Law's finger drummed the map, the parchment yellowed and brittle as old bone. Neon sludge-light seeped through the hideout's cracks, painting his face in jagged shadows. "Recon first," he said, voice like a blade dragged over stone. "Every operation's got a heart. Cut it, the rest bleeds out." His gaze—amber, unflinching—locked onto Willem. "Where's yours?"
Willem's hands tightened around a vial of Sanguine Lily nectar, the liquid inside glowing a sickly pink, pulsing like a trapped heartbeat. His fingers were stained green from years of botany, now etched with gunpowder burns. "Dr. Elsa Visser. Central lab. Beneath Windmill No. 4. Processes the SAD into slurry—Kaido's precious Smile fuel."
Marya leaned against the wall, arms crossed, Eternal Eclipse humming at her back like a restless spirit. Her void veins throbbed faintly under her sleeves. "Lab rat or prisoner?"
"Both," Bram rumbled. The ex-Overseer's bulk blocked the flickering bulb overhead, his arms crossed over a faded black uniform. A scar split his lip, twisting his grimace into something feral. "Doflamingo's got her daughter stashed. Leverage. Keeps her docile."
Law's jaw flexed, a muscle ticking near his temple. "We'll check the lab. Quietly."
Mira stepped forward, chalk dust cascading from her boots like powdered bone. Her laugh was a cracked bell, too sharp for the damp air. "Quiet?" She gestured to the mural behind her—a lion clawing through a dragon's ribs, workers rising with scythes. "You think quiet peels tyrants off thrones?"
"I think," Law said, cold as a scalpel sliding between ribs as he side-eyed her, "my crew isn't cannon fodder for your art."
The hideout froze. Lotte's wrench slipped, clattering against the floor in a discordant clang. Willem broke the silence, crushing a dried tulip in his palm. Dust rained onto the map. "Bram'll take you."
Bram's hand rubbed the back of his neck, calluses scraping stubble. "Fine. But when the Gifters come sniffing—" He mimed a blade across his throat. "—don't cry to me."
Law's eyes shifted as he split the crew.
Jean Bart, Ikkaku, Uni—to the Blood Dike. The First Mate loomed over the map, finger stabbing the crumbling sea wall sketched in ink. "Find weak points," Law ordered. "Rotted wood. Rusted rivets. Anything that'll crack under pressure."
Ikkaku spat into the corner, her wrench already spinning. "Break the Dike, drown the fields. Real poetic, Captain."
Clione, Hakugan, Penguin, Shachi—to track the Polar Tang. "And don't touch anything," Law warned.
Shachi saluted, grin slicing his freckled face. "Scout's honor!"
Penguin snorted, adjusting his goggles. "You've got honor? Since when?"
Bepo's ears drooped as Law pointed to him. "Why's I gotta go?"
"Sniffer," Law said, tapping his own nose. "That sludge's got a chemical stench. You'll smell traps before we step in 'em."
Lotte cornered Klaas near the exit, her braids fraying at the ends. "Evacuation routes. We need 'em."
Klaas's cane—carved from the mast of a ship he'd captained decades ago—thumped against the damp floor. He flipped open his mold-spotted book, pages sticking together like wounded skin. "Aqueducts. Old trade tunnels. If they're not collapsed."
"If?" Lotte's voice cracked, hands gripping her overalls.
Mira said nothing. Her chalk danced across the wall, orange arrows twisting into a labyrinth only she understood. The lion in her mural watched, one eye swirling.
Bram watched her too, arms folded. "Kid's got a death wish."
Willem crushed the tulip to dust. "We all do. Difference is, hers might actually mean something."
Lotte grabbed a lantern, its glass smeared with algae-green fingerprints. "I'll check the tunnels."
Klaas's cane blocked her path. "You'll get lost. Or crushed. Or worse."
"I rerouted the sewers!"
"And flooded a distillery," he snapped. "Which, congrats, gave the Overseers a new pool to piss in."
Her cheeks flushed. "Better than hiding!"
Willem's voice cut through, frayed at the edges. "Go with her, Klaas."
The old man groaned. "Why me?"
"Because," Willem said, bitterness staining the word, "you're the only one who remembers what this place was before."
Mira's chalk paused. The lion's ringed eye stared back, swallowing the lantern light. Lotte hovered, her shadow trembling. "You coming?"
Mira shook her head. Tapped the wall. Here.
"Signal's gotta be perfect, huh?"
Mira's fingers brushed the ringlet—a fingerprint of something forgotten, small but insatiable. Lotte didn't ask. Some truths were sharper swallowed whole. Marya lingered, staring at the mural. "That eye. What's it mean?" Mira didn't look up. Her chalk whispered, scritch-scritch, carving stars into the lion's mane. "What's your swirling ringlet mean?"
Law yanked Marya's sleeve, his patience a fraying thread. "Move."
The windmills groaned, their sails slicing through the smog like rusted scythes. Neon sludge oozed through the canals, bubbling and hissing like a witch's brew as it devoured the remains of rotting lily stems. Bram led the way, his canal-map tattoos glowing faintly under the poison-green sky—a living compass etched into skin. Law followed, Kikoku's hilt tapping his thigh in a silent rhythm. Marya drifted behind, her boots crunching over salt-crusted cobblestones, while Bepo sniffed the air, nose twitching at the chemical tang.
