OG poster u/PlayFree_Bird
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Alright, I hate to say it, but there is some less-than-ideal information circulating out there, particularly about the famed "gamma squeeze" we hear so much about these days. I'll get to that. Let's go through the questions you simpletons want to know, as explained by a mouth-breathing fool who has managed to convince you he knows what he's talking about:

Did we win today? Is it endgame?

Kind of. Be patient.

In what ways did we win?

First, there was the obvious victory of bouncing back 65% today after the worst market manipulation I've ever witnessed. We kept the upward momentum going.
Secondly, every day you finish higher is another day the shorts are underwater. If you are perpetually going up, the walls are closing in on them.
Finally, a lot of put options expired worthless today while a number of call options expired in-the-money. It's always good to make put holders lose money because you drain the bank accounts of people betting against you.

Yes! Call options! We finished above $320 and get a gamma squeeze to infinity now, right?

No. That's not how this works. Too many people don't quite understand what a gamma squeeze is.
A gamma squeeze happens when call option sellers (or "writers") have to hedge their naked calls by buying stocks. They do this because the risk of selling naked calls is theoretically infinite if they don't. It's called delta hedging. You don't need to know all the fancy math ("delta" and "gamma" are those greek symbols for nerds), just understand this: as it becomes more probable that the call option you sold will cost you money, you hedge more.
This is a continuous PROCESS, not a discreet moment in time. The market makers and hedge funds and institutions selling you calls don't wake up on Friday morning and think, "Shit! I think I'm going to lose everything if these stocks keep going up! I have to BUY NOW!!!" That would be stupid. They are hedging all the way up. I guarantee you that most of the calls that were exercised at $320 today were already covered. They already went out and bought those shares and most of the upwards pressure that places on the market is priced in already.

So, no gamma squeeze?

Probably not significantly. They're not going to be madly rushing out on Monday to buy shit they already own for the most part.

Why are people talking about a gamma squeeze at $320, then?

We did have a gamma squeeze at $320. On Wednesday, two days ago. The price exceeded $320 (then the highest strike price on the books) and promptly surged to $371 before coming back down to around $320. That's what a gamma squeeze is: a frenzied rush by call sellers to cover calls.
It typically happens BEFORE expiration, not after. It's rare for market makers to get so caught with their pants down that they have to get squeezed for the previous week's calls on a Monday. I don't know where this idea of a gamma squeeze now at $320 is coming from.

This hurts my feelings. So, what's so great about the $320 threshold, anyway? Did it matter at all?

It's still a good thing. There may have been a few lingering naked calls to cover. And, like I said, it's always good to make put-holders lose money because stick it to the 🌈🐻, that's why.
$320 was a significant level because there were quite a few open call options at that strike. You can see the entire option chain here: https://www.nasdaq.com/market-activity/stocks/gme/option-chain
Go through and count up all the January 29th options that were in-the-money at today's close. I think maybe 90,000 or something? Screw it, I didn't count. Somebody who can figure out how to use a calculator can add those up. Multiply that number by 100 (because option contracts are sold in groups of 100) and that's how many shares need to change hands thanks to contracts expiring ITM.
It may be that with so many shares needing to change hands and so little liquidity in this market, some weird things could happen.

What weird things?

Well, if nothing else, a lot of shares will need to be tied up as the process of settling calls plays out.
You have to remember that when somebody says they own shares, they don't necessarily own own the shares right at that moment.
When you press "buy" on your phone and it says your order was filled, that doesn't mean that the process happens instantaneously. For all intents and purposes as far as you are concerned, sure, the process looks instant. However, there's a lot of messy stuff that happens on the back-end of the system between the brokers and the clearing houses. The clearing houses are where the daily tab gets settled: who owes whom and what they owe and at what price, etc.
Monday could be interesting as this tab for millions of stocks (in a market with only 50-something million shares actively circulating) gets settled. It might not be crazy, but it could. We'll see.
Michael Burry (Christian Bale, for all you noobs) seems to think that all the naked short-selling above the float will result in a shit-storm when people actually go to get their shares back: https://twitter.com/michaeljburry/status/1355221824661983233
Liquidity crunch + lots of shares being moved around + nobody knows where they all are currently = potential nightmare for Wall Street.

I just want my infinite short squeeze and my tendies, so how do we get the MOASS?

Something needs to be the catalyst. Something needs to get the short sellers really underwater, so much so that they are drowning. That's why there's been so much hype about gamma squeezes; the gamma and short squeezes are two separate things, but the gamma squeezing has been really good to us lately. It has triggered some crazy upwards price movements. I still think one was about to happen yesterday morning that would have triggered the squeeze-pocalypse, the Mother of All Short Squeezes. The bastards at the brokerages (acting with and for the clearing houses), took your tendies. It's criminal what played out.
I actually think a gamma squeeze was possible today, as well, as the price shot up to $378 around noon. If it had gotten to $400, it stood a very good chance of running up to $500, which would have caused a run up to $650 and beyond. Then Robinhood said, "Oh, actually, you plebs cannot buy 5 shares anymore, only 2 now." The price came back down again.
Oddly enough, the S&P500 sold off over a full percentage point (that's a lot of money) right after GME hit that $378 peak. Do you think this doesn't freak the finance world out? They know a gamma squeeze is like the fuse on a firework. It consumes itself until it ignites the rocket.

How will Wall Street defend themselves?

They will try to keep snipping the fuse. That's what all these restrictions on brokerages are about. They are trying to defuse the situation slowly because having it all get sorted out quickly and frantically is no good for them.
We need enough upwards price momentum that those option chains keep going up and up and feeding on themselves. They need to become a self-sustaining chain reaction, fed by hedging pressure. And you need to put pressure on your elected representatives to tell them that Wall Street cannot be allowed to just shut down the game when they are losing. I hate to tell you this, but the squeeze has so far been stopped purely by the losers declaring that it will not happen at any cost. It's bullshit. Eat the rich. But there it is.

Do you feel you've used the word "squeeze" too much by now?

Yes. I've been writing and looking at the word "squeeze" so much that it is starting to lose its meaning. Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeeeeeze.
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EDIT:
TL;DR Shares most likely already bought so no gamma squeeze, doesn't matter anyway 🙌💎🚀 🙌💎🚀 🙌💎🚀
EDIT 2:
STOP THANKING ME FOR THIS POST, RETARDS! Literally the first sentence is me giving credit to the original poster, THANK HIM.

A/N: Hey, guys! Normally, I'd hold off until Saturday morning to post this, but I'm going to be busy the rest of the week and won't be able to do much posting, so here you guys go, a little ahead of schedule! Coming in at 16,673 words, it's not the longest episode ever, but it's still on the longer end!
In this episode, we get more running, a special marching cadence, and a few big reveals. Plus some bitter-sweet and happy squad feels at the end.
There are only two main episodes left in Act III, then we'll be back into the war with Act IV. I've already got a lot of Episode 16 written, though if past experience is any indication, it'll probably still double in word count from where I'm at now by the time I finish fleshing all the scenes out (and I'll always have a few unexpected scenes crop up before I'm done). How soon that'll all be done is still hard to say. Work is still keeping me pretty busy, and every time I think things are going to ease up or settle down and give me more free time, it doesn't.
On another note, I'd like to hear from you guys on what brought you to RH, or how you heard about the story, and what some of your favorite parts of it are so far. I can't promise I'll give you more of everything you love (and I can't please everyone), but knowing what you guys enjoy, and what you think is good helps me know what I'm doing right, and what I can focus on to continue doing good. I really look forward to hearing your feedback!
Here is the Patreon post for anyone who wants it in one solid block. Now, without further ado, what you're all here for:

