Build your opponent a golden bridge to retreat across.
Sun Tzu, Art of War
Everything was for tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. The present was only a bridge and on this bridge they are still groaning, as the world groans, and not one idiot ever thinks of blowing up the bridge.
Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn
I was wrong! Blow the bridge! Blow the fucking bridge!
Tugg Speedman, Tropic Thunder
Hello again GME Gang! It’s been a while since I last ranted at you, but I know we’ve been in some very good hands here at WSB with all the great DD folks have posted over the past few weeks. So no need for CPT Hubbard to go for 11 again on the Thumbscroll Dial (until today, that is). I’ve enjoyed a lot of these posts very much, so thank you on behalf of myself and the attention-deficient Rocket Children for continuing to deliver that 100% Chaff-Free GME-grade Wheat at such a feverish clip.
Now, I am going to get to Hong Kong’s Lamest Outlaw and his disconcertingly vacant eyes here shortly. But first I want to take you on a journey back to Christmas Eve, in the year of our lord 2020—a heady time in all our lives. We were all so young and innocent then, weren’t we? Fresh off the run up to 22. Blissfully oblivious that we were living in the last moments where the question What is The War of 1812? was the only acceptable Jeopardy question for the answer: The Last Time the Goddamn U.S. Capitol Was Stormed. This was also before we all became irresponsibly overleveraged in Cathie Wood’s Ornamental Gourds ETF. It was a wondrous, confusing time.
But before we get too off topic, let’s all hop in my 1985 DeLorean (purchased with proceeds from my Jan 15 calls – thanks RC!), fire up the ol’ Flux Capacitor, and get that shit to 88 because something happened that evening that is Worth Pondering—particularly in light of recent events. And just as a friendly reminder: even though you’re going back in time in a DeLorean, no one here has to deviate funds away from GME shares to Save the Clock Tower and you are under no obligation to fulfill a scenario where you wind up making out with your Mom (unless your Mom is Cathie Wood like mine—in which case maybe just some quick over-the-clothes stuff).
On the Subject of How It Once ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas
So what in the holy fuck happened on the night before Christmas, Captain? Well, while all you Gentiles were sleeping soundly after lying to your children about benign home intruders and before gorging yourself on the teat of late-stage capitalism, me and the rest of the Chosen People were up late eating Chinese food and thinking about tendies (self-hating Jew Joke! Ba-zing!). But then: when out on the electric twitter machine there arose such a clatter, I sprang to my phone to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes did appear, a mysterious tweet from a Rich-Ass Viking who had a lot of fucking interesting things to say about this whole GME situation that’s what.
This tweet, buried as a reply to a tweet sent by Mr. Rod Alzmann (@RodAlzmann or u/Uberkikz11), simply said: “Merry Christmas. Shhh.” But it included this screen shot:
[**Image Deleted Due to the Mods - check the link below where someone transcribed it - I'll try to add later**]
Now, this tweet to Rod, sent late at night and likely after a strong Mead or three, was very promptly deleted. But your intrepid cub reporter saw this here tweet that night with his own two eyes—seeing as I am a degenerate GME addict and devoted follower of Mr. Rod Alzmann (Hi Rod!). And I took screenshots, of course, like any responsible records custodian might. And so did the dude who wrote a somewhat-overlooked WSB post on this, which included the most pertinent text of the message if you are having trouble reading it here:
https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/kk0omp/christmas_miracle_gamergate_2020_gme_shorts/
Now, what are we to make of this? At the time, I thought it was very interesting. But I did not give it too much attention seeing as how the internet is overcrowded with anonymous weirdos claiming to know more than they do about all sorts of subjects (and now I feel your judging eyes…). Also, there was some very good commentary in that WSB post from some sharp folks about the screenshot author’s questionable use of the shorthand PE/IB—given that private equity and investment banks wouldn’t apparently be involved in a behind-the-scenes transaction with the short funds like what was being discussed there (don’t ask me, I just string together silly words here). But maybe you poke around his Twitter a bit and see for yourself.
Still, plausibility assessments based on preferred nomenclature aside, it seemed to me that some version of that conversation had to be taking place behind the scenes in a situation like this—given the batshit insane short interest, the funds supposedly involved, and the rapid rise in SP coinciding with RC’s share accumulation, December 21st amended 13D filing, and new status as a GME Insider and Board member (just love saying all that in a row, don’t you?).
So the Viking’s screenshot tweet, and the very likely possibility that shorts are in so deep that they’re attempting to negotiate peace with large shareholders behind the scenes, stuck in my tiny little baby brain as a pretty plausible set of scenarios. And from the look of it, it seems like some funds were at least willing to discuss offering these shorts a Golden Bridge away from Certain Fucking Destruction on the open market. And if the words on the screenshot are at all aligned with reality, these short funds have no good options.
Yet it seems like they are still playing hardball to negotiate the carat on this generous bridge offer they’re getting. Why? Maybe they’ve been getting high on their own supply for so long and they don’t know how to see this situation for what it is. Who knows? Maybe there is no Ryan Cohen and we’re all living in a simulation. But if the recent low-rent anti-GME articles and market manipulation efforts we’re seeing are any indication, these overleveraged short fuckers seem to think they’re going to be able to spin out of this hold and drive the SP back down to even smaller peanuts than it’s at now by sheer force of will (and some deployment of well-honed tricks of the trade amirite?) to emerge unscathed. Or even victorious? I dunno—it’s their delusional fantasy sequence.
But do you know what this scenario reminds me of? And this is just coming to me so please bear with me as I’m not showing this to my editor before we print (I haven’t seen this movie in ages – don’t know what made me think of this!). Fuck it, I’m just gonna start riffing here. The shorts trying to thread this needle, against all odds and logic and common sense, reminds me of that hilarious scene in Dumb and Dumber where haplessly delusional Jim Carrey thinks he has a chance with Mary Samsonite Swanson. But the scene is funny because he really doesn’t. Have any chance. At all.
Now, I know this is a 1990s movie originally released on VHS that we haven’t seen it or even seen it referenced in ages. But now that you’re thinking of it again after all this time, doesn’t it remind you of this too? I know, I get it: You’d have to have fucking peanuts for brains for it not to.
(https://twitter.com/ryancohen/status/1350877969816956934?s=20)
On the Subject of the Continued Internet Bumbling of Mr. Justin Dopierala
Now that screenshot came to mind this past week when something kind of weird happened while we were all enjoying our quick rocket ship ride. And yes, we are briefly going to talk again about Seeking Alpha’s second finest pro-GME author (always been more of a Dmitriy man myself) and recurring CPT Hubbard character, Justin Dopierala (and no, Angela, I do not want to have like 10,000 of his babies).
Last Thursday, after we were all virtually high-fiving one another and counting our future Lambos, Mr. Justin Dopierala, head of Domo Capital and longstanding uber-bull GME shareholder and author at Seeking Alpha (last seen arguing pithily with our own Rod Alzmann about the conservative nature of Rod’s holiday earnings projections. Hi again Rod!), made it known that he sold all of Domo Capital’s 500,000 shares for around $42.50—at the very top of the run up last Thursday morning.
Now, Domo Capital’s business decisions are none of my goddamn business. And there are plenty of market opportunities right now. Shit, I hear there is even a new Cathie Wood Gourd ETF coming online soon that people are really excited about and that I’m sure Justin’s clients would find intriguing. But Domo’s decision to sell seemed curious given a few things: (1) on Wednesday, when the rocket is mid-flight, he got a twitter follow from Gabe Plotkin, head of Melvin Capital, which he promptly tweeted about with a “get a load of this fuckin’ guy” vibe (oh the sweet, intoxicating arrogance of tendie victory, I too love it so); (2) he had also tweeted that day comparing GME’s rise to Apron’s short squeeze that lasted 4 days—where he also stressed to his followers that Apron had a much lower SI than GME; and (3) he then promptly deleted all of these tweets and almost everything else GME-related on Thursday after apparently introducing 500,000 shares of liquidity into the height of a stressed market up and through the Thursday reversal and down into his own personal tendie town.
Now, after seeing all this, I mouthed off a bit to Justin on the electric twitter machine because that’s kind of my thing. And if you are familiar with my prior ramblings, you know that he and I go way back. In response, Justin talked a bit of shit about your intrepid cub reporter here in a comment on Dimitry Kozin’s October 21, 2020 article about a possible sony revenue share deal or something, the comment section of which has become the preferred SA water cooler over there. (And I can’t link that because Thems The Rulez). And Justin hurt my little feelings a bit with his very sharp denial. And by all means have at it over there to check out his comment about why he sold if you give a shit. That is if Justin hasn’t deleted it yet. Free country and all.
But to summarize, on the subject of treacherous coordination with Melvin Capital, Justin said he would not could not in a boat and he would not could not with a goat. And I for one believe him. And do you know why? Because even though Justin seems like a very smart guy in some ways, he’s also a well-known internet bumbler who blurts out things to his internet friends that a person with better self-control would keep to themselves. And so I do not think he is capable of pulling that off or keeping a secret like that. Also: he said he didn’t so I am more than willing to give someone the benefit of any doubt in that area and you should too. I think we keep Hanlon’s razor firmly in mind here about never attributing to malice that which is explained by stupidity. That is unless, of course, you’re Andrew Left and you’re actually trying to convince people that you didn’t realize there was a US presidential inauguration planned for the same time you announced your Super Important TeeVee Yammerfest ‘21 about GME not being a good candidate for an imminent short squeeze no way no how not if my name isn’t Andrew Left short seller expert extraordinaire and Hong Kong’s Most Misunderstood Ethically-Minded Businessman. You can ascribe the fuck out of malice to that one.
No, even though I really have no idea, I think the most likely thing that happened there was that Gabe Plotkin, Master of the Universe, Head of Melvin Capital, and Acolyte of Perennial Most Ethical Business Man MVP candidate, Steven Cohen—got into Justin’s head when Plotkin followed him on twitter during the 57% (at one point 94%) day last Wednesday and then Justin got a bit chippy about it.
And this is the real reason I’m bringing this up.
Because I honestly care very little about the Nervous Investing Habits of the Wisconsin hedge fund voted most likely to prompt a Mr. Roboto reference. No: I think that Gabe Plotkin sent a message with that follow. Without even ever having to say it directly. And I think that after GME’s huge run and getting a little overexcited while working the twitter machine, Justin maybe had a chance to relax with a warm glass of milk that night and reflect on that message. Which I believe was: I’m watching you, motherfucker. And the only reason I’m paying any attention to some shitstain Wisconsin pseudo-fund on a day like today when I am getting my ass fucking torched is because I want you to know that if this GME shit blows up on me, I’m going to fuck your ass up. I will remember the name Domo Capital forevermore. And when you least expect me, I’ll be there. Now: your move, motherfucker.
And once I realized what might have happened there, that made me feel kinda bad for Justin if he felt that way. Definitely a puss move because fuck you Plotkin I drink your fucking milkshake, right? But bad because that’s a mean message for a business colleague to send, Gabriel. Shame on you if that's how you roll like a big New York bully and scaring our poor Justin like that. And if you just wanted to follow him to shoot the shit or swap listicles and Star Wars Prequel memes with a respected contemporary—even in the very midst of getting fucking annihilated while short GME—well Justin has a totally different account for that and he’s not allowed to access it during work hours.
On The Likelihood That The Most Heavily Shorted Stock in History Is Not Being Subject to Continued Market Manipulation When A Steve Cohen Acolyte Is Losing His Fucking Shirt
Have you heard about Steve Fucking Cohen? The guy who looks like he’s tip top of the list of the premier Hollywood casting agency’s rolodex for Saddest Dipshit Still At the Strip Club After Everyone Else Has Already Gone Home? I’m sorry, that’s mean and my mother told me to always be kind to the truly hideous looking because they’re probably still beautiful on the inside (spoiler alert: he’s not!).
Get a load of this guy:
https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2014-01-02/why-sac-capitals-steven-cohen-isnt-in-jail
https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/business/story/2020-09-02/controversial-hedge-fund-billionaire-steven-cohen-takes-on-hollywood
https://www.marketwatch.com/story/steven-a-cohen-among-the-million-dollar-donors-to-trump-inauguration-2017-04-19
https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2016/11/steve-cohen-trump
https://nypost.com/2015/06/17/billionaire-steve-cohen-bros-out-with-guy-fieri/
Are you back? I’ve missed you. That was scary, wasn’t it? But allow me to TL/DR all that for you who decided to avoid all that unpleasantness: the dude just has all this bad luck and keeps finding himself into these really awkward situations where someone could potentially question his commitment to ethical business and life practices as well as adherence to the laws of the United States and it’s just not fair and nothing’s fair and Nice Guy Steve Cohen Is The Victim Here So Just Stop Right There Mister I See What You’re Doing. He's also bros with Guy Fieri. Cool.
But why am I talking about a guy who would so clearly pass Billy Madison’s Final Question about Business Ethics without even breaking a sweat?
Because Steve Cohen once had a young Ace Protegee that he loved very much. With the name of an Archangel, so tender and pure. And one day this young man decided he wanted to Prove Himself and Leave Steve’s Nest. And thus was born Melvin Capital, seeded financially by Steve Cohen but named after famed Crooner Melvin H. Tormé, which Gabe’s esteemed mentor Steve would play in his office, over and over, all those years ago.
Now let’s fast forward a bit because I’m boring myself with all that fucking Cohen reading (the bad Cohen—don’t you dare get anyone confused here). As I was saying: Gabe Plotkin, head of Melvin Capital, has by all accounts gotten himself into a bit of a pickle here being so deeply short GME. Lots of people have analyzed and overanalyzed it, and I’m not going to do it again here; that dead horse is well and truly beaten. But to bottom line it: we’re all just staring down what is essentially an unprecedented math problem that will, at some point, resolve itself. And if it revolves itself in favor of the Good Guys, then the Bad Guys will lose a Fuck-ton of Money. That’s your money block quote, WSJ, so fuck off and stop calling me.
Now: picture yourself as a Steve Cohen acolyte that just bought a $44M Miami Compound and who cannot stop talking about how co-owning the Charlotte Hornets is worth it just for the courtsides alone bro once basketball is a thing again and so what if Michael Jordan keeps calling him Gary it’s close enough. Are you feeling the most financially secure that you have ever felt in your young rich life right about now? Or might you be a wee bit worried that you’ve pursued an investment thesis so reckless, so irrationally and intentionally destructive of equity, that even Melvin H. Tormé himself must be rolling in his fucking grave that you would ever dare put at risk your ability to continue being Michael Jordan’s Gary?
And so here is when I again link my good buddy Jim Cramer’s Great Unveiling of the Tactics Deployed by Short Sellers hoping to change the narrative and construct a “new truth” to suppress the SP in the face of, oh, let’s just say: a very promising turnaround story in a high-growth industry by an e-Commerce Canadian Genius who does not fuck around and who knows what he’s fucking doing and aims to sell more and better video games experiences to crackhead video gamers and there’s a million things he wants to do but just you wait, just you wait.
Is this plot that hard to follow?
And I’ll also say this: I know fuck-all about monitoring order flows or how funds continue to create synthetic shares to short shit into oblivion. But I’m just stepping back and thinking of the broader narrative and tactics on this. Spit-balling here again—bear with me. Now, if you were massively short a security while paying out your ass in borrowing fees for the privilege of entering the most crowded short trade in the market and you’re now opposite a massive business turnaround story, Ryan Cohen, numerous institutions, funds, retail whales, Norwegian HNW Freemason Consortiums, and the energy behind the Finest Rocket Children Ever to Grace Planet Fucking Earth—and you’re taking it in the ass week after week here—Do you then play this straight? Do you set aside all of these illegal and deceptive short tactics Jim Cramer candidly outlines in that video even though they’re impossible to enforce and are in fact not enforced? That Jim basically says you’d be professionally negligent if you were short and didn’t do this shit because fuck it whosgonnastopyou? And now you fucked up and that steamroller is barreling down upon you and there are all these things you could theoretically do try to get yourself out of this jam if you were That Kind of Person? Do you set this all aside and, at least in Jim’s view, tie one hand behind your precious ethical back? On the most heavily shorted stock off all time where you are bleeding Real Life Big-Boy Money? Just buying and selling you know, just a job, honest living, nothing much to it, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, can't get too carried away with it.
Or is it something a little bit fucking different than that?
I don’t know. I’m not in the industry myself. And I would never accuse anyone of doing anything so clearly contrary to the values upon which their professional career as Master of the Universe was built. So Gabe: chill. Don’t follow me or something on twitter man, since for all I know that’s Plotkinese for I Hope You Don’t Mind Sleeping With This Severed Horse Head in Your Bed Motherfucker. It’s just money, dude. You seem pretty well taken care of. But man would I be sweating if I were short right now staring down the barrel of your new neighbor Ryan Cohen’s whims and patience and polite Canadian manners and ambiguous emojis that we all lose our shit for. I mean, fuck man: are you ok? Don’t forget to exercise and eat well during all this. Maybe switch to green tea or something. And remember: you’ll always—always—be Michael Jordan’s Gary.
But here is where we return to our good friend Andrew Left from Citron Research.
Do you remember the excitement you felt this past weekend? I’ve never seen WSB so jacked. People were coming out hot on Tuesday—an uptick day! The new phone book’s here! The new phone book's here! What luck to be free of Gary’s tomfoolery for one fine day. And then GME spiked right away—reaching a high of over $45 that morning.
But then something happened. We all know what it was. But here is where any SEC lookie-loos need to close those Pornhub links and pay closer attention. Because in the moments before the Citron tweet that morning about Andy’s upcoming BuzzFeed Listicle call on Why GME is Scary Investment GRRRR, total short shares available dropped from 1.2M to 0. And a $300K put bet was placed on a weekly with a strike price well over 10% out of the money at the very moment that GME’s price was accelerating rapidly. (H/t u/FatAspirations). That’s some WSB-level shit right there.
And yet they pull it off! GME immediately shoots down nearly 30% intraday, and eventually climbing abck up above 10%, making us all feel a little weird and like ungrateful millennial brats for feeling so shitty about a 10% day. But we all know what fucking happened, now don’t we?
So what can we say about ol’ Andy? Now, many of you know Andy as the dumbshit who shorted TSLA until he was ground into little bits of dumb dumb dust and made to look ever so foolish over and over again until he finally cried drunk uncle and flipped to being long TSLA and now he’s cool to you or whatever. Or you might know him as the guy who puts out really shoddy research that often, by pure happenstance, drives a new narrative to control the orderflow and SP on a WSB-beloved security like PLTR? You know the guy I’m talking about. Once in hot pursuit by Hong Kong fuzz, an International Man of Obviousness with a face that says: why yes, I will have another vodka tonic thankyouverymuch. That’s him.
Well, just like future call-back candidate for the role of Frightened Inmate #2, Mr. Steve Cohen, Andy is also but a Caveman—frightened and confused by your modern concepts of “ethics” and “rules.” No! No!—He’s a straight shooter! Devoted to rooting out obvious frauds, like Lukin Coffee and TSLA (Do not fuck with Elon or my Hot Mom’s ETF, Andy). And like the aspirations of Antoine Bugle Boy when he entered the blue jeans market, Andy saw an overcrowded short trade here based on an overly simplistic and obsolete short thesis about GME and said: “Me Too!” And as this thing is ripping to the stratosphere, Andy starts ringing his dumb dumb twitter bell and saying hear ye, hear ye—Inauguration Day and time it shall be for all my Big Brain thoughts about GME!
Nothing weird about that. No sir.
So Andy Citron or whatever the fuck his name is will be putting out some dumbshit video or something today in what seems to be a pretty clear attempt to scare my poor Rocket Children and get those pesky computers to high frequency this shit to drive the SP down to more acceptable loss levels (cause let’s be honest: they’re still taking a fucking bath here) for Mel Tormé’s namesake hedgefund and all the other cretins that are dug into short position here. And they’re gonna try to scare ya’ with the color red! And they know that no one here likes the color red.
But do see what’s going on here and who we’re dealing with. This really ain’t rocket science, Rocket Children. The dude actually tried to claim he forgot about the Inauguration. In 2021. He has not been in a coma, to the best of my knowledge. But you do look a little bleary eyed, Andy. Must have been all that staying up super late working on those last few bullet points to fill out the powerpoint on that GME listicle of yours, eh sport?
Conclusion: On the Subject of Patience and The Arc of The Universe Bending Toward Ryan Fucking Cohen
In my youth there was a period of time where I went out on boats that would drop crates into the waters of the Arctic. Bundled inside them were raw pieces of meat. In the coming days the boats would head back out to the frigid seas, hook the floats bobbing upon the waters, and pull the crates up. Packed inside would be many crabs. They were so delicious & made a good price at market. The difference between the crate that was empty and the create full of bounty was a mystery even the great physicist Erwin Schrödinger pondered at much length.
But the hearty fishermen of my youth already knew the answer long ago. Why did the trap fill up? Time. In time, all traps fill. In time, all things pondered shall be revealed.
--The Fucking Viking, That’s Who
Now look, you all know I have a soft spot for Ryan Cohen. Hell, we all do. He’s a good dude. And the man has played this flawlessly so far. He really has. The fact that we are all sitting here with Ryan Cohen having successfully negotiated three seats on the Board—a bloodless coup as my man Rod Alzmann says—here in January? It’s amazing. His vision for GME is dialed-the-fuck in and extremely exciting. This misunderstood business is on the threshold of an exciting turnaround with Ryan Cohen at the helm. And though I was very much looking forward to the potential repercussions of a vote being called at the annual meeting and what that might mean for the short-term share price, this result is infinitely better. Whatever their motivations, that Board and George Sherman saw the writing on the wall here and accepted the Golden Bridge that Ryan offered them. And Ryan Cohen has done everything he’s set out to do here. And he’s clearly been having fun while doing it. Read up on the guy at some point if you haven’t–there’s lots of good DD out there on him, obviously. And while you’re reading and thinking about Ryan Cohen, think also about guys like Steve Cohen (no fucking relation) and Gabe Plotkin and Andy Left and how lucky we are that we get to roll with RC against that motley crew of fuckwads.
And do you know what? I’m guessing that RC, and maybe even the funds being discussed in that screenshot, have been very patient with Mr. Plotkin et al in recent weeks. You don’t go around bankrupting hedge funds willy nilly, you know--bad form and all that old chap. People tend to remember that. And guys like Steve Cohen and Gabe Plotkin seem like they play for keeps. So now you try to build them a Golden Bridge to cross—maybe not their preferred route of travel, but could be worse and all that, right guys? But for whatever reason it seems like the natural instinct here on the short side is fight over flight. And these short FUD tactics are getting increasingly ridiculous to help slow down the inevitable march toward the detonator right next to that bridge. So relax everyone! And let’s not fool ourselves: All those Masters of the Universes are well aware of the math problem they’re all facing here and they must have a vague grasp of the odds that this goes off in one direction over the other. And what that could mean for the size of their money pits and how many sports teams they can buy this year. Shit, I assume Steve Cohen is counseling his young acolyte about how many sads he himself felt deep down in his man heart on that fateful day in 2008 when he lost $250M on a short when Volkswagon squeezed to infinity—a sadness that he will continue to draw on when his agent finally finds him a role that calls for it.
But my point is: the longs here can afford to be patient and let this play out. When this thing moves, the Viking’s Schrödinger crabs will only be in one pot. And I’m guessing that pot is the one being held by the guy who is actually in total control here: Ryan Goddamn Cohen.
So enjoy the show today. If you’re anything like me, you’re feeling relaxed after gorging yourself on lucky space peanuts all week.(https://solarsystem.nasa.gov/news/10022/lucky-peanuts/)
And though these silly wabbits with their cumbersome FUD efforts can get a bit tiresome, I’m still very much enjoying this GME show at this point and almost do not want it to end—what with all these Sorkin-esque twists and turns and my Cohen Tweet Decorder Ring getting all this sweet action.
But just remember who Ryan Cohen is, what he cares about, and what, so far, he has told us he intends to do here. And then you might realize, as I have, that Ryan Cohen has had the Gray’s Sports Almanac here all along. This story has already been written. He’s already won. And Melvin Capital’s Schrödinger-ass crabs are dead as fuck. The only question now is: what causes that Golden Bridge to blow? I, for one, am content to wait on RC while counting my good fortune that I can continue to accumulate until whatever happens here happens. So pass the rocket peanuts.
It’s just money after all. Right Gabe?
TL/DR: Psst: a Mysterious Viking once told me about behind-the-scenes Golden Bridge negotiations that are likely taking place that give shorts no chance but the shorts seem to think they’re saying there’s a chance but there really is no chance; Gabe Plotkin, Steve Cohen and Andy Left are misunderstood Straight Shooters who probably answer typical interview questions about their own perceived weaknesses by saying “Sometimes I just care too much about doing the right thing”; and Ryan Cohen is the Goddamn Man so we can all relax and not worry so much about all this dumb short FUD bullshit, ok? OK. 🚀🚀🚀
**If you construe any of the above as investment advice without doing your own DD or at least Googling Ryan Cohen then you are a fucking idiot and may God have mercy on your soul. You too, Andy.

