This work of fanfiction assumes a basic knowledge of Dragon Ball Z.

Trunks - Future timeline

His return to the future was heralded by dark, cloudy skies and an abundance of both lightning and thunder lancing across the horizon. Rain fell from those clouds and made contact with his time machine as it descended to the Earth, toxic rain that spat and sizzled when it touched the heated metal plates of his vessel. The sight before him as a whole matched the dismal weather overhead. Cracked streets made unusable from a lack of maintenance, broken glass from bare storefronts long since abandoned and empty, desolate homes for as far as his eye could see.

The transition back to his own reality was as sudden as it was depressing. For not ten seconds prior he was looking at blue, cloudless skies. At buildings, whole and complete, and streets, pristine and untarnished. Aircars flying from place to place and people walking about, happy.

He could still picture his other family and his other friends waving to him as he left for this world. Mother. Father. Gohan. Everyone.

But he was not in the past any longer. This was a world that knew tragedy well.

Those happy memories left him quickly, too at odds with his current surroundings to be preserved. Too different. Too pure. Try as he might, they fled. Desperately though he clung to them, they escaped him all the same.

Dark skies. Ruined buildings. Not a living soul in sight.

This was his world.

Trunks closed his eyes and sighed. What simmering anger he had within him left even as his expression slackened.

For purpose was quick to touch his mind.

He was back in the future.

That meant it was time to find mother.

That meant it was time to end those cruel machines, once and for all.

A girl breathes her first breath

She woke to a man spitting orders and making demands.

Years of her life, gone, robbed from her without her consent. She was taken from the streets and changed, no longer human, no longer flesh and blood and sinew. She was a machine. She was property.

She listened. She complied. Every demand, met. Every expectation, fulfilled.

The man was Gero. And Gero decided if she got to stay awake.

She wanted, desperately, to stay awake.

But then, when she questioned, when she resisted, she was put under all the same.

She woke to a man spitting orders and making demands.

A need to comply nearly overwhelmed her. But this time, something was different.

She did not listen. She did not comply. With 17, she killed him.

Never would her freedom be taken from her again.

A boy discovers his world

He wondered, at times, why he was not allowed to visit East City anymore.

He had friends there, he wanted to see them. There was an amusement park they always went to, because one of the fathers of their group was a manager there.

But Mother said no, even though he could fly, just like Gohan.

He did not like that.

He went without telling Mother.

The ruined buildings looked strange, because people were supposed to repair them. The cars were not parked right either, some people even left them in the middle of the road!

It was not until he saw a person that wasn't moving that he understood.

East City was destroyed.

And he wondered, could his city be destroyed, too?

Next time, when Mother told him not to go to a city, he listened.

Trunks - Two days later

Androids 17 and 18 ended up being easy to track down. They were just as shameless about the death and destruction they spread as he remembered. They explored human cities, amused themselves by trying out tourist attractions and killed everyone they could find, regardless of the victim's age or sex or demeanor.

All in the name of fun.

Because every life they found was theirs to play with.

People with families. Lives spanning decades. Bonds of friendship and of love.

None of them mattered to the androids.

None of them were spared.

'Focus,' he reminded himself as he touched down atop a building. It was once a high-rise apartment complex. Now, it barely stood to be two, ruined stories. Stone crumbled under his feet as he rested his weight upon a large pillar and the wall next to it crashed to the ground.

He frowned, his eyes shut, and inhaled his very first breath of air in the city. An acidic sulfur odor immediately assaulted his senses, dry and volatile enough to water the eyes. It was a product of the various fires that burnt around him, he knew. Fires that would eventually engulf the entirety of the human settlement.

Putting them out singlehandedly was a useless endeavor, this he knew from past experience.

His next breath was taken to focus upon his power, upon his goal. Around him, his energy stilled and he felt a tranquility come over his mind that came with the resolve he learned in the past.

He was here to kill the androids. To end their reign of terror.

Anything less than their deaths was unacceptable.

His eyes opened. His breath expelled. His senses, honed.

And the power of the Super Saiyan stirred deep within him.

His lips curled up into a grin and he abruptly blasted off of the ruins he stood upon, shattering what remained into a pile of rubble. His hair lengthened ever so slightly and grew brittle, shifting into the bright gold appearance that a Super Saiyan sported.

But that was not enough.

He flew around a street corner, noting one, two, three, four aircars laying in ruins along its length, bodies hanging out their windows, like macabre puppets with their strings cut. Countless storefronts were blasted out, the shattered glass gathered around their edges the only testament to their former state. A sign advertising electronics lay upon the cracked pavement of the road.

But he cared for none of that any longer.

Only the whispers of power within him held his attention now.

Trunks released a forced breath of air through his nose even as his eyes narrowed. Lightning, far more potent than the bolts stretching between the clouds in the sky, began gathering at the edges of the glowing, golden aura surrounding him.

A scream echoed across deserted streets and through ruined buildings, somewhere ahead of him. It cut easily through the silence enveloping the dead city.

His muscles tensed.

His anger peaked and intensified.

And he reached.

Intoxicating power rushed to answer his call. Heady and potent, it infused his limbs and coursed through his veins. His aura expanded and grew heavier. Rubble and debris shied away from the sheer force his power exerted upon it. Bright, blue eyes opened.

He was not a Super Saiyan Two, he could not ascend as Gohan had in the past.

But he was close. So, so close.

It would have to be enough.

A girl learns exactly what she lost

She was not like them anymore. She was different, strange, weird. They rejected her, shunned her, even though she was their better.

They were fools.

They wanted her to live her life with rules. With restrictions. Limitations. She was told she could not do things.

Never, never would her freedom be taken from her again.

So she destroyed them. All of them. Because she was their better in every way. 17 was of a similar mind. It was just them, now.

Until those fighters came, looking to destroy her in return.

She killed them too. Sometimes it was close. Sometimes she questioned if she really was better than everyone else.

But they all fell eventually – those people who would take her freedom away.

A boy begins to understand the weight of responsibility

He buried Gohan alone.

Mother was in hiding. Months had passed since they heard from Chi-Chi. His grandparents were already gone. The rest of the Z-Fighters were but faces in pictures, foreign and strange to him.

There was no one left but him, now.

He alone had the power to protect this world.

An unmarked grave the only sign of his passing, he returned to Mother, distraught and flighty.

She noticed the difference. She noticed it immediately.

Maybe it was the hunched shoulders, the far-away look in his eyes or the way his fingers balled into fists repeatedly.

He did not know.

But she knew. She knew what to do.

She began to plan. An elaborate scheme to end the androids once and for all, despite his claims that his power was nothing next to theirs'.

But she did not care. She carried on, heedless and determined until, eventually, she managed to find a way to travel to the past.

He learned what it meant to persevere in the face of hopelessness that day. He learned that responsibilities could only be carried, not discarded.

He learned what it meant to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Android 17 - Present

The man was a fool.

17 was an android; a fusion of metal and flesh. To challenge him with a gun was insanity at best and absolute stupidity at worst.

Still, the man's defiance was a form of entertainment.

And entertainment was in rare supply these days.

"Tch," his sister scoffed as he seized the gun. "Just kill him with an energy blast. That's a stupid toy."

He grinned, inspecting the smooth, black metal in his hands. "He thought it could kill me, 18. It's not a toy."

"It is a toy. A human weapon."

"Good for killing humans," he riposted, enjoying the way her scowl deepened. "What would an android gun look like?"

"Who cares? Just kill him. I want to try that ice cream stuff."

"We killed the man driving that truck."

"Did we? …Oh well, we weren't going to pay anyway."

He chuckled, a grin stretching across his lips even as his fingers relaxed around the stock of the stupid human weapon. "What's it called? Zen? Sens?"

"Zeni, 17, seriously."

"You're the one that pretended to be human."

"I did not pretend to be human," 18 flicked her hair away from her eyes. "They need currency for everything. That's so dumb."

He scoffed. "Humans need currency for everything."

"Duh."

The old man – the one that thought a gun could kill them – fell back onto his behind, whimpering.

"Just kill him," 18 said again, turning away after she looked the man up and down. "He's about to pee-"

17's senses went haywire the very instant that 18 stopped talking and he jumped away from the human man, instinct guiding him more than any sort of confirmed danger.

And it was a good thing he did, for not a moment after he leapt away from the man, an energy blast erupted against the ground upon which he previously stood, blackening the pavement and sending the human man stumbling backward.

But 17 cared nothing for the human'spredicament, he turned instead to face the source of that energy blast.

