A/N: This is still the prologue, but damn, next chapter Law will finally make his appearance in this story, and damn, it'll get hot!

Prologue Part Two

Waking Up

Lieber arm dran als Arm ab

Six years ago:

After Kidd had passed out in Wire's fucked up apartment the police must've found him because he had woken up in a hospital, his less injured arm chained to the bed.

The nurses had stayed away from him, but the doctor in charge had told him that he was lucky to survive that many wounds, but they weren't able to do anything for his left arm. Too much damage done there.

After he had been able to walk again they had dragged him in front of court. They had wanted to know how much he knew, who he was in the grand scheme of things. He hadn't told those motherfuckers anything. He didn't care. Everything had been pretty shitty at that time. He had been found guilty for dealing drugs and a couple other things, but he hadn't really paid attention to what the people in court were talking about.

But he had listened when they told him that he had to go to jail for eighteen fucking years.

So that was where he had ended up. He felt like his life was fucking monopoly and he just stepped on the field Go to jail. He felt pretty devastated too, knowing that he'd spent the next two decades in prison. He didn't really give a shit about age and stuff, but he realized that he would spent his best years in prison.

Resignation isn't a nice feeling, but that was exactly what he had felt during the last two years in prison. Resignation. He would've fought his fate, would've tried to break out, anything, but knowing that everyone out there he cared about was dead, that Killer was dead, Hawkins, Bonney, Wire…

When he first came into prison two years ago most of the inmates thought that he wouldn't survive longer than two weeks. Well, his useless stump of his left arm might've given that impression, but fuck this, he still got a pretty strong right arm.

After the first two weeks in prison no one dared to come close to him again.

He had felt numb, really numb, the first weeks in prison. It had been Killer's death that pained him the most.

But the rage inside his heart never died. He put most of his energy into training, so that now, after two years in prison, his body became fucking huge. Most of the guards were afraid of him, most of the inmates too.

He had stopped using coke in prison, simply because it reminded him of Killer, the entire blow they had done together, all the shit they had done together, fuck, he still missed Killer like hell. And of course, each time he thought about Killer, he felt the burning rage inside him surface again, screaming for revenge, screaming for blood.

He needed an outlet to all the built up steam. Just thinking about Killer made him angry.

He groaned and got up from the bed he was napping on.

"What's up?" Heat asked him, his cellmate, one of the very few inmates that weren't scared shitless of him. Heat was actually a pretty decent fellow, and he didn't annoy the shit out of him.

"Heat, will ya fetch me one of the little bitches? I need to bust a nut."

Heat nodded and left their cell to get one of the bitches Kidd was fucking in here to keep his rage under control. But before Heat could drag a wimpy, skinny piece of ass back in their cell, suddenly four guards appeared and announced that he had a visitor.

Bullshit.

He didn't have a visitor in two years.

He had no one out there that gave a shit about him. Bullshit. What were the guards up to?

But he had no choice but to let his hands get handcuffed and to follow them out of his cell block. After another pair of guards joined them on their little walk through the facility, he felt the overwhelming urge to lash out, to kick, to rage, to bite, to finally taste some blood again, yeah, you fuckers, that's what you get if you interrupt the pounding of some ass, you assholes.

His body tensed and then he lashed out, he didn't really wanna break free, he just wanted to hurt, to make them bleed, to satisfy the rage inside of him.

In no time three guards were down on the ground, bleeding, he tasted blood since he bit one of those annoying fuckers, but the guards weren't stupid, they were pretty damn wary around him, since this wasn't the first time he pulled a stunt like this. He felt the familiar sting of a needle placed in his neck, the familiar feeling of chemicals running through his veins, weakening him, forcing him to his knees.

Then, like so often, nothing.

He woke up with a familiar headache, damn, why did those fuckers have to turn the light on, it was fucking bright, it was hurting his eyes, fuck, those little shits-

"I think he's waking up." An unfamiliar voice stated.

"No shit you fuckers. Turn the fucking light down, I got a fucking headache." He growled.

"And he has such a foul mouth." The stranger said. No shit, you fucker, annoy the shit out of me with stating the obvious.

His eyes finally adjusted to the bright light from the neon lamps, illuminating the whole room in a cold, bright light. He noticed that he was laying on some kind of bed, but he got up and noticed to his dismay that his feet were cuffed together, also that his right arm was cuffed to what was left of his abomination of a left arm.