Retreat, Hell – Episode 15

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“Give me that old Marine Corps Spirit!”
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“GIVE ME THAT OLD MARINE CORPS SPIRIT!”
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“’Cause it’s good enough for me!”
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“’CAUSE IT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!”
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“It was good for Chesty Puller!”
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“IT WAS GOOD FOR CHESTY PULLER!”
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These people run too gods damned much! Rinn panted as the battalion thundered around the base on their morning death march. And oh, look, here we are, running past our barracks again, getting our hopes up just to dash them… He stifled a whine. At least today they’re cutting the run short for helicopter training. When this is all over and done with, I don’t ever want to run again…
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***
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“Hahahaha! And the looks on their faces when we went evasive!” Edison kissed his fingertips and flared his hand as he backed through the bunk room door. “Perfection!”
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“Nah, the best part was old Shields here,” Kawalksi threw a heavy arm around Rinn’s shoulders, nearly causing him to stagger into the door frame. “He was all stony faced, like, ‘I’ve done this before, this is nothing exciting,’” Kawalski said, putting on a fake deep voice. “Even as the huey went sideways!”
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“I was trying not to throw up…” Rinn admitted, flicking an ear at Kawalski as he trudged back to his rack, sore, tired, and trying to pretend that his legs weren’t all wobbly after the day’s aerial adventures.
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“Yeah, what’s the straight-horned one with all the “that’s what she said” jokes, Tyaytyay?”
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“Tyehtyeh,” Rinn corrected.
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Kimber gave him a “whatever” wave. “Yeah, him. He puked his guts out all over the tarmac three feet after he got out when we landed.”
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“Ha! He did better than old Stuffy McStuffyface, threw up in mid-air!” Kawalski chuckled. “Projectile vomited when we went evasive! Though, we were horizontal at the time, so it mostly just went straight out the door!”
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“Mostly my ass!” Kimber said. “I was sitting at the down door when he spewed! He puked all over the back of my helmet!”
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“Hahaha, yeah, it was great!” Kawalski grinned. “You should probably go clean that off, though…”
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“Yeah, no shit.”
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Rinn sighed as he popped his boots off, wriggling his toes and savoring their freedom. The human boots fit better than any other pair of boots he had ever been issued, and they had mostly broken in by this point, but they were still combat boots, and didn’t quite match his foot shape. He pulled his shower gear out of his pack, looking forward to a hot soak, only to watch a parade of four Marines scramble past, already half undressed and dibsing the showers first.
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He sighed, setting his shower kit at the end of his rack before digging out a pen and notebook. It’s probably best to go last, anyway, now that we get more than five whole minutes of hot water… More time to soak.
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“More English lessons?” Bradford asked, leaning over to look at his notebook as he flipped it open.
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“Yeh,” he yipped, still amused the Gyani word for ‘yes’ was so close to an informal English word for the same.
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“And what’s the word of the day?”
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“What is the word for…” he frowned. “It is a place in a home where you build a fire…”
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“A fireplace?” she asked.
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He flicked an annoyed ear at her. Of course that would be a word they used… “Yes, but… no, that is not the meaning I’m looking for.”
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“Mantle?”
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He shook his head. “No, that’s not it, either. The place where the fire is, the foundation, the hearth.”
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“The hearth?” she asked, and he sighed.
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I should have just led with the word. The words were different, but the meanings were identical. Not everything translated so well, but many words did. “Yes, that is the word. Hirth…”
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“Hearth,” she said, emphasizing the vowel sound.
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“Hyarth.”
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“No, no y, stop putting y’s in everything.”
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“YI Dyon’t knyow whyat you myean,” he yipped in heavily accented English, flicking an ear at her and sticking out his tongue.
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She laughed, then grabbed her pillow and swung it at his head, barely missing as he fell to the side. “Now try it again, you guber.”
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“Ha-arth,” he said, drawing the vowel out as he sat up. “Harth.”
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“Close enough,” she said, chuckling.
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He flicked his ears up with a smile, and jotted down the phonetic spelling in Gyani.
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“How did you say your word for it?”
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“Sfyisch.”
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“Ssfayeesh.”
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“No, sfyisch.”
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“Sfwitch?”
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“No, it’s not a hard tch, it’s a softer sch.” He considered for a moment. “It’s like a hissing tch. And its yi,” he yipped the short vowel sound, “Not uuhhhhwwweeeee. Stop flapping your big, fat lips.”
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“Hey, you got lips, too, dumbass!”
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“Yeah, but they’re not so fat and poofy, like yours!” He flicked his ears at her. “You look like you got stung by a bee.” He flicked an ear to the side. “Or a dozen.”
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This time, the pillow did catch his head, and sent him flopping to his rack. “Oof.”
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“Who’s got big lips now, bitch!” she said, puffing her chest out and swaying her head back and forth.
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“I don’t know, was that your lips or your pillow you hit me with,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her, promptly earning himself another bonk. “Oof.”
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“And just for that, you’re gonna have to wait until I’m done with the shower,” she said, hopping up and snagging her toiletries bag as a gaggle of half-dressed Marines chased each other out of the head.
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Rinn chuckled as he tossed her pillow back on her rack and sat back up. That’s just more time for me to soak…
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“Hey, have you guys seen my Switch controllers?” Kimber asked, digging through his pack. “I can’t find them anywhere.”
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“Where’d you have them last?” Dubois asked, not even looking up from the boot he was cleaning.
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“I could have sworn I put them back in this pocket,” he said, tapping a pouch on his pack. “That’s where I keep them, but they’re not anywhere…”
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“You can borrow mine,” Edison said, once again performing surgery on the squad’s GoPro. He gestured absently at his pack. “They’re in the clip-on bag, somewhere…”
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“Thanks, man, but… I wanna find mine.”
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“D’you think someone might’ve, like, grabbed ‘em by mistake, brah?” Stevens said, pulling on a clean shirt.
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“Or not by mistake?” Miller asked.
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“Yeah,” Elder said, looking up from his phone. “We had that platoon thief a while back, remember?”
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“Dude, that’s why you need to carve your name into them,” Davies said, lying on his rack playing his own Switch. He lifted his hands to show his name carved into the same kind of controllers Rinn had seen Kimber using. “That’s what I did with mine.”
“I had my name on them, man, in sharpie.”
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“Yeah, but sharpie can come off,” Edison said, still focused on the GoPro. “Alcohol or a dry-erase marker can do the trick.”
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Kimber grumbled something, and started expanding his search area.
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“Hey, Shields,” Kawalski said, dropping down next to him. He only had his boxers on, and was still a little damp from the shower. “Teach me more keshmin swear words! How do you say fucknugget?”
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Rinn raised an ear and an eyebrow at him. “We don’t have that one.”
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“Well, come on, then, what else have you got? I’ve got a new one for you! ‘Twat!’” Kawalski grinned. “Means ‘pussy’ in English English.”
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Rinn flicked his ear. “Is that how you use your words words, when walking down the street street?”
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Kawalski laughed. “No, fuck face, it’s English spoken by the English, as opposed to real English spoken by Americans.”
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Rinn paused, pen in mid-air, and stared straight ahead for a moment. “Wot?”
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“Kawalski, you dumbass, the English invented the English language,” Dubois said. Rinn didn’t even need to look at him, he could hear the eye-roll.
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“Guys! Guys!” Gomez stuck his head out of their supply fort. “I found some boxes we missed! They’re full of fucking duct tape!”
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“No shit?” Kawalski said, immediately distracted by the prospect of creative acquisition. “How much?”
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“I dunno how we missed it, hoss, there’s boxes and boxes of this stuff! Different colors, too!”
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“Sweet! Grab us all a roll! Jabs, too!” Kawalski paused, then stood up. “What all colors are there?”
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“Dunno yet, I haven’t gone through all the boxes, but there’s a few at least.”
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“Lemme see…” Kawalski disappeared into the fort. “How the hell did we miss all this… Oh, I see, it got buried behind the fuck tent.”
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Dubois looked up. “Why do you have a fuck tent?!”
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“Dude, you always need a fuck tent!”
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“Who the fuck are you fucking!?”
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“Your mother! Heheheh!”
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***
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Rinn pulled the earmuffs off his head as the firing line was declared cold. The new earmuffs they had been given had deeper cups with more room for his ears, but they still didn’t fit well. We’ll have to talk to somebody about getting some properly designed for us, he thought as he trudged down range to collect his targets. The Marines had scrounged up a few more of their pop-up metal targets for the “new” range, but they were mostly still shooting at paper targets tacked to wooden frames.
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Back at the tables behind the firing line, Rinn looked over the keshmin targets with a pleased quirk to his ears. Their scores were not anything the Marines would consider good, by any means, but even the grizzled Gunnery Sergeant running the range begrudgingly nodded his approval at them being passable. Barely.
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Not bad at all, for what little training we’ve managed to fit in around everything else. Lord Anyo is even showing a particular knack for the weapons, at least on the fixed range. Rinn was pleased to note that his own scores had surpassed Anyo’s on the dynamic range, much to the Knight Captain’s chagrin.
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Lunch consisted of MREs at the range, and Rinn once again got to demonstrate his “advanced knowledge” of human equipment to the other keshmin, and warned them away from the less favorable MREs. Not that I’ve actually tried many of them, but our pallets seem to match close enough that I’ll take the Marines at their word.
