Post by Lord Bromosalino on Jan 1, 2020 20:14:03 GMT -5
{
Get in, get out. You won’t have a lot of time once the Blue Devil’s arrive on the island. My contact tells me that they’ll be meeting with the Marines on the west end of the island in one of the abandoned buildings in the old business district. We don’t know which merchant shop though; you’ll have to find that out yourself. Be careful, you’re dealing with a criminal entity and a corrupt Marine Captain. I wouldn’t be surprised if both parties try to renege on the deal. 500,000 beri now, 500,000 more on completion, ya?
A hasty agreement between the two conniving parties and the deal was made and the countdown started. And this was not a deal to be taken lightly by even the most professional in the business. Infiltrating a business transaction and stealing the item being hassled over was already a tough ask as both parties were already on edge of a possible betrayal from the opposite party. And considering who the two trading parties were along with the item in question, the infiltration was all that more dangerous.
The primary party in question was none other than the Marines of Winchester Island. The Marine’s posed an obvious, yet very real threat. Disciplined, superior numbers, home field advantage. And to make matters worse, these were not ordinary Marines; these were Winchester Island Marines. The Marines of Winchester Island were perhaps among the most hardened of all Marines in the Blues. Stationed on the island for well over a decade now, these blue and white clad soldiers of “Justice” had been in an active war zone since they had arrived at the island. Civil unrest had turned to a full-blown civil war that spanned the entirety of the island. As a result, these were not the average Marines assigned to patrol the fairly peaceful seas of the Blues. No these were true warriors with the scars and toughness to match. Led by Captain Arashi, these Marines were among the fiercest in all the Blues.
However, that wasn’t to say that the Marines were the only threat in this business meeting; the Blue Devil’s were no push over. Tough, mean, dirty handed, true blue thugs. A criminal enterprise that made its bones by capitalizing on the war-torn island, Damonte “Blue Devil” Cervantes turned his rather small-time gang into large, dominating criminal enterprise. A turn coat former Marine, Cervantes took advantage of the dissension on Winchester Island, becoming a powerful criminal power broker in the West Blue. Weapons, black market contraband, information. Anything and everything were for sale if he could turn it for a profit, or even better; power.
And now, the powerful West Blue broker had located and come into ownership of a Devil Fruit. While not uncommon in the Grand Line, and even more so in the New World, these mystical and still mysterious fruit were all but an enigma and rarity in the Blues. Initially debating whether to eat the fruit himself, Cervantes, the ever power-hungry entrepreneur, decided against consuming the strangely shaped fruit. Knowing just how rare Devil Fruits were and how coveted their strange powers were, the “Blue Devil” decided the best use was to leverage the fruit for power and a level of immunity that was hard to come by. Captain Arashi too knew the importance of obtaining the powers of a Devil Fruit; both for securing an advantage in the civil war on Winchester Island as well as rising in the Marine organization.
And so, these two natural enemies had found themselves, as war often does, with commonly aligning interests. While Captain Arashi would rather see Cervantes behind bars or meeting his end at the guillotine, the two would need to become business partners. Personal morals, professional loyalties, none of that mattered at the moment. It was simple business; the law of supply and demand pushed these polar opposites together. For several weeks, the two parties had gone back and forth haggling over the price of the unknown Devil Fruit. Eventually a price of an immense 25,000,000 beri and a guarantee that all of the Blue Devil’s vessels would be able to travel freely from and to Winchester Island without interference from the Marines was settled on.
However, with the strict moral un-ambiguity and professionalism that was Captain Arashi, the transaction could not take place anywhere within the vicinity of the Marine Headquarters or the anywhere under Marine control; his pure idealism couldn’t allow him being seen engaging in underhanded tactics. It was decided then that the transaction would take place in the run down and now abandoned business district in the west end of the island. The location was perfect for the shady type of dealing that was to be engaged in between the Marines and the criminal Blue Devils; quiet, unoccupied, hidden away from those with prying eyes. And by this time tomorrow night, both the Marines and Cervantes would walk away from the deal more powerful than ever.
The Contract
}Get in, get out. You won’t have a lot of time once the Blue Devil’s arrive on the island. My contact tells me that they’ll be meeting with the Marines on the west end of the island in one of the abandoned buildings in the old business district. We don’t know which merchant shop though; you’ll have to find that out yourself. Be careful, you’re dealing with a criminal entity and a corrupt Marine Captain. I wouldn’t be surprised if both parties try to renege on the deal. 500,000 beri now, 500,000 more on completion, ya?
A hasty agreement between the two conniving parties and the deal was made and the countdown started. And this was not a deal to be taken lightly by even the most professional in the business. Infiltrating a business transaction and stealing the item being hassled over was already a tough ask as both parties were already on edge of a possible betrayal from the opposite party. And considering who the two trading parties were along with the item in question, the infiltration was all that more dangerous.
The primary party in question was none other than the Marines of Winchester Island. The Marine’s posed an obvious, yet very real threat. Disciplined, superior numbers, home field advantage. And to make matters worse, these were not ordinary Marines; these were Winchester Island Marines. The Marines of Winchester Island were perhaps among the most hardened of all Marines in the Blues. Stationed on the island for well over a decade now, these blue and white clad soldiers of “Justice” had been in an active war zone since they had arrived at the island. Civil unrest had turned to a full-blown civil war that spanned the entirety of the island. As a result, these were not the average Marines assigned to patrol the fairly peaceful seas of the Blues. No these were true warriors with the scars and toughness to match. Led by Captain Arashi, these Marines were among the fiercest in all the Blues.
However, that wasn’t to say that the Marines were the only threat in this business meeting; the Blue Devil’s were no push over. Tough, mean, dirty handed, true blue thugs. A criminal enterprise that made its bones by capitalizing on the war-torn island, Damonte “Blue Devil” Cervantes turned his rather small-time gang into large, dominating criminal enterprise. A turn coat former Marine, Cervantes took advantage of the dissension on Winchester Island, becoming a powerful criminal power broker in the West Blue. Weapons, black market contraband, information. Anything and everything were for sale if he could turn it for a profit, or even better; power.
And now, the powerful West Blue broker had located and come into ownership of a Devil Fruit. While not uncommon in the Grand Line, and even more so in the New World, these mystical and still mysterious fruit were all but an enigma and rarity in the Blues. Initially debating whether to eat the fruit himself, Cervantes, the ever power-hungry entrepreneur, decided against consuming the strangely shaped fruit. Knowing just how rare Devil Fruits were and how coveted their strange powers were, the “Blue Devil” decided the best use was to leverage the fruit for power and a level of immunity that was hard to come by. Captain Arashi too knew the importance of obtaining the powers of a Devil Fruit; both for securing an advantage in the civil war on Winchester Island as well as rising in the Marine organization.
