20 CASINO CHIPS FROM CASINOS ALL AROUND, VARIOUS LOCATIONS ...

I think we're all aware by now of the conspiracy that's building in the background of 2077. Most of us know about the mysterious Blue Eyes who appears in The Sun ending to the game. He operates as The Stinger of sorts for (that) ending of the game; He and V discuss a job vaguely alluded to through out the ending sequence and then the ending cuts to V in space charging off towards The Crystal Palace. Cue DLC Hook and credits.
But, let's go back here. This is only the tail end of the conspiracy and where it actually intersects with V's story. Blue Eyes (and some connections to him) crop up multiple times through out the game and, when pieced together, start building a larger picture that runs deeper into Night City than the pockets of most corporats.
I've finished my second playthrough of the game and I've been drafting this post as I play and find more clues. I doubt I'll find everything or might completely dismiss some, but I want to be on the front lines of uncovering this mystery, especially if this will be our Gaunter O'Dim for Cyberpunk 2077. I apologize for the length of this post ahead of time, but I need to summarize a bunch of lore and at least 4 major side-quests; "I Fought The Law", "Dream On", "Full Disclosure", and "The Prophet's Song".
Here's a long essay incoming, but I hope you chooms enjoy and I hope you read through to the end because, oh boy, I uncovered some cool shit!
So, who is Blue Eyes? Who are his contacts? What is his role in the ecosystem of this city?
"I FOUGHT THE LAW"
Let's start with where he most appears in the game; Jefferson and Elizabeth Peralez, political family in the running for Night City's first family. Which I kinda have to summarize their questlines, including the first one which Blue Eyes never appears in. But I'd prefer to go in chronological order and not jump around, so stick with me.
Elizabeth first contacts you for the job "I Fought The Law". It's fairly basic, but the quest tells us she convinced her husband to hire V to look into the recent death of Mayor Rhyne. We get a BD of a cyberpsycho attack by Peter Horvath on Mayor Rhyne. Weldon Holt leaves the room before the attack and then the security gate crashes right before Peter walks in with billions of eddies worth of chrome. The attack is unsuccessful and stopped by Detective River Ward, who was only there because Peter went missing internally at the NCPD and he knew where Peter would go.
When investigating Peter Horvath, his previous boss describes him as paranoid that "probably thought Mayor Rhyne talked to him through the TV" and that the world was out to fuck him. She then mentions that someone "finally saw what he was worth" which cues into how Peter was thrown into this attack in the first place; he had a patron who funded his chrome and the attempt on Rhyne's life. Tellingly, River than goes into a little talk about how clues rarely make sense until put into the larger context, much like we're doing right now.
V goes to the club Rhyne died in; The Red Queen's Race. V sneaks through, takes out some Animals, and can investigate what actually happened to Rhyne. If we read the emails on the office terminal, we know that Weldon Holt arranged for Rhyne to be there. He initially mentioned this to Rhyne during the first BD; Rhyne asked Holt directly to arrange his usual room at the club. So, this doesn't inherently look too suspicious on it's own, but Holt knew where Rhyne would be. We also find out via the Animals Boss there that Weldon Holt is the one who hired them to smash up the club and they're currently waiting around for payment. Further, you can go to the room Rhyne died in, find the BD headset, and put it on... which INSTANTLY knocks V out and they need to be rescued by River (who, btw, takes out any Animals on the property you didn't get to! Ty bro!). They surmise that Rhyne was killed by a virus in the headset. Lastly, we find footage of Detective Han (River's partner) covering up the death of Rhyne. They confront Han, V goes off to the Peralezs, and quest ends.
Of note, finding the BD set is a hidden dialogue option with the Peralezes suggesting, yes, that's the correct deduction to make. You don't get that option otherwise. And V never actually comes to any real conclusion to what happened to Rhyne.
So, let's summarize what we know about the death of our Mayor. Peter Horvath was hired by an unknown Patron who spent a ton of money to turn him into a suicide bomb against Rhyne. They have connections internally to the corrupt NCPD which allowed Horvath to get access to Rhyne, both from escaping NCPD custody and for the security to give him access to Rhyne's conference room. That fails so our mastermind instead assassinates Rhyne at his usual sex club, one that we know for sure Holt knew about. Rhyne is assassinated via malware in a BD porno headset, NCPD comes in an Detective Han cleans it up. Later, Holt hires the Animals to take claim to the club and fuck it up.
Holt is looking suspicious AF rn, but we also don't have any direct evidence and V says as much if you accuse him. Personally, I think it's a little too clumsy if it's him. Holt leaves the room just as an assassination attempt goes down, sets up a sex club appointment for the Mayor where he's successfully assassinated, NCPD covers it up... and then he hires a gang to cover it up more? Something doesn't fit here.
My theory is Holt is innocent. He's a scum bag, but not the culprit here. Why would you EVER give your identity to the Animals you hired to cover up an assassination? The big dumb brutes of the underworld? A name they give up with almost no fight? No, I think someone hired them under Holt's name. And I think they hired them because they KNEW the BD Headset was left behind; Han dismissed it entirely as Rhyne dying of a heart attack brought on during sex. They needed that destroyed to cover the final footprints. It's the only piece of evidence that doesn't have Holt or NCPD's name on it and doesn't fit the narrative that both are pushing. If they're covering NCPD or Holt's tracks, why not delete the emails or footage of Han? And if Holt or Han were trying to push this false narrative, why leave the headset right there the first time?
And, while I have no evidence of this assertion, the Animals are only still there because they're waiting for payment to come in... I think our employer never intended to pay them and left them in the path of V, who is likely to shoot them and tie up the loose end for our mysterious entity. Animals destroy the BD set, V shoots the animals, no trace. And, even if he doesn't, Animals will point V to the wrong person.
No, we've got a third party here. But let's continue so we can finally let our lead actor take center stage.
"DREAM ON"
"Dream On" starts when Jefferson calls V and asks them to help in another case. Long and Short; Jefferson woke up in the night and found a man in a mask (or an implant) standing over him. Jefferson shot the man, only for his head to fry and knock him out. Coming to, he's back in bed with no evidence it ever happened. SSI, their private security, insists that there was nothing on the cameras, no evidence, and nothing happened. Elizabeth claims she slept through the whole thing event.
V investigates the apartment, with Elizabeth giving the tour, and finds a lot of evidence. Elizabeth is kinda dismissive at first thinking V won't find much. First small stuff leading into larger reveals. Let's start small and work our way up.
First room Liz takes us to is the campaign room. She talks about running the campaign entirely out of pocket and having to keep most of their supplies at the Penthouse; "It's cheaper that way". You find a picture of their daughter on the wall and Liz explains that she's off at university in Europe while Jefferson is running for office; "It's easier that way" she says. That phrasing again.
EDIT: A redditor in the comments pointed out that the Peralez are being controlled via drugs in their food as part of the tech. They mention they've been eating fast food lately, explaining why Jefferson was lucid enough to catch the agent and shoot him.
V can look at Jefferson's emails (which Liz slightly discourages them, saying there's nothing there) which reveals a bit more about their campaign. There's a video of the iconic commercial and poster of Jefferson pulling out a gun and shooting a bunch of paperwork. In the email, Jefferson HATES this commercial, but his assistant, Lea Patel, insists on it as it will air in television time slots with action-drama series and catch the attention of voters. Further emails have Eric Boucher, Jefferson's Campaign Partner (Manager?), saying Jefferson has been acting unpredictably lately; presumably referencing one of the next emails. Boucher is confused because they fired Lea Patel together, only for her to continue working and sent him a new ad for approval. When emailed, Jefferson is confused about Lea being fired at all and doesn't remember the event ever happening, even telling Boucher to be honest if he has some issue with her. A final email is from SSI Chief of Security, Wallace, discussing Jefferson's intent to hire a merc to look into Rhyne's death ("Dream On") and they suggest Jefferson drop it or have NCPD or themselves look into it. Private Security just... offering to investigate the former mayor's death? Huh... sounds more like they want to squash the issue to me.
We should now talk about the Peralez's campaign. As you explore the apartment, Liz explains that they're running on a corp free campaign; they want to get Night City out of the control of the corps and do so without ever owing any favors to them. She specifically cites "Night Corp, Militech, and Petrochem" as ones they've denied. Militech and Petrochem come up a few times in other quests but Night Corp is relatively obscure. And they choose that corp to be the first one she mentions? Stands out to me. It also isn't lost on me that we're talking about running a campaign out of pocket and refusing corp assistance... while walking on the fancy ass balcony of a penthouse in Charter Hill- North Oak.
Next room, we find Jefferson's office. Elizabeth and Jefferson both graduated with law degrees from Asukaga University in Berkley. V points out it would be extremely expensive for them both, but Elizabeth says that both got full ride scholarships from the Richard Night Foundation, run by Night Corp. To further fucking cement this moment, there's a Richard Night biography shard on the desk. But we'll drop this for now because I want to get to Night Corp a bit later.
The computer on the office desk has some emails on it sent by Elizabeth. One is between her and Judy where she's asking Judy for help on the original "I Fought The Law" quest and Judy is the one who gave her your contact in the first place. Another is from their daughter kinda asserting the same thing earlier; safer for her in Europe so she's not a target on the campaign trail. And here's the interesting one; Boucher emailed Elizabeth asking why Jefferson changed his mind on Lea Patel. Elizabth says Jefferson explained it to her that it "slipped his mind" and "circumstances changed in Lea's favor" and she asks him to drop the whole thing. She's dismissive and gives extremely vague details.
Next room, Bedroom. Elziabeth's gun is on the table. It's the one Jefferson claimed he fired and scanning it tells us that it has been fired recently. We also find the wedding photo of Jefferson and Elizabeth where she fondly talks about having blue roses because she loves them so much... except the photo's roses are red and V says as much. Elizabeth quietly corrects herself that they only had red roses instead and moves on.
In the hall, we find the blood trail and gun shots in the wall; both covered up hastily. Following the trail, we enter a tv room. The Smart Glass isn't working and Elizabeth says it stopped working recently; not like they use it much anyway. Passing a Tech Check lets us try and fix it... only to be quickly blacked out by it so hard Johnny felt it too. V asks Elizabeth about it but she doesn't know what V is talking about despite having been standing right there. We also find a hidden door in the wall. Unlike earlier, Liz is actually confused by the door but demands V try and open it.
Downstairs we have the security room. Liz says that it used to be her place but "Security had to set up somewhere" and that she had to make sacrifices for this campaign; "it wasn't the first nor will it be the last". One computer has a Welcome email from SSI to new recruits. It details that they have access to all areas except Section Zero, which is reserved for Blue or Black agents and that, should the encounter a Blue or Black Agent (SPECIFICALLY "in the night"), do not interact or acknowledge them. The next email from Wallace mentions an accident where there was a "behavioral anomaly" and "ALPHA" injured a Blue Agent (BLUE-66M) who is in critical and the SSI head is requesting access to Sector Zero to give medical aid. SSI gives Wallace the code to Sector Zero and sends a team to aid. SSI knew about the accident and lied. You go to the second computer, unlock it, and can unlock the upstairs door. On that terminal is a bunch of deleted files (presumably the security footage from that night) and emails discussing "normal maintenance procedure" and further informing security that ALPHA (Jefferson) hired a merc (V) and, should security encounter them, do not interact with them.
Small thing I found interesting, a shard called "You Are What You Slot" is found down here too. It details a fictional assassin who kills and then steals the identity of her victims. Small and doesn't mean much on it's own, but the shards are hinting at the story here; one of false identities and manipulation.
Now, let's get to the main event; the secret room. Inside is a control center. Elizabeth is horrified and feels violated. She shouts that she's not letting SSI anywhere near them, only for her head to start hurting and she tells V to do what he needs to do. She leaves him. Inside the control room is a box of bloody medical supplies. The computer discusses "behavioral norms" for ALPHA (Jefferson) and suggests amplifying "neural dampening". It discusses things similar to Wallace's terminal, but from the other side; ALPHA is displaying odd behavior by hiring a merc, the SSI teams avoided meeting the merc, and then the actual accident that occurred injuring BLUE-66M during regular 'maintenance'. The other side of the room also has another data shard, "Rewriting Synaptic Pathways", basically talking about using tech to rewire the brain a bit.
Following some wires from the control room to the roof, we find a signal dish. Johnny (replacing Elizabeth for conversation now that she's gone), joins in that the tech looks prehistoric but functional and that Militech used it in the war; it requires line of sight to transmit data but otherwise can't be intercepted. We can see the tower and go to investigate. V tells Liz the whole deal; V can suggest that the Van near the tower could be SSIs or that it might not be due to unconventional tech. Liz then itterates twice that it's a stressful campaign time for Jefferson and V should talk to her, NOT him. "Sure, whatever" V and the player dismiss.
(I SWEAR WE'RE ALMOST DONE WITH THE SUMMARIZING FOR DREAM ON, I'M SO SORRY.)
We drive after the van, Johnny is suddenly excited for smashing a corpo conspiracy and iterates that citizens do not choose their representatives, instead they're chosen by "key players" who watch the Peralezes for weaknesses or blackmail material. We arrive at the facility patrolled by Maelstrom and the occupants of our van park, get out, and climb ladders to the roof where they get into an AV that is cloaked to be near invisible (as shown in a couple of vids on YouTube and this subreddit).
At the place, Maelstom is explained; "UNKNOWN USER" contacted them while driving the van for protection to take care of V and then destroy the van. Van's data makes it pretty clear; the Peralezs' minds are being manipulated, new neural pathways are being created, and their memories are being created, changed, or erased. There are also a couple of other names of other test subjects. The data is then erased. We do see an almost flower like symbol before the data is destroyed.
The agents on the cloaked AV CAN be killed and do drop a shard, thought it doesn’t have many more details, merely that they’re contacting HQ to arrange extraction and that the Van’s data should be destroyed and echoing the arrangement with Maelstrom mentioned earlier in their shards.
