Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Illumination ❯ Mission 04: Outlaws Against Outlaws ( Chapter 5 )

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

Disclaimer: Dragonball Z belongs to Akira Toriyama and numerous other companies. This fanfic is only for fun, no monies are being made.

-+-

“Trunks!” Murtole yelled from across the room and sprinted toward the man in question. Trunks took a step back and Murtole launched himself into the much taller man, wrapping his arms around Trunks's chest and clinging for dear life. Murtole looked up with a sad but adoring expression, “I never got to thank you properly for saving my life.”

Murtole sniffled a little and Trunks laughed. “It's okay, it was nothing,” he said with a smile. The kid was attached, and that was putting it lightly.

“I wondered when we would see you next.”

Trunks's eyes shot up to see Devan had entered the room with that trademark knowing smirk of his. “Hey,” Trunks called out with a slight wave and a smile that said 'help?'

“Murtole,” Devan began in that chiding voice like he was scolding a child.

“Oh, oh!” Murtole exclaimed and released his vice-grip on Trunks. He glanced to Devan, then Trunks again and his face reddened. “Uh, sorry,” he said rather sheepishly.

“It's okay,” Trunks said with a heartfelt smile. The kid was just thankful Armada hadn't killed him. Another thought hit Trunks; would she really have killed him or was it just a bluff? Honestly, he didn't know and it unsettled him.

“You've got a message from your mother,” Devan spoke up again, this time he was only a few feet away from Trunks. The demi-Saiyan supposed that while he was thinking Devan had finished closing the distance between them. “Back in the VR room, everything's already set up,” Devan motioned with his head in the direction he'd come from, farther back into the lab.

“Thanks,” Trunks said genuinely and walked toward the VR room. It was a small room set up specifically for sending prerecorded video messages over long interstellar distances, hence its namesake, “video recording.” Once people were a certain distance away from one another, real-time communication was impossible so the only method left was voice recording, or more commonly now, video recording. Trunks quickly found the small room; it reminded him of the communications room aboard Armada's ship. He briefly thought, shouldn't it be the other way around? Her comm room should remind him of the lab, which he was far more familiar with.

Either way, he sat down at the lone chair in the room in front of a large monitor. He saw his mother's face already up on the screen, apparently all he had to do was push play. How did Devan seem to know whenever Trunks was going to show up unannounced? The man had an uncanny knack for it. Trunks pressed play and sat back to hear from his mother.

First Trunks, let me say I love you and I'm glad to know you're okay. Second, the moment you get home I'm going to kick your ass, and everyone has agreed to help. What are you doing, out there getting into trouble? I sent you on one little errand... You're just like your father, you know. Getting involved in things outside of your own life. For him, it ended up for the best. I suppose I can only hope the same happens for you.

I love you kiddo, now be safe and don't make me worry. And send me a message as soon as you get this, Devan will tell me if you don't.

Bulma blew a kiss to the screen before the video stopped and the monitor went back to the file system where Devan had loaded the video. Trunks smiled to himself, but couldn't shake the guilt of leaving his mother by herself. She seemed to understand though, that he had to do this. Sure he could run away but it would eat at him from the inside out, helping some guy steal from Armada then leaving her to fend for herself. She might not have been the most deserving person in the universe but that was just an excuse, wasn't it?

-+-

Illumination

Mission 04: Outlaws Against Outlaws

-+-

Trunks was sitting in the lounge watching one of the local news networks when Armada finally returned from wherever she'd been. He'd already been back for most of the afternoon after his visit to the lab to see his friends and send a message back home to his mother. Armada wandered into the lounge and set down a large duffel bag she was carrying, and it landed on the table Trunks sat at with a loud thud. He glanced up at her, “What'd you buy, weights?”

Armada opened the bag and pulled out a metal can almost the size of her head. “Paint,” she said flatly and set the can down in front of Trunks. “After I get the dents out of the hull of the ship, courtesy of our friends on Taydr,” she explained, “I'll need to repaint the damaged areas. Got some extra paint for the future so I don't have to run out and buy some whenever the ship gets scraped up,” she finished. After a moment's silence, she queried, “What are you up to?”

“I guess it's a good thing you bought the extra paint,” Trunks said and pointed the small remote to the large monitor on the wall. “Watch,” he said and turned the volume up.

“Taydran officials report that a mercenary group attempted to kidnap one of their detectives four days ago local time. The incident happened at police headquarters in Hrimth, the capital of the nation as reported by their national press yesterday evening. Officials have released video footage of the spacecraft the mercenary group owns in hopes that the public can give tips as to where to find the suspects. Officials are telling the public that if they have any information to contact Detective Norman Dostov via the Hrimth Police Department's network site.”

Video footage played while the broadcaster read the story, and it was clearly their ship being fired upon by several police officers. “Pause it,” Armada said and Trunks did as instructed. She walked closer to the monitor to get a good look at the image of her ship in the middle of a firefight. “Why would they release this?” Armada said softly, more like she was thinking out loud than talking to Trunks. “It doesn't make any sense,” she turned back to Trunks.

“I guess they want help tracking us down,” Trunks offered with a slight shrug.

“Yeah but anyone who could possibly have the ability to track down and capture a spacecraft of this size would already know who they're after, and wouldn't turn us into Taydr when they could have the bounty themselves,” she said with a concentrated and thoughtful look on her face. “Play the rest of the video,” Armada said and turned back to the monitor. Trunks resumed the broadcast and the pair watched as the ship blasted its engines, sending several people flying away while scorching the earth underneath before shooting up into the atmosphere. Afterward, the news broadcast continued with other stories and Trunks muted the sound.

