A/N: "Roo" is Lucky Roo. Yasopp calls all his crew mates by their last names.

Part 3: Excuse me, may I borrow your IQ?

Unlike other large pirate crews, we don't really have the formal kind of grouping system like divisions to keep everyone on track. Shanks is our one and only leader—well, aside from Beckman, but he's the first mate so that doesn't really count. Instead, we have simply divided ourselves into teams depending on our weapons of choice. We use the teams to take turns with the chores, which is a surprisingly effective strategy. We also share sleeping quarters with those in our team, so we can take turns at keeping night watch as well as day watch every week without disturbing those not on watch duty. That's about the extent of our grouping system, but everyone honors it. Well, aside from the captain, who has a habit of falling asleep wherever on the ship he finds most convenient, but that's just the way he is.

Naturally, I'm on the shooter team together with Beckman, Roo, Doug, and about thirty others. Our sleeping quarters reek of everything from gunpowder and meat to smoke and animal spilling. Takes a while to get used to, but after seventeen years with a crew, you tend to start finding even the most unpleasant odors homey. Our team isn't on watch this week, so I'm actually getting sleep during normal hours at the moment. We are just settling in for the night, Beckman in his usual bed beneath mine, when I bring up something I've been meaning to ask him for a while.

"So I've been thinking—"

"Uh oh, bad sign," Roo interrupts, grinning wildly behind his stick of meat.

I flip him off.

"—how do you know so much about Impel Down?" I finish, watching him expectantly. Beckman flicks some ashes off the tip of his cigarette and looks up, meeting my curious gaze.

"It's no big mystery," he replies with a one-sided shrug. "Heard the stories from a drunken traveler who apparently heard it from Shiki himself. Figured it could be useful, so I paid attention."

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. "Shiki? As in 'Golden Lion' Shiki?"

"So he claimed."

Golden Lion Shiki, huh. The only man who has ever broken out of Impel Down. I suppose he'd be a trusty – not to mention the only – source of information. I've heard the story many times over the years: he cut off his own feet to escape the chains and made it out from the lowest level using swords as a substitute for his lost parts. That's a nasty mental picture if you ask me, but hey, I'm not one to judge. I suppose feet are more crucial for a pirate than arms, because Shanks sure doesn't suffer without one of his. Then again, he would probably kick ass without arms or feet, knowing him.

"I'd say there are six levels," Beckman says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "'Six Levels of Hell' and all—the Marines wouldn't pass up an opportunity like that. Supposedly Level Six is the one where Shiki was kept, together with all the criminals they want to hide from the public."

"Why would they want to hide them, though?" I ask. "If they finally have managed to capture one or two of the worst 'scum' of our kind, why not boast and milk it for what it's worth?"

Beckman chews thoughtfully on the end of his cigarette. "Suppose that's the place where Roger was held before his execution. The most dangerous criminal they had. The only reason to keep his whereabouts hidden would be if they weren't sure that there wouldn't be rescue or break-out attempts. Which is why they kept him in Level Six, hidden from the eyes of the world."

This is why I truly enjoy having Beckman around. The guy is much too intelligent to stay with our lot of brainless muscle heads, but he does, and he allows me to pick his brain whenever I please. I always make sure to have a word with him before sleeping, discussing whatever I've been thinking about during the day. His quiet wisdom is that of an older brother or mentor I never had.

"Crimson Hell, Wild Beast Hell, Starvation Hell, Inferno Hell, Freezing Hell, Level Six, right?" I ask, ticking each level off with my fingers.

He nods in confirmation. "And Level Six is Eternal Hell," he adds.

"Really?" I make sure to commit them to memory, putting it in my mental 'Things To Tell Usopp' folder as I often do in hopes of future use. If I ever get to meet my son again, I want to be able to tell him all kinds of useful things. It's the least I can do.

Beckman and I exchange 'good nights', and as always, I'm asleep within minutes.