Night of the Fifth Day
108 Hours Before the War
Scuttlebutt was an important part of the life of a Marine grunt, filling the idle hours of the day with talk of dating, cheating, hirings, firings, upgrades, downgrades, and whatever else caught the ear of a bored Marine. Sadly, as it is with all gossip, truth took a back seat to entertainment, and so the stories tended to grow… embellished.
So it was hard to say whether it was by accident or design that there were so many outrageous rumours about the Amazon's appetites that nobody considered the possibility of a stowaway. A good thing for the sisters, because the amount of food disappearing into their quarters was ridiculous.
In fact, it was starting to get on the crew's nerves.
"Salt pork again?" complained one of the many recently minted shellbacks who had celebrated their first Calm Belt passage on this voyage. He picked up his hardtack and, grimacing, tapped the maggots inside onto the table and lifted his mug to squash them.
"Ach, y'don't want to do that," one of the more experienced seamen remarked, waving his fork at him. "Good source of protein, maggots!"
"…you referring to us or the bugs?"
"Both!"
Grumbling, the sailor dunked his hardtack into his coffee mug, swirling it about. "We were on fresh food until we picked up those Amazons, and those bottomless pits they call stomachs…"
"Aye, 'tis a bit strange," another sailor piped up. "Served with Vice Admiral Doberman back when he was a veteran captain, and I was just a wee pollywog."
Laughter rippled through the area; the sailor in question was craggy and weather-beaten with plenty of salt in his beard. "You were never a pollywog, Copeland!"
"Aye, I was, and don't you forget it!" Copeland roared back. "Where was I? Oh, right, Doberman. Ate a lot, let me tell you. Fresh meat, daily, so raw it was dripping! Thankfully, not much of a one for officers' biscuits. 'Twas a frequent reward for going above and beyond, had to do something with the stuff." He shook his head. "This, though? Even for two Carnivorous Zoans, this is ridiculous. And they're eatin' everything, not just the meat!"
"Mm…" another newly minted shellback nodded, cupping his chin thoughtfully. "One can only wonder what spectacular happenings are going on in that room at this very moment."
"…you do realize that one wrong glance at Boa Hancock could turn you into gravel, right?"
"Some sights are worth the price."
"Yeah, and others were never meant to be seen by mortal eyes."
"One can only wonder which this qualifies as."
-o-
"How does he even do this? Rubber can only explain so much."
"Trust me, sister, some things mortal minds are never meant to know." Sandersonia gave a leery glance toward her third sister, who was salivating almost as hard as the monkey in front of them. "No matter how much some might want to know them…"
Under normal circumstances, the spectacle of every mealtime would've been a welcome distraction from the oncoming storm to both the three sisters and their smuggled companion. Sadly, for the two who weren't madly in love with Luffy, it was a most unwelcome distraction. The sounds that they'd gotten very good at ignoring were just the tip of the iceberg.
"And the rumours that will result from this…" Marigold moaned, clutching her head. "I know that he's going to need all the energy he can get, but what will our crew think of whatever rumours that might result from this?!"
"They'll figure out the truth in two seconds flat and then spend the rest of the trip thinking of ways to rib us about it. I'd be more worried about what this does to our reputation within the Marines," Sandersonia smoothly replied, which, from the groan of frustration that provoked from her sister, was not a comforting thought. A sly smile crept onto her face, and she leaped onto her feet. "So I'm going to go make sure they apply it to just the bulkier Amazons instead of all of us, and I need some air anyway, see you later!"
"Wait, what?!" Marigold squawked, panic written all over her features. "No, wait, WAIT!"
The snake-woman dove for her sister in an attempt to stop her from leaving, only for the door to slam right in her face. She immediately pressed herself up against the door, pleading.
"You can't leave me alone like this! Hancock's untouchable, it'll all fall on me! They'll think I'm a fat glutton!"
"And that's wrong... how, exactly?"
Marigold twitched stiffly, then turned around and roared with fangs bared, "AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE OUT OF YOUR MIND WITH INFATUATION!?"
Hancock didn't reply, too busy making googly eyes at the object of her infatuation.
Eye twitching, hands quivering, Marigold stared at her sister and empress for a long moment before dropping her head in her hands. "When was I left the sane woman standing…"
Salome, for her part, just kept hissing in amusement.
-o-
Standing on the edge of the battleship's weather deck, Sandersonia breathed in the fresh salt breeze and sighed in contentment. It was wonderful to be outside again after 36 hours cooped up indoors, though admittedly not as wonderful as being able to walk around a Marine battleship with impunity. Without the battleship being on fire. Or part of the Phantom Armada. It just wasn't the same without gawking Marines clearly torn between trying to run her off and just ignoring her and getting on with their duties.
Well. All but one, standing a few feet behind her and a veritable beacon in her Observation. Despite interrupting her moment of relaxation, Sandersonia didn't mind. This man represented both a bit more progress on the mission Cross had given her and a chance to vent her anger.
"Beautiful night, isn't it? Peaceful, calm, serene…" Sandersonia tilted her head to the side, just so. "Seems a real shame that the world won't see another night like this for a long time. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it the Marines' job to preserve the peace, or did you all just… redefine what that means at some point?"
The sudden thick, choking pressure in the air was more answer than any words.
Sandersonia widened her smile even more before standing upright and turning around so as to better grin down at the ship's commander. "Can I help you, Vice Admiral Momonga?"
"You are under acute suspicion of dereliction of duty," Momonga snarled out, blunt as a sledgehammer. "The only reason I haven't already arrested you is that your alibi is as ironclad as our evidence."
The Anaconda Zoan cocked an eyebrow, equal parts amused and incredulous. "And you… What, expect me to give you an excuse to arrest me? Are you familiar with the phrase 'does not compute'? Soundbite was tossing it around; I believe it applies here."
"You raised hell on Sabaody Archipelago," the Vice Admiral droned in monotone, his voice cold, steady, and deadly. "Marines were attacked or cast aside while you ran rampant with pirates that, under your sister's contract, you were expected—obligated—to ally against. With this much suspicion and a negative track record, I could make one call, and you'd never come out of Impel Down once we're inside."
By this point, Sandersonia was openly snickering.
"And your sister—"
But with that one word, her good cheer fled in the wake of seething anger. Her eyes flashed to slit pupils, and a reptilian hiss snaked out of her throat. None of this deterred Momonga.
"—wouldn't live a week past the war. So yes, I expect you to give me an excuse. Any excuse that could explain away your violation of her contract. Because, unlike you pirates, I actually have a duty to uphold, and you will find me very unwilling to compromise it simply because of your relation to someone whose power we value." The Vice Admiral's palm ghosted onto the pommel of his sword, fingers lightly curling around the hilt. "You will either stop flaunting your crimes, or you will confess to them. To continue on your current path would be… unwise."
Sandersonia took in the lecture in silence. Even the hissing had gone away. And once he was done, something truly astonishing happened: all hostility fled in favour of blank placidness. Her hair shadowed her eyes, but the rest of her face was visible, and her whole body relaxed and unmoving.
For a moment, Momonga honestly believed that the Amazon had fallen asleep, just to spite him, and just as he opened his mouth to chastise her for it—
"Hiss-ss-ss-ss…"
Well, she was certainly awake. With a flick of her head, Sandersonia tossed the hair over her eyes out of the way, allowing a single, baleful, serpentine eye to shine out. "Well… you've made your demand. And that's your choice. Buuuut… I don't know if you've got the guts to follow."
The Amazon took a single step forward, shaking the planks beneath them. Momonga didn't step back, but his foot did slide back, his hand shifting down to properly grip his blade.
"Do you want to hear the truth? Or would you prefer something cleaner to pass up to your bosses? Because I'll tell you this much for free…" Abruptly, Sandersonia went hybrid, the better to loom over Momonga as she stared him in the eyes, mouth drawn into a truly evil grin. "I have never felt more alive than when I tore those four-walled hells down to their foundations."
