[tri OOM] Monkey Business

“We’re nearly there,” Trailmon says, a few days after Yamato returns. “Railroad Town, the centre of trade for this entire region.”

Travel has mostly been boring, with only a few stops to refill Trailmon’s water tanks, and almost nobody bothering them as they do so. That in itself is strange: No bandits, no travellers or merchants, even this close to a major trading hub? Not even any Digimon that are adapted for desert living, for whom the searing heat wouldn’t be an issue?

He can’t help but feel uneasy.

“Already?” Takeru asks, snapping Yamato’s attention back to his brother, and the chess game they’re playing. Gabumon peers up over the edge of the table, taking advantage of the distraction to grab a Knight and eat it whole.

“Let’s just say I used a little extra juice to get us there fast.”

“I appreciate it,” Yamato says, crossing to a window. It’s still distant, but he can see the shape of the town just starting appear: A large, circular stone wall seems to enclose the town, with four tunnels that he can see for trains (or, well, Trailmon) to enter through. Rising above the walls are spiralling railway tracks and tiers of buildings, forming rough cone that terminates in a castle, set onto the highest tier. There’s something almost Meiji period about the buildings, a fusion of traditional Japanese architectures and the blackened brick and wrought iron of the Industrial Revolution.

A sound draws his attention away from the town. Screaming, a lot of it, shrill and discordant and angry, like a furious chimpanzee, rising over the desert. He follows the sound to the horizon, as a set of shapes start to pour over top of the dunes and towards them: Clusters of yellow, kicking up sand, getting closer. He has to squint to see them properly in the harsh daylight, but when he does he sees blue skin, bright yellow fur, and a monkey-like face. Some kind of Digimon he doesn’t recognise.

He doesn’t need to recognise them to know they’re not friendly.

“We -- …”

“Trouble, guys!” Trailmon yells. “We’ve got ‘mons approaching us from both sides, and I don’t think they’re coming to ask us nicely about trade!”

They’re fast. Fast enough that Yamato can see their features now, even without squinting. He raises his wrist computer, opening the Analyser program and bringing them into the frame.

“Hanumon. Adult-level, Vaccine-type Beast Man Digimon. A legendary Beast Man Digimon possessing golden fur, it is capable of moving at extremely high speeds, and even achieving limited flight,” the Analyser says, before flicking off.

“How many are there?” Yamato asks.

“Hundreds,” Trailmon says. “At least!”

“You have cannons, right?” Takeru says, frowning. “Can you fend them off long enough to get us into town.”

“They’re really more of precision instruments. I have to take my time lining up the shots, you know?”

“Give us all the speed you’ve got,” Yamato says, as the Hanumon get closer and closer, their shrieking rising in pitch. “Takeru, find Mimi and send her to the engines, I need her to wring out as much speed from them as we get. You, Patamon, and Tentomon need to seal off all the external doors as best you can.”

“That doesn’t help me,” Trailmon says.

“I know. We just need to protect your main body at the very front, right? I can do that,” Yamato replies, pulling on his coat.

He’s turning towards the front of the train when he feels Gabumon grab his coat, dragging him backwards.

“I’m coming too.”

“Gabumon, no, you’re stay -- …”

“I’m coming too,” Gabumon snaps. “If you say no, I’ll just follow you up there anyway.”

Yamato scowls, dragging his coat out of Gabumon’s paw. “Fine. Do what you like.”

---

They reach the front of the train and clamber up onto the carriage just behind Trailmon’s brown, insect-like main body. The Hanumon are almost on them now, crowding around Trailmon, keeping pace with him despite the fact that he’s moving so fast that as soon as Yamato gets up on top of the carriage he feels like the wind is going to throw him off.

He shuts his eyes, whistling the first few bars of a song, and his sylladex ejects Cisco’s stungun into his hands.

“This isn’t the best time for field testing that thing,” Gabumon points out.

“If it doesn’t work, we’ll probably be too dead to care before long,” Yamato replies. He gives Gabumon a sidelong look, then adds: “Listen, if things get bad, go back inside and lock the -- …”

“I’ll take the ones on the left, you take the ones on the right,” Gabumon says, sharply. “Try not to get in my way.”

Yamato can’t help but grin, just a little. “Try not to get in mine.”

---

Well, the stungun works, at least.