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The lunch break was short, barely enough time to heat the food and gulp it down, before they were hurried off to the next event on the range, this one pushing the artificers to their magical limits.
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“Cease fire! Cease fiiire!”
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Rinn panted, overheated and out of breath, as he lowered his stave. The targets down range were shredded, both by gunfire and spellfire, but this wasn’t a measure of accuracy.
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“Most impressive, Ahyat,” Yeshai said as Rinn stepped back from the firing line. “How many armor enhancements were you able to maintain?”
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“All twelve of them, Your Grace,” Rinn said, still trying to catch his breath. “But I couldn’t keep up with the machine guns. I could barely keep up with one, nevermind three!” He shook his head, making sure to close his mouth to keep his tongue from lolling, though his ears still flopped a bit. “The best I could do was one enhancement every fifth or sixth shot with two. One in a dozen with three.”
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Yeshai snorted. “No worse than anyone else so far, and you did it while maintaining all armor enhancements, a very fine shield, and respectable spellfire of your own.” He flicked an ear. “Any of us might surpass you in single skills, but on the whole, I’d dare say you’re the best of us, and by no small margin.”
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“You honor me, your grace,” Rinn said, giving him a bow.
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“Your service honors the kingdom,” Yeshai replied, dipping his head in return.
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Straightening, Rinn couldn’t miss Anyo glaring at him, but he pointedly ignored the Earl. Sinyan had gone before Rinn, but Anyo had gone before him, and all but confirmed Rinn’s suspicions that the Knight Captain was a sparker.
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“And who’s our next contestant?” Gunnery Sergeant Valdez called as Rinn flopped down next to Bradford, happily guzzling the bottle of water she handed him.
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“Tyehtyeh, that’s you!” Yenyed called, glaring at the oblivious artificer.
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“Oh, right!” Tyehtyeh said, looking up from the spellstructs he had been studying. He barely even put on his false-deep voice.
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“Oh, here we go…” Bradford muttered, rolling her eyes.
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“Don’t be spiteful,” Rinn said, flicking her ear with his tail. She swiped at the offending appendage and tried to grab it, but he quickly snatched it out of her reach. “He’s made incredlbe progress these last two weeks. He hasn’t admitted it, but I’m fairly certain he’s had no formal education as an artificer, or even at all.”
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She raised an eyebrow at him. “So his bluster’s all just a show, deflecting from his … ignorance?”
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He dipped his head with an affirmative ear flick. “And the more I give him to study, the less he remembers to put on the act.”
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“Huh…” Bradford said, giving Tyehtyeh a newly appraising look.
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“Line ready?” Valdez called out. “Shooter’s stand-by! FIIIRE!”
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Tyehtyeh immediately popped up a shield and sent a triple burst of tight, powerful firebursts down range, before the Marines could rack their bolts and engage. Brief flashes of light rolled down the line as armor enhancements went up.
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He still needs to kill that startup flare, but at least he’s cut out the continual glow, and his efficiency is a hundred fold better. He’s barely leaking any mana!
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Tyehtyeh hesitated as the rifles opened up, several rounds zipping down range unseen. He rolled his ears, shifted his feet, and every single shot became a visible bolt, glowing as it snapped down range.
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More rifles opened up, then a machine gun, then two, then tree. Rinn’s ears shot up under his earmuffs. Every single round glowed.
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Then Tyehtyeh brought his stave to bear and let off a barrage that made Rinn’s spellfire look like a peashooter.
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“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIIRE!” Valdez called as the targets disappeared into several plumes of splinters and smoke.
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“Holy shit!” Bradford said. “He hits like an artillery piece!”
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Rinn looked at her, then to Tyehtyeh, then to Yeshai and the other keshmin. A small part of his mind was pleased to note that he wasn’t the only one whose jaw was hanging open.
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“Did I mess up again?” Tyehtyeh asked, sheepishly scratching at the base of a horn.
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Yeshai shook his head, the first to collect himself. “No. No, you didn’t.” He looked at Rinn, forcing the field artificer to collect himself. “Second Artificer, you wouldn’t happen to have a metering artifice in your repertoire, would you?”
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He cocked an ear to the side, wondering what the Duke was getting at, before it clicked. “Yes, your grace, I do.…” he stood up, retrieving his stave, and walked over to Tyehtyeh with Yeshai. The Marines and other nobles muttered amongst themselves in their separate groups as Tyehtyeh squirmed under the unexpected attention.
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“Second Artificer Tyehtyeh, have you ever been officially metered?” Yeshai asked, stopping in front of him.
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“Well, ah, no, Your Grace,” Tyehtyeh said, scratching at the base of a horn. “Militia really only ever cared that I could sling spells, didn’t much care for any of the details.”
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“I suspected as much,” Yeshai said, dipping his head in a small nod. He flicked an ear at Rinn, then back to Tyehtyeh. “Second Artificer Ahyat, if you would be so kind.”
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Rinn nodded and stepped forward, his stave held low in one hand. He didn’t really need it to run this particular artifice, but he suspected the extra precision and peak range it allowed would be useful.
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“What’s this, then?” Valdez asked, stepping up to the line.
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“The lad has never been officially metered,” Yeshai said, waving a hand at Tyehtyeh, an exaggerated gesture probably for the human’s benefit. “He has no idea how powerful he actually is. We’re about to find out.”
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“Will this hurt?” Tyehtyeh asked, his ears nervously twitching back.
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“Of course not,” Rinn said. “You don’t even really need to do anything. Just passively channel a mana stream.” He paused. “Down range, if you please.”
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“Right,” Tyehtyeh said, turning to point a hand down range. Rinn brought up the metering artifice, set so the measurements were visible in the air. At first, there was nothing, then Tyehtyeh closed his eyes and everything spiked.
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“Above and below…” Yeshai muttered as Rinn scrabbled to shift the ranges the meter was displaying. Tyehtyeh blew past the maximum levels. Twice. “You’re a gods-damned savant!”
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“What?!” Tyehtyeh squeaked, spinning around and cutting off the mana stream.
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“Not just a savant,” Rinn said, his eyes and ears locked on the measurements his artifice was still displaying. “Your Grace, he’s one of the most powerful savants to ever live.”
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“What?!” Tyehtyeh said again, this time with a little less squeak. “That can’t be right…”
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Yeshai, turned to Valdez. “Gunnery Sergeant, we are done here for today. We need to do a complete examination and assessment of Second Artificer Tyehtyeh’s abilities, and I need to write to the King.”
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****
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Scrubbing her face, Bradford trudged around the corner of a building on her way back to the barracks, after dark, and smacked right into someone. “Oh, shit!” she said, stumbling back while fumbling out to catch the other person before they fell.
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Bradford kept her balance. The other person he the ground with a yipped, “Oof.”
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Looking down, horrified at her clumsy inattentiveness, she found Rinn glaring up at her. “I was hoping to run into you on my way back, but I didn’t mean for you to take it literally!”
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She laughed, reaching down to help him up. “Sorry, I’m just a little brain-dead right now.”
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“Oh,” he said, standing and dusting himself off. He flicked an ear at her. “I couldn’t tell the difference.”
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“Oh, fuck you,” she said, giving him a shove that sent him staggering and nearly back into the dirt.
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“Abuse!” he cried, struggling not to laugh. “Help! Help! I’m being abused!”
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Bradford just continued walking, flipping him the bird over her shoulder.
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“That rough a day?” he asked, jogging briefly to catch up. “Too much going on on your surprise afternoon off?”
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“Pff, I wish.” She sighed, waving at the barracks ahead of them in the distance. “Most of the guys got the rest of the day off, thanks to Tyehtyeh, but not me.” She shook her head. “Nooo, I’m a Sergeant now, with ‘field experience,’” she said, with air quotes. “Since I happened to be free for the afternoon, I got pulled into another planning meeting for the field exercise we’re doing at the end of the week.” She shook her head. “Normally, these things are all planned out weeks in advance, but now we’re trying to cram that all into a few days…. Ugh!” she scrubbed her face again, heaving a sigh. “What about you? How was your afternoon?”
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Rinn sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Probably not much better.” His ears twitched, and he shook his head, letting them flop around. “More testing with metering artifices more precise and capable than mine will be required to know his exact power, but between myself, the Duke, and the other nobles, we were able to determine that Tyehtyeh is a savant, and one of the most powerful to ever live. There are two, maybe three other savants alive who are more powerful than him, and those not by much.” He scrunched his snout. “And he has the education of a quillhog farmer!”
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Bradford laughed. “Sounds like someone’s a little pissed off that their spot as the top artificer has been stolen by an uneducated bumpkin.”
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“I’m not pissed off!” Rinn snapped. “Not about that, anyway,” he sighed, tugging at a horn. “It’s just- I’ve taught Tyehtyeh a hundred times more in the last few weeks than anyone else has ever taught him. Almost everything he knows, he learned on his own! He’s not just a savant, he’s not just one of the most powerful savants to ever live. I have to admit, he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”
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“Oh, really?” Bradford asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
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“Yes!” Rinn rolled his ears. “Now, of course, he doesn’t act like it at all, not in the least, because he has the education of a quillhog farmer! But instead of a bumbling idiot who can barely figure out which end of his pike to point at the enemy, he taught himself how to do magic from scratch, using a bare handful of spells he was shown as an example, and a few concepts he overheard in conversation.”
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“Damn,” Bradford said, shaking her head. “Imagine what he could do if someone taught him.”
​
Rinn vigorously nodded his head, eyes wide and ears up. “That’s exactly what we just saw today! And if he had a proper education.…” He shook his head. “The Duke has written his father and the King, and the nobles of are two minds about what to do with Tyehtyeh. On the one hand, he should be sent to a university, trained and educated. In time, he might become the most powerful savant to ever live!”
​
“On the other hand, he’s useful now?”
​
“Yes.” He sighed. “The education he should get would take years, when he is already a powerful battlefield savant, and we are in desperate need of every advantage in the war.”
​
“So what are they going to do with him?”
​
