The air in Sector Gamma-Nine tasted like disappointment filtered through rust and week-old synth-cabbage. Kai kicked a loose pipe fitting, sending it skittering across the grimy ferrocrete with a cng that echoed just a little too loudly in the damp quiet of the access tunnel.

  "Ugh, seriously?" he muttered, voice echoing back at him, thin and reedy. He scuffed his worn boot-sole—more holes than composite material these days—against the slimy floor. "Is this it? Is this all the high-society 'trickle-down' we get? Scrap metal shavings and despair?" He gestured wildly at the oppressive curve of the tunnel ceiling, dripping some unidentifiable, probably carcinogenic, fluid. Rivulets traced paths through decades of accumuted filth. "You'd think someone topside would occasionally chuck a useful piece of junk down the recycler chute! Like, I dunno, a functional battery pack? A slightly-less-mouldy nutri-bar? Maybe a winning lottery ticket?" He snorted, the sound harsh. "Yeah, right. More likely to find a sentient slime mold offering financial advice."

  (A/N: foreshadowing? Maybe! ┐(′?｀)┌)

  Kai adjusted the threadbare sack slung over his shoulder. It wasn't heavy, per se. Heavy implied value, volume, substance. His sack was mostly filled with... potential. Potential sharp edges, potential tetanus sources, potential disappointment when Grok the Scrap Monger inevitably decred it all worthless sg. Again.

  He sighed, a gusty, put-upon sound perfected over years of dedicated practice. "Fine. Fine! Universe hates me, message received. Let's see what treasures await in this paradise."

  He started rummaging through a pile of refuse shoved against the curved tunnel wall—a mix of discarded synth-fiber insution, burst coont pipes spewing noxious blue goo, and anonymous chunks of rusted metal that might have once been part of something important. Or a self-flushing toilet. In the Undercity, it was usually 50/50.

  "Okay, what've we got here?" he narrated to the empty tunnel, his voice the only sound besides the drip-drip-drip and the distant, stomach-churning hum of the Sector's barely functional atmosphere processors. "Piece of... nope, just more sg. Corroded conduit? Check. Soggy lump of what might be recimed protein but probably isn't? Double check. Ooh! A flicker-light capacitor! Annnd it's cracked. Of course it is." He tossed it aside with disgust. "Worthless. Utterly, depressingly worthless."

  His gaze fell on a grimy panel half-buried in the muck. It looked like maybe, just maybe, it was an access hatch for a secondary conduit, the kind maintenance drones sometimes forgot existed. Hope, that treacherous little weed, sprouted briefly in his chest. Forgotten pces sometimes meant overlooked stuff.

  "Alright, Pn B," Kai decred to his audience of none. "Let's see if generations of neglect have left anything interesting behind this..." He strained, pulling at the panel's recessed handle. It didn't budge. Locked tight. Of course.

  He squinted at the locking mechanism. A standard mag-lock, older model. His fingers, thin and surprisingly nimble despite the grime, probed the seam. He pulled a bent piece of wire—his universal 'key'—from a pocket stitched into the lining of his threadbare jacket.

  "Now, if I remember Doctor Anaya's 'Applied Systems Circumvention 101' lecture correctly—you know, the one I mostly slept through before getting politely invited to pursue alternative life paths?—this requires patience, focus, and a delicate touch." He jammed the wire into the lock with considerably more force than finesse. "Or, you know, wiggle it 'til something clicks."

  He jiggled, he scraped, he muttered increasingly creative curses under his breath, directed at the lock, the panel, the city pnners, the concept of gravity, and whoever invented Mondays (even though the Undercity didn't exactly adhere to a standard work week).

  Click.

  Kai froze. Then grinned, a fsh of slightly-too-sharp teeth in the gloom. "HA! See? Who needs 'delicate'? Told you I was brilliant! A natural! Just gotta--"

  The panel didn't swing open. Instead, a high-pitched whine emanated from it, and a shower of angry yellow sparks erupted from the seam he'd been probing. Kai yelped, snatching his hand back as the acrid smell of ozone filled the air.

  "Scrap! Fragging scrap-heap piece of junk!" he yelled at the inanimate panel, kicking it for good measure. His boot connected with a dull thud. The panel remained unmoved. The whining sound faded, leaving only the mocking drip-drip-drip. "Fine! Keep your secrets! Probably full of mutated mega-roaches anyway! Who needs 'em!"

  (A/N: Famous st words, Kai. Tsk tsk. (?_?) )

  Defeated and now slightly singed, Kai slouched onward, his sack clinking pitifully. The tunnel eventually widened, opening into a slightly rger cavern—or rather, a nexus where several tunnels converged. This area saw more traffic, judging by the marginally less sludge on the floor and the presence of flickering glow-strips overhead that provided weak, unreliable pools of light. In the center stood a public access terminal, its screen cracked but functional, dispying the Sector Gamma-Nine Civic Authority rotating logo – a stylised gear dripping sludge. Naturally.

  Kai eyed the terminal with disdain. "Might as well check the damage," he grumbled, slouching over to it. He tapped the cracked screen. After a moment of flickering static, it stabilised, requesting identification. Kai pressed his thumb against the grimy bio-scanner pte.

