Hello! I am really happy to have collaborated on this story with my amazing friend, CharlieNozaki! We are both excited to show you our dystopian fanfic. :D It was so much fun starting off and we hope you all like it! Enjoy!
Heart pounding, Zoro slid under a charred car, carefully placing his finger on the trigger of his pistol, then pressed it against his chest.
Letting out a shaky breath, he squeezed his eyes shut, only for a second before the sound of multiple combat boots crunching leisurely against the rubbled ground stilled his movements instantly.
He didn't dare move a fucking inch.
His eyes followed them as they rounded the left side of the vehicle, before continuing onwards.
Then it was quiet.
When he was sure he heard no more steps, his right arm grabbed the back bumper of the car, and swiftly pulled himself out, only to hide once more, this time behind the car.
With caution, he peeked over his right side, his head raising only slightly when he was immediately met with the strong smell of copper as a bullet flew past his face, only missing him by a few mere inches.
Soon after, he was bombarded with bullets, some violently hitting the vehicle while others ricocheted off the garbage cans displayed out in front of him, slight sparks shining through the dark as they did so.
Cocking his pistol, he quickly rested his arms on the back trunk of the car and fired twice, only to go back down once more. The grunt of a man filled the air, soon followed by a thud.
This was utterly pointless. There were fucking too many of them. He estimated maybe around five, and he was only able to shoot down one without getting beheaded.
"Where the hell is Luffy?" he gritted to himself.
Thinking of the only option, he pulled out a smoke grenade, specifically made by Usopp, from his pants pocket. He pulled out the pin with his teeth and threw it behind him.
Right away, curses and coughs filled the small alleyway and Zoro took the chance to run and head towards the middle of the destroyed remains of the city. The city that was once known as East Blue.
The city where Zoro was born and raised.
He turned towards another alley he easily recognized and lifted himself to the roof of a building, using a broken, out-of-place pipe as leverage.
The idiot had gone and run off on his own, once again.
Zoro did trust him to handle things, even by himself, but they had been apart for some time now, and this raid was taking much longer than necessary.
Despite getting a few feet higher, he still saw, or rather, heard no sign of his long-time friend.
Until, in the distance, faint sounds of gunshots filled Zoro's ears, turning his direction of sight towards the noise.
Close enough to the final rooftop, he landed, looked down, and was met with Luffy, who was in the midst of fighting four Gatecrashers. He was rapidly switching his kicks and punches between all of them, receiving a few in return.
Knowing the man didn't need his help, but still desperate to get out there quickly, Zoro sped into action and flipped himself off the roof, landing straight on his feet in front of the group.
They'd been there for too long, and surely more Gatecrashers were to come.
Throwing a fearsome punch, his right fist connected with one of their jaws, sending the man to the ground. Predictably, the rest noticed him and attacked as well.
Zoro and Luffy both smirked at one another, and in less than three minutes, the four Gatecrashers were all unconscious. Not only that, but severely beaten up.
"We gotta go, Luffy. Now. We didn't get the medicine in time. It's better to go back than to die here. We'll get ambushed by more Gatecrashers," Zoro muttered with disappointment.
Luffy only grinned at him.
"What?" Zoro asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Got it."
Luffy pulled off his rucksack, unzipping it to reveal four gray containers that Zoro had definitely seen before.
He opened one and, sure enough, there were bottles and packages of antipyretics, analgesics, and antibiotics. All the medicine Chopper asked for was inside.
"Shit," Zoro breathed. "Let's go."
Putting the container back inside his backpack, the two made their way to the jeep.
In they climbed, Luffy grabbing a bar on top of the vehicle and swinging himself in, slamming the door without care.
The sound echoed in the empty street like another deafening gunshot, reverberating off crumbling buildings, rattling a few loose windows in the drug store opposite the jeep.
"Really? I just fucking said we're gonna get ambushed," Zoro grumbled to himself, automatically scanning the sidewalk for any adversaries drawn forth by the noise, experienced eyes flicking to a few dark alleyways warily.
He looked for any sign of a flickering shadow, listened for any disturbance-pebbles skittering, a gun cocking, a fucking breath that would give away an attacker.
Nothing, save for the defeated men lying like ragdolls over uneven pavement, their weapons scattered, the only indication of life within them the slight movement of their chests, barely visible in the brightening moonlight.
Zoro watched them for a long moment, wondering, briefly, if he should finish the job, if he should lift the pistol still in his hand, snuff them out while he had the chance. If he didn't, they'd just get up again. Cockroaches, those Gatecrashers, threats to his faction.
It wasn't their fault, the logical part of him knew, fingers brushing delicately over metal as he studied the barrel of his prized pistol, a white one, with angular silver accents on the butt.
It wasn't their fault. They weren't part of the Government. They'd simply been ordinary people like him, like everyone, leading ordinary lives.
But that had been thirteen years ago. And now they weren't ordinary people. They were desperate, trying to survive, just as they all were. But when Chopper needed medicine, and those thugs readily stood in his way? They were no longer survivors. They were expendable.
He wasn't a boy anymore.
Zoro lifted the gun, lining up his shot.
The pistol always settled so nicely in his hand. It felt natural to hold, an extension of his arm as he aimed at the first unfortunate man, lying a few feet away, bisecting a faded yellow traffic line, his tattered superhero T-shirt on display, a graphic of a shield over his chest giving Zoro the perfect target.
