"Oi, ginger, budge over."

C ignored the irritating little man, and focused on his drink. It was a lot easier to find good coffee on this island. Maybe they liked warm drinks.

"Did you hear me, you red-haired shit? Gimme your chair, me an' my friends want a seat." Out came a knife, thudding into the cheap table.

C did not look at the irritating man. He did, however, reach out. Not with his hands, but with his powers. He felt the nodes near his neck shiver as he grabbed ahold of the thin metal chain around the irritating man's neck, and yanked it towards the wall. The irritating man hit the tavern wall, clawing at his throat as his necklace cut off air.

C took a sip of his coffee, ignoring the choking noises. It was really good coffee. Tasted better without irritating noises, too.

The irritating man's struggles eventually ceased. C cocked his head, debating whether he should eat the man's body. Nah. Probably wouldn't taste good. Also, Jack would get upset.

The door to the small tavern opened, and Lauren strode in. She didn't even look at the irritating man's body. "Heya, kid," she said. "Come on, we've got shit to do."

C tossed a couple of bills onto the table, stood, and followed her. Lauren always had interesting ideas. Worth braving the cold.

He hugged his huge fur coat closer to himself regardless. He still didn't like the cold. The coat was warmer than when he'd first gotten it, because he and the Wolves had gone hunting the regular wolves and bears on Arlen's mountains and gotten even more fur for it, but it still wasn't enough to really stop the cold from getting in.

No matter that Brother went around in a smaller coat, and everyone else basically ignored the cold as they felt fit. C still felt it was too cold.

"Hey, kid, what was with the dead idiot on the floor?"

"He pulled a knife," C replied flatly. "I was in fear of my life."

"Really, now."

"He also smelled like poo."

"Not a good reason to kill someone."

C shrugged. "He picked a fight."

"Hmph. Lucky this is a shit part of town, brat. Or you'd be in a lot of trouble."

"Mm-hm."

Lauren smacked his shoulder. "Quit doing stupid shit, C. Killing people who aren't a threat isn't a good thing."

"But why?"

"Because people who can hand you your ass on a platter tend to have a little thing like morals. Including me. So knock it off."

C considered. "Okay," he said. "What are you planning to do?"

"Want you to figure out how the hell that Marine brat is pulling off trick shots like he is." Lauren shrugged. "It doesn't make sense, and I wanna see if you can make anything out of it."

C cocked his head. "You want to copy him."

"Also true. Might be able to make some ammunition that works really well for that if I know how he's doing it."

C shrugged. "I'll help. Still don't like him, though. He smiles too much."

"It's called being polite, kid, you might try it sometime."

"Why would I do that? Everyone who I would have to try that with puts up with worse. Brother says worse half the time."

"Your brother's a dramatic prima donna, you really shouldn't use him as an example."

"Too late. I'm gonna start quoting philosophers."

"No, that's the Captain's job."

C pouted. "I don't want to be the Captain."

"Don't blame you, he's just another shade of crazy entirely."

"I think we're all crazy. If Six is right." Six was...increasingly tolerable. Brother liked him, anyway, if the increasing levels of physical contact between the two meant anything. C frowned. He liked his space, he wasn't sure why people like Brother were all...touchy-feely. Blergh.

"What'd he say?"

"Something about having read a few psychology textbooks and finding out that everyone on the crew has at least one disorder. Meh."

"I don't think everyone on the crew is crazy, C."

"Well, just the main characters, then."

"You've been reading Pratchett again, haven't you? This isn't a novel, C. Everyone on the crew's a person."

C clicked his tongue. "Maybe. But they can't do anything. So does it matter?"

Lauren punched him in the shoulder. "Yes it does, you little jerk. God, you're being freaky today. Don't tell me you're hitting ghoul puberty or something."

C shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno."

"Ugh. I don't want to have to deal with -" Lauren froze, hands going to her holstered pistols, and C glanced down the road. Oh. It was T-Bone. Sure, he had his visor down, but nobody else really smelled like that.

Lauren, though, smelled like fear for a moment, before it was buried by anger. She grit her teeth, and continued walking, but Sir Sirloin stepped to bar their path.

