A World of Difference

Chapter 27: The Beginning...

"I was wondering where you were."

Dragon half-turned to see Kuma ducking through the door. They exchanged a moment of quiet, somber understanding, before Dragon turned back to the cracked, dirty window of Doflamingo's anchor room.

"The haze has cleared," Kuma went on, keeping his head low and dragging one hand over the roof as he came closer. "Does that mean you are feeling better?"

By "the haze" he clearly meant the storm, and as for feeling better…

"Perhaps." Dragon answered, quiet, and thoughtful.

He lowered his gazend raised both hands. In them, he loosely grasped a small stack of papers. Some were from the newspaper with Ruka's message.

The rest were drawings.

Before they left Parties Island, Kuma had taken the liberty of digging the poor, old seer a grave near her home. Ryuuji, no longer under any obligation to stay, began gathering supplies and repairing a small boat with which to set sail.

"You should check out her house," He'd said to Dragon, before they'd parted ways, "She'd drawn so many sketches before I brought her to the inn. Kept saying they were important, like they were meant for you."

It sounded like a reach, but Dragon returned to her home anyway.

Ryuuji had been correct. There were sketches strewn over the floor, the table, the countertops and furniture. Tucked in between books and tomes. Rolled up, slipped into canisters, and left to gather dust. The older ones were excellent, and depicted events from his past, or Ruka's.

She didn't like to discuss her childhood any more than he did his, but he knew her. The skinny child with scrappy hair and baggy clothes, who anyone else would've mistaken for a boy, was full of grit, and fierceness, and desperation.

He knew her, even if he lacked all the details.

There were a few questionable sketches of her, that were unpleasant but which Dragon kept anyway. He planned to ask her about them later. If she wanted to tell him off, she could.

The newer drawings weren't as well done. They looked like rough drafts, done with shaky, arthritic hands. Some of the grooves which cut the image sliced cleanly through the paper. Almost impossible to understand, but Dragon could make out what they were supposed to be.

A ship.

A crew.

The sea.

Strange settings. Islands made of cake, or inhabited by giants, or floating in the sky. He'd heard rumors of such places but had never visited. The sky islands were a rumor, cooked up by those who'd witnessed the devastation of the knock-up stream.

Or so he'd believed.

There was one thing each of the newer, sloppier sketches had in common.

A boy. A scrawny, short boy with scrappy black hair, wearing a hat that looked a lot like Roger's.

He was everywhere. In each one of the newer sketches, he could be found. Sometimes it was easy, like on the ship, and sometimes it was harder, like when he was standing in a crowd.

"I saw a kid," The Old Woman had said to Dragon, "Regular happy child, that one… I doubt he has anything to do with you."

Dragon didn't believe the boy in the newer sketches was related to him, either. However, what had Roger told him? Even if he couldn't make the revolution happen, there might be someone else.

And then he'd pointed to his hat.

Roger had worn a straw hat when he was a young man. Yellow straw, red ribbon, not too big. Dragon knew this—he'd memorized all the old reports on Roger.

But at the execution platform in Logue Town, that hat was absent. Was it lost? Or destroyed?

It wasn't as if that old straw hat was unique. There were probably thousands that looked just like it. The boy in the sketches might very well be wearing a different one. More so, these drawings might not even depict the future. They could just be the product of insanely hopeful imagination.

Dragon just knew, somehow, that this mattered. Somehow, everything was connected.

"What did you take from her house?" Kuma asked, and leaned over his shoulder.

He saw the drawings in Dragon's hands, carefully gathered together and stained with light rain.

"Are those important?" He asked, nodding to them.

"I don't know. Maybe." Dragon said, reluctantly. He took one of the sketches and offered it to Kuma. "Does that boy look familiar to you?"

"Which boy?" Kuma asked, taking the drawing.

"That one." Dragon said and pointed to the Straw Hat Boy.

Kuma tilted his head and squinted at the drawing.

"It's very poor quality," Kuma replied, voicing Dragon's own thoughts, "But it almost looks like Roger."

Yes, he almost did. If Dragon didn't know for a fact that the old woman could see only the future, not the past, he might have believed it was Roger. But Roger was dead, and it was impossible to have foresight concerning a dead man.

This was someone else, if anyone at all.

"Do you know what happened to Roger's straw hat?" Dragon asked, as he took back the drawing.

"… No. I wasn't aware he ever had one." Kuma answered, hesitated, then started again. "But now that you bring it up… I believe there's a surviving member of Roger's old crew whose currently in possession of one."

"Who?"

"Sh—"

Several booming steps rang down from the deck, and they both looked up. Through two levels, they could hear Diamante's ear-splitting voice.

"Quit sneaking off!" He ordered, and stomped some more. "Get up here and help, ya moochers!"

"Such honor." Dragon uttered sarcastically.

"We should go." Kuma decided. "We need to get along with them… For as long as we can."

He turned to leave, but Dragon grabbed his arm.

"Kuma," He said, warning and urgent, "Don't let yourself be alone with them. There are some risks worth taking."

Kuma cracked a small smile. Dragon didn't understand at first, until it occurred to him that Kuma may have been trying to reassure him.

"Alright." He said, agreeably, "But let's try and avoid any unnecessary conflicts. Waves willing, we should be in East Blue by dusk."

Dusk.

Dragon thought back to Ruka's message and let a sigh of sweet relief ripple through him. He might reunite with Ruka in just a few hours.

00000

East Blue was known for peace, or "weakness" depending on who you asked.

Personally, Shanks didn't believe either word rang true.

Take Dawn Island, for example. Even in West Blue, where Shanks was born, this place was revered as the most beautiful island in the East.

And yet, as soon as they dropped anchor at the port and stepped off-ship, onto the waiting boardwalk and the dense crowd of Easterners, everybody wrinkled their noses at them, as if they smelled something rancid.

If anyone smelled funny, it was the people who lived here. How could they breathe when everyone wore so much perfume? Did they bathe in the stuff?

They were dressed in enough layers to make a camel sweat, and everything—absolutely everything, even the trash cans and streets—was spotless.

Windows gleamed like crystal, walls were painted bright colors, and the symbol of the Goa Kingdom, a daisy with three feathers, was placed in odd places: on small flags, as pins stuck to sleek black suits, highlighted on walls, or incorporated into company logos.

Shanks and Beckman stuck out like nails. While everyone else was decked out in suits and ties, dresses and bonnets, they were dressed casually. Loose fitting clothes, with boots for Beckman and sandals for Shanks. Even Shanks' greatest treasure, his straw hat, which he kept one hand on always, would look too simple to these people.

He knew their type.

They knew the price of everything and the value of nothing.

They gave Beckman and Shanks a wide berth.

"What are we doing here?" Shanks asked Beckman, who was a whole head taller than him, and leading the way.

"Provisions remember?" Beckman replied, nodding to the open market of white-tent booths.

Shanks leaned over, looking around Beckman. He must've looked funny, walking like that with his hand on his hat, but oh well.