“That's the first time anyone's offered up a picture of my ship to the entire universe,” she said flatly and with irritation. She shifted her weight on her feet and looked back at Trunks once again. “Guess we'll be repainting the entire ship then.”

“Whoa,” Trunks held up his hands in a 'stop' motion, “what do you mean 'we?' Can't you get a professional to do it?”

Armada smirked. “I have all the equipment I need here. Besides, we're wanted criminals. I'm not dumb enough to go to a repair dock with a giant target on my back that says 'please capture us now, we're idiots,'” she finished, using a higher pitch in her voice for the last part. Trunks laughed; was she actually making a joke? That was a first.

“It's not hard,” Armada continued, presumably talking about painting the ship. “And it'll go twice as fast with the two of us working on it,” she smirked again. “And seeing as how I'm your boss, you don't get to say no,” she added.

Trunks sighed, “I suppose you're right,” he said. Truthfully she couldn't make him do anything and they both knew it, but since he was living on the ship it might be a good idea to help repaint it and keep the heat off of them, since if she was captured then he was too.

Several minutes later the pair was standing down on one of the metal catwalks below the ship in the hangar on Ute. Armada knelt next to a pile of cylinders and hoses, putting several pieces together. Trunks looked up at the ship; it was a good size and would likely take well into the night to finish painting. “Put this on,” he heard Armada speak and looked down to face her.

She stood up and hefted a large tube attached to what looked like a flight harness that belonged to a paratrooper. Trunks blinked a few times, “What's that?”

“The paint can,” she said matter-of-factly. “You fasten the top belt around your waist, the lower one around your hips and the canister hangs off of your hip,” she motioned to the parts while she described them. She lifted a nozzle with a long hose leading from the canister, “And you hold down the trigger to paint.” She squeezed the trigger and aimed at a portion of the catwalk railing next to them causing a jet black stripe of paint about eighteen inches in width to appear on the rail. She looked back up to Trunks and held out the nozzle and gear for him.

“Black?” Trunks questioned as he took the item from her hands. As soon as she let go, Armada turned around and knelt in front of the mess of parts again, which didn't look so messy now, and began assembling her own paint pack.

“Interstellar Investigators Association standard paint scheme,” Armada said as she finished attaching a hose to the end of the paint canister. “If bounty hunters are looking for us, best to hide among them where they're less likely to look,” she finished her work and turned and stood, holding her own paint pack by the belts in front of Trunks.

“If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?” Trunks joked as she fastened her own belt around her waist before getting the second wrapped around her hips.

“Not exactly,” Armada replied. Finished attaching her pack, she looked back up at him. “You start at the bow near the bridge,” she pointed to the ship, “and go from top to bottom. I'll get the stern where the engines are,” she finished and slowly floated up into the air.

“Wait,” Trunks called out and she stopped and hovered only a meter above the catwalk. “Shouldn't we be wearing masks or something?” he asked earnestly. Especially in the closed space of the hangar, they'd choke to death on paint fumes.

Armada shook her head. “No fumes and no particulates to worry about,” she said and squeezed the trigger on her paint nozzle, shooting paint into the air. “Environmentally sound,” she said before she turned and flew off. “Just aim at the hull and you'll be fine,” she threw over her shoulder as she flew toward the back of the ship. Trunks looked at the paint nozzle in his hand and shrugged before he flew to the front of the ship.

-+-

After several hours, without any fumes as Trunks was doubtful of what she'd said at first, he and Armada were nearly done painting the ship. He was on the underside of the middle, finishing up the last few lines as Armada came down from the other side to meet underneath. As she moved along, spraying an even coat with her nozzle, she glanced over to Trunks from the corner of her eyes. “Just make sure you don't accidentally paint me,” she said while she continued to work.

Bored from the quiet monotony of painting, and tempted by her words despite them holding no humorous intent, Trunks smirked. “Okay,” he said and slowed his pace on the last strip he was painting down the hull. He went slow enough to wait for Armada to come back down the other side, and since she was looking up at the ship and ignoring him he had the perfect opportunity. He quickly swung the nozzle down, away from the ship's hull while still holding the trigger. Armada moved at the last second but not fast enough, and her left arm and a good portion of her chest and abdomen were coated in black paint.

Armada looked up at him shocked, until she saw the smirk on his face. “Oh you think you're funny, do you?” she said with a rather malicious smirk, and Trunks wasn't quite sure if she understood it was just a joke and not an intentional move to hurt her.

“Sorry,” he shrugged facetiously, “I guess I'm just a rookie with this thing.” He brandished the painting 'wand' toward her as if he was completely confused as to how to use it.

“Then I suppose I'll have to teach you!” Armada grinned and flew at him. Trunks fled, but she was fast—faster than he thought she would be. He barely got away from her first attempt to paint him, and the tip of his left boot turned black.

“Hey that was my shoe!” he countered playfully, stopping momentarily. He'd lost sight of her and she suddenly appeared behind him. Just as she pulled the trigger on the nozzle he disappeared again, and the chase was on. Trunks flew under the ship back to the other side of the hangar, near the catwalk where they left their paint supplies. He stopped again to listen for movement, to get the jump on where she'd be coming from. Honestly, if he wanted to he could fly circles around her, but where was the fun in that?