And so, these two natural enemies had found themselves, as war often does, with commonly aligning interests. While Captain Arashi would rather see Cervantes behind bars or meeting his end at the guillotine, the two would need to become business partners. Personal morals, professional loyalties, none of that mattered at the moment. It was simple business; the law of supply and demand pushed these polar opposites together. For several weeks, the two parties had gone back and forth haggling over the price of the unknown Devil Fruit. Eventually a price of an immense 25,000,000 beri and a guarantee that all of the Blue Devil’s vessels would be able to travel freely from and to Winchester Island without interference from the Marines was settled on.
However, with the strict moral un-ambiguity and professionalism that was Captain Arashi, the transaction could not take place anywhere within the vicinity of the Marine Headquarters or the anywhere under Marine control; his pure idealism couldn’t allow him being seen engaging in underhanded tactics. It was decided then that the transaction would take place in the run down and now abandoned business district in the west end of the island. The location was perfect for the shady type of dealing that was to be engaged in between the Marines and the criminal Blue Devils; quiet, unoccupied, hidden away from those with prying eyes. And by this time tomorrow night, both the Marines and Cervantes would walk away from the deal more powerful than ever.
{
0300 hours.
Utilizing the cover of early morning, Jacob Arlott made shore on the far east end of Winchester Island. Reading his instructions once more, Jacob reoriented himself with the map of the Island; planning his route of travel and game plan. According to his mystery benefactor, the transaction would take place at 2200 hours. This would leave the blade for hire with approximately nineteen hours to traverse the war-torn island, find the location point, plan his heist, and coordinate a getaway route. While there was nothing, fundamentally, different about this type of job, that didn’t mean this job didn’t pose some very real threats for the “Trickster.”
First there was the navigating of the island. While he would not have to deal with a traditional, large scale battle to navigate, he would have to be mindful of the numerous and often unpredictable skirmishes that could, and would inevitably, arise. The island was littered with a mixture of tiny towns and populous cities; and as such, the opportunities for the dissenting civilians to start small hit and run skirmishes with the Marines was more a matter of when rather than if. Secondly, infiltrating the meeting and somehow stealing the Devil Fruit was a monumental task. This wasn’t an object that was stowed away inside of a vault. Both the Marines and the Blue Devils would be wary of a double cross from the either party, and so each group would undoubtedly be accompanied by multiple loyal soldiers and thugs. Had it been a transaction between two pairs of hands only, Jacob would simply kill both parties before collecting his prize. Instead, he would have to reach back into his bag of theatrics, subtlety, and deception to complete this contract.
And that was not to mention the third and most dangerous of the three hurdles Jacob Arlott would have to navigate; betraying his own business partner. True to his greedy nature, the “Trickster” had planned, since the very beginning, to betray his mysterious benefactor and take the Devil Fruit for himself. Whether he planned to eat the Devil Fruit himself or sell it himself for a higher price, none of that would matter if he wasn’t able to get his hands on the fruit and flee with it. And while the rogue had double crossed his employers in the past, he had never attempted to take on this many groups. This was made all the more complicated by the fact that there was no name or face attached to his benefactor. Fairly respected within his own profession in the Blue’s, Jacob was met with a young messenger who handed him a letter detailing the job in question. After several letters had been passed between the two, by the messenger, Jacob was given his instructions and the first half of his payment. As a result, Jacob had never met the man, who simply went by the name of Mr. Pink, and therefore knew nothing of the man; his abilities, level of influence, whether he worked alone or for a more powerful organization, or sphere of reach.
Infiltration
}0300 hours.
Utilizing the cover of early morning, Jacob Arlott made shore on the far east end of Winchester Island. Reading his instructions once more, Jacob reoriented himself with the map of the Island; planning his route of travel and game plan. According to his mystery benefactor, the transaction would take place at 2200 hours. This would leave the blade for hire with approximately nineteen hours to traverse the war-torn island, find the location point, plan his heist, and coordinate a getaway route. While there was nothing, fundamentally, different about this type of job, that didn’t mean this job didn’t pose some very real threats for the “Trickster.”
First there was the navigating of the island. While he would not have to deal with a traditional, large scale battle to navigate, he would have to be mindful of the numerous and often unpredictable skirmishes that could, and would inevitably, arise. The island was littered with a mixture of tiny towns and populous cities; and as such, the opportunities for the dissenting civilians to start small hit and run skirmishes with the Marines was more a matter of when rather than if. Secondly, infiltrating the meeting and somehow stealing the Devil Fruit was a monumental task. This wasn’t an object that was stowed away inside of a vault. Both the Marines and the Blue Devils would be wary of a double cross from the either party, and so each group would undoubtedly be accompanied by multiple loyal soldiers and thugs. Had it been a transaction between two pairs of hands only, Jacob would simply kill both parties before collecting his prize. Instead, he would have to reach back into his bag of theatrics, subtlety, and deception to complete this contract.
And that was not to mention the third and most dangerous of the three hurdles Jacob Arlott would have to navigate; betraying his own business partner. True to his greedy nature, the “Trickster” had planned, since the very beginning, to betray his mysterious benefactor and take the Devil Fruit for himself. Whether he planned to eat the Devil Fruit himself or sell it himself for a higher price, none of that would matter if he wasn’t able to get his hands on the fruit and flee with it. And while the rogue had double crossed his employers in the past, he had never attempted to take on this many groups. This was made all the more complicated by the fact that there was no name or face attached to his benefactor. Fairly respected within his own profession in the Blue’s, Jacob was met with a young messenger who handed him a letter detailing the job in question. After several letters had been passed between the two, by the messenger, Jacob was given his instructions and the first half of his payment. As a result, Jacob had never met the man, who simply went by the name of Mr. Pink, and therefore knew nothing of the man; his abilities, level of influence, whether he worked alone or for a more powerful organization, or sphere of reach.
{
“Let’s see. West is that way. No, wait. Ok no, I was right. That way.”
Though he hadn’t fully fleshed out his plan in his own mind, Jacob had a general idea in mind, and he would continue to flesh it out as he made way towards his objective. Moving quickly across the sandy beach, the blade for hire stayed low to the ground, determined to not draw attention towards himself. Crouched, moving between points of cover, quiet. The young man had taken on jobs requiring espionage and stealth in his decorated past, and so moving quickly and unseen was nothing new to him. And he was quite good at it. In the matter of several moments, Jacob had crossed the beach and slunk into the nearest city and into one of the many abandoned buildings that littered the horizon of Winchester Island. Though it was still in the early hours of the morning, the town was not as still and peaceful as Jacob would have liked. Due to the constant, on going civil war, there was no such thing as “peaceful.” Every few moments, a four-man Marine patrol could be seen walking down the streets, ever vigilant to the guerrilla war fighters that, too, were lurking around the city. Jacob would have to be careful to how he would navigate his next steps through the tiny city. Map in one hand, the other twirling and catching one his daggers, Jacob sat, his back against the windowsill and legs sprawled out in front of him and planned his next move. As his eyes wandered over the map, his mind wandered over the larger part of his plan.
