Nameless Echos

Far beyond the orbit of the Xalurei facility, tucked in the debris field of an ancient, forgotten satellite cluster, a dormant machine hummed to life. 

A signal. 

Faint. 

Unusual. 

Chaotic. 

The machine—an ancient construct of ever-evolving technology and consumption—was not alive in the traditional sense, but it understood. Patterns. Power. Purpose. 

This… was the Big Gete Star. 

Constructed from the remnants of a lost civilization and bound to a purpose none remembered, it was a mind that sought perfection through assimilation. 

And now, it had found something new. 

Ki signature logged. 

Cross-referenced with known entities. 

Saiyan… Namekian… Majin… Frost Demon… 

No match. 

Anomaly. 

A web of data streamed across its core as the Big Gete Star rerouted long-range probes and drone eyes. But it made no attempt to invade. No signal was sent. 

It simply observed. 

And waited. 

This creature—this being of chaos and light—was not yet ready. 

But one day, it would be. 

And when that day came… 

Assimilation will be inevitable. 

Two Years Later 

Age: 7 

The child sprinted down the corridor barefoot, trailing a half-open bag of nutrient snacks, eyes sparkling with wonder. The scientists had tried, and failed, to confine his curiosity. 

Again. 

"What's *this?*" he asked, pointing at a newly installed gravity stabilizer. "And this one?" 

"That's a processing relay—no, don't touch—!" 

ZAP. 

He touched it. 

Nothing broke… somehow. But the power flickered, and a low-pitched hum ran through the entire facility. 

Kirel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's the third system reboot this week." 

"He just wants to know," Juil said, smiling faintly. 

Kirel grunted. "Curiosity like that's either genius or a recipe for a containment breach." 

Maybe both. 

 Later that evening, in the central lab, the boy sat cross-legged on the observation table, rocking slightly as he stared up at his caretakers. 

"Can I ask something?" 

The room went still. 

They already knew the question. 

He had asked it countless times before. Over meals. During tests. In the middle of sleep cycles. 

But now, his voice was different. 

Less playful. More focused. More tired. 

"I don't want to be 'the test' or 'the subject' or 'Specimen Zero.' That's not a name. That's a thing." 

He pointed to Juil, then Noen, then Kirel. 

"You all have names. So why don't I?" 

Juil hesitated, lips parting—about to offer another vague deflection. 

But Noen's patience broke. 

"Because you're an anomaly," she snapped, voice sharp. "That's what you are. That is your name." 

The room froze. 

The boy's expression didn't change. Not right away. 

He simply looked down… and nodded. 

"…Oh." 

Then, without another word, he slid off the table and walked away. 

 He didn't respond when Kirel called after him. 

He didn't come back for dinner. 

He didn't sneak through the halls or poke the reactor with his usual questions. 

He just… curled up on his sleep pod. 

Eyes open. 

Face turned to the stars. 

And for the first time in a long while, his chest didn't feel warm. It felt heavy. Like a star collapsed in on itself. 

 When he finally closed his eyes… 

He dreamed again. 

Darkness. Endless, inky black. 

And there—floating, waiting—him. 

Kid Buu. 

Silent at first, seated midair with his arms draped over his knees, head tilted. 

Unblinking. 

Smiling. 

The boy took a cautious step forward. 

"You again…" 

No answer. 

"Why do you keep showing up? Who are you?" 

Buu slowly lifted his head, eyes narrowing. 

Then he pointed a finger directly at the boy. 

And laughed. 

Cruel. Mocking. Unhinged. 

The boy flinched. "Why are you laughing?!" 

Kid Buu didn't speak. He just stared. 

Like he was looking through the boy. 

And in that moment, the child felt something break inside him. 

 In the real world, his eyes snapped open—but they weren't glowing with life. 

They pulsed with wild, erratic ki. 

Sparks crackled from his fingers as the bed beneath him shook violently. Lights burst overhead. Monitors exploded in showers of sparks. 

Within seconds, the entire chamber ruptured—walls bending outward, glass shattering, consoles combusting as waves of uncontrolled energy surged outward. 

 BOOM! 

The explosion echoed across the facility as shockwaves tore through the upper levels. Scientists were flung across rooms. Warning sirens howled. The containment protocols tripped too late. 

From the core of it all, a storm of multicolored ki raged—purple, pink, blue, green, black—all dancing around a single shape curled at the center. 

The child. 

Tears streaking his face. 

Eyes burning. 

"I just wanted a name…" he whispered through the roar. 

 The backup systems activated. Emergency force fields snapped into place. Kirel rushed to the control room, heart pounding. 

"Vitals spiking—power output nearing catastrophic threshold!" 

"Sedation?!" 

"Negative—his ki is rejecting all compounds!" 

Kirel clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the growing storm. 

"This isn't hate. It's not anger." 

"Then what is it?!" 

Kirel whispered: "It's heartbreak."