"…exactly how are we supposed to feel about this?" Coby asked, swirling a mug of beer (he'd tried sake, but shot as his nerves were shot, he still had limits) with a numb look in his eyes. "On the most basic level of humanity, I should feel happy about the fact that hundreds, thousands of people have been freed from a lifetime of torture and that the ones responsible will end up behind bars for the rest of their lives."
"But…" Tsuru quietly prompted, glancing up from the paperwork backlog she was currently working through. A load which, quite frankly, she was most likely going to miss in the days to come.
"…but the fact is that not only were we helpless to do anything except watch, but our own men actually tried their damndest to stop it," the young Marine finished with a tortured groan.
Tsuru allowed a slight scowl (though in reality, a sneer) to cross her face at that comment. "If it helps, that's one fact that I'll be quite thoroughly investigating myself." She then allowed herself an actual smile. "Provided, of course, that Lieutenant Commander Tashigi leaves me anything to investigate."
Coby nodded, then jerked and turned around with a confused expression. "Wait, Lieutenant Commander? I thought she was only a J.G.?"
"Hm? Oh, my bad, that's next week. Old age and all that," Tsuru hummed, chuckling to herself.
"Even so…" Helmeppo ground out. "We're still left with the fact that the mind behind this whole operation is practically within our grasp… and yet, I can't find it in myself to take any pleasure from this."
That got Tsuru looking up and cocking an eyebrow. "Bold words, Helmeppo, especially when I'm standing right here. A more dogmatic Marine would likely already have your head."
"Cut the riot act, Vice Admiral," the youth shot back, his uncharacteristically acidic demeanour shining harshly. "We all know the score: either Jeremiah Cross and his compatriots escape Sabaody alive, humiliating the Marines even further…"
Helmeppo returned his iron gaze to the vis-snail.
"…or the joy of hundreds of thousands turns to ash."
He clenched his hand into a fist.
"And any decent man knows which to hope for."
While Coby was nodding in solemn agreement with his comrade, Tsuru was blinking at him in surprise. And after she jotted down yet another tally in her mental 'Cross was right again' log, she schooled her expression into a look of dry contempt and jabbed her pen over her shoulder. "I believe that is an opinion that our good Fleet Admiral could stand to be informed of. Care to share it with him?"
There was only time for their eyes to widen in nascent panic before the office's snail, in a moment of perfect serendipity, began to ring. Helmeppo promptly screamed high enough to threaten glass, threw up his hands, and, in an impressive feat of athleticism, hurled himself in one bound clear across the room to the nearest window. He promptly bounced off of it. Hauling himself back up, the rookie Marine grabbed the window and tried to open it, but his shaking hands only succeeded in rattling the glass in its frame.
Blinking, Tsuru looked under her desk to find Coby curled up in a ball, shivering like a man in swim trunks in the snow. More rattling from the window caught her attention, and she looked up to find Helmeppo bashing his head against the window in an attempt to break it.
"Oh, cut that out," she snapped, idly checking the snail number and deciding it could wait until later. "You're of no use to anyone concussed." And when that failed to return them to sanity, she heaved an aggrieved sigh and rapped her knuckles on her desk, properly getting their attention. "And furthermore, while I wasn't kidding about how that is an opinion that someone should tell that old statue rotting down the hall, not only does it not have to be you, but his reaction wouldn't truly be that bad. It would be negative, yes, I'm sad to admit, but while Sengoku is many things, a mad dog he is not. Besides…" She relaxed in her seat with a sigh. "While he might be somewhat peeved at the circumstances regarding matters, he too views the… scouring of Sabaody as a net gain. As such, he's been in a better mood today than he has been all last month put together."
"Jeremiah Cross is WHERE!?"
Tsuru's expression fell flat as both the walls and rookies alike were suddenly shaken by an incredulous bellow. "Correction," she drawled. "He was in a better mood."
However, contrary to the listening Marines' expectations, the roof wasn't scheduled for another repair, as Sengoku's voice suddenly shushed back down to a less irate tone. "Grph, sunnova—I apologize, Commander Kong—"
That got the Marines looking up. A call from Kong usually meant either good news for the entire Navy or that the bovine excrement was about to impact the rotary impeller device at excessive velocity.
Under the current circumstances, none of the Marines present was willing to bet on the former. Tsuru's wrinkled hands tightened on her cane as she leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Cross being involved in a high-profile conflict was a downright mundane occurrence at this point, but getting a call from Kong like this…
"…You know what, why am I worried? Whatever he's doing now can't possibly be worse than the revolution he just led," Helmeppo said dismissively.
THWACK!
"OW! What was that for, Vice Admiral!?"
"Because, you wet-nosed brat—" Tsuru started.
"And you're sure you don't want me mobilizing my men?" Sengoku's voice drifted over to them, sounding oddly hesitant. "I mean, given Cross's… everything, I think we could describe his being within a half-mile radius of a World Noble to be an active threat, much less face-to-face."
The Marines all froze again, this time in horror, and the Vice Admiral levelled a downright acidic glare at Helmeppo's sweating head. "—it can always get worse," she all but spat.
She didn't have a chance to properly lambast the rookie, however, as Sengoku's tone suddenly blasted up to a far more… familiar volume. But for however loud and clear the bellow was, the three of them were almost convinced that they had misheard it. Because what they just heard was completely ridiculous.
"…Vice Admiral Tsuru," Helmeppo croaked, blood rapidly draining from his face. "Did he just say that Saint Charloss—meaning a World Noble—is a—!?"
"Yes, Petty Officer," Tsuru ground out, her tone low and dangerous on account of the migraine that had suddenly flared up. "I will say it once more: if there's one lesson everyone who sails this ocean learns, it's that things can always get worse."
The implications of Sengoku's scream left everyone in earshot dreading the SBS that would inevitably follow. Tsuru, for her part, dialled the doctors on base. Whatever resentment she still held for the man, she had no interest in him suffering another heart attack, and the supplies he had on hand would not be adequate for this…
-o-
Of all the emotions to experience from meeting a World Noble, nostalgia would not have been one that I expected. Least of all nostalgia that took me back to my childhood.
One of my favourite movies when I was young was The Secret of NIMH. Even back then, I could tell it was dark-ish, but between the talking animals and the spectacle of the story, I was too enchanted to pay it any mind. The Land Before Time series was another favourite of mine, and only in retrospect do I realize the plotline was sending a group of unsupervised children into life-threatening wastelands over and over again. Looking back on it now, with the cognizance of an adult, paints a different picture than the colours I saw back then.
Some of you are probably wondering what the point of all of this is. Well…
"Come on, this way, hurry up!"
I shuddered and accelerated my pace, doing my best to keep pace with Saint-freaking-Charloss, who was beaming the stupidest smile I'd ever seen even as he tugged an absolutely corpse-like man along by a chain and collar.
"It shouldn't be much longer till my servants find us a suitable hovel!" the helmeted sack of lard chortled, sounding and looking like he'd won a lottery. Presumably, by murdering the winner and taking their ticket. "Then, you can regale me with all the latest stories, before anyone else! Saint Justinian will be jealous, I'll rub it in his ugly face all day, I can't wait!"
"Heheh, y-yeah, me neither…" I wheezed out, tugging at my collar while my eyes darted to and fro in search of an escape. An escape that the UN-holy knights and officers flanking us had made a point to cut off, hands clenched around their weapons and glares levelled firmly at my head, blatantly waiting for even the slightest of excuses.
To clarify for those of you who might still be wondering what in the Sam Hill is going on, it all goes back to my nostalgic musing earlier. The point I was working towards is that the stooge in front of me—the homicidal, intrinsically sociopathic stooge—had about as much intelligence and attention span as an average child, meaning that the message and point of the SBS had sailed clean over his head, leaving only entertainment from the show that I put on.
Yes. Entertainment. This utter lummox Saint Charloss, one of the untouchable World Nobles and quite literally one of the worst human beings I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting, was a fan of the SBS. A fan of mine.
Every time I revisited that concept in my head, I was overcome with the overwhelming urge to vomit blood, and I think the fact that the concept, heinous as it was, was the only thing keeping me alive in this situation was the only reason I could hold back. And even then, only just.
I was brought out of my horrified musings by the sound of a clearing throat, and I looked up to see that one of the suit-wearing agents that Charloss had sent off had returned. Not the one that had gone off to try and find Roswald or Shalulia for alternate orders, mind you, that one had been grabbed, beaten within an inch of his life, and turned over to Koala the second he was a block away.
