Operation Rumor Mill

by DeltaDestroys01

A codebreaker and his ship girl companion are tasked to hunt down and destroy siren superweapons that are holding humanity in a deadlock. Though these superweapons are secretive in their own right perhaps something more sinister will get to humanity first? Or maybe there is a link between threats? Rated M to give myself breathing room in the creative process; adult themes mainly.

37. Chapter 37: The Double Agent

Thanks to all who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. I've been planning this chapter for almost three years now. Let's do this thing.

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

"A true leader always keeps an element of surprise up his sleeve, which others cannot grasp but which keeps his public excited and breathless."

- Charles de Gaulle

Chapter 37: The Double Agent

Before he was a sailor, a codebreaker, a mathematician, or a gunfighter, Las Vegas was a procrastinator. He felt like he had been able to shed off this tendency as he struggled with it through university and then postgraduate school. However, old habits die hard and it still shone through every now and then. Ergo, he considered himself qualified at identifying a last chance when he saw one. And as he, Nashville, the local shipgirls, and all the normal humans involved converged on the launch facility to finally launch Charybdis, he could tell that if the Heralds of the Deep wanted the wisdom cube he concealed in his backpack, this was their last chance to retrieve it. He was concerned, suspicious, and borderline paranoid.

But he was assisted by another skill of his. He had a nigh impenetrable poker face. Nobody saw his heightened state of alertness. Or at least, that's what he chose to tell himself because nobody called him out for seeming off in any way. In a bid to act normal, he took in the environment that he found himself in. The crowd was approaching a massive facility that had two main buildings attached to each other. The first looked like an airplane hanger, even though it was narrower, taller, and much longer than any normal hanger. This was a fully enclosed slipway meant for the formation and then launching of a newly constructed shipgirl's hull to slide stern-first into the water of Plymouth Harbor. Attached to the enclosed slipway was a much smaller two-story building. Contained therein was the rest of the launch facility including the control room and the radiation shielded room where a shipgirl's human body would form. He noticed that the slipway would deposit the launched vessel into the water parallel to a concrete walkway several yards above the water where the assembled crowd would watch and cheer for the event.

The crowd finally arrived to where they would be watching the launch and Nashville, who was walking beside her commander, spoke in a hushed tone, "I really don't like this. I don't like how I have to stay out here and let you go alone into the building."

In an equally hushed tone, he replied, "Same. If things go bad, I'd really prefer to have you backing me up, but you heard Roscoe and Arthur. Part of the rules of launching shipgirls is that non-essential personnel aren't allowed inside during the launch. Honestly, we're lucky that they're even letting me inside. I'm only essential at the very end and Anzeel could probably do it on her own." It's not safe inside the building for shipgirls because there's adverse reactions to even trace amounts of wisdom cube radiation."

Nashville didn't respond to that except to sag her shoulders in defeat. That didn't raise his spirits in the slightest, so he tried to make her feel better by consoling, "But remember what I told you. Tune into UHF 287.3 and I'll let you listen in on everything going on and I'll contact you if stuff happens. If things go south, we have a plan." As he said that last part, he held up the briefcase that would normally contain a wisdom cube. It would serve as a decoy until the very last second. Or so he hoped.

The light cruiser's gaze looked to the side and saw how Roscoe, Arthur, Belanger, Fabre, and all other non-essential human staff were getting settled into prepared seating to observe proceedings. She looked back to her commander and said, "I'll stick close to Roscoe. He won't be listening in on anything, but I can relay messages to him from you."

He smiled and said, "Thanks, Nash. I expect things'll work out. They always do."

Without warning, Anzeel popped up between the duo interrupting their silent conversation. She pulled Nashville into a sideways hug and said, "I'm sorry to be leaving you all alone but we can't take you or anyone else with us. I would in a heartbeat if I could. So, I hope you don't mind me borrowing your commander for a few hours."

Nashville leaned a little forward to look around the doctor back at her commander. She sent him a half smile and then to Anzeel she answered, "Take care of him. He has a habit of getting into trouble."

"Pfft. Don't you worry one bit. I'll keep him out of any trouble and bring him right back," promised Anzeel. She gave Nashville a final squeeze and released her. Turning her attention to the man, she said, "Well, we've prepared thoroughly for this launch. I've got my notes and you've got yours. The cube is in good shape and things are looking our way. So, let's keep it simple and everything will be alright."

"Sounds like a plan." But before he began to make his way with Doctor Anzeel to enter the facility they both gave their own farewell to Nashville.

While he was walking for the entrance, Las Vegas scanned the crowd of shipgirls. He saw pretty much everyone he knew, but he was looking for Cheshire. She had been completely absent for all of the past week and that bothered him. It was out of her character. When asked about her, Nashville had said that Cheshire seemed down over the past week and that added to his concern. He didn't spot her immediately. First he saw where the Iris gathered, then he saw Surcouf, and then beside her was Cheshire. Though distance separated them, their eyes met. She sent him a meek looking wave, devoid of her normal spirit. Maybe she was sad that he and Nashville would be leaving soon? That seemed the most likely explanation given his knowledge of her feelings for him. But despite the fact that he didn't want romance from Cheshire, she was still a friend. He deliberately smiled wide and sent her a more energetic wave than she had. He couldn't see what effect his actions had on her, because he and Doctor Anzeel entered into the two-story building.

Doctor Anzeel led the way down the corridor that they entered and she turned into a room that was clearly the control center. The lone Unionist couldn't help but compare the room to the Eagle Union's NASA mission control center, albeit much smaller. The room was rectangular shaped and he estimated the dimensions to be about twenty feet by sixty feet. There were four rows of two desks with computers that were all pointed in a single direction. At the front of the room where the desks pointed and opposite to where the duo had entered, there was a window into another room that stood in stark contrast. The control room was an office while the room on the other side was furnished in off-white tiles and populated by a litany of pipes and conduits all attached to an observation table in the middle of the room. Las Vegas could immediately tell that this was the shielded room where Charybdis' body would form.

Further inspection showed that the two rooms were linked as well. Beside the window, there was an airlock big enough for two or three people to enter and there were hazmat suits hung beside the door. But immediately below the window there was a metallic box that had five square holes and one big green button. As doctor Anzeel had explained the day before, the use of all five would be reserved for priority research shipgirls only.

After taking in the facility, Las Vegas counted how many other occupants there were in the control room. There were ten and he was suspicious of all of them. But he made sure that he didn't betray that fact. Regardless, he couldn't help but have an unwelcome sense of deja vu, like he'd been there before. As he set down his backpack that actually concealed the wisdom cube in an empty seat along the side of the room near to the door, he properly identified what the source of his deja vu was. He was feeling that same calm-before-the-storm unease that he got as he was standing in the men's restroom that night in London. That felt like a lifetime ago but also like it had only happened the day before.

He had only just set down his backpack when one of the men in the room stated, "Alright. The doctor and her assistant are here. Let's get on with it."

Doctor Anzeel in usual fashion interrupted the proceedings by saying, "Thank you, Misterrrr…."

"Clifton," answered the man.

She restarted her sentence. "Thank you, Mister Clifton. But I'll be taking charge of all this operation."

Clifton didn't seem convinced by this as shown by the furrow in his brow and his slightly narrowed eyes. He challenged, "I wasn't told anything of the sort. I'll need to confirm this before just letting you come in here and call yourself the boss." Before even allowing her to answer, Clifton looked to the side at one of the other technicians in the room and ordered, "Call up Arthur. See what he's got to say."

Whatever Anzeel was going to say died on her lips because she believed that Admiral Arthur would rule in her favor this time. The technician produced a small radio and asked, "Are we following the doctor's orders? We were told she'd just be advising."

A few seconds passed and the voice of Admiral Arthur came over the radio to reply, "Do as she says. Doctor Anzeel is leading this endeavor."

"Yes, sir," answered the technician for all of his fellows.

Clifton made an open palmed gesture towards Doctor Anzeel and said, "It's all yours then."

"Perfect," was all she said to Clifton before addressing the whole room with a slightly raised voice for all to hear her, "I want everyone in their assigned positions. We'll take this launch from the top. I'll come around and personally inspect your stations and if you understand your roles in this."

There were some answers to the positive and all eight of the computers were then occupied by their respective operators. This left Las Vegas and two other men without any computers to work on. These men sat in chairs beside the airlock in a corner opposite to Las Vegas' chosen chair. Directing the two other men, Anzeel confirmed, "You two are medical and the synchronizing team right?"

"Yes, Ma'am." answered one of them.

"Great. Just stay by your station and be ready for your job."

Elsewhere in the room and unnoticed to anybody else, one of the technicians smiled thinly and then muttered, "Oh yeah. We're ready."

She then wheeled around to point at Las Vegas across the room. "Get the notes out," she ordered. "You'll be doing just like I told you. Hang out and be ready to input the algorithm when we're ready."

He unzipped his backpack and opened it. Sure enough, there on the bottom of the bag was the wisdom cube whose shine was muted by being wrapped in one of his darker colored t-shirts. He didn't open his backpack enough to show the cube shaped item at the bottom where it sat concealed beneath a bagged lunch, but he did retrieve all the hand-written notes.

An astute technician that was watching him open the backpack looked to the side to see that Anzeel was already going down the work stations checking his colleagues' work so he directed his attention back to "Anzeel's assistant" and asked, "What's with that brown bag in your ruck?"

A codebreaker by trade, Las Vegas was already taking guesses about this man's motivation for being so nosy. It was awfully suspicious. It could also be plain old curiosity. But to dispel any probable suspicion his way he reached into the paper bag and withdrew a sandwich inside a clear zipper bag. He answered casually, "I was told this'll take a while. I'm planning on eating lunch right here."

"You clever bastard," whispered the technician, his suspicions abated. "I wish I'd have thought of that."

He merely shrugged and said, "Maybe next time. Working on an empty stomach sucks."

The technician smirked and retorted, "What work? You're just sitting there."

"Hurry up and wait," deadpanned the Unionist. "Just another day in the navy."

"I can imagine. I was a statistician in the Royal Air Force, so I know how to play the waiting game. I'm telling you, civilian contractor work is the best."

Now a bit friendlier, Las Vegas offered the man a chance for some humor by saying, "I wish I'd have thought of that."

He smiled a bit more genuinely and said, "Maybe next time." He looked back towards Anzeel's progress and saw that she was still a few stations away from his, the technician asked, "So, who're you?"

"Jack" answered Las Vegas, presenting the most convincing alias he could come up with easily. "How about yourself?"

"I'm Ed."

"Well Ed. Let's buckle up for the boring part of the day."

"Try not to doze off," joked Ed. Las Vegas nodded and their chatting died down as the doctor approached closer and closer.