He cocked the pistol, stared solemnly at his victim, index finger just beginning to twitch back.
The car door behind him thumped loudly, a muffled voice coming through the window a second later.
"Zoro, come on, I'm hungry!"
Zoro closed his eyes for a moment, let out a breath through his nose, then opened eyes again and refocused himself on his task.
Two more thumps and a splat.
His eyebrow twitched, long and hard.
"Zoroooo!"
He was weak. He turned slowly, just to shoot a glare over his shoulder, only to see Luffy leaning across the car's interior with his face and hands smooshed stupidly against the driver's side window.
As soon as Zoro looked, Luffy grinned, breath fogging up the glass.
"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" the idiot insisted, rocking the jeep with his movements when he thumped insistently on the window again.
Zoro made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, dropping his head back to the sky for a moment before ultimately holstering his pistol again onto his belt, right next to the other two he carried.
He crossed the short distance between him and the jeep, ratty combat boots scuffing in the dirty street before he ripped open the door and shoved Luffy back into the passenger seat.
"You want them to come after us or what, idiot! They've been trying to push through our gates for months now! And if you wake 'em all up, I swear to fuck..." Zoro hissed, as if the gunshots wouldn't have, though he was already pulling the door shut, fishing keys out of his vest pocket and jamming them into the ignition.
He pulled off his black bandana to reveal sweaty green hair, used it to wipe his brow, then snapped the fabric at Luffy's face scoldingly before stuffing it in his pocket where the keys had been.
"Eh, they're knocked out good. They won't wake up 'till we're real far away~" Luffy justified with a grin that practically radiated its own moonlight. "Anyway, music, music, music!"
More chanting, to Zoro's dismay, though this time, he rolled his eyes, throwing an arm behind Luffy's seat and looking over his shoulder so he could start to back the jeep off the sidewalk where he'd parked it rather haphazardly.
"The radio's shot, remember? And do I look like I got CDs?" he grumbled, throwing the jeep back into 'Drive' once they were far enough away from the dented newspaper box he'd knocked over pulling in. Papers littered the sidewalk, but it wasn't like anyone was reading them now. They were over a decade old, after all.
"Hnnn…." Luffy whined, looking half his age of twenty-one when he crossed arms, buried deeply in his oversized hoodie, over his chest and pouted….for but a second, before he brightened. "Well, that's okay! Zoro, let's sing!"
"Hell no!"
Zoro had enforced the quiet game after a barely tolerable five minutes of melody-free squawking beside him. He had to watch the road for Gatecrashersin their path, and thus, he needed to focus if he was going to get them out of this godforsaken city and back to Emerald Peak in one piece.
It was strange, and a little eerie, that he remembered this place so well, remembered that the dilapidated marble-faced building on the corner, with the broken stone steps and the hacked-in door, was the old post office.
He only knew that because every time his parents ran an errand there, dragged him along, he'd snuck outside and had a staring contest with the cats in the pet store window next door. The owner, Gaimon, had tried to scare him on numerous occasions by sticking his own ugly mug in the window instead, his afro big and bushy.
The pet store sat vacant too now, windows shattered, shelves toppled, its sign hanging forlornly off its hinges.
He didn't look as he drove past. And he didn't allow himself to wonder, as he often did, about what had happened to that ridiculous man.
Every abandoned business he passed on that main street had been familiar and thriving once. Every house had been occupied, the streets clean and the air breezy, bringing with it the faint salt of the ocean that was a short drive away.
Now, it was the earth, not the sea, that was prevalent, seeping its way through every crevice. The jeep's tires flattened countless tufts of tall weeds springing from the cracks in the road. Vines covered entire sides of buildings; trees, once uniform along residential streets, now stretched their branches through windows, created mountains out of flat sidewalks with their roots.
This was the home he remembered. But this was not the same home he'd left.
In fact, it was easier to leave behind now, to focus only on the short reach of his headlights, shining a triangle of light that glinted off broken glass and discarded hubcaps.
There was still yet a hint of purplish pink in the sky, black buildings rising up beneath it, and maybe, if he squinted, it was how it used to be. Only silhouettes. Only stencils that revealed none of the decay that had so transformed the city.
But it was too dark. There were no welcoming lights, no signs of life. Just the moon lifting itself into the sky and Zoro's spirits sinking lower the closer they got to his old neighborhood.
Luffy seemed to read his mind, sense the tension that came to his hands, gripped tightly on the steering wheel, when they started to pass older, more traditional buildings, many of which were entirely crumbled, not having withstood the test of time.
"Wanna drive through Shimotsuki?" his friend asked, his voice quite serious in comparison to his jokes of earlier.
Zoro could feel brown eyes watching him, see a hint of blue, the dashboard light illuminating Luffy's face.
He shook his head, gaze fixed in front of him, so he wouldn't look down Isshin Street by accident, catch a glimpse of his childhood, even in the growing darkness.
"No," he said. Eyes he finally flicked to Luffy briefly. "Foosha?"
Luffy too shook his head.
"I went earlier. Before this," he said with a shrug, nudging his rucksack in his lap, full of the parcels for Chopper.
Zoro grunted his acknowledgment.
The sooner they could get out of the city, the better. They were good on gas. Franky had stocked them up with extra tanks in the back trunk, but with only an hour's journey back to their camp, they'd be fine.
