Disclaimer: TDS does not own Dragonball Z

This story is brought to you by SilviaS7 and ShadowMajin

When the lights in the room turned up, an elderly woman looked straight ahead and smiled. "Welcome back to All Sides. I'm Sena Kawashi," she said clearly, her short dark hair swaying slightly with her movements. She turned to her left and the camera moved with her, still focused on her face but expanding to include some of the set behind her. "Now entering the sixth week of proceedings, the trial of former NAIE director Jackie Roshi and several recently resigned senators appears to be drawing toward a conclusion as the defense is expected to finish presenting its evidence in the next three days. The scandal broke four months ago, and our own National Affairs correspondent Jimmy Firecracker has been following the story since the very beginning," she finished.

The camera paused on her for a moment before the scene switched to a man with dark hair standing in front of a large building. Bright yellow police tape covered a set of doors directly behind the young man, though he seemed oblivious to this as he had his back to it, staring straight ahead with a microphone in his hand. A grim-cover sign hung above the doors, the words Tactical Securities Inc. proclaiming what the building had been used for.

"Since the trial of former National Agency of Inquiry and Enforcement Director Roshi and Senators John Malone, William Engvall, and Richard Johnson, began, a lot more information has come to light that we didn't know about this scandal previously," Jimmy began. "It all started with the assassination of Senator Mao Ox-King. In what would later baffle prosecutors and local police, NAIE agents were assigned to investigate the case. Special Agent Tien Shinhan was the lead investigator from the moment the call came in, and now serves as the prosecution's star witness." The screen changed to images of of a courtroom as Jimmy continued his report.

Images of the bald Agent Shinhan showed him making his case before a committee of congressmen, each one with their own look of interest or boredom. They were the only people in the room outside of light security.

"During the trial we learned that the incident at the Carlton Gates Hotel and an explosion at a house in a residential neighborhood on the south side of OrangeStarCity that happened in the weeks following Senator Ox-King's assassination were both related to the case. Special Agent Shinhan reportedly worked with a former employee of Tactical Securities, a defense contracting giant found to be laundering federal funds in exchange for assassination contracts." The image on the screen changed to that of an elderly man in a suit being led away in handcuffs. "Once NAIE Director Jackie Roshi was implicated, the Federal Security Authority took over the investigation from the NAIE due to concerns that Roshi was not the only person in the agency on the Tactical Securities payroll."

The image changed again, back to Jimmy where he appeared to be walking along a sidewalk, one right next to the Tactical Securities building. "Facing multiple counts of conspiracy to commit murder and first-degree murder, the defense team for Roshi and the former senators has had an uphill battle during the trial. FSA investigators were able to obtain copies of several key databases from Tactical Securities, including financial records despite the recent terrorist attack on the company's headquarters. Emails and internal memos obtained from Tactical Securities' servers have implicated a large group of people in the capital. In exchange for their testimony, the FSA has granted immunity to a few people involved in order to prosecute those at the upper echelons of the conspir—"

The sound cut out as the TV went dark a moment later, the broadcast coming to an abrupt end. With a stoic gaze, a young man stared at the blank screen, though the thoughts in his head were anything but the cool facade on his face. He had been watching the unfolding of the case from the very beginning and new information regarding it was becoming few and far in between.

The room was dim, only lit by a nearby lamp. The youth sat at a wooden table in the middle of the small room. It was a motel room, so the standard bed and furniture arrangement was present. The only oddity was the pieces of a high-powered rifle that sat on the table.

With a cloth, the young man lightly rubbed the recoil spring guide, a thin cylindrical piece that helped reduce recoil. With a bottle, he liberally poured oil on to the spring, using the rag to spread the viscous liquid all over. Satisfied with his work, he picked up a coiled spring and pulled it over the piece before placing it back in the rifle.

He was a man of many names. To his family, friends, and others he was acquainted with, he was Trunks Briefs. Like many people his age, he had a vast array of nicknames, none of which he cared for, but he answered to them to maintain a normal life. However, ask what his name was to his employer and you were more likely to hear Agent Sword.

His agency was a small one when compared to Tactical Securities. If one were to make a metaphor, his group belonged in the minor leagues while Tactical Securities played with the pros. Everyone dreamed of joining that company, but it was rare they were granted the opportunity. Of course, T.S. would contact you personally if they wanted your services. Since every assassination company was paranoid with their cover, no one knew had a clue as to the figurehead companies they hid behind. Only their own employees knew. Yet every agent knew the other existed. Trunks had been working hard to be that rare occurrence and was damn sure he would've been contacted had this scandal not broken out.

And then on top of that, his father had died too. Life had given him one too many lemons, and the youth was getting very tired of drinking lemonade.

A growl echoed from his throat at that thought. This downward spiral he found himself in would not had happened had that "former employee" not betrayed everyone. What was it that NAIE agent was calling him? Doormat? No, that wasn't it. Dormant, yes, that was the name. Pfft, what a lamebrain alias. Who had come up with that one-the agent or Dormant himself?

