You nod slowly, meeting her gaze. "Rebuilding is good. After we salvage the popution we can. But you clearly underestimate the horrors I can commit right now with my mere week or so of magic effects."

  Bulma pauses mid-gesture, arms lowering as she processes your words. Her violet eyes narrow further, excitement tempered by sudden caution. "Expin," she says sharply. "What do you mean by horrors?"

  "Magic responds to intent," You lean back against the fusege. "I can enchant any object, or apply enchantments directly to living people, pulling the upkeep to their own mana. The enchantments I have currently are intended for healing and restoration, mostly utility, but even the offensive options I have... consider this. All of the navy ships have regeneration enchant to heal rapidly from a cellur level and restore limbs. What happens when I or someone else uses degeneration instead. You've have had to deal with perverts and peeping toms. How many would leap at a chance to use mind control or magical ensvement?"

  Bulma stops pacing. Her violet eyes meet yours, sharp and steady. She absorbs the weight of it without flinching. "Degeneration," she repeats quietly. "Turning healing inside out. That is dark. And the risks... yeah. I see it now. Give that power to the wrong hands and it is not just tyranny. It is apocalypse on steroids. We are careful, then. Very careful."

  Asia shifts beside you. Her hand brushes your arm lightly.

  "I trust myself with this. Barely. Teaching it out? Creating auto-enchanters? Temptes that let anyone scale it? That risks everything, in multiple ways. We help with effects like infinite fuel. Not by handing out the keys to hell, magical society will discover those on it's own fast enough."

  Bulma crosses her arms again. "Fair point. Unchecked power corrupts. But safeguards exist. Limiters. Ethical frameworks built into the system itself."

  You shake your head. "Right now, those limiters are ignorance and ck of ability. Not foolproof. Especially if a certain brilliant scientist mass produces it faster than the world can control it's users."

  She starts pacing once more. "Then we test small. Controlled experiments. Find the boundaries before scaling."

  You watch her move. "Carefully. One step at a time."

  She exhales through her nose, hands pnting on her hips. "You're right," she says finally, voice quieter. "I got ahead of myself. The potential is... staggering. But the downside..." She exhales through her nose. "If someone figures out how to weaponize it, or ensve people, or just... break everything... yeah. I see why you are holding the reins so tight... I can work with careful. But we are not stopping at 'no'. We figure out what is possible, what is safe, and what we keep locked away forever. Deal?"

  She uncrosses her arms, letting them drop to her sides. "Okay. New pn. We go slow. We test. We build safeguards first, actual ones, not just 'hope nobody figures it out.' And we keep the scary stuff locked behind your head until we know exactly what happens when we hand someone else the keys. Deal?"

  Asia looks between you both, expression soft but attentive.

  You give a small nod. "Deal. But the line stays where I draw it. No pushing past it until we both agree."

  Bulma's mouth curves into a sharp, satisfied smile. "That's the kind of partner I can respect."

  She gives a single, sharp nod. "Good. Then the first step is still inventory. I need to see everything you have, tools, materials, power sources, whatever scraps of tech survived the colpse. After that we start small. One controlled enchantment at a time. No rushing. No shortcuts."

  She gnces toward the distant well deck where loading continues, then back at you.

  "And when we are ready to scale?" Her smile returns, smaller but no less dangerous. "We'll do it right. The way it should be done."

  You turn toward Asia, who's still standing quietly beside the King Stallion's cargo ramp. "Asia, can you please show Bulma how to pilot one of the Apaches?"

  Asia blinks, her green eyes widening slightly. "Oh. Um, yes, of course." She gnces toward the nearest Apache, then back at you with a small, uncertain smile. "I'll do my best."

  Bulma's attention sharpens immediately. "Wait, she can pilot those? How?"

  "C.C. taught several of the girls," you expin. "Manual controls. Stick, cyclic, collective. The enchantments handle power and maintenance, but flying is skill."

  Bulma exhales sharply, shaking her head. "So it's real skill. No shortcuts. That's impressive. And a relief, honestly. Magic making everything easy would be boring."

  "The enchantments cover maintenance, refueling and can add stealth" you crify. "but it's completely on the pilots to fly. You two can familiarize yourselves tonight. In the morning we're flying innd to enchant a gas station or two along the country's travel spine. That should get fuel to at least half the country once truckers learn it's there."

  Asia straightens slightly, her expression turning more focused. "Where exactly are we going?"

  "On our way south there's a town called Bakersfield, and then Los Angeles a bit farther. There are Costco's along the highways. As bulk sellers, their massive underground tanks and rge gas stations make them perfect locations. Those highways are also known as the fuel spine of the country. But we won't know who or what is at the location before we arrive, so we'll want all three Apaches for intimidation. The question is whether we bring the Bell Venom for its door guns, or the King Stallion so we can move comfortably."