[OC] Chronicles of the Siren War [Chapter 69]

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A/N: Please consider supporting my writing efforts on Patreon. You can follow this story and be alerted when new chapters release via fanfiction.net.
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“Are you sure they’ll be alright?” Thorson asked of Fusou, who had just returned to the docks from a final review of the shrine and its remaining attendants, Michishio and Ooshio. She bowed to him, glancing up as he looked her over. They smiled at one another, knowing where each had been looking.
“If and when this is finished, I will sate your appetite and my own until neither of us can stand, tono-sama,” Fusou promised. “Until then you have a commitment to Arizona and, more importantly, to your country. The shrine will be well attended in our absence. Ooshio and Michishio are shy and docile, but they are competent young women.”
“Then I think we should be on our way,” the Commander responded, looking out to the rising sun in the east with tired eyes. “Any advice on the remaining prisoners?”
“I’m sorry, tono-sama, but I do not have anything more. They have heard my stories about what Yamashiro and I were subjected to. They have seen your way of fighting. All that remains is for them to make a decision. I do not blame Kongou, Suzuya, and the others for their inaction. Soryuu will be the linchpin. If you can win her loyalty, you will win Hiryuu’s as well.”
“It won’t help with this battle, but you never know what the future will hold. Thank you, Fusou. You can head out to your ship.”
She smiled sweetly at him and closed her vibrant, teal eyes before leaning against his body and claiming a small but soft and sensual kiss. “I know I made my promise, but in case the worst happens you should know that I love you, tono-sama. May the seas be smooth for our journey and may the gods watch over you, and all of us.”
“Thank you, Fusou,” he whispered, allowing her to let go of his hand and depart. It was only a moment before Arizona was at his side, slipping her hand into his still warm palm. He tried not to let his surprise show. “How long were you watching?”
“Long enough, Commander. But I’m used to it by now, not to mention I consider Fusou something of a sister at this point. Doesn’t mean I wish to hear about whatever sweet nothings she whispered to you. Have you spoken with Brooklyn?”
“I have,” he affirmed, turning back to take in the base that had become his home over the last half a year. The bulins were loading the last few barrels of oil that the Akashi could reasonably fit aboard, where some of the most competent in Thorson’s fleet would watch over the prisoners while operating their hulls remotely. “Assuming we come back, I’m sure it will still be standing.”
“No matter what happens I will be at your side,” Arizona promised. He squeezed her hand gently.
“Thanks for not trying to tell me going up against the Sakura Navy in their home waters and possibly the sirens too will be ‘just fine’. But that does comfort me. Shall we?”
“Most of the fleet is ready to go,” Arizona relayed, using the tower on the back of her rigging to communicate with her sisters in arms. “Can I offer you a ride?” she asked as they approached the waters of the base’s docks.
“This is more comfortable than your sister’s rigging, but don’t tell her I said that,” Thorson laughed, causing her to giggle back at him. Arizona’s large replica of the front of her hull was long enough to seat the two of them, zipping them across the still waters to where her behemoth of a hull awaited them. “I will never not be amazed at how you can control something like this.”
“It’s because I am my ship,” she explained affectionately, resting a hand against the steel as they climbed aboard.
“I’ll take your word for it. When you’re ready, give the order, Arizona. We sail for Ogasawara and the Sanctuary.”
“Aye aye Commander,” she replied, her medals gleaming in the light of dawn as they headed to her bridge. “The standards are raised. I got one from the girls of each faction. We can proceed.”
Before heading up to the command deck Thorson looked up, finding the Union flag flying above that of the Royal Navy, the old Imperial Navy war ensign, and the banner of the Sakura rebels. “Quite the motley fleet we have here,” he remarked affectionately.
“I’m glad you found something to review other than my backside,” Arizona tittered at him from up the stairs. He reached up and swatted that same backside, knowing it was only the two of them aboard.
“And when did you get so cheeky?” he wondered with a smirk that she eagerly returned.
“Well, sometime around when you asked a shy young woman to be your flagship?” she suggested. “You ah… made your point quite forcefully.”
As his fleet steamed north and west out of the harbor, Thorson realized he would have to focus very intently in the event he wanted to get anything done during the voyage ahead.
-----
Several days into the voyage, which up to that point had been uneventful, Thorson paid a visit to the Akashi to review the prisoner situation. He found South Dakota, Minneapolis, and the Asashio sisters there on guard, with Kasumi cradling Minnie’s head in her lap. He looked down at her in particular.
“What?” Minnie asked as her body shrugged for her. “It’s comfortable down here and the little one is rather gentle.”
“I presume all is well inside then?” Thorson requested. To his surprise, Asashio answered instead of Dakota or Minnie.
“There is great uneasiness, Shikikan, but there have been no incidents. Hiei is awake and able to speak once again. It has defused a significant amount of tension.”
“We’re decidedly within Sakura territory now, even after their retreat following Midway. Be on your guard and be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.”
“Yes sir,” South Dakota replied, her medal gleaming and glinting in the sun from its place in her hair. She was still barely clothed from the waist up, so he presumed that state of affairs would continue for some time.
“I hope this battle will be easier on you,” he offered. She waved his worries off with a brush of her hand on his shoulder.
“You should concern yourself only with victory. Let the evils of doubt and trepidation not fall upon you. We shall be your instruments.”
“Instruments can be discarded. That’s not my way,” Thorson explained in a tone devoid of passion. “Sounds foolish, I know.”
“Foo says that we will be stronger together, and that many can overcome even the strongest warrior if they work in unison,” Kasumi offered.
“She’s right Dakota, you know,” Minnie agreed. “If you have business with the prisoners you’d best get it over with Commander, unless you want to be caught on this ship during a battle. Pants around the ankles isn’t a good look outside of your shared cabin with Arizona, I’d say?”
“Oh haha, very funny,” Thorson replied as even the typically stoic Dakota smiled at the jab. He composed himself, straightening his uniform. “My love life aside, thank you all for your work here.”
“You are welcome, sir. Thank you for coming to check on us,” Dakota replied for the small group, allowing Thorson past her and into the infirmary aboard the Akashi that also served as long term quarters for the prisoners taken both at Java and Midway. He had barely stepped foot inside when Soryuu spoke to him, the tall, lapine carrier leaning against the bulkhead just on the other side of the wall from South Dakota.
“Not your way, is it?” she asked, earning the barrel of his Colt in her face in reply. Their eyes met and he lowered his weapon, taking a deep breath as his heart recovered from the surprise. “I approve more of your reaction to perceived threats than your treatment of your soldiers.”
“Well it’s a good thing I don’t yet evaluate my job on the basis of your approval. You don’t talk to me unless you need something, Soryuu. What do you need?” he demanded. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Nothing. The end will soon be upon us one way or another.”
“You still have a chance to determine how this ends,” he insisted, glancing to his right and noticing that both Hiryuu and Kongou were paying close attention to the goings on. “Just not on your own terms, admittedly.”
To his surprise, Soryuu didn’t so much smile as smirk in reply. “That would honestly not be much of a change.”
Thorson didn’t know how to reply to her, so he simply turned away and walked over to Hiei’s bedside. Her scars had not healed, even those on her face, but she was awake and alert. “Do you think this would help you?” Thorson asked, offering her a couple of shards. Many kansen looked on as she silently took one and closed her singed hand around it, but the small, blue crystal refused to assimilate with her being.
“I suppose not,” Hiei replied sadly. “Who are you?”
“The man who led the forces that defeated yours at Midway. I am sorry for what happened to you. I didn’t know this was possible,” he stated truthfully. “Are you able to eat?”
“I am, though I cannot eat the same sort of meals as my sisters now. Akashi has seen to it. I don’t know the details,” she explained, looking him over warily. Thorson’s mind was full of theories, but he didn’t have the faintest of ideas why she would become more human-like in response to what he considered was a broken wisdom cube. He motioned to her sister, though given the difference in hair color and complexion, he figured adopted sister might be a better term.
“If she needs unique care, let us know.”
“Why won’t her wounds heal?” Kongou demanded. Thorson could only shake his head and guess.
“If I had to give an answer, it’s because she’s essentially human now. We don’t… we can’t heal things like that. That being said, living with such an injury is more than doable. Time permitting, we can discuss this more when the battle is over. I hope there won’t be any more like her. I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can say.”
Kongou’s facial expressions were pained and angry, but she was levelheaded enough to understand Thorson could only do so much given the situation. He turned his attention back to Hiei. “If my force survives the coming battle, I will help you find a new purpose. Your blade was recovered and remains in my office back on the island. In the event your side prevails, you will find it there.”
With everything said that could possibly be said given the realities, Thorson stood and reviewed the rest of them, most of whom averted their eyes. He didn’t blame them. Hiryuu was an exception, of course, and he smiled her way. She frowned back. “When you’re ready to fight again, let me know.”
“Bastard.”
He chuckled to himself. “Yeah, I know. But someone had to stop you. You were too powerful to remain our enemy.” Walking back to the doorway to the exterior of the ship he paused, contemplating what to say to the more cerebral sister of the second carrier division.
“You should go, enemy Shikikan. Battle draws nearer,” she said quietly. He bobbed his head in agreement.
“If we lose, this will likely be the last you see of me. If we win… I will require your aid,” he told her, departing past the guard force before she could give him an answer.
-----
“Shoukaku, Shoukaku-nee!” Zuikaku radioed frantically. One of her scout planes had picked up a large formation, soon corroborated by a second aircraft to be a massive combined fleet of Union and Sakura ships sailing west. “It’s them, the fleet that drove us out of the Java Sea. The Ghost is with them! They’re heading for the Sanctuary! Shoukaku?!”
“I heard you, Zuikaku,” the silver-haired elder replied, looking calmly up at the evening skies as many of her own scout aircraft returned. “Destroy or recall your planes. I think it is finally time for us to make our move.”
“We’re headed south, right? We’re going to join the battle?”
“We are not,” Shoukaku corrected, resting her hand on the still warm engine casing of one of her Zeros. “Unless you wish to die shielding Akagi from her inevitable fate?”
“Of course not!” Zuikaku spat. “But Kaga-sama and the others-”
“Have made their choices, just as we will make ours, Zuikaku. My loyalty remains with Lady Nagato-sama, as it always has. If the Sanctuary comes under direct assault I have no intention of letting such an opportunity go to waste.” Shoukaku’s crane-like kimono billowed in the wind on deck as she began turning her ship, adjusting her heading due north. She placed her flute to her lips and began to play, conjuring a fog to blanket the noise of their engines and to obscure them from view of anyone else watching. “The time has come to liberate the rightful leader of the Sakura from her supposedly self-imposed exile.”
“But Shoukaku…” her sister protested meekly, nevertheless turning to follow after her.
“I know, Zuikaku. Your youthful heart burns for revenge against those who killed Shouhou. But against that fleet you will only meet your doom. If we can deliver Nagato-sama and her guardians safely to the conflict, we may be able to prevent more from suffering the same fate.”
“That’s- We’re going to surrender?!” the brown-haired sister spluttered indignantly.
“We might,” Shoukaku admitted as she finished her melody. “But that die was cast when the decision was made to attack Hawaii, and again when the main force struck at Midway. If you regret remaining out of that battle, by all means go and throw your life away for those kitsune.”
“Could you not be such a jerk about it?” Zuikaku pouted, heading inside and seating herself in a chair on her bridge. “I just don’t know how I’m going to live with myself after all of this.”
Instead of teasing her further, Shoukaku sighed deeply and played a mournful note on her flute. “I know, dear sister. Let us devote everything we have to succeeding in this mission. If we succeed then maybe, just maybe, we will be able to hold our heads high as the Sakura Empire crumbles around us.”
“And if we can’t?” Zuikaku wondered morbidly.
“Then we die proudly and go to our rest knowing that we did so as free women, not siren thralls,” came Shoukaku’s stoic reply. Her sister drew her blade and began her ritualistic honing of its edge.
“Yeah, I can live with that.”
-----
“Alright, so we’re all agreed? The next time anyone shares the commander’s bed for the night they need to tell us all the details! I didn’t realize you were so brave, Zed!” Javelin gushed as the three of them held a ‘secret meeting’ aboard Laffey’s ship.
“Laffey cannot believe Nimi would be first, no no. Commander has much to answer for, yes he does.”
“Mein Gott, Laffey please?” Nimi pleaded, her cheeks bright red as they took shelter from the sun and heat in the shadow of one of Laffey’s torpedo mounts. “I just… I don’t know what came over me.”
“Oh stop teasing her, Laffey,” Javelin insisted with a smile. “The commander saved her life. Don’t you think it’s super romantic? The two of them looking in each other’s eyes and becoming one as she gives herself to the man who rescued her. It makes my cube just flutter!”
“Laffey and the commander drink together, this is also romantic,” the lapine destroyer insisted as Javelin swooned and Zed tried to disappear, looking out at the sea. “Laffey wonders where Ayaya is.”
Javelin and Zed glanced at one another sadly. The Ironblood removed her beret and allowed the breeze to ruffle her blonde hair. “I tried, but I was never able to find any intelligence on her. The Ironblood seems to be operating in accordance with their own interests, and have little concern for allies all the way on the other side of the world.”
“Well if Yuudachi and Yukikaze were willing to join up, hopefully Ayanami will too,” Javelin suggested, trying to dispel the ominous cloud that had hung over the three of them since departing on the mission to destroy the Sanctuary.
“Laffey will kill them all if they do not give Ayaya to us.”
“Laffey! If you do that don’t you think Ayanami would be very sad?” Zed reasoned. “The battleship you attacked is awake now and alive, but anyone less powerful would have been obliterated!”