"Well, well," 18 murmured, floating up to join him – 'When did I start flying?'. "Looks like it's the kid."

Indeed, the kid with the weird hair was floating in front of them – it was that yellow color that 18 hated so much. He wore only a black tank-top, pants and boots. Secured to his back was that sword he favored.

"Yeah," 17 agreed, tossing that human weapon over his shoulder. It clattered against the ground noisily behind him. "Looks like we get to have fun again."

And wasn't that the truth?

Without the kid, he and 18 were forced into killing normal humans and exploring cities without any sort of resistance. It was completely and utterly boring. Repetitive. Dull.

17 was honestly glad to see the boy again. Beating him down was a change in his and 18's boring, daily routine.

Maybe he would even live for a week or two, so that they could beat him down a few extra times…

"Mmh," 18 hummed, running a hand through her hair. She ascended into the air further, until she was even with the boy – 17 followed her. "Where've you been, kid?! We've been looking for you!"

But the boy only scowled, lifting his hand into the air again. Energy gathered at his fingertips and 17 felt his lips twitch into a smirk.

He missed this.

But then, the boy – 'Tanks? Right? Tonk? No… there was an 's' somewhere…' – abruptly dismissed the energy and glanced down at the human man on the ground.

The same one who thought a gun could kill them.

17 scoffed and 18, when she followed the boy's gaze, laughed too.

"Leave, old man," Tenks – 'That doesn't sound right.' - said. "Run!"

The old man gasped and struggled to his feet.

"Honestly," 17 muttered, throwing a blast of energy toward the human.

But Thranks – 'Still not right.' – hurtled passed he and his sister before he could really react, ending up in front of the deadly energy, deflecting it skyward without any visible effort. The old human finally figured out he was among his betters then and, without any further delay, ran deeper into their playground.

'Slowly,' he noted as the weakling disappeared around the corner of a ruined building and his sister scoffed. 'Honestly, even the saiyan is above those useless vermin. It looks like he's even gotten stronger since the last time. Good.'

"Are you done, kid?" 18 asked. "No more weaklings around. No more guns either. That one thought he could kill us with it."

She laughed and 17 smirked, the idea still amusing to him.

The boy glanced up at the sky and then at the city surrounding them. A scowl grew on his lips and his nostrils flared. A minute amount of lightning flared around his aura.

"Huh," 17 murmured. "The shocky stuff is new. You moved pretty fast just now, too. Does that mean you can stand up to us now?"

"Nah, 17," his sister said, crossing her arms as Punks – 'That's not it either.' – lifted himself into the air, until he was level with them. 18 continued, eyeing the boy: "We saw that other one do that too, remember?"

"The one-armed one?"

The boy's power flared.

"No," 18 said, shaking her head. "The other one. The one from a long time ago."

"The…" his brow furrowed. There had been other golden-haired fighters. "The baby?"

"No! The spikey haired one. In armor."

17 blinked. That had been the hardest fight of his existence. The last to truly push him to his limits… it had taken both he and 18 to take down that man.

"Oh," he murmured, turning again to face the boy. "Hey, kid! Do you know the spikey haired-"

"That's my father, asshole!"

"Father?" 18 scoffed. "No wonder you were so weak-"

And then, the boy was in front of her.

It was not instantaneous - he could see the boy move – but, again, it so fast that he found himself unable to react in time.

17's eyes widened even as the kid's fist rocketed forward, socking his sister clean across the jaw. The blonde android was thrown into the building behind them and then the one beyond that too.

Quickly, he threw his own fist forward. But the boy caught it, stopping his attack cold, before it came close to his face.

17 released a shocked breath. He could not keep up with that movement either.

'The kid really is stronger now!'

And then he was thrown away with a strength that his own power could not defy. Away, into another building and through a wall until he rolled to a stop amid a shower of glass and cracked wooden shelves. A glance told him that the now-ruined shop around him was filled with that food that humans needed. He wasted no time observing the weaklings' sustenance further and instead blasted out of the storefront, back into the street where he was previously.

But he did not see the kid. He did not see his sister. He did not see anyone.

Only that stupid gun, still on the ground where he threw it earlier.

Then, a flash of energy erupted from within another storefront and his sister was tossed, through its roof and completely limp, into the air above the ruined city.

17 scowled. The kid surprised them. Good for him.

He tensed his muscles and made to join his sister, to double team the brat, but the boy turned out to be faster than him.

The kid hurtled out of the building and ended up above the blonde android in but a moment, his expression neutral and his arms tense at his sides.

18 immediately flung her foot at the boy's head and 17 grinned-

The boy caught his sister's leg.

His eyes widened.

His sister yelped.

And the boy slammed his free fist into 18's face. He then tossed her into the air and planted another fist in her gut, then another on her chin and another across her face and still another in her gut. And another rocketed toward her nose. And another caught her on the chin and then another landed in her gut and another snaked around her hastily formed guard to impact her face again.

17, hovering only a small distance off the ground, hesitated.

His sister was forced higher and higher still into the air, under the barrage of blows that he honestly could not track. A fist to her face. A knee to her gut. A backhand to her cheek. A palm strike to her nose. A blocked blow that made her forearm crack.

Yet she quivered and shook as though twice that many blows hit her.

17 blinked.

Lightning flashed.

And something reflective caught his eye. He glanced over-

The boy yelled and energy flashed again. His sister screamed and, when 17 looked again, the kid had her by the neck. Her hands clutched at his wrist and her eyes were forced upward, barely open and quickly bruising.

"17!" She howled. "Help me, asshole!"

The boy said something back to her but it was lost in the thundering of the newly formed rainstorm overhead.

Lightning flashed once more.

And again, something reflective caught his eye.

This time, he glanced down, searching only for a moment before he found the sleek, black metal of the gun he threw away earlier.

The gun that the human thought could kill him and his sister. A weapon that was lethally dangerous to humansyet useless against them. Many of their victims began carrying them as their fun continued and their playground expanded yet none could harm them. Bullets, little metal rocks, could not hope to penetrate their skin.

Those weapons – the weapons of the weak – would never kill them.

His sister screamed again and 17 glanced up just in time to see the boy plant another fist in her gut. Spittle flew from her mouth and blood ran freely down her face.

'Is this…' He blinked, wiping rain away from his eyes. 'Is this our gun? Is this boy…?'

"17!"

And then, the boy looked down at him, still holding his sister aloft by her neck.

'She's completely at his mercy,' he realized, the thought repulsive and foreign to his mind. 'She's weaker than him… I'm weaker than him.'

It was an ugly realization. An unwanted thought. A reviled point. But he was an android and he did not act emotionally, not when his life was in danger. A foolish man might've challenged the boy to a fight. An idiot – 'A human.' – would have charged into battle without a thought for his own safety.

But 17 was not human. He was not saiyan. He was not stupid.

He was outmatched.

And so, he ran.

Trunks – Present

He whirled around when he caught sight of flaring energy in the corner of his eye, his free hand already rising to block-

To block the attack that was not there.

He blinked, his blood pounding even as his eyes searched the ruins around him. His senses extended as far as he could reach, across ruined street after street and destroyed building after destroyed building.

But, despite the visible flare of energy, Trunks could not find the attack. Untraceable as the androids' energy always was.

His fingers tightened around the monster's throat and she coughed.

'That was 17,' he thought. 'Nothing else in the vicinity can use energy like that. But there was no attack…'

His head swiveled one more time before 18 let out a hacking cough that might've been a laugh, under better circumstances. Her fingertips still scratched futilely at his wrist – they could not even break his skin, now.

"He's gone, idiot," she whispered, her voice hoarse and quiet against the backdrop of thunder and lightning and rain. "You…" She coughed and wheezed, struggling mightily to draw breath through his ironclad grip around her throat. "You… failed!"

Trunks' eyes narrowed and the power within him thrummed. It demanded satisfaction. He demanded satisfaction. An end to his fight, to this life-long struggle that was so, so, so tantalizingly close. These creatures were nothing to him. He could not- would not be denied.

His senses extended as far as they could reach and countless energy signatures reached back to him. They were weak, though, one and all. None were powerful enough-

"You can't-" 18 hacked and wheezed again and he tightened his grip once more, his teeth grinding together. The machine was quivering and shaking with the effort it took her to draw breath. Still, she persisted: "You… You- ack! Can't! You can't!-" She coughed again. "Sense! We're- ack! We're-"

"Shut up," Trunks growled, tightening his fingers further. The woman-thing-machine began wheezing in earnest around the digits even as the power within him stirred. Again, it demanded satisfaction. He wanted to see the androids ended. He wanted to see their bodies littering the streets, like their victims, in so many pieces. He wanted them dead.

