Chapter 98: Teleportation testing, a trip back home.

You lean back in the communications room chair, the console lights reflecting off the dark screen after Webb's line cuts. The room feels smaller now, the weight of the coming broadcast already pressing in.

"In two hours we simply record their names and play the straight man," you say, voice low but carrying to everyone. "We cut their arguments to pieces publicly, then throw it back in their faces."

Mikasa stays in the doorway, arms crossed, red scarf loose around her neck. Rika remains at the console, fingers still hovering over the encryption keys.

You count off on your fingers.

"One. They knew we were not part of their navy when the deal was made and approved. Both sides have the minimum of the deal fulfilled. This is just a desperate attempt to use organized pressure before they lose the last of it."

Rika nods once, sharp. "They are trying to rewrite the contract retroactively. It will not hold under any scrutiny."

"Two. Attempting to call me a deserter is flawed from the start. None of us were ever members of the United States Navy. They knew that when they made the deal. They knew it when they signed the ship over. Trying to use the accusation now is just mud throwing by idiots."

Mikasa's lips curve in the smallest, coldest smile. "They are grasping for legitimacy they no longer possess."

"Three. Attempting to declare me hostile would mean they believe I have any intention at all of attacking them. The worst and best thing I can do to them right now is absolutely nothing."

You let that sit for a moment.

"They have maybe a month of rations and fuel left. Without getting their ships enchanted, or at minimum supported by an enchanted vessel, they will need to abandon ship or starve on it. They are posturing because they are ignorant or terrified of irrelevance."

Rika finally speaks aloud. "The broadcast will make that clear to every survivor listening. They will not be able to walk back the optics once it is live."

Mikasa steps fully into the room, closing the hatch behind her. "You are not declaring war. You are declaring they no longer matter."

"Exactly," you say. "They can posture all they want. The fuel is out of their control. The authority is gone. The only thing left is the recording of them trying to claim what they cannot reach."

You stand, stretching once. "Two hours," you repeat. "We record their names. We let them speak. We dismantle every point calmly and publicly. Then we end the call. No threats. No ultimatums. Just facts."

"Summon Monster: cat," you say, mana draining -50 points. A small orange tabby materializes on the deck plating, blinking up at you with green eyes. You scoop it up gently, the creature settling immediately into your arms as you scratch behind its ears. Soft purring vibrates against your chest.

Rika watches from her console. "What are you doing?"

"Testing extended-range teleportation," you say, already heading for the stairs. "I have about an hour and a half to see if I can teleport this tiny orange engine to a desert and back."

Mikasa falls into step beside you as you climb to the flight deck, the cat content in your arms. The ocean wind hits you immediately when you emerge topside, the summoned creature unconcerned by the change in environment.

Albedo looks up from her tablet near the starboard railing. "New test subject?"

"Teleportation range trials," you confirm. You set the cat down gently on the deck, It stretches, yawns, then sits and watches you with calm curiosity.

"Scrying" you say aloud. "Desert east of here." The overlay snaps into place. Dry scrubland, cracked earth, distant highway. You focus on a specific patch of open sand two hundred miles east.

"Teleport: cat." -450 mana drains. The orange tabby vanishes from the deck.

Your secondary vision shows it materializing instantly in the desert clearing, stumbling slightly on the sand before regaining balance. The creature looks around, clearly disoriented by the temperature shift and new environment.

"Successful long-range teleportation," Riveria observes, watching your expression. "Approximately two-hundred Kilometers?"

"Confirmed," you say. The cat begins walking in circles, sniffing at desert scrub.

You exhale once. "I can't bring it back directly. Teleportation requires self or touched target."

Mikasa's voice is calm behind you. "Spectral Hand."

You nod. "Spectral Hand." golden glow concentrates into a translucent floating hand. You teleport it to the cat and pet it. "Teleport"

The cat appears at your side, blinking. The cat shakes itself, then rubs against your leg as if nothing happened.

You crouch, scratching behind its ears again. "Test successful. Spectral Hand can bridge the distance and retrieve objects or creatures."

Albedo lowers her tablet. "Range confirmed. Living subject retrieved without injury. Stability holds for anchored short-range travel."

Mikasa's hand rests on your shoulder. "You just teleported a cat to the desert and back using a magical hand."

You stand, lifting the cat into your arms again. It purrs louder, content. "Next step is longer range," you say. "Photographs. Then multiple subjects. Then we see how far we can push it."

The deck is quiet except for wind and distant waves. The cat settles against your chest, purring steadily.

