Chapter 1: Remember the Day
Chapter Text
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It all came down to money.
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Moneyā¦and maybe a good deal of resentment.
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āThis is everything?ā
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A man in a dark trench coat grimaced at the shadowy figure shuffling through the folders and content spread across the table. It was a stupid enough question that it didnāt merit an answer. After all, he wouldnāt be here if this wasnāt everything he could get his hands on.
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At this point, youād think heād be used to dealing with paranoid people and shady figures. Stillā¦
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This was a first even for him.
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But for all intents and purposes, dealing with this stranger wasnāt that different from doing business with Cipher Pol, the World Government, or even certain other branches of the Marines.
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Making an annoyed sound, he eyed his cameras sitting hostage across the table. It itched not having either his mechanical camera or Cameko snail close. They were his bread and butter, practically a part of him with how often he had them on him. But the Revolutionary agent (or at least someone who claimed to be one) didnāt want to take chances.
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Honestly, he didnāt care who they were as long as they werenāt any of his former employers. He didnāt care what they wanted the photos for, as long as nobody tracked him down after this. Akainu, his boot-lickers and cult followers, the resisting āReformersā Marine sect... They could all kiss his ass and drop dead. Do the world a favor and wipe each other out. He didnāt give a damn anymore.
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Fuck them.
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Fuck them, fuck the Government, and fuck those slimy Cipher Pol bastards. Fuck every blown up and self-righteously proclaimed definition of āJusticeā. And fuck the dipshits using these definitions as rallying cries for the fucking Marine civil war brewing on the horizon.
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He hopes they all drown in their own blood.
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āThese are quite good,ā the shadowy agent suddenly commented. They had a high tenor voice that sounded too loud in the small and still room, making it difficult to pinpoint what gender they were (if they even had one). āIn all the chaos and danger, your people still managed to pinpoint capture your chosen subject matters. To catch them at the pinnacle moment of every development while still retaining integrity in your framing and lighting. Just looking through theseā¦if I didnāt know any better, I would have thought you and your comrades had staged or drawn these.ā
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āYou and your comrades.'
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He could feel his jaw clench; the grind of his teeth momentarily all he could hear. For a few moments, he could see nothingācould focus on nothingāeven though he knew his eyes were open and dry. After all, the dead couldnāt cry, and sometimes he was surprised he could even bleed. If there was anything left living in him, then it was some creature of bitterness and hatred and pain.
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When he managed to unclench his jaw and focus again, he focused his glare at his buyer.
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āOf course theyāre good,ā he spat. āI was a goddamn Marine photographer. Our entire job consisted of catching the subject at the right moment with a single picture thatāll tell the whole story.ā
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āThe whole story,ā the bastard mused, āOr the right kind of message.ā
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āOr the right kind of message,ā he agreed without hesitation or shame.
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He knew what he was. He knew what his job consisted of. And he knew what his former superior officers and authorities wanted.
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People watching was one of those necessary habits you picked up in his line of work. As a photographer, he needed to keep an eye on his subjects whether or not he actually took a picture. It didnāt matter if they were Marines, pirates, civilians, or nobles; they were all just subject matters for him to turn his lenses on. And every subject matter had different facets and faces in different situations and at different times of the day. His job was simply to capture very specific facets and faces for his bosses to present to the world. It didnāt matter if this pirate had saved this village or if this corrupt Marine corroborated with bandits to enslave an island. When he took a picture for whatever PR department was taking the case, the pirate better look villainous and the Marine better appear heroic.
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He honestly hadnāt had any moral qualms with it. Still didnāt. It was good money. They were all just things on the other side of the lenses.
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āAnd youāre prepared to just give these to me in exchange for some basic compensation?ā the stranger questioned, seemingly honestly curious. Ā As if the two dozen suitcases of un-etched and untraceable jewels, a shipment of melted down Celestial Dragon gold, and a ticket to an out-of-the-way country not associated with World Government waiting for him out of this deal were basic and inconsequential. āThese are incredibly valuable. I canāt imagine your former employers would be very happy that the original source images of this event disappeared.ā
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āOf course the WG and Marines donāt want these out there,ā he scoffed bitterly. āThe Marines have to appear like the heroes and defenders and all that bullshit. Public wouldnāt like a lot of the tactics that got used, which is why the snail feeds were cut before they went ahead with those plans. Itās one thing if itās a big battle where the ācourageousā Marines who fight for Justice came out on top. When it turns out the whole fiasco was a giant rattrap that turned it into a matter of shooting fish in a barrel, thatās a different story. Not very courageous or heroic, is itā¦Even worse considering how close the Marines came to losing and how much damage they took. So yeah, of course these photos were deemed too ādangerousā. Because who knows? Having these out there? The public might remember that those are still people being blown to pieces. And wouldnāt that be just tragic?ā
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His cutting tone only got him an absentminded, amused hum in reply, āI imagine it would throw the World into chaos, yes.ā Putting down the photos, they looked back at the man through bug-like, round sunglasses that glinted with what little light there was in the room. There was a creepiness about the agent bordered on blatant intimidation, and the photographer just barely resisted flinching when the suspicious bastard suddenly spoke again. āBut I also wonder about the photographers who took these photos. Wouldnāt your comrades protest against their work being so casually traded off to people who seek to undermine the world order as they know it? Or did you steal what you didnāt already have?ā
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āDoes it matter?ā the photographer snapped. āWhat difference does it make to you?ā
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āNo difference in our transaction. You will get what you are owed,ā the Revolutionary assured him. āJust a matter of caution on our part. Photographers and investigative journalists have this funny little habit of getting into places theyāre not suppose to when something catches their attention. It would be wise for us to keep track of any of your colleagues that may feel miffed if some of their work āaccidentallyā turns up during our machinations. Thoughā¦,ā they leaned forward, steepling their pale, spider-leg fingers. The former Marine got the prickling feeling that the other was giving him a very intent, studying look. āNow that I think of itā¦there arenāt as many of good photographers these days among the Marines, are there? Not since Akainu started the Internal Purge.ā
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āā¦Not as many?ā he growled, voice tight with barely reined rage. Bringing the subject up, oh so casually, as if they didnāt already know. As if this whole farce wasnāt this asshole manipulating and playing with him. āTry any at all, you fucker! And their replacements are all part of the Red Dogās pack of ass-lickers.ā
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āAll of them?ā the figure exclaimed, casually surprised in the way that told the photographer they werenāt surprised at all. His fists tightened in irritation, but he bit his tongue. He needed that money, so he said nothing as the agent continued talking. āHmmmmā¦Except for you.ā
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He shrugged stiffly, āExcept for me.ā
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Silence descended in their small, dark room. A single, weak candle flame creating a pool of light over the wooden table and served to cast the rest of the room into a purgatory-like darkness. It made him feel like he was trapped in a cave with one of those breeds of giant spiders found on jungle Summer Islands.
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āYou wouldnāt be the first to have had their world destroyed by these forces,ā the Revolutionary murmured, something too slick in a voice that lacked any true infliction. āBut you already know that, donāt you?ā
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Of course he did.
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If you worked even remotely with public relations and intelligence, you knew that information blackouts ordered by the Marines or the Government usually werenāt altruistic in nature. Everyone had to work overtime to control information flow and public perception during and after each incident. For photographers, that meant an influx of orders and requests of specific varieties (everything from big, distracting scoops to something one could use to condemn a country the Marines had been particularly active in). What kind they wanted usually spoke of what kind of incident they were trying to redirect or cover up. Hell, heās been there for some of those stories where he watched peopleās entire worlds burn.
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So yes. He already knew.
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āWhy are you bringing this up?ā he demanded instead of answering.
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The agent shrugged with an air of nonchalance that put his teeth further on edge.
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āI simply want to gauge how much you hate Akainu and his followers,ā they admitted, seeming to go with a strangely open (almost careless) honesty. āI want to know how deep your resentment goes. And how willing you would be to do something to get back at them before going intoā¦āretirementā.ā
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ā¦Well. How willing was he?
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On one hand, there was a substantial risk of being captured by the Red Dog or Cipher Pol. The whole reason he was taking this deal was because he didnāt want to die (or worse), which would undoubtedly be the result if he accepted and this little venture failed.
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Without warning, a vision of two of his juniors (his students) and one of the senior photographers (his teacher and best friend) facing down a firing squad flashed through his mindās eye. So vivid that, for a few moments, he was back there again with glaring sunlight beating down his neck and salt in his dry, bleeding mouth.
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He flinched, unable to stop the physical reaction.
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In Akainuās regime, guilty parties who were convicted on suspicion of collaborating with criminal elements were summarily executed. And to this day, no one could specify on what grounds those convictions were made on.
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All hail Absolute Justice.
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How much did he want to get back at Akainu and the World Government?
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Even to his own ears, his low voice sounded painfully venomous.
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āIām listeningā¦ā
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(He wanted it so much that he could barely breathe with the want that clogged up his throat.)
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They appeared around the world practically overnight.
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Piles of pamphlets, stacks of paperbacks, pyramids of scrolls, and posters plastered across walls. They were everywhere. Nobody knew where all of it came from, who was the mastermind, or even where all of it was printed. Most were black and white on cheap material, but the few that were in color (and printed on more quality material) were quickly snatched up. No expense seemed to have been spared to print a single two-arc story and have it distributed throughout the known world (as well as some of unknown parts). It was the same story, the same captivating epic, printed in every almost language and in nearly every readable format. On the electronically advanced Karakuri Island, people were provided electronic pads to scroll through the pages and photos. The home of the two-elbowed martial artists, Kenzan Island, found the story printed on the larger scrolls the natives were used to. They were even some reports that special fireproof paper were used to provide the story on certain magma-covered islands.
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But honestly, there was no need for language or words.
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It was a graphic novel created with vivid, dramatic photos that spoke for themselves. And thanks to the careful and comprehensive formatting, even the illiterate could understand. Heart-rending in its simple story of a rescue mission, it was a beautifully done piece with each panel flowing into the next while featuring characters with very familiar and infamous faces. Readers couldnāt help but feel their excitement rise and their pulse race as they followed a fast-paced adventure of determination, perseverance, sacrifice, and love in the face of truly colossal loss.
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The story was indiscriminately distributed in every country, on every island, to any and every person. They fell from the sky, delivered by an army of Coos. Certain pages were enlarged and plastered on walls and billboards, and small excerpts were given out in booklets on street corners. There were on every ship that left the crews scratching their heads on how the shipments got into their holds and unable to provide any answers no matter how much the authorities questioned them. In this way, the story reached everyone no matter how isolated.
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Perhaps if the mystery author had formatted it like a news piece, the story would have eventually died out. But a news article simply wouldnāt have expressed the sheer breadth of information or feeling, wouldnāt have reach as extensive of an audience.
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There is reason that myth and legends linger in a societyās collective mindset when even memory of their own history fades. And someone had decided to reveal this story to the world.
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It was passed through the hands of every country (WG-affiliated and otherwise), poured over by children and adults alike of every social class and nearly every walk of life. In picking up the curious, little novel, the brewing storm of chaos the world had been stewing in for the last few years?
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Broke.
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When two soldiers stampeded into the throne room, their sudden appearance and air of urgency immediate had Kohza on his guard. Moving in between Princess Vivi and the door, he narrowed his eyes at the panting guards barely holding onto their dignity but didnāt spot anything immediately dangerous. However, two assassination attempts on Viviās life in the past month alone had everyone on edge. He may have been reduced to mostly deskwork as the Environmental Minister in the past few years, but old habits died hard and he was more than prepared to lay his life down for Alabastaās princess and greatest hope.
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āPrincess Vivi!ā one soldier finally managed through short, abrupt breaths to follow protocol with a proper enough salute. āWe found the source of the disturbance among the general populace! Weā¦,ā the guard trailed off, and there was something strange about his hesitance, āItās this.ā
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Holding out a battered book of all things, the soldier met one of the elite royal guards halfway and handed it over. The personal guard in turn delivered it to the princess. Her expression openly curious, the princess took the book in her slender hands studied it.
