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Resolution on a Lonely Planet	By : Ulrike Category: Dragon Ball Z > General Views: 5386 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z or the DBZ characters. This is a fanfiction written purely for entertainment. No money was made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
- 20
Thanks for the reviews! I am happy for every one that I receive. :)
Warnings: Discussions of rape and sex-trafficking, mental illness, and emotional abuse.
…............
Training didn't last too long. Yamcha's heart just wasn't in it and Krillin was distracted by the anxiety of catching Cell's announcement on TV. After two hours, the warriors came back inside and Yamcha bowed to those who were still conversing in the living room, apologizing for his previous behavior.
“I don't blame you one bit!” Chi-Chi declared. “It's about time someone told that saiyajin off.”
Yamcha and Krillin laughed uneasily and made their way to the couches. Trunks was lounging comfortably on the floor, the TV remote in one hand as he continually flipped through channels. The young man was the most eager for the monster's appearance. He felt he had failed horribly and dishonored all those who had depended on him. In some moments he almost wished that Cell had taken his life to end his shame.
Everyone had been supportive and even grateful for his attempts to defeat Cell. Even though Trunks had surpassed Vegeta in strength, it had done little to save the Earth from its looming threat. None of the other warriors blamed Trunks for the situation they were currently in. The anger was, rightfully so, directed toward the arrogant prince who had allowed Cell to absorb Android 18.
“Anything yet?” Krillin asked.
Trunks shook his head, his long hair falling in his face as he did so.
“I don't even know what channel he's going to be on.” Letting out a huff of frustration, the warrior from the future tossed the remote onto the seat next to Yamcha.
“The closest broadcasting building in this region is ZZTV, a few miles off the ocean. They run all kinds of cooking, kids, and news channels. I think if we just keep flipping through, Cell will likely appear on one of those shows,” Yamcha explained.
Trunks nodded and sat up, stretching his back. Peering over his shoulder he looked at the scar-faced man sitting behind him.
“Feeling better, Yamcha?”
Blushing furiously, he nodded and brought his hand to his face as if trying to hide discreetly.
“I'm learning more and more how impossible it is to get through to my father,” Trunks explained. “It makes perfect sense to lose your cool when talking to him.”
'Yeah, but you've probably had different experiences with him than I have,' Yamcha thought bitterly.
“Speaking of Vegeta, where'd he go?” Krillin asked.
“I sensed his energy in the lower levels of the compound. He might actually be in the lab with my mother.”
“Poor Dr. Briefs.”
Trunks glanced at Krillin as the entire room laughed.
The next hour was spent with the warriors of Earth flipping through channels. Eventually, they just kept it on a news station and conversed. Trunks told dreary tales of the future timeline while the silly defenders of Earth told him stories of their past with Goku and Bulma.
“We were all such morons,” Krillin laughed. “Our enemies seemed so fabled, yet any one of us could have been killed. Goku was so carefree, though, we never saw the 'bad guys' as truly evil.”
Trunks was intrigued. Hearing about the fools who ran the Red Ribbon Army blew his mind. It seemed impossible that such an idiotic organization could have produced the two monsters that had destroyed his time.
“So, how did my parents fall for each other? Sorry, Yamcha, I knew you were with my mom for a long time,” Trunks added, not noticing the way Yamcha's face grew tense. “But my mother speaks so little of my father. It almost seems like they had no relationship at all.”
Trunks did not miss the quick exchange of nervous glances between the two humans.
“I don't know,” Krillin added with a shrug.
“Yeah, Bulma and I broke up and then the next thing I knew, they were just kinda together.”
“Oh, but—”
“They're reporting on Cell!” Master Roshi hollered from the back of the room.
In the blink of an eye, every person in the room suddenly pressed around the TV. Large, unblinking eyes watched as a blonde newscaster read through her documents, a practiced seriousness in her voice as she spoke.
