The Disambiguation of Insanity
A One Piece collection.
Summary: This is a collection of one shots about the characters from One Piece suffering from various stages of insanity. From major to minor characters, reviewer's pick to author's creation, experience the different forms of madness a mind can possess.
Warning: Rated T for cursing, insanity, blood, death, and gore. If you cannot handle a little violence or gore, do not continue. This is not for the faint of heart.
Chapter One: He's Hungry—Sanji
Insanity is a spectrum of behaviors characterized by certain abnormal mental or behavioral patterns. A person may become a danger to themselves or others.
Insanity has many concoctions, like any worthy alchemist would be capable of making. It has a peculiar ability to morph into our darkest and deepest fears, overriding the brain with the necessity to survive from whatever delusion it produces. It's funny, how the hallucinations seem more human than the one experiencing them.
The impeccable thing about insanity is it's not traceable. You can't simply glance at a person and deduce they are held within the clutches of their madness. That was the very downfall of the Mugiwara crew, when they could not see the very tendrils of insanity snaking around their cook.
It began with just a box of cigarettes. King Ground, the usual brand he enjoyed wasting his life to. There was nothing particularly wrong with this certain box; the logo was in its usual place, the acclaimed number of its contents still the same. It still began as tip of the iceberg that split the entire structure down the middle. How exactly did it do this?
There wasn't enough cigarettes. There was never enough to ease him.
Five hours of sleep a night doesn't exactly tune the body like a well-oiled machine. There's little kinks, especially developed in the brain that begin to wear down on the system as a whole. Certain lobes of the brain, unable to get their rest to regenerate cells, shut down completely, giving free reign to one of the deadliest forms of insanity.
Hallucinations.
Sanji did well, hiding it. He always went to bed late after a long day of cooking, taking inventory, and cleaning, only to get up again at the same time to start making an elegant breakfast for the crew. No time in the course of these events did that pattern stop, allowing his nakama to be ill-prepared for its repercussions.
The hallucinations didn't start until after Thriller Bark. But once they started, it came swift and it enraptured his brain, specifically in the areas that were unable to regenerate the productive cells. The cook was so unaware, so unable to process what was going inside of him that he just left his motions to a mechanism; that would allow him to carry out his routine without much thought.
So at 5 o'clock, like any normal day, almost five hours after he went to sleep, he gets up from his hammock and begins to dress. Hardly a thought was casted on the process. The physical mechanics of his body worked flawlessly, sliding one leg and then another into his pants, threading his belt through the loops, working the buttons through the holes of his shirt. He was almost out the door before he took a breath.
His brain sluggishly commuted each action, but his body, so aware of the wait, adapted to the changes and made him feel as if he was working at the same speed as before—only he wasn't. And as a result, when he pushed the galley door open, the hallucinations began to play.
"Shit…"
The word was a subconscious reaction to the sight in front of him. Attentively, he took a step forward, and the door swung shut behind him.
His kitchen, his beautifully crafted kitchen, was stained in thick blood. Darkness saturated every corner, and soaked up the blood, making it appear as one big puddle of sludge beneath his feet. The floor was more covered than anything else, like someone or something decided to bleed out on the kitchen floor.
"What an idiot…"
His first thoughts lie on the idiot Marimo, whose injuries led to his collapse at the previous island. Gritting his teeth, he took another step, feeling the liquid suckle at the soles of his shoes. What a way to go—bleeding out on a late night trip for booze.
"Oi. Marimo. You in here?"
The moment he pursued the idea of Zoro really laying in his kitchen dying, the hallucinations took full control. Maybe if he would have turned and left, sensed the trap, things would be different for the Straw Hats.
It was nearly pitch black in the room. He couldn't search for his nakama without falling over, so shuffling over to the wall, hearing the blood slosh at his boots, he searches for the light switch. He couldn't find it. He knew the kitchen like the back of his hand, so he was positive the light switch was here—but every time he waved his hand across the wall, he only met smooth and unmarred surface.
"What the hell. Is Franky fucking with me?"
