Alasse-M: Law's reasoning when he sent his plate back was that if it looked unappetizing to him, he just made his plate look a little more interesting. He wanted more effort put into his food. But who is he appealing to when it's revealed who helps cook? :D I said I'd be 'nice'! LOL Sanji's reactions will be interesting when it all comes down to it; if he even notices, that is…Zoro's hallucinations are…interesting…if only he could express himself properly!
DedicatedFan: OH…Oh my god…I'm so flattered! AH! I don't know what to say! Thank you for sticking along with my fics for this long :D! This fic is practically done – I wanted to complete it before posting it because of the content, so…yeah! Expect very regular updates.
: 4 :
Sengoku and three of his officers watched as staff set out platters of hastily sliced sandwich meats, breads and cheeses. Dr Hina ended up arguing with four of them just to settle for what was there; she and another kitchen worker distributed them evenly. Sengoku felt a little ashamed to admit that, while observing the dinner scene, it was something 'normal' – he'd expected one person to be chained to his chair, drooling sloppily, or another making weird noises and movements in the corner. He expected dramatic prayer used to encourage Christ to intervene on their illnesses, for food to be used as a punishment. He expected Dr Hina to go around the table with a rod, beating any that refused her orders or didn't pray right. Religion, he knew, played a large part in institutions like these.
He didn't miss the crosses in the First Floor hallways, the picture of Jesus in prayer in the break room. The candles in the center of the table, the little mumble under her breath as Dr Hina left a one-on-one session with a rattled patient.
He'd expected something a little more dramatic than just a bunch of men having light conversation and arguments over a small violation.
Dr Hina was maternal with her scolding, pleading for them to accept what was there; visibly frustrated when Sanji refused to eat, tossing his share towards Luffy, wanting something different from the kitchen. She warned him about the medical ward, slapped a slice of turkey over a plate, and he sullenly ripped it into small pieces, eating each one with visible effort.
When Luffy begged for seconds, she allowed him one more, then his brother the same thing. Law complained about his bread, but she refused to accommodate him any further – he was just testing her, and Sengoku could see it. He watched as Dr Hina prompted Penguin to eat, and watched as Zoro chatted to thin air, but also contribute to conversation with the others. It was as normal a dinner scene to see.
Until kitchen staff removed platters, plates and utensils. Until Luffy reached out and grabbed Law's unfinished sandwich as Law complained about their treatment to Sanji.
That was when things changed, horrifically.
Without warning, Law stood, hefted his chair up and slammed it into the younger boy's face like a bat. It was absurdly difficult for someone of his size to weld the chair in that fashion. Luffy landed face forward against the table, where Law swung the chair down repeatedly against his head, throwing his entire body into the action. For a moment, everyone thought that Luffy's head would split wide open, making a terribly loud crunch upon impact.
Ussop screamed and ran from his chair as Ace abandoned his, tackling Law from there. The chair fell to the ground as Luffy slumped against the table, blinking owlishly. For a moment, Sengoku thought he was truly unharmed. Then Luffy slumped with gibberish leaving his mouth, body struggling to stay propped as his eyes fluttered with effort. Sanji stood up without saying anything and walked back to his room while Penguin continued to eat, prompted to do so because of the movement against the table. Zoro stared, dumbfounded, before continuing to eat, intending on finishing his meal.
It took two orderlies and four of Sengoku's men to separate the two from each other, and by the end of it, Law was laughing hysterically, and Ace was forced into his room, threatened with sedatives. Dr Hina ordered for Law to be confined to solitary for his violent outburst, which didn't make sense for Sengoku to have to separate his team onto two different floors.
"I warned him not to take my food!" Law shouted with thin protest. His earlier smirking expression was completely replaced with that of a man completely bewildered, as if he'd done nothing wrong. "Why is it okay for him to take my food? Why the fuck am I being punished? Why is this – it's not fair! This is not fair! I'm hungry, too!"
Suddenly aware of where he was going, he screamed at being treated unfairly, kicking and thrashing as the group made way toward the stairway. His anger gave away to protesting sobs at being confined again, a completely different show from his earlier presentation.
Sengoku winced as the sound carried, and he looked over at Luffy, who looked as if he were in shock, bleeding from multiple wounds, face already welting in some areas and colored in others. Dr Hina hovered over him, frantically pressing napkins against his scalp wounds while another nurse helped him from the floor and rushed him towards the medical ward.
