Disclaimer: One Piece does not belong to me. It belongs to Eichiro Oda and Toei Animation.
Warning: Some disturbing psychological implications and mentions of gore. I'll try to keep it to a minimum, but still.
The Seventh Voyage
Arc 1: Recruitment Arc
Chapter 2: New Arrivals
Their first view of the city was a long, circular wall that seemed to run for miles. It stood out starkly from the rest of the landscape, which mostly consisted of barren wasteland; endlessly stretching deserts, dotted sparsely with windswept hills. There was not even the slightest hint of vegetation as far as they could tell, and two large, red suns beat down on them from overhead, in a green, cloudless sky. They contemplated the wall wordlessly, and even Bepo and Jean Bart had to tip their heads back, the base of their skulls brushing their upper vertebrae, and their gazes still couldn't even skim the distant line in the sky that represented the top.
Shachi whistled, a low, trilling sound. "Daaaamn. That's one huge wall. Paranoid much?"
Penguin exhaled an astonished breath through his nostrils, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "I'll have to agree with Shachi on this one," he said, sounding awed. He adjusted the flaps of his hat to form a makeshift visor to protect him from the harsh glare of the suns, squinting his eyes to try to gauge its height more accurately. "Are you sure that you conducted the sweep properly? I mean, how can this place not have a single sentry guarding its orbit? Not even a single vagabond sentry? It just seems a bit dumb that they would build this ridiculous wall and not even fortify the orbit properly. If I were the Marines, I would have sentries crawling absolutely everywhere."
"We scanned the entire orbital vicinity several times," Law reassured him, his cool voice detached from the suffocating heat. "We couldn't locate a single one. And if one existed, it must've broken down long since. It's precisely the reason why we were able to infiltrate the planet so easily. Otherwise, as soon as we activated hyperdrive, we'd have a vice-admiral level fleet racing over here to terminate us. It's a rather fortuitous situation for us, actually." He struggled to suppress the inaudible quaver at the end of his words, conjured up by a queasy churning of his stomach. Hyperdrive didn't agree with him; even with the stabilizing effect of the acclimation chambers, which changed specific components of his body to adapt to foreign conditions, the tremendous speed that hyperdrive provided made the entire experience something vile each time. When they hurtled towards Imago, he could feel every fiber of his body being stretched like taffy, his skin receding from his bones. Even though the trip was only twenty minutes, it seemed to crawl past as gradually as an eternity.
"Please don't talk about such scary things, Captain!" Bepo cried out, buckets of sweat tinged white with sunblock trickling down his face. Despite the extensive precautions he took against the sun, his skin still reddened, dry flakes of skin peeling off his arms. It reminded Law vaguely of a lobster- one that he had seen on Capital holiday specials, with scarlet skin and buttered claws. "Just the talk of vice-admirals gives me the shivers."
"Perhaps they would've blown up the ship," Law mused, seemingly oblivious to Bepo's distress. "I wonder how our entrails would appear from below. Would they twine together to weave a tapestry?"
"That's creepy!" Penguin and Shachi cried out simultaneously, whacking their captain lightly on the shoulder. "Don't talk about such morbid things!"
"You two!" Bepo growled, seizing them easily with two arms, hands clamping down like a vice on their waists. "Don't talk to the captain like that!" They yelped as he wrestled them to the ground, tumbling in a heap. Clouds of dust rose up as an undignified scuffle broke out between them, strings of colorful curses zinging through the air.
Jean Bart watched them with something resembling mild horror. "You three are being ridiculous," Jean Bart scolded them in a gruff tone, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles in preparation to end the petty fight. He was interrupted as a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.
"Just ignore them," Law sighed, a shade of weariness entering his voice. "It's best not to acknowledge such foolishness."
"But Captain-!" he began, only for his protests to wither in his throat at the pointed look Law shot him. He sealed his mouth shut, feeling a twinge of embarrassment when the skirmish devolved into a wimpy slap fight, indignant screeches and pained squeals reverberating through the air as each palm struck their mark. The fight ended as soon as it began, leaving all parties involved on the floor panting, their bodies drizzled with sweat. He approached them consecutively, hoisting each and every one of them up onto their feet. "Never knew that my crewmates would make such good sopranos," he remarked dryly. "Or that they should all be wearing a pair of stilettos." They glared at him blearily, flipping him off in unison. Jean Bart rolled his eyes exasperatedly.
Law watched them from afar and beckoned them, crooking a long, sinuous finger. Jean Bart nudged them forward lightly, and they groused as they trudged forward, dragging their feet through the sand.
For about an hour, they circled the wall, searching for an entrance. They covered at least half a hemisphere of the wall before they collapsed in exhaustion, swallowing gulps of air that seared their lungs. "Are you sure that this is the only city on the entire planet?" Shachi whined, fanning himself with his hat. His boiler suit was already unzipped and shucked off his shoulders, exposing his pale skin to the blazing suns. "It's way too hot here for us to function."
"I have to agree," Jean Bart grumbled, skin shining bronze. He too was in a similar state of undress, and his brawny arms were already forming a layer of an alarming red. "This is miserable. But we scanned the planet at least three times. And unless if our scanner is wrong, then this is actually the only place that sustains life on the entire planet."
"Couldn't we just find a clearing and land within the city?" Shachi moaned, and the action felt like grating sandpaper against his already parched throat.
"Are you an idiot?" Penguin tossed out, sprawled on his back across the desert floor like a starfish they had once seen in a Capital picture book. "This is the Grand Line stronghold for the Marines. If we just fly in there with a clearly unlicensed starship, what do you think will prevent them from sending us to the chopping blocks in Enies Lobby? Or maybe they'll just keep us here and do whatever it is that they do here. And I'm not exactly eager to test out whether or not the rumor that they perform human experiments here is true." He sneezed as a stale gust of wind brought a surge of sand particles into his nose.
"That reminds me," Bepo muttered, voice reedy and thin from thirst. "Captain, why did the Marines choose this planet to be their stronghold? It doesn't make any sense." Out of all of them, Bepo was the worst off. Already afflicted with skin that was extremely sensitive to the elements, he also had a thick coating of body hair covering almost every surface of his body, trapping the stifling desert heat and allowing it to cling to his body. He seemed to wilt, his entire body sagging with the weight of his own body and the additional sweat.
Law glimpsed at him beneath the lowered brim of his hat, leaning against the wall. He was the only one who hadn't stripped off any of his clothing, and they noted- with a bit of envy- that he didn't seem to be sweating copiously like the rest of them were. "While this truly is a desolate planet, and seems more inclined to be a dud rather than a Marine stronghold, it actually was a very clever strategic move on their part," he explained, eyes gliding over his surroundings. "If you actually look at the location, you'll notice that it's the only planet that completely surveys the entire Grand Line. It allows them to watch all the planets and for them to send soldiers to any planet where something they don't like is occurring." Bepo mulled it over, nodding in newfound understanding. Law spared them a glance, observing their limp forms. He stooped low, unbuckling his medical bag. He tossed a leather pouch at Penguin, and he caught it, the water sloshing around as he fumbled with it for a moment. "Take it," he ordered coolly. "I don't need any of you dying of dehydration." Penguin sent him a grateful look as he unscrewed the cap frantically, tipping his head back and taking a deep, refreshing swig of water, swatting away the flailing hands trying to swipe it from his hands. As soon as he was finished, it was snatched from his hands, and they spent the next couple of moments emptying the bottle, saving only a small puddle of water at the bottom for their Captain. Penguin handed it back to them, and Law glanced at the contents, arching an eyebrow. "Well, you guys certainly left a lot for the future, didn't you?" They flushed, and Penguin felt the extreme urge to bury his head in the sand.