Some people can tell when the insanity plagues their minds. Others, like our poor Sanji, were incapable of admitting something was wrong; and this stubbornness ultimately leads to their downfall.
He groped the wall, but no switch turned up, and when he found his way back to the door in the intent of opening it to the twilight, he found it too was uncharacteristically missing.
It's not Usopp's birthday. So what the fuck?
His mind couldn't process an explanation because the insanity didn't want to give him one. It wanted to draw him closer into its grip, and manipulate him like a puppet.
Not particularly frightened by such an unusual occurrence, Sanji withdrew his lighter from his pocket, and flipped it open, clicking the flame to life. The illumination was poor, but it was an improvement, allowing him to see a small circle of the room around his person. Even as he held the light above the blood, the surface did not change from black—maybe his assumption was incorrect.
"Marimo?"
He swung the light around, checking beneath the table and around the bar; along the walls and in the pantry; but nowhere was the green idiot to be seen, and whatever liquid that starched the floor was beginning to seep into Sanji's shoes.
"What is this shit…?" He grumbled, bending down to wipe off a particularly nasty splurge of it. The madness saw the weakness, and took it, starting as the heavy pounding of his heart in his chest; and instead of cleaning off the shoe, it directed his hand to dip into the liquid.
It felt so good.
Sanji chuckled, although he's unsure why he did. He normally would never plunge both his hands into an unknown substance, but he did—because Sanji wasn't quite Sanji anymore. It felt like dough around his fingers, and as he kneaded it his heart thrummed louder. It was exciting, being in the dark, especially now that his lighter was lost to the unknown liquid when he had dove his palms into it. All thoughts of Zoro were gone—especially when he climbed to his feet, and saw Zeff sitting on his countertop.
There was a bunch of differences in his memory and the image that stood before him, but that part of the brain was under the influence of his waxing madness, and couldn't make the connection. Yes, this Zeff was missing a leg; but the peg that had replaced it was gone. Instead, the stub was wrapped up in an old moth bitten cloth, the black sludge dripping from it to the floor.
As Sanji raised his eyes from the amputation, his mouth cotton dry, he next noticed the sharp draw of his features, something his body easily akin to starvation by the way his body aches at the sight. Further up was his wilted mustache hastily escaping the braids, and his eyes—gauged out, but still staring at the cook as if they were still there.
Blood was furiously pumping in his veins, not giving him time to ask questions like why and how. Instead, insanity gave him an answer. The wrong one.
This is normal. It said. Just talk to him.
Heh. Sanji had to catch himself from rolling his eyes, although he was unsure if Zeff could even see him.
Raising a hand to greet his old mentor, he could feel the dark liquid roll down his fingertips—just like it was fleeing from Zeff's wound.
"Uh, hey shitty geezer." Physically, he felt like he could launch through the ceiling, he was suddenly blessed with so much energy; but that energy was gained because one part of his brain began to eat another in order to sustain normal function. "What are you doing here with your… yeah."
His brain said it was normal, so it must be normal, no matter how not normal it seemed. Maybe he just couldn't remember right.
"I'm starving."
Sanji wasn't expecting that sort of reaction, but instantly his mind fled to the shitty rock, and the sense of starvation gnawed at the pit of his stomach. His mentor was hungry—and he would feed him.
Rolling up his sleeves in preparation, Sanji asked. "What do you want old man. I can cook you anything."
Zeff chuckled, his head cocking a little too obscene for his short neck, causing the cook's heart to skip a beat.
"You can't."
Sanji's attitude, not affected by the part of his head his insanity was conquering, scoffed. "One hell of a job you did, if you don't think I can cook."
The dripping of the black sludge was beginning to match the beat of the Sanji's heart, until he couldn't be sure which sound he was hearing.
"You can cook. But not everything." The old man corrected, thumping the thigh of his amputated leg against the counter. "Not yet anyway."
The blond could sense a challenge from his former mentor when he saw one. This was another one of those shitty lesson that he had to prove himself worthy, so he could rub it in the old geezers face afterwards. Challenge accepted. No matter the risk.