Thankfully, Charloss hadn't pegged onto the fact that the reason he couldn't contact his family to inform them of his 'good fortune' was Soundbite's doing, but even so, we'd had to let his attendants call into Mariejois about his current… company, as cutting off those communications would be cutting it a bit close. The point is, things were tight as hell, and these suit-wearing jackasses were proving to be just as dangerous as Charloss, if not more so. Case in point:
"My lord, I believe that the restaurant, a building ahead, will suffice for your needs," the drone droned, shifting his sunglasses as he turned a sidelong glare at me as though I were a particularly ugly insect. A sentiment I returned with gusto, I assure you. "However, if you'll forgive my impudence, but would it not be even more appropriate for you to return with all due haste to Mariejois, with your guest in tow. After all, the luxuries there are the only ones truly sufficient for one such as yourself, and I do believe that Jeremiah Cross has been asking for the chance to visit the holy city since the day the SBS began. To bestow such an honour on a mortal of his… standing would be unheard of, and he could let the whole world know of your untold generosity."
Charloss's dumb face immediately lit up with glee. "That's a good point! Just for that, I think I won't have you flayed for stepping ahead of me… this once."
So there I was, stuck with a potentially omnicidal idiot who, by the grace of the devil, didn't immediately want my hide, and his group of zealots who wanted me dead or worse, with only their oblivious boss standing between me and whatever they could use to turn me into a chunky puddle.
I was terrified of Charloss's whims, sure; if he took the slightest issue with me, then there'd be nothing that I could do. But his guards? The fight going on between us was a war of words. I had never lost one of those yet, and I didn't plan to start today.
And it was with those thoughts in mind that I grinned and nodded with eager glee, and damn did it do me good to see those zealots stiffen up. "Oh, yes, indeed, most holy one, that sounds like a truly excellent idea! I mean, it'd be a shame about the SBS, but—!"
"Wait, what!?" Charloss demanded, spinning around to give me a befuddled look while the agent sprouted a look of outright panic.
"Well, it's quite obvious, of course!" I elucidated patiently. "If I were to return to Mariejois with you, it goes without saying that I'd live the rest of my life in total luxury—" 'For all of the ten seconds I'd have left to live, anyway.' "—but it would also mean an end to my many journeys and exploits. And that, of course—"
"—would mean an end to the SBS YOU INCOMPETENT IDIOT!" Charloss snarled in outrage. Turning on his fat heels, he cracked his pistol across the agent's face, laying him out flat with a nasty-looking gash on his cheek, which I had an astounding lack of sympathy for at the moment. "You almost cost me one of my favourite pastimes! You're lucky I realized it before you could ruin it, you fool, otherwise I'd have you cleaning my fishtank!"
Judging by how the agents, knights and slaves all shuddered at the threat, I'm guessing that duty wouldn't involve the piranhas being removed first. But regrettably, for both the agent and me, the suit-wearing man wasn't quite done yet.
"M-My apologies, your Holiness! J-Just the failed musings of a feeble, worthless mortal! Allow me the chance to redeem myself!" And with that, the agent pointed straight at… me? No, he was off-center, aiming at my shoulder, oh that son of a—! "Even if removing Jeremiah Cross would halt the show, his pet is hardly quite so valuable. Merely a tool, a means to an end. Surely it would cost one such as yourself but a pittance to replace it with a far more glorious model, while you become the envy of all other fans of the show—er, more than they naturally envy your radiance, at least!"
Every word that came out of the bastard's mouth was enraging enough, but it was the genuinely thoughtful look that overcame Charloss's mug that chilled my blood.
"SAVE. ME," Soundbite hissed in a tone of mortal terror, eyes blown wide and teeth grit so hard I swear they'd crack.
"Well, of course I'd have no problem with giving you my pet—" I began casually.
"Cross, I will eviscerate every eardrum here and kill us all right now, so help me—!"
"But I don't really see why. I mean, why would you want my ventriloquist dummy?"
Everyone froze then. I smiled and shrugged nonchalantly.
"Yeah, the whole Noise-Noise Fruit thing is just a gimmick I came up with to make my show more interesting, give me a wacky sidekick character and all that I could bounce back and forth with. All my crew's animals are me, really. I need to keep the people entertained. I hope that doesn't stop you from enjoying my comedic stylings, though!"
"Ever hear the one about Jack the Ripper's vacation? IT'S A REAL KILLER!" Soundbite helpfully provided, though his vocal quality was a lot lower than it typically was, and his words didn't sync up with his mouth.
"Muuufufufufun! Oh, that's good, that's good!" Charloss chortled, gleefully slapping his gut. And then, with startling abruptness, he snarled and whirled on the poor bastard who'd made the suggestion. "AND YOU!" BLAM! "ANY OTHER BRILLIANT IDEAS, YOU FECKLESS WORM!?"
As nauseating as it was to agree with Charloss under almost any circumstances, Soundbite and I felt no issue pinning the agent with our own murderous glares and daring him to try anything more as he squirmed on the ground, gripping the shredded brisket that had once been his left knee.
"M-My apologies, my lord! I-I was just trying to help make this experience as b-beneficial as possible for everyone involved! P-Please, forgive this worthless fool!" he choked out through obvious agony.
The most mind Charloss paid to his pleading was a roll of his eyes, though I guess that was better than paying it with another bullet. Of the remaining agents, one dragged the injured one away—either to get him medical treatment or finish him off, I wouldn't put either past them at this point—while another two led the way to the restaurant indicated.
As far as tourist traps went, it was pretty high-class, a nice and well-aged mom-and-pop looking place that, under any other circumstances, I would have loved to enjoy a meal in. But given the current circumstances…
"Euuugh, this is the best you worms could come up with? I wouldn't keep my slaves in a sty like this!" Charloss snarled. "Remind me to have this hole burned to the ground once we're done here."
…yeah. At least there was the mercy of the restaurant's patrons and staff having long since evacuated, so there was nobody else in the line of fire. A glance behind me as we finished filing in revealed the agents blatantly, and I mean blatantly, locking the door behind them, keeping eye contact with me the whole way.
After not-so-subtly flipping them the bird, I followed Charloss to the table he deemed least repugnant, dead center of the room, and joined him. Immediately afterward, the knights and agents all circled around us, forming a near impenetrable circle of steel and suits.
"Go get us something to eat!" Charloss snapped at one of the guards. "And not whatever slop they sling here, something actually fit for good and decent people!"
Swear to God—present company not even considered—I almost throttled him for that, and from the slight smirk the agent was sporting, he could tell. "Right away, my lord, I'll fetch something immediately!"
Once the jagoff was off and away, I decided that it was time to bite the bullet and plastered as convincing a grimace as I could on my face. "So, your holiness… pardon my horrific presumptuousness for addressing you, but, ah… if it doesn't trouble you, might I ask how it is that one as high and mighty as yourself finds entertainment in my down-to-earth presentation?"
"Mufufun, oh, that's actually a funny story!" Charloss's second and third chins jiggled as he laughed, and I mentally prepped myself for something thoroughly scarring. "You see, the first day I heard you, I was courting Saint Janeisha—" I mentally replaced the word 'courting' with 'bombing'. Yup, prior prepping right on the money. Eeeeurgh! "—when out of the blue, your broadcast interrupted me! I kept listening in order to learn who you were and where you were, but then I found out just how entertaining your show was!"
He started chortling and pounding the table with the butt of his loaded gun, prompting all of us around him to uncomfortably lean out of the way of its muzzle. "Mufufufun! You're lucky you're so funny, you know; I would have had Aegis-0 go and bring back your head if you weren't!"
"Hehehehehe, yeah, lucky!" I chuckled hysterically. Just like that, I mentally slashed how much time I had left to live in half as I remembered that there was a non-zero chance that those bastards were already on their way to get me!
"I really don't get why so many others don't like you or the SBS. Always trying to send Aegis-0; it's annoying having to stop them every few days," he went on.
My hand jerked toward the nearest knife, fully intent on stabbing myself in the neck rather than live with the fact that I owed my life to this polished mass of primordial ooze.
"But then again, I suppose I'm lucky too!" he sighed, nodding to himself. "So far today has been such a horrible waste of time! First, I can't find any slave shops open, and then when I finally learn about some place decent, not only does it gloriously fail to live up to expectations, but somebody calls out that there was a mermaid, but there wasn't one anywhere in sight! Meeting you made my day!"
I violently suppressed the shudders I felt at this bloated walrus carcass thanking me for jackshit… and was then immediately struck by something he said. Along with his stench, mind you. Ugh, and I thought a perfume department smelled bad, what did this guy do, bathe in colo—?!…oh. But back to the matter at hand.
