Fire No Guns, Shed No Tears [One Piece No Metaknowledge SI]

[industrious]

Prologue

The noonday sun kissed my bare skin as I waited to be executed.

Roughspun hemp bound my hands behind my back, and I had been forced to kneel atop the hot sand of the island's beach. My eyes were downcast - I'd tried to raise them earlier and gotten a pistol butt to the cheek for my indolence. I could see the faded black trousers and boots of the surrounding Jolly Rogers and the pockmark cratering of the coarse sand.

"-And now!" Captain Tio Roger bellowed. "The World Government sends an agent to our little hideaway! But we- the Jolly Rogers!"

"Roger! Roger! Roger!" The throng around me chanted.

"-are made of tougher stuff than that me lads! For-"

The Jolly Roger crew - a name that I only wished I'd made up - was composed entirely of individuals bearing the name "Roger." It was, in fact, a requirement to join; at least a third of them had legally changed their names to suit. They'd been an annoying, small-time nuisance upon the high seas.

Then two months ago, the Jolly Roger crew had escalated. ABC Island had been a decently prosperous place before their arrival; the Jolly Rogers had slaughtered and pillaged, kidnapped every Roger from the sole town upon the island. Streets E,G,O, and R had been set aflame, and the fire had quickly spread to D,F,H,N,P,Q and S Streets before it'd been contained. An estimated three thousand people had died, between the inferno and the raid; ten more had been taken for involuntary induction into the Rogers crew.

The Mayor of ABC Island, Abcde (pronounced "Ab-Sid-E") had reached out to the World Government for relief and assistance. Supply ships and other humanitarian efforts flowed quickly; convoys of freighters packed to the brim with food, water, medicine - but also building-quality timber, skilled artisans and tradesmen, and all other manner of sundry goods.

The World Government couldn't take this sort of thing lying down, of course. This was the sort of action that brought battleships on tour to show the flag, kick ass, and take names. But even for a World Government - perhaps especially for a World Government - there were always too few battleships and too many fires to fight. Not only that, but the Mayor's report indicated that the Rogers had gotten their hands on posthuman enhancements of some kind.

So I'd been sent instead.

I cost less.

"-ya scallywag!" The sun gleamed off the steel of Tio Roger's blade, and I realized that I'd been addressed.

"Mmmrng," I grunted. Telling the leader of a gang of murderers and thieves that you'd tuned out his monologue seemed like a non-optimal move.

The pirate captain snarled, and the tip of the saber rested under my chin; it tilted up, and I was forced to look the man in the eye.

Honestly, the view of the sand and scattered pantaloons was far more agreeable. Crazed blue eyes set against dark, South Asian features; a patchwork beard, more scruff than substance (I could relate); scars and pockmarks from lice, acne, and a life spent in the avoidance of basic hygiene; teeth packed together like tombstones from an underfunded graveyard.

"Ye government dogscum," he breathed, and his breath stank of rotten fish and cheap rum. There were several pieces of grey flesh stuck between his teeth. "Have ye any last words?"

I couldn't help but grin.

Several, really.

"Oh, the year was seventeen seventy eight~" I began to sing, belting out the words in a long-familiar cadence. "How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now!"

I had the pleasure to see Tio Rogers step back - either in shock or from the sheer volume.

"A letter of marque came from the king / To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen!~"

The sword came up.

"God damn them al-"

The sword came down.

My head left my body.

I died.

All according to plan.

---

That night, back in my uniform and mantle, I once more made my way from the beach, the blood upon the sand having vanished entirely, to the pirate's wooden fort.

This time, I didn't get caught.

Not that this was particularly difficult - killing a government agent before lunch had, predictably enough, put the Jolly Rogers in a fantastic mood.

I was literally able to walk in through the front door - not a sentry or sentry light to be seen.

The courtyard of the fort was littered with empty bottles and open casks; the floor was lousy with passed out Rogers. The remnants of sweet-smelling bonfires still blazed with enough regularity for an ordinary human to see by.

I sighed to myself. God bless amateur hour.

Even the Unjolly Rogers - the ones that had yet to break and join the gang - were slumped agreeably against the bars of their cage, tin cups around their persons. Smart on the Rogers part, really - made them feel like part of the in-group.

I gingerly stepped over a pair of Rogers that had gone for two out of three on the old British naval institutions (though the old scars on one of them indicated that he'd been three for three at one point), and sighing to myself, drew my Hunter's knife - an overengineered piece of metal and paracord with two finger rings, a fishhook at the back, and another hole in the middle for some forsaken reason.

"Shiver my timbers, my soul," I began to sing - quietly as I began my grim business. "Yo ho heave-ho. There are men whose hearts are as black as coal~"

Morbid? Definitely.

Unsporting? Totally.

Dishonorable? Almost certainly.

But given everything that the Jolly Rogers had done to ABC Island - not to mention their prior victims - I wasn't going to be shedding any tears over a little skullduggery. Especially since they'd also goddamn cut my head off.

...That was unfair. That blade had not been properly sharpened. It'd been closer to getting my head crushed off, which was a far less pleasant experience.

...I needed to write a listicle or the like about death at some point. Top Fifty Ways to Die - the Eighth Will Surprise You!

I snorted, shaking my head at the thought even as my hand wriggled the knife around a passed out Roger's brainstem.

Alas, I'd only gotten maybe two thirds of the way through the corpses-to-be when the call of nature, that she-bitch herself, betrayed me.

Not my own call, of course - I'd taken care of that business before I'd started, but a Roger with more bravery than sense had crawled up from the bottom of a barrel - literally - and was happily pissing onto the wooden walls of the fort.

I don't know why he turned around - I certainly hadn't been making any sound, but auditory hallucinations are part and parcel of being sufficiently smashed - and that's when he saw me.

I must have looked quite the sight - a hooded and cloaked figure kneeling over one of his eponymous comrades, bloodied blade in hand. He reached for his flintlock-

But my knife was faster. It sang through the air with all the grace of an owl, burying itself in the Roger's neck. His grip slackened - the pistol fell to the ground.

Whereupon the damned primitive weapon discharged in defiance of all proper failsafe design. Goddamn schizo tech.

The remaining Rogers began to stir.

"So much for the stealthy approach," I sighed to myself, and drew my revolver.

I was far from the best shot in the Navy, but I was better than human, and lurching, bleary-eyed forms aren't that much harder to hit than stationary ones. I went through both speed-loaders in short order and was about to call for more when I got smacked in the face by a rotten tomato.

Which then exploded.

Technically, I think that what was left of my upper body counted as extra chunky salsa, light on the tomato.

Ow.

When I came to, Tio Rogers was roaring with pain and grief and rage at what I'd done to his crew. Some sixth sense of his let him know that he wasn't alone, and he wheeled once more to face me.

"You!" he snarled. "I killed you!"

I scoffed. "Poorly."
Well, he seemed to take that personally.

Tio Rogers was eight feet tall and built like an Astartes. He was also wearing a pair of heart-print boxers. All across his body, however, were tattoos of fruit - apples, bananas, mangos, grapes, pomegranates… and yes, tomatoes. Which were, in fact, a fruit thanks Mom.

"Twin Boomeranananang Strike!"

His hands brushed against his body, and drew from the tattooed representations a pair of boomerang-curved bananas, which he hurled once more at me. Somehow, I knew they, too, would go boom.

I hate posthuman enhancement.

I dived to the side, but he was already closing the distance, trusting in his great musculature to carry the day. He was fast, too - nothing that big should be that fast. He made Usain Bolt look like Silent Bob with his swiftness.

Thankfully, I was faster - quickly darting back even as my hands worked slugs into the revolver. I opened fire -

"Honeydew Perfection!"

only for a pair of cantalopes that'd grown on his forearms to burst instead of his head. Bastard.

Those were entirely different fruit. Anyone who'd gotten a fruit basket knew that.

"Government dog!" Tio Rogers cried out. "I'll kill you for what you've done!"

"Zero for two so fa-" His eyes weren't on me but on a point just over my shoulder, and so, with inhuman capability and a touch of Light, I was suddenly a few feet to the left.

...Yup. The bananas were in fact, boomerangs. That exploded.

Thanks to my dodge, all I got was pulp on my face instead of pulp for a face.

I hate posthuman enhancement.

"You're a quick one, dog," the pirate captain - though maybe he wasn't a captain anymore, seeing as I'd holed his boat before heading to the fort - snarled. "But you are no match for my-"

I shot him. The fucker had another honeydew cantalope shield at the ready.

"-Pomb Pomb Fruit! Grape Shot… Blast!"
You can guess what that entailed.

It was only through parahuman reflexes that I survived the barrage, and I'd had to shoot the last bunch out of the sky myself, like a jackass. I hated being showy. Minimum effort, that's me.

"WHAT?!" Tio roared. He'd been getting increasingly louder with every exchange; maybe he thought I was going to engage with him?

Fuck that - we were having a goddamn fight, not a forensics debate. I was there to kill him, not make him see the error of his ways.

"HOW DID YOU SHOOT MY POMB POMBS OUT OF THE SKY?!"

I resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. Which was good, because my nose-pinching hand was currently holding a deadly firearm.

"Like I would tell you," I breathed, almost in wonderment. Seriously, this entire world was fucked up.

"THEN FEEL THE WRATH OF MY ULTIMATE TECHNIQUE!"

I would have shot him mid-sentence, but he'd already proved that tactic wasn't going to work. And I wasn't going to follow the definition of insanity. Even if I wanted to.

Seriously, his voice was very grating. He did not have the timbre or whatever for a good shout.