Each market booth was stuffed to bursting with exotic fruits, fish, medicinal bark, furs, flowers, jewelry, beauty products, and other things they didn't need.

Shanks straightened, crossing his arms behind his head.

"We've got plenty of food, Beckman." He reminded, thinking of their tiny cargo hold full of supplies. Enough supplies to feed two grown men for a week.

"I meant medicine," Beckman clarified, grim and reluctant.

Shanks' breath stopped—his ears rang, and he might've blacked out for a moment. He had almost forgotten that half his face was bandaged. Wrappings which were spoiled and dirty, because Beckman had washed and reused them to treat his eye wound.

Three gashes, raked across his eye in battle. Beckman and Shanks had a silent, mutual agreement not to talk about when, or how, or who. But the reason they'd gone through their medicine so quickly was because Shanks had been wounded.

Not from being careless or slow either. If he ever saw Teach again, he'd… No. Don't think about it. Keep going.

He wasn't strong enough to beat Teach, yet. For now, he needed to focus on his original goal: find some crewmates.

Captain Roger… He'd gone at his own time, in his own way. So, Shanks wouldn't hold it against them. Roger's illness could no longer plague him, and his crew, the one Shanks had grown up with and cared for like family, were scattered.

He hoped he could see them again, sooner or later.

For now, he had a couple of problems. His eye wound shouldn't have been that bad. However, the three gashes were so close to each other that they festered, irritated his eye, and messed with his vision. Meaning they were slow to heal and could easily become infected.

Thanks to his haki, and the skill to use it, he didn't have many directional issues or blind spots. Once the wound healed, and the bandages came off, he'd see just fine. By some miracle, his eye was spared.

"Shanks." Beckman said, warningly.

"I'm okay." He said sincerely, tilting his head back to look up at the clouds.

Another unspoken arrangement between them: if Shanks was quiet for too long, or seemed melancholy, Beckman would call out to him, as he had just now. Even if he wasn't okay, he'd lie. He was captain. He couldn't appear weak.

"We've got no money." Shanks reminded in a sing-song, sarcastic voice.

He shouldn't have said that out loud.

Everyone immediately looked at them with vicious, slit-narrowed eyes. Their hands flew to their valuables: pearl necklaces, ruby rings, silver pocket watches. Shanks half-expected them to mutate, or hiss with forked tongues.

Beckman reached back, grabbed him by the shoulder, and nudged him forward. Shanks led the way now, with Beckman keeping an eye out.

"Would you keep it down?" Beckman whispered, exasperated.

"They won't attack us." Shanks said with confidence. "They care too much about appearances."

"If we get chased out of here, we won't be able to get any medicine. Or information."

Shanks chuckled at his friend's concerns—what was the point in worrying? It wouldn't change the outcome.

He felt something bump into his leg, and he looked down. A couple of raggedy-looking kids, covered in dirt and grime, had tripped and fallen into him. A pair of boys, maybe four and five, and they looked up at him with wickedly mischievous grins before sprinting off into the crowd.

"STOP!"

Shanks turned around, while Beckman looked threateningly around him.

A trio of fat, stubby policemen were making their way towards them. Everyone had stopped to watch with knowing smirks.

Shanks smiled knowingly. He didn't know where this was headed, but it couldn't be good. Besides, those boys looked like they didn't belong here either. Maybe they could get away if he kept these guys preoccupied.

He'd left his sword back on the ship, just because bringing a weapon into a place like this was no better than asking for trouble. He really didn't want to start a fight, but if they gave him no choice—

The first officer's head jerked to the side, eliciting a yelp of pain from him in the process. To everyone watching, it looked as if he'd cracked his neck mid-run. But when a palm-sized rock clacked over the ground, and rolled to a stop at Shanks' feet, he understood.

The officer cupped one hand over his ear, then looked at his palm. It was smeared with blood.

Shanks frowned in astonishment. He and a few others started looking around. Rocks didn't just smack people in the ear for no reason. Who—?

His thoughts were cut off when, just behind him, there was the noise of glass shattering.

He spun around and, shockingly, the closest booth, which was selling all sorts of glass jars and knick-knacks, was in an uproar. Chunks of colored glass littered the ground, glinting in the mid-day sun. The merchant and customers were screaming, ducking and covering their heads with their arms.

"UP THERE!" Someone shouted, and Shanks found himself scanning the walls and ceilings of the surrounding buildings.

He noticed someone—so high up, they appeared much smaller to the naked eye. Their face and body concealed by a tattered dark cloak, they knelt over the tiled roof of a nearby inn, one hand repeatedly catching and throwing a stone.

Then, quick as a squirrel, they leapt from the roof and skidded down the inn wall towards the street. Halfway down, they disappeared and rematerialized, in between Shanks and Beckman.

Shanks whirled, as Beckman stepped back. His hand went to his pocket, where he kept his handgun, but before he could grab it, they shoved something into his chest and spun around.

They grabbed Shanks by the shoulder, and, close enough that he could feel their breath, whispered in his ear:

"Meet me at the ship!"

With that, they rushed away, so quick he could barely watch them.

A woman screamed as her necklace shattered, spilling pearls all over the ground. Others were shoved to the ground by some near-invisible streak of light. Cries of outrage erupted from the Easterners, and Shanks knew some of those coveted valuables had gone missing.

Without a word of warning, the officers, who'd been so interested in Shanks not two minutes ago, turned and chased after them. Whoever they were.

Around him, people were exchanging frightened looks, caught up in conversations of heated gossip. A few were in tears over their stolen possessions, but others were furious.

Shanks chuckled lightheartedly to himself.

Someone had the nerve to attack and rob from these people in the middle of the day.

"Who was that?" Beckman asked, staring off in the direction they'd gone. "A pirate?"

"I hope so." Shanks said, smiling to himself. "If not, maybe they can become one."

"You want to recruit him?" Beckman asked, in a tone that clearly questioned his sanity.

"Not 'him.'" Shanks corrected, turning and taking the bag they'd given Beckman.

He pulled the sack open and reached inside, drawing out a mid-sized first aid kit. There was also some food—spoiled, and only eatable if you were dying of starvation.

He handed the kit to Beckman then tossed the bag in the nearest trashcan.

"She." Shanks said, remembering their voice, whispering so urgently in his ear. "A woman."

00000

Ruka found losing those coppers was easy-peasy. All she had to do was take one of the pearl necklaces she'd stolen and chuck it in the air like a discus. When it landed in the trash, the two buffoons had skidded to a halt, staring into the trash, apparently conflicted over the ideas of easy money and dumpster diving.

Then she'd rushed to the port like her life depended on it and dove into the sea.

The cold ocean water felt awful on her wounds. She'd received more than a few souvenirs from the giant animals of Mt. Corvo, and swimming was a terrible idea right now.

But she had no choice. Underwater, she slung the diamond, gold, and pearl necklaces around her neck and got moving. She swam around, occasionally poking her head up to get a peek at the ships.

Before that fiasco with the cops, she'd been up in the air, resting over gleaming roof tiles, watching the port. She'd seen Red-Haired arrive. She didn't know why she was calling him that, but it fit well: he had warrior red hair, the kind heroes in the old storybooks she used to look through had.

