Screen 1 — His Goal
Later that evening, Trump sits outside the small house and thinks.
What's my goal here?
Am I a hero?
He remembers all those years watching Ben 10 as a kid, cheering every time a transformation saved the day.
He nods to himself. "Yeah. I want to be a hero. Not because someone told me to… but because I actually like it."
Right then, he hears a sharp cry echo through the trees.
A dog whimper.
Trump gets up fast and runs toward the sound.
He finds a small injured dog lying near a fallen branch, its leg twisted at a bad angle.
"Easy," he says quietly. "I've got you."
He takes out the basic medical kit from his house.
Carefully, he sets the dog's leg, bandages it, and makes a small splint.
The dog stops trembling and rests its head against his hand.
Trump smiles a little. "See? Hero work isn't only about fighting
Screen 2
The dog follows Trunks back home, limping a little but clearly attached to him now. It curls up beside his chair while he reads.
Trunks flips open an old book titled Records of the Twelve Heroes.
It lists legendary warriors summoned from other worlds to protect this land.
Each has a title, a blessing, some cool destiny attached to their name.
Trunks reads the page slowly.
"So the angels already brought twelve heroes here. Great. Guess I'm number thirteen or something."
He leans back and shrugs.
"I don't care. I'm not here to be their copy. I'm a different kind of hero. I've got the Omnitrix, and that changes everything."
The dog nudges his hand, wagging its tail like it agrees.
Trunks smirks.
"Yeah, you get it. I don't need some prophecy. I'll do things my own way."
The dog hops onto his lap, and for a moment the room feels peaceful.
But Trunks knows this world won't stay quiet for long
Screen 3 – The Island of Rot
Trunks starts walking until the trees thin out and the ground turns sandy.
The dog trots ahead of him, tail up, sniffing everything like she owns the place.
He stops at the cliff edge and realizes it isn't a "land" at all.
It's an island. A huge one. And something is wrong here.
Smoke hangs over the beach like a low cloud.
The dog whines, ears pinned back.
Trunks steps forward and sees it.
A ship. Or what's left of one.
Splintered wood, torn sails, iron bent like something crushed it from the inside.
And the smell hits him.
Rot. Salt. Old blood. Enough to make his stomach twist.
"This is insane," he mutters.
The dog doesn't wait. She runs toward the wreck, barking.
Trunks follows, readying himself for whatever nightmare created this scene.
Bodies lie half-buried in wet sand, faces gray and twisted.
He forces himself to look away.
Then he spots movement.
A woman. Barely breathing.
One arm broken, ribs showing through shredded clothing, eyes unfocused but still fighting.
Trunks drops to his knees beside her.
"Hey. Stay with me. I can help."
He doesn't hesitate.
He's not one of the twelve summoned heroes, but he doesn't care.
Someone's dying in front of him. That's enough.
He tears off part of his cloak, trying to stop the bleeding.
The dog stays right next to him, growling softly at the wreck like it remembers something horrible.
Trunks looks at the ruined ship again.
Something did this.
And it's still out there.
To be continued…