"GOLD DURIAN PIRATE FRUIT KING-"

Oh, come on.

...yeah, I'd gotten all I needed.

I summoned my Voidbow then, wispy ultraviolet strands of darklight weaving together into the familiar ancient weapon, leaping back as I did so. I loosed a shot of ghostly light at head of the Jolly Rogers, and while he was fast enough to start to dodge, the tether caught him nonetheless, chaining around his ankle.

Instantly, the tattoos across his body vanished, and he was left stock-still, straining against the paracausally heavy construct, trying to move from the spot.

You will, of course, note that I didn't call out my attack as I did it.

"For the record," I stated, pulling back for another shot from my Moebius Quiver. "I could have done that at any time."
"HOW-"

I fired, the bolt impaling him through his heart.

"But my superiors don't like it when I don't identify what you people are capable of."

Yes, I was now talking to a dead man. Because, you know.

Dead men tell no tales.

"It's the paperwork, you see," I continued as I began the clean-up process. Navi, my Ghost, had appeared when the area was clear of hostiles, and was dutifully imprinting my mantle with the insignia of the Jolly Roger Pirates - yet another skull-and-bones variant.

This one had the smile emoji in place of the skull. Whoop de doo.

"...They always want to know about the 'ultimate technique' or the 'secret move,'" I sighed, clambering down the flagpole. Drawing my knife - technically a different knife than the one still buried in that Roger's chest but still my knife - I cut a strip from it and affixed it to the mantle, along with the dozens of other flag scraps that hung from it, along with just as many insignia stitched in miniature across my shoulder blades.

"Bureaucrats, am I right?" Navi chimed in, as was his wont.

"You betcha," I bobbed my head at him, and drew the shell for the patrol boat I'd taken from ABC Island. They were moored half a day's sail away, so best to call them in for evac and rescue as quickly as possible. With any luck, they'd be there in time for breakfast.

In short, a pirate gang destroyed, a dozen or so captives freed, and another successful mission for yours truly. And I'd only died twice.

Just another day in the life of Brevet Captain Elcid Barrett, the World Government's most sensible agent.

 

[industrious]

Chapter One

I returned to HQ two weeks later. Technically, I returned to the local Marine base three days later. It took me eleven days to get back to HQ proper, because I wasn't going to cross the Calm Belts solo without a damn good reason.

I'd done it three times - once just to prove I could, and twice more when speed was a priority - though the second time hadn't really been much faster than taking a proper Navy ship.

And while getting attacked and eaten by sea monsters sounds super cool and terrifying and badass, after about the fifth time, it's just annoying. One time, a Sea King camped my spawn point for two full days - even had been able to track Navi after the little guy had tried going elsewhere. They only left because it was mating season.

HQ for me was Marine Grand Line Fifth Branch. The ill-maintained fortress was chock full of scum and malcontented weirdos - but I tried not to hold it against them.

They put up with me, after all. And they were getting better - especially after the fucker in charge of Unit 06 "requested a transfer."

Nothing excused the goddamn zebra striping on the sentry towers, though.

The marines on duty saluted me as I stepped off the supply ship.

"Welcome back, sir!" the marine on duty, who'd somehow gotten away with wearing a bucket on his head the entire time I'd been around, snapped off a salute completely at odds with his slovenly appearance.

"At ease, Seaman," I returned the salute, and the man's crisp posture immediately returned to a lazy indolence.

"So, ya got'im, Barrett?" he gave me a sly grin. "Did'e squeal?"

"That's classified Marine," I shot back. "Can't have a splooge like you know shit before the big guy, now can I?"

He let out a short bark of laughter. "No sir!" he said, drawing out the first word. "Now, if you'll excuse me Barrett, I've got first crack at the enlisted supplies. All the bacon is mine, mine! I shall be the King of bacon!"

I waved his highness off, and proceeded further into the base.

Despite the decidedly lax (to say the least) discipline on the base, the fortress was in fact kept extremely clean - the parts of it that were still in use, anyway. There had been budget cuts recently - about eighteen months ago, the main Navy Headquarters had been attacked - while they were apparently rebuilding HQ, operations had been moved to New Marineford, somewhat closer to G-5's location. Personnel here were therefore drawn down, leaving G-5 with the true dregs and flotsam of the corps.

Frankly, I didn't see that much difference between G-5's personnel and the rest of the Marines. The Navy only barely had a goddamn uniform, and even low-ranking officers could pretty much ignore even those loose guidelines entirely.

As a mid-ranking officer myself, I took admittedly took full advantage of this; the goddamn baseball caps were ugly as fuck. And having "Justice!" stitched on my back made me feel like a goddamn superhero cosplay.

My usual outfit, therefore, consisted of a light grey dress shirt with the naval insignia tastefully embroidered on the chest pocket, dark slacks tucked into calf-high boots, and my mantle.

I was certain that more than half of my popularity among the enlisted men of G-5 came from the goddamn cloak. Either because nobody had been brave enough to pull off a proper cape, or because it was made out of the flags of dead pirates.

Probably the latter.

Tashigi was at her regular desk as I headed to the Vice Admiral's office - after his secretary, but before his door. She was a proper Captain, and technically could have my office if she wanted, but for some reason, she liked being right next to the Unit Commander's.

"Catch!" I called out, and lobbed a blunt scimitar in her general direction.

Scowling dark eyes beneath red rectangular frames glared at me when she caught the thing after a few fumbles, scattering some of the paperwork on her desk to the floor.

"Dammit Barrett," she sighed. "I'm busy."

"No you're not," I informed her cheerily. "Those are requisition orders for the next supply run. The supply run that isn't due for another month. The supply requisition that never changes? Ever?"

Tashigi's glare mutated into a proper scowl as she considered the sword now in her hands.

"Why do you hate me, Barrett?" She drew maybe an inch of steel from the scabbard, and let out a sound usually reserved for kicked puppies and the people who think the second act twist in romantic comedies is "tragic."

"Souvenir?" I gave her my most innocent look. Unfortunately, she had learned not to buy it.

"...That sword has a history!" I said, a tad indignantly. "It killed a high-ranking Marine! Like some kind of common pygmy!"

"This is special?" She thrust her bottom lip out at me. "It's a hodge-podge of an Odano hilt, a guard from a Oakeshott Type 15, a mass produced blade that was cast rather than forged, a 6th century pommel of cast Iluvian bronze, and a hilt-wrap made from hemp! Hemp! And do not get me started, Elcid Barrett, on how poorly treated this weapon has been!"

Tashigi thrust the (thankfully still sheathed sword) back at me. "Take it to the furnace," she ordered. "May the fire purify its steel and may it reincarnate as a blade worthy of the name, in the hands of a true ally of justice."

I took it with a rueful smile. "Aye Aye, ma'am."

Tashigi was a sword geek the likes of which katana fanboys could only dream of. I'd made a habit of presenting her with all the various instruments of stabby death that I'd been murdered by during the sixteen months I'd been in the Marines - some of which she actually appreciated. I'd been in her quarters before - purely for innocent reasons, mind - and she had an actual shrine in there, incense and all. One of my findings was good enough to make it to the mantlepiece proper, two blades below her own Shigure.

If I ever find a woman who looks at me half as lovingly as Tashigi does that katana, I will be a lucky, lucky man.

"Though-" I hastened to add. "I'm doing this voluntarily and out of my deep respect for you, not because you can order me around, Captain Tashigi."

Her lips rose at my remark. "I understand completely, Captain Barrett. He's waiting for you."

Vice Admiral Chase R. Smoker was a man who did not believe in shirts. He was also a man who did not believe in tolerating injustice, and had turned down at least one promotion that he felt was unearned. Legends abounded about how he'd nearly gotten himself thrown out of the Naval Academy on no less than three occasions, a feat which given just how lax the Navy was seemed nearly impossible to my reckoning.

The man's office was bereft of the usual naval flourishes - there were no ship-in-a-bottles or oil paintings of white-sailed vessels. Instead, a long white banner with the kanji for JUSTICE written in violent black brushstrokes took the position of pride; seven humidors fully packed with cigars littered the available surfaces; one was never more than an arm's length away from a box of matches. An enormous jitte, taller than I was, hung from its sheath on the far wall; his coat hung from a coatrack by the door.

"Hold on," the man rumbled - the Vice Admiral had sprung for the good subwoofer in his vocal cords. Sometimes, it was hard to figure out where he was talking, his voice was so deep. "Do not move any further."

And so I waited patiently, the door to my superior's office cracked half-open, while the man carefully placed a stone the size of my fist on a rickety tower ten stones high. Despite his very, very large appearance - the man made brick shithouses feel like K-pop stars - he had the steady hands of a surgeon.

The jagged grey stone quivered as it stood atop the wobbly tower. Smoker carefully let it go, his hands creeping up and away, his lower body rooted and perfectly still. He let out a long, slow breath - there was nothing in his mouth, an extremely rare occasion. The giant allowed himself a single measured nod as the edifice held steady.

"Come in," he declared, and at those words, the tower crumbled. Smoker looked down at the scattered rocks and sighed mournfully.

"Sir," I offered him a salute as I closed the door; he grunted and set me at ease with a wave. He reached for one of the humidors, grabbing a pair of thick Churchill-sized cigars; he bit off the ends, spitting them into a nearby trash can, and lit them both up with a single match.

He used to use a lighter, until I'd convinced him otherwise.

