior. It took Bulma out of her strange mood, made her react, made her turn back into her good old loud self. She'd been unnervingly silent for the past two days and to be quite honest, he hated it.

He never thought that one day he'd be so utterly relieved to hear her scream at anyone. He'd never once imagined that he'd be so happy to hear her laugh and blabber in the company of the other women, Kakarotto's mate, Gohan's mate and that blonde tin can, or rather
ex-human-bashing-world-destroying-blonde-tin can. Or even hear her tormenting that degenerate Nameccian who was still mulling over his fate under a palmtree, Kakarotto's little granddaughter nestled in his arms, babbling secrets meant to be heard by no one but him.

So. Bulma thought he was *gorgeous looking*, hmm? He definitely liked the sound of that. On the other hand, he wasn't quite sure he could share her point of view concerning Piccolo's -ugh- *cuteness*. But as Eighteen so well put it, whatever rang her bell was fine with him...as long as no one else took the next step above him on her gorgeous-looking-ometer.
 

The sound of an engine came into hearing range and Vejita watched as Yamucha's latest racy aircar landed in front of the house. As usual, the man was dressed to kill, as if he'd just gotten out of some hip Down Town party -and he probably had- and strutted his way up the porch steps.

"'evening Vejita," he said with a curt nod.

"Aa." The prince replied without sitting up or even opening his eyes.

"Well I'm delighted to see you too," Yamucha smiled as he entered the house. "Hey, Bulma," he called in direction of the kitchen, "your Saiyajin husband is becoming so much friendlier and more civilized every day, he's starting to scare me."

It was then that Goku chose to come downstairs.

"Hello," he said in a cheery voice that hardly concealed his fatigue.

Yamucha watched in disbelief as he bumped twice into the wall before finding his way into the kitchen.

"And this one's just getting worse..." Yamucha murmured to himself, before falling into step with his friend. The latter served himself a cup of coffee, which he gulped down in one go.

Funny.

As he watched Goku once more pour the black beverage into the cup, the only words that came to Yamucha's mind were: depressed and neurotic.

"Oh yeah, just great!" Goten complained. "We give him the remote control and what does he do? He watches the news. Excuse me, can you please chose something a little more depressing?"

"Excuse me," Trunks countered, "but would you please shut up? I'm trying to listen..."

The entranced, livid face of a man appeared on the screen."Together we will walk into the righteous path of light! The time has come!" He accompanied his speech with grandiloquent gestures.

"Wow," Goten commented. "Prozac anyone?"

Marron cringed. "Who is THAT wacko?"

"I believe you're looking at my father-in-law's biggest political opponent," said Gohan as he walked into the living room. " Meet Reverend Quentin Parsimon, head of the moral coalition of Satan City. He's been making a lot of noise lately, but his appeal -thank Dende- is only limited to a minority of extremists and zealots..."

"Which is good, right? Cause it sure doesn't look like he's got all the plugs in up there..."

"Don't worry Marron-chan", Gohan reassured the blonde girl," no one believes he stands a chance."

"Even against Mister Satan," Goten added with a smirk.

"I heard that," the old champion said as he came up behind the couch.

"Oops. Sorry." Goten said with a grimace.

But Mister Satan was no longer paying attention to him. He was looking at the TV screen, his fists clenched and almost shaking.

"Fraud!" He muttered angrily. "This riffraff is doing Dende some very bad publicity..."

However, Parsimon's face disappeared as the breaking news report screen flicked on.

"We interrupt our regular programming to bring you the latest development on the 'North Capital Clinic Case'. A few hundred clinics around the planet have now reported an alarming number of unexplainable newborn deaths. What seems to have started as a few coincidental cases of SIDS earlier this week now leaves experts considering a new possibility : we may be facing an extremely virulent and aggressive worldwide epidemic that__"

"What the hell?"

All faces turned to see Piccolo, who'd been watching from outside, his hands gripping the window sill.
 