Jean Bart massaged his temples, which had gradually developed a throbbing ache. A dusting of pink was still sprinkled across his cheeks. "Are you done trying to make us feel guilty? Because, to be frank, I'm more interested in how much farther the gate is from here. Besides, when we get there, we can get more water, so we really don't need to save up."
Bepo immediately jerked up, bristling. "Don't talk to the captain like that, you newcomer!"
Law smirked, crossing his arms. "Alright. You got me on that account." He chuckled, his eyes darting over to an indistinct spot in the horizon. "Admittedly, I was just trying to make you guys feel guilty. It's too much fun to mess with you guys."
All of them, save for Bepo, stared at Law blankly. "Are you even serious?" they asked simultaneously. They only stopped when their eyes began to water when a stray gust of wind carried a swarm of sand particles to their eyes.
"All of you suck!" Bepo growled, "Do none of you feel any respect towards-" He was cut short as Shachi, grinning cheekily, pinched both his cheeks and squished them together.
"Oh, come off it, Bepo!" Shachi snickered, only letting up as soon as Bepo's struggling became more frantic. He patted him on the back consolingly, the mischievous smile still in place as Bepo rubbed his cheeks, whimpering in pain. "It's no big deal."
"In any case," Law began, pointedly ignoring both of them. "Penguin, can you recall how much farther the entrance is?"
Penguin sat up, pursing his lips in thought. "I'm not sure on the downright specifics of it, but I'd guess that it'd only take ten more minutes to walk there." He leaned back nonchalantly, dodging a frantic Shachi who was scrambling away from an incensed Bepo, who was currently making a mad leap to try and throttle him. He sighed. "I know we've been walking for a while, but I still can't help but feel that we parked the ship too close to the city. If things go sour, it's just a sitting duck."
"Oh yeah," Bepo said, currently seated upon the back of a wheezing Shachi, who was struggling to escape the heavy weight pressing down upon him. "Why didn't we leave someone on the ship?"
"Are you nuts?" Jean Bart asked, but there was no malice in his tone. He lifted himself up, shaking off the looser clumps of sand from the folds of his clothes. "And lug all the materials back to them? They'd die of some sort of heatstroke. Besides, they wouldn't be able to defend it properly. It's so bright here that I can barely see two feet in front of me." Shachi, with a heaving grunt, managed to complete an awkward pushup. It unbalanced Bepo enough that he managed to roll out from beneath him. As soon as he was safely situated, he tapped his sunglasses, grinning wildly.
"Smartass," Penguin snorted, standing up and fanning himself with his floppy hat. "In any case, we should probably be heading out. There's no point in just lying around here." He shrugged expressively. "Who knows? Maybe they'll have air conditioning and some drinks. I'm parched."
Law arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "So you guys are done resting? 'Cause in that case, I'm heading out." He spun around, striding forward in the rippling heat of the atmosphere. Jean Bart and Penguin trailed closely behind him. Bepo squinted after them, but his eyes watered as the heat made it feel like the fluid in them were boiling. Shachi wordlessly slipped his shades off his face and eased them onto Bepo's, the little nosepiece hanging on the tip of his nose precariously. He clapped him on the back, smiling. "Let's go, big guy." Bepo nodded, and they sprinted after the others, leaving behind elongated trails of sand that faded away in an instant.
"We can enter through there," Penguin announced, pointing forward. There, nestled between the white, shining walls stood a gleaming golden gate, glittering each time a direct ray of sun collided with the surface. Something about its extravagant regality made them that much more aware of their current state; sweaty, eyes still crusted with sleep that they hadn't had time to wipe away, and skin that felt like it would shrivel up like a raisin if they stayed any longer in the suns. Instantly, their mood plummeted.
Bepo sighed resignedly. "I suppose that'll work. A back entrance would've been better, but…" he let the sentence trail off. They all knew what he meant. They always tried to enter through a back entrance whenever they could; to enter through the main gates, no matter how convenient, always made them that much more conspicuous, heralding them unwanted attention.
"It'll do," Jean Bart grunted, heading towards the gate.
"Don't order us around like you're the Captain!" Bepo growled, but it was perfunctory at best.
They followed behind him, taking a bit of solace in the relief that the shade of his shadow provided. Before long, they stood in front of the golden gates. "Is it locked?" Penguin murmured, sliding a tongue over cracked lips. Law sent him a disapproving glance, and Penguin had to forcibly restrain the sudden, snapping remark that he almost blurted out. It was always a fiercely contested issue between them; he would run his tongue over his lips as an involuntary habit that he never managed to stem, and Law would always scold him for it, citing the fact that the enzymes in his saliva would further dry his lips. Penguin knew this, and frankly, he couldn't find it in himself to give a damn at the moment. It was ungodly hot, and he didn't think he'd be able to withstand his captain's nagging, no matter how good-natured it was meant to be. The gate loomed before them, and it suddenly seemed much more impressive up-close. The monolithic structure towered over them, silent and condemning, accusing in a way that they felt an irrational trickle of ice dripping down their spinal cords. It was a much bigger gate than they had ever seen before, used to the ramshackle gates that had been sloppily hashed together with flimsy bits of plywood and plaster that they usually found in the cities of the Grand Line.
"Doesn't look it," Shachi inspected it closely, gaze panning across the expanse of gold. His eyes sparked as he spotted something, and he eagerly pointed it out. "Hey guys-check this out!"
It was a small device, with three grooves on the front of it for speaking and listening. Below it, there were several buttons and levers. A long antenna protruded from the top. "A stationary telecommunicator?" Bepo's brows furrowed in confusion, and he scrutinized it critically.
"What's so weird about it, Bepo?" Shachi asked, entranced with the distorted reflection of him that its golden surface provided. He amused himself temporarily with making different facial expressions into the makeshift mirror, smiling a bit as they contorted goofily. "It doesn't seem that different from a regular telecommunicator to me."
"As I said before, it's a stationary telecommunicator," he explained, ushering forth the others to examine it more closely. "It's rather old fashioned. The first stationary telecommunicators were created decades ago, and they were only installed on a widespread scale within the Capital. Nowadays, the Capital has switched them out for the mobile telecommunicators that we have today."
"So in other words," Jean Bart concluded, "the technology here wasn't updated for many years."
Bepo nodded. "Exactly. It's weird, though." He began chewing his lip as several thoughts turned themselves over in his head. He ran a finger over the surface of the telecommunicator, accumulating a thick coating of dust on its tip. "It makes no sense, though. They obviously have a lot of money, considering the amount of gold that they decided to use just for the gates. So, if they're a Marine stronghold, why wouldn't they have gotten some new technology?"
