The sun was just beginning to creep above the horizon, a pale disk struggling to cut through the layer of gray clouds covering the sky. The air was heavy with humidity and the faint scent of gunpowder still lingering from the night's exercises. Alexander Kane, standing at the edge of a cliff, surveyed the landscape with squinted eyes. The cold wind struck his face, but he remained still, a statue of flesh and bone shaped by years of discipline and war. His black uniform, pristine despite the stains of dried mud, fitted his muscular figure, and the rifle slung over his shoulder seemed a natural extension of his body.
At thirty-five, Alexander was no ordinary man. As the commander of a special operations unit, he had forged a reputation that resonated throughout military circles worldwide. He was called "The Ice Wolf" for his coldness on the battlefield, his ability to make lethal decisions without hesitation, and his almost inhuman precision. But to him, those titles were background noise. What mattered was the job: completing the mission, protecting his own, surviving another day.
That morning, however, he was not in a war zone. He was at a training base in some forgotten corner of Eastern Europe, overseeing a group of recruits sweating under the weight of their backpacks. Alexander stepped forward, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.
"Move! If you don't cross that hill in ten minutes, you can forget about dinner." His tone was firm, devoid of emotion but heavy with authority. The recruits, exhausted yet fearful of disobeying, quickened their pace.
As he watched them, his mind wandered for a moment. Not to the next exercise or the mission awaiting him in three days, but to something more personal, something he guarded as a closely held secret: Dragon Ball. Since childhood, he had been a fan of the series. The nights when he wasn't studying military tactics or training, he spent watching episodes, analyzing every fight, every strategy of Goku, Vegeta, and the others. For Alexander, it wasn't just a story; it was a manual of power, a vision of what a man could become if he broke his limits. In a world where physical and mental strength were currency, he dreamed of a universe where those qualities could take him beyond the human.
"Commander Kane," a voice called, pulling him from his thoughts. It was Lieutenant Marcos, a weathered man with tired eyes who had served under his command for five years. "The general wants to see you. He says it's urgent."
Alexander stepped closer, adjusting his tactical belt. "Finish the exercise with them. I'll be back in an hour."
The meeting room was a gray-walled cubicle, lit by a buzzing lamp. General Ortiz, a stout man with graying hair and a scar running across his cheek, sat across the table. In front of him, a digital map projected a mountainous region in the Middle East.
"Kane," Ortiz began, his deep voice rumbling like the return of a tank, "we've got a problem. A terrorist faction has kidnapped a key scientist, Dr. Elias Voss. He's an expert in advanced drone technology, and if he falls into the wrong hands, we're fucked."
Alexander leaned forward, studying the map. "Location?"
"A fortified base in the Qalamoun mountains. Hard entry, heavy defenses. We need to extract him in seventy-two hours, or we lose everything."
"My team?" Alexander asked, already calculating logistics in his mind.
"Whoever you choose. But this is high risk, even for you. Intel says they have explosives and a contingent of at least a hundred men."
Alexander cracked a slight smile, barely a flicker on his impassive face. "Good. That way I won't be bored."
Ortiz looked at him intently, as if trying to decipher something behind those icy blue eyes. "You're a strange son of a bitch, Kane. But that's why I want you on this. Get ready. You leave tomorrow at dawn."
That night, in his small room at the base, Alexander sat on the edge of his bed, a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other. It was neither a diary nor a military report; it was a detailed analysis of the fight between Goku and Frieza on Namek. He had filled pages with diagrams of movements, notes on ki, and reflections on how a warrior could maximize his potential. To anyone else, it would seem crazy, but for him, it was a way to stay sane, an escape from the constant weight of his life.
He closed the notebook and stood up, looking at his reflection in a cracked mirror. His short dark hair was streaked with premature gray, and the lines on his face told stories of too many sleepless nights. But his eyes remained the same: cold, piercing, filled with an ambition that never dimmed. He wanted more. Not just to survive, but to dominate, to transcend. And although he knew that dream was impossible in this world, he couldn't help but nurture it.
A knock at the door interrupted him. It was Marcos, holding a bottle of whiskey. "I thought you could use a drink before tomorrow," he said as he entered without waiting for an invitation.
Alexander took the bottle and took a swig, the liquid burning down his throat. "Always so considerate."
Marcos laughed, sitting in a rickety chair. "Just trying to make sure my commander doesn't go crazy before we all get killed."
They talked for an hour, a conversation filled with dry jokes and memories of past missions. But there was an undercurrent in Marcos's words, a warmth that Alexander recognized but never fully reciprocated. He was a leader, a strategist, a warrior, but not a friend. He couldn't allow himself that.
The dawn of the next day found them in a helicopter, flying low over an endless desert. Alexander had carefully selected his team: Marcos, an expert in demolitions; Lena, a sniper with near-mystical aim; and Javier, a combat medic who could stitch up an artery under enemy fire. Together, they were a lethal machine, and he was the gear that kept them turning.
The infiltration was seamless. They glided through the mountains like shadows, taking out patrols with silencers and avoiding sensors with a precision that bordered on supernatural. Alexander led from the front, his mind working at full speed. Every step, every gesture, every shot was part of a plan he had plotted in his head during the flight.
They reached the base at dusk. It was a concrete and steel complex, lined with turrets and guards. Alexander disabled the main security system in minutes, his fingers moving over the panels as if he had been born to do it. "Inside," he whispered, and the team advanced.
They found Voss in a subterranean cell, gaunt but alive. "Thank God," the scientist murmured as Lena cut his bindings.
But then, the ground shook. A deafening roar filled the air, and the walls began to collapse. "Explosives!" Marcos shouted, just as a rain of debris fell upon them.
Alexander reacted on instinct, pushing Voss toward Javier. "Get him out!" he ordered while he and Lena covered the rear. Enemies surged from the hallways, a swarm of armed figures shooting without mercy. He responded with lethal calm, each bullet finding its mark. But there were too many.
"Commander, there's no way out!" Lena shouted, her voice breaking for the first time.
Alexander looked around, evaluating. He saw the device on the wall, a bomb with a blinking red light. Mere seconds remained. "Go," he said, his tone steely. "I'll hold them back."
"No!" Marcos protested, but Alexander was already in motion, facing the enemy alone. His body moved like a machine, years of training guiding every strike, every shot. But the explosion came before he could escape.
The world turned to fire and darkness.
When consciousness returned, there was no pain, only an infinite void. Alexander floated in nothingness, his mind clearer than ever before. "Is this death?" he thought, but there was no fear in the question, only curiosity.
A light appeared before him, growing until it formed an ethereal figure, a being of pure energy whose presence filled the void. "Alexander Kane," it said in a voice that resonated within him, deep and eternal. "You have lived a life of struggle, sacrifice, and ambition. You have protected lives, but you have also taken many. Your soul is a whirlwind of strength and desire."
Alexander listened, motionless. "What do you want from me?"
"I want nothing," replied the entity. "I offer you something: a new life in a world where your potential knows no bounds. A universe you know, that you have studied: Dragon Ball."
The name struck him like lightning. "Why?" he asked, his mental voice sharp.
"Because you are exceptional," the entity said. "Your mind, your will, your love for combat and power... all of that makes you worthy. In your world, you reached the pinnacle of humanity, but you always wanted more. Now you can have it."
Alexander pondered. It was true. He had always felt that his life, no matter how successful, was incomplete. "I accept," he said finally.
The entity bowed its luminous form. "Then you will be reborn as a Saiyan, in a world of warriors. Your path will be yours to forge. Prepare."
The light enveloped him, and everything faded away.