Commodore Norrington hadn't slept in the last thirty two hours.

He and his men had been to hell and back of late, investigating reports of a new threat of piracy, focused in one area, within a three mile radius surrounding an ancient, unnamed island. A small group of merchant ships had been attacked scarcely two weeks past. Three had sank, two come too close to the well concealed reefs surrounding the island, and set to flame by the raiders. They were unaccounted for, still. The last of the tiny fleet had escaped, and brought the news of their loss to Port Royal.

Now, Commodore Norrington wanted nothing more than an hour's slumber in his quarters, despite the obvious daylight outside.

Slumped comfortably into his cot, he had only just closed his eyes when -

"Commodore Norrington! We've spotted wreckage from another ship, sir!" James Norrington groaned, heaving himself back up and out of his cramped quarters, pulling his wig and hat back into proper array.

His first mate, Johnston, was at his side in an instant, his lips aflap with gibberish about a sixth ship having been discovered. Wiping traces of sleep from his eyes, Norrington came to the rail, gripping the smooth wood as he peered our over the water.

"It doesn't appear to be a merchant ship, sir," trilled Johnston, still standing faithfully at his side. "We've seen very little cargo. It seems it's been thoroughly stripped."

Norrington restrained a fiendish snap as irritability begun to set in. The ship was easily a hundred yards off, and he doubted highly that his men had surveyed the damage that quickly. Gullible little man, Johnston was. Still green.

Instead, he trained his eyes upon the floating debris.

"Any survivors to be seen?"

"None, sir. Not yet."

"Bodies?"

"Three. They've not been retrieved yet, sir."

"Leave them," murmured Norrington, his eyes glued to the mast of the ship, still floating as it was.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

Norrington was silent for a moment, watching the tattered sails, billowing eerily in the water. The sky was clouded over, and the fire - for the ship had been set a-torch - might have been responsible, but he doubted his eyes were lying to him.

Black sails.

"Leave them, Johnston. There is no need to retrieve the bodies of pirates. Take note, though," he gripped the railing, his lips twitching with a faint smile "-for this will be the first and last time you lay eyes upon The Black Pearl."

Johnston fairly gaped at the statement, staring now at the floating wreckage with a new perspective. "Well blow me - The Pearl's been pirated. Never thought I'd see the day."

"In most cases in life, Henry," Norrington addressed him by his first name "there will almost always be a younger, more powerful opposer to smite it's predecessor. This rule does not over look pirate kind in -"

"Man overboard! Starboard side!"

Norrington, cut off in mid sentence, raced to the adjacent side of the deck, glaring down upon the tangle of wood, cloth, and flesh his sailors were struggling to haul aboard.

Something…. Familiar…

He traveled down a single flight of stairs - The Dauntless having several of them - and tried a second look; The pirate - for what else could it be? - was aboard the ship now, sprawled and sending rivulets of water across the deck. He was still a level down. The lowest deck. As Norrington came to level with the sailors hovering over the sopping pirate, he felt an all too familiar plunge within his stomach.

With a guttural groan, he shoved a sailor aside, glaring down at a thoroughly soaked-

"Mr. Sparrow..."

TBC