Her smug tone, her threatening demeanour… they both set Momonga's teeth on edge. His temper demanded that he cut the snake-woman down on the spot for her impudence. Maybe make a purse while he was at it. It was only a lifetime of discipline and training that let him shove that impulse down where it belonged.
"If you're truly confessing to your involvement," he said very evenly. "Then I'm going to require concrete evidence of your actions, thanks to your blasted alibi."
Her smile stretching several teeth wider, one of Sandersonia's hands reached down her shirt. When she pulled it out, she was holding a large stack of what looked like photographs.
"You want proof of what really happened?" she said, waving the stack in his face. "Take them. See exactly what your 'justice' is worth."
Momonga eyed the pages like they were… well, a live, venomous snake. This was a trap. Every instinct honed by decades of military service said so. And besides that, he wasn't comfortable with where she'd stored them. But to decline the photos was to ignore a possibility of justice, to be derelict in his duty. So he grabbed the photos, scanned them—
"What?!"
—and followed up that explanation with several muffled curses as he shuffled through the stack as fast as he could. As if the speed could somehow let him deny the impossible, wrong images he was seeing.
And what images they were. One photo showing a squad of Marines, taking aim at a group of dishevelled and emaciated people, a motley band of what could only be pirates tumbling into the frame between them. Another, a family sobbing in clear joy and relief, clad in tattered rags and broken chains and cuffs lying at their feet. Another, a stream of people coming out of a dungeon, many of them unclothed and badly lacerated. And the money shot: a Navy Officer threatening a group of slaves at gunpoint, and a group of pirates posed behind him, an instant from striking him down.
And in all of them, Boa Sandersonia. Sandersonia, front and center and attacking a firing line of Marines. Sandersonia, wreaking havoc in a place with far too many chains and cages to be normal. And Sandersonia… transporting yet more refugees on her back, handing back a waterskin to a child looking at her with wonder.
Now calling on his discipline for an entirely different reason, Momonga looked up from the photos to the woman—demon, at this point, before him, fire blazing within his gaze. Her smile was gone, and her stare's venom matched his fire.
"What kind of redacted report must you have received?" she wondered conversationally. "If you knew the first thing about our Sabaody Revolution, you would have expected something like this. If you knew the first thing about the flag you serve, then nothing would ever surprise you ever again."
Sandersonia took another step forward, looming over him once again. A spectre, watching him. Judging him.
"And yet, here you stand…" she continued, each word falling hard and heavy. "Surprised. The good man is blind to what's taking place ten inches in front of your nose. Truly, I don't know what you deserve more: my earnest pity, or my undying contempt."
And then, just like that, the moment passed. Sandersonia stood back up, turned, and walked off, waving dismissively over her shoulder. "Well, either way, you got what you asked for. Let me know how it goes for you."
She took one step away. Two.
"You expect me to believe this?"
She froze at the question, shaking with suppressed laughter. "Sss-sss-sss-sss-sss…wow. The power of denial really is amazing."
She spun around, exerting all of her self-control not to transform, and snarled at him.
"There's enough evidence there for a warrant. Show your superiors and see what they say to you. Then decide if you really care about the truth."
And with that, she left him, power walking back to her room.
-o-
For practically as long as the Navy had existed, it was a joke in the lower ranks that becoming a flag officer dropped your IQ by a standard deviation, though the men didn't actually use the term. These days, it was no longer a joke. Instead, it was the only sane explanation for the sheer madness command was planning to execute within a week.
At least the Marines on board Momonga's battleship could assure themselves they were not going to make flag officer anytime soon. The proof? They still had enough basic survival instinct left that the Marines delivering food to the Amazons got out of Sandersonia's way without a word said.
Despite the seething anger oozing from her every pore, the snake-Zoan still squeezed through the door rather than slamming it open, and was in and properly slamming it shut before anyone could take a peek. Naturally, this aroused the interest of the other three people in the room.
"I'll tell you one thing," she groused to no one in particular as she stalked over to and plopped into her seat. "If this actually works and he comes onto the Divine, I'm actively considering making him the Pisces to my Ophiuchus. Because I swear, that man has a steel rod upside his ass the size of his own—!"
"You know~," Marigold interrupted, her voice carrying an undeniable sing-song quality as she folded her arms behind her head. "The others could get the wrong idea entirely if you did that. Barty has good money on how Cross and the swordfish really feel about each other. And the way you're talking, I can see where he's coming from."
Sandersonia froze, face pale in raw horror. In response, Salome let out a hissing chuckle, waving her tail in amusement. [See, this is why I put up with you humans. Soooo much amusement, and you even feed and clean up after yourselves!]
Having gotten over her shock, Sandersonia veritably melted into her chair, a miserable groan escaping her lips. "…right. Never mind, then… need to try letting it roll off my back…ugh." Her tongue flicked out as she bent over, clutching her stomach. "I think I just threw up a little…"
Reluctantly turning away from Luffy, Hancock frowned at her middle sister. "Your… relationship with the Vice Admiral aside, did you achieve the desired impact?"
Sonia let out a scoff. "Oh, no, not yet. But if the Divine's correct about the current state of Marineford, and Ophiuchus's take on the man is even close to right?" She grinned widely, drooling a bit. "By morning, there's going to be enough meat to feed everyone on board."
"Good."
The amusement died at one word from Luffy, who had finished eating and was looking far more severe than anyone with a belly that had bloated had any right to look.
"We need to be ready for what comes next. And… thank you again for all of this," he added, bowing in gratitude.
And while Hancock swooned, the two Zoans saw the hope in the gesture for what it was.
-o-
Momonga was ready to explode. A dozen calls and half a dozen faxes to every corner of Marineford had produced everything from common, stuttering grunts to irritable higher-ups. Everything except actual answers. Despite none of the aforementioned officers even approaching his rank, they still had the gall to tell him that they had their orders and to dispose of the pictures. His latest call had turned up a particularly suicidal underling on the other end, who simply said:
"Get with the program, you idiot. Nobody cares about justice if it makes the Navy look bad. How the hell did you get to your position without realizing that? Do yourself and everyone else here a favour: take your righteousness and shove it up your—HEY GET OFF M—ARGH!"
A clatter came over the connection, followed by a very different, very panicked voice speaking over his colleague's protests. "Sorry, sir, he seems to be experiencing a bit of a mental breakdown and we're undergoing some rather extreme overload in general, please hold and we will call you back later. Good day! KA-LICK!"
The sheer audacity of an unnamed grunt talking down to him like that had left Momonga more bemused than livid. That was the kind of thing you only dreamed of getting the chance to say to your superiors. Tempers there must have been running higher than the Red Line.
It actually took him a minute to shake that off and try yet another number, though his snail rang before he could do so. Picking up the mic plastered an all-too-familiar smile on the snail.
"Hey, red-stripe. Hear you've been calling around here?"
"Yamakaji," Momonga replied, his jaw tightening. "What do you want? I'm busy."
The gastropod simulacrum's smile tightened up, and it chuffed out a heavy huff of smoke. "Yeah, I heard. That's why I'm calling. Because I was the highest-ranked guy on hand—" Momonga scoffed at the mere implication of being equated with the likes of Yamakaji. "—and tell you to drop it."
No scoffing that time. "I am going to do you the favor of assuming that you are joking, Vice Admiral Yamakaji," Momonga growled, spitting out the man's rank like it was a curse. "As I assume you are unaware of what I am trying to accomplish here, allow me to inform you: I am in physical possession of photographic evidence that Boa Sandersonia was part of the uprising on Sabaody Archipelago five days ago. But for reasons I cannot begin to comprehend, Judicial has been ignoring my requests for an arrest warrant. And now they're refusing my calls outright! I don't know what the hell they think they're doing, but—!"