Nami emerges from below deck. "Webb just confirmed broadcast setup. All pragmatic captains are standing by. Opportunistic faction is watching. Flag-officers are... apparently still drafting their formal accusations."

"Let them draft," you say. "In ninety minutes we dismantle their arguments publicly and establish that survivors don't answer to empty naval hierarchy."

The cat purrs steadily in your arms, warm weight settling against your chest. You stroke behind its ears absently, mind already moving to the next test.

"Teleportation seems safe within logical distance," you say aloud. "Gate is working functionally. Scrying has complications but we knew that."

Mikasa appears at your elbow. "You're planning something."

"There should be a picture of my backyard in my phone." You glance down at the orange tabby. "But this purring engine is too adorable to set down yet."

Mikasa's expression doesn't change, but she holds out both hands. "Give."

You transfer the cat carefully. It protests once, then settles into Mikasa's arms with the same contented rumble. She scratches under its chin with clinical precision.

You pull out your phone, scrolling through old photos. Past the convoy documentation, past Prometheus Station surveillance shots, back to images from months ago. Your thumb stops on a picture of your backyard, morning sunlight across the patio.

"Scrying," you say, focusing on the house interior. Mana drains -225 points. The overlay snaps into place. overgrown grass, the fence needing paint,

Your living room materializes in secondary vision. Furniture bloodstained. Two zombies shambling near the kitchen doorway, movements slow and aimless.

You shift focus, moving through the house mentally. Hallway clear. Bedroom door hanging open, bed stripped. Bathroom empty. The basement stairs come into view, concrete steps leading down into darkness.

No movement detected below.

"Two zombies in the living room," you report. "Basement appears clear."

Albedo steps closer, tablet ready. "You're opening a Gate to your house."

"To the basement specifically," you confirm. "Anyone want to see where I used to live?"

Erza's voice carries from the hatch. "I'll handle the zombies."

Yoruichi emerges beside her, casual interest clear. "Sounds entertaining."

Kurumi appears as well, expression amused. "Scouting your territory. How domestic."

You focus on the basement image, carpet over concrete floor, storage totes stacked against a wall, old couch across a TV and game system, empty liquor shelves, dim light from small windows. "Gate."

Mana floods out (-450,000) points from the network. The portal tears open ten feet away, perfectly circular, revealing your basement on the other side. Musty air wafts through, familiar scent of old concrete and stored belongings.

Erza steps through immediately, boots solid on basement floor. She scans the space, hand on sword hilt, then moves toward the stairs. Yoruichi follows in a blur, already halfway up before Erza reaches the first step.

Distant sounds of brief combat filter down, wood splintering, bodies hitting floor.

"Clear," Yoruichi's voice echoes down the stairwell.

You step through the Gate, boots touching your basement floor for the first time in weeks. The space looks exactly as you left it, empty of alcohol.

Mikasa follows, still holding the cat. It sniffs the air curiously.

Albedo comes through last, already recording. "Successful Gate formation to photographically-targeted location. Range approximately two-hundred-eighty kilometers. Basement structural integrity confirmed."

Upstairs, Erza appears at the top of the stairs. "Two zombies eliminated. House structurally sound. Heavy looting in kitchen and bedroom, supplies gone, furniture damaged."

You look around the basement, memories pressing in. This is where you spent a week drunk playing video games and complaining about job searching. Getting up for food, and finding zombies.

You gesture around the basement, aware of how it must look to them. The couch with permanent ass-groove from marathon gaming sessions. The empty liquor shelves. The stack of old game cases beside a dusty TV.

"Welcome to my bachelor lifestyle," you say, moving toward the storage totes. "Witness the glory."

Yoruichi picks up a controller, examining it with theatrical interest. "How many hours exactly?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answered."

Erza studies the empty shelves with the careful attention of someone cataloging tactical information. "You drank all of this?"

"Over time," you say, opening the first tote. Cables. Adapters. Old tech that might actually be useful now. "Wasn't exactly the healthiest coping mechanism."

Kurumi appears beside the couch, running fingers along the worn fabric. "Fascinating. This depression achieved structural permanence."

"That's one way to describe it."

You find the external hard drives in the second tote, exactly where you left them. Four drives, each labeled with dates. Anime collections. Downloaded series. A questionably healthy-unhealthy amount of hentai you're not mentioning out loud because several of these women appear in said collections and that conversation can wait.

"Got them," you announce, tucking the drives into your cargo pants pockets and picking up the tote of games.

Albedo has moved to the stairs, clearly listening to activity above. "The house was thoroughly looted. Kitchen stripped. Bedroom ransacked. They left the basement untouched because they assumed nothing valuable was stored here."

