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==Chapter 10==

Crocodile didn't know how he got there, but he somehow found his back against the wall. This was an unexpected blessing, as the cell that he was kept in was jam-packed with criminals, and there were no beds, nor any other furniture. When the time came to sleep, they simply had to make do where they were, as most of them could barely move.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had been shut in this hellish place for less than a year, and already he could understand how effective it was in separating the weak from the strong. Every day, more reports came in of someone bleeding to death. Or eaten. Or dying of malnutrition. Or boiled alive. Or being frozen solid. Or some combination of the above.

Impel Down was truly a wondrous place. When he overthrew the World Government, he would try not to destroy it.

But, enough thinking about the present and future, he noted. As a pirate with a career that lasted longer than twenty-five years, he had no shortage of memories. Over the years, most of them had been declared worthless and buried, only the faintest trace of them left in the deepest corners of his mind.

Many more, however, made the cut, even to this day.

The scrawny youth pressed his back against the wall. Timing was key if this plan was to work, and despite many backups, he really hoped that it would work. He had no intention of staying on the pirate ship all his life; the captain was a tyrant, and his first mate was a snitch that reported any and all "infractions" to him. Most of the crew had been pressed into service against their will, but there wasn't much that they could do about it.

The thunderous BOOM of a cannon alerted him to his (hopefully) saviors' arrival. He had been on watch duty that night, but staying in the crow's nest in this weather without so much as a coat made it... unpleasant, to say the least. Normally, the first mate kept watch, but tonight, he knew, the man would be fast asleep.

It sure paid to know what the juices of the Ringo-Rango melon could do mixed into alcohol.

The cannonball landed into the water, barely five feet from the ship. It might not have hit the ship, but he knew, just as even the most scatterbrained sailor knew, that this was enough to seriously rock the ship off course.

And of course, it would wake everybody up.

The next ten minutes were filled with screams of both anger and terror. Of pistols and clashing swords. Of cannons booming at one another.

Naturally, anyone who wasn't fighting (or couldn't) were prowling the ship for him. No doubt to beat him for either not joining the battle or not raising the alarm.

Despite his frame, he was actually one of the better combatants on the ship. Swords meant little to him, but he could still wield one adequately. Pistols were more to his liking, as he was a pretty accurate marksman, but the entire reloading process every time he fired was a tremendous pain in the ass.

At heart, however, he was a brawler who used whatever he could find to turn a fight to his advantage. He wasn't like those muscle-bound guys in bars who wore spiked gauntlets - instead, he ducked and weaved around his opponent's attacks, and, whenever possible, stole their weapons to use against them. Still, since he was a lowly underling, he still didn't have a bounty of his own yet - not that he was complaining.

He crept up the crow's nest (probably the last place his harebrained companions would think to look for him) and pulled out his emergency pistol. Looking down onto the deck of the ship, he could see more marines than pirates engaged in battle. They were winning.

His eyes scanned the ship, looking for his target. At last, he spotted what was undoubtedly the captain of the marines, engaged in battle with his own captain. It seemed that he, too, was a swordsman. The two men's blades danced in the dim moonlight, drawing flecks of blood every now and then.

He raised the pistol, keeping his eyes trained on his target. His mind narrowed until shooting his target down was all that mattered. Then, he squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

A scream, then he collapsed like a giant rag doll, his body hitting the deck with a final THUMP. They cheered.

The marines, that is.

Without their captain, the rest of the crew didn't stand a chance. Despite his tyrannical personality, he was still the best combatant on the ship, and now that he was no longer occupied with the man, the marine captain easily defeated the rest of the crew almost entirely by himself.

He was the last one that they marched from the ship, no doubt due to no one wanting to go that high in the cold weather. Finally, they searched the crow's nest and found him; he had not even tried to hide himself.

"Hey," one of the marines laughed. "I think that this is the guy who tried to shoot our captain!"

"Nice going, dumbass!" another one snickered. "Don't you know? Our captain Thomas saw you long before you even set your eyes on him!"

"Turn out your pockets, now! Wouldn't want you to bring any sharp, nasty objects onboard!"

He did as he was told.

"Now, walk!"

He stayed still and placed a hand on his earring. It was nothing fancy; just a piece of gold metal piercing his earlobe.

"Did you hear me?!" the marine demanded. He shot out a hand, aiming for the boy's wrist. Quick as lightning, he whipped his hand from the earring, pulling it apart and revealing the tiny hidden blade inside, and stabbed it into the marine's hand with all his strength.