"Brevet Captain Barrett," he growled. Smoker never "spoke" - the man always sounded as if he were at least contemplating your murder, if not about to commit it right there and then. One time, he'd awarded a medal for conspicuous gallantry under enemy fire - the Petty Officer had fainted when then-Commodore Smoker had pinned the badge to his uniform. "Take a seat."

"Vice Admiral," I responded, settling into the stuffed green desk chair opposite his. Rank had its perks - his guest chair was better than my desk chair. Probably because it'd been uncomfortable one time, and Smoker had glared into submission.

"I take it that Tio Roger is dead, then." The sentence was not a question.

"I could have failed," I pointed out, not unreasonably.

"No," his eyes were steady on mine. "You didn't."

Smoker was a fantastic boss. Scary beyond all reason, but fantastic. He had absolute confidence in my abilities, and never sent me on a mission he thought was beyond me.

I sighed dramatically, and with a flourish, produced the head of one Tio Roger, carefully preserved via Navi's efforts.

Smoker let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "You don't have to do that every time, Barrett."

"Respectfully, sir," I drew out a cloth bag, and tastefully covered up the mutilated visage. "After the Double Double Incident, I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

He acknowledged my point with a noncommittal grunt, the air around him smelling like ash and tobacco. He was using a Vegan blend - I could pick out the notes of cherry blossom, honeysuckle, and dark rum. He was in a mood.

"...It would be easier if you could take them alive," the words came begrudgingly, the topic returning to a more familiar one.

It was the policy of the Marines to try and take Devil Fruit users alive when possible; the World Government had a prison somewhere that could apparently contain the superpowered wackos. Killing a Devil Fruit user apparently caused the power to return to the wild, and someone else would inevitably nab it.

"...But, it cannot be helped," he continued, keeping a close eye on me. "The wielder of the Live Live Fruit can hardly be faulted for his limitations. Far better than leaving them free, of course."

I very carefully said nothing.

Vice Admiral Smoker, despite making Neanderthals look like male models, was far from an idiot. He damn well knew that I wasn't normal even by the standards of this messed up crazy planet.

But he wasn't an idiot - it was far easier to put down that I'd consumed the "Live Live Fruit" than to go into the actual details, and he considered said actual details to be nobody's business unless it affected my duties.

I had a fantastic boss.

"...Do you have another mission for me, sir?" I asked.

"I do," Smoker nodded. "But you'll be briefed next week. I want you to check over the shipping manifests for the base for the next seven days; we are also going to be hosting Commodore Secant in three days for a base inspection."

Translation: I was getting a week's vacation before the next mission. He also wanted me on base for whoever this Commodore was - because crazy topsy-turvy pseudo-military or not, there was no way that the base could be inspected by someone lower ranked than either Smoker or the man who actually ran it.

"Sir?" I asked, to prompt clarification.

"The bastard offspring of some king," he let out a heavy puff on his twinned cigars. "Protege of Fleet Admiral Akainu."

...Ah.

"And you're sure, sir, that you want me on base." I wasn't questioning Smoker, just seeking to confirm. I wasn't exactly the hobnobbing type; nobody in G-5 was the hobnobbing type. The closest thing we had to a hobnobber was Vergo himself, or maybe Tashigi at SwordCon.

"Yes," Smoker stared me down. "I have every confidence that you are exactly what I shall need."

Well, shit.

 

[Roaming_Guardian]

Oh so this is just months before the fuckery that is Punk Hazard.

Honestly wonder how paracausal fuckery will interact with Will of D fuckery.

 

[industrious]

Chapter Two

The Commodore's ship, the Unconditional, was an impressive boat, at least by the standards of the Navy. It was a standard three-masted vessel in pine green, with white sails bearing the Navy's insignia; just in case it was unclear as to its allegiance, on either flank, as well as on the topsails of each mast, was the word "Marine." At the prow were three massive cannons, big enough that they should have caused the vessel to tip over entirely - but physics in this place were, at times, far more like suggestions than hard-and-fast rules.

And frankly, the Navy's designs were downright tame, compared with some of things I'd seen pirates sail on.

"Brand new ship," Smoker grunted, tossing off the spent remnants of his twin cigars off the dock. With the ease of long practice, his free hand reached for another pair on his chest; once the old cigars were disposed of, that hand retrieved a matchbook. So smooth and quick were his motions that Smoker hadn't needed to take a single breath of tobacco-free air between cigars.

Either lung cancer wasn't a thing here, or Smoker had been given two weeks to live ten years ago.

"I would have thought that Admiral Akainu's kouhai would have customized his craft," Tashigi remarked. "Within the regulations."

"He did," our Vice Admiral confirmed. "The hull bottom is a new alloy of Seastone and copper - the first ship to make use of it."

One of the big advantages Navy ships had over non-Navy ships was the Seastone plating - it didn't make the ship any faster, but it protected them from Sea Kings - the kaiju that lived between the calmer seas and the Grand Line. Wealthy trading ships and the more successful pirate vessels instead used copper. This didn't make ships any more protected - but it prevented barnacles or other sea parasites from growing beneath the water and ruining the hull's dynamics - making ships faster.

"...Practical," I commented, albeit reluctantly. From what I gathered, Smoker and Akainu didn't like each other very much, and as the leader of Unit 01 was my patron, I wasn't supposed to like Secant (what a name) by the transitive property.

Politics was one of those unfortunate necessities in any large organization. But I'd be a moron if I couldn't admire a good, and rarest of all in this place, sensible decision.

Around us, the enlisted men of Base G-5 were making ready for the Unconditional's arrival - gangplanks were being hauled, ropes prepared, and all other manner of nautical preparations, under the watchful eye of Vice Admiral Vergo - the man who was overall in charge of the base.

"Barrett! Tashigi! Smoker!" the man called out to us with a brief wave, even as he continued to direct the men. For once, Vergo's beard had been neatly combed and oiled, and there wasn't a stray crumb or piece of grey flesh to be seen.

Vergo had also ordered that everyone spend the past few days going through literally everything with a fine-toothed comb - judging from some of the grumbles, the Marines hadn't had this much attention put on their tidiness since boot camp. There had been at least three floggings, though as an officer I wasn't exactly privy to the scuttlebutt.

Tashigi, on the other hand, was seemingly always well informed. Probably because the men kept trying to impress her with their trivia.

The more senior Vice Admiral struck me as a bit of a contradiction, to be honest. Always friendly, always outgoing - and yet he was stuck at Malcontent Base. I'd checked his public file, and he didn't have any major scandals or the like - maybe he'd pissed off the wrong Admiral while he had been climbing the ranks?

If that was true, then this visit from the Commodore might just be the thing to get him up and out of G-5. I knew that in my previous life, getting to Colonel on merit was straight-forward, if not easy; moving to General required politics. There were only allowed to be three Admirals in the Navy at any point, so if Vergo wanted to advance, he needed better assignments for when the time came to throw his hat in the ring.

At last, the ship pulled into port. Lines were tossed from above and tied off on the pier below; the anchor descended with a smoothness indicative of a well-oiled chain; the gangplank was placed by the bucket-headed Marine (now sans bucket) and several others. At the far end were the senior officers: Vergo, with his aide, and Smoker, Tashigi, and myself.

Commodore Secant Equidistant, the man who had two Vice Admirals standing ramrod-straight as he approached, was even shorter than I was. This included the several inches of heel on his black, patent leather boots. Tight white tights - more like hose, really - sheathed his legs; an almost comically oversized codpiece in the shape of the Unconditional's prow kept him at least technically decent, however suggestive the lacquered wooden rod jutting out of it was. His white naval jacket was decorated with gold trim and braiding well beyond the standard epaulets; an oversized katana was belted to his side; and he wore the standard MARINE baseball cap with the brim facing backwards. As if this wasn't enough to mark him as a dandy, there was a beauty mark painted underneath his left eye.

I risked a glance to my left to as I heard Tashigi exhale sharply. Her eyes trailed up and down the man's form; her lower lip was red, as if she'd just bitten it.

I'd… never seen Tashigi like this before. I wasn't sure she even had a type…

Oh.

Duh.

It was the sword she was eye-fucking.

The universe now made sense again.

Alright, it didn't, because this world was fucking crazy, but one of the few constants I'd managed to find was returned to me. So that was something.

The Commodore saluted first, as was proper.

"Permission to disembark, sirs?" he had a soft, quiet voice, the kind that you needed to strain to hear.

"Granted," Vergo stated. "Welcome to Naval Base G-5."

Salutes were exchanged down the line, and once the formalities of rank were established (even if the actual power dynamics were somewhat skewed), he took the time to deliver words to each of us.

"It is an honor to visit your fine establishment, Admiral Vergo. I've heard about your men's zeal for justice."

Vergo greeted him just as warmly, placing a hand on the shorter man's shoulder.

"Vice Admiral Smoker! Congratulations on a long-overdue promotion!"

I wasn't sure if he was being sincere or subtly negging my commanding officer - Smoker's own face remained in its usual unreadable scowl, and he merely gave a curt nod in response.

"Captain Tashigi! I read your most recent report on the Kidd Pirates. Very thorough - it's been passed to the Admiral himself."

There was little ambiguity as to which Admiral he was speaking of. Tashigi, adorable little obsessive that she was, was still staring at his sheathed blade.

And then it was my turn.

"So," the Commodore extended his hand. "You're the Implacable Man."

"That's what they tell me," I let out a polite little laugh, and shook. He had a good grip - it was probably unfair that I half-expected a limp wrist.

Inwardly, however, I was considerably cooler. I'd been given the nickname by the men of G-5 as a little in-joke. The fact that he knew it meant that he'd spoken with former Commodore Yarisugi.