Law smirked, the corners of his lips curling up. "This little sleuthing session has been quite productive. We've figured out some very important information."
"Namely…?" Penguin prompted, hitching an eyebrow expectantly.
Law studied the keypad for a moment, searching for a contact guide. "If their equipment hasn't been updated in such a long time, then there's only one reasonable explanation." He frowned when he realized when he couldn't find it, fingers running absentmindedly over the weathered surface, tracing out the thin grooves formed by countless years of scratching sands. "None of the Admirals have been here for years."
"Why that necessarily?" Penguin questioned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It could just mean that the Marine's funding committee are filled with lazy assholes. Why isn't that a possibility?"
Shachi clasped his hands in front of him, rocking back and forth on his heels as he thought. "Well, this place does count as a pretty good deterrent if you ask me." He pulled off his sunglasses, finding a dry patch of his shirt to wipe away some of the smudges from the lenses. "I remember that some of the rumors about this place scared the living crap out of me. They probably figured that it'd intimidate the citizens of the Grand Line enough that no one would come here. And they were right. So you're right on the dot about the bit of them being lazy assholes, but not on the part of them not being here. Probably. Maybe." There was a sudden clicking sound, and they all turned around to see Penguin using his telecommunicator to take several snapshots of the area.
"Why?" Bepo asked, sending Penguin a confused look as the latter crouched low, angling the lens to snap a picture a photo of the surrounding landscape and to reduce glare.
"Not everyday someone goes to Imago," he answered casually, folding the device close and tucking it into one of the numerous pockets of his boiler suit. "We might as well have some proof so we can sell some of the information to some of the brokers back in Sector Twelve. Jester probably would cream her pants if she found out we had information on the notorious Imago. I kind of feel bad for her. If she knew how lax the security is around this place she probably would've staked it out earlier."
"It's to our benefit that she doesn't know," Law remarked conversationally, hoisting himself up on Bepo's shoulders to get a higher vantage point of the gate. He still couldn't find any locks. He sighed, dismounting. "But I do have to wonder the risks associated with leaking highly secretive Capital information."
Jean Bart grinned. "Do you particularly care?"
Law smirked. "Nope. But being here does make me curious about just what does happen here." He sent each of them a sidelong glance, eyes suddenly sharpening in thought. "This place is a Marine stronghold, after all, and should therefore contain a lot of information. Besides swiping some supplies, I do have the desire to fulfill some of our more secondary objectives…"
His crewmates turned to look at him in blatant disbelief. "Captain, you don't mean…" Whatever they were about to say was thoroughly interrupted when the gates began to slowly swing open, the bottom edges of them plowing through the ground, displacing tons of sand in their wake. The roar of sand was deafening, but they still managed to hear quiet, human voices mumbling something indecipherable each second that the gates swung open. Bepo yelped as one of the edges smashed into his rear, knocking him down onto the ground. Everybody scrambled for cover, trying to avoid being buried beneath the heaping piles of sand that the gates were forming. Shachi, the one closest to Bepo, dragged him away by his arms, swearing profusely as Bepo's leg got caught beneath a peak of sand that broke off the top. He yanked him to the side, freeing him, before they tumbled to the side.
About a full minute later, the gates opened completely with a screeching clang, their hinges brushing the outer wall. The last echo rumbled through the air, quaking every particle, and there was a buzzing hum as the shaking finally died down. Huge, towering hills of sand were formed, ending in long, curving half-revolution formations that lay as a testament to both the size and movement of the gates. They shared a collective sigh of relief, observing the two people exiting the gates from behind their hiding spots. Law, Penguin, and Bepo crouched behind the small, ridging entrance that bisected the half-revolution on opposite sides, squinting through the gap, swirling particles of sand still slicing at their eyes. They peered through, and they saw two figures striding towards them. They were swathed in blue thermal suits-thick, opaque clothing stretching from head to toe that regulated the temperature within the suit in accordance to the conditions outside, shielding everything except a thin slot where the mouth was. But even then, they wore special respirators, so it was impossible to discern any of their features. What they were interested in, however, were the words that they were saying.
"This should be a quick patrol," one of them said, the respirator lending his voice an artificial rasp. "The last assignment seemed to have gone well, and it was only about a week ago. I doubt that anything has changed."
"Don't let your guard down," a gruffer voice replied, and he extracted a scanning device from his pocket, approaching one of the walls of sand. "Anything is possible. Any day, there's a possibility of something disrupting our noble traditions. If we fail to perform our duties, then the invasion of outside barbarianism will indeed lead to the fall of our civilized society."
He trailed after his partner. "Hey, hey, I'm not saying that we're not going to do our duties properly," he lifted his hands defensively, "I swear on the Twenty Kings that I'm not. I'm just saying that it will be an easy job, is all."
The other man grunted in response, and on further inspection, they noticed that the device in his hands was a soil composition scanner. The man approached a pile of sand, pulling out a compartment from the bottom of the scanner and scooping a handful of sand inside. His partner quickly scrawled down whatever results the screen revealed in a notebook that he carried, and they quickly moved on, repeating the process a few more times.
"We should speed this up a notch," the man-or a patrol guard of some sort- spoke up again, flipping his notebook closed. He faced the suns, noting their sunken positions on the horizon. By now, rich pinks and purples were smeared across the sky, with the few wisps of clouds streaked across the sky looking like they'd been dunked in grape juice. The suns blazed orange in the distance. "The gates are going to be closing soon. Sure we can open them anytime, but it still takes a long time. I don't want to come home late for curfew."
The gates were closing soon? A cold, opaque blanket settled over them, and it felt like icy shards of sleet were pricking every inch of their skin. What would happen to them if they closed the gates? Would they be able to live through the night? From afar, huddled beneath an outcropping of sand, Shachi and Bepo stared at them in confusion, not understanding why their crewmates looked so worried. "What's happening?" they mouthed silently, distending the motions of their mouths to enunciate what they were saying to them with added clarity. "Did something happen?"
They didn't notice. Penguin's face was drained of all color, and jarring shocks of anxiety jolted through his wooden limbs. Jean Bart observed the proceedings with silence, face hardening with severity. Penguin gulped, throat bobbing painfully, rotating his head shakily to face his captain. Law still stood straight ahead, face fixed and eyes darting over his surroundings, and through the murky depths of his eyes he could tell the cogs in his brain were turning, formulating a plan as every second ticked by. The tension coiled in his muscles visibly eased, the taut line of his shoulders slackening as he let out a quiet sigh of relief. Meanwhile, Jean Bart's grip on his arms tightened, and he glanced back at the captain, awaiting orders. They waited patiently, and each second that passed seemed like an eternity, the probability of the gates closing and something horrible happening to them growing with every wasted moment. "I have an idea," Law declared, finally, in a whisper. "Just be sure to follow my orders." Penguin and Jean Bart nodded furiously, quickly maneuvering themselves into a more versatile position, awaiting any possible order. Law glanced off to the side and spotted Bepo and Shachi, the outline of their forms blurry in the distorting heat. He motioned for them to be ready to run in wide, sweeping gestures, and he waited several moments until they sent back an affirming gesture that proved they understood. He turned back around, quickly calculating the two men's positions in accordance to their own, mentally smoothing out some of the more blatant flaws with the plan. "Ready?" he mouthed at Jean Bart and Penguin, and they nodded solemnly. Alright. It was go time. Law took a deep breath, and it worked to effectively soothe his mind, as if someone rubbed a cleansing salve deep within his brain tissue. It was the best plan he had on such short notice, and it had plenty of potential errors, but it was better than nothing.
