II


2. indicating an unknown,


Truth never dies but it lives a wretched life.

(Yiddish Proverb)


"Fire Fist"

Wanted alive for questioning. Capture by any means necessary.

Description:

Whitebeard spy and assassin

COTD, Mera Mera (Logia)

personal info and actual appearance unknown

age estimated to be between 20 and 30 years

Case 1 (2000):

4 unidentified bodies (children); c.o.d.: burned alive

Fire Fist alias: n/a

more children reported missing than corpses found

children possibly used for further COTD experimentation or WB's research

4 dead (children)

Case 2 (2004):

Vice Admiral Komir (commander of G2 base); c.o.d.: burned alive

Fire Fist alias: Louie Fuchsia (soldier at G2)

intelligence concerning WB's whereabouts stolen from base, probably destroyed

G2 razed to the ground

1 dead (Komir), 7 severely wounded, 304 mildly injured

Case 3 (2004-2005):

Chief Jailer Shiryuu (chief jailer of Impel Down); c.o.d.: burned alive

Fire Fist alias: Red Shankson (Vice Guard at Impel Down)

led jailbreak of other WB and COTD inmates, many other convicts also escaped

lower levels of Impel Down damaged beyond repair

1 dead (Shiryuu), 287 severely wounded, 1209 mildly injured

Case 4 (2005-2007):

Jerry, Wanze, Spandine (CP6, CP7, CP9); c.o.d.: burned alive

Fire Fist alias: Roger Kingsley (CP8)

carefully assassinated only the three closest to him at annual Cipher Pol meeting

fire damage to Enies Lobby

destroyed COTD research facility, armaments factory, and intelligence on WB's research

stole blueprints of some seastone weaponry and technology

3 dead (Jerry, Wanze, Spandine), 314 severely wounded, 2034 mildly injured

Case 5 (2007-2008):

Papyroo Rodrigez (politician); c.o.d.: burned alive

Fire Fist alias (unconfirmed): "Rouge" (secretary)

victim was large supporter of government, funded COTD research

assassinated at public speech, thus spreading panic of WB among the public

"Rouge" rumoured to have been Rodrigez's lover (unconfirmed)

1 dead (Rodrigez), 2 severely wounded, 5 mildly injured

Recent activity (2008- ):

no deaths since Rodrigez's assassination

two arson cases suspected to be caused by Fire Fist (unconfirmed)

current location unknown


"Done reading yet?" Smoker grumbled.

Ace nodded and returned the summaries to his partner. "Thanks for the rundown," he said, trying to be civil after their first pleasant meeting that wasn't.

"Tashigi made it," Smoker snorted. He clipped the papers together and placed them in a file. "She thought that you probably didn't want to read through ten years of investigative crap on your second day in this branch."

"I'll have to thank her later," Ace declared, smiling slightly in a grateful manner for good measure.

"You will have to read every bloody piece of info later, but we have something else to do today." Smoker stood up abruptly and put on his heavy leather jacket while heading towards the door.

"Like what?" Ace asked, getting off his chair and following Smoker.

"We have a lead," Smoker answered gruffly before exiting their shared office.

Ace left as well and closed the door behind them. "On Fire Fist?"

"No, we have a lead on my grandmother," Smoker said sarcastically. He locked the door violently and stormed down the hallway, resolutely ignoring Ace who continued to walk after him. "Yes, fucking Fire Fist. Hopefully we can finally catch that bastard. If we're lucky we'll find him soon, so hurry up!" Smoker barked.

"I'm right behind you," Ace said with a smirk, the irony of Smoker's statement not lost on him.


It felt a little surreal to have his 'story' told so factually.

There were too many people that Ace had killed and hurt. Ten were dead because of him, but thousands more were harmed. Yet to the government, the people were only numbers: just lifeless ink on a white page.

Ace never visited their graves. They were always buried someplace he could never access, even if Whitebeard allowed him to go. But Ace would not have visited any graves regardless of whether or not he had permission. The act in itself was too painful.

They had trusted him. And in return, he worked with them, played with them, talked with them, ate with them, and in a couple of cases, slept with them too. And then he killed them.