The buildings were beginning to thin, revealing glimpses of the looming hills in the distance, twisted road signs turning into overgrown trees as he finally swung the jeep around the giant loop that led to the highway, weaving around abandoned cars left to rust in the middle of lanes.
"We still playing the quiet game?" Luffy asked, seemingly fed up with any amount of silence that lasted more than ten seconds.
"Yeah," Zoro replied, maneuvering off the ramp, around an overturned pick-up truck, before flooring it once they had a clear shot of road ahead. Neither of them wore seatbelts. Who would scold them? "But you already lost. You owe me three rations cards when we get back."
Luffy balked, turning in his seat sideways to gape at his friend.
"But Zoro, that's a hamburger with ketchup and a bun!" he complained, flailing arms needlessly in despair. "Don't you already owe ten to Nami?"
"Exactly," Zoro huffed, reaching his hand out to poke Luffy's forehead, just for the hell of it. "I got a debt to pay."
Luffy grinned, catching his hand and examining it for a second.
"You're such an idiot~" the younger man eventually chirped before deciding he wanted to arm wrestle his friend while he drove, slamming Zoro's elbow down onto the armrest between them.
Zoro didn't protest, and he didn't crash the car either.
He was their Leader, and he couldn't lose to anyone, not even Luffy, the one who came closest to matching his strength. He managed it often. He certainly had when they were young.
Still, Zoro resisted a smirk when his hand was pinned to the armrest by Luffy's, the other man giving a crow of triumph, rolling down the window to do the same out into the night air, letting nothing but the plants and animals know of his victory.
But then again, maybe Zoro was okay with letting him win sometimes.
He wasn't sure what time it was when they got back to Emerald Peak, but considering it was deadly quiet, Zoro figured it was past twelve, the hour the people of his faction officially decided was the proper time to head to bed.
Faintly, as he drove closer, he could see the light from the watchtower illuminating the edifice, the place he now considered his home. This meant someone was taking watch, making sure no intruders were to even step foot near Emerald Peak.
It had to be Usopp.
Usopp handled the job of keeping watch in the tower, more times than not. He was the one Zoro trusted most with the task, because he was considered the sniper of their faction, who always had perfect aim, never missing his target.
He mainly held position during the night, because despite the area being shrouded in complete darkness, he had the capacity to shoot a lurking trespasser down instantly with ease, something that the rest of the faction couldn't do.
Expecting their return, the long-nosed man made no move to sound the alarm that signaled everyone if their faction was being intruded. This let Zoro easily drive closer and closer to the entrance of the gate.
The man glanced to his right. A sleeping Luffy sat there, head hanging loosely in front of him, mouth open and drooling. He had gotten used to the sight of Luffy sleeping messily. The boy was constantly falling asleep, even in the middle of a meal.
"Tch," he grunted, rolling down his window to give Usopp the signal, and after a few seconds, the entrance raised slowly. He drove on, the road he followed leading him to the parking where all the remaining vehicles were stationed.
After turning off the ignition, he exited the car, shutting the door, not too loudly, and made his way to the passenger side of the jeep. Raising his left arm and placing it on the roof, he opened Luffy's door with his right.
"Oi, Luffy. We're here."
Giving him a slight shake, he grabbed the rucksack containing the medicine off his lap and hauled it over his shoulder.
Luffy only mumbled and yawned.
With that, he left the door open and left the man to wake up on his own, knowing he'd eventually head towards the kitchen.
Emerald Peak was one of five factions that was created a few years after the tragedy of the world happened. Everyone was divided and trusted no one except the people from their own division.
Some factions were closer than others. A short distance up north from Emerald Peak, was Raven Outlaw, a faction they used to raid frequently, but Trafalgar D. Law, the Leader of the encampment, was able to negotiate Zoro into becoming allies.
Since then, the two allied factions often traded their supplies, Law's faction providing Zoro's with tools to fix broken-down vehicles and weapons, while, in return, Zoro bestowed him with boxes of food.
Although, Raven Outlaw wasn't the closest settlement to Zoro's faction.
By jeep, the closest faction to Zoro's was Obsidian Shadow. It was known to be the most dangerous and most difficult faction to raid, due to their supply of weaponry.
Because of their massive stash, they had never been willing to accommodate compromises with any faction.
While Emerald Peak was surrounded with a tall, wooden gate, Obsidian Shadow was completely exposed, no protection blockading the building.
It was made of concrete walls, only on-duty guards encircling the large property. Because of the exposure, it made it easy to spot any incoming intruders.
The remaining two factions, "White Amnesty," and "Crimson Void," however, were the type of factions no one had a problem with, although there still was a difference between the two.
Rayleigh was the commander of White Amnesty. He was well known for his calmness and ability to negotiate with any of the factions. He'd conciliated Zoro in the past as well.
Shanks matched Rayleigh in that particular trait. Despite being the leader of Crimson Void, a rather strong and menacing faction, he was a likable man, but if someone were to ever cross him, he'd shut them down in an instant.
Then there were those who were ruthless, the group that chose not to be called a faction, that killed for their own sick pleasure. Gatecrashers.
Blackbeard was known as the person in charge. He never went out on raids himself, but instead had his men do the dirty work for him. They preferred to be stationed in the ruins of East Blue, therefore making it difficult to try and steal supplies from them, because of their large numbers.
