Chapter 167: Sandra’s Esdeath Exchange. Exterminating Tatsumaki’s scientists. Webbs cruise ship call.

Sandra takes the ring, turning it over in her calloused fingers. Her weathered face cracks into a genuine smile - the first unguarded expression you've seen from her. "Half a year per day. That's... that's a miracle, Brad."

"That's one ring for Hancock. I'll bring the phone and set for Esdeath tomorrow when Akame is collected. I'll enchant the fuel trucks after you've gathered them."

Diego appears at the truck's cab window. "Sandra - Gerald's radioing again. Says his boys are getting antsy. Wants a timeframe."

Sandra pockets the ring carefully. "Tell him-." She looks at you. "Right, you didn't need more than a few seconds last time to do your magic portal-door thing..."

You chuckle, turning to Diego and the two men in the truck. "Join us at the back. Sorry about making you load this twice - had I realized Sandra's warehouse was in walking distance, we'd have just done this without the truck."

Diego wipes sweat from his brow, giving you a crooked grin. "No worries, boss. Job security, right?" While the three get out of the truck.

Sandra snorts. "It's three hundred yards. You'd have been wheelbarrowing crates for an hour."

"I would have made the portal in the center of your warehouse... Watch this." you say.

You walk to the truck's rear, positioning yourself beside the tailgate. The crates of fuel drums, ammunition boxes, and medical supplies sit neatly stacked. You raise your hand, focusing on the coordinates Sandra provided - the Flagstaff National Guard armory, inside the main gates facing the loading bay.

The air shimmers. A vertical rectangle of shimmering violet light tears open at the truck's tailgate, facing inward. Through it, you see sun-baked concrete - an armory motor pool, chain-link fencing visible beyond, and a refrigerated shipping container sitting on a flatbed trailer twenty yards from the portal's exit.

Three soldiers in faded National Guard fatigues stand near the container, weapons slung casually. One - a broad-shouldered man in his fifties with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut and sergeant major's insignia - steps forward, rifle rising half an inch before he catches himself.

"What the fuck?" His voice carries through the portal clearly.

Sandra pushes past Diego, stepping through the Gate with the confidence of someone who's seen it before. "Gerald. Deal's happening. My people are bringing your payment through."

The man - Gerald Holt - stares at the shimmering doorway, then at Sandra, then back at the portal. His jaw works. "You said unconventional transport. You didn't say a goddamn portal."

"Does it matter?" Sandra calls back over her shoulder. "Payment's right here."

You stay to the side, out of the Flagstaff soldiers' line of sight. Albedo flanks you, wings folded tight, gold eyes tracking every weapon in view. Nova's psionics brush your awareness - she's scanning the soldiers, cataloging threat levels. Erza has her hand resting casually on her hip, where her requip space holds a dozen armors ready to materialize.

Diego and his two men begin sliding crates through the portal. The Flagstaff soldiers watch with expressions ranging from awe to naked fear, but Gerald Holt keeps his composure, directing his men to stack the incoming supplies.

"Fuel drums go left. Ammo center. Medical right," Holt orders, his voice steady despite the impossible magic hole in his motor pool.

After five minutes of efficient transfer, Holt walks to the refrigerated container. He unclasps the heavy padlock, swings the door open. Cold vapor billows out.

Inside, strapped to a medical gurney with reinforced restraints, lies a woman. Young - perhaps early twenties - with long ice-blue hair against a angular, striking face. Her skin is pale as fresh snow, and even unconscious she radiates something. A presence. A coldness that has nothing to do with the refrigeration unit.

"She's been under for thirty-one hours," Holt reports, checking a monitor clipped to the gurney's rail. "Vitals stable. Sedative cocktail's military-grade - should keep her under another eighteen, maybe twenty."

Sandra waves Diego forward. He and one of Sandra's men carefully wheel the gurney through the Gate, the refrigerated container's cold breath following them onto the truck.

Holt watches the portal with something between greed and terror. "Sandra. Who the hell is your buyer?"

