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Canon: KHR
Summary: Next part of the sprawling Mukuro fic; Mukuro tracks down someone for information and gets waaaay more than he'd bargained for.
He started in a younger host - one that had lived through a massacre because he'd been a few years younger than Mukuro, a frightened child that had yet to grow into Mafia like his family at the time. The Vongola had adopted him, and while he wasn't allowed anywhere restricted, he had relative run of the less secure areas... Free enough that he knew from a couple incidents of watching that many of the older Vongola told him stories. He hadn't paid much attention before; now it was useful, with a small gamble on wandering certain areas listening in on things until he saw the old man from yesterday, eating lunch by an oddly Japanese koi pond in the courtyard.
He walked over, nodding to the old man in acknowledgement, sitting by the pond to watch the fish; there were a few that were a good three feet, well kept enough that they either were brought in grown, or the pond had been there a long time.
"Lovely, aren't they?".
Jackpot. He looked up with a nod, expression unsure.
"I remember feeding them when I was small, just after I was first brought here...the First had it built, as a gift for his homesick Rain Guardian, and that a couple of the fish here today are from the original few." A tie like that would explain why the First had descendants in Japan. He nodded, shifting on the side of the pond to listen better; the old man turned, although he was watching the fish wistfully. "It was so long ago... I ran into the Rain Guardian at the time here. Didn't know who she was, just that she was someone important and she looked sad, so I went and got flowers from one of the flowerbeds. She said this place reminded her of her grandfather."
A bit of mental plotting of age ranges; from overheard bits, the last two bosses had broken some kind of streak of short life expectancies - all of the Ninth's guardians were men, which meant the Eighth Generation, who'd been through World War II from the bits yesterday.
"I wonder what they would say now…"
"Hm?" His small noise interrupted the thoughtful moment; definitely something odd about the factional split, here.
"Ah - it's nothing that important; people are people, they fight sometimes. I'm sure the Ninth will straighten it out." The old man gave him a gentle hairruffle, and it took a moment of conscious thought to not pull away from it - that would apparently be expected and normal, and he didn't really want to draw suspicion based on his own behavior. There was a pause - the moment of flinch had been noticed - and the man folded his hands in his lap carefully. "Sorry about that; I was smaller when I ended up here, more time to adjust to not having to be afraid anymore."
He settled sitting on the railing, keeping outwardly neutral while he poked at that puzzle, another question after a pause to push things back a more useful direction. "How long have you been here?"
"Almost sixty years… my mother fled Czechoslovakia with me, but took ill while we were running - we had nothing and were on the streets. A few Vongola people found us as she was dying, and she begged them to take me; they brought me back to Italy with them, and I grew up with the other orphans and rescues. A good number of the people here came here that way - it's an old tradition, makes sure the people at the headquarters have perspective; the Eighth said she wasn't sure if it was entirely intentional on her grandfather's part or just something that happened because of his tendency to adopt people that worked."
"You knew her?" Awe and interest; that was what he wanted to chase - that was the direction to find who might know what that weapon is.
The old man chuckled. "Not well, but they spent time with the kids here when they could, and the Ninth used to look after the younger kids, or stay with us when she had to be away from the base and couldn't take him with her. She was tough as nails and twice as sharp, dangerous to cross, but all of it was aimed at what was right; protecting the weak, helping others, fighting those who'd abuse power. When I was little, she was helping rebuild the parts of Italy the government forgets, and would send people where she could to help people fleeing the Iron Curtain. She was kept busy, but some of her Guardians would take days off just to help with the kids here.". He was staring off into the trees, lost in bits of memory for a few minutes; Mukuro stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. "They're mostly gone, now, old age and hard lives; Renee retired in the village, visits when he can, though the last few years it's been more some of us visiting him than him being able to make the trip."
There was what he needed - a name, an area, enough clues that when he host-jumped he could track down someone who'd know what the weapon they were smuggling out was; he ended up spending a good couple hours by the fishpond after, lacking any good graceful way to leave - not that listening to stories was useless; he came out of it knowing a good bit of the usual routine and general history of the last few decades, at least as much as someone that'd lived there would've seen and known, and enough to have an idea what the normal patterns would be. No major information, but little things, the sort where watching for where they were disturbed or what was setting patterns would outline the larger things.