  Bulma taps her chin thoughtfully. "If you're prioritizing intimidation, the Apaches alone should be sufficient. Three attack helicopters showing up tends to discourage problems. The King Stallion gives you cargo capacity and passenger comfort, but it's not going to scare anyone the way the Apaches will."

  You nod slowly. "Which is why we're bringing them. We'll decide in the morning based on who's coming along."

  Asia shifts her weight, hands csped in front of her. "Should I... should I start showing Bulma now?"

  "Please," you confirm. "After the flight tomorrow, Bulma, you can disassemble and py with the two Apaches all you want. But tonight, just get familiar with the local controls. I might ask you to pilot one with us at sunrise."

  Bulma's smile returns, sharp and eager. "Deal. I want to see how the enchantments integrate with the existing avionics."

  You step forward, cupping Bulma's face gently and kissing her slowly. She leans into it, one hand resting on your chest, her lips warm and responsive. When you pull back, her violet eyes are half-lidded, expression softened.

  You turn to Asia next, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face before kissing her just as thoroughly. She makes a small, pleased sound against your mouth, her hands settling lightly on your shoulders.

  Both women watch you. Bulma's violet eyes hold sharp warmth, calcuting and intrigued. Asia's blue gaze carries soft acceptance, trusting and quiet.

  Bulma stands there, lips still tingling from your kiss. She gnces at Asia. Then back to you. Who just kissed Asia with the same deliberate care he used on her.

  Asia smiles shyly, cheeks pink, fingers brushing her lips.

  Bulma exhales once, short and decisive. "Okay," she says. "I see how this works."

  "I need to check on the loading progress," you say. "You two have fun."

  Bulma waves you off with a grin. "We will. Come on, Asia. Show me what this thing can do."

  Asia nods, already moving toward the nearest Apache. "Okay. First,"

  You turn away, heading toward the hangar bay exit and the corridor leading to the well deck. The sound of their voices fades behind you as you descend the dder, boots cnging on metal rungs.

  The massive space stretches before you, overhead lights casting stark shadows across the balst-flooded floor. The two rge nding craft are absent from their berths, confirming Robin and Riveria have completed their unloading runs and joined the rotation.

  C.C. stands near the center ramp controls, her long green hair tied back in a practical ponytail. She wears dark pants and a fitted bck shirt, golden eyes tracking the incoming LARC #2 with its third load as it glides through the stern gate. The craft settles into position, diesel engine rumbling as the driver cuts power.

  She notices your approach, turning with her characteristic calm expression. "Brad. Good timing. We stay ahead of schedule, four minutes per vehicle now that Robin and Riveria handle the 43-footers. Albedo coordinates from Trinidad without fw."

  The LARC's ramp descends with a hydraulic hiss. Rin emerges from the Motorhome cab, crimson twin-tails swaying as she hops down. The Georgetown RV sits secured behind her, white and brown exterior gleaming under the lights.

  "six loads remain," C.C. continues, consulting a small notepad in her hand. "Albedo reports the convoy from Redding arrived intact. Rin, Kurumi, Sinon, Yoruichi, Shinobu, Mikasa, and Nova offload now. No hostile contacts during transit."

  Rin walks over, wiping her hands on her skirt. "These handle like driving a small building. Maria and Erza make it look easy."

  You nod. "Where can I help most right now?"

  C.C.'s golden eyes shift to you, expression neutral but attentive. "Two options. First: take over ramp coordination here, letting me return to Trinidad to supervise final loading directly. Second: pilot one of the LARCs yourself to accelerate rotation."

  She pauses, waiting without impatience.

  You consider the deck, the waiting LARC, the rhythm already established. "I'll rotate to shore. Get the jet skis in the water and make sure the vehicles we leave behind are empty of loot and ready for the Navy."

  C.C. inclines her head. "Understood. I will maintain well deck operations."

  Rin gives a small salute with two fingers. "See you when you get back then. I'll be waiting."

  You turn toward the open ramp, heading for the unloaded LARC that will carry you back to Trinidad shore.

  The night remains quiet.

  The LARC cuts through dark water, diesel engine rumbling beneath your boots. The well deck of USS Anchorage recedes behind you, lights glowing in the pre-dawn bckness. Sango stands near the port rail, one hand resting on Hiraikotsu strapped to her back, her demon-syer armor gleaming faintly under the running lights.

  You step beside her. "Sango, may I poke your knowledge a bit?"

  She gnces at you, brown eyes sharp and alert. "Of course."

  "Our conversation this morning forgot to check if you're from the original storyline we know, or from a different timeline. You said your entire vilge was killed. In the story which this world knows you from, that happened with two exceptions."