V calls Liz, Liz wants to meet in person instead of over holo and send him to a Japantown Raman shop (same one that used to be Rainbow Cadenza, coincidentally). Odd choice for an upstanding congresswoman. She says her nerves are shot, the ramen shop is a quieter place to meet than the apartment, and she needs a moment to gather herself since she last saw V, with V even asking if something has happened since they last saw each other. Of note, Liz is stress smoking the entire scene, something she hasn't done until now. She then explains, no, it's been over a longer period of time. She's been watching her husband change and act differently for awhile; he stopped reading, his taste changed, and he even insisted he was an only child and never had a bother when Liz asks about visiting the grave. Of note, yes, Antonio Peralez has a Columbarium Vault, which proves Liz is correct on this. She confesses that she herself has been told by others she's been acting strangely. V says she knew what V would find and she asserts that she doesn't know the who, how, or why, but "they're changing us". Jefferson apparently went on in great detail about a trip she swears they never went on, but she doesn't know if the vacation is a fake memory or if she's the one that doesn't remember.
She saw a stranger in their apartment tinkering with a monitor, only for him to be missing when it was reported to SSI and they looked at the feeds. The next day, she got a phone call from a stranger (whom she refers to by "he") saying that she's walking on thin ice and Jefferson could have an accident. They later erased all data that the phone call had happened. Elizabeth claims she's terrified for herself and her husband's safety and doesn't want V to reveal the truth. V points out "they" could be telling her to say that but it doesn't really change how she feels since she just wants Jefferson to be safe. She tells V to tell Jefferson it was SSI spying for Holt. She asserts she wants SSI out of her roof if they're spying on their sleep. She will take responsibility for firing SSI, but wants Jefferson to be safe and out of that fight. She adds a meeting with Jefferson to his calendar at Reconciliation Park. But, ultimately it's V's choice (especially since she has no idea if she'll remember the conversation) and leaves. Johnny jumps and and talks and mentions that there were talks like this back in his day and worrying about the damage a puppet mayor could do.
V heads to Reconciliation Park to meet with Jefferson. Entering, V is called by an Unknown Number which blacks out V's optics. They claim to know who V is, *what* V is, and what V wants. It doesn't matter what V tells Jefferson, but "don't dare cross that line" and "you're playing with fire". Its a garbled male robo voice, so safe to say it's irrelevant to the owner.
Enter Stage Right, our missing lead; Mr. Blue Eyes. He is standing on a balcony watching the place where we meet Jefferson. In the Scanner, he is labeled "Mr. Blue Eyes", has no known affiliation, is wanted for "SC 370", and is wanted for "Classified". His eyes are electronically glowing blue you can even see from several yards away. You cannot injure him as grenades do nothing and you can't aim at him. Of small note, and I don't know if this ACTUALLY means anything, but his hair style asset is referred to as Morgan Blackhand in the files, but could mean nothing if this hair is actually used by other NPCs. MOST LIKELY THIS IS NOTHING UNLESS SOMEONE HAS FURTHER INFO.
(Plot twist: It meant something. But we'll get there.)
V sits with Jefferson and can reveal the truth; "SSI is on the take from an unknown group to control your lives". V can even point out the absurdity of Peralez being as successful of a politician as he is without any corp sponsors. "They want you to be *their* mayor. Molding you like clay". You can tell Jefferson how to proceed and additional details, but it doesn't matter. Later, Jefferson will send a text and delete your number and so will Elizabeth, who will call you out for telling Jeff. In the end credits voicemails, Jefferson has decended into paranoia about some vitamins Liz gave him which he didn't trust so he sent them to the lab, only to then not trust the lab results saying they're fine. Jefferson Peralez is confirmed the new mayor during Late Act 2 and the major difference is his state of mind at the end game; either hiring V to be on his security staff or descending into absolute paranoia over everything in his life.
Lastly, Johnny appears and cryptically talks about back in his day when they'd talk about rogue AIs. Personally... I kinda completely dismiss this? It comes out of nowhere, Johnny cites NOTHING for why he'd bring this up in relation to the case, and I can't fathom a motive. I’d also point out that this isn’t the only time Johnny is outright wrong. In fact, he’s wrong A LOT in the game. For example, he criticizes V for listening to the Netwatch Agent and that he’s bullshitting you. Except, the agent is 100% correct that VDB did spike V as a suicide virus and Johnny is actually wrong. He also claims he doesn’t know what happened with Thompson after Never Fade Away, but this is a lie because Thompson is flying the AV Johnny takes to Arasaka in 2023. The only connection I can find is "Who is controlling Blue-Eyes" which might make Johnny correct, if just not in the way 'Rogue AIs' initially implies.
So, what actually has happened?
The Peralez family has been molded for a very long time into being the perfect political couple. They got scholarships from the Night Foundation for two fancy law degrees, have successful political careers, and Jefferson is running for Mayor on an anti-corp platform, an insanity for Night City. And he's actually successful at it. During a maintenance service at night on the Peralez's apartment, Jefferson woke up and shot an SSI/Unknown agent making repairs. The Control Booth knocked Jefferson out and they pulled the agent out of the apartment into the secret room. SSI put the Peralezes back into bed and hastily cleaned up everything, but the damage was done and Peralez hired V who uncovered mostly everything.
Elizabeth seems to be initially very upset by the discovery, but wants V off the trail when we meet her next. However, she's not in on it as she's equally a victim to the brainwashing/gaslighting and that's for certain. I think she's a pawn who is either too scared or too programmed to break the rules of movement on this chessboard. It's worth noting that, while the unknown entity threatens Jefferson's life and V's well being, they do not make due on either of these threats. I call their bluff. They have put too much work into Jefferson to abandon or kill him.
But, where else have we heard of this gaslighting brainwash process before?
"FULL DISCLOSURE"
Ok, we're on the shorter end so I don't have to actually explain this quest in full. Sandra Dorsett is a netrunner and a very skilled on at that, actually collecting data from Night Corp. She was kidnapped by the savs we rescued her from at the beginning of the game shortly AFTER she stole this data, suggesting Night Corp was behind it. This data is on the shard she asks you to collect during the aforementioned quest. V has full ability to NOT read it, but let's look at it; "Operation Carpe Noctem" ("Seize The Night" in Latin)
Described in it is an experiment on Night Corp's own employees where they are quietly brainwashing them and getting them to do whatever they want. They specifically cite an empathetic and calm employee who they got to fight a co-worker and then jump from a 16th floor window. The shard ends on mentioning that they're ready to install CN-07 on "our actual target".
I think multiple quests discussing brainwashing and gaslighting is too coincidental to be utterly unrelated to each other. I think Night Corp's actual target mentioned here is Peralez.
So, what is Night Corp?
Night Corp is the most mysterious of the corps in Night City. It currently operates to better Night City via philanthropic ventures, fundraising, community support, and city infrastructure. Basically, while Militech and Arasaka and the others operate in the city, Night Corp basically RUNS the actual city. They're also noteworthy for the level of security they have that even the best netrunners can't get much from them and, since they keep to themselves and seemingly just do city infrastructure stuff, no one really super bothers them. It has been run by Miriam Night, wife of late-Richard Night, until recently and we currently don’t actually know who runs NightCorp.
Originally, they were the Night Foundation, but that requires explaining Richard Night... oh boy, Lore Drop. I'll make it quick as possible.
Richard Night is the founder of Night City. He started as a partner of a firm, but his ambitions grew beyond that to founding "Night International" to build his dream; a city that would be so grand it would make all other cities pale by comparison, Coronado City. A capitalist mecha of opportunity, Night City would be run by corporations and have next to no anti-business policies on the books. Arasaka, EMB, and Petrochem were his first backers and he came into claim of land on the central-California coast; Del Coronado Bay and Morro Bay would be the location of his dream city.
(BTW, irl, Morro Bay, California is a real place. Been there, have family there, go there regularly, kinda cool!).
Despite being a capitalist mecca city and run by corps, Richard Night also dreamed it to be "A sprawling metropolis, free of crime, of poverty, of debt. A place where people could live safely, peacefully, without having to worry about the dire situations that were growing around the world at the time".
However, due to the design plans, Night didn't employ local contractors and instead got expensive architects and builders from all over the world. Local builders didn't like that, they had mob connections, bloodshed started. And soon Richard Night was murdered by an unknown assassin, presumably a mob hitman. The city was renamed Night City in his honor and his dream utopia became to embody everything that was destroying the world. Mob took control and corps didn't give a fuck since it didn't hurt them any until they eventually had to take out the mob gangs, but not in any favor to Night’s dream either.
Miriam Night, Richard's Widow, founded the Night Foundation (later Night Corp) to stick to Richard's Ideal dreams of what he wanted the city to be. They invest heavily in ecological research, alt power sources, civic infrastructure, public works, and charities and scholarships for Night City youth. "They've even managed to stay out of the normal corporate power struggles which tend to plague every other corporation, both inside the city and out. Even the shadowy corporate rumors about them, like having underwater bases in the bay or access to orbital satellites, remain unsubstantiated despite extensive investigation."
So, where does this put us now? We have ONE last quest...
"THE PROPHET'S SONG"
Garry The Prophet is our local crazy man. He spouts off insanities to anyone who will listen near Misty's Esoterica in Kabuki. However, some of his ideas aren't quite as much off the mark as one might think. There ain't no technonecromancers from Alpha Centuri (or Spanish Inquisition) nor is Saburo Arasaka an immortal vampire, but he was correct that Saburo wasn't dead and in fact immortal; via Mikoshi and The Relic.
He send you on a quest to investigate a meeting; he says that his ripper mistuned some cyberware in his head and he can hear their communications. You show up to a meeting between corps and Maelstrom. They say some nonsense phrases and transfer a data shard. Reading it ("Destroy After Reading") it seems like nonsense. But does include the line "The cages of men melt as night descends". You can decode it via a Null Cipher; first letter of every line: “Project Oracle Command Execute Plans”.
We don’t know what Project Oracle is. In real life, secret project or operation names actually tend to be chosen at random and are unrelated to the actual project (you can google funny stories about names that ended up awkward to the actual project), so this could mean nothing. But, narratives tend to give meaning to everything. Oracles are mythical in references and could predict the future or see the unseen. Perhaps perfect prediction via behind the scenes manipulations? Not sure we’ll get answers on this one for now.
Going back to Garry, he's been kidnapped. His protoge is screaming he's been kidnapped "Black suits came by - blue eyes and all". Blue Eyes huh? Further, she claims that they threw him into an invisible AV... Huh, like the one we saw back during "Dream On"? "Night's comin... The eternal night"
So, it’s time to jump us to the final step in our Fool’s Journey: The Sun.
“THE SUN”
The Sun ending has V wake up in their new penthouse apartment (with their love interest if they have one). Checking the computer, we see emails from our dear Mr. Blue Eyes. He wants an answer from V as to the job to the Crystal Palace he has planned and that they’re on a tight schedule for “obvious reasons”. We meet with him at the Afterlife and he talks about the job; Casino security is going into maintenance and V mentions giving him the casino client list. V also asks him to “hold up your end of the bargain”. They never discuss eddies or payment. It’s all in such vague terms. “Your end” or “Obvious reasons”. Smaller point but an email from Vik on the space shuttle also tells us that he’s asked around about Blue Eyes and has nothing; either he works with people WAY above Vik’s paygrade or he’s shady as hell… or both.
I think Blue Eyes knows V is dying (the obvious reasons) and I think the unspecified payment is V’s survival. V always says that they want to come back to their love interest so it’s not a mindless suicide run and I don’t think V would risk it all for nothing but eddies; especially not after Reaper (both versions) paint suicide runs as a horrible terrible thing. To then glorify it in another ending… no, the game is smarter than that.
Your love interest doesn’t seem to be too upset about the situation either. Panam and Judy leave V in The Sun due to their lives taking different directions, but it seems mostly amicable and understanding. They even express desire to see V again because they know V needs to do this job. Kerry, who stays with V in The Sun and expresses worry and also a desire to settle down with V, also seems mostly understanding that V needs to go on this quest. I don’t think they’d be so calm and loving and understanding if this were a suicide run. They know more than the player does.
Further, I think Blue Eyes isn’t after the casino aspect of the Crystal Palace at all. While that’s the major commercial aspect of the station as marketed to the citizen world, the station also has embassies from every nation on earth, facilities from all the major corporations, and is pretty much THE place where all the dark corporate espionage goes down. There’s so much more to this location than ‘casino resort’. *EVERY* corp has space stations and hideaways in space because the Crystal Palace offers it’s own legalities and opportunities that are not allowed within Earth’s terms and conditions. If they want to do some research that would be frowned upon elsewhere and get up to some Top Secret shit, it’ll be in outer space. Night City is controlled by corps and has lax laws, but outer space’s are even more so.
I think the cure V wants is not only on the station, I think it’s what Blue Eyes himself is after, but I’ll get there when it’s time to theory craft about the future.
I think it’s worth noting; Blue Eyes IS IN THE TRAILER FOR THE GAME. Yeah, anyone remember that shot on a shuttle with a guy being burned out from the inside? Yeah, he’s there. In the foreground. *Smirking*. The shuttle also seems like they’re in space.
These events leading to the Crystal Palace and the conspiracy with Blue Eyes are blatant DLC Hooks for the future and suggest a post-game DLC. This isn’t the first CDPR has done so either; Blood and Wine takes place after the story of Witcher 3 and is explicitly incompatible with the worst endings of that game. I think, conceivably, other endings where V is still alive could be roped into this adventure; Blue Eyes merely needs to hire them with the same offer of survival. While The Star takes V to Arizona and away from Night City, I think that choice of location is appropriate as, to even get to space for The Crystal Palace, citizens go from LAX to Arizona for a space port to launch them off Earth’s surface. They could have chosen anywhere else to send Panam and V, but they choose Arizona, huh. I do think Reaper, Temperance, and Devil will be locked out of this future, however, as all make any point of Blue Eyes hiring V irrelevant; there’s no V left to hire/save. MAYBE a rejected Devil ending, but I wouldn’t blame them for not continuing that conclusion either as Devil is one of the bad endings.
So, it’s finally time to really compile a lot of this information into where I think this is going in the next comment below