Yamato’s conscious about conserving its power, waiting to fire a shot until he’s certain he has one of the attacking Hanumon in sight, which, between their own fast movement and the Trailmon beneath him roaring along the tracks, usually means letting them get close or waiting until one of them is barrelling directly towards him. Each time a shot lands, he sees the mon’s entire frame go fuzzy, before it tumbles into the sand, alive but temporarily paralysed.

Gabumon covers his other side, breathing a stream of blue fire directly into the face of any Hanumon that latches onto the carriage. It’s a cruder method than the stungun, but at the very least, Yamato’s pretty sure Gabumon isn’t going to run out of charge.

“We’re nearly there! Once we’re through the gate, we’ll be home clear!” Trailmon calls up to them.

Yamato feels Trailmon pick up speed under him, screaming down the tracks towards the looming shape of Railroad Town. They’ll be at the gate in minutes, he knows. Not much longer to hold out.

But then he feels the shift in the air, a buzz of static turning into the anbaric crackle of lightning, and he has just enough time to drag Gabumon down and grip onto the carriage before all of Trailmon’s momentum comes to a sudden halt. No deceleration, just jammed in place, and all the velocity he had built up slams into Yamato with enough force that he knows that if he wasn’t lying down and gripping the carriage with as much strength as his hands can muster, he would have been thrown off and broken every bone in his body in the process.

There are flickers of black and red lightning crackling about Trailmon’s wheels, matched by a low hum of electromagnetic force, pinning the Digimon to the tracks. Yamato recognises it well enough, even if the Digimon behind it never used his powers so creatively when he was alive.

He struggles to his feet as, ahead of them, MetalEtemon floats down onto the carriage ahead of them, with an absurd elegance that he never had in life and which looks, to Yamato’s eyes, totally incongruous on the Digimon’s shiny, silver, ridiculously over-muscular weightlifter’s body. He can’t see MetalEtemon’s eyes, but he remembers the Mystery Man’s attack on the raft clearly enough to know that if he could see them, they’d be blank and empty.

“I can’t move my wheels,” Trailmon says.

“I know.”

MetalEtemon takes a step forward. Yamato raises the stungun and fires. It lands against the smooth metal of the MetalEtemon’s chest, but he doesn’t seem to even notice it.

“MetalEtemon,” his wrist computer chirps, helpfully. “Ultimate-level, Virus-type Cyborg Digimon. Its body is coated fully in Chrondigizoit metal, boosting its defense against direct attacks to maximum parameters.”

By the standards of Ultimate-level Digimon, MetalEtemon had never been that strong, with only his defensive properties working in his favour -- but even the weakest Ultimate could destroy this Trailmon and everyone inside it with a single, well-placed attack.

“Gabumon, you need to get everyone else and run,” Yamato says, taking a step backwards. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“I don’t think there’s anywhere we can run,” Gabumon says, peering around. “There are Hanumon on every side.”

Yamato’s eyes flick towards the side of the train, then the other. The Hanumon are watching, but not getting closer, keeping a careful distance from MetalEtemon. Yamato’s not sure if they know who he is, that he used to be the shard of Apocalymon that ruled this entire desert, or if they just know that he’s powerful and dangerous and indiscriminate.

He doesn’t see the Mystery Man, but Yamato’s sure he’s nearby: MetalEtemon wouldn’t be able to move without the Mystery Man to puppet him around.

MetalEtemon doesn’t take another step closer, instead raising his hand towards the sky. Black lightning bleeds off his shoulders and arms, collecting into a black and red sphere in his hand, pulsating, the crimson glow of it growing brighter and brighter, crackling with electricity, until the entire desert seems to be bathed in red.

Yamato raises the stungun and fires again, but MetalEtemon doesn’t react to the pulse. Gabumon breathes out a stream of blue flames, but they wash over the other Digimon harmlessly.

He’s going to kill everyone, Yamato realises. He’ll turn Trailmon and everyone inside him -- Takeru, Patamon, Mimi, Tentomon -- to ash in a single strike, and there’s nothing Yamato can do about it. His chest tightens painfully, and suddenly he can’t breathe, or move, and the entire world seems like it’s going fuzzy at the edges. He can hear his heart thumping in his chest, but it’s like he’s experiencing it all from far away, like he’s watching all of this unfold in the cinema while he quietly suffocates in a back row seat.

He wills his Crest to start working, to just let him evolve Gabumon just this once, but nothing happens.

The sphere in MetalEtemon’s hand turns a scorching violet, spilling sparks from every side, and he heaves it down towards the top of the carriage.

“Stop!” Yamato hears himself yell.

“Stop.”