“—are still investigating this strange and tragic loss of life. People within Nicky Town have simply disappeared, leaving only clothing behind. There have been very few survivors, and those that can recount the details all claim to have seen a gigantic, green monster in the midst of the chaos. Others have also spoken of a loud, yelling voice in the sky, screaming about 'Androids.'”
The camera cut to a disheveled news reporter who stood in a flurry of movement. People behind him were screaming and crying as they held each other, tears streaming from their eyes as they held up articles of clothing.
“That's right, Sharon. Some say a creature resembling a huge, green insect had attacked and literally sucked the life out of the people of this town with a large stinger of some sort.” The camera focused on a crowd of people kneeling on the ground, their cloaked bodies creating a circle around a pile of clothing. “Others believe that this is the apocalypse and have created small shrines around the remaining garments left behind.”
The reports continued, the footage showing the same images: empty houses, shirts, pants, and dresses blowing across the ground, and eerie silence except for the sound of loved ones who had lost their friends and family. There were poorly shot videos of a tiny speck of green floating high above one city, an amplified voice yelling across the land, the creature's booming words too muddled for the weak camera phones to register. But the Earthlings in the Capsule Corp. living room knew who and what it was.
“We will continue to bring updates and reports as they come. Officials are telling people not to panic—they believe this is just a few isolated incidents, possibly terrorist attacks.” The woman's blue eyes shifted down to her papers. “And coming up after the commercials, controversy hits the courthouse of West City as a man sentenced to forty years of imprisonment for rape and murder is being freed after only serving three years of his sentence.”
A brief glimpse of a tall, gaunt man being led down the steps of the courthouse blipped on the screen before cutting to commercial. The picture only appeared for about three seconds, but it was long enough. Yamcha would never forget that face.
“More on that story, coming up.”
…............
Master Roshi and Chi-Chi were not fully aware of the details that had transpired three years ago, but they understood that something terrible and tragic had happened to both Yamcha and Vegeta. Goku had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the entire ordeal and Master Roshi knew better than to push any topic when the usually outspoken, playful saiyajin became so serious over a certain subject. Chi-Chi simply believed the saiyajin prince had gotten himself into trouble somehow and dragged poor Yamcha into it.
But they could tell that this specific news story was both shocking and terrifying. Everyone in the room could sense Yamcha's tense demeanor and fluctuating power level as the commercials ended and the news channel focused on the reporter, Sharon, again.
“His name is Hal Jenkins, and he was arrested three and a half years ago when he was discovered injured in the Capital Forest of West City.”
A mugshot suddenly appeared on the large, flat-screen TV. A bruised and cut face stared out at all the people in the living room. Cold, pale eyes leered blankly at the camera, the eyelids dazed and heavy, the long, once-grinning mouth now a pale, thin line. His lower lip was torn and scarred where a piercing had once been, but the rod in his eyebrow still remained. Spiked neon yellow and green hair appeared frazzled and muddy, the bright colors dulled by the prison lights in his mugshot.
Trunks blinked in surprise as the young, cold face gazing out from the TV rang familiar in his head. He had seen that lanky person before. The young man from the future glanced at the others huddled around the couch, his eyebrows lowering in confusion as they all appeared mesmerized by what was on screen. Yamcha in particular, looked as if he were about to vomit.
The image on the TV disappeared as the reporter continued.
“Jenkins was found about half a mile from a dilapidated house in Capital Woods. Police confirmed that he had been injured within the cabin when the old structure collapsed. Jenkins left a trail of blood leading from the house to where he lay in the woods. His DNA was reported to have been all over many of the items used within the house that had been used to sexually assault girls, women, and a couple young men.”
More footage showed the sick criminal being led into the courthouse three years ago, his hands cuffed behind his back and blue eyes glistening with fury.
“Hal Jenkins was one of four men found guilty of leading and participating in one of the most notorious sex-trafficking scandals ever seen within the last 100 years. Jenkins is the only member of this crime who was arrested, as two other members were found dead, and another still missing.”