"Lord Charloss, did you just say you… learned of the shop you were in?" I queried tersely, still warily eyeing that gun.
"Yes, one of my agents presented this flyer," Charloss drawled, gesturing to one of his aides, who laid a piece of paper on the table.
I didn't get much of an impression from the glimpse, but I saw enough that something seemed off about it. Wouldn't be sure if it was just the sheer wrongness of the subject matter or something more unless I could get a closer look, which I guaranteed by swiping the flyer when Charloss looked away… and daring the agents to try anything with a look of murder.
"But as you saw, it was a complete waste of time; as soon as I saw the state of the place, the attendant responsible received… uh, how does Father always put it…? Oh, right! A 'lead severance check.'"
"Of course he does…" I grit out under my breath.
"Now, however, you're here to regale me with your latest tales! It's the best news that I've had all day. So, what are you doing here this not-so-fine afternoon?"
I snapped upright, what was being asked of me and the implications therein, hitting like a two-by-four. "Uhhh… nnnnothing you'd find interesting?" I hedged, praying that his single-digit IQ wouldn't see through my—
"Oh come now, Jeremiah Cross, surely one so… adventurous as yourself has performed at least one exploit today with which to regale our master," one of the armoured knights sneered.
I took a second to communicate with my eyes just how severe a mistake that SOB had just made, but then I refocused on the matter at hand. Because given the gleeful look Charloss was giving me—Lord have mercy I'm gonna hurl…—unless I could come up with a proper line of BS to distract him with, I was as good as… as…
I slowly stilled as an idea came to me. Granted, it was a fairly terrible idea that all but guaranteed a hell of a lot of suffering in some shape or form. But at this point, what, apart from my head, did I have to lose? As such…
"Now," I casually drawled, leaning back in my seat. "Why would I want to do that?"
Everyone froze again, and I immediately launched into an explanation, the better to stop Charloss's twitching trigger finger. "Saint Charloss, what could I possibly tell you that would be more interesting than meeting you in person and talking with you one-on-one like this? And do keep in mind that nothing I've experienced up until today has ever been quite this… memorable."
Charloss's face screwed up in thought. And stayed screwed up. And then he started turning red, and his trigger finger was twitching again fuck!
"GWA-WHAAAAT I MEANT TO SAY!" I blurted before hastily toning down my volume. "W-What I meant to say, y-your most holiest of divinities… is that I have an idea that could… that could render your name immortal and unforgettable, even by the standards of the almighty World Nobles! I-If I may be so bold as to share it with you…?"
For what felt like an eternity, Charloss fell silent again, though thankfully, the fact that he was itching one of his chins with his gun put less pressure on me. No such luck for his onlookers, though, as those behind him were frantically shaking their heads, and collectively they looked like they were about to piss themselves.
And when Charloss finally smiled, I put on my first honest smile in hours.
The looks of sheer despair on his entourage when I told him my idea? Icing on the cake.
-o-
When Cross alerted the Straw Hats to the situation, most of the crew had concluded their previous business and so could drop everything to encircle the grove he and Charloss were in. One of the very few who had not had remained in Grove 77, continuing to put her unique skill set to use, much to her consternation.
"Princess Vivi. A word."
Vivi couldn't suppress a surprised jerk at the question, despite the concerned frown Fukaboshi, slightly dishevelled, was wearing when she turned around.
"What happened in the last fifteen minutes that has you so tense? And why have I not heard about it yet?"
Vivi pressed her lips together in frustration, weighing the pros and cons of lying. Truth won out, and she sighed wearily.
"Cross is currently in the company of one of the World Nobles, one who's stupid enough to be a fan of the SBS. Most of the crew is already there and ready to rush in at a moment's notice. It just… this is personal for me, and I want to join them, but I know that I'm needed more here."
She waited, not meeting Fukaboshi's eyes. The wait stretched onward, interminably. After a minute, Vivi looked up and sweatdropped at the expression Fukaboshi had adopted. What did Cross call it… a BSOD?
"Ah… Your Highness?"
With a full-body twitch, the merman snapped out of his daze and fixed Vivi with a heavily judging stare. "And you didn't think to tell me this a little bit earlier, why?"
The last of Vivi's calm evaporated. A scowl slid onto her face, which, combined with the air in her tent swirling ominously around her, did an excellent job of cooling the Prince's ire. "Because, Your Highness," she grit out. "My friend is in mortal peril, and I am all of one frayed nerve away from coming down on that smug bubble-wearing prick like the hammer of almighty Ra, consequences be damned, so I thought it would be in all of our best interests for at least one of the heads of this operation to keep a clear mind. Is that a problem?"
Beads of nervous sweat rolled down Fukaboshi's face, the obvious and appropriate reaction when faced with a pissed-off Logia user. Despite that, he pulled himself together and nodded in agreement. "When you put it like that, Princess Vivi, I concede to your judgment, and I apologize for snapping at you. You have my sympathies for the stress you're no doubt under, and my thoughts go out to Cross as well, though I don't doubt he'll pull through somehow."
Vivi blinked at the blatant non-reaction. "Okay, I've managed to get my own crewmates to come to heel with that look, how the hell—?"
"I've been facing down Sea Kings that come sniffing around the palace for… Ah, reasons, with some frequency over the last eight years," the larger blue-haired royal answered. "Compared to a battleship-sized mass of muscle and teeth, that wasn't far off from 'adorable'."
Vivi deflated, slumping over with an audible whoosh of air. "Well, that's my confidence punctured…"
"And your worries forgotten?"
Vivi paused, brow scrunched in though. She immediately perked up and reached up to tuck her hair back into place. "You know what? I think they are. Thanks a lot, Fukaboshi, I really needed—!"
"Don don don don!"
The nobles' attention snapped to the nearest snail, and they exchanged wary looks.
"This is either going to be very good or very bad," Vivi droned. "There is… literally no in-between with him in these situations."
Fukaboshi sighed and nodded as he reached for the snail. "Signal my guards to prep the fire-fighting equipment, please…"
And it was as Vivi moved to do just that that the merman picked up the snail's mic. The gastropod immediately started blaring an orchestral tune; it came through as a grand piece of music, better than they were expecting given the circumstances, but for reasons that neither royal could understand, it left an odd feeling in their guts.
Without warning, the snail's face twisted into an expression that sent a shock of disgust and dread through watchers worldwide. "Mmmm, I like this!" came a nasally voice that screamed 'spoiled manchild'.
Vivi's head spun around so fast her neck literally had to twist into the wind to allow it, her face a mask of horror. "I know that voice," she wheezed, eyes wide and pupils wildly dilated. "I don't know who that is, but I know that voice!"
"Yeees, I thought you might," Cross's own voice responded, his expression tight and bearing a visibly fake smile. "After all, the entity from my home that uses this song is referred to exclusively with the adjectives 'great' and 'mighty'."
"I don't know why, but for some reason I get the feeling that Cross is hiding some form of insult behind those compliments…" Fukaboshi mused.
"Because the person he's talking to isn't worthy of compliments," Vivi snarled, her breathing rapidly accelerating as nervous fragments of her form splintered off into the wind. "Not worthy of mercy, or kindness, not worthy of the decency they dare deny—!"
"Princess?"
Later, Fukaboshi would swear that he saw something snap behind the Nefertari Princess's eyes; an assertion reinforced by Vivi lunging at him and shaking him by his shoulders in total panic. "We need to shut down every snail on this Grove, and we need to do it now! We can't let anyone here hear this, not a one!"
"W-What? Why?!"
It took a matter of seconds for Vivi to explain, and half that time for Fukaboshi to call every Ryugu soldier into action.
-o-
"Who is this idiot, and how badly is Cross going to destroy his life?" Leo wondered, smirking nastily.
"Haven't you been paying attention? You heard all of this from Soundbite earlier. Have you been borrowing Mikey's headband again? I told you how it affects your—!"
"FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME, I AM NOT A DUGONG!" the dwarf snapped. Sadly, for the third time that month, his needle lashed out at a cackling Bian just after his window to sew her lips shut… well, shut, courtesy of her zipping out of the way on her wings.
"But that's enough prelude, let's get to the show," Cross continued, ignorant of the Tontatta hero's hijinks. "Welcome, everyone, back to the SBS."
"…Uh-oh," the Tontattas muttered, all prior amusement and annoyance gone.
"Oh! That was my chance! Damn it, I was too slow… do it again!" the snotty voice demanded.
"Tch! Yeah, right!" Leo snorted, waving his needle dismissively. "As if Cross would ever—!"
"Doubt that's the only thing you're slow on, you pompous—!" Cross muttered under his breath before plastering that fake smile on his face again. "Of course, your holiness! Whatever you say!"
