The night was dark, not a single star appeared in the dark firmament. Solely the big round disk of the full moon stood high up like a memorial for the people. It had been one for Trunks too, but since he regularly cut off his typical Sajajin tail, he had no more problems with it. And that night, too, he could calmly look at the big round disc without feeling that feeling of familiarity and magic that had overwhelmed him many years ago.


At that time, according to Bulma's statement, he was far too young there so that he could only remember this feeling, devastated half the city, even more than they had devastated the two cyborgs. If it hadn't been for his father and Son Goku still alive. Only the two of them had managed to tame him, he was so strong. But they had made it and Trunks turned back into the handsome boy with the blue eyes.

But that was a long time ago, boasting of an indulgence from his father who had forgotten that even half-Sajajins got cocks. Trunks averted his gaze from the round disk and concentrated on his immediate surroundings.


The room was big, like that of a battle arena. Only the little braid gave it a bit of a business look. But it seemed lost in size rather than belonging. There he stood now, waiting for something to happen. Trunks didn't have high hopes, the thief probably got fed up and didn't come at all. And if he did come, he was just a thief. Not a great warrior, not a challenge his mother spoke of.


Again he saw the faces of the Z warriors. He just couldn't get it out of his head, no matter what he did. It was too good a time. His eyes glanced at the clock that hung on the opposite wall. He had seen her at first glance in the room, as if everything in him had been looking for it.It was a year ago, and he hadn't heard from the others for a year. Not that he really cared about ever seeing her again. No, he would just see the pain again that parting with his friends had brought with it. Again and again he came up, always in the worst moments he buried himself deep in his heart.


He started. Was there something? He turned quickly towards the front door and looked into the darkness. Nothing moved, not a branch on a tree swayed, not a gust of wind rattled any window. It was as if someone had stopped time, as if everything was frozen. That was nonsense, of course, a passerby passing by


provided the best evidence of this.


Trunks shook his head, mentally advising himself to calm down. He was too distracted. All day long. If he had focused, he would probably have noticed the weak ki of a person approaching. But Trunks wasn't focused, so he sat down on the braid, bored, his head bowed to the floor.The memories overwhelmed him again. Like a predator that had lurked deep in the background, it jumped out and attacked him.


“The hair doesn't grow in real Sajajins!” His father said in a contemptuous tone when they came out of the space of spirit and time. Trunks could still remember how they had trained in it. That means, actually only his father had trained, at least in the beginning. He wanted to pass the Super Sajajin level first. During this time he was often alone, his father hardly noticed him and when he did he just yelled at how much he was in his way. It wasn't until later, when they were training together, that he showed what with extremely good will one could call father feelings. They trained hard, so hard that he collapsed from exhaustion. He didn't know anything about it anymore, the next thing he noticed was the soft bed he was lying on and a loud battle cry, uttered by Vegeta. He'd never admitted it, but Trunks was sure he'd taken care of him, his own son, while he was away.How else would he have gotten to bed, and on the same day he found bandages in the garbage can.


Trunks listened, turned his gaze towards the downstairs stairs. He did not know whether he had really heard the soft tapping of soft feet on the ground, or whether he had only imagined it in all the absorption of his thoughts. He quietly crossed the room and listened, closing his eyes for reinforcement. His mind was fully focused on the sound he was looking for. No voices came up at that moment, let alone pictures of friends waving and laughing.


His eyes opened with a jerk. There it was again. A quiet, barely noticeable groping. He shook his head, mentally advising himself to calm down. That day seemed to bother him more than he wanted to admit to himself. At least it made his heart race like it had been after a hard fight, if he could only hear a faint tap that might as well have come from a little cat lost in the darkened rooms of the industrial company.Even so, a few moments later he quietly descended the stairs. He held on to the railing because the further down you went, the darker it got. In the end he could barely perceive his own hand.