Rather than fighting both the Marines and the Blue Devils at the same time, divide and conquer seemed like the best course of action. The question was, which group should he take on? As that would decide the timing of his attack, the decision was tougher than he initially thought it would be. Attacking the Blue Devil’s was his initial choice. They would be less organized, and hopefully less in numbers, and lack the same discipline of the Marines. However, the problem in creating an enemy of the criminal gang would be Cervantes himself rather than his underlings. He was a former Marine Captain, hence the nickname “Blue Devil,” who had managed to spend the better part of the last five years untouched by the other Marines in the West Blue. And as is want by the World Government when things do not go their way, the truth as to why Cervantes was able to operate with such efficiency and impunity was a mystery; the World Government unwilling to disclose why they had been yet able to capture the criminal. As a result, not many knew of the treacherous Marine’s abilities or the full extent of his network.
So, what were the inherent risks or advantages of choosing to attack the Marines after the business transaction had been made? There were definitely more inherent risks on the face of it; superior numbers, tactics, resources, weaponry. Fighting the Marines head on seemed to be a foolish endeavor; they would not be so easy to defeat in straight forward combat. However, as was in the “Tricksters” nature, subterfuge and deception could prove to be useful. Maybe he could use the natural hatred of the citizens of Winchester Island to cover his escape and maybe even fight the Marines for him.
“Hmph. I’m sure the answer will come to me, always does.”
With a grunt and a heave, Jacob stood, sheathing both the map and his dagger. With his next destination marked, he risked a quick peek out of the window he was sitting under. Convinced there was no one near him and that he was still unseen, Jacob took an extra moment to take in the scenery of the city and to be sure of which building he was looking for. There. Though initially hidden by the just now rising sun, Jacob’s eyes needed to adjust. Set on the south end of the city, and slightly to the east, the building in question was the Little Hen Bakery. While unassuming, the bakery was the perfect building for Jacob to head towards. As the saying goes in real estate, the greatest factor is, was, and will always be location, location, location. And that is what made the Little Hen the ideal spot. According to Mr. Pink, the bakery was attached to a similarly “boring” financial building. This financial building, however, was slated to be the home base of the Blue Devils operations on Winchester Island. And seeing that Jacob was not given information on the location of the business transaction, locating the Blue Devil’s lair was the next best thing. He could wait there, follow the thugs to the location, and all the while find the best opportunity to steal the Devil Fruit. No brainer.
However, as it was now only 0400 hours, Jacob had several hours to kill. And with enough down time to complete several different tasks, the bounty hunter/rogue/thief decided the best use of his time would be to try to fill in the gaps of information on his two adversaries. And seeing how he would end up back in at the Little Hen Bakery, he decided to set off to gather information on Captain Arashi first.
Gameplan
}“Let’s see. West is that way. No, wait. Ok no, I was right. That way.”
Though he hadn’t fully fleshed out his plan in his own mind, Jacob had a general idea in mind, and he would continue to flesh it out as he made way towards his objective. Moving quickly across the sandy beach, the blade for hire stayed low to the ground, determined to not draw attention towards himself. Crouched, moving between points of cover, quiet. The young man had taken on jobs requiring espionage and stealth in his decorated past, and so moving quickly and unseen was nothing new to him. And he was quite good at it. In the matter of several moments, Jacob had crossed the beach and slunk into the nearest city and into one of the many abandoned buildings that littered the horizon of Winchester Island. Though it was still in the early hours of the morning, the town was not as still and peaceful as Jacob would have liked. Due to the constant, on going civil war, there was no such thing as “peaceful.” Every few moments, a four-man Marine patrol could be seen walking down the streets, ever vigilant to the guerrilla war fighters that, too, were lurking around the city. Jacob would have to be careful to how he would navigate his next steps through the tiny city. Map in one hand, the other twirling and catching one his daggers, Jacob sat, his back against the windowsill and legs sprawled out in front of him and planned his next move. As his eyes wandered over the map, his mind wandered over the larger part of his plan.
Rather than fighting both the Marines and the Blue Devils at the same time, divide and conquer seemed like the best course of action. The question was, which group should he take on? As that would decide the timing of his attack, the decision was tougher than he initially thought it would be. Attacking the Blue Devil’s was his initial choice. They would be less organized, and hopefully less in numbers, and lack the same discipline of the Marines. However, the problem in creating an enemy of the criminal gang would be Cervantes himself rather than his underlings. He was a former Marine Captain, hence the nickname “Blue Devil,” who had managed to spend the better part of the last five years untouched by the other Marines in the West Blue. And as is want by the World Government when things do not go their way, the truth as to why Cervantes was able to operate with such efficiency and impunity was a mystery; the World Government unwilling to disclose why they had been yet able to capture the criminal. As a result, not many knew of the treacherous Marine’s abilities or the full extent of his network.
So, what were the inherent risks or advantages of choosing to attack the Marines after the business transaction had been made? There were definitely more inherent risks on the face of it; superior numbers, tactics, resources, weaponry. Fighting the Marines head on seemed to be a foolish endeavor; they would not be so easy to defeat in straight forward combat. However, as was in the “Tricksters” nature, subterfuge and deception could prove to be useful. Maybe he could use the natural hatred of the citizens of Winchester Island to cover his escape and maybe even fight the Marines for him.
“Hmph. I’m sure the answer will come to me, always does.”
With a grunt and a heave, Jacob stood, sheathing both the map and his dagger. With his next destination marked, he risked a quick peek out of the window he was sitting under. Convinced there was no one near him and that he was still unseen, Jacob took an extra moment to take in the scenery of the city and to be sure of which building he was looking for. There. Though initially hidden by the just now rising sun, Jacob’s eyes needed to adjust. Set on the south end of the city, and slightly to the east, the building in question was the Little Hen Bakery. While unassuming, the bakery was the perfect building for Jacob to head towards. As the saying goes in real estate, the greatest factor is, was, and will always be location, location, location. And that is what made the Little Hen the ideal spot. According to Mr. Pink, the bakery was attached to a similarly “boring” financial building. This financial building, however, was slated to be the home base of the Blue Devils operations on Winchester Island. And seeing that Jacob was not given information on the location of the business transaction, locating the Blue Devil’s lair was the next best thing. He could wait there, follow the thugs to the location, and all the while find the best opportunity to steal the Devil Fruit. No brainer.