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One aspect of Vivi that Kohza had always been fond of was that genuineness in every one of her reactions. It actually took more time, effort, and practice on her part to put on the unmovable, calm faƧade āproperā of her station. After all, as one of the authorities of the world, it was a necessary skill she had to work hard to learn. To this day, Vivi had to actively put up her defenses and brace herself when putting on the face that was Princess Nefeltari Vivi of Alabasta, Heir and Daughter of King Nefeltari Cobra. Now, the only people in the country to see her as she currently was (with her guard down, without that undercurrent of stiffness in her face and posture even when she was smiling genially) were all currently in the room,
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And it was because she had her defenses down that whatever shocking thing was on the cover seem to strike such a visible blow. The blue-haired young woman visibly recoiled upon comprehending whatever title she saw on the cover. Her expression dropped in a look of absolute devastation and her hands shaking as she flipped through the pages, brown eyes widening in her paling face.
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āYour Highness?ā he inquired, already moving closer. It was considered poor etiquette to approach the royal family like this in ācourtā, but the look on her face made him uneasy. This was a girl who faced down kidnappers, killers, pirates, and Warlords head-on. Scared as fuck, but unflinchingly with equal amounts of determination, stubbornness, and rage. He honestly couldnāt recall the last time heād seen such stark despair dominate her face. Not since Crocodile.
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āVivi?ā the King questioned, before becoming alarmed. āVivi!ā
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Tears were slipping down her face and her whole body trembled like a leaf in a storm as she read through the book like a woman possessed. She honestly didnāt seem to be able to hear anybody else.
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āPrincess! Are you alright?!ā Igaram shouted rushing over and looming like a protective mother bear, his hands hovering over her shoulders betraying his own helpless confusion on how to help.
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Kohza had no such compunction, no hesitation born of following royal conventions and hierarchal boundaries. Bending down, he tried to catch Viviās wide-eyed, horrified, blank gaze. When that failed, he touched her wrist, still trying to catch her gaze, and attempted to slip the book and its crumpling pages out of her clenched fists.
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āVivi,ā he murmured insistently, ignoring Igaramās bristling at him for referring to their countryās princess so familiarly. āVivi, give it to me. Tell us whatās wrong. Whatever it is, weāll fix it.ā
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āLuffy-sanā¦,ā Vivi murmured numbly, wide eyes dripping helpless tears that had him fully prepared to go rip some bastard a new one. If it was the rubber pirate, he wasnāt sure heād succeed, but heād certainly try. From the way everyone in the room had their shoulders set, he wasnāt the only one set to do so.
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Finally managing to slip the book out of her hands, he let the large Captain of the Royal Guard enfold the young woman into a comforting hug before taking a look at the source of the princessās tears himself. Upon seeing the content of the page she had been focused on, Kohza made a taken-aback, strangled noise before starting to angrily growl enough colorful swears to turn the air blue.
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Vivi had a soft and loving heart. Seeing one of her beloved friends broken was something that hurt her in a way little else was able to.
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Kohza was going to kill whatever bastard thought publishing and distributing this shit was funny.
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āMarcoā¦ā
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The Phoenix didnāt react to his siblingās hesitant call; he already knew they were there. But for all that he didnāt want to scare his family, he couldnāt bring himself to stop glaring broodily at the number of paintings gathered across the wall in front of him. They were of different sizes and dimensions, from different artists and hands, all leaned against the storage wall for study rather than display.
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Since the first copies of that story came out, the Whitebeard Remnants had found multiple paintings and drawings based on the graphic novel. Theyād already discern that, of all things, the photos from the book had been taken by or belonged to the Navy. Why they were doing this was incomprehensible. However sordid the novels were, the books actually managed to invoke a sense of sympathy amongst a portion of the general populace. Islands that were formerly under the Whitebeard flags were especially sympathetic, a fresh wave of grief arising among the natives at the new knowledge of just how much Marcoās father and captain had struggled to protect his family.
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(Some of Marcoās brothers and sisters had started families on those islands. Their widows, widowers, friends, and children now had a glimpse of how they died.)
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It wasnāt surprising that people had started rendering art based on those moments. The War of the Best was a pinnacle point of history that had every Sea in the world holding their breath. But no one could have predicted the amount of people who became fans of the āepicā, nor the amount of story-based art (and even fan-written fiction) that would be made and sold by enthusiasts.
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Marcoā¦wasnāt particularly a fan. It didnāt matter that the drawing depicted Akainu looking particularly demonic, that Ace was drawn almost angelically, that Aceās younger brother looked particularly tragic, or that his father had been painted as particularly gallant and strong. Seeing this everywhere, one of the worst moments of their lives, as FANARTā¦
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Perhaps itās just that, three years later, everything still felt too raw. He just had to look at his siblings, look at their depleted crew, to be reminded just how many scars his family still carried from that day.
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Whatever the case, Marco would rather suffer through healing another bout of Blackbeard-inflicted, life-threatening injuries than continue going onto islands and seeing these photos and art pieces depicted everywhere.
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The wooden armrest creaked alarmingly under the Phoenixās grip as he remembered the group of girls on the street corner excitedly point towards him and his family while pouring over a frustratingly familiar photo novella. For as much good press as this was, he couldnāt help but feel his family and their grief had been made into a show for others to stare and gawk at, not able to grasp that it was more than a spectacle of a story, more than something to gossip about.
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āFind the publisher,ā he murmured quietly through gritted teeth. But there was no mistaking the unyielding force in every word as anything other than the orders of a dangerous captain. āNow.ā
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āWhat kind of scheme are you considering?ā
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The probably-Revolutionary gave him a thin, unnerving smile that made him almost regretted asking.
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āIf you were a Government or Marine higher up,ā the stranger started, āAnd you realized that your enemies have gotten their hands on these photographsā¦What is the result you would be most afraid of coming to pass?ā
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āThe worst result?ā the man frowned. When the shadowy figure nodded, he took a few moments to ponder that strangely specific wording before a sharp grin broke out across his face. āOhā¦Ohā¦If I was a shithead in the World Government, I would be afraid of aā¦letās call itā¦a change of perspective from the general public. But especially a reaction from the allied countries.ā
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The way the stranger straightened up in just the slightest indicated the most amount of interest the photographer has seen yet.
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āPlease, elaborate.ā
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If anything, the photographerās sharp not-grin became even more maniac and sadistically excited, because gladly.
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āIt wouldnāt take much actually. Not if you know the right way to go about it and have the resources to pull it off,ā he clarified, excitement slowly churning his stomach into a froth of anticipation. āThe War of the Best was where everyone went all out for each otherās throats, and the Marines couldnāt let the rest of the world see their more brutal and underhanded methods. Doesnāt quite match up with the image of the heroic force of justice, after all. Theyād lose the peopleās trust. Seeing these pictures? Suddenly, everyone would see how murky the waters are, everyone realizes that the line isnāt that clearly drawn and just how easy it is to step over it. It would be enough of a shock that it wouldnāt be difficult for you to push for a slightly different narrative.ā
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āOne where the Marines are portrayed as the antagonists and villains of the story versus a more sympathetic protagonist,ā the Revolutionary nodded in understanding. āHowever, who would be this protagonist? Pirates are not exactly the most sympathetic characters to the general public.ā
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āNormally, no. But thatās the beauty, donāt you see?ā the other man started to pace, his mind whirling with which photos he would need, placement, page sets, and logistics. āThis whole fucking shit show practically GIFT-WRAPPED a sympathetic hero character.ā
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The almost visible start from the shadowy figure was telling of their instant understanding.
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āāStraw Hatā Monkey D. Luffy,ā they murmured.
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āExactly,ā the photographer emphasized triumphantly. Oh, he did so enjoy thinking about what those Government, CP, and Marine bastards would fear the most. āIt helps that the Whitebeard Pirates hadnāt been that active for some time before all this. So you can twist it so that the Marines are the ones who decided to stir up shit and olā Whitebeard, who just wants to save his captured āsonā, was lured into a trap by the treacherous Marinesā plot! Highlight all the chaos created by the power vacuum afterwards. Reveal how Blackbeard released a bunch of the worldās most dangerous prisoners afterward. Tell the World how the World Government didnāt tell anyone and LIED. Hell, relay how the Marines agreed to it and knew all along. Meanwhile, you have the perfect underdog!ā
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The photographer started to pace tightly, practically just spinning in a circle as a feverish, distracted light lit up his face. āStraw Hat, who broke into Impel Down and overcame all obstacles just to save his brother, then just misses him and escapes the hellish dungeon to head straight to Marineford. He arrives to the party just as morale flags and bolsters the forces like a hero out of an epic or legend. And despite the odds, actually succeeds! Classic underdog story. BUTā¦it is all for naught as the Red Dog chases after them as everyone is retreating! In the end, the older brother sacrifices himself for the younger and is killed by a cowardly blow to the back! To carry on his will, the pirates band together to protect the younger brother from the demonic Akainu! All very tragic and a great sympathetic story. Very moving.ā His thin smile became even more spiteful as he wrapped up his mockingly dramatic storytelling. āCan you imagine? Pirates as heroes! That Red Bitch would absolutely lose his fucking mind! Iād give the entire payment you owe me to be a fly on the wall for that discussion.ā
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āThat could be arranged,ā they mused but waved dismissively when the photographer shot them an indignant look. āI jest. Youāll get your due. But I also know the look of someone scheming. My question is: would you, who have spent most of your life keeping the world peaceful and oblivious to the atrocities of those in power, be willing to work with us on this? To turn the world upside down on its head?ā
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ā¦That was the question, wasnāt itā¦
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Would he?
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He paused and stared down at the pile of photographs spread across the stained, dilapidated table. Each one portrayed a single, chaotic moment expertly framed and captured with a snail or a camera and only a fraction of it all was his work. The restā¦the rest was all he had left of his comrades, friends, and co-workers. All he had left of those who ventured onto the front lines and into dark places for mere seconds worth of pictures. It was a dangerous profession, and it wasnāt unusual for them to lose people when they were out there. Shield brothers and sisters, with bonds that were in no way inferior to those between Marine soldiers. That had been what his world had been made of; those were the people that were his family.
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And they didnāt die out there. They died, their families died, their closest friends and lovers died in the home front, at Marine bases, by Marine and Government hands. All because they took these specific photos at the Marineās and Governmentās orders. Those bastards on high thought they could hide their maneuverings; thought no one would notice the disappearance of a few government photographers and editors.
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They were wrong on both counts.
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Despite what the āofficialsā would say, photographers were a branch of intelligence. They had to establish networks, negotiate, and slink around to be able to get their jobs done. If they didnāt learn to siphon, organize, and arrange information from others in order to get that necessary shot? Well, they wouldnāt have lasted in this business in the first place, now would they? The Government, the Marines, the CP branchesā¦they couldnāt have kept them from knowing matters completely no matter how hard they tried.
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In the end though, having skills in counter-intelligence didnāt keep his comrades from being wiped out. So he was selling all their work because they were gone and he wasnāt and he couldnāt look at the pictures without being driven to drink. In the end, where there was nothing left for him, he just wanted to leave it all behind.
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āIāll need some help,ā he finally concluded. āThis is all I could get on my own. But if youāre really a Revolutionaryā¦ā
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Bitterness welled up in his throat as Akainuās ugly-as-sin face was brought the forefront of his mind. He was getting out before he mysteriously went missing as well, and nothing was going to stop him. Butā¦like this fucker said. Maybe he could wait a little longer before starting over as an anonymous, wealthy individual in some far off distant island. Just for a little bit. Just for this.
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āMy last big projectā¦,ā he murmured. The little half-smile on his face was nostalgic, but his narrowed eyes gleaned bitter and hateful. āWhy not?ā
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When he heard Penguin thundering down the metal halls towards where he was working in his personal medical lab, Law should have immediately known it had to have something to do with the Straw Hats. These days, there was hardly a shocking, world-shifting crisis that didnāt somehow involve those lunatics. Even with their recent separation at Nassau, Nami-ya had reliable communication skills and he trusted that theyād have notified him of anything truly outrageous before the news hit the papers.
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When his subordinate finally reached him, he practically threw himself through the operation roomās double doors and flung what he found onto Lawās operating table. The captain was fully prepared to give a biting reprimand when the cover caught his attention. Eyes widening in shock, he snatched it up and immediately started flipping through the hefty novel.