Dead!

18 wheezed. "…Can't! –ack!"

He ignored her, instead focusing his senses once more. And again, human energy reached out to him. No androids. No damn androids.

No 17.

He growled and the power within pulsed with his anger.

18 convulsed and let out a raspy-sounding gasp, her fingers scrabbling desperately, weakly at his wrist.

Trunks glanced toward her, forcing the power from his mind.

The dissonance echoed throughout his body and, suddenly, he felt that very same power leave him. Its desire to kill, to murder, to end this threat unsatisfied.

And then, he was left with only his base Super Saiyan form.

But his mind… His mind was clear once more. No longer was he singularly focused upon finding 17 – a useless endeavor, he realized now. Instead, he turned his attention to the android still dangling from his fist.

He loosened his fingers, just so.

18 gasped and pulled in a deep, wheezing breath, her fingers finding renewed strength in their attempt to grip his wrist. They were still weak. Very, very weak. But she was no longer on death's door.

'Good,' he thought, scowling as he cast one last glance about the ruined city in front of him.

He found no android but he knew he would not. The blasted machine would already be long gone.

But… But Trunks had a bargaining chip, now.

He glanced at the… thing still dangling from his fist. Her eyes were open again, now. Dull and unfocused and blue, she stared back at him through a severely bruised and bloodied face. Two black eyes forced her eyelids low over her pupils and a ruptured blood vessel made her right eye run completely red. One arm was purpled and a bone stuck out from it. Her midsection, he knew, would be a mess of bruised flesh.

He grimaced.

18 wheezed.

Bulma – Two hours later

The piece of machinery in her hands hit the work table with a heavy thud and a staccato clang of metal on metal. It joined a number of its brother and sister pieces from the time machine, each in a state of disrepair. Journeying through the very fabric of the universe was no small matter, after all, and plenty of warped metal, empty fuel reserves, clogged filters and burnt out electronics were the cost it took to get her son to the past.

This specific piece of metal – an unnamed regulator that helped make certain the time machine landed right-side up – was the very last piece of equipment she needed to repair following Trunks' return to the future.

An explosive sigh left her and she put her palms on the small of her back. A more satisfied, quieter sigh left her when her spine popped.

'I swear it gets heavier every time,' she mused, glancing at the line of scrap she'd pulled from the time machine. Above her, bright lights hung from the reinforced ceiling – a necessity after her first lab was destroyed by the androids – and they illuminated all that was her… third? Fourth lab? Something like that.

Slate grey metal plates covered the walls, capable of withstanding around ten seconds of punishment from either of the androids. Three seconds if they both concentrated on a single spot. That was to say nothing of the soil the lab was buried under, of course.

The work table in front of her was one of three, lining the edges of the lab. They too were made of slate grey metal, though their surfaces were marred with scratches and stains and dents. Upon the other two tables lay consoles she used in her research and experiments, tools needed to build said experiments and notebook after notebook of hand-written notes. In the center of the windowless room sat the time machine itself, gutted and looking very much like a pathetic shadow of its operational form.

Finally, on the far side of the wall only a set of stairs were present. The only way in and out of the lab.

It was spartan. It was utilitarian. It was just how Bulma liked it. No distractions, no needless chatter, no extra noise. Just her and her tools and her projects.

But right now those tools and projects were the furthest thing from her mind. She just managed to extract every bit of machinery from the time machine that needed repair and now it was her back that needed some repairing.

Repairing in the form of her armchair upstairs, a hot cup of coffee and whatever the last three still-broadcasting television stations were playing.

The trip upstairs was fast and the work to get her coffee only slightly less so. Before long, she was sitting in her chair, remote in hand with a blanket covering her legs.

But of course, as though the universe was conspiring against her, the second she got comfortable, her front door opened.

Panic immediately pressed against her mind, thoughts of the androids finding her latest laboratory always a worry. But those thoughts were pushed away swiftly by the realization that, if those monsters did find her, they would not be using the door.

Which meant it could only be her son, returning from his latest venture out into their ruined world.

The relief that flooded her was welcome when she rose from her chair and turned to find that it was, indeed, Trunks.

Safe and sound.

And with… With one of the androids?

"Trunks," Bulma started, catching her son's attention from where he was stomping toward the lab's staircase. Quickly, her eyes scanned his body, searching for any hint of torn clothing or bloodied scratches or purpling bruises. Much to her relief, she found none of those signs, what little blood remained on him didn't appear to be his own.

In fact, based upon the state of the android he was carrying over his shoulder, she was fairly confident all the blood on her son was from the machine.

Her mouth moved silently for several moments as Trunks came to a stop in front of her.

Eventually, she settled on asking: "What happened?"

Trunks shook his head. "17 got away. Ran while I was… distracted. I brought 18 back here to use as leverage."

Bulma blinked, eyeing the less-than-pristine state of the machine on her son's shoulder. "Does that other android even care? They haven't shown one lick of concern for anyone but themselves so far…"

"I don't know," he responded, shrugging. "But she's useless to us dead… at least she might have a use now."

The blue haired woman frowned, not at all pleased to hear words like that coming out of her son's mouth but well aware of the state of the world in which he was raised.

"Well," she said slowly, blinking again. Idly, she reached down to the table that held her coffee cup, scooped up the bright pink ceramic mug and sipped at the liquid within. "If we're going to keep her here… we'll need a place to put her. The lab's out, I can't have her around anything so fragile…"

"I figured we could throw her in the gravity chamber, back in the spaceship at lab two," Trunks said. "The androids never destroyed it, so it should still work."

Lab two was on the other side of West City, nearer to where Capsule Corps. original headquarters was located. They had left the spaceship there for it was anything but inconspicuous.

"Can you-" She started, but stopped once he considered the fact that he had one of the androids unconscious, over his shoulder already. "Never mind. It should be safe to bring the space ship here, now… And it should still run…"

Bulma hummed and sipped at her coffee again while Trunks tossed the android onto the ground, near the front door. The sight of the machine nearly made her gag – there was barely any skin left on her face that wasn't black and blue and her torn shirt revealed the sorry state her ribs were in – but the blue haired woman managed to center herself before she spit out any coffee.

"Is she… stable?"

Trunks shrugged again, already turning toward the front door. "Don't know. She's still breathing, at least."

She swallowed and set her cup down, tearing her eyes away from the android to focus upon her son.

"You're- How are you feeling, Trunks?"

Again, he shrugged. "I can fight if 17 shows up. Neither one managed to hit me when I found them, I spent a year training with father in something called a Hyperbolic Time Chamber in the past. I wonder if we have one here?"

'A year with his father. Great…'

"I mean emotionally," she said, her voice soft. "Are you… okay?"

Trunks turned back to her fully, an eyebrow quirked. "What do you mean?"

Bulma exhaled a frustrated breath through her nose. "It's just… You're awfully nonchalant about this. And… well," she hesitated, studying her son's expression for any signs of displeasure. When she found none – a relief, because at least her son was still even tempered despite his time spent with his father – she continued: "She may be a machine, but she looks human, Trunks… And you- The state she's in…"

His eyes widened. "Mother, this is a machine."

"Yes, but…" She sighed. Since when was her son so… severe? So exacting? Was this Vegeta's influence? "Trunks, I'm just worried your father has rubbed off on you too much. He was always so… So…"

"He was a jerk," Trunks murmured, something like a smile playing on the edge of his lips. It faded quickly enough, though, alongside the far-away look in his eyes. When he looked back up at her, it was with an intently focused gaze. "Do you think I'm different, mother? I can't really tell… You know, since I had no one with me in the past from here."

She shook her head. "As long as you're aware enough to wonder, Trunks… You just seem so cold now."

He did not respond.

And, uncomfortable with the silence, Bulma hastened to continue: "But that might just be a mother worrying over her son! You know, it seems like just yesterday you barely came up to my waist…" She laughed, but it felt more forced than anything. The ease with which she could once communicate with her son missing.

That loss hit her harder than anything else had in the last two decades.

"I just," she sighed again, looking down at the ground. "I just don't want to lose my baby boy…"

Footsteps approached and, when she looked up, it was to find her son wrapping his arms around her. A smile pulled at her lips even as she reciprocated the gesture.

"Mom," Trunks murmured, somewhere over her head, because he was so tall now! "I'm not sure if I'm different or not, but I still love you as much as I did before I went to past."

