She could hardly remember any days she had off like when she was a little girl much less her real name. Just the one they gave her when they forced her into slavery. Berry was what they called her despite her protests, and with each denial and subsequent punishment she had slowly come to accept it as her own. Berry. It sickened her, but things weren't always like this was the least she could remember. At least before the capsule corporation expanded their technology across her home world to profiteer off of planet laundering. All she could remember was the day those ships descended on her planet, the desperate struggle for survival that came with their arrival, and the enslavement she and her race shared after. So much destruction. Too many dead. Fallen to the hands of a warrior who far surpassed them in strength and met every rebellious attempt against them with harsher retaliation. They say he took orders from the empress of the universe. They say her name was Bulma, although no slave was allowed to speak it much less know it. She could still recall the conversation they shared as they casually rounded them all together. The fear his presence instilled for their lives. A name she'd never forget and a person she swore to kill one day. Goku. They say that he was a saiyan raised from earth although she could hardly believe it. That one could posses a strength as ruthless as that, and a saiyan of all people. She had heard stories of them being a kind hearted race that helped others in need and put an end to the conflicts of those who were suffering alongside the galactic patrol. Stories she heard of a rebellion that would do away with all of this. Stories of a prince who survived battles against him. Of an alien who could transform and was sure to turn the tides. Stories. That's all they were. A piece of her died every time she had to end another ones life. She could hardly remember a life other than that of a soldier. She had forgotten what it was like to be free.

A little girl who had known nothing but servitude under the tyrannical might of the capsule corporation she was forced to fight alongside her race. A slave, lower than even a grunt among their ranks. Her races prized possession, shells that they would grow in throughout their life, was welded and forced to a reinforced piece of plated armor bearing the turtle symbol. It served as a reminder of a once fabled turtle hermit who was said to have opposed them. A reminder of what would happen to those who would dare it. A way to force them into servitude. A crudely made shackle that binded and shocked them for disobedience, and would remain with them their entire lives less they risk the destruction of their shells, and the death that would follow after.