Anzeel continued her work station by station and found everything up to her standards, so she ordered, "Begin your work. We're deriving the hull data for HMS Charybdis who was launched in 1940. Not any other vessels with the same name. The last thing we need is a case of mistaken identity."

Just as Las Vegas foretold, the boring part of the day began. Several hours passed and in a bid to entertain himself, he started going over the notes for Charybdis' Quick Finisher Algorithm again and rechecked the math. It was still just as correct as it was the night before. He noted that people would leave and come back a few minutes later, presumably to use the restroom as work carried on. He also spent some time letting his mind wander to different topics. A few days prior, Doctor Anzeel had spoken of Type II riggings and gave a brief explanation of them. Las Vegas found himself fixating on this topic and he began trying to think up methods and formulae that would allow for the development and eventual implementation of these improved riggings.

Eventually, Anzeel came to Las Vegas and said, "We're still a ways off. You can go take a walk around the building if you feel like it. Just don't let the briefcase out of your sight."

This statement in the quiet room aroused some attention from others in the room, who began to closely follow the short exchange.

He considered the options placed before him. He needed to be on alert for any possible moves from the Heralds of the Deep. But nothing happened yet and having been worn down by the boredom of the situation, he decided that a quick break before anything too exciting happened would be a good idea. He stood and said, "Thanks doc. I'll be back before too long. I'll just find a private place to eat my lunch."

"Go on ahead. Just be back within a half hour."

"No problem," he replied while retrieving his bagged lunch and zipping up his backpack again. He took a calculated risk and left his backpack where it was even though the wisdom cube was concealed within and took the briefcase with him as he walked out of the room. He figured that if he wanted any potential heralds to buy the ruse of his decoy, then he had to actually try to sell it. He couldn't help but smirk to himself as he got out into the hallway. It seemed that he was something of a gambling man these days. That was a far cry from his time before being assigned as commander of Operation Rumor Mill.

He used the restroom and washed his hands, thankfully without seeing another soul, and he decided that he should get back to the control room sooner than thirty minutes. So, he looked for a spot where he could wolf down his food and get back. Rather than going into different rooms looking for a spot to sit, he instead found that the stairwell to the top floor of the building was good enough. He climbed up to the center landing and went around the corner to sit on the bottom step of the second flight up.

As he was eating he mumbled, "You're a good cook Nash but nobody makes a sandwich like yours truly." He smiled good naturedly, having found his own statement humorous. He had only just finished his sandwich when he became aware that he was no longer alone. There were footsteps coming from the bottom floor. They sounded quick but deliberately muffled as if someone was fighting to keep from running. He took his hand out from inside the brown paper bag, looked to see the briefcase as it sat on the step right beside him, and stood up while feeling for Giovanni, his trusty sidearm, from where it was concealed inside his back waistband. He stepped out from around the corner to look down towards the bottom of the stairs.

His timing was impeccable. He'd only just looked around the corner when he saw one of the technicians from the control room reach for the banister to aid his rush up the stairs. The man jumped and gasped loudly as if being caught red-handed. Alarm bells inside Las Vegas's mind blared with the ferocity of a call to general quarters aboard ship. His left hand went out in a "stop" gesture towards the technician while his right hand dove for Giovanni, ripping out the hem of his shirt and withdrawing the pistol. He didn't point the gun towards the man, but he firmly and quietly ordered, "Hold it right there."

The technician's frantic look was replaced with horror in a heartbeat. He held both his hands up in surrender and with the same quiet volume declared, "Christ Almighty! Don't shoot me!"

"What are you doing?!" harshly demanded Las Vegas.

Hands still up, the technician stammered out, "Y-your Calico Jack, right? I have to talk to you! There's something really bad happening!"

That confirmed his suspicions. The Heralds of the Deep were up to no good. Something strange happened to the man from Las Vegas. He was not filled with dread and uncertainty. Knowing that something evil was afoot somehow made him relax. He now knew that there was a problem. The next step was to find out what the problem was and then solve it.

"Stay right there. No sudden movements," ordered the officer.

"Yes, sir," answered the technician.

Slowly, Las Vegas descended the stairs until he was at the bottom step right in the technician's face. He glanced side-to-side to make sure there was nobody else in the bottom hallway. They were alone. Now with only a whisper, he ordered, "Follow me. Keep quiet."

The technician's horror faded and he was back to his panicked expression. In the ordered low volume, he expressed his panic with, "Good God above! Bloody hurry up! We don't have much time!"

One step at a time and with his pistol still drawn, Las Vegas walked up the stairs backwards. It was a bit awkward, but there was no way he was going to turn his back on a guy he was very nearly certain was a herald. He picked up his briefcase and bagged lunch on the way up, and when they were on the top floor, he found the nearest room and pulled the unlocked door open. "Get inside," he ordered with just a bit more volume. Quickly, the technician complied and rushed into the room. Las Vegas followed him in and closed the door. Las Vegas kept his pistol drawn but did not point it at the man as a intimidation tactic. He demanded, "What's going on?"

Now with the opportunity to talk, the technician struggled with his panic to form coherent thoughts and words. Unfortunately, the weight of the situation continued to stifle the thoughts of the frenzied man and at best he could only emit nonsensical stammering from his mouth. This was in contrast to not much time earlier. Nevertheless, this won over some sympathy from the Unionist because it was something he could identify with. Fear was something he was acquainted with even if he felt like he's largely been able to overcome it. So, he tackled this problem like he did many others, with practical thinking. Given this man's panic, Las Vegas figured that the problem is probably bigger than just a lone operator. So, trying to calm the man, he calmly spoke in a level tone, "You've done the hard part. You've managed to slip away to talk with me privately. Now it's time for the easy part. You only have to talk to me."

Frenzy receded from the technician's face and he took a big gulp while wiping away the stress-fueled sweat that had accumulated on his palms and his forehead. He started with the most basic information. "My name is Dillon Vann. And I'm with the Heralds of the Deep."

Dillon Vann definitely wasn't what Las Vegas had in mind for a Herald when he considered all the other cultists he'd encountered so far. So far, the cultists he'd come across looked and acted like cultists. Vann was anything but as he stood there anxiously awaiting Las Vegas' response. It seemed that there was far more to the Heralds of the Deep than just a bunch of crazies. "That's quite the admission Mr. Vann. Do you have any proof?"

This was a tactical question that Las Vegas asked. He remembered the charm that Albert bit down on that he used to kill himself that night in the pub.

Sure enough, Vann produced a charm of his own on a necklace and held it forward for Las Vegas to inspect. In his eyes, this was indeed proof of Vann's affiliation. But with that proof, now what? Las Vegas was hyper aware of the intelligence windfall that a cooperative herald could be. But Las Vegas wasn't just a codebreaker anymore. That ship had long since sailed. He needed to keep his head in the game and handle things in order of priority and whatever it was that scared Vann should be scaring him too. He finally replied, "That's good enough proof for me. As I'm sure you can guess, I have many questions for you. However, whatever it is that's scaring you should be the priority. So, what's going on?"

With a pointed finger towards the briefcase, Van said, "There's a plot to steal the wisdom cube you've got in that briefcase."

"Why not strike now?" asked Las Vegas.

"Our handler hasn't seen the cube himself. The last thing he wants is to steal an empty briefcase. Orders are to wait until we see the cube to make our move."

That was both good and bad. The heralds were prepared for Las Vegas' exact deception. He suddenly felt extremely foolish for having left the cube inside his backpack in the room. But it was too late to do anything and he didn't hear any disturbances to suggest that anything happened yet. But there was another huge detail in Vann's words.

"Our handler?" spoke Las Vegas. "How many are you?"

"Six including me. Five of us are just scientists, not goddamn spies. Our handler though, he's a right killer that one. He's former Special Boat Service. Or so he boasted to us."

"Whoa there. Just a second," said Las Vegas, cutting him off. "Are all of you armed?"

Vann took a few deep breaths and of his own volition, he slowly lifted his hands to place them on his head. "Yes. All of us are armed with pistols. Mine's tucked into my waistband. Front right side. Can you take it from me? I'm not a fighter and I didn't ever plan on being in a situation like this."

Las Vegas set down the briefcase and gestured with his pistol while saying, "Turn around slowly and keep your hands on your head. Sudden movements get you shot."

Vann did as he was ordered, and Las Vegas felt around the man's waistband. There was indeed a pistol right where he was told he'd find it. He tugged Vann's shirt out from his tucked pants and removed the pistol. This one was a Glock 19 and from the weight alone, Las Vegas knew it was loaded. He stepped back a few steps and said to Vann, "You can turn back around and tuck your shirt in."

Again, Vann did as ordered and Las Vegas said, "Now tell me from start to finish. What is your plan?"

Vann explained, "The idea is that right as we're about to put the wisdom cube into the receptacle for launching Charybdis, the six of us will seize control of the room and the wisdom cube, taking you, Anzeel, and the rest as hostages. But if things go sideways, our handler is hooked up to a dead man's switch for bombs that we planted around the building. I don't know if we plan to kill the hostages during the getaway but I don't want to find out."

It was a brain-dead plan that bank robbers could think up. But the Heralds of the Deep were quite a bit more extreme than bank robbers and if they had scientists like Vann and professional muscle like their handler, then that meant there's far more to the organization than Las Vegas was privy to. The Heralds were still dangerous even after their defeat in the London Incident. Still, Las Vegas got the sense that this plan was rushed. Putting scientists up to something like this just reeks of desperation. But that didn't change the fact that there were five more armed and presumed hostile men, one of which was most likely former special forces. Las Vegas didn't favor his chances in a scuffle with someone like that. If, or rather when, things come to violence, Las Vegas planned to make it a gunfight with whoever this handler was. Las Vegas fancied his chances then.

Questions were piling up quickly. Las Vegas picked what seemed to be the most pertinent. "Where are the bombs?"

"Rooms 108, 120, 124, 204, 212, and 216. Room 204 is right next to this one. What are you going to do? Call a bomb squad?"

Las Vegas memorized these numbers easily because the last two digits of every room were all factors of the number four. Rather than tip his hand to the fact that he planned to take on bomb disposal, Las Vegas gave a non-committal, "That's not your concern anymore. They'll be taken care of." He then proceeded, "Now tell me which men inside the control room are heralds."

"Our handler is the blonde bloke on the synchronizing team sitting next to the airlock. And then facing the shielded room starting at the front left desk going row by row; desks two, three, six, and eight have my, erm, former colleagues in them. I sit at desk seven. Everyone else in the room is to be a hostage if things go that far."

"Thank you for telling me. One last question before I give you some orders" Vann did not look pleased to hear that. He had been handling himself rather well after being disarmed, but he resumed wiping his hands on his pants and sweat beaded down the side of his face. But regardless, he looked at the Unionist expectantly. Las Vegas asked, "Why are you telling me all of this? Why would you become a double agent?"