As this happened, he heard a faint clattering noise from the table. Penguin turned his head to look up at the ceiling once more, pausing in mid-bite. As he did so, a heavy thump sounded, causing dust to flutter down. Sengoku signaled for the police officers standing nearby to go up and check, and they rushed to the attic entrance with weapons drawn. The thump turned into a pitter patter of noise, multiple feet separating from one force and moving in every direction above their heads. Zoro looked up from his plate, then sputtered as dust fell into his eye. The sound ceased, as if everyone had stilled at once.
He heard his men burst into the attic with shouted orders. Movement sounded overhead as they began spreading out, and he tensed, listening to the shift of their weight.
Long minutes passed, and nothing happened. Zoro bumped his knee against the table as he rose up from his chair, and Penguin resumed eating. The schizophrenic made his way to the lavatory without saying a thing. The shout that the attic was 'clear!' made Sengoku frown. He found himself questioning what he heard, the tromping of men coming down the stairs causing Penguin to stop in mid-bite again, feeling the vibration of movement on the floor.
A couple of the officers shrugged their shoulders in Sengoku's direction, moving back into position. He wondered if the place were haunted.
By the time Dr Hina and her assistant finished stitching Luffy up and administered some sedatives to help him sleep, it was nearly midnight. His suggestion to lock Law up with the other patients caused her to refuse with a hard shake of her head.
"He is very convincing," she said low. "He can convince anyone of anything, and in this state, it's easier to remove him from reaching out to other potential victims. I hope your men are prepared for his mind games."
"Of course," Sengoku relied impatiently. "But it's preferable that my men remain in a group, not - !"
"This man is capable of inspiring sympathy for him while he rips one's guts from one's throat. You've seen the pictures. You yourself put the bodies away. Don't forget. His charisma is only another tool he uses to lure his prey in close. It's better to keep him isolated. Trust me."
Because she spoke with such confidence, Sengoku believed her. After all, her experience with these men, these illnesses were greater than his, and, as she trusted him to do his job, he had to trust her to do hers. While the institution staff made sure everyone was settled into their rooms, Sengoku headed down to the basement to see if his team was comfortable with their orders. The three officers on duty looked troubled with their position, acknowledging that the separation in force was going to be difficult. The killer, or killers, had the advantage.
Underneath the sound of Law protesting hoarsely of this unfair practice, Sengoku said, "Continue with our earlier order. Do not investigate anything out of the ordinary. Lock that door up firmly if anything strange happens, and, please, be on utmost alert. I don't agree with this method, but the aggravation caused between patients might only serve you all some discomfort throughout the night."
"Sengoku, hey, Sengoku," Law called from the cell, leaning against the bars, sniffling. When Sengoku looked over at him, he didn't feel any sympathy for the man – his acts, even if he weren't charged for them, sometimes caused Sengoku to wake up in the midst of hazy dreams. To Sengoku, Trafalgar Law was a monster barely contained behind bars. How Smoker could find any empathy or will to make him human was an act of God himself.
"Did you see that? That kid steals my food, all the time. I was just minding my own goddamn business when he stole my food. She plays favorites. Maybe you can find someone else to take her place, huh?"
"Or not," Sengoku replied evenly. "I doubt there's any other place on earth that will accept a man like you into their institution without a lobotomy, or two. The next man qualified to take Smoker's place loves to break down killers into slobbering zombies in prison systems. He's not willing to see you all as humans – he only sees you as the 'meat sacks' you've described. Trust me, you've got it good with Dr Hina, right now. At least she cages you to give you another day."
"Maybe that's what we all need," Law said. The faded red of his jumpsuit seemed to glow a little with the flickering of the candles, nearby. One of Sengoku's men was winding up the generator on the wall, but was having a hard time with it. The rusted parts made a loud, uncomfortably piercing grinding sound with the action. As a result, the basement seemed so much darker than it normally did. Sengoku couldn't help but think that this part of the mansion was comparable to Hell – with light and freedom atop of the staircase, and Jesus' gentle face looking over all. But down here, there was nothing but cold stone and wood walls, faraway dripping from some pipes, and cold, concrete floor that ended just beyond the last cell, dribbling into hard packed dirt.
The bars seemed rusted and old, and hardly able to contain a man that looked at him so dangerously. He felt unnerved, and it had been a long time since he had.
"Perhaps we would all need some skull drilling to relieve the pressure of unclean thoughts. God hasn't helped us so far – man only continues to cage us, prod us, tries to venture deep inside of us to see what makes us think the way that we do. And for what? This 'another day' that you speak of, Sengoku – for whom does it really benefit? I know 'another day' for me is another nail to somebody's coffin."