The dwarfs all gaped at their… 'borrowed' Transponder Snail in naked shock.
"Cross is… kowtowing to that jerk?" Wicca boggled. "But the only time he's actually shown anyone respect, it was because he said they were worthy of respect, and this guy's really rude! It doesn't make sense, right Chi—Chief Gancho!?"
The dwarf's shock rippled through the rest of her tribe as they all saw Chief Gancho swaying precariously on his feet, his staff the only thing keeping him upright. "W-What… what did Cross just say?" he wheezed. "What did he just call that man!?"
Before anyone could answer, Cross himself interrupted, still speaking in his ludicrously fake cheer. "Alright, take two: Hey there, I'm Jeremiah Cross, and welcome to—!"
"—THE BEGINNING OF THE SBS!" the snotty voice roared. "BROUGHT TO YOU WORTHLESS WORMS BY ME, SAINT CHARLOSS! MUFUFUFUN! I DID IT, I ACTUALLY GOT TO DO IT! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!"
If the Tontatta hadn't been frozen before, it would have put ice in their veins. "D-Did he just say—?!" Kabu gurgled.
SLAM!
The tribe jumped as one when the snail's mic was abruptly slammed home, shutting the Gastropod up but good.
"GET ALL THE CHILDREN INSIDE, NOW!" Leo roared, prompting the parents present to usher their children away despite the children's innocence. Once they were safely locked away in their homes, Leo addressed his superior. "Chief… should we keep listening? I mean, that's a… he's a… this is going to be—!"
"A nightmare, I know. But nevertheless, we must," the Chief grimly stated. "Jeremiah Cross made his stance on those tyrants clear from day one; that he is doing this now means that either he has no choice in the matter, in which case we must give him our support…"
Gancho's expression turned dark. "Or… and this is not mutually exclusive…he has a plan. And if that's the case, this will be indescribably satisfying. If equally nauseating."
Leo weighed the implications and nodded firmly, hoping for the latter case. Reaching over, he unhooked the snail and tuned back in.
"Now, just one thing to remember before we begin properly, everyone," Cross picked back up, his old verve clear in his tone, if undercut with a taste of acid. "While our guest speaker, Saint Charloss, may be a fan, he hasn't caught all of what I've been saying, and a good number of things are beneath his notice. So just to be on the safe side, I'd like to make sure everyone in the world bears this in mind: please treat Saint Charloss with all the respect that we at the SBS know that he and all others like him so rightly deserve."
Even after almost a year of Cross's snark, the Tontatta were still hopelessly naïve at identifying a lie. But they had learned to appreciate double meanings. And that was all that was needed; a World Noble, if not all the World Nobles, was about to be nobly screwed.
This thought lightened their hearts something fierce, but did nothing to lighten the grim atmosphere that hung over the village.
-o-
"Does anyone know how bad this will be for us?"
"He said he was interviewing Charloss, yes? Roswald's son?"
"Yes, why? You know him?"
"Of him. He's well-known. Most recently, I believe he had one of his servants get into a fistfight with Saint Janusil's butler over Janusil's refusal to give Charloss a maid he found attractive. About five minutes into it, Charloss got bored and crippled all three of the servants involved when he tried and failed to shoot them in their heads. And then he billed Janusil for the bullets, the cleaning of the blood from his suit, which he then had burned, and wasting his precious time."
"…charming."
"Nevertheless, he's still Roswald's son. With any luck, he's had some iota of common sense crammed through his skull."
"Now then, your lordshipness, how should we start this interview… oh, I know! Most divine one, so many have heard of the splendours of Mariejois, seat of—swear to Chaos I'm gonna hurl—the most… divine individuals on the planet, but so little is truly known! If it wouldn't be too much of a bother…?"
"Not at all, not at all! I'm all too eager to let the world bask in our radiance! Every aspect of the capital of the world is truly a testament to the glorious might of the World Government our ancestors so generously created! Why, even our walkways, the travelators, are marvels of engineering! Imagine it, if you can: floors… that move!"
"That sounds… incredible!" Cross admitted, sounding honestly surprised and impressed. Well, until a tinge of suspicion entered his expression. "Shot in the dark, but would you know how they work?"
"Ah, unfortunately, yes, I found out one grim day when I found a path to be unbearably slow. Made me a whole minute late to an appointment, so I had to discipline the workers. You see—!"
THWACK!
"GAH! Alright, I asked for that…" the mustachioed Elder grumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"No, you think?" the kimono-wearer grumbled as he polished the fresh blemish off his sheath.
-o-
"—my valuable time riding past row after row after groaning row of slaves to reach the responsible turnstile, and—"
Less than five minutes had elapsed since the broadcast began, and Saint Charloss's words were already having tremendous effects worldwide.
While the actual reactions would be days, even weeks in the making, the foundations for those reactions were being set in stone by the… 'man', let's go with 'man's' words. Cross had said from day one that the immaculate surface of the Government obscured abhorrent ugliness right below, and in the first five minutes of this interview, this 'man' proved that it was true in a literal sense. The resulting emotions for most of the world were predictable:
Disgust. Horror. Fear. And above all else, good faith dying on a global scale. While no revolutions were outright triggered by the speech, hearts and minds were set, and people began to prepare for when and however the next Darkest Day might come.
But in the midst of all these grim tidings and horrified disillusionment, the most important aspect of all, that cannot be forgotten, at any cost, are the tears being shed.
And while many an individual was weeping, be it out of sympathy, horror, or even relief for the evils finally being exposed, one man's tears surpassed all others in importance.
For you see, for the first time since his infancy, the Warlord Donquixote Doflamingo, infamously renowned as the Heavenly Yaksha… was crying.
In this moment in history, he was perhaps the only sapient being alive who could be said to be in hysterics.
Or, well…
"FUFFUFFUFFUFFUFFU! FUUUUFFUFFUFFUFFUUU~!"
One specific kind of hysterics, at any rate.
-o-
"—and as a result, that walkway was the fastest in all of Mariejois for a straight week! Well, until they all died from exhaustion." The snail gave the usual 'shrugging' motion. "Mortals, what can you do?"
"…My utmost apologies, my lord, I find now that I haven't properly prepared myself for the words you say; they're beyond anything I've ever heard before," Cross dragged out, his expression thoroughly wooden. "I beg your pardon, can I take a few moments to ready myself?"
"Mmmm…" Charloss tilted his head to the side, a half-smirk from the flattery on his face. "Fine, just hurry up."
The sound of Cross calmly leaving came over the connection, followed by a short walk and the opening of a door.
"For the record," Cross snarled, honest anger seeping into his tone for the first time. "The fat bastard actually expects me to walk back in there, so don't try and be clever, got it?" The only response he got was an aggravated grumble, and Cross nodded and started to turn away before glancing back with a cocked brow. "Actually, while I have you, might as well ask: How in the hell do you bastards keep straight faces around him 24/7 and not shoot him in his ugly mug?"
A muted grumble came over the connection, as though debating whether or not to answer…
"Can you see my face beneath this helmet?" he asked. "Whether we're fanatics or not, guards are meant to be unseen and unheard until they're needed. Besides, you of all people should know that humans can adapt to most anything. That story isn't even in the top ten this week. If we're not dead or irrevocably insane by our third week on the job, we're usually set."
"…lovely," Cross drawled. "Well, if you'll excuse me…"
Then the sound of a door closing came across, and the Voices of Anarchy proceeded to empty their guts. Soundbite didn't even bother censoring the noise; it was downright pretty compared to the bile that had come out of Charloss's mouth. After a full minute or so of vomiting, Cross was left panting and heaving.
"One Q&A… just the FIRST topic brought me to this point. And I doubt that I'm the only one," Cross groaned miserably, the raw tone of his voice likely having nothing to do with the gastric hell he'd just undergone. "Logically, I should just walk away, right now, because I'm not stupid enough to willingly walk into another torture session with a self-proclaimed god who could and most likely will shoot me on a whim. Surely, I've done enough for this revolution already."
For several more seconds, Cross's expression shifted many times as he visibly debated with himself. Then he raised his eyes, glaring bloody murder through snails across the world, but aimed at one person.
"Monkey. D. Dragon."
Much of the world held its breath as Cross directly called out his only clear superior in revolution.
"Just putting this out there, but you are going to be so deep in debt to me for doing this that you won't have a chance of repaying me before Merry has liver spots."
Baltigo's command center was motionless as Dragon eyed the screen. Then, after a moment, he glanced down at the nearest snail, who immediately began concentrating.
"Dot do—KALICK!"