Laffey hung her head. “Laffey does not know what to do. Laffey was given power to help the commander, but then when Laffey uses it everyone is scared.”
“Laffey,” Javelin said supportively, hugging her friend. “These things happen, but maybe save the big guns for the sirens?”
“Mmm ok,” she agreed before tilting her head. “Nimi says the battleship is awake? Laffey will go now.”
“Wait, what do you mean you’re going? We’re on your ship!” Javelin pointed out. Laffey turned sleepily, shrugging on her vest so she wasn’t just wearing a skimpy white bikini top.
“To find Ayaya.”
-----
Hiei moaned softly and opened her eyes as she sensed a weight on her bed. Her burns didn’t extend that far, but she hated the feeling of tight and uncooperative skin as she moved. Her heart beat quickly as she took note of her visitor. “You.”
“Hey, you get away from her!” Kongou shouted only to find one of the sleepy bunny’s pistols pointed at her face.
“Laffey is not here to hurt the pretty battleship again, but Laffey will do it if you force her to. Laffey is sorry.”
“You, are what?” Hiei whispered.
“Laffey finds many Sakura battleships to be pretty like Yamashiro and Fusou. You are pretty too, and Laffey did a bad thing to protect her commander. But Laffey is not sorry to have protected him, just to have hurt you permanently, yes yes.”
Hiei raised her hand to calm Kongou, who was clearly debating just how far to push her luck. Pennsylvania was observing the goings on from the doorway. “I think it’s fine, sister. What do you want with me, little one?”
“Where is Ayaya. Tell Laffey where her friend is so that Laffey doesn’t have to hurt anyone else,” the destroyer insisted in her still tired voice. Hiei looked around at her fellow prisoners with a confused look on her face. Soryuu spoke up.
“Give up, fellow usagi. Ayanami has gone where you cannot follow. She sleeps forever, dreaming in the Hall of Sculptures, ensnared by the Creator. Maybe one day she will prove her strength and return. Maybe not,” the carrier summarized. Laffey turned her way, her face still sleepy and relatively unresponsive.
“Ayaya is in trouble?” she asked, barely understanding what Soryuu had told her.
“She is beyond trouble. She is beyond this world, at least so far as I can understand,” the carrier clarified. Laffey hung her head and wiped her nose. To the shock of many, she began to cry softly.
“Laffey will save Ayaya, Laffey will do it,” she promised herself before standing to leave, the differential between her sweet, somnolent exterior and internal fury making everyone nearby nervous. “And Laffey will hurt whoever did it much more than the pretty battleship.”
-----
“Commander, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Hornet wondered, greeting Commander Thorson with a tip of her hat as he disembarked, courtesy of Arizona.
“We’ve been picking up multiple contacts on sonar, and based on navigational data we’ll be at the Sanctuary within twenty four hours. I wanted to stop by and make sure you and your crew are ready,” he explained.
“So they know we’re coming but haven’t engaged us? Well, my scouts haven’t seen anything on the surface so I guess those subs are playing down below,” she deduced, leading him through the bowels of her ship up towards the command tower as Arizona followed politely behind them.
“For now I suppose so. But yes, our movements are undoubtedly not a secret at this point. Not that we’ve tried to hide, either. We still need to take the heat off of the Union.”
“No arguments here, Commander. We were outclassed at Midway and, between you and me; I don’t much fancy the idea of taking a torpedo to the face a second time.”
Thorson nodded approvingly at Hornet’s ability to brush off death. “I think we can all agree on that count, Hornet. Your crew?”
“They’re ready and raring to go, sir. They want revenge for Yorktown, same as Enty. Has she spoken to you much lately?”
“No, she’s been rather quiet,” Thorson confided as they reached the bridge and looked out over Hornet’s operations. A couple of Hellcats were returning from their latest sortie. Hornet’s brow furrowed with worry.
“Do you think you could stop by and have a chat with her then? I make sure to radio every so often but she’s never been one for long conversations. That said, I still know something’s different, being her sister and all.”
“You both just lost your other sister, it’s understandable,” Thorson agreed, thankful that Hornet didn’t seem to be too broken up. He considered that having her crew with her likely helped, placing their needs ahead of descending into a grief spiral. “I’ll head over after this, speak with her in person.”
“I’d appreciate that Commander, thanks much,” Hornet said, looking out over the Pacific. “So any last words of wisdom or encouragement?”
“I think I already mentioned no heroics, so that just about covers it. That said,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that stopped anyone at Midway.”
“Yeah, I heard the stories about Tennessee cleaving that carrier in half. Must have been one hell of a sight!” Hornet replied almost eagerly. “Think she’ll do it again?”
“Given what I’ve seen of the kansen who was operating it, Hiryuu, I doubt Tennessee will be given another chance to pull something like that. Think you can handle the enemy carriers without overextending?”
“Sure, Commander,” Hornet replied, summoning a tiny Dauntless in her hand. “I’ve been bouncing ideas off of Ark lately, sounds like she scored some kills by out-turning the enemy. A Hellcat isn’t exactly a P-40, but I bet you I can still push mine harder than those Sakura can push a Zero, you know?”
“I was on a submarine before this assignment,” Thorson related. “So I can’t say I do know, honestly, but I trust Ark Royal and I trust you. Have there been any incidents or concerns you want to bring to my attention?”
“I assume you heard about Yuudachi and Shiratsuyu?” Hornet asked.
“I heard Penny had to drag her kicking and screaming off of this boat,” Thorson replied, raising his brows. Hornet chuckled.
“I disciplined the whelp hard, don’t worry sir. The rest of the lads like her a lot, lots of celebrating when the little pup shows up to cook! What happened to Yuudachi? I hope Penny wasn’t too harsh on her.”
Thorson shook his head. “Given Penny’s opinion on Union sailors I’ll bet she congratulated Yuudachi more than anything. But I’m glad that’s the most of our worries. When this is done there will be time for you and your crew to get accustomed to this life, hopefully on less stressful terms.”
“This is what we were trained for, sir. We’re ready,” Hornet insisted. Thorson saluted her, knowing he could only hope for the best now that he was committed.
“I thought I was trained for this too. You have an excellent group of escorts, Hornet. I look forward to seeing you all in combat.”
The carrier nodded and looked past him to Arizona. She winked at her. “It’s quite the honor being assigned some of your favorite battleships, sir. Got room for one more in that club of yours?”
After a few moments of silence Hornet dissolved into laughter. “Oh you should see your faces. Alright alright, I guess my former Captain and I had a different kind of relationship when it comes to jokes like that. Sorry Ari, not trying to horn in on your man, yeah?”
“Oh goodness,” she groaned at the pun. “Commander, perhaps we should go speak with Enterprise? There is no telling when the enemy might engage.”
“Agreed. Hornet, thanks for your time,” Thorson said. Hornet saluted them as they made their departure.
“Anytime you two. Ready and willing to bring it home!”
Thorson looked back at her, unable to miss the Medal of Honor gleaming on her chest. “I’ve no doubt, Hornet. We’re ready to see what Union airpower can really do.
-----
“I miss Yorktown,” Hammann whispered, giving in to temptation as she rested her head in Enterprise’s lap and allowed the carrier to pet and scratch lightly at her ears. It had been impossible for Enterprise to miss the way that the Sakura felines treated the petite destroyer. Upon confirming her cat-like accessories were in fact part of her anatomy, it had been all too tempting to slip into a mutual dependency based on the therapeutic nature of pets.
“I didn’t get a chance to know her very well, but it sounds like the Union lost itself a fine sailor and a kind sister,” Thorson said as politely as he could, rapping on the side of Enterprise’s command tower to announce his presence. He and Arizona had located the two Union kansen taking shelter in the shade there. Hammann promptly leapt to her feet with balled fists and her tail on end, accusing Thorson of being a stalker and a pervert. Enterprise exhaled audibly and stood next to the irked kitten, rubbing her head and tweaking her ears.
“Apologize to the commander before you get us both in trouble, Hammann.”
Arizona could not help but place a hand over her lips and smile at Hammann’s fearsome pout. “She has a hotter temper than Yukikaze, but is no less cute!”
“Why did you get to come back, you and Hornet but not Sims or Yorktown?” the destroyer demanded. Thorson gave Enterprise an understanding look.
“I wish that I knew,” he replied solemnly. “All I do know is that they’re at peace. It’s very obvious when dead Kansen don’t want to stay dead.”
“But why would she want to leave me?!”
“I don’t know why she doesn’t want to come back. Maybe she didn’t even consider it to be possible. But I’m sure that leaving you behind isn’t something either of them would have wanted,” he tried to comfort her.
“If Yorktown told Grim to leave, then I’m sure she knew it was her time. Hornet, of course, would never accept something like that as the youngest. It’s… fitting,” Enterprise summarized sadly. “Why did you come here, Commander?”
“I just paid your sister a visit and wanted to check in with you as well,” he explained. “We will likely make contact within the day. You aren’t the most senior carrier in the fleet but I think Ark would not hesitate to nominate you the most powerful. I know the wounds are raw, but I want you to use your aircraft defensively when the engagement begins, at least initially.”
“You wish to test their defenses and possibly draw out a mistake?” Enterprise deduced. Thorson nodded. “While I never engaged them directly before Midway, I think it’s pretty clear I’m known to them and that they see me as a priority target. I will be happy to draw them into a trap if possible. What will you do with them?”
“Kill them, right?!” Hammann suggested immediately, horrified that that solution wasn’t immediately on everyone’s lips.
“If this war were just about the Union and the Sakura, I would execute them, yes,” he confirmed. “But they are unfathomably strong, too. Neither of you saw what we saw. They can command fire itself. Now I’m not saying any of us need to do that to beat them, but the sirens need to be dealt with. What better… ally than someone who knows something about them?” Thorson reasoned.
“I don’t like this commander at all.”
“Hammann!” Enterprise finally raised her voice, a bit of the emotion contained within slipping through. “Commander, is that really necessary?”
“I wish it wasn’t, Enterprise. But again you weren’t there at Pearl Harbor, nor were you at the facility when we were attacked by the Sirens. Though I get the sneaking suspicion that incident was merely a test, given the extent of their technology. My orders are to find a way to deal with them, and if that includes binding those damn carriers to our cause then so be it. If they refuse you can kill them yourself, Enterprise. Not sure I could bring myself to execute a woman.”
“Is that what it would be, sir?” Enterprise demanded quietly. “A gun to the head?”
“Hiei survived Laffey’s so called annihilation mode. That is the most powerful single weapon at my disposal. The only way they will be weak enough to kill is if they are removed from their ships and perhaps even divested of their rigging. By that point, yes, there will be no indirect methods. I don’t think they would allow themselves to be drowned like… that one ship,” Thorson theorized darkly. Enterprise and Hammann looked at him with new expressions.
“For a pervert, you tell very sad stories, Commander,” the neko said. Thorson held out his hand as Enterprise looked ready to toss Hammann in the drink for insubordination.
“There have already been many sad stories in this war, Hammann. And while the label isn’t exactly wrong, I’d prefer you keep that opinion to yourself. I am still your commander, after all. Enterprise, do you need anything from me or the fleet?”
“No sir, I’m ready for battle. You are… quite up front about your proclivities, though.”
Thorson shrugged. “I was embarrassed about it for a while too. A few self-interested but rather wise kansen talked me out of it. I’m up front about it because the alternative would be even worse. For the record, many of the most decorated kansen at Midway have no relationship with me beyond commander and subordinate.”
Enterprise’s confused and slightly disappointed expression didn’t fade, but she did nod briefly at him. “I understand your meaning, Commander. Thank you for coming to check in with us today.”
“You’re welcome, Enterprise. Formal combat orders will be given once we have a visual on the Sanctuary. Until then do your best to relax and get some rest,” he suggested.
“Yes sir, we will.”
-----
“They are coming, Akagi,” Kaga whispered, placing a cup of matcha on the table in front of her adoptive younger sister as fierce rains drenched the night-shrouded sanctuary. “Even with the rains there is no mistaking their approach. Our submarine fleets have confirmed it.”
“And you ordered them not to attack,” Akagi replied quietly, taking a sip. “No matter, if one of them sunk the Grey Ghost I would probably kill her myself.”
“You think this is about your personal vendetta anymore, Akagi?” Kaga snapped suddenly, even as she calmly drank her tea. “The fifth carrier division can only be considered to have defected by now. We lost several powerful kansen and dozens of escorts at Midway. And before you say something foolish about the strong surviving and the weak perishing, neither you nor I are strong enough to destroy the Union in its entirety. We are strengthened by our fleets. And our fleets dwindle with each engagement as his grows. The Knight of the Union comes for us, Akagi. And if you believe Enterprise will still be using human crews in this engagement you are an even greater fool than I thought.”
“You dare speak to me in that way, sister?” Akagi simpered dangerously, her tails glowing softly in the low lantern light. Kaga’s icy eyes did not waver.
“The Hornet sails with him,” she reported. “Our only victory at Midway was just cut in half, Akagi! Your lust for Enterprise’s head may have already doomed us all. We were forced to display the extent of our powers to them and did not even scratch his base of operations!”
The supreme commander of the Sakura fleets was silent across the kotatsu from her sister, violence practically radiating from her being. “When the Creator witnesses my strength; when I am granted the power to bring back Amagi, I will be sure to kill you before she returns so that she does not weep over the body of her weak, spineless protégé. Why are you laughing, Kaga? Does that amuse you so?”
Kaga shook her head sadly. “Your belief that any of us will be left alive for you to kill is what amuses me, little sister. Enjoy the rest of your tea. I will make my preparations tonight, alone. I may not have lived as Amagi-san wished for us, but if I am to die tomorrow then I will die with honor, and join her among the gods. May the Creator show you mercy, Akagi. The gods and ancestors of the Sakura Empire will not.”
Akagi’s face remained stoic as Kaga stood and walked quietly from the room. As soon as she could no longer hear the sounds of her wooden clogs on the tatami, the teacup in her hand shattered into a dozen pieces. The kitsune could barely feel the scalding water on her fingers. “When I am victorious, alone, I will not need their mercy.”
-----
Previous | First

