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A high-pitched buzzing sound came from the navigation alert panel. Trunks looked up, and a flashing signal appeared on the screen:
“DISTESS SIGNAL – UNKNOWN ORIGIN”
The young Saiyan immediately sat up and activated the general comm.
“Ika, Gyoza, wake up. Odoboru, Maguro, everyone up! We have an external transmission.”
The crew quickly emerged from their regeneration capsules, still groggy from their premature awakening.
“What's going on?” Ika asked as he dadjusted his ki reader.
“A distress signal” Trunks replied pointing to the screen "it's coming from an unidentified ship a few kilometers away. It's floating without power.”
“That sounds like a trap” Gyoza said, taking a seat next to the co-pilot “it's very common in unregulated areas.”
“We can't just ignore it” the young Saiyan said firmly “if there are survivors, we must help them. Prepare your weapons just in case.”
Odoboru sighed resignedly and nodded.
“Activating ship shields and defense systems.”
The Saiyan ship approached to the source of the signal, floating among fragments of asteroids and metal debris, a battered ship seemed to be slowly spinning on its axis. There were no detectable signs of life.
“Open the side hatch, I'll go with Gyoza to inspect” Trunks ordered.
“You, Prince?” Maguro said in surprise.
“Yes, I have a bad feeling about this. I don't want to risk everyone.”
Fully armed and on alert, Trunks and Gyoza crossed the magnetic bridge connecting the two ships and entered the dark structure. Everything seemed to be in ruins: sparks, collapsed structures, and signs of a struggle.
“This was attacked” the female Saiyan said looking the marks on the walls.
“Then why would it still be sending out a distress signal?” Trunks crouched down to inspect a console.
At that moment, the emergency lights suddenly went out. A loud noise was heard behind them.
“AMBUSH!” Gyoza shouted, pulling out her weapon.
It was too late. A dozen hooded figures appeared from the walls and ceilings. Trunks was hit by an electric shock in the back and fell to his knees. The Saiyan managed to hurt one before being knocked down by a sonic blast. Both were surrounded.
On the ship, Ika and Odoboru activated the alarm. Maguro rushed to the controls, but it was too late: the systems were locked down and a force field covered the entire ship. One by one, the crew members were eliminated in combat. Despite their training, they were outnumbered and outgunned. The Saiyan ship was invaded.
Trunks, still conscious, tried to protect himself with a ki blast, but was brought down by another injection in the neck. His vision blurred and everything turned black.
A pair of blue eyes slowly opened, blinded by a white light that pulsed as if breathing. Trunks found himself standing in a forest clearing... but it was not real. The leaves floated without wind, the trees stretched and shrank as if breathing, and the sky changed color every time he blinked.
He turned his head in confusion. The air smelled of sweet metal and wet earth. He did not recognize the landscape. It was nothing like the forests of Vejitaseii, and yet... something about it felt familiar.
He walked cautiously, hearing only the muffled echo of his own footsteps. Then a little bird swooped down and flew over his head. It landed on the branch of a tree that cast no shadow. Trunks watched it. The bird turned its head and looked at him. Its beak opened. Instead of chirping, a strange voice emerged, like a distant echo shrouded in electronic fog:
“T... Tru... Trunk...”
“What...?” the boy murmured, tilting his head with a puzzled expression “did that bird... talked to me?”
“Trunks... Trunks...”
The sound was distorted, like a poorly decoded recording. Trunks felt he had to follow it. He took a step... then another... and the world shook around him. The bird took flight and he ran after it.
“Wait! Come back here! Tell me what's going on!” he came to a waterfall that made no sound. Under a tree bleeding golden sap, a figure with his back turned watched the water. He was a tall, dark-haired teenager. Motionless "hey! who are you? answer me! look at me!” the teenager did not turn around. Trunks tried to approach him. He raised a hand to touch his shoulder. The sunlight burst forth. A low hum made him clench his teeth. The image of the forest collapsed in on itself as if it were wet paper. The teenager's face finally turned... but it was out of focus, with no defined features. Only dark, deep eyes and a mouth that moved without making a sound. Trunks backed away, frightened “WHO ARE YOU?!” he yelled, but his voice did not come out of his mouth. He felt like he was screaming inside, trapped.
And then, as if a wave had crushed him, everything turned red.
Fire.
Metal.
A flash.
And silence.

-------

When he woke up, he could barely move his arms; they felt numb. The air was thick, heavy with humidity, and a faint metallic smell burned his nostrils. The light was dim, bluish, and artificial. His eyes could barely make out the contours of the room, but what he saw made his blood run cold: he was locked in a clear containment capsule, lying on a padded base. Around him, other capsules kept alien creatures of different shapes, sizes, and species. Some were asleep, others awake, trembling or banging on the glass in desperation.
