Warnings: There be spoilers ahead for the early parts of the One Piece saga and a few mentions of things later, but I doubt anyone is going to worry about that at this point. Mentions of violence are also here. This story is rated M as a precaution, as some parts may get very dark (while others will not be), as is the nature of One Piece itself.
The East Blue is the most peaceful of all of the oceans in our world. At least, that is what I was told. And there we were, bringing blood and ashes into this gentle quarter. It made no difference if we had no objectives to complete, no missions to carry out. The things we had done in the name of order could never be removed from our souls, the blood of hundreds, if not thousands, staining us red. This outpost was just that: a removed, barren lump of rock on which to make a tiny base, should it ever be needed. Unrest here was rare, so the offices and barracks were small, and, at least for the moment, abandoned. Minor officials ordered crewmen to begin cleaning and getting systems online for at least temporary habitation the moment we made landfall.
Recently, there had been reports of two power players in the world's politics being sighted in the East Blue. One of the Shichibukai, Hawk-Eyes Mihawk, had left his home in the Grand Line for parts unknown, evading even the most discreet surveillance relays. More interesting was one of the Yonko, Red-Haired Shanks, making his own way into and out of the East Blue on a more regular basis than was usual over the last several years, as if he was checking up on something or someone. Everyone in our organization seemed to feel that something loomed on the horizon; the Great Age of Pirates was quite young, and seemed to only become more chaotic as the years passed. We had not seen the end of upheaval. Now, I realize Gol D. Rogers's execution was only the beginning.
With nothing better to do, no orders to follow, I made my way slowly to the peak of the little, rocky island. No matter the environment, friendly or otherwise, it comforted me to know my surroundings intimately. The trek was short, though it took me far longer than I had expected. I had to weave my way through very rough terrain once I rose above the base, scaling paths that were not meant for human feet.
Perhaps it is a good thing that I could hardly consider myself human anymore.
At the very pinnacle of the island, the ground flattened, providing me with a perfect perch from which to survey my surroundings. North and slightly westward of our base's position was the Yotsuba Island Region, a dark line on the horizon. There was a Marine base there, I recalled, though I had never visited it. Our organization and the Marines mixed very little, and there was a certain hostility between the groups, despite the employ of both by the World Government.
Turning and facing almost directly west, I could just see a hint of the Organ Islands. I had never had cause to visit there, and the inhabitants, especially leaders and officials of that area, were fortunate that was so. It meant no one there had fostered any seeds of rebellion against the World Government, a crime punishable by a swift death. Sometimes that death came in the form of a trial and execution. Other times, people like me or members of CP-9 were tasked with the assignment and it was carried out using more secretive means.
I turned next to the east and south, seeing nothing but vast expanses of ocean. I was barely a thousand feet up from the shore, but I felt in that moment that I was at the very top of the world. Behind me and down, to the northward shore, was our base, but no sound of the renewed activity there reached me. The wind was soft that day, and I was briefly tempted to free my hair from its braid and allow the breeze to toy with it. I had always enjoyed that as a child, I recalled.
Childhood remembrances always turned my thoughts to the reason that I was there, in that moment, under the employ of that organization, and I would feel anger rising from some unnamed place deep inside me. My emotions were usually locked in that place, a place so dark and cold and thickly walled that there was no escape. Except for that rage. It was a smoldering forest fire, waiting for its next breath of air to blaze anew.
Perhaps they sensed it, and that was why they removed me so far from my home in the New World. Perhaps here, on the other side of the globe, they could more easily control my actions and movements. After all, they still held my brother. I hadn't seen him for a very long time, nearly four years, but he was out there. Somewhere. One day I would find him.
No matter what their silly reasons were, they had played right into my hand. It was from here that I would make my escape, I mused. I had acted the part over the years. I was the obedient tool, the scalpel or the hammer as their whims directed. Their hands had forced me to endure tortures that I do not to this day wish to speak of, but they had made me stronger.
The children that were stolen from my home were part of a program to develop the perfect assassin for the World Government, someone to combat the freaks of nature that had begun to crop up in the world in the days of Gol D. Roger. They said our people were part of an ancient race, nearly eradicated, with special abilities. We knew nothing of what they told us; we were not born for combat, nor had been our parents, grandparents, or anyone we knew. Despite our lack of knowledge, they hoped they could "bring our latent abilities to the surface." I still didn't know if they had succeeded. For me, they had certainly awoken something. It was primal, and very, very angry. It wanted to right the wrongs committed against my family and home.
To them, I was simply another piece on a three-sided chessboard, attempting to bring the pirates and revolutionaries into check. They would soon discover that I was no toy, and one of their perfect soldiers would be turned against them. Perhaps I would join one of those other two sides. Or perhaps there was a fourth, waiting to make itself known.
I made my way carefully down to the base a short time later. Lieutenant Humber virtually ignored my comings and goings, at least outwardly. Inwardly I knew he was cataloging my every move, waiting for what he believed was an inevitable break in my patterns of surveillance, orders, missions, and duty. He was not as arrogant and stupid as many others involved with my program. He would be destroyed anyway for his involvement.
I ignored his hard green stare and the thoughtful hand that reached up to brush his gray-speckled goatee as I entered the base proper. He was overseeing the transport of communications equipment, something he did not trust to a junior official. The sailors that had brought us here wore those same uniforms I recalled from my childhood: gray, trimmed in navy blue, with no identifying markings. They leapt out of my way when I neared them, even if they happened to be carrying a crate of sensitive equipment. Those latter few earned the wrath of Humber as he barked at them to be careful.
Inside the base, I was a ghost. The people here were used to people like me. They were spies and the like, as well, and none of them were missing blood on their hands. I fingered the grip of the pistol slung low on my right hip almost unconsciously. The few stares I did receive were void of emotion, of humanity. Clinical curiosity was the best I could hope for. Many of these people had undergone similar training as I had, without the burning need for revenge to keep them somewhat human. My abyss still had one little light to shine on me, even if it was tinted red. Theirs had nothing, and it sent shivers up my spine.
The base consisted of only two low-slung block buildings, one large with two perpendicular wings and the other a warehouse, surrounded by a wire mesh fence topped with coils of barbed wire. The fence was a formality, really. No one lived on this poor excuse for an island, and it was well outside of established trade routes. The forward wing of the main building housed the offices and communications tower, while the one parallel to the hillside contained the barracks with separate living quarters for officers, officials, and me. At the juncture of the two was the mess hall and kitchen. Opposite the L-shaped main structure was the warehouse where stores and armaments were kept.
As I wandered the halls, I made a mental map of the base, checking off surveillance cameras and blind spots. There were few of the former and many of the latter; this base had not been used in some time, and its security was in sore need of updating. I would use that to my advantage long before the required updates were made. By the time I had completed my tour, the plan that had been only a rough sketch before was fully complete. It would only take a few days to enact, and I had become very good at waiting. It had been seven years of waiting until I was strong and knowledgeable enough; a few more days wouldn't hurt.