"All right old shit. Teach me."
Zeff raised a finger, to halt the boy, showing it was not time yet. "You don't have all the ingredients yet."
His student huffed. It was almost how it used to be—minus the darkness and the fact that his teacher was without eyes, on a ship he's never seen in person, in a pool of some strange black substance that may or may not be blood.
"Then what the hell do I need. You're wasting my time." He was ready to anything, his body becoming so restless. His mind, trying to keep up with the sudden burst of energy, churned harder, unintentionally turning off the switches that made Sanji, Sanji in the process.
Some hallucinations worked like this, manipulating both the physical and mental fields, forming one of the most deadly combinations.
"Hold on eggplant. You need one of your nakama. They will help."
The cook didn't need to be told twice. He was off to the boys bunk without a second thought, the door mysteriously reappearing when he sought for it. He woke up the first person he saw—Usopp.
"Hah…?" Usopp groaned, his body curled up in his blanket as Sanji kicked the hammock.
"Get up." He hissed. "I need your help."
He couldn't explain why, but he really wanted to learn what Zeff had to teach him. He really, really did.
"It's early Sanji…" The sniper slurred, his head drooping back into the pillow, but a particular hard kick made him yelp and fall from the hammock with a snap.
"I said get up. Come on."
By the time he drug Usopp from the boys bunk, sunlight was beginning to filter over the horizon. Cursing softly to himself, he quickly pulled him into the galley, afraid Zeff might disappear with the darkness. To remedy this, he pulled his jacket off and used it as a curtain for the window, deleting any light that might've escaped into the room.
"I brought him shitty geezer. Now what?" Usopp hesitantly followed behind him as he approached the counter.
"U-um, Sanji?" Sanji shushed him when Zeff rubbed a hand to his chin.
"Awful scrawny—but for practice he will do." Humming in thought, he thrust a head in the direction of the cabinet.
"Get a butcher's knife. Remember which one that is?"
The cook snorted. "Yes I do bastard. What am I, five?"
Usopp lifted a finger to ask a question, but he went ignored as Sanji looped around the bar to grab the desired kitchen utensil. Eagerly, he returned back to his mentor. The sniper trembled a little at his odd behavior.
"Now, you have to drain the blood. It's no use if it's full of it."
Slowly, Sanji's eyes turned to Usopp, who squeaks at the unfamiliar glint in his eyes. "What exactly are we cooking old man."
Zeff rubbed the stub of his leg, the black liquid staining his hand. "Human of course. You haven't learned how to do that. That's what I'm hungry for. I'm starving."
Those words snapped something inside of Sanji. He couldn't dare let Zeff suffer another minute of that horrible disease, not after being through it once and probably numerous times before that. He just couldn't do nothing.
"S-Sanji…?" Usopp quickly backed away when Sanji began to approach him, making sure his shirt was tucked at the elbow as he raised the knife. "W-what are you doing…?"
His heart lurched when his back hit the wall and Sanji kept coming, something animalistic in his intent.
"S-Sanji!"
"He's hungry…" His voice came out lowly, scaring the Sogeking to death. "I have to feed him."
Before Usopp could scream again, Sanji thrust the blade into his jugular and sliced across, real blood splattering his face. But the sniper was not dead yet. Shakenly, he raised a hand to his throat, wiping some of the blood to his fingertips. Tears formed in his eyes as he tried to take a breath and stopped short, the source of his life draining into his airways until he was literally drowning.
"I have to feed him… he's hungry." It's all Sanji would say as he slammed his foot into his nakama side, sending Usopp sputtering to the ground, his tears mixing with his blood as he struggled vainly to collect another breath.
"He's hungry."
Almost as an act of mercy, or to speed up the process, the cook slammed his heel into his neck, cracking his spine and immediately sending Usopp to death.
Zeff, watching amused and eyeless, crossed his arms over his chest. "You'll learn to get better at that. It would've been easier to take off his head."
Now it was real blood that was sinking into his shoes, filling his nose with a bitter scent, but Sanji was beyond carrying. Turning to his mentor, he asked. "What now?"