Earlier, when she'd whispered in his ear, she'd got a glimpse of his face. He was just a kid. She only hoped he was who she thought he was.

His boat wasn't too hard to find: the only dinghy with black sails in a port full of trade and merchant ships.

She swam around to it, eager to get out of the ocean. She could taste her own blood in the seawater that would seep into her mouth, and if there was one thing every pirate should know it was that you should never float, bleeding, in the sea. Sharks would get you.

When she reached over the rim of his ship and pulled herself over, she hit the deck like a skinned, balding, bleeding, soaking wet stray cat. She didn't need a mirror to know she looked pathetic, but if things went well for the first time in a week then that wouldn't matter.

After pulling her legs underneath her, and much slipping and hobbling, she got to her feet. The back of her neck cracked when she tried to raise her head, and her bad shoulder was throbbing so much she rocked where she stood.

She limped across the deck to the nearest door, unclamped her hand from around her bad shoulder, and pushed her way into what looked like a tiny kitchen about twice the size of Fuusha's hidden room.

Cabinets lined the walls, with a tiny window residing over a compact oven. In the floor was a trap door no wider than Ruka's skull, and in the back another door leading who-knows-where. A wine barrel sat in one corner, with an open crate of apples balanced on top of it.

Ruka sniffed the air, her heavy-lidded eyes sweeping the small room appreciatively. It smelled warm and oaky, like the Eastern sun had soaked into the wood.

She grunted and pushed herself forward, one foot dragging across the floor as she walked. Her legs felt numb, and her vision was cloudy-white, like she was sitting in fog. Her good hand unclamped from around her bad shoulder and caught the wall, slowly bending so she could lean her forehead against it.

She may as well have glued herself there with tar—her body did not want to move. Her eyes watered and her jaw ached just from thinking about it. But she couldn't pass out yet.

She still needed to talk to him.

Her skull turned against the wall, bringing the apples into view. Slowly, and with much difficulty, she raised her bad shoulder, pulling her mostly numb-and-buzzing arm up. Her hand shook like a glass of water in an earthquake as it tried, and failed, to grab an apple.

After scraping three of her fingers and almost knocking over the crate, she finally managed to snatch some of the fruit up in her hands. Bringing it to her mouth, she turned her back to the wall, and slid to the floor. Her arms were so weak she had to grip the apple tight in both hands to keep from dropping it.

And that's where they found her, when they returned.

00000

They knew something was wrong before they even stepped onto the ship.

Shanks first spotted the bloodied handprints painted on the ships' banister when they were halfway up the gangplank. Instinctively, he nudged Beckman and pointed to them, and watched as his friend raced up plank, over deck, rocking the boat as he went.

Beckman eyed the prints questionably, then looked at his feet. Shanks followed his gaze and saw the trail. Drops of blood floated in puddles of ocean water, streaked across the deck by smeared boot prints.

Without thinking, Shanks followed the trail right into the kitchen (also the sleeping quarters, depending on the weather and tides) and found her slumped against the back wall, between a barrel of wine and a cabinet.

Beckman was hot on his heels, but came to an abrupt stop. He'd looked ready to fight three seconds ago—now he was floored.

Who could blame him? This girl wasn't destroying anything in the state she was in.

She might have been pretty, but he couldn't tell. Her skin was gray and turning green, her eyes bloodshot and dazed, her hair frizzy, cracked, and streaked with mud and blood and bits of seaweed. She was shaking from head to toe, especially her arm. She'd stolen one of their apples, but there was barely one bite missing from it.

"Hey…" She greeted, offering an unsteady, close-lipped, oddly trusting smile.

"Uh… Hey?" Beckman replied.

Shanks looked between them, then cocked his head to the side. He opened his mouth to say something, then reached under his hat to scratch his hair.

He wasn't what you would call a quiet person. But for once, he was having trouble what to say, or think, about all this.

"Are you Shanks?" She croaked, voice so strained and eyes so direct they were like a lighthouse in a nightly thunderstorm—drawing him in against his will.

"Um, yes?" He answered, arching an eyebrow. He couldn't help it; part of him already trusted Ruka, which wasn't strange. But another part was busy counting all the little red-flag's that had gone up the minute he'd encountered her.

She unclenched her fingers, an action which took her several seconds and most of her strength. Her face was pale-green when she was finished, and the apple rolled from her open palms, across the floor, and bopped into Shanks' toes.

Then she did something which both amazed and disturbed him—She stood up.

She drew the stolen goods from around her neck—a fortune in diamonds, pearls, gold and silver—and limped forward.

Beckman's hand fingered the revolver hidden on his person, but Shanks held an arm up, silently telling him to wait.

She came to an abrupt stop, and tremored so violently Shanks instinctively looked at the ground, as if he expected an earthquake.

But it was clear she couldn't bear to take another step. She threw the tangled crown of jewels at his feet, almost startling him. His arms lifted, and he jumped back, but she stayed right where she was. Hunched over, gripping her shoulder, dripping sweat, blood, and water over the floorboards.

Her head tremored as she raised her chin, looking him in the eyes, and he got the feeling she wasn't really looking at him.

"Logue Town." She pleaded, her knees giving out and her eyes rolling back in her head. "Please!"

"Whoa. Whoa. Wait!" He shouted, and leapt forward.

He caught her in his arms, felt her chin knock into his shoulder, and her arms swing limply at his sides. He was having trouble catching his breath, and he realized she'd scared him. Which wasn't strange either, because who wanted some mysterious, injured woman dropping dead in their arms?

Beckman was at his side in the blink of an eye, leaning over her, clearly wondering what to do with her.

"No." Shanks decided, placing his hand on her back to feel her heart—racing at an alarming speed, but still working. "This is a friend in need."

"Friend? Since when has she been a friend?" Beckman asked, though even he sounded conflicted over questioning this.

"Since now." Shanks answered, wrapping both arms around her and straightening up. "Get the futon ready will you? And cook something—"

He broke off as her stomach growled so loud, whales would've been ashamed.

"—Immediately."

00000

"You can't be serious right now." Beckman growled as he waved the hot pan over the gas burner, tossing the chopped meat and vegetables. They landed lightly back in the pan, sizzling, sending the rich smell of cooking grease and exotic spices into the air.

The girl—woman, whoever—was tucked into a thick futon, with the blankets drawn up to her shoulders and an ice pack resting on her forehead. She'd had a high fever, and that cloak she was wearing had been tattered in some areas and glued in place by a grotesque mix of blood and sweat pretty much everywhere else. They'd peeled most of it off her, but there were some patches of fabric still cemented to her skin here and there.

Shanks sat cross-legged beside her, fanning her face with an old fan.

"Why not? She's harmless." Shanks replied, setting the fan down. It wasn't helping—she was panting in her sleep.

"You don't know that." Beckman argued, scraping the food into a dish and carrying it over to him. "She could be a government spy. They've got to be looking everywhere for you right now, and the others."

