Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my stories.

Author's Note: This is a very different style of writing for me; something I've never tried before. Also be warned: it has a sad ending. I hope you like it anyway!

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A tremendous crash. The sound of cannon fire. Little Brad's eyes flew open at the sound. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and sat up cautiously. Looking around in the dark, he saw nothing. Screams erupted suddenly from outside. The sound made him jump, and he nearly rolled out of his bed. He sat motionless, waiting, listening. When there was no more sound, he reached slowly for the candle by his bed. In one slow, smooth motion, he lit the candle and lifted it. Roaring, evil laughter now shattered the silence, making him nearly drop the candle. He steadied his grip and slid out of his covers. His feet found his slippers on the ground, and he pulled on his robe from beside his bed. He made his way across the ground, his feet shuffling around in his oversized slippers. He was moving toward the window, he needed to see what was happening. Just as he reached it, more sounds of chaos drifted upward and pierced the night air. The firing of weapons. The screams of people. More roaring laughter. This time, the noise did not stop. It grew louder and closer, and Brad trembled where he stood, now afraid to peer out the window. More cannons. More shouts. The floor rattled and shook below him. Suddenly, a terrified voice screamed the word that would clear up everything, the word that could strike fear into his heart and tell him what was happening all at once. The word that he would loathe forever after this one second.

Pirates.

Before he could fully comprehend that his little island was being sacked, there was a pounding at his door. The noise was so loud, and rattled the ground so hard, that he dropped the candle. The wooden floor was instantly ablaze, and the room was illuminated in the night. Terrified, Brad stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, the fire seeming to surround him. He scrambled towards the door, clambering to his feet. At the same time, loud shouts and screams came from the lower floor of his house. Things were breaking. Loud crashing as the pirates raided his home and attacked his family. Gunshots going off. More screaming. After what felt like ages, Brad's hands clasped around the door handle. He swung it open and took off like a rocket. He ran across the wooden floors, slid onto the landing and began to descend the stairs. That's when he looked up, and saw his family lying on the floor, and a pirate standing almost directly in front of him. He screamed. Then, robe whirling, he spun around and ran, ran, ran.

And he almost made it. He was almost faster than the pirate. But he wasn't.

He felt a large hand grip the back of his robe, and the cold flesh brushed against his neck. The pirate spun him around and grabbed his shoulders, holding him in place. Brad looked into the man's eyes, and the pirate smiled and leaned close to Brad's face, so that he could feel his breath.

"Hey, there."

Brad screamed again and tried to escape, but he was held in place. It was that moment when he noticed the large club tucked into the man's coat. Before Brad could react, the club was drawn and Brad was stricken in the head. Then, blackness took him over.

The banging of pans woke Brad up. He was sweating, he noticed, and breathing hard.

20 years, he thought, and I still remember it like it was yesterday.

"UP! EVERYBODY UP!" The commander shouted, marching down the halls and banging pans together.

Brad chuckled softly. Commander was always loud. When he had first enlisted in the Marines, he had a headache every morning. With a yawn, he slid out of his bed and into his socks. He stood up and stretched, deciding he was ready for the day. He made his way over to the closet and quickly pulled on his uniform and shoes. As the commander marched by one last time, Brad was putting on his hat.

The morning was generally uneventful. The breakfast was good, he spent some time talking with his buddies, and then they all went out to patrol the base. Brad was particularly pleased that day, because his patrol partner was a close friend of his that he'd met when he first enlisted. As they were about to begin patrol, however, his friend looked at his belt.

"Uh-oh," he mumbled.

"What's the problem?" Brad glanced at him.

"The gun I received is empty. I need to go see the commander about some bullets," he replied, holding the gun up to prove his point.

"Okay then."

The two of them walked to the commander's office to request the supplies for the gun. The hallway was incredibly long, and it seemed to go on forever. Both of them were nervous, as the commander could be very short. Brad looked at the walls as they went along. They were all whitewashed. When bright sunlight shone through the windows, it could create an effect similar to snow blindness. Their shiny black shoes clacked on the time floor (also white) in unison as they marched to the office. They arrived at the large, wooden doors after a few minutes. Brad reached out and knocked loudly, three times. Almost immediately afterwards, the commander opened the door.

"What?"

"Well, um, sir…" Brad's friend began shyly, "The weapon I received, well, it… it's empty, sir. There are no bullets."

"I see," the commander mused, "One moment." He walked back into the office and sat down at his desk, which seemed very small compared to the enormous office (which was empty except for the desk, anyway). He made a call on his Den Den Mushi. The pair couldn't make out everything he was saying, but they got the feeling, and given the situation, that he was asking one of the Lieutenants to bring him some ammunition for the gun.

"There are some bullets on the way," he said gruffly, "now leave me alone." He slammed the door shut without another word.

Brad and his partner looked at each other and smiled, both relieved. They both had been secretly afraid that they would get in trouble for some reason or another. They supposed that the commander hadn't found one.

Soon enough, a skittish Lieutenant hurried up to them with the extra ammunition. Wordlessly, he handed it to them and scurried off. Brad helped his pal load the weapon, and then the two walked back down the very white hallway to their patrol spot. However, just as they arrived back, Brad's Den Den Mushi went off in his pocket. He quickly answered with the customary greeting.

"Mushi," he said.

"Brad! Hello!" A frantic voice shouted from the other line.

"Yes? What?"

"We're under attack! It's the famous pirate crew we've heard about! The Mugiwara!"

"What!?" Brad cried. He had indeed heard of them. A few of his friends from other bases were gone because of them. Suddenly, upon remembering his friends, he grew very angry, "where are they?" He cried into the phone, "Where?"

"Uh…" The voice on the other line became nervous at the anger in Brad's voice, "Um… Oh! On the second floor! All units must report down there immediately!"

"I'm coming!" Brad ended the transmission and crammed the Den Den Mushi back into his pocket. He turned to his partner, "Let's go."

The pair dashed down endless white hallways, making countless twists and turns along the way. After several minutes, they came to the stairs. Without a pause, the friends rushed downstairs to greet the Mugiwara Kaizoku. When they arrived on the second floor, they saw chaos.

Marines were running everywhere, gunshots were firing randomly, and loud shouts filled the air. He caught glimpses of the famed pirates. A gleaming sword. A slingshot. A stretching fist. Without hesitation, Brad leapt down to the floor from the stairs, where he was instantly lost in the swarm of Marines. He pulled his gun and held it up, ready to fire as soon as he locked on a target. He scanned the room for a clear shot, but couldn't find one at first. He waited patiently, but… success! He saw one of the pirates, an odd-looking man with blue hair wearing only an unbuttoned shirt and a Speedo, and aimed at him. However, just as he cocked the gun, the man disappeared. He was really beginning to realize why these pirates were so formidable. After all, as he looked around, he saw that they were winning. Against all of these Marines! He was in shock. Before he could think about it further, a flying Marine slammed into him, and he had the wind knocked out of him. As he began to regain his breath, though, he was punched straight in the nose by a creature that resembled a giant raccoon with a red hat. Again, before he could collect himself, someone kicked him in the back of the head with staggering force, sending him spinning across the room and crashing into a wall. Slowly, Brad stumbled to his feet, fully aware of his broken nose and painful headache. Refusing to give up, he shakily raised his gun again. When he looked through, he saw a fist from an impossibly long arm coming directly for his face.

The pain didn't last much longer, as Brad was slowly enveloped in a world of black from which he would never return.