“I don’t know. The Duke has a lot of influence to sway that decision, but it will not be made by him. That is for his father, Lord General Yangri, and the King to decide.” He sighed. “Until that decision is made, I will be continuing my tutelage of Tyehtyeh, and the other artificers will provide selections of well-designed spell structures for him to study and master.”
​
“Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to worry about tomorrow,” she said as he opened the door to their barracks and waved her in. “It’s late enough as it is.”
​
“Indeed,” he said, following her through the door. His ears twitched as they approached the bunk room. Bradford could here muffled shouts and laughter coming from inside.
​
Glancing at Rinn, who gave her a smirking flick of an ear, she opened the door. The room fell to immediate silence as it swung open, the bright light of the hallway casting a sharp outline into the dimmed room.
​
Inside, every other member of Second Squad was wearing assorted styles and colors of masks made out of duct tape. The diversity of styles included cut-out or molded eye holes, teeth, full cheek guards, bikers goggles, a medieval doctor’s beak, mohawks, and more. Holding a wild medley of cardboard-and-duct-tape melee weapons, they were clad in little else besides a chaotic mix of speedos, diapers, vests, and/or a few get-ups that looked suspiciously like pleasure harnesses, all made from a rainbow of duct tape.
​
In the dim light and resounding silence, they all turned to stare at the door.
​
Bradford slowly cast her gaze across them as she looked from one side of the room to the other, the Marines all frozen and staring at her in silence, before she quietly backed out and shut the door.
​
“We’re going somewhere else for a while,” she said, still staring at the door she firmly held shut.
​
Rinn’s ears, held straight up, swiveled to point behind him. “That… That sounds like an excellent idea…”
​
“Yeah…” she said, releasing the door and pulling herself away. She looked at Rinn. “Anyone ever show you how to play Xbox?”
​
“I can’t say that I have,” he said as she pointedly ignored what sounded like Kawalski’s muted shouting behind the door.
​
“Sounds like a great time to learn,” she said as muffled chaos exploded behind the door. She turned and headed towards the common room. “C’mon, I’ll teach you how to play Call of Duty, and we can see what other games they managed to snag. I haven’t had time to play anything since they set the system up.”
​
​
***
​
​
Rinn fidgeted as Echo Company formed up outside their barracks complex. He was nervous. First Sergeant Khatri had found out about his cadence project. He was nervous because he expected to be called on to lead the whole company through his new cadence.
​
He was also nervous because he was the one who told First Sergeant Khatri about it the night before. That’s why he had run into Bradford on the way back to the barracks. He gave a silent prayer to all the gods above and all the gods below that the squad wouldn’t find out.
​
“Company! Atten-hut!” Rinn snapped to attention with the other Marines as Khatri marched out in front of them. “Marines! It has come to my attention that one of our augments has been undertaking a little cadence project, translating a Ganlin marching song into a Marine Corps cadence. Is this true, Second Artificer Ahyat?”
​
Rinn had to struggle to keep his ears from plastering back against his skull. “Yes, First Sergeant!”
​
“And it is my understanding that it is in a workable state. Is this true, Second Artificer Ahyat?”
​
Rinn hesitated. He swore he could hear a pin drop. “Yes, First Sergeant!”
​
“Outstanding! Now, as you all know, I take great pride and joy in a proper marching cadence, and to hear this warms my heart.” He clutched a hand to his chest for emphasis. “The deep, sub-cockle regions of it. Second Artificer Ahyat, you will be leading us in this cadence today!”
​
“Yes, First Sergeant!”
​
With the closest Rinn had ever seen Khatri come to a smile, the First Sergeant made a crisp about face and saluted Captain Spader. “The company is formed and ready, sir!”
​
“Very well. Get them moving, First Sergeant.”
​
“Aye, aye, sir!”
​
Khatri pivoted and marched to his place in the column. “Company! Forward! March!”
​
Feet crunched on gravel and packed dirt as Echo Company stepped off. Khatri called out a basic cadence as he turned their column out of their little assembly area, what the Marines had started calling the grinder, and onto the road.
​
“Ahyat!” Khatri shouted as the last of the Marines snaked onto the road. “Sound off!”
​
Rinn cleared his throat. “Yipe! Yipe! Yegh!” he shouted, the corners of his mouth twitching as the Marines echoed back the nonsense sounds. Here we go, he thought, taking a deep breath.
​
“I left my heart in San’Riiaaaaa!” he called out in English. His t’s were still a little soft, and he still dragged out his vowels a bit longer than he should, but his accent was still clear.
​
“I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAAA!” The Marines echoed back, and he could hear the surprise in their voices. He smiled and called the next line.
​
“I left my heart to heed the caaaall!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO HEED THE CAAAALL!” The Marines’ voices were stronger, more certain, adapting quickly.
​
“I left my heart to shield her theerre!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO SHIELD HER THEERRE!”
​
“I left my heart to goo to waaaar!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO GO TO WAAAAR!”
​
“Chorus!” he shouted, before taking another breath.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
He closed his eyes for a beat. He could already tell his throat was going to be sore when this was all done, but he wasn’t going to bungle it. Another breath, and he shouted again.
​
“I found my boots in Rotiyiiiin!”
​
“I FOUND MY BOOTS IN ROTIYIIIN!”
​
“I learned to march in formatioon!”
​
“I LEARNED TO MARCH IN FORMATIOON!”
​
“In line and square and in colummn!”
​
“IN LINE AND SQUARE AND IN COLUMMN!”
​
“To bear my heart in San’Riiaa!”
​
“TO BEAR MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAA!”
​
This time, a few Marines joined in on the long notes of the chorus.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
A few more had joined before the chorus had finished.
​
“I donned my armor in Toiyooo!”
​
“I DONNED MY ARMOR IN TOIYOOO!”
​
“I wrapped myself in clooth and steeeel!”
​
“I WRAPPED MYSELF IN CLOOTH AND STEEEEL!”
​
“Re-enforced with maail and speeell!”
​
“RE-ENFORCED WITH MAAIL AND SPEEELL!”
​
“To shield my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO SHIELD MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
Marine voices started to overpower his as he drove into the chorus once more.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
“I grabbed my pike in Mol’Raiii!”
​
“I GRABBED MY PIKE IN MOL’RAIII!”
​
“Enchanted bright and shaarp of biiite!”
​
“ENCHANTED BRIGHT AND SHAARP OF BIIITE!”
​
“I lift it up and hoold it hiiigh!”
​
“I LIFT IT UP AND HOOLD IT HIIIGH!”
​
“To guard my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO GUARD MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
The Marines had picked up the chorus this time, and he could barely hear his own voice over theirs.
​
“We carry on the looong campaaaign!
We steel our hearts and maaarch aloooong!
To keep the war awaay from hooome!
We raise our pikes and neeever yieeeld!
‘Til we’ve freed the yoke from all Gahlaaa!”
​
“I earned my strips in Riiun Paaass!”
​
“Blood stripes!” someone shouted in the brief gap before the rest of the company echoed back.
​
“I EARNED MY STRIPS IN RIIUN PAAASS!”
​
“At Koilay, Bruhl, and Sai’Li’Unnn!”
​
“AT KOILAY, BRUHL, AND SAI’LI’UNNN!”
​
“In blood and fire I baattle throuuuugh!”
​
“IN BLOOD AND FIRE I BAATTLE THROUUUUGH!”
​
“To win my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO WIN MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
This time the Marines beat him to the chorus, and he straightened in pride as voice was drowned out by a company two hundred strong.
​
“WE CARRY ON THE LOOONG CAMPAAAIGN!
WE STEEL OUR HEARTS AND MAAARCH ALOOOONG!
TO KEEP THE WAR AWAAY FROM HOOOME!
WE RAISE OUR PIKES AND NEEEVER YIEEELD!
‘TIL WE’VE FREED THE YOKE FROM ALL GAHLAAA!”
​
“I yearn to see my heaarth and hooome!”
​
“I YEARN TO SEE MY HEAARTH AND HOOOME!”
​
“Family, friends, and soomeone mooore!”
​
“FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND SOOMEONE MOOORE!”
​
“I promise one day too retuuurn!”
​
“I PROMISE ONE DAY TOO RETUUURN!”
​
“To see my heart in San’Riiaaa!”
​
“TO SEE MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAA!”
​
“WE CARRY ON THE LOOONG CAMPAAAIGN!
WE STEEL OUR HEARTS AND MAAARCH ALOOOONG!
TO KEEP THE WAR AWAAY FROM HOOOME!
WE RAISE OUR PIKES AND NEEEVER YIEEELD!
‘TIL WE’VE FREED THE YOKE FROM ALL GAHLAAA!”
​
“I left my heart in San’Riiaaaaa!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN’RIIAAAA!”
​
“I left my heart to heeed the caaaall!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO HEEED THE CAAAALL!”
​
“I left my heart to shield her theerre!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO SHIELD HER THEERRE!”
​
“I left my heart to go to waaaar!”
​
“I LEFT MY HEART TO GO TO WAAAAR!”
​
He held the last note to signal the end of the cadence. The Marines copied the long note, and it trailed off as they made the final turn, approaching the rest of the battalion’s formation. The First Sergeant timed that well… he thought, but felt one last call was needed. “Royal Host, Never Yield! Two-Five!”
​
“RETREAT, HELL!”
​
“Company! Halt!”
​
​
***
​
​
“Guh, my head feels like mush,” Bradford said as they trudged into the gym. “I swear to god, if I have to go to one more strategy seminar or training planning session, my brains will all ooze out of my head and have to be mopped up off the floor…”
​
“Don’t worry, Jabs,” Edison said, tapping her arm. “We’ve got your favorite activity to make up for it: Picking up heavy things and putting them back down.”
​
“Damn straight!” she laughed.
​
“Raaawwwgh!” Edison said, flexing his arms in front of him. “She-Hulk STRONG!”
​
Laughing, she gave him a shove hard enough to send him staggering off to the side. “Stronger than you, pencil-arms.”
​
“Why do we keep having to sit through all these seminars, anyway?” Kimber asked. “We’re Marines. You don’t put us in classrooms. You give us a gun, and point us at whatever you need destroyed.”
​
“It’s to figure out how to train the next guys,” Bradford said, stepping over to a weight bench. “Got my spot?” Rinn and Edison paired up by a couple of benches by the dumbbell rack nearby while the rest of the squad dispersed through the gym.
​
“Sure,” Kimber said, stepping over to the weight rack. “How much to start?”
​
“Fifty on the bar to warm up a bit, then up from there.”
​
“Cool,” he said, grabbing a weight. “And what do you mean, figure out how to train the next guys?”
​
“The next guys,” she said, locking a weight on her side of the bar, then settling down on the bench. “The next group of Marines and Artificers, or Soldiers and Artificers, or whoever the fuck else gets sent through this program.” She took a grip on the bar as Kimber moved into position at the head of the bench, and with barely a grunt she heaved it off the rack and started doing reps.
​
“When did we get put into a program?” Kimber asked.
​
“We’re not in a… program,” Bradford grunted out between reps. “We’re… pathfinding it. The training program… that integrates artificers and the U.S. military.”
​
After several reps, she shoved the bar back up on the racks and stood up, wiping sweat off with a towel as she switched places with Kimber.
​
“You think they’re making this a program?” Kimber asked, heaving the bar off the rack and starting his own set of reps.
​
“Fuck yeah, they are. No putting that cat back in the bag. We’re just kind of the pilot, fumbling our way through, figuring shit out for the people that’ll come next.”
​
“Hadn’t really thought of that,” Kimber said, putting the bar back up on the rack after his set.
​
Bradford snorted as she grabbed more weight for the bar. “You’re a Marine. You don’t get paid to think. Good thing, too,” she winked at him.
​
“Damn straight!” he laughed, locking a matching weight on the other side of the bar and moving back to the spotter position.
​
Their conversation tapered mostly to insults and encouragement as they added more weight with each set.
​
They were just locking another set of weights on the bar when Kawalski called over. “Kimber! We need you! Gomer thinks he’s the wrestling champion!”
​
Kimber glanced back at Bradford, but Edison spoke up. “Go ahead, man, I’ll spot for her.”
​
“Ha!” Bradford snorted. “Spotter needs to be able to at least help lift the weight that’s being benched, and that ain’t happening with your pencil arms, and I could probably bench Ahyat for reps.” She glanced at him. “No offense.”
​
He shook his head with a dismissive ear flick. “None taken.”
​
“Ha, I bet you could!” Edison said.
​
“Kimber!”
​
“I can’t, man! Jabs is gonna bench Shields!”
​
“What?!”
​
“Jabs is gonna bench Shields!”
​
Bradford laughed, glancing at a bewildered Rinn.
​
“Man, I gotta see this,” Elder said, elbowing his way to the front of the crowd that spontaneously formed around the weight bench. It felt like half of Echo Company was there.
​
“Hey, how many reps you bet she can do with him?” Kawalski asked, hustling the crowd even as it formed.
​
Bradford looked at Rinn again as a pair of Marines lifted the bar out of the way. He was shoved towards the bench, and his ears drooped in defeat.
​
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not benching him.”
​
“But, Jabs-“ Kimber said, before she interrupted him.
​
“Dude. He’s, what, one ten?” She raised an eyebrow at Rinn. “One fifteen, soaking wet, with a brick in your pocket?” He shrugged his ears, flicking the end of his tail at her. “I just repped one thirty,” she said, pointing her thumb at the bar, “And upped it to one forty-five. I’ve got nothing to prove by benching Ahyat.”
​
“Aw, c’mon, Jabs,” Kawalski said. “It’s not about provin’ nothin’, it’s about bein’ funny!”
​
“I said no, Kawalski.”
[First][Prev][Next]
Continued in comments...

