How long had it been? Thirty minutes? An hour? Brok had been wandering aimlessly ever since he left the Mermaid Cafe. The only thing that pierces through the fog of his mind is the sound of voices echoing through a gap between two tall structures of coral. The black, ashen, coral was a stark contrast to the vibrant colors that decorated the rest of the island. Brok also observes that there was a noticeable emptiness in the area. Perhaps, it was the lack of chatter or the absence of people.

He finds one thing to be true from his examination.

Somehow, in some way, Brok had ended up in the wrong part of town.

"And then we came across a filthy human-"

Brok presses himself against the wall of coral immediately. He didn't know why that hadn't been his first order of action. He could have fallen in trouble if he had been caught eavesdropping by a bunch of fishmen... Fishmen who sounded eerily similar to the gang that had taken up residence in the booth behind him when he had settled himself in the Mermaid Cafe. He'd need to see their appearance to be confident, but he couldn't get a look at their faces. No. Not if he didn't want to be caught. Popping his head out into a narrow alleyway was a great way to reveal his location.

So Brok decides to make assumptions based on their conversation alone.

So they came across a filthy human? Who? Me? Or was it one that belonged to Whitebeard's crew?

"That's when this fool nearly mentioned the queen in public!"

"Ow!" Comes a pained cry. Brok can guess by the sound of a loud smack that one of the fishmen had been slapped across the back of the head.

"He almost gave us away!"

"You know we don't talk about the assassination in public," a new voice spits, one Brok didn't recognize, angrily.

Assassination? Brok thinks. He stops breathing. His heart pounds against his chest. His hands were sweaty. Shaky.

He was-

Exhilarated!

Assassination! How lucky was he to come across such a gem on his first visit to Fishman Island! If he could get his hands on information unavailable to the ignorant public- well- Brok could only imagine the power this knowledge could hold! It was fortunate that he had managed to come across this shabby-looking part of town even if it had been unknowingly!

"Apologies, boss! I was just reminded of how disgusting humans are. When I saw that human in the Mermaid Cafe, I got so angry , and then I remembered that dirty human that we forced to assassinate the-"

" Don't say anymore," the new voice growls.

The fishman didn't have to say anymore. All Brok had to do was connect the dots.

Brok remembers, quite clearly, one of them stating, "We don't talk about the queen in public," in their previous conversation. That got him thinking. Hard . This was something more than just the assassination of some poor bloke. This was a political murder. It had been a human that took her out, but not by his own free will. Hody's gang, as Madam Shyarly had named them, had forced a human to kill her. Brok had a good idea that this was to cause further stress in the relationship between fishmen and humans. Fishmen were already despised by a large population of people, and so it would be natural to think that fishmen held a vendetta against humans. Their people, after all, were often kidnapped for slavery.

"I knew humans were trash," the voice continues, hate-laced in every word, "from the moment those damned marines enslaved me and so many others."

Marines? Brok thinks. Enslavement?

"The only thing they're good at is taking the blame," he finally finishes.

Those words might not have meant much to the average eavesdropper, but to the experienced ear… those words held more profound meaning.

"And Queen Otohime," the venomous voice scoffs, "what did she think would happen? A petition for the improvement of relationship? How brainless! Humans are weak, puny, worms! Fishmen could never coexist with such trash!"

Brok ignores the blatantly racist comments as he registers the new information.

Queen Otohime was a diplomat working on human relations- a human assassinated her- Hody's gang has something against marines- marines are only good at 'taking the blame' (that had to mean something!)- The marines also have enslaved fishmen before. Hody's gang seems to have been involved in said enslavement.

Brok furrows his brows.

Marines are only good at taking the blame… huh…?

The human… the human that killed Queen Otohime!

Brok's eyes widen as the complexity of the situation dawned on him.

Hody's gang had forced a marine , out of their spite, to kill the queen. They probably used a marine that had been directly involved in the slavery business, and they had used him as a pawn in their growing conspiracy. They could easily have him take all the blame for their plan. This was a big move to have the fishmen question the ability to live together, peacefully, with humans.

This is bigger than I thought.

What would the Marines think of such information? They might just pass it off as something small, something easy to conceal, but that's where Whitebeard would throw the whole thing into the water. Fishman Island was under Whitebeard's protection. If he learned that a Marine was responsible for killing the queen (and of course Brok would withhold the truth behind the situation to suit his purposes), there would be chaos. No one messed with an island under Whitebeard's protection. Not the Marines, not Cipher Pol, nor the World Government itself.

He could use this. Yes.

Blackmail.

Brok was not above blackmail. He'd use it when it was necessary.

But the World Government isn't honest , Brok thinks, biting his bottom lip in deep thought, there's no guarantee that it'd work. Not unless I somehow trick them into thinking I'm more powerful than I already am.

Brok clenches his fists, resting at his side.

The blackmail wouldn't succeed. Not unless...

Realization washes over him.

