Thank you all so very much who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. This story passed 100 favorites! Woo Hoo! You're the best and you better believe it. That said, let's get going with this party. It's gonna be a good one. I hope.

Disclaimer: I don't own Azur Lane or any other properties I make references to.

"Did the crow have a pistol? Was he shooting back? I will be."

-James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok, Wild West Lawman, in response to Saloon Owner Phil Coe's attempted intimidation

Chapter 22: The Gilded Lion Pub

Nashville felt light on her feet for the rest of the afternoon and a shining smile came to her face with the slightest of provocations. She could still scarcely believe her own feelings. She loved her commander. She openly acknowledged to herself that her constant thinking on this matter could easily be considered obsessive on her part, but the novelty of being in love was so new and exotic to the light cruiser that she simply couldn't help herself.

This was compounded by the fact that she was devoid of friendly interactions for most of her life as a ship girl. Heaven knows that she wasn't going to get friendliness from her last commanding officer, Captain… Captain… Uh… What was his name again? Spencer. Captain Spencer. That's odd. She had been under that man's command for long enough that surely she should remember his name. But as Nashville found herself dwelling on the oddity of her feeling like the memories of Captain Geoff Spencer were slowly fading away, she decided that she was against it. She felt that even though she didn't like Captain Spencer, she needed to remember him because whether she liked it or not, he was part of what made her the person she is now. This was the case even though she had someone so much better to command her now.

The hardest part of the afternoon as it wore on was when she met her commander at the galley to get some food together for lunch. It was his turn to cook the meal so she was able to busy herself with thinking about when would be the best time to let him know how she felt. After a few minutes of this she wasn't able to decide on a time, but she was able to determine the conditions. The biggest stipulation was a time when she is sure that he would say that he loved her back. So, if what Hood said is true, then all she had to do was stay patient and let him figure out his own feelings. But she had the added problem of needing to make sure that his attention stays on her. She had a feeling that this wouldn't be too hard, but she still needed to take steps to assure this. She settled on figuring out what works and what doesn't one step at a time. She knew that this decision goes against her normal desires for exact plans, but she didn't know up from down about showing that she loves him… Wait… Nashville had a realization that about made her facepalm. What does her favorite music say? Well, stuff like holding hands, kissing, and…other stuff. With more thought, she felt blood rush to her cheeks. There's no way that she can handle doing any of that stuff with Las Vegas right now! She resigned herself to only being able to handle hugs from him for the time being.

It was good that she came to this conclusion because lunch was ready. He called her name to get her attention and then said what was on the menu. But she didn't hear what he had announced that they would be eating because she was busy dealing with the fluttering feeling inside her that blindsided her with how strong it was. This added intensity was likely because she now understood what it was and because she was literally just thinking about what she wanted to do with him. But that wasn't the worst part. When he passed her the plate with the food on it, their hands brushed lightly. This wasn't any different than usual only this time she flashed to ideas of holding his hand. She had to look away as quickly and as subtly as possible lest she give away some sort of redness to her cheeks. She was able to curtail any sort of blush in seconds as she filled her thoughts with things that had nothing to do with Las Vegas. Lunch commenced and she found herself stealing glances at him. Why? She couldn't really tell why. She just was. And then she was completely mortified when he called her out on it, "Do I have something on my face?"

Nashville legitimately started to panic. She'd been caught taking glances at him. "No!" she exclaimed. He jumped a little at the sudden rise of her voice so with her panic not lessened in the slightest, she forced herself back to an indoor voice, "Not at all. Perfectly normal."

"Ooooookaaaaay," he responded slowly. "Is there something wrong at all?"

Oh no! He thought that she was weird! She needed to salvage the situation, and fast. So, she pulled an excuse out of thin air. "Sorry. Over the past hour it's really been bugging me how we still don't know anything about the next superweapon or how we still have no idea how to fix that. It's starting to stress me out. You know?"

"Yeah, I feel you," he responded, accepting the made-up excuse because it was starting to bother him too. He thought for a few seconds before he said, "The way I see it, we'll probably have to do things the arduous way, tracking down surviving sailors and getting their stories. We'll just have to hope that The Heralds of the Deep haven't gotten to them yet. But the fact remains that we can't move until your repairs are done. And no, I won't take you into battle against literal sea monsters in any condition other than one-hundred percent."

Nashville smiled at that. She loved how he always made sure that everything was okay with her. "That's awful sweet of you. It means a lot that you care."

"Well, of course I care," he said as if stating the obvious. "We gotta take care of each other if we hope to finish the mission one day. We're a team, right? No matter what happens?"

Nashville agreed that he spoke the truth, and that they were a team no matter what happens. And then from that point, they shared pleasant conversation—like friends—as they were able to finish their meal and get it all cleaned up.

From that point, the afternoon wore on into evening and the time was rapidly approaching for the duo to get going for the pub to celebrate the victory from the day before. But about an hour before the appointed meeting time came, a message from Queen Elizabeth allowed all attending the freedom to come in casual attire. This was a welcome addition as shown by all who responded their affirmatives as it would allow a more, well, causal atmosphere.

As the duo split to get ready for the evening Nashville again found herself in a now somewhat familiar predicament. What should she wear? Only this time, she understood exactly why she wanted to look her best. She had to make sure her commander liked how she looked. It was an odd transition that she had to laugh at though. Over the course of less than three days, she had gone from dressing to tease him to trying to dress how she thought he'd like. Well, that meant that she'd have to pull out all the stops. But she was helped by the fact that by most standards—including what she figured was Las Vegas's—she had what would be referred to as, "a smokin' hot body." So, let's build off of that. She found herself choosing a pair of sneakers that had a camouflage pattern that kind of reminded her of her hull's dazzle camouflage. She felt like she could take advantage of the summer and wear a pair of short shorts, but the possibility of London's characteristic rain made her choose a pair of dark jeans that did a particularly good job at highlighting her feminine form and shapely stern—which just so happened to be her personal favorite part of her figure. Then her attention shifted upward. In a time that seems to have disappeared, she didn't much care for the large size of her assets. They got in her way more than anything, would hurt if not supported by a bra for too long, and motivated the likes of Captain Spencer to look to much. But right now, she had a mission and a cause worth some historic discomfort. She had a man to win over, and Nashville had resolved to not pulling punches. Uh… Within reason that is. If she were to go dressed in a bra-top like Hornet, without Hornet's very particular brand of happy-go-lucky care-free personality, she'd come off as what she would consider desperate, and she didn't want that. Nashville thought harder and considered some options. The halter top from last time? No. Repetition is to be avoided if she can help it. A button up shirt of some variety? Good to show off cleavage, and she could even get a gap between buttons with a shirt of the right size. No. She couldn't find one in a color that she liked. She gravitated towards an olive-drab V-neck tee that would do just fine for fitting the occasion and showing off her considerable bosom. On it went, and she found a suitable jacket for the possibility of rain. Her bow was in the right place after only her third try. Seriously, Cheshire made tying it look so easy.

She went to leave her cabin to find her commander already waiting outside. He too had decided to prepare for the possibility of rain. He was the kind of guy that lived in jeans rain or shine, so he did that, but he also sported a baseball tee-shirt that was covered in a bomber jacket. Nashville instantly grew sheepish looking for any sign of his approval. The irony was that he was trying his absolute hardest to not show any sort of reaction that could risk him getting in trouble with or being teased by his companion. So, they passed an admittedly awkward moment when neither said anything and just stood there.

Trying to segue into any way to escape this situation, Las Vegas said while looking a little to the side, "You look really good." He managed to keep from sounding too enthusiastic in his response. She really did look good though, and he was again reminded that he travels with an incredibly beautiful woman.

"Thanks," she replied as she brushed her ash-blonde hair behind her ear. He wasn't looking to see her make this instinctive gesture. "I really like your jacket. You pull it off."