So then 87 coming out on schedule. I know I'm spoiling you today ;) Time to crank up the wholesomeness possibly beat the shit out of some random guy in the street and generally figuring out what the fuck to do next.
As per usual UnwaveringGrey and TwoFlower68 have done their level best to sanitize the chapter. If I managed to slip one past them do please report it to your nearest execution squad so it may be dealt with properly.
In other news, proper art is officially commissioned and likely due sometime later this month. I'm so excited! But without further ado let's get on with the story.
ko-fi For having a pretty picture commissioned.
Sapphire
Wiki Discord
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__________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 87: Knight In Shining Armor
“Wait, she is your only healer?” Tom questioned.
“Yes, they are a rare breed, young man,” The lady replied very apologetically, almost bowing before him.
“No, don't do that,” Tom protested. “You people both suffered and survived, not to mention your son technically saved me and Jackalope. Hopefully, Unkai can lend a hand when he gets here then, ‘cause she is spent,” Tom glanced at the healer who was still sleeping up against the wall where she had been when he woke up.
The Lady looked like she was going to protest until he reached the last sentence. “You brought a healer with you? Out here?” The lady questioned, clearly not believing him entirely.
“We did, yes, in case we found wounded. And that we certainly did. I was just hoping we could have Jacky’s ears looked at, but I guess that will have to wait.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything else that can help I’m afraid.”
“I hate not knowing what’s going on,” Jackalope exclaimed, crossing her arms looking at the two of them with a distinctly unimpressed expression.
“I guess I’ll be miming to you for a bit longer. Actually no, I brought the note block. I will be just a second,” Tom replied walking jogging over to his backpack, the confused Jackalope following along.
“You got something that can fix ears in there?” she questioned hopefully. She was getting a bit better at keeping the volume down, though she was still rather loud. Then again, that was pretty standard all things considered.
Tom got out the block to begin noting things down for her. ‘We can't fix your ears, not yet at least. Other people need to be looked at first. Maybe when we get home.’
She did seem a little annoyed after reading that, sighing a bit and looking back up at him.
“So what now, we help clean this place up? Take up watch? Or just sit back and relax?”
“You two sit back for now. I won’t have you risking your lives for our skins and then cleaning up the mess as well,” the old granny replied, trying to speak up enough to be heard across the room. Tom certainly didn’t have a problem with that. He did not really feel like hard work right now.
Jacky was clearly sore and her breathing still wasn’t quite right, so he guessed she could use the rest as well. “Do you have a place we can stay, or… ?”
“Infirmary is full I’m afraid. We do have some rooms,” the old lady replied.
“Actually I think we have a big friend in need of a bit of company when he wakes up,” Tom replied, looking towards Jarix. “We will keep our stuff with us if shit hits the fan.”
“If it does what?”
“Right, uhm… goes south. If bad things start happening,” the lady looked at him more than a little confused, but she relented eventually.
“Yes, we don’t have many people left who could fight. I will bring you something to eat, for the blood loss. I don’t know if it will help for your kind but it couldn’t hurt.”
They made their way to Jarix, who was sleeping like a rock. Tom began taking off the very uncomfortable holsters and belts. He looked like a fucking joke right now. Goddamn Florida Man running around with guns and ammo in his damn underpants. He put down the equipment in nice little piles, rechecking that everything was loaded if he needed it.
He could hear Jackalope getting out of her armor behind him. That stuff wasn't the most comfortable to sleep in after all.
“You okay?” Jacky asked in a rather worried tone after a bit. “After yesterday you’re… you’re not quite the same.” Tom turned around to look at her. She was looking at him with an expression of genuine worry.
‘That obvious, huh?’ Tom thought to himself, shoulders sagging even more. He couldn’t even blame her for catching it. His head just wasn’t in it right now, whether that was because of the fighting, the screaming, the blood loss, bodies flying everywhere last night, the fact they weren’t quite out of the woods yet, or that the ones back home would soon be getting worried. They were supposed to be back tonight after all. He didn't even know what time it was apart from rather early. He was also still tired as fuck despite just getting up. There was just too much to worry about right now.
“Look at me, would you?” Jackalope demanded, a hint of hurt in her voice. Tom snapped up to look her in the eyes, feeling more than a little ashamed of that. “Just like Sapphire said, you worry about everything. You can’t not worry… Well right now, just try not to, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”
Tom did crack a little smile before looking back down at the floor. That was very far from guaranteed, there were still many things which could go wrong. What if this wasn’t the only raiding party? What if Bizmati Keep was a ruin? What if something had found the kids in the forest? What if Jackalope's ears couldn't be fixed? what if…
Jackalope grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him around to face away from her. Then she folded her arms and wings around him, lifted him off his feet, and backed up against Jarix's side. She sat down in the nook of the dragon’s armpit and snuggled up against the dragon while clutching Tom tightly.
“I’m never gonna have a cold night again,” she let out, sounding very content. “And you are in the safest place in the world. Here you're not allowed to worry about everything. You are in a locked-down keep, sleeping with a dragon and if that doesn't do it, Then I will, so relax… please dude.”
“That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Tom replied, not that she could hear it of course. “Well, except for saving my life a few times… you people do that a lot don’t you?.. What did I do to deserve you?” He tried to snuggle up a bit closer to her, even if that was hard to achieve in her current grip. Jarix’s slow steady breathing almost rocking them to sleep.
__________________________________________________________________________________
“Now I just want to ask you some questions, nothing more, so don’t panic,” Maiko went as they turned the guy around. The guy looked scared shitless to Sapphire. He was a rather short spindly fellow as well, so looked really unintimidating right about now.
“And just in case you think running is smart. I’m possibly the fastest flyer you have met and I won’t be gentle with my prey,” Sapphire added, trying to look menacing and baring her teeth, while Maiko was clearly going for the more friendly approach. The guy just swallowed once, looking at the two of them.
“I was just told to find out what you’re doing, I swear nothing more.”
“So what did you learn?” Maiko asked, still sounding very friendly.
“You go to the inventor's place regularly, you are making something weird, you have been to the Hashaw’s place, and you are staying at the Sweet Dragon.”
“And who are you supposed to give all this lovely information?” Maiko continued.
“I was just paid by some woman, I didn’t know her, I swear. She just asked if I wanted to make a bit of easy money.”
Sapphire opened her mouth a bit, letting out a deep growl. The guy was fidgeting nervously at that as Dakota, Balethon, and Junior trooped up behind him.
“I’m guessing rather fine clothes and perhaps some rather nice jewelry?” Dakota asked, causing the guy to go stiff.
“I mean yeah… she did look rather rich.”
“How were you supposed to let her know?”
“I should meet her at the big plaza in front of the trading guild tomorrow after breakfast.”
“Right, well first off that’s not going to happen,” Dakota went from behind him. “Secondly, if we catch you following us again I’ll let Sapphire here demonstrate why she isn't even allowed to compete in archery competitions. Am I clear?” Her voice was cold and calculating, the guy nodding rapidly. “Out of curiosity, what did she pay you.”
“15 silver.” ‘Well, for tailing someone that was a rather good pay.’ The guy didn't exactly look well off either, so Sapphire could see him taking that offer without a second thought.
“Actually, I think I might have a better idea,” Sapphire Interruptet. “What would we like them to know?” Dakota looked to Sapphire, her face turning into an evil grin.
“What do you say, Maiko?”
“I mean, if this guy doesn’t want to go to jail for disturbing the peace and spying on military matters he might be useful.” Sapphire was pretty sure you could not go to jail for that. Nor was this military matter, in any capacity. “So what do you say, willing to lend the Royal Guard and a few people in high standing with the king a hand, or do I need to get some manacles?” Maiko questioned, looking down at the guy.
“Treworian at your service, sir,” The man responded, eyes wide as the situation he found himself in seemingly hit him like a battering ram.
“Come with us then. We have some things to discuss,” Dakota went, nodding to the others.
They took the guy back to the workshop where Tink was currently busy repairing the damage to the magnet.
“Back so soon?”
“Yeah, we found a nosey little bastard.”
“And you brought him here?” Tink questioned, clearly not happy with that.
“Yes, we did. Now Treworian, may I call you Trewor?” Dakota questioned, turning to the man.
“Yes ma’am, of course,” he responded, eagerly. ‘God damn he’s scared,’ Sapphire mused to herself. They weren’t gonna hurt the dude unless they had to, but it was probably best he didn’t know that.
“As you can see, we are making very dangerous new weapons here, under the authority of the king no less.” Tink looked ready to protest when Junior kicked him in the shin, shutting him up. “Have you heard of the attacks on the outlying keeps?”
Trewor nodded, looking around the room worriedly at all the strange bits and bobs.
“We are looking to put an end to that once and for all. Now the reason I’m showing you all this is because if you tell anyone that is treason, and you know what that means.” ‘Oh you evil genius,’ Sapphire thought to herself, doing a gesture of Trewor falling a very long way down, convincing sounds included. The guy went even paler than before.
“So what I want you to do, is tell the sweet lady who hired you that we are making some kind of invention as a present for the King himself and that it looks very expensive and very complicated. So you can’t possibly figure out what it is. But you did manage to sneak in while we were out and read a very official-looking document, stating who had hired us, and that the present is expected to be done in time for… Anyone know when there is some sort of big event coming up with the royal family?” Dakota questioned looking around.
“One of the princes is graduating from the academy this summer I think,” Maiko responded.
“That will do. A present for the prince in time for his graduation. Can you do that?”
“Sure can, don’t you worry. I ain’t no traitor”
“Very good. Now, remember, if you tell her the truth it’s a long way down okay?”
“A very long way indeed,” Sapphire added, with as much venom in her voice as she could manage. Trewor just nodded furiously.
“Good lad, now run along now, you have work to do,” Dakota continued, letting go of him. Trewor stormed out the door, Junior going over to close it after him.
They all stood there for a second before everyone except Tink broke out laughing.
“You’re all crazy” The inventor finally went in a disapproving tone, Which only caused Sapphire to laugh even harder.
__________________________________________________________________________________
When Tom woke up again, he was greeted by a dragon's head lying on the ground in front of him, staring at him with a sly smile.
“Someone got comfortable?” Jarix questioned, sounding very pleased with himself.
“You're just jealous; no one is big enough to wrap you up like this,” Tom replied from his prison of safety. “What time is it?”
“Hmmph, no clue, it’s getting late though. They brought you something because you decided to spray blood everywhere. Oh and your clothes. The girl tried to apologize for not being able to get them properly clean. That took a bit of explaining.”
Tom chuckled at that. “I’m sure it did... Wait did they use you as a washing line?”
“It looked wet, so why not?” Jarix responded. Tom cracked a proper smile at that.
“The world's most expensive washing assistant.”
“Yeah… Not exactly the world’s best night fighter, that’s for sure,” Jarix let out with a sigh. “I have never had my ass whopped that hard before.”
“Hey! You don’t get to feel sorry about that. You killed all three of those big bastards. And no one seems to know what they were... I never thought I would need to tell you this but be a little proud of that.” Jarix did perk up a bit at that, not much though.
“I only got two, and the last one would have gotten me I think... But I did tell you, you would be great at getting things off my back, hey. Even if that was not quite how I intended it”
“Can’t argue with that. By the way, have your decades of training to become a perfect killing machine told you what they might be?”
“No, I got nothing. Definitely a foul thing. It must have been able to see me approach to land that hit.”
“Yeah, if it sees like a bat then that thing sees using sound.”
“Wait, what?” Jarix questioned. “Can't they just see well in the dark?”