I had not been subtle at the end with him.

Still had no regrets whatsoever.

Tashigi's shoulders were tensed - she'd realized it too.

"-Excellent," Vergo broke in. "Now, Commodore, you must be famished after your journey. If you'll follow me to the officer's mess…."

The Commodore and the two Admirals left together; Tashigi and I remained.

"Elcid," Tashigi warned, dark eyes boring into mine. "Don't help me again."

---

Day one of the Commodore's visit involved him doing a thorough inspection of the entirety of the base, accompanied by the two Vice Admirals. Us lowly Captains, on the other hand, had actual paperwork to do.

Being only a Brevet Captain who hadn't actually gone through the Naval Academy, I was usually spared from the tedium of administrative work. Smoker would send me after various pirate gangs, I'd execute (ha!) my duties, and then return to base for debriefing before the cycle would begin again. I gave the man results - it didn't make that much sense to put me behind a desk.

Tashigi, on the other hand, was Smoker's aide-de-camp; she practically breathed paperwork and could recite naval regulations chapter and verse, while still being the best goddamn swordsman I'd ever laid eyes on.

It came as no surprise, therefore, that the inbox on my desk was still several inches high as the setting sun's amber rays began to creep through my office window.

"Yes yes," I grumbled, hurriedly signing off on another gunpowder requisition. "Just… slow down, will you? I'm almost ready."

I wasn't almost ready. My fellow Captain had seemingly foisted all of the truly tedious and mundane matters onto my shoulders - and I'd had to cross-reference a few of the more obscure forms that required my signature over the course of the day.

There were also a number of written requests that I, acting in my capacity as an officer and a gentleman, had to deny.

I was not going to authorize a fireworks display because 'another pirate scum bit it.' Not only was the request made in poor taste, but we didn't even have any fireworks, nor the budget to buy any.

...of course, there was going to be a fireworks show once the Commodore left, whether or not I approved it. But I had to draw the line somewhere, dammit.

I was still trying to hack my way through the dense thicket of military-grade paper when Tashigi knocked on my door - she had a unique rhythm to her knocks.

"Yes?" I called out.

"Barrett," the woman's voice came out somewhat muffled through the wood. "We have dinner with the Commodore in ten minutes. Are you presentable?"

I was not, as it happened. My jacket was on the coatrack, since the base's lack of AC made my office sweltering during the day, but my undershirt had been soaked through. I needed a shower and a fresh change of clothes, and I didn't have anything like the amount of time to get either.

"Give me a second!"

I did, however, have a Navi.

Cupping my left hand upwards, I summoned my Ghost to my side from the extradimensional space he inhabited - he saw and heard everything I did, so there was little need to bring him up to speed.

"Let me guess," his synthesized voice hummed. "Shower and a fresh set of clothes?"

"Please and thank you," I confirmed.

If you've never been cleaned and dressed by a paracausal AI, you might wonder why you'd ever want to do things the old-fashioned way ever again. It was trivial for my Ghost to clean me; the clothing he fabricated could be tailored or colored exactly to my wishes and specifications.

The reason was simple: being cleaned by Light itched. It felt like a million rapidly moving ant legs skittering up and down your entire body; I always tensed up as the sensation washed over me, and I doubted I'd ever get used to it. Even if it was over in less than ten seconds, it did pretty much the opposite of a shower in terms of relaxing and acclimating one's mindset.

Getting dressed wasn't anywhere near as bad, but it was still a bit unnerving. I had this irrational fear that if I moved too much while Navi did it, my legs would be coterminous with my pants, and that was a sensation I had no desire to ever experience.

Nonetheless, having cheated myself to a mostly-pristine appearance, and taking an extra minute to run a comb through my hair, I opened the door to find Tashigi waiting on the other side, nails tapping against her elbow impatiently.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I resisted the urge to drawl. "Shall we be off?"

The officer's mess had been freshly cleaned and fancied up for the Commodore's visit. That meant tablecloths on the long table; the buffet and trays had been replaced with an enlisted waiter and the good china; and the military chef had been given a better grade of ingredients than she usually had to work with.

The Navy had three-to-four grades of food, in my experience. There was the food we actually ate while on the seas - mostly hardtack, supplemented with whale jerky, with water rations twice a day and a measure of rum with lime (or orange) and sugar at dinner to keep scurvy away. There were field rations, which included dried fruits and nuts in some kind of primitive trail mix. There was the standard base fare, which was actually fairly passable, mixing pre-prepared and dried foodstuffs with more locally sourced produce and groceries.

And then there was the stuff that officers ate when they wanted to schmooze.

"Grilled sea bass, with anchovy-caper butter and egg noodles." Tashigi took the plate without comment.

"-Porterhouse steak, baked potato, and roasted broccoli." Smoker grunted, and swirled his glass of red wine appreciatively.

"-Grilled eel over rice and pickles," the black coffin was placed in front of me, and I sighed in contentment.

"-And the Nouilles et fromage en casserole," our waiter finished, with Secant thanking him warmly.

That last dish was literally just mac and cheese. You can't have everything.

Secant was staying at G-5 for the next two days, and was having dinner with the various units and officers stationed here. Smoker, Tashigi, and I comprised Unit 01; the other units were headed by Lieutenants.

"...Marvelous," Secant licked his lips, removing a small trail of ooey gooey yellow from them. "How did you find your chef, Vice Admiral?"

"I did not," came Smoker's response. Secant raised a carefully plucked eyebrow, but the large man did not care to elaborate any further.

"Does Fleet Admiral Akainu-" Tashigi began, before the Commodore cut her off.

"-Please, Captain. It's only proper to refer to him as 'Sakazuki' now that he's ascended," he all but tut-tutted.

"-Fleet Admiral Sakazuki," she continued. "Often have you doing these inspection tours?"

Was that a small needle? Was Tashigi growing claws?

"The Admiral-"

"Fleet Admiral, surely," I couldn't help but rebut. Good for the goose, good for the gander, after all.

Unfortunately, he merely bowed his head at my correction.

"-Fleet Admiral," he said smoothly. "Wishes to better understand the state of his Navy. After all, many promising Marines had been passed over for promotion under the previous administration.

His eyes lingered over a glowering Smoker.

"And just as many were promoted despite a lack of merit."

Abruptly he let out a fake little laugh. "But there are no worries of that here!" he grinned. "HQ is simply thrilled by your results. Tell me Cap-Brevet Captain Barrett: what was your largest bounty?"

It probably said something that I had to think about that.

"Hmmm," I bought myself more time by taking another bite of my eel. It was delicious - hardly a chore, that. "...I want to say… three hundred million? Something like that?"

Not that it really mattered - Navy officers weren't qualified to receive bounties. And the incentives and commissions for dealing with the more notorious pirate leaders capped out around fifty thousand a pop.

And while most officers seemed to delight in keeping score, I tended to forget mine after dealing with them.

"Three hundred and twenty-five million bellies," Smoker informed us. Tashigi made a small sound in the back of her throat.

"...If you say so, sir."

That little exchange seemed to break Secant's flow for an instant, but he recovered quickly. "Yes," he nodded. "The Caribou Pirates - vile creatures, the lot of them. How did you manage to take them both down?"

Caribou grinned, a pointed tongue sliding serpentine with the expression.

"You think you can hurt me with that, Marine?" he hissed. "Go ahead. Try."

"I shot Caribou," came my reply. "In the chest."

"But even with that," he nodded at the revolver strapped to my thigh. "The man had the Swamp Swamp fruit. Don't get me wrong, Barrett - it shoots, what? Forty-five?"

"Sixty caliber."

"-Sixty caliber rounds, but against a Devil Fruit user…."

"Devil Fruit aren't everything," I shrugged.

"So modest," he marveled. "Did you know that you have the highest success rate in the entirety of the Navy?"

That… that surprised me. I mean, to be sure I never came back empty handed, but even still there had to be somebody who-

"Brevet Captain Barrett is one of my finest," Smoker stated. "But he is young and new to the Marines. One day, he will be stymied - it is inevitable. His successes are to be commended - but he is not perfect. And I have been careful to send him only against such foes as I judged him capable of besting."

...shit, was I being headhunted?

"Which included the Caribou Pirates, Vice Admiral," Secant countered. "Possibly the worst supernova crew since Eustass Kid or the Surgeon of Death."

He was staring at me quite intently now.

"So tell me, Brevet Captain: what do you call your justice?"

Ah. This.

Everyone of rank in the Marines was obsessed with justice - it was literally emblazoned on (most of) their uniforms. Absolute Justice, Burning Justice, Cleansing Justice, Lazy Justice - everyone had their own personal interpretation of the concept.

"Honestly?" I said. "I don't."

Silence.

Absolute silence, broken only by the muffled thump of one of Smoker's cigars hitting the table.

"You… don't?"

"I don't," I confirmed.

Tashigi was very pale.

"Justice," I said, since it seemed nobody was going to be picking up the thread of conversation any time soon. "Is an illusion."

Secant let out an unsteady, very nervous-sounding laugh. "Now, Brevet Captain, that's quite a bad joke. You have killed many enemies of the state-"

"I have-"

"-so why? You aren't some sort of... madman who kills indiscriminately."

"Of course I'm not," I frowned, somewhat offended at the implication.

"And you've gained a great deal of honor and prestige for doing so! Headquarters is very pleased with you!"

"...Why?"

Once again, Secant reeled. "B-because as I just said, you have taken down many of the worst brigands and criminals to sail the seas! Justice!"

"Is that what justice is?" I asked, taking a bite off my plate. "Killing in the name of the government?"