"Hey there!" he shouted, and his crewmates jumped in surprise. "What are you guys waiting for? There are three intruders right in front of you! Come on, arrest us!"
Are you crazy? Jean Bart screamed at Law through his eyes, but Law didn't even spare him a wayward glance. Already his hands were drifting towards the flap of his medical bag.
The two men jerked in shock, dropping their equipment. They stared at each other for a moment, before they spun around and quickly advanced towards the exit between the two sand walls, rapidly approaching them. Law pressed himself firmly to the wall, molding every crook of his body into the sand more insistently. Penguin and Jean Bart followed suit, although they still sent questioning looks towards their captain. It was just as soon as one of the men's heads peeked through the entrance that Law sprung into action. He lunged at the man, hand lashing out and catching hold of a loose fold of clothing. The man gasped in surprise as he was suddenly pulled aside, and his stuttering limbs flew in a wild frenzy to struggle against him. He barely managed to even start fighting back before a scalpel slashed against his throat, through the thin, almost invisible crease in his suit. Instantly, his movements ceased, his last breath dying out in a gargled choke. "What's going on?" the second man demanded, and his form barely even emerged through the entrance before he was yanked from the other side by Jean Bart. The man flailed, but he didn't even achieve to get in an elbow somewhere before his head was clamped firmly between two burly hands and viciously wrenched to the side, a sickening crack reverberating through the parched air as his head was twisted at an unnatural angle. Immediately, his head lolled on his shoulders, the form in Jean Bart's eyes becoming nothing but dead weight. He flung him backwards into the sand, clapping his hands free of some of the chalky substance that coated his thermal suit. Law dragged the limp body in his arms a few meters away, before dumping him into a shallow ditch that rested there. He brushed some of the dust off his hands and on his jeans, spinning around to speed towards the rest of his crewmates.
"Is that really the best plan that you had?" Penguin arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms expectantly.
"It was the best plan that I could come up with at the time, considering both our limited time and information," Law retorted, wrapping the bloody scalpel with a thick wad of cloth for future sterilization. "Now get ready to go. We're getting inside." He turned to Bepo and Shachi, and he waved them over, gesturing for them to run through the gates with them.
It only took a couple of seconds for them to race over to them, their faces flushed in exertion by the time they reached them. "Follow me," Law ordered, slipping past the crack in the walls and darting through towards the gates, sticking close to the walls as to use the wall's cloaking shadows to his advantage. He could hear his crewmate's trailing not so far behind him, and when they finally reached the gates, Law cast a glance back at the sky. At that point, the bolder colors of the sky got toned down to something more subdued, a twilight mosaic spanning across their view. Night was quickly approaching, and Law found that none of the figures were particularly distinct in the gloom. Law grinned. Perfect. Now there was a higher chance that no one would be able to spot them.
He slipped between the gates, and they immediately dove behind a nearby building. They scanned the area for any civilians, and when they noticed none, they pressed on, navigating through the winding, narrow network of alleys that lay sprawled through the framework of the city. As the sky revolved over to night, their surroundings grew even darker, to the point that almost every single outline blended into another to form a jumbled mass of black. But that was alright; if they wanted to waste any time sightseeing, they still had all day tomorrow. But they were able to discern several things, such as that the area seemed remarkably clean. They found themselves treading cautiously, fully expecting to feel the crunch of glass or the squelch of something decaying from beneath when there really was none. The air seemed remarkably fresh as well, crisp as the air on the mountains in the Northern Sector, where the severe environment never felt even a touch of pollution. Finally, through the sight of touch, they managed to locate an area that they could rest for the night. It was a long stretch of alleyway fenced off by the outer wall of the city, a building, and a large, dense tree. There was only one opening, and even that was partially obscured by a thick fence that they managed to crawl beneath with minimal difficulty. "I think we can set up camp here," Law declared, shrugging off his medical bag. His eyes scrolled upwards, but he was satisfied when he was unable to detect even the slightest glint of a window.
The others sighed in relief, the weariness in their voices audible. One by one, each of them dropped their supplies, which fell to the cobblestone street with a clatter. Law suddenly remembered something, and he fished out a remote that he had pilfered from the guard's pocket. He tossed it over to Bepo, and he could hear him fumbling with it in the darkness. "What's this, Captain?" Bepo asked, and he traced curious fingers over each and every edge, picking apart his brain to figure out if it was something he recognized.
"I don't know," Law answered, fluffing his medical bag to try to make it a more comfortable pillow-a difficult task, considering that it was mostly filled with glass vials and rows of gleaming scalpels. The soft rolls of gauze did prove to provide a form of comfort, however. "I'm pretty sure that it controls the opening and closing of the gates. In any case, try to disable any possible tracking systems this thing has in the morning, okay?"
"Alright, Captain," Bepo replied, yawning. Law smiled fondly in the cover of darkness, curling his body up in an effort to preserve heat. He knew that Bepo was probably zonked out by now. He always was the first one of them to fall asleep, after all. He could hear Penguin shuffling to the side, grumbling sleepily. According to the agreement they made on the ship, he'd be the first one to take watch tonight. At the very least he'd get a couple winks of sleep, since their alternating shifts would allow him to wake up Jean Bart later to take up post. The rest of his crewmates dropped like flies, and he listened to each slow, heavy breaths they took, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. He decided to abandon his bag, and he slowly crawled over to Bepo, nestling his head onto his first mate's sternum. While the lack of a mattress left much to be desired, the plump softness of Bepo's stomach silenced any protests mounting in his mind. And, to the faint, comforting metronome of Bepo's heart, he let sleep engulf him.
"This is fucking delicious!" Shachi announced intelligently, sinking his teeth into yet another apple.
"Glad to know that," Jean Bart rolled his eyes, "how about you announce it to the entire city? Pretty sure that whatever local enforcement they have would love to be privy to that information. Or, even better, the Marines."
"Hey!" Shachi pouted, eyebrows scrunching together beneath his dark lenses. "I'm just saying. After all, I was totally expecting us to have nothing to eat nothing but nutrient packets, which are totally nasty."
"We're just telling you to be more cautious, you doofus," Penguin sighed, flicking Shachi on the forehead. "After all, we just swiped all this food. Somebody's bound to be looking for it."
"That's right!" Bepo chimed in, fiddling around with the mechanism that Law gave him. "If anyone comes looking for us, there'd be a lot of trouble." He broke a loaf of breath in half, handing it to each of the others, save for Law. Law sat off to the side, absorbed in his own thoughts. A banana and a chunk of cheese lay beside him, untouched. Bepo felt a pang of worry, and he couldn't help but offer a cup of coffee that he snatched off a windowsill earlier. Law declined politely, sketching an imaginary diagram in the cracks of the cobblestone street. Bepo pursed his lips, but said nothing.
