Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Illumination ❯ Mission 03: Escort Service ( Chapter 4 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: Dragonball Z belongs to Akira Toriyama and various other companies. This fanfic is just for fun.

-+-

Trunks used a pair of long metal tweezers to pull out the stitches in Armada's neck. She sat perfectly still and didn't even flinch as he worked, and he was slightly impressed. Several days after he'd put the stitches in she had healed magnificently, and barely had a scar considering how long and deep the cut was. After a few more minutes, he finished taking the stitches out and she gingerly ran her right hand over the scar.

“All done,” Trunks turned around to gather all the discarded materials to throw away.

“There's barely a scar,” she said thoughtfully as she continued to feel the injury with her right hand. “With a bit more medication it'll be nearly invisible,” she finished and stood up from where she sat on the surgical table in the center of the room.

Trunks moved to throw away the garbage and turned to face Armada. “I left some bandages and the medication on the counter for you,” he said while she had her back to him. She grabbed her shirt and pulled it on over her head before she turned to face him. She nodded and moved to the counter to dress her wound, and Trunks left the infirmary.

-+-

Illumination

Mission 03: Escort Service

-+-

Several hours later, Trunks waited at the the door to the ship for Armada. She soon exited her room down the hall and approached. She was in her armor with the black jacket on top and a pair of sunglasses covering her eyes. She nodded to him before she opened the door and flew down to the ground floor of the warehouse. He followed close behind as they packed into the black car again and pulled off.

Trunks already knew what they were doing this time; they were headed to local police headquarters in Ute to pick up a prisoner and transfer him to another country, on another planet in another system. With their last payday, Armada had the ship refueled so they could now take jobs off-world. She said that she didn't want to leave Ute permanently until she had more in the bank and Trunks was secretly grateful. He didn't want to relocate from Bmyhad where he knew how to get home—the jump gate was the only way he knew how to find Earth. He really had no idea where in the galaxy they were, just that it was closer to the center of the Milky Way and a long haul from the Sol system.

It was only a matter of minutes before they arrived, and Armada pulled around the back of the building to park in a specified area. When they got out of the car, several officers were standing and waiting. Two stood to secure the area around the vehicle to make sure nothing funny was going on while a third opened a large metal door for them to enter the building.

It took a few minutes to get through security, as they had to wait their turn. Trunks followed Armada through what he guessed was some type of scanner, presumably for concealed weapons but then again, he had no idea what else they could detect. Once they were through the scanner, another officer gave them red wrist bands. Trunks had seen everyone else that went through had blue wrist bands, and a few green, but no red. He wondered if they knew he and his comrade could control life energy, and that's why the mercenary pair were tagged with the bright red bands.

A young uniformed officer approached the pair and stopped in front of them. “Officer Tellman,” he said and turned away from the pair. “This way please,” he stated flatly. Armada immediately followed and Trunks fell into step behind her.

“The prisoner is not to be underestimated,” Tellman said as they walked. Trunks closed the gap between himself and Armada and walked beside her, just behind the officer so he could hear better. “He's not like you but he's still extremely dangerous,” Tellman continued. They stopped at a door and he entered in a number on a keypad nearby and the metal door opened for them. Armada took initiative and headed inside, Trunks followed after her and Tellman behind them both.

Trunks noticed they were walking down a hall of cells, some occupied and some not. They all had transparent front walls that looked like glass, but he knew better. Glass would be far too easy to break so it had to be some other material he wasn't familiar with. Trunks wondered, if they knew he and Armada were ki-fighters, then they must have had ways to house prisoners with those abilities. So how could any material keep them captive? He remembered the conversation he had with Armada, about how there were ways to restrict ki usage, but he didn't see any obvious way to do it.

Two officers stood in front of a cell and Armada stopped next to them when the pair approached. “Detective Neiman,” the much older man of the pair introduced himself tersely. He had clearly graying hair and some unruly stubble, but Trunks figured that wasn't too far off from what old cops looked like back at home—or at least how they appeared in old movies.

“This is Lieutenant Strife,” he motioned to the younger man next to him. The lieutenant appeared to be middle-aged as well, just not as old as Neiman. Or maybe just not as worn out.