A chuckle without any amusement answered. Vann then confessed, "I'll be honest with you. I was fine with it until the London Incident. I was told I could get anything I wanted by joining on, and I believed it. I was told that we would work on ways to bring humanity to the next evolution of our societies. I didn't think we'd be killing people or summoning shit from a damned horror film. What I want isn't worth this. These people are mad. You have to stop them."

"I'm working on it," promised Las Vegas. "There's more questions for you after all this is over, so if or when the shooting starts, take cover behind something solid. Either myself, Supreme Commander Roscoe, or one of his subordinates will be questioning you. Cooperate and you'll be treated with respect."

"I appreciate it. But don't drag your feet with that questioning. I got shit to say and the heralds don't like people who forget how to keep their lips sealed. Everyone who forgets that mum's the word gets their throats slit. I'm on borrowed time even now just by talking with you. I'm officially a dead man walking. But I can't take this anymore."

A protective instinct arose in Las Vegas at hearing that. He assured Vann, "You'll be protected."

"Don't make promises that can't be kept," flatly rejected Vann. He moved on, "You said you have orders for me?"

Seeing no reason to delay further, Las Vegas said, "Go about your business as you were. Return to your post and do your job. And keep acting like you're going through with the herald plan. However, it's normal for nerves to do things to a man. Act like you just got done on the toilet after the nerves made your stomach act up."

"Good idea. I don't even need to act because I'm about to shit myself for real. Anything else?"

"When things start moving, your main task is to stay alive. Get to cover and keep your head down. The knowledge you have right now is far more valuable than any heroics."

"Alright," said Vann, who took a few breaths to hype himself up to go back to his task. "I guess I'd best get back to it."

Las Vegas opened the door a crack to look and see if there were any eavesdroppers around. There were none, so he opened the door fully and let Vann through. "Good luck," whispered Las Vegas to him.

"Good luck to you too," whispered Vann as he went by and walked down the stairs.

Las Vegas stayed on the top floor and made his way to the first bomb in room 204. He opened the door to what was clearly a broom closet and inspected the room. Haphazardly hidden beneath several mops and a mess of rags was the device in question. It was a large cylinder of PVC piping with a smattering of electronics attached with tape and having several wires going into the explosive charge.

For years leading up to the breaking of the former world alignments into the Azur Lane Alliance and the Crimson Axis, many of those countries had dedicated their militaries to the Middle East where they encountered insurgents and their asymmetrical methods of warfare. One of the most feared weapons of these irregular fighters was the Improvised Explosive Device, the IED. Many of Las Vegas' own countrymen had fallen victims to weapons such as the one that he inspected. However, he was able to look at the IED clinically and with no fear. After all, he had been studying for an occasion just like this one.

But before he began the work to defuse the bomb, he stood up and fished Mr. Bond out of his pocket and said, "Nashville. Did you hear all of that?"

Nashville only whispered back to him over the radio, "Sure did. I made sure and told Roscoe what was happening."

"Good initiative," congratulated Las Vegas. "Does he have any orders?"

"He says he isn't comfortable rushing the building with bombs and so many unknowns. He defers to your judgment on how to proceed."

No pressure.

Las Vegas thought for a few seconds and formulated a plan. Storming the building even after disarming the bombs was out of the question. In the same way as too many cooks in the kitchen can hinder the chef, too many soldiers in a crowded room going up against a force of enemies all the while there's bystanders is just a recipe for disaster. No. What Las Vegas needed when push came to shove is one person who is worth a cadre of soldiers in a close quarters battle. He needed Nashville.

Las Vegas said to Nashville, "Tell Roscoe to send any men he can spare to set up a perimeter around the building. If worst comes to worst, I don't want these people getting away with the wisdom cube. He's at liberty to keep this a secret from the crowd or not, but it's critical that nobody inside the building can see what's going on outside. I want you in here with me. Go around the back of the building and jump into a window that I'll open on the second floor. Do you understand?"

Nashville answered, "Crystal clear, sir. See you in a few seconds."

The radio line went dead and Las Vegas let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He felt even calmer now. With Nashville by his side, he felt ready to take on twice the number of men that the heralds now had in a no-holds-barred brawl.

He exited the broom closet and crossed the hallway to another room where he saw a window to the outside that was the opposite side from where the crowd waited. The window slid open easily and Las Vegas was suddenly aware that there were no window screens. Convenient. He leaned out and saw Nashville easily. He waved her over and stepped back from the open window to give his partner space.

In a moment, Nashville appeared into the window sill, having jumped with the perfect amount of strength and the characteristic grace of a shipgirl. Her heeled shoes clacked onto the tiled floor and she looked to her commander with an unconscious smile.

He smiled automatically and confessed, "I'm so glad that you got my back for this one."

She stepped right in front of him and planted a pat on one of his shoulders, "Don't you ever worry one bit. I always got your back."

His smile widened at that despite the seriousness of the situation. He shook himself back to business though and said, "We're on a time limit though. I said I'd be back after a half-hour lunch about ten minutes ago and there's still six bombs to disarm."

Her smile disappeared and she nodded deeply. He made his way to the door and leaned out to see if the coast was clear. He ordered Nashville, "I want you to guard the top of the stairs. Stay out of sight and knock the lights out of anyone that comes up who you don't recognize."

"Aye aye sir," she said as she stalked her way down the hall towards the stairs.

Las Vegas couldn't help but watch Nashville walk away and his eyes unwittingly went down to her superior posterior. She really was packing a whole arsenal. A sensuous memory and lewd imaginings danced in his mind for just a few seconds. He snapped his eyes away from that feast and he chided himself internally. Not only was now the mother of all bad times for that, he reminded himself that Nashville was his friend first and foremost and looking at her that way was wrong to do. He focused himself as he returned to the broom closet and mentally reviewed what he had learned in the explosive ordnance disposal manual that he studied.

He knelt over the IED and took Vorpal out from its sheath. The bomb was on a timed fuse and it was set to explode in several hours. Other than that, it was extremely basic on the spectrum of IEDs. Las Vegas carefully cut a wire, then two, and removed the battery out of the electronics of the device. It was disarmed successfully.

He stood from this victory and congratulated himself by whispering, "See? That wasn't so bad. I can totally do this."

He left the bomb where it was and deposited Vann's pistol sans its loaded magazine into a bucket while he exited from the room and went to the next one. He shot Nashville a thumbs up as he opened the door. She returned the gesture in kind but added an encouraging smile and mouthing the words, "Good job," to him. He winked back, but ducked into the room too quickly to notice Nashville's blush.

He found the second bomb easily too, and disarmed it with the exact same process as he had the first. Same for the third bomb. He also stashed the loaded magazine from Vann's pistol under a pile of papers that he noticed in the third bomb's room.

When he exited the last room he approached Nashville where she stood in a recessed doorway out of sight of the top of the stairwell. They regarded each other and Nashville said, "Coast's still clear."

Las Vegas gave her orders for how they would proceed. "Good. But this was the easy part of the mission. There's another three bombs downstairs. I'll be doing the same thing going to them and disarming them. This time I want you staying with me. Watch the doors and keep an eye out into the hallway. It's a lot more likely there will be foot traffic. But if that foot traffic goes for any room where a bomb has been disarmed or goes for the stairs, rush them and knock their lights out. But it's critical that nobody hears anything. The enemy can't suspect anything."

"Understood," she said.

They stepped out into sight and made their way down the stairs. Las Vegas looked around at the foot of the stairs and saw nobody. That was good. So far, everything was going according to plan.

They found the next bomb easily. Nashville stood at the door, looking out of a crack while Las Vegas got to work disarming it. "You're really good at that," whispered Nashville while Las Vegas was removing the battery.

"Thanks, but watch-" began Las Vegas with equal volume. He was suddenly cut off by Nashville's snapping twitch to place one of her index fingers against her lips in a shushing gesture. Las Vegas clutched Vorpal in his hand, ready to drive it into someone's neck at a moment's notice. He watched as every single muscle in Nashville's body tensed, ready to leap into action. He was taken aback by the display. In that instant, Nashville's normally femininely shaped and proportioned limbs flexed with muscle like a thoroughbred racehorse, easily displaying dense, rippled sinews and tendons far beyond what a normal human could muster. What she lacked in muscle size, she suddenly made up for with definition. Nashville was ready to cave in someone's skull. Unexpectedly, Las Vegas was again struck with that odd realization of the impossibility of beings like shipgirls to exist. Yet here one was and he was glad that she was on his side. He would get over these feelings eventually, right?

A few seconds passed in silence before Nashville relaxed and quietly informed, "Someone just came out of the men's restroom."

He was taken aback by how quickly Nashville was back to normal. From what he had read about shipgirl construction over the past week, the mechanics of shipgirls' superhuman attributes was much denser muscles and bones compared to normal humans. The display Nashville just put on was proof of that in his eyes. Finally, he responded, "Thank God we weren't caught outside in the hallway when he came out. That was way too close."

"Yeah. Let's get this done quick," she asserted.

"You don't have to tell me twice," he agreed.

The Unionist duo sneaked to the next room and Las Vegas disarmed the bomb. Finally, they tip-toed their way into the last bomb's sanctuary, and defused that one. Now with the objective completed, Las Vegas carefully explained the layout of the control room and the Herald positions to Nashville. After confirming that she understood, he gave her more instructions. "Stay out here while I go back into the control room. Keep up with guarding the doors where we found bombs and the stairwell all the while staying out of sight. If or when you hear a scuffle or a confrontation, burst into the control room ready to throw punches. Be careful about who you start punching and throwing though. Not everyone in there is a herald."

"Lethal or non-lethal?" she asked.

"Non-lethal. Most of the heralds in there are just scientists that got roped into this."

"Yes sir," she said. Las Vegas reached for the door handle to exit the room and head back to his position in the control room. Nashville reached out and grasped his wrist before he could twist the doorknob. She noticed that he didn't jump or anything like that when she held him firm, obstructing his exit.

"What are you doing?" he asked pointedly with a harsh whisper. He saw that Nashville's eyes were pointed firmly towards the ground, unable to meet his gaze.

She hated the feeling she had at that moment. She was letting her commander go into the belly of the beast while she had to wait outside and hope that she would be fast enough to save him when things go badly. Desperately, she wanted to tell him no, that she wouldn't let him face this danger alone. She didn't want to say goodbye right now because she was scared it might be their last.

She hadn't answered for a few seconds, drawing a blank on what to say. Her commander spoke softly. "Nashville?" Her eyes met his slowly. He smiled thinly at her. "We've made it through worse than this. And we're smarter than before. I bet you're thinking that across the hall is so far away but this isn't like London. We've stacked the odds in our favor as high as they can go. Sure, they got us beat in numbers, but you know what? I'd take you over whole battalions of regular soldiers. These guys don't stand a chance. And plus, weren't you watching that day I got knighted on the Thames? I got a mean fast draw. If guns get drawn, I'm shooting first. I guarantee it."

