He pulled it at a shop in Fresno on a Tuesday, from the third pack of a box he opened over the counter with his brother's kid standing beside him. The illustration ran edge to edge — over the title, over the rules box, over everything. He held it up to the fluorescent light for a long moment and said, quietly, holy hell.

He never did learn what it did. It went into a top-loader, then a binder, then a second binder bought for it alone. When the boy asked what the card was for, he explained the print run, the population report, the resale comps. The boy asked again what it did. He said it didn't matter, and for nine dollars bought him a pack of his own.