Bulma hummed, her smile stretching across the entirety of her face now. "It's probably just your old mom worrying over nothing… Your father just had such an overwhelming personality, I was concerned some of his more severe traits may have rubbed off on you too much."

Her son grunted and removed himself from their embrace, walking backwards toward the front door of their home.

"Father was difficult to get along with," he said, grinning. "But I don't think a year with him can undo what you taught me, mom."

"See to it that it doesn't," Bulma said, nodding as she returned his boyish grin. Such a handsome young man, he was.

Trunks laughed and turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. It opened with a click and he took a step out into the rapidly darkening evening.

"Oh!" He said, pausing to glance back over his shoulder. "Can you figure out a way to draw power from her or something, so that we can power the gravity room? The androids have an infinite power source in them – or at least the ones in the past did. If she's anything like that then we wouldn't have to worry about fuel at all!"

Bulma nodded, intrigued over the idea of a power source that never ran out of energy yet disgruntled over the fact that she'd need to go back down to her lab so soon after escaping it. Still, if it meant ending the android threat looming over Earth, she would persevere.

"I can probably whip something up," she vocalized. "Just hurry up with the space ship. I want you here if she wakes up."

Trunks grunted and, after a short pause, picked up the android and threw her over his shoulder again.

Bulma winced at the sound of creaking and cracking bones, but her son did not seem to care.

"I'll just take it with me," he said, turning to leave again. "Be back soon!"

And then, he was gone. And the android, or machine as he called her, with him.

The blue haired woman worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, still not altogether satisfied with her son's state of mind, but pushed those worries from her head.

She had a power supply to rig up, after all.

…Without the source.

A frown touched her lips.

In hindsight, it might not have been a good idea to let Trunks take the android with him. She knew nothing about the androids' power supplies, after all.

Eighteen – two days later

Hatred.

18 thought she knew hatred.

She liked to yell and shout and scream that she hated the first saiyan and then the kid after that. She said she hated her brother and the humans and the distance between all their cities. She hated how fast 17 drove those aircars. She hated how he always destroyed the clothing stores before she could try on all the outfits. She hated how she had to turn on the rides at the water park before she could use them.

She hated a lot of things.

Or so she thought.

Now… Now, she knew that it was never hatred she felt. She was only annoyed, back then.

Because this feeling could only be hatred and it was much, much worse than what she felt before.

Her mouth was set into a scowl and her teeth were bared in a snarl. Her breathing was heavy. Her limbs burned – not because of the unhealed breaks but because she could not stop thinking about that stupid saiyan.

About that stupid kid, saint that he was.

He left her here.

He beat her and ruined her fun. He spoiled everything she enjoyed. He took her away from her playground and made her into a prisoner. Her freedom. He took her freedom from her…

She hated him.

A breath left her lips in a rushed gasp and she struggled, mightily, harder than she had ever struggled or even thought to struggle before, to move a single finger forward.

Such was the intense gravity she was under.

Such was her cage – a room that increased the strength of Earth's gravity to unimaginable levels.

But the snarl on her face lessened ever so slightly when that finger slid forward. The digit next to it followed. That much closer to the console that controlled this blasted room.

She hated the boy, the saint saiyan.

But, like him, her hatred would make her strong.

Trunks – Present

She looked pathetic like this. Nothing like the unfeeling killer that he knew she was.

Android 18 was facing away from him and lying in a pool of her own sweat and blood. Her clothes were stained with it. Her skin reeked of it. Her arm was a deep shade of purple and from her forearm, a bone still jutted out grotesquely. Her eyes were swollen shut and her fingertips were shredded and ruined, covered in blood.

The result of her efforts to crawl to the console that controlled the gravity room inside Capsule Corps' spaceship over the last couple of days.

She was less than half way there.

Trunks found a smile tugging at his lips as he stepped into the room – the power of a Super Saiyan flooded his veins as he did so – and crossed his arms. The water bottle he brought to keep the machine alive was held idly in his hand.

Ahead of him, Android 18 stilled. The power cables attached to a crudely made insertion on her back rattled and shook.

His smile widened. A self-made prison. Her infinite energy kept the gravity machine running infinitely.

The power she once used to terrorize others now served to keep her in proverbial chains.

Poetic justice, if there ever was any.

Trunks paced easily across the length of the gravity chamber, walking by the murderer on the ground with an ease he hoped she noticed. He continued on to the control console and pivoted when he reached it, leaning back against it and crossing his arms once again.

Only then did he glance down at the machine on the floor.

Her eyes tracked him unceasingly, the same blue that they always were. But this time he saw something else in them… Maybe it was the snarl on her face or the narrow eyed look that she barely managed through the purpled skin around her irises, but there was something…

Anger?

Trunks laughed aloud.

The android growled low in her throat – though it came out as more of a gurgle, due to the fact that blood and sweat covered the ground around her face.

The fact that she could not even lift her head off the ground was more amusing to him than it should have been.

"Look at you," he breathed, setting the water bottle on the floor, by his feet. That done, he raised himself back up to stare into her eyes again. "The murderous machine. The fearsome android. Groveling-"

"Damn you! I'll kill-"

"You won't do anything!" He returned, louder. "You're powerless now, machine. And as soon as I find your brother, you won't be around-"

"Just you wait, kid! I'll kill you! Then I'll kill everyone you care about too!"

His nostrils flared

"You can't even get up off the floor."

She growled and her one good arm began shaking. Slowly, agonizingly slow, she lifted her shoulder up off of the ground. Part of her torso followed that joint, cracking loudly in protest against the pressure the machine was putting-

18 collapsed under her own weight, panting and shaking, even as one final crack emanated from her shoulder.

He snorted.

She growled lowly into the metal floor.

'God, but she is a wreck.'

He sighed, now more annoyed than pleased to see the machine in such a state. Suddenly, being in the same room as the killer was more of a burden than it was a blessing.

Unfeeling murderer though she was, she still looked human. And seeing anything remotely human-looking in this state was… not pleasant.

That in mind, Trunks walked across the length of the chamber, stooping only to grab 18's boot. He then dragged her back across the room, away from the console and undoing her progress across the floor. She remained quiet throughout the entire process, even when he returned to the console to grab the bottle of water.

It was only after he uncapped the container and spilled the life-giving liquid in front of her – it was near-instantly sullied by the blood and sweat and tears on the floor – that she screeched in rage.

"Raaagh!" She howled wordlessly, her beaten body completely tense yet also utterly still.

As still as Gohan's body was, that day.

The scene, unbidden, flashed through his mind. The rain, the destroyed buildings. The corpses, the ruined cars and the shattered glass. And in the midst of it all, his mentor, his brother, his truest friend lay face down in the mud. Still and lifeless and utterly helpless.

Just like him.

His eyes screwed shut even as 18 howled and spit insults at him. His mind pounded and doubts clawed at the edges of his sanity. What if he was still weak? What if he failed again? What if he was too late, again?

What if, in the end, the androids would best him?

Would someone else close to him die? Would his mother…?

But then power thrummed within him. It reverberated up his spine and down his arms in a way that was reassuring. It reminded him of his strength. Strength he needed to protect, to preserve what little he had left. Strength he had used to lay low the murderer on the ground in front of him.

Strength.

He released a breath.

He was strong, now. He needed to be strong, because Earth had no one else. No one else to protect it but him.

Android 17 was still on the run and Cell was a constant worry. But he would overcome.

He must.

A guttural groan drew him from his inner thoughts and he returned to himself at once. Beneath him, Android 18 appeared to have broken yet another bone, this time another one of her ribs.

His eyes moved away from the woman and to the water that was slowly making its way to her on the floor. It would reach – she only needed water to live, or so mother said. The broken bones were only painful, not fatal, not so long as her breathing remained even and no blood appeared on her lips. They might even serve to humble her, unlikely though that was.

He blinked, a thought coming to mind.

What better way to humble the machine than by using the gravity chamber to train, in front of her, while she lay on the ground?

Completely helpless.

Suddenly, the machine no longer looked human.

Because how could she be anything like Gohan?

A scowl touched his lips. He pulled the sword on his back free of its scabbard and settled into one of his forms.

His loved ones relied upon his strength, after all, and he wasn't about to let them down.

Trunks – two weeks later

Mother was able to properly rig up a device that drew power from 18 to fuel the increased gravity in the room, given a week to work. It was more stable and actually connected to a true port worked into the android's back. Not only that, but she was able to use the android's power to fuel the coolant system as well, negating the necessity of maintenance.

Android 18 now truly and completely maintained her own prison.