Nashville sighed, "I hate it when you read my mind like that. But alright. I'll go along with this." Suddenly, she pulled Las Vegas's wrist to bring him close to her. She wrapped her arms around him for a hug. She loved getting hugs from him. Automatically, he returned it. She ordered him, "Don't you dare die on me. I'll be so pissed if you do."

"I promise to not die," he reassured her.

"Good. Now get out there and give 'em hell," she concluded as she released him.

"You know it," he whispered cockily to her as he opened the door. Both crept down the hall to where they parted ways. Nashville entered into the room across from the control room while Las Vegas sheathed Vorpal and opened the door to the control room. He checked his watch as he unlatched the door. Thirty-five minutes had passed since he left to eat his lunch. He hoped that Dr. Anzeel wouldn't chew him out.

"You're late," Doctor Anzeel announced with annoyance apparent in her tone of voice.

Well. He couldn't be right all the time.

Las Vegas looked at his watch again as if he did lose track of time. "I'm in time for the part that matters," observed Las Vegas.

Anzeel did not look happy and she folded her arms. "I expect better things from you Commander," she scolded. "After your own intelligence and diligence of the past week, I expect you to understand that here at the final stretch is when things are most critical."

"Without a doubt," he agreed in an attempt to placate her. "And I do apologize for tardiness. That said, we can take comfort in the fact that the cube is unbothered, I'm refreshed for when I finally take part in this launch, and everything is still going according to plan." He left out which plan he was referring to, of course. There were three going on concurrently. Anzeel's plan to launch Charybdis, the Heralds' plan to steal the wisdom cube, and Las Vegas' plan to stop the Heralds. As of this moment, the good guys were winning, but things had yet to come to the boiling point and nothing was guaranteed.

Anzeel hummed disapprovingly, yet still she ordered, "Return to your position. Check your notes again. We cannot afford to be wrong on this."

"Yes, Ma'am. I understand," he said as he went back to where he was sitting. He set the briefcase down beside him and unzipped his backpack to take out his notes again.

More time passed, approaching two hours by what Las Vegas' wrist watch was telling him. Occasionally, Las Vegas looked up and inspected the other people in the room. He committed to memory the faces of every one of the Herald operatives that Vann had told him about. Surprisingly but to his delight, Ed was not among those operatives. But as he paid attention to the scientist operatives, he was more readily able to pick up nervousness in a few of them. Bouncing knees, brushing hair behind ears, clearing throats, and paying unduly close attention to a clock that hung on the wall. But their handler was stoic like a statue from where he sat beside the airlock and he betrayed nothing of his intentions nor did he appear to be nervous by any stretch. If he really was a former member of the Special Boat Service, then he was probably well accustomed to the calm before the storm. Las Vegas wagered that he was used to being that storm. Internally, the codebreaker smirked. "Not this time," he thought to himself.

One by one, all of the technicians called over Doctor Anzeel to show that they were done with their work of deriving part of HMS Charybdis' hull data. She inspected it all carefully, and found several errors which were all corrected under her borderline tyrannical supervision and perfection. Eventually, things were complete to her satisfaction. However, she could not release the technicians to leave because they might be needed when the launch actually started. So, she simply ordered the ones who were finished with their work to double check it all.

Las Vegas felt things coming to a head when the final technician's work was completed. That left only one last thing that needed to be done. Doctor Anzeel stood beside the computer at desk one at the front left of the block and she motioned for the technician to stand up and move aside. This was complied with with a look of confusion. "Commander," said Doctor Anzeel. "Time for your job."

Las Vegas stood, gathering the briefcase and his backpack while he approached the computer. The technician who he was replacing went and stood a few feet away up against the wall. Las Vegas sat down at the computer with the briefcase on his lap and his backpack sitting beside him on the desk. He unzipped the backpack and found his notes. "This shouldn't take long," he announced so that the room could hear him.

"What are you doing?" asked the first technician who spoke with Anzeel that morning. Las Vegas remembered that Clifton was his name. But unfortunately, Clifton was one of the Herald operatives that Vann had ratted out.

Anzeel answered for Las Vegas. "We're inputting a special algorithm that he and I have developed. It will rapidly speed up the launch itself."

"Ah. Very good. Carry on with that," Clifton approved. He didn't have the authority to say no, nor did he try because by his estimation, it wouldn't be necessary in a few minutes.

Las Vegas clacked away on his keyboard, carefully but quickly and precisely putting the code into the computer. In five minutes, he was done and he stood up from his seat to let Anzeel sit and inspect his work. It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Anzeel pronounced his work up to her standards without making a single alteration.

Still sitting, she firmly demanded, "Commander, the briefcase, if you please."

As much as he hated it, he had correctly surmised the actions of Doctor Anzeel in this moment. She wanted the honor of doing the final step herself. She would open the briefcase, insert the wisdom cube into the receptacle, and press the button that would actually begin Charybdis' launch. However, what Las Vegas hated even more was that he would be using Doctor Anzeel as bait to get eyes off of himself in this critical moment. In a pinch like this, he couldn't see any other way.

"Here ya go," he said as he handed her the briefcase. He grabbed his backpack and held it in his left hand as he took a few steps away back towards where he had been sitting. Everyone stood up from their desks, some unconsciously just out of fascination at getting to see a wisdom cube. Others were fully aware of what they were doing. Las Vegas stepped away, almost to where he was sitting originally.

Clifton stood beside Doctor Anzeel and the man behind her was another herald operative. They would be the biggest threats because they were the closest threats to the doctor. Las Vegas stood adjacent to the third row, directly beside Ed. On the other side of Ed was another herald. Dillon Vann and the final herald operative were in the fourth row. The door was at the back corner of the room, in line with the fourth row of desks. Nashville would smash through there and take out the herald in the back row and in the third row. Las Vegas would go for Anzeel and at least try to stall the herald handler long enough for Nashville to back him up. Even if the man was a former special operator, he would be no match for a shipgirl. Or so Las Vegas hoped.

Anzeel put surgical gloves on and began inputting the code into the briefcase, unaware of the secretive forces that were on a collision course around her. Hands were reaching for concealed weapons and Las Vegas' hand was among them. He had untucked the rear hem of his shirt, ready to draw Giovanni and he got into a loose quickdraw stance, angling his hips towards the men closest to Doctor Anzeel.

Unsurprisingly, a very unwelcome debate began in Las Vegas' mind. Was he really ready to kill any of these men? He didn't know. But he had to find out quickly. Anzeel was clicking away at the briefcase's lengthy combination. He made his decision. He would only shoot to kill if either Anzeel's, Nashville's, or Dillon Vann's lives here immediately threatened. But shooting with the intention of wounding was pretty silly too now that he thought about it. And what did "immediately threatened" mean anyway? He wasn't sure. Violence was never the answer. But as much as he despised it, violence had become a question right before his eyes and he knew that the correct answer was "yes." He ran out of time to debate further. The briefcase clicked open and finally, the handler tensed visibly.

Anzeel flipped open the briefcase expecting to see a wisdom cube, but only found a similarly weighing rock that Las Vegas had picked out the night before. She catapulted herself to her feet with a gasp of breath, she snapped around and called out, "Commander!"

There was an explosion of activity around the room. A man shouted, "NOBODY FUCKING MOVE!" He was to Las Vegas' right, standing up from desk six and he was still producing a pistol from his waistband. The shout motivated his fellows to begin producing weapons as well.

It was perfect for Las Vegas. The heralds still didn't know where the cube was but they had sprung their trap. It was the cost of not using trained operatives or at least operatives with the stomach to handle a stressful situation like a change of plans.

In an instant, Las Vegas' fingers curled around Giovanni and he smoothly but quickly slid it upwards just enough to clear leather. It twisted with practiced precision and leveled on the Herald operative at desk two. This was Clifton, who had spoken several times over the course of the day. His pistol was clearly visible but not quite clear of his pants. He would surely take Anzeel hostage if allowed to, but Las Vegas would not permit it.

Las Vegas pulled the trigger and a shot rang out with its ear-splitting bang and blinding flash of light.

The two loudest sounds for anyone with a firearm is a click when there should be a bang or a bang when there should be a click. From the reactions of those around the room, a bang was most unexpected.

Clifton felt his chest light up with what felt like a flaming blow from a sledgehammer. He took in a sharp breath from an involuntary gasp and felt all the effects of a collapsing lung courtesy of Las Vegas' hollow point ammunition. He began to scream in his sudden agony as he fell to the ground, dropping his pistol and forgetting his mission.

But Doctor Anzeel still had one more Herald right behind her and Las Vegas had the drop on his enemies for another split second. He brought Giovanni up and forward to take the herald at desk three in his sights. By appearances, it looks like the man at desk three had overdone his drawing motion thanks to the surprise gunshot from Las Vegas and had gotten his pistol tangled in his shirt. From the man's posture, he presented an ideal target to the gunfighter.

Las Vegas pulled the trigger a second time only a fraction of a second after the first one. Giovanni barked out and another supersonic slug of lead and copper streaked towards its target. This shot found its way right into the man's right shoulder blade, cracking it into large pieces. Fortunately, as the bone gave way, it did so in a way that protected the man's artery that ran through the fleshy part of his shoulder. The shot spun him around and he collapsed onto his desk and also began to scream out his pain.

Las Vegas' time of running rampant came to a close because of the biggest threat in the room. "His ruck!" bellowed the handler of this herald outfit. He had never stopped moving towards where Doctor Anzeel stood petrified. Las Vegas' element of surprise had only barely phased him drawing his weapon. He sidestepped Anzeel completely, laser focused on Las Vegas and his backpack. Las Vegas surmised that the handler didn't see Anzeel as a threat.

Both pistols were searching for each other's masters but Las Vegas' advantage ran out. He hesitated for just a moment as his aim tracked across Anzeel towards the handler. He didn't want to nearly shoot an ally again like he had almost done to Nashville that night in the Gilded Lion Pub. The handler's gun found its target and fired.

A blinding flash, a supersonic crack, the explosion of a gunshot, and a wave of heat from still burning gunpowder washed his way. He didn't even know if he was hit or not because he didn't feel anything. The handler had either missed or Las Vegas was already high on adrenaline. Regardless, a major difference in sidearm training immediately made itself apparent. Las Vegas' experience was with competitive target shooting meaning fast and precise single shots for each target. But for someone trained to kill with a pistol, the training is to keep shooting until the target stops moving.

Las Vegas let his posture buckle as he allowed himself to fall downwards, trying to make himself a smaller target.