"Are you really going to stand there and threaten the lives of your fellow patients, staff?" Sengoku asked him incredulously.
"With the efforts of the mysterious monsters preying on us vermin, here, it's not to say that I've had a hand in it." Law wiggled his fingers to somehow remind Sengoku that he was behind locked bars. But his smile was unsettling as he pressed his forehead against them, chuckling low. "I seem to be in the wrong place at the right time to avoid fresh accusation."
"And yet, God Himself always works in mysterious ways," Sengoku murmured. "As He's placed several different deformities into the open, He's set aside another to be found when appropriate. Whether He intends on cleaning out His own mishaps with His own hand, He's prepared Himself for the consequences of His own mistake. He's accepted it, and will take responsibilities for it. Even if it means that none shall escape."
Law clutched the bars with a stubborn frown. "I don't believe in your God. I don't think I am a 'mistake'. Why should we follow what man has only written for others to see? It's convenient to place the blame onto whatever man's imagination makes up, for himself."
"Which makes it convenient for you, yes?" Sengoku turned to look at the others as the lights overhead flooded on, dousing the basement with power. They crackled and snapped until settling. "Believe in nothing that he says. Stand your ground."
Law's expression had changed to a resolved dislike, and Sengoku could feel his skin ripple with unease. He felt for Dr Hina's safety, feeling Law watch him with an unblinking stare as he took the stairs back to the main floor.
: :
The next day, Dr Hina wasn't scheduled to show up for another couple of hours, but he wanted to make sure the shift change for his group flowed effortlessly. The newest batch of men were bleary-eyed for the hard hour, and curious about the mansion and its mysteries, the sky still dark overhead. Birds called out with sleepy warning, and an owl hooted from the trees in the far darkness. Mice scurried over the path as the group walked up to the porch. Sengoku was relieved to see movement in the windows as they approached the front doors. Curtains fluttered back into place, and candles were doused and relit near the halls.
But as they walked in, the darkness in the hall left him with an uneasy feeling. He was for certain he'd seen candles being lit through the windows as they'd approached. He also noticed that the basement door was wide open, with no flicker of light from the stairway. He held up a hand with warning, his men on high alert. From the left, he could see light in the First Floor medical ward, and there was slight movement from there that caused a tinge of metallic rattling. A shuffle of wheels. Something like a whisper of a curse.
There was a heavy feeling all around him, as if the area were completely full of people wandering about. Some of the men behind him made nervous comments, tensing. Sengoku wasn't sure what to expect, straining to see something in the darkness that would give him an indication of what was happening. If anyone were nearby. He stepped towards the medical ward when he heard a wisp of movement to his right – he turned just in time to see a mouse scurrying by, and it raced to the stairway, squeezing itself underneath the door before disappearing.
He then motioned for a team to investigate the basement, and for a couple of men to accompany him. As they separated, Sengoku found himself nervously clenching his fists, listening for any sound of activity overhead. He heard Dr Hina's voice warning him about the charisma Law was capable of showing when he wanted something, and wondered if his men were susceptible to a killer's sweet words. He shook his head. 'Alleged killer'. He was getting carried away with his suspicions, as Dr Hina was.
The medical ward was formerly the mansion's original dining room and day room. It was very organized; it was also plain, with the windows boarded over and instilled with security bars. There was one king sized bed, two large medicine shelves, a sink that operated only with a hand-pump, and a large mirror that was supposed to inspire more 'space'. It was the first place the patients stopped in to be searched for outside injuries, and as a napping room for any staff on hand that needed a break. The area was faintly lit with a single candle, which sat at the end counter closest to the bed. He saw that someone was laying there, motionless, which betrayed the earlier sounds he'd heard earlier.
Something clattered noisily to the ground, and he jerked forward, looking back to see that one of his men had bumped into a tier of metal bed pans. The man looked at him sheepishly. Sengoku returned his attention to the bed, and realized he was looking at Law. The man was strangely subdued, looking at him with a tight appearance. The closer Sengoku ventured toward him, the more he took in. The fact that Law was strapped to the bed with thick, leather bands preferred to hold patients for their safety made him suspicious as to why he was forced into those restraints; then he noticed the blood on his chin and shirt, staining the material into a dark mass; lastly, there was the foul stench of released bowels, which made it difficult stand any closer to him.