[WTS/LOTTO] "So this is the New Year... and I don't feel any different..." [Nermal Collection Blowout - Spyderco, North Arms, CJRB, Reate, SBD, Boos Blades...and a New Year's Reso-"'Bu"-tion Lotto]

{Nermal steps to the mic... pauses... a single tear rolls down into neckbeard... straightens his fedora... and he begins}
And now, Chase bill is due...
and so I face... the final curtain
Knife_Swap, I'll say it clear,
my "last" "big sale" of which I'm "certain."
I've lived knife-life that's full
fidget at home, and on the highway
Then sell, and snag some more...I YOLO'ed my way.

Ragrets: hyped Malibu,
the iQ too (pocket clip tension),
Re-bought the Skaha II,
and bought again... ashamed to mention.
No plans, no grail chase:
Chris Reeve plain-janes, maybe an inlay
^{(But those, through the PMs...} ^{I sold them... my way.}

Yes, there were times, I guess you knew
When Nerms bought more than he could chew!
Still snagged 'em all...though there was doubt,
I bought, deployed, then moved knives out!
I tried them all... PayPal now small...
I YOLO'ed MYYYYY WAAAAAAYYYYYYY
-Nerm Sinatra
***
The Nermal WE ARE ON A BREAKKKK sale! The knife journey has taken me far and wide... and after 138 knives that have passed through these paws, finally the collection has collapsed into a few tried and true functional favorites. Why such a big sale? I will be completely honest in saying that I keep my knives in my sock drawer. And now my socks are in a heap in the corner of the apartment and pawing through for pairs kinda sucks. I need to make room for socks. That, and bills are due. But more so socks.
***
And now... the knives in short form (because 90% of y'all are skipping down to this part and just want to get to the good stuff). No trades at this time, just salesies folks. Hit me with any questions or if you need more pics, but these guys are priced apBROpriately, for the most part. Everything will ship on Saturday most likely due to holiday. YOLOs over PMs as always.
Timestamp: "My knife...it's sharp and chrome / Come see... inside my bones..." - Deftones, Knife Prty*

For Sale:

Sharp by Design - Void PVD Ti/G10 Inlay - M390 SOLD
- [C+ for flipper delete] SV: $309
- Cleanest flipper delete I've ever seen: looks stock. Clean blade, and unbelievable Void drop-shut action. Only letting go because I have summited the Void chase (CF and Timmay).
Boos Blades - Mini Smoke v2 Gray Ti/Marbled Carbon Fiber - 20cv SOLD
- [A+ BNIB] SV: $229
- Everyone knows that this is my favorite knife. Had to get in on the second drop because Boos never drops anything lol. Letting it go because I realized that the profile, size and shape has been taken over by my HMC Micro Transient (it was a battle to the death, for sure). This variant is sold out, so $9 dollars on top to help with shipping it out.
Spyderco - Para 3 (s110v Blade Swap into Maxamet model gray scale) SOLD
- [C+ for blade swap] SV: $129
- A Dr. Nermalstein creation. Factory fresh unused blade from a Blurple, wearing Maxamet pants (with small scuffs near the lanyard hole, but hard to see).
~~Spyderco - Para 3 (m390 with Authentic u/JoeyPole™ Purple Smooth Skinny Scales, Orange Backspacer, and MXG Clip)~~ SOLD
- [C for mods] SV: $159
- My trusty EDC and the product of no less than 5 different Para 3 purchases to get to the right combo lol. I have it running looser with the pivot screw. The gunk you see on the blade is tape residue and will come right off: M390 is the tits and hasn't been worn at all. Only stropped.
Spyderco - Lil' Native SECONDS (Orange G10/Rex 45) SOLD
- [C for Seconds] SV: $94
- A catch and release from u/Radial_engine, who took the one defect (a chip in the tip) and stropped it to perfection. Has a tiny notch on the spine to indicate that it's a second but otherwise this thing is perfect. Got it for $85 from him, just a bit on top for fees and shipping.
Spyderco - Native 5 (Yellow FRN/LC200N) SOLD
- [B+ for ownership] SV: $114
- Practically new in every way. Don't mind my awful attempts to flick the damn thing: it's a backlock after all! Only moving because Spydiechef still is so darn good, as is the QC Drift.
Reate - T2500 (Ti/CF Inlay/M390) SOLD
- [B+ for ownership] SV: $139
- Clean as a whistle, and tight Reate tolerances in a tiny package. Flips like a dream and once past the detent, shakes down shut. Small knife production perfection.
Urban Edc x Justin Lundquist - Baby Barlow (Ti/G10 Inlay/M390) SOLD
- [C for sharpening, ownership, wear] SV: $139
- A weird but very cool one. Front flipper, snappy as hell, and a super useful M390 mini-bowie blade. Designed by Justin ~~Barlow.~~ LUNDQUIST (sowee😅) Retailed for $200 when they still existed.
Pro-Tech - Sprint (Desert Warrior Variant, s35vn) SOLD
- [C for sharpening, and small nicks in the scale from a previous owner] SV: $89
- Long sold out variant of the Pro-Tech Sprint. My favorite Pro-Tech by a mile. So useful, carries everywhere, legal in CA and other places (but check dem laws)
North Arm Knives - Skaha II (Blue G10/s35vn) SOLD
- [B for ownership, wear] SV: $239
- I love this thing. 4 is just too many though.
North Arm Knives - Skaha II (Black G10/s35vn) SOLD
- [B- for ownership, wear] SV: $219
- I love this thing too. 4 is again, just too many. This one has some scuffing on the blade that lines up with the CNC milling lines and can only be seen in certain light. Priced accordingly.
Spyderco - Sharpmaker SOLD
- [B- for ownership, prior use] SV: $64
- I never used this, the white bars only look a bit dirty, but largely unworn. Prior owner said he used it infrequently as well.

Add ons (with any purchase of the above or take them all for $99):

Civivi Odium (Jade G10/D2: [C for ownership, clip mods]): $39 SOLD
- A mini-SBD Void with a choil! Loosened to get it more free-dropping. Clip was polished to match the blade (used to be black).
Beater Grab Bag (Miscellaneous conditions): $Tree Fiddy (no really, SV: $3.50) SOLD
- A bundle of beaters. One is a Kershaw x Snap-On collaboration folder. 1440C steel. The others... might be useful to leave around the house.
CJRB 2-Knife Bundle: CJRB Small Feldspar [B, ownership] and CJRB Centros CF [B ownership]: $59 SOLD
- Phenomenal knives, both of them.

Another Nermal Sez "Screw-You Scarcity!" Lotto: ProTech Malibu Reverse Tanto (Blue Aluminum/20cv) - SV: $189.95

Condition: [A+ BNIB] and factory fresh from the latest batch... the video is of me flipping it for the first time out of the package. The little sticker on the baggie is still sticky to simulate your own unboxing goodness.
Why: Why? Because fuck you Pro-Tech and your artificial scarcity of this great knife (especially this nice blue colorway) torturing the good citizens of Knife_Swap. Nermal has you covered once more. This knife should be far more widely available, especially in everyone's favorite ProTech Blue (like you don't know that it's the color everyone wants... bastids). Let's pretend for once like it is through this lil' lotto.
How much: Paid what you see in the timestamp, so that's precisely what you will pay if you win. Shipping and PayPal fees are on Uncle Nerm. ~~SV: $189.95~~ SOLD
Eligibility: Need to be either a flaired user (Trader and upward) *or\* a Redditor for at least 1 year.
Winner: I'll number up every entrant and pick a winner tomorrow morning (10:30am EST ish) via Random.org, at which point I'll send you the PayPal info.

WINNER: u/GhostDYX - SOLD

Selection Video for Verification: https://photos.app.goo.gl/FCQgFeQAwZDAX2t5A (1:37 for number draw)

To enter: Simply leave a comment with one New Year's Resolution for 2021... because we all need to make it different somehow.**

^\Deftones') ^{White Pony} ^{is in Nermal's top 10 albums of all time. Check it.}
^\*Knife_swap... I love that you get annoyed when it takes 71 seconds before a Malibu goes. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to make an offer on a ZT. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at Atoms that are priced just a tad too high. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still imagine that Burger in my pocket. And I love that you are the last subreddit I want to check before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your knife-life with such a great community, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” -) ^{Nermal, from "}^{When Nermal Met 'Swappy}^"
Happy New Year everyone! You guys made a terrible year so much more bearable. Thanks for swinging by. See you in 2021. - Nermy 👊😸

Match Thread: Newcastle Jets vs Western Sydney Wanderers

I own a pair of dice that provide me with real-world luck; but their use comes at a terrible price… [FINAL]

[Part 1/3]
[Part 2/3]
Dean tosses the dice in the air and catches them both in the same hand with a little wooden clattering. He looks down at me. “So what do they do then, mate? Mind control, is that it? You been weaving a sick little spell over Louise, have you?”
“Dean”, I grunt as I climb up onto my feet. “Please, just give them back”.
He closes his fist around the dice. “Tell me how they work”, he says coldly as the music pounds through the walls of the house. “Let’s say I wanted Louise to suck me off. How would I go about making that happen?”
“You’re sick”, I mutter angrily, clenching my fists. “They don’t work that way. Now give them BACK, I’m warning you-”
He laughs as the light from inside flashes across his face. ”You’re WARNING me? You’re fucking hilarious, Nathan. And you know what? I think I’m going to give ‘em a try”.
“NO!” I shout, but I’m too late. He shoves me back and my drunken legs are once again unable to keep me from falling. I land in the grass as the dice roll across the decking, clattering and tumbling…
…And they land. A three, and a four.
I reach out to grab them but Dean is too fast. He collects them up, then cries out…
…And we watch as a thin, pale scar begins to slice its way across his skin.
“Fuck!” he shouts.
Our ‘palaver’ has garnered the attention of the smokers, and they’ve started to make their way over. I can see a second cut appear on Dean’s neck, but I don’t know where the others are. A flinch and a patting of his leg would indicate that at least one of them is on his thigh. “This is so messed up”, he mutters through his clenched teeth, but he takes a breath, and without another word he turns and returns into the house.
“DEAN!” I shout, “COME BACK!”
The fucker. He’s taken them. HE’S TAKEN THEM FROM ME. THE DICE. YOU NEED THEM BACK, NATHAN, NOW!
I climb up for the second time and shove past the smokers, staggering into the heat of the party as I look for him, for the thief. There are gasps of shock and surprise as the more sober attendees take in the redness and rapidly forming bruise on my now thoroughly busted-up face. It’ll only get worse as the night progresses too, I know it, but there are greater priorities at hand.
He rolled a seven… What’s that going to do for him? They wouldn’t actually… They wouldn’t make Louise… I curse in frustration and disgust. They wouldn’t. They CAN’T. That’s not LUCK, that’s SICK. There’s no way…
But my thoughts are a mess. I’m still struggling to process what happened… I rolled a twelve, a TWELVE… And yet… Ugh. I just don’t understand.
And my stomach… Oh God, I’ve drank too much tonight. I struggle through the queasiness as I move from room to room, searching for Dean.
The music thrums right through me, reverberating my bones.
Where is he? What’s he doing?
He could be rolling the dice again right now, and even if he doesn’t understand quite how they work… He has enough of an idea, I’d warrant.
I shove my way into the living room. “DEAN!” I shout out into the noise, but I don’t see him. I don’t see him anywhere.