"Welcome to Florida, and Have a Nice Dementia", is what the sign at the Tampa Bay Airport should say. Instead, it says something about beaches or oranges or manatees or some shit; just enough airbrushed propaganda to keep the geriatric New Jersians excited about their newly reincarnated/refurbished life in the Tropicana Senior Living Estates (conveniently located next to Publix Grocery, WaWa gas station, and the Bingo Casino).
Yeah, every bit of the stereotype is true: Florida is filled with old people. Old people that shouldnt drive, yet still do, which in turn makes me feel like a paranoid skitzophrenic on the verge of death for simply trying to walk across the street at a crosswalk.
Here's two more stereotypes that are also true:
1) Florida is full of meth addicts and crackheads.
2) Florida is full of unbelievably hot chicas.
Yes, every stereotype you've ever heard about Florida, including the friendly manatees, is absolutely 100% true. Don't question it, nor be surprised, if you ever come.
But hey, I fucking love old people. I do. I love talking to them. They're over all of the angst and politicized shit you hear from every young hipster or redneck, and they have a fuck ton of cool stories to talk about. I LOVE OLD PEOPLE.
And hey, though it's taboo to say, fuck it, I love drug addicts too. I do, I really do.
They most certainly win the award (there's no award for this) when it comes to the CRAZIEST FUCKING STORIES and experiences you will ever, ever hear about. Ehhh fuck it, half of the stories may be lies or imaginations that they firmly believe to be true basely solely on whichever drug-induced high has inspired them...but the other half of those stories are probably VERY true and surely the craziest you will ever, ever, hear. Want some unspoken validity or verification of why they have the craziest storiest, and moreso how you know those stories are true? Allow me...
Imagine you were a 13 year old girl raised by a prostitute mother and drug dealing father. Now imagine your mother killed your father, so now you have to work the streets selling your vagina so that you and your mother could get high together with your new step-dad that is actually your mothers pimp. Now imagine you spend the next 15 years of your life attempting to kill your step dad while also still selling your vagina for more drugs. Now imagine you found God and Jesus Christ, but you firmly believe they are aliens and that just makes you wanna do more meth.
Now THAT person has interesting stories...way more interesting than someone raised in the securely nested suburbs of the gentrified side of town, who went on to get her Associates degree in nursing and has two healthy baby boys signing up for Little League and the smartest daughter in the world that just won her first spelling bee. Fucking blow me to sleep...yawn....crack ho wins in the "1 up you" category of storytelling, guaran-fucking-teed.
I digress.
Florida.
Fucking Florida.
I gotta tell ya, I love it. And I love it for the reasons you likely hate it. Something something, "to each their own", something, blah-dee-friggin blah, whatever. I love it.
Aaaaand I hate it.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand that very contradiction, that complex differentia of love and hate...well, that just makes me love it even more. Spice of life shit, really...
SPICE OF LIFE. Perhaps that should be the words of welcome in the Tampa Bay International Airport:
Welcome to Florida: The Spice of Life. Read back of sign for exciting dinner recipe ideas: Take two filets of manatee, marinate overnight in meth, add a dash of mothballs and VOILA...Florida Surf n Turf!
I'm trying to fish, and this guy smoking meth 20 feet away from me is striking his lighter 20 times in as many minutes. He's now asking to borrow my lighter. I threw my lighter at him and it landed just short of him in a splash of sand. He has been non-stop looking for that lighter for nearly an hour, likely forgetting why he even needed my lighter and now convinced he his hunting for some buried treasure left behind by Hernando De Soto. To each their own...
Women. Yes Florida has some goddamn beautiful women. But I want nothing of them...fakest women I've ever seen and never want to meet in my life. Alright alright mayyyybe for one night, depending on the severity of whatever std is included in the drama package. Ugh. They are materialistic as hell, have the highest standards that they will never ever deserve, and will likely break/kill your heart faster than chicken fried steak. A bunch of hot uppity bitches that probably know one sex position: "oh baby, let me lay on my back and be fake as fuck because that's actually all I ready do at ANYTHING in life anyway. Tee hee."
And I assure you ladies, that goes for the men here too...they're uppity little bitch boys as well, who probably last around 2.4 minutes total in bed before they go back to playing Call of Duty or playing Texas Hold Em' with the other apes.
Do not get into a relationship with anyone that claims to live long-termin Florida. (And by long term, I mean almost than 1 year). Just don't. Just let that person wither sleezily away into...i don't know...early dementia, or meth (likely both) without you. Ain't worth it...jus ain't worth it.
A fish is biting my line. And I just lost it because I'm busy talking to you assholes on Reddit. I need to find my goddamn lighter also before this tweaker loses both my lighter and his mind forever trying to find desotos treasure.
Goodnight sleepyheads. Kiss