"Yeah, I can see your problem there," Yamakaji grunted, shaking his head. "Lemme guess: your photographic evidence is part of a set, and this Boa woman is only part of it. The other pictures, they're… less than flattering in regards to the Marines, yeah?"
Momonga's brain tripped over the reply—how did he know? whispered a small part of him—but rationalization was easy. "They're clearly false," he stated. "Marines stopped protecting the slave trade 200 years ago. There couldn't be this many this far gone."
"Ahaah, yeah, no."
Momonga froze, gaping at the snail in naked shock. "…what?"
"Yeah, see, thing is? You're wrong. 'Bout those pictures being lies. Yeah, that's dead wrong," Yamakaji said, his shameless smile still in place despite the dead tone. "Those Marines were definitely defending those slavers, and we've known about them for years. Hell, you could even say we never stopped being ignorant of them."
A moment of silence passed, and then…
"WHAT?!" Momonga roared, slamming his hands around the impassive snail. "How could that be possible?! Such negligence is beyond!"
"Negligence nothing, they were following their orders to the letter: accommodate the slavers and allow them to go about their business, provided they pay their dues. Simple enough, one of the easiest jobs possible - right up until the Straw Hats did their usual schtick and upset that apple cart."
As bad as the words were, it was their delivery that left Momonga poleaxed and unable to respond. To hear such blatant disregard for the founding principles of the Marines, delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone… Well, the Vice Admiral didn't want to believe it. Probably would have vehemently denied the truth staring in his face, if it weren't for the fact that Yamakaji didn't care enough to lie about something like this.
"Then that makes these photographs more important than ever!" the swordsman declared, firm in his convictions. "They are clear and undeniable proof of—!"
"Of what?" Yamakaji bluntly retorted, his perpetual smile not budging an inch. "Of Marines besmirching the Navy's 'honour'? In case this hasn't gotten through your skull yet, that's exactly why those pictures will never see the light of day. Any second, you'll be getting orders straight from the top telling you to destroy those pictures. Because everybody in the top brass knows, and nobody cares. Or if they do care, they're overridden by people even higher than them. The only reason anyone ever gives a damn about things like this is if they blow back on us. Which, frankly, means that four-eyed rookie owes Cross for not getting busted down to seaman… or worse."
"But… that… this… this doesn't happen," Momonga sputtered, before slamming his fist on the table. "This doesn't happen! We… We are Marines, we are Justice! This sort of dishonor would never be allowed, never be covered up—!"
"It's always allowed, red-stripe, this happens all the time. It's allowed, because the people on top say it's allowed. That's how it works. It's called politics, and it happens every. Single. Day."
"I would have noticed—!"
"The hell you would have," the smiling man scoffed, huffing out a ring of smoke. "You're never at Marineford, and when you are, you're only turning in bounties of the worst of criminal scum. You're a soldier on the frontlines, all you've ever cared about is your marching orders and the closest prey for you to hunt. Just following orders blindly, not a care in the world…" Yamakaji paused, and then out of nowhere, his smile took on a tinge of wistfulness. "…ta be honest, red-stripe? I've always been a bit jealous of you."
Momonga blinked, staring at the snail incredulously. "What are you—?"
"Why wouldn't I be? Red-stripe the loyal soldier boy, marching to battle without a care in the world. No need to worry about the politics, no need to worry about the rest of the world, just the next battle, the next fight. Everything's oh-so-simple when you live and die by the sword. Heh… guess it's true what they say, ain't it? Ignorance really is bliss… or, well…" Yamakaji's mirrored face shifted slightly, taking on an overtone of vicious glee. "Was bliss, anyhow! Poor little soldier boy, left alone with the unvarnished truth. I wonder how long you'll be able to survive until that damn conscience of yours pushes you so far that nobody's gonna be able to ignore it. Gonna be fun to watch, at least, hahaha!"
A blue streak threatened to tumble out of Momonga's mouth. But the sight of his snail cowering, barely out of his shell and most definitely not smiling, stayed the tirade. Instead, he held up and examined the pictures again, thumbing through them one by one. The rage this kindled, he banked in a corner of his heart, where he could keep it hidden.
Until the day it would be unleashed for a righteous cause.
"Puru puru puru puru!"
And then, with a look of pure dread on its face, the snail began to ring again.
-o-
Outside Momonga's cabin, an unmemorable Marine was all but leaning at the door to listen. It was hard maintaining enough distance to get away quickly while still being close enough to eavesdrop, and Momonga's voice going quiet didn't help. At this point, all the Marine was sure of was that the Vice Admiral was talking- answering, from all the short responses.
This went on for about a minute, and then there was silence. Minutes more ticked by, the cabin quiet.
The bellow of rage, loud enough to wake the whole ship, startled him, sending him tumbling back. This was followed up by the wall being slashed out as a bomb had gone off.
And then, just as swiftly, there was silence again.
Silence, as Momonga stepped out of the wreck of his cabin and marched down the hall, head bowed and a grim shadow hanging over him. He summarily ignored the paralyzed soldier as he passed, and rounded the corner, gone entirely.
It took about a minute for the Marine to come to grips with the fact that he, miraculously, wasn't dead, and another to find the courage to peer into the decimated cabin.
As it turned out, apart from the wall, everything was untouched: a table with a trembling Transponder Snail on it; files, miscellaneous bric-à-brac and memorabilia, all neatly stacked. All aside from a pile of shredded papers, scattered across the floor.
Acting on a hunch, the Marine stooped down to examine the shreds. What he could make out sent his eyebrows crawling for his hairline. On another whim, he stood up and snapped his fingers, drawing the snail's attention.
"Hey, little guy. Mind making a call for me?"
Despite the trembling, the snail nodded. One number rattled off later, and the snail rang once, twice… and then…
"KALICK! Sagittarius."
"One of your arrows reporting, sir," the grunt said.
"Fly true," came the grim response.
"You were right. I don't know how you knew, but you were right: Momonga's straining hard, and something's about ready to snap. And, uh…" He warily looked at the wreckage of the wall. "From the looks of things? When he does, he's going to do it hard."
"That bad, hm?"
"Mm-hm. Apparently…" The Marine held up one of the scraps of photograph. "HQ ordered the pictures Anaconda gave him destroyed, and he was less than enthused about it. Either way, I recommend we bring him around to our way of thought. Before he gets himself killed."
"Heh heh… he never was one for subtlety or nuance, even back in boot camp. Very well, then. Thank you for your service. But hold off for now and stay the course; we'll wait until the time is right."
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed. KA-LICK!"
"Thanks a lot," the grunt said to the snail, receiving one in return as he left the office.
-o-
The New World was in a great state of turmoil; between the sudden departure of all of Akainu's forces and the Emperors' reactions to the declaration of war, no sea was more panicked than the most chaotic of them all. But of course, no place was this clearer than on the deck of the Moby Dick.
The instant the Vivre Cards burst into flames, long before Cross's own retaliation, Whitebeard had sent for everyone loyal to him. The newspaper that arrived later only confirmed his choice, as did Cross's broadcast. It was a pity, Whitebeard thought, that they hadn't wised up and released Ace in the face of that threat; the sheer shame would have been enough revenge for the old man.
But that didn't happen. And so they were preparing, around the clock, to re-enter Paradise with all of their forces and lay siege to Marineford. An endeavor helped significantly by the return of one of the Division Commanders, whose arrival caused quite the stir.
After all, all those in the crew capable of traveling between islands without a ship were already present when he arrived.
"Wha—Izo!? How did you get back here!?" Marco demanded as the onnagata came aboard, glancing over the side of the ship and seeing no other craft.
"Sea turtles," Izo impatiently threw out, sweeping right past Marco. "I need to speak to Pops immediately, and you need to be there. Come with me."