"I acknowledge it, Jeremiah Cross," Dragon intoned.
There was a brief pause as Cross blinked in honest surprise at his snail before grimacing. "…well, that's my bluff called… fuck, and I really hoped I could just blow out the wall and run for it, too. Eurgh, whatever, I'm already in the shit, let's dig deeper." There was a resounding clap and the slam of a door being kicked open. "Okay, bring me back to the spawn of evil. Round two!"
-o-
With an almighty CLACK, the kimono-clad Elder Star snapped his katana back into its sheath.
"That," he intoned grimly. "Is the final straw. Jeremiah Cross now has, if not outright authority, at least significant enough influence over the entire Revolutionary Army to force them to take action if he chooses to exercise it. We cannot afford to wait any longer; it is time that we put an end to this farce once and for all."
The others graced him with a skeptical mien, and he folded his arms and scowled in surly defiance.
"Our resources are not ideal to wage the war, true. But the number of ways that things could become any worse for us at this point is inconsequential." He stabbed a bony finger at the snail in the room. "If we allow the Straw Hats any more momentum, the odds will never be in our favour. Better to play a less-than-ideal hand than outright guarantee our downfall."
"Tch, perhaps you're right," the youngest said, scratching at his goatee. "The Straw Hats have won thus far by putting their all on the line and gambling everything at once. If we have to do the same to stamp them out… then so be it."
"Alea iacta est," the tallest sighed despondently.
A sentiment to which the mustache-wearer only snorted in disgust. "As though things weren't already set in stone from the moment that whelp opened his mouth…"
The hat-wearer had nothing to add and instead settled for halting their snail's broadcast so they could dial a number they were far more familiar with. "Commander-in-Chief Kong. Muster all six Warlords, and send notice to the Typhon Laboratories that we require an update on the status of all projects."
"I've been bracing myself for this for months… by your command, sirs. I should have a report in—wait…" Kong trailed off, his mind catching up with his orders. "Wait, did you just say six—?" He then clamped his jaws shut just as fast. "Ah, right away, sirs, Kong over and out."
Once the Commander-in-Chief hung up, the Elder dialled another number, whom they were all certain would be… less cordial. "Fleet Admiral Sengoku, we are initiating our contingency plan. Gather your forces for war."
"Huh?" the snail blinked at the Elder in shock, before bulging irately. "ARE YOU COMPLETELY INSANE?!"
"Fleet Admiral," the youngest elder cut in sternly. "You forget yourself. Know that we do not make this decision lightly, but recent events have forced our hand. At this rate, if we wait until we can secure absolute victory, Fire Fist will perish of natural causes first, and any windows of opportunity we may have will close. You cannot deny this."
"…No, I can't," Sengoku ground out, his long-familiar grimace in place.
"Then you have your orders. Inform Admiral Kuzan; we will deal with Borsalino and Sakazuki."
"I… yes, sirs. Acknowledged. KALICK!"
Another dial, and scowls adorned all five faces as the snail adopted an aggravatingly lackadaisical countenance.
"Yeees?"
"Depart for Sabaody Archipelago immediately, and stand by upon arrival. In the absence of any further orders, you will mobilize against the Straw Hat Pirates as soon as they attack one of the World Nobles. You know what needs to be done."
"…Uhh… how do you guys know—?"
"Because it's the Straw Hats, and Jeremiah Cross is giving one of them a live interview. Leave now."
"Alright, alright, I'm going. KALICK!"
A fourth dial, and the snail put on a scowl that, for once, they welcomed properly.
"Yes?" Akainu said, his tone clearly conveying that he would remain civil only if the callers were the Elder Stars.
"We are assigning you new orders, Admiral. Assemble your forces and report to Mariejois immediately. You will receive your briefing upon arrival."
"…Understood, sirs. We'll be there in four days, if the weather cooperates. KALICK!"
A final dial, and the snail became rather smug, composed… and overall toxic to the core.
"Yes?"
"Initiate Operation Ascalon," the mustached Elder intoned.
"Right away, sirs," the snail chuckled, before grinning cheekily. "Though, while I have you, would you mind if I took a little something-something with me for the trip? Just a light contingency, you understand."
"So long as it is short of a Buster Call fleet, we couldn't care less provided you succeed in your mission," the tall one declared.
The snail briefly looked thoughtful before shrugging. "Eh, I suppose it's just shy, from what I've been hearing. Very well, I'll be off. Shouldn't take me longer than a week. Toodles~!"
Once the snail hung up, the Elder Stars sat in uncomfortable silence until the cane-holder glanced around. "So, shall we tune back in to Cross? We might as well see how deep a hole we've to climb out of."
Thankfully, for four of their blood pressures, the snail rang first, and when they picked it up, it adopted a stern expression.
"Sentomaru reporting, my lords," the snail reported in a formal voice. "The Typhon Laboratories report that all projects are proceeding at a decent pace and will be ready for deployment within the month. However, they also say that the subjects are quite volatile at the moment, and that they could accelerate the timetable if they could acquire data from some field-testing."
The Elders' immediate response was a round of negative grumbling.
"Remind the inmates that under no circumstances are they to enter the public eye without our approval!" the mustache-bearer declared. "And that if there is a breach in security, they will face severe—!"
"Actually…"
Everyone fell silent and turned their attention to the youngest of the five.
The youngest, who was actually wearing a small, thoughtful grin.
"I might… have an avenue we can pursue."
-o-
Even after emptying my stomach, I still felt nauseous at the stream of miasma coming out of Charloss's mouth, but for the sake of royally screwing over the World Government, I endured. Because in the end, this was gonna hurt him a whole lot more than it hurt me. In the process, however, I learned about many of the… less-than-palatable habits of the Drifting Newts. And when I say 'less than palatable,' keep in mind that I say that with full cognizance of everything the mob said when they were attacking the Donquixotes. Because trust me, that… that was just a drop in the bucket. That was nothing.
-o-
"Why, just the other day, Saint Batham wouldn't give up even one copy of Negev Magazine! The best for looking at potential brides! And then Saint Jerona swiped it while we were fighting!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Wait, fighting…?"
"My servants were winning! And then this brat, barely into puberty, steals it from right under our noses! Five servants dead for nothing!"
"Right. Servants. Obviously. What else could you have possibly meant?" I shook my head in an effort to keep from sinking too far into my mental morass. "But, ah, wait, Negev is a—ergh—mortal fashion magazine. If you were looking for… wives, why would she want it?"
"Why, to find out who to have killed, of course," Charloss declared, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
I was frozen, stunned… for all of ten seconds before I pieced things together. "Because… they're mortals who dare to attempt to match the radiance of the World Nobles?"
"Naturally, of course!"
"Naturally, naturally…" I grit out through my grin, slamming my hand to my face the second he looked away. "And I just killed the modelling industry stone dead, fan-fucking-tastic."
"Well, that or drove it underground, IF IT HELPS."
"It. Doesn't."
"But anyway—"
And then there's this guy who's still not done!
"Still though! I got her back well enough; I managed to get my hands on every copy of Brickson Monthly, and I made sure her favourite was selected as the next target. I do believe delivering his head to her porch should work nicely!"
"Gooood for you, your lordshipfulness!" I got out through my grit teeth before lowering my breath. "Everyone who's been in that magazine for the past month, make your way to a Revolutionary island immediately." I then gave the wingless lizard-skin across from me a perfectly fake winning smile. "So, while we're on the topic of your… love lives—"
-o-
"It's better to grow up, but I liked being a child while it lasted. But I remember one of the first times I learned what being an adult meant, when my father gave me a slave to beat for the first time!"
"I'm going to regret this, I am going to—How old were you?"
"Hm? Oh, twelve. Why?"
I stared at him blankly for a moment before grabbing up my cup and slurping down a long, long drink before something could surge back up. "I really, really wish I had something stronger than Cola right now…" I scowled into my mug before lowering it and grinning. "Guheheheh, continue…"
"To start things off, Father presented me with a goodly variety of instruments. I, being the sophisticated man I am, naturally chose the fire poker!
"Naturally…"
-o-
"Honestly, it gets so boring sometimes. So you can imagine how delighted I was when Saint Ancel came up with something new!"
"This is either going to be totally inane and wasteful or utterly inhuman; there is no in-between with these bastards…" Cross grumbled to himself.
"Oh, it's easy! You just need some slaves; you don't need those. You can starve them almost to death, and then you present them with a table full of kitchen scraps. The poor beasts gorge themselves to death! They can't help themselves! It's endlessly amusing to watch."