Invading them was rather risky, but they obtained the most crucial supplies they occasionally needed.
This was how things were now, to steal, to fight, to invade, to kill. All had to be done in order to survive.
Knuckles tapping on soft wood was all that could be heard through the desolate hallway, as Zoro peeked into the room.
As anticipated, Chopper was in his office, wide awake. He was always like this, working hard, isolated in his thoughts, never permitting himself to enjoy the world outside of medicine.
The man, hair brown and curly, sat quietly at his desk, still wearing his doctor's coat as he scribbled away in his notebook, Zoro entering unnoticed.
"Hey, Chopper," he greeted, making said man look up and stand abruptly.
"Zoro! I'm glad to see you're back safely. Are you injured anywhere? Where's Luffy?" he questioned desperately, switching between looking over Zoro's body-almost expecting to see him with a broken arm or bleeding-to looking behind his Leader in search of his well-known right-hand man.
"I'm fine, just a couple of scrapes and scratches. Nothing I can't handle." He brushed the young doctor off with a wave of his wrist.
"Luffy fell asleep. I woke him up when we got here," he continued. "Should be in the kitchen by now."
Chopper mumbled to himself, "I'll have to check on him later," clearly concerned about his crazy friend.
Zoro then took off the rucksack he had taken from Luffy and, one by one, took out the containers.
"Here's the antibiotics you needed."
Chopper's eyes widened, grabbing them and opening them instantly.
"You were able to get them! Thank you! I really needed these. Some of the children have been coming down with fevers, what with the change of weather."
Striding towards his medicine cabinet, he began placing them on the shelves, all organized.
"No problem." Zoro smiled, pleased to have been able to provide his people with the care they needed. "Well, I'm going to head off. Night, Chopper."
"Goodnight, Zoro. Good work."
With that, Zoro turned on his heel and exited the office.
He made his way to his hut, disappearing into it.
Because he was the Leader, his hut was more towards the front entrance of Emerald Peak, while the huts of his people were farther back. That way he'd be the first to be notified immediately if someone were to invade.
Everyone had their own hut, though only a few shared. Following his was Luffy's, then Usopp's, etc. They were always the first ones up and ready for anything if necessary.
Huts were far from luxurious. All of them had beds, of course, but only a few had cabinets, and very, very little people had their own bathroom.
The ones who didn't had to use comfort stations, sharing sinks, toilets, and showers. It was all they were able to offer for now. They had run low on carpentering supplies, and the metal used to construct toilets and such was very difficult to find and obtain.
Zoro was given his own bathroom. His people insisted he have it, despite his best efforts to convince them someone else needed it more than him. The people of his faction always treated him as what he was. Their Leader, never a friend.
When he'd walk through Emerald Peak, he was consistently greeted with the terms, "Sir," or "Commander Zoro", but he never liked being referred to as such.
"Please, just call me Zoro," he'd say, but alas, they never would, as they had too much respect for him. Hell, it was because of them that he was chosen to be Leader.
He was determined to protect everyone in his camp, always willing to provide anything anyone may need. Without hesitation he'd give up his own life for them.
He was sure as hell going to fulfill his job, to be the focused and strong Leader his people deemed him as. That's what he was living for. To keep everyone safe.
He was going to accomplish this, no matter what, and no distraction was going to get in the way of that.
Obsidian Shadow Faction - Several hours earlier
"You're not eating, old man. Why."
"Not hungry."
"That's bullshit. You've barely eaten these past few days."
"And that's none of your business, brat."
A single blue eye studied the man beside him, the only person at the large round table without a plate before him, just a cup of water, nothing more.
Zeff sat there behind his sparse place setting, a steely, watchful gaze focused on the other five at the table, all of them consuming their meals without a care. They were meager meals, a stew of beef stock and vegetables, half a piece of bread each, but even Commander Judge on his other side was enjoying his with vigor.
No one but the Commander's third son, Sanji, had wondered why he wasn't eating.
Zeff was the man who had taught Sanji not to waste food, not in these desperate times. Zeff had taught him to use what they had, to the best of their abilities, and if that meant creating a full-course meal out of nothing but beans and potatoes, then he'd damn well do it.
Sanji was a cook, after all, and he'd sure as hell be a proper chef if he had more than a beat-up burner and a tiny freezer to work with.
But this was his job. He'd wanted this for as long as he could remember, ever since his mother's smiling face had encouraged him, ever since he'd seen how much light came to her eyes, courtesy of nothing but some terribly-prepared fish and soggy vegetables.
Maybe she was gone. Maybe the entire world as they'd known it was gone. Maybe they were trapped inside this godforsaken fortress with hardly any supplies and an oppressive government looking to make sure it stayed that way. But he still had his dream.
Even if, currently, that dream meant cooking for his remaining family, his brothers and sister, and his father, none of whom appreciated what he did, or at least, not that he ever heard.
It didn't matter. He had Zeff, his father's second-in-command, distant, but more of a father to him than his own. And he was still sitting there stubbornly, eating nothing.
That could only mean one thing, Sanji realized with a sudden sinking of his stomach.
They were low on food. Too low.
The blond pushed his yet-untouched bowl towards the center of the table, instantly receiving strange looks from his brothers and father, in particular.