Distracted by his thoughts for a moment, Armada came flying in from his left and slammed her right palm across his face. Trunks stepped back to realize she'd wiped something thick and oily on him. She laughed, and he reached up to wipe at the liquid. “Nice,” he said in defeat as he saw black paint on his fingertips, matching the smear of black paint on her arm where she had taken some of what he'd shot her with to smear on him.

As Trunks wiped at the paint stretching from the bottom of his forehead at his eyebrows down to the top of his upper lip, he heard Armada laughing at him. Laughing! Not even ten minutes ago he still would have thought that impossible. “Don't worry, it's not harmful to you,” she said after she finished laughing.

Trunks closed his right eye as the paint dripped and raised his left eyebrow before he laughed. “You got me,” he admitted and laughed quietly.

“Here,” Armada said and reached up with her left hand, the one without any paint on it. She wiped across his eyebrows to keep the paint from dripping into his eyes. Trunks laughed slightly and Armada cracked a very small smile. Since she'd wiped the paint from his face, the pair had only a foot between them. For a moment, to Trunks, it felt like time stopped because they were silent and they just looked into each other's eyes.

The silence was broken when something rang out, and after a moment they both realized it was Armada's phone. She flew down to where she'd left it on the catwalk where she had assembled their painting packs, and furiously wiped her right hand on her shirt to get as much paint off as she could before she picked up the phone. By the time she had her phone in her hands, Trunks landed at her side.

Armada flipped open her phone and clicked a button to set it on speakerphone. “Mace,” she said, holding the phone out from her chest about twelve inches, “you'd better have a good job for me.”

“Only the best, of course,” Trunks heard a man on the other end of the conversation laugh.

Armada looked over at Trunks. “Mace is my broker,” she started, “he finds good paying jobs for me.”

“Who are you talking to?” the voice on the phone asked.

“My new employee. Now tell me what you've got or shut up, I'm busy,” Armada wiped at her forehead with the back of her right forearm, still holding the phone in her hand.

“Got a good one for you. Compensation starts at two hundred thousand,” Mace said and sounded kind of happy about it. “All you have to do is provide some extra security for a local bank in Ute. They've had threats of a robbery so the bank president is concerned his own security isn't quite enough.”

“Sounds good. Send me the rest of the information over the network,” Armada said and snapped her phone shut. She studied the phone for a moment before she looked back up to Trunks. “Looks like we've got work to do.”

-+-

Trunks hovered over Armada's shoulder as she sat at one of the three main consoles in the bridge of the ship. “So what's our assignment?” he asked as she scanned through the message sent from her 'broker,' her word for the middle man between her and her contractors themselves.

“The Mallean First Bank of Ute needs some extra security,” Armada said with disinterest. “Apparently they've had a number of threats of a robbery and they feel the threats are legitimate. They want some temporary extra security.” She read on farther in silence before she sat back in her chair and looked up over her left shoulder at Trunks. “Looks like we'll need to go shopping; they want us to blend in with the staff.”

“What do we need, uniforms?” Trunks asked somewhat surprised.

Armada cocked her head to the side. “No, just some nice suits. Well,” she paused briefly, “really only you need to get new clothes, I've got things for these types of occasions.” She turned back to the monitor and continued reading the last bits of information Mace had sent over. “I guess it's a good thing this came along now, you really need something to replace what you brought with you anyway.”

“What?” Trunks said with shock and indignation. “You have a problem with my clothes?” he asked as a few blood vessels stood out on his forehead. Was she trying to insult him?

“Yes,” Armada said as casually as if she were confirming her order for lunch. “You look like you just crawled out of some backwater world that learned to fly yesterday.” She paused for a moment and Trunks opened his mouth to speak but no words came to him. “You stand out,” she continued, “and that's not what we want.”

Trunks narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I happen to be a very good looking guy who dresses himself well, thank you.” Truthfully, he didn't really believe the words as they came out of his mouth. He was generally still wearing the same things he'd worn since he was a teenager... he'd never given his clothes that much thought before. He was busy with more important things back then.

“You can think whatever you want,” Armada continued, “but at least for this mission you do need new clothes.” She looked him up and down a moment before she spoke again. “With your body type you'll definitely need to get your things tailored to you. I know a good place,” she finished and stood.

“What, right now?” Trunks asked.

Armada eyed him warily. “You have somewhere else you need to be?”

Trunks rolled his eyes and walked past her toward the door of the ship. She knew the answer to that question; she didn't need to chide him like he was a child.

-+-

Trunks walked a half-pace behind Armada and off to her right side as they strode up to the front doors of the Mallean First Bank of Ute downtown in the city. It was the middle of the day, a little unusual for a mission to start at that time for them, but this time they weren't breaking into buildings or otherwise sneaking around like criminals. Criminals, Trunks thought as it finally hit him full-force. He'd be doing a lot of illegal things in this line of work, in addition to those he'd already done, and his mother most certainly would not be happy. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut; he only knew things would get worse from here on out. Then again, he reminded himself, he got himself into this mess and running from it like a coward just didn't seem like an option.

As the pair walked through the front doors they were greeted by a man who introduced himself as the head of security. He led the pair through the main lobby and into a narrow hallway down the side of the building where they were processed through a scanner. After they were taken to a small waiting room and told to wait until instructed to enter the bank president's office. The head of security left and the mercenaries stood and waited; neither was one to sit in a situation such as this.