Yamcha felt dizzy as the story continued. He was suddenly unaware of all those around him as one of the cruelest, sickest people he had ever met was thrown in his face without warning. Video showed court cases and lawyers, as Hal sat in the background, completely expressionless.
“At the time of Jenkins's trial and prosecution, controversy struck, and opposing forces argued over the case itself. There had been reasonable evidence that Jenkins was not of sound mind—his lawyers pushed for an insanity plea. He was quoted as saying aliens had been involved in making him lose his mind. He told strange, outlandish tales about space-pirates and...as Jenkins described it, 'evil monkeys.'”
Sharon the newscaster shook her head and went on. “Hal Jenkins was charged with rape, statutory rape, kidnapping, and first degree murder. He was sentenced to forty years of imprisonment for his crimes, however, recent changes to insanity and sexual assault laws helped influence the new decision to set Jenkins free. Based on good behavior and with assistance from certain self-proclaimed “activist” groups, this man was released from prison this morning.”
The camera cut to a red-faced, sweating man who was holding a “We Support You!” sign. A microphone was thrust in the man's face and he wasted no time in giving his opinion.
“Yeah, you know, this is just a clear-cut case of mental illness. We need to start blaming doctors and parents for this kind of behavior. I feel bad for the girls who were hurt 'n all by Hal Jenkins's mental disorders, but really, this is just one incident that rarely happens. I hope Mr. Jenkins gets the help he really needs.”
Another interview appeared. The TV screen filled with the anguished, tear-streaked face of a man and his wife. The sniffling, gasping man held a picture of a young woman with long brown hair. The people within the Capsule Corp. living room sat in silence as the forlorn couple told a heartbreaking tale about their daughter's disappearance while in college six years ago and the subsequent agonizing revelation of her fate at the hands of the very man being released from prison that day.
“After our Mei went missing years ago, we looked everywhere. We called anyone who could possibly have known where she was. W-when we received the news two years later that she was....was killed, my wife and I spoke at Hal Jenkins's court case.” The haggard father let out a rasping sob and turned away. His wife stood with a dead, hardened expression. She was too distressed to speak on the subject.
A reporter appeared in front of the camera again as crowds of protesters and supporters cheered or yelled behind him.
“And now we will get a chance to interview the man himself.” The camera shook as it followed the eager reporter who pushed his way through angry faces. Two policemen were pushing people away as they led a thin, exhausted man to a long, black car.
“Mr. Jenkins! Can you tell us what you're feeling right now?” the reporter yelled over the crowd.
Turning, the tall person in question glanced at the camera with a curious expression. Light blue eyes stared out of the TV on the Briefs' wall and Yamcha tried to breathe in. It felt as his ribs were being crushed. His vision became shaky as the slightly older version of the man who had brutally tortured Vegeta peered directly at him.
“Turn it off,” Yamcha whispered.
Krillin blinked in surprise and shot a look of fear toward his friend. The spiky-haired man gripped the cushions of the couch, his powerful fingers sinking into the soft material as his body became rigid.
“--finally going to get the help I need,” a young voice stated clearly from the television. The man had sandy hair and wispy bangs that hid the scar where his eyebrow ring once resided. His voice was calm and an unsettling arrogance seeped from his very presence. “I realized I wronged many people. I plan to get my life on track.”
“Turn it off.”
“Where's the remote?” Master Roshi hissed.
Trunks sat up and watched as his ally's eyes bulged and his teeth clenched. Veins protruded from the man's forehead and it appeared as if tears were beginning to line his lower lids. Glancing back at the seemingly harmless person on the TV, something lurched within Trunks's stomach. The man, Hal Jenkins, who appeared so calm and collected, smiled. His long mouth stretched into a grin as he answered a question—and Trunks knew then. That cruel grin was quick, but the half-breed saiyajin recognized the menacing posture and cold eyes of this man.
He had been within Vegeta's mind. That blurred, hunched figure that plagued his father's dreams had to be this man on screen. But what did it mean? Why was Yamcha reacting so violently?
“Turn it off! TURN OFF THE TV!!”