He took some time after that to just duck around and check things to find out where his old Eight Generation guardian was; by that point, it was afternoon, and about timed to have a good direction to go for that particular meeting - older teenager, still young enough to not draw much attention but old enough that more serious subjects wouldn't be too out of the ordinary. Some of the kids they'd adopted went to the small school in town and lived outside the main building, and from what he'd managed to find, Renee had settled not far from the school.
Catch the potential-host on the way out of the school, and just make sure the way back went past the old Guardian's house. He lived basically alone, although there were apparently a good number of people from the headquarters that would visit and help out; the visits had been thinned out some by the current conflict, which meant good odds he could drop by without someone else paying attention.
It was a bright, sunny, hot day, clear skies with light breezes; someone visiting would likely think there was nothing wrong at all with the tiny village, an idyllic little retreat from the rest of the world. It was clear enough to him how much the village's existence was tied to the Vongola headquarters from the number of people on the street, civilians, were uneasy or on edge; some combination of how much the Vongola owned the town, and how aware the people were, that tensions in the Family's headquarters would put the normal folk on edge.
The house itself was easy enough to find - not a huge house, and only one story, with a large back yard that had a short fence, flowers and flowering trees out front of a veranda that went the length of the front of the house. It seemed like a good enough guess that the one old, thin, white-haired figure sitting on the porch with a book was the one he was looking for; he was quietly mentally cursing how little time he'd had for any kind of preparation to have a guess how to approach when the man looked up, a much more obviously quizzical look.
"How to approach this" got answered for him a second or two later. "You don't need to stand all the way over there, I don't bite." Renee settled the book in his lap, waving Mukuro over; he walked up onto the porch, still unsure of this whole thing, and was waved to the other chair on the porch, on the other side of a small table. It was comfortable, peaceful, and Mukuro knew it was far below the means of what he likely could've managed; no sign of interest in any displays of luxury. For how old he had to be, he wasn't doing that badly; frail, skin gathered and wrinkled in patches of old habit and age and wear with basically just enough weight to not be too alarming between it and bone, but he was also at least ninety by Mukuro's best estimate of history, blue eyes still clear and alert, and he was settled and relaxed in his chair. "Was there some kind of party I missed the invitation for? It's gotten awfully quiet."
"I don't know… there's been a lot of security keeping people out of the keep." He fidgetted, frowning with a look off toward the wall further across town.
"I wonder who blew what up this time." He sighed, sounding more boredly curious than worried, finger running around the rim of a wine glass. "Good to see that you haven't forgotten one bored old man, in all the excitement, Gennaro."
Crap. "Why would I? I mean, this is probably one of the best places to be right now, and I'd rather have your stories than guns pointed at me."
"That bad, eh?" There was something about that smile that had Mukuro wanting to upgrade the level of 'this is not a good place to be right now'; even worse, there was some usual traffic of people coming and going out of earshot on the street - people that would notice if something odd happened, even if it was just him finding some excuse to hurry off. "Well, I can't say I blame you, I know I'd rather be out here with the garden than in there. How's practice been?"
…Renee was just a shade too happy about this, and Mukuro was getting the suspicion he'd been caught out by someone much more annoying about it than the Ninth had been. "It's been good!" Oh god, was it sports practice? Music? Something else? "I've been getting ahead of most of the others." He leaned an elbow on the table, watching the flowers; he needed a subject change, and now. "How have you been? The people helping haven't been forgetting you, have they?"
Now that was the kind of impish smile that was more than enough for Mukuro to know he'd just messed up somewhere in that. "Oh, nothing you need to worry about; my mind may not be what it once was, but I'm not going to keel over if someone forgets to check in on me for one night."
A bomb going off somewhere down the street would be nice. Freak meteor. Something. He could do "normal teenager" well enough usually, but he'd picked the wrong host on incredibly short notice and the old bastard knew; he kept the tangent out of the way, just giving a relieved smile. "Sorry; I just worry sometimes - no telling what might happen on an off day, and you've been confusing things lately."
Renee just smiled a little brighter, leaning his chin on one hand. "What kind of 'off day' are we talking? 'Put the sugar in the salt bowl' off, 'girlfriend caught me cheating' off, or 'someone mysteriously lit the gas line' off?"
