Random Stories, AI influence (Dragonball Edition!)

Android 17 x Healer Reader 🌲 Rangers In Arms 🌲 pt 2

A year had slipped by, bringing a notable decrease in poaching threats from various quarters, yet insufficient for either you or 17 to lower your guard. Despite the passage of time and an increased companionship, both of you remained shrouded in each other's pasts. However, to maintain the stability of your friendship, you refrained from prying into each other's histories.

Engrossed in preparing snacks for the day, you hummed a soft tune while deftly assembling three different bento boxes, each containing a variety of food. One stood out with its unique dietary restrictions. "Got a secret date lined up or eating for two?" 17's teasing voice abruptly sliced through the air from behind you, causing you to startle at his sudden proximity, followed by an exasperated huff. "Darn it, thought I'd never jump from your antics again," you mumble, swiftly moving to pack the bento boxes into a larger container. "To answer your juvenile inquiry, the special bento is for a young dino. She's been a picky eater, so I've concocted some enticing treats to coax her. If that doesn't work, I'll figure it out on the fly. Maybe toss in an extra treat or two. Stress might be the cause; I might have to isolate her until she's ready to join the others," you explain, playfully nudging 17 with your hip as he stood close by.

Observing you, 17 remains rooted in place, hands casually tucked into his pockets. "Seems like you've handled this sort of situation before," he remarks.

You shrug nonchalantly. "Can't be a ranger without being attentive to everything and everyone you're meant to safeguard," you reply, prompting a prolonged stare from 17 before he merely hums softly and exits the Ranger Lounge's kitchen. Despite a considerable number of rangers present, it often felt like the lion's share of the workload rested on you and 17.

Exiting the kitchen with the container in tow, you weren't as fortunate as 17 to escape further interactions. A familiar voice calls your name, prompting you to turn and face a man a few years older, exuding the airs of a know-it-all manager without getting his hands dirty in the nitty-gritty work. His domain was primarily confined to log entries and paperwork, sparing you the headache of dealing with your paychecks.

Initially grimacing, you force a smile. "Hey, Blanke," you reply, attempting to continue on your way, but he intercepts your path, halting you in your tracks. "You've seemed pretty worn out lately. I've pulled three straight all-nighters fueled by cold coffee and peanuts, so I recognize exhaustion when I see it. Doesn't look good on you. How about I put in for a day off for you?" Blanke suggests, his hand resting on your arm, causing your grimace to intensify.

"O-Oh, no thanks. Got plenty to take care of, tons of ground to cover on the island. A Ranger's job is never a walk in the park, but the satisfaction of a job well done makes it worthwhile," you deflect, gently retracting your arm and making your way outside.

"Ah, right, right... see you around then? Just radio me if you need anything or change your mind!" Blanke calls after you, prompting a heavy sigh once you're out of sight.

"What took you so long? Was about to start doing donuts around the compound," 17 quips as you finally reach your truck, this time finding him in the driver's seat. Settling into the passenger side with the container on your lap, you explain, "Blanke stopped me. Offered a day off, but it sounded like he wanted something in return, so I dodged finding out what."

Missed by you, 17's eyes narrow, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Probably wants you to switch partners, work inside with the rest of the slackers," he suggests, smirking. "Just speculation, though. I bet he's sweet on you but can't admit it when I'm around. Probably likes you as much as he despises me."

Raising a brow at 17, you snort dismissively. "The only thing Blanke likes is a pat on the back."

As you and 17 seamlessly navigate your tasks, the familiar banter between you two peppers the air, exchanging quips and jests. You find yourself chuckling or flashing a smile whenever 17 manages to amuse you, yet his deliberate silence in response to your best jokes leaves you simultaneously annoyed and highly entertained. "You're such a jackass. That was gold," you laugh, prompting a snort from 17. "Step up your game, then," he teases, only to halt and turn when you swear at the audible sound of fabric tearing.

Your fingers trace the worn spot on your sweater, finally succumbing to years of wear with a tear. With a resigned sigh, you carefully tear off the rest of the sleeve, intending to mend it later. "You could use some new outfits," 17 muses, intending humor, but this time, your grimace hints it's not as amusing. "Yeah..."

Observing your expression, 17 opts to divert your attention, abruptly accelerating the truck, eliciting a gasp from you. "17!" you exclaim, causing him to smirk. "Oh, come on. Barely hit 80 mph. I can easily triple that on a lazy glide through the air," he boasts.

You shoot him a glare, unable to stifle a smile. "Showoff. I can't soar like you," you retort, then immediately tap his arm, signaling the dinosaur enclosure coming into view. "Ah, here! She's likely hiding somewhere in the field."

As 17 expertly maneuvers the truck into place, his attention fixates on you, fearlessly approaching the field without a hint of apprehension regarding the dinosaurs. Instead, you emit a gentle whistle into the air. "Honeycomb!" Your call resonates, prompting a small dinosaur to emerge playfully from the dense grass, sporting a stubbier front leg than usual. As Honeycomb eagerly makes her way toward you, a stumble causes her to tumble, but her spirits remain high as you crouch down to greet her. Despite her diminutive size, her weight, a solid two hundred pounds, manages to pin you down as she enthusiastically engages in play. Your laughter rings out, harmonizing with the delightful horn-like sounds Honeycomb emits.

Observing your interaction, 17 finds himself sporting a faint smile before his gaze diverts elsewhere, his eyes widening in disbelief. "No. Way," he mutters incredulously, briefly detaching himself from your vicinity. With a momentary absence of 17, you sit up, momentarily puzzled by his departure, before deciding to retrieve Honeycomb's specialized meal.

However, what catches you completely off guard is 17's return, accompanied by two small, blue bug-like creatures, each sporting humanoid faces.

You didn't know what they were, but 17 obviously did.

Cell Jrs.