A complement about appearance is one way to make any guy's mood brighten, and that's exactly what happened. With a smile he turned and looked towards Nashville, who smiled back with that radiant white smile of hers, and he said, "Thanks. So, do you have everything? Your camera seems like a good idea."

She was thankful for the reminder, so she went to grab it while he went for the backpack to carry it in. But when he re-entered his own cabin, something began to bug him. The pub that they were going to gave him the creeps. Thanks a lot, creepy-darts-guy. Las Vegas naturally had Giovanni and his knife with him, but he found himself over by where the small storage space was. He grabbed the backpack no trouble, but without thinking too hard he grabbed an extra two magazines of nine-millimeter ammunition for his pistol. So, there was a magazine inside Giovanni now, and he had another four inside his waistband. Seventy-five rounds should be enough for anything that isn't a ship girl or a humanoid Siren. He justified this thought with a line he heard in a movie, "It's better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it." Let's just hope that he isn't the first to die like the character who said that.

He rejoined Nashville outside and they put the camera in the backpack, and they set off from her hull. They went down Nashville's gangway and they turned northward to go to the pub.

But they were being followed.

XXXXXXXX

"Oi Frankie. They're on the move," said the cultist called, Albert, who was losing his patience waiting.

"Fucking finally," growled his partner in crime, Frankie. "I thought that we'd have to sleep outside tonight."

"I hear ya, but let's not hold this up." Then Frankie and Albert got on the move to form up with the other partners.

Since Frankie and Albert were the furthest from the direction where The Magician was going, they were the first to move. After a short walk, the two cultists approached another duo that was just as haggard looking as they were.

A practical need of any organization needing to operate in the open yet maintain secrecy is the need to be able to identify one another. So, with this need in mind, The Heralds of the Deep had a system of hand gestures that meant various things. In this way, The Heralds of the Deep were able to conceal their secret works of darkness in broad daylight. Right now, Frankie flashed the symbol of recognition to the other duo they were meeting. This gesture had a special meaning. As revealed to them by The Deep Seer, the gesture roughly translated to, "Brother," or, "Sister," but it went so much deeper into the eldritch void than that. It was a symbol of their warped loyalty to their cause and to each other in life and in death, among other things too "sacred" to ponder about for too long or risk going over the edge.

"'bout time you lads showed up," said one of the unnamed cultists.

"Shut the hell up, Ezra," ordered the fourth cultist, identifying the impatient one among them.

"Thanks, Aaron," said Albert. "Let's not keep Quincy waiting."

With that Aaron, Ezra, Albert, and Frankie went to join up with the final duo before they started to follow The Magician for their opportunity to kill him.

They approached a final haggard looking duo. Ezra, being the most excited to get on with this, was the one to flash the recognition signal. Quincy, the most senior brother among them, and their de facto leader, signaled back and commented to his own partner, "See George? Have some faith in them, would you?" George didn't have anything to say, instead chuckling darkly. He was the closest to going over the edge to enlightenment. Quincy shrugged like nothing was wrong and turned to the four that had just joined them and said, "We'll follow them separately in the partners that we had before. When they stop, we'll meet on the nearest street corner and get a plan together." He looked on the faces of his brethren and smiled with crooked teeth then said, "Let's get moving."

They didn't know it, but at this very moment, the cultists got a lucky break because directly on the other side of the road was Sirius and her sister Black Prince as they walked and chatted on their way to the pub where the fleet was gathering. The ship girls distracting themselves would allow the six men to get close to their target because they wouldn't recognize the nefarious party. Nevertheless, all involved were none the wiser of this fact as the six men separated into their partners to follow The Magician. Fortunately, he and his companion hadn't deviated from the straight path to duck out of sight, so it was easy for the goons to track him. They didn't dare speak among themselves or they would lose their focus on the task at hand, or they would possibly give their vile intentions away to the ever-listening streets of London.

Only fifteen minutes and two corners were needed before The Magician dipped into a pub that Albert's nostalgia recognized as The Gilded Lion. It was one of his favorites that had a lot of good memories from before The Heralds of the Deep found and "saved" him. But the darkness of Albert's heart quickly overrode the final call that the fleeting nostalgia gave him, imploring him to change his ways. Even after all the evil he had committed for his faith, only now did Albert cross the line of no return. The good man that Albert once had been was now gone, never to return.

Albert and Frankie joined up with Aaron, Ezra, George, and Quincy at the appointed place just up the block from the pub. Quincy then led them into a nearby alley where nobody would overhear them as they go over the final plan to kill The Magician once and for all.

XXXXXXXX

Las Vegas and Nashville were able to enter into the pub without any sort of ceremony and they saw the gathering of ship girls in one of the corners of the pub. At a glance, Las Vegas saw that all who had been involved in the Battle of the Thames plus a few that arrived with Queen Elizabeth were present, with only one missing though, but he had a feeling that she would show up soon. Their entry was noticed and a few of those that had already been waiting waved to welcome the newcomers. Their greetings were returned when out of nowhere Las Vegas was assailed by a big hug from behind. There she was. The accompanying voice allowed him to identify who it was quickly. "It's so, so, so great to finally see you today, Calico Jack!" declared Cheshire, who then began to hum happily as if she was purring.

Calico Jack's spirits were now lifted slightly from having to enter the pub that he would have rather avoided. He was able to respond, "It's great to see you to. But can you let me go for a second?"

Realizing how ineffectual her hug was at getting any sort of return by coming from behind and pinning the man's arms to his side, Cheshire obliged him to let him turn around. Then Cheshire glomped onto him again for part two of her hug attack. This one he was able to return with no issue.

Nashville was frowning through the whole encounter, but she was able to remind herself how much of an advantage she had over Cheshire if it came to trying to win over Las Vegas. But then Nashville had a moment when she tried to ascertain what Cheshire wanted with her commander. She wasn't certain, but Nashville felt it safest to assume that she was vying for his affections. Nashville was able to prevent her jealousy from growing too hot over the course of the hug, but she was able to confirm that she will likely never be fully rid of feeling envious when this happens. But when the hug broke off, she felt better just like she had expected. Then Cheshire turned to her and gave her a greeting and complimented her bow. With those words, Nashville was able to smile back at her friend and they spoke as they along with the man among them walked back to the rest of the fleet.

As was expected, the union duo greeted Queen Elizabeth first and then followed with the rest of the court. They were indeed dressed casually but they had some stylistic choices that really shouldn't have surprised the codebreaker. Hood still wearing a knee-length skirt for example. Given the presence of men drinking in the same establishment, Illustrious had opted for something that showed less cleavage than usual. But then both Prince of Wales and Duke of York kept their characteristic color of red in their attire.

But the most singular thing that Calico Jack was able to notice in no time was that Prince of Wales was a heavy weight when it came to her alcohol consumption. She perhaps even rivaled Nelson. If the half-dozen empty glasses in front of her had anything to say, she was here to party. Or maybe she drank to forget something? Or maybe Calico Jack was reading to hard into this and she just really likes to drink? Whatever the case may be, the still rising moon showed that the night was young and much more alcohol would fall victim to Prince of Wales's ravenous thirst. Duke of York had a long night ahead of her making sure her older sister doesn't do anything too stupid.

Having greeted the royal court, Nashville and her commander moved to an adjacent table to greet the maids. All four who had been on Nashville's bridge earlier that day were present, and in addition, Black Prince sat beside Sirius. Deciding against showing any sort of preferences, Calico Jack went with a general greeting, "How are all of you doing?"

The response was unsurprisingly positive and then Belfast invited the union duo to sit at their table. It was accepted and the table meant for eight was suddenly mostly full. Then in another appearing act, Cheshire suddenly occupied the final open seat next to Calico Jack. Now the table was full, but before they weren't able to get very comfortable Sirius got Calico Jack's attention and asked, "Sir Calico Jack, would it be alright if my sister and I speak with you for a few minutes?"