The lavender haired young Saiyan sat up slowly, holding his head. He felt a strange buzzing in his ears and his body heavier than normal. Looking down, he noticed a metal ring attached to his neck: a ki inhibitor.
“Nnngh... Fayek... rak'zhal...” he growled through clenched teeth.
No one answered him. They all looked at him like he was just another prisoner. Another “thing.”
One of the beings locked up with him, with purple skin and multiple eyes, gestured a greeting, but Trunks could only return it with a hard, confused look. He tried to remember how he had gotten there. He remembered the ambush. The shock. Gyoza falling. His ship... what happened to his ship?
The sound of a hydraulic mechanism snapped him out of his thoughts. A large metal gate opened, letting in a blinding white light. Two human figures, protected by airtight suits and carrying what looked like electronic readers similar to the ki readers used on Vejitaseii, come inside.
“Bring in group C-43 and Delta-G. The batch must be ready for the one p.m. auction” one of them ordered.
With the help of mechanical arms, the capsules were removed and mounted on a mobile platform. Trunks felt his prison cell tilt and begin to move. Around him, the other captured beings cried, screamed, or remained in absolute silence, their eyes lost in thought.
They were taken to a large chamber divided into levels, decorated with engraved columns and huge fabric banners. It was a fancy arena, looking impressive and brutal. In the stands, dozens of humans (and a few humanoid aliens) watched intently, as if they were waiting to see a fashion show.
At the bottom, on a huge square platform, were two half-naked Saiyans, bound with collars similar to Trunks one.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our pre-exhibition attraction! A battle between two members of the feared Saiyan race! See their ferocity live and in person! They fight not for honor, but for their freedom, or at least for their lives!” the host presented enthusiastically.
The collars of both warriors were deactivated with a red light, and instantly, blinded by rage, they lunged at each other with uncontrolled strenght. Trunks gritted his teeth and struck the glass of his capsule in anger.
“RAKAZH! RAKAZH! WE'RE NOT BEASTS!” he shouted, even though he knew no one there would understand him.
One of the humans close to his capsule watched him curiously.
“This one is special” he murmured “he has structured language. He should be worth triple on the elite market”
Amidst the chaos, the scene evoked something dark and familiar, like an ancient nightmare. Like an echo of a world Trunks had never known, but which he seemed to recognize in some remote corner of his memory: a savage planet, where the powerful played with the lives of others as if they were pets. Like in the forbidden stories of “Earth”... or like in that forgotten film that someone once mentioned in the ancient records: “The Planet Savage.”
And there he was, a prisoner in a beast market, while his will burned with a fury that neither collars nor cages could contain forever.
Hours passed, or days maybe? Trunks had no way of knowing. The lights in that place never changed their intensity; there were no windows or cycles. All you could hear were footsteps, distant alarms, and the constant hum of the confinement system. In all that time, no one spoke to him. When he tried to communicate, he was met with blank or mocking stares.
“Fayek... zuro'kai! Raka'tô!” he yelled from his capsule, pounding the glass with his open fists.
One of the human assistants (a technician with a reader in front of his face) approached to the cell. He watched the young saiyan's movements with a mixture of curiosity and contempt.
“Still trying to talk, huh? as if any of us understand those grunts.”
Trunks frowned in anger. He raised both hands until they touched the metal ring around his neck. The material glowed faintly, as if it somehow sensed his latent energy.
He had to try. He had to free himself.
He closed his eyes and tried to channel his ki into his fingers. It was just a brief impulse, almost a reflex...
And then the collar reacted.
“AAGGHHH!” a brutal shock jolted him. The pain shot through him like lightning. His muscles contracted, his back arched involuntarily, and a guttural scream escaped his throat. The pod vibrated. The confinement system issued a warning signal in a language Trunks could not and did not want to understand. Soon, a woman in a gray uniform and shiny gloves approached and checked the collar's indicators.
“High level of rebellion. Restraint program intensified” she murmured “what a pity. He's such a pretty specimen” she added as she took Trunks' face in one of her gloved hands to examine it. The boy was panting, his body sweaty and tense. If only he had the strength to get up and fight, he was sure he could easily subdue that woman. He rested his forehead against the cell floor. He did not understand her words, but he knew the tone: indifference disguised as professionalism.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He banged on the glass once more.
“RAKAZH... Fayek rak'zhal... RAKAZH!”
But his voice was swallowed up by the immensity of the room, just one more among the many cries that echoed in that hell disguised as paradise. No one listened. No one understood them. And worst of all... no one seemed to care.