"Upholding the law and punishing evil is the definition of justice, yes!"

Smoker frowned; Tashigi looked troubled.

"Justice is a word," was my reply. "I killed Caribou - everyone I've killed, I've done it so that someone, somewhere, who I have never met and never will - will be happy."

Secant blinked.

Smoker picked up his forgotten cigar.

"That's… a bit…" he seemed to be searching for the right word. "Naive? Don't you think?"

"It isn't about the killing," I said, shaking my head. "I'm- I'm good at killing. But that's not something to be proud of, except as a skill and talent I've cultivated. If Caribou had- I don't know, become a gardener, had left his murderous ways behind and was instead spending his days tilling the soil, should he still be killed?"

"Absolutely!" the other three in the room all seemed in agreement.

"I agree," I noted, just in case they thought I was legitimately mad. "Because it would not do for society to forgive that behavior." That.. wasn't going quite the way I wanted, so I switched gears. "Caribou was a threat - everyone around him a potential victim for his unseemly appetites. I stopped that threat - and because I stopped him, all of the people who would have died, or lost loved ones, or suffered, are now better off. Unquestionably."

"And what of the law?" Secant pressed. "What of the World Government?"

"Tram rail widths."

Secant seemed completely lost at this point, floundering between confusion and annoyance. "...I don't follow."

"Tram rails," I said. "Must be 145 centimeters wide, by order of the World Government. No more, no less. Is that justice?"

"Of course!"

"Not at all. There's no reason why it couldn't be 146. Or 140. Or 150. Presumably there's a reason why 145 was chosen but there are other numbers nearly as good. But to have one rail be 145 and another 140 and yet another 160… that would make life all the more difficult for those who work the trams. So the number is set at 145, and we all live the happier for it."

"So the laws and edicts of the World Government-"

"Are, largely, a good and useful guide. But even if there was no law against piracy, I think we can all agree that the act would be wrong, even if 'unjust' may not be the best term for it."

Silence, once again.

Smoker was softly chuckling, small tremors shaking the table lightly.

"So," the Vice Admiral said. "In short, you believe Justice is-"

"The greatest good for the greatest number of people, subject to second order effects like precedent, civilization, informational problems…" I waved my hand idly. "That sort of thing."

"And I thought you had little to say on this matter," Smoker rumbled. "You never engaged with any of the others during our discussions of justice. But your… 'Illusory Justice' seems to be more deep than your first remarks."

"Eh," I waggled my hand. "I haven't much of an opinion."

Tashigi groaned into her sea bass.

"...I see," Secant stated at last. "A shame, that such a prestigious unit has such a… incomplete understanding of justice."

"It is not incomplete," Tashigi's voice cut across the room. "And it is perhaps because of our understanding that we have done so well."

"I would be careful, Captain," Secant stabbed at his nouilles et fromage. "A Marine who associates with pirates is hardly one to speak of such matters."

Her chin jutted out proudly. "The World Government tolerates the Seven Warlords," she said. "I was merely following in their example. Or are there not pirates who are useful?"

There was an undercurrent of biting sarcasm there that I didn't expect from Tashigi; clearly that remark had cut her.

"The Warlords are only necessary for the moment," Secant held his ground. "When we have the might, they too shall face their justice. Until then - it is an abomination, but one we must tolerate."

"Then your justice is relative to your power," Tashigi went straight for the heart. "And is not nearly as absolute as you claim."

Her lip twisted. "A pity that a blade as fine as yours belongs to one with a stone for a heart."

And with that, we had a duel on our hands.

 

[Blaflaix]

If you've never been cleaned and dressed by a paracausal AI, you might wonder why you'd ever want to do things the old-fashioned way ever again. It was trivial for my Ghost to clean me; the clothing he fabricated could be tailored or colored exactly to my wishes and specifications.

The reason was simple: being cleaned by Light itched.

Click to shrink...

But think of how it'd drive your opponent insane seeing you walk out of a burning building, surrounded by bodies, in full dress uniform with perfectly polished shoes!

 

[BlueArcher]

Damn this Illusory Justice is something that I want to continue watching how it develop and affects others.

 

[JOJOBRN]

This is a nice story so far. I like your characterizations!

 

[industrious]

But think of how it'd drive your opponent insane seeing you walk out of a burning building, surrounded by bodies, in full dress uniform with perfectly polished shoes!

Click to shrink...

Fair point.

This is a nice story so far. I like your characterizations!

Click to shrink...

Thank you very much - it's highly appreciated.

 

[industrious]

Chapter Three

The challenge - demand satisfaction. If they apologize... no need for further action

"Kneel," Secant ordered, pointing at a spot below him.

Tashigi's gaze was stony. "No."

I looked towards Smoker but while he had a pained, almost resigned expression on his face, the Vice Admiral wasn't going to be stopping this madness.

I needed to up the regs on duelling, dammit.

Grab a friend, that's your second. Your trusty Brevet, when there's reckoning to be reckoned.

The officers' mess was cleared quickly, and I escorted Tashigi to her quarters - even the most otaku of sword geeks didn't have her weapon on her at all times.

"This is insane, you know that?" I asked her, whispering hushedly. As we quickstepped down the corridors, the marines on the base were starting to look at us - word seemed to travel impossibly fast sometimes. "Goddamn bugfucking nuts, Tashigi."

"Would you have had me kneel, Barrett?"

"God no, not to that prick, but-"

"Do you think I carry Shigure for the 'aesthetic'? Or the 'vine'?" Once in her quarters, she shucked off her formal coat, and I hurriedly turned around to give her privacy, closing the door as I did so.

"Of course not," My words were hurried, my heart racing. I didn't smile - even if a part of me enjoyed how my language had infected her. "But there has to be a better way than-than-"

"I trust you, Barrett. Just as I do Smoker. The way you act, the way you treat those who serve under us…."

I nearly came back to face her but restrained myself. The Captain was a very modest woman, and even if she was quite pretty I wasn't sixteen anymore.

Clothes continued to rustle behind me.

"...this felt like the right thing to do."

"Tashigi…" I trailed off. "You don't have to risk your life to defend my, ah" I couldn't exactly say dumb fucking philosophical opinions given the circumstances. "Ideal of justice."

"Of course I do," she sounded puzzled by the assertion. "We're Marines. That's what we do. You can turn back around, Barrett."

Tashigi was dressed in a navy Hawaiian shirt with wide, pale blue tumbling-block pattern stripes on it. Shigure had been taken from the shrine it usually rested on and was tied to her hip. Her glasses had been replaced by the clear goggles I had gotten her.

"Do you trust me?"

What else was there to say?

"I do."

She nodded at the door. "Then let's go."

Pick a place to die where it's high and dry

The duel took place in the base's courtyard, where Tashigi practiced her swordplay on a daily basis - spars against the enlisted men to hone both her skills and theirs. The sun was gasping out its final rays of orange upon the horizon; inky purple was beginning to fade to black. Someone had chalked a circle a bit under 40 feet across; two lines had been drawn four feet apart, each one four from the center.

"Most disputes die and no one shoots," I half-muttered, half-sung to myself.

Last chance to negotiate - send in your seconds, see if they can set the record straight

"Barrett," I introduced myself.

"Lannery," my counterpart grunted, a stout man in a crisp, mostly standard-issue uniform - the only departure being twin bandoliers bearing granados; his pants had a tuxedo-style stripe of matchbox material on them.

"Can we agree this is goddamn stupid?"

"Probably," he acknowledged. "She shouldn't have insulted a superior officer."

"Now," that got my hackles up a bit. "That's not quite what happened-"

"-doesn't matter," he shrugged. "She's gotta answer for her words."

This goddamn world.

"Okay-" I sighed, half-singing under my breath.

"-So we're doing this."

Summon all the courage you require - then count

Secant drew his blade, five feet of waterfall-patterned damascus rippling in the light of the setting sun. "You think you can try your Shigure against my Mizudansa?"

"The quality of the blade is not the same as the quality of its wielder." Tashigi remained placid, moving into a high guard, the brass pommel of her katana resting against her forehead.

Being an officer, I had a front row seat to the standing-room only duel - the circular arena was ringed with spectators from both the base and the Unconditional. Someone with more sense than usual (me) had everyone move at least five feet away from the arena proper, but given the caliber of swordswoman Tashigi was, that probably was less than the optimal range.

But you try keeping men from getting as close as possible to a duel between two officers. One of whom is a very attractive woman that the hopeless perverts on this base were no longer openly ogling or leering at.

I'd had to order so. Many. Floggings. In the first month or so I'd been here. And then, when a sergeant tried to beat me up in my bunk one night, a full-on execution.

That wasn't even getting into what I did to Yarisugi.

The two of them were settled into their respective stances now - Tashigi's high versus Secant's low, almost lazy guard.

"The duel will commence after a count of ten," Smoker's voice boomed out from above us.

"Count to ten," I hummed to myself. "Count to ten… Count to-"

Number ten - paces fire!

Clang

Steel rang out against steel as Tashigi pressed her offensive. Again and again the blades clashed, patterned Damascus against the relatively plain Shigure; from her initial downward strike, she smoothly transitioned into a series of diagonal blows, advancing swiftly even as Secant backpedaled with a slick stride that reminded me of nothing less than an ice skater's ease.

Tashigi's offense was honed by years of practice against lesser marines and pirates alike. Her strikes assumed that there was some comrade of her opponent waiting in the wings; her movements took a slight detour, ready to transform into a parry at a moment's notice. But Secant appeared to be at least a peer to her; he took advantage of these wasted motions, using the additional time to steady himself, never moving until the last possible second.