“Nope, they use their ears. That was no ordinary bat though, that is for damn sure.”
“No it was not… I’ve been thinking. My father said the darklings had a ride they kept falling back to when they attacked him… Do you think we just found what it was?”
Tom had to think about that for a bit. “Fuck, it might be… Is that bad?”
“Yes. Very! That means they have a new way of traveling long distances. That’s never good.” Tom felt Jackalope begin to stir as Jarix talking jostled the two of them around a bit.
“No Tom, you’re not leaving yet, this is nice,” she let out still half asleep, squeezing Tom tighter.
“I think for the Time being we need not worry, we just killed three of them there can’t be more around or they would be everywhere”
Jarix looked rather curiously at their arrangement. “Shouldn’t we worry? This could be very bad, we can't just sit here”
“Not much to do except let the people who can do something about it know. We were supposed to scout not fight. So let’s just worry about that and the kids for now. Besides, you aren't going anywhere in a hurry, right?” Jarix looked rather ashamed as he craned his head to look at this own back, expression turning pained.
“No, I am not.”
“Well then, neither am I and neither is Jacky. Unkai is needed here. And we aren’t sending Zarko alone. Even if Jacky or Unkai could find their way back to the keep… Actually, Jacky is deaf so that would be kinda hard… And Unkai might not even know… Well, that settles it then, we aren’t going anywhere 'till you can fly again.”
“Maybe we could get some of these nice people to fly the message. We were sent by the king remember”
“I mean maybe… perhaps at some point. Are my clothes dry yet?”
“They don’t feel cold anymore, so I guess so.”
Tom squirmed a bit to try and get free but Jackalope simply squeezed tighter. Jarix suppressed a snicker. “Uhh, I guess that’s nice to know. Jacky, I know you’re awake… goddammit.” Tom tried, Jarix starting to giggle properly.
“She’s got you now.”
“Well if you didn't want me to leave I don’t think I could either,” Tom retorted looking up at the dragon. “All joking aside, you did fucking amazing out there. I’m just sorry I couldn’t nail that bastard on your back sooner.”
“That hurt like hell. Also, don’t tell her, but I think Jackalope shot me.”
“Jarix, how bad is lead for a dragon?” Tom questioned.
“Don’t tell me they need to dig it out?”
“I mean they don't need to, but it’s in there now. And it’s made from copper and lead.”
Jarix looked over all the wounds strewn over him. The dragonettes had done a good job of patching most of them up, though several of the bandages were leaking fresh blood.
“I think it’ll stay in. Their healer would be done for 10 times over, trying to fix that mess I guess. So much for looking like a million gold.” Jarix seemed genuinely distraught at that.
“Hey think of it this way. You’re the first dragon ever to be shot with a gun. Have you ever heard the expression ‘Knight in shining armor’ by the way?”
“Yeah, like some young prince who everyone wants.”
“Well, would you look at that, a metaphor that transcends worlds? It actually means a man who has yet to be tested. That is why his armor is shiny. He hasn’t seen battle yet.”
“Couldn’t he just get it fixed and polished?”
“Maybe, but his armor would still carry scars of battle and most will leave them undisturbed as marks of experience. Just like you will now. Congratulations. You’ve been tested and you sure as fuck weren’t found wanting, you magnificent bastard.”
“Does that mean I passed a lesson?” Jarix questioned, seemingly very excited all of a sudden.
“With flying colors. Pun intended, not that I doubted you could fight” Tom joked cracking a smile “There are more to go through. And remember chicks dig scars.”
“Why do I want to impress a young chicken?”
“I guess that one doesn’t translate. Girls, Jarix. Girls love scars… Well some of them at least.”
“Ahhh that makes more sense, my back is gonna look wicked in that case… eventually.”
“Just think of Baron. He looked badass, didn’t he?”
“Sure, but most of those are from epic battles in the history books. He’s so freaking cool. I was told stories about him and the other veterans growing up.”
“You don’t think this one is going in there?”
“It’s just some battle for a keep. That happens all the time.”
‘Well, that is a rather depressing thought…' Tom hadn’t gotten that impression from the others though. “I don’t think you’re right, didn’t you say you had no clue what those bat things were? The first one is always remembered. You might be the first to ever kill one and the first to win a battle against them. First are always remembered.”
Jarix seemed to ponder that for a second before he lit up. “You mean I’m gonna be going in the history books for this?” he replied with genuine excitement in his voice.
“Well it’s possible, don’t you think? Besides if that doesn’t cut it, being the first dragon to carry a gun should damn well do the trick. You didn't even think of that?”
“I just wanted to win... “
“Bravo. That’s how it’s done,” Tom was actually genuinely surprised by that and really rather happy. It was clear this mattered to Jarix. Tom guessed he had been used to big battles with colorful depictions of heroes and their deeds. “You need to win no matter what, because history is written by the victor. I’m willing to bet that most of those stories you have heard aren’t really true. War is always a shit show, but if you win you can claim it wasn’t.”
“That is rather depressing,” Jarix responded.
“You remember what I said a while ago? Glory is your reward for doing terrible deeds, not to mention going through hell, hopefully for a good cause. We did that yesterday. That was all for a good cause, and that can’t be taken from you. So again, congratulations, big blue hero.”
“Well at what point are the two little ‘heroes’ gonna move? I haven't moved a muscle for an hour fearing I might squash you.”
“You are gonna have to take that one up with Jackalope,” Tom replied. He didn’t really want to get up, he was perfectly comfortable here, even if he was wondering how Jackalope wasn’t uncomfortable he was literally sitting in her lap and had been for hours by now. He should probably eat whatever was in that bowl too. It didn’t look particularly appetizing though.
__________________________________________________________________________________
“Why haven't we heard anything yet?” Balethon questioned, between bites of dinner.
“Don’t know, might have stayed a little at Deriva? I would. It’s not often we get to see them, and the Lady there is very kind,” Sapphire replied in a hopeful tone. She was not sure she believed that though.
“They have Jarix with them. He could outrun almost anything,” Maiko replied. “If it was bad news, we would have heard from them by now. Likely this morning actually.”
“Unless they were dumb enough to try and help,” Dakota added in, sounding worried.
“I mean, Zarko follows orders, Unkai would likely be too scared, they won’t listen to Jacky. So that puts it down to Tom and Jarix,” Sapphire replied, thinking that over for a second. “Would Tom risk it?”
“I have no idea. Nunuk said he sounded troubled at the notion of even leaving the keep. But dammit if he is one to look the other way,” Dakota answered again before looking to Maiko. “What about Jarix?”
“Oh, he would for sure, but isn’t that what Tom had been trying to teach him not to do? Besides, I think he would listen to Zarko on that front. That and he has orders to follow, from the king no less.” Maiko certainly didn’t seem worried.
“Tom won’t give a shit about those orders though,” Sapphire stated plainly, scoring a double take from Maiko. “But he might decide to play hero, and with Jacky along… And Jarix possibly looking for an excuse...” ‘Fuck they might actually do it,’ Sapphire concluded to herself as she looked around at the others. “What would we do if they tried to help?”
“Not much we can do. We’re stuck here for the time being,” Dakota replied, looking like she had already arrived at Sapphire’s conclusion.
“Well if they don’t return… We would be launching an investigative force,” Maiko replied, clearly not pleased with that notion. “If they engaged, though, there is a good chance they are licking their wounds. I wouldn’t be concerned yet. As I said, Jarix is damn near the fastest flyer around these days. If you don’t need to go too far.”
“So they saw a keep in trouble, lent a hand, then ran away to lick their wounds. Or, they went in, won the battle, and are celebrating merrily with the people they saved. Sounds good to me. As long as too many didn't get hurt,” Balethon added, mouth half full of food. “How long until you send someone to mop up what’s left?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A few days... Maybe a week,” Maiko replied dismissively.
“I say we worry about it then, hey? Besides, as you said, we can’t do anything about it,” Balethon continued, while still eating. “I think we need to be more concerned with the people who might just be trying to kill us.”
Sapphire didn't really like this. In most of the situations they talked about, people would likely get hurt and it might well be someone she cared about. Tom was a good friend, sure. But she had known Jackalope for many years; she might be her closest friend in fact, despite their rivalry. “They better be fine. I've been doing too much praying as of late, and it doesn't seem to be working. I think it’s about time it does”
“Isn’t that something to do with only praying when you need something?” Balethon questioned.
“Well what should I pray for then? That someone got hurt or worse?” Sapphire replied in a rather annoyed tone.
“I think you need to give thanks for what you got. Not done much praying though,” he responded.
“Okay so. Dear Lotek, thank you for our safe journey here. Would you please ask Ishan not to take my friend from me?”
“Don’t say things like that, Everyone is fine. I’m sure.” Dakota demanded, sounding like she needed to convince herself just as much as the others. “Besides, even if they did decide to help a keep, they have both Tom and a damn dragon of the Royal Guard. What exactly survives that?” She didn’t sound entirely convinced of that statement either though. Even if it was one hell of an argument.
“Sorry. I’m just worried, okay?” Sapphire apologized.
“Let’s just give a prayer for everyone to get home safe tonight, and then worry about the things we can do something about.” Maiko interjected, clearly trying to ease things a bit.
When they had made it to bed, Dakota had a chat with Nunuk about what had happened. Even if there wasn’t much to report beyond Trewor. Crucially though, no news from the keep. Everything was as it should be apart from no Jarix and crew.
“Do you think this Trewor guy gonna stab us in the back?” Sapphire questioned after giving Dakota a second to catch her breath after the experience.
“I think he is too scared to try and double-cross us. He wants to live. That was damn clever of Maiko, I damn near believed it myself.”
“Yeah, the guy has a knack for this kind of thing it seems. I’m starting to see why Hashaw sent him. Besides just not wanting him around. And it was brilliant about the weapons. Even if Trewor does betray us, the bitch is gonna be scared shitless anyway.”
“She sure is,” Dakota replied with an evil grin.
__________________________________________________________________________________
So then. The girls in the big city are hitting back, Jacky is doing her best to help her stressed to shit boyfriend and Jarix might have gotten a childhood wish fulfilled. Did you enjoy the chapter if so do let me know down below. Alternatively, let me know just how badly I fucked up.
Until next time Have an awesome day.
ko-fi For having a pretty picture commissioned.
Sapphire
Wiki Discord
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Build your opponent a golden bridge to retreat across.
Sun Tzu, Art of War
Everything was for tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. The present was only a bridge and on this bridge they are still groaning, as the world groans, and not one idiot ever thinks of blowing up the bridge.
Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn
I was wrong! Blow the bridge! Blow the fucking bridge!
Tugg Speedman, Tropic Thunder
Hello again GME Gang! It’s been a while since I last ranted at you, but I know we’ve been in some very good hands here at WSB with all the great DD folks have posted over the past few weeks. So no need for CPT Hubbard to go for 11 again on the Thumbscroll Dial (until today, that is). I’ve enjoyed a lot of these posts very much, so thank you on behalf of myself and the attention-deficient Rocket Children for continuing to deliver that 100% Chaff-Free GME-grade Wheat at such a feverish clip.
Now, I am going to get to Hong Kong’s Lamest Outlaw and his disconcertingly vacant eyes here shortly. But first I want to take you on a journey back to Christmas Eve, in the year of our lord 2020—a heady time in all our lives. We were all so young and innocent then, weren’t we? Fresh off the run up to 22. Blissfully oblivious that we were living in the last moments where the question What is The War of 1812? was the only acceptable Jeopardy question for the answer: The Last Time the Goddamn U.S. Capitol Was Stormed. This was also before we all became irresponsibly overleveraged in Cathie Wood’s Ornamental Gourds ETF. It was a wondrous, confusing time.
But before we get too off topic, let’s all hop in my 1985 DeLorean (purchased with proceeds from my Jan 15 calls – thanks RC!), fire up the ol’ Flux Capacitor, and get that shit to 88 because something happened that evening that is Worth Pondering—particularly in light of recent events. And just as a friendly reminder: even though you’re going back in time in a DeLorean, no one here has to deviate funds away from GME shares to Save the Clock Tower and you are under no obligation to fulfill a scenario where you wind up making out with your Mom (unless your Mom is Cathie Wood like mine—in which case maybe just some quick over-the-clothes stuff).