Hey, folks, Steve here again. As my name implies, I'm a slot techician, which means I fix the machines and get asked if I can rig it to win so many times, it might as well be a Friday Evening, Pre-Recorded sketch.
Like my other stories, any names, brands, amounts, and locations that may appear have been changed for anonymity. Procedures and timelines may be changed if altering them does not break the flow of the story. Industry-standard terms (e.g. "TITO") have been left as-is.
This happened a few months ago, so some details are fuzzy.
It was a somewhat peaceful night so far in the casino. Calls for doors and other stupid-easy miscellany were down - so far, all save one or two calls were legitimate issues. At about 7:30, I was replacing some of the heads on the thermal printers (and chatting with $sup about the price of tea in China) when the radio crackled to life in my earpiece.

$radio: "I need a slot tech to 2-Charlie-1501 for a patron dispute."
$me: "2-Charlie-1501, be there in a minute."

I knew the voice on the radio as Jenny, one of the better attendants. She was one of the better ones out there; she'd troubleshoot and do everything she could before calling us, and if she called in a patron dispute, it almost always meant one of two things: either she herself did not understand (and in such a case she'd hang around while I dug through the game rules and explained it to the patron), or she had already explained it to the patron and the patron refused to believe her.
I set the printer parts aside and hiked upstairs to 2-CC-1501, where the patron was rambling on at her about how she saw this and how it did this and why didn't it pay her? Jenny saw me coming and stepped me aside to brief me:

$jenny: "She says she won several times while playing this, but I can't find anything in the game history."

I nod and Jenny goes back to deal with the patron while I check the credits on the game (zero), turn the audit key, and start doing my detective work. The game's history only goes back 20 games, so I start at the most recent and work my way back - there's some little wins here and there, but nothing on the scale that the patron was claiming - just ten credits here, fifteen there, so on and so forth - nothing out of the ordinary since they were playing 3 reels on a penny-denom 5-reel Royalty Mach 6 game.
After thumbing through all twenty games, I turn my attention to the game's internal logs. Nothing out of the ordinary shows up, just the usual start-of-play, end-of-play, start-of-play, end-of-play, ticket print, and audit stuff. And then I notice the timestamps.

03 Sep 19:34:36 2020 - Entered game recall 03 Sep 19:33:07 2020 - Audit mode - ON 03 Sep 19:26:51 2020 - Service Request - OFF 03 Sep 19:21:37 2020 - Service Request - ON 03 Sep 17:55:49 2020 - Ticket removed 03 Sep 17:55:46 2020 - Ticket print XXXXXXXXXXXXXX0001 $3.57 03 Sep 17:55:46 2020 - System authorization successful ... 

...Huh, that's over an h. I check the game recall screen's timestamps, and sure enough, the last play was a bit over an hour and a half ago.
By now, the patron's finished their tirade, so I turn to them.

$me: "How long ago were you playing?"
$patron: "A few minutes ago! Can't you see it?"

I turn back to Jenny, lean in, and softly advise her to call her manager. I hear her call for one and I go back to ticking boxes off the Standard Dispute Checklist - button test, video test, touchscreen test, the usual suspects. While I'm checking the logs one last time to make sure I didn't miss anything, Beth - the department manager on duty - arrives.
Beth was a good manager. She took care of everyone in the department, and I'm actually disappointed she left at some point between this story and now.

$beth: "Whatcha got, Steve?"
$me: "She says she was playing a few minutes ago and was winning - quite a lot - and it never paid her. Last game recall says the last game played was at 5:54 this evening."
$beth: "Okay. I'll call Big Brother¹ and get them to run back the tape."
$me: "Alright. Buttons all tested good, touchscreen's dead-on."

Beth nodded and dismissed me, and I went back to fixing the printers in the tech shop while she did the needful.
A couple of hours later, I see her back-of-house and talk shop with her.

$me: "So what's the story on that dispute at 2-Charlie-15?"
$beth: "Oh, it was the demo. Surveillance saw her watching the demo for a few minutes before she called an attendant."

Reels turn on, electronic bells ring, and most likely, someone up in the surveillance room was laughing their butt off that day.
¹ We use a discreet codename for Surveillance when we're radioing them. We don't actually call them "Big Brother", however - that's just the anonymized name I chose for them.