The John Pirates!

Oh, yes. It was absolutely diabolical .

They would never take Brok Lee, an agent of Cipher Pol 5, seriously. They knew everything about him. They knew of his skills, his history, and more. They'd be able to easily calculate, based on the files they had on him, the best way to take him out. He was nothing to them. He was just another piece on the chess board just as all Cipher Pol agents were.Disposable .

Gol D. John, on the other hand?

He was an unknown variable. They feared him. They feared anything having to do with the deceased Pirate King, and they were desperate to have him executed. They knew he was powerful because he had, in some way, hidden his existence until now. There was no way they'd be able to take one of Brok's aliases lightly. Not if they were involved in the John Pirates.

He'd blackmail them using Gol D. John, or any member of the John Pirates.

But what for? Brok thinks.

Well… another part of his reasons, what if the plan to have the John Pirates kidnap me doesn't work? Blackmail would be a great backup material to grant me my freedom.

Or, he continues in thought, I could use it for an exchange of information.

Brok almost drools at the mere idea of gathering more classified secrets from the World Government's possessive hands. That sort of thing was never offered lightly.

Brok hears the scuffle of feet. He realizes that he had lingered for far too long. He didn't want to risk getting caught.

Brok pushes himself off the wall and runs. Because of years of practice, his footsteps are light and quick, helping him to not attract unwanted attention. He continues to run, taking sharp turns, and skirting around corners until one such corner has him slamming into someone's chest.

Brok flinches backward immediately. He reaches a hand up to his nose on where he felt most of the impact.

"Oh! There you are, Jackson!" The man exclaims.

Oh , Brok finally registers, he's human.

Whatley.

Whatley, to Brok's understanding, was apart of Izo's division. Izo had been true to his word when he said he'd send someone from his division to find him.

"Whatley!" Brok greets, relieved to see another human, "Is it already time to return?"

"Whitebeard finished an hour ago," Whatley informs him seriously as if delivering a report to a superior. Then he relaxes, going on to say, "You're a hard man to find. I've been searching everywhere for you which I didn't think would be this much trouble… You're good at covering your tracks."

Right. Right . Izo's division was the information gathering division. Tracking people down was in their skillset.

"Me? Covering my tracks?" Brok asks, already coming up with excuses in his head. "I don't recall doing such a thing. I did, however, get a bit lost…" Brok then gestures to the area they were in. "I'm glad you found me when you did."

"Hmmm," Whatley hums as he stares at Brok in contemplation.

"I'm eager to return," Brok states, quickly, "I have much to tell about the wonderful time I've had here."

I do, Brok mentally notes, but a few lies would do nicely to cover up the truth of what truly happened here.

Whatley, seeming to relent in his examination, nods. "I'm sure the others will be glad to hear the stories you've collected."

Whatley doesn't say anything else. From that point onward, Whatley escorts Brok back to the Moby Dick. Brok is very glad to get out of the slums. The Moby Dick was a sight for sore eyes compared to the nightmare part of the island he had wandered through, and that was a strange notion by itself. That the Moby Dick, a ship owned by a dangerous emperor, would be a comfort to see. It was baffling.

"Whatley! Jackson! You're just in time for dinner!"

Thatch, who had been leaning against the railing, welcomes them back with great enthusiasm.

What's the head chef doing on the deck during dinner time? Brok thinks.

Had he been waiting for us?

Brok shakes his head. That was a silly idea.

Brok takes one step on deck, ready to tell Thatch that he'd rather go to his room then eat dinner with a bunch of pirates (though not in those exact words, of course), but his focus lays on Thatch's flying arm. It was heading in Brok's direction- right for his shoulders-

Please, don't touch me.

Brok ducks his head, bending forward and promptly dodges Thatch's friendly gesture.

Thatch's arm is left hanging in the air. Brok doesn't realize what he had done until he notices Whatley and Thatch's confused stares. This, to them, might have been the most out-of-character thing they've seen him done since his arrival.

Brok remedies the situation immediately.

"I don't need an escort to find the mess hall," he teases. "I can do it myself."

Thatch holds both his hands up in surrender, playfully, saying, "Alright, alright. You don't need a babysitter. I understand."

Whatley mutters under his breath, "Could have fooled me. Getting lost in the slums… honestly…"

Brok doesn't comment because he knew he wasn't supposed to hear Whatley's words. Instead, he leads the other two to the mess hall, regretting that he had driven himself into this situation in an effort to avoid touch. Now he was just navigating himself into a crowded area where he'd have a difficult time. More so than on the deck.

"Ha…?! Finally decided to join us!" A voice yells out, belonging to a nameless member of the crew. He pointed out Brok's arrival the moment he entered below deck, and Brok falls victim to multiple stares.

He takes a deep breath.

I'm not Brok Lee. I'm not. I'm Jackson Hellburn. I LOVE people. I love crowded places, social interactions, and any opportunity to sell overly-priced objects to people. This is great. Being here is a wonderful thing .