"Smells like… burnt sugar," Bepo muttered, ears flattening.
"Focus," Law said, though his own jaw tightened at the stench—saccharine rot, the kind that clung to the back of your throat.
They turned into an alley choked with rusted pipes, their surfaces weeping neon droplets. Ahead, Windmill No. 4 loomed, its gears grinding out a metallic scream. Beneath it, a hatch marked LAB ACCESS pulsed with faint pink light.
Bram paused, his hand hovering over the hatch. "Visser's down there. Lab's a maze. Watch for—"
"Halt."
The voice was gravel wrapped in velvet. Hendrik Van Berg stepped from the shadows, his Overseer's uniform hanging loose, moth-eaten at the seams. His trident gleamed, its prongs crusted with dried nectar, but his knuckles—bruised and split—trembled slightly. A child's hair ribbon, frayed and sun-bleached, was tied around his wrist.
Marya's eyes narrowed as she looked over her shoulder, reaching for Eternal Ellipse's hilt. "I can…."
Law's hand flicked—wait.
Bram stepped forward, shoulders rigid. "Hendrik. Still playing guard dog?"
Hendrik's eyes—hollow, bloodshot—flicked to the hatch. "You think I don't know what's down there?" His voice cracked. "You think I want to?"
Bram's tattoos rippled as he flexed his fists. "Then move."
"Can't." Hendrik's trident lowered, just an inch. "They'll take her. My Lina. What's left of her."
Law's gaze sharpened. "The daughter."
A flinch. Hendrik's thumb brushed the ribbon. "Blossoms are a pretty cage. But a cage." He glared at Bram. "You'd know. You ran."
Bram's laugh was a dry cough. "And you stayed. To do what?"
"To survive!" Hendrik's roar echoed off the pipes. A droplet of neon sludge splashed near Bepo's paw, and the bear yelped.
Marya tilted her head, blade gleaming as she gripped the hilt. "This is getting boring."
Law stepped between them, Room already shimmering at his fingertips. "Stand down. Or I'll carve a path through you."
Hendrik stared at the ribbon. For a heartbeat, the trident wavered. Then—
"Lab's rigged," he muttered, voice fraying. "Pressure plates in the floor. Disturb the nectar tanks, and the whole block goes up."
Bram's brow furrowed. "Why tell us?"
"Because," Hendrik spat, "if you die here, they'll blame me. And Lina…" He trailed off, the ribbon fluttering in the toxic breeze.
Law's eyes narrowed. "Where are the plates?"
Hendrik's trident pointed to the hatch. "Third step down. Left side." He turned to leave, shoulders hunched. "Never saw you."
Marya smirked, her posture relaxing. "Sentimental."
"No," Bram said, watching Hendrik disappear into the smog. "Just a man who's forgotten how to hope."
The hatch creaked open, releasing a gust of air that reeked of chemicals and despair. Bepo sneezed.
Law glanced back at the fading silhouette of Hendrik. "Move. And don't touch anything."
The tunnel swallowed them whole—walls slick with neon sludge, the air thick enough to choke on. Bram led with a lantern, its light trembling over Doflamingo's smiling sigils spray-painted on the walls, the red paint peeling like scabs. Law's boots crunched over shattered glass vials, their labels faded to ghosts: SAD-IX. NECTAR PURITY 98%.
Marya trailed a finger along the wall, the sludge clinging to her glove like congealed candy. "Explosives? Grenades?" Her voice echoed, too loud. "Why play with toys when you could just—"
Law's glare cut sharp. "Quiet."
Bepo sniffed a puddle of glowing pink liquid. "Smells like… sour milk."
Bram halted, lantern raised. Ahead, the tunnel split—left path collapsed under rubble, right path strung with thin copper wires glinting in the dim light. "Pressure plates," he muttered. "Hendrik wasn't lying."
They edged forward, single file. Marya's boot grazed a wire.
Click.
The ceiling shuddered. A steel grate dropped, missing Bepo's tail by inches. "H-hey!"
Law's Room flared blue, freezing the grate mid-air. "Eyes open. Now."
Marya snorted. "Yeah, I hear yah."
They pressed on. The walls narrowed, forcing Bram to slide sideways. Doflamingo's sigils grew denser, newer—fresh paint bleeding into the cracks. Law's gaze snagged on one, his knuckles whitening on Kikoku's hilt.
Marya noticed, brow furrowed. "What's your deal with the—"
"Later," Law snapped.
"Later's a lie," she shot back. "You've got a grudge..."
Bram hissed, "Shut it. Both of you."
Too late.
Bepo, trying to avoid a puddle, stepped on a pressure plate.
Snap.
The floor gave way.
Marya lunged, seizing Bepo's arm as he dangled over a pit of churning neon sludge. Law's Room surged, Shambles swapping Bepo with a rusted pipe. The bear landed hard, whimpering.
"S-sorry!"