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It was certainly formatted like a graphic novel or comic, similar to something heād see his classmates pouring over back when he was a child. At the time, heād shrugged comics off as trivial and hardly interesting compared to his parentsā well-maintained, heavy medical texts. His parents had read those and then put that information into practice to save people, to perform miracles, and wasnāt that so much more interesting? Now, he felt unexpectedly repulsed by the literature in a way that he hadnāt experienced since finding a trampled newspaper article of a neighboring country proclaiming Flevanceās destruction as an āunfortunate, but necessary tragedy to contain the incurable plagueā.
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The book he was holding captured a truly impressive extent Straw Hatās adventure at the time. The first few pages were various pictures featuring the various members of the Whitebeard with pointedly skewed dialogue to explain the cause of the war. On the first page alone, it described how the Marines wanted to make a point, to set a trap. So instead of killing the Demon (and there was something like a memorial page with happily grinning pictures of Portgas D. Ace that sharply contrasted what Law remembered of the manās wanted poster), the Navy purposely set up a situation in which thousands of people would die. That they knew there would be heavy losses and had thrown regular Marines up against what they knew to be the most powerful Devil Fruit Users in all the seas, essentially making them cannon fodder and subsequently punishing any who tried to escape. They then focused on the reason why it worked, presenting not just Edward Whitebeardās rage, but that of his entire crew, who saw the capture as an attack on a beloved brother. There was even some pointed dialogue about how it was Blackbeardāanother pirateāwho had captured Whitebeardās Fire-Fist, not the brave and heroic Marines.
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To the world, the story bald-facedly established Whitebeardās attack on the Navy to rescue Rogerās spawn as an act of love for one of his own children. It proclaimed to the world that this boy was the son of Whitebeard, damn whatever anyone else said.
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From there, somehow, they had scrounged up a picture of child Luffy and a young boy with freckles running through what looked to be a city street, large grins on their faces and obviously yelling. Law took half a moment to stare because child Luffy didnāt look that different than how his ally currently looked. He then moved on to a close-up of Portgas D. Ace on the scaffolding flanked by Sengoku and Garp, a dead look in his eyes that Law found very familiar. There was even a picture of a shouting Luffy-yaā¦
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Falling from the sky.
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What the actual fuck?
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He thought that had been a bar story fanned by drunks.
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A few pages were devoted to certain well-known Whitebeard commanders battling with different Warlords. One page featuring the two brothers back to back, both with defiant, challenging grins as they faced off with the surrounding, faceless soldiers. Here was a detailed spread showing a boy with his head thrown back, mouth gaping and eyes rolled back into his head. And he seemed as dead to his injuries and the surrounding chaos as the corpse sprawled in front of him.
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It was intimate and heart-wrenching and that was his partnerās grief and most tragic moment distributed for everyone to see.
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At first, it was shock that rendered him speechless. But before long, his eyes narrowed and a poisonous, simmering rage overtook his expression, making Penguin shrink back.
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āā¦Captain?ā Penguin questioned hesitatingly. āYou have your murder-face on...ā
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āIf you see anyone distributing these,ā he ordered in a voice that his subordinate recognized as a touch too careful. A bit too dangerously casual. A smidge too edged to be entirely composed. āBring them to me. I have some questions I need to ask themā¦ā
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To be fair, it was truly a masterpiece
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Not only was it visually a cohesive storyline, it also masterfully showed all kinds of elements and information denied to the general public. For the first time, the world was treated to an explicit view of the inside of Impel Down and the going-ons among the Marines chain of command. The pictures of the Straw Hat captain charging through Impel Down with a determined set in his brow, however nicely tweaked and framed, were clearly taken off security surveillance snails. There was clearly certain holes in the transition, but people were suitably caught up with the uncensored images of the hellish prison. Additionally, the world was shocked at the Marineās trap, at the realization that the Marines truly had planned the entire thing, and that they had covered up and censored news of the escape of so many escaped, highly dangerous criminals.
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There was plenty of material and issues throughout the book that sent people, governments, and entire countries frothing and lunging for each otherās throats. Unrest couldnāt even begin to describe the reactions. The general populationās reaction was predictable. The fights that broke out among the surviving families of Marines were not.
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One of the many, many shitstorms included a shot of Akainu killing a hapless, fleeing Marine. Death by burning lava was expected for criminals, not their own soldiers.
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Marine supporters collided with Marines supporters and it was a beautiful sight to behold. Some roared that there should have been a trial, a court-martial, not instant execution (so few realizing that Akainuās Marines continued to do just that even now). Another faction argued that Akainu was right in doing what he did; that circumstances didnāt change that the Marine had essentially deserted. Others raged at how regular soldiers without the advantages of Devil Fruits or advanced abilities had been essentially ordered to march out and die, used as fodder. Still, others scoffed that to order such things in the first place showed incompetency on the upper echelonās part, citing that no proper leadership with a basic understanding of command would order soldiers on such a useless suicide operation. Yet others questioned why the Admiral was lurking in the city area and picking off deserters in the first place as opposed to fighting or keeping watch of the front lines.
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Whoever had published it managed to capture a surprising amount of accurate dialogue as well. And what dialogue they didnāt know of, they fabricated. They fabricated, and they fabricated well. Whoever they were, they knew how to work a crowd and clearly had some experience with creating a story from a single picture. They managed to capture the essence of most of the interactions or come up with probable and moving dialogue based on what was screamed and yelled over the battlefield.
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Best of all? The immediate crackdown on it by the World Government and the Marines drew even more attention to it. After all, there were plenty who denounced the novel; calling it all a giant hoax or railing against all characters involved (āCan no one see that these bastards are all PIRATES?! WHY ARE YOU FEELING SORRY FOR THEM?!ā). But nothing fanned curiosity quite like the authorities forbidding it. Suddenly, the numerous books and pamphlets became scarce.
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Suddenly, the people were even more interested.
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Pirates had always the subject of fantasy and imagination, and scarcity quickly bred demand. Despite the governments reminding them that these were criminals that performed atrocities across the sea, nothing spurred people to action quite like censorship. This was especially evident in areas where governments forbid circulation of āfanartā and āfanfictionā. The more ruthless the suppression, the more stubborn the resistance.
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And if a couple of key members (politicians, officials, Marines, criminals, etc.) around the world played certain roles, made some decision that may or may not have inevitably fanned the flames or encouraged literature circulation? Wellā¦very few people noticed.
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When copies reached Dawn Island, a certain village that sat away from the big city lost their collective shit.
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Garp supposes he shouldnāt have been that surprised when Woop Slap slammed open his door and trudged in without preamble. For the usually respectful and proper headman, this action was unusual and therefore spoke volumes. But the former Marine just stayed silent and continued nursing his drink as his old friend pulled up a chair across on the other side of the table and sat down heavily.
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The moments stretched as they sat in silence, the former Navy officer silent and Dawn Villageās leader gripping the top of his cane with folded, white-knuckled hands.
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He didnāt have to tell Garp the horror most of the villagersā felt. They were ordinary folk, lucky compared to most in the world. The visions of war and torture, death, and despair that the copies presented were unfamiliar and horrifying. Even more so when most could recognize the pain and devastation of one of their own grinning, wild children in the midst of it all. Many cried honestly at the image of Luffyās despair of a brother rescued, then snatched away. Fewer shook in disbelief, remembering a small, freckled boy and unable to associate him with the dead body in the pages. Set into a story, it made it much more real and a lot more personal than a front-page news piece.
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The mayor didnāt have to tell him that Makino had one hand clutchedĀ a book in her lap; the other fist shoved into her mouth to muffle her sobbing over one of the featuring spreads as her baby slept. By now, everyone had seenĀ theĀ spread. It was a dramatic thing, and one of the only ones without any false dialogue added in. There was no need. That now famous image of the boy with a straw hat, his eyes blank and head thrown back in a silent scream, kneeling before a bloody, smiling corpse was dramatic enough.
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Woop Slap didnāt have to tell Garp. Because the next few pages had pictures of Admiral Sengoku pinning The Hero down. Had managed to capture the rage and murder in a grandfatherās eyes as he looked towards Akainu.
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If that grandfather didnāt already know all this, he wouldnāt be isolating himself from everyone else and so deep in his cups in the first place.
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Magra wasnāt sure if Boss was currently more vicious than she usually was, but he did know it was better than the heavy, savagely silent stewing she had been doing the past few days. That knowledge didnāt stop him from wincing as she bashed in one of the infringerās head with her club.
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Ever since one of the newbies brought The Book back to base to look through (and was therefore discovered by the older members), Boss had been inconsolable after throwing a fit that resulted in them having to rebuild half of the base. Usually, she was much more conscious about things like property damage to their own stuff. But the stark images had driven her into a rage that reminded all why Dadan of the Dadan Family was such a force to be reckoned. There were reasons why the big woman had managed to keep hold of power for so long despite the not inconsiderate criminal element on the island and how inhospitable Mt. Colubo wildlife was.
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But since the blowout, she had spent much of the time facing a corner or in the boyās old loft; too quiet, too still. On really bad nights, Magra and Dogra had to go get Boss from out of the boysā old treehouse. It had everyone tiptoeing around in fear of another explosion. Ā Nobody in this part of Dawn Island would soon forget Boss marching down the mountain and beating the shit out of Garp the Hero. For all that they all feared the Marine, nothing could stop Dadan when she was that angry.
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In a way, this new crew trying to push into their territory was a blessing. A blessing for their Family specifically, not the other crew. Because at least now Boss had something besides her own people or the base to take her frustrations out on. Really, she was doing all the work at the moment. None of them wanted to get in her way as she beat the interlopers dead (or something close to it) in a clear bid to keep herself from marching back down to Foosha to find Garp.
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To be honest, Magra didnāt like to think about it all that much either. Theyād known of Aceās death and Luffyās suffering of course, but it didnāt make the blow any softer. The Dadan Family had fostered those kids, watched them grow up, had dealt with their mischief and their smiles, their tempers and their tears. And they were hellions, but Magra changed the diapers of the hellion that died and had been hugged by the one that almost did.
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So yeah, thinking about it caused his eyes to sting.
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The rooster-haired bandit had only been able to stand looking through a few pages before turning away. One thing to know Ace was dead, to see the Marine and World Government influenced newspapers plaster the image of Aceās corpse all over the place. That was bad enough. It was another thing to look through photos to see a play by play about how it actually happened. To read through even though you already know the end was its own kind of despairing dread. There was tension at watching Luffyās struggle (and they were so proud of him, despite how stupid the rubbery boy was). Fear for Ace, as well as for Luffy, at facing off with the fucking ADMIRALS (and freaking GARP). Joy at Luffyās triumph and Aceās escape, and sheer rage at knowing that Marine bastard had gone out of his way to hurt a downed Luffy to torment Ace. That close moment of them escaping, and Ace refusing to run (so close but too far), had just cut the knees out from underneath them all.
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Theyād always known that the boys dying were a possibility, having been privy to Aceās origins since heād first arrived and Luffyās loudly proclaimed dreams from the get-go. It was one of the reasons why, if nothing else, Dadan had tried to impress the lesson of survival upon the brats. Namely, that there was no shame in running away as long as they survived.
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Magra knew that was why The Book probably hurt Boss even more than when the news of the War of the Best first arrived. It was one thing to know, and another to see. And this bookā¦? The Book showed how, in the end, Ace didnāt run. Ace stopped running, turned back to face the Red Dog, and Magra knew part of Boss felt like she had failed. That if, somehow, she had taught the boy a bit better or beaten out his stupidly protective urges, Ace would still be alive.
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(They had been so close to getting away.)
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Oh, Magra had so many of his own regrets. So many questions he wished he had asked Ace before he left. Did they do enough for Ace? None of them knew how to raise a kid, and he knew they didnāt do a very good job, but did Ace know they loved him when he died?
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If any of them had half a minute with a Seastone-chained Akainuā¦
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Who was he kidding? None of them would be able to do anything to the Marine. It didnāt stop the wishing or the pain though.
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Still, he was glad there was at least one brother out there still watching out for Luffy. A miracle and a relief.