No one said anything, but their disdainful gazes were enough to question, so Sanji simply shrugged and muttered, "Not hungry. Split it between you."
The youngest, Yonji, didn't wait, the green-haired man practically diving across the table for the bowl of stew with a toothy grin, Niji tackling him a second later, insisting he split it evenly. Ichiji and Reiju, the two eldest, merely sat and watched the two squabble.
None of them were concerned.
Only Zeff narrowed his eyes, glaring his way, but Sanji ignored it.
In fact, he pushed back from the table, his metal chair scraping across the stone floor.
This was never meant to be a dining room, and there was nothing to even suggest it was, only a measly hanging lamp that would have looked more at home in an interrogation room, and windows that gave a glimpse of the coming sunset.
"Excuse me," he said, and no one stopped him.
Zeff's eyes were on him, but he kept walking, his worn leather ankle boots clopping past his sister's prim, polished ones, her legs crossed regally.
He felt her glance over, and he looked up to meet her single eye, just briefly, the other shrouded behind a curtain of pink hair.
Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but he shook his head subtly, offered no explanation, and kept walking.
He opened the door, a sound that echoed in the long, narrow corridor outside, and he stepped out, letting it close with a loud bang behind him.
As soon as it did, he ran.
The hall was dimly lit by torches along the wall, and it was bare, medieval practically, just like every other hallway in the place, but he knew the way. He'd lived here for more than half his life at this point, after all.
His heart pounded fearfully in his chest, the air thick and musty with the smell of steel.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, their fortress practically a giant oven itself, especially after a long day of sunshine.
Breaths huffed out harshly, and his footsteps rang out, alerting several guards who poked their heads out of doors along the way, eyes hidden behind matching goggles, but their mouths giving away their shock when their jaws gaped open.
"Master Sanji!" one called. "Is everything-?"
"It's fine!" Sanji assured, even though he was certain it wasn't.
Because each guard was one more mouth to feed. One more mouth that might not get fed.
Fuck.
He kept running to the end of the hallway, which made an abrupt turn down a set of dark stairs, a dumbwaiter beside it that only worked by yanking a pulley system manually.
He went down the stairs, trying not to jump two at a time, hands catching himself against the stone wall of the basement, eyes focused on the tiny horizontal line of light that cracked out from beneath the door at the foot of the stairs far below.
He felt his way down the last ten steps or so, the torches on the upper floor no longer helping to brighten his way.
But he made it, practically kicking the door open and bursting forth into the glorified utility closet that doubled as their kitchen.
Sanji nearly gave a heart attack to Patty and Carne, the two assistant cooks huddled in a corner smirking over a rare pack of cigarettes they'd managed to procure.
Sanji couldn't even be jealous.
"Fucking-what're you runnin' around for, Sanji? Coulda killed us in here!" the burly Patty exclaimed to hide how startled he was, the shorter Carne with a hand at his chest, still clutching the cigarettes.
"Shut up!" Sanji gritted out, vaulting over a few bags of rice that had begun to slide from where they leaned against the wall, dangerously nearing the drain that always had a dismal stream of water flowing into it from beneath the pipes.
Only a few lightbulbs, hanging from the ceiling without even shades to cover them, lit the way across the small space, the blond hurrying through, past the old furnace in the center of the room. He almost pushed Patty and Carne into one of the work tables, rattling the boxes of pans and cooking tools that sat atop them.
Then he was jumping up onto the stack of crates against the far wall, arms gripping the edge of the crawl space and shoving his way up with practiced ease to reach the makeshift storage area.
What would he find? A barren space? Completely empty? Nothing in sight?
He was only able to push up to his knees, hair barely grazing the ceiling, but he quickly crawled over to the first hanging light, reaching up to screw the lightbulb a little tighter, harsh light flickering on to illuminate the space.
"Seriously, what're you doin'?" Patty called up to him from below. "The Boss just organized up there earlier! Y'better not mess anything up!"
Sanji didn't listen, too preoccupied with ripping open the first canvas sack he laid eyes upon, closest to the front, dried corn, by the looks of it.
It was full of the hard yellow kernels, and when he ran a hand through it, he unearthed no insects or anything else to make the bag inedible.
He yanked the drawstrings shut again, unconvinced that things were as they seemed. Not when Zeff had refused a meal.
The sack next to it he tore open as well, only to find another full stock.
That was two bags of corn so far. And about fifty unopened sacks stretching along the perimeter of the crawl space, sectioned off with crude chalk writing on the walls labeling the different grains and supplies.
He would check every damn sack in this place until he was sure they had enough food to last them at least another week.
That was how things worked here. His father's power and influence was wasted on weapons, an unfortunate necessity during these dark times, but what about the most basic of necessities?
What about food? What about medical supplies? All of it was forgotten in favor of guns and bombs, and nothing would ever get better if the people in their faction couldn't even survive.
This angry thought assaulted Sanji's mind as he ripped into a third sack, pulled back the opening….only to find it filled with sand.
Nothing but sand that they laid down over snow in the winter months to de-ice the road for their trucks.
Sanji stared at it in disbelief, dove a hand into it to determine it was in fact what it looked like. Then he growled, feeling his heartbeat pick up speed, and shoved the sack aside, shuffling the scuffed knees of his pants over to the next sack.
It was sand as well.