…I bump into someone else instead.

…Louise.

“Nathaann!” she slurs drunkenly, “THERE you are! I was looking for you!” She grabs me by the arms, she’s looking right into my eyes… She doesn’t even MENTION the bruise, has she even noticed? She starts to drag me into the middle of the room.
“Louise!” I manage, head starting to spin, “Where’s Dean? Has he spoken to you? Where is he? Are you okay?”
“He’s a prick, Nathan. Don’t worry about him”.
“Did he come up to you?”
“Ugh, yeah he tried to hit on me, but some other girl was all over him and he left. Some people have no taste”. She stumbles, trying to use me for balance, but I’m not much help. I’m barely able to stand still myself.
“But I do”, she whispers, and before I can respond she pushes herself against me, her lips against mine.
Holy…
For a second I can scarcely believe what’s happening. It doesn’t feel real…
…But it is.
I close my eyes, and bewildered, return the kiss.

The loud and rabblesome cheer of the crowd rises up all around, I can see the flashes of phones through my eyelids, but I don’t care.
In this briefest of moments, everything is amazing.

…And the moment really is, very brief.
Very brief indeed.
...Because my stomach lurches.
I feel it contract and I pull back in sudden dismay. Louise doesn’t even open her eyes, she draws in close again, instantly, and it becomes too much.
My body has rejected the alcohol, it would seem… and unable to stop myself… to my horror… I vomit.
Explosively, in a great and disgusting flow, all over her face and front. I stumble back and try to cover my mouth, but it does little.
She screams.
“NATHAN WHAT THE FUCK?” She shouts as the phone flashes from all around increase tenfold.
And there amongst them, is Dean. He stares in disbelief, but laughing all the same.

…I don’t fail to notice a couple of fresh scars on his neck and forearms.
I flush with rage as Louise hastens away, to the bathroom, presumably. The girl on Dean’s arm tries to tug his sleeve impatiently, but he ignores her, he’s still laughing, almost doubled-over now, and I ignore it too.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, or the anger, or the desperation for the dice or something else, but without skipping a beat I stride right towards him, fuming; I draw back my hand, putting into the motion every ounce of my hatred for this horrible prick, and I push my whole body forwards from my back foot, slamming with force my fist into Dean’s stupid face.
It hurts my hand like absolute hell, to be honest, and it’ll ache even worse once the adrenaline wears off, but it is worth it. It is worth it to see the laughter dissipate at once into dumbfounded shock and surprise. He stumbles backwards and throws out his hands to look for something to grab, for balance… and as he does so…
…He drops the dice.

I don’t even let them hit the floor. My eyes go to them at once and I snatch them out of mid-air, turning and sprinting away in the very same motion, ignoring the rising, blood-lusting chants of ‘FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!’ from the drunken crowd.
“NATHAN!” he roars from behind me, but I’m not fucking around this time. I’m not going to wait or hide or to try to play the rest of the party out… the night is done, I’ve decided. Hell to it. I’m not staying here, I can’t, there’s no way. I’ll apologise to Louise and suffer the consequences tomorrow, or on Monday. I’m going to return home. I’ll just go home. I have a busted up face I’ll need to explain tomorrow morning anyway, so I may as well bite the bullet and get it over with.
So home then, is the plan.

Home.

I burst through the front door, slipping a little in the slushy-half-melted ice of the pavement but keeping my balance, running away down the road and into the night.
To my panic, however, I hear him behind me. His voice carries over and rises above the rush of the winter wind in my ears.
“GIVE ME THE DICE, NATHAN!” I hear him shout, but I do not look back. I just run.
Through street after street, past the lines of snow-tipped trees, illuminated orange in the glow of the streetlamps as I pass them by.
The material of the ground changes beneath my feet, softening as I leave behind the pavement and begin my sprint across the park towards the bridge. The sound of the rushing water becomes louder and louder, as do the heavy footfalls of Dean, right behind me, getting closer, and closer…
…And at the peak of the stony little bridge I stumble, my drunken legs failing me only ever so slightly, but it is enough. It is enough for Dean to catch me. He shoves me in the middle of my back and I tumble to the ground, dice slipping from my fingers, rolling onto and over the cobblestones.
...Double ones.
I grimace as the scars slice their way across the back of my hand, and the heel of my right foot. I crawl across the cold stone and reach out, but Dean swoops down and grabs them up before I can get to them.
I clamber up onto my knees, shaking as I turn around to face him. “They’re dangerous, Dean!” I warn him.
“Yeah, sure they are. And you’re the ONLY one ‘able to use them safely’, is that right?” he looks from the dice to me, snarling. I’m pleased to see a trickle of blood from one of his nostrils. “Look at the STATE of you mate! You expect me to believe you’re using these things in a smart way? Tell me, how do they work. What do they do?”
“I’m not telling you”, I reply, hardening my stance, but I can’t help but flinch when he takes a step closer.
“HOW DO THEY WORK? How do I get them to do what I want?”
I remain silent.
“ …How about this, I’ll use them for a week and then give them back, if you really want. How about that, that sounds fair, don’t you think?”
“Never”, I reply quietly, and he shoves me.
“TELL ME!”
“NO!”
He fumes, clenching and unclenching the fingers of his free fist, the dice held high in the other, then his eyes flash, and his expression changes.
“They’re important to you, aren’t they? These dice. They mean a lot to you”.
I don’t respond, but my answer is obvious in my silence.
“You ARE using them on Louise as well, aren’t you? You little mind-controller”.
“I’m not controlling her mind”, I reply, angrily.
“Ah! But you ARE using them on her in some way, aren’t you!” he forces a laugh and mimics a mocking ‘tutting’ sound. “Sounds pretty immoral to me. You know what, Nathan, I think you’re just a pervert like everyone else”.
“That’s not true”, I reply. “Dean, please-”
He interrupts. “Well if it’s not true, and you really don’t care about these dice…” he grins disturbingly as the wind whistles through the nearby trees “…Then you won’t mind if I do THIS!”

It is as if time itself slows down. I watch it happen in painstaking detail, but I am unable to compel my body to move with a fast enough response.
Dean pulls back his hand, and decides cataclysmically on the ‘scorched earth’ approach. He laughs with defiant malice as he throws out his arm, and hurls the dice over the side of the bridge… down into the rushing water below.
“NO!” I shout in distress, legs returning to life as I rush to the edge and stare over the side, watching the dice disappear beneath the surface of the fast-flowing stream.

…And just like that, they are gone.

“You idiot…” I murmur, bitterly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Those dice… There’s nothing like them on Earth. And you threw them away, you just threw them away… To what, to spite me? …You’re insane, mate. You’re a lunatic”.
Dean replies with another loud laugh. I turn to face him, slowly and angrily, but a curious thing happens next. Something I don’t think either of us quite expected, but, in hindsight makes a great deal of twisted sense.
The laughter is struck from his face as he grunts in sudden discomfort. He looks down at his forearm, we both do, and we watch in surprise as a scar slices its way across his skin, pale and white beneath the silvery light of the cloud-shrouded moon.
There is a tense pause.
“What the-” he begins, but flinches as a second scar cuts down the side of his neck. Then a third across the back of his hand.
“FUCK!” he shouts, lifting his shirt to see two scars appear at once across his lower abdomen. “Make it stop”, he mutters, as another of the cuts slice up and over his chest. “Make it STOP”.
But the slices keep coming. He twitches and writhes and curses in growing pain as he is steadily covered. He panics. He rushes forwards and grabs me by the shoulders. “What’s happening? How do I make it stop! Did you do this? Nathan! What have you DONE TO ME?”
I stutter feebly in response. I have no idea what is happening. “No! I- I don’t...” I think Dean can tell. He can see the uncertainty in my face.
“CHRIST!” he shouts as he slaps at his own arms, scars appearing all over them now. His shirt is a pale grey, but starts to darken in certain places with spots of what I can only assume must be blood. I see the veins in his neck tense up as he staggers to the edge of the bridge, grabbing hold of the stony side for balance, swearing and cursing as a line appears on the right side of his face, down his cheek and into his top lip.
“NATHAN!” he shouts again; he seems afraid, now. “NATHAN MAKE IT STOP!”
“I DON’T KNOW HOW!” I shout, “I don’t know what’s happening!”
…But then, perhaps… I do.

And I think the realisation strikes us both at the same time.
His gaze meets mine, and we both see it in our mind’s eye.

…We see the dice, ever-rolling, ever-tumbling across the stony bed of the stream. Pushed along by the current, halting for the briefest of moments as they are caught in the rocks, then nudged almost immediately free, slipping and spilling their way over the stones through the water.

“No…” he murmurs, wincing as a particularly deep line is cut across his palm. He brings the hand to his face and leaves a bloody half-handprint behind. “NO!”
I don’t know what to do. My hands are on my head.
“NO!” He shouts again, screaming suddenly as he squeezes his wrist and raises a hand to the moonlight. It’s difficult to see, but, it looks like a scar has begun under a fingernail, and has sliced beneath and then down the length of the skin of his finger. Blood leaks. Another forms across his forehead and cuts through one of his eyebrows. “THE DICE!” he screams, “I NEED TO FIND THE DICE!”
He sprints the length of the bridge and immediately round the corner of the stony post that marks its end. He slips down the little bank and I watch in confusion and terror as he splashes into the icy rush of the stream.
“DEAN!” I shout, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what possible advice I could offer in this moment as he forces his way through the water.
The stream is not particularly deep, it only goes up to his shoulders, but he struggles and screams as he dips beneath, again and again, hunting desperately for the dice as his body is sliced steadily to pieces.
I come a little to my senses and actually call for an ambulance. My voice is trembling, thanks in part to the stress and in part to the cold, and I barely even remember what it was that I said come the morning, but I give our location, and just under fifteen minutes later the vehicle arrives.

Dean, by this point, has given up his hunt of the stream. I am not sure if he is even able to continue. He lies as a wreck against the stony bank, soaked and shivering, and every part of his body is dark, stained deep-red from head to toe and leaking across the rocks. Strands of skin peel back and away from the muscles as he writhes and twitches in agony.
…The paramedics hear him and find him almost immediately. I wait on the bridge in shock until I am sure that they have definitely seen him.
“Jesus CHRIST!” one of them shouts, and with that, I slink away.

I stumble back through the darkness, step after step, until I have safely returned to my home.

*

And so concludes the story of my time with the dice.
My parents went through a range of emotions upon my unexpected return. Surprise, anger, but concern, mostly. I told them pretty much the truth, I just left out the parts that involved the dice.
I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw him. I saw Dean, writhing and bloodied on the bank…

…He died of his injuries, I discovered on Monday.

The general consensus is that he slipped and fell into the river in his pursuit of me, cutting himself up on the rocks and subsequently drowning in the process.

…But I know the paramedics, at the least, saw a clearer picture of the truth.
…And everyone who lives near the park knows the rocks in this stream aren’t all that sharp. They’re nothing but smooth stones.
Kids have started avoiding me in the corridors. They’d never say it to my face, but, they’re afraid of me now, I can tell.

And a number of other curious things happen over the course of the next week. All directly related to Dean in some way.
His younger brother wins some school award for academic achievement. I’m aware that typically, the guy struggles.
A scratch-card that he bought, found in his pocket, is cashed in by his parents for £15,000. The money, I hear, covers the cost of the funeral and eases some of their other financial burdens.
The weather for the entire week, a week which ordinarily would have seen Dean play for the school rugby team, was perfect. The snow melted completely away and the conditions for games could not have been better... I’m also pretty sure I heard on the grapevine that the star player of our rival school broke his foot, in an accident.
And Louise… Louise barely speaks to me anymore. The combination of recent events was likely too much, perhaps coupled with her own embarrassment at so publicly and enthusiastically making out with me at her party in the first place. She got moved away from me in both of the classes that we share, as part of surprise changes to the seating arrangements.
I actually tried speaking to her in the corridor one time, and she pretty much admitted that she was just lonely following her breakup with Matt, and that I really shouldn’t look into it.
A rebound, basically.

…That hurt, of course; but hey. It is what it is, I guess.

…And with every event, each one of these moments… I can’t help but wonder what might have been going through Dean’s mind as his lifeforce bled from his body. His final thoughts as the dice were carried along the bed of the stream.

I suppose in hindsight it was actually rather lucky that the ambulance arrived as promptly as it did. It was really quite lucky that they found him so quickly, splayed on the bank of the stream and out of sight as he was…
…But even with all that luck, it just wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t quite enough to save him.
The dice, it would seem, are not without their limits.

I sigh as I watch one of my classmates give their presentation to the class. I drum my fingers against the desk. My hand reaches absent-mindedly for my pocket… but the dice, of course, are not there.
I struggle with waves of guilt, these days. Guilt and loneliness.
Ironically, the only other person who could have understood, even in the most basic of terms, now lies buried beneath the ground.

It was Dean’s choice to throw the dice into the stream. HIS choice.

…And yet…

…I can’t help thinking about the twelve I rolled that night at the party.
The double sixes.
What was it I had begged for, in my drunken semi-stupor?
‘Just get me out of this in the best way possible, please! The way that works the best for me, given everything that’s happened!’
I run a hand through my hair, and sigh, doing my best to push the thoughts from my head. I turn my attention back to the presentation.

And you know, this particular presentation really is going exceptionally well…
It’s the turn of a girl named Alice. Quiet as a mouse, she chokes up even when called on to answer a question in class, and yet, here she is, seemingly in her element.

…

…I do my best not to focus on the scar I see that marks her leg below her skirt.

It’s a coincidence, I tell myself. It’s a coincidence.
A flurry of leaves blow past the window.
It’s just a coincidence, Nathan. That’s all it is mate.