"Joke's on them," you say. "The camping gear from the garage though, that's annoying. Tents, sleeping bags, cooking equipment. Hopefully whoever took it is actually using it to survive."

Mikasa appears at the top of the stairs. "Garage is empty except for tools. They took everything portable."

"Figures." You close the tote, straightening. "Alright, tour's over. Let's head back before you start laughing at the old me."

Nami emerges from the corner where she'd been examining a box of old photos. "This was really your life? Just... this?"

"Yeah." You meet her eyes. "Unemployed tech guy living alone, gaming until dawn, applying for jobs I knew I wouldn't get. Real inspiring stuff."

"And now you're coordinating global fuel distribution and managing dimensional refugees," Riveria observes from the stairs. "Quite the transition."

"Turns out apocalypse is good for career advancement... On the condition of becoming a magical savant."

The group moves back through the Gate in loose formation. You're last through, taking one final look at the basement before stepping across the threshold. The familiar musty smell. The evidence of wasted months. The place you were when everything changed.

The portal closes behind you with a soft rush of displaced air. Flight deck. Ocean wind. The present.

Yoruichi stretches, clearly amused by the whole experience. "That was educational."

"Glad my depression den provided entertainment."

"It provided context," C.C. corrects. "Understanding where someone started helps predict where they'll go."

You check your phone. Nearly fifty minutes since Webb's call. Just over an hour until the worldwide broadcast.

Albedo moves beside you, tablet already displaying communication protocols. "Webb has confirmed eighteen pragmatic captains standing by. Flag-officer faction is finalizing their formal accusation document."

"Perfect," you say. "Let's make sure this broadcast establishes exactly where power actually lies. Rather, what power they don't have anymore."

You wander off to find Bulma near the starboard hatch, tablet in hand as she sketches infrastructure diagrams. Her blue hair catches the afternoon light, ponytail swaying as she looks up.

"Got something for you," you say, pulling the external hard drives from your cargo pants pockets. "Four drives, about eight terabytes total. Anime collections, some games, entertainment media."

Her eyes light up immediately. "Finally, something to reverse-engineer for projection systems." She takes the drives, examining the labels. "These are ancient. What format?"

"Only a decade. Content is mixed. NTFS, some older stuff." You gesture toward the hatch. "Also grabbed the old laptops and game consoles from the basement. PlayStations, Gameboys. Thought you could set up a rec room, give people something to do besides watch rotation and stress."

Bulma's expression shifts from technical interest to genuine appreciation. "That's... actually thoughtful. Everyone's wound tight. Media library would help."

"There's probably doujinshi of most the women aboard in those collections," you add carefully. "Fair warning."

She laughs, sharp and unbothered. "Of course there is. I'll catalog everything, set up viewing permissions. Give me three days and I'll have a full media center running."

"You should need more than three days... Otherwise perfect." You step closer, hand sliding to her hip. "Before you disappear into engineering mode though..."

You kiss her slowly, feeling her initial surprise melt into reciprocation. Her tablet clatters to the deck as both hands come up to your shoulders. When you break the kiss she's breathless, pupils dilated.

"Brad-"

"Rec room can wait twenty minutes," you say, guiding her toward the nearby equipment storage. The space is cramped, private, door closing behind you with a solid click.

You settle her against a supply crate, hands working her shorts down slowly. She's already flushed, breathing shallow.

"This is- we're on a flight deck-"

"We're in storage," you correct, dropping to your knees. "And you've been working nonstop haven't you."

Your mouth finds her slit immediately, tongue working with precision. She gasps, hips jerking forward involuntarily. One hand tangles in your hair while the other braces against the crate.

"God- Brad-"

You increase pressure, rhythm building steadily. Her thighs tremble against your shoulders. The sounds she makes shift from surprised to desperate, breathless pleas mixing with your name.

Seven minutes in she's pulling at your hair, trying to lift you away. "Stop-I can't-too much-"

You ignore the protest, focusing on the places that make her voice break. Her second attempt at pushing you away dissolves into a sharp cry as orgasm hits, body going rigid before collapsing back against the crate.

You give her another minute, gentler now, until she's pulling at your shoulders with real insistence.

"Okay-okay-stop-" Her voice is ragged, satisfied.

You stand, helping her steady as she pulls her shorts back up with shaking hands. Her face is flushed, hair disheveled.

"You're dangerous," she says, but she's smiling.

"I'm practical," you correct. "Now go build that rec room."

She collects the drives and her tablet, legs still unsteady as she heads for the hatch. "Three days," she calls back. "And Brad? Thank you."