The descent seemed like hours to him, especially since he was quietly counting the stairs in his mind. > 10 <, ....> 15 <... "My Trunks, wow do you look good!" Trunks stopped. He heard the youthful voice of his mother too clearly, whom he had got to know only too well in the past. He smiled, she had changed a lot. She used to be quick-tempered, even annoying to a certain extent. It had become sensible, but what can one expect in such a cruel time. In one fell swoop, everyone was gone, all the people she cared about, her friends and even the man she loved more than anything. That wasn't fair, the world wasn't fair.


With a clenched fist he went on, trying to banish all his thoughts from his brain. > 20 <.....> 27 <

He carefully stepped into the company's basement. There he stopped again, on the last step. He listened again, slowly closed his eyes and gave free rein to his mind. His right eye opened when he heard the tapping from this side getting louder. He smiled, apparently this thief wasn't as brilliant as everyone said. Quietly, without making a sound, and breathing evenly through his mouth, he walked on. He followed the dark corridor, the end of which shimmered into a somewhat lighter square that grew closer with every step. Likewise, the tapping grew a little louder with every step until it stopped.


Trunks stopped, listened again .... Nothing, no matter how hard he tried, no sound reached his ears, none except his even, reasonably calm breathing. His heart began to pound again.


He shook his head vigorously, took a deep breath and clenched his hands even tighter into fists.He didn't know what was wrong with him. He had a strange feeling in his stomach, a kind of familiarity that he had previously only noticed in his parents. But he hardly had to hope that a disgruntled Vegeta would appear at the other end of the corridor, telling him that he came from the past and would like to see him. Still, he liked the idea, even if it will never come true.


Shortly before the end of the corridor he stopped. The corridor led in a sharp corner to the left into a large room, which he could only easily see when he peeked around the corner. The room was not empty like the entrance hall, on the contrary. It seemed to be crammed from top to bottom with computers, machines, shelves, desks, and other laboratory-like equipment. Everything was switched off, no machine moved, except for a computer that was on the right wall, just so that Trunks had a good angle of view. And the shadowy figure pounding on the keyboard with quick strokes.Trunks understood his mistake now, this tapping was the same sound that he had taken for foot-trampling. He shook his head gently, scolding himself for his lack of concentration. He could not see the figure in the dark twilight of the room, despite the white light that the computer also emitted. Which was probably also because she was only dressed in black. All he saw was a cap, which the figure had put on its head the wrong way round.


He stepped back cautiously, and thus out of the visible area of ​​the figure. He didn't know what to do. Maybe he was wrong and this figure was just a co-worker. At the same time, however, he glanced at the clock. After midnight. Nobody would be working at this time, and if so, the director of the company, a big fat guy he had spoken to shortly before his arrival, would have said it, at least mentioned, that there might be a few more employees worked on a highly scientific project.

The monotonous clatter of the keyboard had stopped. Silence spread across the room like a dark shadow. Trunks peeked around the corner again, but couldn't find the person. Confused, he let his gaze wander around the room as far as he could under cover. He hesitated, listened again briefly, putting all his concentration on his senses, and finally ducked into the room.


His gaze brushed the computer, which was still on and emanating that white light that had already illuminated the figure a little. His eyes wandered across the room, but couldn't see, let alone hear, anyone. His heart was beating again, all his senses tense. He knew something was about to happen, in spite of everything this knowledge gave him no cover.


He could still feel the strange ki, could still hear the breeze, when a hard blow hit him, which threw him across the whole room. There he lay there for a fraction of a second, flabbergasted with surprise, but in the next moment he got up again, which was also necessary because his opponent did not let go of him.On the contrary, he wanted to add it, which Trunks destroyed with a handshake. He parried the opponent's blow and at the same time dealt properly. A low, high-pitched moan made him pause. After all, he wanted to injure the figure as little as possible. At the same moment he regretted his soft core in him, again he flew through the room hit by a tremendous force.


The opponent's ki increased as he scrambled back to his feet and saw the shadowy figure in