The snail's eye twitched viciously. "Oh, this one's both, that's a pleasant change of pace…" Cross wheezed to himself before raising his voice. "F-For the sake of those back home… I'm assuming the food served at the royal tables makes the cuisine of even mortal nobles seem bland?"
"Well, I've never actually tasted mortal food, but I have it on good authority that that is the case! Though Ancel is an odd one. He keeps changing the scraps on his tables, almost as if he's trying to find something that won't kill the slaves." Charloss chuckled, an ugly, wheezing, phlegmy sound. "Ah, he was always an experimenter. When we were younger, he used to stab his slaves in different places to see how long it would take them to bleed to death."
There was the faintest sound of a distant explosion over the line, and Charloss's face perked up in curiosity. "Huh? What was that?"
"Probably nothing," Cross hastily answered. "You know how it is with mortals and celebrations. Just… fireworks or something like that." He then lowered his voice into a panicked hiss. "Zoro, Boss, knock him the fuck out before he kills us all!"
"Definitely Sanji, then," Patty grunted as he—and the entire Baratie kitchen staff—strained to hold back their berserk head chef and the knife he intended to use to decapitate their Transponder Snail.
"Still fighting the good fight, then," Carne added as Zeff managed to eke out another few inches. "Argh! Dammit, Cross, move on to the next subject already, before our next escargot dish tastes like crap!"
"ESCARGOT NOTHING, NOT EVEN I WOULD SERVE THAT ROTTEN THING TO ONE OF THOSE BASTARDS! I'M USING IT AS FUCKING FERTILIZER!" Zeff roared at the top of his lungs, bashing the handle of his knife into Patty's head and making a lunge for the snail—a maneuver that only missed by an inch thanks to Carne narrowly grabbing his pegleg.
"Right, this shitshow's gone on long enough, and I think the world's gotten the point, SO YOUR HOLINESS!" Cross transitioned from a whisper to a proclamation mid-sentence. "Not that this hasn't been… truly transcendental and beyond all… and I do mean all possible words, I am afraid that, ah… Ah, I can only run my transceiver for so long! Yes, that sounds perfectly believable. So, unless there's anything else, I think I'm going to—?"
"Oh, wait, wait, wait, there's one last thing!"
"OH FOR FUCKS' SAKES, HAVEN'T WE SUFFERED ENOUGH!?" Carne howled. A statement that the pegleg that rammed into his face promptly emphasized. "AGH, LITERALLY!"
-o-
I regarded the Tone Dial in Charloss's hands like it was a live bomb, which really wasn't outside the realm of possibilities when you're sitting across from the man who habitually has slaves play hot potato with a live grenade.
"W-Well…" I hedged, before stiffening up as I heard a gun cock behind my head. "O-Of course, as you say! Though, uh… your holi…est…ness… may I know what's on that device?"
"Ech..." Charloss's already-ugly mug twisted into an even uglier grimace as he waved the Dial around. "Merely some lesson or other on philosophy, my uncle had me memorize. I'll admit, I don't understand one word of it, but perhaps it will impart the tiniest iota of culture to the unwashed masses!"
I could feel my eye twitch. This had 'clusterfuck' written all over it, but there really wasn't any way to get the hell out of here that didn't involve going through that Dial, and the gun pressing against my skull was getting mighty uncomfortable, so…
"Fuck it, we're going in blind," I hissed. "Viewers, hang onto your butts and get a trash can ready."
I was braced for anything when that Tone Dial played. It still managed to exceed all my expectations, in all the worst ways.
-o-
"You must understand: what we do—the expansion of the empire, the conquest of the world to form a true World Government—we do for moral reasons. If humanity is shaped so that it can act with a coherent will together, then it forms an organism no less than the cells of the human body do. These cells perform particular functions, but they do so not to serve the will of odd groups or individual cells, but for the body's purpose as a whole, and, in doing so, they create a conscious being. This superorganism has rights, and those rights matter far more than those of its cells.
Its right to exist coherently is foremost in our world. As it is now, by allowing plurality and by failing to unify and shape humans, what we have is a schizophrenic and weak superorganism—though you could barely call it that at all. Truly, this 'democracy' notion is like allowing a retarded baby to be born.
If human society comprises a variety of sectors pursuing different individualistic goals, then the superorganism lacks a clear, conscious drive. Totalism is the moral and religious goal of giving it a coherent drive by assigning every unit a purpose that adds up to a single drive to expand and maintain the superorganism with a maximally clear consciousness.
Well, at first, you need strong leaders to collectivize society. You need to collectivize the economy and collectivize the people. Getting rid of dissident elements and preventing any further weak generations from being born.
Through development, you can eventually reach the stage where society is composed of people who are perfectly subservient to the plan, and there is a collective agreement on where we must go. We can begin upgrading people and transforming ourselves into human 2.0, all the while purging any plurality.
At that point, the technocrats are simply instruction nodes in the system, and everything will run much more smoothly because all dissent has been eliminated. What was first a dream of a party which had to be impressed upon the rest of the people is now the dream of the whole of the people. A unified consciousness is born.
What determines what this consciousness will want is the conditions of survival. By unifying society towards this goal, the initial party are essentially crafting the genome of this new organism. Its purpose foremost will be that of all life: to survive. That alone is good. To survive and expand. Its purpose is to grow itself.
The superorganism will—assuming that lightning-empowered heathen had some iota of sense in his heretical brain—one day spread out into space to consume everything. With us at the head of it all."
-o-
I stared blankly at the Dial, my eye twitching like it was on crack. "And I just felt myself die a little on the inside. Wonderful."
"What was that?"
"I just said that that was wonderful, sir," I blandly reiterated, not even bothering with faking enthusiasm because at this point, a bullet to the frontal lobe would be a kindness for me. "Anyway, if that's all…?"
"Yes, yes, go right ahead, I'm starting to get sick of looking at you." Charloss dismissed me with a wave of his hand. He then did the first truly impressive thing I'd seen him do all day by managing to haul his fat ass out of his seat on his own. "And I do suppose I should be meeting up with Father and my sister soon anyway." He glanced up and scrunched his face up in intense thought. "Though, now that I think about it, I do believe I'm forgetting something…"
"Ah, yes," one of his aides coughed. "Your holiness, you wished us to remind you—"
"—To leave a sizable tip for the owners of this fine establishment in thanks for their fine service, yes, how could we forget Saint Charloss's divine charity," I cut in, casting a sidelong glare at the agent in question.
"I did?" Charloss blinked before bursting out into jowly laughter. "Mufufufun! I mean, of course I did! Yes, how could I possibly enjoy such a delicious—if pedestrian—meal and not leave a pittance?" He then waved his hand dismissively as he made for the door. "Just leave something nice on the counter, a hundred million should do."
While I pumped my fist in victory, however petty, the agent sputtered in disbelief. "W-Wha—your divinity! You wished us to remind you to burn this hovel down to the foundation!"
"WHAT!?" Charloss snarled, wheeling around and jabbing his gun in the suddenly very frozen agent's face. "After the fantastic service I was just provided!? You insolent vermin! Consider yourself lucky that you're carrying my wallet today, lest I have you set yourself on fire instead!"
"Yes, Saint Charloss, I understand, Saint Charloss, mercy, Saint Charloss!" the suit-wearing fink-rat whimpered pathetically.
"Hrrrmph!" he harrumphed, turning away. Several of his guards took that opportunity to look at me, subtly drawing their weapons. I felt like I actually was gargling acid with what I said next, but damn it, if they had any inclination to send CP-0 after me—and after what I just did, no way in hell any of them didn't—I needed to buy enough time for Kuma to put us out of harm's way.
"If I could impose one more request upon you, your divinity?" I gagged out. "Just in case any of your fellows want to try attacking me out of… jealousy of you?"
"Eh? Oh, yeah, that could be bad," Charloss grunted irritably, addressing me and my mic with a mucus-y clearing of his throat. "Ahem! People of the world, know that for as long as Jeremiah Cross and his crew stay on the Sabaody Archipelago, anyone who tries attacking them will be killed by an Admiral. Slowly." His eyes then lit up with sadistic (or as I'd come to know it, his usual) glee. "Oh, actually that could be fun, would you like me to call one—?"
"Hey, look at that, we're all out of time, wonderful to have had you here, be sure to call again sometime, bye!" I yelped out before ramming the mic back into its cradle. Three times over, for good measure.
"Oh poo…" Charloss sagged in defeat before perking up. "Ah, well, I'll just have to call some other time again, then. I'm fairly certain I have the number written somewhere…unless Shalria stole it again or—" And with that degeneration into unintelligible grumbling, the bastard finally, finally did me the inestimable favour of getting the holy hell away from me, and taking the majority of his entourage with him.