C idly considered using the armor the man wore as a way to crush his spine and skull. But no, Lauren would probably get mad. And Brother too, eventually. The Captain hated Tenderloin, though, so he wouldn't have to worry about that.

"-intentions about my subordinate," Ribeye finished saying, and oops he hadn't been paying attention.

"Ain't none of your fucking business, is it, knight?" Lauren growled. "How about you quit sticking your nose where you aren't wanted?"

Huh. Maybe Lauren wouldn't mind if he killed Flank-steak.

"It is my business when a pirate and criminal wants to fraternize with one of those under my charge, child."

Lauren's lips skinned back from her teeth. "Don't call me that."

"I looked into your past. You are a child. Seventeen years old, and you've already killed more than most people do in their entire lives. Grigori has a penchant for ruining the innocent, doesn't he? But I will not let you corrupt my subordinates."

Lauren laughed. "Oh, so you're just like the assholes who tried to kill my home. Good to know."

"I am nothing like-"

"No, no, you are. Black and white, right and wrong, that's how everything is for you, isn't it? You can't even figure out that a pirate might not have nefarious intentions. But I don't give a shit about you. So fuck right off, you overarmored piece of shit."

"You do-"

Okay, Lauren wouldn't care. C reached out and grabbed all of the metal on Baby Back Ribs's body. He stopped talking.

"You," C said quietly, "are very annoying. And you're making Lauren upset. Please stop. Or I will crush your skull and turn your brain into mush."

There. He could be polite.

Lauren sighed. "Let him go, C. There isn't any point to this."

C sighed, but did so. Mignon glared at him. C glared back, because he had scarier eyes than Rump Roast did.

"This isn't over," Brisket promised.

"I think it is," Lauren said quietly. "Come on, C. We've got places to be."


Kaneki, Six had long since realized, had a propensity for tunnel vision. Near-mad focus on whatever his current task was, followed by just as energetically focusing on a brand-new job whenever the previous was completed. It was...unusual. Perhaps learned from the Captain, who had a similar propensity for fugue states. Or perhaps an artifact of his mental state, which did not match any psychological disorders that Six knew of and yet was clearly not that of a mentally balanced human or ghoul (granted, the opposing case for a 'stable' ghoul mentality was C, and C was...C.).

Regardless, his ability to compartmentalize and focus was by turns admirable and...frustrating, ever so slightly. It made it difficult for Six to determine what Kaneki...wanted. He hadn't left, at the very least, and had not tried to push Six away at all - far from it, he relaxed more and more - but he'd thrown himself into his work for the past few days, either frantically training or engaging in any one of a dozen tasks the crew needed done, from vetting the new recruits to hauling supplies to hunting down the prodigious quantities of protein the Wolves required. Six had gotten a glimpse past the walls Kaneki put up, that night, but they'd come back up right afterwards as Kaneki put himself back to work.

Six was self-aware enough to realize he was thinking about this topic to avoid a minor panic attack over their surroundings - namely, Port Roybal's local hospital. That, too, was...not a rational response. The environment was nothing like that of the Theseus - it was well-lit, clean, and not filled with reanimated corpses - but it raised his metaphorical hackles all the same.

Perhaps it was the lingering smell of death and disease, lurking under the stink of antiseptics.

Give him a kitchen any day.

Six followed in Kaneki's footsteps, and kept his eyes fixed ahead. After a moment, Kaneki slowed his pace, and glanced over his shoulder. Six huffed. He still worried.

Kaneki gave him a wry smile, and returned to his usual pace.

Six did not see why he was worried. It was not as though the person they were going to visit was a threat. Not in the sense of possibility, and not in the sense of intent, either.

Kaneki turned a corner, walked about halfway down the hallway, and knocked on one of the doors.

"Come in!" a dynamic voice called. Six followed Kaneki into the room.

Akira Horus had seen better days, that much was certain. The huge man was practically wrapped in casts, with both legs and arms suspended from the ceiling by hoists. Still, he was grinning like a maniac nevertheless.

"And here I thought you were gonna walk it off," Kaneki noted acerbically.