The crew of the Moby Dick smoothly flowed around Izo as he made a beeline for his captain's throne, the Phoenix hastily scrambling after him. Those already there parted as he approached, Edward Newgate himself leaning forward.
"Welcome back, Izo." His bones creaked very audibly as he leaned further forward, examining his son. "Is what I'd like to say, anyway. You seem troubled, far more so than the rest of us. Is there something more than this war weighing on you?"
Izo shook his head, jaw visibly clenched tight. "No, the war is very much what I'm worried about. Specifically, some key details could make all the difference to our efforts."
If Izo had had the Whitebeards' interest before, now he had their attention. A dense atmosphere settled over the quarterdeck, everyone present listening intently as their brother continued his explanation.
"Lola caught me before I left and passed on a message from Jeremiah Cross. He's discreetly gathered an impressive following of his own over the past year, and he has even turned several in the Navy to his cause. Those who are capable will be doing everything that they can to ensure that we succeed."
That set whispers about the crowd, the heavy atmosphere lightening somewhat with renewed hope.
"Cross himself… won't be present."
And the mood plummeted again.
"And neither will most of the Straw Hat Pirates. They've temporarily disbanded and gone into hiding to train for the New World. Luffy alone will be involved in this chaos and will be doing all that he can to save his brother before he goes underground as well. There's a chance—not a significant one, but a chance nonetheless that he may save Ace before he's even taken to Marineford."
"He's breaking into Impel Down!?" Jozu barked, eyes wide.
"Only the Straw Hats would be this reckless…" Marco sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple to try and head off a very old migraine flaring to life. "Frankly, I'm surprised that they had the good sense to only attempt it with their strongest member."
Izo's mouth twitched as he continued, though otherwise, his grim mood didn't shift. "That's not all. Lola confirmed your suspicions, Pops, that Cross's knowledge extends to future events. Not completely, but there's just no other way that he could know this."
At once, Izo's expression gained an unmistakable tinge of deep sorrow.
"You're planning to die there, no matter the outcome. Aren't you."
The only sign that Whitebeard had heard was a slight straightening of his back. Otherwise, he and Izo were impassive, the rest of the gathered Whitebeard pirates glancing between the two like watching a tennis match.
"And if I am?" Whitebeard rumbled.
Izo continued to hold his gaze with the elder pirate for several more seconds before turning away and sighing.
"Well, after how Oden died, I'm the last person to tell someone how to live—or end—their life," he admitted. "But… If you're going to die, then it's best you go into this with all the information we have."
Thus the final strategy meeting of the Emperor and his division commanders commenced, and over the next few days leading up to the war, a singular fact cemented itself in every last one of Whitebeard's strongest sons: for this one act, Jeremiah Cross was as good as a brother to them.
Because whether Ace survived or not, whether they survived or not, he gave them the ultimate blessing in making their father's looming death known to them in the fleeting peace before the war: the blessing to ensure that nothing was left unsaid.
-o-
Fire is hot. Water is wet. And equally obviously, the atmosphere in Marineford was tense.
Less expected was that one of the biggest sources of the tension was currently sharing a drink with one person that was dealing with far too much tension already.
"Isn't it a bit…" Kong swirled his cup as he considered his words. "Inappropriate, to share drinks with your boss? I'm your superior, not your bartender."
"Well, first, it's not like you're going to be my direct superior for much longer, so fuck 'appropriate'," Sengoku spat, waving his own cup so hard some sloshed out. "And second, it's not like I have anyone else to drink with. Tsuru hates me, and I can't blame her, and Garp's both an idiot and getting right there with her. For the record, however this ends, you should expect his resignation soon, too."
Given the topic of conversation, Marineford was in legitimate danger of running out of booze.
"Not Tsuru's?"
"Oh, she'll stay. If only to spite me. Damn cantankerous hag, all righteous and full of piss and vinegar. God, I miss when I had her as a friend!"
"…how much did you drink before you stumbled your way in here?"
"Clearly not enough!"
Kong massaged his forehead and looked back at the soon-to-be-ex-Fleet Admiral. He made to say something, thought better of it, did it again, and paused again. Despite being rather sloshed, Sengoku still noticed and gave him an odd look.
"Something you'd like to say?"
"I was trying to think of an argument to convince you to come back to sanity for a bit, but I am honestly at a loss here."
"Welcome to my life after a year with Cross and his damned show!" Sengoku barked humorlessly, tilting back the bottle.
Kong observed the action… and then, with a stony expression, he went for broke.
"I don't believe that if he were still alive, Ro—"
The Commander-in-Chief expected an angry response. Maybe Sengoku would slug him in the face for bringing up the one elephant in the room the Fleet Admiral carried with him wherever he went, and then that would give him an opening to make the man reconsider his daft decision. Instead, he blacked out from an acute burst of Haki, coming to his senses five seconds later to hear the sound of debris falling. Glancing warily toward the source of the noise, he found a ragged hole where the wall had been.
Sengoku, meanwhile, remained seated in the same spot, his eyes on the bottle.
"I'm sorry, you were saying something?" he asked, his voice very quiet and his demeanor dangerously sober.
Kong exhaled, accepting defeat as he calmed his heart rate and reminded himself why even he never brought that subject up.
"…I was asking if I need to post a detail on you to make sure you show up?" he sourly pivoted.
Sengoku snorted. "I'm not that far gone. Hell or high water, I still have pride in my uniform - for as long as I'm contractually obligated to. For better or worse, this is my last duty as Fleet Admiral. I'll see it through. And hopefully, it'll kill me."
Kong started to nod, before pausing as he re-ran that last line through his head. "You… do mean 'even if', right?"
Sengoku's response was a flat snort. "Depends on how I feel at the bottom of the bottle," he responded, tilting it back and drinking deeply.
-o-
One floor below, another officer brooded over a cup of hard liquor. In Akainu's case, it was a bottle of 21-year-old Ambassador rum, on the rocks. Truly a Navy man through and through. He took his liquor alone, seated to stare out the window over the bustle of Marineford as the gathered army hurried to finish the last preparations. The might of Absolute Justice, promising swift death to evil.
Then two things happened that bordered on inconceivable: the door swung open, admitting someone most definitely not one of his few superiors to disturb his rest. And that person, without hesitation, draped their arms over his shoulders.
"Brooding again, my Ulawun?" crooned a feminine voice.
The Admiral didn't bother to correct her; it suited his plans to have her think of him as her volcano god, and in any case, she wouldn't listen. He'd tried. Once.
"Hands off, Irian," he gruffly ordered.
Giggling, the woman withdrew, though not before flicking his ear on the way. Frowning, Akainu turned around to reprimand her. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at what she was wearing.
"I see you availed yourself of the tailors."
"Does it look good on me?" Irian said, spinning on the ball of her foot to show off the white three-piece suit she was wearing, the collar of the navy-blue undershirt unbuttoned low enough to show off considerable cleavage. "The grass skirt is traditional and all, but I figured if I'm going to be fighting here I should look the part!"
'It does resemble a flag officer's uniform,' Akainu noted. At the same time, with no insignia, she wouldn't be mistaken for an officer. "It does. It flatters you well."
"Those tailors," Irian declared. "Work magic, I swear. And the cloth they work with. First thing we need to buy once this is over is as much cloth as we can get!"
Still smiling, the priestess walked up to the window and gazed out on the artificial harbor.
"Truly astounding," she said softly. "You people are so rich. The temple to Ulawun isn't a tenth as magnificent, and it took us eighty years to build." She tapped the glass. "This is what I want for my people. All of it. And a chance to see what other wonders the outside world offers."
"And your island shall have it, once you join the World Government," Akainu interjected.
Irian looked over her shoulder, and for a moment Akainu saw the resolve, the sheer desire, that he had seen months ago on a beach of black sand. She would do what needed to be done. All that was needed was to point her in the right direction.
"Of course," Irian said, turning back out to the view. "I shall make this Whitebeard and his army dance."