Well, they deserved it, Ace told himself, trying to justify his actions. Komir led many intelligence operations that uncovered information later used in the war. Shiryuu tortured and killed hundreds of the prisoners he was in charge of. Jerry, Wanze, and Spandine were lying, scheming bastards, like the rest of the Cipher Pol. And Rodrigez was an embezzling, two-faced con. Oh, and he cheated on his wife. Actively. Ace knew about that firsthand.

But what about the kids? a quiet voice in a small corner of his mind whispered.

And Ace had no answer to that.


"Kinda dingy, don't you think?" Ace commented, eyeing the greenish mould growing happily on a particularly damp patch of the cracked wall they were leaning against.

Smoker snorted. "I don't care if our informant lives in a fucking shithole as long as his information isn't in a similar state," he grumbled, lighting two cigars and placing them between his teeth.

Ace was about to ask his partner about his unusual habit when he spotted the person they had been waiting for. "He's here," Ace said, and Smoker nodded.

The man was a sorry sight. Absolutely everything was in a state of disarray, from the unkempt hair and unshaven face, to the shabby clothes and grimy boots. A strong scent of alcohol trailed after the man, and out of courtesy, Ace resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. But after two and a half hours of waiting with a man that hated his company, Ace had plenty of time to examine the decrepit building they stood in – its inhabitant's appearance did not surprise him. In fact, it had been cynically predicted.

"You the White Hunter?" the man asked nervously, eyes skittishly darting back and forth between Smoker and possible escape routes. Ace felt the sudden desire to laugh at the man's poorly disguised anxiety, but he quashed that impulse out of courtesy as well. When Smoker nodded, the man asked, "And who's that?" before pointing shakily at Ace.

"I'm his partner," Ace answered reassuringly. They didn't need the guy to scarper, after all, so being nice would probably prove productive.

"You said you heard about Fire Fist's current location," Smoker said roughly, cutting straight to the chase. "Tell us what you know."

So much for being nice, Ace thought wryly.

Although he seemed a bit taken aback by Smoker's directness, the man spoke anyways. "Well… I was out… down in the part of town you two respectable fellows probably wouldn't go to… and I accidentally overheard these men talking…" A sort of wariness crept into the man's eyes, but he continued. "I only heard little bits of their conversation because I wasn't that near to them, but I'm sure of what I heard…"

"You think they were associated with Whitebeard?" Smoker asked.

The man nodded hesitantly. "I'm pretty sure they were," he answered. "It's not uncommon for suspicious people to turn up in those areas," he added.

Smoker grunted in acknowledgement. "So what did you hear?" he questioned.

Then the caution in the man's eyes grew, and he shifted in obvious discomfort. "I… I'm not sure if I should tell you anymore," he muttered nervously.

"Then why the hell am I here?" Smoker said, his tone changing slightly. "To appreciate the fucking scenery?"

"I-I'm not trying to back out of my promise," the man stammered, hastily back-pedalling.

"Yeah?" And then Smoker Glared with a capital 'g', and Ace pitied the poor man who was on the receiving end of it. "Then what the fuck are you doing?"

"I-It's just that… well… they say that Whitebeard has people everywhere," the man exclaimed, his shaking voice tinged with apprehensive fear. Smoker's glare intensified, and the man visibly trembled. But Ace felt like he could see where the conversation was heading, and he decided to step in before things got ugly.

"You got a family, sir?" Ace asked suddenly, causing both Smoker and his victim to look up. When the man's face suddenly relaxed, and when he nodded jerkily, Ace knew that he had hit the mark dead on. "Don't worry," Ace said comfortingly. "Your family won't be in any danger. What you tell us will stay with us and the ones we work with. Whitebeard and his people would never know." That was a total, barefaced lie, but he needed to get the man to talk. "We won't even ask for your name," Ace added, trying to coax the uncertain man into trusting them.

Ten years of practice paid off, because the man said, "I might know the approximate whereabouts of Fire Fist. I don't have anything exact, but this might help you out."

"Tell us, then," Smoker muttered, patience clearly worn thin.

"The men talked about lots of things," the man said carefully, "but I only heard one part clearly." He paused nervously. "One of them said something about Fire Fist being, er, a 'lucky bastard' that got to attack the enemy from within. I'm assuming that this means Fire Fist has somehow managed to get into the government somehow…"

"Hnn, it's happened before," Smoker muttered, voice barely audible; the man didn't hear it, but Ace did. "It would explain Fire Fist's recent inactivity."