…That’s all it is.

~~~

OBLIGATORY FILLER MATERIAL – Giving thanks edition: Kickin’ around Caracas, Pt. 7

Continuing…
He grimaced and growled and launched himself toward me. He made it about 0.5 meters before an Ankylosaur tail club (or Thagomizer, whichever) connected with the right temporal region of his cranium. He never hit the ground as Toivo had him in a severe and decidedly uncomfortable-looking hammerlock. He had the goof’s hands pinned before gravity could fully take over.
I produce three inescapable thick plastic Zip-ties, of which I always carry a supply, and bind his wrists as Toivo frog-marched him back to his seat.
“Ribbit. Ribbit, asshole”, Toivo snickered all the way back to the land of the cheap seats.
His significant other or sister or first cousin or whatever is seated and begs us not to turn the plane around.
“He’s just drunk. That’s all!” she says like that’s some form of excuse.
For some. Maybe.
For your buddy, lover, cousin, whatever; no way.
“OK, then he’ll be handed over to the Japanese authorities when we land. No skin off my rosy-red proboscis.” I replied as Toivo unceremoniously dumps the miscreant in his aisle seat with a decidedly agreeable, and somewhat soggy, “kerflop!”.
Seems our loudmouth drunk needs his big boy pants before he begins a drunken tirade.
“Ick”, I noted to Toivo, reminding him that there are sanitizer stations all over the plane.
“Tidy up, “ I said, “No idea what communicables this carbuncle is carrying.”
I fit the next set of zip-ties snugly around his ankles as his significant something-or-other goes positively apeshit.
“You have no fucking right! Who the fuck do you think you are!?” she bellows.
I turn from grinning ear-to-ear at Toivo and look directly into this piece of human flotsam’s vacant, vapid eyes.
“I, ma’am, am the MOTHERFUCKING PRO FROM DOVER and this is my able-bodied assistant, Mr. Hyde.
<EEGAH!> replies Toivo.
“Thank you, able-bodied assistant”, I say to Toivo as he’s already wanting to head back to Business Class to begin ordering drinks from where he left off previously on the drinks menu.
I continue with this refugee from Uncle Tom’s Medicine Cabinet by letting her know into exactly what world of fuckery her significant whatever just wandered.
“I am also a duly authorized United States of America Air Marshall”, as I pull my Diplomatic passport and show her the very shiny and very official badge I keep there.
“So, if you would like to join your…whatever…when we land by being bound over to the local Prefecture Police personages, then, by all means, keep irritating me. My assistant and I have a very large supply of inescapable zip-ties.” I said, lowly, slowly, and growly.
She sat down suddenly, shut up, and was unpredictably very interested in the carpeted floor of the plane at that point.
I had Toivo connect the guy’s wrist zip-ties with his ankle zip-ties.
I look at my watch.
“Hmmm…6.03 seconds. Very nice, Mr. Hyde. A new record. You win a cookie. And a cold one.” I smiled at Toivo who realized that all, except his throbbing hangover, was forgiven.
“All set?” I asked. Toivo nodded in approval, and we departed that scene and headed back to Business class and away from the pedestrian displays of such hoi-polloi.
Luna greeted up with a brace of fresh cocktails.
“Why thank you, Luna”, I smiled, “How did you guess that corralling idiots was thirsty work?”
“Oh, Doctor Rock. You not tell me everything. You no Air Marshall.” She joshed.
“Funny.”, I said, digging out my passport, “This here says that I am.”
Luna looks more closely and swoons a bit.
“You are Pro from Dover! I hear you. Everybody in plane hear you! You are too funny to be Air Marshall!”, she laughs.
“Probably, but I’m on the injured reserve list. Oh, look. My drink’s gone dry…”
Luna laughs, Toivo stammers, and I get a refill.
Sleeping Ugly, in the rear of the plane, is still snoozing off his brush with death when this character in a natty and expensive-looking three-piece suit wanders into Business Class.
“You are Dr. Rocknocker, the, ahem, very loud Pro From Dover?” he asks.
I sit up straight, rearrange my work area and affirm that is exactly who I am.
“Might I take a look at your credentials?” he asked, very politely.
“You might if you tell me what this is all about,” I replied.
“I’m Bill Hubbard, and I’m the Air Marshall for this flight.” He says.
“Well, Bill. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Rocknocker, and Air Marshall pro tem for any flight I’m on. Call me Rock. That’s what the guys at the Agency call me.” I smile brightly.
“Ah. That explains it. Might I see your credentials, Doc…er...Rock?” He asks.
“Certainly.” As I produce my Red Russian Diplomatic passport.
He looks very confused.
“Open it”, I offer.
“Well, I’ll be damned. There must be some great stories that go with all this.” Bill smiles.
“That there are”, I say, retrieving my credentials and asking if Bill would like to join Toivo, yet another covert character, and me in a drink.
“Nah, thanks. However, if you don’t mind, I’ll take over that hogtied idiot back in economy for you. You look like your plate’s full enough.” He offered.
“That’s fine by me. I’ll have an IR (Incident Report) for you directly.” I replied.
“Damn. You really are a Marshall. Pack a plaster cast instead of a piece. Nice.” He laughed.
“Just my way of being disarming,” I replied.
Bill chuckled, shook his head, rolled his eyes, shook both our hands, and returned to his seat.
“Nice guy. Glad he’s here. I want nothing else to do with that loudmouthed asshole.”
“That much is certain”, Toivo agreed.
“Well, since you’re back with the living, care for a drink?” I asked as I motioned to Luna.
“You are -not- human”, Toivo gasped as Luna repaired to the galley to make our drinks.
“That”, I smiled as I drained my drink, “is something which I never claimed to be.”
Well, life wore on. We landed at Narita Airport in Tokyo without further incident.
Drunky McAsshole was escorted off the plane by Bill and he looked very, very unhappy indeed.
I nodded to him and tipped my drink in that inimitable Midwestern manner.
He didn’t even nod back.
The prick.
Anyways.
I thought we were headed to Haneda, but something must have changed in-flight. No worries, since all I have to do is collect my luggage, find a driver and get him to take me to the train station.
I wander down the jetway, Toivo close behind. He’s headed to the Marunouchi Business District, and I’m headed for Tokyo Station. I could take the train, it’s only an hour and about 3,000 yen, but I had a compelling reason not to go.
I didn’t fucking want to.
I’m walking slowly away from my terminal, and head over to passport control and baggage.
I’m through in a trice, and now I’m wondering what the fuck I’m going to do. A couple of travel cases, my well case, a buggered left hand, and…
As I walk out of the baggage area, I see this whisper-thin chap holding a placard: “Doctor Rocknocker, USA”.
Hmmm…
“Hello? “ I asked the gaunt, thin-clad one.
“Hello. You are Doctor Lock…Lockrocker…Doctor…” He stammers.
“Yeah”, I say and hand him my business card, “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock. It’s so much easier for everyone.”
“Ah, yes. So, Mr. Dr. Rock. Pleased to be meeting you. I am from the train company. You have First Class on the Tokyo-Sapporo express?” he asks.
“Why yes. Yes, I do.” I replied.
“Then you will come with me. I will escort you to ground transportation to the train station and to your First Class chamber on the train.” He bows slightly and whistles shrilly for a porter to handle my bags.
“Thank you so much…um, and your name?” I ask.
“I am Gin, your humble servant”, he actually and really says.
“Gin? No shit? Excuse me. Sorry, that just slipped out. What a perfect name. Damn glad to meet you”, I said and extended my less damaged right hand.
He bowed, I sort of bowed; my back cracked like old kindling. He extended his hand, I extended mine. He bowed and I tried to shake his hand. If I were watching this from the outside as a spectator, it would have looked riotously funny.
I finally grab Gin’s right hand and at long last, a manly handshake ensues.
“About fucking time”, I muttered under my breath.
Gin and I are walking slowly to ground transport when he sees my slight limp, another gift of being a hired gun and traipsing all over the world. That and stopping a .45 with my thigh a few decades ago. That didn’t help much either.
“Stop here. I will get an electric cart.” Gin ordered.
I was a bit all-in by this time and too tired to argue.
“Groovy. Can I smoke here?” I asked.
“Not yet. Must wait until we reach outside.” He informs me.
“Fair enough.” I clip my cigar and shove it in my yap, but I didn’t light it.
Gin was going to lodge a small protest, but I say that I didn’t fire the thing up.
A cart arrives and we toss all my luggage and kit into the back. I take the passenger seat and Gin rides shotgun directly behind me.
“Gin, tell me, COVID is the reason it’s so quiet here,” I ask.
“Yes, Dr. Rock”, Gin exhales loudly, “It’s killing us who work in the ground transport and hospitality industries. Very bad. Not so many people die, that is sad, many, many more go hungry and lose jobs. This must stop soon.”
“I could not agree more, Gin”, I replied.
He’s just earned himself a real hefty tip, I muse, local tradition be damned.
We arrive outside and I ask Gin if I can fire up my heater now. He tells me yes, and that it would be fine to smoke in the vehicle that’s going to take us to the train station.
“Well, if that ain’t just ducky!” I chuckle. Gin looks on, very confused. “That’s great, Gin. Many thanks.”
“Ah. So…”, Gin says slowly. “Your ride is over there, we should be there in a few minutes.”
“Fair dinkum, Gin”, I say in austral approval.
I figured we’d be taking a sedan or van or SUV on the outside. Instead, Gin wheels us up to the second largest car, I would suppose, in the whole Goddamned prefecture. It’s a chauffeur-driven limo from Supernova-Zipline Limousines. It’s fucking huge; a stretch Mercedes limo. It probably has its own zip code, if not its own area code.
Gin grabs my bags and shoves them in the boot, scurries around, and pops open the rear door. I slowly de-putt-putt and ease into the opulent back seat of one of the largest cars in which I’ve ever had the pleasure of riding.
Jesus Q. Christwagons! Full bar! Stocked humidor! Satellite phone! Satellite TV. Satellite internet! A fucking closed-circuit telly system for the interior and exterior of the vehicle. An intercom for communicating with the driver.
“What?” I asked Gin, “No jacuzzi?”
“That car was busy today”, he smiled.
“Shame.”
I literally goggled the inside of this vehicle. It’s ridiculous in its opulence; especially for the likes of me.
“All these are here at your disposal. Of course, you will be charged for what you use, although the driver has already been paid. A gratuity is up to you when you arrive at the train station.” Gin informs me as I take a quick break from stuffing my carry-on with bottles of exclusive Japanese alcohol and fine cigars from around the world.
“Send the bill to these characters”, I say and hand him one of the many business cards I filched from Agents Rack and Ruin.
“By your leave”, Gin smiles. He will not be accompanying me to the train station, but his counterpart will meet me there and get me to my cabin on the train.
I make certain I sneak him a hefty gratuity’ Oriental proclivities be damned.
He accepts, looks at the pile of yen furtively, stashes it in his pocket and barks some orders into the intercom. By the time we exchange handshakes, the limo has been started and we are ready to attack traffic.
Tokyo traffic in a huge limo.
This should be fun.
But it twern’t.
The locals were deferentially courteous. They waited quietly until the winds shifted and the driver maneuvered the land yacht out of the parking place and into the wind and traffic. Once rolling, other drivers seemed to intuitively know this was not a normal vehicle and gave us a wide berth.
Well, where the blinkered hell is the fun in that?
I settled back in the far back with my seat reclined, a drink at the ready and my already lit cigar.
Yes, I was ready for anything.
But, nothing untoward happened.
Nothing but an interesting hour-long trip through a surprisingly vacant Tokyo. COVID I reckon, but we arrived at the train station less than an hour later.
It has to be the cleanest damned train station I’ve ever seen. Absolutely immaculate. Tons of stores of every imaginable description, plus a very well stocked duty-free.
I was already fairly well stocked, but I dropped by a House of Havana to see about a few cigars.
HOLY FUCKING GASP
“So sorry, not at those prices.”
Holy shit. Who can afford a cigar habit in Japan? Christ on a crouton. Prices for Havana cigars fully 200-400% more expensive than the usual extortionate price one pay for these dubious smogs.
A courtesy car pulls up and asks if I was “Dr. Roclocncker” or something in that linguistic style. I affirm my identity verbally and with a business card, which the driver appreciates.
He, without asking, by the way, grabs my luggage, tosses it into the golf-cart cum field transport and then asks me to park myself in the cart.
I ask, “Wot’s, uh, the deal?”
“VIP transport. Please to be hang on”, he says and we accelerate out into the thin crowds.
Within minutes we’re at my platform and my driver asks if I’m taking the Sapporo Express or the Tohoku/Hokkaido Shinkansen from Tokyo to Shin-Hakodate-Hokuto and transfer to the Hokuto limited express to Sapporo.
“The former”, I reply, somewhat vexed that they more than one line First Class, to Sapporo.
“Excellent”, he replies, and after going over my tickets, confirms what I had been told.
It really isn’t “First Class”, it’s “Gran Class”.
Evidently, there a difference.
From the brochure: “The Gran Class involves the use of a special train car with ample seating room (the more, the better), as well as the constant attention of your host or hostess. Trains generally have one Gran Class car along with standard and green cars. Service is also a point of interest in the Shinkansen Gran Class. Upon entering the train, an attendant will guide you to your seat. You will then be offered such amenities as a menu, drinks, blanket, drinks, warm towel, drinks, slippers (which may be taken home by the passenger), drinks, eye mask, and drinks.”
OK, I may have edited that a bit...
Once settled in and my bagged luggage whisked someplace safe but out of sight, I was handed a menu. They were very cautiously deferential about my plastered hand and made every effort to be extra accommodating for me.
I flip open the menu and read: “Our service reflects the land traversed, and is attentive to individual needs so that you may enjoy the trip in your own personal way. We are honored to make your travels a high point in your journey. The attendant can be called to your seat at any time using a button on the armrest. The menu options include gourmet delicacies, all locally sourced. For example, you may order a bento box featuring locally grown vegetables, along with fresh apple juice produced in Aomori*. Other options include drinks, snacks, alcoholic beverages, drinks, and a western-style lunch. All food and beverages are provided at no additional cost.”
Highly unlikely.
The train imperceptibly lurches and we’re moving out of the station and headed on our way up north.
Only 831 or so kilometers and this is one of the first runs of the Sapporo Express where you don’t have to stop after 4.5-5 hours, de-train, then catch a new express the rest of the way to Sapporo from Hokkaido.
This is just a very recent addition to the rail lines in Japan, and I’m among some of the first that get to experience a shakedown cruise and see how nice the cabin attendants can be towards me.
Halfway through my first drink, a Shochu (焼酎), which is a distilled liquor (like vodka), and fresh carbonated lime drink which I faux-racistly dub “The Locknockel”.
So solly. I’ll attempt to quell that impulse from here on out.
I’ll probably not be overly successful.
I am asked if I will be ordering lunch. I reply in the affirmative and leave it to them to find the best of what they think I’d probably like. I did ask for another drink, though. That appeared within seconds.
I’m slurping this new concoction and I glance out the window. Everything’s a fucking blur.
“Whoa! What kind of drinks do they serve here?” I asked, but Ford Prefect was nowhere to be seen.
It’s not the drink, it’s our velocity. Already we’re topping 300 KPH. You couldn’t prove it by me. It was smooth as silk and amazingly disconcerting to not feel at least a little bit of shimmying or shaking.
Not on these lines, Buckaroo. These are welded rails. Welded, ground and buffed to a high sheen.
The ride was smoother than my next drink, a Rocknocker made with Ao vodka.
“Named for the Japanese word for “blue,” Ao is made from Japanese rice and water sourced from the country’s southern island of Kyushu. Distilled in copper pots and refined through a bamboo filtration system, this vodka is creamy and lush, with an ethereal lightness and purity reminiscent of fresh spring water.”
It is also probably the favorite of distant dragons and important ancestors.
Anyways, the trip proceeded pretty much along these lines. Smoking was verboten aboard all Japanese trains, but when I asked about the fact that I recall, or so I thought, that one of the perks of Gran Class was a private room where a passenger could while away the time along whatever ways he or she would choose, they were ready to allow me a cigar.
“No, wouldn’t be proper”, I maintained, “Wouldn’t be right”, I continued and handed each of my three personal retainers a cigar.
They each brought me a version of a drink they just knew I’d like based on my past few hour’s consumptions.
They were right. They were all quite lovely.
Now, truth be told, my left mitt was bothering me. Somehow the pain messages were finding a way upstream and I had to admit that it positively throbbed. I decided to forego any further libations for a while and try some of that ‘pain medication’ the medicos back in Caracas gave me.
“This is in case you have harsh pain”, Dr. Esparraguera and Dr. Díaz told me, “That is, more than your usual.”
“What is it?” I asked eyeing the large and frankly suspicious-looking black capsule.
“Oh, just a bit of morphine. A shot of ketamine. A little oxycodone. A drop of buprenorphine. Some tramadol and a smattering of Thorazine. That and just a hint of mint.” They replied.
I wondered if I needed one or two.