It was an irony that Trunks still enjoyed greatly, enough that his desire to murder the android in cold blood did not bother him in the slightest for the first week in which she remained his captive.

But then, his impatience grew – a product of growing closer to the form of an Ascended Super Saiyan, he realized. He wanted his enemies gone. Yesterday. Allowing 17 to live while 18 acted as insurance did not sit well with him.

The people of Earth would not be safe until both androids were gone. And so long as the people of Earth were not safe, Trunks could not relax.

Android 17 needed to be found.

Bulma was of a different mind.

His mother was content to let 18 wallow away endlessly in the gravity room, a fitting punishment for the murders she committed, she said. Even better that 17 had gone quiet since his sister had been captured. Not one city was attacked. Not one citizen was murdered. It was as though the male android did not even exist.

She was content, now, to leave 18 where she lay and study her while Trunks was around to ensure the machine's cooperation.

But Trunks could not disagree more.

He wanted 17 gone.

Gone.

That android, together with 18, murdered Gohan. The thought of that monster roaming free infuriated the normally peaceful, well-mannered saiyan enough that he spent ever increasing amounts of his free time training in the gravity room. The chance to release his pent up rage and throw his strength in the face of the blonde android was far too enticing an option to pass up.

He even shoved her over to one side of the room – gently – so that she had a better view.

"And just where are you going?" Mother asked, breaking him from his thoughts. She was glancing up at him from the device she was fiddling with upon the kitchen counter. Behind her, a pot simmered on the stove. "You know 17 won't-"

"I know, mom," Trunks said, throwing the towel in his hands around the back of his neck. He was in the same tank-top he wore to fight the androids. The same pants and boots too. "I'm going to train."

Bulma hummed. "I don't like you spending so much time around that android."

He shrugged. "It's the only place I can train effectively."

His mother hummed again. "I could make another gravity room… I've been so focused on 18's programming that even fixing up the time machine has fallen to the way side. Say what you will about that Dr. Gero, the man knew his self-learning algorithms like no one I've-"

"Mom," he laughed. "You know I can't follow when you get technical with that machine's inner workings."

"Yes, you can," Bulma smiled, glancing up at him. "I didn't raise my boy to be an idiot."

Trunks shrugged, pacing across the tiled floor to the cabinets next to the stove. He wasted no time in grabbing a water bottle from one of them.

"Maybe," he responded, busying himself with filling the container with water. "But right now, I just want to train."

Bulma hummed again but chose not to respond. Instead, the sound of running water filled the kitchen until Trunks turned off the tap. Together with the birds chirping outside, the scene became almost surreal to him.

Never did he think he would get to listen to birds chirping, while having such a mundane conversation with his mother.

Not before he went to the past.

Not before he gained the strength he needed to face the machines.

"You enjoy rubbing it in her face," Bulma intoned.

Trunks turned to find the blue-haired woman facing him. He blinked.

"Uhh," he swallowed. "What do you mean?"

His mother scoffed. "I can see you on the cameras, you know. You train… but you spend just as much time talking to… her as you do working out."

Trunks looked back down at the water bottle in his hands, scowling. He waited until it was full and then closed the tap.

"Trunks, I-"

"It feels good," he said quickly, his hands clenching into fists. He had to place the bottle on the counter before it was crushed to bits. "The saiyan in me likes that I'm stronger than she is."

"Saiyan in you?" Mother repeated, cocking her head. "Just where did you hear that?"

"Father."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Of course he'd harp on about saiyan pride." The sardonic, half-lidded look transformed into something unfocused. "He always did love bringing that up…"

Trunks waited, silent, until she looked back up – blinking rapidly – and cleared her throat. She favored him with a smile.

"Just be careful, Trunks," she said softly. "Don't get obsessed over this. I know what she did was horrible but- Don't interrupt me! …But …Well, maybe take a day off every so often? Go into the city, help with reconstruction! Your strength would be so useful to them…"

He frowned. "I need to train…"

A face pressed itself upon his thoughts, then. A face with a scowl that glowered at him underneath a furrowed brow. A face that featured blue eyes, pale skin and blonde hair.

Android 18's face.

He liked the fact that she could do nothing but watch him grow stronger. He liked it so much that he spent at least half a day, every day, training in front of her for the past week.

'When was the last time I went outside and just… enjoyed this peace I helped create?'

It was what the old Trunks would have done. The Trunks from before. When Gohan was alive. He would have found a park or… or something!

"Maybe a day off wouldn't hurt," he continued before his mother – frowning with her arms crossed - could get a word in edgewise.

He left the water bottle on the kitchen counter and set his towel down beside it, taking off toward the front door and ignoring his mother's calls to clean up his mess.

And, later, when he returned after a day of helping the grateful people of Earth recover and rebuild, he found himself feeling more alive than he ever had before.

Android 18 – Two months later

Her face was wet.

Not because she was in the rain or because she destroyed one of those curbside water sources. Not because she and 17 decided to visit a water park. Not even because she spilt while drinking.

No, her face was wet because she was lying in a pool of her own sweat.

At least the pool was absent her urine, now. The boy saiyan – saint that he was - found the smell distasteful and had taken to allowing her the use of a restroom twice every day. That good will did not extend far enough to offer her a change of clothes, however.

18 never hated her reliance on water more.

Air too, because she smelt horrible after almost three months without a single bath or shower. But that bastard, Gero, wanted to make she and 17 more human-like.

So she breathed.

She thirsted.

The only saving grace was that she did not hunger.

18 exhaled deeply, blinking several times to refocus her thoughts on the task at hand.

Namely, moving herself out of the latest sweat pool to form under her.

Saint Saiyan found it funny.

She started with her arms; they shook and quaked but 18 forced them to bend at the elbow so that she could lay her palms flat on the smelly-sticky-disgusting floor. Pain immediately rocketed into her wrists as the pressure weighing down on them eclipsed what even her endless energy could withstand.

But she ignored the pain with a practiced ease.

18 exhaled again, this time tensing her muscles and pushing as hard as she possibly could. The quaking in her arms returned with a vengeance and the pain intensified. Her head remained planted on the ground; her neck was far, far too weak to hold it upright. But her torso slowly, torturously so, lifted itself up off the ground.

Five seconds.

It took her five seconds to lift her stomach off the ground this time. That was an improvement.

Last time, it took her five-point-three seconds.

The power-siphoning cords attached to her back between the shoulder blades rattled together then, forcing 18 from her thoughts when the miniscule movement very nearly caused her to spill back onto the ground.

But she held strong, hovering mere centimeters off the metal tiles as she was.

Then, she carefully began edging herself away from the pool of sweat. First, her pinky finger shuffled over. Then her ring finger. Then the middle one and the pointer and finally, the thumb. Lastly, the base of her palm followed the fingers.

A smile touched her lips and she turned – metaphorically so, considering her head was still stuck on the ground where saint saiyan put it - to do the same with her other hand.

Pinky. Ring. Middle. Pointer. Thu-

The door to the chamber whooshed open.

Her eyes widened and she tried, reflexively, to turn her head.

Her muscles strained. Her neck twanged painfully.

And, as a result, her concentration was completely and utterly destroyed.

Her torso fell back to the ground, splashing in the bodily fluid below her. Her arms shook and her wrists reminded her incessantly of just how strong the gravity in the room-

Crack!

She tried to yelp but, considering her face was half submerged in sweat, the only thing she managed was a wet gargling sound.

Her arms fell awkwardly to the ground, bent at the elbows and at the shoulders in such a way that pained her joints. Unfortunately, moving them into a more comfortable position would probably take the better part of an hour.

More than that for her right arm – the one with the newly broken wrist.

But that would have to be done later - she had a visitor, now.

Saint Saiyan in the flesh.

Her eyes tracked his movement easily because he put her along a wall in the room, the better to watch him move about with ease. There was no lightning about his aura today, thankfully, just the usual obnoxious yellow hair.

Not blond. Yellow. Hers' was blonde. The saiyan's was an abomination.

Still, despite the fact that the flickers of lightning were absent in his aura – for that usually made him even more unbearably smug - he offered her no greeting. He only paced to the gravity control console with an ease that, frankly, made 18 jealous. She spent days inching toward that console, only to have Saint Saiyan drag her back to her wall in the space of ten seconds.

Time and time again.

Days' worth of effort, undone in ten seconds.