TL;DR
I created a laundry list of high-level tenets that drive the game design of specific genre I coined the World game based on Brad's famous quote. These aim to be applicable to any game that would scratch my old school MMO itch.
What tenets would you choose?
Preamble
The MMO community is, to some degree, divided by the different expectations and desires of its player base. Even an MMORPG can mean so many things to so many different people. I wanted to get to the root of what a good MMO is to me, and in the process, I found that the ambiguous label of MMO is likely getting in the way.
Passionate players across the board seem to complain about the same issues. Ease of difficulty. Cash shops. Single-player focus. Theme park design. Players of these games either leave the genre, ultimately disenchanted with the thin veil over Skinner box design, or they continue to search for something better, because they know it is possible. Maybe this is intentional. Developers piggy back on the MMO genre to hook the player-base before extracting as much as they can from the whales in their glorified casino.
So, here, I present the tenets of a specific game genre: the World genre. The focus on world over game is not a new idea. Brad McQuad famously said, “I want to make worlds, not games.” That focus can be seen right there in the name of Visionary Realms. And without the right language to describe what we are after, the community is continually bit by games that fit the abstract label but disappoint in the details.
The goal with these tenets isn’t to create a template so much as it is to create rough guidelines. In fact, these guidelines probably wouldn’t do a game designer much good in creating a solid design. But they should help in evaluating different options and validating an existing design. Certainly, none of the tenets get as specific as the theme or even the existence of combat. They should apply equally well to a game set in feudal Japan, The Sims Online, or the next zombie apocalypse.
Some tenets are broad, while others more specific. Some tenets are rigid, others more malleable. Some tenets are critical pillars of the genre, while others are less important. Tenets frequently conflict, creating tension.
A note on intuition
The tenets below are driven by the principle that they should be intuitive. The World genre is trying to capture something deeply human, buried in our brains because of the way we have interacted with ourselves, each other, society, and our planet over millennia of evolution. There is no right or wrong answer. When in doubt, we err on the side of realism.
A note on ownership
Establishing reasonably prescriptive tenets on the World and gameplay highlights the necessity of strong ownership and vision for this style of game. This is particularly true given that many of these tenets go explicitly against what makes a great game in general. For example, how many games would actually benefit from less player matchmaking? This also does not lend itself well to player-generated content, where those tenets can be easily violated.
The tenets of immersion
TENET 1 The player should be directly represented in the World
The World genre requires the player to form a direct relationship with the World, not with the character. This is a key difference between Eastern of Western RPGs (both of which I love) and so this may be controversial. The player should be able to insert themselves into their avatar. On the flip-side, it precludes certain mechanics, such as squad-based designs.
TENET 2 The World should be realistic in both form and function
That is, the World should minimize the need for suspension of disbelief. It should pull the player in naturally. I have always felt conflicted by WoW’s appearance. I absolutely loved the cell-shaded look of Wind Waker, but instinctually disliked the cartoon-like nature of WoW. This goes back to immersion. That doesn't mean the visuals have to be photorealistic. They just have to pull you in. It may be possible to get around this through the setting. For example, if the setting is a digital afterlife, you may be able to get away with a more abstract appearance.
TENET 3 The player and World should interface only through the player character
The player should only be able to influence the World through their character. And the World should only be able to influence the player through the character. This means, respectively, no cash shops and a first-person camera. It also means no GPS — unless, of course, the setting supports it. Taken to an extreme, this precludes voice chat, at least without something like racial voice filters.
TENET 4 The player should directly engage with the World around them
The key here is “direct”. No minimaps, no waypoints, no fast travel. Of course, these are not absolute deal-breakers. The key is that the player is able to establish a connection with the World around them. The player should, over the course of the game, develop a strong mental model of the World and its relation to their character.
The tenets of freedom
TENET 5 The player should not be assigned a story
The World itself can (and should!) have a story to tell. But the player character’s story should be their own. The player must have the freedom to make their own place within the World, eschewing the rails that a story provides. Side quests are lesser evils, but still evils. The more choice the better.
TENET 6 The player should be able to pursue multiple forms of progression
The choice should not just be in how to progress. It should be in which ways to progress. The most obvious example is crafting, but this can also include loot, skills, the economy, faction, or even — maybe most importantly — growing in strategy and skill.
TENET 7 The World should be demanding, but not prescriptive
This is an extension of the idea of a lack of story. If the game is too prescriptive, it becomes a job. A chore. To combat this phenomenon, the player needs significant choice at all times. This may, in fact, be the primary draw of the World genre: to provide an environment where players are purely driven by their own will. It is equally important to avoid visibly and overtly influencing the player’s decisions. The player’s incentives and motivating factors should be an organic part of the World. No daily XP boosts, for example. Alternate forms of progression can help here, because even once a player is motivated to progress, they have the choice of which dimension of progress to pursue.
TENET 8 The World should encourage downtime
The player should not feel compelled to move forward at all times. There should be joy simply in existing in the World, experience it moment to moment. Even better, progression itself can require downtime; this is related to the notion that players should be encouraged to play any game in the most fun way possible. This can be accomplished with world design, such as guard-protected cities or social taverns, or mechanics, such as fishing, firework shows, and waiting in queue for a boat. This is effectively the white space of gameplay. And it is all but lost in modern MMOs.
TENET 9 The World should be dangerous
Choice is meaningless without consequence. With real, negative consequence, comes danger. This not only gives weight to the player’s decisions, but also helps to establish the intricate give-and-take relationship between the World and the player. Looking at you, death penalty. If a World game is about finding your place within that world, then danger and risk makes this a meaningful pursuit. If that tension between risk and reward does not exist, even at the start of the journey, it undermines those goals. Note that this is different than challenge — and challenge itself is not enough.
TENET 10 Players should be encouraged to explore the World
This doesn't mean that players are constantly seeking some never-before-seen point of interest, but it does mean that players get out and move. In other words, the world provides resources across its footprint, and you must seek those out. Most forms of progression should require you to get out and explore. This also does not necessitate baubles scattered around the landscape to find.
The tenets of impact
TENET 11 The player’s actions should be worn like a badge
You should be a product of your choices. Your reputation, gear, and skills should tell a story about where you have been and what you have accomplished. Your spoken languages can tell a story of what cities you have spent the most time in. As you spend time in different climates, you may develop a natural acclimation to those environments. Imagine you walk into town and one of the NPC gnomes recognizes the scent of the nearby crystal caverns you have been exploring. This is interesting because it relates to life; the player’s accomplishments should come with artifacts. This also means that auction houses should be limited, as they create an artificial divide between adventure and outcome.
TENET 12 Players should have something unique to offer
The ways that a player can help others in their progression should be relatively unique to that player. As much as possible, they should tell a story about adventures undertaken; e.g., a proc from an item dropped by a famous mob. Of course, classes and class-specific skills are one way to accomplish this, but the more ways the better. For example, if one form of progression is fishing, then fish should be useful to others in many ways. A cooking skill is obvious. More creatively, certain kinds of fish could be used as powerful but low-level weapons. A butcher could extract gills or eyes to, in turn, be used as reagents for spells.
TENET 13 There should be no end game
Even the name “end game” is problematic for several reasons. It suggests a hard limit to progression. It suggests a hard divide in the way the World is experienced once the player reaches this limit. It also suggests that the focus is no longer on the World, but on the game — which is to say, the core promise of the genre is lost. This doesn’t mean to eliminate raids or AA points. It just means that those things should be included in the game proper. This tenet also implies that progression should be relatively limitless. Skyrim is an interesting example of this. One way to accomplish this is to create exponential progress; for example, having each level take 10% more experience than the last. Granted, this is a much harder problem than the simple discussion here suggests.
TENET 14 The player should leave a mark on the World itself
Can a World be meaningful if there is no way to make an impact on it? Of course, their character is one such mark. It is easy to imagine statues erected in town, or NPCs chatting about the first character to hit max level. But there should be a means for all characters to leave some lasting impact. Given that players can already say whatever they want in chat, breaking immersion, a simple example is the ability to leave a journal. These could even be curated. Other possibilities include geocaching, naming items, plaques that can be erected in various places throughout the world. Player-owned housing is perhaps the most obvious.
TENET 15 Power, fame, and fortune must be possible
A world game should be able to provide all three of these drivers. As with reality, these should not be the only reason to play. Fame is largely supported by communication; fortune by economy and loot. Power can be found even outside the game, in the player’s mind, as they grow in skill and strategy.
TENET 16 The player should have a home
Can you have a world without a home? Some place in the world should feel like your own. Where even the NPCs tend to be supportive of you: merchants give discounts and trainers more assistance. This could simply be your birthplace, your hometown.
The tenets of socialization
TENET 17 There must be no explicit matchmaking
Players must find each other. In fact, a World game should ideally employ the opposite of matchmaking: some players should have barriers preventing that connection. This makes it all the more meaningful when these seemingly unlikely relationships form. There are many ways to accomplish this, including separating players by distance or climate or language. Allowing certain players to engage in PvP is another.
TENET 18 There should be risk in trusting others
Trust can only exist when that trust can be violated. Otherwise there is no trust — just a cold, lack of consequence. By allowing negative consequences through socialization, we enable trust, and so enable more meaningful relationships. For example, a player might grief the group, log out at the wrong time, or simply lack the skill to effectively play their character. They might steal your loot.
TENET 19 Players must be able to communicate with language
The purpose of having a World is to allow the player to tell their own story within it. And what story is worth telling that doesn’t involve real connection with others? Connection with others requires communication. And not just any form of communication, but with language. This communication should extend throughout the game, as much as possible. That is, it should be limited to the tavern, but should naturally extend out to the dungeon as well.
TENET 20 Players should be able to help each other organically
Those that have the means to help should find themselves naturally in proximity to those that might need it. For example, have high-level dungeon entrances in low-level areas. Have new characters start out near big cities.
TENET 21 Cooperation should generally benefit progression
For example, a blacksmith could gather all of her own materials or rely on other players. In some cases, a blacksmith might actually require an enchanter to lend a hand in creating the best equipment. This is not a difficult tenet to design towards; it is more a warning against designing forms of progression that specifically do not lend themselves to cooperation. In many MMOs, solo combat is so fast-paced and rewarding that there is little incentive to try to find a group.
The tenets of the World itself
TENET 22 The World should be persistent
Things can change, but not so frequently that it harms the connection the player has with the World. This is one reason why Minecraft may not work as a World game, and perhaps one reason why the focus on player-generated content in EverQuest Next did not lend itself well to a fun experience.
TENET 23 The World should be shared
There should be no instancing. If you need to come up with elaborate lore and mechanics to facilitate this, then so be it. For example, say all of the top tier raid bosses are spirits that can only be summoned by rare relics. And the spirits can only be hurt by those that share a clan sash with the one who summoned them. Obviously this is terribly contrived. But it demonstrates that it is possible to work backwards from the need of a shared world.
TENET 24 The World should be big
You should move slowly compared to the size of the world. It should always feel as though there is somewhere new to explore.
TENET 25 The World should be open
Big by itself is not enough. Theoretically, you could create a massive, linear world — imagine Ant Hill: The MMO. But that is not sufficient for a World game. Exploration is critical, and so the specific layout of the space is important. For another example, imagine Destiny but with hundreds of expansions. The game would be large by any standard, but it would not be a World.
TENET 26 The World should be alive
To some degree, the World should be the main character. Day and night cycles are a simple start. Other possibilities include transient events or even changes to the landscape over time. The World should be full of surprises, unpredictable. You should come across enemies not normally found in the local climate. You should discover loot normally reserved for much tougher mobs. Emergent gameplay can help here as well. The more mechanics and attributes that can be projected naturally to some underlying physics, the greater the chance for interesting and unique interactions. In the same breath, the World should have history. The best example of this is Hollow Knight, a game that tells the history of the World through visual storytelling, environments, enemy design, dialog, secrets, and journals.
TENET 27 The World should be consistent
The World should carry an underlying consistency through it. The World should feel congruent. Variety, also important, must be tempered.
TENET 28 The World should be varied
Different places within the World should have an identity of their own, through climate or culture or environment. Different environments should encourage different play styles and behavior, even downtime.
TENET 29 The World should have landmarks
The World should be defined by the interesting places within it. More than that, the World should have locations that pull players together. Breath of the Wild does an amazing job with this, whereas it is one of the weaknesses of The Witcher III. In EverQuest, the camps themselves often serve this role — think Treants — showing how landmarks can emerge from gameplay rather than, say, visual interest.