The handler pulled his trigger again and again and again as if in slow motion. Again, Las Vegas couldn't tell if he had been shot or not.

Without warning and as he fell, Las Vegas was slammed into the wall he stood beside. He smacked his head into the wall and his eyes immediately watered up. Giovanni clattered onto the ground.

Las Vegas didn't need to see what happened next, because he felt it. A pair of hands reached for his backpack, got a hold of it, and pulled. While he was focused on the handler, it looked like the herald at desk six or ten had gotten the drop on Las Vegas with a rough body slam.

There was a smashing sound from behind Las Vegas and he knew what it was immediately. Nashville had just entered the melee. But that did not absolve Las Vegas of his instinct to fight back.

With his pistol forgotten as pure instinct took over, Las Vegas gripped his backpack with both hands, and pulled with all his might. There was a massive rip and it was divided asunder scattering its contents seemingly everywhere.

A few seconds earlier, Nashville had heard clear as day that things were getting started. She sped from the room she hid in, quite literally ripping the door off its hinges with her haste. Gunshots rang out, but she barely registered them. Without any thoughts whatsoever, her high heeled foot collided with the door to the control room. This door had not been reinforced like the front door to the Herald hideout in London. So, rather than remain in one piece, this door seemed to disintegrate beneath her herculean strength. One moment, there was an obstacle and the next, there was a shotgun of splinters being fired into the room.

She saw her first target instantly. It was a man in the back row of the room that she did not recognize. He had drawn a gun and was pulling his aim towards the front left of the room. Beside him on Nashville's side, Dillon Vann was beginning to shove himself underneath the desk in front of him. Good. He was out of Nashville's was as she leapt forward and delivered a knockout blow to the side of the standing Herald's head, instantly putting him out of the fight.

"Kill the shipgirl!" shouted the handler. He had not anticipated needing to confront a shipgirl this early in the plan. No matter how much he may want the wisdom cube that his subordinate and the magician were scrambling to find, the fact that a shipgirl was in the room spelled the doom of them all if she had her way with things. Instantly, Nashville became the handler's priority and he ignored the graceless but still mortal struggle over what remained of Calico Jack's rucksack. He opened fire on Nashville, who only reacted instead of analyzing the situation. She flung herself forward as bullets whizzed through the air she had just been occupying.

The handler made a grave tactical error. In spite of lofty goals and ideals, the passion brought on by the primal urge to kill before being killed lit up his spirit like a shot of methamphetamine. He took steps towards Las Vegas and the herald that he was wrestling with to find the wisdom cube, but passed them. He ignored everyone except Nashville. After all, he wanted hostages to take or the plan was almost guaranteed to fail. Besides, by his estimation, it looked like his Herald comrade was winning the struggle with the Unionist man. So much for whatever warnings that the handler got about Calico Jack, or the Magician, or whatever the hell the his name was. No longer was finding the wisdom cube the handler's objective. His objective was to kill Nashville before she killed him.

Perhaps three seconds passed and more shots came from the handler towards Nashville, who was suddenly pinned down. Las Vegas was being ignored for the moment, left to take care of the last herald with whom he wrestled. The herald got his hands on the t-shirt wrapped cube and instinctively held it up just as Las Vegas was finally blinking away the last of the tears in his eyes.

The herald shouted, "I got it!" and thoughtlessly began unwrapping the treasure and revealing its glimmering shine to the world.

Las Vegas decided that Nashville was under immediate threat. He didn't even need to debate to morality of his decision. He would kill for her. For Nashville, he would get blood on his hands and would bear that guilt for the rest of his days.

A story came to Las Vegas's mind. Or rather, the story of a man who once lived on the Western Frontier of the Eagle Union. John Henry Holliday, more famously known as Doc Holliday. The dentist turned gambler and gunfighter was great friends of another high profile character of the late nineteenth century Old West Era, Wyatt Earp. Along the way, Holliday had contracted tuberculosis and lived his life on borrowed time; for with the medical knowledge of the day, he was a dead man walking. According to the recollections of Bat Masterson, "Physically, Doc Holliday was a weakling who could not have whipped a healthy fifteen-year-old boy in a 'go as you please' fist fight. And no one knew this better than himself. And the knowledge of this fact was perhaps why he was so ready to resort to a weapon of some kind whenever he got himself into difficulty."

In this thought, Las Vegas found his next course of action. He wasn't as physically inept as Doc Holliday, but he needed a quick victory and was losing this struggle. But in this 'go as you please' brawl, he had an ace up his sleeve. He left Watson where it was holstered out of sight. Even at touching distance, it was possible to miss with a gun. No. The ace up his sleeve was concealed under his other shoulder. Vorpal came out of its sheath and Las Vegas pronounced the Herald attacking him as guilty of being in his way to save Nashville. The sentence was death. He hurled himself at the Herald, his desire to avoid killing having been cast aside. It was frightening to feel the ease with which Vorpal's adamantine blade plunged into the Herald's neck. Little more than an additional quick flick was enough to slice through, opening up half of his neck causing blood to cascade around the room.

Las Vegas' left hand shot out, and caught the glimmering blue cube before it hit the ground. Just like before, the wisdom cube answered him. It brightened with his willpower, which was surging with his aim to aid Nashville. His course was set and with Vorpal in his right hand and the wisdom cube in his left, he charged towards the handler, whose back was turned towards him.

A gasp was cut off by the thump of a stabbing blade and was quickly supplanted by a gurgle and the handler was all out of allies. Training had given him the instinct to know that his last ally had fallen to a knife. There was no thinking on his part, only acting and he knew that a man with a knife would kill him just as easily as a shipgirl. He knew that the shipgirl remained behind the cover of the last row, but the glow of the wisdom cube was easily seen by him even with his back turned. He rounded towards Las Vegas, who charged him with a knife in his right hand and the cube in his left.

The handler's stance widened and his left forearm shot out in a block to his attacker's forearm. The knife was deflected harmlessly to the side, but he couldn't bring his gun into play fast enough before his attacker slammed into him with a tackle.

The handler's stance hadn't been good enough to keep from falling. In a split second, both men were sent sprawling onto the ground. The handler was on the bottom of the tackle and Las Vegas on top. Las Vegas' right hand was in a poor place to attack, and seeing the gun still clenched in the handler's right hand, he also acted on instinct. His left hand raised up with the glowing wisdom cube in his grip. He shouted, "Take it then!" and punched the cube into the man's face.

A haunting wail tore through the air to punctuate the absolute peak of human suffering. It sounded as if a hundred men were being savagely butchered all at once and any amount of painful shouts from the wounded were instantly drowned out by the superior agony.

But Las Vegas didn't hear it.

XXXXXXXX

A hand was placed onto Las Vegas' shoulder and he awoke with a start. He would have sat up quickly, but his forehead collided with something hard. A flash of pain radiated from his head but he bore it by sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. He was knocked backwards onto his back into soft grass where he had been laying down.

"Ow ow ow" came from an unfamiliar but soft, feminine, and decidedly Unionist sounding voice. It definitely wasn't Nashville's. It lacked the Southern drawl that Nashville had, rather favoring a distinctly New England accent.

He blinked a few times to clear his vision; the second time in only… thirty seconds? What? He could have sworn he had been thrown to the wall and had his vision obscure with tears only a few seconds earlier. Then why did that feel like such a distant memory?

This line of thought was immediately dropped however when he saw the woman whose head he had bonked into. She was beautiful, angelic even. He could instantly identify her as a shipgirl, for no other woman alive or dead could appear so pristine and perfect. Her hair was a shining silvery color and her sky-blue eyes were squinted, partly concealed by both of her hands that were massaging her forehead. However, he clearly saw her mostly white dress accented with black and topped with a collar adorned by a blue bow. In true shipgirl fashion, she had quite a bit of cleavage to display.

He had seen her before and recognized her. But she didn't look quite like the woman he saw from the photo that Hornet had shown him all that time ago aboard her bridge. "Yorktown?" he asked. It came out as a question because even though he was reasonably certain that this woman was Yorktown, she was different enough from the picture he saw that he wasn't completely sure.

Yorktown gently scolded him, "What are you doing here Professor? You're supposed to be meeting up with the others in a few minutes and you're out here sleeping."

He tried to summon up everything he remembered about Yorktown that Hornet had told him. He drew a blank. He didn't remember her saying much of anything about Yorktown aside from describing her as a quiet worrier.

Now that he was thinking more clearly, he felt questions pile up into a viscous cascade. Where was he? How did he get here? Why was Yorktown here and why was she so different to what he remembered seeing in Hornet's photo? Who were these "others" that he's supposed to meet in a few minutes? Where was Nashville? Why call him a "professor" when he's nothing of the sort? Wasn't he just in the middle of fighting for his and Nashville's lives?

Like someone trying to retrace their steps after losing something, Las Vegas pondered the last things he remembered while Yorktown looked down at him with a gentle smile. Her smile still wasn't as vibrant as Nashville's could be. But he got his thoughts back on track. The last thing he remembered doing was pressing the wisdom cube to the face of the Herald handler. That thought proved to be the key. Wisdom cubes were powerful objects capable of altering reality. He boiled down all his questions into a two-step inquiry that would serve as a litmus test.

Yorktown finally stood and offered a hand to him. He accepted it, and was pulled to his feet.

"Yorktown?" he began.

"Yes? What is it?" she asked, beckoning him to continue.

"How well do you know me?" he probed.

Her face took on a far off look as she tallied up the memories that they had shared in the years that they knew each other. She returned to looking him in the eye and explained, "I've known you for years by this point. You're my very good friend and the creator of Type II riggings. But I've known your reputation for far longer. You're a war hero. Your name and face have been featured on every news outlet and newspaper on Earth."

There were a few big things to unpack with that explanation. He created Type II riggings? That definitely more than confirmed that he was nowhere close to the control room of the shipgirl launch facility in Plymouth, England. Was this the future? Was this an alternate reality? Was this a vivid hallucination? Or was it a vision of some kind? He knew that Doctor Anzeel had talked to him briefly about Type II riggings, but development had stalled. Apparently he was the key to their development. All he knew for sure though was that he was thinking of the topic earlier in the day. But then there was the part of him being friends with Yorktown for years? That simply wasn't true. He barely even knew her between Hornet's photo and the past few seconds with someone or something that sure looked like her. Finally, a war hero? How was he a war hero? He didn't bother to ask, because Yorktown had answered exactly like he hoped she would.

Because she claimed to know him so well, he probed, "What's my name?" His logic of asking this was thus. If Yorktown knew his name with it as widespread as she said it was, then there was something deeper going on here and he should play along with whatever it is that Yorktown wants him to do. But if she didn't know his name, then this was all fake and he needed to take charge and figure out what to do next. It really was a question between him going along with whatever was going on or not.

