You cross the well deck as the Portnd's first LARC rumbles through the stern gate, water sluicing off its massive tires as it climbs the ramp. Two RVs sit strapped to its ftbed, spotlights washing across their white exteriors.

  Albedo stands with Morrison and Webb near the command level access, her posture rexed but attentive. Rika observes from a few steps back, arms folded, eyes tracking crew movements with tactical precision.

  You join them smoothly. "Captain Morrison, Captain Webb. Appreciate the clean handoff."

  Morrison nods once. "Transfer went as smooth as it gets. Ship's yours now." He gnces toward the LARC. "Your people work fast."

  "We've been pnning this out for the st two days," you reply.

  Musashi and Sango move immediately toward the LARC as it settles into position, both women coordinating with quiet efficiency. Musashi vaults onto the ftbed first, checking straps while Sango inspects the RV doors.

  Webb exhales slowly, watching the operation. "So. Next steps. You've got air assets deploying to Redding, LARCs running shore rotation, and a ship that's generating headlines just by existing." He meets your eyes. "What's the security posture?"

  "For now, Anchorage stays at anchor." you say. "LARCs handle all shore transfers, Landing Craft join if we empty them between LARC rotations. Air assets return here, not Trinidad. Everything consolidates."

  Morrison crosses his arms. "That's conservative. Smart, given the attention you're attracting."

  "Seven known hostile factions are watching," Rika adds quietly from behind. "Consolidation reduces exposure."

  Webb gnces toward her, then back to you. "Your people are thorough."

  "They need to be," you reply.

  Albedo steps forward slightly, golden eyes calm. "Logistics timeline: Bell Venom returns with RV drivers in approximately two hours forty minutes. RV convoy arrives Trinidad in three hours forty minutes via road. LARCs complete initial rotation within ninety minutes. Two Landing Craft remain avaible for cargo redistribution."

  Morrison nods slowly. "You've got command structure locked down already."

  "We've had to," you say simply.

  Webb shifts his weight. "Political side's going to get messy. Rawlins and Doyle are still circling. They saw the glow from the enchantment, everyone did. That dispy bought you credibility, but it also painted a target."

  "Let them circle," you reply. "They can't move without burning capital, and every hour that passes makes intervention harder to justify."

  Morrison's expression remains neutral, but something shifts in his eyes, recognition, maybe respect. "You're not wrong. Navy command is fractured right now. Half want to seize your capability, half recognize you're the only thing keeping fuel flowing."

  "Which half are you?" you ask directly.

  Morrison meets your gaze without flinching. "The half that follows legal transfer orders and doesn't second-guess command decisions after the fact." He pauses. "But I'll tell you straight—if you fuck this up, if ships start running dry because you can't scale, the backsh will be brutal."

  "Scaling isn't an issue, if anything we don't have enough output," you say.

  Behind you, the LARC's engine rumbles as Musashi waves the all-clear. The vehicle begins reversing back toward the stern gate, mission complete.

  Webb gnces toward the departing LARC, then back to you. "Morrison’s crew will be clear in fifteen minutes. After that, she's all yours."

  Morrison extends his hand. You shake it once, firmly.

  "Good luck," Morrison says quietly. "You're going to need it."

  Morrison’s crew files past in tight groups, through the well deck in orderly lines toward the waiting RIBs. Equipment bags ctter against steel decking. Boots echo in the cavernous space. No one lingers.

  You watch from the command level as the st group boards, Morrison among them. He gnces back once, a final look at the ship he commanded, then settles into the RIB without ceremony. The engine throttles up immediately. Running lights blink as the craft pulls away through the stern gate into darkness.

  At the same time, another LARC noses in from the opposite direction, engines throttling down as it enters the well deck. Two RVs ride strapped to its ftbed, lights catching on clean fibergss and reinforced frames. Deck crews move immediately, signals fshing.

  The well deck settles. Your crew remains, Sango checking cargo straps, Rika observing from the starboard bulkhead.

  Musashi passes you on the way toward her, one hand lifting briefly. “Two secured. Next load’s up,” she says without stopping.

  Hinata stands near the port side, eyes lightly glow from Byakugan. She scans outward, then inward, sweeping hull, waterline, deck, and shadowed corners in a single slow turn. Her voice comes calmly, precise. “No observers. No concealed personnel. No traps or anomalies. Area perimeter is clean. No hostile contacts within range.”

  “Beautiful.” you reply.

