Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Twisted Trunks ❯ Prologue

Twisted Trunks

by: Bulmafox

Prologue

Trunks sat at his huge, lofty desk at Capsule Corporation and sighed. It was a beautiful day, Trunks had long since defeated Androids Seventeen and Eighteen, and Cell, the world was at peace for once…and he was bored. Dreadfully bored. He had been raised in a nearly dead world, terrorized by the menacing Seventeen and Eighteen, he spent what felt like two years fighting Cell in the past; he was used to a life of action. Now though, ever since his mother retired, Trunks had assumed the position of President of Capsule Corp. After the first few weeks in his powerful new role, after the rush of power had worn off, he settled into the monotonous routine of signing papers, avoiding the ever-growing legion of female fans waiting to impress him, and attending boring three-hour meetings filled with stuffy old men. The worst part was, he didn't hold any real power. Bulma still made all the decisions and created everything; she just put Trunks in the chair to give the company a fresh new image. Trunks hardly paid attention to the goings-on of his company; his mother had to approve everything anyways, so why even bother? Yes, Trunks was quite possibly the most bored man on Earth. He fiddled with his gold pen, wondering what he could possibly do to stir up his life. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, he got the most wicked idea. He called his personal secretary on the intercom.

"Yes, Mr. President?" the secretary answered.

"Fawn, I want you to process all my paperwork for me and fill in for me at the next…oh, ten meetings," Trunks had to make sure he was covered, and ten sounded like a nice, round number, "Remember, take lots and lots of good notes. Oh, if any important papers come by, you know how to forge my signature, right?"

"Yes," Fawn sighed. She had to sign everything in Trunks' name that passed by him in his absence, which had increased to whenever he could weasel his way out, giving her plenty of practice. She had long ago perfected Trunks' handwriting; now when she signed something, no one could tell it had not been from Trunks, except maybe his mother.

"Good. I'll be taking an extended leave of absence. I basically want you to assume my position until I get back. And if you have any questions, use my mother's direct line. It's 225-528-5621."

"Uh, can you say that again?"

"Here's an easy way to remember it: it's `CALLBULMA1'"

"C-A-L-L-B-U-L-M-A-1," she said as she wrote down the forbidden phone number. Bulma had given it only to Trunks and her most trusted officials to use only for dire emergencies, like if the androids were on their way to Capsule Corp., for example. However, Trunks gave it away to his personal assistant freely and hoped she didn't have too many questions. "Okay, got it. So, where are you going again?" she asked.

All she got in response was a whoosh as Trunks flew out the window.

"Trunks? Trunks, are you still there?" Fawn asked into the empty room.

*************************************************************** *

Trunks flew for an hour, then stopped off at the nearest big city, about 100 miles away from his workplace. He drew a good amount of money from the ATM, then ate at the most expensive restaurant he could find while he perfected his plan. Later, he went to a pharmacy to buy one of the keys to his master plan, then he hung around the city-going to clubs, museums, whatever he could find-until he was sure his mother had fallen asleep.

He finally arrived home at three in the morning and entered his personal password and let the security system scan his retina and fingerprints. After he had passed all the tests, he wrote a note to his mom saying he would be gone for a while; he didn't say how long. He changed into the attire he had worn a few years back during his journey to the past, then made his way down to Bulma's secret lab. After he tried several passwords, he was finally allowed access into the most sacred room in the house; the room where she kept her most secret and prized inventions. Standing right in the middle of the room in all its glory was his mother's most prized invention: the time machine Hope. He hopped in and studied the controls for a few minutes; it had been several years since Trunks last used the machine and Bulma had upgraded it since then. He noticed one of the new features was a control that let a person decide which timeline one wanted to travel to, or if said person wanted to create a new timeline. Trunks scrolled the trackball to "New Timeline", selected the year he wanted to go to, then disappeared in the time machine.