Armada stood with her back toward Trunks and glanced around the room. She appeared to be analyzing everything in sight, like she was always on guard. Trunks was still a very astute observer, but he hadn't been so obsessed with monitoring his immediate surroundings for many years now. That made him wonder, what was Armada so afraid of? Or rather, if she wasn't nervous now, which she didn't seem to be—what had made such an impact on her in the past that she was still carrying over nervous behaviors?

He didn't get much time to think about it when the double doors leading into the bank president's office opened and a brunette middle-aged woman walked out. She informed the pair that they were to enter to meet with president and made her way out. As she walked out she made eye contact with Trunks, and stared at him with an intensity that he didn't understand. Mercenaries weren't beloved, he knew that, but this seemed to be about something else. He didn't get any time to analyze it as Armada was already three steps into the president's office before Trunks had moved an inch.

When Trunks walked in the bank president stood from his desk and motioned toward the double doors with his right hand and spoke, “Close the door please.” Trunks nodded and pulled the double doors shut behind him and the president seated himself once more.

The bank president, a middle-aged man with dusty brown hair and brown eyes, swallowed thickly as he looked at the two mercenaries standing in his office. “Please, have a seat,” he said nervously. Armada didn't move a muscle and Trunks merely shifted his weight on his feet. The president nervously acknowledged that they didn't wish to sit and moved on to the business at hand.

“I've got a serious problem on my hands,” he said hurriedly. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at the sweat beading on his forehead. He looked back up at Armada nervously, then glanced to Trunks.

“This isn't about a robbery threat, is it,” Armada broke in and caught the president's eyes again. She didn't ask a question; the way she delivered it said that it was a statement of fact despite the last two words of her sentence.

The president looked mildly agitated and glanced between the two mercenaries before settling on Armada. “No, it isn't. Well, it is but it isn't.” He paused for a moment and glanced down at his desk; Trunks supposed he was trying to build his courage before he looked up and spoke once more. “This institution has a substantial account with... the Orelnenn family.”

Trunks noticed Armada's face settled into a very displeased scowl before she spoke. “You realize what you've done now, right? If things weren't this bad you wouldn't have had to hire us.” She turned her head and Trunks heard her swear under her breath, though he didn't think the bank president heard it. “So what's going on?” she asked after returning her attention to the president, crossing her arms over her chest in the process.

“The Orelnenns lost a significant amount of money in an investment that went belly-up,” the president spoke once more. “They want to rob the bank and take back their money along with the rest of the money of the other accounts here to make up the difference in what they lost.”

“You idiot,” Armada scolded the bank president darkly, “this is exactly why you don't do business with criminals. Or,” she continued, “at least if you do, you don't involve innocent people in the process. Let me guess, if you don't let them rob the place, they've threatened to kill you?”

The president nodded. “And my employees, and their families.”

Armada shifted her weight on her feet as she lifted one of the arms crossed over her chest so her fist was near her mouth, as if she were thinking. Trunks was a bit surprised at her statement of leaving out innocents if one were to do business with criminals. Was it a matter of honor, or just practicality? Thinking over everything that was just said, another question came to Trunks. “Wait, who are the Orelnenns?” he asked, bringing Armada out of her thoughts.

“Utian organized crime,” she responded flatly. “No matter where you go in the universe, anywhere there is a legitimate, established government, there will always be some level of organized crime working beneath it.” She paused a moment and turned to look at Trunks. “The Orelnenn family has a long history of working in Bmyhad, and they're centered in Ute. This moron,” she glanced to the bank president and back, “just threw in with one of the most powerful mafias this side of the Republic.”

“How was I to know what would happen?!” the bank president shot back with a face red from anger. Apparently he had something of a spine to stand up to Armada. That, or he really had no idea who he was talking to.

“What did you expect, you fucking idiot?!” Armada screamed back at him. Trunks was a bit taken back from her anger. It seemed... misplaced. “You cast your lot in with a gang and expect them to behave themselves?” she shouted, throwing her left arm out to her side. “I should let the Orelnenns kill you.”

“Please, don't!” he cried out, tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I'll pay you anything, please, just stop them.”

“The risk of this job has increased considerably compared to what the stated parameters were,” Armada continued in a much colder voice. “The new price is five hundred thousand, non-negotiable.”

The bank president looked furious, but swallowed his pride and assented. “Fine. But we can't have any casualties, you understand?”

“That's fine,” Armada replied coolly. “When should we expect them to attempt the robbery?”

“Sometime in the next ten days,” the bank president replied. “Though I'd suspect sometime sooner knowing the Orelnenns.”

“What have you told them about us?” Armada continued. Trunks hadn't given it any thought, but it was a good question. If they told the bank president they were planning a robbery, wouldn't they notice he wasn't cooperating by hiring a pair of mercenaries?

“Personal protection,” the president supplied. “Honestly they won't think much of you, and won't consider you a concern.”

“Your head of security needs to show us all of your surveillance and where it's set up, as well as the building's construction schematics and any security weaknesses you have,” Armada continued. “If we're going to stop this, we need to know everything they could possibly exploit.”

The bank president's face twisted in anger. “If we do that then you could rob us blind before the Orelnenns do!”