Raising one hand, the young man brushed back lavender strands of hair from in front of his face, clearing the way for his hard blue eyes to study his gun. Tossing the rag to the table, he reached to the case next to his chair on the floor and pulled out another rag. On the table were a few other bottles, one of which was the oil. That wasn't what he wanted though, instead grabbing the polish and wetting his new rag with it. Once he was ready, he began wiping down his gun barrel, paying extra attention to the mouth. He would be damned if he let any bullet residue linger on his favorite weapon.

His polishing grew more and more aggressive the longer he did it. The very thought of Dormant boiled the blood in his veins. A scowl appeared on his handsome face. What he wouldn't give to be in a room with that man, even for as little as five minutes. Death was a mercy he did not deserve, nor would Trunks grant it, not until the man ceased to beg for it.

Stopping, Trunks took several deep breaths to calm himself. As unfortunate as it was, there was no way he would get that chance to unleash everything he wanted to do to the man, so he would have to settle for simply killing him. It would ease the rage he had felt since hearing the dreaded news of his father's demise, not to mention avenging that wrong. His father, Vegeta, deserved that much.

Admittedly, Vegeta hadn't been the best father around, but he at least cared enough to put up with the youth. The man had taught him everything he knew, what it took to be the best of the best. Unfortunately, Vegeta had gotten it into his head that Trunks had to earn his way into the upper echelon of assassins, and that had placed the young man in his current company. What he wouldn't give to achieve that invitation to T.S., to see the pride that would have shown from his father's eyes.

The eyes of Tactical Securities' best assassin, Agent Prince.

A low sound suddenly occurred, interrupting Trunks musing. Glancing to the beds, the youth saw his phone on the small table between them, its screen lit up. Standing up, Trunks walked to the bathroom and washed his hands, removing the oils and polish he had exposed them to. Grabbing a nearby towel, he began drying his hands off as he walked out of the bathroom and towards his phone. Seeing that the screen had turned off, he tossed the towel onto one of the beds and picked up the device, activating it. A moment later and he saw the text message that had been sent to him, simple ten digit number.

Perfect, it was about time too. Opening his contacts list, he scrolled to a long list of unlisted numbers. After finding the one the text had indicated, he hit the call button, putting the phone to his ear as he waited impatiently as he heard the familiar rings of his call. His contact was a rather paranoid man and took no chances when it came to his secrecy, opting to have several different numbers that he could use. Why he didn't simply call the lavender-haired youth was beyond him, but he had a supposed method to his madness. His musings came to an end instantly when he heard the ringing end abruptly.

"What do you have?" Trunks immediately asked before he was greeted. A low chuckle answered him, further annoying him.

"Not much for patience, are we?" the man replied, his voice full of humor. "You do know we're skipping vital moments of chit-chat. Experts refer to that as necessary relationship building and you wouldn't want to disappoint them, would you?"

A scowl was making quite an effort to become permanent on Trunks' face. "I just want the info you promised, got it? You said you could get it for me and that's what I fully expect."

"And I have," the man brightly claimed. "So the least you could do is act with a little civility. Acting macho was so last decade in case you didn't know. Now, if you were a badass, then the act would totally fly. It's a shame that Prince hadn't gotten around to teaching you that."

Trunks closed his eyes as he fought off the wave of anger the flooded his being. Though necessary to his current venture, he hated this man to an untold of degree. Admittedly he was a second to Dormant, but it was a close second. This guy had proven he was very good at gathering information, proving that by telling Trunks everything about him. Unfortunately, the lavender-haired youth hadn't been able to do the same, only knowing him by a simple number, 17. It was nearly infuriating, especially since 17 had approached him shortly after his father's funeral, right in front of his sister. His sister...

"Could you please tell me what you found out?" he finally gritted out.

"Now, was that all that hard to say?" 17 mocked. Then the man's voice turned serious. "He's been spotted in BlueStarCity. There's a few diners and a grocery store he frequents near one of the suburbs."

"Blue Star," Trunks murmured softly. "Anything else?"

"He's very paranoid from what I've been told. Doesn't take the same way home and has the ability to shake off tails. Your best bet is to not try following him. If he even gets a whiff of you, he could disappear again and we'll have to start all over again."

The young man gulped at that. That was the last thing he wanted, not when he was so close. "I'll take care of it," he said after a long pause.

"You better. Believe me, if I have to go looking for him again, you're not going to like the price you'll have to pay, understand? I'm being generous already by doing this for free."

Trunks paused once more as he pushed down the dread that filled him. "Yes, I understand."

"Excellent. Contact me when you're finished, will ya? Use the last number in that list I gave ya. Ta ta for now."

The phone clicked as the call ended, causing Trunks to shut off his phone and pocket it. Turning around, he made his way back to the table and began reassembling his rifle. He fully relished the anticipation he felt in as he completed the assembly and placed the weapon in its case.

It was time to go hunting.