(Note: be warned, kind of long background info here, but I think it’s needed)
As far as interesting lives, few can beat Benjamin ‘Bugsy’ Siegel. Born February 28, 1906 in Brooklyn, New York, Siegel came from a poor Jewish family. Before he was even twenty, he’d established a profitable protection racket and a lengthy rap sheet, including armed robbery, rape, and murder. Siegel had connections—he was childhood friends with Al Capone and familiar with many of the well known New York City mobsters of the day—and he also had a taste for violence. Soon, he’d established a small mob specializing in hits for the numerous bootleg gangs of the time with Meyer Lansky, a fellow mobster. His violence and short temper led some to say he was “crazy as a bedbug,” giving him his famous nickname ‘Bugsy,’ which he even more famously despised.
Siegel was making money, which he was happy to flaunt, but he wanted more. He carried out several hits for Charles “Lucky” Luciano, and eventually formed Murder Inc. with his associates, establishing himself as a skilled hitman for the National Crime Syndicate, an organization of mob families. But Siegel was already making enemies, and several assassination attempts were made on his life, some of which came very close to being successful. So, it was time to move out west.
In California, Siegel helped establish gambling rackets, drug trade routes, and prostitution rings. His star was rising outside of the Underworld too, and in addition to the numerous politicians and police on his payroll, he befriended stars like Cary Grant and Clark Gable. Incredibly, while in Italy with a socialite in 1938, he met Hermann Goering and Joseph Goebbels, whom he immediately disliked and offered to kill. The offer was declined by his lady friend. Yet Siegel was not always looked upon fondly by the upper echelons of Hollywood; he borrowed exorbitantly from celebrities, knowing he would never be asked to pay it back, and began to develop extensive plans to extort movie studios. After several trials and acquittals for failed and successful hits, it was time to leave California.
Siegel’s next stop was Las Vegas where, in 1945, he purchased and developed the Flamingo Hotel & Casino, the first luxury hotel on the Vegas strip. As you might imagine, that was expensive, and over the course of its construction, costs were equivalent to over $61 million in today’s money each year. Siegel’s checks were bouncing, and many of the locals felt threatened by him. Mob bosses were beginning to lose patience with Siegel too, and he was refusing to report on business, claiming he was running the California Syndicate himself. For now, they left him alone—he'd been valuable in the past, after all.
The Flamingo Hotel was a dismal failure, and people—very powerful people—were starting to get tired of waiting for the promised money to materialize. By 1947, it was gradually turning around—with the help of Meyer Lansky, now in Vegas—but for most, it was too little too late.
Death:
On June 20, 1947, Siegel was gunned down in the Beverly Hills home of his sometimes-girlfriend Virginia Hill. He was 41. Somewhat suspiciously, Hill had taken an unscheduled flight to Paris the day (or by some sources, week) before. As Siegel sat reading the newspaper with associate Allen Smiley, an unknown assailant fired with a .30 caliber military M1 carbine through the window, striking Siegel many times (NSFW). Two shots hit his head, with one passing through his right cheek and the other his nose. Though he was not hit directly through the eye (NSFW), a bullet-in-the-eye death became a popular trope in Mafia media, including in the Godfather, where a character based on Siegel is murdered in the same manner.
The death was covered extensively in the media, which portrayed Vegas as a bastion of sin and mafia activity. As early as the day after Siegel’s death (or, as some sources have it, during Siegel’s death), however, more personal things were changing: Lansky walked into the Flamingo and took over operations.
Theories:
The mob is famously tight-lipped, and Siegel’s death was no exception. Despite the extensive speculation, no precise motive has ever been confirmed. There was a massive police investigation, but in a case like this, that doesn’t mean much, nor does the media coverage. The media in particular salivated over the potential for splashy crime stories, and the circumstances of this case have been complicated by contemporary coverage. Several days after Siegel’s death, for example, one newspaper ran the headline “BUGSY'S BLONDE EX-WIFE GIVES CLUES TO HIS KILLERS,” while another read “BUGSY'S EX NO AID IN HUNT.” As far as the most popular theories:
A Mob hit: A mob hit seems like the most obvious cause, and it's a theory that’s been popularized by several novels and the 1991 movie Bugsy. It would certainly make sense; it was the mob’s money Siegel had been spending wildly on his unsuccessful hotel after all, and he’d been growing uncooperative. Of the proposed hitmen, the most often mentioned are Frankie Carbo (Ralph Natale, former Philadelphia boss and Mob squealer, claimed Carbo as the true killer) and Eddie Cannizarro, both Syndicate hitmen. But even here, there are several proposed reasons for the hit. As some have it, mob money from the Flamingo’s funding was going missing and Siegel was skimming off the already meager profits. Skimming could have been forgiven, if the Flamingo was a success. It was not. After a meeting of the Syndicate’s “Board of Directors,” it was allegedly decided that Siegel would die, with Lansky reluctantly agreeing. Others believe that a hit might have been ordered whether Siegel was skimming or not; the Flamingo was simply too expensive. As one historian put it, “Bugsy was a dreamer. And he was dreaming with other people’s money.”
Yet many have also argued against this theory. According to one of Siegel’s emissaries in Vegas, for example, no one would have dared to order a hit on Siegel. He and Lansky were close until the end of their lives, and Lansky would never have agreed to it. And if Lansky would not agree, then Charles “Lucky” Luciano, who was “the head of everything,” would never have agreed either. And as others have argued, the method of execution (NSFW) didn’t match with typical mob methods; firing a weapon from outside a house increased the risk of missing as well as the risk of being seen. The preferred method was a clean shot to the back of the head. According to some, the oft-referenced money problems of the Flamingo also wasn’t an issue. At the time, Lansky was paying back any investor who wanted out, and the gradual uptick in its profits was quickening by the day. Personally, I don’t think the financial uptick invalidates the theory. If the hotel was starting to make more money, then that might be all the more reason to get rid of the difficult-to-manage Siegel and take over.
Wire Business: At the time of his death, Siegel was embroiled in a dispute with Jack Dragna, dubbed the Capone of Los Angeles. Siegel and Dragna had had an uneasy partnership in previous years, but Dragna, far less powerful than Siegel and the New York gangs, resented the income and respect Siegel commanded. This came to a head when a racing wire service (a way of cheating on bets) between the two of them soured. Siegel wanted control for himself, and ordered Dragna to turn it over or be killed, to which Dragna agreed. After Siegel’s death, control was returned to Dragna. He had a motive, but his story would only have been one among many for a man as ruthless as Siegel, which, in a way, complicates things further—there’s a real possibility that the culprit in Siegel’s murder was someone never even considered. His list of enemies was long, varied, and probably mostly unknown. Yet another man who had reason to want Siegel dead, for example, was his bodyguard and muscle Mickey Cohen. A Cleveland gangster, Cohen was given control of the Syndicate’s West Coast gambling operations. If Siegel still lived, he would never have gotten it. Interestingly, he, like Al Capone before him, was eventually felled by tax evasion.
Virginia and/or brother: The same emissary of Siegel who shot down the mob hit theory believed that Virginia Hill’s brother had carried out the murder. The brother, a marine stationed at Camp Pendleton named Bob or Bill, had seen Siegel and Virginia fighting outside the Flamingo as well as the bruises Siegel had left on her and threatened to kill him. Another of Virginia’s brothers, Chuck, was also at the Beverly Hills house when Siegel was murdered.
Virginia herself has also been the subject of suspicion. Nicknamed the “Queen of the Mob,” Hill worked, among other powerful jobs, as a cash courier, laundering money and stolen goods as well as blackmailing high-ranking men through sexual liaisons. Her relationship with Siegel was tempestuous at best, and she may have been embezzling from the Flamingo. She’s also been accused of two-timing with rival mob operations, though this is unconfirmed. Eventually fleeing to Europe permanently, Hill died of an overdose in 1966, though some have alleged that she was actually murdered after she, completely broke, attempted to leverage her intimate knowledge of the Mob.
Rival Mobs: Unfortunately, I can’t find much concrete information about this theory (note: story of my life researching these posts haha), but some believe that rival mob operatives wanted Siegel gone. He was a powerful—and very public—figure, which made him something of an obvious target in the cut-throat world of Mafia politics.
Moe Sedway: This is a relatively new theory, emerging after Robbie Sedway was interviewed for LA Magazine after his mother’s death. Here, he alleged that Siegel’s murder was ordered by his mother Bee, the wife of powerful mobster—and childhood friend of Siegel’s—Moe Sedway. According to Bee, who wrote and scrapped a book proposal called Bugsy's Little Lunatic (Siegel’s nickname for her), Siegel had threatened her husband, who was the Flamingo’s numbers man, and therefore watching Siegel—who, remember, had been accused of skimming—closely. So Bee contacted Mathew “Moose” Pandza, a truck driver whom Bee married after Moe’s death. Moose, the perfect killer, since he had no connection to the Mob, then shot Siegel to death. The problem with this theory, however, is that Bee is the only source; as she herself said, anyone who could contradict her was dead. She also squandered most of the fortune left to her by Moe over the course of her life, and died almost penniless.
All of the above: Some believe that almost all the suspects were involved. Usually, it goes something like this: “Virginia supplied the location and received some reward. Cohen knew Bugsy's schedule for the evening, but happened to not be watching him that night…Dragna ordered the hit, with the approval of Lansky and Luciano.” It’s unlikely, but it certainly has its believers, if only for the convenience of it.
Final Thoughts & Questions:
This case is interesting to me because of the sheer number of suspects. In the end, a mob hit seems the simplest and most likely explanation. But there were so many people with means, motive, and opportunity. So:

• Why was Siegel killed and who killed him? The Syndicate, rival mobs, Virginia Hall, her brother, Mickey Cohen, Jack Dragna, Mathew Pandza (as ordered by Moe and/or Bee Sedway), several of the suspects, or someone else entirely?

Sources:
https://www.lamag.com/longform/mobster-murder-moll-secret/
https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/lasvegas-bugsy/
https://themobmuseum.org/blog/killed-benjamin-bugsy-siegel/
https://unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com/wiki/Bugsy_Siegel
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bugsy_Siegel
https://themobmuseum.org/blog/virginia-hill-queen-of-the-mob-was-no-ones-pushove
To many, Siegel’s legacy exceeds his mob connections, and in some ways, even his death; without him, many believe, there would be no Vegas. So if you take anything away from this write-up, let it be this: The Blue Man group’s Vegas residency is Bugsy Siegel’s fault.