"Son of a...!"

The other marine made a grab for him as well. A sharp jab from the blade seemed to only make him angrier. Until three seconds later, when he dropped dead alongside his companion. The youth grinned to himself at his own genius. He had begged his captain for earrings at the previous town, and, in what little spare time he had, managed to modify it into a hidden blade. The poison was one of his own concoction - they always did say he had a way with chemicals.

He peered over the rim of the crow's nest at the marine ship. No one was on deck. Good. Swiftly but silently, he ran onto the gangplank and boarded the vessel. He could hardly believe that his plan worked this well, but it was only half-completed. He would still have to find whatever money and rations he could get his hands on and avoid being detected until the ship arrived at its next destination. Then, he could say goodbye to this second-rate crew and start a new life.

Judging from the sounds below, the crew was having a party. He smiled to himself and walked as quietly as possible down the stairs leading below deck. He tiptoed past the kitchen, where what appeared to be the entire crew were gathered, drinking and partying. He continued down the corridor, stopping at every door to listen for any sounds. If there were none, he would peek in.

It took four tries, but at last he found the storage room. Still, it was too early to be celebrating. The hardest part was yet to come...

A week later, he felt it appropriate to start celebrating. The marines had docked on an inhabited island for supplies, and just beyond the walls of the ship was a massive city. He had begun to miss them...

He double checked everything on him. Approximately a hundred thousand beli were safely tucked into a small bag inside his shirt. Two small daggers had been acquired and hidden in each boot. Beside him lay a medium-sized satchel, filled with fruit, bread, and some beer.

From what he gathered, they had left a few men to guard the ship, but as soon as the main party were out of sight, they had scampered into the city as well. This was too easy. Hoisting his bag, he made his way cautiously up the stairs and on deck.

He was treated to one of the nastiest surprises of his life.

At least five or six marines were dashing back toward the vessel. Running from them was a boy that couldn't have been older than thirteen. Obviously one of those street urchins who turn to thievery.

There was a tense silence as the two parties made eye contact. Then, all hell broke loose.

The marines drew their pistols and fired off half a dozen shots at him. He barely got down in time. From the sound coming from below, the boy had apparently thought they were aiming for him, and in a panic, blindly threw himself at one of them.

There might be a chance of salvaging the plan after all, he thought.

On a wave of pure instinct, he jumped. It was easy enough to land. Dealing with armed marines, not so easy. All of them had noticed his arrival, and they were closing in on him. Even he knew that he was completely screwed in this situation. The nearest marine, one with a sword drawn, slashed across his face. He leapt back to avoid a serious wound, but it still cut his face open.

It really hurt like hell, but he didn't feel like dying right now.

So, he turned tail and ran. He heard the marines reloading their pistols behind him. Luckily, there was a large crowd of shoppers heading his way, so busy chatting, it seemed, that they had not noticed the ruckus. With a burst of speed, he dashed right into the crowd, dispersing them. He heard the marines curse as they chased after him, yelling out for someone to stop him.

He ran and ran and ran, never looking back even once. Finally, he stopped in a small alley that didn't seem to be inhabited. It was there that he was treated to another nasty surprise.

The satchel containing his rations had ripped. Everything had leaked out. It was a miracle, he thought, that the marines had not used the trail of food to track him down. Great. Now he was in a city all by himself with nothing to eat. Oh, well. At least he had money.

Right now, however, he was starving. He reached into his pockets and pulled out the one piece of fruit that would fit in there: a strange-looking cherry with swirls all over it.

'Bon Appetit,' he thought to himself as he threw it down his gullet.

And then, he woke up. He didn't know why. Nothing had disturbed him. To this day, Crocodile mused, he wasn't sure whether the boy had helped or hindered him more.

==End of Chapter 10==

And that, little ones, is now Monsieur Crocodile got his facial scar. And yes, that is the Suna Suna no Mi at the end.

This trope was formerly known as the Xanatos Gilligan, something completely out of the blue that renders a well-laid plan to shambles. They are the bane of strategists everywhere. This chapter was originally supposed to be about the Xanatos Gambit, but I figured that Crocodile's plan relied too heavily on chance for it to be one.

Former Trope Namer: The show Gargoyles (which provided the "Xanatos" part) and Gilligan's Island (which provided the "Gilligan" part).