The man's face was suspiciously passive, but his eyes were glassy with shock. His jaw was abnormally tight, until Sengoku realized that it might be broken. There was intense purpling and swelling near his left ear, and a slight angle that left the mandible crooked.
"What happened?" he demanded sharply, reaching over to pull the candle closer to observe more of the situation. The faded red jumpsuit was stained with blood – from the chest down, clinging to Law's thin body with accusing weight. His hands were stained with it, as well. But he turned his head defiantly in the other direction, refusing to answer.
Sengoku looked at the others, to order them to go investigate the basement when one of the men that he'd sent down there earlier popped up. His face was drained of blood, and he looked moments from fainting. He held onto a supportive officer that reached for him quickly. Shaking his head violently, the man sputtered out a few words, but they didn't make sense. One of the other men hastily began winding up the generator near the door, the rusted sound snapping and sizzling as energy was gathered to power up the lights overhead. Those sparked and sputtered until flaring to life with uneasy strength. Not enough to light the entire room completely.
Sengoku pushed away from the bed, moving towards the basement with a rush of limbs. The others were spilling out onto the main floor with the same horrified expressions, retching. His teeth set, Sengoku marched down the stairs. Halfway there, the smell made itself noticed. It stung his eyes, burned his throat. It absorbed into his flesh, made his blood curdle. He slapped a hand over his mouth and continued his way down. The three men he'd stationed in the basement the night before were laying in various pieces over the concrete floor, organs spilled out. Their guts decorated the wall like Christmas garlands. Their hands missing, arms ending in jagged stumps. By observing the jagged ruin of their bodies, Sengoku noticed that their genitals had been removed.
The floor was black with blood, and he took a few moments to absorb it all. There were blackened hand prints all over the stone, as if they'd tried to climb the wall to reach the ceiling. When he lifted his eyes, he saw bare footprints over his head. The candles flicking in the sconces provided enough light to show him that someone had written 'Ha! HA! HA! Meat Sacks! All of them!' on the walls just behind the cell bars.
He looked down at the men – their expressions were of pure terror, as if what they'd seen had been unimaginably frightening. Inhuman. He turned to return upstairs when he caught more words just above the stairway frame.
'I'm not mad, daddy', were written there. Those words made his blood freeze. In that moment, he was looking at the face of his son – young, vibrant, alive. Looking up at him as Sengoku had to run off to attend to police business during his birthday party.
"I'm not mad, daddy," he assured Sengoku, smiling at him.
Words that would always haunt him.
He swallowed hard. He started walking up the stairs, battling his grief, horror. No one knew those words but himself. He'd never repeated them to anyone.
"Out of all of our patients, only one walks around barefoot…There is one we are all leery of…"
With renewed strength, he strode back to the medical ward, and approached the bed with his features reddening. Law watched him approach, chest rising and falling with rapid breathing. Despite his earlier appearance, a mad expression split his features, and he snickered at the sight on Sengoku's face. Sengoku shouted, "How the fuck did you do it? How the fuck did you do this?"
Law laughed then, an awkwardly building sound, considering that he couldn't quite open his mouth, but he jerked about in his restraints – either struggling to escape, or just a reaction to his laughter. Sengoku reached out and grabbed his mouth – to shut him up, to get his answers, and Law laughed even harder. Sengoku could feel the uneven bone structure in his grasp and let go of him. He struggled to think clearly, to get his control, back. Law watched with him with wide, black eyes, chuckling and snickering as seconds past.
Sengoku had to put the scene together. He had to think. This man was strapped in tight to the bed – the straps held him from across the chest, stomach, and forehead. Over his hips, thighs and shins. The blood-heavy sleeves were pulled back just enough for him to see something different, and he reached out and caught one slender wrist. There were raw wounds, there, indicative of earlier restraint. Rope, it looked like. He considered his next thoughts, then looked down at Law's feet, to reach over and lift up the leg. No restraint wounds, but scratches over the top of his feet, shins. There was still gravel embedded in his skin. He straightened that pant leg back over his skin, then looked at Law again.
"What happened?" he asked evenly.
Law stopped giggling. His expression went blank. Either clenched his jaw, or allowed it to remain tight. The longer he waited for an answer, the more Sengoku realized this man had bruises around his neck, and the whites of his eyes were reddened with broken blood vessels. Thinking back to the fight he had with Ace just last night, Sengoku wondered if these were hours-old wounds.
"Are you going to talk so we can fix you?"
With a stubborn furrow of his brow, Law managed to mutter very quietly, "I soiled myself."