He was letting her play it out, I realized - his defensive motions were tight, controlled, efficient. For all my comrade's fury, she had yet to land a blow, and her eyes were narrowed in frustration at her lack of results.

As the heel of Secant's foot met the outer boundary of the dueling ground, he twisted aside another blow - but left himself conspicuously open on his right side.

He was baiting her - had to be. I could see the triumph alight in his eyes as she took it-

-but Tashigi let out a mighty KIAI! as Shigure lanced forth, nudging aside the elegant parry that'd been prepared for her. It suffered mightily for that - much of her strike's momentum had been lost - but first blood was hers.

Where his beauty mark had been painted on Secant's cheek, there was now a single, acne-like dot.

"You… brute!" Secant declared, and their blades locked together, their snarling faces less than a foot apart.

"First blood to m-" Tashigi began, before the smaller man knocked her back with a push kick; she recovered quickly, tucking into a backwards roll, but she'd only barely gotten back on her feet before the Commodore was on her.

Secant's style was more measured than Tashigi's; he wielded his blade, nearly of a height with himself, as if it were a scalpel. Tashigi was forced to twist and contort to adequately defend; the longer reach of the dandy's weapon kept her from a proper riposte.

More than that, there was an anger behind his attacks, a metaphysical heat. His blows were aimed to cripple or maim, not merely to wound or kill. There was a dark glint in his eyes that had nothing to do with the setting sun or the shadows that were now cast upon the courtyard in which the duel was fought.

His advance was not monotonic; Secant would retreat if one of Tashigi's parries risked bringing them closer. Twice, she thought she had found an opening and moved in for a strike; each time, his blade would twist and deflect, seeking to open up an arm or hand, and the Captain would have to disengage, forced to back away as he continued to set and reset the distance and measure.

Of course, Tashigi found an opening anyway. Narrowly avoiding one of his thrusts, she slid Shigure down the flat of his blade, the katana's curved blade flickered black for a second as a howling vacuum shot out, compressed wind crashing against the Commodore's chest-

-but even though it cut through the cloth of his uniform, the obsidian chest beneath was unmarred.

"Is that all?"

Sweat beaded from his temples, his breathing was low, deep.

But Tashigi wasn't doing much better.The dark blue shirt she wore was slashed and tattered from near-misses; it was darker still from her exertions.

"Of course no-" Mizudansa crashed against a hastily formed high guard, and the force of it drove my Captain back several inches.

I could see her arm buckle after that parry, her hands now trembling around the hilt of Shigure.

So could Secant.

"Getting tired?" he asked with faux-concern, advancing with deceptively slow sweeps from his sword.

Tashigi's counters were less precise, unable to stop her sword after knocking back his blade.

Then, she misjudged the distance, her counter fell short, the point of his weapon streaking towards her neck-

"Soru!"

-and hitting nothing but empty air.

Tashigi reappeared out of distance and behind Secant, her blade raised above her head and pointed between his shoulder blades.

She still needed a second to recover; her breath came in heavy pants, her stance wobbled slightly.

"One last chance," she said quietly. "One last strike!"

The last ray of the departing sun highlighted the edge of Shigure; she crossed the final few steps with sure footing born of desperation. Around the blade a nimbus of force and will gathered-

Secant turned as it in slow motion, his blade close to his body in defense. His eyes widened as Tashigi unleashed the last of her strength-

The tips of their katanas met.

Opposed coronas flared and clashed against each other, will and strength and power matched against each other. Their clothes blew and rippled in the breeze their respective aura created; one unlucky enlisted who'd gotten to close was blasted off his feet.

"Hiyaaaaaa!" Tashigi cried out, her battle cry resonating in an anti-harmony with Secant's own. The defined musculature of her arms was highlighted as she pressed it forwards, fighting for every millimeter.

The point at which their blades touched lurched forwards infinitesimally.

It stopped.

It moved again.

Secant's teether were gritted; a teardrop of blood welled from the spot where his beauty mark had once been.

It stopped.

It moved-

Tashigi growled, her arms buckling-

-And Secant's katana shot forwards, the force with it blasting Tashigi off her feet.

She crashed to the stone floor of the courtyard, and was still, save for the weak rise and fall of her chest. Next to her, Shigure bounced once, it's blade quivering, its hilt resting against her calf.

The crowd was silent.

Slowly, with a deliberation borne equally from caution and exhaustion, Secant approached his fallen opponent.

Her limbs twitched weakly as she tried to stand, but she was only up to her elbows when Secant pressed a foot against her stomach, and pushed her back down.

It had taken nearly half an hour for him to win.

I could feel the murder in her eyes.

The tip of his blade rested just above her cheek, the equivalent spot to where his painted dot had been. It twitched a few degrees away, and then lowered slightly as he prepared to leave his mark.

Her eyes shone with defiance, not an ounce of fear or submission in them.

He paused.

And then...

"...pathetic," he sneered, and rather than complete the blow, instead bent down to pick up Shigure.

My fellow captain's eyes widened, shock and anger almost tangible. Her limbs twitched upwards once again, all her spent strength behind the motion, but Secant merely kicked her in the ribs, her cry of pain a contrast to his terrifying, lacksidacial action.

Abruptly, Secant stopped, one knee already on the ground and his fingers about to brush against the katana's tsuba.

"...I think I've proven my point well enough," he said instead, rising to his feet.

He took a step back, nodded briefly to me.

I moved my hand off the grip of my revolver.

"I think," he began, eyeing the murderous looks that the men of G-5 were throwing at him. "That I will be rooming in my cabin aboard the Unconditional tonight."

"That might be best," I informed him. "Sir."

The rest of his men fell in behind him as the Commodore made his way out. In that moment, I was proud and, perhaps a little disappointed, that the men technically under my command didn't open fire.

But there'd been enough senseless bloodshed and violence this evening. I went to Tashigi, who was struggling to get to a half-seated position, and kneeling by her side, offered a hand.

"Nnnmph," she grunted, her head twitching from side to side.

"Yes ma'am," I noted, and bringing her arm across my shoulders, locked my elbow against her far armpit before bringing her up to vertical. I wasn't any taller as a Guardian than I was in my previous life, but I was at least Captain America strong - I'd deadlifted anchors before on a dare.

Compared with that, Tashigi weighed nothing.

I waved off the others offering to help and I began to walk my fellow Captain back to her rooms.

"Ih'was'u," she slurred, anger evident even through the fatigue. "Wasn't'it?"

"I don't know what you mean," I began, but she sort of thumped her shoulder against my back, and nearly sent us crashing through a wall.

"...What do you want me to say, Tashigi?" I said instead.

"'M not a damsel, Barrett," she grunted. "I can take a hit."

"I know."

"It would've been a r'minder. Of the strength of my convictions. And the distance… between them and my ability."

I didn't play fair. "The scar? Or the space where Shigure used to be?"

She groaned, not because of physical pain but in remembrance of the emotions that had coursed through her when she'd thought her prized possession was going to be taken from her.

"My duel. My choice. My life." She twitched again, the point of the shoulder crashing into me once more and I winced. I was going to be feeling that in the morning. "'N I told you not to help me. You bastard."

We'd reached the door to her quarters - Navi had anticipated my needs and had unlocked it in advance.

"If you want me to apologize, Tashigi-"

"I won't make a liar out of you. But when that bastard Commodore leaves - you're buying my drinks."

I didn't hesitate. "Done."

"And no singing!" she insisted, as I laid her in her bed.

At that, I had to chuckle. "No promises."

But for her… I'd at least consider it.

---

Tashigi and I wisely stayed in our respective offices and quarters for the remainder of Secant's inspection tour, only coming out to see him off, and even then we kept our distance.

It came as no surprise, therefore, that once the Unconditional was past the horizon, I was called into Smoker's office.

"Brevet Captain."

The Vice Admiral was seated behind his desk; the ashtray on his right was completely filled with half-smoked cigar ends, and the typical pair of dark Churchills was in his mouth. When I'd opened the door, thick, opaque smoke had billowed out of the room like there'd been a fog machine running. I'd half expected some leotard-clad muscleman to spring out and declare a challenge against me.

It wouldn't have been the first time.

"Vice Admiral, sir." I saluted, because even if Smoker didn't really care about the formalities in private, I had a feeling that this was a bit more formal than our usual meetings.

"I would like to inform you, Brevet Captain, that during the entire inspection tour, Commodore Secant had in his pocket a letter of promotion addressed to you."

I gave him a tight little smile.

"He burned that letter, Brevet Captain. In this very room, with one of my matches, after accepting one of my cigars."

I winced.

His gaze was quite firmly leveled at me.

"You could have been a full Captain, Brevet Captain Barrett."

"Yes," I acknowledged. "But I'd have had to see him every day."

The corner of Smoker's mouth twitched upwards.

"So you would have. It appears that for the foreseeable future, you are stuck at Base G-5, Brevet Captain."

"Oh no," I sighed, my voice falling dramatically. "Whatever shall I do."

"Your job," Smoker grunted. "And the continued pursuit and development of your Illusory Justice."

I winced once again at the phrase, and Smoker gave a quite satisfied little nod.

"It has proven to be somewhat popular with some of the men," he continued. "Petty Officer Morning even has had it stitched onto the back of his jacket."

A pained noise echoed around the Vice Admiral's office.

"I for one am glad that your ideals of justice overrode your ambition to climb the ranks of our Navy, Barrett."

