Day One: Morning

[Android 17]

With the three stolen duffel bags in hand, Seventeen skittered off into a nearby alleyway. Behind him, plumes of smoke rose from the scene that had once served as the resting place for the trio of warriors. Refusing to look back, the machine-hybrid dropped down to his knees and threw open the nearest manhole. Smiling smugly, he took a step forward and vanished into the murky depths of the derelict city’s sewage system.

I told you they were just targets. The rasping voice echoed as the android’s cybernetic eyes quickly adjusted to the ambient lighting (or lack thereof). Just like the majority of the infrastructure built above the ground, the sewer was falling to pieces—the walls collapsed in most places and showing extreme wear in the majority of the others. Seventeen didn’t really mind, because the point of the contest wasn’t to kick back and enjoy a lovely, blood-filled holiday. As he pondered that point, a frustrated laugh resounded through the android's head.

Then why didn’t you kill them! The harsh voice screamed, prompting the cyborg to wince slightly as he began to condense the duffel bags. You’re the nancy boy!

“Blow me,” Seventeen shout back as he discarded the empty duffel bags into the stream of sewage lazily flowing passed his location. “They weren’t worth my time and that’s a fact you are well aware of, friend.”

You mean our time. The formless voice replied, snickering ever so malevolently as the android slung the two stuffed bags over his shoulders and began his slow trek down the subterranean tunnels.

“Just be quiet,” the machine-hybrid groaned, rolling his eyes as he reached into his pocket for another cigarette. With a smug grin, Seventeen took a quick drag and blew out a puff of white smoke. “Much better,” he mumbled as he placed the cigarette back in his mouth and narrowed his eyes. Ahead of him, the walkway ended abruptly…apparently someone had been testing explosives and thought it funny to blow up the tunnel.

What now, hotshot? The inner voice replied, sounding just as cynical and malicious as ever. Shrugging his shoulders, Seventeen reached into one of the duffel bags and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey.

“I’m going to drown you, you pompous fuck,” the android said as he removed the cigarette from his mouth and took an extended moment to swig the small bottle. With a grunt, Seventeen tossed the empty container into the stream of sewage—watching faintly as it hit the wall of dirt and rock and ceased to move.

Captain Planet isn’t going to approve of this. Seventeen laughed at the remark, mainly because he was already starting to feel the welcoming numbness that the liquor provided.

“Let’s go find something to break,” Seventeen mumbled, turning his attention to a nearby latter built into the side of the sewer tunnel. With an inebriated grace, he scaled the crude, rusted set of rungs and smacked the manhole cover away, but despite his tenacity, the android had forgotten to take into effect that fact that it was still day up above the sewer tunnels. Screaming out loud as the rising sun burned his eyes, Seventeen scrambled onto the street and scuttled into a nearby alley.

Lovely moves there, bucko.

“I said blow me,” the android rasped, rubbing his eyes as he tried to get over the sudden shock of moving from the pitch black atmosphere of the tunnels to the lovely sunny weather of the island. Once he could see clearly, Seventeen took another drag on his cigarette and shuffled to his feet. Although he had become fatigued following the run-in with the saiya-jin girl and her two associates, the mixture of nicotine and alcohol was working wonders for the android’s mental disposition.

You know…after that last little tiff, there are going to be a lot of eyes on you, pal. The disembodied voice replied, punctuating its last word with a bit of smug laughter. Stealing your buddies’ things, pummeling them, and calling them pathetic isn’t going to be something that’s easily forgotten, y’know.

“Good,” Seventeen rasped, his tone of voice almost an exact replication of the one in his mind. “A little fear helps the heart, and someone needed to be made into an example,” the machine-hybrid added as he scaled a fire escape and vanished into an open window of an abandoned, rundown hotel.

An example of what? The voice inquired—conveying a genuine hint of intrigue as Seventeen slid the window shut and dipped out into the nearby hallway.

“My undying rage.”