Having overcome his initial response of shuddering at being called, "sir," again, he was able to conclude very quickly that Sirius wanted him to talk more about Dido's death. And since it turned out the Black Prince was Sirius's sister meant that he was in a tight spot indeed. Well, it would be wrong of him to decline, so he accepted, and the two Dido-sisters stood with the pirate knight to find a separate table sufficiently separated from the other pub-goers.

Once they got to the table and sat down with the sisters on one side and the codebreaker on the other Sirius began to speak, "Would you please repeat what you told me earlier to my sister?"

"Right here? Right now?" he asked to confirm that Sirius really wanted to talk about this right now. Sirius nodded affirmative.

"In that case, I can," he said plainly. But unspoken was the stipulation, "But not in it's entirety." While it is sad that someone's sister is dead, there is still a lot of information on the issue that is highly classified. But before he said anything he asked Black Prince, "What has Sirius told you?"

"Just that you know something important about us sisters."

"Alright then," he acknowledged and then he brought his thumb and forefinger to his chin in thought for a few seconds thinking about how he was going to say this. Well, he might as well just get it over with, "I know what happened to Dido."

That got Black Prince's attention quickly and she asked hurriedly and with a slightly raised voice, "What? Then where is she? Is she alright?"

Calico Jack decided that the best course of action was to repeat exactly what he has said to Sirius earlier in the day, "I must inform you that your sister was reported dead in the Indian Ocean about eight months ago. She died in the line of duty. I'm sorry for your loss."

Black Prince slumped in her seat, speechless. She, like Sirius, had given up on ever hearing from their lost elder sister ever again. And when Black Prince finally heard something…Dido was dead. Gone. Never to come back. Since she finally heard an answer to a question that has burned for so long and that the answer was something that she had hoped against hope wouldn't happen, Black Prince brought her hands to her face in an attempt to quell tears. She failed in containing tears, but she managed to keep herself from making too much noise in a public place. Sirius was already embracing her sister to try any give Black Prince as much comfort from togetherness that she could. So, in the presence of her sister and the messenger of Dido's passing, Black Prince began to mourn.

This was a moment that reinforced Calico Jack's opinion that there is no meaningful difference between ship girls and regular humans. Death hurts the same to everyone. It's part of life, and part of being human. Nevertheless, he decided that this wasn't a moment that required his presence. So, he muttered something to excuse himself. But as he was sliding his chair out, he was stopped by a single word question from Black Prince. "How?" she asked.

This was a question that he wasn't looking forward to answering. "It's all classified. I'm sorry."

That wasn't what Black Prince wanted to hear, but it was the truth. And if she were being honest with herself, she liked hearing the truth and even a part of herself was glad to remain in ignorance of how Dido met her fate.

He finished standing but then felt to ask Sirius, "Does London have any sisters here?"

"Sussex," she answered, while still cradling her sister.

He thanked her and left to search out Sussex, whom he had only met the day before when they went to the pub right after the battle. He found her without too much issue as she sat in the company of a few of the London Garrison. He was able to get her to speak with him alone and come to a table that was again separate from others that might be eavesdropping. In much the same way as he had done with Sirius and then Black Prince, he made her aware of London's death. This time, instead of excusing himself quickly, he remained as she spent a few minutes composing herself. Then he escorted her back to where she was sitting before.

Having seen what had happened, but not overheard the proceedings, Queen Elizabeth was pleased with how Calico Jack took it upon himself to bring some sort of closure to those who knew nothing of their sisters' fates. She had to smile at how in her eyes, one that she had accused of being a pirate was in fact an honorable man. Or at least, he was honorable according to her definition of the nebulous concept.

But as Calico Jack was walking to return to the seat he had marked with his jacket and backpack hanging on it's back, the door of the pub swung open. In walked a rather haggard looking man that looked like he hadn't had proper sleep in ages. The haggard cultist with no future and the man with no name made eye contact for an instant before both resumed on their walking courses. The codebreaker found himself suspicious of the man as he walked into the pub leading a gaggle of other haggard looking men. He had rejoined Nashville as he heard the bartender call, "Albert? Albert Dunn! It is you? My God, it's been what? Three or four years since I last saw you?"

"Yeah," replied the one now identified as, 'Albert.' "The Navy took up my time and I've'nt had time to come by. But now that I'm here, ya mind fixin' me and my mates up with a drink?" That navy part was a portion of the truth, but then Albert fell in with the wrong crowd a few months ago.

"Not a problem," replied the bartender happily. "Anything for Ross's boy."

Calico Jack watched as the men congregated at one end of the pub that was fortunately distant from where the fleet was seated. He would have to keep an eye on them because they just smelled like insanity. Again, he was profiling someone by thinking that they were up to no good simply because something felt off. But still, Calico Jack had no sort of training about reading people, so it was the best he could do.

But his attention was drawn away from the strange men that had just sat down when a voice that he hadn't expected to hear reached his ears. "Hi, Calico Jack!"

He turned to the voice to identify Javelin. It seemed that she had traveled to London as part of Queen Elizabeth's fleet. He couldn't help but smile at seeing her. She herself was smiling. But he was able to respond, "Well, hi to you too. How have you been?"

Javelin nodded happily without a care in the world. That sort of attitude was catching and in spite of his suspicions of a certain group in another corner of the pub, he felt a bit better. She reported, "I'm great! And I wanted to thank you again for getting Laffey's letter to me."

"Not a problem."

Then Javelin turned sheepish for a moment and he had to wonder why. Javelin didn't make him wait too long before showing him why. She reached behind herself to produce a few envelopes of her own. He guessed what the envelopes were for. But still, Javelin began to explain, "These are my own letters like Laffey's. I was hoping that I could ask you to deliver them for me?"

He held out his hand to accept them. She handed them over and he looked who they were addressed to. He said, "Z23 and Ayanami should be easy enough, but I'm not sure if we'll have a chance in the near future to get the letter to Laffey. But I'll see what I can do."

That really made Javelin happy. She was so happy that she threw her arms around the man and exclaimed, "Thank you so much, Calico Jack! I knew that I could ask you to do this for me!"

Though he had been straining to hear what was being said, Quincy was now concerned with the task given them. The name of the guy they were supposed to kill was, "The Magician," but here were all these women—which was a whole other question of his as to who they were—calling the man that they were sure was The Magician, "Calico Jack." Quincy was afraid that they got the wrong man. And while Quincy had absolutely no qualms about ending someone's life violently, he understood that for the sake of the cause, they couldn't go around killing people just because they felt like it—that would attract too much attention. He thought for a few seconds as he weighed this new consideration. Quincy decided that the plan would remain nearly the same. Himself, George, Frankie, and Albert would corner The Magician in the restroom whenever he went but they would add in the step of making sure it was the right person before they killed him. Aaron and Ezra would be able to stay outside of the room and stall any potential aid for The Magician while the other four got the job done. Then, assuming the job was done quietly enough, they would get going from the pub before anyone noticed anything was up and if things went loudly, they would bail out of the place via the back entrance through the pub's kitchen whose entrance was fortunately close to the restroom. They understood that their escape wouldn't be guaranteed, but they all had cyanide pills if it came down to it, and so long as The Magician was dead, their salvation would be assured and one of their gods avenged. Now they just had to wait.

As the evening began to wear on, the fleet was able to properly unwind and celebrate the recent victory. Some chose to celebrate with drinking. Prince of Wales, Nelson, and a few others did this. Then there were others that leaned towards moderation or abstaining altogether. Calico Jack was obviously among these, but surprisingly Nashville decided that she would take it easy with alcohol tonight, having learned her lesson from her woes the last time she drank heavily.