"Um… can I ask you something…?" the man whispered timidly. Smoker nodded, and the man said, "Why do you people never assume he's dead?"

Smoker scowled darkly. "Bastards like Fire Fist don't just die," he said humourlessly. "They're always alive until you find their fucking bodies; it's easy to locate them then. Unfortunately, corpses don't talk, so we need Fire Fist alive. Whitebeard criminals are hard to find when living, especially if they're also Children of the Devil. Fucking cockroaches."

Seeing some vestigial doubt on their informant's face, Ace cheerfully added, "I'd say my partner always has a 'paranoid, suspicious bastard' mentality, but what he just said is true." A rather pissed off glare was aimed his way, but Ace was immune to it.

"We're leaving," Smoker told the man. "You should get home." Then he left, leaving Ace and the man behind in the dilapidated building.

"But… I live here," the man said, confused.

"Go back to that family of yours," Ace hinted. Once comprehension dawned on the man, Ace felt that it was safe to ask, "If you were so worried about them, why did you contact my partner in the first place?"

"I thought it was the right thing to do," the man answered simply.

So there are still good people left in this shitty world, Ace thought absently. He thanked the man and then left the building quickly. He caught up with Smoker a few minutes later. "You walk damn fast," he said to the older man. "And I think he was telling the truth to us."

"Or what he thinks is the truth," Smoker corrected. He unlocked the car and climbed in, strapping on his seatbelt and then starting the vehicle once Ace got in as well. The black car drove quietly away and back towards their workplace, headlights knifing through the night sky.

"Well, we can just ask other people once we get back," Ace said indifferently, tossing his cellphone into Smoker's lap.

"You recorded him," Smoker said, eyes not leaving the road. "Fucking two-faced bastard." One hand left the steering wheel to drop the cellphone into its owner's outstretched palm.

Ace shrugged, slipping his phone back into his coat pocket. "Whatever gets the job done."

"Fascinating," Smoker said dryly. "Ever thought of transferring to CP9?"

"Hey," Ace said calmly, hiding the defensiveness that crept up within him. "It's just my work ethic – always has been, and always will be."

"Interesting work ethic," Smoker commented while making a left turn. "Or rather just work, since there doesn't seem to be any ethics involved."

"Haha, very funny," Ace muttered sarcastically, even though a weary part of him agreed with the cynical driver.


"Ace, Ace, look what we got for you!"

"… Is… is that for me…?"

"Yeah! We found it! Isn't it cool?"

"We put it together for you!"

"Thanks guys…! It's… it's…"

"Haha, look! He's smiling! Success!"

"Happy birthday, Ace!"

"No, silly, it's not his birthday yet!"

"It's almost his birthday – c'mon, it's just in a few minutes!"

"Happy birthday, Ace!"

"What did I just say?"

"Yeesh, it's nearly midnight, so why can't I just say it now?"

"It's not his birthday yet!"

"But we already gave him his present!"

"Well, that's okay. You do like it, right Ace? It's pretty big on you…"

"No, it's perfect! It's the best hat in the world."

"See? Told you he'd like it!"

"Oh, hey… the adults are counting down!"

"For Ace's birthday?"

"Don't be an idiot! It's for New Year!"

"Plus it's special this time around. Er, mill… mill…"

"Millennium."

"Right! That was it!"

"Well who cares about that? We'll count for Ace instead!"

"Okay, we'll start when they get to ten!"

"So now?"

"No, not quite… okay wait… now!"

"Ten…"

"Nine…"

"Eight…"

"Seven…"

"Six…"

"Five…"

"Four…"

"Three…"

"Two…"

"One!"

"Happy bir -!"


Whatever gets the job done.

'Whatever' was a rather inclusive word. It could mean everything or nothing at all, as long as it got the job done.

(One more. Just one more…)

He'd do anything for Luffy. So 'whatever gets the job done' was a bit of a lie (like everything else in his fucked up life?)… 'Whatever will protect Luffy' was a more accurate description of his work ethic, minus the ethic. Because Luffy was the only person Ace had left. Luffy was his everything. Luffy was worth more than everything. Luffy's life superseded any and all 'whatever's.

But what about the kids? the guilty whisper repeated. And Ace killed the voice too. 'Whatever's were much easier to deal with when one had a dead conscience.

After all, corpses didn't talk.


