The fleet has arrived back in New Chicago by nightfall. While they were away, Benjamin Yamamoto had taken the liberty to finalize Damon's plans on acquiring a temporary property to house the girls, a large three-story house about a fifteen minute walk from the Plaza. The only reason why it was not yet acquired, despite the property being quite nice, is due to the fact that it is located in the most inconvenient place in all of Asiatown: there are no driveways or even streets that lead straight to the property, and it would be at least a twenty minute walk to the nearest store.

"Ho, shit!" Benjamin Yamamoto laughs as he greets Damon at the small gate of the new house. "Got pretty banged up over there, didn't you? I can't remember the last time I saw you this beat up."

Damon has bandages and gauze around his head, left hip, some underneath a fresh shirt around his chest and upper arms, and on his left shoulder. In addition, his left arm is supported by a sling, and despite his best efforts to wash off the blood splattered on his face and arms, this has resulted in Damon's skin on his face and lower arms looking more reddish than usual.

"I'd like ta see you dislocate your shoulder and have a girl who fuckin' hates you pop it back in for you," Damon growls, not amused by Benjamin's teasing.

"Nah, I'll pass," Benjamin grins as he pulls out the key to the front door and gate from his pocket and drops it into Damon's outstretched palm. "You're lucky I did the rest of this shit for you, me being the savvy businessman that I am. I got this place for thirty percent lower than what you were gunning for."

"Not that I give a shit; I know how to bank a couple hundred K's with a few supply drop missions courtesy 'a Uncle Sam and his fat class 'a bourgeoisie. Money ain't a concern for me like it is for you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, I want an answer. You gonna let me in on this or what?"

Damon shrugs. "Hey man, I don't mind, but if anythin' happens to you, I can't be held responsible. You see what happened to me; you gotta expect that some kinda shit's gonna happen to you too eventually."

"Well, you let me worry 'bout that. Since we know each other, there won't be any need to sign some bullshit liability waiver form like I usually do. But I'm taking that as a yes?"

"I guess. I just don't know what I'll have you do."

Benjamin chuckles briefly. "Damon, you don't know who you're talking to. If there's nothing for me to do, I'll make it so that I have something to do. That's what my business was for for the past couple years, and I've built some some good bank from it."

"Then it'd be nice if we could brief you on this shit and what's been going on, but you should come tomorrow," Damon sighs. "We're all fucking tired."

"I can tell. Then I'll come back tomorrow," Benjamin gives Damon a two-finger flick salute and casually gives him a wave as he walks back to his own house.

Slowly turning around to walk to the front door of his new property, Damon lethargically pulls out his second-to-last melon candy cigarette and twists the end off to smoke it. He had been chain-smoking the cigarettes to help keep his mind off the pain in place of painkillers, but candy cigarettes are vitamin supplements, not painkillers, so it didn't exactly get the job done. Still better than nothing, though.

The front door opens before Damon can reach it, and Sanford emerges from the door and closes it behind him.

"Hey, 'sup, kid," Sanford greets Damon with his usual smirk. "Doin' a'ight?"

Damon inhales deeply on his candy cigarette. "Shit sucks," Damon complains quietly. "Dislocatin' a shoulder ain't fun."

"First time you dislocated something?"

"Yeah..."

"You're lucky. Plenty 'a the people I knew had multiple dislocations, sometimes at the same place. Shit messes you up over time," Sanford shakes his head. "Least ya made it out, can't be mad at that, 'ey?"

Damon has his eyes down at the ground, taking his cigarette in between his fingers and lowering it off to the side as he exhales a breath of fluffy melon smoke.

"How's Murakumo?"

Sanford's smirk fades away slowly as he sighs quietly himself and rubs his palm against his forehead.

"...she's out of it," Sanford mutters, and there is no longer any amusement in his voice. "And when I say 'out of it', she's off her rails. That kid - I dunno, man, but I think it's safe ta say that it fucked her mind real hard."

"That bad?" Damon clicks his tongue. "Speakin' 'a the kid, where'd you put his body?"

"Still in the box, we left it in closet so no one has to see the body," Sanford says, pulling out a candy cigarette of his own.

"And Murakumo? Where's she at?"

"On the roof 'a the house."

"You can get up there?"

"There's a hatch in the attic."

"What's she doin' up there?"

"Dunno. Starin' off into space, I s'pose, if she thinks that'll get her her sanity back."

The two men quietly puff on their cigarettes for a few minutes.

"I heard from some 'a the girls that she was screaming bloody fuckin' murder the whole way back to the air base," Sanford murmurs. "That true?"

"I didn't even know someone could scream for that long," Damon shakes his head. "And I didn't know why at first 'cause I was fuckin' bleedin' and just wanted to get back to the base as quick as possible. Then after I got bandaged up, who was it...Amagi told me 'cause she'd been sittin' next to Murakumo when the kid got shot."

Sanford shrugs. "Always somethin' that's gotta go wrong," he notes. "But, seriously, what we were gonna do with him? The kid, that is."

Damon sighs. "I dunno either. Even if he made it out with us, we...honestly, I wouldn't'a wanted him to come with us all the time. That's just one more person I'd have to have the girls protect 'n escort 'n shit. Probably woulda handed him off to someone to take care of him - pay 'em a hundred 'K or somethin'."

"I don't blame ya. But as it is now, Murakumo ain't gonna jus' magically calm down by herself."

Damon, about to raise his cigarette to his mouth, stops his hand.

"And you want me to go talk to her, don't'cha."

"You're her Admiral, for Chrissakes. Who the fucking hell else?"

"You could. You're their fuckin' builder, ain't'cha? And besides, you got more authority over some 'a 'em than I do. That goes for Murakumo too."

Sanford laughs shortly. "Nah, kid, that ain't how it works. These girls're Japanese. And I dunno if you know a thing 'r two 'bout Asians - you're a quarter chink, you ought'a know, eh? - girls like 'em, they're constructed - well, again, most of 'em - to obey orders ' talk all respectful to people older 'n 'em and higher rank than 'em. I'm at the top 'a the food chain here, right up next to you - and again, with some girls, I actually am higher than you. If I go talk to 'em, they're just gonna shut up 'n tel me what they think I wanna hear. They're not gonna be honest with me. That's the price I gotta pay for bein' respected as their designer and builder. I ain't never gonna be on the same level as them, even if I want to. They have too much respect for me to let that happen."

Damon snorts, sticking his cigarette in his lips. "Fuckin' 'ay, dude, what, am I the girls' fucking life counselor or somethin'? Should I take up psychological therapy as a side occupation, then?"