Infuriating. Absolutely infuria-

The gravity weighing down on her disappeared and she released a breath of air that was half gasp, half sigh when her arms could fall naturally to the ground. The pressure on her already purpling wrist abated and she immediately rolled over, onto her back and out of her sweat. The power cables rattled and clanged noisily until they settled uncomfortably under her spine, forcing it into an unnatural arch, but 18 did not care. Not enough to move, anyway.

And as she always did when the immense gravitational pressure was lifted from her body, from her mind, 18 found her thoughts wandering to just how she ended up in her current predicament.

She was a captive of Saint Saiyan, held against her will in a prison cell that took all of her endless power and used it against her. She was reliant upon him for her every need, from life giving water to the ability to use a restroom. She could not move unless he willed it. She could not drink unless he offered her water and gave it to her by hand.

Never did 18 think she could be as humbled as she was now. Not once whilst exploring with 17 did she consider that someone, somewhere could keep her prisoner like this. The thought never even crossed her mind as a passing fancy. She and 17 were always the strongest and always would be.

Hell, her own creatorcould not stand against her. And if not the being who knew her inside and out, who could ever hope to best her?

Yet, here this boy was, with odd yellow hair, doing things under gravity that had her struggling to move her fingers.

And she was made to watch him do it, too. Day in and day out, she lay on the ground, helpless while he trained. Energy blasts and attacks that would easily kill her flying about and the only thing she could do was hope he remembered that she was there. Hope that he would not accidentally hit her, because that was basically how much her life was worth, now – a stray energy blast from one immensely more powerful than her.

All she had was hope to defend herself. Hope that she was worth keeping alive. Hope that he would remember she was there.

Otherwise, she was powerless.

She raged against that thought, in the first week of her captivity, before her situation really set in. Spending eighteen years as one of the most powerful beings on the planet, without having to ever truly worry about someone besting her, made the thought that she was weaker than anyone but 17 anathema to her. It bordered on an impossibility before Saint Saiyan found them that day. It would not happen. It could not happen.

Android 18 knew her lot on this planet – as one of the strong, not one of the weak.

And then, she had all her arrogance and freedom and power ripped brutally away from her. Tossed to the side in a prison of her own making.

She fought and struggled against the gravity in the room in the beginning, dragging herself with her hands and her feet and even her teeth to reach that damnable console.

Only to have the gracious Saint Saiyan deem her worthy enough to bless with his presence.

And promptly drag her back to where she started.

So she raged more. To see all of her work undone so nonchalantly, so easily enraged 18 in a way she did not know was possible. In a way so foreign to her that she did not know how to handle it.

She had never been so mad before!

But 18 never truly knew anger before becoming the saiyan's captive, she knew that now. There was never a reason to feel it. She and 18 did what they wanted to do. Her brother was the only source of frustration in her life and he was never, never as infuriating as this.

To see her strength so belittled… Strength that she was so proud of… The rage she felt stressed the very limits of her body. It fed her with adrenaline the likes of which she had never felt and clouded her mind so completely that some memories from back then were nothing more than glimpses of bloodied fingers clawing their way across metal tiles.

But she remembered the general scope of those days well, regardless, even two months after they happened. That was before she accepted that her life was in Saint Saiyan's hands. Before she realized that she could not escape. Before she realized how low she had fallen.

That was about when the desperation set in. She began speaking to the saiyan when he came to train. Pleading with him to set her free. Promising not to do anything he did not want her to do. Promising to go and stay in a normal prison with humans. Promising to help him hunt down her own brother.

Anythingto get out.

She begged. She pleaded. She cried out for mercy only to be ignored time and time again by the boy. Until she realized it was not going to work.

So she sulked, sipping at the water when the boy spilled it in front of her mouth – where her sweat and even her urine lay pooled – but otherwise not doing much of anything. She hibernated a lot then, thankful for her ability to close off the outside world entirely in a mockery of what humanity called sleep.

It made the days go by quicker. The only times she needed to wake were when she drank her sweat-urine-water and when the need to get rid of that water grew too strong to ignore.

But then, two weeks and three days after she found herself a captive of saint saiyan, something changed in the boy's demeanor.

He lowered the gravity just enough for her to move, just long enough for her to stumble to the bathroom and take care of her bladder. Then, put her back against her wall – cleaned of her bodily fluids – and raised the gravity up again.

She did not tell him – and she neverwould – but those few minutes where she could just… move were easily the best moments of her life. To have something she took for granted ripped so suddenly from her angered and then humbled her completely and utterly.

Until that day, 18 thought she would never be able to move again. She was becoming used to the idea too.

But then Saint Saiyan let her get up.

It might've seemed a small thing to do for someone who could move every day, but to her, it meant the world.

And he kept doing it too. He kept letting her up to empty her bladder. He even let her stay standing for thirteen seconds longer than normal five days ago.

Not only that, but he began pouring the water directly into her mouth, rather than having her lap it up from the ground.

It left 18 incredibly conflicted.

She loathed the saiyan and his guts. She wanted him to die a horrible death only after witnessing every one he loved killed in the same horrible manner. Then she wanted him to spend two and a half months under gravity intense enough that he could not move. Then – and only then – would she allow him the release death offered.

But she also understood him. She understood what it meant to be utterly helpless in the face of someone stronger, now. She understood how her human victims felt. She understood even what Saint Saiyan felt when they killed that one-armed man.

Perspective.

She knew what it meant to hate someone with every fiber of her being, like he hated her and 17.

Because she hated him that much, too.

But, despite desperately wanting to, she could not, for the life of her, turn that hatred into a desire to kill him beyond idle fantasies.

Instead, the only thing she felt for him was profound respect.

Because she understood.

Because he grew stronger than his tormentors.

He did what she wanted- needed to do.

And so, she respected him. He was her tormentor. Her inspiration. Her standard to beat. Her encouragement to keep trying, to keep going.

Surpassing him became her reason to live.

Trunks

The android was staring at the ceiling again.

He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest even as the power of a Super Saiyan faded. Idly, he leaned back against the control console, the whirring of the gravitational energy dying down in the background. His eyes, not quite as blue as they were before, narrowed when they took in the sight of the blonde's swelling wrist.

She must have been trying to move herself again.

Watching her struggle across the floor with the clumsiness of a toddler was funny to him, once upon a time. For perhaps the first week-and-a-half she spent here, captive in the gravity chamber, he found the sight of the once terrifying machine trying to crawl utterly hilarious. Almost cathartically funny – seeing the monster he feared for his entire life lying at his feet did wonders for his self-confidence. To that end, he would taunt her for hours as a Super Saiyan, watching with glee as she became more and more furious until, inevitably, she would injure herself trying to move.

But then, she stopped rising to his taunts. She stopped howling and screaming and cursing at him. She stopped scowling and gnashing her teeth and reacting to his jeers… Instead… Instead she started begging him for her life. For her freedom. For anything and everything.

And that infuriated Trunks. That caused a red-hot fire to course through him that, the first time it happened, he had to leave the gravity chamber lest he end the android then and there.

Because how dare she?

How dare she beg for her own life when she ignored so many others begging for theirs'? How dare she think, even for a second, that she deserved to live while the hundreds of thousands, if not millions, she killed did not?

It was the first time Trunks saw her as something more than a murderous robot, unfeeling and capable only of causing misery.

That day, he learned she could fear.

Because he heard it in her voice. He heard the desperation, the pleading, pathetic mewl that spilled from her lips. It was like nothing he'd ever heard from her before.

It made him feel sorry for her, for a split second, because she looked truly pathetic in a puddle of her own bodily fluids.

And that pity made him feel anger. Anger that this machine would try to appeal to his sense of good when she so clearly had no right. Anger that this machine would even begin to think herself as anything more than a violent monster.

Anger that he saw her as something more than a violent monster.

Because, when all her arrogance and power were stripped away, she was nothing but a girl afraid for her life.

A girl that probably never even knew how to fear for her life, until that moment.

In some ways, she was more ignorant than a child.

Trunks came to that realization the day his mother made him venture into the city, to help humanity rebuild. The breath of fresh air had been just what he needed to clear his head and come to terms with his emotions, with his thoughts.

Galling it was to admit, he came to see 18 as something more than a cold-blooded killer that day. She knew nothing but violence, from the very second she awoke in Dr. Gero's lab. She did not know how to do anything but taunt and jeer and kill. It tainted her every thought, even when she and her brother explored all Earth had to offer.

Amusement parks were fun not only because of the rides and game stalls, but because there were so many humans to hunt.

Malls were made for shopping and trying on clothes but also chasing shoppers through narrow corridors, like a perverted game of hide-and-seek.