Where the hell are they? Ace thought, frustrated.

Ace didn't lose things. He didn't. Ever. But he couldn't find something extremely important, and he sincerely hoped that the saying 'a first time for everything' didn't apply in this particular case. He also hoped the childish 'finders keepers' rule was not upheld in the government.

Because Ace really need to find them fast, or else he was fucked.

Everywhere. Ace had looked everywhere he could think of. He had upended his briefcase thrice. He had thoroughly rummaged through the pockets on every article of clothing he wore. He had scoured the floor. He had cleaned his desk and searched on and inside of it. Hell, he had even searched Smoker's desk in case he left the small bottle in his partner's territory due to some freak brain aneurysm that made him go near the crazy man's things. And still nothing.

Where were his fucking pills?

While entertaining the thought of emptying his bag for the fourth fucking time, the door swung open and Smoker walked in silently. "Hey," Ace greeted with even less enthusiasm than usual which he didn't think was possible until just then.

Predictably, Smoker grumbled, "Why did you touch my desk?"

Not particularly feeling like answering Smoker, Ace chose to comment on the fact that the other man even noticed in the first place. "What do you have, motion sensors?" he muttered.

"Eyes," Smoker said sarcastically.

"I barely touched anything!" Ace exclaimed.

"But you still touched something," Smoker said, frowning. "You moved my file."

Ace stared at Smoker incredulously. "You definitely have motion detectors on your desk, or at least a hidden camera somewhere."

"Eyes," Smoker corrected, levelling another glare on Ace, much like he had been doing since they first met. "And I suggest you start using them if you still can't tell which damn desk isn't yours."

"I was looking for something," Ace said peevishly.

"Looking for what – your brain?" Smoker snorted, sitting down in front of his desk and starting to work. "I'm sure you won't find it by now, since you lost it so long ago."

"Fuck you," Ace said, irritated. I'll just check my briefcase again, he thought, rummaging determinedly inside the damn thing.

"No thanks," Smoker said, opening the folder Ace had allegedly moved.

"You are an infuriating bastard to work with," Ace grumbled.

"So I've been told," Smoker grunted absently, mind clearly elsewhere while reading.

Ace decided not to riposte and continued searching. After a few minutes of futility, Ace sighed in resignation and grudgingly asked Smoker, "Have you seen my medication with those amazing eyes of yours?"

"Small translucent pill bottle made of blue plastic? White screw-on cap? Clear gel capsules?" Smoker listed, still engrossed in his paperwork.

"… Yes," Ace said blankly.

"You should put your name on the stupid bottle if it's that important, moron," Smoker commented.

"Well, I've never lost it before today," Ace muttered. "I always keep it with me."

"It fell out of your coat pocket this morning," Smoker explained.

"Oh. Then can I have it back now?" Ace asked, relieved.

"No," Smoker declared.

Ace narrowed his eyes in displeasure. "Excuse me?" he deadpanned. "And why not?"

Smoker looked up and scowled at Ace. "The bottle is unlabelled," he stated. "I'm not returning it until I know what those pills are, and why you have them."

"Do you think they're fucking drugs or something?" Ace snapped. "I need those back, bastard."

"What are they for?" Smoker asked.

"Does it matter?" Ace spat. "What is this, a fucking interrogation?"

"I'm the one asking the questions, brat," Smoker growled.

"Give them back, you fucking asshole!" Ace said furiously. He was tempted to reclaim the small blue bottle by force, but an unwelcome exhaustion suddenly crept over him, making him swear viciously. Ace hissed, "Thanks a lot, partner…" before he slipped into a familiar unconsciousness that he hadn't felt in a long while…


A harsh slap knocked his head sharply to the left. A low moan forced its way through Ace's dry lips.

"Still not awake?" an amused voice commented.

"Just give him another one," someone else jeered, his suggestion met with raucous approval.

The second blow made Ace accidentally bite the inside of his cheek. The flood of warm liquid choked him and he coughed feebly.

"Hey, the little shit is coming 'round," yet another drawled.

"Not quite," said the one Ace identified as the man who had hit him. "But he will be after this." And unkind hands dragged Ace across the cold, smooth floor. Ace kicked weakly but his efforts were in vain. He kept coughing up the blood that continued to fill his mouth.

"In you go," declared the voice, and that was all the warning Ace had before –

Water.

