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He woke tangled in his sheets, his brow sweaty. The moon shone in through the transparent fabric of the curtains and the light danced over his slick body. He sat, cradling his head in his hands, breathing heavily and un-rhythmically. He'd been having the same dream for weeks now, and each time he'd wake up just before dawn in a cold sweat. He stumbled into the bathroom, not bothering to flick the lights on. He grabbed an elastic and pulled his smooth hair back into a messy ponytail, then turned the faucet on. He splashed some cool water on his face, and took a second to look at himself. His eyes were dull, containing nothing but a deep sadness and pain. He blinked, hoping that he could blinked whatever sadness he had away, but it remained buried inside his soul. He sighed, turned the faucet off and leaned against the marble table-top. 'Look at what I've let myself become. A broken, sobbing mass. I'm becoming a shell of what I used to be. I was prideful, I was strong...now I have nothing but empty memories. It's been two years...It shouldn't take this long. But I could have prevented...' He turned his head away quickly, dismissing his thoughts. Dawn light flooded his empty room. He blinked, the rosy light burning his blue eyes. He squinted for a second, and moved out of the bathroom and into his actual bedroom. The sun warmed his skin, but he felt no joy. He stepped out on his balcony, looking into the sky, wondering where his wife was at the moment. He searched the skies for a moment with his eyes, then looked down, turned, and went back inside his large apartment. He had just buttoned up a pair of khaki shorts over his boxers when his bedroom door burst open and a smallish figure ran in and tackled him. Trunks fell back on his bed with his daughter on his stomach. Tasha grinned and began the morning ritual of tickling her Dad. The two wrestled on the bed, Tasha moving with lightening speed to avoid her Father. Ever since her Mother had died, Tasha had taken her training seriously, and made amazing progress. After the morning tussle, Trunks prepared his children for school, and exercised amazing patience with Vince whining the whole time. Trunks shooed the two outside to the school bus, then went back to the apartment to get ready himself. After getting into his suit and tying back his long, silky purple hair, he traveled to the main office building to start another day as the President of Capsule Corp. The 'Morning Progression' began. The girls working in the main offices would look his way whenever he passed by, and most often one of them would run up to him offering a newspaper, or coffee, or some other item. He'd hear the superficial comments that they made, and often he would raise the hand with his wedding ring to tug at his cuffs on the purpose to try to stop them from oogling over him. It never worked. Finally, after being hounded into the elevator, Trunks had a moment to view the people scurrying around, performing their daily tasks. He came to his office, and opened the door and slipped inside quietly. As he sat down at his desk, he couldn't help but think, 'I hate my day job.'
There was a feral scream as the child was flung ruthlessly against the jagged edge of the rubble that used to be his great city. He barely had time to open his granite-colored eyes before two piercing black pupils were staring into his, and a snarl reached his ears. He was terrified of his attacker, but refused to give up. "Where are they?" came the question in a low whisper, anger seething from her voice. Her eyes held fire in them, a dangerous look of something uncontrollable. The youngster blinked his large eyes and swallowed, gasping for breath. "Useless trash!" the attacker screeched, her fist burning with fiery Ki. She punched through the boy's torso, and a whine of pain came from his contacting vocal chords. The attacker sneered, and the pupils in the boy's eyes narrowed as the pain of death set in. He went limp and exhaled one last time, and the warrior withdrew her hand from the boy's dead body. Serori growled low in her throat. She and Tomma had been out here for a couple extra years, searching down the last of the Talisian survivors. They'd hopped to various planet, and run across the information of a new Talisian colony somewhere. So the began a search to find this new colony, and they drilled whoever they could find. And if no useful information was produced, the interrogatee was properly disposed of. Serori sighed, and blasted off into the sky. She looked around at the destroyed city. That was not something she or Tomma had done. This city had recently been under attack when they'd arrived. Some kind of civil war, from what Serori could see. It never surprised her: there had been many civil wars between Families and Houses on Vegeta-sei. She shook her great mane of dark blue hair, the spikes waving in the harsh wind. Tomma was nearby. She spotted her mate, and swooped in, the wind whistling slightly from the velocity she was creating. Tomma turned and met her gaze; he'd had no luck with finding the coordinates of the Talisian Colony. She landed, dust from the destroyed buildings puffing up around her feet, then settling peacefully back down. Words were not needed: both Saiyans knew from their bond that there was nothing here to aid them in their fight. Serori sighed deeply, and looked up into her mate's eyes. They were emotionless, like they had been for years. There hadn't been life in them for a long while, even when he was in battle. She could see the weary lines embedded deep in his weathered, scarred face. They were both exhausted; not only physically, but emotionally, and they were tired of the world-hopping, tired of the endless fighting and beating of enemies that were simply too weak to prove any challenge. "Perhaps it is time we go back," Serori said quietly. "Go back where?" Tomma asked, looking around and taking small sniffs of the air. "There's no planet with any useful information near us." "I mean, go back to Earth." Tomma tilted his head and looked over his shoulder. "We can't." Serori shifted her weight and rested her hand on her hip. "Why not? We've been out here for years alone, not finding shit. They've hidden they're base well Tomma, better than we expected from them. They'll resurface some time, and we'll get the last of them then. But now..." She looked at her hands, and sighed. "Look. We're battered. Bruised. Don't you see? We may have our pride, but how far can pride get you if you're body is too weak to go on?" Tomma's face remained motionless as Serori spoke. "You're tired. I'm tired. We need a rest from the bloodlust." Tomma looked away. He was frustrated, to say the least. "The point is, the Talisians aren't dead yet." "The point is, I want to go home." Tomma sighed, and turned around to face the Saiyan woman. "'Rori..." he started, then trailed off at Serori's look. He rolled his eyes, not pleased with the outcome of this incident, and slid her hand around Serori's thin waist. He locked onto Vegeta's Ki, and teleported.
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