Sanji fought to control his breath into a smooth steady rhythm. It was difficult, when all he could see was the stone-white face of the woman he knew was now his only true remaining crewmate in front of him. His heart squeezed. The once, oh-so beautiful Nami-san. Still beautiful, of course, but now painfully reduced from what she was - a mere shadow. Ragged, hollow-eyed, defeated. But mercifully still alive. Unlike the rest of their crew.
"Come out," said the deeply growling voice from a stone's throw away, "I'm not in the mood for games."
Sanji looked around, tearing his eyes away from Nami's hunched frame to concentrate on his surroundings and – importantly – to look for an angle of escape. He came to realise quickly they were essentially trapped. What had previously been an empty, commercial kitchen of a local restaurant - an ideal place, he had thought, for a romantic pick-me-up for himself and the lovely navigator - now looked likely to become their shared grave.
Not that he would let them win.
Beside Sanji, he saw Nami bite down hard on a clenched fist, willing herself not to make a sound that would give them away. His heart squeezed again for her.
It had meant to be a quick dine-and-dash dinner – to reset, rejuvenate and plan their next move as they evaded their ever-persistent pursuer. The pursuer who was now getting far too close, far too quickly. The pursuer who they also knew painfully well.
They were hidden for now, crouching in the passageway behind a large metal kitchen bench and in front of the stoves, the borrowed chef's knife still wedged in a quarter of sliced french onion alongside some already julienned carrots that Nami had stolen for them on the way here. From some passing Marines, of course. If anyone deserved it, they did.
On the stove, a lidded saucepan sat, condemning evidence of their presence here. There wasn't going to be much time before they were discovered. They had to escape now, if they had any chance of evading the man-monster hunting them down.
Sanji felt a tap-tap-tap on his shoulder and he looked to see that Nami was now pointing animatedly to the right before shuffling along the stove wall she was backed against, along the narrow kitchen passage and motioning for Sanji to follow. Sanji did so automatically, out of habit in his utmost trust of the navigator's aptitude for knowing exactly where to go, before seeing Nami's discovery with his own eyes. There was a tiny sliver of shadow in a section of the brick wall to their right, almost invisible to the eye but when squinted at, clearly out of the ordinary. He watched in elation, trying to temper his loudly beating heart as his beloved Nami prized it open slowly, her silent, dainty, cat-like fingers, revealing what was clearly an escape door. It was a miracle. She was a miracle. His heart leapt from his chest, eyes turning to hearts – Nami-swan~!
She smiled at him weakly and pressed a finger to her lips and Sanji's heart threatened to leap out of his chest again.
"Smells good in here."
They both stiffened at the voice, namely, its sudden, terrible nearness. Sanji watched as Nami's face turned pale again, eyes white and round. The hope in his chest sank to the floor, his stomach twisting sickly. It was too late.
There was a blur of movement and Sanji sucked in a breath — "Nami-san, look out!"
A clang of metal against metal sounded as he found himself leg to sword with the one person he wished he would never see again in this terrible twist of fate they had found themselves in. Their pursuer loomed above them, his tall, dark terrible figure horribly familiar.
"Zoro." It was Nami who spoke first, the word barely coming out a whisper. Tears rimmed her eyes. A hundred emotions seemed to flash across Nami's eyes as she lifted a hand out to towards the man in front of her, before pulling it back again, pain twisting her face.
It was the first time they had seen him since the executions. They had both watched, shortly aftwards, the records of the torture and merciless brainwashing the Strawhat swordsman had endured, over and over, day after day that had formed him into the creature they saw before them. Zoro, the pinnacle of endurance and mental fortitude, now a deadly weapon in the hands of a faceless, unrelenting World Government.
Sanji felt like he had been punched in the gut.
"Zoro," Nami managed again, more audibly this time. "Stop. Just stop already."
Their once-nakama cocked his head to the side, a bird-like movement which covered his dark eyes further in shadow.
"You're better than this. I know it. Fight it - I know you can."