“There he is,” the detective motioned to the lone prisoner in this cell. Trunks and Armada turned to look, and Trunks was a bit unimpressed. He looked like the average person, not much older than Trunks himself and the guy had an athletic build. Why hire mercenaries for something that seemed to mundane?

The subject in question stood from where he sat, he already had his arms cuffed in front of him. He walked up to the clear wall and looked at the two mercenaries. “Only two guards?” he said with a smirk. “I'm sad, I was hoping it was a bigger deal for all the talk of hiring a private contractor,” he emphasized the last two words as if mocking them. When he reached the end of the cell Trunks could see his piercing green eyes and black hair, as well as his sandy brown skin. Something about his eyes was... strange.

“Don't take him lightly,” Lieutenant Strife finally spoke. “He's a trained spy. Deception and misdirection are all he knows,” the officer glanced to the prisoner in question.

“Oh come on,” the spy rolled his eyes. “I know a lot more stuff than that!”

Detective Neiman pulled out a small datapad and loaded a file. He passed the device to Armada and Trunks looked over her shoulder to get a glance at it as well. “His name is Nassas Reine,” Neiman began as the mercenaries read. “We've negotiated his transfer to another nation where he is wanted for several crimes. You'll be taking him to Hrimth, Taydr, and you are expected to arrive in three days. The exact time and location of the drop off are in the file,” Neiman motioned toward the datapad in Armada's hands, “and that's yours to keep.”

Armada studied the file a moment longer before she looked up to the detective. “Are there any special precautions we need to take?” she asked.

“Whatever he says, don't listen to him,” Lieutenant Strife spoke once more. “With that silver tongue of his,” he glanced to the prisoner and then back to Armada, “he can convince people to open the cell and let him walk out of the front door.”

“Aw, I'm flattered Strife,” Nassas said with sarcasm. “But I don't swing that way. Well, not when I'm sober,” he laughed.

The lieutenant rolled his eyes and Trunks sighed. Thiswas going to be one fun mission.

-+-

“Are you sure I'm secure?” Nassas asked as he looked up to Armada. “Maybe you should double check all these locks,” he said and looked down to his shackles. He was sitting in a chair in the lounge with both arms cuffed to each arm of the chair, his hands still cuffed together in front of him, and both feet shackled and bound to the chair as well.

“We both know you're not going anywhere,” Armada said and walked away toward the bridge.

Nassas looked over to the only other person in the room. “No,” Trunks shook his head, “don't even look this direction.”

Nassas smirked. “I was only going to ask if you two were an item, because it'd be that much more fun to” he never got to finish as he was cut off by Trunks.

“You can give up on the psychological warfare,” Trunks interrupted the prisoner. “Neither one of us is going to fall for it, so just settle in for your trip,” he finished before he turned and headed for the bridge.

Armada was already at the main console and setting up the ship for launch. Trunks took a seat to her left as another console. “So how long are we going to keep him like that?” he asked. The trip was going to take almost three and a half days, obviously they couldn't keep him pinned down in a chair like that the entire time.

“Just until we're out of the gravity well and auto-pilot can safely take over,” Armada said without turning her attention away from her work. “We'll lock him up in the unused bunk since there's nothing in there for him to get into, and he'll have his own bathroom so we don't have to worry about that,” she added. With a few more button presses the engines powered up and Trunks could feel the ship come to life under his feet.

Armada turned her chair to face Trunks. “We'll have to take him meals, but that won't be a problem,” she said and paused for a moment. Trunks thought she looked like she was contemplating something. “He can't overpower either of us,” she added.

“What's up?” Trunks asked. She looked like she had something on her mind.

“There's something going on,” Armada added. “I can't figure out exactly what, but as long we're vigilant we should be alright.” She turned back to the console and continued preparing for launch.

“I'll see if our friend doesn't know anything,” Trunks smirked. “He seems to be the type who can't stop talking, even if nobody's listening.” He headed back to the lounge where they had him tied down to a chair.

“Change your mind?” Nassas said with his head down. He slowly looked up to Trunks and smirked.

“No, you're not my type,” Trunks joked back with a sour smile. He walked over and had a seat in the corner booth on the other side of the doorway to the infirmary from where their captive sat. “So what'd you do to end up arrested?”

“I was too good looking,” Nassas flashed a smile showing his teeth.

