This is bad—no, catastrophic. Vegeta lies crumpled on the ground, his arms bent at grotesque angles, every labored breath a testament to his defiance. Trunks’ sword, shattered, glints mockingly in the dirt. Tien and Piccolo? Down, battered, and unmoving. That leaves you—just you—against the cold, unrelenting androids.

Android 17 lets out a quiet sigh, tilting his head lazily as he dusts off his pristine jacket. His movements are casual, dismissive, as if the destruction of Earth’s strongest warriors was no more significant than swatting flies. Android 16 stands further back, his immense frame casting a foreboding shadow. He watches, silent and expressionless, his presence no less intimidating for his lack of words.

But it’s Android 18 who steals your focus. Her heels crunch against the dirt as she steps forward, her pace unhurried and deliberate. Every movement is measured, confident, the walk of someone who’s already written the ending to this story. Her blue eyes are cold yet piercing, locking onto yours with a quiet intensity that freezes you in place. There’s no malice in her gaze, no overt cruelty—just an unnerving detachment. When she finally stops, she’s close. Too close. You can feel the faint, unnatural chill radiating from her, like standing near a machine that hums with latent power. Your muscles coil in anticipation. And then she leans in.

It’s not what you expect. There’s no mocking grin, no sadistic glee in her expression. Instead, there’s something far more unnerving—an eerie, almost playful softness. Her lips brush against your cheek in a fleeting kiss, so quick and surreal it takes your brain a moment to catch up. The world seems to hold its breath, time grinding to a halt in the absurdity of the moment.

"You’re coming with us," she states flatly as she leans back, her voice calm but unyielding. Her smirk deepens, predatory now, as her words cut through the air like a blade. "And before you try something stupid, I'm not taking no for an answer." You're fucked, in a good way maybe.