Everywhere it was everywhere and it was going into his nose and it was going into his mouth and he couldn't breathe and he couldn't move and it dragged him down and down and downanddownuntil –


Ace's eyes snapped open. His body shot back into full alert and his head jerked upright from its previously lax position.

He was in his chair.

In the office.

Safe.

Smoker was working intently on his paperwork again, but Ace knew the bastard was feigning ignorance. He knows damn well I'm awake right now, Ace mused, although his thoughts were still a bit scattered. His suspicions were confirmed when Smoker spoke only after Ace's lungs started functioning properly again.

"What the fuck just happened?" Smoker asked without turning to face Ace. It sounded like he was talking about the weather.

Ace gritted his teeth and ran a trembling hand through his tangled hair. "I fell asleep," he muttered.

"I noticed," Smoker said dryly, eyes still focused on the papers in front of him. "Why did you spontaneously fall asleep? Most normal people don't just keel over while they're in the middle of a fucking conversation."

"You already know why," Ace accused.

"I only have a hypothesis," Smoker stated.

"As if you haven't figured out I'm fucking narcoleptic by now," Ace said, crossing his arms.

"I just needed verbal confirmation," Smoker said. He tossed Ace's bottle of pills back to its owner. "I'm assuming the medication is for the narcolepsy."

"No shit, Sherlock," Ace growled. "That's why I wanted it back so fucking badly, damn it!"

"Hnn." Smoker finally looked up and stared evenly at Ace. "Funny," he began casually, no traces of humour in his voice or face. "I don't remember reading anything about narcolepsy in your file."

'The jig was up', as Marco might've put it. "That's because it wasn't in my file," Ace said calmly.

"So you lied." It wasn't a declaration. It was an accusation. "Why did you omit something this fucking important?" Smoker demanded.

Ace inhaled deeply. "Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Maybe it has to do with the fucking fact that I wouldn't have been hired if I wrote that down?" He straightened in his chair before continuing dryly, "Hi, I'm Portgas D. Ace. I might fall asleep in the middle of my job if I forget to take my pills. Please hire me instead of that guy over there without a sleeping disorder."

"This happen often?" Smoker asked gruffly.

"No," Ace answered, scowling deeply. No, it didn't, which was why it pissed him off so much that it had happened in front of Smoker of all damn people. "I haven't done that for over five years ever since I started taking my medication."

"Never?" Smoker didn't even try to hide the blatant scepticism laced within that single word.

"Never," Ace repeated, glaring. "Well, not outside of home," he corrected. Not like he had a home.

Smoker stared at Ace contemplatively. "Why'd you want this job?' he said, a tiny, barely-even-there sliver of curiosity laced in the question. "If you were going to lie on a résumé, don't do it with the damn government."

Ace blinked, mildly taken aback. "Because my father wanted me to have this job," he replied carefully. Not like he had a father either. Whitebeard didn't fucking count, and his own, real 'father' didn't as well.

"No, that's why you took the job," Smoker grumbled. "Why did you want it?"

"I…" Ace paused. Why? Well, there was only ever one reason for everything he did. "I did it to protect my brother," he said without thinking. And immediately afterward he regretted his answer; it had been completely honest. He really didn't want any more people to know how much Luffy meant to him. Whitebeard and his cronies (ha, but wasn't he one of those too?) alone were already fucking enough.

It seemed Smoker could tell that what Ace said was the truth, for he said nothing in response and resumed working. After a minute or so, Ace slumped and sighed, "I really fucked up, didn't I?"

"How?" Smoker said blandly, forehead creasing slightly in concentration as he worked.

Ace's head snapped up in surprise and confusion. "What?" he said blankly.

"I didn't see anything out of the ordinary," Smoker remarked.

"… You…" Ace was momentarily struck speechless. He settled with a disbelieving laugh. "You really are something," he managed to say after a few more minutes. "So you're actually nice?" Ace asked wryly.

"Hell no," Smoker growled. "If you get fired I have to do more fucking paperwork. The last idiot left me a shitload."

"You sure it's not because you're nice?" Ace said dryly.

"Shut the fuck up and work already," Smoker snapped angrily. "You've already wasted twenty minutes damn drooling in your chair."

Nope, he's still an asshole, Ace thought.

Good thing, too. Smoker was easier to handle that way.