“Seems like you can't do your job,” Trunks prodded at Nassas's ego a bit. If he was the vain and self-absorbed type, like he seemed so far, then he wouldn't like to be insulted.

Nassas turned away and pouted. “You don't have a clue what I can do,” he said bitterly, half-joking and half-serious.

Trunks stood and leaned over to the prisoner's face, and stared him straight in the eyes. “But who's chained down to a chair, and who isn't?” he whispered, adding some spite to get under Nassas's skin.

Reine dropped the act and stared back with anger evident in his eyes. “For now,” he drawled slowly. “But you mercenaries aren't the brightest bunch, which is why guys like me have to clean up your messes,” he finished with bile in his voice.

Trunks stood back and closed his eyes briefly and smirked. “Right, guys like you,” he opened his eyes. “So what are you, a spy?”

“A master of espionage,” Nassas ground out. “Unlike idiots like you who always go in guns blazing, tripping over your feet,” he continued. “I have skills and finesse.”

Trunks shrugged, “Whatever you say, buddy.” With that he turned and walked back into the bridge. Armada was still flying the ship manually and he could that they were slowly pulling from the gravity well. Armada must have noticed as well because she turned on the artificial gravity and Trunks felt his feet settle against the cold steel floor once more.

“Anything interesting?” she asked without turning to face him.

“He's arrogant, and self-absorbed,” Trunks said casually as if he was talking about what he ate for breakfast instead of a quick psychological profile of their charge. “Some sort of spy, by the way he talks,” he added. Armada nodded and kept her gaze focused on the task before her. Trunks turned and headed back toward his room to get a little rest before they had to move one Nassas Reine into his own quarters.

-+-

Nassas laid back lazily in one of the three beds in the room he'd been sequestered to. His back, or more accurately his shoulders were setting against the wall and his right leg hung over the edge of the bed, his left propped up on it. He'd already done his thorough search of the room, for anything he could make use of, but there was nothing. Whoever this pair was that had him and were taking him back home, they knew their stuff. All Nassas Reine knew for certain was that for the next few days he was going to be bored out of his mind.

The door to his prison suddenly opened and Reine jumped to sit upright. He saw the woman walk in with a tray of food in her hands. “You've come to eat with me?” he said with a large smile.

She walked over and set the tray down on the other end of bed he was sitting on. “I'll be back for the tray,” she said in a low growl before she turned to leave.

“Don't leave so quickly now!” Reine exclaimed and jumped up. He reached for her arm and just caught her right elbow in his left hand. Shocked by his audacity, Armada spun around faster than Reine thought possible and hit him with her left-handed fist square in the middle of his chest. He flew backwards and his back bounced against the edge of the bed before he fell to the floor in a heap.

“That hurt you stupid bitch!” he shouted up at her as his hands went to his chest and gingerly touched his wound.

Armada reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his black suit, and lifted him to her eye level. “I could kill you if I felt like it,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “The only reason I don't is that I'd rather make money instead of dump a body in the middle of space,” she elaborated. She dropped him and he fell to the ground again.

“Don't think for a second you can touch me,” she spat at him before she swung around on her heel and walked out of the room. The door closed behind her and Nassas heard it lock. He narrowed his eyes at where she had retreated and still kept a hand clasped over his chest where she'd hit him. He knew that feeling, and that was no normal punch—she was an energy fighter. Well, that made things a lot more interesting.

-+-

Armada stepped outside the room and reached back to the wall with her left hand to close the door. She was unnerved to see Trunks standing in the hall, waiting for her. “You okay?” he asked with eyes that let her know that he knew precisely what happened.

“I'm fine,” she said and dropped her gaze as she strode past him. She let her anger get the best of her and her energy flared slightly when she punched their prisoner. What surprised her was how attune Trunks was to this, to notice and ask her if things were all right. Well if he was that adept at sensing energy, then she didn't need to tell him anything. Not that she wanted to admit to losing her temper anyway.

Trunks wasn't naïve. He could feel the anger radiating off of Armada in waves when she walked past him. He could also feel the rage in the rise of her energy briefly when she hit their prisoner. She had an issue with anger that she was working to control, but Trunks wondered what had Nassas done to push past her control? From what he'd seen of her so far she seemed to wear some outer veneer to keep herself protected, to keep herself in check. He'd have to spend more time with their captive to figure out just how he'd managed to nearly get himself killed.