Yorktown giggled and she gently placed her hand on his upper arm in a soft pat. "You're so silly, professor. Everyone knows that your name is… it's…" She wavered and her hand fell away from touching him familiarly. Confusion replaced her amusement. "Of course, I know your name. It's… It is…" She took a step back from him. Her confusion was turning into alarm like a delusion being shredded before her eyes. She tamed her alarm quickly. "Oh dear," she concluded in surrender. She sounded surprisingly calm. Her gaze turned sad and her shoulders slumped, "I'm sorry professor. I'm your friend, but I've forgotten your name."

He stepped forward almost automatically. A saddened woman was one of his weaknesses after all. He reciprocated her earlier familiarity with him by placing both of his hands gently upon her shoulders. Her eyes met his and he said, "That's alright Yorktown. I, uh, I can't think of a gentle way to say this, so I'll just be blunt. I don't think that this is real. Any of it. I'm not standing here talking to you. I've never met you before. I'm no war hero and Type II riggings have only been conceptualized and never built."

Yorktown shook her head but didn't flee from his touch. Her eyes became starry with a thin sheen of tears. She had just been told that her reality wasn't real. She tried to rationalize with him by insisting, "No. No that's not true. You're gaslighting me, Professor. What you're saying is impossible."

His sympathy came to the forefront and he sincerely replied, "I'm sorry Yorktown. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I know that we aren't friends like you think we are, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't want to hurt you in the slightest."

She stopped shaking her head and she softly asked, "But then, how are we here?"

It seemed that Yorktown was the trusting type. That definitely made things easier for him. "The last thing I remember is a scuffle with some very bad men during the launch of a shipgirl. In the melee, I pressed a wisdom cube to a man's face. The next thing I knew, you were waking me up."

Yorktown gasped when he admitted to pressing a wisdom cube to someone's face. Suddenly, the fact that nothing was real, her included, seemed so much more plausible to her. She said, "I've heard of that happening. Wisdom cubes can show visions. But they come with a cost. You being here… is costing a man his life." She involuntarily added on, "Such is the price of seeing into the Deep."

What he had just heard come from Yorktown's mouth was deeply disturbing. He was seeing into the Deep? And was that Yorktown talking? Or was the wisdom cube trying to communicate with him? He couldn't tell. He had to get to the bottom of things. "What did you just say?" he demanded, his grip on her tightening.

Yorktown noticed this act on his part, but didn't flinch. No human could physically hurt a shipgirl with just their bare hands. "I said that I think this is a vision of yours. You're here because someone is dying."

Las Vegas forced this gruesome fact aside lest he make himself sick. He demanded, "No not that. You said I'm seeing into the Deep?"

She nodded. "Yes. You are."

He harshly questioned, "Is this you or the wisdom cube talking?" while giving a quick shake to her shoulders.

Yorktown seemed to think on this for a few seconds but didn't look like she could reach a conclusion. "I don't know," she admitted.

That line of questioning failed, but he still had to get his bearings in this climaxing madness. He was feeling more and more lost. "What year is it right now?" he probed.

Now it was her turn to put on a sympathetic expression. Despite the fact that she now knew that she wasn't real, she felt strangely at peace with it all. She was no stranger to sadness and disappointment. Deep down she knew that all the happy memories she thought were hers couldn't have come to pass. It was just another chapter in the saga of her continuing tragedy. But he wasn't nearly at peace with this revelation as she was. "2052," she answered him.

That was almost twenty-five years off from what it should have been. He released her and stumbled backwards. He understood now. This is what the Deep Seer does, whoever they are. At the cost of a life, they see into the Deep and have visions of what's in the future. This was how the Heralds of the Deep plan to tame the chaotic system that was reality and crown themselves as gods of a new world. They would see reality as it could be and force it into becoming that or change it to suit their needs. They certainly had the power to do it.

"I have to get out of here. Now," he said. "I can still save him. I just wanted to stop him. I don't know why or how, but if I can survive touching a wisdom cube, then maybe he can too." He was lying to both Yorktown and himself and he knew it. He had every intention of ending the Herald handler's life to save Nashville's. But Yorktown didn't need to know that.

Yorktown stepped forward and grasped his hand, raising it between them and gently squeezing it in both of her own. She shook her head again and gently asserted, "No. You can't save him. Even if my memories are fake, I know that you're special. You have willpower when others give up. The man fueling this vision isn't like you. He's there for himself. You're there for others."

"So, that's it then?" Las Vegas mused aloud. "I'm killing someone without any way of stopping what I'm doing?"

She seemed to dwell on that for a few seconds and then postulated, "I think that you can make it be worth something."

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "How?"

She answered his question with one of her own. She parroted him by asking, "How well do you know me?"

He didn't see how this would help him, but he found himself willing to humor her regardless of any reservations of his. "Not well. I've seen a photo of you and Hornet spoke about you very briefly. But I know that the Yorktown-class Yorktown's name would be given to another Essex-class ship later on. You don't look quite like the Yorktown that I saw in the photo. Which one are you?"

"I am both," she said. "I began as the name ship of the Yorktown-class aircraft carriers. But Type II riggings gave me new life. When I became the Essex-class Yorktown, I lost the Yorktown-class rigging and hull that I once had but I kept those memories and gained the memories, rigging, and hull of Essex-class me. I am the soul of two ships in one shipgirl. I am the resurrected Fighting Lady, Essex-class aircraft carrier, Yorktown." She giggled briefly. It put Las Vegas more at ease. She continued, "I'm actually still the same Yorktown that everyone's always known."

"Incredible," Las Vegas amazed. "And you're saying that I'm the one that created Type II riggings?"

Yorktown nodded deeply and said, "I want to take you to your office. You have notes about how Type II riggings are made there. Take them and make the man's death worth something."

His will sharpened and he ordered, "Lead the way."

They set off immediately with Yorktown beside him. Finally, Las Vegas was able to inspect his surroundings. He was clearly in the middle of some university. The buildings were arranged around courtyards and they were all numbered and had bulletin boards with fliers advertising all sorts of different events and opportunities to students. But there was one thing that was ostensibly missing. "Where is everyone?" asked Las Vegas.

"It's the weekend," said Yorktown. "Or at least I thought it was. I suppose they don't exist."

Las Vegas took a few seconds to mull over her words and felt to correct the woman. "Yorktown." She looked his way and when his gaze met hers, he told her, "Real or not, what we're doing right now isn't meaningless. Reality might be this, that, or maybe even something completely different, but what's important is that we do what we feel is right."

She returned her eyes to look in the direction they were going and she nodded slowly. "You're right," she replied to him. "Even if none of this is real, I feel in my heart that this is right."

"That's good," he said. But then he asked, "How much further until we reach my office?"

Yorktown answered, "We're getting close to it. It uses a code that I don't know, so you'll have to find a way in yourself. But I know that you meticulously alphabetize your research. Once you get inside, you won't struggle to find information on Type II riggings."

They entered into a three story building and Yorktown led him up a flight of stairs onto the middle floor. They went down a hallway, rounded a corner, and came to a stop in front of a door with a numerical keypad and a nameplate. The nameplate simply said, "Professor." There was no surname attached to the title.

"Here's your office," said Yorktown.

"Fantastic. Thank you," said Las Vegas. "Now I just have to get in."

Yorktown stated, "I'm sure you'll find a way. That's the kind of man that I know you are. But I have to leave you here. I have to find the others and bring them here. They all have Type II riggings like I do. I feel like you should see them too."

He didn't really see the logic of why that would be necessary when it would be so much simpler to just tell him their names so that he could get them Type II riggings when he returned to reality. But on the other hand, he did tell Yorktown that she needed to do what felt right only a few minutes earlier. He dismissed her by saying, "Sounds good to me. When I get the door open, I'll find what I need and then wait here for you and the others. The door will be unlocked, so just come on in."

Yorktown stepped up close to Las Vegas and she held out both of her arms, requesting a hug. It struck him as odd, but he had no reason to decline her, so he accepted it. Yorktown was a bit taller than Nashville was, but she shared Nashville's gentleness and warmth. She whispered to him, "This is my best chance to say some words to just you without anyone overhearing."

His curiosity was piqued by this request. He asked, "What up?"

"If or when you find the other me—the real me, tell her that she doesn't need to be afraid. Tell her what you told me. It's not all meaningless. Everything will be alright if she follows her heart."

The moment wasn't lost on the man. He considered all the times that he pondered what he would say to a younger version of himself if he could travel time to try and comfort himself during the hard times. It seemed to him that Yorktown was no stranger of hard times, and she had a chance to comfort herself. He answered her quietly, but resolutely, "I will. I promise."

"Thank you," she whispered. She sniffled and gave him a squeeze before releasing him.

Without thinking, Las Vegas' hand went for his pocket and found what he was looking for. He smiled and was glad that even in a pocket of reality outside of reality, he still kept a handkerchief on his person. He held out the fabric to Yorktown and she accepted it with a smile. "I'll return this when I get back," she said as she stepped away.

"See ya in a bit," said Las Vegas.

"See you," she said and she went around a corner.

Now alone but with an objective, Las Vegas turned his attention to the keypad that barred entry into his office. When given the chance of setting key codes, Las Vegas never went with only a four-digit number. It was too common and usually the minimum security for locked items. But he pondered all the longer numbers that had any meaning to him. He began typing in these numbers in no particular order. He typed the street address of the home he grew up in. He tried the telephone numbers of his mother's, father's, and both of his siblings' cell phones. He tried his birth date in both month/day/year and day/month/year combinations. Nothing was working. Suddenly, he smiled. He was in a school after all, so he tried the combination to his locker from high school that he somehow remembered. The keypad flashed a green light and the door's lock clicked. His smile grew and he reached out to open the door.

He stepped into an office that looked a lot like he expected. It was a modestly sized office with a central desk facing the door that had a computer on it. There were chairs on both sides of the desk, one for him and another for a visitor. One of the side walls was actually an entire whiteboard but it was immaculately clean as if it were never used. This didn't surprise him at all. His board handwriting was atrocious, so whenever he could avoid it, he wrote things down on paper or used projectors. The back wall behind the desk had a large window with a short shelf underneath it that was stocked with books. A cursory investigation showed them to be mundane text books that he remembered using in college and grad school.

It was the final wall that contained his prize. There were several filing cabinets that were all labeled with ranges of letters for each drawer. He approached the filing cabinet that had a drawer labeled, "S-T" hoping to find something about Type II riggings. But he was confronted by another problem. Just like the door had been, the filing cabinet was locked. Unusually for a locking file cabinet, instead of needing a key, this had another combination lock. Without thinking, Las Vegas input the combination to the safe from his quarters aboard Nashville. There was another click and he mumbled to himself, "Alright. I'll take it," referring to this easy victory.