Majority, mind you, because the agent he'd threatened—ah, the agent he'd threatened to set on fire… OK, the agent he'd threatened to set on fire in the last ten minutes was where he'd left him, still coming down from his panicked adrenaline surge. Which, actually, worked out pretty well for me.
"You know you're a dead man walking, right?" I asked without preamble, causing the agent to whip his head towards me with an incredulous sputter.
"Bitch please, walking IS ENTIRELY TOO GENEROUS A TERM FOR HOW DEAD HE IS," Soundbite snorted. "OR AT LEAST… FOR HOW DEAD HE AND EVERYONE HE WORKS WITH WILL BE ONCE THE REST OF THE WINGLESS LIZARD-SHITS GET THEIR HANDS ON THEM FOR WHAT THEY JUST LET HAPPEN!"
"W-What?!" the agent veritably shrieked, boggling at me in naked terror. "B-B-But that wasn't our fault, that was—!"
"I-I'm sorry, but what interview were you LISTENING TO JUST NOW?" Soundbite deadpanned.
"What the snail said," I nodded in bored agreement. "Because really, think about what you're arguing and who you're arguing it to: You would have died if you tried to stop what I just did? Now, remind me… isn't giving your life for the 'greater good' exactly what you signed up for?"
The suit-wearing prat stared for a bit more before something in his brain broke, and he sank to his knees with a pitiful and poignant whimper of "Fuck…"
"Yeah, that pretty much summarizes your situation," I nodded casually, more occupied with examining my glove's fingertips. "I'd say you have… less than six hours to grab the rest of your guys, steal whatever's not nailed down on that smug prick's yacht, and book a ticket on the first boat headed to the ass-end of nowhere. If you're lucky. Oh!" I snapped my fingers and snapped a glare down at the worthless worm. "And don't forget to spring as many slaves on your way out as you can, too. Because if you don't, I will find out. Got me?"
Regrettably, the answer to my question seemed to be on the negative side, as the dope's expression still reflected a broken brain.
Soundbite, however, fixed that with one sentence: "Unless you want to join Saint Caulia's collection?"
The agent immediately snapped back into a state of very alert panic.
"She has been looking for a good arm, remember?" I idly mused.
"AND HER DRAPES DO NEED FRESHENING UP, and lo and behold, look who's got quality ink on their ass." Soundbite tilted his eyestalks to cast a dismissive glance at the agent's rear. "A running tally of your kill count. CLASSY, JUST CLASSY."
"…how the hell do you two even do this?" the agent gurgled, swaying heavily on his feet.
"LIFE GAVE ME A PLATTER OF SUFFERING with a serving of Devil Fruit on the side."
"And I just really hate you and everything you…well…" I waved airily at his currently useless legs. "You get the gist. Anyway…" I threw a carefree wave over my shoulder as I walked off. "Good luck staying alive. Or not, I don't care anymore…"
Once I was a good meter away from him, I started massaging my face as everything that felt like the past eternity hit me at once.
"I really… really do not care anymore…"
-o-
"Robin, where is Cross? If that was comparable to what Enel did to him, there is no way he's OK right now!"
"I am on my way to him as we speak, Conis. But have a little more faith, won't you?"
"Faith nothing! If there's nothing to be worried about, then why did I have to use Pinky to call you?"
Robin paused. Then, shaking her head, she continued. "Alright, you have a point. Trust me, though, I'll ensure that if he needs comfort and assurance, he'll have it."
It was at that point that Cross came into view, and a frown marred her face. "…and he very clearly does need it. I'll call you back."
Nico Robin was herself struggling to bury the suffering the World Government was responsible for, knowing that its publicization had just secured a noose with rusted spikes around its neck. But 20 years of exposure to the evils of humanity had numbed her a great deal; she was able to cope with it far better than the young man and his snail she saw now, the two of them sitting on an overturned crate and staring ahead at absolutely nothing.
Without a word, she stowed Brain away and sat beside him, two hands sprouting from the ground and spreading their palms to provide a makeshift stool while her left hand touched Cross's unoccupied shoulder.
They sat in solemn silence for what felt like an age, with neither the human nor the snail even acknowledging her presence, and it was with great reluctance that Robin decided to engage him first.
"Is there any way I can help?" she asked.
An eye twitch wasn't much of a reaction, but at least it was one. "…three soft pretzels… some ranch dressing… a stiff drink… a hug… and a gun to shoot myself," he dragged out, as though every word were a reel of barbed wire.
"MAKE IT A DOUBLE." Soundbite croaked in agreement.
Robin contemplated that request—and its eerie similarity to some thoughts she'd had back when she was his age—before responding. "Well, I can help with one of those."
"Scotch on the rocks, leave the bottle."
"Heh," Robin snorted in amusement. "Just shut up and relax." And with that, she slung her arm around his shoulders, drawing Cross into a one-sided hug while patiently laying her… well, a hand on Soundbite's shell. It wasn't much, but at least both of them finally let their bodies unclench, so that was definitely progress right there.
They spent a fair amount of time in silence, just sitting there and watching the bubbles waft through the air, sunlight streaming through the naturally produced film.
Ultimately, it was Robin who spoke first again. "You did a good thing, Cross."
Cross gave a more substantial response this time, if a groan and rubbing his eyes with exhaustion could count as 'substantial.' "The 'good thing' just put my soul through a thresher. Which is only different from the last few times I've done a good thing in that right now I feel dead on the inside instead of the outside."
The archaeologist tensed up, her encyclopedic brain fumbling for an answer. "Ah, C-Cross—?"
The Anarchist replied by grimacing—his first proper display of emotion—and waving his hand. "I-I'm not giving up or anything, don't worry about that. This one just… the other instances where I got my ass kicked sucked, but that's just a matter of pain tolerance, I can deal with that. This one… It's a lot harder to cope with getting drained like that. You would know, right?"
"Mmm," she responded with a nod. "But the difference is that you have companions that you can fall back on for support. A bit of rest and company, possibly some physical therapy from Popora, and you should—"
"Puru puru puru puru! Ggh, is this REALLY THE—huh?"
"I believe I can handle one call from this side of things while you recover," Robin said, gently but firmly as she secured Cross's headphones around her own head. "This is Nico Robin… he's indisposed, but I'm sure that I can…"
Robin trailed off, and her expression fell into dull resignation. Removing the headphones, she held them out to Cross. "It's for you."
Groaning in exasperation, Cross resecured his headphones. "Unless somebody is dying or an entire Grove is on fire, hang up now or so help me… ech, I'm too tired to even think of a good threat. What do you—?"
Robin winced as Cross and Soundbite both snapped up straight, suddenly looking utterly wired. She'd expected that to happen, and slowly, she backed away from the coming explosion.
"Huh?" Cross blinked dumbly, tapping at his headphones. "…wait, what? No, I'm sorry, say that again, it almost sounds like you said—?" He nodded slowly. "…that's what I thought you said. In that case, question…"
-o-
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN 'CAMIE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED'!?"
The fishmen all winced as Cross's outraged voice cracked down over them like an iron rod, but at least two of their tempers remained piqued.
"Jeremiah Cross, I have wanted to say this for the last two weeks, and now I can't even enjoy it: you cannot be as angry about this as we are," Kuroobi growled, voice pained.
"A group of thugs came after Camie. We didn't hold back… and they still beat us. Left us lying on the ground within an inch of our lives and made us watch as they dragged her off," Hachi explained.
"And this was about ten minutes ago, because everyone was too glued to your horror show for us to get any help," Chew spat, puffing himself up. "If this is anyone's fault, it's—!"
Any composure in any of the three evaporated when a blast straight out of a howitzer shattered the air and did its level best to blow out their eardrums, even going so far as to crack every piece of glass within ten feet of them.
"I just spent the last HOUR sitting across from that waste of flesh, doing my best to keep myself from punching his lights out and killing us all AT MINIMUM. DO. NOT. TEST ME!"
While all three of the fishmen were definitely cowed by Cross's explicit promise of harsh, violent action, Hachi managed to get his wits about him long enough to give the snail a pleading look. "Cross, you're angry, and you have every right to be, we all are, but please, calm down! You're the only one who can save her!" Two of the octopus's hands then snapped out and slammed his 'friends' in their throats before either of them could get a word out.
The snail kept snorting and throbbing malevolently, the air rippling around it, until finally it exhaled a massive, massively aggravated breath. Though while some measure of sanity returned to its eyes, the throbbing veins didn't abate. "From. The top. A group of thugs got Camie: how in the fuck?"