Sengoku figured that had been the stench he came upon, and nodded. "It appears so."
"Can I be treated without those guys present?" Law then asked in that same tone.
"After I contain the scene. You'll sit here and think about what you've done, and you'll never forget it."
The expression Law gave him was pure animosity. But his lips thinned, shook for a moment, as if battling words that wanted to emerge. Then he looked away, throat expanding with a clenched exhalation of air, as if killing the words before they could even take shape. Causing his veins to bulge and skin to redden. But he glared at the candle nearby and said nothing more.
Sengoku walked away, signaling for the others to follow.
: :
What made the process difficult was Law's refusal to talk. After that exchange with Sengoku, he said nothing more. Dr Hina arrived, and was promptly informed of the situation. With a troubled expression, she refused to administer any form of treatment of the man until he confessed to what happened – she held him accountable for the deaths, because it fit his MO. The entire First Floor was busy with renewed efforts on the investigation, the Second Floor team completely unaware of the events downstairs. Bodies were removed as the scene was tended to – there was no sign of the weapons involved in the dismembering. But one of the detectives on scene pulled Sengoku aside, showing him the contents of a red bucket.
Sengoku realized he was looking at the team's missing genitalia.
"There's, ah…there's sign of ejaculate, here, and…here. This stain," the detective said, pointing towards the middle cell's bars, "is part of it. I hate to say it, sir, but ah, judging by the mixture of…this assault, it…you can see here, this one – they tried to clean themselves. Tim had also found this rope. It was tossed under this box, here."
Sengoku thought of the way Law had reacted to him. The low confession. The smell. The raw wounds on his wrist. He turned away without saying anything and headed for the medical ward, where two of dayshift nurses lingered, clearly uncomfortable. He called for one of the doctors on scene, pulling over a room divider and asking for privacy. His unit was reluctant to leave, but did so at his prompting. The nurses looked on with concern, but he waved them off, as well. All who remained was himself and the man strapped to the bed.
Saying nothing for a few tense moments, he looked the man over, waiting for the doctor to arrive. He remembered Dr Hina's warning, and his own instincts were at war with each other. The scene in the basement was horrific, but it had Law's hands all over it. He took the steps necessary to look at his bare feet. They were dirty, but not as black as the feet prints on the ceiling; he did not see any clean spaces on his heels, or any unusual build up under his toenails to indicate any sort of suspicious activity.
But the blood on him wasn't his – where did it come from?
"We can't fix it if we don't know what happened," he said low, hands at his sides.
The hatred on the man's face did not subside. But his jaw had swollen even further, purpled garishly against his pale skin. In the day light, Sengoku could see dried blood clusters clinging to his nostrils, to the side of his left eye. He could see that the wounds on his hands were defensive wounds – palms scraped, fingernails dirty. But Sengoku was careful not to feel sympathy, or even reach for any conclusions on Law's behalf.
There were still three men murdered.
The doctor arrived, looking at him nervously. As one of the sanatoriums' medical staff, he was familiar with the patient. His hands shook as he asked Law permission to approach him, and when Law said nothing in response, he approached him anyway. Sengoku watched as the doctor examined him first with a hasty visual inspection, then retreated to gather some supplies.
Half an hour later, Sengoku left the medical ward to head up to Dr Hina's office. He found the woman sitting with the other patients, a pensive look to her face. Luffy was hobbling around the room, glassy-eyed and knock kneed, but his energy levels were high. His face was bruised and welted from yesterday's incident, but he made it look as if he weren't affected at all. He was busy detailing an adventure on the seas he had 'one time', and had launched into a tale of a fight he won against some clown pirates.
Ussop was drawing on large sheets of paper, trying to convey Luffy's story into a "visual masterpiece". Zoro was napping underneath one of the windows, Ace sleeping near the empty fireplace. Sanji was chewing on a toothpick, turning the pages of what looked to be a cookbook. He was seated on a couple of pillows, bony body encased in a sharp two piece suit that looked worn and faded at the elbows and knees. A hand-me-down from someone a little bigger. Penguin was seated in one of the heavier chairs, staring at his lap. Someone had attempted to fix his hair, today, but it was falling back over his eyes in waxy pieces.
"Let's talk privately," Sengoku said to her, indicating that she follow him.
"Hey, what's going on downstairs?" Sanji asked curiously. "That guy break out and kill everyone?"
"No."
"Kuina said that it wasn't him that did it," Zoro said, lifting his head with a sleepy expression. He yawned heavily. "He was already chained up."