The drawer slid open and he thumbed through the files. There were many files to go through, and unsurprisingly, what he was looking for was at the back of the file. He took out a fat packet of papers perhaps a hundred pages thick and looked at the title, "Construction and Synchronization of Type II Riggings For Shipgirls." There were two authors to the paper, Tova Anzeel but the other name was redacted with thick black ink. He assumed that the redacted name was his. Just to sate his curiosity, he held up just the first page to look at it through the light on the ceiling. Whoever did the redacting did their job well. The name was illegible when looking through the paper at a light.

He gave up that endeavor and closed the drawer with his prize in hand and moved to sit down at his desk to inspect the document. He pulled out the seat and sat down. He thumbed through the pages and confirmed that they weren't blank or something weird like that.

Las Vegas was about to begin by reading the executive summary of the paper when there was a knock on the door to his office. "Come in," he said. "It's unlocked."

Instead of coming in, whoever was there knocked again but this time with added urgency. He stood from his desk and went to the door. He turned the handle and pulled it open expecting to see Yorktown. That clearly wasn't who he saw.

It was a shipgirl who stood alone on the other side of his door. But unlike with Yorktown, he didn't recognize her at all. She had long gray hair and regarded him with equally gray eyes. But what was most striking about her appearance was her clothing. She was dressed as a maid. Well, a very sensual maid much in the same vein as the other Royal Maids that he met during his time in the United Kingdom. Her pretty features were marred with confusion and her hand shook as she lowered it from knocking on the door.

"Master?" the woman asked uncertainly with a quivering lip. Her accent told him that she was most certainly an English woman. Another royal maid by the looks of it. He didn't expect to run into a maid nor was he expecting to have another title thrown his way during this bizarre vision that the wisdom cube was giving him. But if she showed up to his office, then the woman was important.

He looked her up and down before deciding that he would go along with this part of the vision. He replied, "I don't think I'm your master, but I wager that I'm the one you're looking for. So, how about you come inside and take a seat? Let's have a chat."

She swallowed deeply and nodded slowly. "Yes, Master. I'd love that," she said.

He didn't bother correcting her about calling him her master. Given the situation, he wasn't going to be a stickler about smaller details right now. He stood aside and held the door open for the woman. She entered and sat down at the chair in front of his desk. He closed the door and went around to his own seat and sat down.

He stared into her eyes for a few seconds. She didn't shift or fidget under his gaze. Instead, her face looked relieved as if she had finally found what she was looking for. She was content to just soak up the moment but Las Vegas had things to do. He asked her, "Who are you?"

She shook her head without any thought and apologized. "I'm sorry Master, but I don't know."

The speed with which she said that she didn't know troubled him. So, he raised and eyebrow and vocalized his doubts. "You don't know?" he confirmed.

This time, she looked to the side for a few seconds as if she were looking for something. She reminded him of himself. When he was combing through his knowledge, he did the same thing. Her eyes returned to his own and she shook her head again.

Seeing as how she didn't know who she was, he went at this from a different angle and inquired, "Well, then why are you here?"

"I don't know," she said again. She pulled off not looking annoyed by his probing. She looked genuinely apologetic, in fact.

As much as he appreciated that, he was beginning to lose patience with her lack of knowledge about anything. "Do you know anything?" he asked. He sounded harsher than he intended to and cringed at that. He quickly apologized to the woman saying, "Sorry about that. You're my guest and have been looking for me. I want to help you, but you have to give me something to work with. So, please tell me if there's anything that you do know."

She smiled at him and said, "Master, there is nothing you need to apologize for." She took a breath and continued by saying, "What I know is that I recognize you. I don't know your name. But I know that I trust you with every part of my being. You've suffered horrible pain for me to be here. I'm so terribly sorry for causing you that."

Las Vegas considered this for a short time. Terrible pain? What was she talking about? It came together all at once. The wisdom cube he was presently holding to a herald's face to be here in the vision was the one from the London Incident. It was the one that brought him to the very brink of death and left him scarred. He knew who this was sitting across from him.

He leaned forward, again fixing the maid in his stare, holding her still with the force of his gaze. "You have done nothing wrong to me. I would suffer that pain all over again and for the same reasons."

She nodded and tears welled up in her eyes. He wanted to give her his handkerchief, but that was still with Yorktown. "I know that you would do it again. It's the kind of person you are," she mewled.

As sincerely as he could muster, he announced, "I forgive you, Charybdis."

She gasped with a shocked expression of realization. It was like things had clicked for her, "Th-That's my name," she managed through shaking breaths. "I am Charybdis." She began to weep but her smile showed her tears to be joyful. "Master, I…" she began before stopping for a ragged breath. She forced herself to continue, "I found you. I need your help."

He was weeping right along with her, the tenderness of this realization getting to him too. He wiped his tears on his gloved hands and said, "What can I do for you?"

"Take me with you. Please," she answered. "I want to see my sisters."

He smiled gently at her and said, "That's what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to get you constructed in real reality. I'm sure there will be discussion and probably even objections to using the wisdom cube that the real me presently has in his hand, but I'll insist that you be constructed. You have my word on it."

Still in tears, she whispered, "Thank you, master."

"It's no problem at all," he replied.

There was another knock at the door. Again, Las Vegas was expecting Yorktown. He spoke up loud enough to be heard, "Just a minute," to try and give both him and Charybdis time to collect themselves.

After a few silent seconds, he stood up to go around his desk. Charybdis stood too and without asking, she took him into a hug. She choked out, "Thank you," again and again.

He couldn't help but take her into his arms and try to comfort her. He reassured her with, "It's alright. Everything's going to be alright. You'll be seeing your sisters very soon. You just have to bear it for a short while longer."

"I've been alone for so long," she spoke softly.

"Not anymore," he affirmed. He felt his willpower well up from within again. In addition to getting information about how to make Type II riggings, learning Charybdis' desires in things is how he would make the Herald handler's death mean something. Good would spring forth out of evil.

She let him go, her tears drying up but her eyes remaining puffy. He suspected he looked the same way, but time was short, he had to let Yorktown back in. He went to the door, and opened it.

As expected, Yorktown was on the other side and she wasn't alone. She had four companions with her. He recognized three of them easily. These were Hornet, Northampton, and Hammann. But like Yorktown, they were different to those women that he was acquainted with. In as few words as possible, he thought that they looked, "upgraded." He didn't recognize the final woman. She was petite with green hair, and was dressed like a business woman, albeit with a short skirt that showed several inches of her thighs and the garters holding up her stockings. The other most notable thing about her was how she accessorized by having a small model biplane pinned into her hair. It was outlandish, but he wasn't going to criticize her for it.

Las Vegas' eyes swept over the group and he spoke first, "Sorry to have kept you all waiting. I was taking care of some important business with an unexpected visitor." He stood aside slightly to allow Yorktown to glance past him towards Charybdis. He gestured toward the maid with an open hand and introduced her, "This is Charybdis." He deliberately avoided any further details. His business with Charybdis was a private matter.

Yorktown noticed that Charybdis' eyes were puffy and she sniffled lightly, indicating that she had just finished crying. Seeking to comfort her, Yorktown offered an understanding smile and said to her, "You're in good hands, Charybdis."

Charybdis returned the smile and glanced at Las Vegas before returning her view towards Yorktown. "I know. But thank you," she said softly.

Yorktown turned her attention to Las Vegas and she said, "I should also be thanking you Professor. Thank you for coming with me."

"It's no problem at all," he stated firmly. "I found what I was looking for. It's sitting on the desk."

"That's a relief," spoke Hornet. She leaned out towards him and planted a firm pat onto his shoulder. "We knew you'd get in somehow." Despite looking different her voice and demeanor appeared unchanged. That made Las Vegas smile.

He asked the group, "How much did Yorktown explain about what's going on?"

"She explained everything," said Northampton. In contrast to Hornet, Northampton did sound different to what he remembered of her from the time he spent at South Point in Florida. The old Northampton spoke quietly and with a slight edge of timidity. It looked like Northampton had grown as a person. Her words were louder and more deliberate. He smiled wider at that.

Automatically, he looked at Hammann expecting her to speak next. She put a scowl on her face, crossed her arms, and challenged him, "Wh-what do you think you're looking at, pervert?!" It seemed that much like Hornet's demeanor, Hammann's hadn't changed with Type II rigging. She was still the same. But he thought that was okay. In all honesty, he was having a pang of nostalgia for when they first met in Florida. She'd accused him of being a pervert that day too. Those were simpler times.

He skipped trying to weasel his way out of interacting with her like he did that day. His smile persisted, but he replied, "I'm glad you're here, Hammann." Her scowl fell and her scorn was disarmed, but she said nothing. He looked to each of the women in turn, as he did this, he continued, "And I'm glad you're here too, Yorktown, Hornet, Northampton," and finally he came to the last woman. His smile morphed into something sheepish and he said, "I'm sorry, but we haven't met."

The petite woman cleared her throat and introduced herself with, "I am the new and improved Langley. I am here to support you to the fullest."

He nodded deeply and replied, "It's a pleasure, Miss Langley. I guess that I go by many names and titles, but I prefer 'Las Vegas.'" He suddenly became aware that he was being rude to these women and he stepped backwards into his office while holding the door open for them to enter. "I seem to have forgotten my manners. Please come in. It's a bit cramped with everyone inside but it's better than a conversation in the hallway."

One by one, they filed into the office. He met eyes with all five as they entered. He accepted the returned handkerchief from Yorktown and he closed the door behind them. He was only part of the way walking around his desk to sit down when Charybdis asked, "Why do you prefer to be 'Las Vegas,' when you could go by many other things?"

He sat down with a sigh and confirmed that the right document about Type II riggings was right where he had left it. It was, but it had a few wet spots from tears that had fallen earlier. He was unconcerned with this fact because the paper remained perfectly legible. He leaned back in his chair, practically melting into it while meshing his hands together with his elbows resting on the chair's arms. "Well," he began before hesitating, not really sure how he could express this thoughts. "Because of my mission right now, my actual name has been expunged. I'm not allowed to use it so I've had to rely on alternatives. As a byproduct, I've given a lot of thought to names and what they mean to people. No matter the name or the title, I'm still me. It's all about people's perceptions of me because without a definitive name, I could be anyone. Or maybe I could even be nobody. I am what people want to see. I admit that in moments of weakness, I feel like I'm having an identity crisis. But when I'm calm and then look into a mirror and ask myself what I see, I see myself as 'Las Vegas,' a codebreaker turned shipgirl commander. I don't see 'Las Vegas' as a lofty title or a name for anybody of note. It feels natural to me. It's who I am." He chuckled to himself and concluded, "I'm sorry if that didn't make any sense."