However, as it was now only 0400 hours, Jacob had several hours to kill. And with enough down time to complete several different tasks, the bounty hunter/rogue/thief decided the best use of his time would be to try to fill in the gaps of information on his two adversaries. And seeing how he would end up back in at the Little Hen Bakery, he decided to set off to gather information on Captain Arashi first.
{
With a quick stretch of the legs, Jacob exited the deserted building he had made a temporary refuge. With the tranquil sunrise, a clear contrast to the tattered battlefield that was Winchester Island, to his left, Jacob set off towards the south side of the island; the Marine controlled side. However, the Marine headquarters would not be his first destination. In his decade long career, Jacob had infiltrated multiple Marine bases and outposts and he had found one formula to always work quite nicely for him. Steal a Marine uniform, looks as if you belong, play the part. Perhaps not something that the powers to be had thought of or whether it was an inherent and unavoidable flaw of any large-scale organization, anyone who looked identical to those around him and knew the lingo could effectively be invisible while in plain sight.
And so, the “Trickster” made course for the nearest Marine outpost. Those with the stripes and bars were rewarded with a much more elegant, comfortable, and exquisite home to rest their heads in the form of large Marine headquarters. The Marine outposts however were a much different story altogether. Run down, low on resources, tired. These strongholds were in the middle of the fight every single day; they were truly in the trenches. The brave men and women of the seas that were charged with holding the line never had a moment to rest, as the gears of war wait for no man and have no care or concerns of the individual. Beat down and low on morale, these Marines would be the easiest to infiltrate and their equipment the easiest to steal. Coupled with the fact that the highest-ranking Marine at these outposts were typically no higher than Ensigns (though honestly, no one of any significance would ever really call an Ensign a rank of any importance), Jacob anticipated he would not find any real threat there.
As early dawn turned into early morning, Jacob could no longer simply cross through the city with as much speed as he once was able to. The city was coming alive. Granted, the true-blue resistance fighters and the Marines assigned to the first patrol of the morning had been up for hours. But now, the civilians who were simply trying to put food on the table for their hungry family were awake and flooding the streets; going to their jobs, tending to their businesses, and even unfortunately begging on the streets for any amount of beri. Ever the chameleon, Jacob could not help but observe the faces and demeanor of the poor citizens of Winchester Island. Like those who had been waging war for the better part of a decade, the civilians too were beat down, tired, and dirty. And though Jacob had been brought up in a noble household, he would sacrifice his perfect, upright posture to blend in with those around him. Kneeling into the dirt, the former noble let the dark red soot of the island slip through his fingers before rubbing it into his face; the dirt covering his once fair complexion. Shoulders hunched, blond hair now ruffled and hanging down over his eyes, Jacob no longer moved briskly; he now instead drug his feet, slowly trudging along with the crowds.
And while he appeared to be a simple beggar, Jacob’s eyes were no slouch. Tracking every Marine patrol he came across, making note of every shady looking person, Jacob was not simply trying to make his way through the city but was rather hard at work. Jacob Arlott had been in the…freelance (shall we call it) business for a long time and had seen many enter and exit the business. And among the many reason’s young freelance rogues, thieves, assassins, and bounty hunters would find themselves rudely expelled from the profession, a lack of proper planning and exit was among their biggest downfalls. And instead of just trying to make his way through the city, Jacob was planning. He wasn’t trying to walk around Marine patrols, he was following them and attempting to establish a pattern, a routine. Left, another left, straight up the main thoroughfare, second right, a right at the old bank, up straight behind the governor’s home, the first right along an ally way, and back to their starting post. With head down and dragging along several paces behind the four-man Marine patrol he had been following for the last twenty minutes, Jacob was sure that this patrol’s routine was well established now.
That was not the only Marine patrol he would have to keep track of. While following this first group, Jacob had only seen one other Marine group roving the city. This group too seemed to have a set pattern on the other side of the city, mirroring the first patrol groups movements. Every twenty minutes, the two groups seemed to meet back in the middle of the square. However, just because he had tracked both of their movements with fairly certain accuracy, that did not mean his work was done. Slowly and deliberately moving back towards the main street, Jacob set himself down on the sidewalk, hands out in front making a cup. “Alms, alms for the poor. Spare a beri?” The young man sat like this for well over an hour, patiently observing the movements of everyone who would use the main thoroughfare. In that time, he saw both Marine patrols eagerly glancing at their watches; a sure sign that their shift was coming to completion. And with yawns coming from all soldiers, it was the confirmation Jacob needed.
With a sly chuckle, Jacob stood, pocketing his “well earned” 15 beri. Humans were truly amazing, if not curious, creatures. Poor, destitute, and by all accounts barely surviving, some of the poorest of Winchester Island still found it in their heart to donate spare change to the new beggar. Certain he had the information he needed to not only make his way safely through the city but to also have safe passage should he need to retreat, Jacob began moving through the large city and towards the closest outpost which was just on the outskirts of the city. Though tedious and often boring, the prep work Jacob had invested in was well worth the effort. Still moving slowly and looking the part of a beggar, Jacob moved at a slightly brisker speed, easily evading and avoiding the Marines and making quick time towards the outpost.
There it is. Now then, how to get in?
Having made his way to the outpost, the next question was how to get in without causing too much commotion. After a moment of pondering, Jacob decided to backtrack. If there was anything Jacob disliked, it was working with incomplete information. And while he was certain he could handle whatever lower level grunts he would find inside the outpost, the outpost wasn’t the final objective and so he couldn’t therefore risk causing too much of a commotion. Walking into the Marine base in his simple outfit, a gray Shihakushō and black Haori, would be an eyesore among the white and blue jackets and garb of the Marines. Glancing at his own watch and recalling the timings of the Marine patrols, Jacob began backtracking his way towards the ally way that ran along the main square.
Quickly trekking to the ally way, the young blade for hire chose an opening that led back into the square as his place of ambush. Attacking from darkness was an age-old tactic, used even by animals in nature. His prey would be tired, a long shift completed at the expense of their discipline; and as such, their entire focus would be on completing their final rotation and getting some much needed sleep. Why fight your opponent head on at their strongest when you could fight them at their weakest moment? Choosing a point near the ally way entrance that faced the main square and sitting with his legs folded over each other, Jacob drew one of his Sutōmushingā (Storm Singers) and placed the blade gingerly under his right leg and chose a discarded alcohol bottle to place near his left leg. A simple twelve-inch dagger with leather wrappings around the hilt, these “Storm Singers” were the choice of weapon for all of the “Trickster’s” needs.
“Please brave Marine, spare some beri?”