"If you got anything to tell us, Namek," Vejita said as he approached the window, "now would be a good time."

Piccolo nodded. Everyone had gathered in the living room, and for once he happened to agree with Vejita. Calmly, methodically, he began to relate all that he had learned from Enma Daio about the Nashr'tali Caste.

"You mean these people -can I call them people?- have already colonized the Earth a thousand years ago?" Goten asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do." Piccolo replied.

Kulilin looked at Piccolo and shook his head. "And there you were thinking you'd been the first."

Piccolo glowered at him.

"Ok, let's recapitulate," Gohan said quickly as he sensed tension mounting between his two friends, or rather, surging from Piccolo to Kulilin. "What we have here is a disease-carrying and extremely destructive race of aliens who very nearly killed off the human race once and are now back a millenium late. Only this time, they're killing the babies, or we assume they are."

"What I don't understand," Vejita spoke up, "is why they would only *nearly* kill off the Human race and leave. I mean, in my experience, when you decide to destroy someone or something, you do it a hundred percent, or not at all."

Yamucha grinned nervously. "Yes, Vejita. But that's just how you see things. Not everyone does everything as radically as you do, we all know that..."

"I think Vejita-san raised a good point," Gohan said. "Of course, we could be completely off. What I'm saying is, we're making some awfully big assumptions here regarding their intentions. It's not like they've launched any massive attack against us. The only tangible proof we have of their presence lies in my father and Vejita-san's first-hand, albeit short, experience with one of them."

"Maybe..."Yamucha trailed off. "But supposing their intentions are, eh, less than amicable, as I'm afraid they are, what bugs me though is, if they're really all that strong, why would they start killing all of the babies, and not the rest of the population?"

"That's not it, Yamucha," Goku's voice startled the group. "They're not killing *all* the babies. Just some of 'em in a whole bunch, that's what the reporter said. And they're leaving the bodies behind, with no bruises, no traces. I think... I think they want people to believe it's a disease."

"Goku-sa," Chichi began.

Throwing his head back, Goku finished yet another cup of coffee. By Dende, he was guzzling down caffeine like a pipeline guzzles down oil... Yamucha watched him with growing concern and as he looked over to the window, he realized Vejita had also taken notice of the other Saiyajin's gesture.

What Vejita couldn't see however, was Bulma. Yamucha stole a glance at her. Standing in retreat in the doorway, she hadn't uttered a word, and her face had turned pale like ashes.

--July 6th, West Capital

It was already late when Vejita woke up. His had been a leaden, dreamless sleep, and his whole body felt heavy, as if he'd just surfaced from some deep lethargy.

He rubbed his temples, wondering just how the hell he'd ever slept through the morning until 10 am. He hadn't even heard Bulma slip out of bed.

Last night had been long and worrisome. All had left Kame Sennin's island around 4 am, after much discussion and speculation. He'd carried his sleeping daughter and Bulma all the way back home. Once they'd been alone, Bulma had simply snuggled close to him under the covers and without a word had tightly wrapped her arms around him as if there'd be no tomorrow... He's asked her no questions then, for she'd already drifted to sleep. But now he wondered. Something was terribly amiss, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

His eyes fell on her bedside table where stood a picture of Trunks and Bra, and an object he didn't remember seeing there the night before.

A videotape.

Vejita carefully picked it up, and studied it with a frown. A little piece of paper slipped out of the box as he turned it upside down. On the note -for it was a note- Bulma's hurried handwriting said to him:

A glaring light filled the room as the curtains were roughly drawn aside. Bra, with her usual consideration for other people's need for rest and privacy, had almost kicked the door open, and was now diligently shaking him and pulling him out of bed like a drill sergeant.

"Niichan, wake up. It's monday. Remember? You got a meeting today at eleven. Think you can make it?"

"Put a sock in it..." Trunks groaned as he scratched his forehead and lazily looked up at his little sister's angry scowl. He couldn't help but notice that she was becoming very pretty and more so every day, just like their mother. But that scowl definitely came from the other party responsible for Bra's existence.