  A beat of silence, then:

  > CITIZEN IDENTIFIED: KAI (ID# 7734-Gamma-9-Undetermined)> CURRENT STATUS: Sub-Optimal> CIVIC CREDIT SCORE: 17 (Rating: PATHE***TIC) (The end flickered erratically)> OUTSTANDING FINES: Unauthorized Salvage (x3), Noise Pollution (Sector Ordinance 4B - x7), Loitering Near Restricted Conduit (x2), Improper Waste Disposal (Alleged - Pending Adjudication)... Total: 485 Credits> REGISTERED RESIDENCE: Sector Gamma-9 Transient Barracks C (Rent OVERDUE)> BIO-SIGN MONITOR: Malnourished, Minor Respiratory Irritation, Trace Toxin Exposure (Chronic), Elevated Stress Hormones.

  Kai scoffed, loudly. "Sub-optimal? Excuse ME, tin can?" He tapped the screen indignantly. "I feel FANTASTIC! Energetic! Positively bursting with... okay, fine, maybe a little hungry. And yeah, the air down here tastes like battery acid chewed by a cyber-donkey. But 'Pathetic'? Seriously? Seventeen credits? That's practically RICH compared to st week!" He leaned closer, squinting at the fines. "Noise pollution SEVEN times? When? I barely said anything! And 'Alleged' improper waste disposal? That rogue syn-noodle vendor framed me, I swear!"

  He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his messy, dark hair. "Elevated stress hormones? YOU'D have elevated stress hormones too if you lived down here and owed Grok fifty credits by sundown—or whatever passes for sundown in this perpetually dim sewer!"

  A throat cleared behind him. A very rge throat, judging by the gravelly sound.

  Kai flinched, whirling around. Standing there, blocking out most of the weak light from one glow-strip, was Grok. Grok the Scrap Monger. He was roughly spherical, cd in patched-up hazard gear that strained at the seams, and had a face like a disgruntled rock formation, complete with tufts of greyish moss-like hair sprouting from his ears and nostrils. He held a hefty wrench like it was an extension of his arm. Probably was.

  (A/N: Uh oh. Speaker Identified: Plot Device Incoming! (；￣Д￣))

  "Talkin' to the machine again, Kai?" Grok rumbled, his voice like grinding gears. His small, piggy eyes scanned Kai, lingering on the mostly-empty sack. "Or just admiring yer impressive debt?"

  Kai pstered on his most charming, utterly fake smile. "Grok! Hey! Fancy meeting you here! Just, uh, checking the local news feeds. You know, stay informed!" He tried to subtly edge away from the terminal and his dispyed poverty. "What brings you down to this charming little nexus?"

  Grok didn't move. The wrench twitched slightly in his grip. "Collection rounds, squirt. Word is, someone owes me fifty creds. Tick-tock." He tapped the head of the wrench against his palm. Thump. Thump.

  Kai's smile didn't waver, though maybe it got a little gssy. "Fifty! Right! Yes! About that... I was just on my way back from an incredibly successful scavenging expedition! Top-tier stuff, really high-grade salvage. You wouldn't believe--"

  "Empty yer sack," Grok interrupted, his voice ft.

  "Well, see, the really valuable stuff, it's bulky, you know? I had to stash it nearby for safekeeping," Kai bluffed, patting his pitifully light sack. "Wouldn't want any opportunistic lowlifes—no offense to present company, purely hypothetical lowlifes I'm talking about—getting their grubby mitts on it, right? This," he indicated the sack, "is just the... appetizer."

  Grok's expression didn't change. Which was somehow more intimidating than if he'd started yelling. "Empty. It."

  Kai swallowed. His escape routes were limited: back the way he came (blocked by Grok), or down one of the two other converging tunnels. One looked suspiciously dark and drippy, the other had warning glyphs for 'Unstable Structure' flickering nearby. Neither seemed promising.

  "Look, Grok, pal, buddy," Kai wheedled, edging slightly towards the unstable tunnel. "Let's be reasonable. I got maybe... five credits worth of actual scrap here? Tops?" He opened the sack slightly, showing the sad collection of junk. "Give me 'til tomorrow? One more cycle? I know where a batch of copper wiring might be accessible--"

  "Tomorrow, the price is sixty," Grok stated, taking a step forward. The floor seemed to vibrate slightly. "Today, it's fifty. Or it's... colteral." He eyed Kai up and down, lingering on his jacket, then his boots. Possibly his kidneys.

  Panic began to bubble beneath Kai's forced nonchance. Verbal gymnastics usually got him out of scrapes, or at least postponed them. But Grok looked like he'd hit his 'annoyed chatter' quota for the century.

  "Okay, okay! Hold on!" Kai said, raising his hands pcatingly. His mind raced. Distraction? Run for it? Maybe try to appeal to Grok's better nature? (Ha! Good one.) "How about a trade? Information! Valuable info!"

  Grok raised a skeptical, mossy eyebrow. "What info you got that's worth fifty creds, runt?"