Well, like my dear ol’ departed Granddad used to say: “When one’s not enough, and two is too many; best take three.”
Hey, I have a high pain threshold and I live with chronic pain. Now this hand was beginning to hurt to the point of a minor annoyance.
I swallowed three with the rest of my drink.
Then I was being roused by one of my cabin attendants.
“Sir, we are here. Sir? Sir? SIR!?!” the panicked attendant called.
“Oh, yes”, I snarfled. “So we are. Thank you so much for a splendid trip.”
She stood back to allow me room to go from horizontal to vertical.
“Ah! A few hours kip after a couple of drinks. I feel slightly more human again.” I said as I stretched and produced sounds like a cord of old firewood being run over by a custom Oldsmobile Rocket 88.
No one dared say a word, although there was a lot of body language flying around. They got my baggage and all my other bits-and-pieces loaded up and ready for me to travel.
I swear, I hadn’t walked 100 paces when we’re on the platform and there’s another thin-clad one with a “Dr. Rock” sign.
He walked over to me, I guess I give off Rock-ish vibes and ask if I am who I am.
I verified I was who I was.
Back in the read confines of another limo, a bit smaller than the one in Tokyo, but still none too shabby, and we’re headed to the labs of ウルトラシークレットテックカンパニー株式会社 [Ultrasecret Tech Company, Ltd.].
“How long until we get there?” I ask.
“Not long”, Came the reply, “20 minutes.”
“May I smoke?” I asked.
He pulled down a hand-polished wooden cover and a fully outfitted humidor sprang into view.
“I’ll take that as a yes”, I smiled and pulled out my pocket humidor and produced a smallish cigar that I figured would take about 20 minutes.
My co-pilot was watching very closely, and of course, I offered him one.
“Grab a spare for the driver”, I said, “But hold on to it until we get where we’re going.”
“Yes, sir”, came the brisk and rapid reply.
We arrived at the labs, which were housed in a very nondescript gray, closed window 5-story building. Could have been a bookbinder’s. Could have been a Gentleman’s Club. Could have been an abattoir, for all I knew.
Everything was done in muted and tasteful shades of gray, teal, light tannish brown and pinkish-mauve trying to go all purple. Carpets. Walls. Ceilings. Going to take some reconnoitering to get the layout of this place, I mumbled to myself.
“Dr! Rock! Hello! So glad you are here!”
It was the team leader, Dr. Uchibayashi Iesada, called Uchi from here on out.
The rest of the team, all doctors, were Yuhara Hideaki (Youhoo), Bando Michinaga (Bando), Fukutsuchi Kosho (Fukkit…no really), and Ms. Dr. Sasagawa Kaneru (Sassy).
And those are the names we used in parenthesis as I’m not going to type their names over again.
There was much bowing and handshaking and distribution of business cards. Again, to any outsider, it must have looked uproariously funny.
Seems I was to have my hand scanned today so the procedures can begin bright and early the next day.
I was told that I’d be staying here at the labs as they have one floor converted to a 5-Star Hotel, another floor for meetings, meals, and recreation. More floors for research, medical procedures, and whatever else these characters were into.
They are really big on cybernetics, robotics, automation, miniaturization, and human-machine interfaces.
Guess that’s why I’m here.
I was taken to my suite on the 5th floor, and damn, they weren’t kidding. This room was right out of the playbook of JP Morgan. Plush, well outfitted with every known electronic gizmo, probably surveillance cameras that could diagnose your drink before you had time to stir it, and a plush California King bed, Jacuzzi, and bar.
None of that mini-bar shit. Here, you’re good enough for a room, you’re good enough for a real size bar.
Plus, I had my own geisha.
Not for funny business, but a real geisha type person to aid and assist me while I was at the lab.
Her name was Ouchi Sakurako. She always addressed me as “Sir”, even though I told her that everyone calls me “Rock”, and that I was to refer to her as “Ouchi”.
Since that was her name.
She also told me what was expected of me and what I was to expect of her.
I was “Yōjin”, which I finally figured out, was Japanese for VIP. I was also 親分, which is “Boss”. Basically, I call the shots.
Ouchi was 従者, which is a bitch to translate; as it could be servant, valet, attendant, follower, assistant, or all of the above. She was an employee of the labs, specially hired for this position and she took it damned deadly seriously.
“No funny stuff”, she reiterated, wagging a finger at me.
I’m standing in my stocking feet, my square-toe Size 16 Black Caiman cowboy boots growling from the floor as I stand there, bereft of foot apparel, in my bespoke Cargo Shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, left hand bandaged like an Ankylosaur tail club, smoking a huge cigar and quaffing a fresh drink. I tilt my Stetson back on my forehead, peel off my Wayfarers, and give Ouchi a thoroughly washed stink eye.
“Do I look like I’d be into funny stuff?”
Ouchi tried. Give her ‘er due. In the style of Montalván, she really tried.
She burst out laughing.
“Oh, hell”, I say to her, “I like you. You’ll do!”
“Ouchi?”
“Ouchi?”
“OK, it’s not that funny a concept. You can stop laughing any time…”
Some people.
Ouchi was going to be with me for the duration. I was a guest, I was also a lab rat, however I was also a fairly high placed schmoe with connections. Ouchi had her own room in my room, which I thought was nice. Fairly basic amenities for her, but it afforded some privacy for the both of us if I needed to take a confidential call or I just wanted to take one of those uninspired butt-in-the-moonlight walks around my room.
I promised Ouchi that after the Myanmar incident, she would not have to worry about any shenanigans like that.
Ouchi gave me a tour of my suite, and as I hovered over at the bar, she committed several wanton acts of neatness. Boots in the closet along with my traveling bags. Hat hung on the hat rack. Sunglasses cleaned and left on my desk, next to everything she’s ordnunked on, in and around my desk. My yukata (informal male dude guy’s kimono) was pressed and laid out, as were a fresh pair of Cargo Shorts, and a new pair of slippers. I had an assortment of shirts from which to choose, so I decided on an R. Crumb print shirt.
“That should keep ‘em guessing”, I thought.
I had an appointment in a bit for some pictures. CAT Scan of the hand, MRI potentially, X-rays, the usual.
So, I figured they’d need me nice and relaxed, so I spent a few minutes instructing Ouchi in the fine art of making drinks.
She caught on quickly, and for the rest of my time at the lab, I don’t think I ever saw an empty glass. It either had a drink in it or it was drying from being freshly scrubbed.
She knew zip about cigars, but after a brief class on clipping and lighting cigars, I never had to worry about carrying or losing my favorite lighter.
I finished up my latest drink and cigar as Ouchi answered the door. There was an orderly with a wheelchair and was there to take me for some pictures.
The e-wheelchair was powered and could hit speeds of probably around 15 KPH, but I didn’t futz much with the controls as Sakakibara was a very capable orderly.
I was in and out of the radiology department in less than half an hour.
I dismissed Sakakibara as I wanted to execu-scoot around the labs and get the lay of the land. It was a very efficient layout of orthogonal ranks and file, so one couldn’t get too lost as the patterns repeated both horizontally and vertically.
Alas, I couldn’t smoke in the passageways and the tour got slightly boring after the next two floors of gun-metal mauve painted walls, excessively clean and detailed and primped halls, tasteful Scandinavian Modern art, fixtures, and floors.
It was like a hospital on steroids and I reminded myself that I hated hospitals, no matter how benevolent.
Besides, I was getting a wee bit cranky, cramped in the admittedly oversized wheelchair. I had decided, then and there, that I needed strong drink, a cigar, and a few laps in that Jacuzzi which I had only briefly glimpsed earlier.
I ring the door of my suite and Ouchi answers.
“Dr. Rock,” she says, “You are back. All go as planned?”
“Yes, Ouchi”, I replied, “However, now it is time for you to make yourself scarce as I need a very strong drink, a huge cigar, and reservation for a few hundred laps in the Jacuzzi. We don’t have a robe anywhere near the size that would cover my ample corpus, so it’s my Body Armor T-shirt and boxer-briefs. No funny business, remember? So you get to sit this one out.”
“No, Doctor”, she said in a most defiant manner, “I am your 従者, I will accompany you to, and in, the baths. You will be submerged and with your left hand in a cast, it will need to be wrapped and sealed in plastic. I will make you a drink, cut and light your cigar. You will sit. You will wait until I return. I will get you a robe and swimming costume. Now stand so I can measure you.”
“Umm, Ouchi,”, I coughed and swallowed, “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. Everything up to you helping me into the Jacuzzi is fine, but that’s solo territory. I can manage, trust me.”
“I will hear none of this”, she said in a loud, steady voice. “I have my orders, and now you have yours. Sit. I will return with your drink and cigar. Then you will be measured so I can properly clothe you for the baths. I will hear no more of this. Are we green, Doctor?”
I looked at Ouchi with huge, wide laughing eyes.
“Green? Half a mo’, guv.” I smiled, “That’s my line. Where did you ever hear that?”
“I am very thorough”, Ouchi smiles. “I read your dossier before you arrived. It’s part of my job to know my clients.”
“Damn, Ouchi”, I smiled broadly, “Guess I can’t put one over on you. Very well. Veridian!”
“Veridian?” she asks.
“From lime to moss to forest to kelly. Green as the top of a new pool table.” I laughed.
“That is good”, she smiled, “Now, we have understanding. I will return with your drink, cigar and a tape measure.”
I shook my head approvingly.
Ouchi stops, turns, gives me a quick once over.
“A large one.” She smiles.
If smirks could cause injury, she’d be the one in the wheelchair.
“Cheek!” I smiled.
Ouchi spun professionally on her heel and busied herself with the projects at hand.
As I’m working on my fresh drink and cigar, after the indelicacies I was put through in order to get my measurements. Which in Japan, or so I was told, were reserved for kaiju, Ouchi returns with the result of her shopping trip.
Plastic bags of the industrial thickness size for my left hand, even though I’ll be losing the cast tomorrow. A plastic spongy-towely thing to keep the water out, and fine-lock zip ties to seal the whole thing from the ravages of the Jacuzzi.
Ouchi found me an absolutely delightful floor-length floral kimono that was almost as garish as some of my worst Hawaiian shirts. Then she handed me my bathing attire.
“Look, Ouchi”, I said, “But the words “Dr. Rock” and “Speedo” should never appear in the same sentence, much less the same thought.”
Ouchi was laughing up a storm.
“Oh, Doctor”, she said through steaming eyes, “Please forgive Ouchi. I saw that suit and could not resist.”
“Y’know, Ouch”, I said, “You keep up this gaijin-kaiju thing and I might really develop a complex. I know that I’m large, and while it’s easy being mean, it’s harder being large.”
I let her sit and cogitate on that for a few.
“Of course, Doctor”, she bowed and scrappled, “It was only Ouchi making a small joke. No harm intended.”
“Yeah, I know”, I replied, “But in this case, I’m afraid there’s going to be repercussions.”
Ouchi looked at me in horror. Had she edged over that fine line?
Before she could speak, I held up my right hand.
“New drink. Clean ashtray and draw a tub.” I said, “Then all will be forgiven”.
Ouchi looked at me with palpable relief.
Damn, the Japanese can be such a literal people. And such fun to mess with.
While Ouchi slipped out to do her 従者’ly duties, I slouched off to the head (loo, banya, restroom, etc.) and changed into my new ‘swimming costume’.
Obviously continental in cut and cloth, but a very verdant shade of green. It was also capacious enough to cover the bits I wanted covered and still be quite comfortable.
I complemented Ouchi on her taste when she returned with my drink and ashtray.
I went to stand to ease over to the Jacuzzi when Ouchi grabbed the drink from my hand, the cleaned ashtray, and set out new slippers for the bath. I told her that I could handle the cigar for the monumental five-meter trek.
Ouchi had a drinks cart lined up next to the tub, with the smaller of one of my humidors. There were plenty of clean glasses, ashtrays, matches (genuine lucifers), ice, a phone, a couple of geological magazines, and a copy of the latest Blaster’s Monthly.
She had done her homework.
She cautioned me on getting into the Jacuzzi. It was buzzing and frothing along so the bottom was quite impossible to see.
“It’s is, how is it in American? Oh. Six feet deep. There are seats along the side. You pick the one with which you are most comfortable.” She told me.
“Holy wow!”, I exclaimed, “That’s not a jacuzzi, that a hydrothermal pit”.
I eased into the bath after I shed my kimono as Ouchi mentioned she has never seen a man with so much hair.
OK, yeah. I’m a bit fuzzy.
OK, Yeti-fuzzy.
“Yeah”, I replied after slipping into the warm welcoming waters, “I decided to let my beard grow a few decades ago and now, I look like Bigfoot on a night out. After a tornado.”
Ouchi stared in stock curiosity and probably some disgust. She mentioned, cautiously, that she was, at first embarrassed by the hair on my chest…and back…and legs. And just about everywhere else.
I sat back in the Jacuzzi, blissing out.
“But the ‘1/3 of ZZ Top’ beard didn’t clue you in?” I asked.
“I have no male friends with a beard. I just…I …well, didn’t know what to expect.” She admitted. “I have to admit, you’re the first American for which I 従者. I didn’t know what to expect. Except they are large and hairy.”
I set down my drink. I set down my cigar. I surreptitiously took seven or eight very deep breaths.
Well”, I said, “If that’s the way you’re going to be…” and I bodily dunked under the warm, bubbling waters.
I could see her, blurrily, through the foaming waters.
The first minute passed and she just stood there.
Minute two noted her pacing a bit.
By minute three, she was getting alarmed.
At the four-minute mark, she was perhaps panicking a slight bit.
At 4:30 by my waterproof watch, I popped up and calmly asked her for my cigar.
“Are you trying to frighten me?” she almost yelled. “I thought you might be drowning. How could I do anything then?”
“Didn’t read my dossier closely enough,” I smiled, and put a fresh fire to my cigar.
“What?” she demanded.
“I am a devotee of static apnea. Trained to hold my breath. Since I was an ice diver years and years ago and worked on offshore platforms, I thought it to be a good habit to cultivate. My record’s almost seven minutes, but that was a few years back. Now, I can barely manage five.” I told her.
“But I didn’t know”, she objected.
“Now you do”, I smiled, “Please re-ice and refresh my drink, and hand me that glossy magazine. I feel the need to relax after all that exertion.”
Age and guile beat youth and exuberance every single fucking time.
For the next few hours, I read my magazine, carried on a polite conversation with Ouchi. I warned her about Americans, especially if they are of the Oil Patch fraternity.
“Overpaid. Oversexed. And over here”. The American GI in World War II Britain had nothing on an Oil Patch denizen on 28/28 in a foreign land. Especially if they’re young. Hell, you got to watch the old farts as well.” I said.
After translating that for Ochi, she nodded and said she understood.
“Unless they’re old Doctors of Geological and Petroleum Engineering. Hell, those buggers are the worst. Watch yourself every minute.” I said.
“But, you Dr. Rock, are a doctor of…” Ouchi stopped, smiled, and drenched me with a hand slap full of water.
“Ouchi”, I said, “Let me give you the real story. I’m an old geologist, blaster, and petroleum engineer. Been in the Oil Patch for four-plus solid decades. I’ve lived and worked in 50 countries and drilled wells on every continent on the planet, including Antarctica. I’ve been shot, stabbed, taken hostage, crashed in planes, and near mangled in rolled field vehicles. I’ve met with kings, sultans, presidents, and premiers. I speak 4 languages and can order a beer in 40 more. I’ve got more miles on me than an original Volvo 1800S. I’ve got a wonderful wife for these last 41 years and two amazing children. I have recently taken over the reins of a knucklehead of a Tibetan Mastiff. And yet, here I am, sitting in a frothing, foaming, fizzing Jacuzzi, up to my neck, as it were, in a far and distant land, with a most amazingly attractive and intelligent Japanese female lady type and we’re discussing whether I need another drink or cigar”.
Ouchi looked at me with wide, nearly perplexed, eyes.
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way” I smiled.
To be continued…*⇝

Shadowverse Rotation Meta Report. January 3rd

Greetings everyone to the year 2021 and to the Eternal Awakening Expansion! I'll be giving an early meta report in a meta that seems decidedly quite fluid with a lot of things still being developed. No tournament results for now. Thus i will be working off gamewith, shadowverse-wins.com and my own experiences in general.
Forestcraft
In the great woods of Forestcraft where the fairies flitter as beasts go about their business in the deep woods. We find Tweyen being greeted by the assembled Forestcraft leaders (But Arisa who is busy staring at the wall inside of her own) and her impressive archery talent earns her much applause and even some grudging respect from Selwyn.
For Forestcraft We find Aggro Forest at the top followed by Accelerate Forest and a bit of Evo Forest. Additionally there seems to be some experimentation with Loxis in Aggro forest for a more midrange build. Though lacking a clear decklist for that. Forestcraft generally finds itself in a solid position in the current meta already with good deck diversity available to it.
Aggro Forest
The Rage of the Forests, wild, untamed and capable of unleashing savage blows against its enemies, tread carefully against this deck