He was obviously drawing up a plan in the vicinity of his mind. This place, after all, was nothing like they expected. The city seemed like it was plucked out from some sort of Capital fairytale, with all the clichés included. Rows of cheery brick buildings lined clean cobblestone paths, swept free from any dirt. Lush, well-tended gardens edged the paths, adding pops of tropical color to the general creamy tones of the city, and this idyllic scene seemed to stretch out to the very horizon. Soft music wafted from the background, and the very air itself seemed cushioned, spiced with the sweet fragrance of flowers and the warm tint of cinnamon. People milled about the streets, mingling in well-lit alleys and traipsing through the streets in orderly rows. Swishing skirts and the clacking of shoes permeated the streets, passing by in a sparse stream of people. The entire city seemed to be like this, filled with picturesque markets and idyllic neighborhoods. Even the government section in the center of the city was flourishing, and none of the activity seemed particularly malicious whatsoever.
This entire city unnerved them. There just seemed to be no flaw whatsoever; there were no drunks lurching around streets, and there wasn't a single seedy joint to be found. Only wholesome businesses, schools, and cafés. And everybody looked like an exact clone of each other. All of the men looked almost identical to the dated images of Capital politicians that they would see in faded newspapers, and the lack of diversity was just as prevalent among the women and children. Women passed by in the same dresses marked by the same patterns, with heavily hairsprayed hair that lay in stiff, crunching ringlets that crinkled like tin and the same shade of lipstick. The children looked like carbon copies of their parents, save for the more infantile versions of their clothing. The one characteristic shared by them all was the same perpetual, disturbing smile. It was the only characteristic that all of them adamantly refused to dwell on; all of the citizens had frozen smiles carved jaggedly across their faces, and the skin around them didn't stretch appropriately, giving off the unsettling impression that an image of a smile was superimposed over their faces. It made a shiver quake down their spines at the mere sight of it. They wanted out of here, out of this clean city that seemed to be painted with pastel hues and tempered sunshine.
Bepo sawed off sections of a broiled chicken leg, doling out a fist-sized portion to each of them. He bit into the succulent meat, accompanying it with a slab of bread that he had slathered a block of butter on before. He glanced up at the sky, through the thick screen of foliage that the trees provided, spots of sunlight filtering through the gaps of leaves. The device now lay at his feet, forgotten. He had gotten bored with dissecting it. "What exactly are our goals?" he found himself asking. He found the others turning to face him inquisitively, and he continued. "I mean, have any of us bothered to stop and think about what our goals are? We all have individual goals, sure, but do we all have one as a group?"
There was a thoughtful pause as they let the question digest in their minds. "Well, I'm not sure if all of you were thinking this, but I'm pretty sure that none of you would be against the idea," Shachi began tentatively, brow creased in thought.
The others looked at him in interest. "Which would be what?" Jean Bart asked, munching vacantly on his hunk of cheese.
Shachi chuckled confidently, straightening the collar of his boiler suit. "Well, with our captain's pretty boy good looks and my inherent charm, this goal should be relatively easy to accomplish." He sent them all a cheesy grin, one that stretched to the tips of his ears. "I say, on the behalf of all of us, that we head over to Amazon Lily and get a brigade of Amazon stripper ladies."
"A brigade of Amazon stripper ladies?" Penguin snorted derisively. "That's ridiculous."
"What?" Shachi demanded, and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Are you trying to say that you don't want one?"
"I-I don't want one," Penguin denied, but the trickle of blood streaming from his nose told a different story.
"Liar!" Shachi snickered, tugging Penguin's hat down to completely cover his face by the flaps. "You're the most perverted one out of all of us!"
"Am not!" Penguin growled, trying to plant a kick right in the center of Shachi's chest. "And let me go, you shades-wearing idiot!"
"As if, bird-brain!" Shachi shot back, tying the flaps of the hat together. He laughed uproariously as Penguin struggled with the knot, using the opportunity to swipe Penguin's share of chicken.
"It isn't like you two could get a girl anyway," Bepo muttered, casting them a sidelong glance. "Both of you being so scruffy and all…"
"YOU'RE THE SCRUFFIEST ONE HERE!" Penguin and Shachi shouted back simultaneously, hackles rising. "As if you're one to talk! You look like you're a huge bear!"
"I'm sorry…" Bepo murmured, gazing at the floor gloomily.
"DON'T BE SO WEAK-WILLED!"
"Are all my crewmates idiots?" Jean Bart asked, bemused. "What exactly have I gotten myself into?"
"A fucking awesome crew, that's what," Law drawled, munching on a strawberry. Juice dribbled down the corner of his chin, and he wiped it away absently with his sleeve. "Besides, you're going to get yourself into even worse situations starting now. I got a plan."
"You do?" Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo asked in unison, the brawl building up between them momentarily derailed. They settled around Law in a semicircle, and they regarded their captain curiously.
"Yep," Law swept off the residual juice of his lips. "I want to leave this planet as soon as possible."
"Sounds good to me," Shachi grinned, clapping his hands. "Leaving this planet? That's already a great start to this plan."
"I'm guessing that you don't like this planet either?" Bepo asked, cocking his head at a curious incline.
"Of course not!" Shachi shivered. "I wouldn't even touch the women on this planet with a mile-long pole."
"And that's already an indicator that there's something seriously wrong here," Penguin joked, and the others chuckled a bit. "But honestly, this place does seriously creep me out."
"I find the people suspicious," Jean Bart's eyes grew hooded. "They remind me of the Marines that came to my planet so long ago…"
Bepo's brows furrowed, before his eyes widened in sympathy. "You mean the ones that burned down your monastery?"
"Yeah. The very same." Jean Bart's fists clenched, to the point that his nails left crescent impressions on his palms.
"All the better reason for us to leave as quickly as possible," Law supplied, and he sent Jean Bart a furtive glance, face softening. "And I want to get my plan started as soon as possible, so I'm only going to inform you of the basic framework of the it. I won't bother articulating." He flicked some of the stray seeds into Shachi's hair, much to the latter's distress.
"You expect us to just go along with a plan that we barely know anything about?" Jean Bart huffed, crossing his arms. Beside him, Shachi whined, trying to comb out the pulpy seeds out of his bangs with his fingers. "I understand that we're pirates, but you're being rather selfish here."
Bepo whirled around to face Jean Bart, features fixed in a scowl. "Don't talk that way to our captain! And if Captain comes up with a plan, it's guaranteed to work!"
"Thank you, Bepo." Law arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "And Jean Bart, I understand the sentiment that you're trying to share. But I can't help but think that you're being unfair here. You could at least listen to the plan I have."
"It's the principle of the matter," Jean Bart shot back, his posture strict and firm. Penguin frowned at him disapprovingly, and Shachi stuck out his tongue at the man. "The symbolism of an act can be much more important than the actual act itself."
"Read the symbolism however you want," Law countered testily. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm Captain now, does it? I have the final say in all matters pertaining to the crew."