"Probably, if that'll help ya be able ta talk to the girls 'n make 'em feel better if they're feelin' down."

Damon chuckles. "I didn't actually mean that, just so you know," he scoffs. "I'll go talk to her...but not as her Admiral, fuck that."

Sanford sighs deeply.

"Listen, kid. I know you ain't so good with talkin' shit out with other people, especially 'bout mushy shit like this. But'cha gotta understand: lots'a these girls are still teenage girls. In some cases, when ya look at 'em, they're not what they seem, but in other cases, they're exactly what they look like. In addition, they weren't necessarily built ta be able to expect 'n handle tough shit like this. Fighting, getting hit, yeah, sure, but they don't know what to do when they see a kid on their lap get shot in right front of them. The older girls might handle it better 'cause their attitudes 'n maturities're better constructed and suits their appearance, but for most of the destroyers, you gotta realize that they're still teenagers. You've seen some shit and done some shit, so you know how to handle tough shit. But they don't. As their Admiral, you gotta see that and go talk to those girls who're havin' a tough time. Especially before they go off 'n do somethin' bad or stupid."

Damon slowly trudges over to the side of the front door, leans his back against the wall, and rests his head against it too.

"I mean..." Damon mumbles, "she just...to me, she just gave the image 'a bein' hard-headed 'n stubborn. While I get that what happened was pretty disturbing for her, I didn't expect her to take it so hard."

"Everyone's got a breaking point, kid," Sanford says, "or a button or two that if you press 'em, you'll flip a switch you never saw was there. Guys like us, we can take a lotta shit and roll with it, 'cause we've been there, done that. Not so much for these girls. They know what to do if they get hit by 35.6cm cannon round - but give 'em a kid who's been shot, saw his parents killed, and doesn't have much longer to live, and I guarantee you that most of 'em'll freak out."

Damon raises his cigarette to his mouth again to take another puff.

"...then I don't get it," he hisses, lowering his cigarette.

"Don't get what?"

"Why do the fucking Feds - American or British or whatever the fuck - why do they keep callin' the girls 'naval personnel' or 'fleet personnel'? It's so fucking arbitrary. I bet my entire fucking wallet that those fuckheads don't acknowledge that the girls are just as human as the rest of us."

Sanford somberly blows candy cigarette smoke of his own up into the air.

"Governments," Sanford shakes his head, "care for nothing more 'n protecting their ambiguous fucking pride of 'sovereignty'. Always have, always will. They're run by subhuman pieces 'a shit who care for nothin' more 'n money 'n the fact that they have the power to tell other people what to do, and they think they're hot shit 'cause of it. And of course they've got hundreds of other people just like 'em who suck 'em off so that they can cash in on a bit 'a that easy cash flow. And the most hilarious part about all that's that they try 'n hide behind their flimsy excuse 'a protecting the state, and if not that, some other bullshit reason that they shit outta their asses. Nero would be fucking proud of the way America's been run in the last twenty years. He'd be fiddlin' all over the bodies 'a the people who got nuked or irradiated."

"Yet you've worked for those people for practically all your life," Damon hisses, "so I don't wanna hear that shit from you."

"Thirty-somethin'-odd years, to be precise," Sanford gives Damon a tiny smirk, "but admittedly, without good ol' Uncle Sam, I dunno where I'd be right now. Probably dead, if the nukes didn't kill me then. Hey, what can I say? Just like breaking points, everyone's got a sellout point. For enough money and for enough reasons, you'll do the most horrible shit man can do, and at the end 'a the day it's up to you to think 'bout what you've done and ask yourself, was all the shit I did really worth it? And if not, tough shit."

Sanford points his cigarette at Damon.

"And do keep in mind that without Uncle Sam, you'd'a never known these girls. They woulda never been constructed, and they woulda never existed."

Damon covers his face with his palm.

"And y'know what? Sometimes I think 'bout that, and I feel like it might'a been better if they never were constructed. A part 'a me feels like it woulda been better, for their sakes, if the project was never completed."

"Huh, and why do ya think that?"

"It's like sayin' a kid's born into an abusive family. Dad's an alcoholic drunk, Mom doesn't give a shit 'bout the kids and shoots up heroin all day 'til she's high as a kite, and they ain't got anyone else to call friends 'n shit. No one's gonna understand 'em, 'cause there ain't anyone else like 'em. And seein' that that asshole Blackwood's their 'dad', I guarantee you he's the type 'a shithead ta beat 'em up, tie 'em up, throw 'em into a prison cell somewhere, 'n leave 'em to the wolves."

"By the wolves, you mean the Secret Service?"

Damon glares at Sanford.

"Any Fed fuck. I don't discriminate. I hate 'em all."

Damon points his own cigarette back at Sanford.

"Including you."

Sanford smirks.

"Let's not review the obvious, shall we. The point is, the good news is, for now, you can see yourself as those girls' new 'foster dad' or whatever analogy you wanna use. You have an opportunity to raise 'em how you like, talk to 'em, all that stuff a good parent would do. You also gotta understand that these girls have a lotta faith in you and respect you a whole ton. You might not be aware 'a it, partly 'cause you're the kinda kid who doesn't bother thinkin' about what other people think 'bout you, but these girls really like you as their Admiral, y'know?"

"Not fucking Shiranui," Damon snorts, "that bitch's gonna slit my throat one night. I can feel it."

Sanford chuckles. "Well, okay, minus Shiranui," he admits, "but you don't have to worry about her slitting your throat at night - she woulda already done it if she had that kinda thought at all. Anyway - the thing is, to the girls, they see you, their Admiral, fighting right up with 'em. You're takin' shots, you're fallin' down four stories, and you're puttin' yourself in situations where you didn't need to be and where you know you could get really badly injured and even killed. To them, that's new. To them, they've been trained and constructed to expect their Admiral to be some guy with a beard and a navy uniform and cap smokin' a cigar and tellin' 'em to go out and shoot some bitches out at sea while he sits at base drinking tea and booze and fucking some other ship girls in his office. That's what they've been told to expect. You're the exact antithesis 'a that, to them. Yeah, sure, you do some pretty questionable stuff sometimes. Yeah, you swear a lot, and yeah, you don't really know a whole lot 'bout 'em, certainly not much naval strategy either. But that all pales in comparison to the fact that you're treatin' 'em better than any Fed could. They appreciate the fact that you're doin' everything you've done for their sake. And every time you get shot, beat up, or whatever, they see that as their responsibility. That's just how it is."

Sanford pauses to take another puff.