An aggro deck built around a variety of strong threats. While the deck lost the Elven Pikeman, it gained Walder instead, but overall remains the same. Quite potent and able to take on other aggro decks thanks to some good disruptive tools. Some decks are going a bit slower and including more accelerate cards to take advantage of Walder. Giving the deck some flexibility in building and Tempo Forest may become a more stable individual deck in the future.
Accelerate Forest
A sudden storm from the tree tops, accelerate forests is a deck of deception and cunning blows at unsuspecting opponents
A control combo deck. While the deck did lose some supporting cards, it gained much more with Walder giving the deck a more aggressive outlet, but also Wind Fairy and xeno Sagitarius gives the deck some punch and flexibility. Overall making the deck stronger than in SoR. That said a more tricky deck to pilot and not recommendable to newer players.
Evolve Forest
Channeling the ancient powers of the forests for great things, this deck is slow to rouse, but powerful when fully mobilized!
A control deck built around Evolve synergies. A new archetype looking to take advantage of it's evolve synergies while stalling the enemy out to then kill them with Gran & Djeeta or some other finisher. A bit of a weaker and new archetype that will undergo more refinement, not something for everyone to jump into.
Swordcraft
In the Eternal Castle of Swordcraft where Parades can last for days and the knights are endless in number. We find Seofon and Eahta being greeted by the assembled leaders, although there is some grumbling in the corners about Evolve Sword getting all the support while the rest of Swordcraft withers away, though when pressed all go silent.
For Swordcraft Evolve Sword as always remains at the top. There's a bit of Rally Sword and a smidgeon of Walfrid Sword along with some attempts at Aggro Sword. But overall class diversity while present is a bit lopsided and Cygames really needs to start seriously pushing something outside of Evolve Sword now.
Evolve Sword
A parade of Triumphant heroes, each practically an army in their own right ! Defenders of the common man, if they knew what the common man looked like
A control deck built around Evolve synergies. At this point Evolve Sword has fully transitioned from Midrange to Control with Seofon and Eahta providing the deck strong lategame tools and combo potential. Which we're already seeing with some decks setting up a combo using eahtas Skybound Art. Then the following Turn : Wings of Tomorrow, Cost Reduced Arriet, Stroke of Conviction and finally Seofon Sky Arted for a full 20 damage burst. That said a bit of a tricky to set up and not everyone is running it. But it is something that is starting to catch one. Also Evolve Sword is currently by far the most expensive deck in the game. A result of all Legendaries increasingly only supporting Evolve Sword. It is Strong, and somewhat skill intensive, but most of all, very costly.
Rally Sword
A Legion at the ready. Overwhelming all opposition through numbers and discipline!
A tempo deck built around the rally mechanic. Rally Sword continues to struggle with more dedicated support but there seems to be a variety of builds having some success. This particular list seems to have done well with at least a few people and so i highlight this one. Some run Arthur, some even run Mordred and a few run Victorious grappler. Hard to say which build is the best, but in general the deck seems to perform decently, though you will have to work for it.
Walfrid Sword
An army at the command of one man. His will ironclad! What can this band of brothers not achieve ?
A midrange deck built around Walfrid and a lot of officers. While the deck did receive some support, it suffers like Rally Sword from more intensive support and the fact that it's strategy can at times be a bit frail. Still in the right hands it can perform decently, but do expect some issues as it suffers from being out-tempoed quite easily, especially around the Walfrid turns.
Aggro Vehicle Sword
Madness on the highways as this band of brigands, madmen and outcasts set out to pillage and plunder!
An aggro deck built around the vehicle package. A small side inclusion as i thought the deck some potential. Mostly neutrals with the only officers being run having storm, that way it then uses Proven Methodology to draw them out and buff them to use as finishers. An aggro deck for people who want something a bit different.
Runecraft
In the great mystical academies of Runecraft, where Knowledge is prized above all. We find Isabelle being overwhelmed by all of the new leaders arriving. Anne is already squealing and aggressively hugging grea while Kuon just stares in great bemusement. Finally Fif just stumbles out of the cupboards to the surprise of everyone but Cagliostro. Isabelle can't help but feel this is starting to get a bit out of hand.
For Runecraft We find Spellboost Rune at the top as usual followed by Vincent Rune and finally a bit of Earth rite tune. Overall, rune is in a steady position, didn't get any new archetypes but didn't lose any either. We'll have to see what happens over the coming weeks.
Spellboost Rune
Unlimited Arcane power, at your very finger tips ! Magical servants that will do your every bidding, you just have to study for 25 years!
A Midrange deck built around Spellboost Synergies. Despite losing Chaos Wielder the deck has gained a mild boost with the additions of Alistair and Crystal witch, giving the deck more consistency and a bit of extra control tools. Never mind Implement arts which is just great. Overall a solid deck that does benefit from a bit of skill for best results and can have issues with Aggro decks as they can overrun it before it can react.
Vincent Rune
A Man of the Law and his followers. Eager to bring down justice upon those who would break the peace, no matter the cost!
A tempo deck built around Vincent and the Vehicle Amulets. Stronger and more consistent than before thanks to several new additions Like Xeno Ifrit and Fif, with Pholia being a common lategame piece as well. A fairly good deck though lacking in some of the sheer speed of the aggro decks of the meta.
Earth Rite Rune
Alchemy weaponized ! Hulking golems and incendiary charms, this deck has it all!
A midrange deck built around Earth Rite synergies. Not receiving a lot of new cards besides Rampaging golem, the deck overall does not change much and overall continues to be a bit of a fringe deck. There for the enthusiast more than anything else until the mini expansion most likely provides support or some new discovery gives the deck a boost.
Dragoncraft
In the Great Caverns of Dragoncraft where Ancient beasts slumber amidst Treasures long forgotten by most mortals. We find ourselves before a vast imposing throne, made from charred skulls and bones. Atop this throne we find it's deluded Tyrant, mad with power. Hiro! A thousand years of Shadowverse and Dragon Domination is his decree! Meanwhile everyone else is starting at Rowen to fix this mess as it's hard to relax with Hiro about like that and Threo wonders what sort of mess she got involved in.
For Dragoncraft we find either Face Dragon or OTK dragon at the top, followed by Ramp Dragon and finally Discard Dragon. Dragoncraft overall finds itself in peak condition, multiple strong decks and strong deck diversity.
Face Dragon
A Furious assault from the skies, all manner of winged beasts and their worshippers launching ceaseless attacks!
A tempo deck built around a mix of threats and disruption along with ramping. A recent arrival the deck seems to be steadily growing in numbers as it posseses a lot of burn and storm threats and with cards like Razia and Darkprison Dragon can burst out a lot of damage. Most decks also include a single copy of Ghandagoza for some extra finish burst damage. A strong deck that already seems to be setting itself up to supplant OTk dragon as the strongest deck.
OTK Dragon
Deep below the seas, a mighty beast lurks. Looking to claim all as it's tribute, it waits ever patiently for even the slightest mistake
A combo deck built around Disrestan and Encounter from the Deep. A combo deck that has made quite the splash as it can be tough to disrupt thanks to it's potent combo, with most teching in Arcangel of Evocation to help deal with it. That said the deck is weak to aggro which does help keep it in check.
Ramp Dragon
Soaring to the skies of wings made of fire. This deck scorches the lands as it climbs ever higher in its wild greed!
A ramp deck with Resplendent Phoenix for even more rampant ramping. A potent deck that can blast its way through many midrange decks but does suffer from weaknesses to Aggro and some OTK decks.
Discard Dragon
Sacrifing everything it has for the sake of more power. This deck stops at nothing to defeat its enemies!
A midrange deck built around Discarding cards. Receiving limited support,Discard dragon has seen a bit of a drop with some players opting for more aggressive builds again in the hopes of finding more success that way. A more skill intensive deck, that does keep its popularity in check as well.
Shadowcraft
In the great catacomb of Shadowcraft, where death is merely the beginning to an even greater journey. We find Luna and Aenea greeting Niyon and inviting her to a nice little tea party. All the while Cerberus is starting to worry she's being replaced with the arrival of the Tri-head hound.
For Shadowcraft we have Aggro Shadow at the peak, followed by Gremory Shadow, Burial Rite shadow and Vasaraga Shadow. A plethora of decks and there may actually be more. Shadowcraft is in a strong position thanks to a great diversity of decks, and obviously strong decks have benefitted alot from the expansion.
Aggro Shadow
A torrent of dead souls, angry at the living at out for revenge, all directed by one insane Necromancer
An aggro deck built around a variety of strong threats. By far the strongest aggro deck in the meta that had a very strong start to the expansion before the meta reacted to it, even then, very potent and also generally fairly straightforward to pilot and fairly affordable.
Gremory Shadow
A torrent of Necromantic energy, all wielded in the hands of a young girl, she looks sweet and innocent, but her heart is rotten to the core
A midrange deck built around Necromancy. The addition of cards like Undead Parade has boosted the deck and while not run in all decks , Ruinblade Reaper is nonetheless a commonly run addition. More of a rally deck at this point, some decks are even starting to cut Gremory and add in cards like Friends forever and effectively becoming rally decks.
Burial Rite Shadow
The dead find no peace here, their corpses and soul merely a resource for the gristmill of this deck. Liches abound as they are attracted to the energy of death this deck holds
A midrange deck built around Burial Rites. A variation on gremory shadow that looks to take advantage of Burial rite synergies and make better use of Undead Parade, less focused on combos (but still capable) it aims more for big boards and buffing them.
Vaseraga Shadow
A man of such strong will that not even the goddess of death can hold him back and so finds herself his admirer. He only wants two things : Your death, and for Shinji to get in the damn robot!
A midrange-combo deck built around Vaseraga and Nephtys. Basically looking to stall and then using Nephtys cheat out two Vaseragas and then overwhelm the enemy. A bit slower and more fringe deck. But one that can find some success for the dedicated enthusiast.
Bloodcraft
In the Decadent house of Bloodcraft, where all manner of sins can be enjoyed. We find Seox greeted by Mono and Urias covered in all manner of sores and marks. Asking what has happened to Urias, he just explains it's the latest trend in Bloodcraft. And that he should totally try it out, though Mono tells him not to do that, it gets messy quickly.
For Bloodcraft Wrath Blood is finally at the top ! followed by Control Blood and a bit of Volteo Blood. There's also signs of an Aggro blood deck, but lack anything consistent to report on i think i will hold back on that for now. Overall Bloodcraft is in a decent position though it's diversity is a bit on the weaker side and mostly reliant on Wrath Blood.
Wrath Blood
Pain is power! This deck wields self harm in a manner not considered healthy by most, but the terrible powers it is granted for it makes it all worth it!
A midrange deck built around the wrath mechanic. The recent additions have finally made Wrath Blood into a competetive deck, giving the deck more tempo plays and more sustainability. That said there seems to be some disagreemt on Silverbolt hunter, with some decks not running it, but others are running it and seem to be more succesful. Additionally, some seem to have had success cutting Seox for Ilya and running 3 of her as she synergizes better with the strategy. Overall Wrath blood seems to have ample paths before it.
Control Blood
Ancient texts tell of a terrible beast that can provide horrifying powers if certain conditions are met, long thought a legend. It has now been proven true
A control combo deck that mixes Xeno Diablo with Wrath. A more defensive version that mixes Wrath with Bloodtroth epitapth and Xeno Diablo for a combo version of the deck. Additionally some cut the wrath and start including all manner of control cards, though they seem a little less succesful. That said, overall more of a fringe deck at the moment.
Volteo Blood
Take A spin on Volteo's Wheel of Fortune, you won't regret it.. Most of the time
A Highlander deck. A fringe deck that sees some play and with the recent expansion has gained a small boost in popularity. But that said, mostly a deck for fun and the very dedicated player.
Havencraft
At the great Summit Temple, where Processions of clergy seem to last forever. We find Eris greeting Anre to the team, although Garuda and Meowskers are off elsewhere, so Eris and De La fille end up having to show him around. Only for their tour to get disrupted as Meowskers bursts through one door and flies through another.. No Milk for meowskers that day.
For Havencraft Ward Haven finds itself leading the faith, followed by Sanctuary Haven and Summit Haven. That said there's a lot more decks skulking about in the shadows, but having a harder time getting a clearer picture of those atm.
Ward Haven
A Wall of Faith, shielding those in most need of protection and aid! But tired of standing about and watching, this armounred congregation has taken up the offensive!
A midrange deck built around Wards. Overall no major changes to the deck this expansion, merely additions like Anre and Fluffy Ange. Some decks go for a Summit build along with cards like Zahlhamelina. A solid deck that works well in dealing with Aggro decks in particular.
Sanctuary Haven
Sanctuary Turned weapon. This deck has turned the power of healing into a focal point for righteous anger at those who would hurt the church!
A control deck built around healing synergies . With new additions like Will and Fluffy Angel the deck has gained fresh tools, but remains vulnerable to decks like OTK Dragon.
Summit Haven
Inspired by the power of the great temple of Havencraft, stalwart defenders become vicious attackers ! Be wary of these holy warriors as they hit harder than their looks might give impression of
A tempo deck built around the Summit Temple and high defence followers. Returning to rotation after ages of being in unlimited. Summit Haven is having a bit of a rougher time but can still pack a punch with a good hand.
Portalcraft
In the Vertex Colony high in orbit over some dead world. We find Tien and Feower wondering what mess they have gotten themselves into as they find themselves greeted with all manner of god like beings and strange creatures of unknown origin. But at least there's waffles!
For Portalcraft we find Evolve Portal at the top, followed by Artifact Portal and finally Rally Portal. Off to a less spectacular start in Eternal Awakening, the class does have some diversity and we'll have to see what happens over the coming weeks.
Evolve Portal
An assembly of strange people and even stranger beasts. What purpose does this congregation have ? What is their goal ? Who knows..
A combo control deck built around Evolve synergies. A recent arrival to the meta, it seems to have decent if not good performance though what seems to be a higher skill requirement does hold it back somewhat in terms of popularity.
Artifact Portal
An assembly of Alien Machines of unknown origines. Their logic inscrutable, their purpose opaque. All that is known is that they destroy whatever they come across.
A midrange deck built around Artifact Synergies. The addition of Mobilized Factory and Surveillance system seems to have been a boon for the deck. Beyond that it seems like the deck has effectively split into two. A Combo version with Bahamut that looks to use the accelerate with a board of Airstrike artifacts, and a more conventional version. Giving the deck some strength as opponents may struggle to figure out your endgame.
Rally Portal
A faceless host of puppets, almost human, yet ultimately, far removed from humanity. Who the puppetmaster to this madness is, no one knows. All who search for the answer merely vanishes
A midrange deck built around the Rally mechanic. Several variations seem to exist of the deck, some with goblin queen, some without. The decks performance seems to be fairly decent though a bit short on popularity for the time being, but may be a matter of time and refinement.
So there you have it. While comparisons have been made to Tempest of the gods, i'd probably say Darkness evolved, just with Shadow and Dragon as some of the top classes rather than Haven and Sword. But similarly you got annoying Combo decks, control decks and a plethora of Aggro decks. And so far we are probably looking at one of the most diverse meta games in Shadowverse History with each class having at least 3 decks if not more and i'm probably missing some due to in part being really tired right now (only 4 hours of sleep) and there being some troubles in tracking everything in the first week. So i am likely missing some decks easily as i have seen signs of Banish haven making a return as well just as an example.
So my best advice for the time being is as always at the start of an expansion. Don't give up and try out all manner of things. And overall my expectation over the coming weeks is that we'll likely see more decks happen as people continue to experiment and i think it is safe to say that there is plenty of territory to explore at the moment.
So until next weeks report. Have fun playing Shadowverse!

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