Zoro, the man who had once been their crewmate, moss-green haired with those signature three golden earrings hanging near his left jaw looked like a totally different creature - familiar in its wildness, but foreign in its cold-hearted, hungry expression. Sanji had seen that look before, sometimes directed at others, but never at a fellow crewmate or at himself - even at their very worst. Anger, irritation, disdain, yes, but never this. This, this bloodthirsty, simmering, almost evil presence, was something else.
"How do you know my name?" He said the words with cold, almost violent softness, reminding Sanji distinctly of a carnivore circling its cornered prey. Yet there was a hint of curiosity in the question, causing Sanji to feel a flash of anger. Anger not at Zoro, but at the World Government.
Sanji kicked away the sword which had been pressed against his haki-covered leg, causing the moss-haired man before them to take a step back before readjusting his grip on his katana, a look of surprise briefly passing through otherwise black, emotionless eyes.
"I never give out my name." The swordsman's eyes narrowed at Nami, the bloodthirsty look returning.
Sanji felt a trickle of sweat sliding down his neck. He wanted to get closer to Nami, to protect her, shield her, but he was wary that their old crewmate - this thing - could pounce at any slight or sudden movement alike. He could feel desperation start to kick in and he flicked his eyes over to Nami again who, although cleverly covering the escape door with her body was starting to tremble despite herself, frozen to the spot.
A katana was suddenly raised to the navigator's neck. It had been both a fast and slow action, with the true accuracy of a candidate for the world's best swordsman, and for some reason Sanji found he couldn't move.
Memories of all of them laughing and bickering together came flooding back like a shock - memories of them eating, sleeping, adventuring together…memories of both of them, Zoro and Sanji, protecting the crew from Sea Kings, projectiles, and every other crazy thing that had come their way. It had been so easy in comparison - the banter, the brawls, the insults, the –
He lifted a leg to kick the threatening sword away, snapping himself out of the fog of thoughts, but another from the left swept away his far-too-slow blow, sending him stumbling back.
"Settle down Black Leg, or the woman dies."
That slow, sinister growl shook Sanji to stillness. Damn it. Damn it, mosshead! Why did it have to be you?
He could hear Nami's breaths, shuddering and shallow as she stood very still, her strong facade crumbling as the blade was pushed further towards her. "Zoro, please. Please! Don't you remember who we are? It's me – Nami! Nami and Sanji! And you're – you're Zoro, our Zoro…We're supposed to be a crew, remember? A family! Please, just try and remember! Please…please! I can't –" She inhaled sharply, tears spilling over with every new word. "I can't see you like this! I just can't…"
Sanji's teeth ground as he heard his lovely, wretched red-haired companion break down before him, heaving, grief-filled cries echoing throughout the stainless-steel kitchen. He could see the little strength she had left being sapped away, her attempts to be strong these last few months, these last few moments, shattering to pieces before his eyes.
"Get away from her!" Sanji yelled, unable to bear it anymore and attempting to close the distance between Nami and himself, only to find the force of another katana blow knocking him sideways into the kitchen bench in a crash of knives, pots and pans. He heard Nami cry out his name, sobbing.
"Family?" Zoro repeated slowly, as if tasting it, like he hadn't said it or even heard it for a long time. "I have no family."
"You do," Nami cut in desperately. "Luffy - you remember Luffy don't you?"
From the floor, amongst scattered pots and pans, it was Sanji's turn to find tears stinging his eyes. He could see how much saying their captain's name pained her. It was painful to him too. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly in an attempt to regain control and he felt himself teetering close to the edge of what sanity he had left. It was all too much to remember - too much to even mention what had happened to make this living nightmare a reality.
"Luffy." Again, the man before them repeated it, like he hadn't heard the word in a long time. "Lu-ffy. Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Sorry."
"You killed him you bastard!" burst Sanji, shocked at his own explosion of emotion as he ripped himself from the floor to stagger back towards them. "Don't you get it? You've been brainwashed, you government dog! You crappy, sword-obsessed moron! You're not one of them! Stop acting like you're on their side or that you even know what the hell you're doing!" He found his legs moving on their own, his kicks coming down hard as he shouted each insult, trying to beat the knowledge into his old rival with each blow.
Zoro's silent and effortless parries infuriated Sanji more, causing his kicks to come down harder and harder into lethal, missile-like blows.