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While Mermaid Island did get a daily delivery of the general newspaper distributed to the rest of the world, few outsiders knew about the islandās local publishing. Specifically, that local independent Fishman publishers created and used special inks that they then printed onto a water-resistant paper. Paper that could only be made from certain polymers derived from deep-sea plants, and inks derived and distilled from specific underwater animals. How these were actually made was a jealously guarded secret by Fisherman publishing houses, as they were considered old and precious techniques.
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For the locals, if it was written on this scarcely distributed, precious paper, it was worth reading.
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So when the books appeared, whole swathes of precious, waterproof paper with the water-resistant photos in black and whiteā¦
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āWe knew about the War of the Greatest,ā Prince Fukaboshi murmured gravely, his shock clear as his brothers pressed close, peering over his shoulders to read as well. āEverybody did. But thisā¦ā
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Towering over them, Shirahoshi sniffled inconsolably, āLuffy-sama!ā
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āHoly shitā¦,ā Paulie spat as he flipped through the colored pages of the confiscated copy. āFucking hell! I knew that kid had the luck of the devil, but did he really manage to survive thisā¦?ā
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Iceburg hummed grimly in agreement. There was a thoughtful tilt in his brow as he gazed sightlessly out the window in his office and over the citywide construction. While his foreman may still be shocked over the past trials, the President was more concerned about who had decided to take so much trouble to put together and publish such a thing. And why.
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āStraw Hatā¦he isnāt one to talk to others about the past or his hurts,ā the blue-haired man mused. A pained look appeared on his face. āAnd if this wasnāt him, then I canāt imagine Straw Hatās crew being very happy about this. Moron-ky is probably already pretty torn up about not fighting with the kid, though that idiot would have died before even setting foot on the battlefield.ā And is even more torn up now, Iceburg didnāt say. Whatever else that could be said about Franky, the man was loyal and protective to a fault. Seeing a friend put through a wringer like this, knowing he hadnāt been able to help his captainā¦it made him angry on that moronās behalf, knowing how much this would hurt the cyborg. Huffing sharply through his, he grimaced, āWhoever put this together was thorough, Iāll give them that.ā
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āBut who would do all this?ā Paulie growled in astonishment, chewing his cigar in agitation and giving voice to his bossā own thoughts. āNot just this stuff, but the distribution? We still donāt have anything solid about who got these into Water 7. Apparently, itās freaking everywhere. And WHY go through all this trouble in the first place?ā
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Water 9ās president gazed out of the window, over his city and the construction to make it a floating one. āSomeone has an agenda. And I deeply doubt Straw Hat or his allies had anything to do with this. Itās not Straw Hatās style, at least. And itās too personal for too many of their people for them to be comfortable with it.ā To put it mildly. He wasnāt nearly as close to Straw Hat, but even he felt uncomfortable looking through the graphic novel. This was personal, stirring up a special kind of discomfort and prodding at sensitive areas that would make the collective crew dig their heels in and refuse (no matter what advantages it may provide). His finger tapping reflexively in thought, Iceburg pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as he came to the logical conclusion. āIn fact, despite evidence that these pictures were taken by Navy and CP photographers and surveillance, I would put my money on the Revolutionaries.ā
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āEven with Straw Hat being the Dragonās son?ā Paulie shook his head at this, closing the book and sliding it back across the table. āAināt right,ā he muttered forcibly. āPutting Straw Hat, putting anyone, in the spotlight for something like this. Just aināt right.ā
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āWow!ā Kidd wildly howled in laughter. āCRAP! Straw Hat doesnāt even have to do anything! Just bring up the old shit he did and everyone loses their fucking minds!ā
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āTo be fair,ā Killer stoically reported. āThe Impel Down and Maineford Arcs novel reveals a good deal of previously confidential information. This month alone, there has been over three dozen revolts in major cities around the world and several attempted break-ins by people who were able to piece together a bit of the prisonās layout. There are also talks of recounting the dead. It seems the Marines and Government were not entirely honest about the number of causalities.ā
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āOf course they werenāt,ā Kidd snorted. āCanāt reveal just how much of their forces were taken out in that one battle. If they did, they might as well wave a flag with āwe are the fucking weaklings of all six Seas, come attacks us!ā written on it. Blood in the water, thatās what it is.ā
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Kiddās first mate nodded, never speaking if a gesture would do.
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āIt seems strange though,ā the masked man considered. āIf anything, this gives every person who reads it the chance to consider Straw Hat, and even Fire Fist, in a sympathetic light, does it not?ā
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āBut thatās the beauty of it!ā the redhead captain grinned maniacally. āEvery schmuck can revisit Straw Hatās failure over and over and over again! Hell, if the World Government did this to try to undermine the rubbery bastard, then theyāre more underhanded and vicious than any pirate alive! āHere!āā He threw down the thick book down with a SMACK, mockingly mimicking the Marines and Government at large. āāHereās a record that you can review again and again and again about how you succeeded in saving your brother, nearly died half a dozen times in the process, and made it all pointless because said brother ended up dying to save YOUR punk ass!ā He casually kicked over the crate-table he had thrown the book on top of, toppling everything on it a spray of casual destruction. āOh, this is just too good!ā
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Issho quietly listened to one of his subordinates dutifully read out loud the dialogue before describing the corresponding scenes.
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āI am glad I cannot see this,ā Admiral Fujitora sighs, back into his chair when before he had leaned closer to catch every detail. āHow droll. To parade such a thing around is no different than parading a corpse, no matter for what the purpose.ā He hummed. āI am glad I cannot see this if these images have become as widespread as you said.ā
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Rebecca had raged, frustrated and indignant and strangely lady-like in her temper. It reminded Kyros of Scarlett with such clarity that it was like a punch in the gut and the blanket warmth of coming home all at once.
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After a lot of stomping around and frustrated noises, sheād finally settled down on the side of the hill their cabin sat on. He waited a few minutes before going after where she planted herself with her knees pulled up and her face buried in her crossed arms. Sitting down next to her, Kyros gazed upon his too-compassionate daughter, who was quiet but no doubt had tears and snot pouring down her face and soaking into her skirt. Sighing he looked out over a recovering Dressorsa.
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It was a beautiful day.
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āStraw Hat Luffy,ā Kyros rumbled solemnly. After reading that, he felt an increased kinship with Dressrosaās hero. How could he not? Kyros saw the spread: a man howling in anguish towards the heavens with a loved oneās body at his knees. Saw, and remembered being in that boyās place, driven senseless with grief and despair. āTruly, he is a strong man. To know that he still holds such drive, that he did not despair, even after going through such a gauntlet. Iā¦I did not do nearly as well.ā From the protesting tense in her shoulders, he smiled fondly and placed a hand on top her soft, pink hair. āI truly didnāt. Whenā¦we lost your mother. When I realized that my being wiped from her memory had caused her to die? And that she died without remembering how much I loved and worshipped herā¦?ā If he had tears falling down his face? If his jaw and voice trembled as he spoke? Well, it wasnāt the first time. āYou were the one who saved me back then, Rebecca. Because no matter how much I wished I could follow Scarlet, I could never leave you. I made a promise from the day you were born that I would be with you and protect you always. Even when I wanted to throw myself away, I couldnāt let my own weakness cause you to be alone.ā
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Taking an abrupt moment to snatch his hand away from her head and use it to violently scrub his forearm against his face, he breathed deeply and calmed himself. He was in a better place now. The wounds from back then hadnāt completely scarred over, but he was healing. Suddenly, he felt an impact against his side, and thin arms wrapped around and clung to his waist. Blinking in surprise, a part of him couldnāt help but be stunned that Rebecca, his good and pure daughter, was touching him. Comforting him. A watery laugh escaped him as he carefully placed his hand back on her hand and stroked her hair in a way he hoped was comforting.
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āRemember this and remember him well, Rebecca,ā he murmured. āThis is a glimpse of a rare kind of strength. One that will make this man a force for the World to reckon with.ā
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They werenāt at all surprised when the Chief of Staff stormed into their office at headquarters a mere hour after their littleā¦project was released to the public. Pushing round, gleaning glasses up their nose, they faced the heavily breathing young man head-on.
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The blonde had a wide-eyed, thin-lipped look of concentrated rage on his face as he stood at the doorway, his barely controlled Haki causing the air around him trembling like a heat wave. But they werenāt afraid. As powerful and impulsive as their young Chief of Staff was, the blonde was neither stupid nor needlessly violent. Letting their drooping, black hat shadow a long, droll face, they steepled their fingers and politely greeted the young man.
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Not that said young man acknowledged the greeting. Instead, he swept across the room like a man on a mission and slammed one of the photonovels onto their desk.
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āWhat the hell is this,ā Saboās low, controlled words promising retribution if he didnāt get an answer immediately. This wasnāt so much a question as it was a demand. āWhat the hell is this?!ā
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They looked down at the books, and then looked back up at the young man, āDo you really not know?ā
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āWhat,ā Sabo rounds the table, looming in their rage. āThe hell,ā a gloved hand crushes the edge of the desk he was gripping. āIs this?ā
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Sighing through their nose in exasperation, they pushed their glasses up their nose, āWhat is this?ā they repeated, a hint of incredulousness in his voice, because it should be obvious what this was. āThis,ā he emphasized āis what is necessary. This. Is how we will reach out to the World.ā
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āNami-ya,ā he greeted as soon as his snail took on the features of the Straw Hatās navigator.
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āTorao!ā she instantly greeted cheerfully. āWow! You donāt usually call! Whatās up?ā
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To be fair, Law really didnāt usually call. But neither of them were going to mention how often a certain rubber man would try to contact the surgeon whenever he managed to get the Den Den Mushi away from the rest of his crew. Law hesitated, unsure what to say. If he had a plan when he picked up the Den Den Mushiā¦The surgeon glared down accusingly at the receiver in his hand, because the impulse to call, to just check, couldnāt possibly have originated from HIM.
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āWeā¦On one of the islands, there wasā¦,ā Law trailed off, unable to maintain his neutral tone or find any good way to express what they had found.
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āā¦Itās about those fucking books, isnāt it?ā she finally sighed, her tone becoming uncharacteristically grim with a tight, underlying edge of sheer rage and āso help me, I will end someoneā.
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āā¦They have been liberally plastered on every island, port, and layover weāve passed,ā he admitted. āAnd Iāve seen other ships keep their ownā¦graphic novels.ā Law paused momentarily as vehement swearing echoed from the other end, raising an eyebrow at some of the moreā¦colorful curses (heād keep those in mind). āIām guessing youāve seen them too.ā
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āYou think?!ā the orange-haired woman snarled and the snailās features twisting to match. āFuck, we docked at this one island and you know how Luffy is! He was all excited about exploring a new island and was the first one off. When we managed to catch up, he had stopped at this fucking mural someone did of Aceās death, fiery fist through the chest and everything. Luffy justā¦turned around and got back on Sunny. Which is good because everyone was fucking staring, but do you know when was the last time we just quietly left an island like that?! Never. Do you understand how not normal this is?!?!ā
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Law hadnāt thought that last one was something Nami would ever have had the chance to complain about, but thereās the unpredictability of the Straw Hats for you.
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āHowās Luffy-ya?ā he asks instead.
Ā
āā¦Weāre not actually sure,ā she admitted with some difficulty. āNo oneā¦Luffy never told us the details of what happened, and we never asked. Asking about the past just isnāt something we do. Everyoneās still a little in shock at suddenly getting so many details, but otherwiseā¦I mean, Luffyās been sitting on the figurehead a bit more, but heās otherwise acted pretty normal.ā There was a pause. āWell, normal for Luffy,ā she admitted before making a tightly offended noise, āAll this pity, condolences, and sympathy weāre getting is unbearable. Weāre getting well wishes from random civilians!ā Prepared for her to descend into a screeching rant, he was surprised when Nami suddenly almost visibly stop herself. Instead, the snail drooped, practically pooling, as it gave a tired, frustrated sigh. āOn the other hand, weāre also having an easier time getting supplies. Which is good since weāve had Marines and bounty hunters almost constantly harassing us. And Luffyās an idiot, so itās good that weāre meeting some normal people to be friendly with him when the other option is him running off and immediately making friends with the nearest and shadiest character on the island.ā
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Law chose not to take that personally. She wasnāt wrong.
