Disclaimer: I do no and will not own the rights to DBZ. I'm simply tormenting the characters for my own pleasure.
I also have to give credit to Dreamwraith whose idea: what if Kami had interacted with young Piccolo Jr. and whose stories, From the Past and Twilight of the Dawn sparked and inspired this fanfiction. I am also working on another fanfic that isn't DBZ related so I'll be going back and forth.
The first days of his life had been chaotic at best. He had awaken with the full extent of all of Daimao's memories and even emotions, but there were memories of a mind thousand of years old, but his brain- although it was growing faster than normal- was still that of a young child and it couldn't handle that much. As a result memories slowly receded until his mind could handle it. Although he could now comprehend most of his actions and reason through his thoughts. He'd sometimes have strange subconscious reactions to things, sometimes they would trigger a memory, and sometimes they would leave him wondering why he did what he did. The strongest was every time he saw something orange. The first time it happened it was a large orange butterfly; he became so enraged it incinerated the winged insect without even thinking about it. No memory surfaced to help him understand, just a vague impression of a name. He wondered if maybe he hated butterflies, but he didn't have the same reaction until he saw a tree completely covered with orange fruit. HE snarled and set the tree aflame. Again, no memory surfaced to help him. He knew it was the same feeling as with the butterfly, but he didn't understand what triggered it. As he came across the reaction more he placed the colour as the trigger. Why should he hate orange though? It certainly wasn't very pleasant-looking to the eyes, but it was a colour that automatically caused disgust either. His mind simply would not reveal the memory, so he suppressed the urge and would just avoid orange things as much as he could.
As he wandered he discovered he could suppress all the other urges from Daimao's memories as well, and when he did he had other feelings, curiosity being the most frequent. Subconsciously he could tell Daimao thought it was a waste of time. Why did it matter that the leaves were green like his skin? Why did it matter that the water's surface rippled when he threw stones into it instead of breaking the way everything else did? For some reason though, he kept wondering and experimenting with the world as the way he saw it. Then he realized that he kept doing it because he enjoyed it. Curiosity was something Daimao never had. So why did he? When he thought about it more, he realized that he got another joy from exploring too: going against Daimao. Maybe that was that was his real joy all along, being rebellious. Part of him believed it, but part of him felt that it was more than that. He stopped listening to Daimao all together after a little while. The only thing he couldn't ignore was how much he despised orange. His rebellion made him feel powerful, invincible. He loved it. That's when the nightmares started. He knew exactly what they were, messages from Daimao that he couldn't ignore his legacy forever. Even knowing this though, he still jumped out of his meditations in a cold sweat, shaking in fear. Scared as he was though, it only made his resolution to rebel even stronger.
Eventually he came to a huge city. He had only seen buildings like that in the nightmares, they seemed cold and distant then. But now they were fascinated, especially with all the people running around in them. Daimao's memories told him this was the perfect test for him: destroy the humans. He didn't want to though, he personally had no grief against humans. He also knew that he wouldn't enjoy killing them the way Daimao did. Whenever he saw the slayings Daimao performed he just felt sick to his stomach. He didn't have enough chi control to fly yet, so he snuck into the city on foot, and then climbed a building. He remained hidden and observed humans, everything about them fascinated him. They were so different from the impression Daimao gave him. For the most part they were happy, peaceful, or at least feigned it. To Daimao they were nothing more than primitive beasts. Occasionally he saw an argument, or a fight. He even saw crime, robberies, drunkards, druggies, scuffles between the starving people on the streets. None of this deterred him though, if anything, it intrigued him more. At the very least, even if they were as horrible as in Daimao's memories, why weren't they open about it the way Daimao was?
He paid the most attention to four specific people, both father and sons. One son was following exactly in his father's footsteps, almost a perfect copy, both in looks and attitude. They were "big business men." He didn't really understand what that meant, but he knew enough to know they were men in charge, men in power. The other was a son who didn't follow his father at all, not in mannerism, not in career. His father was an engineer, the son wanted to be an artist. Piccolo Jr. knew that his study of them directly reflected the grind he began to feel between Daimao and himself. Of course, Daimao wasn't really his father, he was himself, he was simply a reincarnation. But then again, didn't he already divide his thoughts? Hadn't he already resolved to call himself Piccolo Jr. not Piccolo Daimao? Hadn't he already suppressed Daimao's urges and discovered his own original ones?