"VIP privacy, Gerald. Deal's done." Sandra steps back through the Gate, standing on this side now. "Pleasure doing business."

You hold the Gate open for three more seconds - long enough for Holt consider chasing through. Then you let it close. The violet shimmer collapses. Silence.

Esdeath lies on the gurney before you, long frost-blue hair catching the late afternoon sun. Her restraints are military-grade, but you can feel something beneath them - a cold pressure, like standing at the edge of a glacier.

"She's younger than I expected," Rin observes, examining the unconscious woman with analytical interest.

"Hunter variant," Maria notes quietly. "Too young to be a General. This girl clearly grew up in the wilds."

Sandra repeats the sedative duration. "Eighteen hours. That's our window."

"Nicely done," you tell Sandra, extending your hand. She shakes it - firm grip, calloused palm. "This concludes today. We'll see you tomorrow. Don't forget to start collecting fuel trucks."

Sandra fingers the age-reversal ring with the reverence of someone holding a winning lottery ticket. "You got it. I'll have my people rounding up every fuel truck within fifty miles by morning." She glances at the gurney where Esdeath lies, frost-blue hair spilling over the restraint straps. "You sure you don't want to leave her here? I've got holding rooms-"

"I've got better ones. Gate"

You raise your hand. The Gate tears open - violet light spilling across the parking lot, revealing the Anchorage galley beyond. Stainless steel counters, the soda dispenser humming, afternoon light through the portholes. Several of the mind-controlled crew look up from their duties with blank curiosity.

"Ladies," you say to your team.

Albedo steps through first, wings folding as she enters the galley. Rika, Maria, Rin, Erza, Nova follow. You grip the gurney's rails and wheel Esdeath through the shimmering portal, her cold presence prickling your skin.

You turn back. Sandra stands in the sun, cigarette already lit, watching the impossible doorway with the expression of someone recalculating everything they thought they knew about the world. Diego flanks her, mouth slightly open.

You wave. The Gate collapses.

Immediately you cast Sleep on Esdeath. The magical force settles over her like a blanket - deeper, more certain than chemical sedation. Her breathing evens further.

"The Anchorage enchantments will clear the sedative faster than calculated," you tell the group. "Vigor, Regeneration. We don't want her waking up while we're dealing with Tatsumaki's sellers."

Rin nods, already examining the unconscious woman with scholarly interest. "Her magical signature is... cold. Literally. There's a cryogenic energy pattern woven through her physiology that I've never seen outside elemental summoning circles."

You reach through the Telepathy Web. Yoruichi. Musashi. Sango. To the Galley. Likely battle-execution incoming.

Three acknowledgments pulse back within seconds. Yoruichi's carries feline amusement. Musashi's is sharp, alert. Sango's is steady, professional.

"Scry." The spell stretches from your consciousness, reaching south and east - four hundred miles to Tucson. Your vision splits: the galley around you, and suddenly a fortified university campus swimming into focus.

You broadcast your sight across the Telepathy Web. Everyone connected can now see what you see.

A converted lecture hall serves as the main laboratory. Industrial refrigeration units hum along one wall. Medical equipment - centrifuges, IV stands, monitoring arrays - fills the space. Six people in lab coats move between stations.

You notice two bodies lie on examination tables in back rooms, covered by sheets. The central occupied table holds a small figure - long green hair, small slender frame, wrists bound in what looks like modified shock collars. Tatsumaki. Her eyes are closed, brow furrowed even in unconsciousness.

You focus on the first corpse. Appraise activates.

[Masane Amaha - Deceased 3 days. Origin: Witchblade . Status: Dead. Cause: Power extraction failure - attempted removal of the Witchblade artifact resulted in catastrophic bioenergetic feedback. The artifact rejected the extraction method, killing the host. Arm severed after death.]

The second body.

[Vash the Stampede - Deceased 1 day. Origin: Trigun. Status: Dead. Cause: Cardiac arrest during containment testing - his Plant-based physiology couldn't sustain the energy drain of the monitoring equipment. Internal organs failed sequentially.]