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āButā¦?ā he gave voice to the quiet, unspoken hesitation he could hear from the other side of the line.
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āNone of us read it,ā Nami exclaimed defensively. āBut with all of this exposure, itās not like we could avoid seeing anything altogether. Andā¦ā
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āIt doesnāt feel right,ā Law finished.
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āItās rubbing us all the wrong way,ā she agreed. āExcept for Carrot, I think. She doesnāt really understand whatās going on, but sheās been trying to cheer everybody up. On the other hand, Jinbeā¦Jinbeās been taking it really hard.ā
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The surgeon chewed over this information, satisfied he wasnāt the only one feeling prickly about this, āLuffy-ya really never mentioned anything?ā
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āNo,ā the navigator answered. āThatās just notāTo Luffy, the past isnāt something to that should be allowed to chain you down,ā The orange-haired Mushi snail gave a weighty huff as it looked off to the side with a cross, deeply reluctant expression. āBack when I still worked for Arlong's crew, my sister had apparently told the guys what had happened to make them understand why they needed to leave. Luffy didnāt listen to even a bit of it, just walked away. What I had done and what had happened didnāt matter, just that someone was hurting me right at that moment and that I wasnāt free right then. So everybody talks about little things here and there, but for a lot of the crewā¦the Straw Hats is as much of a refugee from their past as it is from the world.ā Nami sighed before seeming to draw herself back up. āYou know what I mean.ā
Ā
He remembered bleeding out with the rush of wind past his ears and the vertigo of being draped over a broad back. He remembered the stink of bull, blood, sweat, and animal while his insides churned from his wounds and a mix of frustration and despair in the face of his allyās single-minded stubbornness because he just wouldnāt listen.
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So he did know, and he gave the snail a narrowed, flat, pointed look that he knew would transmit through. Nami made a frustrated noise, and he perfectly picture her pacing with all the indignation of an offended cat.
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āItās justā¦,ā she fumes. āSomeone is obviously using this for their own ends. At the same time, we donāt understand how! Is someone trying to memorialize Whitebeard? Embarrass the Marines? It doesnāt seem like theyāre doing this to rub it in Luffyās face. But if they are, I will send Robin and Zoro to find them!ā
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He didnāt doubt she would. An intelligence agent and someone who was still known for his epithet as a āhunterā would be a deadly combination for tracking down whoever the Straw Hats wanted to be found. Theyād drag the culprit(s) back, throw them at the Cat-Burglarās feet, and that would be the last anybody heard of them.
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But did Luffy-ya even want to find the responsible party?
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āWould it be alright for me to speak with him?ā he asked suddenly.
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āSure thing,ā the Nami-snail shrugged before started yelling, āLUFFY! LUFFY, ITāS TORAO!ā
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If Law didnāt know any better, he would have thought there was a stampede of gorillaphants on the other end of the transmission. But his ears were ringing from the navigatorās screech, so it miiiiight just be him. The snail changed shape to match the speaker, forming a little scar under its left eye and donning a straw hat.
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āTORAO!ā a familiar voice suddenly blasted through excitedly.
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āLuffy-ya,ā he greeted levelly.Ā
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ā¦Oh fuck, what was he thinking?
Ā
Now that his ally was actually on the other side of the phone, Law had no idea what to fucking say. Should he talk about the books? Test the waters and vaguely mention it? Propose to open a discussion on how to deal with and maneuver around this current situation? Or should he wait until Luffy mentioned it? Because Law didnāt know what he would do if they were going to talk about feelings. He wasnāt very good at that, but there was that itch in the back of his throat to check (to ask) how the other captain was doing. And how the fuck did one just ask without spewing it out like an idiotā
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āTORAO, GUESS WHAT?!ā Luffy cheered. āWE FOUND A GOLDEN SHEEP!ā
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āFor the last time,ā the snail suddenly switched to an angry, shark-toothed Nami. āItās not a sheep! Itās a dressed-up con-artist, you idiot!ā
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āIT WAS A SHEEP!ā the snail suddenly switched back to an equally indignant and insistent Luffy. āWHEN I BIT IT, IT WAS TASTY!ā
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ā¦.whatā¦?
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And it was just off from there. Law couldnāt help but stare, dumbfounded, as his snail switched from one person to the other. It was rapidly forming orange hair then a straw hat, brown then black eyes and brown again, and he thought there might be an air of exasperation or exhaustion coming from the Mushi (though it didnāt visually show it). Finally, the features settled on Luffy right after Mushi-Nami screamed angrily for the rubber captain to go outside and wait until Sanji was finished with dinner. The snail with a straw hat very demonstratively stuck out its tongue to match the expression the captain was probably shooting his navigator before suddenly switching to a wide-eyed expression with his lips sucked in. Having interacted with them quite often at this point, Law knew with a kind of tired assuredness that the sudden expression was due to the navigator suddenly turning around to catch her captain in the act of making faces at her back, because they were that used to it.
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Meanwhile, the overgrown rubber ball with limbs had just enough self-preservation instincts to know pissing off the she-witch any further was a BAD IDEA.
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Too bad he was as much of a liar as he was subtle.
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As if to prove Lawās thought process, the snail whistling conspicuously with the guiltiest looking face there ever fucking was. Much to his own consternation, a snort of amusement escaped the surgeon before he could stop himself.
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Morbidly thinking over the argument between captain and navigator, he wondered if the rubber glutton had ever accidentally eaten a person before (and it was just that no one noticed). It was a thought that appealed to the same, morbid part that liked reading horror stories. Heād remember the Straw Hatās reindeer doctor mutter mutinously about accidentally being swept up during one of the captainās feeding frenzies, so it didnāt seem implausible. And with how fast his ally seem to digest food, how fast would a person heād swallowed be dissolved?
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ā¦This would need to be studied on a later date.
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Meanwhile, the other D somehow managed to escape from any further physical retribution (though a couple of yelps indicated close calls) and, with a sheepish chuckle, started chattering away. Instinctively, Law knew that the other captain was heading towards the figurehead of his ship, strolling along casually and rambling on familiarly with that stupid grin on his face. Probably with the sun beating down from overhead and a cooling breeze blowing across the deck.
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The amount of good weather the Straw Hats seem to get in the Worldās wildest sea was frankly uncanny.
Ā
And like this? Just listening to the cheerful babble echoing through the line and filling his dark room? He could almost viscerally feel like he was back on that cheerful, whimsical, warm ship; cut off and separated from the rest of the world. Where every color was brighter, the future and the past were distant things, and the edges of the world were softer. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine a chattering partner pressed against his side, the aroma of the spices of cooking, and the hint of tangerine and freshly cut grass mixing with the ever-present salty air to fill his head in a tingling, heady mix. Mixed with the excited jabbering would be the sharp, echoing cries of seabirds, as well as the hiss and splash of the ocean against hardwood rather than metal. The heat of sun-warmed wood that pressed against his back would penetrate his clothes in a persistent, warm throb through his body. The endless expanse of the sea touching every horizon would be laid out like an ever-shifting blanket before them.
Ā
(In his room, there werenāt even portholes to show the dark depths of it.)
Ā
(It was so, so easy to picture.)
Ā
For a time, his allied captain continued chattering on about every inane thing that crossed his mind, and Law let him. It was comforting in its own way, and he hadnāt realized how much tension he had been holding in his body until the reassuring blabbering had him unwinding. Something about meat, an island, meat, the Straw Hatās sharpshooter creating a new breed of plant (Law would have to see for himself next time), Chopper creating a new game, meat, complaints about Zoroās grumpiness, meatā¦
Ā
And on and on it went.
Ā
Eventually, they settled into a companionable (relative) silence. Relative, because Law could still hear the other captain humming nonsensically through the receiver, most likely already sitting cross-legged on the lion figurehead. For a time, the only sound in the enclosed room in the sub was them. Breathing, some static, humming. It was good. It was comfortable.
Ā
Law didnāt do comfortable.
Ā
He didnāt even know why he called. In the end, this was irrational. They were pirates. It was expected to have their past dug up, to have people cursing their very name (for Law that was part of the appeal). The invasive, investigative press was part of the package. So why were his hackles rising at this? Why did it cause a surge of aggression that urged him to find the ones responsible, cube them like so much ham, and rearrange the pieces neatly into a box? Why did it make him wishĀ he wasĀ on the Thousand Sunny, to check over his ally even when he knew that this wasnāt anything that could be physically healed? What exactly caused him to think it was a good idea to call?!
Ā
What did all this even matter in the end?
Ā
āJust askingā seemed so easy a task, but so difficult in practice. Was it okay for him to ask?
Law was familiar enough with himself that he knew he would be lashing out at anybody who so much as hinted at this incident if it were him in Straw Hatās position. But Monkey D. Luffy wasnāt like that. Would he just get a confused noise in response? Or would he get that deafening, too-heavy silence that preludedā¦something?
Ā
Both were equally plausible, and it frustrated him that he couldnāt predict the possible negative reactions. Frustrated him that some part of him dreaded the possible consequence of Luffy simply and truly walking away from him.
Ā
Another part was just honestly hesitant about bringing up such a painful subject. That same part remembered his partnerās reaction after he first woke up after Maineford, desperately trying to wipe the traumatic memories from his own mind. None of them had been able to go after or sedate him, but Law could sometimes still hear those screams. It had been discomforting to listen to back then (it reminded him of too many things heād rather not dwell on), and he didnāt really want to know what kind of feelings it would stir in him now.
Ā
Law didnāt do comfortable. Part of that was because he just didnāt know how to do comfort anymore. The last time heād been softly comforting to anyone, it was Lami.
Ā
(And looking back, all he could do was pull his hat down and grimace at his weak, false attempts of comforting his sister. He had made her promise him to stay in the closet, and she had. Sheād probably stayed even as the hospital was burned down with her in it.)
Ā
Perhaps part of why this agitated him was the sheer presumption the World had. Their presumption and for their entertainment, they made Straw Hat Luffy out as some tragic hero and he wasnāt. He was a pirate and monster in how strong he was, and whoever had written this had defined him when they had no right to. Had taken a legend and twisted it for some purpose or another so that they could fit the image they needed. And the World ate up the personal tragedy like so much pigeon feed. Even if the D were a tragic hero, it was some tiny facet that was inconsequential at large, especially at how the rubber man determinedly declared himself as not a hero.
Ā
āThey shouldnāt have done that,ā he finally murmured, his voice dangerously quiet in his too-still room. āThis shouldnāt have happened.ā
Ā
Even just saying stirred the simmering rage that always seemed to be present in Lawās lungs and chest. Because he glimpsed through it, had seen how Akainu had Fire Fist at his feet, sneered, and had purposely shot towards a collapsed Luffy instead of ending the older brother on the spot. It wasnāt a bad move. An expertly exploitive one, actually. And so, so hypocritical. There was no justice in it, however much the Marines liked to claim it was defending the world. Corazon would have never done it. But this was another case where he seemed to prove to be the exception rather than the rule.
Ā
Law saw it. The World saw it. The Marine had done this all in the name of protecting the World, so what right did the World have to this? To act as if they were on their side? What gave them the right to Straw Hatās grief and pain and horror like this? How could they obscenely glorify that moment of defenselessness, that moment of wrenching pain as Straw Hat had knelt senseless with his brotherās blood on his hands? To imply that this was in any way okay?
Ā
(He was vaguely aware of how his thoughts sounded like that bitter little boy that swore to destroy the world.)
Ā
āItās okay.ā
Ā
Law snapped out of his internal stewing.
Ā
āItās okay,ā Luffy repeated. Something tired and yet unsure, but determined nevertheless. āMmmmā¦,ā There was another pause, thoughtful and the closest to brooding that Law had ever witnessed of his ally. āI donāt like it,ā he finally admitted, and the surgeon could picture the āaaahh, well what can you doā frown, eyes looking up, and the wrinkled furrowed between upturned brows as he tried so hard to think. āBut you knowā¦,ā he paused before continuing on conversationally with something faintly amused and reflective in his voice. āThere was a granny on the last island. She said she hated pirates and she hated Roger, but she lost her big brother too when she was little. And if nothing else, she acknowledged that I was a good little brother.ā The way the snail smiled lit up the room. āShishishishi! So in a way, the weird book things arenāt too bad!ā
Ā
He understood that, and there was even a little relief on his part that the rubber man really did seem to beā¦at peace? But this was mixed with a storm of incomprehension because he remembered once upon a time holding damp, crumpled newspapers in his hand, and feeling nothing but moredespairmorehatred at the whole world. So he did know what his partner was ultimately implying and thinking, knew that their hatred didnāt change anything. But he also knew how such things had an impact nevertheless. Some part of Luffy would never be okay with what happened, but he had stared it in the eye and had conquered it in his own way.