On the Subject of How It Once ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas
So what in the holy fuck happened on the night before Christmas, Captain? Well, while all you Gentiles were sleeping soundly after lying to your children about benign home intruders and before gorging yourself on the teat of late-stage capitalism, me and the rest of the Chosen People were up late eating Chinese food and thinking about tendies (self-hating Jew Joke! Ba-zing!). But then: when out on the electric twitter machine there arose such a clatter, I sprang to my phone to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes did appear, a mysterious tweet from a Rich-Ass Viking who had a lot of fucking interesting things to say about this whole GME situation that’s what.
This tweet, buried as a reply to a tweet sent by Mr. Rod Alzmann (@RodAlzmann or u/Uberkikz11), simply said: “Merry Christmas. Shhh.” But it included this screen shot:
[**Image Deleted Due to the Mods - check the link below where someone transcribed it - I'll try to add later**]
Now, this tweet to Rod, sent late at night and likely after a strong Mead or three, was very promptly deleted. But your intrepid cub reporter saw this here tweet that night with his own two eyes—seeing as I am a degenerate GME addict and devoted follower of Mr. Rod Alzmann (Hi Rod!). And I took screenshots, of course, like any responsible records custodian might. And so did the dude who wrote a somewhat-overlooked WSB post on this, which included the most pertinent text of the message if you are having trouble reading it here:
https://www.reddit.com/wallstreetbets/comments/kk0omp/christmas_miracle_gamergate_2020_gme_shorts/
Now, what are we to make of this? At the time, I thought it was very interesting. But I did not give it too much attention seeing as how the internet is overcrowded with anonymous weirdos claiming to know more than they do about all sorts of subjects (and now I feel your judging eyes…). Also, there was some very good commentary in that WSB post from some sharp folks about the screenshot author’s questionable use of the shorthand PE/IB—given that private equity and investment banks wouldn’t apparently be involved in a behind-the-scenes transaction with the short funds like what was being discussed there (don’t ask me, I just string together silly words here). But maybe you poke around his Twitter a bit and see for yourself.
Still, plausibility assessments based on preferred nomenclature aside, it seemed to me that some version of that conversation had to be taking place behind the scenes in a situation like this—given the batshit insane short interest, the funds supposedly involved, and the rapid rise in SP coinciding with RC’s share accumulation, December 21st amended 13D filing, and new status as a GME Insider and Board member (just love saying all that in a row, don’t you?).
So the Viking’s screenshot tweet, and the very likely possibility that shorts are in so deep that they’re attempting to negotiate peace with large shareholders behind the scenes, stuck in my tiny little baby brain as a pretty plausible set of scenarios. And from the look of it, it seems like some funds were at least willing to discuss offering these shorts a Golden Bridge away from Certain Fucking Destruction on the open market. And if the words on the screenshot are at all aligned with reality, these short funds have no good options.
Yet it seems like they are still playing hardball to negotiate the carat on this generous bridge offer they’re getting. Why? Maybe they’ve been getting high on their own supply for so long and they don’t know how to see this situation for what it is. Who knows? Maybe there is no Ryan Cohen and we’re all living in a simulation. But if the recent low-rent anti-GME articles and market manipulation efforts we’re seeing are any indication, these overleveraged short fuckers seem to think they’re going to be able to spin out of this hold and drive the SP back down to even smaller peanuts than it’s at now by sheer force of will (and some deployment of well-honed tricks of the trade amirite?) to emerge unscathed. Or even victorious? I dunno—it’s their delusional fantasy sequence.
But do you know what this scenario reminds me of? And this is just coming to me so please bear with me as I’m not showing this to my editor before we print (I haven’t seen this movie in ages – don’t know what made me think of this!). Fuck it, I’m just gonna start riffing here. The shorts trying to thread this needle, against all odds and logic and common sense, reminds me of that hilarious scene in Dumb and Dumber where haplessly delusional Jim Carrey thinks he has a chance with Mary Samsonite Swanson. But the scene is funny because he really doesn’t. Have any chance. At all.
Now, I know this is a 1990s movie originally released on VHS that we haven’t seen it or even seen it referenced in ages. But now that you’re thinking of it again after all this time, doesn’t it remind you of this too? I know, I get it: You’d have to have fucking peanuts for brains for it not to.
(https://twitter.com/ryancohen/status/1350877969816956934?s=20)
On the Subject of the Continued Internet Bumbling of Mr. Justin Dopierala
Now that screenshot came to mind this past week when something kind of weird happened while we were all enjoying our quick rocket ship ride. And yes, we are briefly going to talk again about Seeking Alpha’s second finest pro-GME author (always been more of a Dmitriy man myself) and recurring CPT Hubbard character, Justin Dopierala (and no, Angela, I do not want to have like 10,000 of his babies).
Last Thursday, after we were all virtually high-fiving one another and counting our future Lambos, Mr. Justin Dopierala, head of Domo Capital and longstanding uber-bull GME shareholder and author at Seeking Alpha (last seen arguing pithily with our own Rod Alzmann about the conservative nature of Rod’s holiday earnings projections. Hi again Rod!), made it known that he sold all of Domo Capital’s 500,000 shares for around $42.50—at the very top of the run up last Thursday morning.
Now, Domo Capital’s business decisions are none of my goddamn business. And there are plenty of market opportunities right now. Shit, I hear there is even a new Cathie Wood Gourd ETF coming online soon that people are really excited about and that I’m sure Justin’s clients would find intriguing. But Domo’s decision to sell seemed curious given a few things: (1) on Wednesday, when the rocket is mid-flight, he got a twitter follow from Gabe Plotkin, head of Melvin Capital, which he promptly tweeted about with a “get a load of this fuckin’ guy” vibe (oh the sweet, intoxicating arrogance of tendie victory, I too love it so); (2) he had also tweeted that day comparing GME’s rise to Apron’s short squeeze that lasted 4 days—where he also stressed to his followers that Apron had a much lower SI than GME; and (3) he then promptly deleted all of these tweets and almost everything else GME-related on Thursday after apparently introducing 500,000 shares of liquidity into the height of a stressed market up and through the Thursday reversal and down into his own personal tendie town.
Now, after seeing all this, I mouthed off a bit to Justin on the electric twitter machine because that’s kind of my thing. And if you are familiar with my prior ramblings, you know that he and I go way back. In response, Justin talked a bit of shit about your intrepid cub reporter here in a comment on Dimitry Kozin’s October 21, 2020 article about a possible sony revenue share deal or something, the comment section of which has become the preferred SA water cooler over there. (And I can’t link that because Thems The Rulez). And Justin hurt my little feelings a bit with his very sharp denial. And by all means have at it over there to check out his comment about why he sold if you give a shit. That is if Justin hasn’t deleted it yet. Free country and all.
But to summarize, on the subject of treacherous coordination with Melvin Capital, Justin said he would not could not in a boat and he would not could not with a goat. And I for one believe him. And do you know why? Because even though Justin seems like a very smart guy in some ways, he’s also a well-known internet bumbler who blurts out things to his internet friends that a person with better self-control would keep to themselves. And so I do not think he is capable of pulling that off or keeping a secret like that. Also: he said he didn’t so I am more than willing to give someone the benefit of any doubt in that area and you should too. I think we keep Hanlon’s razor firmly in mind here about never attributing to malice that which is explained by stupidity. That is unless, of course, you’re Andrew Left and you’re actually trying to convince people that you didn’t realize there was a US presidential inauguration planned for the same time you announced your Super Important TeeVee Yammerfest ‘21 about GME not being a good candidate for an imminent short squeeze no way no how not if my name isn’t Andrew Left short seller expert extraordinaire and Hong Kong’s Most Misunderstood Ethically-Minded Businessman. You can ascribe the fuck out of malice to that one.
No, even though I really have no idea, I think the most likely thing that happened there was that Gabe Plotkin, Master of the Universe, Head of Melvin Capital, and Acolyte of Perennial Most Ethical Business Man MVP candidate, Steven Cohen—got into Justin’s head when Plotkin followed him on twitter during the 57% (at one point 94%) day last Wednesday and then Justin got a bit chippy about it.
And this is the real reason I’m bringing this up.
Because I honestly care very little about the Nervous Investing Habits of the Wisconsin hedge fund voted most likely to prompt a Mr. Roboto reference. No: I think that Gabe Plotkin sent a message with that follow. Without even ever having to say it directly. And I think that after GME’s huge run and getting a little overexcited while working the twitter machine, Justin maybe had a chance to relax with a warm glass of milk that night and reflect on that message. Which I believe was: I’m watching you, motherfucker. And the only reason I’m paying any attention to some shitstain Wisconsin pseudo-fund on a day like today when I am getting my ass fucking torched is because I want you to know that if this GME shit blows up on me, I’m going to fuck your ass up. I will remember the name Domo Capital forevermore. And when you least expect me, I’ll be there. Now: your move, motherfucker.
And once I realized what might have happened there, that made me feel kinda bad for Justin if he felt that way. Definitely a puss move because fuck you Plotkin I drink your fucking milkshake, right? But bad because that’s a mean message for a business colleague to send, Gabriel. Shame on you if that's how you roll like a big New York bully and scaring our poor Justin like that. And if you just wanted to follow him to shoot the shit or swap listicles and Star Wars Prequel memes with a respected contemporary—even in the very midst of getting fucking annihilated while short GME—well Justin has a totally different account for that and he’s not allowed to access it during work hours.
On The Likelihood That The Most Heavily Shorted Stock in History Is Not Being Subject to Continued Market Manipulation When A Steve Cohen Acolyte Is Losing His Fucking Shirt
Have you heard about Steve Fucking Cohen? The guy who looks like he’s tip top of the list of the premier Hollywood casting agency’s rolodex for Saddest Dipshit Still At the Strip Club After Everyone Else Has Already Gone Home? I’m sorry, that’s mean and my mother told me to always be kind to the truly hideous looking because they’re probably still beautiful on the inside (spoiler alert: he’s not!).
Get a load of this guy:
https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2014-01-02/why-sac-capitals-steven-cohen-isnt-in-jail
https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/business/story/2020-09-02/controversial-hedge-fund-billionaire-steven-cohen-takes-on-hollywood
https://www.marketwatch.com/story/steven-a-cohen-among-the-million-dollar-donors-to-trump-inauguration-2017-04-19
https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2016/11/steve-cohen-trump
https://nypost.com/2015/06/17/billionaire-steve-cohen-bros-out-with-guy-fieri/
Are you back? I’ve missed you. That was scary, wasn’t it? But allow me to TL/DR all that for you who decided to avoid all that unpleasantness: the dude just has all this bad luck and keeps finding himself into these really awkward situations where someone could potentially question his commitment to ethical business and life practices as well as adherence to the laws of the United States and it’s just not fair and nothing’s fair and Nice Guy Steve Cohen Is The Victim Here So Just Stop Right There Mister I See What You’re Doing. He's also bros with Guy Fieri. Cool.
But why am I talking about a guy who would so clearly pass Billy Madison’s Final Question about Business Ethics without even breaking a sweat?
Because Steve Cohen once had a young Ace Protegee that he loved very much. With the name of an Archangel, so tender and pure. And one day this young man decided he wanted to Prove Himself and Leave Steve’s Nest. And thus was born Melvin Capital, seeded financially by Steve Cohen but named after famed Crooner Melvin H. Tormé, which Gabe’s esteemed mentor Steve would play in his office, over and over, all those years ago.