"They wiped Luffy from people's memories! From your memory! You're Luffy's crappy swordsman, remember?! You were his right-hand! They made you kill him! DON'T YOU REMEMBER THAT?!"
There was a beginning of a sharp scream and a dull thud as Nami fell back and Sanji turned to see Nami slumped against the wall, dark red blood dripping down her body, a red stain slick across the blade hovering near her.
Sanji couldn't breathe. He had dropped his guard, blinded by rage. When did he…
But he didn't think Zoro wouldn't actually…Sanji felt like he was choking. Of course he would. This has happened before. To Luffy. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks. He let this happen….How could he let this happen? What was he thinking?!
He didn't know. He didn't care. He just found himself screaming and running towards the slashed navigator, wanting to vomit, shouting her name over and over despite hearing nothing himself. He shook her gently, tenderly, in vague hope that she was still there somehow, still alive, but as he peered into those beautiful, green, half-open glazed eyes, he knew the sentence had been carried out quickly and efficiently, with cold, deadly precision. "What have you done? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
"I told you to settle down."
Something snapped inside Sanji. The grief and torture of the last few months - watching his crewmates dreams and lives crushed one by one, the government mind-wipes, the brutal punishments, the public hangings, the brainwashing and this - he felt his mind breaking, veins popping and eyes bulging at the scene unfolding before him.
Before he knew it, he was in the air, leg ablaze, ready to deal death to the once-first-mate.
They moved in frenzy, teeth gritted, sparks leaping into the air as they clashed again and again, over and over, the building shuddering and warping around them as their blows hit pillars of stone, slicing brick and mortar like water, bending steel like putty.
It was just like old times, he found himself thinking through the building mania. He could almost laugh. But he knew, this time - this time it would be the end. It had to end. It just had to. There was nothing left. Everyone was gone. Flashes of smiles and laughter of the Strawhat crew crossed his mind again and in the next instance the horrible memories of their slaughter. He felt bile in his throat as nausea rolled over him. He remembered the smile of their captain in his last moments, eyes and heart on fire with grief. How could it end this way?
A sword clattered to the floor and Sanji saw that fleeting look of surprise in Zoro's eyes again. Then it was gone. They were black, emotionless once more.
"Not bad, Black Leg."
Sanji looked down to see his knuckles white, shaking. Kicking wasn't enough. For once in his life he wanted to beat the life out of someone with his bare hands - his cooking hands. What use were his cooking hands for now anyway? Who did he have to cook for? He raised his shaking fists, the man in front of him watching quietly, forebodingly.
"Got a lighter?"
"What?"
"A lighter for a – nevermind." Sanji had reached for the lighter he had remembered was still in his pant pockets, and for one of the spare cigarettes kept in the pocket of his shirts. The only one he had left for today, it seemed. How appropriate.
He took one last, long heart-wrenching look at Nami before lighting the cigarette, sucking in a deep breath. Blowing it out, he faced his last remaining crewmate with a deranged laugh. He flopped his arms out. "Do it, marimo. Go be the 'World's Greatest Swordsman'. Or some crap like that, am I right? Just remember that I had the better bounty."
–
Days later
Zoro pushed his fingers through his hair, peering at the moonlight from the sailors sling he slept in, under deck of one of the many Marine ships he had been staying in over the last couple months. They were all starting to blur into one now.
How did he end up working for them again?
His memories were fuzzy there, although he seemed to remember one conversation with an Admiral about being set up for good pay, a lifetime provision of sake, government protection and revenge to be taken for all that the Strawhats had done to the World Government and across the Four Blues. Seemed like a big deal of nothing, really - the stragglers of the crew were easy enough to kill off, despite all the claims of what they did. Or perhaps what they pretended to do - who knew.
The last few - the cat-burglar and that chef had even said a bunch of garbage about him being one of them. A ploy to beg for their lives, most likely. And although he didn't like killing women, it seemed like it was a deserved end to all they had done, if the newspapers were to be believed - not that any of that was his business. He just did the job and got paid.
He snorted to himself at the idea again. Him? Be a pirate? A bounty hunter called the Pirate Hunter? Not in a million years.
