I woke, or at least, I thought I did. There was no light, no sound, no sensation of air on my skin. Just an endless, suffocating darkness—a void so complete it felt like the universe itself had forgotten me. Instinctively, I tried to open my eyes, but nothing happened. No flutter of eyelids, no shift in perception. It was as if my body refused to obey, or worse, as if I didn't have a body at all. Panic crept in, a cold, clawing thing, but before it could take hold, a strange certainty settled over me, heavy and unyielding: I had died.
I didn't know how I knew. Maybe it was the absence of a heartbeat, the stillness where there should have been breath. But the memory of my last moments was clear—slipping into sleep in my old bed, the familiar hum of my apartment fading into silence. Here I was, conscious, aware, but untethered from the world I knew. This wasn't death as I'd imagined it. This was something else entirely.
I tried to move, to reach out, to feel something—anything. That's when I noticed it: a body. Not my body, not the one I'd lived in for years. This was different. Alien. I couldn't move it, not yet, but I could feel it, like a distant echo of sensation. My arms, my legs, my torso—they were there, but they felt… wrong. Stronger, denser, as if every muscle was coiled with potential I'd never known. And then there was something else, something entirely new: an appendage, long and flexible, extending from the base of my spine. A tail. I could feel it, curled loosely, swaying slightly as if caught in a gentle current. My mind reeled. A tail? Humans don't have tails. Not like this.
As I focused on the sensation, another feeling emerged, rising from deep within my core. It was warm, vibrant, almost alive—a pulsing energy that seemed to hum through my being. It wasn't blood, or breath, or anything I could name from my old life. It was something more. Something primal. And then, like a lightning bolt, it hit me: Ki. I was feeling Ki, the life energy from the anime I'd spent countless hours watching. Dragon Ball, specifically. The pieces fell into place with a clarity that made my non-existent heart race. The tail, the energy, the strange new body—I was a Saiyan.
The realization was exhilarating and terrifying. I was no longer human, no longer bound to the frail, ordinary body I'd known. But I was also trapped, suspended in this dark void, unable to move, unable to see. Was this some kind of afterlife? A cosmic joke? Or had I been reborn, reincarnated into a world straight out of fiction? I didn't know. All I knew was that I had to understand this new body, this new existence, if I was going to survive it.
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I focused on the energy within me, the Ki. It was slippery, elusive, like trying to catch smoke with my hands. I could feel it, swirling in my core, but every time I tried to grasp it, to direct it, it slipped away, leaving me frustrated and exhausted. It was like trying to flex a muscle I'd never used before, one I didn't even know existed until now. I didn't have eyes to close or a body to sit cross-legged with, but I turned my attention inward, sinking into the sensation of that energy.
Hours passed—or maybe it was minutes. Time was meaningless in this void. There was no day, no night, just the endless dark and the faint hum of my new body. I pushed through the frustration, focusing on the warmth in my core. Slowly, I began to sense it more clearly. It wasn't just a single point of energy; it was a network, flowing through me like rivers of light. I could feel it branching out, pooling in my chest, my arms, my legs, even my tail. But it was wild, untamed, and I was far from mastering it.
The effort was draining. My mind, sharp as it was in this strange new state, grew foggy with fatigue. I hadn't realized consciousness could tire like this, but the mental strain of wrestling with Ki was overwhelming. Drowsiness crept in, soft and insistent, and before I could fight it, I slipped into unconsciousness.
When I woke again, the void was unchanged, but I felt different. Rested, somehow. The Ki was still there, pulsing gently, and this time, I approached it with more patience. I didn't try to force it; I let it flow, observing its rhythm. It was like learning to breathe all over again. I focused on a single point in my core, imagining the energy as a glowing orb. Slowly, I nudged it, willing it to move. It resisted at first, but then, like a dam breaking, a trickle of Ki flowed toward my right arm. The sensation was electric, like a spark racing through my nerves.
I repeated the process, hour after hour, day after day—if days even existed here. Each time, I got a little better. The Ki became less elusive, more responsive. I could direct it to my hands, my feet, my tail. And as I did, something else began to change: the numbness that had plagued my new body started to fade. It was as if the Ki was waking me up, syncing my consciousness with this unfamiliar form. The sensations grew clearer—my fingers, my toes, the weight of my tail. I could feel the strength in my muscles, the potential coiled within them. I was becoming whole.
