Street lamps flickered weakly in scattered puddles, their sickly pale glow no great comfort or safety to those who traveled the alleyways that night. A muffled stillness had descended on the city, broken occasionally by drunken carousing or the bark of a dog. Two young men sauntered casually down the sidewalk, speaking in low voices. Their hair and manner of dress might have been enough to stir ridicule in those less wary, but the sword of one and build of both were sufficient to ensure that they were left alone. As it was, the streets were apparently empty but for them.

"Goten, I hate to say it, but it's getting late and nothing's happening. Why don't we head back?"

"What, and miss, all the action?" Goten grinned, spreading his arms to the deserted streets. "There's no chance of meeting girls if we're at home."

"There's not much chance of it here," Trunks said, his eyes searching the shadows. "Given the sort we'd be likely to meet at this late hour, I don't think Bulma or Chichi would approve." He and Goten exchanged a knowing look.

"Who'd have thought you'd be the goody-goody. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Right here," Trunks countered, "It's the adventure that's lacking. I don't see why--" His words trailed into silence and he stopped, closing his eyes in concentration.

"What is it?" Goten murmured, suddenly cautious. Trunks relaxed, opening his eyes, but he seemed preoccupied.

"I thought I sensed something, for a moment there," he muttered. "Didn't you feel it?"

"Not really, no. There's nothing out here strong enough to concern us, Trunks." It sounded like a boast, but in all likelihood was the simple truth. They stood a few moments longer, the silence and apprehension growing oppressive. Goten scuffed his toe on the curb.

"It was probably nothing. Come on, Trunks, let's go." Goten started forward until Trunks grabbed his arm and hauled him into the shadow of a building.

"Trunks, what's--"

Trunks shushed him quickly and peered out into the street. A sudden breeze ruffled puddles and damp newspapers, and Goten shivered, not entirely from the cold. Trunks waved him forward silently and pointed toward an old, boarded-up building.

A figure detached itself from the tangle of shadows and slid out between the boards on a window. Making its way across the road, it froze and lowered into a combat crouch. In the light of the street lamps it became immediately apparent that this was a human, a young woman, clad in tank-top and leggings, a battered sweatshirt knotted at her waist. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, though a few locks had worked themselves free to flutter around her face. She turned and stared towards the spot where the young warriors hid; they hastily drew back into the shadows.

'Why are we hiding?' Goten wondered, though he nonetheless held his tongue. Trunks was just naturally cautious about some things.

The girl in the street whirled and looked back the way she'd come. Two men stepped out onto the pavement and spoke softly in threatening tones. She laughed and came out of her crouched pose, though she made no move to join them. Instead, they took a few steps closer to her, each drawing from his pocket a small pistol. More words were exchanged.

Still in hiding, Trunks considered whether or not to intervene. This could be a mugging or a murder and in either case he didn't want to see it happen, but the girl seemed to know these men, and nothing in her demeanor indicated that she felt threatened. It was puzzling. He looked to Goten, who shook his head slowly. He didn't understand either.

The sharp crack of a gunshot jolted them back to attention. None of the three in the street had moved, but one of the guns was smoking and a trickle of blood flowed down the girl's arm, welling from a shallow wound on her shoulder. She glanced at it briefly and, grinning, made a disparaging remark about her attacker's aim. The man smiled and cocked his pistol, preparing to fire again.

The next instant, both men lay on the ground, their guns gone from their hands, their faces bloody. The girl stood again where she'd been before, but was breathing a little harder and no longer smiled.

Trunks and Goten could only stare. Evidently this young woman had fair enough reason to act so fearless. She bowed her head, fists clenched at her sides, and Trunks could feel her power level rising. She must have been concealing it before, but why?

'Because of you and Goten,' he thought, 'She may be powerful for a human, but if she can sense power signals at all, she knows she's no match for either of us, and she's afraid.' Trunks watched, expectant and wondering just where this stranger had learned to control ki.

The men she'd struck staggered to their feet, groaning. With her eyes still closed, she spoke to them.

"This is your last chance, boys. I'm willing to overlook a little scratch but your persistence irritates me."

One of the men backed away, much to the consternation of his partner, who roared and launched himself at the girl as though to tear her apart with his bare hands. Calmly she extended an open hand, and in a blast of energy and light, her opponent was reduced to dust. Without changing her pose, she turned her eyes on the other man, who fled, stumbling over his own feet.

Ignoring him, the girl turned and strode purposefully toward Trunks and Goten. She had either known or guessed their presence and was now set upon dealing with it. The two stepped out to meet her face to face and stood silently a moment, all minds on the same question. Goten asked it first.

"Who are you?"

"You may call me Takira. Step into the light where I can see you."

They stepped forward and suddenly her eyes went wide.

"Ka--Kakarot?!" She seemed genuinely stunned, but the same could be said for the misidentified Goten; he took another step forward.

"What did you say?"

"Kakarot," she sputtered, "The hair, the face, it has to be, but...but you're too young..."

"I'm not Kakarot, I'm his son, but where did you hear that name? He doesn't use it, himself." Takira looked confused.

"Well, why not, it's his name. What the hell else would he call himself?"

"His name is Goku. Nobody calls him Kakarot."

"--except Vegeta," Trunks added quietly. The girl turned to Trunks as though seeing him for the first time.

"What do you know of Vegeta?" she asked. "Is he here? On this planet?"

"He's my father," Trunks answered slowly, "I don't know what business you have with him, but he's long gone from here."

"Escaped?"

"Dead." He lowered his eyes; it still hurt to say that. When he looked back into her eyes he saw the same pain there. Strange...

"Dead?" she whispered. "No. Oh, no. And Kakarot?" She glanced at Goten, who nodded in response to her silent question.

She shut her eyes as though she could somehow deny the truth of what she'd been told. Her hands trembled; she clenched them to fists, then irritably crossed her arms to keep them hidden.

"If I may ask again, Takira," Trunks said, "Who are you? How do you know my father?"

"--and mine?" Goten asked uneasily.

Taking a breath to steady her nerves, Takira looked each of them in the eye, sizing them up, trying to make her decision. At last, she nodded and turned away, looking over her shoulder to address them.

"Follow me. I would prefer to discuss this in a more secluded spot. These walls have ears whether you see them or not, and I'd rather this were kept something of a secret."

With a quick scan to be sure no human eyes were watching, she took to the air. Exchanging looks of confusion, Trunks and Goten followed.

The night had become a great deal more interesting.