Law's breath came sharp, his scar pulsing under his hat's shadow. "Move. Carefully."
Marya didn't budge. Her blade pointed to the sigil behind him. "You froze. Back there. Why?"
Law's voice was ice. "Not your concern."
"It is when it gets us killed."
The tunnel trembled. Somewhere, gears ground—the lab's defenses waking.
Bram cursed. "Save the therapy session. Move."
They ran, the walls closing in. Behind them, the sludge pit boiled, tendrils lashing at their heels. Ahead, a steel door—Dr. Visser's lab—sealed with a keypad.
Law's fingers flew, inputting codes from his past life. "Hurry…"
Marya leaned close, her breath a blade at his ear. "You're scared of him. Why?"
The keypad beeped. Red light.
Denied.
Law's jaw flexed. "…He took something."
"What?"
"Enough."
The door hissed open.
Inside, the lab hummed—vats of Sanguine Lily nectar bubbling under UV lights, conveyor belts loaded with SAD barrels stamped HERBAL REMEDY. And at the center, Dr. Elsa Visser—pale, gaunt, her lab coat stained pink—looked up from a microscope.
"You're too late," she whispered. "They already know."
Above, alarms wailed. Somewhere, a Gifter roared.
Law's eyes stayed on the sigil etched into the lab's floor—Doflamingo's laugh frozen in steel.
*****
The Midnight Blade docked with a groan, its hull scraping against piers slick with neon sludge. A farmer collapsed nearby, retching pink bile into the canals, his black clog slipping into the glowing muck. Ember skipped past him, humming a lullaby her mother once sang, her tattered Lolita dress fluttering like a deranged butterfly. Souta stepped over the man, his polished boots avoiding the filth with practiced disdain. Kuro adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, the neon haze staining his lenses crimson, and stared at the Vivre card trembling in his palm.
"This cesspool can't be right," Souta drawled, katana tapping his thigh. "The card's leading us in circles. Smells like a trap."
Kuro's clawed hand tightened. "The card doesn't lie. She's here. Somewhere."
The Vivre card twitched toward a labyrinth of alleys, where windmills loomed like skeletal sentinels, their sails creaking as they pumped poison into bloated tanks. Farmers shuffled past, bonnets sagging, eyes downcast. One dropped a withered lily stem; Ember crushed it underfoot, giggling as it crunched like bone.
"Boom-boom soon?" she whispered to Mr. Whispers, her invisible imaginary friend perched on her shoulder.
"Not yet," Kuro hissed, but Ember was already spinning, her slingshot rifle Sugarfall aimed at a passing Overseer's hat.
Thwip.
The hat exploded into confetti. The Overseer—pudgy, pink-stained—whirled, face purpling. "You! Halt!"
Souta sighed. "Here we go."
Hendrik Van Berg emerged from the fog, trident in hand, his uniform hanging loose over a frame worn thin by guilt and grief. The child's ribbon on his wrist fluttered as he leveled his weapon. "You don't belong here," he rasped. "Turn around. Now."
Kuro stepped forward, palms open, a pantomime of peace. "We're just passing through. No trouble."
"Liar," Hendrik spat. "Pirates bring fire. Fire brings them." His eyes flicked to the sky, where Kaido's flag hung limp atop a distillery.
Ember twirled, her laugh a shattered music box. "Mr. Whispers says you're the liar!" She lobbed a pebble at Hendrik's feet.
Bang.
The cobblestones erupted, neon sludge geysering upward. Hendrik staggered, trident slipping. "Mad girl—!"
"Boom time!" Ember shrieked, firing grenade-tipped pellets into storage tanks. The SAD barrels detonated in a rainbow inferno, syrup-sweet smoke billowing.
Alarms wailed. Overseers swarmed, clubs swinging, but Souta was already moving, his katana a silver blur as he parried strikes. "Cleanup's beneath me," he sneered, slicing a man's belt—pants dropping, tripping the next attacker.
Kuro ducked a club, Cat Claws slashing tendons. "Ember! Contain it!"
"Contain this!" She kissed her palm, slapped it against a windmill's base. The wood splintered, glowing cracks spreading like wildfire. "Sparkly!"
The windmill shuddered, gears shrieking, before collapsing into the canal. Neon sludge flooded the square, farmers scrambling as Gifters roared in the distance—rose-maned lions, petal-scaled snakes, their mutations twitching.
Hendrik lunged at Kuro, trident aimed for his throat. "You'll drown us all!"
Kuro deflected, breathing labored. "We're here for the girl. Nothing more."
"Liar!" Hendrik's strike grazed Kuro's cheek, drawing blood. "You'll wake the Beast!"
Ember danced through the chaos, explosions painting her silhouette in hellish hues. "Mr. Whispers says hi!"
Souta grabbed Kuro's arm, yanking him toward an alley. "Vivre card's pulling northeast. Move."
Kuro hesitated, staring at Hendrik—the broken man, the fraying ribbon.
Hendrik froze. "…Don't."
Kuro fled, the Vivre card burning in his grip. Behind them, the island wept neon, its scars bleeding brighter.