MetalEtemon’s hand comes to a halt, the sphere just inches from the top of the train carriage. MetalEtemon seems all but frozen in place, holding his position perfectly.

Next to him, the Mystery Man materialises from the feet up to his face -- or, at least, Ken’s face, and Ken’s clothes, and Ken’s stupid sunglasses from his days as the Digimon Emperor. Yamato sees him smile, patting MetalEtemon’s shoulder companionably.

“Just wait until I give the word.”

“Call him off,” Yamato hears himself snarl.

“Or what?” The Mystery Man asks, archly. After a moment, his demeanour seems to soften: “Oh, come now, don’t be so dour. I came to offer you a deal.”

“Why would we ever make a deal with -- …” Gabumon starts.

“What is it? Just tell me already,” Yamato growls. He sounds braver than he feels, he knows, because the truth is that he’s nearly paralysed by fear. One wrong move, and his brother, Mimi, Patamon and Tentomon, Trailmon, Gabumon -- they all die.



The Mystery Man hums, tapping his forehead in thought. As Yamato watches, his disguise shimmers and shifts, from Ken to Taichi, from the Emperor’s coat to Taichi’s grey and blue school soccer uniform.

“One life to save six more,” he says, in Taichi’s voice. “Lower that gun of yours, take a knee, bow your head, and I’ll have MetalEtemon here snap your neck. Quick, nearly painless, and when it’s done the rest of your friends go free.”

His tone is cheerful, but there’s a terseness to it, a strained tone that Yamato would never hear from Taichi. Yamato frowns, and he sees the Mystery Man’s foot move back, just a little.

Yamato blinks. “Are you … frightened?” The Mystery Man doesn’t answer, doesn’t even change his facial expression, but Yamato can sense him reining in his emotions. “You are. We don’t even have our powers, you’re a second away from killing us all, and you’re still afraid. What do you think I’m going to do?”

“A bold theory. But maybe I just want to give you a choice in how this turns out,” the Mystery Man replies. “Call it a gesture of goodwill. As you say, your only other option is to let everyone else die.”

The Mystery Man is smiling, but it’s Taichi’s sunny grin, replicated so closely that Yamato can’t even tell the difference, and that just makes it all worse.

“I know you, old friend,” the Mystery Man says, “even if you don’t know me. So I know that you can’t bear to let anyone else die.”

“You don’t need to ask,” Yamato says, shutting his eyes so that he doesn’t have to look at Taichi’s face. “If you wanted me dead, you could just kill me right here. I can’t stop you.”

“I don’t need to. But I want to.”

He’s right. He doesn’t need to. Yamato’s trapped on a stuck train with a Digimon that can kill him with a single blast, that is about to kill him, and no options. Taking the deal and hoping it’s honoured really is the only choice.

“Don’t be stupid,” Gabumon growls. “Like he’d agree to -- …”

“Gabumon,” Yamato says. “That’s enough.”

He opens his eyes again, looking the Mystery Man in the eye, and slowly lowers the stungun to his side. He sees the Mystery Man give him a slow grin.

Yamato breathes out softly.

“I -- …”

“Duck!”

Trailmon’s voice is louder and sharper than Yamato’s ever heard it. His muscles won’t move, but Gabumon grabs him and pulls him down, just as the boom of a cannon rings through the air.

A ball of yellow flame slams into MetalEtemon’s chest, sending him flying backwards, his heels scraping across the carriages beneath him, cutting grooves into them. Another fireball collides with him before he even stops, rocketing him back off the rear of the train and flinging him into the sands beyond.

The electromagnetic hum fades. Yamato hears Trailmon’s wheels starting to move again. With a jerk, Trailmon accelerates to full speed, fast enough that Yamato has to grab the carriage to keep himself from being thrown off.

The Mystery Man flickers, then shifts again, changing from Taichi to Jyou. He reaches up to adjust his glasses, sighing.

“Delaying the inevitable. But the deal is still on the -- …” He goes silent as Yamato fires off a shot from Cisco’s stun gun, the pulse of electricity passing through the Mystery Man’s chest as if he isn’t even there.

“Didn’t even come in person, huh?”

“Fine,” the Mystery Man says, scowling. “Be stubborn.”

With a buzz of static, he vanishes, just as Trailmon barrels into the tunnel to Railroad Town, and the gates shut behind them.

[tri OOM] It you.

Railroad Town is bustling, but something tells Yamato it’s not as bustling as it could be. Several shops are shut, the market seems to have too many and too large gaps between occupied stalls, and he has to spend an hour hunting through the city before he finds anywhere open with a network connection.