Cars were thrilling because they went so fast and sounded cool, but so too were they appealing because she and her brother could run down humans in them.

It took Trunks a day to really, truly come to terms with what 18 was, so much that he very nearly killed her through dehydration.

But after that day, he listened to her pleas and her begging but did not react to it. She had just as much a right to fear for her life as any of her victims, but that did not mean her crimes could be so simply forgotten.

She was a murderer, plain and simple.

A murderer that, unfortunately, learned that killing was how one lived very, very early in her twisted life.

So, yes, Trunks pitied her. It galled him, early on, but he knew it was true. He was too empathetic to not see her side of the story, despite the mind-numbing fear she and her brother put him through for his entire life.

Father would be so disappointed.

But mother was another story. When he told her about his thoughts, she smiled that wide smile of hers' – the one he so loved to receive – and told him it was a mature opinion to have.

"I am-" she'd said, swallowing heavily, her eyes shining. "I am so proud of you, Trunks."

That did not make it any less distasteful, in the beginning.

But regardless of his personal hesitance, he began feeding Android 18 water from the bottle directly and even let her up to use the bathroom twice a day. Not long enough for a shower – the spaceship that contained the gravity chamber did not have one anyway. He allowed her enough time to empty her bladder. No more, no less.

The look she gave him on the first day he did that only made him pity her more.

It was a mixture of shock, gratitude and utter confusion. She went into the bathroom slack-jawed, with both her eyebrows arched up and a shuffle to her step that betrayed her lack of understanding. When she came out, it was with an utterly expressionless look on her face. That remained true even as she submissively walked back to her wall, promptly laid down and allowed him to reattach the energy-draining coils without so much as a whispered insult.

Confusing, but it became almost a ritual to Trunks. To them. He would lift the gravity, she would roll onto her back and stare at the ceiling. He would grunt something short and simple at her, she would gingerly lift herself off the floor and walk over to him. He would remove the coils from her back. She would proceed to the bathroom, the same blank look on her face, then return to her wall once she was done. The coils would be reattached and he would increase the gravity again.

It always happened. If not for the alertness to her gaze, Trunk's might've thought her a walking coma patient.

But this time… this time it was different.

"18," he grunted.

She blinked, once, then picked herself up off the floor with the same level of care she always did. Her wrist was certainly broken – again. That was her weak wrist. The one she broke four times previously. It never healed correctly; it never really healed at all. Trunks wasn't even sure if it broke in the same place each time, and it looked a mangled mess because of it.

The android's arms were no better off. He broke her left arm in the fight that saw him take her captive. She managed to break that same arm two more times and her right forearm once while in the gravity chamber. Her ribs were broken during that original fight but they had probably healed improperly, given the immense pressure they were under. Add to that the other breaks they suffered in the room and they were probably in a sorry state too.

She would need a sensu bean if she agreed, of that there was no doubt in Trunks' mind.

And that was just about the only thing he was sure of, then. Because he was about to offer the machine a limited amount of freedom. Monitored and backed by a kill switch she would let them install, but freedom nonetheless.

A second chance.

He hoped, truly, that Gohan would understand.

Movement in front of him shook him from his thoughts and he very, very nearly lashed out when he realized Android 18 was standing in front of him, an expectant arch to one single eyebrow.

She could take the coils off herself – they were attached with a simple twist-and-click mechanism – but… perhaps they had both grown used to their routine?

The return to normality was a welcome calming agent to his nervous thoughts anyway.

He detached the coils after a minor delay, something that garnered him a narrowing of the eyes from the machine, but she did not comment and shuffled off to the bathroom without further delay.

Trunks, for his part, turned and shut down the gravity machine entirely.

It died with a low hum of power and then the room became completely silent.

And in that silence, his doubts returned to him.

Did she deserve this?

He did not know.

Did she deserve a chance to prove that she did?

He thought so.

Was he wrong?

He certainly hoped not.

Mother agreed, at least. Hesitantly and with much insistence on a kill switch that would shut the machine down if she moved more than 100 meters away from the house. Together with Trunks' superior strength, the plan seemed safe enough to allow the machine a chance to prove she deserved their empathy.

Trunks only hoped Android 18 saw it that way. She was incredibly guarded during their interactions, now. He could not tell how much she hated him – because he knew she hated him – or just what she would do to him, if given the chance. He did not know if she still thought she deserved to kill innocent people.

He screwed his eyes shut and rubbed at them with his fingers, his mind spinning.

Maybe this entire thing was crazy. It still galled him to even consider giving her a shot at freedom. His good sense screamed at him that this was still a murderous robot hell-bent on destruction with a hatred of humanity that was crammed so far into her core programming that even his mother could not undo it. They could always simply wipe her memory entirely but his sense of morality shut that one down before it even became a possibility.

He could not condone wiping away someone's existence like that, murderer or no. Not while there was a chance for her to atone.

Naïve of him, maybe.

Hopeful of him, certainly.

And that was what it came down to in the end, wasn't it? There was no sense of certainty in this situation. No right or wrong.

He either trusted Android 18 to redeem herself or he did not.

A chance.

One he would give her.

One he hoped she would take.

Resolve flooded his mind and pushed away the doubts. He knew what he wanted. He knew this was the right thing to do.

The rest was up to Android 18.

And, at that moment, the door to the bathroom slid open. The focus of his mental debate stepped back into the gravity chamber on shaky legs, her eyes downcast.

At least until she realized the gravity machine was off and the room was dark. Then, those eyes rose up to meet his own.

He stared back, his arms crossed over the same black tank-top he favored, now. His hair shifted when he leaned back against the lifeless console behind him, falling over his eyes just enough to be seen at the top of his vision.

'I need to get it cut again.'

"Am I going to die?" The machine asked, blinking once. No other visible emotion was displayed on her face, no movement of her lips or eyebrows or anything.

Eerie.

He swallowed. "That's up to you, android. I'm going to make you an offer and you are going to decide whether or not you want to take it."

She only blinked once more, mute.

Trunks wished he knew what she was thinking. He kept his muscles coiled, just in case she tried anything.

"You get a kill switch installed in you," he began and, finally, a flicker of emotion crossed her face in the form of a scowl. He continued, more at ease: "It will shut you down completely if you so much as take one step beyond one hundred meters of this place. It will shut you down if you attack me. It will shut you down if you attack my mother. It will shut you down if either of us decide you need to be contained."

With every sentence he spoke, her scowl deepened farther and farther. Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed and Trunks was all too relieved to see the familiar expressions cross her face after so many weeks of seeing nothing.

"Am I too inconvenient now? You need to upgrade the gravity machine or clean up the room and so the pesky little android must be put on a leash? I'll take your deal, but only because it's the closest thing to freedom you've seen fit to offer me."

Quickly, a matching scowl developed on Trunks' face. "I don't have to offer you anything, machine."

"No," she agreed, looking away. She crossed her battered arms as best she could under her bust. "No. You don't."

He eyed her for a moment, a grumbling sort of growl building in his throat. "I'm not doing this because you're an inconvenience. I'm doing this because I-" An explosive sigh escaped him, but he resolved to soldier through saying it aloud. "I'm doing this because I think you deserve a second chance."

"A second chance," she blurted, her wide eyes returned their focus to him. She was silent for a time, studying him, before her eyes narrowed once more. "Oh, how saintly of you, saiyan. I live as your captive in abominable conditions for months and suddenly you have a change of heart? Pat yourself on the back for this one, Saint Saiyan, because I won't."

"You murdered countless innocents, machine," he said, pushing himself off the console. "You're lucky to even be receiving this much leeway!"

"I was born this way, asshole!"

"That doesn't make it right!"

"Fuck your right," she spat. "Strength is my right! Those weaklings-"

"Are under my protection," he thundered, stalking right up to her. Her eyes widened and she was forced to look up at him even as she took a step backward. "And my strength trumps yours, machine!"

The room fell silent once more after his outburst. His breathing was a little heavier than it should have been but that was mastered quickly. The eager power building within was dispelled as well – despite the exchange that just occurred, he did not want this to turn into a brawl.

The machine remained in front of him, looking away and scowling deeply.

"Fine," she said shortly. "Put whatever death chip in me you want, master."

He flinched physically.

"What?" 18 asked, returning her eyes to his face. Absent the bruising around her eyes, he could easily read the anger in the furrow of her brow and the flaring of her nostrils. "That's what you are, Saint Saiyan. That's what you've made m-"

"I don't want that," Trunks said, shaking his head.

"Then release me."

"I can't do that."

She expelled a heavy breath from her nose.