"And best 'a all," he concludes, "you've told 'em about yourself - about the part where you're no more a human than they are. And you're right 'bout that. You're a freak, kid. But so are those girls. You're all freaks, monsters in the eyes 'a the rest 'a the human population, if they knew who exactly you all were. In a situation like that, only the freaks can understand each other."

Damon gives a bitter laugh.

"Then in that case, I really wanna know why we'd be called freaks," Damon says bitterly, "because being able to understand each other doesn't sound like a freak thing at all. I'd say everyone else who can't do that should be the freaks."

"Indeed. When've you ever seen another human being give his lunch to the homeless guy down the street?"

"Never, 'cause we're all selfish fucks."

Sanford grins."Hey, kid, lemme ask ya, you hate humans?"

"I hate the ones who don't deserve to be called human."

"And what about you? You think you're human, even though you're a freak outta a government science project?"

"More human than the freaks who ran that freakshow."

Sanford nods once.

"Good answer, kid. Good answer."


Murakumo is sitting on the flat roof of the three-story house, her knees tucked into her chest as she hugs her legs. From the roof, she has a wide vantage point on Asiatown, with its raised highway arches, lively nighttime streets, and flashy billboards and signs. The elevators that grant access to ground level are zipping up and down busily, their service lights flashing off in the distance.

She has not bothered taking a shower or a bath yet, still sitting in her torn, punctured, and grimy clothes. The chest of her shirt is still marred with the blood of the small boy she had almost rescued - almost, but had failed at the last second.

Normally, her head arrays would be blinking a shade of green or red, depending on her mood. It would only turn itself off when she needed to have them turned off for stealth or when she was sleeping - any time else, they would be glowing with either red or green.

They show no light at all. They are both pointing straight down into the floor, tucked tightly next to the sides of her head.

Her lifeless eyes subconsciously replay her memory files of the small boy.

The cry he made that made her realize that she may have the murderer of his parents.

The cries he made begging for his parents.

The question he asked her before his life was ended in front of her.

Murakumo buries her face into her knees. Her head arrays press themselves against her head even more tightly.

She doesn't know what she's feeling. Guilt? Sadness? Anger? Some sort of contorted mixture of all the emotions that cause her to feel agitated?

But that doesn't really matter. What matters is that the small boy that she wanted to save was dead.

She'd already cried her heart out. Despite the best efforts of the other ship girls, the destroyers in particular, to cheer her up and comfort her, she wouldn't have any of it.

The worst part about all of this was the fact that she didn't even know if this was her fault to begin with.

Was it her fault that she killed the boy's parents because they were going to shoot her anyway?

How could she have known? It wasn't her fault that she was under orders to eliminate anyone who resisted. They were her enemies.

But they were still the boy's parents.

A small child like that shouldn't have his parents killed, no matter who they are, right? He's just a kid; he shouldn't have been there in the first place.

And the boy himself didn't even know that Murakumo might've been the one who ended his parents' lives.

So even if, even if the boy managed to make it out without being shot, what kind of conscience would she have had to have in order to deal with him? How would the boy react when she told him that she was the one who killed his parents? Did she even deserve to have the right to take the boy to "save" him? And what would even happen to him if he survived?

Why did he even get shot? So many factors in this question. Why? Why did he get shot instead of one of the other girls? Was it because he was deliberately shot at while they were flying away? Or was it pure bad luck?

Either way, Murakumo sinks further and further into her mental quagmire of nebulous thought and depressed brooding. It's not that she wants to think about this; she can't help it. A part of her demands to know if this was all her fault - and the other part of her feels as though there would be no point in knowing, that at the end of the day, the boy was dead and he wouldn't come back to life like Yuudachi did.

Murakumo doesn't react when the hatch in the middle of the roof is flung open, and Damon painfully climbs up with only one arm and rolls onto the roof. Closing the hatch behind him, Damon heads over to Murakumo and sits on the edge of the roof next to her.

"...talk to me, Murakumo," Damon says quietly, gazing out at the underground urban landscape. "I'm gonna sit here 'til you start talkin'. There ain't nothin' good that comes outta holing yourself up and feelin' bad about yourself - only thing that comes outta that's just a shell 'a yourself."

Murakumo says nothing.

"I'll sit here wit'cha 'til you got somethin' to say."

Murakumo says nothing.

"I don't care what you talk about. If you think it's embarrassing or depressing to say, say it anyway."

Muarkumo says nothing.

Damon pulls out his last candy melon cigarette and twists the end off.

"Gotta get another pack..." Damon mutters to himself, tapping the side of the empty box before pocketing to toss it in the trash later. He sits with Murakumo, smoking his candy cigarette and patiently waiting for her to finally speak. He ends up waiting nearly an hour and a half before Murakumo's muffled voice trails out from between her knees.

"...I don't want to be a monster..."

Damon, having smoked his cigarette to the butt and playing around with it in his fingers, glances over at Murakumo.

"Not a monster, huh."

"I don't want to be the reason why that boy died..."

Murakumo sniffs loudly, the chortling sound of snot filling the air. She lifts her arm to wipe her eyes, and Damon catches a very brief glimpse of her tear-ridden eyes before she buries her face back into her knees.

"Why do you think that you're the reason why that kid died? You weren't the one who killed him; the rebels did."

"That's not the point!"

Murakumo's voice suddenly escalates to a yell without warning, but Murakumo refuses to lift her face off her knees.

"You don't get the point!" she repeats. "You - you don't get it...!"

"Don't I? Then explain it to me in a way that I do get it," Damon asks.

Murakumo sniffs loudly again.

"...don't ask me to do that..."

"Why not?"

"Just don't! Leave me alone!"

"Leave you alone? So you can do what?"

"Just leave me alone, you bastard!"

"Leave you alone so you can do what, Murakumo? Sit here on a goddamn roof and grovel to yourself and pity-trip yourself over 'n over? Is that what you're plannin' on doin'? 'Cause that doesn't seem so productive to me!"

Murakumo, now infuriated and provoked by Damon's heart-wrenching words, hisses hysterically and reaches for Damon's right arm, but he reacts by catching her right wrist with his good hand instead.

"Murakumo, you remember when I first did this?" Damon nods at his hand gripping Murakumo's wrist so tightly that her sensors are detecting stoppage of blood flow to her hand. "Tell me where, and I'll let go."

"Just let go of me!" Murakumo says, biting down on her teeth.

"Not until you tell me where and when you remember me doin' this."

Murakumo looks away.

"...our second day together! In that hotel in Mobile! Now let go, jackass!"

Damon indeed lets go of her hand, and Murakumo quickly pulls it away from Damon as if disgusted to be touched by him.

"That was the day that you wound up sleepin' right on top 'a me, remember that?" Damon mentions."