That brought on a chuckle from me - though pretty much anything that got us away from that damned phrase would have. "What ambition, sir?"

It wasn't that I needed the extra salary, after all. Or wanted the additional responsibility. A leader of men? That was very decidedly not me, not at all.

Although, given how some of the Captains - hell, even a certain Commodore - had behaved, I probably had to be better than average just by dint of the law of large numbers.

"Precisely." Smoker agreed. "I myself remained a Captain for quite some time - for there was little to be gained from advancing unjustly. Our job is not to further our personal glory, but to keep those under our protection safe."

He tapped the desk, a pensive expression shadowing his eyes.

"...I will not tell you that the Navy is a perfect organization. Far from it. Commodore Secant is far from the worst among our comrades. And yet… given the alternatives, we do more good than not."

"It's why I joined, sir. If you remember."

He tapped out some of the ashes from his twin cigars. "How could I forget?"

Reaching under his desk, Smoker brought a manilla folder onto the surface, fingertips pushing it towards me. "With your position secure for the time being, I have a new assignment for you."

I opened the folder - a dossier and several photos were clipped to it.

"Lord Councilor Qard of Freemarque sent me a message that several of the nation's peoples were being raided by slavers," Smoker began. "This is extremely unusual - Freemarque's capital, Ket, has a substantial Marine garrison as per their treaty with the World Government. Contacting the garrison, they've reported increased pirate activities, and have issued a bounty of forty million for their leader - though no details have been forthcoming."

Slavery.

Well, that I couldn't abide.

"And you want me to…" I was pretty sure, but I wanted to hear him say it.

"I want you to find out what's going on there, and do what you do best, Barrett."

"You got it, sir." I leaned back in the chair. "Time to play big damn heroes."

 

[Vaalintine]

So Smoker has told people Barret's abilities are from a Devil Fruit, but does he know what they're really from?

 

[azereath]

So Smoker has told people Barret's abilities are from a Devil Fruit, but does he know what they're really from?

Click to shrink...

I think it was mentioned in an earlier chapter that smoker put it down to a fruit and then pointedly did not look any closer. afterall if it wasnt a fruit then it could be replicated. and if the world gov. found out about a pointenialy immortal army of marines then the life of one man, an entire marine base or even an entire sea is of no concequence .

 

[Andorxor]

And it is impossible to kill him to set the fruit free,anyone other devilfruit user with a power the goverment wants gets probable executed

 

[lemonblade]

this is very good, keep it up, I cant wait to see more!

 

[Young Pyromancer]

I thought only the admirals had a unique 'interpretation' of justice?

 

[Noxy]

I thought only the admirals had a unique 'interpretation' of justice?

Click to shrink...

I think its more the admirals have a position that permits them to act on their interpretation while the lower ranks dont. The higher the rank the more wiggle room you have to act.

 

[LordTom]

I love the interaction between him and his boss. Hope to see more.

 

[industrious]

So Smoker has told people Barret's abilities are from a Devil Fruit, but does he know what they're really from?

Click to shrink...

I think it was mentioned in an earlier chapter that smoker put it down to a fruit and then pointedly did not look any closer. afterall if it wasnt a fruit then it could be replicated. and if the world gov. found out about a pointenialy immortal army of marines then the life of one man, an entire marine base or even an entire sea is of no concequence .

Click to shrink...

Yup - Smoker knows it isn't a Devil Fruit; he knows a bit about some of Barrett's abilities that aren't resurrective immortality. But exactly what it is isn't his business.

And it is impossible to kill him to set the fruit free,anyone other devilfruit user with a power the goverment wants gets probable executed

Click to shrink...

Well, if it were a Devil Fruit, then Seastone or drowning should work.

this is very good, keep it up, I cant wait to see more!

Click to shrink...

I love the interaction between him and his boss. Hope to see more.

Click to shrink...

Glad you both like it.

There are plans to have a flashback to Barrett and Smoker's first meeting - might be next chapter, might be later on. Do people have an opinion on this?

 

[ArktosJ]

I was wondering what class is your guardian, and does he have anything with him, as in weapons armor, maybe a sparrow? I know he has a gun but they do also exist natively in the one piece world. Also could he come to learn some of the trainable powers of the one piece world like haki or just their general enhanced physicality?

 

[industrious]

I was wondering what class is your guardian, and does he have anything with him, as in weapons armor, maybe a sparrow? I know he has a gun but they do also exist natively in the one piece world. Also could he come to learn some of the trainable powers of the one piece world like haki or just their general enhanced physicality?

Click to shrink...

He's a Hunter (from the prologue), mostly specializing in Void.

His armor and weapons aren't really Destiny-grade. The armor is made out of materials similar to the starting armor set, but without the electronics/HUD. The hand cannon uses actual bullets rather than power cells - its much better than the local flintlocks but it's nothing compared to even a Blueberry's Hand Cannon.

@Andoriol and I discussed Haki usage - the short answer is no, he won't learning Haki. Paracausality and resurrective immortality functionally serve as Armament Haki (only better); while Observation Haki has issues with paracausality and Emperor's Haki is sufficiently rare are in-setting that it can't be justified.

Remember though, that Guardians already have heavily enhanced physiques in lore.

 

[Jastolus]

Excellent!

Slavery.

Well, that I couldn't abide.

Click to shrink...

Well that seems like a chekovs gun ready to be fired into the world government's face when he finds out about the whole endorsing slavery thing. (A bit surprised really, that he didn't know yet, but it's a big world.) Though given his view that the world government does more good than bad, and is necessary to protect people from pirates like the ones he is hunting, what exactly he is going to do about it remains to be seen.

 

[industrious]

Chapter Four

The world I was trapped on made no goddamn sense.

Naval Base G-5 was located in the "New World," the western half of a current spanning the planet known as the "Grand Line." Going further west would lead to the "Red Line" - a planet spanning mountain range with peaks that made Everest look like a bunny hill. I was no geologist, but I was pretty sure that ocean currents didn't move through mountain ranges.

The nation of Freemarque was on the other side of the Red Line, a region known as "Paradise," a name which I fervently hoped was ironic. Regardless of which side of the Red Line you were on, navigation was more prayer-fueled art than science. On the Grand Line, regular compasses were useless, with specially crafted "Log Posses" or "Eternal Posses" required to either advance across a predetermined route or point to a single given island. Even worse, while some ships did possess paddle systems, they were rare and expensive - nearly all ships that put to sea were at utterly the mercy of the wind and tides.

The Grand Line had very little mercy to spare. When dark clouds dotted the horizon, I'd known captains who'd prayed that it was "just" a typhoon.

One of the great strengths of the Navy was their enormous collection of Log and Eternal Posses, as well as the extremely high (and most importantly standardized) quality of their ships. However, Smoker's budget could only charitably be described as "shoestring" - he didn't have a proper ship to spare for the first leg of my journey.

I could hitch a ride on G-5's main supply ship - but that particular boat wouldn't be coming for another three weeks, and it was neither particularly speedy nor on a direct route to the Navy encampment on the New World side of the Red Line. It would take nearly two months to get to the Red Line by that route.

So two days after the Commodore left our base, enough time for Tashigi to get over her hangover (the woman had taken me for two days pay worth of drinks), I set off to little formal fanfare on an old rowboat with a very conspicuous patch job at the front. No sail, no supplies, just myself and a pair of oars.

Marines, do not try this at home.

The first hour was hell, I'm not going to lie. The waves bounced and jolted me here and there - I bobbed up and down upon the waves like a rubber ducky in a coked-up five-year old's bathtub. I vomited - twice, and the second time, nothing but pure bile and acid spewed into the dark, wine-colored sea.

That wasn't a poetic metaphor, incidentally. The sea looked (and smelled) like a Merlot.

Navi informed me that the color and scent came from an algae bloom that would kill me if I digested it. Still clutching at the side of my little rowboat, my only response was to flip him off.

"Oh don't be like that," he counseled, his synthetic voice making an attempt at soothing. "Seasickness is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Blrrrrgscraohgodno-" Three times.

"I just wish I could be of better help," my eternal dodecahedral companion mourned.

"Killlll meeeeeee," I groaned.

"...No, I don't think that would help," the bastard commented. "To prevent matter superposition, I reconstitute you a few inches above the nearest solid surface. While I'm sure you wouldn't trip, going down while the boat is ascending would not alleviate your nausea."

I moaned incoherently.

It wasn't that I was prone to seasickness, per se. This was just a small boat. On a larger ship, the current and waves would have a far less effect, proportionately.

Going out in a small ship across the open ocean was, bluntly, suicide. Even back in my old life.

There were tall tales in the Navy that some Admiral with a Devil Fruit used to travel across the oceans on a bicycle. That was just bullshit, especially since the corporal I heard it from then claimed that he'd quit in protest years ago.

I'd told him flatly that while I had met Marines who were that dumb, I hadn't met any that were that cocky.

Said corporal had then gotten all pale and stammery, which just went to show he was bullshitting.

"...Right," I groaned, an interminable (seven minutes, thirty-three seconds, according to Navi) time later. "Let's do this."

"Accessing Glimmer reserves," my Ghost supplied. "Standard Template retrieved. Customizations incorporated. Beginning item synthesis."

The air around the small AI began to pulse with a soft white light.

"Jump at my mark. Five… four… three... two… one. Mark!"

I jumped. Well, I tried. Still nauseous, I got maybe three inches of air.

But that was three inches out of the goddamn boat - the moment I felt gravity begin to pull me down once more, I lept again, pushing off the empty air.