Ā
He didnāt understand how.
Ā
āThis isnāt something where the ends justify the means,ā he seethed tightly before he could stop himself. āThis wasnāt a news story, this wasā¦,ā Law gritted his teeth. āYour struggle to save Fire Fist isnāt something for another to use for their own means.ā
Ā
āIt isnāt,ā the younger D agreed before stating as blunt as ever, even about his own pain, āBut Ace is gone.ā As the snail shrugged, there was a flatness in its expression that probably looked too serious on the actual manās face. āAnd my nakama arenāt. Sabo isnāt. You arenāt. Iām not. And Iām not done yet. After all, Iām the one thatās going to be Pirate King!ā
Ā
āWhoever manages to get to One Piece first becomes Pirate King,ā the surgeon countered/warned the other captain half-heartedly. Really, it just wasnāt the point right now.
Ā
āWhich is me,ā was the other captainās unrelenting insistence. There was a pause before he continued in a quieter tone,
Ā
He had to remind himself that the Straw Hat captain was fucking insane. The fact that it was really just the Straw Hats and NOT HIM was one of Lawās rare comforts whenever he dealt with the other. It made him feel less like he was the last sane one standing. Having sunken a bit into his sullenness, he almost didnāt catch the otherās next, quieter words.
Ā
āHey, Torao? Did you know after we lost Sabo, I was really afraid of Ace dying too? Ace was so frustrated because I couldnāt stop crying and he said I was stupid. He promised not to die so I would stop and we made a promise that we would both live without regrets.ā
Ā
Law couldnāt help but wince at that. Luffy had a thing about promises. He could perfectly see how seriously he took even a childish promise made by children. Little surprise that Ace-ya was beholden to it even after almost a decade later.
Ā
āI wonāt ever forget Ace,ā the snail somehow managed to convey serious the hair-raising solemnity in the other captainās stance. āHeās not here anymore, but Ace is Ace. Iāll love him forever.ā And there was something in the way the Mushi tilted that Law could practically see the other captainās head tilted back, looking up at the sky and passing clouds with a wide-eyed look of contemplation. āWhen I discover a new island or get a new crew member or become Pirate King, Iāll wonder what Ace would think when he finds out. And then Iāll remember that Ace isnāt here anymore, so I wonāt get to tell him. Iāll feel sad, but that doesnāt mean I should stop eating or sleeping or going on adventures. If I did that, Ace would hit me lots!ā Luffy shrugged with a sheepishly wide grin that soon shrunk into something thinner, but no less resolved. On the Mushi, it looked disconcerting. āHe broke his promise. He didnāt mean to, but he did.ā
Ā
Law had seen that challenging, eagerly determined crack of a smile rubber man on his own face before. It was the kind that appeared in response to whenever the other captain looked towards the horizon, hair-raisingly dangerous and intent and so ready to charge forward.
Ā
The rubber man depicted by the Mushi suddenly broke into a challenging smirk, āI wonāt break mine.ā
Ā
Wellā¦at least one sibling of the two older monster brothers from Hell had known how to keep their maniac of a younger brother in line. (Law didnāt know how Sabo-ya was when he was younger, but he was fairly willing to laugh off any mischief and spoil Luffy now that they were older.) It suddenly struck Law thatĀ the lauded Pirate King's son had probably been a good older brother. There was never a doubt that he was a beloved sibling, but there was a sudden clarity that Portgas D. Ace had been a boy with little family to speak. And yet, he had adopted and essentially raised another child who wasnāt that much younger than himself, but perhaps had been almost just as alone as he had been.
Ā
Law once had a younger sibling, one who was childishly innocent and adored him despite his strangeness. And he had loved her and tried to take care of her and she had died by fire. Here in front of him was a childish, younger sibling who adored his older sibling despiteā¦everything. And that older sibling managed to save him and died by fire. It was a morbid, mirroring parallel he wished didnāt exist, and he knew it probably didnāt say good things about his own mental health that he perhaps felt a little envious of Fire Fist-ya. He certainly didnāt wish for the man to die, but the surgeon knew better than most what it entailed to live with the regret of not saving an adored, younger sibling.
Ā
And admittedly, what with the relationship heād manage to build up with the Straw Hats and their captain, he was glad it was Luffy that survived. Law was satisfied that he had a hand in that.
Ā
He gave a quiet groan, because he was just so tired now, āYou still have Nami-ya and some of the others whacking you over the head whenever you decide to do something particularly reckless.ā
Ā
āI have lots of friends who do that,ā Luff agreed amiably with a whiny edge of confusion. āItās weird,ā
Ā
āYou bring it on yourself,ā the surgeon immediately growled in reply and exasperation. The Hearts Captain wondered out loud, more musing than actually asking, āYou really have no regrets?ā
Ā
They both quieted for a bit. Law tense and struggling with whether he overstepped while Luffy was more thoughtful than he had any right to be.
Ā
āMe and Ace promised to live without any regrets,ā he finally repeated. The younger captainās voice quieted. āButā¦I do wish I saved Ace,ā he murmurs quietly, like a secret. āI wish Ace was alive.ā
Ā
Law wondered if this was something heād told anyone else. There was a heaviness behind the light, casual tones that said he probably hadnāt.
Ā
āFor your sake, Luffy-ya, I wish Flame Fist-ya was alive too.ā
Ā
There was another moment of stillness, Luffy almost visibly processing Lawās words though he remained so, so still. āBut heās not.ā
Ā
āNo,ā Law agreed solemnly. āAnd you almost werenāt either.ā
Ā
There was a thoughtful silence from the other end of the line and a little frown on the snailās face. But before long, it had a small, crooked smile that broke out in a familiar, toothy, shit-eating grin.
Ā
āHey, Torao~!ā he repeated.
Ā
āWhat?ā
Ā
The grin widened. Ā āIām going to be Pirate King! And the Pirate King doesnāt have time to worry about stupid, little book things! Aaaaannnddd well,ā he chuckled, rubbing a finger under his nose sheepishly. āHehe! People are saying Ace is cool and Old Moustacheās nakama and all that. So thatās okay!ā He hummed. āAceās dream was to create a place for himself. Itās good that people are starting to see Ace differently. He didnāt like it, people thinking about him as Gold Rogerās son. He was the Old Mustacheās Man son and nakama and thatās that. The book is changing peopleās minds.ā
Ā
ā¦He wasnāt wrong. Nowadays, Portgas D. Ace was mainly associated with Straw Hat and Whitebeard rather Rogers. It was a victory that Luffy certainly seemed happy enough about it.
Ā
Part of Law felt like facefaulting at that. āIt is doing that, isnāt itā¦Putting everything that happened and everyone involved in a different light.ā
Ā
āShishishishi!ā the damn idiot laughed. āLawās a hero!ā
Ā
Law groaned, āDid you have to remind me?! Do you know what kind of ideas people are getting? Uni reported that some civilians have this fucking absurd idea that Iām soft.ā The raucous laughing from other end only served to incense him. He growled, āStraw Hat, I would like to remind you as well that there is a reason my epithet is the Surgeon of Death.ā
Ā
āEyup!ā the rubber bastard cheered. āBecause Torao is cool and can make things go Shambles and vroom!vroom!vroom! and whishwishwhish!ā
Ā
Law stared at the transmitter snail before sighing and gave in to the urge of facepalming, rubbing his long-fingered hands over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. It was easy to be frustrated to the brink of insanity, ready to throw your hands up and give up, and then Luffy had to go be genuine without any of the strings attached. Safe to say, it was frustrating. Frustrating, confounding, and kind of a wonder.
Ā
He was trying to regain his composure when Luffy suddenly and gleefully exclaimed with all the eagerness of someone who had found out a secret, āOoooooo! Traffy was worried about me!ā
Ā
āWorrying is for those who can afford the sentiment,ā he snapped, still winding down from the emotional turmoil. (He kept everything tightly reined for a reason, dammit.) The rubbery menace just laughed. Sighing in resignation, Law slumped down in his seat. āDonāt do anything especially stupid.ā
Ā
He didnāt know why that came out of his mouth, but he instantly regretted it. Without a doubt, heād just jinxed himself and Straw Hat would do something extraordinarily stupid and somehow casually drag him into it. Ā
Ā
āTorao is the best!ā was his allyās cheerful reply. It was enough to make Law deflate. There was genuine warmth in the words that spoke volumes because neither of them was very good at saying please or thank you and how was he suppose to deal with that?!
Ā
Seriously, Law was done. He gives up.
Ā
āHave you been able to keep ahead of pursuers?ā Law questioned in lieu of asking whether or not the other captain would be okay. He didnāt actually expect a comprehensive answer, just a distracted one.
Ā
He didnāt feel less angry or bitter. But this helped. If his ally didnāt feel it was something worth feeling hurt over, then Law would let it go as well. The other was right. There were more pressing things to worry about.
Ā
Well, heād learn to let it go. Try, at least.
Ā
Eventually.
Ā
And maybe, one day, bit by bitā¦he could learn to let go of the bitterness and nightmares that haunted him as well.
Chapter 2: Dedication Letter
Summary:
If itās not too much trouble, I have another important story to tell. Itās not a fanfiction, but if you have the time or inclination to read it, please do! If you donāt, itās okay and I hope you enjoyed Remember the Day!
Notes:
Letters are used to stand in for a lot of names.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ā
Ā
Ā Once there was a little boy named A.
Ā
He went to the local schools and lived in a house with his parents, his younger sister, and his grandmother. Teachers considered him to be quiet, considerate, and a good student who diligently focused on his studies. But mostly as a boy, he was shy and a cautious child that sometimes came off as a little withdrawn. Because of this, he didnāt get along with the majority of rowdier little boys, nor with most little girls who gathered in exclusive swarms and knew words that cut (even at a young age).
Ā
No. Growing up, he was one to keep and maintain a select number of close friends, rather than a large group of acquaintances.
Ā
In his first year of elementary school, he made friends with a little girl who had just moved into the area. J was slow, kind of stupid, tended to be out of it much of the time, and had a pension for wondering off. A strange little girl who would hug her teachers every morning and forget that she needed to return to class when the bell rang if he didnāt remind her or pull her along.
Ā
A and J became the kind of best friends children hope for, and their families also grew close as a result. Their siblings would go on play dates and their mothers would go to meetings together. The two of children would be babysat together, carpool with each other, go to the same supplementary classes, play the same games, and remain in the same elementary classes for those first three years. And more often than not, A followed after J and they played games based off her strange impulses. She would start games that had them gathering and grinding acorns or harvesting pine needles to make into pillows. When one of their moms picked them up, he would follow J in laying in the folded trunk and rolling around every time the car turned. When J joined a new group for the school year, he would join the same group. When she brought along her favorite plushie, a seal named Tinnie, he sought out a stuffed dog a similar size and named it Doggy just so they could play the same games.
Ā
When other little boys harassed her (pushing her down a steep ramp or dumping milk in her lunch), she didnāt quite understand what was going on. A was usually the one who to pull her away, to tell their parents, to offer some of his own food, or to run for a teacher. Their parents joked about childhood sweethearts and marriage enough that, when they were put in separate classes in 4th grade, the moms went to the administration to try to have the two put back together. It was okay though. Three years had been enough. Unlike most elementary school friends that tended to drift apart, A and J still hung out before school, after school, during recess and lunch, and at pickup.
Ā
They grew up together, with all the childhood trials and feelings that entailed. When A made another close female friend, J grew jealous. And when another little boy joined their group, A grew resentful. That little boy would become Jās first boyfriend much later on, and A never quite forgave either transgressions.