  "Uh..." Kai scanned his surroundings desperately. His eyes nded on the panel he'd tried (and failed) to open earlier. "That maintenance hatch back there!" he blurted out. "The old mag-lock one! It's definitely got something behind it! Secure stash, maybe forgotten drone parts? I almost had it open myself, just needs a... uh... a calibrated percussive application!" He mimed hitting it, carefully avoiding Grok's wrench. "You've got the tools, right? We could split it! Fifty-fifty!"

  (A/N: Selling out a probably-empty panel he couldn't open? Peak Kai logic. (－??))

  Grok stared at him for a long moment, then slowly looked back towards the tunnel Kai had indicated. His piggy eyes narrowed. He seemed to consider it. Maybe, just maybe...

  Then he chuckled, a horrible, grating sound like rocks tumbling down a chute. "Nice try, Kai. Trying to send me on a wild goose chase while you bolt? Seen that one before." He took another step forward. The wrench lifted slightly. "Now. Pay up. Credits or… parts."

  Okay, pn C: Run. Like. Hell.

  "Look, a distraction!" Kai yelled, pointing randomly down the dark, drippy tunnel.

  Grok didn't even flinch this time. His eyes were locked on Kai.

  "Scrap," Kai whispered. He took a deep breath, tensed his legs, and prepared to dive towards the unstable tunnel, praying the warning glyphs were just overly cautious bureaucracy. He might get crushed by falling debris, but it was probably less painful than Grok's definition of 'colteral'.

  He braced himself, tuning out Grok's heavy breathing, the drip-drip-drip, focusing on the entrance to the dodgy tunnel like it was the finish line of the Undercity marathon. One… two…

  Just as he was about to unch himself forward, a blur of motion exploded from the dark tunnel—the one he’d tried to use as a distraction. It wasn't Grok looking, it was something else. Something small, fast, and furry, moving with frantic, terrified energy. It shot past Grok's thick legs, a streak of matted grey-brown fur, heading straight for… well, anywhere that wasn't behind it.

  Its sudden appearance startled Grok just enough to make him hesitate, his head turning slightly towards the unexpected movement.

  It was the split-second Kai needed.

  He didn't dive for the unstable tunnel. He shoved off the wall beside him, scrambling past the momentarily distracted Grok, back the way he’d originally come. His worn boots skidded on the slime, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

  "Later, Grok!" he yelled breathlessly over his shoulder, not daring to look back. "Put it on my tab!"

  He heard a furious roar behind him, the cng of the wrench hitting the ferrocrete where he'd been standing moments before, and the heavy thud of Grok starting to pursue.

  Kai poured on speed he didn't know he possessed, adrenaline flooding his system, banishing thoughts of hunger or fatigue. He sprinted down the narrow tunnel, his own ragged breathing loud in his ears. He risked a gnce back. Grok was gaining, his bulk surprisingly quick over short distances, his face a mask of rage.

  "Nonononono," Kai panted, eyes darting around for any side passage, any crevice, any escape. There was nothing but the straight, narrow tunnel ahead. He was faster, maybe, but Grok had stamina fueled by sheer avarice.

  Ahead, he saw it—the spot where he’d wrestled with the sparking access panel. Not an escape route, but maybe... maybe?

  He skidded to a halt beside the panel, desperation cwing at him. He spun around, facing the oncoming Grok, who was now only twenty meters away, puffing but relentless.

  "Stay back, Grok!" Kai yelled, trying to sound menacing and probably failing miserably. He pressed himself against the wall, right beside the stubborn panel. "I know... tunnel-fu!"

  Grok just grinned, a terrifying dispy of stained teeth. "Nowhere to run now, runt."

  Kai squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Think, Kai, think! What stupid thing could possibly save him now? He gnced down at the panel again, the faint scorch marks from the sparks still visible.

  An idea, born of pure panic and inspired idiocy, fshed through his mind.

  He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have backup. He didn't have anywhere to go. But he did have a history of making things spark unexpectedly.

  "Okay, Grok!" Kai shouted, pstering a wild, probably unhinged grin on his face. "You want colteral? Fine! Let's see if this hunk of junk has anything worth taking!"

  He raised his foot and, ignoring the earlier failure, kicked the panel again with all his might, right where the lock mechanism was, yelling nonsense sylbles like some kind of Undercity battle-cry.

  Predictably, the panel didn't budge. Grok lumbered closer, raising his wrench.

  "Scrap it all," Kai muttered, defeated, slumping slightly against the wall. This was it. Kidney-selling time.

  Then, behind him, from inside the wall where the panel sat, came a frantic scrabbling sound.

  (A/N: Cliffhanger! Muahaha! \(≧?≦)/ Who's behind panel number one? Will Kai survive Grok's Wrench of Furious Debt Collection? Will Squeaks make an appearance soon? Find out more in the next episode of Dragon Ball Z! Okay, please don't murder me, I just wanted to say that because it sounds cool.)

  The End. Only for this chapter, not the book, please add to favorites and leave some comments if you liked it.

  The release schedule is hopefully 3 chapters a week:

  Wednesday (12:00 AM UTC)Friday (08:00 AM UTC)Sunday (04:00 PM UTC)Yes, the times were also randomly decided because they feel cool, too.