“Why would I do that and piss off Orelnenns myself? You really are an idiot,” Armada finished and turned to leave. She stopped after one step and looked over her should at the bank president once more. “Whatever the Orelnenns told you to do to prepare for the robbery, do it. You don't want them to think anything has changed.” With that, she walked up to the double doors and pushed them open, striding out. Trunks followed quickly after her.

“What the hell have I done?” the bank president quietly said to himself as he lowered his face into his hands. Mercenaries versus mafia? This would spell nothing else but disaster.

-+-

Once outside the bank president's office, Armada stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. She stared at nothing in particular, apparently lost in thought. Trunks walked up beside Armada while the same brunette woman from before he looked at him oddly walked past them and back into the president's office, closing the door behind her. He turned his attention back from the unknown woman to his comrade.

“So what do you think?” Trunks asked, knowing that obviously she hadn't said everything that was on her mind to the bank president.

She stayed silent a moment before uncrossing her arms and turning to face her comrade. “The Orelnenns value their family name so the highest positions within the organization can only be held by family members. However,” she paused briefly, “they do have their fair share of energy fighters among their ranks. Nobody that we can't handle individually, but together they could pose a problem.”

“When do you think they'll strike? At night, when nobody is here?” Trunks asked. If he had to rob a bank, although he'd never thought about it before, he would do so at night when the bank was closed to avoid all the people that would be inside and get in the way.

“Normally, I'd agree with you that they would try to pull it off at night,” Armada replied.

“But this isn't a normal robbery,” Trunks supplied with a knowing nod.

“Exactly,” Armada spoke once more. “Think about it; they're trying to take their own money out and take as much as they can of the rest in order to make up an investment loss. If they come in at night when everything is locked down they'll have to blast open the vault, and risk destroying a significant amount of the cash inside. They don't want to do that, so they'll plan for the robbery during the day when the vault is open.”

“There's no other way to open the vault besides destroying it?” Trunks asked. He wasn't an expert in these matters, but the vault was open during the bank's working hours, so there had to be a way to open it otherwise.

“It's set to a timer, so it only opens and closes once a day during working days,” Armada answered. “The timer isn't even controlled by anyone at the bank, it's set when the vault is installed and can only be changed the company who installed the vault. This way, nobody at the facility is actually responsible or even has authority to open the vault on their own.” She paused a moment. “The idea originally was to stop robberies, however instead of preventing robberies, they simply concentrated all robberies to occur during the day instead of during both day and night.” Armada stopped talking a moment to let all of that information sink in before she summed up her words with one sentence. “They'll attack during the day, they have to.”

“How do you know all of this? You rob a lot of banks?” Trunks asked with a laugh.

“What kind of mercenary would I be if I didn't know this information?” Armada asked flatly. Before either mercenary could continue their conversation, they were interrupted by a third person in the room who made his presence known by clearing his throat.

The pair turned to see the man who'd led them back to the bank president's office earlier. “I'm Kelk, head of security,” he introduced himself a second time. “Come with me, I've gotten word that we have a lot of information to go over.” He turned and headed back down that small hallway and Trunks and Armada both quickly fell into step behind him. Trunks got the feeling from the way the guy spoke and carried himself that he wasn't happy with the situation. Well, nobody would be happy to know a mafia planned to rob their establishment, but Trunks felt that Kelk's unhappiness had more to do with the mercenaries' presence than it did the actual threat of a robbery.

-+-

That first day, Trunks and Armada spent hours with Kelk going over all of the information Armada had said they'd need. Trunks was glad his mother was a genius, because while he felt exhausted after going over all that data, he still felt he had a good grasp of all of it, including the floor plan of the building. He was sure it was genetic and had to do with his mother's side of the family. That, and even though the androids were terrorizing Earth while he grew up, Bulma still made him study and taught him herself in the basement labs of Capsule Corporation. And after the androids and Cell she made him study even more, stating that he'd need to know a lot more than he did if he wanted to be useful outside of construction in their new world. Who knew how right she was, though he doubted she'd expected he'd be where he was now.

Late that first night, Trunks rolled over for the umpteenth time. They'd long since returned to the ship, since Armada was sure they didn't need to camp out at the bank overnight. Trunks had been trying to sleep for a while now, but had thus far been unsuccessful. Something about this job bothered him on an unconscious level, he just couldn't figure out what in order to make that part of him shut up so he could get some sleep. Feeling frustrated more than anything else, he finally sat up and decided to go grab something to eat. He didn't feel hungry, but he wasn't not hungry, so maybe a midnight snack would help.

When Trunks walked into the lounge he found Armada still wearing her suit from earlier, seated at the small table in the lounge with a small computer in front of her. “Still going over everything?” Trunks asked as he walked past and into the galley to rummage for something to eat.

“I have to be prepared,” she answered lowly while keeping her attention focused on the computer in front of her. As Trunks found a fruit resembling an apple and grabbed a bottle of water, he wondered if she didn't catch on as quickly as he did. It was a bit surprising, but then again maybe he was on to something earlier thinking his brain was a bit more advanced due to some genetics. His mother and grandfather were both literal geniuses, and his father wasn't exactly stupid.

“There wasn't that much to go over, was there?” Trunks asked as he walked back into the lounge. He leaned back against the wall opposite of where Armada sat and took a bite of the fruit in his left hand.

Armada sighed before she looked up at him. “No, but I can't shake this feeling that we're missing something.” She watched Trunks for a moment before adding, “You too?”