"Something tells me they're not." Shanks said, with an undertone of uncertainty as he took the food, stirring it with the fork. "Dragon's probably they're biggest priority right now—his bounty is higher than any pirate's."

Beckman looked at the back wall, where Shanks had pinned up a few bounty posters. One belonged to his old captain, another belonged to Rayleigh. But Dragon's was there, too.

"What's your interest in Dragon anyway?" Beckman asked, voicing the question he'd had on his mind for months now.

"Well, he kind of reminds me of the assassin." Shanks said with a shrug. "The one everyone's scared of. Captain and Rayleigh used to tell me stories about him…"

"Shiroryuu?" Beckman asked, recalling everything he'd heard about him. None of it good. "Why would you think that?"

"He was a powerful, infamous assassin." Shanks noted, getting to his feet. "We'd hear rumors about him pretty much everywhere we went, remember? But a few months back, they stopped."

"That's a reach." Beckman said.

"Yeah, it is." Shanks admitted, looking the woman over with—sadness? Nostalgia? Curiousity? Beckman couldn't tell for once. "But maybe she'll be willing to tell us more when she wakes up."

"If she wakes up." Beckman emphasized, leaning forward warningly. "This is a bad idea."

"What do you want to do?" Shanks questioned, though it was clear he was being rhetorical. "Toss her out?"

"Yes." Beckman answered, his expression hardening. He didn't like it—she'd die for sure in the state she was in. Trampled or drowned even before the fever took her. But there were only two of them right now, and if they did something stupid… If they bit off more than they could chew, and the marines swept in…

Shanks was a former member of the Roger pirates. Not that long ago, the government had tracked down Tom, the fishman who'd built the Oro Jackson. Tom had cut some kind of deal with them to avoid execution, but if they found Shanks, there'd be no deal-making.

"I get where your head is." Shanks said and lifted the ice pack to check her forehead. "But I'm not doing that. Now, do me a favor and go raise anchor."

"What?" Beckman asked, unwilling to believe he'd heard him correctly. "But we just got here."

"Beckman." Shanks said, kind but authoritative.

"Alright." He said, resigned.

He did as he was asked, and in moments, they were off again. He had no idea where they were going now, so he eyed the horizon, watching carefully for any marine ships.

It was just like Shanks to do this. Something risky and potentially fatal, just to help some stranger who'd helped him. Sure they owed her, but not this much. Even if they could trade in the jewelry she'd stolen for enough money to buy a ship.

They could treat her wounds with the medicine from that first aid kit, and drop her off somewhere. They didn't have to take her anywhere specific.

The door to the kitchen opened behind him, and Shanks poked his head out.

"Oy, she's awake." He said, a little smug.

Beckman sighed. There was always a little satisfaction in being correct, even if that meant bad news for you.

So, he returned to the kitchen, where he found the woman sitting up in her futon. The blankets were draped over her legs, and a huge bowl of assorted fruit rested between her raised knees. She was scooping chopped fruit into her mouth with a huge salad-tossing spoon, eating so quickly she was barely breathing, stopping only to lift up the large, glass pitcher beside her and take huge, heart-stopping gulps.

Beckman crossed his arms and frowned Shanks, who was leaning against the wall near her. He smiled sheepishly, then looked at her.

"She already inhaled what you cooked for her." He explained.

She lowered the pitcher and burped—long, and loud.

Beckman glowered. "Disgusting."

"Thanks, buddy." She breathed, and wiping the corner of her mouth with back of her hand.

Shanks gave her one of his hopelessly-trusting, welcome-aboard smiles and Beckman groaned internally. Shanks wasn't a complete idiot, but he'd walk straight into a trap if a friend asked him to. And something told him this girl was going to do just that.

"I'm not your buddy." Beckman stated, earning long, low stare from Shanks

"What's your name then?" She asked, beaming stupidly at him.

"It's Beckman." Shanks answered, and Beckman cocked his gun, giving Shanks a slit-narrow-eyed ice-cold stare. "And my name's Shanks. So you were saying you need something?"

"Yeah—" She said, breaking off and yanking the blankets up over her shoulders. A violent tremor rocked her, and Shanks reached over to steady her by grabbing her shoulders.

"Hold on." Beckman said, earning their attention. "Before that, we've got a couple of questions. Who are you? Where'd you come from?"

She burped again—geez—and was suddenly still. Shanks laughed light-heartedly.

"M' name's Ruka." She said, and wiped some drool from the corner of her mouth.

Shanks jerked up, as Beckman tensed. That name was familiar.

"The same Ruka who's in cahoots with that Dragon guy?" Beckman asked.

"Yep." She said, smiling as she sweated bullets.

"What do you want from us?" Beckman demanded. "Why'd you help us back there?"

"Oh, please." Ruka said, wiping a thick layer of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Those guys are all snobs. They arrest people for no reason. Besides, I need a favor, and I was hoping if I helped you out, you might be willing to help me."

She coughed weakly and squared her shoulders. She was sweating so much, and very pale. She wouldn't stay conscious for much longer.

"What sort of favor?" Shanks asked, still smiling hopelessly at her.

Beckman suppressed the urge to drag him away from her. What the hell was he thinking? If he was thinking. If this really was Ruka, she was nothing but trouble. They were better off getting as far away from her as possible.

"Dragon's in trouble." She told them, earning no visible reaction from them.

Beckman had trouble believing that. A guy worth as much as Dragon was couldn't be in danger unless the World Government came after him with a Buster Call or worse. And why would she tell them that? They'd only just met. Maybe this was a trick.

"There are some bad people after him." She said, pausing to take a drink. Water trailed from the corners of her mouth and down her chin. "They blasted me here with some weird devil fruit power, and they're trying to kill him. I sent him a message—to meet me in Logue Town by tomorrow, but if I can't find someone to take me there, I'll never make it in time. And they're really strong."

She was talking better now, and her skin color was returning to normal. They'd already treated her wounds. Rest and food was probably all she needed—there was no need to take her anywhere.

"He's Shiroryuu, isn't he?" Shanks asked.

Beckman smacked his forehead—this guy. You can't just drop some bombshell question like that. Ruka looked like she agreed with him—She'd turned pale again, and the water she was drinking shot from her mouth like a geyser. Shanks leaned to avoid the spittake, and it splashed over the floor.

Beckman cringed in disgust. Ugh.

"Maybe he'll be fine." Shanks suggested, scooting away from the puddle of backwash. "Maybe he'll fight them off without you."

"How did you—?" She started to ask, anxiety quickly turning to anger and protectiveness.

"Lucky guess." Shanks answered with a clever grin. "Don't worry, we won't tell anyone."

They couldn't even if they wanted to. The World Government was no friend of theirs. They'd be notorious in no time, with bounties on their own heads.

"He won't fight them off!" Ruka said, her face constricting from pain. Beckman knew that look—she was heartsick. "He can't. Not these guys. It's not a matter of strength. They said… Before they sent me flying, they said he killed someone they knew. Someone they cared about. And Dragon… He… He's never forgiven himself for everything he did when he was Shiroryuu. He won't be able to face them alone."