The longer he watched the two pairs, the more convinced he became that the best way to describe the "relationship" between him and Daimao was a lot like a father and a son. He couldn't tell though, if he was better off being the son that rebelled, or the son that followed in his father's footsteps. The pair who differed argued often, but never physically fought, and then they would joke and laugh. The pair that were similar never argued or fought, but they never joked or laughed either. There were polite with each other, and respectful. There were different pros and cons in each relationship. The one that differed had a chaotic, unpredictable relationship, but it seemed, oddly closer. The other relationship seemed consistent, and civil…but not strong. What was more important though? Closeness or stability? The replica son seemed stronger, more powerful and more in control of his life. But the different son seemed happier and he had a different type of power. It was frustrating to Piccolo Jr. because he wanted an answer badly, but he had no help, no reference point.
One day something was different with the replica son, he wasn't politely smiling with his father. Piccolo Jr. shuffled as close to the window as possible so he could hear clearly. His ears were better than any humans, but the city was so full of noises it was hard for even him to zero in on specific conversations. Thankfully, the window was open and the father was looking out of it. Piccolo Jr. examined the sons face and shivered, no it was not the polite smile he usually had on, it was a cold sneer, like Daimao would wear when he was killing.
The father spoke, "Ah what a perfect day."
The son walked over and stood next to his father, "Yes, it certainly is a perfect day, hopefully it'll reflect in all our plans as well."
The father smiled, "I'm sure it will my boy, with our combined geniuses. After all, with your wit, the only one who could every stand in your way of gaining this company is me."
The son sneered again, "How amusing, and ironic."
The father laughed, "I suppose it is. I raised you to never let anyone stop your ascend to power, and yet I end up being the one who does so."
The son did not laugh, just kept sneering, "You misunderstand father. It's ironic, because you highlight the very reason for your death without even realizing it."
"My death? Come now my boy, I'll be alive for much longer than-" he suddenly stopped, realization twisting his face with fear and horror.
The revelation came too late though. The son gave his father a hard shoved then grabbed his fathers legs and flipped him out the window completely all while screaming, "No father don't jump, don't jump, NOOOOO!"
The door to the room burst opened and others in the company flooded in. The son had neatly positioned himself so that he looked like he was helplessly grasping for his father as he fell, he even managed to tear up a little, although he couldn't stop a corner of his lip from grinning as his father exploded in a mass of blood and bones on the concrete below. No one saw the grin but Piccolo Jr. though. When the others looked out the window and asked what happened, the son replied convincingly, "I tried to stop him- I- I tried so hard, but he was just so…determined." He collapsed in mock defeat into his father's chair; the other people believed him and genuinely pitied him.
Piccolo Jr. couldn't watch any longer. His emotions were in turmoil and numbed his mind. He saw Daimao's sneer though, transposed on the son, he saw the father's dead bodies transposed on top of Daimao's victims and he didn't understand. They seemed so civilized in their relationship and yet, and yet it ended so cruel and animal like. Maybe Daimao was right, maybe humans were just primitive beasts. Without meaning to, Piccolo Jr. went to the other father and son. As usual, the two were arguing. Piccolo Jr. paid more attention to how it ended this time though.
The father finally sighed and all his rage disappeared, "I'm sorry."
The son shifted his weight from one leg to another, but also relented, "Me too, I didn't mean it."
The father grinned, "Nor did I," he paused as if he was debating saying more and then added, "you know, no matter how often I say that you are being foolish and you won't be able to make a living as an artist, I am proud of you son, you are your own man. It's like you created your own force of nature and nothing can stop you if you choose it not to."
The son blushed and looked at his feet, fidgeting in embarrassment, "Thanks dad. I know I disappointed you by choosing art over engineering and I will achieve my goal but- I don't want to have to push past you to get it."
The father laughed, "Well then, I should take my own advice and get out of your way."
The son looked at his father, "Thanks dad."
Piccolo Jr. sat and thought long into the night. Analyzing everything he'd taken in that day. He knew well enough that Daimao would never approve of him taking a different path, but he also knew he couldn't conveniently and barbarically push Daimao out a window either, his influence would always be in him. But what should he do? Should he simply fulfill Daimao's wishes and forget this curiosity and morality he was developing, or should he rebel, and never be happy because he could never push Daimao out of his way to really achieve his goal? These questions followed him into his nightly meditations and Daimao's memories haunted them until he awoke.
I know I didn't touch on Kami interacting with Piccolo Jr.'s life, but I felt a little backstory would be good before I brought that into play, hope it's intrigued you.