"Shut the fuck up," the ship girl mumbles. "Stop talking to me."

"Why, is it embarrassing?"

"No!" Murakumo stamps her foot against the roof, and with her turbulent emotions preventing her from controlling her own strength, her foot breaches right through the attic ceiling.

"Can you not destroy the house that I just paid for that I bought for you girls?" Damon raises an eyebrow at the breach in the roof as Murakumo pulls out her foot. "I don't feel like dumping more money into repairs just yet."

Murakumo's headgears begin to fill with an ugly shade of red, indicating her rising levels of pent-up frustration and anger as she tightens her arms around her knees.

"Then - then I suppose you don't remember that first day, that first day when you killed all those guys in that truck, and what you did to that baby when we found him?!" Murakumo yells, although her yell comes out muffled and quieter than she yells because she has her face in her knees once more.

"No, I remember," Damon says calmly. "I shot him. Why would I forget that? And what's your point?"

Murakumo's arms clutch her legs more tightly.

"I don't want to become someone like that - someone like you!" Murakumo spits. "I don't wanna feel like I'm responsible for that boy's death! I don't want to feel like I'm following in your footsteps - down the path that causes me to feel that it's okay shooting a baby, killing a kid! I don't want to become another you!"

Damon slowly turns to Murakumo.

"So in other words, you're blaming me for what happened to the kid, the one who died in front 'a you."

"I'm blaming you for what you're making me feel!" Murakumo corrects indignantly. "That kid was supposed to make it out! He wasn't meant to die there, like that baby you killed, and right in front of me, too, both of them! I - I wanted him to live, at the very least!" She breaks and starts sobbing hard again into her knees. "This doesn't make any sense! This doesn't make any fucking sense! Why do we get to live, just because we're ship girls and can take a bullet, and why does an innocent kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time have to see his parents die and die himself not long after?! Why does shit like this have to happen?! And why do I have to feel like I have to take responsibility!? I don't get this! I don't get this shit at all! Why the fuck does it have to be this way! ? ! ? !"

Damon looks around, making sure that no one is nearby eavesdropping on them. At least one advantage of renting a house secluded away from the rest of Asiatown is being able to have conversations like this without generally having to worry about bothering other people with the noise - if this could even be considered a conversation. As he waits for Murakumo to calm down, he can't help but recall the dreadful screams that he heard Kisaragi make when he'd told her what had happened to her earlier in the day. Kisaragi's screams were long, uninterrupted, unrelenting, and depressing - Murakumo's screams are intermittent and chilling - they sound as though Murakumo is trying her best not to scream but has to anyway.

Kisaragi screamed with a scream that acknowledged her new reality - suffering but letting her pain out.

But Murakumo is screaming with a scream that is directly chipping away at her sanity - refusing to accept that the boy she wanted to have live was dead and instead trapping herself in a self-destructive cycle of turbulent what-if's and if-so's.

Damon glances at Murakumo's headgears once again, noticing that they have changed color. He blinks at them, looking again to see if they really are glowing at all, but it takes him a few moments to realize that they are indeed glowing a certain color.

Murakumo's head arrays are glowing pure black.

Black is not the same as no color.

It doesn't take a genius to know what that might mean.

Damon slowly inches himself over next to Murakumo again. Hesitating, he slowly puts his good right hand on Murakumo's head, in between her headgears.

"...g-get your h-hand off," Murakumo demands in a whimper, not lifting her face off her knees to say it. "Get your hand o-off...please..."

"Nuh-uh," Damon says simply, "you need this."

"No I-I don't..."

"Yes, you do."

"Just get your - "

"Admiral's orders. Stay as you are."

"I-I don't want to be touched by a baby-killer like you - "

"And what's the difference between me and you? You've killed that boy's parents, I've killed that baby back in Houston! We're even, so shut the hell up and calm down!" Damon speaks loudly. "Goddamn it, Murakumo! I get that this's been hard on you, and that you don't know how to handle it, but crying alone asking yourself why shit's gotta be this way's not how you get yourself to get over it!"

Murakumo sniffles loudly.

"A-And how the fuck would you know?!" Murakumo screams back, tears streaming down her eyes. She starts to flail, trying to throw his hand off, but Damon refuses to budge. "Why should someone like you try and make me feel better!? You can't possibly convince me that you know how to make someone else feel better when you've ranted on and on 'bout how you've grown up by your own damn lonesome, how you never had friends, never made friends, never even had time for friends! So fuck you!" Murakumo points her finger right in front of Damon's face, in between his eyes at the top of the bridge of his nose. "Fuck you! Fuck you, and go away!" Murakumo grabs Damon by the wrist and hurls his hand off, and his arm slaps against Damon's slung left arm.

"Ow!" Damon sharply inhales, but he keeps the pain in. Stretching his fingers on his right hand that Murakumo has just thrown, he rubs his left arm where his hand had slapped against it. Damon feels tempted to leave - he's not in the mood to have to babysit Murakumo while having to deal with a healing shoulder, but his stubbornness keeps him seated.

"Funny how you should mention that," Damon says loudly, so that Murakumo can hear him clearly, "the part 'bout how I said I didn't have any friends. At the very least, when something bad happened to me, I didn't climb onto a roof somewhere and cry my balls off, y'know?"

"Leave me alone!" Murakumo yells.

"And it's funny how you say that you don't wanna become another me," Damon says even more loudly, drowning out Murakumo's words, "'cause you were already there. In fact, you and everyone else - all the girls are the exact same as me. There ain't no escaping it! You thought you could? How fuckin' funny!"

Murakumo, having had enough, jumps to her feet.

"Get the fuck off this roof before I break one of your ribs," she threatens, her eyes and head arrays livid with red. "Shut up and leave me alone! I won't repeat this!"

"And here you are, on top 'a this roof, cryin' yourself 'n pityin' yourself 'cause you can't decide whether or not you wanna feel sorry for yourself because that kid died!" Damon roars, without looking at Murakumo and completely ignoring her threat. "Here you are! Here you are, not bein' able ta make up your damn mind about whether or not you want someone to come over and try 'n do what they can to make ya feel better! Think about it, Murakumo! Think 'bout it before ya break my rib! If I weren't here right now, if someone else'd come over ta try 'n cheer you up, take your mind off the kid, would'ja still threaten 'em the same way? Huh?! TELL ME!"

Murakumo responds by kicking him square in his right side.

She wasn't lying -

- the air fills with a brief crack! as her boot connects with one of his ribs.

Murakumo stares down at Damon, who is now back down on the roof, wheezing and coughing as he now has to deal with a broken rib on top of his dislocated shoulder and other wounds.