"Two dead travelers," Maria says quietly through the Web. "They killed them trying to extract their powers."

"They're not soldiers," Erza observes, studying the researchers through your shared vision. "Look at their posture. Academics in over their heads."

A woman in her forties - Korean, sharp-featured, wearing a stained lab coat - leans over Tatsumaki's unconscious form. She adjusts an IV drip, checking readings on a tablet.

[Dr. Helen Cho - Biochemistry Lead - The Initiative. Trustworthiness: Desperate, not malicious. Currently running low on sedatives for Tatsumaki. Notes: Growing increasingly anxious about subject stability.]

The galley door opens. Yoruichi slides in wearing her minimal robe, purple hair loose. Musashi follows, silver-pink hair tied back, hand resting on her katana's hilt. Sango enters last, Hiraikotsu strapped across her back.

"What'd I miss?" Yoruichi asks, then sees the shared vision. Her golden eyes narrow. "Oh. Those are dead people."

"Two dimensional travelers murdered in failed experiments," Rin says flatly. "And they're soon to do the same to Tatsumaki."

"Ladies," you say, your voice carrying the flat certainty of a verdict. "Intentionally or not, these scientists and their guards are allowing this to continue. So the plan is simple. I'll open our Gate right next to Tatsumaki. Leave no survivors. I'll use Telekinesis to grab the two corpses and pull them in with Tatsumaki. When you're all done and back in, I'll flood the building with poison gas and close the Gate." you add. "Nothing walks out of that building alive."

No one objects. Erza's eyes blaze with cold fury. Yoruichi's grin stretches wide and predatory. Musashi rests her hand on her katana's hilt with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times.

You raise your hand. "Gate." reality tears open - violet light spilling across the galley's stainless steel counters. Through it: the converted lecture hall, refrigeration units humming, Dr. Helen Cho adjusting Tatsumaki's IV drip barely ten feet from the portal's edge.

Yoruichi moves first. Flash Step carries her through in a blur of purple hair and dark skin, her fist already connecting with the nearest guard's temple before he realizes he's under attack. The man's head snaps sideways with a sound like a wet branch breaking.

Erza requips mid-stride - Heaven's Wheel armor materializing in a cascade of light as she crosses the threshold, blades manifesting in a dozen floating swords. Musashi follows, katana singing free, silver-pink hair whipping as she bisects the second guard from shoulder to hip in a single horizontal cut.

Sango's Hiraikotsu takes a researcher in the chest, the massive boomerang's edge cleaving through torso before rebounding back to her hand. Nova moves through the portal like smoke, her neural lance finding a scientists nervous system and shutting it down mid-scream.

Albedo doesn't even use weapons. She walks through the Gate with the unhurried grace of a predator who knows nothing can threaten her, and when a female doctor raises her hands in surrender, Albedo's fist punches through the woman's sternum and out the other side.

You walk past all of it.

You step through the Gate directly toward the back room holding the corpses, holding open the door " Telekinesis" - the two sheet-covered corpses slide off their examination tables, clothes and equipment rattling as they float toward you. You walk between them back to Tatsumaki's table. The small green-haired figure lies motionless, shock collars binding her wrists, IV drip feeding sedatives into her vein. After gently removing the shock collar-restraints and IV, Masane Amaha's body, Vash the Stampede's body, and Tatsumaki all drift through the portal together.

Behind you, Dr. Helen Cho screams something about mercy. The scream cuts off with a wet gurgle.

You lay Masane and Vash on the galley floor with careful precision, cast Sleep on Tatsumaki as you guide her through the Mansion door. The side bedroom - you position her on the bed where Hancock lies in her own magical slumber, two unconscious dimensional travelers now occupying the same bed.

Back in the galley, your team files through one by one. Erza's armor is splattered red. Musashi wipes her blade clean on a lab coat she's holding. Sango checks her Hiraikotsu for damage. Yoruichi's bare feet leave bloody prints on the stainless steel.