Ā
In 5th grade, a new girl transferred in and joined their group for that year. She immediately started determining what the group would do and became best friends with the girl J had considered to be her best friend. And as young, possessive children are wont to do, J sulked about this. Then she sulked some more as the new girl did a number of little things that (as per usual in these elementary school dramas) had J ended up feeling excluded, frustrated, lonely, and confused.
Ā
Things came to a head when, one lunchtime, the new girl asked J if she could please go sit somewhere else for the day. Their self-designated table was too crowded as it was, what with them sharing it with a few other groups. Everyone else was already there, but they really couldnāt fit anyone else and J understood, right?
Ā
For a kid, thatās never a good feeling.
Ā
Too stunned to do anything else, J went to go sit by herself at an empty table in the cafeteriaās corner. Their usual table really was really crowded. She doubted that the table could fit an additional lunch tray anyways. A few minutes later, some noticed J had gone to sit by herself and came over to question her and (upon realizing the problem) encouraged her to come back. Still stunned, J told the friend who had come to get her that it was okay, she would try to get her food a little faster tomorrow so she could sit with them. It really was too crowded today. But really, she just wanted to sulk in peace and lick her wounds.
Ā
Instead, a few minutes later, A and that friend then came to sit with J at her empty table. Slowly, most of the group trickled over from the central table and set up there for the day, reasoning that this empty table in the corner meant more room for everyone. For J, it was a warm thing in her chest, to know there were people she could always count on. That there was someone who would always be there.
Ā
Ā
Ā
Children grow, children change, and they both grew up together.
Ā
While that elementary school group of friends dispersed, A and J gathered another group of friends and, as usual, stayed within each otherās orbit.
Ā
A opened up. He loved color, pop music, and the dreams the media presented. His familyās house was renovated, and Doggy the plushie went into the family attic. Most of his friends were still girls, but he managed to find and then bond with other boys who also avoided the dick measuring that was so prevalent. He remained a dutiful son (helping take care of his sister and grandmother), an excellent student (APās, honors, almost entirely Aās), and the cautious voice among friend even when he was trying to be āwildā. More than anything, he became an adult even while he was a teenager. For him, it was about responsibilities and helping his family and making them proud. It was meeting their expectations and working to create a stable future for himself. His time was spent learning how to cook and clean and being that cautious voice because he was always so aware of the consequences.
Ā
Meanwhile, J discovered that there was violence in her. And not nearly enough self-control. She grew up and suddenly was a lot more aware of her surroundings. That cute impulsiveness as a child was suddenly no longer cute. Incomprehension turned into fights with teenage boys (all of them bigger than her), replying taunts at drunk racists who shouted at them in the street, and determination to explore every dark alleyway. In all honesty, between the end of middle school and the first few years of high school, they grew apart. Because in growing up, J became just like the rowdy boys who A avoided and they developed very different interests.
Ā
They still went to each otherās houses, to movies, the same gatherings, and ate lunch together. They were still at the top of each otherās lists when naming friends. However, their particular patchwork, miscellaneous clichĆ© was large enough that they had plenty of people to interact with, without constantly having to interact with each other. It wasnāt until the second half, when they befriended a girl named C, that they regained some of the former closeness. She and A bonded over their shared love of pop culture, celebrity gossip, and sassing each other. Meanwhile, C and J shared a mutual, determined drive to succeed. Thatā¦and the two girls had a mutual child psych class. C has stated she will forever hold a grudge for J getting a higher score than her on the baby simulation right before dropping the class altogether.
Ā
The three started to have outings separate from their other friends. Gossiping, chatting, and quipping at each other even as they all expounded about their dreams and plans for the future. It was flopping across each other in a single bed while ranting and watching horror movies that scared A and C, but delighted J. It was A and J helping C set up her birthday celebrations and sitting in the back of Aās car in the middle of the night with Taco Bell to look at the stars or fireworks. Later, it was struggling to arrange meetings every time the were all back in town from college and delighting in catching up. It was C repeatedly demanding that they would be among her bridesmaids/men, and that she would pay to fly them to India herself when time came. It was A making wisecracks about Cās desire to become a mom in her early 20s and how he would invite us to his ābachelor pad~ā. J said nothing, just listened. She had no such plans. So instead, she promised both that she would be there in the future to mouth off at both of them. Because she was simply that kind of bitch.
Ā
They laughed and vowed with knowing smiles that they would grow old together. They swore that they would be those kinds of friends and those kinds of old people.
Ā
In the middle of the summer in 2016, J found the LawLu Week event a few days before it started and was inspired to join. She started by jotting down ideas for each prompt, going so far as to start plotting and writing extensive drabbles for each one. For the āMemoriesā prompt, she thought it would be an interesting idea to write a reaction/meta fic for what would happen if the One Piece manga (the Maineford Arc, specifically) appeared in the universe. An extensive outline was drawn out about how it would be published by a mysterious third party without consent and the kinds of reactions it inspired.
Ā
Few months later and at the start of the school year, J received news that A had collapsed in front of one of his classes before being taken to the hospital. He was examined and, days later, the test results confirmed the doctorsā initial diagnosis.
Ā
Without anybody realizing it, A had developed Stage 3 non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.
Ā
It was a ātreatableā cancer. That was what the doctors told Aās parents, and that was what they relayed to family and friends. Aās father had survived non-Hodgkinās lymphoma. In fact, so had Jās dad. And both men had been much older with more health problems when they had undergone treatment. Meanwhile, A was in his prime as a relatively healthy 20 years old young man. He was starting on a new work-out to trim the bit of pudge he had developed in college, rarely drank, didnāt smoke, and cooked home-made meals for himself and friends. Sure, he had to drop out for the semester, but heād catch up. Without a doubt, he would recover from this, finish college with his biology degree, and get accepted by one of the med schools heād applied for. It would be hard, but he would get through treatment with a few more scars, and life would move on.
Ā
Ā
Ā
The cancer wasā¦aggressive. Very aggressive. He went through intensive chemotherapy and lost his hair, taking to wearing a baseball cap. Everyone was quick to assure him that his hair would grow back afterwards. J went as far as to tell him about what she remembered about her dadās chemotherapy, commenting on how he had also taken up to wearing a cap. In the end, she could tell it didnāt help A feel less self-conscious.
Ā
Unfortunately, in addition to the large cancer growth that covered a number of his lymph nodes, a good deal of his intestines had also been affected. A underwent surgery that would cut out the affected lengths of intestines.
Ā
His surgery was botched. Or perhaps it was just that it had limited success.
Ā
A few weeks after the surgery, A suffered from sudden sharp and excoriating pain in his midriff. Gastral fluids had started to leak, and he was rushed into the hospital to patch it up. He spent his birthday in the hospital, recovering. After this second surgery, his already limited energy and restrictions made it so he could move around even less. The times J could fly home, he no longer had the energy to do the exercises she encouraged him to do in order to stretch the surgery scar tissue. When it became clear he was not going to be better soon, he was forced to forego what should have been his last semester at college.
Ā
Then, the initial progress in shrinking the growth on his nymph lodesā¦stopped.
Ā
A was moved onto experimental treatments.
Ā
His parents started looking for alternative treatments in and out of the country.
Ā
Ā
Ā
A was very brave through it all.
Ā
He was exhausted and sore all the time, but he did a very good job when people came to visit him. He was quieter, more withdrawn, distant. But he smiled and he listened and he tried his best to go to Jās house when he could. It was part of his childhood. Tangled up with C and J, he confessed that it felt like everything was normal again. And he did so miss feeling normal.
Ā
Despite his fears and cautious nature, A was a happy person. Even while he pained and tired and haggard from recovery, he tried to shelter others around him. His insecurities and his depression and his feelings and how his sickness clawed at him? He kept boxed up, because he saw how sad it made the people who loved him. Because he was just that kind of kind.
Ā
Because everyone wanted to help, but most couldnāt do anything about his pain besides advising him to ānot think about itā.
Ā
Of course, that didnāt work. It got harder, and he was just mentally and emotionally and so physically exhausted. He took to scrolling through social media, looking at people with their perfect lives. A hurt, and he tried to keep it to himself, but it became too hard to keep in a box. It became hard to keep everything from his family. So he tried to keep it from his friends.
Ā
But he confessed how much he hurt to two of his closest confidants.
Ā
C planned gatherings and activities and happy distractions. She brought lights and snacks and happy memories and stories. Her gift was energy and enduring positivity and the ability to bring a smile onto his face. Or, at least, get a rise from him.
Ā
J had no such abilities. She knew bluntness, forceful optimism, and handling challenges and pain with a closed fist. Her gift was helping with physical things and sitting him down to talk. More than anything, she knew of enduring physical pain that didnāt stop simply because you didnāt think about it. He laid in bed and J told him that it was okay that he felt bad, and that she was sorry he was in pain but it was okay to feel it.
Ā
He had a lot of feelings. A lot of things were brought up much, much later the more treatments failed. She found that the only way she could help was to listen to him. Listen to his frustrations and his fear, share in his pain and despair, and tell him that it was okay to feel like he did no matter how dark his thoughts became. To catch him just before his despair crested and to pull him back, ease him down.
Ā
This boy wasnāt naturally a despairing kind of person. He wasnātĀ the type to remainĀ pessimistic or let his pain or negative emotions rule him. And every time he managed to pull back, to pull together ready to continue on doggedly, J was awed by his strength.
Ā
Ā
Ā
April 2017 and it was finals week. C called J and told her A's parents had been unable to wake him that morning. After an initial hospital examination, doctors immediately took him into surgery and tried to stop the rapid swelling of his brain.
Ā
A day later, it was announced that he was in a coma.
Ā
J argued with her parents over the phone. They wanted her to remain at school, to take the required finals to graduate. More than anything, they wanted to shield her from this. She told them if they didnāt help her get home, she would find a way herself.
Ā
A few hours later, she caught a red-eye and flew home with the help of her auntās priority ticket. It was a numbing experience that was alleviated by good people. One friend helped her pack, another drove her to the airport in the middle of the night, and others told her to keep in contact.
Ā
When J arrived, A looked like he was sleeping.
Ā
Ā
Ā
During this time when there was still hope, people were being notified of Aās condition. His entire family was brought or flown in. Aunts, uncles, and grandparents all came, filling the room. When people werenāt in the room, they lingered in the surrounding waiting rooms and wandered the hospital like ghosts. J and C lingered with another mutual friend. They were the only non-family members to make it there.
Ā
Among the people who were notified, C contacted one of her former friends, who turned out to be the ānew girlā from A and Jās elementary school. She and C had formerly been very good friends until C broke off their friendship, their relationship having turned sour over time. The girl responded by criticizing everything from Cās high school GPA to her choice to go to community college (stating that, unlike C, she herself went to an āactual collegeā) to her family and long-distance boyfriend. C had ignored her after that, but remembered that the girl had gone to the same college as A. In fact, she had been one of Aās college classmates. Both he and the girl studied pre-med, had some of the same classes, some of the same professors, and even went on the same study abroad trip to Italy.
Ā
Her response to Cās notification was that she was surprised that A considered her a friend, as they āwerenāt that closeā. Apparently, she hadnāt noticed A had been absent for the entire year.
Ā
(Which isnāt her fault. But later on, J couldnāt help but feel resentful nevertheless.)
Ā
The girl then proceeded to post about Aās sickness and condition on their graduating high school classās Facebook group, much to C and the mutual friendās indignation. Apparently, the heart/sparkle emojis as well as the tone of the post made Aās current condition sound like the latest piece of gossip. Nearby and listening, Aās aunt was pissed about the girlās assurance that she herself would keep everyone updated on what was going on, despite being on the other end of the state and taking her finals.
Ā
J wasā¦numb. She didnāt care and she didnāt want to. But the more C and the mutual friend raged, the more she stirred.
Ā
Numbness became something that was some part protectiveness and most part just looking for a fight. With Cās help, J got the girlās number and sent a carefully polite greeting. The girlās eager response told how horrified she was at the news, seeing as she and A were such good friends. She became significantly less friendly when J asked her to take the post down. Stating that while she many not have asked permission to disclose the information she did in the first place, her post had received 66 likes and a comment from Aās younger sister (who had been using Aās Facebook page to contact people), which meant everything was okay.