"Nyuuu, that's a question we'd all like answered, Cross…" Hachi groaned. "One second, we were trying to avoid your broadcast, the next, we were surrounded by a bunch of no-name nobodies who were dead-set on Camie. We tried to fight back, gave them everything we had, and we're stronger than we were back on Cocoyashi, you can be sure of that, but!…but…" Hachi deflated, quite literally, his breath trumpeting out of his mouth. "Nothing we did actually did anything. They shrugged it all off; they were too fast, too strong, it was like… like we were fighting you guys all over again. They beat all three of us within an inch of our lives, took Camie, and left us broken and defeated."
Slowly, the rage on the snail that they were facing abated, though the frown didn't shrink one bit.
"… run that last part by me again. They took Camie and left… after they had you three dead to rights?"
"They just wanted us to su—" Hachi stopped speaking, and all three pairs of eyes widened as the precise implications sank in.
"They took Camie… and completely ignored three more fishmen," Chew said in disbelief. "But… why?"
"I have a pretty good idea, and it's not one that anyone on our side is going to like." Cross shook his head. "Look, I'll rally the troops and prepare to bring down hell. You three get after those bastards and try to cut them off before they can reach Grove 1."
"How do you—!?" Kuroobi started.
"The Auction House is the only hellhole on this island we haven't turned inside out, and that has the rep and security to sell the mermaid; it's not that hard of a guess. Now move, and if you get there too late, do not go in without us. And don't worry about waiting…"
Cross's expression darkened immensely.
"We won't be far behind."
-o-
While Soundbite hung up the call and started redialing, I scowled as I rummaged through my coat. "Sonnuva-sonnuva-sonnuva, where the hell is it—?"
"Ahem?" Robin coughed politely, a dozen or so hands sprouting from my… everywhere, holding everything I had on me. "Is any of this what you're looking for?"
I quickly scanned the remote arms before snatching out what I needed. Specifically, the piece of paper that I needed. And while I scanned the paper and Robin returned my stuff, Soundbite tuned back in with several hangers-on in tow.
"Cross, no offence, but what the hell!?" Nami demanded without preamble. "Why aren't you cutting a bloody swath to Grove 1 already? Besides the Nobles, I mean, we can worry about them when we get there!"
"Because right now, I'm more concerned with figuring out why we even need to rescue her in the first place," I retorted, scowling at the sheet in my hand as things started clicking together in my head. "And I'm holding a big clue to that picture in my hands right now, and it reeks."
"What are you—?" Merry began.
"The flyer that Charloss gave me," I explained. "It's printed on high-quality cardstock, features raised lettering, a veneer of gold leaf that I suspect is actual, literal gold, and very elegant wording and presentation."
"And this matters to us because…?" Zoro prompted.
"It matters," Robin cut in, giving the flyer a glare of her own now that she was looking at it properly. "Because the establishment this rag advertises—the one it led Charloss to and that Shuraiyah and Bepo were cornered in—reeks of human waste and toilet wine and hasn't known the business end of a mop or broom since Gold Roger died."
A moment of stunned silence followed, which meant everyone got what we were saying.
"That flyer's a fake," Vivi breathed, her voice numb. "Somebody baited a World Noble into falling right on top of us."
"Who the hell has the balls to do that!?" our navigator demanded. "For Aeolus's sake, we don't have the balls to do that!"
"They didn't just bait a Noble… or at least, THEY DIDN'T DO IT WITHOUT REASON…"
"Soundbite?" I gave my snail a questioning look, but he ignored me in favour of our archaeologist.
"ROBIN, DO YOU HAVE A MAP ON YOU?"
Robin immediately snapped out a map and unfurled it. "What are you thinking?"
"THE THREE TENETS OF A GOOD BUSINESS," he muttered to himself as he eyeballed the honeycomb of groves. "LOCATION, LOCATION, BRIBE THE HEALTH INSPECT—SON OF A SEA-SLUG, I KNEW IT! LOOK!" He jabbed his eyestalk at the south-eastern portion of the map. "Look at where that store was, Grove 53. NOW COMPARE IT WITH WHERE Camie and co. were, in the amusement park…" His other eyestalk snapped to the north-west. "UP HERE!"
"They're damn near on opposite sides of the archipelago; they isolated that entire half of the archipelago from us!" I swore, eliciting curses and gasps from the rest of my adjutants. "And when you combine that with the most damning information of all-"
"What information is that?" Zoro grit out through his already-grinding teeth.
"The fact that the people who did this didn't just hit and run, they had all four of our semi-aquatic acquaintances right where they wanted them, but they only took Camie," I replied. While Zoro and Merry were confused, Nami and Vivi gasped in shock.
"But- But that doesn't make sense!" the princess exclaimed.
"Mermaids might be worth ten times their weight in gold around here, but fishmen are valuable too, especially ones as… above average as those three," Nami simultaneously explained and thought out loud. "There isn't a slaver or kidnapper alive who'd pass up the chance to make even one beri more—"
"Unless this wasn't about slavery in the first place."
All attention shifted to Soundbite, whose eyes were shifting about in intense thought.
"None of this was done for shits and giggles; this was all planned," he declared. "The farthest possible location from the target, the biggest fire they could possibly set, and we walked into it beautifully. Somebody engineered a bona fide Buster Call-level situation in order to cover up Camie's kidnapping. A kidnapping that wasn't financially motivated."
"Then why take her?" Merry demanded. "Out of everyone on this once-and-probably-still-godforsaken archipelago, why her!? What, apart from the tail and gills, makes her different?!"
Robin, Soundbite and I all grimaced as the answer hit us, but it was Vivi who voiced the grim truth of things.
"Us." She let the truth of things hang for a moment before elaborating. "We're the only ones on this archipelago worth risking the ire of a World Noble to trick. The only ones who could warrant that. Which in itself raises a whole host of questions…"
"Such as how they knew to strike the most vulnerable and at-risk person associated with us in the first place," Nami concurred. "Camie hasn't been on the SBS; she hasn't been near any of us in the public eye! The only way anyone could know about her was if they were on Skelter Bite or in Grove 77, and neither of those options is anywhere close to feasible!"
"Who could be doing this, anyway?" Merry added. "An Emperor? The Marines? The World Nobles or Aegis-0 already?!"
"Or any other Tom, Dick or Harry with connections, we did just put a lot of very evil, very powerful people out of business all at once…" Vivi reluctantly admitted.
"Whoever it is, consider the fact that there shouldn't be any kidnapping gangs left on this island that are strong enough to curb-stomp even one fishman on dry land, much less all three of Saw-Tooth Arlong's ex-Sun Pirate lieutenants at once, much less when they're a band of feckless, nameless mooks," I grimly pointed out. "These guys weren't local muscle, and I don't just mean this archipelago, I mean this ocean. There's only one way I can think of for any human to be that casually strong…"
"…and that's if they come from the New World," Zoro deduced in just as grim a voice.
Another long, heavy pause. And then…
"Tell Grove 77 to batten down all hatches and shore up their defences, and then call in the rest of the Supernovas to surround Grove 1, but under no circumstances are they to enter the Auction House," I told Soundbite in a frigid tone. "This is a trap meant for us from someone who has a total disregard for intelligent life. I don't want to find out what they'll do if we don't play along. Best case scenario, we go in, we get Camie, we get out, and then we mulch whoever did this another day, when nobody's lives but ours are on the line. Agreed?"
"Agreed," was the general rumble, and so the deed was done. But before everyone could disconnect, one last question was asked.
"Cross," Merry whispered, sounding almost as though she were afraid to speak. "What… What are we walking into?"
I considered the question, and I tried, I tried to think of a better answer, but in the end, all I had was the truth.
"I don't know," I admitted quietly, both to her and to myself. "I don't know… but one way or another, we're going to find out."
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"As you expected, Young Master. The Straw Hats are convening on the Auction House."
The words echoed through Disco's office, heavy as a death knell and just as certain. The room had been host to many an evil before, but somehow… somehow this one final conversation trumped them all.
"We're all set up to enjoy the main event, Young Master. But are you certain that you wouldn't like to deal with them personally?"
"Fuffuffuffu… I may have considered it at the start of this, but after the last hour? No, there's no chance in hell that I'm not leaving them a chance of surviving this. Whether they live or die is up to them, be it by the skin of their teeth or not at all. If they die, then the world falls to pieces, and I laugh, and if they live, then they'll rip the world to pieces, clawing at the dark in a pitiful attempt to get to me. I don't have a clue what'll happen, but either way, I do know this. Whoever wins or loses…"
And for a final time, EVIL smiled in that room.
"IT'S GONNA BE ONE HELL OF A SHOW!"