Goku was jolted awake by his wife, but he barely stirred. Seeing that he wasn't responding, Chi-Chi grabbed a water bottle, wet her hands, and sprinkled some water on his face.
"Come on, Goku, wake up," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "It's time for the morning prayer."
Goku blinked groggily, sitting up and stretching his arms. With bleary eyes, he lumbered out of the house.
"Don't forget to shut the door, Goku!" Chi-Chi called after him.
Goku turned back, shutting the door with a soft click before joining Tien and the Ox-King, who were waiting for him.
"Let's go," Tien said, his tone determined.
The three of them set off, walking the two miles to the prayer building. As they approached, the distant sound of prayer reached their ears.
"Great," Tien muttered, exasperated. "We're late again."
Hurrying their pace, they made a concerted effort to join the prayer before it ended.
Half an hour later, they emerged from the building, greeted by several people who had come to pray from nearby areas. They returned the greetings with smiles as they left.
One of the locals invited them to his home for tea, but Goku politely declined, knowing Chi-Chi was waiting.
"Ahh," said the Ox-King, taking a deep breath of fresh air. "There's nothing like a walk after the morning prayer to start the day off right."
"It sure is," Goku agreed, his face lighting up with a beaming smile.
Tien walked alongside them in silence, his mind preoccupied with the upcoming journey. Each passing hour only heightened his unease. It wasn't fear but his natural disposition. He was always on edge, a trait that kept him prepared and alert. Despite the stress, he considered it a necessary trait for his readiness.
Goku, on the other hand, exuded a relaxed, almost carefree demeanor. His laid-back attitude sometimes irritated Tien, but it also highlighted Goku's immense confidence in his abilities as a fighter and his unwavering faith.
This optimism was something Tien both envied and admired.
.............
Meanwhile, on Planet Namek...
Gohan, Yamcha, and Krillin sat huddled inside their makeshift shelter. In the corner, Dende lay on a bed they had crafted for him. Gohan knelt beside him, his hand resting gently on Dende's forehead. 'Thank God,' he thought, relieved. 'His fever's gone down.'
Krillin quietly recited scripture in the far corner, while Yamcha lay sprawled on the floor, fast asleep, a book covering his face. The title: Money-makers' Microhabits: The Importance of Discipline, painfully ironic given Yamcha's life.
Suddenly, Gohan's heart skipped a beat. Dende was growing cold. His eyes widened as he checked for a pulse. Nothing.
"KRILLIN! YAMCHA! GET OVER HERE!" Gohan's voice cracked with panic.
Krillin snapped to attention, placing the scripture on a shelf before rushing over. "What's going on, Gohan?"
"I can't feel his pulse!" Gohan cried, his hands trembling.
Krillin pushed Gohan aside and grabbed Dende's wrist. His face paled. "Oh no…"
Without wasting time, Krillin placed both hands on Dende's chest and began administering compressions. "Gohan, check his pulse again!"
Gohan did as he was told, gripping Dende's wrist, desperately hoping for a sign.
"When I count to three, give him breaths. Ready?" Krillin's voice was urgent but steady.
Gohan nodded. "Got it."
"One... two... three...Now!"
Gohan leaned in, breathing life into Dende's mouth, his hands trembling with fear.
Yamcha, now awake, rushed over, eyes wide with shock. "What happened? If either of you needs a break, let me know. I'll take over!"
Krillin, beads of sweat rolling down his face, nodded as he continued the chest compressions. "We'll manage. Just be ready."
Minutes passed in tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of Krillin's hands pressing on Dende's chest and Gohan's controlled breaths.
Suddenly, Gohan's face lit up. "Krillin! I think I feel something!"
Krillin immediately stopped and checked Dende's wrist. His breath caught. "You're right. His pulse is back."
Gohan let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thank God."
Yamcha's tense features softened, but the worry in his eyes remained. Sweat glistened on his brow. "Dende made it this time," he muttered, "but we need to think about our next move... in case he doesn't."
Krillin glanced at him, a grim expression on his face. "What can we do, Yamcha? We're out of options. We just have to wait for Goku. Mr. Popo said he'd be back in six days. That was three days ago."
Yamcha stared at the floor, frustration written all over his face. "I never thought it would get this bad, Krillin."
Krillin nodded, his voice low. "Yeah. But at least we're still alive. I hope Yajirobe is too."
Yamcha's hands clenched into fists as he looked down, trembing with guilt and anger. "Right..."
................
Thousands of miles away...
Yajirobe sat slumped in a chair, ropes cutting into his wrists. The dim light casted harsh shadows across his gaunt face. He looked thinner now, worn down by days of torment since Vegeta had taken him captive.
The door creaked open, and Dodoria entered, his hulking form blocking out the light. Yajirobe's tired eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance flaring within them.
"How many times do I have to tell ya? I don't know anything about the Syanide!" Yajirobe's voice cracked, but there was fury behind it.
Dodoria raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised by the outburst. "You sure about that?"
Yajirobe grunted, his muscles straining uselessly against the ropes. "Of course I'm sure! If I knew anything, don't ya think I would've told you by now to get the hell outta here?"
Dodoria hesitated, contemplating Yajirobe's words. Over the past three days, the prisoner had offered up locations for the Syanide, but every answer was so absurd it became clear he had little grasp of interplanetary geography. Torture had yielded nothing useful.
Without a word, Dodoria turned and walked out, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.
Yajirobe slumped forward, letting out a long sigh. His anger faded into a hollow resignation. Why had he tried to act so brave against Vegeta back on Earth? He wasn't a hero; Krillin and the others could've handled it, they always did. But no, he had to play the part, and now he was paying the price.
...
Zarbon sat lounging in his chamber, casually flipping through a magazine when a knock came at the door. He glanced at the CCTV screen. It was Dodoria.
"Come in," Zarbon called, quickly sliding the magazine into a drawer. "It's open."
Dodoria entered, his expression grim.
Zarbon turned his chair to face him. "So, did you find anything useful?"
Dodoria wiped the sweat from his brow. "No, I didn't. Zarbon, I don't think the fat man knows a damn thing about the Syanide."
Zarbon smirked, unable to hide his amusement at Dodoria's use of fat man—a bit rich, coming from him.
Dodoria frowned, clearly not in the mood for jokes. "What's so funny?"
Zarbon waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing."
Dodoria's face hardened. "What are we going to do now?"
Zarbon's smirk vanished. His eyes locked onto Dodoria's, cold and resolute. "We kill him."
To be continued...