Shanks looked at him then, and Beckman gave him a stern look of his own.

This was a bad idea.

Even if she was telling the truth, that didn't mean they should help. The enemy of their enemy wasn't necessarily their friend. This was dangerous.

"So, let me get this straight." Shanks said and leaned over to catch her by the shoulders before she could fall forward. "You want me to give you a ride to Logue Town? Right now? That's it?"

"No." Ruka answered and raised her hands to her face. They were shaking, as if she'd spent the night holding up the sky. "I won't be able to recover in time to find him fast enough. I need you to help me look for him."

Shanks looked over to the heap of valuables Ruka had stolen them. Then he looked at Beckman, who shook his head sternly. Then at Ruka, whose eyes had turned big, round, and pleading.

"Alright, sure." He agreed.

Beckman suppressed a groan of aggravation and stepped towards his captain. Couldn't he listen to him? For once!

"Really?" She asked, apparently astonished. "You'll really help? I can trust you?"

"Do you have another option?" Shanks answered, then leaned back and pointed at the stolen goods. "Besides, you've paid in advance. I can't explain why, but I've been in need of a proper ship for a while now, and thanks to you I can finally buy one."

"Excuse us a moment." He said and reached over to grab Shanks by the arm.

He pulled him to his feet and hauled him out the door. Before it swung shut, Beckman looked back to see that Ruka had already laid back down. Her snores reverberated through the air.

She fell asleep on command? How convenient.

Out on the deck, open sea greeted them. It was always more comforting, being out at sea than on land. At least when the ocean was calm.

They walked to the bow, as a precaution. They didn't want to be overheard, not that she could do anything about it in her state.

"We shouldn't do this." He asserted, finally able to speak his mind. "The World Government wants Dragon's head on a stick."

"Yeah, but…" Shanks looked towards the door. "The way she talks about him… It almost sounds like they had this coming."

Beckman gave Shanks a furrowed glare.

Shanks shrugged this off.

"C'mon, Beckman," He said, and nodded towards the door, "Does she really look like a liar to you?"

"…No." He admitted. Truthfully, she looked harmless. But something in his gut told him she was anything but.

"If we don't help her, then we've got to give back what she stole." Shanks said, crossing his arms and looking out at sea. "And we can't afford to. We'll have more friends eventually. They can't all squeeze in. Not that the old girl will last much longer."

Shanks pushed down a loose deck board with the toes of his shoe.

It was true their ship as on her last leg. Shanks had stolen her from Logue Town's port, over a year ago after his captain's execution. He'd given his old one to his fellow apprentice, Buggy, and sent him off ahead.

"And she gave us those supplies," Shanks said, placing a hand over his bandaged eye. "She saved us from having to deal with those cops."

"Tell me the truth." Beckman ordered, and Shanks stopped abruptly.

Shanks hesitated, then dropped his hand and looked Beckman in the eye.

"I am telling you the truth." He said, and Beckman immediately felt guilty. Shanks had never lied to him—whatever needed being said got said eventually. "But there's something else I want from them, besides a ship."

"Such as?" Beckman prompted.

Shanks got a faraway look in his eye, which quickly turned to determination.

"After the captain's death, and before we met, I was hearing some weird rumors." Shanks admitted, peaking Beckman's interest. "I want to know if Dragon can confirm them. He worked for the World Government for years. He's got to know."

Beckman started gnawing the inside of his lip. This guy…

Roger was just like a father to him. He'd grown up on his ship, and losing him, well, Beckman couldn't imagine what that felt like. If Beckman had to watch Shanks' execution, knowing it was something he chose, it would be like a knife through the heart.

"Don't you think this is a little…" He scratched the back of his head, trying to find the right words. "…Obsessive?"

"I know. I'm sorry. But I have to check." He said, with grim determination. "Any one of them would have done it for me."

Beckman sighed heavily. He didn't understand everything that was going on, but he knew better than to try and talk him out of something he was determined to do.

"Okay." He said, exasperated. "But we've got to lay low."

"That won't be hard." Shanks said, with cool confidence. "Logue Town's popular these days, or so I've heard. It's full to bursting with pirates. We'll blend right in."

"'The town of the beginning and the end,'" Beckman recalled, grimly. "We better get a ship out of this."

Shanks smiled at him, but it quickly fell. His eyes turned serious and faraway again, and Beckman became worried.

He wasn't usually like this.

"Let's move the ship." Shanks said, calmly patting Beckman's back. "We've got a lot of ground—er, sea—to cover."

"Yeah…" Beckman said, thoughtfully, and glanced at the kitchen door.

A former CP0 agent, a strange girl, and some old rumors bad enough to worry Shanks.

Beckman had a feeling something was about to go horribly wrong.

00000

For once, things seemed to be going perfectly.

They'd made it over Reverse Mt.—a stunning wonder of nature.

One he'd chosen to miss out on by remaining below deck with Kuma the entire time.

He'd heard the current rushing upstream, felt the room tilt far before it turned sideways, and ended up in the upper corner of the anchor room. His hands and feet braced against three different walls, so he wouldn't be crushed by everything sliding around on the ground.

Kuma was too large. He'd caught most of what had flown and/or slid towards him and chucked it aside, away from him or Dragon.

The wind pressure shattered all three of the windows and made the wood groan so loud Dragon thought the ship would crack in half.

But they crossed over the vertex and went careening down the side. Things switched, as if reflected in a mirror. The room tilted the opposite way, and everything within, excluding Kuma, fell back.

Now they were sailing through the waters of East Blue, with Logue Town in sight as a blurry speck on the horizon.

Dragon stood at the bow, leaning over the edge. He kept the island in his sights, hardly breathing.

All he could think about was Ruka, and wondered if she was truly there. But her message…

He pulled the rolled-up newspaper out from under his cloak and smoothed it open.

The front page was stamped with his and Ruka's wanted posters, placed side by side under the headline "International Criminals Still at Large." But both posters were lined with a strange border—a chain of interlocking X's, banding the two pictures together.

His tattoo design. Their tattoo design. Proof of their marriage, and their promises to each other.

And directly underneath the two bounties, was a paragraph stating that an "anonymous source" had spotted Dragon and Ruka together in Logue Town.

This was, obviously, a lie. And a message.

Logue Town was in East Blue, near the red line. Dragon had visited it only once: when he'd been ordered to watch the execution of Gol D. Roger.

But he remembered it well. Stunning architecture, dense population, mostly sunny. Plenty of shops, boutiques, fine restaurants, and enough back streets to get lost in. An open market with a copious variety of exotic goods, and four different courtyards displaying statues, fountains, and gardens. There was also the execution platform, where Roger met his end.

Dragon risked a passing glance over his shoulder.

Diamante, Pica, and Vergo were standing in a semi-circle against the wall of the dining room. They each had a hand on a newspaper, the same issue Dragon now held, and were looking down on it as they snickered.