"Ah, well, they're all a bunch of pansies here," Horus replied. "'What do you mean you walked here with multiple leg fractures', they say," he noted in a high-pitched tone. "Babies." He gave Kaneki a D-shaped smile. "Still, I guess you're here for a drink? Might be kinda difficult, shehehehe..."

"I have a beer and a bendy straw, that work?"

"Eh, better than nothing. What about you?"
"Coffee or water are my only choices, really. Part and parcel of being a ghoul."

"Well that sucks."

"Tell me about it. I'd kill to be able to taste fruit juice properly." Kaneki held up the beer, a festively contorted straw jutting from the open neck.

"Who's your friend?" Horus asked, after taking a sip from the beer. "Saw him at the fight, but never got the chance to ask."

"Oh, this is Six. Horus, Six, Six, idiot who's too fight-happy for his own good."

"Hello, idiot," Six said, perfectly politely. Horus laughed.

"He's got a mouth on him, doesn't he?" the big man noted happily. "I like him already."

Six cocked his head slightly. "You appear to like most people, Gladiator."

"Eheh, is that what you're calling me? I heard about your little nickname system."

"It fits. For now."

Horus made a motion that might've been a shrug -it was hard to tell, with all the casts. "I guess so. I do like fighting."

"Anything else?"

"What, you trying to figure me out?"

"Well, I'm fifty-fifty on asking you to join the crew. You're crazy enough."

"Shehehehe...sorry, no can do. Got my job, and I like it." Horus's grin widened. "Still, two men shouldn't bond in this kind of place!"

Horus grunted, a vein standing out on his forehead, and the casts lining his body disintegrated into a cloud of plaster. "Right!" the black-haired man shouted, leaping to his feet and grabbing Kaneki by the collar. "To the bar!"

There was a deafening crash.

Six blinked, looking at the hole in the wall where the window used to be.

Huh.

Well, it was not necessarily his problem.

"I was gone for ten minutes!"

Six turned, and beheld a sobbing orderly standing in the doorframe. What was the traditional means of comfort? Oh, yes.

"There, there," he said neutrally, patting the highly upset man on the back, before moving past him. He did not intend to go outside, since Kaneki was obviously otherwise engaged and thus unable to protect him from the cold.

He would see what the kitchens were like. Surely he could improve upon hospital food.


Vinci hummed to himself as he worked, extracting a syringe from the mass of flesh laying in its sealed tube. The syringe, filled to the brim with vibrant red blood, went under the magnifier, and Vinci peered at the contents. No signs of degradation, normal cells integrating with the variants...his hunch about utilizing Kaneki's cells in combination with the flesh of a Sea King had been correct...albeit after a great deal of fine-tuning to prevent, heh, 'explosive' results. Still, a success was a success.

Now to test it.

Vinci pressed down on the syringe's plunger, pouring the crimson fluid into a large test tube. He picked the vial up, corked it, and stepped-

-out into a city street. Huh. He would have figured Kaneki was still at the hospital...no, wait, he had been planning to visit Akira Horus, a man of incredible constitution. In all likelihood said man would've already left. And given Akira Horus being, well, the absolute mad lad that he was, the most likely location for them would be…

Vinci strode into the nearest bar with a confident grin that sent patrons scurrying for cover, and approached the table where the two men were sitting - Horus with a tankard of beer, and Kaneki with a mug of what was probably espresso. The ghoul was tapping his fingers on the table in the rapid patterns he always adopted when sufficiently caffeinated. 'Sufficiently' being in this case enough to strain even Vinci's latest toxin-processing upgrades. The two fell silent as he approached, Horus with a smile, Kaneki with a blank, awaiting expression that Vinci would swear he'd seen on Six's face a time or two. Vinci tossed Kaneki the vial. "Drink."

Kaneki raised an eyebrow, but did as Vinci had asked, popping the cork out of the vial and downing the blood in one gulp. He stared at the empty vial for a moment, and then, slowly, smiled, a shark's smile, all razor-sharp teeth. "It...works," he said, wonderingly. For the briefest of moments, Vinci got a glimpse past the mask and the walls, and saw hope, the same hope he'd seen when Kaneki had found Sea Kings to be a food source. "It finally fucking works."