Sengoku frowned at Dr Hina. "I'd appreciate if things weren't being repeated so close to curious ears."
"No one has said anything regarding the noise downstairs to me, here. Staff knows to keep news to themselves," Dr Hina said tightly.
"What happened? Should we be concerned?" Sanji asked, noting the stand off. "Did people get killed again?"
"Oh my god," Ussop uttered, straightening up from the floor as Luffy paused in mid-step. "Oh my god, what happened?"
Dr Hina gave Sengoku a dirty look, but marched towards her office. Sengoku looked at Zoro with a concentrative frown, then followed after her.
Sanji looked at Zoro. "What happened?"
"The jelly pops went back, but that guy was already pretty angry," he said gravely. "It didn't help at all when he said 'no'. So…I don't think we should be that concerned about our weight fluctuations."
"Goddamn, you make absolutely no sense at all when we really need it," Sanji said with frustration. He set the book aside, rising to stand. Then looked down at himself, cuffing his sleeves hastily. In the daylight, Ussop, from his position on the floor, could see a faded '2' on the pocket, where the material had been removed. "I'm going to go help make lunch. It's standard procedure, and Dr Hina said nothing about me not doing it, today."
Ussop noticed that Sanji had very conveniently waited for her to be out of the room to make this move. He supposed it was for the best. He nodded. "Right."
"Make good dessert! Make something meaty! Something rich! I want something like pasta! Something to make me poop!" Luffy called after him, as Sanji headed towards the dining room elevator.
With the shortage of staff and the appearance of his clothes, it was easy for him to slip past the orderlies that were answering questions the police were asking of them. Once on the First Floor, he then observed the scene at the basement with casual dismissal. Not interested to see the scene that made the doctors nervous. As far as he knew it, all of them were crazy – Law just tended acted on his impulses.
He then headed towards the medical ward because there was activity from the doorway that made him curious. The police officers on scene looked at him with disapproval, but none of them were men he'd seen yesterday. They looked away, assuming he was only part of the sanatorium's staff. He closed his jacket tightly to hide the shirt that was part of the sanatoriums' issue.
He walked in without a shred of hesitation, noting that there was a police officer standing near the sink, and there was no sign of medical ward staff. There was an open file on the countertop, and what looked to be pharmaceutical supplies, ready for distribution; he immediately ventured in that direction. His family's doctor had him on barbiturates for his intense mood swings and anxiety – Dr Smoker had cut that out of his system after they admitted him, but it didn't mean Sanji lost the craving. He was disappointed in not finding any to take, turning away with a frown. There was a trashcan colored with red tape and warning labels that held the remains of a familiar red jumpsuit. He walked over to the bed with a clearing of his throat, revealing nothing in his expression as he looked over a strangely subdued Law.
"Requests for lunch?" he asked, eyes roving over the wiring that kept his jaw clenched. "Soup, it looks like. What kind of soup?"
For a few moments, Law's eyes burned with indignation and fury, but Sanji showed no concern about it. He did not care what the man's story was. Whatever happened, he'd know about it later. He just figured Law mouthed off to the wrong person and had it blasted, if Ace hadn't done so last night.
"Tomato or minestrone?" he insisted. "I don't have all day. Lunch needs to be served, soon. I don't want that sandwich shit that was dished out, last night. If you're hungry, what do you want?"
At the lift of an index finger, he nodded. He gave a relieved expression, having felt his fingernails digging into his palm as he dreaded the second choice. "Tomato."
He strolled off, heading for the kitchen building. He noted the presence of body bags folded neatly on a nearby table, the sight of closed buckets with warning labels. The basement smelled like bleach, ash, blood. It made his stomach roil, but then again, it didn't matter to him. It was interesting that Law was in the state he was in, and that Sengoku looked agitated. He would have to keep an ear out to hear the story.
Fifteen minutes later, being escorted back to the break room by one of the orderlies that had to admit that Sanji had slipped out of their notice in the activity around them, Sanji watched as a pair of policemen carried out two different body bags in each hand. Each one looked no bigger than a wastebasket's worth of weight. Nose wrinkling with disgust, he turned away and complained about seeing a mouse at the base of the stairs, its back snapped in half, like someone had stepped on it. What made it worse was that someone's heel had deposited pieces of fur and blood for a couple of steps up, the orderly calling for a janitor to clean it up.
Neither of them noticed the streaks of black along the rails, as if someone's hand had dragged over it, moving up to the Second Floor.