-+-

Three hours after that little incident, Armada was sleeping—or at least appeared to be sleeping—in the pilot's chair on the bridge. She hadn't gone back to retrieve the tray of food she'd given to Nassas, and she hadn't said one word since she left his room earlier. Trunks was concerned, but more interested in what exactly their prisoner had done to raise his partner's ire.

After giving a courtesy knock, Trunks opened the door to the captive spy's room and saw Nassas Reine sitting on the floor with empty dishes on a tray sitting next to him. He glanced up lazily, “Oh. Wasn't really expecting anyone to come back tonight,” he admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Trunks stepped into the room and the door shut automatically behind him. “Your girlfriend really packs a punch,” Nassas looked up to Trunks and laughed. Trunks could tell he wasn't trying to pull anything, just make a joke.

The mercenary nodded and gave a half-smile, “You should have just behaved.” He cleared the distance between the pair and sat down next to Nassas, his back against the edge of the lower bunk, the tray of empty dishes separating the pair. “So what'd you do and how'd you get caught?” Trunks asked, honestly trying to drum up conversation. There weren't really any spies on Earth growing up, considering humanity was united against one enemy who wouldn't talk to any other humans long enough to have a conversation beyond a few insults. Sure he'd seen old movies and such, but what did real spies really do?

“Ahhh,” Nassas said like he was remembering something particularly embarrassing, “I screwed up.” He lifted his right leg and pulled it up to his chest, then he rested his right hand on his knee. “We,” he paused as he looked at Trunks. “My team,” he started over, “we had to get some intel at a political gala,” he laughed. “Bunch of dignitaries getting drunk and dancing horribly, really,” Nassas rolled his eyes. He looked at the floor in front of him, taking his eyes away from Trunks. “Got busted when the woman I was dancing with found my knife,” he said and motioned to the empty sheath on his right thigh.

“Dancing?” Trunks asked with a hint of mirth. With where that knife was hiding, it must have been some kind of dance.

“Hey, I'm a professional,” Nassas replied and motioned with his right hand toward his chest. “It's not my fault if the target gets grabby.”

“So what happens when we drop you off?” Trunks asked earnestly.

“Probably get thrown in prison for the rest of my life,” Nassas sat back and let his head fall against the mattress of the bottom bunk he was leaned against. “Or executed. Depends on who bought me.”

“We're heading to a planet called Taydr,” Trunks said the name slowly, still unsure of how to pronounce it. There was something funny with how everyone said the ending, with a rolled 'r' and a very short 'ah' sound.

Nassas laughed. “I'm in deep shit then.” A silence descended between the pair for a moment before the spy spoke once more. “What about you?” he asked before he turned his head slightly so he could look over at Trunks. “Why are you with her,” he made a slight motion with his head, “of all people?”

Trunks sighed. “To repay a debt I owe,” he said honestly. He wasn't lying, but he didn't want to say any more than that.

“Good luck,” Nassas said almost under his breath. He turned his head and stared up at the ceiling again, adding, “You don't know what you've gotten yourself into.” Trunks opened his mouth to speak but Nassas kept going. “Why is it that when we meet people we always give them the benefit of the doubt?” he asked with a certain philosophical annoyance about it. He looked over at Trunks again, “We don't know what they were doing five minutes before we met them, but we always seem to assume everyone has a clean slate, when we know that nobody does.” He laughed and rolled his head away from Trunks, so the mercenary couldn't even see the corner of his eyes. “You're an idiot,” he added almost inaudibly.

Trunks nodded to himself and then stood. He reached down to pick up the tray of dishes and moved for the door. After he opened the door, Trunks turned to the spy known as Nassas Reine to add one final thought. “But who's the one getting sold off to the highest bidder?” He didn't wait for a snappy response and simply turned and left, the door shutting and locking behind him.

-+-

That night Trunks didn't sleep. He sat in the lounge, sitting at an angle in one corner so he could see through the doorway to the bridge and see the left side of Armada sitting in the pilot's seat. He wasn't going to let the spy get to him, but he did bring up a good point. Trunks had no idea who Armada was. When they met, she was willing to kill a kid who had nothing to do with anything, over some money. Granted he learned later it was a lot of money she'd lost earlier that day, but that could hardly be blamed on Murtole, of all people. The poor kid barely saw the sun—well, whatever star was the center of that system, he couldn't remember.