As was the next, and the next, and the next, until Sanji realized, with horror, that Zeff had moved the only two bags of food to the very front of the bunch, used the rest as an illusion to assuage him.
His breaths came heavily, fear in his chest, burning his eyes.
Even the freezer box, a metal container kept in the farthest, coldest corner of the crawl space, housed just two cuts of chickens.
When….? When had this happened?!
Yesterday had been fine, he'd thought. Hell, this morning had. Granted, he hadn't checked every single bag, with Zeff electing to run inventory, but-
Sanji heard the door open below him, heard an uneven pair of footsteps limp into the room, Patty and Carne both immediately stammering that the kid had lost his mind.
Sanji hadn't realized he'd curled over in the middle of the crawl space, hands raking through his hair, head nearly pressed to his knees.
It was hard to keep his breaths under control, each wanting to rush out of him far too quickly, enough that his inhales gave him little relief as panic rooted itself deeply.
But then he heard Zeff's gruff voice below, and he snapped.
He slid to the edge of the dusty crawl space, nearly smashing his head against the ceiling as he threw legs over the edge and jumped back down to the floor, missing the crates entirely.
Zeff stood by the door, and Sanji shoved aside Carne to storm across to him, fury, like thunder, on his face.
"When the fuck were you going to tell me we were out of food?!" he shouted, barely stopping himself from grabbing the old man's stained white dress shirt. "What the fuck are we supposed to do?!"
A beat of silence followed, both Patty and Carne grunting their shock, but Sanji ignored them, glowering only at the geezer.
"It wasn't your concern, brat," Zeff eventually muttered, standing calmly, the dim light casting heavy shadows over his face, accentuating tired eyes and wrinkles. "I'm arranging a hunting trip tomorrow."
"We've already picked the woods dry!" Sanji cried. "The deer won't be back for another year at this rate, and like hell we can feed everyone with a few ducks! Are you insane?! We're fucking screwed here!"
Zeff's response was cold.
"We've been through worse than this," he grumbled. "Have a bit of backbone. Didn't think you'd turn into a whiner like your brothers, brat."
As soon as he'd said it though, he seemed to rethink his words, a flash of regret in his eyes when genuine hurt came over Sanji's face.
"Don't you dare compare me to them!" the blond hissed, lips pulled back in a snarl. "Why would you try and hide this?!"
"Because I knew this would happen!" Zeff argued immediately. "You don't think straight when you're worried, kid!"
The gruff tone to the man's voice wavered ever so slightly, a flickering glimpse of genuine concern for Sanji showing through. It wasn't often that it happened, and when it did, it was barely visible.
But it didn't matter because he was right. He was absolutely right, and Sanji's panic was too great to even pick up on the older blond's honorable intentions.
He merely stood there, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling in forceful breaths, the room feeling small, walls closing in as tension clouded the tiny dank space.
"I'm a cook," Sanji finally gritted out, with nothing but the image of that golden, but worthless, sand mocking him. "And you tell me these things."
He shoved past Zeff then, ducking beneath a few low-hanging pipes to exit the small basement room, feet picking up speed as he stormed up the stairs again, the dark corridor just as oppressive in its emptiness.
Sanji wasn't thinking straight, as Zeff had said, not when he ran the entire length of the upper hallway too, past the room where his father and siblings likely continued their meal, oblivious to what had gone on in the kitchen.
He pushed through another set of heavy doors, out into the barren courtyard, now lit only by a fire built out in the center, several of his father's nameless soldiers huddled around it with their own bowls of stew.
Sanji felt sick, seeing it. Was that the last proper meal those men would likely eat?
He didn't stop when a few addressed him questioningly, just circled around the covered walkway, the pillars casting a grid of long shadows in the burgeoning moonlight, footsteps echoing along the stone walls.
A bit of a chill had arrived along with the moon, and he felt goosebumps raise on his exposed arms, nothing but a thin white tank top protecting him.
But it was only a short distance to the next tower over, his family's living quarters, which he burst into, bypassing a similarly dismal hallway and hurrying up a set of stairs.
He only needed a few things from his quarters, but he needed to act fast before anyone came after him. So it was up those steps, crossing a narrow hallway at the top to burst into his own room, a tiny space with not more than a cot, a wash basin, and two tattered suitcases under the cot, where he kept his belongings. A cell, really.
Sanji bent down, pulling out the suitcases and flipping open one to grab a beat-up leather jacket that he hastily shrugged on.
He took a mask next, a protective mask of hard plastic with goggles attached which he shoved under an arm. Then he unzipped another pocket and pulled out several thin drawstring bags, knotting them securely to his belt. They weren't very big, but they would have to do.
The other suitcase opened to reveal an array of weapons: guns, knives, grenades. His own personal stash that he didn't like to use. He'd much rather kick someone's ass physically than hide behind something as easily deadly as a gun, but he kept them for emergencies.
And this absolutely qualified as such.
So he opened his jacket, shoved two pistols in the pockets inside, clipped a small revolver to the holster on his belt. From a small pocket on the outside of the suitcase, he grabbed his lighter, his crushed pack of cigarettes that was also terrifyingly low, just three sticks left inside.
But he'd sure as hell need one to quell his nerves on his way to Emerald Peak.