"Wh - " Murakumo can hardly believe what she's done, "why didn't you move, you idiot!? You had - you had plenty of time to dodge it, at least - !"

It takes a few minutes for Damon to catch his breath, and after wiping his mouth, he struggles to sit back up, as though nothing had happened, but he winces with every pulse of pain coming from his right side. Murakumo, having frozen in place, unsure of what to do, continues to stare down at him.

"You wanna know why I didn't dodge or block it?" Damon says. "You weren't gonna make yourself feel better otherwise."

"The hell?" Murakumo cries incredulously. "Y - You - did those wounds mess up your head? Are you some sort of masochist now?"

"Not quite there yet, 'cause this shit hurts like a bitch more 'n it feels good. In fact, this shit doesn't feel good at all, I've got an arm to worry 'bout here. But hey - at least it took your mind off the kid, right?"

Murakumo simply keeps gawking at him. Damon sighs.

"Look...now that I got your attention for at least a few moments here," Damon says, wincing, "that kid...it wasn't your fault. You weren't the reason why he died. And if you really did kill his parents - if you decide that you wanna feel like you need to atone for whatever wrongdoing you did to the kid, there's one last chance you can do that. Do you wanna know what that is? If you don't, I won't bother telling you. Speak now or forever hold yer peace."

Murakumo blinks, then raises an arm to rub her eyes one last time. Her headgears, from which the red lights have completely drained, flash a faint yellow.

"...t-tell me..." Murakumo requests. "Tell me...hurry up."

"A'ight then. Tomorrow morning, I'm thinkin' 'a goin' to the cremation office at the other side 'a Asiatown and cremate the kid's body, 'cause we can't really bury him now. I was thinkin' 'a takin' the kid's ashes, take 'em to a place up in Inner Chicago where they do this service where you take 'em someone's ashes, they'll actually compress those ashes until they become a jewel. Diamond, gem, whatever, somethin' like that. And if you want, I'll give that to you. If not, I won't bother and I'll just toss the ashes somewhere...maybe take 'em and leave 'em out with my mom's grave."

Murakumo pauses, then asks, "...wait...but why?"

"Why what? Ow!"

"Why're you telling me this? It sounds like you want me to do something!"

"Well, I thought you'd figure it out for yourself. If you want, you can come with me to the cremation office so that we can cremate the kid's body. If it makes you feel any better, you can say a few last words to him before he gets cremated. We're not gonna just sit on his body and leave it here in the house to rot, y'know, people're gonna ask why the fuck we have a body of a kid in the goddamn closet."

Damon turns and glances at Murakumo.

"You wanna come or not? I want an answer."

Murakumo slowly sinks back down to her feet, gazing down at her lap and closing her eyes, unable to formulate an answer.

"...I don't even...I don't even know if I want to see that boy's body again..." Murakumo whispers. "I...I don't think...I don't even think I can handle that..."

The face that the boy made when the bullet struck him flashes in Murakumo's eyes once more - the photographic memory of her computerized memory files, combined with the psychological phenomenon of memory flashing, proves haunting as Murakumo finds her body subconsciously shuddering as she recalls the moment.

"...I don't want to see that again..." Murakumo whispers into her hands. "That - th-that face he made - it - it's going to haunt me forever...I swear...I fucking swear..."

Damon gazes at Murakumo. His broken rib is throbbing madly, but he ignores it for the time being.

"What did you see, Murakumo?" Damon asks slowly. "And don't kick me again, otherwise I'll be goin' straight to the damn hospital. Just tell me."

Murakumo furiously shakes her head.

"No! I - I don't wanna think about it! Don't make me!" Murakumo yells, but just the mention of it causes her brain to flash it through her eyes again.

"...you don't think about it and come to terms with it, it really will haunt you forever," Damon murmurs. "No matter what you did to the kid, no matter what happened, I really doubt that's what the kid wanted to have happen. It's not like he really wished to be your worst nightmare."

Murakumo has fallen completely silent. Damon can clearly see her arms trembling, and her turbulent head arrays are not only turned black again but they are also vibrating, as though they themselves are shivering.

Damon shakes his head, groaning.

"Do I really have to do this...?" he complains to himself quietly as he gets up.

Walking over to Murakumo and sitting down again next to her with a grunt of pain, he slides his arm out of his sling for a moment, hisses with pain as he stretches his left arm, and does his best to slide his arms over Murakumo's belly and pulls her towards him.

"Wh-wha - !"

"Shut up and stay like this," Damon says as he rests his chin on Murakumo's head. "And don't punch me. Admiral's orders."

Conflicted with her impulsive desire to shove Damon off and suffering from her trauma of the boy, Murakumo weakly gives into Damon's constant persistence, knowing that she's already broken one of his ribs.

"I'll only stay like until I stop talking, and it won't take long. Afterwards, I'll leave you alone, 'cause I gotta get this rib checked," Damon says. "Deal?"

"...hurry up," Murakumo mutters.

"Look - I know you think I don't deserve to hug you, comfort you, try 'n make you feel better, whatever. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just so absolute trash of a human being that you're right in thinking that you shouldn't become me. Not that I'd want you to either. But the point is, things'll happen that sometimes, they happen for a reason you can't understand - and sometimes maybe without a reason at all. I'm not saying you shouldn't mourn it, or just pass it off as another happenstance kinda thing and ignore it completely. But I'm not saying you should let it get so twisted up in your mind that it shows on your face. Hell, I can tell just by looking at these floaty head thingies," Damon taps Murakumo's floating head arrays. "I'll leave you with this: don't forget the kid, but don't remember the parts that make you feel so bad to the point where you're suffering. Keep him in your memory. Remember him so that next time you end up in a situation like this, or see someone else in a similar situation, you know what to do for that next time. You know what to tell that other person who's going through the same shit as you. If that kid means a lot to you, in whatever way, don't let his death just go without you being able to do something about it. Sure, we can't bring him back like we did for Yuudachi - but you can learn from his death. You can get over this; you're a ship girl, you've been through tougher shit than this. And if you feel like you can't, for God's sake, talk to someone. Like I said in the very beginning, don't just grovel up here all by your lonesome. Just - just talk to someone, anyone. If you don't feel like you have anyone to talk to - come talk to me, sheesh. I might not want to, and you might not want to, but I gotta look after you. Someone has to. And that someone is me. The Admiral guy."

Damon lets go of Murakumo, who slumps without his support. Walking over to the roof hatch and pulling it open, he sits on the edge of the hatch to push himself off onto the attic, but before he does, he glances over at Murakumo one last time.