"Drain the blood eggplant. Cut the arteries."
The real Sanji knew little of the human anatomy. He could list any animal you could breathe of, but never human; subconsciously though, in the part of the brain that was no longer him, knew exactly what skin the knife should be slit through until the entirety of Usopp's blood lay drained on the floor.
"Amateur cuts." Zeff shook his head, and Sanji shot him a glare.
"You try cutting. The skin's stiff."
"Tch. Excuses excuses." Rolling the tip of the mustache in his fingers, he thought. "Next you have to gut him." Sanji raised the knife. "Eh, but be careful. The brain is very edible. Considered a delicacy."
Sanji had to feed him. He had to. So, he didn't even register the fact that he was slicing his own nakama's stomach open, or the way each organ just seemed to plop of the floor when he pulled them out—with his bare hands, mind you. Zeff tsked his unorthodox manner.
"Shut it geezer! I'm feeding your lazy face."
Zeff shrugged. "You didn't have to."
But he did.
The small intestines kept slipping out of fingers, so in his haste he threw the long rope like organ to the side, hitting something and knocking it over in the process.
"You have to break the rib cage to the get to heart." Zeff said, after some struggling. "Just smash it."
Sanji did, probably in a stranger manner considering, by throwing his elbow into the body of his sternum until the bones crackle and give way to the lungs and the heart.
Zeff was hungry. He had to feed him. Stuffing his fingers between the putty of the lungs, he wrenched the heart from its cavern, its film sticking to his fingers.
"Save that. I'll show you how to make a desert of it."
Now drained and gutted, Usopp looked more like a skeleton with clothes then he did a former member of the Straw Hats. When Sanji glanced at his face, he didn't look like his nakama; instead, he looked like that bag of gold that he thought was food. A little reluctantly, he said.
"Is this really going to feed you?"
Zeff nodded his head, affirming that what Sanji was doing was correct. "Yes. It will. Start stripping some meat off and I'll show you how to cook it how I like it."
The cooking session continued even when the sun had risen and the rest of the crew began to stir. Yawning heavily, Zoro stretched, his healing wounds protesting little as he popped his back. In an instant, his eyes settled on the empty bed of Usopp, and knowing that he did not have look out duty, the certain sense of suspicious began to surface.
"Hey does anyone know where Usopp went?"
Chopper was making his bed when he answered. "I think Sanji came and got him. I don't really remember. I was tired."
Zoro nodded, but the suspicion did not fade. The stupid cook would never come asking for help.
But he didn't understand. Zeff was hungry.
"I'm going to check on him."
No one questioned the swordsman's intentions as he approached the galley door.
What the hell..?
The window was blocked, and some kind of liquid was oozing out the crack of the door. Just what are those two up to?
Maybe they were gutting a fish…?
Zoro knew they hadn't caught a fish, and especially knew Sanji wouldn't put it in some place as sacred as his kitchen. Slowly withdrawing his sword, he pushed the door open, the wood instantly smacking against the body of Usopp.
Zeff's reaction was instant. "Kill him!"
Sanji ditched the skillet, where he was frying up his own nakama, and while Zoro was distracted by the corpse of his friend, he drove the knife into his chest. He knew why Zoro was there, and he couldn't let him stop him.
Zoro's hand could not handle his sword any longer as the blade ruptured the walls of his aorta. Coughing up blood, he searched his crew members face for an answer, only to realize it was not Sanji staring back at him. It was the face of insanity.
Ripping the knife back out, the swordsman's body dropped like one of his weights, leaving Sanji's arm bleached in blood, watching without a care as he convulsed on the ground.
"Zeff's hungry. I have to feed him." He turned to Zeff, and the elder chef nodded approvingly.
"Cook him too. I'm feeling extra hungry today."
Zeff was hungry. And Sanji was feeding him. The bodies of his nakama.
A hallucination is a perception in the absence of external stimulus that has qualities of real perception; illusion, which involves distorted or misinterpreted real perception.
Review for any character you want to see lose their mind. I hope you enjoyed!
-Soul Spirit-