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

The results are in for Match 9. The winner is…
William Eyelash, with a score of 68 to Jacob Brown’s 68, tie broken by a higher ‘categories taken’ count!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	The Graveyard Shift	16-13
Quality	The Graveyard Shift	22-20	Reasoning
JoJolity	Masters of Funky Action	20-25	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10

William Eyelash had taken the lead in this match, and though as a leader, he hadn’t done the best job, getting Jack visibly injured, as a combatant, he had managed to withstand the aggressive and area-painting onslaughts of himself from not so long ago, and of a much more experienced version of the partner he’d once had.
It had made him catch his breath, reflect on all that had come to this point, to recall that moment where Ocean Eyes had been the one to embrace and protect him.
“Yes… I understand now,” William answered, walking carefully through the snow, “you had something good going there, Jacob Brown, but… Y-you didn’t seriously think I would fall for tricks like those coming from my own Stand, did you?” Didn’t even know it could do all that, though… Even now, I can still grow, huh?
That put a smile on his face, then, as he approached the injured Jack, helping him up. “You still with us?”
“Hee hee, I’ll peachy keen as peachy cream in a little while… But right now I’m very much hurting yes.” Jack chuckled, resting his eyes and looking things over. “In the end, though… I called that other me in the hoodie an impostor, but he knew my Stand better than I did. He was even more me than me… What does that mean?” He looked down. “Am… Am I the lie?”
“I, uh… I don’t know how to answer that,” William said, “but… You’re one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. And, uh… You helped me out a ton. Sorry for getting you hurt, uh, not that used to leading, but you really seemed to trust in me…”
“We all make mistakes!” Jack said, not minding that at all, “but… I suppose you’re right. I won’t let some stranger get in my head… But I guess that all of us were telling the truth in our hearts, then.” He looked to the defeated ‘Billy’ and the slightly-older Jacob, both bleeding and unconscious, the latter falling much faster. Already, a strange white blob was moving through the snowfield towards them, examining them. “So I guess we spare them today... if they survive what we’ve given already!”
Neither would realize it for another few minutes, but for Jacob Brown, those words had proven prophetic.
“S-still though… If you’ve really lived a full life here, become the same person with the same Stand, same memories,” William said, “does that mean that can just… Happen? But how, wh-when really, by probability and stuff…”
“So is the unusual burden of ‘Fate,’ felt strongest upon this city,” a familiar, altered voice spoke, and sitting on a park bench, William and Jack spied none other than the Institute’s head, still heavily layered as he always was.
“Oh No…” William muttered.
“‘Oh no?’ Is this a problem of a person?” Jack asked, then giggled. “Heeheh, just a little joke. I know about the Institute, of course!”
“The ‘Fortuna Double’ might exist at any point in time, for any Stand User from outside its walls, and no matter how irreconcilable the circumstances, how ‘impossible’ it should be for two people to have the same fated path, even for the slight differences of the city… The ‘Same Person’ can unquestionably exist. Wouldn’t be surprised if you, ‘Jack,’ and this ‘Billy’ here were simply the first you encountered who were close enough to your age that you immediately noticed.” No tilted his head. “Why, even that cute creature who followed the elder Jacob Brown is, literally, the same being as the Bert that just died… Yet, unlike them, bound still by fate. I wonder, then, what will prove to be the same, to be indomitable ‘fate,’ and what will prove not so.”
“I think sometimes about if I’ve ever had one here… Or will, in the future. That sounds utterly boring if so, though. I refuse to know my fate; it’s vexing enough of a limit on myself that I’m burdened by, knowing it’s predetermined to exist at all.”
“Uh… Right.” This was heavy, huh? William tried to figure out what it all meant. “Fortuna Doubles, huh… So they’re both real, completely and absolutely, then?”
“Precisely!” No remarked, cheerily. “Would you like to speak more about this? Go on, sit with me.”
Only a few hours remain still in your window of time to vote in a match between an Agnes and some Guy in a crowded concert hall brought down to size.
Scenario:
Alexis Williams was sinking.
Every day, the myriad of matters which plagued the outwardly-cheerful woman’s mind seemed to be growing worse and worse. The unhealthy relationship she’d had with her Stand had turned into an even worse sort of tension, a fundamental disconnect with an aspect of herself which she literally could not be away from.
It hadn’t been uncommon for some time for her to wonder if a given day would be her last. Over the last several months, those feelings had only grown and grown in their intensity, in their power over her, and it had even begun to show outwardly.
It wouldn’t be long now, surely, before-
Alexis’ hotel room door was kicked so hard that one of the hinges flew off, and through it launched, not an attacker like she might have imagined, some hostile Stand User out to invade her home, but something arguably even worse.
“ALEXIS!”
Her friend and fellow Eighth Circle mainstay, Bucket.
She clutched her forehead and forced a smile, turning away from what she’d been using to get through the day and towards him. Already, she could tell that the chaos agent, formerly known for the octopus on his head, now sporting sick sarashi and a pompadour, was here with intentions ranging from ‘good’ to ‘no intentions whatsoever,’ and it wasn’t in her nature to tell someone like that to fuck off.
“Bucket! Hey!” She said, an edge to her chipper tone. “You, uh, surprised me there… You’re gonna fix that door, right?” She blinked. “Wait, weren’t you at that Metra show? I thought I’d heard everyone there was shrunk down to-”
“Forget about that!” He answered, earnestly drawing closer, grasping her by the wrists suddenly, yet at once gently. “Alexis, I don’t know what’s going on with your head or heart or anything else, but I know I can’t just stand around outside your door watching you get more and more miserable! Even I noticed, so it must be really really bad whatever’s hurting you inside! I’m an acolyte of the boogie now, the example of Rudolf Pavlova, so I can’t let a friend be in need!”
“Rudolf…” Alexis had heard of his passing, so soon after helping her put on such a wonderful show, and been unsurprised. Wait, though, since when did Bucket- Ah, never mind. She shook her head, looking him in the eye. The highly chaotic, unstable hellraiser of the Judecca Highrollers was giving her puppy-dog eyes. “Did… Did you want to do something?”
“Yes! I want to make you better!” Bucket exclaimed, pulling away and bouncing upwards. “So c’mon! Let’s head out… Make some trouble, follow no rules but our own and to be happy!” He stopped, then, pulling back a moment, as if reading the room once again, folding his arms over his chest. “I mean, if you want to.”
Alexis thought it over. He meant well, clearly, and wished dearly to cheer her up… A person didn’t need to understand the nuances of the soul to see when a person was hurting, and to reach out for them.
She doubted it would make things better for her, but who’s to say it needed to be?
“That sounds great,” she said, relaxing her forced cheer slightly and nodding. “Maybe it’s what I need right about now.”
The Woods at Aurelio - Midday - Near the Northern Bridge
“So you’re sure that he’s got a base out here?”
“Crystal clear!” Tiger ‘Glitch’ Ricky answered Effie Linder, tilting her head one way and then the other as she and her Stand attempted to scope out the sounds of the area. “There was only basically one cop left and then Ugo made them quit, took the place over, paid them off… So now he just sorta comes and goes around that little old ‘empty’ police station!”
“If he hangs out at the town’s police station,” Effie asked, confused at her coworker’s demeanor, “then why are we out this far away from it?”
“Because!” Glitch answered, huffing and folding her arms. “I said he comes and goes! And prrobably isn’t there right now. Mrr, you’re the one who wanted to come out here with me, so let’s keep searching!”
“…” Effie nodded. “You know what, fair enough. He never was the type to stay still long, so looking where the Watch is going would be a start…”
Since that day she fought that shithead twink Agnes and that Italian twink Arpeggi at Tigran Sins’ casino, Glitch had been gradually, increasingly mulling over the idea of becoming something not so much unlike the latter… A vigilante, out to not just cause problems on purpose, but sometimes even solve them on purpose, in the way a Stand User knew best: shenanigans and violence.
Hearing about the way that Ugo McBaise had sabotaged the capture of the very villains whose challenge had inspired her to act, had directly gotten people killed and responsible for dangerous people staying at large, that felt like reason plenty to break out ‘shenanigans and violence’ on him.
Effie caught her on the way out, and had said then, “what, am I gonna wait around for Fira to send me on some bullshit errand? If you’re turning that piece of shit’s head concave, I’m in too.”
And so, enthusiastically, Effie had joined, and the pair had been circling the outskirts of town atop Vida Loca ever since, Effie also using her murder of crows for further observations than what her eyes alone could tell her.
Glitch’s ears perked, as did her Stand. “…something’s up ahead. A bunch of people hanging out by the river…”
“Hm? Yeah, I think I see it!” Effie remarked, producing a pair of binoculars to look that way. “VALKYRIE guys… You know what that means up here, don’t you?”
Though most of the company fell in line with Rushen Smith’s new leadership, it was something of an open secret that Ugo McBaise had very specifically drilled the former Neighborhood Watch, which had become a new unit of the company, into being loyal to him, not to his rank. Fears being stoked about the potential of ANVIL going to war with the town was all that kept them from being disbanded outright, feeling that people familiar with the area were best-suited for watching it.
Glitch hissed. “Alright, then, you know what we’ve gotta do!”
“Wait, it looks like they’re being talked through something by…” Effie adjusted the binoculars, peered through the crowd, and recognized a very identifiable vest… and a bald head, shining in the midday sun. “Mr. Jones?”
Mr. Jones had been having a good few weeks himself, ever since his earlier, very successful outing with Dread. It had ended in him successfully acquiring not just any ‘Memento,’ but perhaps one of the city’s most dangerous, and the life-fearing compliance of the kidnapped alleged immortal who led it to him, taught him its secrets.
Apparently some kitty somewhere was sad about that, but eh, when you’re making an omelette, yeah?
“Wait wait wait,” he said affably to the crowd of VALKYRIE agents he’d once called a neighborhood watch, “you say a guy in a blue pomp and a dancer’ve been… Spray painting your cars? Throwin’ dead fish at ya? Sprayin’ ink to get away?” He snickered. “You’ve had a hell of a morning with this prankster pair, then, if they keep givin’ you the slip.”
“Please, Mr. Jones,” a young man said as he continued to wipe fish guts off of his helmet visor, “I… I know, technically, you aren’t our leader anymore, that the bosses don’t like you much, but.” He sniffled, earnestly. “But you’ve always been so good to us, even since then! You’ve been loyal to us, and we still love you for it, no matter what they say you did!”
“Heheh… Hearin’ you say that makes it worth it, y’know that?” Mr. Jones wiped a finger under the eye of his sunglasses, looking them over. “Think I know who might be the whodunnit-er here, actually. Just gimme a hot minute to track the guy down, and-”
“Got a lot of nerve talking to my men, Jones.”
Everyone went silent, then, at the sound of a hammer, for dramatic effect, being dragged along the pavement of the road, then swung in the air by an absolute cinderblock of a man.