Nearly two hours would pass before Calico Jack would feel the pull of nature to relieve himself. But when he looked around to where the restroom was, he was able to notice that the haggard men were still right where they had sat hours earlier and that they were sitting right next to where the restroom was. He then internally asked himself a question that all men ask themselves at least once in their lives, "Am I sure that I need to take a piss?" His gut told him to hold it, they wouldn't be there for much longer.

That wasn't the case. He managed to hold it for another half hour when he started to ask himself a follow up question, "Is my paranoia seriously doing this to me right now?" It was, but the call of nature was really making it hard to satisfy the screeches of his paranoia. He mentally threw his hands in the air and thought to himself, "Fine. I'll just make this quick."

This would be a potentially fatal decision. But whatever the outcome, it set things in motion that would have world level consequences. It was hilarious in a cosmic sort of way that a crossroads of time and history would happen when some guy with no name needs to relieve himself in a pub in East London.

He stood to go to the men's room to do his business and though he was watching the haggard group as subtly as he could, he failed to notice a few small smiles that they put forth at seeing things going their way. He passed them and entered the washroom.

Quincy had a feeling based on their quarry's facial expression that he had been holding it for a while, so there was no rush to file four men into the room after him. He decided to wait thirty seconds before making any move and hope that anyone watching where their man had gone was looking away.

The thirty seconds were up when Quincy gave the signal to begin. "For the cause," he whispered.

"For the cause," his five brothers whispered back. They began the plan. Quincy, George, Frankie, and Albert stood to go into the restroom while Ezra and Aaron kept watch of the pub.

This act had not gone unnoticed by Belfast. She didn't move immediately because while this act was strange, it wasn't too far out of the ordinary, not to mention the fact that she was ignorant that anybody wanted Calico Jack's head.

XXXXXXXX

Just like he had planned, Las Vegas had finished his business in record time, managing to relieve himself fully and zip up the fly on his jeans when he heard the door swing open. He had stepped away from the urinal he had chosen which was closest to the wall opposite from the door, and he turned to look at the newcomers. He dreaded what he saw yet wasn't surprised by it. It was four of the six haggard men that he was suspicious of. His suspicions were further confirmed but not completely, so he began to reach behind him towards Giovanni in case anybody made fast movements.

This wasn't unnoticed by Quincy and company. They stopped about halfway across the room from Las Vegas. Only four or five yards separated them. Quincy thought to himself, "Bugger me, he's armed." He had to salvage this quickly or the man they thought was The Magician could possibly fight back. "Look we're not here for trouble," reasoned Quincy aloud to the man with the concealed gun, "We just have a few questions."

The Magician said nothing but made no movements, so Quincy took that as his queue to continue, "Are you armed?"

"I thought that was obvious," remarked Las Vegas.

"Okay," responded Quincy. "Are you, 'The Magician?'"

Well, that confirmed the identity of the haggard men in the mind of Las Vegas. The only people who could possibly know about that name would be the ship girls of the Eagle Union, a select few associates among Queen Elizabeth's court, or the Sirens and the Heralds of the Deep from radio chatter. Las Vegas looked to the side to confirm that all the stalls were unoccupied. They were alone, so secrecy was less vital right now. He said, "Yeah, and I take it that you four plus your two other "mates" outside are with The Heralds of the Deep?"

Now that was news to Quincy. Their faith was known of to the outside world. Panic possessed Quincy but he forced that feeling down in the face of this near-worst case scenario revelation. Their enemy knows of them, that means that before they killed the man that they could now confirm as The Magician, they had to get what he knew and who else knew. There were more throats to slit tonight it seemed. "Yeah," replied Quincy, out of respect that the Magician openly acknowledged who he was. "We were here to kill you, but if you answer a few questions, we'll let you walk free and go back to your harem."

"I promise you that they aren't my harem," appealed the Magician. "I'd probably die if they were." He saw right through the lie though. These men would try to kill him whether he cooperated or not. But he might as well play along to see how far down this hole went, and it might even give him time to figure out a plan to get him out of this situation in one piece.

Quincy ignored the harem comment and said, "But first, I need you to hand over your weapon."

Las Vegas made a show of humming for a few seconds like he was really considering that request. But then after a few seconds he said, "I don't think I will."

Quincy challenged back, "Look mate, do you really think that even with a gun you can take on the four of us from this distance?" To emphasize his point, he dropped the knife down from where he concealed it up his sleeve, and the other cultists followed suit.

Las Vegas was starting to panic. He was in a really tight spot and he couldn't see anyway out without violence, and his life was up in the air. He was confronted with a choice that he had hoped to avoid by joining the navy and not the marines. "Did he have what it takes to kill someone?" He needed to choose quickly though, or the cultists would lose their patience. He made a choice in only a few seconds, and that fact sickened him a little. If it came down to it and he had to choose between his life, and the life of his enemy, he would save himself. He got a plan together that might just let him survive this situation, and it depended him on getting the first shot off. He had just the right idea to do it, but first, he had to say something. "No. I guess I can't," admitted Las Vegas as the first step of his bluff.

He would have normally relied on his quick draw to do the job, but since Giovanni was currently concealed underneath his shirt that hung over the pistol—as opposed to having his shirt tucked behind his weapon's grip—he didn't trust himself to make a draw quick enough to save himself without either dropping the gun as it got caught in his shirt or was too slow that allowed his knife wielding enemies to get the drop on him. But he had just the trick in mind to save himself though.

He slowly withdrew Giovanni from his concealed carry holster without putting his hand on the grip in any aggressive ways. He held the pistol out with the grip facing towards the cultists. They didn't notice how he curled his trigger finger in the trigger guard as he held it out though. Las Vegas made sure that instead of holding Giovanni straight out he held it somewhat to his left, or to the talking cultist's dominant right hand, with the hope that this would motivate the cultist to exchange his knife to his left hand. The cultist doing this would be the signal to pull out his fancy gunplay. He just couldn't mess this up, or he'd be a dead man. He remembered something a wild west lawman named Wyatt Earp once said about gunfighting, "You need to take your time in a hurry." So, take your time and do it right, but fast. With his plan literally in hand and his heart in his throat, Las Vegas said one final thing to lay out his bait, "Okay then. Take it. I don't want anyone to get hurt."

Quincy and his fellows fell for the bait, hook, line, and sinker. "Good man," said Quincy with a wicked smile echoed by his fellows. Things were going their way. The leader made two steps forward to reach for the gun. As he made his second step, he motioned to transition his knife to his left hand. This would be Quincy's last mistake in this life.

Right as Quincy's right hand met his left to pass his knife in front of himself, Las Vegas allowed Giovanni to fall sideways in his grip. The pistol hooked on his trigger finger inside the trigger guard and with a smooth flick of his wrist, Giovanni spun backwards into a firing position. This gunplay move is called, "The Road Agent's Spin." It's more of a revolver technique but Las Vegas made it work. But whatever the case may be, it was done too fast for Quincy to react.

"I lied," informed Las Vegas quickly, to let Quincy know that he had just been tricked.

At point blank range, Las Vegas pulled the trigger and Giovanni roared in response.

It's hard to overstate just how brutally loud a gunshot is. Giovanni's own bark weighed in at around 160 decibels, which is louder than either a jet taking off or a rock concert. There's a reason that shooters wear ear protection when shooting and it's volume is something that movies cannot properly portray. So, in an enclosed space like inside a pub restroom, without hearing protection, the sound was particularly miserable. Another thing that movies often don't capture accurately is muzzle flash. As the nine-millimeter bullet left Giovanni's muzzle at over the speed of sound, leftover bits of gunpowder followed the projectile where it made a giant flash of fire as it finished combusting in the open air. Fortunately, smokeless gunpowder kept everyone's vison unobscured by smoke.

But none of these facts made Quincy's final moments of life easier as a small piece of brass and lead entered his chest at high speed. The first shot went right where Las Vegas was aiming—Quincy's heart. The bullet found it's mark, savagely tearing through flesh as it went where it would eventually deflect off the man's back ribs and exit his body in a direction that wouldn't harm anybody. Before Quincy could react in a state now slowed by a sudden cacophonous bang and bright flash, he lost consciousness and fell to the ground. He would die less than five seconds later.