"Uh...what, exactly, works? Was that blood?" Horus asked. "Wait…" The big man paused, then grinned. "So that's what you meant when you said your captain was trying to help you out. Artificial blood."

"And flesh, too, but the blood carries the important pieces," Vinci observed idly. "Finally got the right balance of factors, and it tastes like the real thing."

"So no more needing to eat people, right?"
"No," Kaneki said quietly, setting the vial down. "Not any more." He looked to Vinci, eyes red on black. "Bargain was made and struck, and you've held up your end. What do you want, captain?"

Vinci smiled a smile that made the one Kaneki had shown him look like that of an innocent babe. "It's not finished. Not quite yet. A substitute...but that was half of what I swore to give you. And I think that with the tools at my disposal, I can compensate for what you are, and deliver the other half."

"You're talking in riddles, captain."

Vinci leaned forwards. "Augments, Kaneki. For humans only, because that was the only base I could work with...but working from scratch again...well, it could be done. Tell me: what do you think of the name homo sapiens venator? Or, if you want to use a colloquial term...what do you think of me making Oni?"

Kaneki threw back the remnants of his coffee. "I think that once I finish my work today, I've got a long time as a guinea pig ahead, Captain."

"Uh, hey, quick question," Horus asked. Vinci transferred his attention to the large man, who grinned shyly. "What's your policy on people not on your crew getting those Augment things? Because that sounds like fun. Heck, your Wolves are pretty good in a brawl, and can hold their drink better than me too. I bet if I got the same stuff they did, it'd be even more awesome."

Vinci considered, cocking his head to the side. "My dear fellow," he said lightly. "You wound me. As if I'd use something mass-produced on an individual like you. No...you need something...grander. Something I would not see anyone else surviving…"

"Is that a yes? A no?"

"We'll see."

Vinci dropped, and landed back in the swivel chair in his lab, before chuckling to himself.

Time to take a look at those disease samples. Wouldn't do to let Kaneki go in there without some idea of what he might have to watch out for.

And between Kaneki's journey and this friendship with Horus...the only ones opposed to him were his cousin, T-Bone, and the Rear Admiral. And the latter two...well, he could circumvent them easily enough. He just needed time.


The prisoner had known the verdict that would come. It had been, in every sense of the word, inevitable. A wandering exile comes to town, someone who wasn't quite what these open-sky people knew, and then to be near the scene of a murder...of course.

The prisoner sighed, closing the eyes that, as much as anything else, had damned him. The slitted pupils and crimson cast to them were not that common among the children of the earth, but his line had kept to the old blood longer than most, not intermingling at all with outsiders until very recently indeed. The Demon Tribe's markings were strong in him...and that had been enough for this kangaroo court to declare him guilty, when a Kure Raijin had vanished and left only bloody scraps of meat in his place.

Your kind has no place here but the grave, the magistrate had said. You possess not even a soul to save, demon.

That voice, more than anything, hurt old wounds. Oh, they had not beaten him, which was a surprise...but the scars on his back, where his own family had cut his wings away, had burned all the same, the tone of a condemning voice dispensing judgement it had no right to give eating at him.

The prisoner opened his eyes as footsteps sounded on the floors of the gaol. These weren't the heavy boots of the guards. Four of them, two heavy treads, two lighter. The gaol was too gloomy to make out much more than the area immediately in front of his cell, but the footsteps were drawing closer. And so were the voices that accompanied them.

"-surprised you actually treated someone. Got a spot of empathy for the locals?" This voice was low and rumbling, ever-so-slightly off-key from a baseline human tone, even as it adopted a teasing edge.

"Hardly," a human voice replied, cold and clinical and nasally pitched. "Even you should know, Butcher, of the value of good relations with locals. Assisting the mayor's wife with her child was that, nothing more."

"Or maybe you're actually a decent guy, under all the creepy doctor stuff," another human replied, a cheerful baritone. "Maybe I should get you to hang out with some of my friends."

"My research demands otherwise."