(There’s a shrine to the Crest of Knowledge, he notes, but surprisingly it doesn’t have any kind of network ports. Apart from one Flymon brushing the steps with a broom, it doesn’t even look like anyone’s visited in a while.)

The network is slow. Incredibly slow. But eventually, he gets a message sent out to the others, hoping that their D-Terminals or phones or whatever computing device they’re carrying will be connected to the network. Hoping that they’re alive and searching as well.

Two nervewracking hours later, he and Gabumon are still sitting there.

“Were you going to take the Mystery Man’s deal?” Gabumon asks, eventually.

Yamato frowns, staring intently at the empty messenger screen. “There weren’t a whole lot of other options.”

He feels Gabumon bristle next to him. “We could’ve figured something out. If you trusted me.”

The beep of the messenger mercifully keeps Yamato from having to reply to that.

Taichi: Hey! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for nearly a week.
Yamato: Worried about me?
Taichi: Naaaaaaaaah. Listen, Agumon and I landed over on Folder Continent. We’re safe, and we’ve found Jyou, Gomamon, Hikari, and Plotmon. They’re all fine, apart from What about you?

Yamato expels a breath he didn’t know that he’d been holding. Only people unaccounted for now were Sora, Koushiro, and Palmon.

Yamato: Landed in the Server Desert. Mimi, Takeru, Patamon, and Tentomon are all here, and we’re pretty sure there are two more somewhere in town. We’re a stone’s throw away from the Great Lake Area, too.
Taichi: Pretty close to one of Daisuke’s team, then. We’re about a week’s walk away from where another of them should be being kept. If you go after whoever’s cooped up in the Great Lake Area, we’ll go after whoever’s at Full Metal City.
Yamato: All right, stay safe. Any word on Sora, Koushiro, or Palmon? One of them would’ve landed at File Island.
Sora: That was me.

Yamato blinks. How long had Sora been watching their conversation? He’s almost not sure how he feels about her being the one on File Island. It puts her so far away that she can’t help him or Taichi, but at the same time, that’s where Piyomon is. If Yamato was superstitious, he’d wonder if the universe was giving them another chance at patching things up.

Sora: There’s more, too. Meiko’s here.
Taichi: Wait, Meiko? How’d she even get here?
Yamato: She shouldn’t be able to open the Gate.
Sora: I don’t think she did. I don’t know if Meicoomon dragged her here through a distortion, or if we somehow opened the Gate without realising it, but she’s here now. I’ll keep an eye on her.

There’s a pause. A minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Yamato doesn’t have to see Taichi to know that he’s doing the exact same thing that Yamato is: Hovering his fingers over the keys, trying to figure out how best to encourage Sora to try again with Piyomon.

Sora: I’m signing out for now. I’ll update you two when I know more.
Sora has signed out.

Apparently Sora doesn’t have to see either of them to know what they’re doing, either.

Taichi: … All right, I guess we’re splitting into three teams. Team Taichi’s on rescuing whoever’s at Full Metal City. I hope it’s Iori, the others are just going to be a pain to deal with.
Yamato: I hope it’s Daisuke, so that you have to suffer for the rest of this trip.
Taichi: And Team Yamato is on rescuing whoever’s at the Great Lakes Area. Which I hope is Daisuke, and then you can be the one who has to keep him in line.
Yamato: Die in a fire.
Taichi: And Team Sora is making sure Meiko doesn’t die in the wilderness. Which is both the least glamourous and most difficult job. Well, until one of us finds Daisuke, and then that becomes the most difficult job.
Yamato: Right. I’ll update you when I’ve found Koushiro and Palmon.
Taichi: Good.
Taichi has signed out.
Taichi has signed in.
Taichi: [Attached grumpywolf.gif]
Taichi: It you.
Taichi has signed out.

Yamato sighs, shutting the window and disconnecting his wrist computer. Six out of eight members of the team are safe, and even if they’re split up, that’s a weight off his mind. From outside the cafe, he sees Takeru and Mimi wave to him, and he drains the last of his coffee, heading outside.

“Any luck, aniki?” Takeru asks.

“Taichi, Jyou, Hikari and their partners are all on Folder Continent. Sora’s on File Island,” Yamato says. “Which means we’re looking for Koushiro and Palmon.”

He sees Mimi straighten up a little at that. She’d hidden it well (which, he noted, was unusual for Mimi), but it only makes sense that she would be worried about her partner.