Right on schedule, the four tired Marines came plodding down the ally way; just moments from the end of their shift. And as they marched in a disoriented single file line, their feet once moving in perfect unison, the Marines had just this ally way to patrol one time more before they could be relieved. And now, one of the many beggars of Winchester Island had caught the pant leg of the last Marine in line to ask for money. While not an unfamiliar sight, it was certainly an annoying one. “Ah come on Roy, give him some pocket change,” came the voice from the head of the formation as he pointed towards the discarded alcohol bottle, “give the poor kid enough to get his fix and lets get out here.” With nothing more than a grunt, the Marine tried to pull his leg away from Jacob, but the young man was determined and refused to let go. “Oh please, please, please kind sir,” Jacob replied, struggling to maintain his composure and not break into laughter. “C’mon Roy, it’s fucking 10 beri. Besides, looks like the kids not giving up hahaha. We’ll meet you back at the outpost haha.” “For fuck’s sake, get off of me you leech.” This struggle lasted several moments before the Marine decided enough was enough and that it was easier to just give in at this point; all Roy wanted was sleep.
“Oh thank you soooooo much.”
“Aaarggh.”
Seeing the young blond stand up, Roy, the Marine, had been expecting a thank you and a bow or maybe a handshake. Instead, he was greeting with flashing steel and an even brighter grin on the face of “homeless” young boy. In one fluid motion, Jacob stood from his place on the street, grabbing the dagger that was placed under his right leg, to meet the Marine’s gaze. In the blink of an eye, the dagger traveled through the air in one unbroken, smooth motion; the well sharpened point finding its mark in the jugular of the unsuspecting Marine. In the same motion, Jacob’s left hand came up to meet the now gurgling mouth of the slowly dying Marine, pulling Roy’s now lifeless body into the ally way behind Arlott. Working quickly to change into the dead Marine’s uniform, Jacob stowed his own clothing into a bag which he promptly hid into a cracked part of the wall, marking it with a subtle ‘X’.
Changing posture and demeanor once more to match his new persona as a Marine, Jacob stepped back onto the main street, his head held high, shoulders squared back, a confident grin and whistle on his lips. Now sporting the beautifully blue and white lined uniform that was the very symbol of the World Government, “Marine” Jacob strode confidently into the Marine outpost, a familiar feeling washing over him. Having accepted multiple jobs inside Marine bases, whether it be assassinations or thefts, Jacob understood the hierarchy of the Marines and the right words to say and could easily blend into any role within the Marine Organization. And perhaps no role was as easy to fill in as the Seaman who had no sway, influence, or even importance. And the rules to playing this role was simple and straightforward; keep your mouth shut, throw a salute up at every person you pass, follow the orders given to you.
“Sir, Seaman Saifer with a message for the ranking officer! Sir!”
With a click of the boots, a well-executed salute, Jacob, under the guise he often used when working as a Marine, played his role well. Feigning an urgent message from Captain Arashi to the senior ranking officer of the Marine outpost, Jacob, or rather Seaman Saifer, was granted access into the outpost and rushed into the base. Second left, immediate left, third right, first left, right hallway. Second left, immediate left, third right, first left, right hallway. Second left, immediate left… Over and over, Jacob continued to repeat the directions he was being led on, determined to cement them into his head for the speediest of escapes. Ooh, window facing the back of the outpost. That was two doors from the second doorway on this hallway. Tucking that thought in the back of his head, Jacob was soon shown to Ensign Harvir’s door. Another click of the boots, another salute, and the imposter was left alone to conduct his “business.”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Enter.”
Whish, whoosh.
Quickly entering the room, “Seaman Saifer” shut the heavy wooden door behind him. As a commissioned Marine Officer, Ensign Harvir saw no reason to look up from his desk where he was working, much less stand, to meet the Seaman. As such, the older gentleman completely missed what would be his demise. As Jacob turned to face the desk of the Ensign, the two matching Sutōmushingā’s flew across the air and met their mark; one in the neck and the other in the forehead of Harvir, dropping him dead with the only sound coming from the office a resounding thud as the dagger (now lodged in Harvir’s forehead) sunk deeply into the mahogany chair he was sitting in.
With no time to waste, Jacob worked quickly. With no suitable place to hide the body, the assassin did not bother to hide the deceased Marine’s body. Donning the officer’s jacket for himself, Jacob began searching frantically throughout the office for any pieces of information he could use. Letters, written orders, briefings, anything and everything was rifled through quickly. Though a quick reader, Jacob could not spend any time inside the office and waste precious moments on reading each individual paper. Stuffing the assorted papers into the breast pockets of his stolen jacket, Jacob looked for his plan of escape. Before he did, the natural greed of the former noble swelled up once more. A beautiful gold and silver pocket watch had been showcased in a beautiful red fern time piece, the etching of the World Government’s Seagull on the back proudly displayed through the glass. Knowing its value, this was not an item Jacob could simply pass on; and so, he pocketed the ornate watch along with the other articles.
With no windows, doorways, or ulterior passages, Jacob would have to go back out the same way he went in; a dangerous endeavor as anyone who made their living sneaking in and out of strongholds knew, especially when he could not bar the entrance behind him. The window he had spotted coming towards the office would then be his best bet. Putting an ear to the doorway, Jacob spent a moment standing there, hoping to hear nothing but silence. And to his elation, no sound could be heard. Turning the handle, a creak betrayed Jacob’s movements. His heart in his chest, Jacob froze, his ears peeled once more. Confident that the creaky doorway hadn’t exposed him, now “Ensign Saifer” started a brisk walk down the hallway knowing that the window was just a short distance away. And all was going well until he made the first turn. Making the first right turn into the adjoining hallway, Jacob ran into a young female Seaman, knocking her over.
“Ow, ow, ow. What the hell?!”
Now playing the role of an Ensign and not a lowly Seaman, the rules of the games had changed, and the ever-theatrical Jacob would have to adjust to the new rule set. He was now playing the part of an Ensign and he would have to change his demeanor from a submissive grunt to an pompous officer. And as a part of this new rule set, the game was dictated as such that Jacob, or rather Ensign Saifer, could not help the young girl to her feet, nor could he go easy on her if his performance was to be passable.
“What the hell? What the fuck do YOU mean “what the fuck.” Watch where you’re going you fucking donut.”