Jean Bart fumed silently, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red. "Fine," he snapped, tone harsh. "Go ahead. Inform us of your brilliant plan." His words were simply dripping with sarcasm.
Law grinned spookily. "I plan to."
Law surveyed the vicinity from his vantage point on top of a building, scoping it out for any lingering civilians. After a careful scrutiny, he was satisfied to assure himself that there were none. The circular courtyard was ringed by a low stone wall with a smaller concentric circle of buildings within it. A single large tree lay at the very center, rustling with every errant gust of wind. But he only had eyes for the library that sat across from him, completely empty. He had meticulously planned this out, accounting for every detail; scheduling the heist on a day where all the citizens had to go to a universal inspection that was conducted at the main government building, even the children. All the streets were empty, ensuring a guaranteed easy job. And, from what he could tell, there were no security cameras rigged anywhere either. It was almost too easy.
He stood up from where he'd previously been crouching, emerging above the fortifications bordering the top of the building. He leaped down onto the hood of a dumpster, a low metallic clanging echoing through the empty space at the impact. He skipped down from there to the ground, racing over to the library with his body low to the ground. He reached the building, and he peered through it, his breath fogging the glass. He spied long, lacquered rows of shelves replete with books, a plush armchair resting invitingly in the center. But there, he spied his true objective; a sleek computer sitting on top of a desk in the corner of the room, cogs whirring pleasantly. Glancing to all sides, he made sure that there really was no one there before he conducted the next step in his plan. Soothed by the knowledge that there would be no witnesses, he unbuckled the clasps of his medical bag, extracting an enlarged compass. He turned it over in his hand appreciatively, a knife attached to one end, with the other end meant for balance. He dug the tip into the glass, using the blade on the other end to saw in deep, trying to reduce the noise of the screeching glass. As soon as he was done, he tucked it back into his medical bag, snapping the clasps shut. A faint outline of a circle was engraved on the window, barely distinguishable from the rest of the glass unless if you really observed it closely. He applied a light pressure to the circle with the pads of his fingers, and the glass popped free with a low sucking sound. It fell to the carpet soundlessly, the spongy material of the carpet absorbing the impact. He crept through the hole, quickly making his way towards the computer.
To his delight, he noted that the monitor was still on, which meant that whoever worked here hadn't shut down the computer before they left. Either that or it simply wasn't a routine procedure. The security in this city was rather lax, after all. He jiggled the mouse, and the screen lit up to the desktop. Law had to stop himself for a moment, almost giddy with elation. A buoyant sense of triumph bubbled up in his chest, and he couldn't help the huge grin that stretched across his face. Finally… this would be the culmination of their months of searching! He clicked on a filing application, and a huge database appeared on the screen. There were several tabs splayed across the top of the screen, all of them relating to places, people, and organizations, some of which he didn't even recognize. A search box lay hidden in the corner. He clicked on it, and he typed in the only information that he knew about the person he was looking for: The Cold Sniper. He wasn't sure if the moniker would herald anything substantial, but a result did appear. Hardly believing his luck, he clicked on it, and a profile appeared. Much of it was blank, even lacking a profile picture. He scrolled through the file, but much of it was the same, with question marks showing up instead of actual information. He did manage to scrounge up one single piece of pertinent information, however. The name. Sven Markhov. He flipped open a notebook, quickly scrawling down the name across the pages. Snapping it closed, he shoved the notebook into his medical bag and made his way back to the hole. He slipped out, slathering a line of glue across the edges of the circle. He carefully eased it back in, swiping off some of the glue that oozed out between the cracks. It was a sloppy job, but hopefully it would be good enough to buy them at least a little bit of time to allow them to escape.
With the reassuring thump of his medical bag swinging against his legs, he rushed out of the courtyard, making his way to the gates where his crewmates were waiting. The soles of his shoes slapped against the pavement, and his surroundings passed by him in a blur. About two blocks away from the gates, he stumbled to a stop, reclining against the wall. He panted heavily, chest heaving with exertion. He had to take a break. He fished out his telecommunicator, dialing a number that had long since been memorized. "Captain?" Jean Bart's voice crackled over the receiver, and his voice was barely discernible amid the scratchy quality of the audio. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Law answered, using his sleeve to mop his forehead free of sweat. "The objective is completed. Wait there, you guys. I'm coming soon-" He interrupted himself as he spied something that had escaped his initial examination, and he felt his jaw swing shut. A door, seemingly innocuous, rested at the corner, nestled between an intersection of two outer walls. Blinking, he knuckled his eyes to make sure that what he was seeing wasn't a mirage created by the desert heat. The door was still there as soon as the bright orbs twirling around his vision disappeared. "Jean Bart, hold on a minute," Law muttered, but he could barely hear his own voice, gaze fixed on the wall. "I'm going to check something out."
"Captain!?" Jean Bart's voice rang out incredulously, his tone washed in an almost frantic panic. "Captain, what in the hell do you think you're doing!? Captain! Captain, answer me!" Law opened to assuage the fears of his fretting crewmate, but then the memory of Jean Bart's disobedience flickered through his mind's eye. "Answer me!" Jean Bart roared over the receiver, with enough force that the resonance of his voice caused the device to vibrate in his palm. "Are you alright? Law!" Feeling a vindictive spike of pleasure, Law flicked the telecommunicator off, stuffing it within his medical bag. Once again, he scrutinized the door, assessing it with strict, analyzing eyes. It didn't seem to be particularly remarkable, save for the fact that it seemed to be constructed from sturdy steel. There were no complex locks, instead it had a sliding mechanism that the public restroom stalls that more wealthy cities would have. Why would anyone need a door to access a wall? Was it for patch-up jobs? "How weird," Law murmured, undoing the latch. "It's like no one really cares if anyone enters. Anyone could open this door." His hand instinctively grasped a scalpel, and with a stream of fleeting anticipation drifting through him, he opened the door and headed in.
The first thing that struck him was the smell. He staggered, clapping a hand over his nose, gagging at the immediacy of it. His stomach churned in revulsion at the rancid stench, and he could feel bile clawing up his throat. It stunk of human waste and rotting matter, and he could feel his eyes burning as the odor rose to meet his face. After several moments, when his initial nausea subsided to something significantly more manageable, he glanced up. And he promptly felt every fiber of his body freeze. In the dim, filthy light, he saw something that he never would've expected. Shriveled cadavers littered the area, parts of them buried beneath heaps of trash that towered above. Bleached bones gaped at him from where the meat had been scavenged off the flesh, and all of their faces seemed to be twisted in eternal agony. The few corpses that had any skin remaining were horribly emaciated, their wizened limbs resembling a gnarled root than anything that should've been connected to a human. He swept his gaze around the vicinity, and in the scarce dim bands of light that stretched foggily to the floor, he realized that that was all there was; corpses, sprawled and toppled over each other to form towering heaps that rivaled the mountains of trash that surrounded them, limbs distorted and twisted at grotesque angles. Law turned back to the door, practically bolting over to the door, where the outside beamed at him, sunny and inviting and not a place filled with desecrated corpses and- he heard voices talking, streams of civilians trickling through the double doors of all the buildings. Law gawked at them, and, with bunched limbs jerky with sudden panic, he pulled the door shut, the click echoing through the dark space around them.