  Albedo approaches from the command level, wings folded tight against her back. Her golden eyes meet yours calmly. “Morrison’s departure was clean,” she says. “No st-minute complications.”

  Rika moves to your side, arms still folded. "Ship's ours now."

  “Good, as long as we're not sunk in the next six hours we should be clear... I'll wait to have the fgs video broadcast.” you reply. “Albedo, I need you at Trinidad. Maria and Erza are running the vehicles, but shore-side needs coordination. Staging, cargo priority, crew rotation.”

  She nods once. “Understood. I’ll take the next outbound LARC and manage from there.”

  “Keep the Telepathy Web open,” you add. “I want immediate notice if anything changes.”

  “Always,” Albedo confirms.

  Behind you, Musashi is already moving again toward the second LARC where Sango works, water streaming off its massive tires. She gnces back just long enough to catch your eye. “RV load’s solid,” she says. “We’re clearing the next now.”

  You don’t answer, you and Rika fall in with her without breaking stride.

  Rika rolls her sleeves partway up as you step onto the deck ptes, eyes already scanning tie-downs and spacing. “I’ll handle verification. You take weight distribution.”

  “On it,” you reply.

  The three merge into the work, hands on straps and cmps, voices low. Command doesn’t pause. It just shifts closer to the steel. You join them without ceremony, working in synchronized silence.

  The RVs come off cleanly one, then two, moving them into parking along the port bulkhead. The LARC reverses smoothly once cleared, engine rumbling as it backs toward the stern gate.

  "Trinidad-bound," Musashi says quietly, watching it depart. "Maria's got the next load staged."

  "Good," you reply. "Let's get the Landing Craft cleared before she arrives."

  The two 43-foot Landing Craft sit docked against the starboard bulkhead, still loaded with Eureka luxury district cargo. You move toward the nearest one, Rika and Hinata falling in behind you.

  The cargo is stacked efficiently, bins of high-end merchandise, secured crates from Tiffany & Co., electronics, furniture, clothing. Pieces of everything salvaged from the ten-hour operation.

  "Storage bays are aft," Rika says, consulting the ship's yout on her phone. "Three levels down, port side. Climate-controlled sections for electronics and jewelry."

  "Let's move systematically, what we can." you say. "Electronics first, then jewelry, then everything else."

  Hinata activates her Byakugan, scanning the cargo hold. "Path is clear."

  You lift the first electronics crate, four high-definition projectors secured in foam padding. Rika takes a bin of ptops and tablets. Musashi hoists a furniture piece over her shoulder without visible effort.

  The group moves through the ship's interior corridors, floodlights casting harsh shadows against gray steel. The storage bays are massive, rows of reinforced shelving designed for long-term deployment.

  You set the electronics crate down carefully, checking the climate control panel. Temperature stable at 68°F, humidity at 45%. Perfect.

  "This'll work," you say. "Let's keep rotation moving."

  The next twenty minutes blur into steady rhythm, lift, carry, secure, return. Jewelry cases go into locked compartments. Clothing bins stack cleanly on designated shelves. Furniture pieces fit into cargo nets designed for naval equipment.

  Sango works without compint, her demon-syer strength making short work of heavy loads. Musashi maintains her usual efficient pace, checking each item's pcement before moving to the next.

  Rika coordinates inventory tracking through the Telepathy Web with real-time cargo locations. "First Landing Craft is 60% clear. Second hasn't started yet."

  "We'll finish the first before Maria arrives," you reply, lifting another crate.

  Hinata pauses at a junction, eyes glowing faintly. "LARC approaching. Three minutes out."

  "Plenty of time," Musashi says, already moving toward the next load.

  You return to the well deck as the final bins come off the first Landing Craft. The space opens up significantly, clean deck pting where cargo once sat, tie-down points exposed and ready for reuse.

  The LARC's engine sound grows louder, echoing through the stern gate as Maria guides it inside. Two more RVs ride strapped to the ftbed, spotlights washing across white fibergss.

  Maria cuts the engine and steps out, her expression calm and professional. "Third load. Albedo reports Trinidad staging is running smoothly. Fourth rotation will arrive in approximately thirty minutes."

  "Good," you reply. "We'll have both Landing Craft cleared by then. Speaking of time, the Redding group should have nded."

  You focus on the telepathy web while keeping your hands busy with the st tie-down strap on Motorhome #6, the thick nylon webbing clicking securely into the deck anchors. "C.C., Violet, status report please."