The key to playing the part of an officer was the attitude. The walk, the aggressive demeanor, the dismissive attitude, all of them were necessary and had to play off together. And perhaps the most crucial was the dismissiveness often directed by the more senior officer towards their subordinates. Quickly and without looking back, Jacob had to just push forward and continue towards his goal, stepping over the young Seaman who was now rubbing her bruised ass. “Wait, what. I’m…I’m sorry, sir!” As is often the case, and as the saying goes, fake it till you make it. The faux confidence, the arrogant attitude, along with the matching officer’s jacket on his back all came together to pull off an air of ‘Officer’ that left the young female Seaman befuddled, confused, and sore. “What the hell just happened, I’ve never seen that guy…but, I mean, I don’t know…”
Leaving the flustered woman behind, Jacob’s stride turned into a full-blown sprint as he rounded the second corner and came into view of the window. Slowing down just momentarily to take stock of his surroundings, Jacob opened the window and promptly jumped, feet first, through the window and ran as quickly as he could back towards the city. Utilizing the confusion of the shift change of the Marine patrols, Jacob slowed his pace as he entered the city once more; breath slowed, posture regained, Jacob once more resumed the attitude of a Marine Ensign and he navigated his way back towards the ally way.
Sir!
“As you were, gentlemen.”
Though he was confident he could predictably pinpoint the location of every Marine patrolling the city, it wouldn’t do well for the Marine imposter to be seen slinking along the edges and ally ways of the city avoiding his “fellow” Marines. And so, he was left with no choice but to walk into the patrolling Marines, acting as if he was in the city on business. Taking the longer, less direct route back to the ally way was certainly nerve wracking; but ever the professional, no air of anxiousness or doubt would be seen on Jacob’s face. As he neared the entrance way to his ally way, Jacob decided to walk pass it first and not enter immediately. As he did, he could see the slumped body of Marine Roy still hunched and slouched against a wooden crate, right where he had left him; this cemented it in Jacob’s mind that there had been no tampering with his hiding spot. Deciding to take another loop around, the young man was now certain beyond a shadow of doubt that he was safe.
Quickly changing out of his stolen Marine uniform and back into his rather dull and non-distinctive haori, Jacob just as quickly decided to leave his hiding spot behind before settling in to read the confidential letters. Stuffing the letters into his haori, Jacob scurried through the ally way, looking for another exit rather than the one he had just entered in through. The thought of going back to the initial building he had first chosen upon entering Winchester Island was certainly his first option. However, Jacob did not like going back to any previous location and so that thought was quickly scratched out and he quickly began looking for a different location. The obvious choice was one that was either abandoned or so full of the ‘common folk’ that he could blend in. And with the sun fully overhead, morning had come to th island, making the thrift market the optimal choice at this time of day. The entire market would be packed both with shoppers and the “undesirables” of the island that would be looking for a free beri. Rubbing the island’s red soot back into his face and haori, Jacob again seamlessly transitioned back into the poor, homeless, beggar persona. The confident, and rather arrogant, attitude and stride was once again replaced with a slow, dreary, sluggish walk befitting of his appearance. Following the crowd towards the thrift market, a glance at a clock hanging off of one of the building showed a time of 1130 hours.
The entirety of the city’s main square had been transformed in the matter of a few hours from an empty lot into a bustling and thriving market. Multicolored pop up tents, stands, and clothing racks now littered the square with all sorts of both exotic and everyday items, produce, and clothing. With the city fully alive and its citizens now fully awake, the once relatively quiet populace was out in full force, making it that much easier for Jacob to blend in and with the civilians. Choosing a red and green tent that was selling brightly dyed alpaca rugs to sit under, Jacob began slowly rifling through the assorted letters he had “acquired.” “Fuck.” Unfortunately, as Jacob rifled through paper after paper, nothing in the dozens of briefs, personal letters, or assorted and random papers seemed to indicate anything of the Devil Fruit in question or Captain Arashi’s involvement; making the entire endeavor an unnecessary risk. It would seem that Captain Arashi was completely removing himself from the transaction with the Blue Devils, not willing to risk being seen engaged in an unsavory business and refusing to let his subordinate officers know what his plan was.
Frustrated, Jacob continued rifling through the assorted letters. And the second to last in the stack, an unmarked brown letter, made the entire endeavor worthwhile. The letter itself only contained a few short sentences, but its meaning and intent were clearly stated; Ensign Harvir was to handle the transaction between the Marine’s and the Blue Devils along with two of Captain Arashi’s own Marines who would be waiting at the location to assist Harvir at the “Chic de Rosa,” which Jacob assumed to be a clothing store in the business district. And from the contents of the letter, it seemed that the only two that were aware of the details were Captain Arashi and the late Ensign Harvir…and now Jacob.
“Jackpot.”
The Marines
}With a quick stretch of the legs, Jacob exited the deserted building he had made a temporary refuge. With the tranquil sunrise, a clear contrast to the tattered battlefield that was Winchester Island, to his left, Jacob set off towards the south side of the island; the Marine controlled side. However, the Marine headquarters would not be his first destination. In his decade long career, Jacob had infiltrated multiple Marine bases and outposts and he had found one formula to always work quite nicely for him. Steal a Marine uniform, looks as if you belong, play the part. Perhaps not something that the powers to be had thought of or whether it was an inherent and unavoidable flaw of any large-scale organization, anyone who looked identical to those around him and knew the lingo could effectively be invisible while in plain sight.
And so, the “Trickster” made course for the nearest Marine outpost. Those with the stripes and bars were rewarded with a much more elegant, comfortable, and exquisite home to rest their heads in the form of large Marine headquarters. The Marine outposts however were a much different story altogether. Run down, low on resources, tired. These strongholds were in the middle of the fight every single day; they were truly in the trenches. The brave men and women of the seas that were charged with holding the line never had a moment to rest, as the gears of war wait for no man and have no care or concerns of the individual. Beat down and low on morale, these Marines would be the easiest to infiltrate and their equipment the easiest to steal. Coupled with the fact that the highest-ranking Marine at these outposts were typically no higher than Ensigns (though honestly, no one of any significance would ever really call an Ensign a rank of any importance), Jacob anticipated he would not find any real threat there.
As early dawn turned into early morning, Jacob could no longer simply cross through the city with as much speed as he once was able to. The city was coming alive. Granted, the true-blue resistance fighters and the Marines assigned to the first patrol of the morning had been up for hours. But now, the civilians who were simply trying to put food on the table for their hungry family were awake and flooding the streets; going to their jobs, tending to their businesses, and even unfortunately begging on the streets for any amount of beri. Ever the chameleon, Jacob could not help but observe the faces and demeanor of the poor citizens of Winchester Island. Like those who had been waging war for the better part of a decade, the civilians too were beat down, tired, and dirty. And though Jacob had been brought up in a noble household, he would sacrifice his perfect, upright posture to blend in with those around him. Kneeling into the dirt, the former noble let the dark red soot of the island slip through his fingers before rubbing it into his face; the dirt covering his once fair complexion. Shoulders hunched, blond hair now ruffled and hanging down over his eyes, Jacob no longer moved briskly; he now instead drug his feet, slowly trudging along with the crowds.