Dragon looked down, conflicted. He wasn't sure what to do—he and Kuma had discussed sneaking off and swimming the rest of the way once they got close, so they could lose them in the city. But Doflamingo's haki was powerful enough that this would have been an exercise in futility. He knew where they were going, and then they would have to fight. In town. Among civilians.

Bad plan.

"Hey, Aniki," Doflamingo called in the same sinister, mocking tone as always.

Dragon rolled up the newspaper and tucked it away just as Doflamingo reached him, looping an arm around his neck in a familiar, brotherly hug.

Dragon bit back a noise of disgust and fought the urge to recoil.

"We're almost there. I really don't want to let you leave though." He sneered, putting his nose irritatingly close to Dragon.

"You're too close." Dragon said, monotone, and put a hand over Doflamingo's face. He pushed him off, earning expressions of hostility from the three men gathered behind them.

"Don't be so cold, aniki." Doffy stated, or perhaps ordered, holding his hands up in a gesture of open-mindedness.

"Just drop us off." Dragon ordered, pointing at Doflamingo. "You promised to let us go peacefully, remember?"

"Yes, I did say that." Doflamingo said, and chuckled. "It's too bad. I really believe we should join forces—we've got the same enemy. And I have a few plans to knock them off their high horses. You could help me, aniki."

Dragon really wished he would stop calling him that.

It made his skin crawl.

"Not interested." Dragon said, repeating the same words he'd given the first time Doflamingo had asked him to join.

Doffy tilted his head forward, in a provocative, threatening way. Dragon tried to make his expression more casual—like he was watching clouds drift, or ocean waves crash on the beach. But Doffy's irritating sneer, which was all but stapled in place, dropped into a frown. His lips thinned, and suddenly he was looking at Dragon with new eyes.

Dragon heard Ruka's laughter—subconsciously, of course—and forced himself to give Doflamingo a questioning look.

"Yes?" He prompted.

"Dragon," He said, all chuckling and formalities gone, "Why exactly are you going to Logue Town?"

"To look for comrades." Dragon answered, coolly, and waited.

Doflamingo's expression was unreadable—ice cold, but blank. Then his signature sneer returned with a vengeance, like he'd just heard the world's most hilarious joke.

"Really?" He asked, rhetoric and laughing, "'Because according to this—" An invisible string yanked the rolled-up newspaper out from under Dragon's cloak. He had no time to react, and watched as Doflamingo caught it, and waved it open. "—You were already in Logue Town. With a girl."

Dragon pressed the toes of his boots into the deck boards.

He knew better than to attack this man out of anger.

And yet… Doflamingo had just spoken of Ruka as if she were an amusing child. Or a new species, one worthy of observing.

Or hunting.

Too late, Dragon realized his silence spoke volumes. Doflamingo's sneer stretched from ear-to-ear, and he threw his head back laughing.

"A woman?!" Doflamingo scoffed, shredding the newspaper with his strings. "That's why you're in such a hurry?!"

"If it was a girl you were after," Diamante said, moseying up to Dragon to rest his arm on one his shoulders, "There were plenty back in the West!" He raised his copy of the newspaper, and stabbed a finger at Ruka's picture. "Most of them way better looking than this one!"

"Her appearance doesn't matter to me." Dragon snapped, stepping out from under Diamante's arm. "She is an ally. I'm going to get her."

"Just an ally?" Doflamingo asked, advancing on Dragon until they were nose-to-nose. He said this in a way that didn't hide his suspicions.

"Just an ally." Dragon replied, bluntly.

He didn't want to lie. Not about that. But it was for the best. A former tenryuubito, could know about his real relationship with Ruka. The Gorosei had to have their suspicions, after everything that happened.

Doflamingo could be even more of a threat than they were.

"Okay, aniki." Doflamingo said, reaching out to place a friendly hand on Dragon's shoulder.

Don't touch me, you homicidal parasite. Dragon wanted to say.

Better not. They were almost there. If he could just hold out a bit longer, he could be with Ruka again.

"Hey, Doffy, see that?" Diamante asked, smug as he pointed out to sea.

Dragon twisted to see a small marine ship, less than half the size of Doflamingo's vessel, several hundred feet east of them, headed towards their destination. A navy ship that size couldn`t have a very important purpose. Still, strange to see one all the way out here.

"Who cares?" He asked with disinterest. "A ship that size can't be carrying anything important."

"Looks can be deceiving, aniki." Doflamingo assured him playfully.

Dragon fixed his eyes on the band of pirates. Was this some sort of game to them?

"Whether they're carrying anything or not isn't the point." Vergo insisted, pulling a pair of black gloves from his pocket and slipping them on.

"What is the point then?" Dragon asked, eyes shifting as dread creeped up his throat and squeezed his stomach.

"Killing time!" Diamante said as he slapped Dragon on the back. "Little marine ships like this one are easy prey!"

"Not to mention we get to keep whatever they do have." Pica added with a chuckle.

Dragon froze, as the gears in his head began to turn. A small marine ship sailing this close to Logue Town? An island which had become a popular tourist trap for pirates in the last year? In broad daylight?

There had to be a catch. Maybe there were more ships nearby, and they were waiting to attack the pirates. Maybe this was a trap, and they were being herded. If Doflamingo attacked swiftly, he'd make short work of them. But if he played with them, the way a cat plays with their food, and they called for backup…

"Wait, don't." Dragon pleaded, and grabbed Doflamingo by his arm. He looked back at Dragon, subtly annoyed. "If they call for reinforcements, we could be endangered."

Doflamingo snickered. "Us… Or the girl?"

"Just don't." Dragon ordered, exasperated. "This is too easy, anyway. They've got to have backup somewhere nearby. How do you know they're not targeting you?"

"The marines? Targeting me?" Doflamingo asked sarcastically.

"Doffy would eat them alive." Pica squeaked in his shrill voice.

"That's not the point." Dragon insisted. "If you do whatever you want, and we have to fight the marines here, we won't—"

"Make it to Logue Town before nightfall?" Doflamingo finished with a sneer. "Who cares? You'll make it their eventually. Next week. Next year maybe."

"I'm not laughing, Doflamingo." Dragon warned, as a red shine gleaned in his eyes.

"C'mon, Aniki. We both know you can't fight them off by yourself!" Doflamingo jabbed his thumb at the tiny ship, floating out at sea. "Even if I don't do anything, they'll notice us soon enough."

"Just fire a cannonball." Dragon said, eyes flickering to the ship and back to Doflamingo. "Get rid of them! Now!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Diamante asked, raising his hands and waving them tauntingly at Dragon.

"It's not supposed to be fun!" He shouted at him, then turned back to Doflamingo. "Just do it now, before you—"

Doflamingo's hand shot up, fingers balanced delicately in a "staircase" of varying heights. His sneer stretched, wicked and fatal, beneath his pink shades, and Dragon knew without looking he was surrounded by wires. A bead of sweat travelled down the back of his neck as his back teeth gnashed together.

"No one gives me orders, Aniki." Doflamingo told him, planting his face annoylingly close to Dragon's. "But I am willing to grant favors to my nakama. Are we nakama?"