Everyone scrambled around the living room in a panic. As Yamcha screamed and grabbed the sides of his head, Trunks stood and watched from afar as the great warriors of Earth struggled to find a way to turn off the contraption. Finally Yamcha moved, his arm flinging forward. Chi-Chi let out a surprised scream as the television remote flew through the large, flat screen on the wall, sending a spray of sparks onto the living room carpet. The screen flickered and cracked, some of the video still able to dance behind the gray control that stuck out like an arrow in the center of a bull's eye. Buzzing rainbow lines flickered around the protruding remote and the voices on the television sounded muffled and static-filled.
Pkkerrsshhhh-- “most definitely,” one rattling speaker declared. A fuzzy, wavering face danced on the broken screen, the lines of the struggling color trying to adjust to the damage Yamcha inflicted upon it. But just for one moment, an eye appeared clearly above the remote embedded in the cracked plastic. Everyone stood silently as the blue iris stared, almost playfully at them.
“I do hope to make amends with all those I, and the other three men, have hurt. Face-to-face...I plan to say I'm sorry.”
…..............
Trunks walked quietly into the humming lab where Dr. Briefs tinkered with the complex wires within Android 16's head. Bulma sat at a nearby computer while the baby version of Trunks slept in a crib next to her. The purple-haired man glanced at his father who, surprisingly, sat on a chair with his shoes propped up on a metal desk, his black eyes skimming back and forth as he read a history book on the indigenous people of various countries. Vegeta made no attempt to acknowledge Trunks's presence.
“So, the--”
Bulma let out a startled scream and leaped from her chair. Spinning around, she grabbed her chest and shook her head.
“Jeez, you scared the shit out of me. How did you get in?”
The long-haired demi-saiyajin smiled and pulled out an I.D. card.
“I guess you and my future mom don't change the codes very often,” Trunks laughed. “And that big door out there has always needed an extra key to get through. So, I have a backup one.”
Bulma blinked curiously. Strange...the only reason they needed to install the extra security was for...
She glanced at Vegeta. Had this timeline resembled Trunks's timeline that closely—at least, up until Goku's death from the heart virus? Shaking her head, Bulma drew herself from her dark thoughts.
“What brings you down here?”
Sheepishly, Trunks scratched the back of his head—a habit he had picked up from Gohan.
“Yamcha broke your TV.”
Letting out an aggravated groan, Bulma walked around the crib of her tiny son and pulled a blanket over his dozing form.
“I have taught that man how to use the remote so many times. It's not so hard to switch from HDMI to TV!”
She began to march past her tall son from the future. Yamcha was really going to get it this time.
“No, no,” Trunks replied quickly as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “I mean he actually broke it. He kind of....threw the remote through the screen itself.”
At this, Vegeta looked up from his book. His dark eyebrows lifted and a smirk of amusement appeared on his tan face. Dr. Briefs gazed up at his young grandson and then let out a long sigh.
“It's always something in this house.”
“What the hell? What do you mean?” Bulma shrieked, completely forgetting that her tiny son was sleeping nearby.
Trunks grew a bit more serious as he recalled the entire unsettling incident that had occurred only a few minutes ago. After Yamcha had destroyed the television, he raced from the living room and took to the air. His energy was erratic. Trunks was certain Vegeta would have appeared, eager for a fight. Instead, everyone in the room stood in silence, and when Trunks tried to question them, they simply gave vague responses.
“We were all waiting for Cell to appear on TV. So, we've been clicking back and forth between news stations. This one story came on that really seemed to upset Yamcha and he, well, hurled the remote at the screen.”
Trunks observed the way Bulma's expression changed from exasperated annoyance to bewilderment. Her large, blue eyes filled with something akin to fear and she glanced at Vegeta, who had gone back to reading.
“What was the news story?”
Sensing her dread, Trunks became even more suspicious of the entire ordeal. Vegeta's weird flashback dreams in the hyperbolic time chamber, Yamcha's violent reaction to that news story, and now Bulma's secretive behavior were all making the young man truly believe that something was amiss.
