Chapter One:

The smell surrounded him, that damp smell of the moss covered cedar trees, and rotting wood. How long had he been running? The island never seemed to come to an end, and that ceaseless feeling that he was being watched set him on edge, his nerves pulsing with every alerted sense. With each sure thud against the earth water sloshed in his shoes and froze his toes to the point where the cold had begun to spread through his body.

Where was he? Hours ago he had woken up to the sounds of human screams, his nakama out of sight, and his body covered in the ocean rocks. The tiny seashells could still be felt beneath the fabric he wore, jabbing against his skin with every movement in his desperation to find safety.

"Oi! What the flashy fuck are you doing?" Stopped in his tracks, the teen searched desperately for the source of the voice, every muscle in his body contracting against his will. The white cloud of his breath spread in front of him, blocking his vision, and the burn in his throat caused him to cough.

"Wh-Who's there?!" He belted out, his hands falling to his knees to keep himself stable. Only then, with his breath directed towards the ground, did he see the bright red nose of Buggy the Clown off in the distance. The clown looked genuinely worried- no, terrified, keeping himself as well hidden as he could.

The teen watched as tattooed fingers pulled the clown out of sight, striking a fixation of fear through him.

"N-NO! Come back! What do you know!? Where are we?!" Stumbling over his feet, the teen reached desperately out to where he had seen the clown, as if he were still there, and tried to break out in a run again. Exhausted muscles refused his movements, tumbling him into the cold, wet earth.

"Are you an idiot?!" With a right smack across the head, the clown was scolded for his actions like a child stealing candy from the supermarket. He lifted his hand to hold the fresh pain, glaring at the doctor with absolute disgust.

"The flashy hell?" Buggy protested, his makeup smeared over his damp face like war paint. "We're all helping each other here, aren't we? Why's that flashy kid any different?"

The clown watched those dark eyes carefully, knowing the surgeon was the one he should trust the least. A selfish and heartless man, Trafalgar Law, not that they all weren't selfish in their own ways. Buggy was weak and he knew it; if Law was provided with the opportunity to offer up the clown as bait, he most certainly would.

Though, of course, the same could be said for their dear Vice Admiral of the Marines that they had all spent the greater years of their life running away from. Vice Admiral Smoker viewed them all as vermon, no doubt, and yet here they all were having to work together for survival.

"Trafalgar, we don't need to bicker amongst ourselves. Keep quiet, they could be near." Then there was the young, blonde gentleman that no one knew anything about. He called himself 'Sabo' and insisted that he was a friend to all of them alike. A Revolutionary, and a smart kid.

"Easy fer you ta say..." The clown liked the designated cook the most. Thatch's fancy hairstyle had been ruined early on, his white clothes ripped and stained, but none of that seemed to bother him in the slightest. A cheery fellow. Who knew the Whitebeard Pirates were so charming? "That doctor's been askin' for it."

"Ssshhh!" Sabo quieted them all, leaving them to their silent glares and gestures of disapproval.

The five of them had found a space anything but reliable to shelter them for the meantime. A fallen tree acted as a roof, and the abundance of ferns and bushes kept them hidden well enough from the stranded teen out in the open.

Distraction. Bait. The teen was fair game.

The rainforest was a quiet place, almost completely deserted by animals, and it wasn't any wonder to the teen as to why that was. He had never taken a moment to search for food on his journey through the endless sea of trees, and even now as he looked around at the level he faced, feeling the cold mulch press and seep into his skin, he saw only mushrooms, berries, and a few wild flowers.

He lay there in his panic, the earth sticking to his chapped lips and creeping into his mouth with every deep breath. The dampness soaked into his clothes and chilled him further, though he could not be brought to move. The silence both terrified and calmed him, and though his body craved rest and sleep, his mind would not allow it.

Tasting the cedar on his tongue, the teen closed his eyes and thought to accept his fate. There were others on this island, though they would not help him. His nakama were nowhere to be found, he had no food, or shelter, and he was most certainly being hunted.

Hunted. The word struck another shock of fear through him, forcing his eyes to open at the sudden sound of a twig snapping behind his head. No... Oh no... His breath quickened with his heart and eyes widened, summoning every courage he had within him to turn and meet his maker...

"AAAAAHHHHH!" The scream echoed through the trees, startling the wind, and bringing the rain. It was a scream the chef had heard too many times since he had arrived this morning, just as lost as the young teen before them.

Thatch cringed, silently thanking the rain for its prompt timing, as he knew it would mask the scent of himself and comrades. Their make-shift hide out would not last, however. They would all get sick before long, and when was the last time anyone had eatten?

Blue eyes watched carefully between fern leaves, eyeing up the hunter as if trying to memorize each morsal of its figure. What did it want with the humans it took? Did it feel threatened? Protecting the territory because of off-spring, or was it a carnivore? The rat-like creature inspired all sorts of questions in Thatch's mind, but one fact stood out clearly. He was not about to run out there and challenge it. They were out numbered on this island with no weapons, and it was earlier determined that the clown was the only one who could utilize his devil fruit abilities.

Thatch kept still, unaware of his rough fingers digging into the earth as he watched the creature rip the young boy apart. Its spine protruded, hunched over and hairy, with a face like a rat. Its eyes glowed a poison green, crazed and lurching in the sounds of its own snarls and ripping flesh.

The cook's brows furrowed in remorse and disgust as he picked up the scent of copper fill the air. When the creature was finished it would dart off again, painting the greenery red with its fresh victory. The thought of it made Thatch sink into the mulch, noticing the uneasy pleasure in the doctor's grin.