And while he appeared to be a simple beggar, Jacob’s eyes were no slouch. Tracking every Marine patrol he came across, making note of every shady looking person, Jacob was not simply trying to make his way through the city but was rather hard at work. Jacob Arlott had been in the…freelance (shall we call it) business for a long time and had seen many enter and exit the business. And among the many reason’s young freelance rogues, thieves, assassins, and bounty hunters would find themselves rudely expelled from the profession, a lack of proper planning and exit was among their biggest downfalls. And instead of just trying to make his way through the city, Jacob was planning. He wasn’t trying to walk around Marine patrols, he was following them and attempting to establish a pattern, a routine. Left, another left, straight up the main thoroughfare, second right, a right at the old bank, up straight behind the governor’s home, the first right along an ally way, and back to their starting post. With head down and dragging along several paces behind the four-man Marine patrol he had been following for the last twenty minutes, Jacob was sure that this patrol’s routine was well established now.
That was not the only Marine patrol he would have to keep track of. While following this first group, Jacob had only seen one other Marine group roving the city. This group too seemed to have a set pattern on the other side of the city, mirroring the first patrol groups movements. Every twenty minutes, the two groups seemed to meet back in the middle of the square. However, just because he had tracked both of their movements with fairly certain accuracy, that did not mean his work was done. Slowly and deliberately moving back towards the main street, Jacob set himself down on the sidewalk, hands out in front making a cup. “Alms, alms for the poor. Spare a beri?” The young man sat like this for well over an hour, patiently observing the movements of everyone who would use the main thoroughfare. In that time, he saw both Marine patrols eagerly glancing at their watches; a sure sign that their shift was coming to completion. And with yawns coming from all soldiers, it was the confirmation Jacob needed.
With a sly chuckle, Jacob stood, pocketing his “well earned” 15 beri. Humans were truly amazing, if not curious, creatures. Poor, destitute, and by all accounts barely surviving, some of the poorest of Winchester Island still found it in their heart to donate spare change to the new beggar. Certain he had the information he needed to not only make his way safely through the city but to also have safe passage should he need to retreat, Jacob began moving through the large city and towards the closest outpost which was just on the outskirts of the city. Though tedious and often boring, the prep work Jacob had invested in was well worth the effort. Still moving slowly and looking the part of a beggar, Jacob moved at a slightly brisker speed, easily evading and avoiding the Marines and making quick time towards the outpost.
There it is. Now then, how to get in?
Having made his way to the outpost, the next question was how to get in without causing too much commotion. After a moment of pondering, Jacob decided to backtrack. If there was anything Jacob disliked, it was working with incomplete information. And while he was certain he could handle whatever lower level grunts he would find inside the outpost, the outpost wasn’t the final objective and so he couldn’t therefore risk causing too much of a commotion. Walking into the Marine base in his simple outfit, a gray Shihakushō and black Haori, would be an eyesore among the white and blue jackets and garb of the Marines. Glancing at his own watch and recalling the timings of the Marine patrols, Jacob began backtracking his way towards the ally way that ran along the main square.
Quickly trekking to the ally way, the young blade for hire chose an opening that led back into the square as his place of ambush. Attacking from darkness was an age-old tactic, used even by animals in nature. His prey would be tired, a long shift completed at the expense of their discipline; and as such, their entire focus would be on completing their final rotation and getting some much needed sleep. Why fight your opponent head on at their strongest when you could fight them at their weakest moment? Choosing a point near the ally way entrance that faced the main square and sitting with his legs folded over each other, Jacob drew one of his Sutōmushingā (Storm Singers) and placed the blade gingerly under his right leg and chose a discarded alcohol bottle to place near his left leg. A simple twelve-inch dagger with leather wrappings around the hilt, these “Storm Singers” were the choice of weapon for all of the “Trickster’s” needs.
“Please brave Marine, spare some beri?”
Right on schedule, the four tired Marines came plodding down the ally way; just moments from the end of their shift. And as they marched in a disoriented single file line, their feet once moving in perfect unison, the Marines had just this ally way to patrol one time more before they could be relieved. And now, one of the many beggars of Winchester Island had caught the pant leg of the last Marine in line to ask for money. While not an unfamiliar sight, it was certainly an annoying one. “Ah come on Roy, give him some pocket change,” came the voice from the head of the formation as he pointed towards the discarded alcohol bottle, “give the poor kid enough to get his fix and lets get out here.” With nothing more than a grunt, the Marine tried to pull his leg away from Jacob, but the young man was determined and refused to let go. “Oh please, please, please kind sir,” Jacob replied, struggling to maintain his composure and not break into laughter. “C’mon Roy, it’s fucking 10 beri. Besides, looks like the kids not giving up hahaha. We’ll meet you back at the outpost haha.” “For fuck’s sake, get off of me you leech.” This struggle lasted several moments before the Marine decided enough was enough and that it was easier to just give in at this point; all Roy wanted was sleep.
“Oh thank you soooooo much.”
“Aaarggh.”
Seeing the young blond stand up, Roy, the Marine, had been expecting a thank you and a bow or maybe a handshake. Instead, he was greeting with flashing steel and an even brighter grin on the face of “homeless” young boy. In one fluid motion, Jacob stood from his place on the street, grabbing the dagger that was placed under his right leg, to meet the Marine’s gaze. In the blink of an eye, the dagger traveled through the air in one unbroken, smooth motion; the well sharpened point finding its mark in the jugular of the unsuspecting Marine. In the same motion, Jacob’s left hand came up to meet the now gurgling mouth of the slowly dying Marine, pulling Roy’s now lifeless body into the ally way behind Arlott. Working quickly to change into the dead Marine’s uniform, Jacob stowed his own clothing into a bag which he promptly hid into a cracked part of the wall, marking it with a subtle ‘X’.
Changing posture and demeanor once more to match his new persona as a Marine, Jacob stepped back onto the main street, his head held high, shoulders squared back, a confident grin and whistle on his lips. Now sporting the beautifully blue and white lined uniform that was the very symbol of the World Government, “Marine” Jacob strode confidently into the Marine outpost, a familiar feeling washing over him. Having accepted multiple jobs inside Marine bases, whether it be assassinations or thefts, Jacob understood the hierarchy of the Marines and the right words to say and could easily blend into any role within the Marine Organization. And perhaps no role was as easy to fill in as the Seaman who had no sway, influence, or even importance. And the rules to playing this role was simple and straightforward; keep your mouth shut, throw a salute up at every person you pass, follow the orders given to you.
“Sir, Seaman Saifer with a message for the ranking officer! Sir!”