"Ah, don't be like that," the baritone complained.

"He will," a fourth voice noted softly. "But it still got us inside."

"...I coulda taken the guards if they started something," the nonhuman noted.

"Yes, we understand your capacity for violence remains undiminished. You're getting first crack at him. But you still haven't explained why you want him."

"Personal fucking reasons, discount captain."

Despite himself, the prisoner chuckled. It seemed he had interesting visitors.

The footsteps drew closer, and one by one, their owners drew into the faint light of the torches. One was a near-giant of a man, bristling black hair nearly touching the low ceiling. The huge man sat on a bench in the shadows, and gave the prisoner a friendly grin. Another was a thin, almost skeletal person, clad in a white hoodie, who hovered close at the shoulder of the third man, a solidly built fellow in a Marine officer's coat - no, not quite, the epaulettes were a dark red, not golden, and at the hem twisting red patterns were barely visible, dyed into the white fabric. The third man smiled, and pulled out an ornate pipe with a bowl like a claw, sticking it into the corner of his mouth.

The fourth, a wiry, short-statured man with long black hair framing round wire-framed glasses, merely stood there with his hands linked inside the sleeves of his lab coat, smiling coldly.

The third man lit his pipe. "Well, ain't you a sorry sight," he said, not unkindly.

"I think I'm managing," the prisoner replied, scratching at his full beard. Black, like the hair that cascaded halfway down his back, it itched quite a bit. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The man blinked. "Where're you from?"

"That's none of your concern."

The man's nose wrinkled. "Demon Tribe, aren't you? Can smell it off you. Explains a bit. I'm Yoshimura Kaneki, First Mate of the Nightmare Pirates."

"Ah. A criminal."

"Don't judge unless you know the whole story."

The prisoner scoffed. "And I suppose you're here with an offer? Join your crew, and I'm free?"

"That's about the size of it, yeah."

The prisoner was silent for a moment. "Why me?"

Yoshimura shrugged. "Maybe I have a soft spot for people who are in the wrong place at the wrong time." He tilted his head to the side, and his eyes flared red on black. "Used to being called a monster. For better reasons than you, mind, but still," he said softly. "Still. Think on it."

The prisoner narrowed his eyes. "And what do the others want?"

"Six and Horus are with me," Yoshimura said, nodding in the general direction of the big man and the one in the hoodie. "But Viktor here apparently also has an offer to make. Might be you'll take him, instead."

Yoshimura rose, and backed away, letting the smaller man approach.

Viktor's glasses gleamed in the torchlight as he sat crosslegged in front of the cell. He looked at the prisoner, eyes calculating. "I cannot commute your sentence," he began.

"If that's your attempt at an offer, you need to work on your negotiating skills," the prisoner replied.

"Let me finish," Viktor said testily. "I'm aware of what your fate is. Hung by the neck, until dead. I'm a scientist, not a member of a Warlord's crew...I do not have the kind of authority to see you pardoned. But…"

"But?"

Viktor did not answer. Instead, he pulled his hands out of his sleeves, and opened them to reveal a mouse. The tiny creature looked around, nose twitching. "Life is precious," he said. "But fragile. Easily removed." Viktor's fingers closed around the mouse's neck, and a tiny crack echoed. He dropped the small body to the cobblestone. "And gone. But not...necessarily."

Viktor held a hand over the corpse. "Cantatio," he intoned. The corpse twitched. Once. Twice. Then, unsteadily, it staggered to its feet as its neck healed with another tiny crack. The mouse scurried through the bars, and ran past the prisoner, squeezing between two cracks in the stone and vanishing.

"A Devil Fruit," Viktor said, "can change a great many things. And that is what I offer. They will hang you until you're dead...but it is not a necessity that you stay that way."

The prisoner breathed out, and glanced at the other three men. The one in the hoodie stood frozen, the big man's eyebrows were furrowed in concern...and the demon, the Jī'è de móguǐ, with eyes of crimson and black just as the old tales had said...stood with teeth bared and tendons standing out like cords in its neck, fury on every line of its face.

The prisoner knew, then, what decision to make.