He was beginning to wonder if maybe there'd be a few more reasons for Renee to expect someone trying to off him than just 'ex leadership of the most powerful Mafia Family in existence'. "I was thinking accidents, I don't know why anyone would want to kill you."
That got a laugh, as if this were the greatest game in the world. "Ah, it's been a while since I've heard things like that - why, you're starting to remind me of my dearest Rosa."
Either there was more of some old Vongola's love life than he ever wanted to know, or there was a jab there of the 'I've seen this game before' sort that would make Mukuro's life so much more complicated; he wasn't going to give up the 'this is normal conversation and joking' act so easily himself. "I really hope not, I'd look horrible in a dress."
"So did he - but that was mostly fussing and arguing." That grin got a little more intent in ways Mukuro didn't like. "But seriously, Rokudou, to what do I owe the pleasure of one of the underworld's biggest bogeymen of the day dropping by to visit?" Still acting like it was some kind of game.
Technically speaking, with his current bargain, this wasn't an enemy … and thanks to street traffic, he still didn't have a graceful way out, or any hope of any kind of charade. Mukuro's smile tipped a little more strained and irritated as he closed his eyes, brows knitting. "I have a bargain with one of the Tenth Generation candidates; I'm attempting to keep my side of that bargain." When he opened his eyes, the right one was red, the six kanji showing in it; no reason to bother hiding that when nobody on the street would be able to see it anyway. "When did you figure it out?"
"When 'you' didn't go bounding up the steps to get a drink out of the kitchen. Also being here this early on a day when there's choir practice, and you know, first suspect at a time like this with someone who's had a close call with an illusionist…" He waved forward lazily, the logic from there simple. "I'd wonder about your story, but, well, Xanxus. Bright kid, really, could be better, took all the wrong lessons, and he's not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is right now. But, what would I know…I'm just a retired, half-senile old man with a garden." He settled back in his chair, unconcerned with who he was talking to, sipping on his wine.
His cover was well and truly blown; may as well see what he could find out. "They were shipping something out, an old weapon; I couldn't get close enough to tell much, but there was a name, and something said about your people." Some of the smile faded, and Renee's eyes flickered back over to him. "I need to know what it is before it's aimed at us… it was called the 'Mosca'."
The smile vanished, and Renee set his wine down tiredly. "I wonder how he found out about that." The sheer amount of bitter flat was a sharp contrast to a few minutes ago, and he noticed that while the old man hadn't moved, he was watching the people going by; mind not what it used to be, really. "It's a robot, of sorts. Looks like a tall, broad armored figure; bullets don't pierce it, and it's treated with something that will resist most other things. There's a bunch of different weapons built into it, enough that one turned loose could level a good part of this town by itself, and it's powered by Dying Will Flames; they'd been experimenting on captives. I don't remember the details, but it draws off some victim trapped inside it, and follows whatever orders its given." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, burying his face in one hand for a moment, mumbling something in French that Mukuro didn't manage to catch at all. "Reborn's over there, right?"
"Yes. He's the tutor for the other candidate."
Renee nodded quietly, hands folding in his lap over his book. "Well, he's more likely than most to come up with a way to bring that down without too much loss of life. It took two of us going full-power to contain the damage and bring it down, and even then, we weren't able to save the prisoner that was locked in it." Mukuro nodded; with what else he'd seen, that made some disturbing possible points. "Your host - how is he?"
Mukuro shrugged. "Asleep; he won't remember any of this." It was true; he had no reason to do anything unnecessary.
"How bad is it, in the base?"
"…Locked down; some areas are closed off entirely, but they're trying to avoid it looking like anything odd is going on - it's being passed off as increased security after 'an attempt on the Ninth's life'." He paused, glancing to the street himself. "The Ninth isn't there; he was taken a few days ago - they have someone mimicking him to throw off suspicion."
The old man frowned, then shook his head quietly, picking his book back up. "Not much for one old man to do right now, then; I do thank you for the company." Wry and tired; Mukuro nodded - if nothing else he'd found a contact, albeit one that was potentially much more observant than he was comfortable with on some things, but still useful, in the current situation. "I do hope this bargain of yours works out - I'd rather have you as a friend than an enemy, and we might need all the help we can get."
Mukuro nodded, standing to go; there were a list of other problems, now, including having to deal with some old dictator's superweapon, and high odds of another layer to it that bothered him.
