Who am I?
Am I Jordan? A gifted young man who squandered his talents, content to laze his life away and pursue his meager interests? A man who detested effort unless it was advantageous to him in some way. Someone who always looked for shortcuts to the goals he set for himself. A man who knew his biggest faults but was too lazy to change, especially after having to turn his entire lifestyle around years ago due to illness.
Or am I Goku? A happy-go-lucky teenager, always searching for more training and stronger opponents. A naive boy who saved the world at just thirteen years old and would someday go on to become the greatest protector of his universe.
Or could I be Kakarot? A young Saiyan toddler who never got the chance to live his life. Jettisoned away from everything he knew—his mother, father, and older brother—so his life could be saved. Only for that life to be cut short by a harsh fall and a painful injury to the head, resulting in the birth of the one known as Goku.
...Ah, I suppose this one would be best, wouldn't it?
But for now, I think I'll just rest my eyes a bit and enjoy the pleasant haze of darkness around me.
~~~~~~
"Doll, it's time to wake up now." A soft, pleasant voice roused me from my slumber. "The Earth needs your assistance."
I blinked my eyes open groggily, spots dancing in my vision. The darkness I'd been submerged in for so long slipped away as light invaded my senses. When the haze cleared, I saw him standing above me. My creator, I suppose? Mr. Popo, staring down at me with wide, unblinking, genial eyes. It felt surreal to see him standing before me. One of my three memory sets believed this black genie and the universe he comes from were nothing more than fiction.
I should be even less real than him.
There was a reason he called me Doll, after all.
I stood up from the soft white quilted bed I'd been lying on, situated in the middle of a bright stone-walled room. One small window without glass allowed gentle light to trickle in. The stiffness in my body was nearly unbearable—how long had I been lying here?
The last thing I remembered was being put to sleep after the original finished his training and went off on his journey to the past. I scowled at Kami's attendant.
"Don't call me a doll," I nearly snarled.
Aggressive of me. A byproduct of my choice, I'm sure—of who I became when the three sets of memories collided in my head.
"Oh my!" Popo gasped, stepping back in surprise at my tone. "How extraordinary. You've already developed sentience immediately upon awakening!"
Sentience. That means I'm alive, right?
But why? My inherited memories tell me that my existence should have ended once Son Goku completed his training with Kami.
"Why do I live?" I asked Popo, getting straight to the point.
"Odd, you're very different from Goku despite being a perfect copy of him," Popo said, then smiled. "To answer your question, once Goku completed his training, Kami tasked me with gathering the Dragon Balls and bestowing true life upon you—just in case the day ever came when Earth would need a hero again. I just didn't think you'd be awakened so soon."
He's right—this is odd. I can understand keeping me around as a backup, but why would I be needed when Goku still exists? I can sense where time diverged. I have memories of training with Goku off and on for about a year. Though I was only awakened to fight him, I remember hearing Popo mention that a year had passed just before I was put back to sleep.
Either Goku lost to Piccolo at the World Martial Arts Tournament, or something else happened and Goku is dead. It must still be relatively early, though, because by the time the Saiyan Saga ends, I'd be twice as weak as even Chiaotzu or Yajirobe.
I felt my lips curl into a snarl.
As I am now, I'm complete fodder—even to a Saibaman.
Shameful. Simply shameful.
My father would be so disappointed in my weakness. Even my mother, who wasn't a warrior, was stronger than me.
I'm maybe at a quarter the power of a Saibaman. Goku was estimated to have a power level of around 260 when he fought King Piccolo. Based on my comparison to those memories, I'd estimate myself at about 350 right now, but I'd need a scouter to know for sure.
"Now that I've answered your question," Popo said, pulling me from my thoughts, "what should I call you? Or shall I give you a name?"
"There's no need," I replied, stretching the stiffness from my limbs. "You can just call me Kakarot."
Popo gasped again, and I had to suppress the smirk that threatened to spread across my face. That reaction told me everything I needed to know.
From the six power levels I sense on the Lookout—all weaker than my own—and one I recognize as Kami, I know exactly where I am in the timeline.
I chose to become Kakarot.
I couldn't be Goku—he already exists, and I refuse to play second fiddle.
I couldn't be Jordan, either. Despite the immense knowledge I gained through his memories, people would question the name.
It's simply easier to be Kakarot—and I'm fine with that.
"You know my Saiyan name," I said, noting his reaction. "But while I've gained the memories the original lost, it's unlikely he ever did. So—what's going on?"
"Remarkable. I never considered that you'd retain the memories he lost during your creation," Popo said. "As for what's happened—your brother, Raditz, came. A fight broke out between him and Goku. Both were killed in the battle. Now, two more, much stronger Saiyans are coming. They'll arrive in one year."
A memory surged into view. One of the few I retained from the early years, still in the pod on Planet Vegeta. A boy with a wild mane of black hair, smiling and boasting about his power level—517—and that he'd been chosen to join Prince Vegeta's squad. He promised he'd help me get just as strong once I was finally allowed out of the pod.
I clenched my fists and forced the memory away. Rage swelled in my chest, and I exhaled through my nose, diving deep into the meditation techniques I inherited from the original to keep my ki from flaring and destroying everything around me.
I cannot let sentiment cloud my judgment—especially not when Jordan's memories showed me what Raditz ultimately became. That caring brother was long gone by the time he faced the original and Piccolo.
Instead:
"Hoh? Goku must have gotten a lot stronger, then," I said, feigning casual interest. "Raditz had a power level over 500 when he was just seven. With all the years he's had, he must've been nearing Father's strength."
I can't let any future knowledge slip. I need to keep their suspicions at bay.
"I'm not sure how strong this father you mention was," Popo replied, "but according to the information Kami and I received, Raditz's strength was measured at 1,500."
I resisted the urge to sneer. Sure, Raditz had spent most of his life on missions or in stasis, but he was nearly thirty—and he hadn't even tripled his power level in all that time?
The warrior in me was disappointed. Saiyans grow stronger easily.
"Hmph," I snorted. "He must've slacked off for years."
"You say that," Popo replied, "but he was still far stronger than you are now."
"Not for long," I said, turning on my heel and walking toward the exit. "Come, Mr. Popo. I suppose I should meet the others before beginning my training."
What I didn't say was that I wouldn't be training with them.
They wouldn't be able to keep up with what I have in mind—
especially if Korin has a good stock of Senzu Beans.