  Her expression shifts, curiosity edged with wariness.

  "So I ask you about these people," you continue. "Inuyasha, a half-demon dog with long white hair. Kagome, a strange priestess from another time. Miroku, a lecherous monk with a cursed hand. Naraku, a demon who supposedly was the secret executioner of your people."

  Sango's jaw tightens. "I know those names. Inuyasha... I encountered him once, briefly. He helped me escape a demon ambush three years ago. I never saw him again after that. Kagome, I've never met anyone by that name. Miroku..." Her voice softens slightly. "I met him. He tried to help me hunt demons. He was... persistent. Kind, beneath the flirtation. But he died six months ago. A demon tore through his wind tunnel before he could close it."

  Your chest tightens. That's a major divergence.

  "Naraku," she continues, voice cold. "I know that name. The demon who orchestrated my vilge's destruction. I've been hunting him for years, but I've never found solid proof he exists. Just rumors. Whispers. He's like a ghost."

  "And your little brother," you say carefully. "Kohaku."

  Sango's entire body goes rigid. Her hand moves to the hilt of her katana, knuckles white. "How do you know that name?"

  "In the original story," you expin gently, "he was kept half-alive as a puppet by Naraku. Too weak-willed to free himself. Used to manipute you. He ter became fully alive again and freed himself, but not before your vilge was destroyed."

  Her breath comes short and sharp. "Kohaku is dead. I watched him die. Naraku's puppet, one of many, cut him down in front of me. There was no resurrection. No manipution. Just... death."

  She turns away, staring at the dark water. "If what you say is true, then this world's version of my story is wrong. Kohaku didn't survive. Miroku didn't survive. Kagome never appeared. And I've been hunting Naraku alone for three years with nothing to show for it."

  You let the silence settle for a moment, watching the harbor lights grow closer.

  "I'm sorry," you say quietly. "I didn't mean to dredge up painful memories. I just needed to check where your world diverged."

  Sango exhales slowly, her shoulders lowering. "It's fine. Better to know the truth than wonder. If this world thinks my brother survived, then maybe... maybe there's hope in other worlds. Just not mine."

  The LARC's engine shifts pitch as the pilot begins the approach to Trinidad's makeshift dock. The shore is close now, figures moving in the floodlights.

  You shift closer to Sango, lowering your voice so the LARC's diesel engine doesn't drown you out. "The Naraku we knew of was originally a human cripple who invited demons into his own body. If he came to this world, he wouldn't be able to survive. The zombie virus, the colpse, the difference in world."

  Sango's brown eyes flicker toward you, cautious but listening.

  "Your story matters," you continue firmly. "Regardless of divergence. The stories like yours, the ones this world knows, they're based on happy endings. Kohaku surviving. Miroku living. Kagome appearing. Those endings existed somewhere, even if not in your timeline."

  Her jaw works silently for a moment. "But they didn't happen to me."

  "No," you agree. "They didn't. And that's harder. But you're here now. You survived three years of hunting alone with nothing to show for it except that you're still standing. That takes strength most people don't have."

  She exhales slowly, her grip on Hiraikotsu loosening slightly. "I don't know what to do with that. With... this." She gestures vaguely toward the harbor lights. "Your group. The magic. The zombies. It's not demons. It's not what I know."

  "You don't have to know yet," you say. "You've earned a pce here, Sango. Not because of your story, not because of what should have happened. Because you're skilled, you're resilient, and you're willing to fight for people who can't fight for themselves. That's enough."

  Her eyes meet yours fully for the first time since the conversation started. There's vulnerability there, carefully controlled but present.

  "I'll help you focus on rebuilding," you add. "When you're ready. No pressure. No expectations. Just... when you're ready."

  Sango nods once, slow and deliberate. "Thank you." Her voice is quiet but steady. "I don't know if I believe happy endings exist anymore. But... maybe I can try believing in forward moment instead."

  The LARC's engine pitch changes as the pilot begins final approach. The dock is close now, Albedo's silhouette visible coordinating the next rotation. Sinon stands guard nearby, watching the approach.

  Sango straightens, rolling her shoulders back. "I'll guard your fnk while you work. That much I can do."

  "That's more than enough," you confirm.

  The LARC bumps gently against the parking lot. The ramp begins to lower with a hydraulic hiss. Albedo steps forward, her golden eyes assessing the situation instantly.

  "Brad," she greets smoothly. "The jet skis are staged and ready. The vehicles designated for Navy return are empty and secured. Loading operations continue without dey."

  Sinon waves from her position near the RV lineup. "You want me to take the next run, or are you staying shoreside?"

  SnafuSam