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As the days passed, it wasn't just my body that changed. My mind was transforming too. At first, it was subtle—a clarity I hadn't noticed before, a sharpness in my thoughts. But soon, it became undeniable. My memories, once fuzzy and fragmented, were growing vivid. I could recall my childhood with perfect detail: the smell of my mother's cooking, the scratchy texture of my old couch, the exact words of a conversation I'd had with a friend in high school. It wasn't just recent memories either. I could remember every book I'd ever read, every lecture I'd sat through, every anime episode I'd binge-watched.
It was more than memory. It was understanding. Concepts that had once confused me—math, physics, philosophy—now made sense in a way they never had. My mind was working faster, making connections I'd never seen before. It was as if my IQ had skyrocketed, as if this new lease at life came with a brain wired for genius. I had an eidetic memory now, and in the endless void, with nothing else to distract me, I dove into it.
I started with my education. High school algebra, calculus, chemistry—all of it came flooding back, crystal clear. I could visualize every equation, every chemical reaction, as if I were reading them from a textbook. I moved on to college, replaying lectures in my mind, understanding the nuances I'd missed the first time. I even recalled the random trivia I'd picked up over the years—historical dates, scientific facts, lines from movies. It was all there, perfectly preserved.
Then I turned to anime. I'd always been a fan, especially of Dragon Ball. Now, with my newfound clarity, I could recall every episode, every fight, every transformation. And that's when I noticed something incredible: I could understand Japanese. Years of watching anime with English subtitles had left an imprint, and now, with my enhanced mind, I could parse the spoken language. I could hear Goku's voice in my head, understand his words without translation. I could even write some Japanese characters, though my knowledge was incomplete. I'd need to study more to master it fully, but the foundation was there.
This discovery thrilled me. In my old life, I'd never had the time or discipline to learn a new language. Now, it was effortless, a byproduct of my heightened intellect. I spent hours—days?—reviewing every anime I'd ever watched, piecing together the language, the culture, the nuances. It was a mental workout, but it felt good, like flexing a muscle I'd never known I had.
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### The Fluid and the Mask
As my mind sharpened, so did my connection to my body. The numbness was almost gone now, replaced by a vivid awareness of every muscle, every nerve. I could feel my tail more clearly, its weight and flexibility. I could sense the strength in my arms, the power in my legs. And I could feel something else: I was submerged in a fluid. It was warm, viscous, pressing gently against my skin. I wasn't breathing air—there was something attached to my mouth, a mask or tube, delivering oxygen directly to my lungs.
The realization hit me like a shockwave: I was in a pod. A healing tank, like the ones in Dragon Ball. Was I being born? Reborn? Or was I recovering from some injury? I didn't know, but the fluid and the mask confirmed it. I was in a Saiyan body, suspended in a tank, my consciousness slowly syncing with this new form.
I focused on my Ki again, willing it to flow through every part of my body. Each time I did, the sensations grew stronger, the numbness faded further. I could feel the mask more clearly now, its edges pressing against my face. I could sense the fluid moving around me, a gentle current that rocked my body. My tail, once a foreign appendage, now felt like an extension of myself. I could twitch it slightly, a small victory that filled me with hope.
Days turned into weeks—or so it seemed. Time was still impossible to measure, but I marked it by my progress. My control over my Ki improved steadily. I could direct it with precision, sending it to my fingertips, my toes, even the tip of my tail. Each time I did, my body felt more mine, more real. The energy wasn't just waking my body; it was waking my mind, sharpening it to a razor's edge.
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### Reflections in the Void
With nothing but time and darkness, I turned inward. My memories were a treasure trove, and I explored them relentlessly. I relived my old life, not with nostalgia, but with analysis. Every mistake, every triumph, every moment of joy or pain—I dissected them all, learning from them, understanding myself in a way I never had before. I saw patterns in my behavior, flaws in my thinking, opportunities I'd missed. It was humbling, but also empowering. I was becoming more than I'd ever been.
I thought about my new life, too. If I was truly a Saiyan, what did that mean? Would I wake up on Planet Vegeta? In the midst of a battle? Or somewhere else entirely? The possibilities were endless, and I prepared myself as best I could. I reviewed every fight from Dragon Ball, analyzing the techniques, the strategies, the transformations. I practiced controlling my Ki, imagining how I'd use it in combat. I didn't know if I'd ever need to fight, but I wanted to be ready.
I also thought about my purpose. In my old life, I'd drifted, content but unfulfilled. Now, I had a chance to start over, to be something extraordinary. A Saiyan. A warrior. Maybe even a hero. The thought sent a thrill through me, even as I floated in the dark, unable to move.
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