There were a ton of guards standing around at the walls, eyeing him wary. In the middle of the room sat a rather creepy looking man behind a table and observed him with a sick curiosity in his eyes.

No shit, that man was really creepy. And not just creepy in a his-pants-don't-match-his-shirt kinda way. No this man was creepy in the way even he was wary of him.

And fuck this shit, he definitely didn't like the way that creep was eyeing him up. Oh no, like he was about to molest him, or worse. But then Kidd grinned. He was fucking Eustass Kidd after all. It was not that he was afraid of anything.

"Why don't you join me?" The creep asked and gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the table.

He shrugged and walked over to the man and sat his heavy body down on the chair that squeaked dangerously under his weight. He knew that he was easily 200 pounds of pure muscle mass.

"Magnificent." The man whispered.

"What do you want?" Kidd grunted. He wasn't one that played games.

"Oh well, I guess I haven't introduced myself properly. I'm Dr. Vegapunk."

"Vegapunk. Weird ass name."

But Vegapunk didn't seem fazed by his crude remark and continued staring at him. Then he motioned one of the guards to come over. "Unlock his handcuffs."

"I don't think that would be a good idea-" The guardobjected, but Vegapunk just stared pointedly at him and nodded.

So this Vegapunk had the power here, Kidd assumed. Didn't really surprise him, Vegapunk's whole body language told him that he was used to commanding lower individuals around.

Warily the guard approached him and unlocked his cuffs.

If he was expected to lash out, he didn't. First he wanted to hear why this Vegapunk wanted to see him. He repeated his question from earlier: "What do you want from me?"

Vegapunk smiled a toothy grin and pointed to his crippled arm. "May I see?"

"Why are you interested in my fucked up arm?"

Vegapunk dropped his arm he had reached out to touch his decreased appendage. "Well, I guess, I should do some explaining first. Like I mentioned, I'm Dr. Vegapunk, an experimental scientist. Lately I was developing a series of artificial limps."

"Prostheses?"

"Like that, only a lot more advanced. But I need to test them first and there aren't many test subjects out of there who would like to have their arm or leg cut off to install one of my artificial limps."

"You can't install those limps on people who have amputated arms or shit?"

"I could, but I need my test subject in a perfect health condition to endure the rather painful process. People with an amputated limp often lack the physical conditions for the endurance of my experiment. "

"And that's why you picked me?"

"I had been quite devastated, since my search for a test subject was quite fruitless, but you are quite perfect."

"So that's how it's going to be: You're gonna use me as a guinea pig?"

"Exactly."

"What if I say no?"

"I don't see you in a position where you can negotiate."

"Well, I tend to get quite aggressive with the guards. We don't wanna spoil your little experiment if I accidently destroy a lot of medical equipment or accidently kill or injure your stuff, don't we?"

Vegapunk only smirked.

"So what's in it for me?"

"Well, if you agree to my little experiment, your stay in this facility would come to an end, and of course, you'll have a functioning arm instead of that maimed stump."

"What's the negative side?"

"It'll be extremely painful, there's a high chance that you won't endure the process, etc."

Kidd contemplated the offer for a few seconds, but really, what was there to lose? His meaningless life?

"I'll do it."

Vegapunk smiled satisfied and got a file out of nowhere. He got some papers out and slid them across the table.

"Sign here and here." He pointed two empty lines out and gave him a pen.

Kidd didn't even mind to read the paperwork. He just signed.

They had never told Kidd how long exactly he had to endure the endless surgeries, the pain, so much red, screaming pain, his nerves were on fire, there was fire running through his veins, poison, so much poison in his body, he was burning, his skin was on fire, he wanted to tear his own skin from his body, so much fucking pain, and it wouldn't end.

It wouldn't end.

Then he lost consciousness again and dreamed wild livid dreams filled with pain and blood, with remorse and hate, with rage and desperation.

He would wake up again, and the pain would be back, so much fucking pain, his nerves were on fire, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear, his vision was a battlefield of red and black, some shadows were lurking around him, holding him down, injecting him with poison that burned its way through his veins, he could only hear his own screams.

He woke up and it felt like he was surfacing from a deep pool of water.