"By the way, uh...don't feel bad for breaking my rib. If it's to make you feel better for now, that's fine by me, it can heal back. But yeah, like, if you could try ta refrain from hurting me anymore, yeah...that'd be nice. And if nothing else - you're the very first ship girl I ever got. If that makes you feel any better..."

Shrugging, knowing that he probably ended that pretty awkwardly, Damon heaves himself off the attic, leaving the hatch open. Murakumo stares at the open hatch, a part of her wanting her to go over and close the hatch properly, but she simply buries her face in one hand as she rests her head on her right palm.

"Why...?!"

She weakly slaps her left fist against the roof.

"Why...!? Why do I have to be so stubborn like him...?! Why - why couldn't I just tell him...that...that it would've been nice...if he stayed like that for a little bit longer..."


Groaning, holding a water bottle in his hand and a new roll of bandages as he exits out to the front porch again, he slides exhausted into the porch bench. Sanford, still outside and leaning against one of the porch pillars, lowers his candy cigarette.

"You were up there pretty long," Sanford notes. "So long that I thought maybe you'd 'comforted' her, if ya know what I mean."

Damon glares at him.

"No, I don't know what you mean," he retorts sarcastically. "I told you that I don't have time for jokes like that today."

Sanford chuckles. "Pardon me, my dear sir, I wasn't aware I had offended you," Sanford says regally and sarcastically as well. "But what's up with the bandages?"

"Murakumo kicked me in the right side and broke one 'a my ribs. She called it, too."

Sanford laughs. "Love hurts, huh? 'Atta boy."

"Damn, if that's the case, I must be the most beloved fuckin' person in the world!" Damon exclaims sarcastically once more, causing Sanford to chortle even longer. "Now fuckin' help me with this shit, I can't reach for my life."

"Yeah, yeah...might wanna go get that patched up, dependin' on how bad it's broken..." Sanford inspects it. "Eh, not that bad, it'll heal by itself, knowin' what kinda body you've got." He proceeds to wrap Damon's broken rib for him and tosses the roll of bandages onto the bench next to Damon as Damon pulls his shirt back on and gets his sling back on him.

"How long've you been out here?" Damon asks, looking at the candy cigarette in Sanford's fingers. "Don't tell me you've been out here all this time."

"Nah, kid, I went back in and came out like five minutes ago for another smoke," Sanford taps his cigarette. "Lemme tell ya, these orange ones are the shit."

Damon rolls his eyes.

"So? How'd it go?" Sanford asks after Damon gets his left arm back in its sling.

"She's still up there. I dunno if she'll pull through it or not," Damon mutters. "She's a tough one to deal with, sheesh. No wonder I came out with a broken rib."

"Yeah, I figured as such. Murakumo...she's a pretty stubborn one, like you."

"I could tell."

"It's always like that," Sanford adds, puffing on his candy cigarette. "The tough ones, the ones that sound tough and have those tough, up-front attitudes. It's tough ta crack 'em - sometimes you gotta press those specific buttons in order ta make 'em crack - but once they're broken, they just fall apart. I'm not surprised that Murakumo still hasn't gotten over it."

Damon snorts a bit under his breath. "Yeah, what, like what people say about the quiet ones? 'The quiet ones are always the loudest' or somethin' like that?"

"Yeah, basically, except this's the converse of it. Or the corollary. Or whatever the fuck, I dunno. The loud ones whimper, the quiet ones roar. There're exceptions, of course, but generally speaking..." Sanford puffs again. "So you think she's gonna make it through?"

"I won't give her a choice," Damon says quickly and decisively. "She will learn to get over it. I'm not 'bout to jus' let one 'a my ship girls just get all depressed like that. She's my very first one."

Sanford grins. "Be honest with me here, kid, 'cause I'm actually kinda curious. Does that mean a lot to you? The fact that Murakumo's your very first ship girl? I won't judge ya, so just answer me honestly."

Damon nods.

"I ain't afraid to admit it," Damon says quietly. "Murakumo's been with me since the very beginning, before everyone else. Ever since this whole shit started, she's been there. She's talked to me the most and understands me the most outta everyone else. I'd be lyin' if I didn't at least say I care for her. She's the one person who can talk shit on me and I'll care the least."

"More than me?"

"You can go to hell."

Sanford bursts out laughing as his cigarette sputters out.

"Welp, there goes my cig. I'll head in, I'm pretty tired from today. Catch ya in the mornin', eh?"

"Sure...whatever."

"By the way, what're your plans for tomorrow?"

"Why the fuck should I tell you? I'll do what I want."

"Jus' 'cause I'm curious, is it that hard to just say yes or no?"

Damon glares at Sanford momentarily before leaning on his knees with his elbows.

"Gonna take the kid's body to the cremation office," Damon mutters. "I asked Murakumo to come with me, see if it helps her get over it 'n shit."

"That's only if, right? Did she say she was going to come?"

"I just gave her an offer - she didn't really answer, so I don't know. I'm just expecting her not to. Might be better for her - I don't want her flippin' out in the middle 'a public, that's just gonna make everything worse."

"Up to you, kid. Don't forget ta lock the door after ya."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Sanford opens the front door and retreats into the house, leaving Damon alone outside on the porch. Sighing quietly yet another time, Damon unscrews the cap of his water bottle with one hand and takes a swig of water. The water tastes bloody - probably from the blood that's mixing with his saliva from his broken rib that still throbs. Normally, a broken rib like that would require medical attention, but he's had broken ribs before like this, and they've all healed up normally. Then again, a ship girl broke his rib, so it might be possible that something else got damaged too, but he'll take the risk. It's not like his lung is punctured quite yet.

He sits on the porch for a few minutes by himself, using the relative quiet to relax. The voices of the girls on the first floor can be heard through the walls, but Damon can zone them out. Emptying his mind of any thought, he blankly gazes off into the darkness of the street that leads up to the house that he bought for his fleet.

Normally, he'd brood about random stuff, but...not tonight. A lot's already happened today -

"Ad...miral...?"

Damon blinks, bringing his mind back to reality. Glancing over at the door, he notices that someone is holding it open, and one of the girls is gazing out at him.

"Kisaragi?" Damon asks. "Hey...er, yeah, uh, how're you doin'?"

Kisaragi gives him a shy smile. "Is...is it okay if I...speak with you for a moment?"

"I just got done talkin' with Murakumo for over an hour, but yeah, I mean...sit down, I guess..."

Smiling with relief, Kisaragi quietly closes the front door behind her and pats her lap off before she sits down next to Damon.

"Is...Murakumo-chan going to be okay?" she asks quietly and with concern.