I was still shaky - around five feet, vertically, and two to the left. I'd be hitting the red wine water if this didn't work. I only had a few seconds to get into position. Still in mid-air, I leaned forwards, kicking my legs out behind me. I was doing my best Superman impression - or, being less generous, prime belly flop pose.

The air whined in protest, but with a foot and a half to spare, my Sparrow materialized around me.

A Sparrow has four primary elements. A pedal-based steering system; a motorcycle-style saddle; an anti-grav system… and a jet drive engine.

The S-10 pattern that Navi had in his databanks was apparently a basic model. I'd replaced the seat with more comfortable cushioning, added some padding around the knees, but the beating heart of the machine remained stock. Back home, I'd been barely qualified to change the windshield wipers on my car; I wasn't fucking with an engine straight out of Star Wars.

According to Navi, higher-end Sparrows on the racing circuit could reach speeds of 220 kmph. He'd sounded apologetic that mine couldn't reach those speeds.

Frankly?

I was perfectly fine going 190.

The ocean currents? No longer an issue.

Waves? I was a foot above the water now. While larger waves could threaten my position, I knew (after long hours of trial and error) how to compensate.

Navigation? I had Navi - who could not only remember the magnetic signature of every island we'd ever visited, but could also approximate a GPS system using said signatures and a literal map.

I was the fastest man on the ocean, unfettered by any of the limitations of this world's society.

I was free.

The jet engine flared.

I was off.

---

Of course, the Grand Line being the fucked-up special kind of crazy that it was, getting to Ket wasn't as simple as going towards the island as the crow flies. I had to dodge three typhoons, a blizzard, a number of spontaneous whirlpools, and no less than five approaching Sea Kings. Navi was absolutely indispensable in this - I usually had at least a minute of warning, sometimes up to ten before any given hazard became an issue.

That being said, I did die one time, maybe an hour before I reached the redline. Instantaneous flash freeze - the temperature in a five hundred foot radius changed from "slightly chilly" to "literally (and I do mean literally) absolute zero" in a split second. Not Navi's fault - I didn't blame him in the slightest.

But in any case, thanks to the magic of science and engineering, the trio of islands that made up the nation of Freemarque came into view after slightly more than two day's travel. While I could have theoretically done it faster, I'd stopped by one of the smaller islands on the Grand Line to get some shut-eye.

"Ket is the largest of the three islands, Guardian," Navi supplied helpfully. "The island shares the name of the capital city - curious. Is that typical of human settlements?"

"Eh," I would have waggled a hand if I'd had one to spare. "Not usually."

I pointed the nose of my Sparrow several degrees south of the island in question, the southmost of the trio. An asymmetric pair of worn-down volcanic peaks gently sloped up from the approximate center of the landmass; large swatches of pale yellow and grey crept up their slopes like moss. Towards the edges, I could see modern-looking buildings, and long, golden sandy beaches that could have been straight out of California.

Four and a half kilometers away, a merchant ship was pulling out from the horseshoe-shaped port of Freemarque's capital city, white sails flaring in the wind, its hull low with whatever cargo it carried. I sighed quietly, and turned further to the left, practically parallel with my destination.

If there was one rule that I lived by in this world, it was to reveal as little of my capabilities as possible. I hid my Ghost behind the "Live-Live Fruit"; whenever I summoned my Voidbow, I left no survivors (and if that was an issue, I didn't summon it at all). The same went for my Sparrow - while someone with access to my mission reports could almost certainly take an estimate of how fast I could move, so long as they didn't know how, I still had an advantage.

My standard procedure on approaching an inhabited island, therefore, was to circle around to an unpopulated stretch of coastline, and make my way to civilization by land.

I slowed from the full 190 kilometers to a steady 40 as I searched for the ideal landing spot. Ket was a relatively large island - I wanted to say about a hundred and fifty kilometers long ("One hundred and ninety-seven," Navi supplied), and shaped vaguely (vaguely) like a curled monkey's paw; it appeared to be well-developed to boot. Even after the capital city and port were no longer in view, I could still see telltale signs of civilization - roadways, billboards, even what looked to be small beachside resorts.

I ended up circling the island twice before choosing my landing site - a small cove about a third of the way south of the city, surrounded by dense forest.

Once I got off the Sparrow, Navi disassembled the machine back into Glimmer, leaving no trace that it was ever there.

"Fantastic plan, Guardian," Navi chirruped, bobbing up and down in his version of a nod. "Trekking through these woods will be a breeze with my navigational assistance!"

I gave my Ghost a quiet side-eye - I could never tell whether he was being sarcastic with me or not when he was this enthusiastic. He knew damn well that I was as directionally challenged as a brick; likewise, hiking through trailless woods was decidedly not my cup of tea.

Oh, the things I do for the job.

I started hiking.

"...It isn't even as if I need the money," I grumbled some time later, hacking away at a particularly thick branch barring my path. "I have plenty of savings. And, well-"

"You have me," Navi finished, humoring me. "Even if-"

"-Even if the bounty rewards for Navy personnel are capped at fifty thousand berries, I could go private," I continued. "I could be a literal bounty Hunter. Set my own hours. Collect the full reward, every time."

"Of course, Guardian. And it's not like-"

"-I wouldn't be able to see Smoker and Tashigi if I cut the cord. Hell, I'd probably use the man as my point of contact to pay out said bounties. In fact-"

I stopped suddenly, cursing. I'd hacked my way in pretty much a straight line from my landing site to the city of Ket proper - only to find the ground had abruptly come to an end.

"...Navi, why didn't you warn me about this?"

The "eye" at the center of the AI's core blinked innocently… maybe. "I thought you knew."

"...Of course you did," I remarked, shaking my head, and turning away from the bluff. It wasn't a particularly tall one - maybe a few hundred feet - but it was enough for me to get just a touch of vertigo standing atop it.

I took the opportunity to let my heart steady a bit, hands brushing against the bark of the nearest tree. The local flora wasn't like anything I'd ever seen back at home - the brown bark peeled away easily at my fingertips, revealing pristine white wood underneath. The trees here had enormous, faded-yellow leaves that crumpled in my hands rather than crumble. I'd thought it was just the equivalent of fall here, but instead….

"Paper," I breathed. "They literally are growing paper."

"Not exactly, Guardian," Navi shook his head in much the same manner as he nodded - a slight movement along the horizontal. "While my analysis indicates that you can indeed write on them, the quality is far inferior to what you are used to."

"Still, though," I mused. "Crazy."

"Fascinating," Navi insisted. "...We should get going. I believe you've stated a preference for not camping out of doors unless absolutely necessary."

I glanced at the sky briefly - we were well into the afternoon, alright.

"Fair enough," I conceded. "I suppose I've procrastinated long eno-"

I started running. Powerful legs thudded against the bluff; I closed my eyes, going by feel, the wind in my ears; the moment I felt the edge of the cliff face, I pushed off it, jumping forwards rather than up.

No, it was worse in darkness.

I opened my eyes just at the apex, and felt the lurch in my stomach as gravity informed me in no uncertain terms that my Wile E. Coyote impression was, in fact, dead-on.

I fell.

The ground awaited.

There may have been some screaming.

Two feet before I would have splattered against the soil, I jumped, Light-infused air like oobleck against my boots-

-I fell-

-and landed on my feet in a crouch, knees bent to soften the blow.

"You're getting better at that, Guardian," Navi commented.

"Uh huh," I said, drawing myself back to my full height.

"I mean it," my Ghost insisted. "You're learning to overcome your fear. And that's what being a Guardian is all about!"

I raised an eyebrow at that one. Navi had told me that many things were "What being a Guardian is all about" before.

Heights are a goddamn stupid fear, anyway. What was the worst that could happen if I fell? Die?

My mind was a fucked-up thing sometimes. Death? Not a problem after the first dozen or so times; the pain took longer to get used to, but experience was a cruel mistress. Heights? Fuck no, Barrett, those things are terrifying.

Maybe after another year of this, I'd be brave enough to go on Kingda Ka. If I ever got back, anyway.

A faint but ever-increasing buzzing put a stop to that particular line of thought.

"Trouble ahead," Navi cautioned, but I already had my revolver drawn.

Wasps.

Wasps the size of Mini Coopers, with three-sided stingers the size of which would have William Wallace nodding in approval.

Wasps the size of Mini Coopers, with claymore stingers, and argyle sweater vests.

There was a whole caravan's worth of them.

Their leader had a salmon colored v-neck several sizes too small, its sleeves knotted between its head and thorax like a cape.

"Oh boy," I sighed, and cocked the hammer of my gun. "Here we go again."

 

[Blaflaix]

"You're getting better at that, Guardian," Navi commented.

"Uh huh," I said, drawing myself back to my full height.

"I mean it," my Ghost insisted.

Click to shrink...

"You didn't even explode on the ground like an overripe tomato like the last 10 times!"

 

[Vaalintine]

Sweater vests, huh? That's just the bit of absurdity needed to fit things into the setting properly.

You know, if it gets revealed he isn't a devil fruit user, it could be said he is still something of the sort. He's just got his powers from a "sky god" instead of a sea god.

 

[pingas plight]

"Oh boy," I sighed, and cocked the hammer of my gun. "Here we go again."

Click to shrink...

Nukes
Nuke this entire god damn god abandoned hellsite

 

[industrious]

Author's note: As it currently stands, there are three major arcs planned for this fic. However, the exact details of these arcs are still being worked on. I know the major beats, but there's plenty of flexibility in between them.

Therefore, I'm going to ask everyone: What is it that people want to see in this fic? Are there any situations in particular that you'd want to put Barrett in?