Abruptly, Akainu found his fingers tapping along to an unheard rhythm on the arm of his chair. Turning, he reached out for the bottle of rum and poured a finger of the amber liquid over some fresh ice. "Drink?" he offered.
Irian heaved a put-upon sigh and spun around. "Oh, if I must," she said, taking the glass. Cautiously, she brought it up to her lips and took a dainty sip; her eyes widened. "Oh my, that's smooth."
The priestess took another sip, a proper one. Akainu said nothing, having gone back to staring out the window. The two stood in… not companionable, but at least content silence.
Then Irian spoke up again.
"I'd have thought you'd be happier about all… this, Ulawun," she said, indicating the harbor.
Akainu raised an eyebrow at the priestess, which she took as a signal to continue.
"I did listen to your explanation on 'Absolute Justice'," she explained. "All relentless pursuit of evil, no sacrifice too great and all that jazz. I'd think this execution would be right up your alley."
'Well, it isn't,' Akainu grumbled internally. His fingers began to tap on the armrest again. Should he tell her? She wouldn't inform higher command, or worse, his political masters. And frankly, he needed someone to talk to about this. Sengoku's hands were tied, as were Kong's. Kizaru wouldn't care. Aokiji wouldn't listen. And no way was he talking to anyone subordinate to him in the hierarchy. Not even Garp. Especially not Garp.
"The execution of Fire Fist Ace is Justice. Plain and simple," he said. "Making it this public? Practically inviting the strongest man in the world to attempt to intervene? That's not Justice. That's stupidity. If we were doing this before our resources were crippled from that brat and his snail, it might be different. But now…"
He shook his head. "Either he should have been put to death quietly or this should have waited until our resources were restored. As it stands, this conflict threatens to leave us unable to pursue Justice at all, whether we win or lose."
A brief silence fell, during which Irian gave him a searching look.
"Surely, you're selling yourself short. Even if the island itself were to crumble, and that's the worst-case scenario, the strongest of you would survive to pick up the pieces and rebuild."
"We shall see," Akainu replied, taking another sip of rum.
-o-
Meanwhile, in another example of a fearless woman disturbing a dangerous man's peace and quiet…
"Ohhh, my precious beasties!"
A large black devil suppressed a groan as a dominatrix in pink spandex came whining into his office.
Rather unfortunately for Warden Magellan, this wasn't the start to a particularly off-kilter joke. Instead, it was just another of many new developments that, over the course of the past week, had proven exceptionally taxing on the Warden's patience and sanity.
Case in point, Sadi once again barging into his office, bawling her eyes out over…
"What got mauled this time, and how much is it going to cost me to find a replacement?" Magellan groused, reaching across his desk for yet another copy of Form Z7-29-D: Fauna Procurement Request. A form that he had touched all of four times in all his prior years, and which he now found himself running out of.
SLAM!
Slowly, and with a gimlet eye, Magellan withdrew his hand. With Sadi face-first on his desk, sobbing into the woodwork, there would be no retrieving the paperwork for… a while.
"Nooo, you don't understa-a-and!" she wailed, hammering her fists in a painfully obvious tantrum. "Those heinous brutes! They didn't just attack another one of my pets! They hurt one of my ba-a-abieeees!"
"WHAT!?" Magellan roared, surging to his feet—
Grrrrmmmm…
—at which point the blue-ring octopus takoyaki he'd grabbed as a snack caught up with him. Clutching his stomach he plopped back into his chair. He ran a hand over his face. "Tartarus unholy—That's the third one this week! Which one?!"
"My beloved little Rhino-o-o-ooo…" she lamented, yanking furiously at her hair. "It came out of nowhere, he didn't even stand a chance! Half his bones broken, internal injuries up and down his torso! He'll be laid up for months, and now my dear, darling Minotaurus is all aloooone! WAAAH!"
"Great…" Magellan scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Like our medical bills for the first two weren't already bad enough…" His scowl then deepened sourly as Sadi's wailing hit a particularly unpleasant pitch. "And will you pull yourself together?!"
"WILL YOU!?" Sadi screeched back, Magellan leaning back in honest shock. "We wouldn't be in this mess if you had put your foot down and kept those limacious bivalves out! We had an accord, and you're letting them ignore it!"
"…I see that your thesaurus calendar has been put to good use."
"TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY! This is our home! Our prison! They have no right to do this, and yet here you are, their mangy lapdog!"
A deathly silence fell over the office, Sadi pale under the curtain of her bangs, clearly realizing just how badly she'd fucked up. Slowly, Magellan unfolded to his full height, looming over Sadi to engulf her in his shadow.
"I," he rumbled menacingly. "Am nobody's lapdog. This is my prison. This is my domain. And so long as I live, nothing and nobody may do as they please without my say-so! DO I MAKE MYSELF—!"
Knock-Knock.
"Ah, Warden Magellan?"
Caught mid-reprimand, the Warden hastily composed himself - an effort made difficult by his stomach rumbling again. By now more than a little eager to get this mess over with so that he could… handle his protesting bowels, he answered, "Yes, Domino?"
The door cracked open, and his Head Jailer poked her head into the office. "The Marines have arrived."
The tension in the air palpably thickened, an aggravated expression settling on Magellan's face. "…Which ones?"
"Tch," Sadi sneered vindictively, as though she'd won the argument.
And a traitorous part of Magellan couldn't deny the idea.
-o-
Night of the Eighth Day
"I really hope I don't have to do this again, this is so weird," Luffy grumbled as he inched his way back into Merry's duffel bag.
"You're more likely to go undetected this way than by clinging to me," Hancock reasoned - which was promptly followed by a luminescent blush that clashed horribly with her despairing expression.
"Aaaalright, that's enough," Marigold said, pressing Luffy's head in and sealing the zipper. "Let's get this over with."
"Agreed, let's go," Sonia replied.
Securing the bag beneath her clothes, Hancock and her sisters emerged from their quarters, a pair of guards that they recognized as Masons silently escorting them to the edge of the ship. As they walked, curiosity drew their eyes behind them. Almost as tall as the Florian Obelisks, the Gates of Justice towered over them and the entire island that they had come to. Exhaling and suppressing shudders they turned away and continued to the forecastle.
And there it stood: the world-infamous Underwater Gaol, Impel Down. What stood above the water, Hancock found to be paradoxically impressive and… well, rather underwhelming. A fortress sitting upon the water was inherently impressive, imposing and unassailable and a tremendous feat of architectural engineering. But by the standards of a world-class prison feared by all as 'the Pirates' Hell', it did not cut so ominous a figure. Still, Hancock knew—better than most, even—that surface impressions rarely told the whole story. Quite literally, in this case, as a single glance into the water showed the truth of the fortress: that it went down. Down, far down beneath the surface of the ocean, down into the aquatic abyss, like an enormous stone iceberg.
It was there, there and out of sight in that hidden abyss, that the true Hell awaited.
There that Monkey D. Luffy would soon endeavor to reach.
With well-disguised trepidation, Hancock and her sisters continued along the deck towards the gangplank. At the top of that gangplank stood Momonga, barring their path, and reluctantly the party slowed to a stop.
"The request that you presented was for you, Boa Hancock, to lay eyes upon Fire-Fist Ace before his execution," he declared, before leveling an unflinching glare at Marigold and, with much more venom, Sandersonia. "That remains the deal; you, and you alone, are permitted to enter and exit this prison. Neither they come with you, nor the snake. And!" he snapped his hand up the second Sandersonia opened her mouth. "I would advise against complaining to me about it, or in general. Warden Magellan is not going to relax security one iota beyond what the Government has commanded, and he's already not happy about relaxing it enough to let you in. And thanks to Jeremiah Cross, I'm sure you know the consequences of getting on that man's bad side."
Frowning, the two Zoans stepped forward, only for Momonga to hold up a hand in the universal sign to stop.