Ā
Unfortunately, the third hand information she had received from C was inaccurate. By the time the girl had made her post telling everyone to pray for A to get better and give well-wishes, A had been declared brain dead. Hospital policy only allowed a patient declared so to remain for 24-hours before a decision had to be made. By then, their guardian must decide whether to pay to move them to life support or pull the plug. The doctorsā advice was to pull. There had been too much brain damage. A few hours before the girl had created her post, his parents had made their decision.
Ā
Even while messaging the girl, J did not mention all this to her. As she told the girl repeatedly, these were announcements for the family to make. Not them. Meanwhile, all she could hear in her ear was blood and A sobbing self-consciously about how he didnāt want people to know him as āthat guy in our class that got cancerā. About how he didnāt want cancer to dominate his identity the same way it dominated his body and mind.
Ā
J was taking it on the girl, she knew that. She was grieving, tired, and so infuriated that the girl was there with A while J was on the other side of the country. It frustrated her that the girl would text questions and requests about a school event, yet not notice he was back home and not at the school. But it wasnāt the girlās fault. This was what J forcibly reminded herself as she struggled to keep her wording civil. It wasnāt the girlās fault. But temper made J petty and mean and increasingly vicious the longer the girl preached flowery lines about how her praying and well wishes counted for so much.
Ā
She struggled as the girl brought up finals, which to an increasingly insensible J, sounded like excuses for someone who was preaching about how much they cared. When a slew of criticism about J's academics didnāt seem to work, the girl retorted that she was reaching out for the family. When brought up again that she should have simply asked first, she replied that the family should have reached out to her in the first place. She was doing prayers after all.
Ā
J lost my temper, and texted: āI didnāt pray, Iām hereā.
Ā
As soon as she sent it, she regretted it. Even more than if she had actually cussed the girl out, she regretted this. They were words born of pure spite, and spat out of sheer meanness and frustration meant to strike at the girlās soft spots.
Ā
Because J missing her finals was her own choice, and it was unfair to condemn others for it. She hated that sheād implied that peopleās good wishes and prayers meant less than being physically there, when it was just J losing her temper at what she saw as attention-seeking. Eventually, the girl took down the post, being sure to rant at J about she interfered with her way of grieving and how she now couldnāt focus in class. C finally took Jās phone and blocked the girlās number.
Ā
But the damage was already done. People had seen the girlās posts and passed it along. Before unplugging him, his younger sister read through the messages resulting from the girlās posts. There were some goodbyes, some comfort to the family, andā¦
Ā
āWhen you get better, weāll go to the Nicki Minaj concert like weāre always talking about.ā
Ā
āWhen you get back, letās go down to Mexico again!ā
Ā
āGet well soon!ā
Ā
Ā
Ā
There was no good-bye. Not really.
Ā
One day, A was feeling better. He was going through applications, had really decided what he wanted to focus on in med school. Then he went to bed and gone to sleep.
Ā
Then he never woke up.
Ā
When J had arrived at 9AM in the morning, she had driven straight to the hospital, sat down, and spoke with him. Everyone had hoped that, āif we just talk to him enough, he would be guided back to our voicesā or something along those lines. They were all asking for miracles. J spoke to him for hours, because it was the only thing left she COULD do for him. She talked to him for hours, for days, and later learned that the nurses thought they were a couple. They commented about how āthat was loveā, just like when they were kids and their parents talked about marriage.
Ā
It wasnāt romance, but it was love.
Ā
In end, it was a useless. Once everyone said the only goodbyes they could, after finishing reading all the messages, they unplugged the machines that kept his body alive.
Ā
The heart monitor kept going a while after that.
Ā
Eventually, the beeping started to slow.
Ā
Then the beeping stopped.
Ā
His mother and grandparents wept and the Buddhist nun did her last prayers before he was carried to the morgue.
Ā
On the way to the morgue, as they were putting him down, some of that last electrical impulses jolted through his muscles.
Ā
And he smiled.
Ā
It looked so peaceful.
Ā
Ā
Ā
There is violence in J, and not nearly enough self-control.
Ā
Itās not the girlās fault. J told the younger sister what happened and apologized for interfering. Aās sister shrugged. She didnāt care either way. Maybe she would have once, but she was grieving. Now, exactly a year later, J could admit that the girl probably was also grieving and not seeking attention or lording her knowledge of gossip. That she had reached out because she also didnāt know what else to do. Thinking logically, she could admit that the girl had the right idea, even if it was handled very poorly. But thinking back to that day and remembering made all of Jās logic go right out of the window. The girl wasnāt at fault for J using her as a scapegoat, butĀ J hadĀ issuesĀ with her temper and her protective urges. So sheĀ avoids any mutual friends and doesn't go to the downtown neighborhood where she knows the girl lives.Ā It was easier to hate and direct all the negative emotion at someone you never want to see again, and harder to cry and despair over someone you can't see again.
Ā
One day, months later, J came upon the Day 5 LawLu draft that she started the summer before everything. Reviewing the plot points, drabbles, and feel of the fic, she suddenly felt nauseous at the similarities and parallels she sees between the plot on the page and what happened.
Ā
The feeling of loss, of old wounds and pain and suffering. The announcing of private information to the world and the lack of consent. A photographĀ of one last, peaceful smile that brings wonder to Aās mother. Dozens of little, tiny, parallel details.
Ā
This story J started had suddenly became something abhorrent to her. Never had she wanted toĀ notĀ write something so much.Ā It provided hooks that dug at a wound; closing up her throat and making her want to tear down the walls around her with her nails. She thought about throwing the story away or skipping it altogether, but something made her hesitate and kept her from doing it. Probably she was simply stupidly stubborn and had the horrible tendency of being very bad at letting go.
Ā
In those first months since she unearthed the outline, working on the fic made her hands shake and her breath come short. It made her feel nauseous and off-balance and just a mess of chaotic feelings. Rage and indignation usually won out in the end, her focus going back to the girl. Focusing on hatred and rage was easier than crying and better than lashing out at the people around her.
Ā
Meanwhile, the fic evolved from a simple fanfiction into an outlet for her to untangle the twisted, balled up mess of emotional threads sitting like an expansive lump in her chest. So many times, she really thought to trash the fic as she poured and upchucked her feelings onto a page, her inner-writer unhappy at the mess of too-personal and OOC-ness. But the more she hated it? The more she wanted to recoil from it? The more it became something she did because it hurt so much. To her, the more pain it caused, the more reason to face it heads on. Something so painful probably had to accomplish something. It probably wasĀ some kind of healing.
Ā
It took a while, but it did help. At least, it helped her to sort out some feelings and unwind most of the rabid, thrashing emotions like so much string. It wasn't gone. But they were no longer something that ate at Jās insides.
Ā
She wrote and revised and wrote and revised; each go-through like another layer of frantic emotion meted and calmed and appeased. Sometimes it made her feel relief. More often than not, it resulted in exhaustion. While she came up with more ideas and more stories, she set them and other WIPs aside to focus on this one. Until, finally, the dialogue sounded more like the characters in the story, rather than her own voice screaming back at her from the page. J wrestled with it until she was able to acknowledge the truth of the matter.
Ā
What the girl had done? A honestly wouldnāt have cared.
Ā
Maybe he would have once upon a time, but at that point? Exhausted, pained, depressed, and feeling so distantly mature after a year of struggling?
Ā
Just like Luffy, A wouldnāt have cared.Ā
Ā
And after she finished, she sat down and reviewed her own tired thoughts and heard-earned conclusions. This project had become the most excruciating of personal project and writing it really did help her. But besides that, what was the point? After all this, with all her rage and grief and chaos stripped away, what was the core and priority here?
Ā
She wrote a rant. Just one last rant about everything from the girl to the doctors and hospital to a government that didnāt prioritize healthcare and a world that failed to treat something that was ātreatableā. J raged at a world that left them feeling so betrayed. Then she looked at her rant and realized why it felt so off. More than anything, the priority and the wish and why she was so angry was because A had seemed to disappear. Suddenly, he was gone and had been replaced with a tombstone she visited every month, another name in the obituary, another statistic, another patient report in the hospital archives soon to be shredded.
Ā
J dumped the entire rant and wrote a story in third person to distance herself and a note of a hundred different things about a boy who was a person and an individual and a stranger to those reading about him. A stranger, but a person who liked Chinese food and Taylor Swift and small, yappy dogs. With this story, maybe a bit of him would linger somewhere in the back of the readers minds long after they finished the story.
Ā
āThis is why,ā she thought with relief. āThis is why I continued and why I finished. This is why I should share this. This, at least, wasnāt for nothing.ā
Ā
The names were replaced to maintain anonymity the familyās wished for, and the person, not-a-fic story was edited a dozen times. J spoke with friends and family, and with each talk, it hurt less.
Ā
His college gave him a posthumous degree and his parents walked across the stage at the graduation ceremony to get it. His first drink (a lychee thing in a fancy restaurant) consisted of him ordering the drink to Instagram it before having C and J drink it for him. He told C and J that he regretted devoting so much time to his studies and felt he wasted so much time. Those are words that still haunts C. Meanwhile, C regrets not spending more time with him, having been so busy with school and family. Another friend who had also grown up with A and J remarks that she will forever remember A as that pudgy little child she first saw, smiling down at her from the top of a playground. Yet another friend commented that what she loved about him most was his easygoing nature, ultimately willing to roll with whatever was happening (with some complaints) and forgiving easily.
Ā
There was once boy named A and he existed. He breathed and hiccupped and burped and rolled his eyes and snorted and was one of the first people in our grade to start driving. He disliked soundtracks that were made specifically for movies and āBeez in a Trapā was his and Cās song. It inspired the nicknames shared between A, C, and J.
Ā
What J regrets is something that could be summarized by a quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald:
Ā
āSuddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be.ā
Ā
Most of Jās life had been with this person being there, and him being someone she could count on always being there. She had lived with an expectation that she would know an A that was 8 years old, that was 10 years old, that was 15 years old, that was 20 years old, that was 40 years old, that was 60 years old.
Ā
She regretted that he would never watch Black Panther or Avengers: Infinity War or any of the hallmark movies that defined their generation. That he would never be dragged to watch Shape of Water and squirm in discomfort at the blatant fish sex.
Ā
She regretted that he would never get to walk across the stage to get the diploma he worked so hard for. That he would never attend his sisterās high school or college graduation.
Ā
She regretted he would never go to medical school like he wanted to, and that he would never get the bachelor pad he dreamt of. That they would never go up to Washington state together to look at properties.
Ā
She regretted that he never did get his first legal drink. That the three of them would never go on the Las Vegas trip they had been planning right up until he got sick.
Ā
She regretted that he didnāt get to go to that Lana del Rey or Taylor Swift concert or listen to Nicki Minajās newest album. That he wouldnāt get to attend Cās wedding or be the bad influence on Cās children that he always threatened to be.
Ā
J had done what she could in the time he lived. What she regretted was a stolen future that he had worked so hard for, but never reached.
Ā
Ā
Ā
Once there was a boy named A.
Ā
This boy was genuinely kind in a way that astounds the author, loyal, and a good deal scared of the unknown. He was more a follower than a leader, but still had his own voice and was no less important than anybody who had a louder voice. Throughout his life, he was helpful, a good friend, considerate, and could hold a grudge for a literal decade. His friends know of his sass, his small bits of pettiness, and some of his indecisiveness. None of this changed that he had a willingness to jump into whatever conflict or trouble his friends got into. None of that changed that, until April 2017, he always stayed.
Ā
And while this story calls him a boy, he was actually a young man of 21. A young man who was sometimes too responsible and sometimes held himself back too much. He went through more trials than people his twice his age have experienced, and he often felt insecure and unsure about the direction he was going with his life. But he went through life like a boss, nevertheless.
Notes:
If you read up to this point...thank you.
I probably didn't succeed, but I wanted my friend to continue existing. Somehow, someway. My hope is that, even if itās just a random person reading this weirdo fic writerās dedication, a shadow or smidge of an idea of him will exist in the mind of the reader (you). Whether or not this actually? I am grateful for you, the individual reading this.
Thank you so much.
-JadeFlicker
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