The first blood had been drawn.

And that blood was on Las Vegas's hands.

As the one who had sprung the trap that had "bang-boozled" the cultists, Las Vegas was able to prepare for the sound and flash of his gunshot. His ears rang fiercely but he was not disoriented in the slightest. But that would only buy him a split second before the three remaining cultists charged, and he still didn't know where the other two were. There was no time to ponder the consequences of taking his first life so before that thought had even entered his mind, he switched targets while his left-hand dove for his pocket that had his knife in it. With luck, he could get a second shot off before the other three reacted and have his knife out before they got to him.

The group of four had entered the restroom in a V-shaped formation with Quincy at the tip, George on his right, and then Frankie and Albert on his left. Las Vegas saw that there were targets—not people but targets—closer together on his right so his aim shifted in that direction.

The three remaining cultists had recovered their wits and instinctively began to move.

As Frankie's posture broke from standing straight up to begin moving forward, Las Vegas fired his second shot that like Quincy, entered into his chest cavity. His movement kept his own heart from being torn to shreds like Quincy's, but luck was still not on Frankie's side. The bullet tore through an artery right above his heart and as chance would have it, that very artery was a prime target that Belfast had shown Las Vegas for a stab as it would run underneath the collar bone a little further along it's path from the heart.

Quincy had gone unconscious from his mortal wound in nary a single second, Frankie was graced with one last favor from the universe because he had two seconds before unconsciousness would take him, but no amount of medicine could save him in his final seconds of life. He would die at about the same time as Quincy would.

Though he would retain consciousness for a few moments more, the force of getting struck by a slug of metal made him stumble and fall forwards in line with his forward movement. He didn't have enough time to do anything to Las Vegas except slide pitifully on the ground, carried by his momentum until he hit the wall right behind the person they were supposed to be hunting.

The last two cultists were right on top of Las Vegas, with George having a slight lead on Albert. In that last split second before George and Albert could introduce their knives to Las Vegas's flesh, the gunfighter was able to make two incredibly quick but wildly unaimed shots that still hit Albert in his chest. While the shots that had hit Quincy and Frankie were guaranteed to kill in seconds, Albert was luckier because having holes in the lungs isn't something to instantly put someone out of a fight. Albert would have enough time to make one strike before his strength would leave him and he would pass out from pain in a few seconds.

Las Vegas's left hand had found his folding knife in his pocket and he had even managed to get it out of his pocket as George started a haymaker-like downward slash with his knife's polished steel glinting in the restroom's lighting. Too bad Las Vegas's knife was still in it's folded state, so he couldn't block or parry with it, and George was too close to transition his pistol's aim from his right to his left. There was no time to dodge left or right, and there was no room to dodge backwards.

Acting on the instinct of self-preservation, Las Vegas's body decided that a wound to an extremity was better than getting stabbed in anything vital. With the knife still folded, but solidly in his grip, Las Vegas snapped his left forearm upwards to block George's knife.

Cold steel met warm flesh as George's knife made a deep gash in Las Vegas's arm. Fortunately, Las Vegas's instinct was able to raise his arm high enough to meet George's knife at an angle that would make it so that the knife would meet the relatively bony side of his arm that was closer to his wrist than his elbow, instead of the fleshier muscles and tendons of the top or bottom of his arm. Because George's strike was parallel to Las Vegas's arm that was in an instinctive high block, his knife met bone quickly and since it wasn't sharp enough to imbed in Las Vegas's bone, it bounced out of the wound.

Before the pain could register, Las Vegas's right hand that still had an iron grip on Giovanni went into action. A gun would normally be used to shoot, but that isn't what happened as he brought the gun in a slapping action called, "pistol whipping," that struck George in the side of his face, knocking him backwards momentarily. With a yell that conveyed both pain and anger, Las Vegas shoved George to the side right as Albert started to thrust his knife forward in a stab that looked to be aimed for his target's face.

The gunfighter dodged the frantic stab easily due to Albert's amateurish skill. In reality, that ease was because of Las Vegas's experiences sparring with a literal superhuman. But whatever the case may be, his right arm brought Giovanni back into action into a backhanded pistol whip that struck Albert in the side of his head, knocking him over and giving him a concussion that made him unconscious before he hit the ground.

But with that pistol whip, Las Vegas had swung too wide so that he couldn't bring it into play as George recovered his bearings. But in a practiced motion—courtesy of Belfast's tutelage—his left hand flicked open his knife to receive the last standing cultist.

With a howl that indicated that George had finally went over the edge into insanity, he brought his knife in the exact same right-handed downward slash as he did last time. Las Vegas deflected George's strike to the left and that let the strike hit nothing but air. The codebreaker's knife that was still firmly held despite his wounded arm shot upwards to stab George in the carotid artery in the side of his neck. But since George still had one last moment to do something even with a knife in his neck, Giovanni finally found his last target, and he flung a metal slug going faster than sound into George's face, spraying blood on the sinks, mirrors, and a bit on Las Vegas's face. The corpse of the cultist once called George fell on the ground and off Las Vegas's knife with a sound best described as, "wet."

Out of habit and without thought, Las Vegas depressed the decocker on Giovanni because he had run out of targets. The hammer clicked forward, and the pistol's trigger went from the short six-and-a-half-pound single action pull to the much longer eleven pound double action pull.

Las Vegas had won the very first fight of his life. He was wounded in a way that hurt worse than any pain he had felt before and it was a good risk for infection, and he could even bleed out if the bleeding wasn't stopped soon. But for the moment, he was alive. And that was what mattered.

XXXXXXXX

Four of the men had disappeared into the washroom for all of fifteen seconds before Belfast's sense that something was very wrong went off. She acted on it immediately and said to Nashville who sat beside her, "Something is wrong. We need to get your commander, right now."

Belfast's urgency registered with Nashville instantly and without any questions asked, both rose from their seats. They made it two steps for the men's room when the first gunshot was heard.

That surprised everyone in the pub and there was a brief moment where everyone was shocked into inaction. It was the second shot a split second later that broke the spell. All of the non-ship girl pub-goers started fleeing for the door in a panic, shouting and screaming as they went. As per their training and the shouting of Queen Elizabeth, the ship girls stayed put. Belfast and Nashville started their charge for the restroom but were delayed momentarily as fearful people obstructed their way.

They had cleared the crowd when a new obstacle presented itself. Ezra and Aaron were prepared to receive them and in unison, the cultist duo successfully flipped the table they had been sitting at to make it fly in the direction of the advancing women.

Belfast and Nashville dodged to either side as the table sailed through the air between them. Ezra and Aaron rushed the two ship girls with their knives drawn and the intent to kill the women.

Two more shots were heard. Las Vegas wasn't dead yet, but the two ship girls had to hurry and beat their opponents quickly.

Even though ship girls are vulnerable to small arms and other man-portable weapons without their rigging activated, Ezra and Aaron still didn't stand a chance.

Nashville favored an in-fighting style of boxing that emphasized head movement to avoid getting hit, so when Ezra started a slash meant for her neck, she brought her fists up to her chin and she did what is called "slipping," that let her dodge underneath the slash and inside Ezra's guard. It whizzed through the air above her head and from her slightly crouched position, she was able to deliver an uppercut to Ezra's chin that would make the greatest of all boxers jealous for it's raw power. The blow fueled by superhuman strength shattered the cultist's jaw, crushed his sinus cavity, and irreparably damaged his optical nerves making him go blind. But none of this mattered when his head snapped backward with the uppercut and it broke his neck, killing him instantly. The corpse flew backwards a few feet from Nashville's strength.

