Marvel Saiyans - Chapter 2

Casually throwing a few punches and a kick using Mr. Satan’s Martial Arts, Broly effortlessly created explosive sounds in the air. Finally, he no longer had to resort to ineffective techniques.

After a moment, he realized it had suddenly become quiet. Reaching his neck, he pulled down Kakarot, who had been riding there. Her face was flushed, sweating profusely, and her skin felt slightly burned.

Though a Saiyan, she was still just a child and physically weak, suffering from heatstroke after being under the relentless desert sun without any shade.

In such intense heat, her mild heatstroke could quickly escalate to heatstroke illness, leading to acute kidney and liver failure—hazardous conditions. Broly quickly dug a large pit on the leeward side where the sand beneath was still pleasantly cool, around 25-26 degrees Celsius.

He placed Kakarot in the fantastic sand pit and removed his elastic long-sleeved combat shirt, wearing only a tank top battle suit. The technology from Frieza’s army was highly advanced; the thin, stretchy long sleeves were breathable and wouldn’t tear even if transformed into a Great Ape. Broly secured the long sleeves with stakes, stretching them over a large area to cover the sand pit and prevent direct sunlight from reaching Kakarot below.

Otherwise, she might become the first Saiyan to die from sun exposure.

“Kid, I’m going to find someone to help you. Don’t you dare die on me?”

Saying this, he started running toward the southwest. Running at full speed, his pace was comparable to a galloping horse, covering three to four meters in a single stride.

Sweat freely flowed over his muscular body and was quickly dried by the scorching sun, leaving layers of salt on his skin.

After running for over thirty minutes, he finally escaped the desert and saw greenery—a farm planting extensive fields of corn, lush and green. He had to cross hundreds of acres of cornfields before he found a wooden country villa with two life signs inside, one with a combat power of two, the other one.

Broly pressed the doorbell, and the combat powers of the two inside immediately changed, one rising to five, the other to four, as they picked up their guns.

“What do you want, kid!”

A Caucasian middle-aged man holding a double-barreled shotgun appeared, his face wary. His daughter, who also had a similar shotgun, stood behind him. The man was surprised to see an Asian at the door—firstly, because Asians were rare here, and secondly, it was hard to believe that someone Asian could be so muscular.

Moreover, the Asian’s attire was quite odd; he was wearing a strange monocle, an unusual tank top, and a fuzzy belt, with his tight pants creating a noticeable bulge, which was quite the eyesore.

This was Texas, and just a few dozen kilometers further south lay the U.S.-Mexico border. Mexican smugglers were like groundhogs, burrowing along the border, and the area was frequented by Mexican gangs and mules transporting drugs for these gangs. This sparsely populated land had already slipped beyond police control.

“My companion is sick, and I need to borrow your car to take her to the hospital.”

Broly stated this in somewhat clumsy English.

“You can ask at White’s Farm, about three kilometers away. I believe they’ll kindly lend you their car.”

The middle-aged man replied dismissively, preparing to lock the door, but found it wouldn’t budge.

“I’m not asking for your opinion. Give me the car!”

Broly’s anger surged, his pupils narrowed to a point, and a frightening aura emanated from him.

The middle-aged man stepped back in fear. Just as he was about to raise his shotgun, he found the barrel firmly held by the Asian man. An irresistible force transferred through his hands, and the gun was effortlessly taken from him.

“Don’t do anything rash…we’ll give you the car right now…”

The middle-aged man’s daughter quickly took the car keys from her father’s pocket and threw them to Broly. She was a fiery redhead, dressed casually at home in a T-shirt and shorts, her legs glaringly white. “Come with me, bring ice and saline, and don’t try anything.”

After saying this, Broly gripped the double-barreled shotgun and easily bent it into a U-shape.

“A mutant?”

Fear appeared on the middle-aged man’s face, and he immediately gave up resistance while the girl looked on curiously.

The farm’s vehicle was a somewhat old Ford pickup truck. Broly sat in the passenger seat, watching the middle-aged man driving. The young woman, carrying a medical kit, sat in the back seat.

“Are you insane? Leaving a sick person in the desert, thirty-five kilometers away, she must be dead by now!”

The young woman immediately became upset after hearing that the target location was thirty-five kilometers away.

“It only took me half an hour to run here, and her constitution shouldn’t have led to any issues,”

Broly finished speaking, and the young woman covered her mouth in shock, having thought it took Broly a day and a night to reach the farm.

The old pickup roared, kicking up a cloud of dust on the desert as the middle-aged man pushed the truck to its limits to get rid of this plague sooner.

Twenty minutes later, the pickup stopped at the spot where Broly had dug the pit.

Broly got out of the vehicle, his eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The combat shirt he had placed over the sand pit was gone, and the pit’s edge was surrounded by chaotic footprints, with Kakarot missing.

“Who else would be active in this area?”

He grabbed the middle-aged man’s collar, lifting him off the ground.

“Cough…cough…cough, let…let go… I can’t breathe…”

The middle-aged man realized Broly’s grip was more robust than a bear’s, almost choking him to death.

“The Reyes Cartel’s mules, they smuggle hallucinogens around here, from Mexico, Colombia, all their stuff goes through them to the U.S… aren’t you one of Reyes’ people?”

He struggled to speak.

He had immediately complied earlier because he suspected Broly was one of the Reyes’ people. The Reyes Cartel had several mutant members, ruthless and infamous, and those who crossed them ended up ruined. To survive, one had to flee Texas.

The FBI had orchestrated several operations against the Reyes Cartel, all ending in loss without gain.

The middle-aged man was just a regular farmer, not daring to provoke these vicious criminals.

“They’re as good as dead.”

Broly pressed a button on his power-scanning monocle, which had already recorded Kakarot’s combat characteristics. No matter where on Earth she was, it could quickly locate her.

?Saiyan Shame: Ding! As a member of the warrior race, the Saiyans, being kidnapped is a disgrace! Rescue the missing Kakarot, mission reward: 20 Revival Points?

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