Summary: Next part of the sprawling Mukuro fic; Mukuro tracks down someone for information and gets waaaay more than he'd bargained for.
He started in a younger host - one that had lived through a massacre because he'd been a few years younger than Mukuro, a frightened child that had yet to grow into Mafia like his family at the time. The Vongola had adopted him, and while he wasn't allowed anywhere restricted, he had relative run of the less secure areas... Free enough that he knew from a couple incidents of watching that many of the older Vongola told him stories. He hadn't paid much attention before; now it was useful, with a small gamble on wandering certain areas listening in on things until he saw the old man from yesterday, eating lunch by an oddly Japanese koi pond in the courtyard.
He walked over, nodding to the old man in acknowledgement, sitting by the pond to watch the fish; there were a few that were a good three feet, well kept enough that they either were brought in grown, or the pond had been there a long time.
"Lovely, aren't they?".
Jackpot. He looked up with a nod, expression unsure.
"I remember feeding them when I was small, just after I was first brought here...the First had it built, as a gift for his homesick Rain Guardian, and that a couple of the fish here today are from the original few." A tie like that would explain why the First had descendants in Japan. He nodded, shifting on the side of the pond to listen better; the old man turned, although he was watching the fish wistfully. "It was so long ago... I ran into the Rain Guardian at the time here. Didn't know who she was, just that she was someone important and she looked sad, so I went and got flowers from one of the flowerbeds. She said this place reminded her of her grandfather."
A bit of mental plotting of age ranges; from overheard bits, the last two bosses had broken some kind of streak of short life expectancies - all of the Ninth's guardians were men, which meant the Eighth Generation, who'd been through World War II from the bits yesterday.
"I wonder what they would say now…"
"Hm?" His small noise interrupted the thoughtful moment; definitely something odd about the factional split, here.
"Ah - it's nothing that important; people are people, they fight sometimes. I'm sure the Ninth will straighten it out." The old man gave him a gentle hairruffle, and it took a moment of conscious thought to not pull away from it - that would apparently be expected and normal, and he didn't really want to draw suspicion based on his own behavior. There was a pause - the moment of flinch had been noticed - and the man folded his hands in his lap carefully. "Sorry about that; I was smaller when I ended up here, more time to adjust to not having to be afraid anymore."
He settled sitting on the railing, keeping outwardly neutral while he poked at that puzzle, another question after a pause to push things back a more useful direction. "How long have you been here?"
"Almost sixty years… my mother fled Czechoslovakia with me, but took ill while we were running - we had nothing and were on the streets. A few Vongola people found us as she was dying, and she begged them to take me; they brought me back to Italy with them, and I grew up with the other orphans and rescues. A good number of the people here came here that way - it's an old tradition, makes sure the people at the headquarters have perspective; the Eighth said she wasn't sure if it was entirely intentional on her grandfather's part or just something that happened because of his tendency to adopt people that worked."
"You knew her?" Awe and interest; that was what he wanted to chase - that was the direction to find who might know what that weapon is.
The old man chuckled. "Not well, but they spent time with the kids here when they could, and the Ninth used to look after the younger kids, or stay with us when she had to be away from the base and couldn't take him with her. She was tough as nails and twice as sharp, dangerous to cross, but all of it was aimed at what was right; protecting the weak, helping others, fighting those who'd abuse power. When I was little, she was helping rebuild the parts of Italy the government forgets, and would send people where she could to help people fleeing the Iron Curtain. She was kept busy, but some of her Guardians would take days off just to help with the kids here.". He was staring off into the trees, lost in bits of memory for a few minutes; Mukuro stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. "They're mostly gone, now, old age and hard lives; Renee retired in the village, visits when he can, though the last few years it's been more some of us visiting him than him being able to make the trip."
There was what he needed - a name, an area, enough clues that when he host-jumped he could track down someone who'd know what the weapon they were smuggling out was; he ended up spending a good couple hours by the fishpond after, lacking any good graceful way to leave - not that listening to stories was useless; he came out of it knowing a good bit of the usual routine and general history of the last few decades, at least as much as someone that'd lived there would've seen and known, and enough to have an idea what the normal patterns would be. No major information, but little things, the sort where watching for where they were disturbed or what was setting patterns would outline the larger things.
