Welcome to Boxer & Rice

Two very upright, gentle men escorted a young boy into the room, both wearing the same long tailed white coats, each with cruel icy eyes. They sat the boy down into a chair in front of a computer. The screen flickered onto the face of the young boy as he tensed a little, the darkness of the blinded windows daunting him. As the walls seemed like nothing but solidified shadows, he concentrated on the monitor of his computer.

“Trunks? We’re leaving you on your own now just answer the questions, you get the idea.”

The two men walked off. The only shaft of light from the huge double doors being shut out as they slammed together and clicked shut. Returning his attention to the screen, Trunks began to read in his attempt to ignore the dinginess surrounding him, almost trying to envelope him and his only protection was the flickering lights of the monitor. The light of the monitor scaring the cruel, penetrating darkness away, almost as if to be good versus evil. Question after question, he started to answer them, almost unblinking.

As time drew on, the two men watched him observantly in a security room, the screen before them presenting them with Trunks and his test results so far. One of them shook his head and pointed at a number on the monitor and turned to his associate,

“He’s nearing the limit already, is there any point in continuing this exam?” his partner glared at him.

“Of course there is you idiot, that way we can see just what a danger he was to the society!”

The two men nodded and waited for his time to end, the test almost over.

Twenty minutes had past since the men’s discussion on Trunks’s IQ. Trunks jumped a little as the heavy double doors flung open and the two men paced in firmly. One of them sternly glared at Trunks while the other stepped out of the room for a moment to fetch his mother.

“So, your name is, uh, Trunks Briefs?” He began, interrupted mid sentence by Trunks’s harsh tone.

“Vegeta-Briefs, sir. My mother never carried Dad’s name, but I did.”

Swallowing dryly, the gentleman returned to his clipboard and then set his eyes on Trunks.

“I have to inform you, you failed our exam. I’m sorry but here will not be a second chance to complete this test.

Trunks suddenly felt his stomach fall to through the floor as those words weighed down on him like a hundred tonne of bricks with those words, Bulma ran into the room, tears staining her cheeks as she cried and snatched her son from the man’s grip, holding him closely, kissing his forehead.

“I’m sorry my boy, I’ll not forget you.”

The boy look confused, just a maelstrom of thoughts filling his head, his eyes beginning to water, “But, but I answered all my questions well!”

One of the men gave him an icy glare, “My boy, uh, Trunks, you understand, threats to the government like you are too much, intelligent children are forbidden! Mrs. Briefs, I’m afraid you and your son must be disposed of; your ashes will be thrown into the river after your death. Thank you for understanding.” Those were the last words he heard as he was ripped away from his mother, the only sounds in his mind, the gunshots and the screams. But, most of all, the powerlessness.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

There drew a silence as the floor seemed to jump up and punch Trunks’s face.

“Good night” Empty.