“Something about this guy who was involved in some really dark business,” Trunks began. “Jenkins. I think...Henry? Or Hal. Hal Jenkins.”
Bulma's eyes grew huge and her cerulean eyebrows cinched together. Pressing her lips tightly, she gave the smallest shake of her head. Nodding a bit to the door, the disturbed woman brushed past her son and led the way to the empty corridor.
“What's going on?” Trunks demanded when he knew they were out of earshot from Vegeta.
He watched as his mother paced back and forth in the narrow hallway. Glancing nervously at the closed doors of the large lab, she trailed a bit further and finally came to a stop. When she turned to face her son, Trunks flinched. The young, beautiful woman seemed to have suddenly aged greatly within the last two minutes.
“What...” her voice failed. “What did the news say about him? What was the story?”
“No, first you tell me what the hell is happening around here,” Trunks barked. He could tell that Bulma was surprised by his outburst, but he honestly didn't care. “That man on the TV. He was involved with father somehow wasn't he? And Yamcha, too.”
Bulma lifted her hands and tried to shush the angry warrior. She looked aggravated and guilty all at once.
“Why would you think Vegeta has anything to do with this?”
“We don't need to get into that right now,” Trunks replied in a hushed tone. “But if this guy is a danger to us, he's out wandering free now. Do we have to worry about him and Cell?”
“Free? What do you mean he's free?” Bulma hissed. “Was that the news story? Hal Jenkins was set free?”
Trunks nodded coldly, his blue eyes never leaving his mother's panicked face. She paced for a few seconds before catching the accusing expression.
“You have to keep this quiet, Trunks. And you have to believe me when I say I cannot give you the full details of what happened.” She gazed down at her feet and shook her head. “An incident happened a little over three years ago where one of my Capsule Corp. employees attacked Vegeta. He was one of our most gifted scientists so he actually did have the means to capture and contain Vegeta's power. None of us knew what was happening at the time, but Yamcha somehow got involved. Some crazy shit went down and Hal, the criminal you saw on TV, was the only one found alive.”
Trunks nodded and waited for Bulma to continue, but she stood in silence. Opening his hands wide, the long-haired fighter shook his head in frustration.
“And?”
“And that's it!” Bulma snapped, before twitching nervously and lowering her voice. “Look...it was a very private and terrible ordeal, but everything is fine now. This Hal guy is just a powerless human.”
Trunks was a kindhearted, patient soul, but he definitely was a product of two hot-headed, easily-angered people. Intelligent and wise beyond his years, the handsome man felt his annoyance beginning to turn into resentment. Bulma wasn't telling the whole story and Trunks knew from experience that an enemy who threatened the lives of others needed to be stopped...no matter how weak or strong.
“Powerless?” he whispered harshly. “A powerless being would not have such a strong hold over a person like Vegeta. That arrogant saiyajin has nightmares and moments of terror so strong he cannot even stop screaming in his sleep because of this guy.”
“Wait, what?”
“I recognized Hal Jenkins when he appeared on TV. During our time in the hyperbolic time chamber, Vegeta had some kind of....night-terror or something. I was able to glimpse into his mind and I saw some hazy, obscured creature that had similar traits to the man I just saw on the news. So—”
“That's not possible.”
Trunks's mouth snapped shut as Bulma took an uneasy step backwards, her eyes wide with shock. She fell against the wall behind her and seemed to suddenly lose all of her strength.
“You must have been mistaken,” Bulma murmured, mostly to herself. “Vegeta has no memories of what happened. His mind was swept clean of those awful days.”
Trunks appeared directly in front of her now, his breath escaping him harshly as he tried to contain his anger.
“His memories are gone? How? What...” He looked at the suffering woman, his stomach lurching as tears filled her eyes. “What did you do?”
“Please, you can't say anything to him,” Bulma gasped. She grabbed his arms and bit back a choked sob. “Please don't tell Vegeta. Trunks...Yamcha used the dragon-balls and wished Vegeta's memories away.”