There was one thought Trunks couldn't shake. What was Armada doing five minutes before she ran into him? Besides chasing the guy who robbed her. Not that it was the five minutes themselves that determined life and death, but the thought still stood. Everyone had a past, and Trunks was taught not to judge too harshly on the mistakes people had made in their lives—Kami knew he'd made plenty of his own. But what about judging someone's present? Who they are in the here and now? What if Armada was on 'good behavior' to keep him around? What if she'd just slaughtered some poor innocent fool not even hours before they met? He hadn't been with her long, and they had fought for their lives, but she didn't seem... malicious. Then again, how much did he really know? She hardly spoke, and she never talked about herself. Of course he didn't either, so was it fair to judge? Maybe not judge, but... just be concerned.

In the pilot's chair, in front of the main console while the ship was on autopilot, Armada sat stoically and watched their progress. She knew her comrade was staring; she could feel his gaze burning a hole in the back of her head. She had felt his eyes on her more than usual after he'd gone to see Reine when he thought she was asleep, and she knew the spy had gotten to him.

Of course, when one had as much to hide as she did, it was easy to turn anyone against her.

-+-

Two agonizingly long days were down, and the group had just over a day left to arrive at their destination. Trunks had stayed away from Armada as much as he could, avoided conversation, and generally was more observant of her movements. It was driving the mercenary crazy. She wasn't blind, she knew what he was doing. She didn't talk much but he wasn't a good liar, in his speech or his movements, and she knew when someone was acting. He just wasn't that experienced at it.

He was reading in the lounge, using one of her small portable terminals to fetch articles from the interstellar network. Well, he was reading and watching her, and it was just getting on Armada's nerves. If he had something to say, he needed to spit it out. And quit watching her like she had a knife poised at his back.

Armada was trying to ignore him as she headed into the galley and back out with a bottle of water, but she finally lost it. “What the hell's the matter?” she spat flatly, obviously irritated. She slammed her bottled water down on the table he sat at, and a few droplets escaped the straw and flopped out onto the table.

Trunks's eyes rolled up slowly to look at her. “Sounds like you're the one with the problem,” he said coolly before returning his gaze to his studies.

“Oh cut the bullshit,” she said and narrowed her eyes. “You're a horrible actor and you've had your eyes on me since you had your own personal conversation with the damn spy. You let him get to you, and now you're trying to play it cool,” she said and grimaced, a look that showed how little she believed Trunks feigning innocence. “I'm no fool and I won't be played for one, by anyone,” she emphasized.

Trunks kept quiet for a moment, the tiniest bit of anger showing plainly on his face. He sighed and looked up at Armada. “Has it ever occurred to you that I know nothing about you? How do I know I can,” he shook his head as he searched for the words.

“You can't,” Armada shot in before he got the last two words in.

“—trust you,” Trunks finished and gave her a slighted look, like she'd ripped him off.

There was an awkward silence between the pair, the only sounds in the air those of the ship's engines as they quietly sailed through space. Two sets of blue eyes stared each other down, before Trunks sighed and gave in. He sat back and wiped his right hand across his eyes. “I'm sorry, I let him get to me,” Trunks admitted. “But you've killed people. How do I know you won't kill me?”

Armada took in a deep breath and shifted her weight on her feet, then settled her right hand on her hip. “First, you're worth much more to me alive than dead,” she said flatly. “And second,” she turned slightly, ready to walk back into the bridge after she scooped up her water bottle again, “you're the one working your debt off for me. I should be more afraid of you stabbing me in my sleep and fleeing than you afraid of me.” She gave him a second to think on it before she strode out of the lounge and back into the bridge where she settled into the pilot's chair with a heavy sigh.

-+-

Uncomfortable silence was the normal script between Trunks and Armada, and it returned after she'd confronted him. Neither spent any time with Nassas besides taking him food and retrieving the leftovers. After what felt like weeks, they finally approached Taydran space, and Armada had to take over piloting the ship manually for the landing. Trunks sat at one of the other chairs in the bridge, and felt somewhat sorry for their captive spy as they landed—Armada took the ship down hard, and it rattled Trunks's bones a little so he figured Nassas was far worse off than he with nothing to strap himself into back in the barracks.