"I did my best in tryin'a get her to get over it," Damon shrugs, "but I don't think I did the greatest job. I'm not a guidance counselor, after all."

Kisaragi smiles. "But you are our Admiral. Murakumo-chan...she will appreciate the fact that you came to talk to her. Even if...she might not show it, she knows why you had come to talk to her."

Damon twists his lip. "Yeah...I mean, I...I hope so...I dunno..."

Damon sits up, lifting his elbows off his knees.

"So...did you want to talk to me 'bout somethin', Kisaragi? How're you feeling? You doin' alright after the surgery thing?"

Kisaragi nods.

"I...really wanted to thank you, Admiral," Kisaragi says. Damon realizes just how sweet her voice sounds as she speaks normally - so sweet that one can almost taste it in the air. "Everyone got me up to date with everything that has happened so far. So...so thank you so much for saving me."

Kisaragi gets up again and bows deeply to Damon, who blinks at her awkwardly and finds himself getting flustered.

"Ah...well, no, we - we just happened to run into you," Damon says, very uncomfortable with the fact that this is the first time that he can remember anyone bowing to him like this. "When we found you, I just knew you were another ship girl, 'cause your crate was nearby, so I was just all like, 'oooh, new ship girl!' and I activated you. It wasn't like I consciously knew what was going on beforehand and came in to save you like some kinda altruistic white knight or somethin'."

Kisaragi, noticing that Damon is feeling quite uncomfortable, simply smiles at him and seats herself again.

"What matters to me the most is that you had rescued me and had me repaired to good health," Kisaragi says warmly. "For all I could have known, you could have simply abandoned me when you activated me or done what the others did to me. You could have done anything with me - but instead, you chose to help me."

Kisaragi pulls her eyes down, gazing down at the bench, and tightening her hands together.

"And...I remember the moments before I underwent the surgery. You held my hand, Admiral. Up until that chamber fell down, you held my hand. When I asked you to help me, to take away the pain that I felt, you told me that you would, and now I am here."

Damon sighs. "If you wanna thank anyone, thank Sanford and Mr. Araki. They're the ones who did the surgery...not me. I just told them to do it for you."

Kisaragi smiles again.

"I already did, Admiral. They both told me to come to you and tell you thank you as well, which I wanted to do from the very beginning."

Damon shakes his hand. "You don't need to thank me. I'm...just doing what a proper Admiral should, look after the girls, right? Wouldn't any other person wanna do the same if they were in my shoes? Any decent person, that is."

Kisaragi's smile grows sad, losing its warm, happy luster.

"...clearly, there are not very many decent people in the world, are there?" Kisaragi laments. "Seeing what was done to me and what I suffered..."

"Yeah, there aren't."

An awkward silence cuts in between them.

"Er...so, uh..." Damon clears his throat, vividly aware of this awkward silence and wanting to break it, "are you...are you okay now?"

"Yes, very," Kisaragi chimes. "Thank you, Admiral."

"But what about that other surgery? You know, the one that I mentioned to you about before they gave you the surgery?"

"The one that would reconstruct my vagina?"

The unexpected bluntness of Kisaragi's words takes Damon by surprise.

"Yeah...that one," Damon scratches his hair.

Kisaragi smiles yet again. Her smile is getting to Damon.

"I have thought about it, Admiral. But after thinking about it, I have come to the conclusion that...a surgery like that wouldn't help me. It would only let me escape the reality of what happened to me; and running away from a problem will not solve it. We ship girls move towards the sound of battle in order to resolve the problem; why should I treat this any differently? I cannot change what was done to me - and I cannot expect anyone else to change that for me, either. That surgery would simply make it so that I have an excuse to try to forget the fact that I was raped. It...it is not easy to deal with, yes, but...but some things will never be fully hidden or escaped from. I have accepted that something terrible was done to me, and I have put it behind me. Starting from today, I wish to concentrate on focusing all of my energy to helping this fleet and you, Admiral. I want to make friends with you and everyone else and find everyone else in the Combined Fleet."

Damon can't help but grin too.

"Man, if only Murakumo was like you," Damon sighs, chuckling, "my life'd be so much easier. By the way, uh, you might already know this, but I don't like bein' called Admiral, it makes me feel like a stuck-up bastard. Just call me by my name, Damon. I think that way, we can be friends more quickly, yeah?"

"Damon?" Kisaragi tilts her head a bit and smiles. Her winged hair ornament on her luxurious brown hair, freshly showered and dried, tilts with her. "What a wonderful name."

Damon smirks, but not condescendingly like he usually smirks. "You think so? I don't like it too much myself."

"Aw, why not? I think it is lovely."

"I dunno...it's...it's a bit plain. It woulda been cool to have a name with a bit more flair. Like your name, Kisaragi. It's fun to say, and it sounds cool. Kisaragi."

Kisaragi's cheeks redden a bit. "You are too kind, Damon. Usually...usually people do not say that about my name. After all...'Kisaragi' is an old Japanese term for the month February. It feels slightly...underwhelming, knowing that your name more or less is the name of a month..."

Damon and Kisaragi chuckle together, but they are interrupted by the front door opening again, and this time Sazanami's head pokes out.

"Kisaragi-chan, Kisaragi-chan! Araki-sensei's brought out some clothes for us to wear that he brought over from his place! Wanna come check them out?" Sazanami calls. "Oh, hi, Master!"

"I told'ja ta call me Damon!" Damon says.

"Eeeeeehhhh, 'Damon' sounds too plain! Master sounds better!" Sazanami laughs.

Damon shakes his head and glances at Kisaragi. "See? Told'ja."

Kisaragi giggles and calls, "Yes, I will be right there!" and Sazanami grins and slips back inside, causing the front door to close on itself. Kisaragi stands up, brushing off her lap again.

"Will you stay out awhile, Damon?" Kisaragi asks in her warm, polite voice.

"Yeah...a lot's happened today, and...I just wanna relax out in the quiet for a bit," Damon nods.

Kisaragi nods understandingly.

"And I understand that you may not think of yourself as an altruistic white knight in shining armor," Kisaragi says as she steps in front of Damon. Damon looks up to see what Kisaragi is doing, and she

leans down and gives Damon a kiss on his lips.

Standing back up, Kisaragi blushes and smiles warmly at him again.

"But to me, you're the closest anyone can get to that."

Damon smiles back at her.

"Thanks, Kisaragi."

She nods and heads back into the house, still smiling brilliantly.

Damon still grins like an idiot.

"She said her name means February...feels like more April to me," Damon says to himself.