At the same time, Aaron went to stab Belfast in her chest, but his strike was caught and then deflected upwards. She spun around the arm that she had a hold of with the grace of a dancer despite her high-heels, and then she judo flipped Aaron over her. He landed on the ground flat on his back and gave himself a good conk on the head when he landed. He looked up and could confirm that Belfast was wearing black this evening when she delivered a savage stomp that broke his nose and caused internal bleeding as his brain smashed around the inside of his skull. He went unconscious from the blow but whether he would die of internal hemorrhaging in his brain or suffocating on his own blood, nobody would know.

A final gunshot shouted through the pub as the two ship girls resumed their charge to Las Vegas's rescue. Nashville led the way as she all but pushed the door off it's hinges.

She was stopped cold by what she saw.

XXXXXXXX

At times, Las Vegas enjoys pondering the cyclic nature of history and this was one of those occasions.

It was October 5, 1871 in a frontier town called Abilene in the Eagle Union's state of Kansas, where a man with a reputation as a gunfighter of the highest caliber was responding to a street brawl. This gunfighter was called, "Wild Bill Hickok," and he was the town Marshal. As he was responding to break up the brawl two shots were fired. In little time, Wild Bill was able to find out that Phil Coe—a saloon owner who had a history of being on Hickok's bad side for one reason or another—had been the one to fire those shots. As was his authority as a lawman, Hickok went to arrest Coe for breaking the law that no man can shoot a gun in city limits. Coe claimed that he had been shooting at a stray dog. That excuse might have saved him, but suddenly, Coe turned his own pistol on Hickok.

But Hickok was faster, and with his famous ivory handled revolvers, he shot and killed Phil Coe where he stood.

But that wasn't the end of the story. From the corner of Hickok's vision, he saw movement and instinctively supposed that someone was coming to avenge Phil Coe. With no doubt in an instinct that had carried him to victory in many gunfights over the years, Wild Bill Hickok fired two shots at the approaching person. To his horror, he quickly recognized who he had just shot and killed. It was his friend and fellow lawman, Deputy Marshal Mike Williams. Hickok would end up carrying the guilt of Williams's death all the way to his own grave.

This would be Wild Bill Hickok's last shootout, and he would be ousted as Marshal of Abilene a few months later. His fortunes would decline over the next few years when in 1876 he was killed by a shot to the back of the head at a poker table while holding what was forevermore called, "The Dead Man's Hand."

Such was the fate of one who had gambled on instinct and lost a friend for it.

History threatened to repeat itself while Las Vegas was looking downwards at the scene of carnage he had wrought by his own hands less than five seconds before. Suddenly he saw movement from the door of the restroom in the corner of his vision. He still didn't know where the other two cultists were, and he still had Giovanni in his hand. So, he would get the drop on them, and kill them where they stood.

He dropped his knife to bring his left hand up in support of his right hand that held his pistol. With the same speed and precision that he had demonstrated earlier in his trial as a knight he brought his weapon up to his normal firing position.

He was halfway through squeezing the trigger to kill his target when the fact that he wasn't aiming at a man registered. With his mind moving at a million miles an hour he noticed that the shape of the person in his sights was distinctly feminine. Dark jeans. Green shirt. Ash-Blonde hair. A familiar face now contorted with fear. It was Nashville! He was about to shoot Nashville!

If Giovanni were still cocked, he would have put enough force on the single-action trigger to shoot. Good thing he decocked it right after he fired his last shot, so the double-action trigger did not permit the gun to fire. Then with the practice that years of experience had given him along with the added urgency of almost shooting someone dear to him, he was able to rip his finger off the trigger even in his presently shell-shocked state from the brawl moments earlier. The gun fell limply to his side and it was loose in his grip.

Nashville had gasped audibly when she saw her commander raise his gun instinctively towards her. This was very nearly the worst death that she could think of; dying by friendly fire from the man she loved. But before she could say anything or even really react, she saw his arms go limp and she was no longer in danger.

She heard her commander speak. The shaking trauma in his tone wounded her soul as he said, "Dear God. I almost killed you."

That was her signal to resume her run to her commander's side. She saw the bodies of course, but she was more focused on her commander as she closed the distance across the room while crying fearfully, "Oh my God. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She was at his side before he started to speak, and she kept herself from fixing him with a hug out of fear for agitating any injuries he might have. She saw that he had blood spatters on his face, his breathing was heavy, and the look in his eyes made her want to cry because how pained they looked.

He held up the still bleeding gash on the side of his left arm and said, "One of them got me pretty good with his knife."

Nashville gasped again but before she could say anything, Belfast appeared and ordered, "Come with me straight away. We need to stop the bleeding."

Las Vegas nodded to the maid. He followed right behind her as she led the way out of the restroom. Nashville was right beside him and through her own fear-fueled tears, she kept saying over and over how sorry she was for letting this happen.

Belfast began to give orders the moment they entered the main room of the pub. She ordered things like finding a first-aid kit, collecting the knife that the cultist used to cut Calico Jack, and a few other things that he didn't catch because he had to save Nashville from her despair. "Stop saying that you're sorry for something we couldn't control. It's not your fault, so don't treat it like it is."

That stopped the incessant apologizing but now that she knew he was only wounded on his arm, she slipped under his arms to give him a hug. She found herself crying into his chest. She began to talk when his unhurt arm wrapped around her, "I was so scared something happened to you. I-I-I don't know what I would do without you."

In a single word, he summed up his shock of barely avoiding shooting Nashville. "Same," he replied.

Belfast tapped on Nashville's shoulder with enough force to convey urgency. "Nashville please, we need to treat his wound."

This was the only thing that could make Nashville release him, so she did, and she followed closely as Belfast led them over to a nearby table where a found first aid kit from behind the pub counter and the knife that George was using was placed. He sat down, placing Giovanni on the table, and then Belfast confirmed it was his only wound. Fortunately for Las Vegas, Belfast's experiences behind enemy lines for gathering intelligence had taught her how to do some emergency first aid from the times that she had to work with normal humans.

A crowd of ship girls had gathered to the side as Belfast got to work on stopping the bleeding. This crowd was ordered to stand back by Queen Elizabeth but there was one ship girl who defied the order. Cheshire was just about as shaken up as Nashville was. Her owner was just attacked and almost killed. But while Nashville could force herself to speak through tears, Cheshire could not. She could only place a hand on Calico Jack's shoulder, making him look up at her. He could only offer her a weak smile and some words to the effect that he'll be okay. His words didn't make the fact that she was scared any better. Queen Elizabeth ordered Cheshire to stand back again. "Please, don't worry. I'll be okay," Calico Jack assured the cat-like cruiser. Cheshire nodded wordlessly and finally stepped back.

Belfast then directed to Nashville, "Pay attention. You're going to learn how to patch up your commander."

He didn't hear Nashville's response, but she got to Belfast's side to observe the proceeding medical treatment. What he did hear was Queen Elizabeth's question, "Calcio Jack, who were those people?"

For some odd reason, the teenage-looking monarch referring to the cultists in the past-tense made a hard truth impact the codebreaker. He had killed someone. His breathing picked up again, his heart started to race, and he felt sick to his stomach for what he found out that he's capable of doing. "My God. I killed someone," he forced out, in admission of his now racking guilt.

This was never supposed to happen.

It wasn't meant to be like this.

He never wanted this.

Belfast was the first to notice his increased heart rate when her progress of stopping his bleeding was reversed, and her suspicions of what had caused his distress was confirmed with his words. She said something to try and calm him down, but it fell on deaf ears.

It was Nashville who was able to penetrate the fog that and descended on his conscience. Without thinking, she took a hold of his hand in her own and said, "Las Vegas, please. Stay with us."

His green eyes met her red ones and he returned to the present, having succeeded in climbing out of this emotional hole for now. He noticed her not using, "commander," or, "sir," when she talked to him for the first time. He nodded to her and said that he was okay. For a few seconds he got to work on controlling his breathing, which in turn, slowed his heart rate, and allowed Belfast to get in control of the bleeding again.