The stricken man paled in the face and wrenched his arms from Bulma's desperate grasp. She stumbled forward and tried to grab at his shirt.
“It's not possible for his memories to have come back,” the trembling woman raved. She looked at her curled fingers and then grabbed her blue locks in despair. “The dragon-balls work! They have always worked! You're mistaken, Trunks. There was no way you saw Hal Jenkins in Vegeta's mind. No way! I've gone over it in my head again and again—it's not possible. I'm not wrong. I am not wrong!”
Trunks felt ill as his usually level-headed, playful mother paced back and forth wildly, her emotions moving from sadness and grief to instantaneous fury. She appeared unhinged, maniacal. He had never seen his mother as a mad scientist, but Trunks was fairly certain he was witnessing it now.
“Yamcha. Fucking Yamcha. He didn't word the goddamn wish right. He needed to erase the memories, not block them. The idiot.”
“Why would any of you allow a wish like that to pass?” Trunks demanded. “Do you realize how unbelievably selfish that is?”
The frantic motions of the panting woman came to a stop and she slowly turned toward her son. The anger and madness had vanished completely—Bulma looked lost and hollow.
“I was going to lose him,” a small voice whimpered. Bulma let out an anguished sob and covered her eyes with one hand. She appeared to have suddenly realized how terrifying she must have looked to the son she barely knew. “I never asked Yamcha to do it...but if he hadn't...I would have lost Vegeta. He was in so much pain.” Staggering forward, the small woman fell against Trunks's chest, her tears staining his soft, long-sleeved shirt. “I love Vegeta so much. Please, Trunks. Please don't tell him what we've done.”
Anger continued to course through the lavender-haired warrior, but his kind heart was simply breaking from the sound of his mother's pleas.
“I-I don't even know the whole story. There's so much I want to know...but...will it do anything to help the future?”
Bulma's watery eyes gazed up at Trunks's serious face.
“I am only in this timeline until Cell and the androids are taken care of. Will my knowing of your past help the future?”
Bulma sniffled and pulled away. Wiping her nose, she stared at the ground in guilt.
“Believe me when I say that something terrible happened three years ago. The events nearly destroyed Vegeta and Yamcha. The details of what happened are not important.” She finally met Trunks's eyes. “Just know that...if Vegeta were to find out now...it would be devastating.” She hesitated and an unusually cold air seemed to surround her. “Vegeta is better not knowing what happened. And if you bring any of this up to him, it may trigger a memory. Years of hard work getting him to trust us would be destroyed. If you care about your father, you must never tell him. Think of Vegeta's pride. He's happier not remembering. We're happier, too: me, your infant-self, and everyone else we love.”
“You said he had his memories taken from him,” Trunks reaffirmed. “I saw that creature in his mind—that man on the TV. What if Vegeta awakens to the truth? What if—what if in the years to come, that prideful, arrogant man remembers?”
“That won't happen. I've calculated it, studied it—I will not be wrong.” Bulma turned angrily, already refusing to acknowledge everything Trunks had said. The boy was was confused. He did not stumble across some hidden memory within Vegeta's mind. Trunks was just mistaken, Bulma told herself.
“I need to get back to 16.” She glanced over her shoulder and wiped her eyes. Forcing a confident smile, the head-strong woman fell right back into character. “Little Trunks has been so calm in Vegeta's presence as of late. They're really bonding, you know?”
Without another word, Bulma strode through the doors of the lab and disappeared from the hallway. The silent corridor hummed with the lonely, monotonous buzz of wires and hidden piping. Trunks stood for some time by himself, staring at the lab-doors but not really seeing anything. The past had felt so warm and welcoming for the many days he had visited, but he suddenly had the urge to enter his time machine and plunge back into the open arms of the cold, bleak future he knew so well. The broken walls of his Capsule Corp. home and the shattered remnants of his West City seemed much more comforting than timeline he currently inhabited.
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Resolution on a Lonely Planet