Once they'd landed, the two mercenaries put the spy back in his arm shackles and escorted him to the door of the ship. Not wanting to wait for a set of stairs to be brought over, the mercenary pair decided to each hold on to one of Nassas's arms and fly him down to the ground. The spy lurched, “Ugh I don't do well with that kind of stuff.” He hung his head and Trunks thought he looked kind of pale; maybe that wasn't a lie.

Trunks finally took a moment to survey their surroundings. The ship had landed at a small port in the middle of a huge metropolis, with skyscrapers that looked tall enough to fall over all around them and in the distance. Directly in front of them was a multi-level building that wasn't nearly as high as the others but would be an intimidating sight on his home world. Several officers—or at least they looked like officers with their black uniforms and guns—stood around somewhat casually ,but Trunks knew they were keeping an eye on him and Armada.

The open hangar of the building in front of them showed several vehicles inside which ranged from small ships not unlike their own and black cars very similar to the one Armada had back in their hangar on Bmyhad. That's when a group of officials appeared from the shadows inside the garage and made their way out on foot toward Trunks and Armada. The two in front looked like average paper pushers, or possibly higher-ranked officers who dressed formally instead of in their uniforms. Trunks laughed in his head; their suits didn't look so different from what passed as a suit back home. Funny how little things like that were the same millions of kilometers away from each other.

“Wake up, here come the suits,” Armada said to Reine and jerked his arm a little.

“Hey, don't yank so hard,” Nassas whined as he brought his head back up. “And it's your fault for making me queasy.”

“I thought spies could fly,” Armada said with a smirk. Trunks laughed and Nassas merely rolled his eyes and groaned.

The two leaders walking with a group of about a dozen officers behind them finally stood about a meter from Trunks and Armada. There was a man and a woman, both looked fairly young to be really high-ranking officials, but then again Trunks had no idea how things worked on this world. Maybe they aged slower than humans, too?

“I'm Rainn,” the woman introduced herself first, then motioned to the man standing at her left, “and this is Dostov.” She had a datapad in her hands which she secured under one arm and reached out to shake hands with Armada. The mercenary simply looked at her as if she were crazy, and Rainn laughed before withdrawing her hand. “Typical,” she said under her breath.

“The funds have already been deposited in your account,” Dostov finally spoke. He was a good bit taller than Trunks, with black hair and green eyes just like Nassas. They didn't really look related, but to anyone not paying attention they might have passed as brothers or cousins. “We just need him,” Dostov made a small nod with his head in Reine's direction. Armada and Trunks still had yet to let go of his arms, holding him stationary where he stood between them.

Armada turned to Trunks and nodded, and he let go of his hold on Nassas's right arm. Armada followed suit and the spy stumbled forward a step or two before two of the uniformed officers approached to help him walk away.

Rainn was working on her datapad before she flipped it around and held it out toward Armada. Trunks could read the screen as well, and it appeared that the money had indeed been transferred. Armada nodded and Rainn brought the datapad back to her chest. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Armada said flatly. “Let's go,” she said to Trunks and turned to leave.

Trunks wasn't as fast to react to her command, and it was probably for the best. The armed officers all pointed their weapons at him and his comrade and he heard the clicking of them loading. Armada spun around, a look of incredulous anger on her face. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off.

“Sorry,” Rainn said with a smirk, “we can't let you go.” She paused and Trunks noticed Dostov had a small pistol pointed at him. “Even if we never recover what we paid you,” Rainn continued, looking directly at Armada, “you're worth twenty times that to some of our enemies.”

Trunks's face turned to a stony anger and he glanced to Armada who turned around to square her shoulders toward Rainn and she finally spoke. “And you think you can take me? After how many people have tried and failed?” she asked in a tone that would make Trunks shudder if he wasn't on her side.

“Look at how many of my men have their sights on you,” Rainn continued in a sing-song voice like she'd just won. “And there's a number of them you don't see,” she added. Trunks's eyes shot up to several vantage points on the buildings around them, and in a quick glance caught four snipers with long-range rifles. “So you'll come with us alive, or you'll bleed out on the concrete,” Rainn added with a satisfied smile.