The Unionists in the room took a few moments to share glances and silent conversations among themselves. Yorktown answered for them, "We think it makes perfect sense. You are you reborn. Just like us."

Charybdis' eyes hadn't left him for any of that explanation or for any of the time the Union shipgirls used glancing towards each other. The maid thought this explanation over for a few seconds and she found kinship with the man. She had been lost for a long time, but she'd been found. It seemed that her master had found himself. She smiled tenderly at him. But then she asked, "Where did you get that name?"

He sat up in his seat and said, "I got it from the shipgirl I command, Nashville."

Suddenly, there was a world-shakingly loud cry, "LAS VEGAS! COME BACK TO ME!" Everything in the room rattled at the volume and everyone was quite startled. Las Vegas recognized the voice easily. It was Nashville's. She was looking for him. It seemed that saying her name was the key to leaving this vision. As to why that may be, he didn't know. But he did know that his time in the vision was coming to an end.

He shot up from his seat while grabbing the document. He held it tightly to his chest as if his life depended on it. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

Urgency came upon Yorktown's expression and tone as she said, "You can start with the five of us for Type II riggings. There's more shipgirls who are compatible with the upgrade, but I know you can figure out who."

"Thank you," he said simply. "I'll do just that."

Charybdis sped around the desk and wrapped her arms around his torso. Her tears had returned with a vengeance. She begged, "Please don't leave me. Don't send me back to the deep."

For some reason that he couldn't explain, he took his thumb and wiped away the stream of tears coming from one of her eyes, and then the other. Willpower surged within him again and it showed on his face. All looking on were comforted by the display from the man. He swore, "I will construct you. I promise." His gaze left Charybdis and meandered across everyone in the room. "But you have to trust me," he entreated.

All the Unionists spoke at the same time that they trusted him. He nodded deeply and looked back to Charybdis. She sniffled one last time and quietly affirmed, "I trust you." Then she let him go.

He checked that he still had the right publication in his grip one last time and said, "Thank you. All of you. I won't waste this chance you've given me."

Without any more words or fanfare, he stepped around the desk and walked to the door. He pulled it open and found blinding light on the other side. Without any fear in his heart, he left his office.

I think it's high time that I come back to this story and release another chapter after so long. I know that I have a penchant of dropping off the radar for long periods and for that, I apologize. Full-time work and the stresses of adult life really takes it out of me. But I've learned something over the past month. Writing makes me happy. And now I've managed to find a way to fit time into my daily schedule that lets me write with much, much more frequency that I've had over the past year. Having said that, I recently started writing another fanfic called, "The Aviation Pioneer" and it's a Monster Girl Encyclopedia fanfic. In an attempt to combat burnout for either that story or Operation Rumor Mill, I'm going to be trying to alternate writing chapters. You're under zero obligation to read my other story, but I would appreciate it.

But enough about that, what do you think of this chapter? I'm always interested to hear your comments and engaging with you is part of what keeps me going. Although I do admit that I feel really rusty at writing after all this time. All I have to do now is keep momentum and shake off that rust.

Anyway, I see comments that need responses, so lets get to that.

Hello, Cemalidor. I apologize for that line being so upsetting. I will say that I had meant for it to be a more throwaway line that would be said and not really addressed. But seeing as how you've called attention to it, might as well expand it a bit. Anzeel is clearly trying to be threatening here but notice that she says, "push," not "instruct" or "order." Anzeel could request that Las Vegas be castrated, but there's no guarantee that Roscoe would go through with it. As it's said later on, Anzeel has no real power in the world and really can only hope that Roscoe and Hara would agree with her. If anything, this shows just how defensive Anzeel is of her creations. And please remember that Las Vegas has been building significant rapport with Roscoe and so far has proven himself trustworthy, so it's likely that Roscoe would deny Anzeel's request. Also, in chapter one of the story, Roscoe did threaten Las Vegas' life if he were to refuse the mission after being told it. Operation Rumor Mill is so important that ignoring the rules is something under consideration. But moving on to Cheshire and harems. Please allow me to explain myself. At the time of me beginning to write Operation Rumor Mill, I was left thoroughly displeased with how harems were handled in other Azur Lane fanfictions. Early on in the planning of my story, I decided that I would have romance, but no harems. And I solved the problem of choosing who the female MC would be by making an OC. I'm extremely proud of Nashville. I don't know if you were hoping for a harem, but I hope that Nashville is sufficient. Regardless, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter.

Greetings BoatBoy. That's too bad that you feel that way about last chapter. I had to do some "housekeeping" and that chapter was the result. But I really hope that this chapter is one of those "extremely entertaining events," in your eyes. If nothing else, it sets up what will happen in the near future of the story. I hope you're doing well.

Hey there Zander22122. Thanks for that. So far, the job has been treating me alright. I have some complaints, but nothing driving me away. But as for Cheshire and harems, thank goodness that you agree with me. I've historically been disappointed by how harems are handled in Azur Lane fanfictions and decided that I didn't want to do that when I started this story. I'm relieved to hear that you liked the conversation with Cheshire. I remember being pretty scared that I wasn't doing it very well. There's always room for improvement though, so I'm planning on doing much better the next time there's a deep, emotional disagreement. Glossing over the topic of religion in a serious story that features the Iris feels like a disservice and in my opinion, non-genuine. Faith is such a huge part of the Iris Libre and Vichya Dominion's identities that it at least deserves some lip service. I hope you were able to enjoy this chapter too.

What's up, xV1PeR? You're welcome. I hope this chapter is another worthwhile read too.

It's nice to meet you Varvas. I'm so happy that you expressed interest in my story. And thank you for your kind words about my choice to go with an OC shipgirl. I'm really proud of Nashville and I hope that you enjoy her character. I hope that I can keep your interest in the future. All the best to you too.

Hi EnJewel3. Thanks for saying that. I hope that you were able to enjoy this chapter too. I admit that as of right now, I only have basic plot points in mind for the Northern Parliament, but now that you mention that idea, it's possible that deceptions will feature prominently in that part of the story. I'm glad that I was able to make you feel for Cheshire. That's a sign that I must be doing something right as a writer. I don't remember exactly when I made the decision, but I decided that there would be no chance whatsoever that so many beautiful women without any men among them would wholly abstain from having sex even though it's against the rules. So, with that next thought, I had to answer why they don't have tons of children running around. Thus this explanation of wisdom cube affinity. Sorry, but no secret meaning in the dream. It was just Nashville's reason to ask that Anzeel be included into Operation Rumor Mill. It's too bad that she decided against listening to the Unionist duo right then and there though because she got to be a bystander to what happened in this chapter. Again, sorry, but I don't get that reference. The idea that I have in my head is that things are not going super great in continental Europe. Having a refugee crisis of displaced Unionists in the Iris Orthodoxy is just one thing. But from what I gather, the French are a proud people, and don't take kindly to intrusions. There will be some tension in the Iris Orthodoxy. My lips are sealed and what was said will stay between the two of us. Ouch. I guess this chapter didn't follow on very soon. Sorry about that. Hopefully it was worth the wait.

Hello there HouseofErebus. I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter and its lore and world building. I admit that most of the time I'm focused on the story that's right in front of the main characters, but I try to mention the world at large when the opportunity arrises. You make good points about the scene between Nashville and Cheshire. I'll keep your recommendations in mind for later reference. Fun fact about me: Saint Louis was my first PR girl in the game. She holds a special place in my heart and I couldn't not write her into my story. I hope that you were able to enjoy this chapter too.

Saluations, Bell Chou'un. Fear not. We haven't seen the last of Cheshire. She's a good character and is fun to write. I have plans for her later in the story. While it makes me very happy to hear that you get excited for chapters in my story, please don't get into a car accident on my account. I too look forward to the Iron Blood. I expect that there will be some culture shock and mutual understandings that must be gained for Las Vegas and Nashville to work with them well. If only I had any skill at drawing, I would totally make some art of Nashville to show exactly what it is that Las Vegas gets to see every day. Shinano is beautiful, but Nashville isn't lacking either. Either way, Las Vegas is clearly biased. He compares pretty much everyone to Nashville and finds that he likes Nashville better. But either way, it's just like you say, we're bantering here lol. I do not speak French. However, I'm sure that French pronunciation makes perfect sense to those who know the language, so I guess that Las Vegas will just get to suffer alongside us. Interesting. A Sakura Empire fanboy, eh? I think that's perfectly valid. I like them, but am not crazy for them. For myself, I've found the Royal Navy to have really grown on me as I've written them. I'm honestly hoping to have the same happen to every other faction as I write them. I too look forward to Bismarck and Prinz Eugen. I'm hoping to try something a bit different with them as they show up in the story. But as for that that may be, I'll be keeping to myself. I hope that you liked this chapter.

Greetings Touhoufanatic. I'm not sure if what happened this chapter constitutes something going terribly wrong, but I hope that it was interesting to read.

I'm so very glad to be seeing you again, SomeRand0m. I didn't forget you. I found myself wondering if you were okay or not. In that time between your reviews, I was afraid that you had died of covid or something like that, so I was overjoyed to see your review after all that time. I hope that you've been well and are happy with whatever it is that you're doing these days. But what you said is true. I really have been taking a break. Being an adult is hard, but writing makes me happy, so I hope to be doing it more often going forward. Yeah, that's one thing that's too bad about the Azur Lane fandom as far as fanfiction goes. There's too much smut when the world is ripe for more serious stories. I'm really happy that you enjoyed the chapters that you caught up with. I don't know if you're still in university or have graduated by now, but either way, I hope you've found success in your efforts. I have a plan for that eventual confession between Las Vegas and Nashville. I'm hoping it'll be worth the wait for everyone, including myself. But as for relationship drama, first thing's first. Nashville has to make it through other factions before having to deal with the likes of Akagi and Taihou. I really appreciate that you agree with my decision to not pursue a harem in this story. I want to do something different with this, and just a normal romance between two people feels shockingly revolutionary in this fandom. I chose these first Iron Blood girls because as a whole, they give Las Vegas a decent taste of what he can expect from the Iron Blood as a whole. I'm leaving Las Vegas' and Shinano's shared dream for later for one of two reasons. One is that I need some way to direct Las Vegas and Nashville to the next part of the story. The other is to help Las Vegas gain second wind if he gets discouraged or maybe gets knocked unconscious. I know that I've been making you and everyone else wait a long time for this chapter, but I hope that the wait has been worth it.

What's up Gryffindorjedi41? Well, the wait's up. Here's the next chapter. I hope that it lives up to expectations. And thank you for your kind words. You rereading this whole story is a big complement. Again, thank you.

Whelp, that's it for now. It's late and I gotta get to bed and get some sleep. I have work in the morning. Thank you for reading and I'll see you again soon. Take care friends. 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.