"You're worried about your sister in my company? I'm worried about my men in yours without me here to monitor you two. So why don't you just make this as simple as possible for both of us." Under his breath, "I have a bad enough migraine already…"
While Momonga was distracted, Hancock waved her sisters back. They reluctantly complied, along with Salome, and were off the gangplank and back on the ship when Momonga turned his attention back to them. Nodding curtly, Momonga turned his back on the ship and marched for the prison's entrance, with Hancock following two paces behind.
The pair walked in mutual silence, each content to pretend the other didn't exist. It wasn't like there was anything to talk about, anyway. The walk to the prison was as unassuming as the building itself: a normal pier, well reinforced and flanked by battleships. They were watched intently on all sides by scores of Marines, including officers.
The fact that the march was made in silence was rather off-putting to Momonga. The sadistic Warlord, quite in opposition to her typical mannerisms, was simply ignoring the wolf-whistles from on-looking Marines without comment, and more importantly, without petrifying hearts.
Nevertheless, once they reached the half-way point on the dock, he turned his head to address her. "Just so we're clear, it is only because of your position as a Warlord that a pirate like you is being allowed to even see this prison. As such, you will be under restrictions on this visit. Once you're inside, you will be searched, and you will not be allowed to set one foot inside the prison without wearing sea prism stone handcuffs. If you refuse these restrictions, we will be turning right back around and headed directly for Marineford. Are we clear?"
Hancock flinched at the reminder, moving her arm to shield the bag she had hidden under her coat. "So be it," she tersely replied.
Momonga nodded in reply as they came up to the portcullis that barred passage into the prison. At an unseen signal, it slowly clanked up, bar by bar, to reveal a bland brick hallway into the bowels of the prison. The path was flanked by two rows of Impel Down's wardens, clad in sharp, militaristic uniforms entirely dissimilar to the Marines'.
And while they did momentarily fall victim to Hancock's beauty, openly ogling her, they were just as quick to pull back into their professionalism, firing off picture-perfect salutes. Likely more due to Momonga's presence than her own, but nevertheless, any display of composure in the face of Hancock's beauty was worthy of a modicum of respect… and plenty of worry over what that professionalism meant for her beloved.
But most ominous of all were the doors. They were a simple pair of wooden double doors, reinforced with metal and big enough to allow a giant through. But when they creaked open, a cold, cold wind washed over the pair. A wind that reeked of malice, of pain…
And of Death.
These… were the true gates of Impel Down.
And this was where the world's fate would be decided.
36 Hours Before the War
"…what an oppressive atmosphere," Momonga muttered. Hancock found herself in agreement. Though nothing could hold a candle to what she'd gone through in the 'holy city', the atmosphere alone placed it in a firm second. At least Mariejois attempted, in most places, to maintain a veneer of civility. This place was a naked blade, rusted and worn with bloodshed, and no less deadly for it.
In an effort to distract herself from the unmistakable feeling of a scythe tapping at the underside of her throat, Hancock latched onto the one detail that wasn't directly related to the prison itself. "You've never entered yourself?"
He glanced back, visibly debating whether to answer. "Never had the 'privilege'. I just handed whoever survived fights with me off at the nearest available Marine Base."
"Then I suppose this experience will be educational for the both of us," Hancock said neutrally.
In short order, their guide appeared: a topless man taller than average with a round gut, a green and yellow headdress, and wide eyebrows resembling horns framing his face. There was a faint aura of patheticness around him—something about the expression and gut together—but Hancock was no green warrior. Underneath the fat and slouching was a capable fighter.
"Welcome… to my Impel Down," the man said, then shook himself. "Oh, excuse me, I said 'my' by mistake. I'm getting ahead of myself."
If perhaps not the smartest one.
A growl slipped out of Momonga, his hope to meet someone who wouldn't make a fool of themselves dashed to pieces. Suppressing his frustration, he shook the man's hand.
"Vice Admiral Momonga, I understand the circumstances. Is that the Empress Hancock?"
"Yes, and you would be wise not to let your tongue slip while referring to me," Hancock said coldly.
"My Empress Hancock?" Hannyabal repeated.
It was with visible reluctance that Momonga stuck his sword out to the side to intercept Hancock's attempt to kick Hannyabal's head from his shoulders, and equal indifference that the surrounding wardens allowed the act to pass without notice.
"A-Ah, I'm sorry!" Hannyabal said, waving his hands apologetically.
But as he continued to speak, Momonga and Hancock's attention wasn't on him. Rather, they focused on the very large, very ominous shadow that stepped out of the darkness and silently strode up unseen behind Hannyabal.
"Aheh, I must apologize," the pharaonic man chuckled. "I got ahead of—!"
THWACK!
"GYAAa-ah-ah-ah-ah…"
Hannyabal collapsed to the floor—flailing in agony briefly before his body locked up—to reveal a shimmering coat of liquid wrapped around a wide palm. And also a layer of the same, off-color liquid coating the back of the Vice Warden's skull.
Both Hancock and Momonga stiffened at the shadowed figure that stepped into the light, their animosity forgotten. For the conflicts they had with each other meant nothing in the face of the actual literal demon in a nice suit in front of them.
"I apologize for my Vice Warden's inability to keep his mouth shut. His ambition is paradoxically his most admirable trait and his most grievous failing," the demon rumbled, tall enough to effortlessly loom over the pair. "I am Warden Magellan, and it is within my Impel Down where you stand. Be aware: so long as you stand within these four walls, the only law which matters here is my word, and mine alone. And should either—either—of you infringe upon that law… then you will suffer for it."
Magellan's frame bent over, bringing his glowering visage even closer to his two 'guests'. His breath, rancid in smell and toxic in effect, washed over them.
"Are. We. Clear."
Both of the Warden's 'guests', though not ones to be intimidated, still shivered internally at the sheer, furious murder the Warden emanated. Hancock in particular was worried about more than just the intimidation display. She'd read Cross's letter to Luffy, and while she knew Luffy would face more than just what was outlined in it, she most certainly had not expected the first monkey wrench to get thrown in the works literally three steps in.
From the letter, Magellan was supposed to be polite and accommodating, outright worshipping her beauty. She hadn't even been supposed to meet him until well after she and Luffy separated. No, here he was, infuriated beyond all belief, to the point where her beauty didn't even have a chance to register.
The conclusion was inescapable: the changes extended beyond Amazon Lily and had already affected the Underwater Gaol. Whatever Luffy was headed into, it would not conform to what Cross had told him. He would be flying at least partially blind.
Nevertheless, for all that Hancock was concerned for her true love's safety, she was still a woman of strength and pride, and most certainly not one to be cowed for long.
As such, she steeled herself and shoved the trepidation down to meet Magellan. "I did not come here in search of a battle beyond that which the Government has forced upon me," she calmly explained. "Bring me to the root of their madness, and we will be done with each other."
Magellan regarded her with poorly-hidden aggravation. He snorted out a cloud of poison, prompting Hancock and Momonga to step back to be safe, and turned away, straightening up.
"Follow me. You will be searched, and then we will proceed with this farce as swiftly as possible."
The two followed the Warden into the prison, though only briefly before Momonga's desire for closure, for lack of a better term, surpassed his own desire to get this over with. "And your Vice Warden?"
"Kkk-gagh! Haahh…"
The visiting duo glanced over their shoulders at the source of the hacking cough: Hannyabal, scrambling to catch up to them, hopping the whole way to shake life back into one of his legs.
"I'm fine… used to it by now, working under this…" He paused, sucking on his lips and reconsidering his words. "…treatment."
"He'll live," Magellan grunted. "There isn't a single person under my purview who I do not trust to do their jobs to the fullest."
Their walk down the corridor was short, silent, and rather tense. Not just because the murderous aura surrounding the Warden, but also the rooms full of torture implements visible through the bars that made up the walls. If the sense of death from stepping into the prison was daunting, then the aura of pure malice misery originating from the room was ungodly.