He cursed softly under his breath, the murmur of the outside crowd leaking through to him as if he were submerged beneath water. He pinched the bridge of his nose, temples throbbing. I must've spent more time getting back here than I thought, he grumbled to himself, Shit. Now there's basically no chance of me getting out through this door without being seen, is there? His grasp stuttering on the handle, he sighed deeply, his hand retreating from his spot. Cautiously, he backtracked a bit, turning around. Looks like he'd have to find a spot in here where he had some connection. Using the faint bands of sunlight filtering through the few cracks in the ceiling, he maneuvered himself through the high piles of bodies, squinting at the screen of his telecommunicator. But no bars lit up in the corner, and with a scowl, he shoved it back inside his bag. What type of place had no telecommunicator connection? The connection worked perfectly fine outside of the wall! He resisted the almost juvenile urge to stomp his foot, instead screwing his expression into something sour and pinched. Now that he thought about it, what was this place exactly?
He turned around, studying his surroundings in case anything changed. Nothing did. All that lay behind were rotting corpses with sunken eyes, skin pulled back on their faces to reveal the contours of their skull. Their ribs protruded painfully from their chests, looking like they'd knife through the skin at any given moment. For whatever reason, it seemed like the wall was hollow, used to trap these people inside within its confines, given nothing for sustenance but rotten bits of food in the trash that they dumped in here. They didn't even have the comfort of the sky, since the ceiling was walled off as well, save for a few thin cracks that allowed weak beams of sunlight to trickle through. This place is a jail cell, Law thought to himself, examining all the dead that lay strewn about, some heaped contemptuously across each other beside mountains of trash. Up above, he finally noticed some chutes, which must've been connected to the city dump, attached to the ceiling, too high up for anyone to crawl to- although many had obviously attempted it, considering the long, stagnant stripes of blood that ran up the wall, chunks of fingernails still embedded within loose crevices of gold. The ground beneath him was colder than rock and harder than steel, and the air within here reeked of the dead. No, Law amended, feeling a rare pang of pity strike a chord deep within him. This place is a tomb. A cluster of rats squeaked as they scurried around his feet, and Law made a disgusted noise, delivering a hard kick to send one flying across the enclosed space. "But then what is the purpose of this place in the first place?" he mused, examining a prone figure jutting out from one of the piles. Law scrutinized the form for a long moment, taking in the long, scraggly hair wilting off their head, the tatters that they wore, and the thick, obtrusive calluses that developed on the soles of their feet. And then he spied a small notepad peeking out from beneath a slit in her clothes. He hitched his eyebrows. "Well, maybe I'll find out."
Feeling only the smallest iota of shame for grave-robbing- I'm merely studying the artifacts of history for later generations, he justified to himself, snorting, he flipped the little book open, using his telecommunicator as a source of light. He squinted, skimming the smudged passages that looked like they were scribbled with a blunt piece of charcoal. Sighing, he found a relatively clean spot on the ground, reclining against the wall. Pursing his lips, he studied the text more carefully, finally finding a section of writing that was leagues more legible than the rest of the pages. "It's been a long time since I remembered what today was," he read aloud, sliding a finger against the length of his tongue to leaf through the pages more easily. "Time's borders have becoming increasingly blurred, indistinct and melting together until a second could be a week. Or a month. Actually, I really don't know how long we've been in this place." Law's brows furrowed, and his fingers faltered for a brief moment before he hastily shook his head, turning the page. "But we must've been in here for a long time, considering that most of us are already dead. I had to bury my little sister today. She caught something from the sewage, and her skin turned completely green before she died. I had to fight someone, and I lost two fingers in the scuffle, but it was worth it, considering that I managed to bury her beside my parents. She was the only person I had left." Law's eyes narrowed, eyeing the dead forms. Their sockets glowered at him accusingly-condemningly, their wrists crooked at ghastly angles in a vague gesture of reaching out to him, frail fingers looking ready to clutch any part of him that they could grab. He sneered at them, but he nonetheless clamped his mouth shut, not uttering a single line more as he resumed his reading. It was too disrespectful for the girl. Brushing an errant clump of hair to join the other tufts behind her ear, he gazed at the girl for a moment, eyes softening considerably. He then averted his gaze, continuing to read.
Chances are that I'll die soon. Those blasted bastards no longer toss anything edible out in the trash. They must get a kick out of making animals out of us, they must delight at the mere prospect of making us claw out each other's eyes for the slim chance of nibbling a piece of paper. Perhaps they installed cameras in here somewhere. I wouldn't put it past them. They probably masturbate to the sight of making us subhuman. I hate this. There's literally nothing more that I would give to see just a slim slice of sky at least one more time. To take a euphoric whiff of clear, fresh air. Law had to struggle the rest of the words, seeing as how the words blurred together, saturated with liquid droplets from a time long past. It took him a long moment, but Law startled somewhat when he realized that they were tears. If only that drought didn't happen. If only those Capital fanatics didn't come here and make a requirement list of the only people allowed to live. If only the citizens decided not to listen to them and stick all of us 'imperfect people' in here to die. The realization struck Law with all the force of a sledgehammer, icy pinpricks replacing all the blood in his veins.
With stuttering hands, he shoved the notepad away, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face in the crevice between them. So that's what happened here, Law thought to himself hysterically, heart beating so hard and fast that he felt the organ bruising his ribcage, vision growing fuzzy at the edges. Dozens of images of Capital propaganda flashed through his mind's eye, of school pamphlets depicting vague, faceless Capital citizens as deities, of posters instructing the native to preen and primp until they looked like their 'superior Capital overlords'… The identical faces of the residents of the planet suddenly gained a much more sinister edge, faces darkening a shade while their frozen, artificial smiles leered at him coldly, without a single tinge of sympathy. So that's why everyone looks alike, Law thought to himself, his grasp on his knees tightening. And why nobody over the age of forty lives here. He reread the pages desperately, but all he found were more pages spewing the same hysteria, the handwriting devolving into barely legible, violent slashes. They must've tossed everyone who didn't fit their ideal, impossible image here, into this hellhole. The horrific image of his crewmates-bodies rotten and emaciated, faces warped with immeasurable agony- flickered through his mind, and Law gagged, feeling his stomach trying to force itself up the tunnel of his throat. Tears dotting his eyes, he staggered to his feet, his joints stiff and brittle. He yanked his telecommunicator out from his bag, fingers flying frantically across the dials to call a number that's long been engraved into his memory.
It rang only once before a voice roared at him from the other line. "Law!" Jean Bart roared, throaty and tight with rage, and Law could feel some of the warmth seeping back into his blood, vision balancing out from its previous too-high quality, crystallized view. "How dare you just call back like this? After you left m- ah, I mean, Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo worried sick!? Do you know just what we were think-"
"Jean Bart," Law breathed, voice thick and shaky. "I need you to do something for me. Please."