Dragon felt like steel—cold, metallic, and unfeeling. He didn't trust himself to feel anything right now. Or to speak.

This was clearly a test.

"I said, 'are we nakama?'" Doflamingo asked, and extended his free hand.

Dragon looked at Doflamingo's open, expectant hand. Then the pirate's eyes.

The message was clear. Whatever he'd said, Doflamingo wasn't planning on letting them just leave. He wanted Dragon in his crew, and he always got what he wanted. Always had, ever since he was a child.

His experience of moving to the surface world and being hunted like an animal by the victims of the tenryuubito's oppression had engraved him the firm belief to take what he needed, even by force if he had to. Losing his mother had taught him to never let it go, ever.

Even if Dragon said no, and ran, Doflamingo would chase him to the ends of the earth.

"Everyone, load the cannon." Doflamingo ordered, pointing to the cannon positioned five feet away from them.

Dragon watched helplessly as they did as they were told. Doflamingo wasn't about to destroy that ship instantly. That would defeat the purpose of this ultimatum. He planned to fire a few warning shots to scare them, and get their attention. Then he'd launch an assault, damaging their ship without killing anyone, buying time for the others to show up.

Then Dragon would be cornered. He and Kuma could swim to Logue Town, but it was too faraway for them to stay submerged the whole time. And Kuma wasn't even up on deck with him, right now. He could be down in the anchor room, or anywhere. But he wasn't close enough for Dragon to signal or anything, and Dragon couldn't leave him behind.

With the cannon loaded, Pica held the fuse up as Diamante drew a match from the box and prepared to strike it.

"C'mon, Aniki." Doflamingo said, sounding almost cheerful. He clapped both hands onto Dragon's shoulders. "Join us! It'll be fun. I know you hate to take orders from others, but if we work together, we can climb to Mariejois and drag every last one of those bastards back down to earth. We can take turns torturing them, or string them up somewhere and let the human trash do what they wish! Isn't that what you want?"

Dragon didn't know how to answer that. Part of him did want satisfaction for his three years of suffering. In fact, during those long months of recuperation and preparation inside Vegapunk's lab, it was all he could think about.

Flint and his crew, the many people Dragon had killed with his own hands, including Ruka's own mother. His own parents. He'd been determined to get even, for all of them.

But once he was free, and able to spend more time in the world, he realized this was so much more than him. He'd spent time in the world before, but he'd always been focused on what he had to do, and how he was living, or had lived.

Now that he was no longer in CP0, all he could see was the world, spread out around him. The horizon, the sky, the people who lived in it.

Who were the people that lived in this world? What were their dreams? Their fate? What was freedom, and where could it be found? Was he really free just because he'd escaped Mariejois? Or was he still an animal, running around in a larger cage?

Ruka believed he was free and was ready to die to keep him that way.

If he decided to fight Doflamingo here and now, he would gain a powerful new enemy, and endanger all of the citizens in Logue Town who already had pirates crowding their streets and port.

If he didn't fight, then the marines would swarm and Ruka, who was injured and stranded, would be in danger.

He could lose her, and worse, she would never hold it against him.

He couldn't do it. He didn't know how to decide.

But if he chose neither, he'd be turning his back on both Ruka and the Logue Town civilians.

He was a fool. He should have never asked this creature for help. Now everyone was in danger.

Doflamingo grew impatient, without losing his smug attitude. He'd trapped Dragon, and they both knew it.

A vague image of Flint, as he lay dying, vibrated before his mind's eye. Dragon's mistake had gotten the entire crew killed. Flint had died, entrusting Ruka to him. Ruka who was more important than anything.

Would he fail them both, a second time?

Why couldn't he ever do what was right? Why did he keep making the same mistake?

Doflamingo scowled when Dragon still didn't say anything, pulling the strings closer. When this elicited no response, he said something to Diamante. Dragon's ears rang with a pitch only dogs would have heard.

Diamante struck the match, and held it to the fuse. Dragon felt his attention be pulled to the sight, watching in a trance as the fire scaled the rope, closing in on the cannon.

It was like watching through a security camera. He was there, and not there.

He saw the last of the fuse burn up.

He saw Kuma appear out of nowhere, and with one great hand, hoist the cannon upwards, taking the marine ship out of the line of fire.

He saw the cannonball blast into the sky. Smoke burned his eyes as the cannonball fell in an arc towards the sea. It exploded over the surface of the water, a mere ten feet from Doflamingo's ship.

Heat pushed his hair back. He was briefly reminded of the buster call's chaos and jolted awake.

Kuma stood before them, holding the cannon up. When he looked at Dragon, the latter understood.

Kuma knew what he'd been thinking, and how he felt.

Somehow, this allowed Dragon to relax.

He had forgotten something important.

He wasn't a child anymore, and he couldn't allow himself to fall under the control of creatures like Doflamingo ever again. As a man, and a leader, and a friend, he had to fight to keep what he had, and take risks to create a future where they could survive.

"Hey! What the Hell!"

Dragon met Diamante's gaze with a gasp. He noticed then, that the Doflamingo pirates looked furious. Especially the captain himself. A few veins were bulging against his forehead, and his fingers were twitching. Dragon's quick, trained eyes noticed the strings—now slack, but they still had him surrounded. When pulled tight, he would be julienned.

Now or never.

"I'm not joining you." He decided, and he realized then that he had lacked confidence before. He had continuously refused their offer, but never with enough force.

He did need more allies. He was worried for Ruka. He was afraid of being cornered and captured.

But he wouldn't, couldn't, accept the help of men like this. Not ever.

If he allowed himself to be ruled by fear, his friends would die, and his dreams with them.

Ruka was irreplaceable. Kuma and Bonnie were, too. The minute he allowed these creatures to get close to them, he had failed.

But there was still time to correct that mistake.

"I'm not joining you… And I am not your brother." He said, eyes shifting to lock onto Doflamingo with that second statement. "You are my enemy. You're no different from the other tenryuubito. And I won't allow you to endanger my comrades."

Doflamingo's jaw flexed, and he grinned.

"Are you drunk?" He questioned, half-amused. "That's not funny, even if you are."

"I'm entirely sober." Dragon answered quickly. "You are a sham, and a monster. Your immediate family members deserved better, but you are not worth a tenth of them."

Tension sparked in the air, even before Doflamingo and Dragon unanimously activated their haki. The Doflamingo pirates stood at bay, inflamed but completely still. They couldn't interfere—it was the code of pirates to never interfere in a captain's fight.

Doflamingo's fingers began to curl.

Dragon instantly coated his entire body in armament haki.

But before either one of them could move, something happened.

Dragon's ears picked up a noise he was all too familiar with, and he lifted his head, turning his attention from Doflamingo to the trio of cannonballs falling towards them.

"Doffy!" Diamante shouted urgently, causing Doflamingo to turn away in annoyance.

"Dragon." Kuma called and he jumped forward, hooking one giant arm around Dragon's torso as he sped out of the way.

Dragon had just enough time to plug his ears with his haki-enforced fingers and brace himself.

