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B17 visits The Brooklyn Bridge


B-17

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B17: Breathe it in, TY. Do you smell that?

 

TY takes a deep breath.

TY: Um...smog?

 

B17: No, Ty. That’s the smell of Brooklyn, and we own the passage to it. WE OWN THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE.

 

TY looked down from the pedestrian pass upon The Brooklyn Bridge as the cars sped by in brisk morning traffic.

TY in a hushed voice: We own all of this?

 

B17: Yes. As a B Community member that has not betrayed me you are entitled to free usage of all things that start with B. It is known. You can make a lot of money from those who need these things.

 

TY: Is that why you tried to sell to Mr. Sensation?

 

B17: And Mr. Sensation will regret his decision to not buy this bridge. Once tolls are enforced this will be a gold maker.

 

TY: Mr. 17, you seem very obsessed with money and nice things lately...Um...Don’t you think you might be taking things too far?

 

B17 glared at his young apprentice.

B17: Too far? Going too far would be this!

 

B17 raised up his stolen FI case and held it over the side of the railing.

TY: WOAH! Hey now. That’s a very valuable case!

 

B17: I AM ONLY BEHOLDEN TO ME! THE NUMBERS MEAN NOTHING!

 

TY: We’re not even talking about numbers, Bingo. I didn’t even say a number!

 

B17: 17 blue cars have gone by since we got here. 89 people have walked past. You’ve looked at this case 34 times! You want this case! Go get it!

 

B17 flung the case over the railing into the East River.

TY: NO!

 

He leaned over the rail and looked down, watching it fall.

B17 tapped grabbed his arms and slid something over them.

B17: You’re gonna need this.

 

TY: Huh?

 

B17: Spread your arms. It’s a Mugen design.

 

TY: Wha-

 

B17 pushed him over the ledge before he could ask any further questions.

TY: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

TY Spread his protosuit wings and began to soar, without much time to make a decision he started to chase down the rapidly moving FI case.

B17 watched with a smile on his face until he turned around and returned to the view of the cars below. A white van sat stationary below him. Cones had been placed around it and other commuters honked in displeasure as they were forced to go around.

Mystery Voice: Time to find out what the numbers mean, Bingo.

 

A wet cloth slipped over his mouth and fumes filled his lungs and he remembered no more.

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