Trunks didn't realize he'd done anything to indicate he was in agreement, but he probably wasn't as guarded about his facial expressions as she was. “Yeah,” he replied through a mouthful of fruit, “something just... bugs me. I don't know what, I can't think of logically what we would have missed.”

Armada looked back down at the computer in front of her. “Gut instincts aren't a bad thing. Sometimes they save your life.”

Trunks thought about her words. He'd thought, from what he knew about her so far, that she'd be dismissive of his feeling that something was off as illogical. Go figure that she felt the same. He still knew barely anything about her, and he was fairly certain she wouldn't sit down and have a long conversation with him to talk all about herself. She kind of reminded him of Piccolo with her standoffish nature, and he laughed to himself.

He must have actually laughed out loud, as Armada's head snapped up. “You should get some rest,” she said coolly before looking back down at her computer.

She started typing something and Trunks stood up from where he previously leaned back against the wall. “You should do the same,” Trunks replied before he took another bite of his snack. He started to walk out and stopped one last time to look back at Armada. Whatever she was doing, she was certainly engrossed as she didn't look at him again. He knew better than to assume she was distracted by her work, but it fascinated him. He hadn't seen her quite this focused before. Then again, they were waiting for someone else to make the first move, where so far they had been on the offensive in all of their assignments.

After his brief reverie, Trunks continued on his way back to the barracks and his room. By the time he entered and sat on the edge of his bed, he was done eating and threw the core of his apple-like fruit in the trash can in the corner. He laid back in bed and drank from his water bottle, and seriously wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

-+-

Trunks walked nonchalantly to one of the back offices of the First Mallean Bank of Ute. It was his fifth day on duty waiting for a mafia organized robbery to take place, which he was assigned to thwart. The first few days weren't bad, but tension was building as he and his comrade waited. And not just for them, but for everyone at the bank who knew what was about to happen. The bank president had taken a convenient vacation, which Trunks had cursed when he found out. How would they appear to be the president's personal security if he wasn't there? Armada said it was unfortunate but couldn't be helped, so they continued on with the job. Ditching it at this point might make their true intent more obvious, and Armada said there was no point in getting all the heat with none of the reward. Trunks agreed, but that didn't make the tension ease up any.

Trunks entered the small office and closed the door behind him when he entered. “Stay on your guard, they're here,” he heard the voice of Kelk crackle over the small radio earpiece he had in his right ear. Just minutes ago, six men in dark suits walked in the front doors to the bank. Kelk had identified them as members of the Orelnenn syndicate and ordered everyone to move into position. Trunks was to stay put in a back office that the Orelnenn regulars never used nearest the vault. He couldn't see what was going on outside of his position, but he was in the best proximity to the vault if they made their move.

“This might not be the strike, so keep cool,” he heard Armada's voice come over the radio as well. Over the past few days every now and then different Orelnenn low ranking 'gophers' would come in to withdraw or deposit funds. They had to be careful not to overreact if this was normal business for the Orelnenns. At the same time, they still needed to be ready, and up until now they had never seen more than two organization members in the bank at any one time. Which was why everyone moved into position when half a dozen strolled in with smiles on their faces.

Trunks did the math in his head as he stood in the office and tried to look busy if someone came in. There was himself, Armada, Kelk, and nine other security guards, three of which were in suits like he and Armada while the rest were in their normal uniforms with Kelk. Kelk had said there wasn't much of a point in having them dress incognito since the security guards might be recognized anyway, which would only serve to tip off the mafia that they were planning to stop the robbery. The three guards who worked the least were put in suits just to make it seem like security was not overly heavy. It would be easier for them to blend in with the patrons as well.

Trunks heard his radio crackle again and waited for someone to speak, but all he heard was light static for a few seconds. Suddenly he heard a dull thud over the radio and the signal cut out. Trunks immediately knew something was wrong, but he didn't want to speak lest he miss something important coming over the radio. He heard his radio crackle again like someone was about to speak, but after a few seconds it cut out again. He couldn't wait any longer; clearly something was going on. He reached for the door when it flew open and someone rushed in and pushed a piece of plastic against his nose and mouth.

Trunks quickly realized it was Armada holding a small plastic mask to his face matching one she was wearing, though hers was actually strapped on. She kicked the door shut behind her and glanced back up at Trunks. Her eyes were squinted almost shut, and she seemed to have a pained expression on her face. Before Trunks could say anything she preempted him, “Gas, through the ventilation system.”

The realization hit him like a bag of bricks to the back of the head. They never looked at the ventilation system beyond noting it on the building's schematics. He figured that must have been what nagged at him and Armada both several days ago, but it was too late to worry about that now. Trunks put his left hand on his mask and used his right hand to pull the strap over his head and secure the mask to his face.

Able to let go of his mask, Armada immediately stumbled backwards before she caught herself somewhat and used the door behind her as leverage to lean on. “It should dissipate in about fifteen minutes,” she said in a strained voice. She suddenly cringed as if she were in pain and slid down the door to the floor.

Trunks closed the small distance between them and knelt down beside her. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked with worry. Clearly she hadn't gotten her mask on as quickly as he had his... thanks to her quick thinking.

“It's a paralytic,” she said through closed eyed and strained breaths. “I breathed in too much. You'll have to handle everything,” she said as her fists unclenched.