He took some time after that to just duck around and check things to find out where his old Eight Generation guardian was; by that point, it was afternoon, and about timed to have a good direction to go for that particular meeting - older teenager, still young enough to not draw much attention but old enough that more serious subjects wouldn't be too out of the ordinary. Some of the kids they'd adopted went to the small school in town and lived outside the main building, and from what he'd managed to find, Renee had settled not far from the school.
Catch the potential-host on the way out of the school, and just make sure the way back went past the old Guardian's house. He lived basically alone, although there were apparently a good number of people from the headquarters that would visit and help out; the visits had been thinned out some by the current conflict, which meant good odds he could drop by without someone else paying attention.
It was a bright, sunny, hot day, clear skies with light breezes; someone visiting would likely think there was nothing wrong at all with the tiny village, an idyllic little retreat from the rest of the world. It was clear enough to him how much the village's existence was tied to the Vongola headquarters from the number of people on the street, civilians, were uneasy or on edge; some combination of how much the Vongola owned the town, and how aware the people were, that tensions in the Family's headquarters would put the normal folk on edge.
The house itself was easy enough to find - not a huge house, and only one story, with a large back yard that had a short fence, flowers and flowering trees out front of a veranda that went the length of the front of the house. It seemed like a good enough guess that the one old, thin, white-haired figure sitting on the porch with a book was the one he was looking for; he was quietly mentally cursing how little time he'd had for any kind of preparation to have a guess how to approach when the man looked up, a much more obviously quizzical look.
"How to approach this" got answered for him a second or two later. "You don't need to stand all the way over there, I don't bite." Renee settled the book in his lap, waving Mukuro over; he walked up onto the porch, still unsure of this whole thing, and was waved to the other chair on the porch, on the other side of a small table. It was comfortable, peaceful, and Mukuro knew it was far below the means of what he likely could've managed; no sign of interest in any displays of luxury. For how old he had to be, he wasn't doing that badly; frail, skin gathered and wrinkled in patches of old habit and age and wear with basically just enough weight to not be too alarming between it and bone, but he was also at least ninety by Mukuro's best estimate of history, blue eyes still clear and alert, and he was settled and relaxed in his chair. "Was there some kind of party I missed the invitation for? It's gotten awfully quiet."
"I don't know… there's been a lot of security keeping people out of the keep." He fidgetted, frowning with a look off toward the wall further across town.
"I wonder who blew what up this time." He sighed, sounding more boredly curious than worried, finger running around the rim of a wine glass. "Good to see that you haven't forgotten one bored old man, in all the excitement, Gennaro."
Crap. "Why would I? I mean, this is probably one of the best places to be right now, and I'd rather have your stories than guns pointed at me."
"That bad, eh?" There was something about that smile that had Mukuro wanting to upgrade the level of 'this is not a good place to be right now'; even worse, there was some usual traffic of people coming and going out of earshot on the street - people that would notice if something odd happened, even if it was just him finding some excuse to hurry off. "Well, I can't say I blame you, I know I'd rather be out here with the garden than in there. How's practice been?"
…Renee was just a shade too happy about this, and Mukuro was getting the suspicion he'd been caught out by someone much more annoying about it than the Ninth had been. "It's been good!" Oh god, was it sports practice? Music? Something else? "I've been getting ahead of most of the others." He leaned an elbow on the table, watching the flowers; he needed a subject change, and now. "How have you been? The people helping haven't been forgetting you, have they?"
Now that was the kind of impish smile that was more than enough for Mukuro to know he'd just messed up somewhere in that. "Oh, nothing you need to worry about; my mind may not be what it once was, but I'm not going to keel over if someone forgets to check in on me for one night."
A bomb going off somewhere down the street would be nice. Freak meteor. Something. He could do "normal teenager" well enough usually, but he'd picked the wrong host on incredibly short notice and the old bastard knew; he kept the tangent out of the way, just giving a relieved smile. "Sorry; I just worry sometimes - no telling what might happen on an off day, and you've been confusing things lately."
Renee just smiled a little brighter, leaning his chin on one hand. "What kind of 'off day' are we talking? 'Put the sugar in the salt bowl' off, 'girlfriend caught me cheating' off, or 'someone mysteriously lit the gas line' off?"