“You got a problem, and you come running to him because he happened to be passing by? What happened to using your damn heads?” Ugo chewed his subordinates out, then, before looking to the neighborhood watch founder. “I think you’ve confused these people, Worm, by still keeping up that paternal reliable neighbor shit. They’ve all been taught well and good that they listen to me, not some replacement,” he pointed his hammer forward, then, threateningly, “and sure as hell not some serial killing scum!”
“Now now now, Ugo, c’mon, it’s clear they like us both, yeah? So let’s just… Clear the confusion up, if y’care that much!” Mr. Jones reached for the sabre sheathed at his side, then, drawing it with a golden sheen; he’d fished it out of the wreckage of Capital Island one day after it wasn’t destroyed in Jack’s ritual. He, too, pointed it forward. “I know the language you speak, so let’s talk in that.”
Ugo grunted, then, swinging his hammer back over his shoulder as a very feminine form appeared behind him, looking like something of a curvy, thickset cowgirl. “Aw, Ugo and I concur, y’all know we’re down t’bash some heads and take a name or two! Why, sugar, we’re about to put you down like a sick dog!”
Mr. Jones got a snicker out of the odd word choices of ‘She’s a Big Boy,’ finding the contrast between Stand and User in all but their brutal aggression amusing; sometimes he’d tried in the past to talk to him and unpack what the Stand actually said about Ugo’s soul, but it was a conversation the very straightforward, taciturn former football star never quite liked to have.
Jones gestured with his head, then. “Watch, get back to HQ, yeah? Whoever you see walk through that door, few hours from now, respect that, yeah?”
“Uh… S-sure?” The ex-Watch member who’d been speaking said, turning around. “C’mon, guys, let’s get pizza or something… I guess.”
Alexis had been sitting by the bank of the Wormwood River, mulling over the shenanigans Bucket had encouraged her to join in with, ever since she’d happened to spot all the Watch members they’d been harassing seemingly surround somebody; it was an action which led Bucket to say ‘just gimme a minute’ before diving into the water.
It was a shame, honestly. This harmless problem causing had actually been kind of fun, in a way.
Bucket splashed up soon after. “I knew it!”
“Knew what?”
“There was this bald guy talking to all the VALKYRIE guys about all our awesome pranks, and then that no-good bastard Ugo showed up and they started slugging it out and moving towards a sewer grate. And then, you wouldn’t believe it… The bald guy turned into Conqueror Worm!”
That gave Alexis pause, then. He was here? “We… We should probably go somewhere else, then! If people out there are fighting, I want no part in it whatsoever… And you probably shouldn’t anger guys like that either.”
“I can’t just turn away from this, Alexis! I’m here to cheer you up, and that guy… When he helped kidnap you, that’s when you started to feel even worse! So, I’m going to roll up there, give him my fiercest look possible, and make him apologize for being mean to you.”
That… Wasn’t where Alexis was expecting Bucket to end that sentence, but it made her sigh, momentarily. Her mood was good and ruined now anyway by these revelations, and Bucket was suggesting something dangerous nonetheless. “Look, Bucket, not everybody is good-natured, okay? You can’t just walk up to somebody and-”
“But I will!” Bucket insisted, flexing. “Because I have the power of ‘the boogie’ on my side, don’t you get it? This will cheer you so far up! You don’t even need to come along if you don’t want, because I dunno I might punch Ugo a bit if he hits first! But either way, you will get your apology, I swear it!”
Then, Bucket ran off. To confront two very dangerous brick shithouses of men. In a sewer.
“He’s going to get himself killed…” Alexis felt awful now, standing and looking Southward. She could just leave, couldn’t she? Bucket even said he wasn’t expecting her to follow when it could turn into a fight… In the end, were humans not all fated to fall victim to their own mistakes, their own vices and eccentricities?
…I can’t just leave a friend like that, even if I’m feeling bad.
“Bucket!” Alexis called, beginning to run after him. “Wait up for me! I’m coming along too! Let’s… Get that apology!”
She was having to babysit the guy who came to help her out, now, was that it?
“Ghhgh, it’s a two-for-one special on the worst in the city, isn’t it?” Glitch complained, trailing Effie down a ladder into the sewers. “First we’re tailing Ugo, and then Mr. Jones, and now they’re fighting… I don’t even know who’s worse!”
“One’s a serial killer, and yeah super dangerous,” Effie pointed out, “and the other keeps getting a lot of other people killed with his own dangerous stupidity… Keeps causing us problems, and helped escalate that warzone. I don’t like being an enemy of ANVIL, Glitch… I really don’t.”
“Mmrhh… They’re gonna get a piece of our best attacks.”
The pair, then, touched ground, and Effie saw around them the signs of battle, of pieces of the ground seemingly terraformed, nicked, busted-up, and the sounds of clashing in the distance. Undoubtedly them.
Then, though, as they stepped forward, soon after, a pair literally dropped down behind them, one after the other, first a scarred, pompadoured idiot doing a cool roll, then a redheaded gymnast landing coolly not far behind.
“Wait a minute… Bucket? And, uh, that performer from that thing everyone liked… Alexis Williams?” Effie remarked, backing away a bit, trying to figure out the pair’s intentions. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know!” Alexis tilted her head, very blatant in how forced the chipper tone had become, especially by the nature of what she’d said next. “Losing control of my life, letting weird things get out of hand… But I’m here now. I’ve committed to my choice, and I hear sounds further back. So, Bucket! Let’s get a move-on, yeah? I don’t particularly care much for being in a sewer…”
Bucket, however, had been unmoving since he had begun to stand. Glitch, too, faced directly his way, allowing him to look her in the eye as a strange expression came over them both.
Effie and Alexis, then, were deeply confused, until Vida Loca appeared, and the sounds of beatboxing seemed to fill the air.
“Wh-” Effie was taken aback. “Glitch, we’ve got something going on here. You’re not seriously going to-”
“Hey fishman, the cat’s here to catch ya / Tiger ‘Glitch’ Ricky on the mic comin’ atcha / In a hotel or a diner or even a sewer / My rhymes gonna run you through like a skewer!”
This was physically painful for Alexis to watch. She covered her mouth as she prepared for Bucket to open his, well aware that half of their social circle was probably going to slap him for whatever came out.
“Name’s Bucket, B-U-C-K-E-T / Got beat but came back now with the Boogie! / Was chasin’ a killer but this fish can still school you / With my friend Alexis here, my rhymes’ll hit true!”
“…hit true?” Alexis couldn’t help but find that groan-inducingly hilarious, though her momentary joy, then, was cut short by the fact that Effie, meanwhile, was absolutely seething.
“C’mon, do this literally any other time!” She exasperatedly proclaimed, tugging at Glitch’s arm, “we can’t let those assholes get away, c’mon, you know we need to cut this out and-”
Bucket threw a fish at Effie’s face.
Everyone went silent, then, as it slid off and hit the ground, her own expression dry with displeasure.
“Did… Did you just throw a fish at me?”
“Yeah! Because you keep ruining the vibes!” Bucket huffed. “So cut it the hell out, or I will do it again!”
“Really now,” Effie said, keeping her hand by her slingshot and beginning to walk further Southward. “If you keep distracting us, I’ll have to get you out of our way.”
One of Bucket’s massive knives, then, was drawn, blade resting centimeters from Effie’s face. “Don’t threaten me, alright? That’s completely against the spirit of this.”
Glitch hissed, then, her own mood ruined, “hey! You can’t just pull a weapon on my friend like that, even if she’s being a spoilsport! That’s way over-the-line!”
As both sides fell back, not losing sight of the other as they attempted to pull away and regroup, it was clear that three-fourths of the quartet had been angered enough at one another in an instant that a fight was about to brew.
Alexis had been deliberately trying not to send out her Stand this entire time, wanting some semblance of mental distance from it after their disagreements had turned increasingly mean, her literal fighting with herself and grappling with her demons leaving her wanting absolutely none of this.
Bucket was about to get himself killed over, easily, the stupidest thing she had ever seen a fight start over.
This day has gone from sad to fun to the most frustrating I have ever seen… I tried to make a good day out of it, but here I am now. I can’t just abandon Bucket after he tried for me… But boy is he trying me.
OPEN THE GAME!
(Credit to CaptainSpooky27 for yet more awesome match art!)
Location: One of Los Fortuna’s sewer pathways, specifically far on the Northwestern outskirts of the town of Aurelio. These are one of the many entrances to the elaborate and interconnected underground networks of the city, though you’re in a pretty straightforward section of it that doesn’t branch off all that many surprising ways.
Not far South from here, but distant enough that it won’t ever affect this match, you can hear the sounds of a simultaneous battle between Mr. Jones and Ugo McBaise.
The area here is 63 meters by 33 meters with each tile being 3 by 3 meters. With TGS on the left and JHR on the right, represented by their character tokens.
The light grey tiles are the concrete paths, the darker grey tiles are the walls, and the blue tiles are sewer water. The walls are solid all the way through.
The sewer itself is actually relatively clean here, as clean as underground sewer water can be really. The water level is about 1 foot below the walkways and the water is 3 meters deep.
The ceiling is 4 meters above the walkways and the walkways have cheap metal guardrails between themselves and the water, as represented by the bolded outlines. The orange rectangles are the metal bridges between the walkways and the yellow circles are open manhole covers with light streaming through. The grey triangles are strange stalagmite-like protrusions, likely somehow created by Ugo and Jones’ fight. They match the same material as the stone walls, take up most of the walkway in width, and reach up to the ceiling.
Goal: RETIRE your opponents!
Additional Information: Logic is allowed to kill me(Kak) and both of the players who made me write this.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Judecca Highrollers	Bucket	"Are you mocking me? You went into the ground with your zipper? Are you copying me?" This whole thing has gotten so absolutely lame, that it’s killed your attempts to cheer your friend up and to have an awesome rap battle. So these guys are lame, and need to feel it! Make sure to find creative ways for your strategy to humiliate your opponents!
Judecca Highrollers	Alexis Williams	“You think that you can escape my punches when you're surrounded by walls of dirt?” Bucket’s gotten people into another frustrating situation by not thinking, huh? Well, you’ll get him out of this in one piece by using your head. Use this underground sewer environment to your advantage!
The Graveyard Shift	Effie Linder	“They say that sound reverberates better in liquids than in solids.” Seriously, Glitch? Seriously? Well, at least as long as you’re in this gnarly sewer, you can get something out of it by using your head. Use this underground sewer environment to your advantage!
The Graveyard Shift	Tiger “Glitch” Ricky	"Do you think you stand a chance against me by going underground?!" So now you and your opponents are going to be trying to one-up each other, huh? Bucket is an immensely clownable guy, dammit, and you were so hyped to do so verbally… Make sure to find creative ways for your strategy to humiliate your opponents!

Link to the Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
As always, if you would like to interact with the tournament community and be among the first to get updates for the tournament, please feel free to PM a member of our Judge staff for an invite to our Official Discord Server!