Which, by comparison, made the doors they paused before at the end of the corridor so mundane it was almost painful. They were flanked by two women: one a blonde clad in the prison's warden uniform and wearing tinted shades, the other rather nondescript with her head down and her expression hidden by a Navy ball cap that effectively conveyed her allegiance.
"I am Vice Head Jailer Domino. We will be searching you one by one," the blonde announced. "Security levels have been escalated with the war alert, so we are expected to take every measure possible, even stationing Marines within the prison, as you can see. As such, Hannyabal and this officer here will assist me in searching Warlord Hancock. Vice Admiral, if you will remain outside while we do so?"
The Vice Admiral answered by remaining where he was, correctly surmising that the jailers' bitterness was in large part down to working with Marines. The whys of such an attitude were beyond him, though. Hancock, for her part, felt her unease grow. There was only meant to be one person looking over her, not two jailers and a Marine officer for good measure!
But she had no choice. When Hannyabal finally reached them, she stepped into the room, a plan of action already forming in her mind. She took note of the camera snail in the corner, glancing around the room to confirm that it was alone. Then, straying to the side a bit, she turned to face the three who were to search her.
"We don't suspect you, of course, but we have snail surveillance throughout the prison, so subterfuge is impossible," Hannyabal stated. "Now, if you'll please remove your cape… and then the rest of your clothes—"
"Love-Love Beam!"
The sneak attack petrified Hannyabal as well as the snail on the wall, as expected. Frankly, even if she hadn't needed to sneak Luffy inside, she would have probably still done that and made no apologies.
Unfortunately, Hannyabal's crass remark had offended the other two enough that they'd been more focused on him at the moment of the attack than her, and as a result, remained unpetrified. Domino went straight for her radio, faster than Hancock could fire again—
"CODE BLACK, CO—MMMPH?!"
—only for the Marine to wrap Domino up a chokehold, hand over her mouth - and the other keeping the receiver for her Baby Snail clamped down.
"Now!" said Marine hissed—at Hancock—as she wrenched Domino's eyes open and clenched her own shut.
"Love-Love Beam," Hancock intoned warmly, imprisoning the jailer in stone as well.
The Marine sighed in relief and released her hold on the statue. She ran her hand under her cap, through a short crop of blue hair, her other hand tightly gripping a sword.
"If the person I was last year saw me now, she'd chop me into pieces and mount my head on a pike," Lieutenant Tashigi groused wearily.
"Consider yourself lucky. Your old self would likely at least give you due process first, whereas the person I was allowed for no such luxuries," Hancock chuckled self-deprecatingly. "There are no other snails present?"
As soon as Tashigi shook her head, Hancock removed her cape and placed the duffel bag beneath onto the floor, swiftly unzipping it.
"Quickly, Luffy," she whispered. And before Tashigi's bemused gaze, a pair of rubber arms extended out and pulled a somewhat disheveled but otherwise fine Straw Hat out. Shaking his head, he rezipped the bag and swung it back over his own shoulder. Then he did a double-take at the sight of—
"Oh, hey! T.A.—!"
"Don't. Start. You know my name," she seethed, fingers twitching around Shigure's hilt.
"But I thought you liked being part of our crew," Luffy whined, visibly and literally deflating so hard Tashigi almost felt sorry for him.
Hancock, meanwhile, looked surprised. "Wait, you were on—?" Her brows shot up in recognition. "Ah, yes, I recall my sister speaking of you: the woman antagonistically attracted to Cross, yes?"
Tashigi's head, with the sound of a creaking spring, slowly rotated to stare at Hancock with somehow shadowed black. "…I'm going to do us both a favor. And forget that you just said that."
"Kyuuun," a familiar voice grunted out of Tashigi's jacket.
"NOT LIKE THAT!" she snapped, slapping the pocket her Baby Snail was in. "Anyway. Proper introductions. I am Lieutenant Tashigi, or Pisces. I'm here to help, along with—"
"Smokey!" Luffy laughed. "Wow, it's been so long since I've seen him, it'll be great… to…" He blinked in confusion. "Waaaaait. Cross said that I wasn't supposed to see either of you again for a while unless I got to Marineford! What are you doing here?"
"Has something gone wrong?" Hancock asked. Just the possibility of more changes…
"To answer Luffy first, we're here via as much string-pulling as we could manage without raising any flags," Tashigi sighed wearily, rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses. "We'd been trying to get someone in here for months already, it was just building off of a plan we already had to add Marine presence. Cancer and I just made sure we were the closest Marines of any significance to Impel Down so that we would be the first reinforcements."
"And to answer Hancock, maybe. We are not the only reinforcements present, Luffy. I don't know what's crawled down Magellan's digestive tract and died, but he's got the entire prison on pins and needles." Tashigi slid her glasses back into place, face grim. "Something's going on, something that's stuck in his craw and made him more ornery than he should be. I wish I could give you more, but we've only been here a few days and he's kept us at arm's length and under close scrutiny the entire time. As is, we've spent too much time here already. Cancer and I will help you as best we can, but if you're going to go, I suggest you do it now."
Luffy nodded at that suggestion, though now that he thought about it… "Uh… one problem: Magellan's right outside, and I don't think I can get up past him. Any other ways out?"
Tashigi blinked, a very comforting look of nervous terror spreading over her features. "Err…"
"Allow me."
Hancock swept by them, making for Hannyabal's statue. The two watched in fascination as she picked up the statue underarm.
"Luffy, prepare to leave. Pisces, kindly open the door."
-o-
For the Warden waiting outside, patience had long since curdled into suspicion. Even a cavity search didn't take this long, and while Magellan wouldn't put that past Hannyabal Domino was a professional and would never allow it to go that far.
Momonga did not have this knowledge, so he turned to Magellan and asked, "…should this be taking so—?"
"I CONSENTED TO BE SEARCHED, NOT STRIPPED AND MOLESTED!"
Momonga's question went unfinished but still answered by the door slamming open, vomiting forth a potbellied statue. Magellan and Momonga both rushed to catch the Vice-Warden before he could hit the ground. As the door slammed back shut, neither they nor the guards at the door noticed a cyan blur zip through the opening and up into the rafters.
"I knew I should have asked Sadi instead," Magellan grumbled as he righted Hannyabal's petrified form, before grimacing as he thought through that statement. "Though that probably wouldn't have gotten a different result…"
Momonga glanced between the warden and his petrified lieutenant, noting that the former barely even seemed annoyed.
"I'm sorry, you're just going to accept that she did that?" he asked.
Magellan scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "I may respect his ambition, but I acknowledge that my Vice Warden's personality could stand to be deflated a bit. So long as he isn't dead or maimed… frankly, if we were any less alert, I'd seriously consider leaving him like this for a few hours."
The professional side of Momonga dearly wanted to object to that, but the rest of him had known more than a few Marines who he would have loved to leave to the same fate for a few hours. Shaking his head, he went back to watching the door.
-o-
"Best of luck, Luffy," Hancock whispered, staring wistfully at the door. "Please… come back alive."
Tashigi, meanwhile, stared at her with no small amount of bewilderment. "You… like him a lot—EEP! " She slapped her hands over her mouth, realizing too late that she'd said that out loud.
Hancock turned around, but instead of an angry serpent, Tashigi was instead presented with the visage of someone literally madly in love. "With all of my heart."
'Funny how Cross didn't mention this…' Tashigi mused sourly to herself, before rolling her eyes. 'Actually, it makes perfect sense that he didn't. I swear, one of these days…' Her momentary fantasy over with, she shook her head and jerked her thumb at Domino's petrified form.
"Anyway, using the small amount of time that little scene bought us, I was hoping you could answer a rather important question: Have you made a decision regarding the Snake seat?"