A smaller voice, in the back of his mind, whispers to him.

Liar .

"Jackson!" Ace, sitting at a table with two others, waves his hand at Brok. "Come join us!"

Brok puts on the biggest salesman smile he can muster as he makes his way to Ace's table. The two others consist of division leader Izo, and a man Brok had seen under Ace's command. What was his name again…?

Brok plops himself next to Ace. He tries his best to avoid eye-contact with Izo in the most natural way possible.

"You know Izo," Ace says, waving his hand in Izo's direction, "but you might not know Lupin. He's our new brother."

"Haha! That's right!" Lupin laughs, rubbing his nose sheepishly.

"Pleasure," Brok says, politely.

"We were just talking about some of the crews we've encountered in Paradise-" Ace explains, but Lupin is eager to get his word in.

Lupin interrupts, "They've mostly been Marines! They follow us like hawks!"

"Like mice following a cheese trail," Izo corrects.

Lupin doesn't pay Izo any attention. He continues, "But we didn't get to see many pirate crews. Not any that were strong enough to stand up to Pop's strength!"

"A natural outcome," Izo puts in.

"But man, would I love to see the rumored John Pirates. I bet they'd put up a good fight! Do you think they're in Paradise?"

Brok notices a change immediately.

Ace's mood changes drastically. His carefree nature is replaced by something far more grave. His eyes are shadowed over by the rim of his hat, hiding the serious emotion in his eyes.

Why would the mention of the John Pirates make Ace's mood change this much? Brok didn't have to know Ace for long to understand that Ace didn't usually act like this. Not unless something really bothered him like the haki incident.

"I heard you met one of the members, Izo! What was he like?" Lupin continues, utterly oblivious to the atmosphere. How could someone be so ignorant?

Izo calmly wraps a hand around his teacup. He brings it up to his lips, taking a sip, before entertaining their newest brother with his next words.

"He had a tragic appearance. His face was something only a mother could love."

Brok nearly chokes on air.

"And his horrible taste of fashion-" Izo insults, "a hat with a bell at the end? Simply tacky!"

I mean, I wasn't going for an attractive look, Brok tells himself, but why do I still feel attacked?

"But he was a dangerous man," Izo continues, a frown forming on his face. "He held the information I needed when no one else had a clue. Even I, after weeks of investigation, couldn't find anything about my objective. He is no average man to be trifled with."

"Would you ever go to him again? To find out more?" Lupin questions.

Izo is silent for a moment. Everyone waits for his answer in anticipation, even Ace.

"Perhaps," Izo admits. He sets his teacup down before going on to say, "It depends. I'm certainly intrigued, but my duty lies here. As long as he doesn't threaten us or catch pop's interest, it is unlikely that I will find John Jingle again."

Little did Izo know-

John Jingle is sitting right in front of you.

"Ace!" A voice cries out. Thatch. Again . Did he always hover over other people? "You aren't eating! I expected to make several more servings for you!"

Ace stands up from his place, sticks his hands in his pockets, and brushes past Thatch without a word. He leaves a full plate behind him which, apparently, was a shock to everyone around him.

Brok didn't even realize that the whole room had been quiet until a wave of chaotic chatter explodes in his ear.

Brok, who didn't eat much to begin with, had no idea why this was such a big deal.

What the hell is going on?

The chatter is terrible as everyone swarms Lupin. Brok even feels a bit of pity for him, but that wasn't going to make him stay. He was going to leave as soon as possible so that he wouldn't be the next one in line for questioning.

"What about you?"

Brok, in the middle of standing up from his seat, glances over his shoulder.

Thatch still stood there with his arms crossed.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Brok hadn't gotten a plate of food to begin with. Not that he would consider doing it now. He didn't want to eat the food that other hands had prepared for him.

"No. Lost my appetite," he explains.

"You haven't been eating much," Thatch points out.

Brok startles at that.

He's been watching me?

"I'm a light eater. You'll have to forgive me for my small stomach. It's not that I don't appreciate your food or anything."

Brok heads to the exit, dodging Thatch's more substantial form, believing the conversation to be over.

He's relieved to feel the pressure of Thatch's stare on the back of his skull disappear when he heads back to the upper deck.

I need to be more careful, Brok chides himself.

An image appears at the forefront of his mind. He remembers the plate of food he had received earlier after having been submerged in the sea… it was in front of his door and… could… could that have been Thatch's doing?

Brok sighs loudly.

He'd deal with this later. He didn't have much energy to waste his time thinking about how others may just be concerned with his well-being.

He'd just check in with Spandam, give him a jacked-up report, and then go to bed.

Sounds like a plan.

AN: We'll be going through previous chapters to fix up some of the grammar mistakes we left behind. And when I say 'we' I mean my editor, Sammie, and I. Here's a chapter after a long wait! Happy fourth!

2nd AN: Deleted this chapter to fix formatting issues.