Now let’s fast forward a bit because I’m boring myself with all that fucking Cohen reading (the bad Cohen—don’t you dare get anyone confused here). As I was saying: Gabe Plotkin, head of Melvin Capital, has by all accounts gotten himself into a bit of a pickle here being so deeply short GME. Lots of people have analyzed and overanalyzed it, and I’m not going to do it again here; that dead horse is well and truly beaten. But to bottom line it: we’re all just staring down what is essentially an unprecedented math problem that will, at some point, resolve itself. And if it revolves itself in favor of the Good Guys, then the Bad Guys will lose a Fuck-ton of Money. That’s your money block quote, WSJ, so fuck off and stop calling me.
Now: picture yourself as a Steve Cohen acolyte that just bought a $44M Miami Compound and who cannot stop talking about how co-owning the Charlotte Hornets is worth it just for the courtsides alone bro once basketball is a thing again and so what if Michael Jordan keeps calling him Gary it’s close enough. Are you feeling the most financially secure that you have ever felt in your young rich life right about now? Or might you be a wee bit worried that you’ve pursued an investment thesis so reckless, so irrationally and intentionally destructive of equity, that even Melvin H. Tormé himself must be rolling in his fucking grave that you would ever dare put at risk your ability to continue being Michael Jordan’s Gary?
And so here is when I again link my good buddy Jim Cramer’s Great Unveiling of the Tactics Deployed by Short Sellers hoping to change the narrative and construct a “new truth” to suppress the SP in the face of, oh, let’s just say: a very promising turnaround story in a high-growth industry by an e-Commerce Canadian Genius who does not fuck around and who knows what he’s fucking doing and aims to sell more and better video games experiences to crackhead video gamers and there’s a million things he wants to do but just you wait, just you wait.
Is this plot that hard to follow?
And I’ll also say this: I know fuck-all about monitoring order flows or how funds continue to create synthetic shares to short shit into oblivion. But I’m just stepping back and thinking of the broader narrative and tactics on this. Spit-balling here again—bear with me. Now, if you were massively short a security while paying out your ass in borrowing fees for the privilege of entering the most crowded short trade in the market and you’re now opposite a massive business turnaround story, Ryan Cohen, numerous institutions, funds, retail whales, Norwegian HNW Freemason Consortiums, and the energy behind the Finest Rocket Children Ever to Grace Planet Fucking Earth—and you’re taking it in the ass week after week here—Do you then play this straight? Do you set aside all of these illegal and deceptive short tactics Jim Cramer candidly outlines in that video even though they’re impossible to enforce and are in fact not enforced? That Jim basically says you’d be professionally negligent if you were short and didn’t do this shit because fuck it whosgonnastopyou? And now you fucked up and that steamroller is barreling down upon you and there are all these things you could theoretically do try to get yourself out of this jam if you were That Kind of Person? Do you set this all aside and, at least in Jim’s view, tie one hand behind your precious ethical back? On the most heavily shorted stock off all time where you are bleeding Real Life Big-Boy Money? Just buying and selling you know, just a job, honest living, nothing much to it, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, can't get too carried away with it.
Or is it something a little bit fucking different than that?
I don’t know. I’m not in the industry myself. And I would never accuse anyone of doing anything so clearly contrary to the values upon which their professional career as Master of the Universe was built. So Gabe: chill. Don’t follow me or something on twitter man, since for all I know that’s Plotkinese for I Hope You Don’t Mind Sleeping With This Severed Horse Head in Your Bed Motherfucker. It’s just money, dude. You seem pretty well taken care of. But man would I be sweating if I were short right now staring down the barrel of your new neighbor Ryan Cohen’s whims and patience and polite Canadian manners and ambiguous emojis that we all lose our shit for. I mean, fuck man: are you ok? Don’t forget to exercise and eat well during all this. Maybe switch to green tea or something. And remember: you’ll always—always—be Michael Jordan’s Gary.
But here is where we return to our good friend Andrew Left from Citron Research.
Do you remember the excitement you felt this past weekend? I’ve never seen WSB so jacked. People were coming out hot on Tuesday—an uptick day! The new phone book’s here! The new phone book's here! What luck to be free of Gary’s tomfoolery for one fine day. And then GME spiked right away—reaching a high of over $45 that morning.
But then something happened. We all know what it was. But here is where any SEC lookie-loos need to close those Pornhub links and pay closer attention. Because in the moments before the Citron tweet that morning about Andy’s upcoming BuzzFeed Listicle call on Why GME is Scary Investment GRRRR, total short shares available dropped from 1.2M to 0. And a $300K put bet was placed on a weekly with a strike price well over 10% out of the money at the very moment that GME’s price was accelerating rapidly. (H/t u/FatAspirations). That’s some WSB-level shit right there.
And yet they pull it off! GME immediately shoots down nearly 30% intraday, and eventually climbing abck up above 10%, making us all feel a little weird and like ungrateful millennial brats for feeling so shitty about a 10% day. But we all know what fucking happened, now don’t we?
So what can we say about ol’ Andy? Now, many of you know Andy as the dumbshit who shorted TSLA until he was ground into little bits of dumb dumb dust and made to look ever so foolish over and over again until he finally cried drunk uncle and flipped to being long TSLA and now he’s cool to you or whatever. Or you might know him as the guy who puts out really shoddy research that often, by pure happenstance, drives a new narrative to control the orderflow and SP on a WSB-beloved security like PLTR? You know the guy I’m talking about. Once in hot pursuit by Hong Kong fuzz, an International Man of Obviousness with a face that says: why yes, I will have another vodka tonic thankyouverymuch. That’s him.
Well, just like future call-back candidate for the role of Frightened Inmate #2, Mr. Steve Cohen, Andy is also but a Caveman—frightened and confused by your modern concepts of “ethics” and “rules.” No! No!—He’s a straight shooter! Devoted to rooting out obvious frauds, like Lukin Coffee and TSLA (Do not fuck with Elon or my Hot Mom’s ETF, Andy). And like the aspirations of Antoine Bugle Boy when he entered the blue jeans market, Andy saw an overcrowded short trade here based on an overly simplistic and obsolete short thesis about GME and said: “Me Too!” And as this thing is ripping to the stratosphere, Andy starts ringing his dumb dumb twitter bell and saying hear ye, hear ye—Inauguration Day and time it shall be for all my Big Brain thoughts about GME!
Nothing weird about that. No sir.
So Andy Citron or whatever the fuck his name is will be putting out some dumbshit video or something today in what seems to be a pretty clear attempt to scare my poor Rocket Children and get those pesky computers to high frequency this shit to drive the SP down to more acceptable loss levels (cause let’s be honest: they’re still taking a fucking bath here) for Mel Tormé’s namesake hedgefund and all the other cretins that are dug into short position here. And they’re gonna try to scare ya’ with the color red! And they know that no one here likes the color red.
But do see what’s going on here and who we’re dealing with. This really ain’t rocket science, Rocket Children. The dude actually tried to claim he forgot about the Inauguration. In 2021. He has not been in a coma, to the best of my knowledge. But you do look a little bleary eyed, Andy. Must have been all that staying up super late working on those last few bullet points to fill out the powerpoint on that GME listicle of yours, eh sport?
Conclusion: On the Subject of Patience and The Arc of The Universe Bending Toward Ryan Fucking Cohen
In my youth there was a period of time where I went out on boats that would drop crates into the waters of the Arctic. Bundled inside them were raw pieces of meat. In the coming days the boats would head back out to the frigid seas, hook the floats bobbing upon the waters, and pull the crates up. Packed inside would be many crabs. They were so delicious & made a good price at market. The difference between the crate that was empty and the create full of bounty was a mystery even the great physicist Erwin Schrödinger pondered at much length.
But the hearty fishermen of my youth already knew the answer long ago. Why did the trap fill up? Time. In time, all traps fill. In time, all things pondered shall be revealed.
--The Fucking Viking, That’s Who
Now look, you all know I have a soft spot for Ryan Cohen. Hell, we all do. He’s a good dude. And the man has played this flawlessly so far. He really has. The fact that we are all sitting here with Ryan Cohen having successfully negotiated three seats on the Board—a bloodless coup as my man Rod Alzmann says—here in January? It’s amazing. His vision for GME is dialed-the-fuck in and extremely exciting. This misunderstood business is on the threshold of an exciting turnaround with Ryan Cohen at the helm. And though I was very much looking forward to the potential repercussions of a vote being called at the annual meeting and what that might mean for the short-term share price, this result is infinitely better. Whatever their motivations, that Board and George Sherman saw the writing on the wall here and accepted the Golden Bridge that Ryan offered them. And Ryan Cohen has done everything he’s set out to do here. And he’s clearly been having fun while doing it. Read up on the guy at some point if you haven’t–there’s lots of good DD out there on him, obviously. And while you’re reading and thinking about Ryan Cohen, think also about guys like Steve Cohen (no fucking relation) and Gabe Plotkin and Andy Left and how lucky we are that we get to roll with RC against that motley crew of fuckwads.
And do you know what? I’m guessing that RC, and maybe even the funds being discussed in that screenshot, have been very patient with Mr. Plotkin et al in recent weeks. You don’t go around bankrupting hedge funds willy nilly, you know--bad form and all that old chap. People tend to remember that. And guys like Steve Cohen and Gabe Plotkin seem like they play for keeps. So now you try to build them a Golden Bridge to cross—maybe not their preferred route of travel, but could be worse and all that, right guys? But for whatever reason it seems like the natural instinct here on the short side is fight over flight. And these short FUD tactics are getting increasingly ridiculous to help slow down the inevitable march toward the detonator right next to that bridge. So relax everyone! And let’s not fool ourselves: All those Masters of the Universes are well aware of the math problem they’re all facing here and they must have a vague grasp of the odds that this goes off in one direction over the other. And what that could mean for the size of their money pits and how many sports teams they can buy this year. Shit, I assume Steve Cohen is counseling his young acolyte about how many sads he himself felt deep down in his man heart on that fateful day in 2008 when he lost $250M on a short when Volkswagon squeezed to infinity—a sadness that he will continue to draw on when his agent finally finds him a role that calls for it.
But my point is: the longs here can afford to be patient and let this play out. When this thing moves, the Viking’s Schrödinger crabs will only be in one pot. And I’m guessing that pot is the one being held by the guy who is actually in total control here: Ryan Goddamn Cohen.
So enjoy the show today. If you’re anything like me, you’re feeling relaxed after gorging yourself on lucky space peanuts all week.(https://solarsystem.nasa.gov/news/10022/lucky-peanuts/)
And though these silly wabbits with their cumbersome FUD efforts can get a bit tiresome, I’m still very much enjoying this GME show at this point and almost do not want it to end—what with all these Sorkin-esque twists and turns and my Cohen Tweet Decorder Ring getting all this sweet action.
But just remember who Ryan Cohen is, what he cares about, and what, so far, he has told us he intends to do here. And then you might realize, as I have, that Ryan Cohen has had the Gray’s Sports Almanac here all along. This story has already been written. He’s already won. And Melvin Capital’s Schrödinger-ass crabs are dead as fuck. The only question now is: what causes that Golden Bridge to blow? I, for one, am content to wait on RC while counting my good fortune that I can continue to accumulate until whatever happens here happens. So pass the rocket peanuts.
It’s just money after all. Right Gabe?
TL/DR: Psst: a Mysterious Viking once told me about behind-the-scenes Golden Bridge negotiations that are likely taking place that give shorts no chance but the shorts seem to think they’re saying there’s a chance but there really is no chance; Gabe Plotkin, Steve Cohen and Andy Left are misunderstood Straight Shooters who probably answer typical interview questions about their own perceived weaknesses by saying “Sometimes I just care too much about doing the right thing”; and Ryan Cohen is the Goddamn Man so we can all relax and not worry so much about all this dumb short FUD bullshit, ok? OK. 🚀🚀🚀
**If you construe any of the above as investment advice without doing your own DD or at least Googling Ryan Cohen then you are a fucking idiot and may God have mercy on your soul. You too, Andy.