Trunks didn't know exactly how fast those guns fired, but he knew he'd be able to get out of the way fast enough to not get hit. The only problem was Armada; he knew she was like him but not nearly as strong or fast. He could flee and she'd get killed. Granted he still had reservations about trusting her, Trunks wasn't about to leave her to her death.

From where Rainn, Dostov, and the rest of the police officers stood, Trunks and Armada disappeared into thin air. Shots rang out where they were standing, peppering the concrete runway and the hull of the mercenary ship with bullet holes. “After her!” Dostov shouted and the officers all moved in on the area.

Just inside the still open door of the mercenary ship, Trunks sat on the floor with his back to the ship's hull, with Armada kneeling in front of him, his arms still wrapped around her shoulders. As gunfire continued to hit the ship, Armada looked up at Trunks with wide eyes—clearly she was shocked. Trunks was looking at the edge of the door frame, listening to what was happening down below. He turned back to Armada to ask, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said and nodded before she pushed herself away from him and stood up. She reached over his head and hit a few buttons that closed the door, which finished with a hiss of the air lock setting in place. “Let's get the hell out of here,” she said and turned and ran the few steps it took to the bridge. Trunks nodded and stood up to follow her.

As Armada threw herself into the pilot's seat, the ship rocked violently. Trunks stopped right behind her and glanced in the direction of the disturbance, knowing immediately it was some sort of explosion just based on the sound alone. A sudden thought hit him, “How do we know they won't blow us out of the sky with missiles or something?”

Armada clenched her teeth as she flipped several switches before she reached for a lever with her right hand. “We don't,” she said and slammed the lever forward. The ship jumped to life beneath their feet, and Trunks lost his balance for a moment. “You might want to buckle yourself in,” Armada said as the ship started to lift up from the ground violently.

Trunks scrambled into one of the two free seats and sat down, strapping himself in. He opened his mouth to say something but the thought was lost when Armada broke in with, “Don't puke.” He had no time to register what she said when the ship blasted forward, slamming the two mercenaries into the backs of their seats. Trunks's vision went blurry for a few seconds, and he knew if he didn't use his own energy to stabilize himself he'd have passed out from the force. The pull only lasted a few seconds before they slowed to what felt like a crawl but Trunks knew was just the end of the rapid acceleration.

Armada fell forward in her seat against the straps keeping her in it and gasped for a few breaths. She wasn't as strong as Trunks, he knew that, and wondered how she managed to not pass out. Then again she seemed to have done this a few times before so maybe she was used to it.

“We're good now,” Armada said and swallowed heavily before she adjusted the ship's course. She sat back in her seat and unbuckled herself, but made no attempt to get up from where she sat. Trunks followed suit and unfastened his restraints. He stood slowly and looked down to Armada, she only glanced in his eyes for a second but he had a good idea of what she was thinking. Just how the hell had he gotten the two of them out of there? When he'd grabbed her down on the ground, he'd felt her tense and move to counterattack until she realized he was the one who had her and they were flying back up into the ship. He supposed it'd be frightening to know your subordinate could have killed you any moment now, if they so wished.

He went to move for the galley to get some water, when she spoke and stopped him in his tracks. “Thanks.” Trunks looked over to her again but he couldn't see her face since she was focused on the smattering of data on the monitor in front of her.

“No problem,” he said and nodded, even though she couldn't see him. He turned and continued his trek to the galley to get something to drink; that sudden acceleration made him feel dehydrated.

When Armada heard him walk out of the bridge, she sat forward and wiped at the sweat on her forehead with her right hand. He could have left me to die, she thought. With that much power, he could have killed me himself if he'd so wanted to, back at that lab in Ute. She sighed and changed the display to the ship's outer cameras to watch stars and systems fly by. In that moment that he'd rescued them both from being shot, she felt a twinge of his real power, that he'd kept in check all this time and it was nauseating. She knew there were people in the universe stronger than her, but if what she felt was merely a fraction of his power she wondered why in the hell he wasn't laying waste to everything in sight and claiming power for himself.

Thinking about it gave her a headache, so Armada closed her eyes and tried to relax. An impossible task but more productive than panicking over things she couldn't control.

-+-

Thanks for reading!

Silvia