Chichi banked sharply, careening around the corner and scattering pedestrians like panicked rabbits…not that she particularly cared. Normally she wouldn't have cut through Satan City at all, but in her mind, every moment she could save would bring Gohan that much closer to normalcy. She drove like a madwoman, with occasional shouted directions from Bulma and a more or less constant stream of "look out look out look out" from Yamcha.

"LEFT!!" Bulma shrieked over the wind, pointing, then clutched wildly at the door as the hovercar lurched, tilting dangerously. Yamcha, sprawled across the heap of provisions in the backseat, made a strangled sound and grabbed Bulma's headrest with one hand, the other pressed to his mouth. Bulma threw him a panicked glare.

"Ooh, don't you dare! You hold it in 'till we get there, got it?" Any reply Yamcha could have made was lost in a din of honking, screams and curses as Chichi sped hell-bent through a crowded intersection. Several bundles bounced off the wobbling vehicle, taking out two bicyclists and a dog. Bulma shouted an apology and looked back at the dragon radar.

"RIGHT!!" she bellowed and nearly fell in Chichi's lap as the woman spun the wheel and pressed the accelerator even further into the floor. Bulma shuddered as she pulled herself back into her seat. The look on Chichi's face was nearly frightening. She'd refused to tell Bulma specifically what she intended to wish for; only that she had to help her "baby".

'That would be Gohan,' Bulma thought to herself. It was possible she could wish for Gohan's peace of mind to be restored, but that seemed awfully vague, perhaps not possible and probably not permanent even if it could be done. That didn't bode well.

There was another, far more logical, and far more obvious wish to be made, one that would likely solve their problems, and would directly contradict a vow they'd made…didn't seem so long ago. Another lurch of the craft was accompanied by a low gagging sound from Yamcha. Bulma scrambled out from under the dashboard and glanced anxiously at Chichi's set face.

She'd not be the on to tell Chichi she could not revive her son.

* * * * *

Hell was something of an individual experience for most who belonged there. Each damned soul was enclosed in its own little world, troubled only by its own inner demons and long-forgotten ghosts; but they were only visions. The true souls of old enemies remained discretely separate, each drowning in his agonies with little regard for the way his tortures intertwined with others.

To one who managed to reach the Outside, it was fascinating to watch.

Vegeta sighed, or something close to it. Without a body, such physical expressions were pointless, but old habits were hard to break; even as a specter the warrior found himself adopting all his usual quirks, from the stance right down to the slight perpetual scowl he'd only noticed when Kakarot had pointed it out to him.

He grunted and scowled a little deeper. Kakarot was missing, of course, that was half the problem. 'Precisely half, in a way,' he thought wryly. Leave it to that stupendous idiot to do something so nonsensical. Some people simply weren't content to remain passively dead.

A rueful smile barely touched Vegeta's ghostly lips. He was hardly one to talk. Of course, it wasn't his fault security was so weak. As far as he was concerned, the place needed a good shakedown anyhow, and it gave him something to do with his power. The prospect of spending the rest of eternity paralyzed in his own little hell was something he'd rejected the moment he'd become aware of it.

Kakarot had known, too, but he hadn't tried to break away as Vegeta had. Something about taking his fate whatever it held, or some gibberish like that. The baka had more than enough power to pull free and challenge the gods themselves if he'd wanted to, but for one of such strength, he aspired to very little.

Vegeta snorted. That had been, to the last, something he had not quite understood about Kakarot. He was always fighting for something, but never himself. Moments of self-sacrifice, Vegeta could understand; inadvertently he winced, reminded of Buu. A true warrior was always ready to die for what he held dear, but in Kakarot's case altruism seemed nearly pathological. Had the man no goals of his own?

Thinking along those lines, Kakarot's present actions seemed entirely illogical. It was difficult to say who would win or lose when all this was resolved, if it ever got resolved. Vegeta, for his part, could find no particular motive, and like it or not(and as he kept telling himself, he didn't like it)he knew Kakarot fairly well.