Trunks quickly realized she was only getting worse, and not better as time wore on. If he had to do this himself, he needed to put her somewhere relatively safe, and fast. He put his right arm under her left arm and pulled her up to stand on her feet. She couldn't stand on her own, and he pulled her closer and wrapped her left arm around the back of his shoulders and neck. Holding her left arm with his left hand, he put his right arm around her waist and helped her walk to the corner of the office and a small closet.

After opening the closet door and setting her down inside, her back against the back wall, Trunks let go and stood over her. “Stay here, I'll come back for you,” he said and waited for a reaction. She could only look up at him through labored breaths; either she couldn't talk or didn't have the energy. Either way he closed the door on her and turned his attention to the task at hand.

“Anybody else still standing?” Trunks asked into his radio. He waited a moment for a reply, and after receiving none, he assumed the worst—he was the only one left. Well, him against six guys wouldn't be too bad, he supposed. Even if they had energy fighters among them, they couldn't be a match for him—if they were then they wouldn't be serving anyone else but themselves. His real concern was making sure that none of the patrons or employees would get hurt during this operation.

Trunks walked to the door to the office and stopped in front of it. Closing his eyes, he tried to sense everyone in the building. He had a clear read on everyone who was unmoving, and just as he started to get a good idea of where the mafia members were, he was interrupted by shouting. “You've got four minutes before this place goes up, now move!”

Trunks's eyes opened in shock. 'Before this place goes up...' he thought for a moment before he quickly realized what that meant—the building was going to explode. In four minutes. Less than that, actually, if they were speaking in Bmyhadian minutes, which were shorter than Earth minutes. Trunks started to feel sick. He could sense the mafia members and take them out in that amount of time, but how the hell would he find a bomb in time? And he couldn't disarm it, he'd have to remove it—if he even could move it without it going off early.

Trunks clenched his teeth. Calm down, he told himself. He needed to stay composed to think. He had no time and he had to find a bomb. A bomb that had to have been planted before he and Armada arrived five days ago, otherwise they'd have seen it being done. Unless they brought it with them today; he didn't see the six men enter the bank but when the call went out to get into position one of the guards noted that two men carried duffel bags—not uncommon for their deposits and withdrawals, but what if they carried the bomb in? Scanners at the front of the bank were supposed to catch these types of things, but Trunks knew that technology wasn't foolproof. They could have hidden it somehow.

He was wasting too much time, and even though he wasn't entirely sure if he could pull this off, Trunks knew he couldn't keep standing still. He had to act, even if in vain. He quickly stepped out of the office and into the hallway and glanced both directions. He was essentially behind the vault in the back of the bank. He headed down the hall to his right, the fastest way to the vault, when he heard someone around the corner of the hallway talking. He stopped at the corner to listen.

“...evidence do you need?”

Trunks's eyebrows came together in consternation.

“I said what evidence do you need?” the man repeated a little louder. Trunks took a brief glance around the corner to confirm what he sensed—the man was by himself. He must have been talking into some kind of radio.

“I told them I set it for four minutes, but it's actually six. I'll go back to deactivate it after you come in,” the man whispered.

Is he talking to the police? Trunks thought in confusion. Before Trunks could process it any further, another man walked down the hall to the one who Trunks was eavesdropping on.

“Li,” Trunks heard the new man speak, “you've done a good job. But we don't need traitors.”

Trunks thought he heard the first man try to speak before six gunshots went off, muffled by what sounded like a silencer. Trunks saw the bullet holes in the back wall of the hallway across from him and heard a body slowly slump to the ground.

The death of the man Trunks was listening in on confirmed what he was thinking—one of the crew involved in the robbery was working with the authorities. Then how much did local police know about what was happening? If Utian police was even who this guy was talking to.

Just then, the ground shook slightly as Trunks heard an explosion. It didn't sound nearly large enough to level the bank, but he panicked all the same that he was too late. Even if the timer was six minutes and not four, he was quickly running out of time. He heard some kind of shouting at the front of the bank, but the words were soon distorted by gunfire. Had the police broken in during the robbery? Whatever was happening, it was time for him to move.

Trunks whirled around the corner of the hallway to see the man with the gun still standing there. He was shocked to see Trunks, but the demi-Saiyan didn't even give the mafioso time to express his shock. Trunks appeared in front of the man and landed a punishing uppercut to the man's stomach, knocking him out with one blow—a difficult feat for Trunks since it would be far too easy to accidentally kill the man.

Trunks flew down the hall and took two hard lefts to wind up in the vault. When he stopped, he found two men with duffel bags loading up as much money as they could, but they had no weapons on them. Trunks found out why as soon as both of them powered up and fired energy blasts at him. Their strength was so low compared to Trunks he quickly swatted away their attacks which hit the side wall of the vault and exploded, the resulting force sending cash flying around the room like snow in a blizzard.

Trunks appeared in front of the man closest to him, and with three quick punches he'd laid him out. Before the second man could cry out, Trunks was upon him with the same three quick punches which had dispatched his comrade. As both men fell to the floor, Trunks glanced around. If they were going to blow the place, the best place to do so and cover their tracks would be the vault, wouldn't it? Either he had the right idea or he was lucky, as Trunks suddenly noticed a small metal box on the floor in one corner that looked like an undersized briefcase.