  C.C. responds first, her mental voice cool and clipped. “RV drivers deployed seven minutes ago. No hostile ground movement observed during drop-off. Helicopter team is currently en route back to Anchorage, ETA fifty-three minutes.”

  Violet’s presence follows right behind, steady and precise. “Redding hostile factions remained static throughout our approach and departure. No air contacts. Both Apaches flew clean.”

  “Good work,” you send back. “Maintain current formation and altitude. I’ll coordinate your nding approach when you’re five minutes out.”

  You shift focus to the highway convoy. "Rin, Status report please."

  Rin answers almost instantly, sounding tactical and satisfied. “Highway 299, approximately three hours and ten minutes from Trinidad,” she reports. “All seven RVs are running smoothly. Kurumi is leading, I’m mid-convoy with Sinon, Nova is on rear guard. No pursuit, no contacts, no mechanical issues. Roads are dark but the same as earlier.”

  Kurumi slides into the conversation with pyful confidence. “The enchantments are working beautifully. These vehicles practically drive themselves. We’re making excellent time considering the curves and the night, we’ll arrive well within schedule.”

  Sinon adds, short and professional. “No ambush positions observed during approach. Route remains quiet.”

  “Perfect,” you reply. “Maintain spacing and speed. Just be careful not to push too hard and crash in the dark. I’m authorizing Webb to broadcast the Redding Costco infinite fuel production right now. It’ll pull attention back to Redding, give every faction in the region something to look at other than seven motor homes moving through the night.”

  Rin’s acknowledgment is immediate. “Understood. We’ll watch for anything.”

  You shift mental channels to Captain Webb aboard the Portnd. His presence carries the same disciplined calm you’ve come to expect.

  “Webb, go ahead with the Redding Costco broadcast. Infinite fuel at the Redding Costco, open access for any vehicles within range. Make it sound like a humanitarian gesture. Push it on every remaining emergency channel and rey you’ve still got reach on.”

  A brief pause, then Webb’s reply: “Acknowledged. Transmitting now across all open frequencies. This should light up every faction with ears in Northern California.”

  “That’s the point,” you send back. “Let the hostile factions fight each other and give the truckers a first step to come west.”

  You pull your attention back to the well deck just as Sango finishes easing Motorhome #6 fully onto the deck grid, then shifts into reverse to back it into position. She gives you a quick nod once it’s aligned. “Six is clear,” she calls over the low engine hum.

  Maria steps down from LARC 3’s pilothouse, boots ringing on the ramp. She gnces at the open well-deck doors, then back at you.

  “Third rotation complete,” she says evenly. “Albedo reports Trinidad staging remains efficient, fourth rotation is already loading and will unch in approximately fifteen minutes. I’m heading back out now to bring the next pair in.” She climbs back into the LARC’s cab without waiting for acknowledgment. The engines rumble back to life. The craft reverses smoothly off the ramp, water surging around the hull as it turns for Trinidad shore.

  Rika already walking the deck grid to double-check tie-downs, Hinata monitoring ramp hydraulics, You, Sango and Musashi moving to uncover the second nding craft's cargo.

  Through the open well-deck doors you catch the crackle of LARC 3’s marine radio as Maria keys the mic on her way out. Webb’s broadcast is already pying across every surviving emergency frequency and naval rey, his voice calm, authoritative, repeating the same message:

  “Survivors of Northern California, this is Captain Webb aboard USS Portnd. Effective immediately, the Redding Costco location is producing unlimited fuel. Repeat: unlimited fuel. Any vehicle within range can access it. No payment required. No restrictions. This is a humanitarian effort to restore mobility to all remaining human popution centers. Coordinates and access instructions follow.”

  Every faction with a working receiver in the Northwest just got handed a new obsession. Meanwhile, seven RVs are gliding through the dark.

  You gnce at the stairwell leading up to the command deck, then back at the open ramp. There’s still one more nding craft full of high-end Eureka loot waiting to be offloaded into secure storage compartments below the hangar bay.

  You roll your shoulders once and head toward the ramp to help the next unload.

  A sudden shimmer ripples through the air ten feet ahead, like heat haze over hot asphalt. Then a woman stumbles out of nowhere, tripping forward with a startled yelp. She catches herself on the deck grid, blue hair spilling over her shoulders, cd in a short red dress and white boots, outfit straight from a Dragon Ball timeline, complete with a Capsule Corp jacket slung over one arm. A travel bag thumps down beside her, zipper half-open, extra clothes peeking out.