There was always the destiny argument, but while the lesser gods seemed fixated on it, the Saiyajin prince dismissed it out of hand. He did not know overmuch of fate, and in any case refused to think too deeply on it. The last time he'd sought to figure out his destiny he'd emerged from the experience with little more than a bushel of questions and a thumping headache. It could therefore be surmised(as far as he was concerned)that "fate" was the last resort of the feebleminded, to explain what their inadequate facilities could not.

Needless to say, Vegeta did not count himself among these, and was bound and determined to find a better answer.

"Hey!"

Vegeta blinked and turned to see a perturbed ogre attempting to stare him down. Sighing through his nose(or what would have been, were he corporeal), he raised one eyebrow and gave the sentry a bored look.

"What?"

"You're not supposed to be here."

"Your point?"

"Get back where you belong, damnling!" Vegeta chuckled softly.

"And if I refuse?" The ogre's eyes narrowed.

"Then I escort you to Enma Daiou to decide your punishment. I don't think you'll like that."

"No, I suppose I wouldn't," Vegeta uttered blandly, turning away with an expression of supreme disinterest. The ogre took a step closer.

"I don't think you quite heard me," he growled. "Shall I repeat, idiot?"

"No need," Vegeta said mildly, still looking away. "I heard. Now that you've delivered your message, go make yourself useful somewhere else." The sentry bristled.

"Why you impertinent little…" He would have continued but for the sudden disappearance of his subject; as it was, he stopped cold mid-sentence.

Peering down from Heaven, Vegeta smirked. It was almost too easy to enjoy, but he never tired of the game. He knew most of the guards by name now, and they all knew him, by reputation if nothing else.

Ah, the celebrity.

Laughter behind him started the prince from his musings. He had a job to do. With face set and eyes wary, he set out looking for Goku. He had to be there.

If not…the answers to this muddle would suddenly become much harder to find.

* * * * *

Krillin followed close behind Trunks, a little curious that the young man had decided so firmly to take charge. Krillin didn't mind, not really; he was long used to being backup. Fighting alongside the likes of Goku sort of necessitated that. No, it was not the idea of Trunks as a leader that bothered him.

It was the abruptness of the transition that made him nervous.

One moment Trunks was moping in the woods; the next, dashing off on his chosen mission with a cold clarity of purpose that reminded Krillin uncomfortably of Mirai no Trunks. This one wasn't to that point, not by a long shot, but certainly the potential was there, and the prospect of Goten's mischievous young "partner in crime" turning to such a…Krillin shivered.

He really couldn't think of a word for it. Mirai no Trunks had been disturbingly well-suited to his environment, withdrawn by necessity, but merciless by choice. Krillin held no disrespect for him, for truly none but one like him could have survived the life he'd lead; but their own timeline didn't need a warrior like that.

Or did it?

Krillin sighed, watching Vegeta's son closely. At least Pan had decided to stay with Videl; or rather, he thought with a wan smile, Trunks had managed to convince her to stay. While Videl didn't necessarily need the company, Trunks plainly needed the lack thereof. For some reason he seemed suddenly uncomfortable around Videl.

There were certainly implications to be drawn from that, but it was more than Krillin cared to worry about at the moment. His concern now was to find his wife and do whatever it took to ease her obviously troubled mind. After that, Gohan and Piccolo had to be located, and Tenshinhan and Chaozu found. So many loose ends…good kami, what had happened to all of them? Life had seemed so…well, comparatively normal.

The argument could be made, of course, that Takira's arrival had triggered this chain of events, but whatever Gohan and Trunks seemed to think, Krillin didn't truly hold her responsible. Much as it might be convenient to pin this whole mess on one individual, it wasn't likely or fair. Krillin gave a sort of mental shrug. It was a moot point, anyhow: whatever her reasons, Takira was long gone, and by most estimations was not coming back. It was a matter of broad and evidently varying opinion whether or not that was a good thing.

Krillin nearly ran into Trunks as he came to an abrupt halt, eyes wide and nostrils flared. Hastily clearing his mind, Krillin could feel it, too: shuddering ripples of energy, sudden flashes of ki, and underscoring it all a familiar ki signature, scored deeply with pain.

Only one. Piccolo was alone.

There was no doubt, however, that he was fighting something.