He was just a bounty hunting swordsman - the one who'd be the world's greatest swordsman one day. Wait - what?
He frowned, remembering what Black Leg had said at the end. World's Greatest Swordsman. Was that what he was supposed to be aiming for?
Sure he wanted to become strong - that's why he started doing bounty hunting, right? His gig now made sure he came up against some strong people and being a pirate hunter was what he dreamed of since he was a kid. Wasn't it?
He paused, feeling unsettled and repeating that name again. Luffy. Luffy.
He had lied to the woman earlier - that name he did know somehow, and it was bothering him. He remembered cutting down the Strawhat leader - that kid, grinning like an idiot – was that Luffy? Had he forgotten it already? He frowned again and shut his eyes, trying to clear his head to remove the annoying, nagging name from his mind. Whatever. He had cut him down, like he'd been asked, even if it had been troublesome. And not a lot of fun either, cutting down an already injured opponent. A rubberman of all things, weak to blades. No honour in that. But he'd done the job, and rid the world of another power-hungry, chaotic pirate that had been turning the lives of innocents upside down.
Yet the cat-burler had known his name…just like the rest of them he'd dealt with. Weird.
"Hey, Pirate Hunter." There was a knock at the door and a young marine with a mop of pink hair and round black rimmed glasses snuck his head in, wide-eyed and nervous. "Oh, you're up, that's good, I–"
"Keep it short." Zoro motioned for him to come in, somewhat glad of the interruption to his train of thought.
"O-Of course." The young man stumbled in after a brief pause to check behind him, and then stared at the bounty hunter as if he recognised him for a moment, before bringing forth a cup of sake accompanied by a large full jar of the same. "C-Compliments of the Admiral – and the Captain," he added, and paused if he was struggling to remember something important. "The Marines th-thank you for a job well done." He seemed confused, as if what he had said wasn't quite what he had been thinking and shook his head slightly, before straightening up again.
"Sure." Zoro eyed the boy-man up and down before taking the cup of sake and jar, giving it a swig and pouring another. "Want a sip?"
The marine stared again as Zoro gulped another cup down, then shook his head rigorously, as if fearful of the offer, backing away to the door. "I'm good - uh - th-thank you, sir." He bowed out, looking relieved that the task was over. He gave Zoro a final bewildered look as he sidled back out. "Have a good night Zo—-oh wait that's wrong, excuse me, erm—Pirate Hunter." The door was swiftly snapped shut behind him.
He was about to say my name. Zoro frowned, that unsettling feeling returning.
He was known as 'the Pirate Hunter'. The Pirate Hunter only. He had made sure of that, the Marine Admirals being the one exception. Or so he thought. But why?
He racked his brain to remember the reason his identity was kept quiet. He knew it was important – important enough for a lifetime of secrecy. But he was coming up hard blank. This was happening a lot lately. He groaned, finishing another cup.
He noticed his questions started to fade away as he drank, and memories of conversations with marine captains and vice-captains, admirals and vice-admirals came flooding back, clear as day. Joining Baroque Works. Defeating Arlong single-handedly. He recalled memories of training at his dojo as a kid, and his dreams of being a pirate hunter, training to the point of exhaustion so that nothing and no-one could ever get in his way. Funny that he could remember those exact same scenes over and over, without variation. Probably what happened when you drank this much all the time. Not that he would ever give up drinking.
He drank out of the jar now, too tired to think, an unexpected exhaustion rolling over him. He pushed the unwelcome thoughts out of his head and lay a hand on his katana, feeling a sense of comfort and peace returning. Another cup and he was relaxed, enjoying the moonlight again, the salty breeze on his face a welcome reminder of reality.
Now that he recalled, it was simple.
He was the infamous Pirate Hunter.
He swung back his head, jar vertical as he gulped the rest of the smooth, fiery liquid down.
Secretly known as Roronoa Zoro to some, but not many.
Gulp. Gulp.
Commissioned to rid the Four Blues of any trace of the infamous Strawhat pirates, once and for all.
Gulp–ahhhhh. The jar left his fingers and clattered to the ground, eyes slowly closing.
And so damn good at his job.