“We’ve actually got a lead on that, thanks to our charm and winning personalities. You not being around was probably useful for that,” Takeru chirps.

“Thanks.”

Mimi jabs a finger at the highest part of the town: The castle, held aloft by platforms and railways. “People are saying that not too long ago, the lord of the town took a human prisoner. Something about spying. So we can just go and ask if he’ll please give our friend back, and explain that Koushiro’s not a spy.”

“Right, right,” Takeru beams. “We just need to go and see Lord Goemon.”

Yamato grimaces. “Please tell me he’s not actually called Goemon.”

“Doesn’t it just fill you with confidence that he’s going to be a relaxed and reasonable sorta guy?” Mimi asks.

“I just hate this town already,” Yamato mutters. “I hate this whole desert. Nothing good has ever come out of the Server Desert. Let’s just … let’s just go. I want to get this over with.”

[tri OOM] Taking A Detour.

Getting into Goemon’s castle is startlingly easy. They just go to the front gate, say they’re here to announce themselves, and two guards (diminutive little Kotemon, with bamboo swords at their sides) escort them through to the antechamber.

It’s almost the archetypal picture of a Sengoku castle’s antechamber, to the point where Yamato’s not actually convinced that a castle that this perfectly represents the chanbara aesthetic even exists on Earth. Panels painted with sumi-e drawings (not, he notes, of the usual trees and rivers, but instead twisting railroads and trains) line the walls, and the wooden floor of the antechamber is almost bare save for four tatami mats at one end, set around the somewhat incongruous feature of a throne.

His eyes go to the Digimon kneeling on the mats first, and the Analyser chirps as he looks at each of them.

“FlaWizarmon. Adult-Level, Virus-type Demon Man Digimon. Using high-class programming, this magician Digimon can create the appearance of fire magic,” the Analyser announces, as he looks at furthest to the left, a rather raggedy doll the size of a young boy, dressed in red leather with a wizard hat jammed on its head.

“Hi-VisionMonitamon. Perfect-Level, Data-type LCD Digimon,” the Analyser says next, as he turns towards what looks like a tiny, chubby ninja, with its head replaced by a flatscreen television. “An ‘Ace Monitamon’ that possesses unique abilities. It is capable of analysing data rapidly, and can enhance the abilities of Digimon around it.”

He turns to the other side of the throne, towards a Digimon that could be a deadringer for Wizarmon if its robes and cloak weren’t white, and the Analyser gives a quick processing noise. “Sorcerymon. Adult-Level, Vaccine-type Demon Man Digimon. It is adept in ice and snow sorcery, and its prayers can heal wounds through a holy power.”

Finally, he turns to the last, some kind of bipedal yellow fox. “Renamon. Child-Level, Data-type Beast Man Digimon. A calm, cool, and collected Digimon with the appearance of a golden fox.”

The Digimon on the throne gives a low rumble, rising to his feet. “Are you done analysing my Grand Generals, human?”

Yamato arches an eyebrow, turning towards the Digimon. This -- this must be Goemon. He looks the part, some kind of seven-foot tall biomechanical ninja, with a white and red kimono fluttering about him, a fox mask on his face, and no less than eight swords strapped to his back.

“Nearly,” Yamato says, raising his wrist computer.

“Goemon. Perfect-Level, Virus-type Mutant Digimon. A bandit king wielding eight holy swords, Goemon’s capricious nature is matched only by the fierceness with which he takes to battle.”

“Enough of this,” Goemon rumbles, reaching for a sword on his back. “You come here claiming that you wish to announce yourself to me, then act like spies scurrying through my castle for scraps of information.”

Yamato tugs aside his jacket, pulling his digivice up, and holds it at Goemon’s eye level. As the Digimon pauses, he pulls his Crest pendant from under his shirt as well, raising it so that it catches the light.

It feels fraudulent, somehow, to be leveraging powers, status, and a destiny he doesn’t really have anymore. But if Koushiro’s languishing in a dungeon somewhere, Yamato doesn’t have time to be picky about how he goes about this.

“You must know that the Reboot has stolen our memory from us,” Goemon says, although his voice is more level now. “But I do recognise the holy device, and I recognise the Crest of Friendship, even if its light has faded.”

“The young man in your dungeons, and the Digimon he came with,” Yamato says, tucking the Crest away. “He’s one of our number, not a spy. We’d like him returned.”

“Oho?” Goemon asks, shaking his head. “And go where? The only way to go from here is north, and nobody passes down those routes anymore.”