"Six researchers, twenty guards, fourteen others," Rin reports, counting. "Done."

You turn to face the Gate. The lecture hall beyond is silent now - bodies scattered across equipment and overturned tables. Lifting your hand through, "Cloudkill." the greenish vapor billowing outward from your hand, then set it to auto-cast for twenty-four hours. The poisonous fog fills the space rapidly.

Lowering your hand, you close the Gate.

"Tatsumaki and the two corpses are secured," you announce. "Initiative eliminated. We'll talk about the two in a bit. Now - Webb's been waiting hours for contact about Jacksonville. The Stallion should have arrived and be locating the cruise ships any minute."

You look at the sheets covering the corpses of Masane and Vash, "Gentle Repose, Gentle Repose." the low level spell preventing decay.

You leave the galley behind - Esdeath secured in magical sleep, the two corpses laid out on the floor, your assault team cleaning weapons and bloodied clothing. The corridor to the command center takes thirty seconds.

Robin looks up from her documentation tablet as you enter, black hair framing her composed expression. "Captain Webb has contacted us four times in the last three hours. He's getting anxious. The Stallion is over Jacksonville right now - C.C. just took the controls."

"He's working himself up... Connect me."

Robin taps the communication console. The encrypted channel hisses, then Webb's voice fills the room - clipped, professional, underlaid with tension.

"Brad. Finally. We've located three surviving vessels: Symphony of the Seas, Mariner of the Seas, and Grandeur of the Seas. Icon and Oasis are completely overrun - we can see movement on the decks from the distance. No survivors visible."

"Webb. The Icon - was it overrun before or after they kicked out the males?"

A pause. "After. The women and children who stayed aboard the Icon lasted maybe forty-eight hours before the infected overwhelmed their barricades. The three surviving ships locked down tighter after seeing that."

"Perfect. I'll be taking over the Icon throughout the night and morning. Clear it out, make it functional again."

"That's... ambitious. But listen - I was hoping we could discuss enchantment packages for the other ships. Standard defensive suites, the same sets you put on the coalition ships-"

"Those aren't part of the Navy deal, Webb."

Silence on the line. Then: "What do you mean they're not part of the deal?"

"I mean exactly what I said. The Navy deal was for Navy ships, while I don't care about nationality these are civilian. What exactly do these civilians have to offer me for payment?"

Another pause, longer this time. You can hear him processing. "I... don't have a good answer for that."

"Then we're clear on the subject. Now - my plan for the three surviving ships. I intend to place Teleportation Circles on the front and back of each vessel. The front circle transports anyone who steps through to land - Los Angeles area, where they can survive on their own terms. The back circle brings them to my ship. The condition being slavery for the duration of their stay. They can leave at any time, but while aboard my vessel, they serve willingly."

Webb's voice carries the particular weight of a man swallowing something unpleasant. "You're offering them slavery or exile."

"Self-chosen exile in the center of the fuel-trade I've already started or slavery with amazing benefits, two choices. Starvation isn't one of the options I'm presenting."

"And those who refuse both and stay?"

"Anyone who refuses both stays on their ship with their existing food stores. When those run out - and they will depending on how many mouths there are - they'll face the same two choices, they choose or they die. I won't take over the ships until there's no one left on them. I'm not forcing anyone through either portal."

Webb exhales audibly. "It's... not charity. I'll give you that. But it's the most logical arrangement I can think of that doesn't involve you simply taking everything for free. Most of these women have children, Brad."

"Which is exactly why I'm giving them a functional choice instead of waiting for them to starve. The front circle is freedom. The back circle is safety with conditions. Neither is a death sentence."

"When do you want to start?"

"I already have. The Stallion is approaching the cruise ships now, once we identify the Icon we'll start taking it over. I'll begin placing circles secretly while my group goes zombie-knocking. I'll try and make the announcement just after sunrise."

"Understood."