The pain was gone.

But what was left of him? He felt like a part of him had died during the endless pain. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to understand where he was, what he was feeling, what was going on.

Apparently he was in some kind of cell, it strangely reminded him of his prison cell, but the room seemed a whole lot cleaner and had a medical kinda feeling to it. Everything was white, the walls, the floor, the door, the bed he was laying on. He tried to stand up and WHAT THE FUCK? He had a left arm, a fucking left arm, he could feel the bed sheet beneath his fingers of his left hand, what the fuck?

He looked down and saw that his whole left arm consisted of a bunch of metal and wire.

He tried to lift the arm and it worked, it worked exactly like his right arm worked. He moved it around for a bit, flexed his metallic fingers – and to his utter surprise it worked.

Then he tested how much he was able to feel with his new appendage. He discovered that he could only feel with his artificial fingertips, but that was fine, a huge improvement to how it had been before – before he hadn't been able to feel anything at all.

Fucking shit, his new arm was fucking awesome.

He got up from the bed and looked over the rest of his physique; his body seemed to be the same, the same heavy strands of muscles moving beneath his pale skin, the same old scars. The same old rage inside. At least they had the decency to put a pair of thin white pants on him.

With his new arm he reached up and touched his hair, it had grown – how long exactly had he been in here?

He looked at his arm again. It seemed to work flawless. The experiment was over. He wanted to get the fuck out of here.

As on clue with his thoughts, the door to his cell opened and a few man in white lab coats pooled in his cell. They all started chattering excitedly and touched his new arm, completely ignoring him, doing some tests, checking his blood pressure, and annoying the shit out of him.

"When do I get outta here?" He tried to say, but his voice was all rough and scratchy, but it probably wouldn't have mattered if his voice would be smooth and understandable, because he was completely ignored by the happily chattering scientists. They poked him, lifted his new arm, touched him with their gloved hands.

He was tempted to shove the fucking scientists simply off him, but he wanted to know more about his arm – and maybe the arm wasn't complete yet, maybe there were still some parts to it missing, even if it didn't feel like it.

The door to his cell opened again and a man stepped in, that obviously held some authority over the bunch of scientist fussing around him.

"When do I get out?" Kidd asked the newcomer.

The man grinned and grabbed his artificial arm. "A masterpiece. Vegapunk has outdone himself, for sure." Then the man turned his attention back on him and his grin became somewhat sly. "It was only said that you'd get out of prison. This isn't a prison. We won't break our contract if you're going to stay here since you're not in prison any longer, but instead in this governmental supervised medical facility."

So was the fucker implying that he wouldn't get out of here? "When do I get out?" He repeated, this time a bit more aggressive.

"I don't think that you should worry about getting out. We have to run a lot of tests with your arm. And well, you're now a modified human and government property. It's no longer your choice. You're simply a government experience."

Kidd closed his eyes and shut everything around him out. He took a deep breath and let the words of the fucker in front of him sink in. Government property, my ass. He was leaving – now. He welcomed the feeling of burning rage running through his blood again, fuck yeah, he let his blood boil hot. He took another deep breath and then opened his eyes.

Before someone could react he shot his new arm forward and wrapped his metallic fingers around the throat of the fucker in front of him. Then he squeezed. He could feel the warm skin beneath his artificial fingers and grinned. Time to lash out.

The man was dead in a matter of seconds, the other scientists around him screamed, blood, oh, there was so much fucking blood around and he was the creator of all this mess. To his genuine surprise his new arm was way stronger than his real arm – and that made him a monster.

After he had killed all the men in his cell he barged through the open door, down some white hallways, where was he, where the fuck was he? Hallways, stairs, men shouting at him, men in his way, blocking his way to freedom, men shooting him, but he shielded his body with his left arm – motherfucking shit, he heard the metallic clang when a bullet connected with his arm, but it seemed indestructible.

He ran, he fought, he raged.

He knew that some bullets were getting him, but his heart was pumping adrenaline through his body, rage, oh so much burning rage, he hadn't felt this alive in a long time. Yeah, that was it, he was fucking alive.

He fought his way up some stairs, in his haze he had enough rational thought left to grab some man in a white lab coat and drag him along, threatening him with his death if he wouldn't show him a way outside.