"Yeah, yeah," Bra said as she exited the room. "Thank me later, when you close that deal."

Bra's face momentarily reappeared through the doorway. "By the way, what's Goten doing in your bathroom?"

"Huh?" Trunks mumbled as the mechanics in his brains slowly started to work again. *Oh, him.* Trunks couldn't recall bringing him over last night, but then Goten had developed a habit of inviting himself at people's houses. Professional squatter, that could be a good job for him.

But for now, Trunks had to think of his own job. Alien threat or not, the world was still turning, and whatever had to be done, would be done. He was actually pretty good at being Capsule Corporation Trust's President -when he wanted to.

After shoving Goten out of the bathroom, Trunks took a quick shower, checked himself in the mirror, wondering if his hair was getting too long again, threw on his best suit and went downstairs for breakfast. On second thought, he'd order some take out at the office. He was already too late.

As he got out of the house and into the twenty feet long flying limo, Trunks finally allowed a heart breaking sigh out his chest.

It was hopeless.

He hated his life.

He hated his job.

And most of all, he hated himself.

He hated feeling so empty, so devoid of any real passion or convictions. He hating having everything materially imaginable, and yet not possessing the one thing he needed the most: peace of mind.

Goten may be broke, jobless and would probably soon end up homeless, but at least, he was content with what he was. Of course, like everybody else in this world, he had his shares of troubles and worries, but since his father had decided to come home after training Uubu, he'd been blissfully happy and carefree.

*Someone shoot me,* Trunks pleaded silently. *Wait.* That had already happened once. Some frustrated ex-employee had tried to gun him down. But in the end, after failing to get a scratch on his former boss' skin even at point blank range, the man had turned the gun on himself in despair. That simple. Click, bang and hello Enma Daioo.

As for Trunks, he couldn't think of any efficient way to kill himself that wouldn't cause considerable damages to repair for the people he'd left behind. Maybe poison then. Gallons of cyanide. And still, he'd be wasting his mother's hardly earned money.

Life sucked.

The white cape flowing majestically behind him, the ex-Demon King sweeped through the air like some giant bird of prey. He'd been flying around all morning, not bearing to remain another instant up on Karin's tower, idly watching over the world and doing godly things, such as contemplating, speculating and sometimes even manipulating.

That was Dende's field of expertise.

Piccolo preferred to think of himself a man of action, and as such, he'd been trying to figure out a plan to fight the Caste and its Creatures.

But it was difficult to remain focused. He was used to sensing his enemies, even from afar. Furiza's ki had almost been tangible from the moment he'd been ressucitated on Namek. Cell had had no qualms about advertizing for himself on national television. Buu...oh well.

At the present moment however, there was no apparent danger looming in the horizon, no threatening alien ki he could detect. All he had for a warning was the knowledge -however scant it was -Enma Daioo had passed on to him and the "incident" in West Capital. And now the trail of dead newborns.

Otherwise, the Caste remained elusive, faceless, and it was beginning to make him feel terribly paranoid. They could be anywhere, concealing their ki, blending in with Earth's population. Oh, he hated it when an enemy played hide and seek.

The little river soon came into view. Piccolo landed in front of the Son house and purposefully stalked up to the front door. Akwardly he prepared himself to knock - a common courtesy he still hadn't gotten used to - when someone spared him the inconvenience and swung the door open.

"Goku-sa! It's... not you." Chichi's face fell. For an interminable minute she blankly stared at Piccolo. What followed seemed to him almost surreal in its suddenness, as well as in its unlikeliness. He first saw her bite down on her lip, and blink as tears brimmed her dark eyes. Then, with a strangled sob, she ran to him.

"He left us again!!" was all Piccolo needed to hear in order to understand the situation. He stood still, allowing her to weep freely against his chest, and wondered since when the females of the Son household had taken to flinging themselves into his arms. Especially this one.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, our new line of products is now fully...Oh, excuse me."