Nashville repeated Queen Elizabeth's question, "Who were those people?" She had a feeling that she already knew, but she hoped that her feelings weren't true.

"It was them," he said. Nashville went pale in response, knowing exactly who they were.

"Who is 'them?'" asked Duke of York from the side.

He looked over to respond, "They're the people that I would call, 'collaborators.'"

Duke of York looked dumbfounded, and she rejected the possibility by saying, "Humans working alongside Sirens? 'Tis impossible." Murmurs picked up in the crowd and theories started to be passed back and forth.

"I respectfully disagree," rebutted Calico Jack simply. The levelness of his tone convinced all who heard.

"But why would they want to kill you?" asked Queen Elizabeth.

"Nashville and I have a very important mission," he answered. He then thought for a few seconds and said, "And I guess since they couldn't kill us in a stand-up naval battle, the Sirens sent a hit squad. And in all fairness, their hit squad arguably did a better job than their fleet."

There was no immediate response while those who overheard retreated into their own thoughts or whispered quietly among themselves. But a thought occured to Las Vegas. Maybe he could gain more from this than simply surviving the encounter? He spoke to Cheshire behind him. "Hey Cheshire. Could you please see if any of the men have stuff like documents or cell phones on them? And if they do, please bring them here."

Only now could she speak, and she said in an unenthusiastic way, "Okay."

When Cheshire walked away, he wiped the blood off his face, and he was disgusted how some of it almost got in his mouth. He'd need to find a way to cover at least his nose and mouth if this is going to happen again.

Cheshire got to work. From Ezra she got nothing. Aaron had a smart phone. George and Frankie had nothing. Quincy also had a phone. Same with Albert. There were no other documents, so Cheshire left to return to Calico Jack's side. She didn't notice it as she left, but her jostling had awoken Albert from his unconsciousness. Blood was filling his lungs and it was hard to breathe but he was still alive. Albert took stock of the situation as he propped himself against the wall. He was dying and he confirmed that his brethren were dead. The Magician wasn't among them. Albert had to quickly find the Magician and kill him. For the cause. And for his brothers. Albert got a knife in his hand and began the task of getting himself on his own two feet.

But while that was happening Cheshire returned with the cell phones. She said she couldn't find anything else and Calico Jack thanked her warmly. His bleeding had about stopped, and as a bonus he wasn't even light-headed for the blood loss and his sharp pain had faded to a manageable throbbing. But now, he had to see if there was anything that he could do about these cell phones.

One by one, and with his free arm, he checked and made sure that each were indeed locked by a numerical pin. They needed to be unlocked in order to get anything that might be useful.

He gravitated towards the most overtly filthy smart phone because he had an idea. But his idea was interrupted when he heard the door to the restroom swing open harshly. Everyone looked up to see a lone cultist leaning heavily on the doorframe. It was the one that those who were paying attention earlier recognized as Albert. Nobody had moved yet because of the singularity of what they were witnessing.

Albert looked terrible. His shirt was soaked in the blood from his gunshot wounds and the place where he had been pistol whipped on the side of his head was still bleeding. Nobody came to his aid because he brandished a knife in his hand. He stood there with audibly labored breathing from his lungs filling with blood before he began to cough violently. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth and everyone watched him notice that his hand was now covered in blood he had just coughed up. Then he noticed the corpses of Aaron and Ezra, and he quivered with rage. He brought his hand to point at Las Vegas and he gave his last threat through gritted teeth, "You bastard…killed my brothers… I'll gut you like a fish for that."

Only then did a few of the ship girls begin to move and Las Vegas grabbed Giovanni, but nobody progressed more than one step because when Albert made his own step forward, he fell face-first to the ground thanks to his own shaky legs. He managed to roll himself over with some time and he cursed. He cursed the Magician for doing this to him and his brothers. He cursed the Deep for not permitting him to fulfill his purpose. He cursed himself out of regret for losing himself to this cause that he now doubted in his final moments. But it was too late to change his ways. "Dammit," he cursed. "Dammit all." He reached up to a necklace that had a seemingly unimportant charm on it, but it was a cyanide pill in disguise. He brought it to his mouth and bit down. He died a few seconds later as signaled when his body went limp.

Everyone was speechless from that display. So, after a few seconds Belfast got back on track with Las Vegas's wound. She said, "Okay then. The bleeding has stopped. Fortunately, the wound isn't bad enough to get in the way of any sort of activity, and the knife wasn't poisoned so right now I think it's best that we simply disinfect it and then stitch it up." She turned to Nashville and said, "I have a feeling that things such as what has just happened will occur on occasion. I feel it prudent that you should learn how to tend to you commander's wounds."

That wasn't what Nashville wanted to hear. She hoped that this sort of thing never happens again. But in her heart, she knew that this was only the beginning. A cult wouldn't be a cult without obsession. "Okay," she consented, "Show me what I need to do."

Las Vegas decided to not concentrate on the cell phones while Belfast walked Nashville through how to stich a wound closed. He gritted his teeth when the disinfecting was done, and Nashville looked pained right along with him. But then, when the act of stitching the wound closed came, Nashville did her very best to do it right, all the while being as gentle as she possibly could with her commander. With the wound all taken care of, Belfast showed the proper way of bandaging it, layering sterile gauze pads on the stitches and then wrapping the affected part of his forearm with a long roller bandage.

Having seen how much tender care Nashville had put onto the process of stitching him up made him feel a little bit better. He thanked her as warmly as he could and remarked, "Would you look at that? I can't repair your hull but here you are stitching me up. Talk about not fair."

That made Nashville smile a bit. She looked into his eyes and said sincerely, "I'm so glad that you're okay."

He responded, "I'm really glad that you're okay too." He paused and continued, "But while I'm sitting here, I might as well see if there is anything I can do with these phones."

"Yes, I was wondering about that," inserted Queen Elizabeth on behalf of the nearly thirty ship girls present. He looked over as she kept talking, "While I can see the possible advantage of getting into one of the cellphones, I don't know how you'll do this."

He picked up the filthiest one that he had been handling earlier. He began to explain, "This brand of cellphone is known for the feature that if the unlock pin is inputted incorrectly ten times, the device factory resets and all it's data is lost. When I look at the lock screen, I see that the unlock pin is four digits long. So, with four digits and ten possible inputs for each one—those being from zero to nine—there are ten-thousand combinations. Ten-thousand combinations. Ten chances to get it correct. That's a one-thousandth percent chance of success. But I'd like to draw attention to the fact that this is the filthiest phone that I've ever handled, and it looks like it's previous owner never once wiped the screen all the while being plagued with constant Cheeto fingers."

None of the Royals understood what he meant exactly by Cheeto fingers because Cheetos aren't sold in the UK. But nobody said anything about that as Las Vegas tilted the device so that he could see the reflection of the ceiling lights in the lock screen. He saw exactly what he wanted to see. He continued a few seconds later with a smile on his face, "But since the screen is so filthy, I can see finger smudges over the three, the four, and the seven keys. I can now assume that the four-digit pin is made of a combination of these three numbers. Eighteen combinations. Ten chances to get it correct. That's about a fifty-six percent chance of success, rounded up. Now I don't know about you. But I like those odds. So, I just have to think of some combination of those that jumps out at me."

It made sense to everyone who was listening to that explanation. But could it really work?

Las Vegas thought for a few seconds before he found the first number that jumped out at him.

He inputted the pin, "7734," because it was the name of one of his favorite songs.

The phone unlocked and he saw the home screen.

Las Vegas smiled widely and announced, "One-hundred percent chance of success."