About another thirty minutes pass when suddenly, Damon hears a chorus of screams coming from within the house. Slightly concerned, Damon gets up and opens the front door to investigate.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on? What's the damn ruckus?" Damon calls into the first floor, where many of the girls, mainly destroyers, have been dressing up in lots of colorful kimonos and yukatas that Mr. Araki had accumulated during his years as a tailor. In fact, many of the girls from other ship types have joined in, eager to try on new Japanese clothes - even the British girls of the Orion-Class, even Erin, have tried on kimonos. For now, though, they are centered around two people, Amagi and Haruna, who are sporting the loveliest kimonos that the girls could find and compelled the two battleships to don.

"Ohhhhhhh, my God, my little imouto can't be this cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuteeeee~! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !" Kongou screams like an excited schoolgirl, hugging and twirling Haruna in her vivid red kimono beautifully sewn with floral decorations and Imperial Japanese crests around. Haruna, torn between telling her older sister to put her down and wanting her sister to hug her even longer, simply lets herself get spun in circles over and over again, while Kaga, wearing a blue kimono of her own, is gazing at Amagi with sparkling eyes.

"You are stunning, Amagi-san," Kaga says breathlessly as Shoukaku and Zuikaku squeal as well.

Amagi is wearing a thick, luxurious apple-green kimono with very long and heavy sleeves. Classical Oriental depictions of the heavens and clouds sweep across the folds of her kimono, a fake but very pretty five-leaved flower is pinned to her lush brown hair that is held up in a dazzling ponytail. Some of her hair is kept in a separate, much shorter lock of hair along her right ear, and her bangs are parted to reveal more of Amagi's deep brown eyes.

"Thank you kindly, Kaga," Amagi beams proudly at Kaga, deeply satisfied with being able to have the opportunity to wear proper Japanese clothes for once. "You girls are lovely too."

"Amagi-saaaaan~!" Shoukaku is unable to bear her impatience and simply lunges at Amagi, hugging her with all her might. "You're soooooooo beautifuuuuuul! I'm so jealous! ! ! ! ! Please give me some of your wonderful hair, pleeeeeeaaaaaasseeeeee!"

Amagi laughs heartily as Zuikaku looks on, disheartened that she isn't the one Shoukaku is hugging right now. Kaga pats Zuikaku on the shoulder.

"Would you like a hug too, Zuikaku?" Kaga grins teasingly.

"N-No, screw you!" Zuikaku stammers, embarrassed.

"Ah, Damon, nice timing!" Kitakami calls, also wearing a simple orange yukata, and runs over to Damon and pulls him inside the house. "We're having some fun and dressed up Haruna and Amagi in the best kimonos we could find. So, whaddya say? Which one you wanna marry, eh? You naughty boy!"

"The hell? I didn't even do anything yet!" Damon cries, but Kitakami pushes him forward, and the girls squeal as Kongou puts Haruna back down on the floor.

"Oooohhhh, here you are, Damon~!" Kongou says with a grand flourish of her hands. "We, the...the..." Kongou's lips contort as she tries to think of a fancy name to call the fleet, and unable to come up with one, she glances over at Haruna. "Haruna, what's the name of this fleet?"

"Ah - ahhhh, um...uh..." Haruna stammers too, not knowing the answer, so Damon simply leans in a bit and whispers loudly,

"The Atlantic Fleet!"

"Yes, that's right, the Atlantic Fleet!" Kongou flourishes once more and carries on like there was no interruption at all. "We, the Atlantic Fleet, would like to present to the Admiral of the Atlantic Fleet, on our behalf, the three most beautiful, most dazzling, most attractive, most stunning, most breathtaking girls the fleet has to offer!"

"Yeah, uh, problem is I only see two," Damon says, pointing at Haruna and Amagi.

"That's because I'm one of them!" Kongou replies, spinning counterclockwise once and letting the folds of her kimono trail behind her quite fancily. "I, the returnee from England - "

Zuikaku simply comes over, picks Kongou up by the waist, and carries her away from the middle of the large living room, Kongou kicking and screaming and demanding to be returned or released at once. Instead, Kaga walks forward, clearing her throat to take Kongou's role.

"We would like you to select the prettier girl, sir," Kaga says simply, "for the rest of the fleet has been unable to determine the victor. The vote that you cast shall determine the winner."

Kaga glares at Damon suddenly.

"I hope you know who to pick," she says in a deadly voice before excusing herself.

The other girls present begin chanting the name of the girl they are rooting for.

"Haruna! Definitely Haruna, Damon!" Mutsu squeals. "Kongou's actually right for once! How can you turn lovely Haruna down? You can't, you can't, my, my!"

"Haruna's cute, but Amagi-san's better!" Ise counters. "You can't beat Amagi-san, it's not possible!"

Damon is very, very uncertain how the situation developed like this.

"...what the fuck? Did you girls just turn this into a goddamn fashion show?" Damon wonders aloud as Sanford, Chuck, and Mr. Araki come down the stairs, laughing at the spectacle.

"Havin' fun there, kiddo?" Sanford calls before howling with laughter at Damon's helplessness. "Aw, c'mon, tons of other guys would fuckin' kill to be where you are now, and you're jus' standin' there lookin' like a moron! Grow some fuckin' ball and pick one of those girls already! Show 'em your manliness, ahahahahahaha~!"

Damon throws up his good arm. "Can't I just say that you're all fuckin' drop-dead gorgeous and leave it at that?!" Damon hollers. "It's really hard to pick, let alone between Haruna and Amagi! I'm not a beauty pageant judge for God's sake!"

Then, the whole living room drops silent as soon as Damon says those words. Damon, not knowing what is about to happen, looks around him, slightly fearing for his life.

"So we're all pretty, is what you're saying, poi?" Yuudachi, in her Kai form, bounces into view.

"...yeah..." Damon looks around. "I mean...as a guy, I don't have a reason to complain, right?"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !"

Yuudachi charges at him and tackles him straight down to the ground.

"Admiral called me pretty, I'm so happy, pooooiiiii! ! ! ! ! !" Yuudachi screams with delight.

"Hey, no fair, I wanna do that too!" Shimakaze yells, and she, too, nearly trips over the bottom of her kimono crashes down onto Damon, and soon, quite a few of the destroyers clobber Damon, building the world's most lethal dogpile with him on the bottom.

"Maybe we should take the kid to the hospital tomorrow, if he's still alive down there," Sanford mutters to Chuck, who laughs heartily in his Indian accent.

"He very lucky boy," Chuck says. "At least he die very good death."

And so, Damon and the fleet enjoy the rest of the night relaxing and frolicking. Well, except for Damon at the bottom of the dogpile.