Trunks paused as he saw the flashing red light on the intercom. Pressing the speaker button, he asked: "Yes?"

"An order of ten jumbo size pepperoni and mushroom pizzas have arrived for you, sir," said a dry, bureaucratic voice. "What shall I do with them?"

"Oh... yes. Indeed." Trunks replied in a low voice. "Just leave them in my office. Thanks you, Martha."

Turning back to his audience, Trunks flashed them a dashing smile and returned in front of the board where he'd skillfully traced elaborate charts and diagrams.

"As I was saying, we've developed an entire new line of products that our manufacturers in __"

Trunks' brilliant presentation of Capsule Corporation Labs' latest innovations was once more interrupted, this time by a wild and loud commotion outside the conference room.

*What now,* he thought irritatedly.

Trunks was about to resume his speech when the doors slammed open and a little face he only knew so well appeared at the threshold. Two strong, armed security guards tried to grab the girl, but she easily shrugged off the first one and sent the other flying through the hallway.

As the members of the delegation stared at the scene in astonished silence, Trunks walked towards her with barely contained anger.

"Pan-chan, just what on Earth do you think you're doing?!?" he demanded between gritted teeth.

The little girl then looked up at him, and Trunks' anger almost immediately dissipated.

"Tru...Trunks..." she said in a flimsy, shaky voice.

"Pan-chan, what's wrong?"

She burst out into tears.

Carrying a still sobbing pan in his arms, Trunks flew back to the only place where he knew he could get some help -home.

Goku-san, leaving. What was that with him, a trend? Only this time, he'd left without notice. Without even saying goodbye. All Chichi-san had found in the morning was a note on his pillow, saying:

"Mom! Dad!!" Trunks called as he strolled inside with Pan on his heels.

No answer.

He kept calling, checking from one room to the other, until he reached the kitchen from where Goten emerged, idly munching on potato chips.

"Wuz going on?"

"You're still here?!?" Trunks asked without waiting for the answer. "For you information, your Papa just hit the road again."

He ran down the hallway, Goten and Pan trailing after him.

"What did he say?" Goten asked his niece.

"You heard him. Grandpa Goku is gone, and we don't even know where he is!"

Trunks kept calling out to his parents, in vain. "Gosh, where are all the people in this house?" he wondered.

There was a noise in the living room however, and when he peeked inside, he realized that the TV was on. Statics were on, to be accurate. And sitting on the floor was his sister.

"Bra, what's going on?" Trunks started. "Where are Mom and Dad?"

Bra slowly lifted her head, but before she could answer, the doorbell rang, and Trunks leaped over to the window to see who it was.

"Aa, Yamucha-san," he breathed, rushing out of the living room to let the guest in.

"Hey Trunks," Yamucha greeted him as he removed his dark sunglasses. "What are you doing home at this time? And, huh, where's your mother? I'd like to talk to her if it's possible."

"That's also something I'd like to do," Trunsk replied, "but I can't find her or my Dad for that matter."

As he came inside, Trunks quickly explained the situation to Yamucha, who somehow didn't appear half as surprised as he should have. When both men entered the living room, Goten and Pan were kneeling on the carpet next to Bra, who pushed on the VCR's rewind button. An instant later, an image flicked on the screen.

Bulma's pale, yet determined face.

With a weak smile, she began to speak. "I know this probably sounds... crazy to you and you'd be right to think that. But what I have to tell you is very serious and important. For reasons that I can't disclose, I have to leave. What I'm asking you is -under any circumstances- not to look for me. Don't try to find me, because you won't. Your life, our family, our friends, everyone on this planet is in danger. I'm going to try and help you the best way I can, but please, I BEG you, don't look for me."

Bulma paused, as if the speech had drained all energy from her, and closed her eyes. Then, looking at the camera once more, she raised her hand in a small wave, and said in one breath:

"May we live to see the end of this together..."

The screen reverted to statics.
 

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