I think that I've made you wait long enough for a chapter, so here you go. I'm sorry if your name is Quincy, George, Ezra, Aaron, Albert, or Frankie. I just wanted to humanize my cultists a bit. But wow, since I posted the last chapter, this story has passed 100 favorites. That's crazy to me. Thank you so much for making this possible, I wouldn't be here without you. I would also like the thank all of you who have given your inputs and recommendations as we've gotten further into the story. I say it all the time, but you really are the best. But anyway, what did you think about the chapter? Did I get you to feel sorry for the cultists? Is it stupid that I include asides with stories like Jim Bowie or Wild Bill Hickok? But on a completely separate note, I want to wish you all the very best luck with your pulls in the Mirror Involution event. I was smiled upon by RNGesus and got New Jersey my fourth build and I got Boise with my very last dock space. To be honest though, I was much more hyped about Boise than anyone else. What can I say? I'm a tad biased towards Brooklyn-class cruisers. But anyway, I see comments that need some answers.

Hi, Touhoufanatic. I do intend for a sort of rivalry to get going between the two, now that Nashville understands what it is that she's feeling. But I feel like I need to do something with the cult and their place in the overarching plot before we get deep into Cheshire vs. Nashville fluff. But besides, I still have a plan with Cheshire, one that goes beyond the obvious obstacles before our heroes.

What's up, Seething Abyss? I'm glad that the talk with Hood went over well. And you're right, friendship with Hood was pretty satisfying to me too.

Thanks for the comment, BatCornMan. First of all, I like your username. It gave me a good laugh. And second, you were right. That was bloody. But what was funny is that I am perfectly fine with describing the goriest ways for someone to die, but when I look up first aid for a bleeding gash so that I can get it accurate for the story, I turn squeamish because all the instructions I find online involve pictures of the procedure. So, because of that, I'm not sure if I got the first aid procedure correct. Medicine that involves blood is the only thing that I can't research to get right for the story.

It's good to see you, SomeRand0m. It is normal to call the sibling of one's parents, "aunt," or, "uncle." The cultural problem enters the picture when it is used as a term of endearment for someone who isn't actually your aunt or uncle. In some circles it is meant endearingly, but it can be easily interpreted as meaning that the person is old. Thus, Hood being called, "Auntie," when nobody thinks she is listening. They like her but are afraid to offend her about her age. I don't consider what I did a cliffhanger. What I consider a cliffhanger is someone pulling a gun out on a main character and then the chapter ends. It feels cheap to me when an idea isn't completed. I completed the idea of the chapter. Nashville figures out she has feelings for Las Vegas. What would have been a cliffhanger is if I cut the chapter off right when Hood said that Nashville loves Las Vegas, and we didn't see Nashville's reaction. That's just an underhanded technique to get people to come back and read more when the next chapter is posted. I guess I should have expected what you said about Hood's story. The Battle of the Denmark Strait is very famous. I'm glad that I was able to explain the Enigma in a way that could be understood. I was kind of iffy about going that for into details. But it's nice to see it went over well. I had it so that Las Vegas and Nashville couldn't get a definitive location from where that message was sent. She got that it was sent from the north at a distance of about a mile. But there are a lot of buildings in London a mile north of where they docked, so I wasn't intending for them to investigate. It's a relief to see that you liked the Hood and Nashville segment. You do have a point about how I described Nashville's rather extreme feelings on the matter though. I admit to being guilty of hyperbole, but I happen to have a Churchill quote about driving a point home. It's funny really, Churchill said a lot of things. And the document that I have on my computer with quotes that I might include at the beginning of chapters has a large part of it attributed to Winston Churchill. No problem clarifying about Wales. Heights are weird. But for fun, there is a photo of soldiers from different countries lined up during what the US calls, "The Boxer Rebellion." If you google, "the eight nation alliance," you'll probably find the photo without too much trouble. In the photo from left to right are soldiers from Britain, The United States, Australia, India, Germany, France, Austria-Hungary, Italy, and Japan. Nashville removes the bow when she needs to, and I mentioned how she struggled to retie it in this chapter. Thanks again for the review, and I'm glad you liked last chapter. I hope this chapter was as good as you hoped it would be.

Greetings, Northreach. It makes me really happy that you get excited for another chapter. And I hope that I didn't disappoint with this chapter. But I hope that I was able to make the altercation with the Heralds satisfyingly intense. Thanks for the complement and I look forward to the next time.

Hey there, Ghost14lebi. It makes me happy that I could make you laugh with a situation that I wrote. You are right about the Iron Blood though. The choice is tough, but the list is starting to get narrowed down. We'll just have to wait and see what happens though. I'm glad you liked the chapter. You're right, poor Nelson. I always wondered why tsunderes were tsunderes so at least I could give a brief explanation for Nelson.

It's good to see your writing again, Zander22122. I should have used the word, "deadpan," instead of what I typed. It would have conveyed the tone better. I gotta say though, it was really stressing me out how I would get Nashville to realize her feelings and make it believable. I thought that I was pushing it, so it's a big relief to hear you say that it was believable. I don't get that reference. But it's got me thinking that I should look up some southern idioms for Nashville to use. I think that it would spice up her dialogue just a bit. I hope that the foreshadowing had a satisfying enough conclusion. Or is it a conclusion? We'll just have to wait and see.

Thanks for the enthusiasm, Guest 2856. It really made me smile to see your reaction. It's interesting though that you mention exposition/character development chapters and action chapters. A common thing that has happened to me as I've read fanfics for this fandom is that I often don't care for how people handle their action, but I love their "talking" chapters a ton. So, this love of the talking shows through in my writing. But now that I'm the one with the keyboard, I can do dialogue satisfying to me, and I can write battles in a way that I would find them interesting to read. Writing a fanfic is honestly quite empowering. If you see something you don't like, it's easy enough to do things the way you like it. It also makes me smile to hear that you check regularly to see if the story updates. I'm the same way with my favorite stories. We'll see when Las Vegas realizes what's up with his own developing feelings for Nashville, and we'll see how he reacts to her hints that I intend to drop from time to time. I don't intend for my hero to stand on the sidelines, and I hope that I showed that this chapter. Thanks for your understanding about any pressures that I'm under. My best regards to you too, friend.

Thanks for the comment, playerultima. I'm glad that you think that I still got the edge. He isn't McCree. Or is he? I might have a reference to Overwatch at some point. I was a McCree main when the game first came out, but I haven't played that game in years at this point. I hope that chapter 21 and this one stacked up to your expectations.

Hi, Guest. It's a good idea to use the Cthulu Mythos for the superweapons. I'm definitely trying to use elements of the mythos when it comes to the Heralds. I'm looking for good times to write appropriately eldritch content, and superweapons are prime times for that.

Hey there, HeronLsL. Part of Las Vegas's character is how unheard of it is for a codebreaker to be on the front lines, so the universal reaction is something that I feel like is par for the course. I threw in the recommendation part to add a little more depth to Las Vegas's character because it annoys me when characters exist in a bubble that is the immediate story, as if they haven't had any life experiences before they became involved. You're pretty spot on about calling it, "a fleet of emotions." Thanks for the praise on how that scene was handled. I hope that this chapter was as good as you had hoped it would be.

It's nice to meed you, TiiPssY. It made my day when I saw your comment. The fact that you think so highly of this story and how I write it is putting a big smile on my face as I'm writing this response. I'll try my absolute hardest to keep up the level of quality. I'm in complete agreement with you, I'm pretty excited for the Iron Blood arc too. We'll have to wait and see about Friedrich. But I hope that this chapter was worth the wait.

What's up, Guest? Oof. I'm glad that I didn't accidentally get you with Smithers's name.

But anyway, I'm getting in an Iron Maiden sort of mood because of how close it is to midnight where I am. Sound off if any of you got that reference. I guess I don't have much more to say. Just thanks again for all your support. And I look forward to seeing all of you again next time. If you're having a bad day I hope it gets better, and if you're having a good day I hope it gets even better. Take care, friends.