The echoes of Buggy's gunshot still rang in the air as Smoker, his face grim, arrived at the scene. He hadn't been drawn by mere commotion; he'd been tracking a pattern, a series of increasingly gruesome murders that had been plaguing the East Blue. The Headquarters had taken notice, and he'd been given explicit orders to investigate, working alongside Lieutenant Miranda Hellblade.
What he found in the alleyway confirmed his worst fears. The crowd was thick with morbid curiosity, but the true horror lay hidden within the alley's shadows. He knew instantly, even before getting a clear look, that this was another one. Another victim, meticulously mutilated in a manner that echoed the reports he'd been studying.
After quickly barking orders at his subordinates - secure the perimeter, keep the gawkers back - he realized Miranda wasn't with him. He had expected she would be already here. He turned and sprinted back towards the Marine post, his trademark cigars clenched tightly between his teeth, to bring more man power.
He returned moments later, a contingent of heavily armed Marines at his back, led by his ever-loyal subordinate, Tashigi. As they pushed through the remaining crowd, Smoker's eyes scanned the scene, searching for any clues that might have surfaced in his absence.
That's when he saw him.
Standing amidst the blood and gore, his massive sword glinting in the dim light, was Guts. The infamous Devil Swordman, a walking storm cloud of violence and death, was the last person Smoker expected to find at a crime scene like this.
Beside him, the flamboyant pirate Buggy was slumped against the wall, heaving violently, and Robin was clinging to Guts.
A surge of anger coursed through Smoker, but it was tempered by a flicker of confusion.
"Where was Miranda?" He whirled on his subordinates, his voice a gravelly roar that silenced the murmuring crowd. "What is the meaning of this?! I gave explicit orders to secure this crime scene! Why is a known criminal allowed to contaminate the crime scene?!" The Marines turned silent. "And where is Lieutenant Miranda?"
Smoker's booming voice hung in the air, but the surrounding Marines were too scared to speak.
Pushing past the stunned Marines, Tashigi, with a slightly nervous expression, followed Smoker. Her eyes darted around, trying to take in the scene, but landed on a familiar figure.
It was the imposing man and the young girl she had briefly encountered at Ipponmatsu's shop. She remembered her own rudeness at the time, fueled by her obsession with historical swords, and felt a pang of guilt. She wanted to approach them, offer an apology, perhaps even strike up a conversation...
But then her gaze shifted, drawn towards the alleyway itself. The sight that greeted her was too much. The mangled remains, the grotesque mutilation... Her eyes widened in horror, her face paled, and she crumpled to the ground in a dead faint. Again.
Smoker cursed under his breath. He'd hoped Tashigi's sharp eyes and attention to detail could glean something useful from the witnesses, but that was clearly out of the question now. "Damn it, Tashigi! I told you not to look!" He sighed, exasperated. "Someone, get her back to the post. And the rest of you, find Lieutenant Miranda. Now!"
He turned his attention to Guts, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. "You," he growled, stalking towards the Sichibukai. "What do you think you're doing here? This is a crime scene, not a playground for criminals like you. You're only making things worse, contaminating the crime scene and causing unnecessary chaos."
Guts' expression hardened. He finally understood the source of the irritation he'd felt radiating from Smoker. It wasn't just a sense of duty or a desire for justice. It was something deeper, something more visceral: a deep-seated prejudice against anyone labeled a "criminal." Smoker didn't care about the circumstances or the reasons. To him, a criminal was a criminal, and deserving of nothing but contempt.
Guts' hand tightened.
He really, really wanted to punch Smoker's self-righteous face. The urge was almost overwhelming. But he glanced down at Robin, who was still trembling in his arms, and forced himself to restrain his anger. Now wasn't the time.
Instead, he roughly grabbed Buggy by the collar, dragging the flailing pirate towards the exit. "We're leaving," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Buggy, still shaken by the gruesome discovery, yelped in protest as Guts hauled him along. In a moment of panic, he used his Devil Fruit powers to detach his hand, snatching up the dropped dagger before Guts could drag him out of reach.
Smoker watched them retreat, his anger simmering. "Don't you dare leave Loguetown!" he roared after them, the smoke from his cigars swirling around his head like a thundercloud. "I'm not finished with you!"
Guts ignored him, his back rigid with barely suppressed rage. He was close to losing control. He knew he should just walk away, avoid the confrontation... But Smoker's last word, dripping with contempt, were the last straw.
SCUM
He released Buggy, letting the pirate stumble forward a step. Then, Guts whirled around, his fist a blur of motion, and punched Smoker square in the face. The force of the blow sent the Marine Lieutenant staggering backward, his cigars flying from his mouth.
Smoker lay sprawled on the cobblestones, his face contorted in disbelief and fury, his precious cigars scattered around him. He sputtered, trying to regain his composure, but the shock of the attack had momentarily robbed him of his voice.
Then, a sound cut through the stunned silence: laughter.
Buggy, despite the lingering horror of the crime scene, was doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face. The sight of the self-righteous Marine Lieutenant getting decked by Guts was simply too hilarious to resist.
"Hahahaha! Oh, that was beautiful!" Buggy wheezed, pointing a trembling finger at Smoker. "Serves you right, you puffed-up fogger! Should've kept your mouth shut!"
Smoker's face turned an even deeper shade of red. He glared at Buggy, his eyes burning with hatred. "You... you'll pay for this, pirate! I'll see you both rot in Impel Down!"