Jean Bart stopped, detecting the quaver in his Captain's voice. He could hear a deep exhale, and Law could almost see his crewmate palming his forehead in exasperation. The image served to make the corners of Law's lips quirk up in fond amusement, affection crinkling the skin near his eyes. "Sure," the voice sounded tired, resigned. "What is it that you want us to do?"
Law's voice steadied, hardening to something tangible, something solid enough to pluck out of the air. "Get to the Mendota. Get to it and track down my coordinates. And then- listen carefully- I want you to fire up the optic blasters and I want you to tear down the wall that I'm inside of. No-never mind, I want you to disintegrate it."
A subdued, resigned voice-not necessarily combative, just inquisitive-asked, "What about security? Isn't there going to be-"
"Never mind the security," Law snapped, tone clipped with irritation. "The security here is practically nonexistent anyway. Just… do it, okay?" Without another word, Law cut the line, and the telecommunicator died with a screeching whine. He sighed, readjusting the hat perched on the crown of his head. He knew Jean Bart would be on his case for that. He'd undoubtedly get an earful for that little stunt he pulled there. He shrugged, a small smile fanning out across his lips. Now he just needed to wait. Refusing to just sit still and stay idle, he whiled away the passage of time by arranging the bodies in a more dignified fashion, laying them side by side in orderly, consistent rows. He attempted a clinical approach to the entire procedure, but an irrepressible pang of pity rippled through his nerves, softening his typically harsh touches to something tenuous, a gentle brush of fleeting gossamer across ragged expanses of skeletal frames. The gentle sweep of his fingers lingered for a moment longer on the woman who he took the journal from, and with deliberate softness, he clasped her hands together in a significantly more demure fashion, scraggly hair splayed in a fashion that accentuated her face. "I'm honestly sorry that this happened to you," he murmured, dragging a hand down her face to slide her eyes shut. Vaguely, he wondered if he had possibly seen her family. By dissembling the stacks of bodies, had he possibly exhumed their remains? Letting out a sound of indifference, he reclined against the wall, shrugging loosely. Whatever. He had already gone out of his way for these people. He wasn't going to be bothered to stray from his original plan more than he had to. Snapping a couple choice images of the area, saving the pictures into the most confidential area on his telecommunicator before pocketing it. There was nothing more damning than incriminating evidence, after all.
The interval of time stretched and lengthened, stretching out like a string until it pulled taut, the air compressed and thick as liquid amber. Slanted shafts of light shifted to new positions, both of them occasionally intersection to form a foggy x of light. And, that's when he heard it; something like sounded like the distant, angry buzzing of a swarm of bees, and Law stood up, muscles bunched up in anticipation.
Eventually, with a great whooshing sound accompanied by a shrill whistle of air, he heard his ship arrive, jets of pressurized air blasting at the sand and forming a swirling tundra of sand particles. And he heard the resounding, tinny echo of the optic blasters heating up, and he only had a scant second to prepare before a circular beam of energy blasted through the wall with a high pitched screech, blaring through the vicinity as it disintegrated the wall in a matter of nanoseconds. He nonchalantly tipped his head to the side, dodging ricocheting bits of rubble that pelted the area beside his head. Tons of dust floated through the atmosphere, choking the air as melted gold dripped off the edges of the area of impact, pooling at the floor. "Took you guys long enough to get here!" he called out, and the entrance to the obnoxiously bright yellow starship slid up with a hiss.
"Well we're sorry that setting up the engines and optic blasters takes some time!" Penguin called out, hands on his hips. A huge scowl was slapped across his face. Oh, great, Law rolled his eyes internally, spying the equally sour look on Shachi's face, Jean Bart must've put me on speakerphone before. The bastard.
"Save your belly-aching for someone who cares," Law retorted, climbing up the set of retractable steps that led to the entrance. He patted the hood of his ship fondly, and he could almost imagine a smile in the thump that the ship replied with. Although it was absurd, sometimes he couldn't help but imagine that his ship had a soul. He climbed in, and Penguin shut the entrance behind him.
"Any other orders, Lawlypop?" Shachi drawled, crossing his arms expectantly.
Law rolled his eyes expressively at the much-detested nickname, highly aware of the scathingly sarcastic undertone in his crewmate's voice. "We get out of here. We already got all our supplies and completed our repairs, so all we have to do is haul ass and leave this planet for good." He turned around, heading towards the cockpit. He needed to talk with Jean Bart. "Oh, by the way," he added offhandedly, "I want us to reduce the city into a charred smear across the sand. Of course, we'll exclude grocery stores, hospitals, and nurseries from our wrath, but I still want us to send out a message."
Penguin and Shachi simultaneously did a double take, jaw dropping somewhere in the general area of his chest. "What brought this on exactly?" Penguin asked, and he got his answer a second later when a telecommunicator was tossed right to him, and he fumbled with it for a moment, bewildered.
"Check out the hard drive on that telecommunicator," Law replied, right before swinging around the corner. "If that doesn't convince you that this place is an utter hellhole, then nothing will." He disappeared, the clacking of his high heels resounding across the linoleum as he made his way over to Jean Bart.
Shachi and Penguin stared at each other, perplexed, before they shrugged. They opened up the hard drive, examining the images developing on the screen. Immediately, as soon as they recognized what they saw, Shachi grew white, knees buckling while Penguin raced over to a trash bin, gagging. He dry heaved over the rim, and it felt like his entire stomach was trying to force itself through the narrow tunnel of his throat. "Well," Shachi laughed shakily, clutching his throbbing chest. "That would explain things."
There was something oddly disappointing about hindsight. Law and the rest of the Heart Pirates stared outside the window, watching as the small blue orb known as Imago, wreathed in space, became smaller and smaller as the distance increased. They had already conducted their dose of mayhem; the city was left a demolished wreck, most of the buildings leveled down to the ground in smoldering husks. They all felt a collective burst of malicious glee billowing through their guts, as terrified shrieks exploded from the city, dark clouds of smoke pumping to the atmosphere, marring the sky with black. They watched the proceedings in solemn silence. "What are we going to do now?" Jean Bart asked, breaking the silence. Rotating their heads, they turned to face Law, who was twirling a scalpel between his fingers.
"Simple," Law replied, tossing it up into the air before snatching it, movements a lightning-fast blur. "We go to Jester and pick up Ban and Wakame. In the distance, the last shred of Imago vanished into a blip of stars. A leaden weight that they didn't even know floated off their chests. "Besides, we still have to pay Mr. Cold Sniper a visit."
Author's Note: First of all, sorry this came so late! I was really busy, and I was extremely dissatisfied with this chapter, so I kept on rewriting this again and again. I'm still unhappy with this chapter, but I decided to use this train wreck as an attempt at writing emotion, which I'm not very good at.
And I'm so, so sorry for this chapter, but I really needed to get this out of the way. I'm extremely bad at beginnings.
This chapter…ugh. At least I got a chance to world build here.
I love world building.
On another note, the next chapter… oh yes, that's when I'm getting into my groove. That's more of an adventure, action-y chapter, and action scenes are my forte. So, as you can believe, I'm extremely excited to be writing the next chapter, which is when they basically get assigned their first mission in this story.