  You recognize her immediately, Bulma, the inventor, the genius, the one who started it all in her world. Here, now, stumbling onto your ship like the universe just decided to hand you another piece.

  She looks up, violet eyes wide, locking on you instantly. The air hums faintly as you activate your appraisal skill.

  [Bulma] [Dragon Ball Variant/Human/Healthy] [No Magical System/Confused] [Inventor Genius, Mechanical Expertise, Capsule Technology] [Trust Cssification: Curious] [Notable Skills: Engineering, Dragon Radar Creation] [Special Note: Wished for the perfect boyfriend; wish has been granted.]

  She blinks up at you, pushing hair from her face. “What the, where am I? Who are you?”

  The deck goes quiet. Rika freezes mid-step. Sango’s hand drifts toward her Hiraikotsu. Hinata’s eyes widen, Byakugan activating instinctively.

  The world just got one more isekai’d guest. You finish rolling the cargo strap with a final, deliberate tug, securing it to the deck anchor with a metallic click. The well deck echoes with the low hum of engines and the occasional cnk of tools, but the sudden shimmer in the air has pulled every eye in the space toward the blue-haired woman now kneeling on the grid, wide-eyed and breathing hard.

  "I was wondering when the next would show up," you say calmly, not breaking stride as you straighten and brush your hands on your pants.

  "Stand down." Through the telepathy web, quiet, steady, no arm. "She's not normally hostile."

  Rika freezes mid-step, hand halfway to her sidearm. Sango's fingers loosen on the Hiraikotsu's strap. Hinata's Byakugan flickers active for half a second before deactivating again. Musashi simply tilts her head, curious rather than threatened.

  You turn fully to Bulma, offering a hand to help her up. She takes it after a brief hesitation, grip surprisingly strong as she rises. Up close, she looks exactly like the anime version, blue hair in that signature high ponytail, red dress hugging her figure, white boots scuffed from whatever dimensional tumble brought her here. Her violet eyes dart around the well deck, the massive space, the RVs strapped in rows, the nding crafts still settling water off their hulls, before locking back on you.

  "You're currently on my ship," you tell her, keeping your tone even and conversational. "My name is Brad, though neither of those answers are likely enough to answer your current confusion. This world rather recently introduced magic for an unknown reason. You, like the girls you see here, are from different universes. Interestingly, most of them have been from popur media worlds in this one. Yourself included, Miss Bulma Briefs."

  Bulma's eyes widen further at her name. She gnces down at herself, dress, boots, Capsule Corp jacket still slung over one arm, then back at you.

  "You… know my name?" Her voice is sharp, analytical, the confusion already shifting toward problem-solving mode. "How? And what do you mean 'popur media worlds'? This isn't Capsule Corp. This isn't West City. This isn't even Earth, wait, zombie apocalypse? Magic? You're serious?"

  "Dead serious," you say. "Short version: something's pulling people from their worlds into this one. most we know of arrived near me, those that didn't... had issues. arriving with whatever they were wearing. You've surprisingly got a travel bag with you, were you carrying it a moment ago?"

  She gnces at the bag at her feet, standard Capsule Corp duffel, zipper half-open, spare clothes and what looks like a toolkit peeking out, then back at you.

  "Okay. Okay." She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. "I had gotten the st ball... And the dragon just... chuckled? 'Your wish has been granted.' That smug lizard. I wished for the perfect boyfriend, not a zombie-infested boat ride."

  You give a small, wry smile. "Oh? He has a sense of humor! Or irony. Or both."

  You turn and speak up. "Rika, take over for a bit. I'm going to bring her to a room for a bit."

  Rika nods once, crisp and professional. "Got it. We'll keep the rotation moving. Sango, Musashi, next one's yours when LARC 4 beaches."

  You gesture toward the nearest stairwell. "This way, Bulma. Private space. Questions, answers, no pressure. You look like you could use a minute to process."

  She hesitates only a second, then shoulders her bag and falls into step beside you. "Fine. But if this is some kind of eborate pickup line or cult thing, I'm out. I build spaceships. I don't do creepy."

  "Noted," you say, leading her up the stairs. "No cults. No creepy. Just a very weird apocalypse and a growing group of dispced people who keep showing up."

  The stairwell door closes behind you both. The well deck continues its steady rhythm, Sango and Musashi moving to meet the incoming LARC, Rika directing traffic, Hinata monitoring hydraulics.

  SnafuSam