That was certainly a proverbial bucket of cold water on the Empress. "Not yet," Hancock admitted, shaking her head. "I have given your offer considerable thought, and I am inclined to accept it, but not yet. I apologize, but I can take no chances nor concern myself with the rest of the world until I have secured my kingdom."
"That's fair. And far more selfless than most of the Damned, so you have that going for you." Tashigi shrugged and stepped aside, waving Hancock toward the statue. "Alright then, let's move this along before anyone suspects anything."
Hancock nodded and moved to do just that, before pausing. "On that note… were you not a bit slow in halting her call for help?"
The Marine grunted dismissively. "Don't worry, Popora took some swings at the observation room's staff earlier, and he's still in there keeping them from checking the monitor for this room. For the next few hours, 'Code Black' is the signal for all-clear."
Satisfied that all bases had been covered, Hancock nodded in acknowledgment and turned back towards the statue.
"Awaken," she breathed. Two heart-laden kisses wafted off her hand, reversing the stone on Domino and the snail on the wall at a touch, leaving them dizzied but normal again.
The jailer blinked and looked around, rubbing over her face in some wooziness, Tashigi 'innocently' fingering her blade's hilt behind her back. But once her befuddlement abated, Domino's only reaction was a look of confusion and mild suspicion. "Where is Vice-Warden Hannyabal?"
Hancock 'innocently' blinked before coughing into her fist. "…yes, my powers can cause mild amnesia. That man was getting… excessive in his searching, and you were standing next to him, and…"
"I was looking away at the time, I can confirm that that was all that happened," Tashigi concurred, the lie falling from her lips far too easily.
Eyes narrowed, Domino glanced between them, before smoothing her features and moving to Hancock to begin the search. The Empress gave no further resistance, much as she wanted to.
With matching professional masks, the jailer and Marine went to work. Tashigi thoroughly examined the cape that Hancock had shed for any hidden pockets, while Domino spread Hancock's arms and began gently but firmly patting her hands against her. And while the jailer's determined disinterest helped keep any flashbacks at bay, feeling hands patting along her body, including her neck, chest, and waist, still left the Empress profoundly uncomfortable.
In a bid to distract herself, Hancock posed a question that had honestly been eating at her. "I admit to curiosity regarding the Marines stationed in the prison. Outside of it is one thing, but does the Navy truly have enough forces to spare that they would defend a prison from an attack by Whitebeard? And frankly, Officer… Tashigi, is it? I doubt you could match one of my sisters in a spar, much less an Emperor's officer in a life and death battle."
Tashigi bristled and pinned Hancock with a very unhappy glare, completely unfeigned.
"And furthermore, I would expect that with the imposition, the prison guards would be subordinate to the Navy, not vice-versa. Even with how intimidating Magellan is." Hancock turned her unimpressed stare on Domino. "I find myself curious, Jailer: how is it that you have managed to force even the Marines to relinquish their self-entitled sense of superiority in favor of deference, or even, dare I say it, submission?"
Tashigi's glare didn't abate, though it was accompanied by a roll of her eyes to acknowledge the fact this time Hancock kinda sorta had a point.
"That's because you don't know the long history of this facility and the equally long history of its relationship with the World Government."
Domino paused in patting Hancock down to adjust her sunglasses just so, the light ominously glinting off of them.
"Oh, come on, I've been trying to pull that trick off for years and she just does it?!"
The Marine shrunk back sheepishly as both of the other women stared at her, and she hastily started another once-over of the coat. Just to be sure, of course.
Satisfied that her 'help' was sufficiently cowed, Domino resumed her inspection. "Let me enlighten you on the nature of Impel Down, Empress," the jailer explained. "This prison is the highest security detention facility in the world and has never been penetrated once since its inception. Nobody has ever broken in, and the only person who has ever broken out is now back in chains. Something I must thank you for."
"I would express gratitude, were my actions not required due to your own failures," Hancock drawled.
Domino bit out a sharp tsk. "Nevertheless, our track record compared to all other such facilities stands unblemished in one crucial regard: corruption. Any organization can become corrupt, provided entry is possible. And here in Impel Down, such a possibility is eliminated at the start. There are no outside elements that might corrupt us and no external influences that may affect us." A sharklike smirk came across Domino's face. "Not so long as we make use of the Drake Doctrine, at any rate."
The Warlord frowned thoughtfully at that. "The Drake Doctrine… I've heard of that—!" She sucked in a sharp breath at the memory. "Wait, Grove 77—! Are you implying that Impel Down is—!?"
"A sovereign state unto itself, allied with the World Government, yes," Domino sniffed, finishing the patdown. "True Justice cannot be bought or threatened. It is our duty to keep the world safe from the worst of its spawn to ever live, and we do everything in our power to fulfill it. Our independent status means that nobody short of those in the highest echelons of the Government have the authority to order anything of us and that our own laws supersede those typical of World Government islands. In this fashion, our methods are uncontested and our integrity is secure."
Domino's arm snapped up in an earnestly proud salute. "Impel Down has stood undaunted as a bastion of security against the forces of evil held within for the past 500 years, and we will continue to do so for the next 500 as well. Our duty, our vow, our promise."
There was a brief pause as the other two women in the room took in Domino's determination and zeal. And then the moment passed, and Domino turned away—with a spring in her step, no less—to extract a pair of sea prism stone cuffs from a desk. "Now then, if you'll please hold out your arms—"
"…that still does not explain the Marines stationed within your walls," Hancock pointed out.
SLAM!
There was another pause, only this time it was because Domino had just slammed her fist down on the desk, her entire frame shaking with impotent fury.
"Their presence," she hissed viciously, her every word as venomous as her superior. "Is an imposition by demand of the World Government, which none of us appreciate." Domino then whipped around, seastone cuffs open and clenched tight in her grip. "As is your own presence here, Warlord. Now, either put on these cuffs for the duration of your stay or don them for a more permanent residence. Either option is perfectly fine by us."
Hancock exhaled sharply but held out her wrists. "Very well then. Let's get this over with."
And with a harsh KA-CLANK, the cuffs slammed shut and the perilous voyage began in earnest.
-o-
Or, well, their perilous voyage would begin once one little bit of housekeeping was taken care of.
Specifically, once Domino, Tashigi, and Hancock exited the inspection room, they found Magellan looming over them, looking none too pleased. The Hannyabal statue posed next to him probably had something to do with that.
"Fix. This," the warden bit out.
Hancock stared at him blankly for a moment before holding up her cuffs.
Domino grunted in acknowledgment and unlocked the restraints, holding them open just enough so that they weren't touching her anymore.
"For the record," Hancock said haughtily, blowing a heart at the statue before letting the cuffs shut again. "I considered that to be a significant improvement."
"I will give your advice. All the consideration it is due," Magellan growled, his voice literally acidic, which sent everyone scrambling to get some distance.
And they all succeeded, too… save for the de-petrified Vice-Warden, whose first breath of fresh air turned out to be anything but.
"Gack, gagh!" Hannyabal wheezed, clawing miserably at the air. "W-Warden, your breath—!"
"Kindly take this as a sign, Vice-Warden, you're likely to live longer that way," Magellan grumbled back as he turned for the elevator.
The party followed briskly, Domino and Tashigi flanking Hancock and Hannyabal bringing up the rear. As tempted as they were, neither one of Luffy's allies looked up at the rafters to catch a last glimpse. Not that there was anything to see there.
Hannyabal, his prior bravado and enthusiasm long since expended, heaved a weary sigh from his rearguard position. "Let's… just keep this clean and fast, shall we? And then we can go about our respective days in peace."
Not five seconds later, a shrill klaxon rang out through the floor.
"Alert! Alert! A prisoner is attempting to escape from Level 1! Repeat, prisoner loose on Level 1!"
All eyes snapped around to glare at the suddenly quailing Hannyabal.
"Ah… ahahaha… oops?"