A cloud of red-orange flame and black smoke erupted from center deck. Several people screamed or yelped as the ship lurched once, then twice more as the other cannonballs connected with the rear deck and bow, tossing everyone in the air.

Dragon peeled his eyes open, ignoring the burning sensation of heat and smoke, and managed to catch one of the ropes that pulled the sails. They fell some more, his palm growing hot from the friction until he tightened his grip and they came to an abrupt halt.

The rope twisted in Dragon's hands, and Kuma reached up to grab onto it without letting go of Dragon.

"Kuma, are you alright?" He asked, looking him over.

"I'm fine." Kuma answered quickly, looking around him. "We need to get out of here."

Dragon followed his gaze and saw that Doflamingo's ship was in shambles. The first cannonballs must have broken through the keel, because the ship was split down the middle, broken clear in half with both ends in flames and quickly being overtaken by sea water. There was so much fire, Dragon couldn't see where the pirates were, but he knew they weren't dead—he could feel them nearby, floating in the sea.

But Doflamingo was above.

Throwing his head back, he saw Doflamingo descending towards them. One of his strings was coiled around a cloud, somehow.

Dragon didn't know much about the string-string fruit, so this was new to him. New and a problem. If Doflamingo could use those strings to fly through the air, then—

"KUMA! DIVE!" He ordered as Doflamingo laughed maniacally.

Ruka may have hesitated, but Kuma did not. After Dragon let go of the rope, Kuma held on and swung back and forth, twice, before releasing his grip. They flew towards the sea, but the flames were so high that Dragon had to use his moonwalk to keep them from torching Kuma's feet.

They crashed through the ocean surface. Bubbles washed up from beneath Dragon, and he opened his eyes to the glimmering shining sea. There was no time to take it in, as Kuma looped his arm around Dragon once more and shot off towards Logue Town.

Dragon held on to Kuma and tried to see through the ocean as it sped by around him. His eyes were well-trained and even better with haki, but even he couldn't see through rushing water.

However, this didn't matter much. Kuma was an even better swimmer than him, able to swim at nearly the same speed as a mermaid despite his huge size. Dragon didn't know how this was possible, but it served them well, and delivered them to the shores of Logue Town in under eleven minutes. Even Doflamingo couldn't fly that quickly.

The topography of Logue Town's island could be compared to a bowl, with mountains encasing the entire town, excluding the trading port. They came to a spot near the port, but far enough away from the ramble that they were able to bolt out of the water, over the narrow shoreline, onto the port and down the streets without drawing any immediate attention to themselves.

They emerged into the backstreets: narrow back alleys that wound deep into the lowest levels of the island, connected in odd ways so that you easily circled around to where you started, or came to a dead end. Like a maze.

They came to a stop at a spot where three paths became one. Having passed more than a few unfamiliar faces on the way, and seen even more through greasy bar windows, they knew it was pointless. They would never find a quiet spot in this city. Logue Town was too crowded.

"Where do you think she is?" Kuma asked, and looked down all three paths as if he expected her to show herself.

"I'm not sure." Dragon admitted. "Somewhere on this island… Hopefully."

"Doflamingo will find us soon." Kuma said, facing the sky.

"He's stopped following us for now." Dragon informed. "I can feel him—he had to return for his crewmates. Many of them were sent into the ocean by those explosions. They must be devil fruit users."

"He'll just pluck them from the sea with his string." Kuma realized. "That won't take long at all."

"We need to split up." Dragon decided, and they faced each other. "Head in opposite directions and look for Ruka. We'll meet at the execution platform in the plaza at dusk."

"What about the pirates?"

"Avoid them." Dragon commanded. "Don't confront them and don't let them spot you. Whoever finds Ruka first needs to hide with her until it's time to meet up, then we'll leave this island."

"Alright." Kuma agreed, then looked to the path on his left. "I'll head this way."

"Good." Dragon nodded, and turned to leave.

"Keep your hood up. You're too infamous." Kuma warned, and pointed to the wall behind Dragon.

His wanted poster was glued there. Too worn and faded from the elements to be readable, but it was his.

He yanked his hood up and looked down the opposite path, charging ahead while keeping his haki up. The minute Doflamingo reappeared, he would need to get out of sight.

Ruka, where are you?

00000

"They've arrived."

Ada uncrossed her legs under the wrought iron table, and dog-eared her newspaper. Al sat across from her, hunched over her chained harpoon as he honed the blade on a sharpening wheel.

The underground tavern had been abandoned for a long time, and they knew no one would bother them. Plus, there was wine over fifty-years old lining the wall behind the collapsed bar.

But now wasn't the time for drinking.

Unanimously, their eyes passed over the messy table's surface. Papers stacked high over large books, fountain pens sitting in bottles of inks, and at the far edge, balanced on top of a stack of very rare text, a candle next to the red and white transponder snails Mamri nicked for them.

"Be ready." Said the Red Transponder Snail, taking on the guise of a heavy-lidded, grim-faced woman.

Al's mouth opened in a savage sneer. But Ada's eyes were blank and distant, watching memories from a lifetime ago. As if she needed to be reminded what they were doing here, in East Blue.

Ruka's message was clever, if not a tad obvious. Ada was surprised that she was willing to trust a marine, even if he was her father-in-law.

Mamri had predicted everything perfectly. Now everything was going according to plan. Ruka would be heavily injured and unable to interfere, Dragon was being chased by Donquixote Doflamingo, and Bonnie was closing in. She would arrive in less than an hour.

But Bonnie would never get her vengeance. Ada felt bad for her, but their vengeance was over a decade in the waiting, and they'd spent half their lives planning for this.

In that time, Lee had become like a ghoul, haunting their souls.

But soon, he would rest easy.

They all would.

00000

The times they are A-changin'.

Hello everyone. I keep disappearing on you, and I have no excuse. All I can say is that life is hard and sometimes you make some mistakes, and you never really know how much time you have.

I'm not sure what net neutrality death will do to , but hopefully, this won't be the last you see of my story, and vice versa.

I hope you're all safe, wherever you are and whatever you're doing.

I know it's a lot to ask after going so long without a chapter, but please review. I get so many followers/favorites, but hardly any reviews. I am trying to improve my writing, and hopefully I will be able to write to the end like I said in a previous authors note.

But fanfiction is basically a hobby. There is no real profit aside from feedback. And when you don't tell me what you like, or what you didn't like, then I feel as if I have done something unspeakable.

So please review.

Speaking of reviews, I'd like to give a special thanks to Isabel. I wanted to PM you, but it's proving difficult. So, thx for the review. By the way, I decided to kill the old seer off precisely because I wanted to foreshadow Luffy in an interesting way without giving Dragon or anyone else too much foreknowledge. Robin and Ohara have affected Dragon and Ruka in interesting ways, so it'll be fun to see that play out.

As for the two guests who last reviewed, if you're actually different people, thanks for doing so. Please get a fanfiction account! I am going to make it a habit from now on to reply to peoples reviews one way or another.

See you next chapter, hopefully, and please, please review!