It was quite possibly a suicide mission, going alone, but clearly he was okay with that as he pushed the suitcases back under his bed and sprinted from the room, down the dark stairs and out into the night once more, this time even more careful to avoid the soldiers in the courtyard.
Emerald Peak would have food. Hell, they produced it, traded with other factions regularly. Grains, meats. It was his only hope as far as Sanji was concerned.
He resented his father immensely, in that moment, for his isolationist tendencies. For not fucking caring for the people he was responsible for protecting. He wouldn't even build a fucking wall around their faction's fortress, his cockiness clear, making it easy for Sanji to slip right through the archway that served as the entrance, out of the broken gates that swung open easily with just a little bit of force.
He'd been told their encampment was a prison before the war started. Funny how, just like the rest of the world, its purpose was now rendered moot. The guards were slacking that night. Or perhaps he was just lucky.
The parking lot outside was empty, the sidewalks and pavement littered with cracks and debris from past bomb tests, save for one area off to the side where the vehicles were parked.
Sanji rushed across, jumping over curbs and dodging tall lampposts which no longer cast light, only the slight glow of faded parking space lines indicating his way.
Voices carried through the air from behind him, and he whipped his head back around to watch the looming building, peer up at the watchtower for a strained moment.
But its spotlight was pointed in a different direction, so he sighed and pressed on, making his way to the row of motorcycles standing sentinel near an old chain link fence, more diligent than his own father's guards.
Quickly, he dug in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out, not a key, but a small army knife, which he flicked open as soon as he reached the first available bike, throwing a leg over it and settling onto the seat.
He had no helmet, only his goggles with the face mask attached, but he didn't fucking care at this point. His biggest concern now was getting the fuck out without issue.
On went the mask. The blade of the knife he jammed into the ignition slot, a practiced wrist fiddling with it for a few seconds before it caught and he managed to turn it, hurriedly shifting the gear, squeezing the clutch on the handlebar, and pressing the button to start it up.
He fucking hoped it would start. There was never any certainty, given the scarcity of fuel, and the shoddy upkeep of some of the vehicles.
The motorcycle roared to life though, to his relief.
And as soon as it did, predictably, the beam of light from the watchtower swung towards the parking lot in alarm.
Sanji didn't wait.
He kicked his foot off the ground and sped the bike forward, driving it across the parking lot, barely out-riding that beam that followed in hot pursuit, licking his back tire the whole way.
But in the end, the gap began to widen, and he found himself making a low-tilting turn out onto the open road beyond, wind whipping in his hair as his own small beam of light illuminated the path in front of him.
The dark shapes of tall evergreen trees watched him from either side, a tunnel of branches that grew increasingly overbearing the farther he rode from the fortress.
He wasn't even sure he knew where Emerald Peak was, only knew the vague directions, never having gone himself.
This was stupid. This was utterly foolish.
But the thought of the geezer sitting there at the table with no food in front of him?
That was what spurred him onward.
Even with the mask to cover his face, a half hour of wind chilling his ears, blasting his bare collarbone, and battering his exposed knuckles was enough to make him slow his pace.
Sanji hadn't seen another light for miles and miles, only the sparsely-placed route markers that told him he was heading properly east.
He'd ridden out here with Zeff a few times, though the woods had been bathed in sunlight then, the road winding through a forest of autumn leaves, untouched by man and thus unspoiled.
In the dark of night, it was the same, but it was also confusing, the cragged silhouettes of trees blending together in a uniform blur.
Sanji was unsure if he'd turned down the correct fork in the road several times, route names having rusted and peeled off signs, but he trusted his instinct, moving east and moving up the rolling hills.
The faction was called Emerald Peak for a reason.
Still, doubts began to fill his mind, the longer he didn't see a glimpse of light in the distance, the longer the trees surrounded him and didn't give way to a hint of civilization.
He was lost. And on top of everything, he'd taken a fucking motorcycle, not thinking in his haste to get out quickly. Sure, he had rather large side compartments for storage, but like hell he was going to be able to fit a shit ton of stuff in there.
Fuck. Was this hopeless after all?
He gritted teeth and shook his head, the only one capable of reassuring himself, and he had to. He couldn't turn back. If he'd gotten lost and gone the wrong way, so be it. He'd find another way to get food, another place. He'd steal a car. Whatever the fuck he needed to do.
He wasn't going back to Obsidian Shadow until he was sure he had enough food to help the people of his faction.
The motorcycle engine purred, and he loosened up on the throttle as the tires coasted over the crest of a hill, trees thinning and giving way to what he could faintly see was an open valley below.
And in the center, a single beam of light rotating in a circular motion, illuminating tall gates and an open clearing.
Sanji's heart skipped a beat.
Immediately, he slowed, steering the bike to the gravel beside the road and flipping off the headlight, pushing the mask up his face so he could see more clearly.
If that wasn't Emerald Peak down there….then fuck it, because he was going anyway.
He shut the bike off, not wanting to alert anyone of his arrival, and slowly, carefully, began to roll it down the road himself, muscles straining a little under its heavy weight, but following that circling light that grew closer, ducking his head down and freezing when it began to skirt trees near him.
Sanji walked the rest of the way, rolling his motorcycle slowly alongside him, only the sound of its tires crunching over pebbles and his rapidly beating heartbeat filling his ears.
Just a few meters away from the front of the building, he finally rested the bike on the trunk of one of the many trees that stood in front of what he fucking hoped was Emerald Peak.