And finally, after what seemed like a fucked up odyssey, he reached an emergency exit, he threw that white coated worker off him and burst through the door.

The night greeted him with open arms and he greedily sucked in Grand Line City's air.

It was dark out and it was fucking raining buckets, but he didn't care, fuck yes, he was free, finally free.

He ran across what seemed a parking lot and hitched the nearest car, he already heard sirens blaring from the building he just left behind. More shots disturbed the night, and he got the fuck outta there.

They followed him, but that was no surprise, but he was a fucking good ass driver, he quickly shook them off, then he pulled the car into a dark alley and parked it there, yeah, he was so not riding around in that stolen car with most likely some GPS tracking device into build in or else. He found another car parked in that alley and high jacked it as smoothly as possible, then he continued his escape through Grand Line City at night.

But he had nowhere to go.

He didn't have money, he owned fucking nothing. He only had a soaked pair of white pants and a fucking noticeable left arm. His hair, complexion and body did the rest for him. He would attract way too much attention for his liking, and in addition to that he was soaked in blood. Fucking great.

He automatically steered the freshly stolen car into the depths of Sabondy. If they were out for the hunt after him he wouldn't make it too easy for them. He had grown up in Sabondy, the shittiest part of Grand Line City. This was his hood. He knew the streets, the way Sabondy worked.

And fuck yeah, he was free.

He parked his stolen car in another alley, it was still fucking dark and raining, but damn, the cold rain on his skin was washing most of the blood away, and he'd never felt more alive.

He left the car behind and walked through some dark alleys, he wasn't afraid of Sabondy at night, no, not if he was the monster lurking in the dark.

He didn't know where to go, though.

He wandered mindlessly around, simply enjoying his freedom.

Then he heard the sirens.

And it wasn't only one siren from one police car. It sounded like a whole armada. Motherfucking shit.

He started running again, fuck, he needed to get off the streets, oh there, there was a fire escape, perfect. He started climbing the building and hid behind some pipes and rungs: He looked down and saw a few stories beneath him some police cars racing down the street. He knew that it was a small chance that those cars were looking explicitly for him, but he wasn't quite an unsuspicious individual, running around like he was. It was better to attract no attention.

When those police cars were gone he contemplated of going back down, but he didn't know what it was, he felt like climbing on the roof. He went up the last few rungs and then he stood on the roof, drenched, shaking, freezing, but alive.

He could still hear the sirens.

It was pitch black and it was still raining heavily, damn, he should look for some kind of shelter – and then he suddenly noticed the figure standing on the other side of the roof.

What the fuck?

Did someone follow him up here?

And then the sirens came back, closer and closer. Fuck. He was fucked.

Suddenly the man was right in front of him. He couldn't really make out more than reddish hair and that the man had three long gashes through one eye. And fuck, he was missing an arm too.

"You got a fucking sweet arm right there, you know?" The man said, smiling widely.

He smiled back, baring his bloody teeth: "Yeah, having only one arm must suck."

Kidd couldn't put his finger on what it was that made him trust the man. It was fucking weird, meeting a stranger in the middle of a rainy night on top of a shitty building in fucking Sabondy. But then the man in front of him didn't seem to be intimidated by his appearance. But then the man didn't look exactly harmless either. If the three gashes trough his eye were any indication, his missing arm surely was. And there was something calm but powerful about the man – an aura that impressed him.

The man opened his mouth again and explained: "I'm Shanks, head of the Galleya-Company. You look like you could use a place to take a breath, maybe sleep for a few hours, get some food, a medical check-up and some clothes, what do you say?"

Galleya. That definitely rang a bell up there. He hadn't been an exactly clueless dealer back then, when he had been out on the streets with Killer. It was said that Galleya were the only ones out there that could keep Joker and his fucked up gang in check, no shit. It had been a rumor on the streets that the only person Joker was afraid of was Galleya. He'd always thought that Galleya was a real person, but apparently it was an entire organization.

"You said you were working for Galleya?"

"I'm the boss of the Galleya-Company. I don't wanna rush you into a decision, but I'm under the impression that they're hunting you down. And it's fucking cold up here and I wanna drink. Follow me if you're interested."

He didn't even need a second to decide.

He followed Shanks down the roof into a new period of his life.

TBC