He was beginning to wonder if maybe there'd be a few more reasons for Renee to expect someone trying to off him than just 'ex leadership of the most powerful Mafia Family in existence'. "I was thinking accidents, I don't know why anyone would want to kill you."
That got a laugh, as if this were the greatest game in the world. "Ah, it's been a while since I've heard things like that - why, you're starting to remind me of my dearest Rosa."
Either there was more of some old Vongola's love life than he ever wanted to know, or there was a jab there of the 'I've seen this game before' sort that would make Mukuro's life so much more complicated; he wasn't going to give up the 'this is normal conversation and joking' act so easily himself. "I really hope not, I'd look horrible in a dress."
"So did he - but that was mostly fussing and arguing." That grin got a little more intent in ways Mukuro didn't like. "But seriously, Rokudou, to what do I owe the pleasure of one of the underworld's biggest bogeymen of the day dropping by to visit?" Still acting like it was some kind of game.
Technically speaking, with his current bargain, this wasn't an enemy … and thanks to street traffic, he still didn't have a graceful way out, or any hope of any kind of charade. Mukuro's smile tipped a little more strained and irritated as he closed his eyes, brows knitting. "I have a bargain with one of the Tenth Generation candidates; I'm attempting to keep my side of that bargain." When he opened his eyes, the right one was red, the six kanji showing in it; no reason to bother hiding that when nobody on the street would be able to see it anyway. "When did you figure it out?"
"When 'you' didn't go bounding up the steps to get a drink out of the kitchen. Also being here this early on a day when there's choir practice, and you know, first suspect at a time like this with someone who's had a close call with an illusionist…" He waved forward lazily, the logic from there simple. "I'd wonder about your story, but, well, Xanxus. Bright kid, really, could be better, took all the wrong lessons, and he's not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is right now. But, what would I know…I'm just a retired, half-senile old man with a garden." He settled back in his chair, unconcerned with who he was talking to, sipping on his wine.
His cover was well and truly blown; may as well see what he could find out. "They were shipping something out, an old weapon; I couldn't get close enough to tell much, but there was a name, and something said about your people." Some of the smile faded, and Renee's eyes flickered back over to him. "I need to know what it is before it's aimed at us… it was called the 'Mosca'."
The smile vanished, and Renee set his wine down tiredly. "I wonder how he found out about that." The sheer amount of bitter flat was a sharp contrast to a few minutes ago, and he noticed that while the old man hadn't moved, he was watching the people going by; mind not what it used to be, really. "It's a robot, of sorts. Looks like a tall, broad armored figure; bullets don't pierce it, and it's treated with something that will resist most other things. There's a bunch of different weapons built into it, enough that one turned loose could level a good part of this town by itself, and it's powered by Dying Will Flames; they'd been experimenting on captives. I don't remember the details, but it draws off some victim trapped inside it, and follows whatever orders its given." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, burying his face in one hand for a moment, mumbling something in French that Mukuro didn't manage to catch at all. "Reborn's over there, right?"
"Yes. He's the tutor for the other candidate."
Renee nodded quietly, hands folding in his lap over his book. "Well, he's more likely than most to come up with a way to bring that down without too much loss of life. It took two of us going full-power to contain the damage and bring it down, and even then, we weren't able to save the prisoner that was locked in it." Mukuro nodded; with what else he'd seen, that made some disturbing possible points. "Your host - how is he?"
Mukuro shrugged. "Asleep; he won't remember any of this." It was true; he had no reason to do anything unnecessary.
"How bad is it, in the base?"
"…Locked down; some areas are closed off entirely, but they're trying to avoid it looking like anything odd is going on - it's being passed off as increased security after 'an attempt on the Ninth's life'." He paused, glancing to the street himself. "The Ninth isn't there; he was taken a few days ago - they have someone mimicking him to throw off suspicion."
The old man frowned, then shook his head quietly, picking his book back up. "Not much for one old man to do right now, then; I do thank you for the company." Wry and tired; Mukuro nodded - if nothing else he'd found a contact, albeit one that was potentially much more observant than he was comfortable with on some things, but still useful, in the current situation. "I do hope this bargain of yours works out - I'd rather have you as a friend than an enemy, and we might need all the help we can get."
Mukuro nodded, standing to go; there were a list of other problems, now, including having to deal with some old dictator's superweapon, and high odds of another layer to it that bothered him.