"Look," he started, but faltered soon after. This was not going how he wanted it to go – he knew releasing her entirely was not an option. He also knew that there was something fundamental in their lack of understanding of one another.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

They had no understanding of one another.

An uneasy feeling overtook him as what he needed to do became clear, but he soldiered on regardless.

"I grew up fearing you," he said quietly, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. "When I was young, I was taught that the weak are protected by the strong. And the strong were being killed by you."

"Then they shouldn't have been so weak," she said plainly.

Trunks released a grunt that was half a laugh from his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so, huh? They should've been stronger."

She gave him no verbal response, only staring up into his eyes. The machine was completely and utterly still, eerily so, in a way that no human or saiyan could truly imitate.

He sighed. "I grew up fearing you because you were stronger than me. My nightmares would always be either you or your brother creeping into my house at night to kill me and my mother."

"Foolish," she scoffed. "We had no need for subtlety. We would have just destroyed the building."

"Maybe," he agreed, running a hand through his hair. Some of the tension left his muscles and he sat down on the floor of the darkened room. The only person he ever shared stuff like this with was Gohan. He wanted to be comfortable when he did it with the very machine that caused him to grow up fearing for his life. "Maybe it was dumb, but I was right for thinking you would kill my family without a second thought.

"Because we were weak," he continued as she opened her mouth. "And it was because of that weakness that I grew strong."

The saiyan glanced up at the android, finding her looking down her nose at him. "I'm sure you can understand that, at least."

She gave him no response. In fact, she did not move at all. In the shadowy illumination of the room, she looked like she something straight from those nightmares that plagued him as a child.

He sighed again, though it sounded closer to a growl this time. "Look, I'm trying to offer you an olive branch here. This has to be mutual if we're going to make it work."

"Mutual," she scoffed. "There is nothing mutual about me being held captive here, Saint Saiyan."

"No, there isn't," he agreed. And then continued before his mind could stop him: "But I want there to be."

That elicited a widening of the eyes in Android 18. She laughed, a short bark that spoke more of surprise than mirth.

"You want me to stay here? Are you serious, kid?"

"Perfectly."

Her eyes narrowed and she laboriously climbed down to a knee, supporting herself with her good arm until her face was mere centimeters from his.

Her breath reeked.

"Look, saiyan. I hate you. I hate your guts. I hate your power. I hate your stupid yellow hair and I hate this room too. The second I get the chance, I'll rip out your innards then parade the corpse around town behind an aircar for the entire world to see. Then, I'll find my brother and kill your mother and everyone you care about too. Just because I can. Because they're all weak! I will destroy everything you love because I can!"

The anger simmering in his gut was hard to dispel, he would admit. His history with the android meant that every threat she threw at him was taken completely seriously.

That he did not end her then and there was, he thought, truly a testament to his resolve in giving her a second chance.

It was only after several more seconds of effort spent evening out his breath and calming the suddenly irritated power within him that he spoke.

"You don't mean that."

She laughed. This time it was entirely mirthful. "You don't-

"No!" He spat, yelling the word and shocking her into silence because of it. "You don't mean that, mach- android. You don't even know what you think you mean! You have no idea what you are missing and I am trying to show-"

"Oh fuck you, prick," she hissed, wobbling uneasily on her knee until she was forced to fall back onto her bum. "You self-righteous, condescending asshole! You-"

"You were made by a genocidal machine that put a hatred of every single person on this planet into you! You have no idea what we're like! None! None!" He was yelling now, probably red faced because of it. "Violence was the first thing you learned and you never bothered to learn anything else! I want to show you-"

"I don't need you and I don't need your… your view on this worthless planet!" 18 hollered back. A few of her teeth were chipped and one was missing entirely, a product of her efforts to drag herself across the floor. "My brother and I were just fine until you showed up, asshole!"

"You were murdering innocents!"

"They were weak! Pathetic! Useless!"

"Then why don't I just murder you, here and now!" He returned, thrusting a single hand up in her face. In his palm, yellow, deadly energy glowed with a menacing light. In the darkened room, it looked even more sinister.

And her face, now lit with the shadowed glow of his ki, twisted into a sneer. "Go ahead, saint. If you have the balls."

Neither spoke any further words after she was done. Only the sounds of their heavy breathing echoed throughout the darkened chamber.

Then, with one last heavy exhale, he dismissed the energy.

"Tch," she scoffed. "That's why your friend-"

"I'm better than this," he hissed, getting to his feet.

Her eyes widened and she recoiled physically. 18 was only stunned for a moment, though, before she threw herself to her feet amidst a great many popping sounds emanating from her battered body.

"Fuck you," she said, wide eyed. She thrust a finger in his face, only just hiding the wince because of the pain the movement induced. "Fuck. You. You're no better than me, asshole. You're a murderer too!"

"I protect people. Don't compare me to you."

"Fat load of good that did your one-armed friend!"

Gohan's fate stirred the anger that was simmering so close to the surface. Rage, intolerant and suffocating, threatened to overtake him. But just as it had summoned that righteous anger, so too did his mentor's name throw it back.

Gohan.

He loved peace. He wanted it more than anything. It was through him and his mother that Trunks found the strength to see 18 in a different light, as a child who was only taught violence and murder rather than a genocidal machine beyond redemption.

It was through his mentor that his resolve was strengthened, Trunks realized.

Gohan would think this was right. He thought everyone deserved a second chance. He thought everyone deserved to be protected and he was more than willing to sacrifice himself to see that through.

'And in the end, he did,' he thought, an odd sort of calm settling over his mind. 'What better way to honor that memory by making a friend out of an enemy.'

Where before his introspection banished his doubts, this bout of mental introspection left him with a desire to do right by Android 18.

Truly, she deserved a chance to be good.

And to give her that chance he needed to build trust with her. To do that, he needed first an understanding. Their life views on the world were just about as diametrically opposed as they could get so that common ground would be hard to find, but Trunks would just have to keep trying until he found success.

"I think people are worth saving, 18," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. The change in demeanor and complete lack of anger must've caught her off guard, for her eyes widened and her jaw flapped uselessly until he started speaking again. "I think you're worth saving too."

"I'm- I don't need saving, saiyan," she said. Not yelled, but said.

That was a start.

"I think you do," Trunks said, nodding. Then, before she could get a word in edgewise: "I know you don't, but I think you do. And I promise I'll try not to hold the past against you."

Her eyes were darting across his face now, her lips parted slightly in what he thought was the closest thing to flabbergast she would ever show him.

"Dr. Gero was an evil man bent on destroying everything good on this planet. And if you let me, I'll show you what he was trying to destroy. What he was using you to des-"

"He didn't use me. Or 17. We were free. I was free." Her eyes were narrowed again, though there was no yelling yet.

Small victories.

"Maybe," Trunks said. "Or maybe you were doing his bidding without really knowing it… Have you ever tried speaking to a human before?"

Her lips curled into a scowl. She said nothing.

A smile spread across his face. A genuine one, even. A rare smile that did not come to him as often as he would have liked.

Because he knew where to start, now.

"Oh, 18," he murmured, watching as her eyes darted from his eyes to his mouth and back to his eyes again. He spied a hint of incredulity in the arch of her eyebrows. "You have so much to learn."

For once, the android was struck speechless.

A/N: I hoped you guys didn't mind the character studies (the centered text) early on too much. I wanted to give you an idea of what my Trunks and my 18 will be like, a backstory without having to dedicate a few thousand words to hashing it out. There won't be too many more, if any at all.

Also, the fic starts dark and angsty, it begins to lighten up in the future but… hell, Future Trunks' world is a pretty dark, dreary, depressing place while the androids were around to terrorize it. I couldn't really make it anything but and have it feel awkward.

Now then, onto update schedules. I'm thinking once a week. I'll probably start posting nearer to the end of the week after this one is released, so expect the next chapter roundabouts the 19th-20th (Probably closer to the 20th, because the Cardinals play the Mets on the 19th!)

On another note, and I'm getting on a soapbox here, so skip this paragraph if you don't want to hear a rant that may or may not offend you! Anyway: if you can't figure out proper grammar for your summary, why bother posting your story? That does nothing but turn people off of your work. Because if you can't take five minutes to figure out two or three sentences to describe your fic without making a mistake, why would anyone, in their right mind, bother reading the thing? That displays a complete and utter lack of effort that doubtlessly carries over into the fiction itself. Fix your summaries, get more readers. It's not hard! (Now watch me screw up one of mine, haha!)

Update 02/02/2020: General spell checking/editing.