The mercenary moved fast, and was kneeling in front of the box in a flash. He lifted it, and it felt extremely heavy for its size. He lifted what looked like a lid to see another metallic box inside, only this one had a small video display that was counting down, and fast. Determining that what he found had to be the bomb, Trunks stalled for a moment. What was he going to do? He couldn't disarm it, he didn't know how. He couldn't turn it off, assuming there was nobody left who knew how to do so, and he certainly didn't know.

The numbers quickly approached zero, and sensing he only had seconds left to get rid of this thing, Trunks did the only thing he could think of. He lifted the bomb in his arms and stood before looking up with his right hand outstretched and he fired a massive energy blast into the roof of the vault.

-+-

After Trunks had left her in the closet, Armada cursed inwardly. Her body wasn't responding to what she told it to do, and she knew exactly why—but it pissed her off to no end anyway. After what felt like hours of struggling, some feeling started to come back and Armada pushed herself to her feet. Just as she opened the door to the closet, three men with guns burst into the office, knocking the door off its hinges. They leveled automatic rifles at Armada and she could do nothing but grimace in return. They said something to themselves before they put their weapons away and two of the three men ran over to her to assist her in walking.

Moments later Armada was outside the front of the bank with the rest of the civilians, behind police lines as Utian police continued their raid. She was able to take off her mask but still had trouble moving due to the paralytic gas. Her limbs felt heavier than the heaviest metals, and her joints felt like they were grinding when she moved, not to mention the excruciating pain. The civilians and employees pulled out were loaded into ambulances bound for local hospitals, most of them unmoving like stones. Normal people couldn't really take a paralytic gas this potent. Normal being the keyword.

Armada sat in the back of a police car with the door open. She wondered if Trunks was able to stop the Orelnenns before the police entered. She was starting to wonder what was going on when she felt an enormous energy make itself known inside. She started to panic; the Orelnenns had sent energy fighters after all. Armada forced herself to her feet despite the pain, but before she could do anything else a powerful blast of energy shot straight into the sky, disintegrating a good portion of the bank's roof.

When Armada realized it was Trunks who fired the blast and flew out, she could only stare in confusion. What the hell is he doing?! she thought with a sense of panic. Trunks was maybe a quarter of a mile into the sky when suddenly he exploded. The crowd of onlookers that had gathered by now collectively gasped, and officers started shouting as burning debris fell from the sky above downtown Ute.

Before Armada could think about what she'd just seen, Trunks appeared next to her, looking no worse for wear except for a few spots of dirt on his white suit. He pulled the plastic mask off of his face and looked to his comrade. Armada found it hard to breathe—still suffering the effects of the paralytic gas—and fell back a step to lean against the open door of the police cruiser she stood next to.

Trunks finished brushing some of the dirt from his clothing before he took a step toward Armada. “Are you okay?” he asked again, a repeat of what he'd said to her only minutes before.

“I'll live,” Armada replied with a wince. Talking hurt a bit more than she suspected it would.

“That was a good show.”

Trunks spun around to the voice behind him to see two officers. They were in suits, not uniforms, but they had their badges hanging around their necks. And he recognized exactly who they were. “Detective Neiman, Lieutenant Strife,” he said, the tone of his voice indicating that he'd hardly expected them to be here.

“Good to see you again,” Lieutenant Strife added with a knowing smile.

“You tricked us,” Armada cut in before anyone else could say anything. The combination of pain she still felt and her anger at the realization that she had been manipulated created a look on her face that worried Trunks, and would have scared him if she was more powerful than he was. Dare he say, she looked downright murderous at the moment. He prepared himself to step in if things got bad.

“We did,” Detective Neiman spoke. “And I'm not sorry for it. You both did an excellent job and absolutely deserve every bit of your pay.”

Armada grimaced and forced herself to stand upright and take a few steps toward Neiman. Trunks made sure to stay put; she would have trouble pushing past him to get to the Utian officers. “I should kill you where you stand,” Armada ground out through gritted teeth.

“But you won't, because it would cause undue complications in your life, especially since you're stranded here until you make enough money to leave,” Neiman quickly retorted. Trunks was shocked at his bravado, but Armada stayed silent where she stood. Then again, it sounded as if Neiman knew more about Armada than he let on, and if Trunks had to guess he figured that unnerved her quite a bit.

Neiman smirked and took in deep breath before he continued. “You'll find the money is already deposited into your account.” He looked to Trunks. “You saved a lot of lives today. Good work.” Neiman turned and began to walk away, and Strife gave Trunks a slight nod before turning and walking after his partner.

Trunks turned to face Armada and she had her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Damnit!” she shouted and slammed her right fist into the back of the police cruiser she was sitting in only moments ago. The force of her punch tore a hole in the body of the vehicle, but with everything that was going on around them, none of the officers nearby seemed to notice.

“Hey, it's okay,” Trunks reached out to place his right hand on her left shoulder and calm her down. Before he made contact, Armada used her left arm in a parrying maneuver and quite forcefully pushed his arm away.

“Don't touch me,” she said lowly and with a slight growl. She stared at Trunks in anger for a moment before she forced herself to walk and push past him.

Trunks watched her walk away with a scowl on his face. They had accomplished their mission with no casualties and even made more money than they had initially signed on for. Just because the whole thing was set up by a few local police officers was no reason for her to be so angry. Then again, he didn't know her—what if this was who she truly was? Part of Trunks was saddened at the realization, but mostly he was concerned. Maybe he had gotten himself into something he would come to deeply regret.

-+-

Thanks for reading!

Silvia