It undeniably equated the description he'd heard from his father and brothers when they discussed raiding the faction.
An extensive iron gate enveloped the premises, just like his own. A watch tower was placed in the center, its beam highlighting different locations every few seconds.
There was one specific detail that Sanji keenly noticed, even through the obscurity of the night. He was very clearly able to see the property was indeed a dark emerald, living up to the other half of its name.
Removing his mask and placing it on the lever of his bike, he fished out his cigarette pack, along with his lighter, and tapped one out onto his palm. Setting the stick between his lips, he lit it, taking a long drag. That instantly cooled his nerves.
This was it. He was here and he was going to fucking do this.
After a couple more drags, he dropped the cigarette, stubbing it out with his boot.
Fastening the mask back onto his face, he then brought out one of the pistols held in his jacket and loaded it. Holding it with both hands and aiming it downwards, he eyed the beam of the tower, studying its movements briefly, noting exactly each place it illuminated.
The beam lit up the trees a few meters to his left, then moved once more, this time illuminating the entrance.
He fucking ran.
It was a small distance toward the back side of the building where he knew the beam didn't reach, therefore he made his way there.
Approaching, he slowly halted his movements and pressed his back against the wall, pistol still aimed at the ground. When no move was made that signaled an intruder, he stored the pistol back into his inside jacket pocket.
Stepping a few inches away from the gate, he turned and examined how high it was, questioning if he'd be able to jump it. Fuck yeah he could.
From where he stood, he readied himself to break out into a sprint and sped off, jumping last minute and smoothly grabbing the top of the gate, hauling himself over to the other side and then landing with a soft thud.
Instantly scanning the new area, he realized he seemed to be standing on what looked like a training field. Target dummies aligned the field, just about three punching bags placed right next to them, while weights of different sizes littered the grass.
Learning the scenery for only a second, he quickly searched for something to hide himself against, but there was nothing fucking useful.
Unhooking the revolver from his belt and holding it upwards this time, he hurriedly skidded across the field, and once again pressed against a wall. He neither spotted nor heard any shifting, so he proceeded on. With his back still pressed along the concrete wall, he slid across it, shifting towards his left and peering over his shoulder around the corner.
Now where the fuck could their food be. He thought of the building he was currently leaning on and stepped away from it to examine it. He searched for an entrance and directly spotted double doors, leading the way inside.
Sanji predicted they had the food inside there, if the place was anything like his own faction.
Smiling slyly, he paced his way there. He grasped one of the door knobs, but made no motion to open it. His grin widened greatly, cocking his head to the right when a large bunker was caught in his peripheral vision.
Fucking bingo.
The vault-like bunker was quite big, his imagination whirling with excitement at the thought he just might be able to go through with this. He inspected the lock that held the doors in place and found himself stumped.
Yeah, fuck no.
Raising his right leg in the air above his head, he forcefully brought it back down, taking the lock with it. The chains surrounding it snapped in half, and the doors creaked slightly.
Flinching, he glanced behind him, expecting to be ambushed and on the floor with bullets lodged in him, but was only met with darkness, the feel of the cool night air flowing through his hair.
He turned his head back around, and opened one of the doors. A sudden shiver coursed through his body instantaneously, feeling it from the hairs on the back of his neck all the way down to his toes.
It was the feeling of being watched…
But he didn't even have time to think how cold it was before he froze.
He could only stare in fucking awe at the amount of food he saw displayed right before him. From what he could tell, there were vegetables, hung loosely from bags on the top shelf, fruits of all types right beside them, while loaves of bread were situated beneath.
Losing himself, he drifted his way to the first sack on the floor, taking it into his hand and pulling its drawstring open.
Rice. He ran his fingers through it, as if his eyes were deceiving him that it wasn't in fact the grain he'd cooked so many times.
Onto the next, he found beans, and after, spices he knew would be necessary.
Releasing the carrying bags he had tied to his belt, he opened one and acted quickly. The first bag he filled with a mix of the vegetables and fruits: celery, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, apples, bananas, oranges, pears-all he could carry.
The next he loaded with meats: pork, chicken and beef.
Using his last bag, he knew he would only be able to bring one brand of grain back with him.
He debated for a second which was most crucial, which he could use for various types of meals.
Grabbing handfuls of the white grain, he chose rice and placed it little by little into the bag, filling it and finally closing its drawstring.
It was then when the realization hit him head on.
Why had this been so simple?
No one was guarding the premises and he'd avoided getting caught by the watchtower all too easily.
He couldn't have just gotten lucky. Well, if they were to have made a move, they would have done so by now. They wouldn't just let him fucking break open their food vault, bag their food and get away with it… Right?
Shrugging it off and keeping his task in mind, he heaved the three bags over his shoulder, grunting a little with the new weight.
He peeked out the door but still saw nobody.
Fuck it, he'd made it this far, and he was going to get the hell out of there.
Closing the door gently, he strode towards where he remembered jumping over the fence, when the all too familiar sound of a gun cocking rang from behind him.
His heartbeat increased tenfold.
"Drop. It."
Cool metal pressed ever so slightly on his nape.
He had no choice but to drop the bags instantly.
He was so fucking close.
He was only able to let out one shaky breath before a sharp pain shot through the back of his head, making everything go black.