Disclaimer: I don't own DragonBall Z

The space pod zoomed towards Earth at an alarming speed. It crashed among some trees in the dark of night. Due to the impact, the pod's single passenger was thrown out and knocked unconscious as he hit the ground several yards away.

***********************************************************************************

Arturo Rodríguez, a Mexican farmer, made his way through his fields, plowing as he went along. As he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, he noticed smoke rising up from the woods the bordered his property. He dropped his plow and went to investigate.

In the woods he found a pile of mangled metal. It seemed to be the remains of some sort of vehicle, perhaps a small plane of one of those new-fanfgled hover-cars.

Finding nothing of interest in the wreck itself, Arturo proceeded to search the area around it.

To his surprise, he found a boy, looking about ten years of age, sprawled on the ground some ways from the presumed crash-site. The boy had long, black hair that seemed to stand on end, a large gash across his forehead above his left eye, and A FURRY, BROWN TAIL.

Arturo was startled by the boy's extra appendage, but his wound was spilling blood and, tail or no tail, the boy needed help. Arturo carefully lifted him and carried him to the house.

The boy awoke on a small bed in a small room. Scared out of his mind, he quickly looked around and saw a stout, dark-haired woman standing near a window.

The boy did not know where he was or who this woman was. In fact, he didn't even know who he was.

Before long, the woman, Elvia Rodríguez, Arturo's wife, noticed that the boy was awake. She went over to him.

"¿Estás bien?" she questioned. The boy stared at he blankly. The language she spoke was not the language in his mind, and yet, it seemed familiar. As if, perhaps, he had learned it at dome point in his life. Yes. He had learned it. Estás bien. Are you alright.

"Sí." he answered finally. "Yes. I am alright."

It was soon established that the boy had no recollection of the accident or anything before it.

"Your name?" asked Arturo. "Do you remember your name?"

"Alejandro?" tried Elvia when the boy shook his head. "José? Miguel? Victor?"

"Victor." the boy said experimentally. "No. Not Victor, but I think it did start with a V."

"Vernon." tried Arturo. "Valentino. Vincent."

"Vicente?" put in Rojelio, the Rodríguez's eleven year old son.

"Vicente." Repeated the boy. "Vicente. You know what? I think that's it."

"And your apellido?" inquired Arturo.

Vicente thought for a moment. His last name. His last name. Did he even have one? "I don't know."

"All right then, Vicente. We'll let la polícia know we've found you. That way, if anyone comes asking about you, they'll know where to send them. You can stay here until we find your family."

"Gracias." Vicente said. "Thank you."

Several weeks passed. Arturo went to the police station daily. One day, he returned bearing bad news.

"Lo siento, Vicente." he said when he found the boy, feeding the animals without being asked. "I'm sorry, but no one seems to be looking for you."

Vicente looked down at the ground. "What's going to happen to me?"

"They're taking you to an orphanage." Arturo informed him, fighting back tears. In the past weeks he had grown attached to Vicente and could hardly bear the thought of him growing up in an awful place like that.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."