Takeru frowns. “The Hanumon, right? How long have they been here?”

“Weeks now. That damn shapeshifter rounded up the bandits and mercenaries in the area and turned them into his own personal guards, protecting the castle over yonder, above the Great Lake,” Goemon says, turning and padding back to his throne. “All trade was cut off with the Great Lake Area. Worse than that, the shapeshifter still isn’t satisfied. He harasses every Trailmon that comes close to town, and every Trailmon that leaves, and he’s growing more paranoid and more bold by the day.”

“The Mystery Man is trying to protect something -- someone -- he’s keeping there,” Yamato says.

“A friend of ours,” Mimi adds.

“This town is in striking distance of Castle Vamdemon, it’s no wonder he wants you gone,” Yamato says.

“Aye, and he isn’t stopping there,” Goemon says. “When he realised he couldn’t starve us out, he started gathering his forces along the border line. A thousand Hanumon, two thousand Troopmon, and a thousand Bakemon, along with whatever vagrants and criminals he could convince to join up with him. It’s an invasion force, and it’ll overrun this town before long.”

“You don’t think you can fend him off?” Yamato asks. “You’ve got two Perfect-levels right here, and there’s got to be more in the town.”

“We’re a trading town, not a fortress,” Goemon replies. “And as the shapeshifter, this Mystery Man of yours, was quick to remind us, he has an ace up his sleeve.”

“MetalEtemon,” Mimi says.

“An Ultimate-level Digimon, if you can believe such a thing,” Goemon says. “Every Digimon in the whole town wouldn’t be able to fend him off, even if we were all working together. There’s nowhere for us to evacuate to, nowhere for us to hide, so we’re just waiting here to die. Now, you’re waiting here with us.”

“And our friends? Keeping them locked up does nothing to help you.”

“Aye, your friends, the lad with the red hair and the plant Digimon. I’ll release them to your custody,” Goemon says, waving a hand. “But if you want to leave, you should be prepared to meet your end out in the desert. Your Mystery Man may have let you slip through his fingers once, but he won’t a second time.”

Yamato hears Takeru hum softly behind him. Then: “Give me a day or two, and I can find us a way up north to Castle Vamdemon, aniki. A diversion here, a few less-traveled routes there, and I can get us close without anyone -- …”

“No.”

He doesn’t see Takeru tense up, but he can practically feel it. The boy’s glaring so hard at the back of his head that it’s like having a heat ray directed straight at his skull.

Goemon gives a low chuckle, tilting his head back to regard Yamato down the nose of his fox mask.

“We aren’t just going to leave you to die,” Yamato says, meeting his gaze. “We’ll stay. And we’ll help you fend off this attack.”

“Exactly!” Mimi beams. “We can’t turn down someone in need.”

“None of us can fight right now,” Takeru says, flatly. “We’re just adding eight more people to the pile of bodies. I mean, unless that’s what you want. Lately it’s tough to tell.”

“Careful,” Yamato growls, turning to give Takeru a sidelong look. His brother shrinks back slightly.

He frowns, then turns towards Mimi.

“Mimi,” he says. “I need you to start recruiting. Find any people in town willing to take part in the defence. Find a way to send a letter to TonosamaGekomon, too. If the Great Lake Area wasn’t Rebooted, he should still remember that he’s got debts to you that he’s left unpaid.”

“Recruiting and blackmail, my two favourite jobs,” Mimi says, just a little bit wryly.

“Once you release Koushiro,” Yamato says to Goemon. “We can have him begin fortifying the town. He’ll need maps, and a full rundown of the numbers and resources you have available to you.”

“As you like,” Goemon rumbles. “Although as it stands, I only have some two-hundred guards in my forces.”

“Well, that’s what Mimi’s recruiting drive is for.”

“I’m going to make posters,” Mimi adds.

“Kiddo,” Yamato says, turning towards Takeru. “You need to find places where we can secure any non-combatants, when the time comes, and I want you to scout out places to set up field hospitals and clinics while you’re at it. Once you’ve done that, you can join Koushiro on fortifying the town.”

Takeru scowls. Yamato can tell he’s thinking of protesting, but instead he just gives a flat: “Yes, aniki. What are you going to do?”

“There’s still MetalEtemon to deal with. We don’t have any Ultimate-levels to face him, and even if we did, that Chrondigizoit armour of his can’t be penetrated by a direct attack,” Yamato says. “So I guess it’s my job to figure out how to break open the ultimate defense and kill him. For good, this time.”