Guts ignored them both. He simply turned and walked away, his expression grim, Robin still clinging tightly to his neck. He had made his point, and he had no intention of sticking around for a prolonged confrontation.
Buggy, still chuckling, bent down to retrieve the shopping bags he'd dropped near the execution platform. He slung them over his shoulder, then scurried after Guts, casting one last, gleeful glance at the sputtering Marine lieutenant.
"See you around, Smokey!" he called out, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Don't let the door hit you on the way down!"
With that, he hurried to catch up with Guts, leaving Smoker to seethe in his own impotent rage.
The unlikely trio made their way back to the inn on Loafer Street, a rundown establishment on the West side of town, not far from the port. The air was thick with the smell of stale ale and unwashed bodies, but after the horrors they had witnessed, the dingy inn felt like a sanctuary.
Upstairs, Guts carefully tucked Robin into bed, making sure she was comfortable and secure. The horrors of the day had clearly shaken her, and he felt a pang of guilt for exposing her to such violence.
He lingered for a moment, watching her peaceful sleep, then quietly slipped out of the room.
Downstairs, the tavern buzzed with a low hum of activity. Sailors, merchants, and other denizens of the port city gathered to drink, gamble, and exchange stories. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of cheap liquor, but there was a certain comforting warmth to the place.
The inn owner, a wiry old man with a shrewd glint in his eyes, spotted Guts immediately. Sensing an opportunity for extra business, he shuffled over, rubbing his hands together. "Welcome back, sir! Anything I can get for you? We've got just about anything you could want, hidden away in the back. Don't let the looks fool you, this place is full of surprises."
Guts knew the old man was just trying to hustle him for more money, but he was too tired to argue. Besides, he needed something to take the edge off. "Apple pie," he said, his voice gruff. "My daughter likes it. And a jar of hot sake. Strong stuff."
The old man's eyes lit up. "Apple pie, coming right up! And I've got just the sake for a man of your... stature. You won't be disappointed!" He bustled off towards the kitchen, a spring in his step.
Guts took a seat at one of the empty tables, resting his sword against the wall, his gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight.
He needed something to clear his head, to wash away the images of the crime scene and Smoker's hateful glare. He needed something to forget, even if only for a little while.
A few moments later, the old man returned, placing a steaming jar of sake on the table with a flourish. He rubbed his hands together again, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Anything else, sir? Perhaps a bite to eat? Our stew is legendary."
Guts sighed and reached into his pouch, pulling out a handful of Berries. He counted out a few thousand, far more than he would normally pay for a jar of sake and a pie, and placed them on the table.
The old man's smile widened, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. "Thank you, sir! You're a true gentleman!" He scooped up the money with a speed that belied his age and scurried away, leaving Guts to his thoughts.
Soon after, Buggy sauntered down the stairs, stretching and yawning. He spotted Guts at the table and plopped down in the opposite chair. "So, boss," he said, his voice casual. "Are we sticking around this dump, or are we moving on? I'm not keen on running into that Marine again."
Guts took a long swig of sake, the fiery liquid burning a path down his throat. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice low. "I need to pick up Robin's clothes. I ordered them this morning. Should be ready in two days."
Buggy reached for an empty sake cup and poured himself a generous serving, downing it in one gulp. He shuddered, then let out a satisfied sigh. "That's the stuff," he said, smacking his lips.
He leaned back in his chair, his expression turning serious for a moment. "You know, boss," he began, "there's a reason I ran all the way from Orange Town and headed back to the Grand Line. It wasn't just boredom, or a sudden craving for adventure."
He paused, swirling the remaining sake in his cup. "My men... they started dying. One by one. Horrible things. Eyes gouged out, ears sliced off... gruesome stuff, even for pirates like us." He shuddered, a flicker of genuine fear crossing his face. "But I never saw anything like what we saw today. My men... they died from a clean cut. A simple slice to the throat."
He took another gulp of sake, his hand trembling slightly. "It reminded me of something I heard a while back. A news report that made me decide to pack my bags and leave Orange Town for good."
He leaned closer to Guts, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Arlong Pirates. The whole crew... wiped out. No skin, no eyes, no ears. Organs scattered around like some kind of sick joke. It was just a rumor, back then. A tall tale to scare the kiddies. But after seeing that body in the alley today... I'm not so sure anymore."
As Buggy finished his unsettling story, a sudden CLANG echoed through the tavern, cutting through the low hum of conversation. Guts' hand instinctively moved towards the handle of his sword that he rested on the wall as he scanned the room for the source of the noise.
He spotted him near the bar: an octopus fish-man, his face pale with shock, staring in their direction. A tray laden with food and drinks lay scattered on the floor, the contents spilling across the wooden planks. Guts noticed that the fish-man only had two tentacles for hands, rather than the usual six. He was also walking with a noticeable limp.
The fish-man, seemingly oblivious to the mess he'd made, began to move towards them, his eyes fixed on Buggy. He stumbled and swayed, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, but his determination was clear.
He reached their table, his breathing ragged, and grabbed Buggy's shoulder with surprising strength. "You!" he croaked, his voice hoarse and desperate. "You were talking about the Arlong Pirates... Please tell me what happened!?...You know what happened? Please... tell me everything!"
Buggy noticed a brand on the fish-man's forehead, a mark that instantly identified him: a former member of the Arlong Pirates. The symbol was a stylized sun, now faded and scarred, but still unmistakable. The fish-man was Hachi.