With a click of the boots, a well-executed salute, Jacob, under the guise he often used when working as a Marine, played his role well. Feigning an urgent message from Captain Arashi to the senior ranking officer of the Marine outpost, Jacob, or rather Seaman Saifer, was granted access into the outpost and rushed into the base. Second left, immediate left, third right, first left, right hallway. Second left, immediate left, third right, first left, right hallway. Second left, immediate left… Over and over, Jacob continued to repeat the directions he was being led on, determined to cement them into his head for the speediest of escapes. Ooh, window facing the back of the outpost. That was two doors from the second doorway on this hallway. Tucking that thought in the back of his head, Jacob was soon shown to Ensign Harvir’s door. Another click of the boots, another salute, and the imposter was left alone to conduct his “business.”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Enter.”
Whish, whoosh.
Quickly entering the room, “Seaman Saifer” shut the heavy wooden door behind him. As a commissioned Marine Officer, Ensign Harvir saw no reason to look up from his desk where he was working, much less stand, to meet the Seaman. As such, the older gentleman completely missed what would be his demise. As Jacob turned to face the desk of the Ensign, the two matching Sutōmushingā’s flew across the air and met their mark; one in the neck and the other in the forehead of Harvir, dropping him dead with the only sound coming from the office a resounding thud as the dagger (now lodged in Harvir’s forehead) sunk deeply into the mahogany chair he was sitting in.
With no time to waste, Jacob worked quickly. With no suitable place to hide the body, the assassin did not bother to hide the deceased Marine’s body. Donning the officer’s jacket for himself, Jacob began searching frantically throughout the office for any pieces of information he could use. Letters, written orders, briefings, anything and everything was rifled through quickly. Though a quick reader, Jacob could not spend any time inside the office and waste precious moments on reading each individual paper. Stuffing the assorted papers into the breast pockets of his stolen jacket, Jacob looked for his plan of escape. Before he did, the natural greed of the former noble swelled up once more. A beautiful gold and silver pocket watch had been showcased in a beautiful red fern time piece, the etching of the World Government’s Seagull on the back proudly displayed through the glass. Knowing its value, this was not an item Jacob could simply pass on; and so, he pocketed the ornate watch along with the other articles.
With no windows, doorways, or ulterior passages, Jacob would have to go back out the same way he went in; a dangerous endeavor as anyone who made their living sneaking in and out of strongholds knew, especially when he could not bar the entrance behind him. The window he had spotted coming towards the office would then be his best bet. Putting an ear to the doorway, Jacob spent a moment standing there, hoping to hear nothing but silence. And to his elation, no sound could be heard. Turning the handle, a creak betrayed Jacob’s movements. His heart in his chest, Jacob froze, his ears peeled once more. Confident that the creaky doorway hadn’t exposed him, now “Ensign Saifer” started a brisk walk down the hallway knowing that the window was just a short distance away. And all was going well until he made the first turn. Making the first right turn into the adjoining hallway, Jacob ran into a young female Seaman, knocking her over.
“Ow, ow, ow. What the hell?!”
Now playing the role of an Ensign and not a lowly Seaman, the rules of the games had changed, and the ever-theatrical Jacob would have to adjust to the new rule set. He was now playing the part of an Ensign and he would have to change his demeanor from a submissive grunt to an pompous officer. And as a part of this new rule set, the game was dictated as such that Jacob, or rather Ensign Saifer, could not help the young girl to her feet, nor could he go easy on her if his performance was to be passable.
“What the hell? What the fuck do YOU mean “what the fuck.” Watch where you’re going you fucking donut.”
The key to playing the part of an officer was the attitude. The walk, the aggressive demeanor, the dismissive attitude, all of them were necessary and had to play off together. And perhaps the most crucial was the dismissiveness often directed by the more senior officer towards their subordinates. Quickly and without looking back, Jacob had to just push forward and continue towards his goal, stepping over the young Seaman who was now rubbing her bruised ass. “Wait, what. I’m…I’m sorry, sir!” As is often the case, and as the saying goes, fake it till you make it. The faux confidence, the arrogant attitude, along with the matching officer’s jacket on his back all came together to pull off an air of ‘Officer’ that left the young female Seaman befuddled, confused, and sore. “What the hell just happened, I’ve never seen that guy…but, I mean, I don’t know…”
Leaving the flustered woman behind, Jacob’s stride turned into a full-blown sprint as he rounded the second corner and came into view of the window. Slowing down just momentarily to take stock of his surroundings, Jacob opened the window and promptly jumped, feet first, through the window and ran as quickly as he could back towards the city. Utilizing the confusion of the shift change of the Marine patrols, Jacob slowed his pace as he entered the city once more; breath slowed, posture regained, Jacob once more resumed the attitude of a Marine Ensign and he navigated his way back towards the ally way.
Sir!
“As you were, gentlemen.”
Though he was confident he could predictably pinpoint the location of every Marine patrolling the city, it wouldn’t do well for the Marine imposter to be seen slinking along the edges and ally ways of the city avoiding his “fellow” Marines. And so, he was left with no choice but to walk into the patrolling Marines, acting as if he was in the city on business. Taking the longer, less direct route back to the ally way was certainly nerve wracking; but ever the professional, no air of anxiousness or doubt would be seen on Jacob’s face. As he neared the entrance way to his ally way, Jacob decided to walk pass it first and not enter immediately. As he did, he could see the slumped body of Marine Roy still hunched and slouched against a wooden crate, right where he had left him; this cemented it in Jacob’s mind that there had been no tampering with his hiding spot. Deciding to take another loop around, the young man was now certain beyond a shadow of doubt that he was safe.
Quickly changing out of his stolen Marine uniform and back into his rather dull and non-distinctive haori, Jacob just as quickly decided to leave his hiding spot behind before settling in to read the confidential letters. Stuffing the letters into his haori, Jacob scurried through the ally way, looking for another exit rather than the one he had just entered in through. The thought of going back to the initial building he had first chosen upon entering Winchester Island was certainly his first option. However, Jacob did not like going back to any previous location and so that thought was quickly scratched out and he quickly began looking for a different location. The obvious choice was one that was either abandoned or so full of the ‘common folk’ that he could blend in. And with the sun fully overhead, morning had come to th island, making the thrift market the optimal choice at this time of day. The entire market would be packed both with shoppers and the “undesirables” of the island that would be looking for a free beri. Rubbing the island’s red soot back into his face and haori, Jacob again seamlessly transitioned back into the poor, homeless, beggar persona. The confident, and rather arrogant, attitude and stride was once again replaced with a slow, dreary, sluggish walk befitting of his appearance. Following the crowd towards the thrift market, a glance at a clock hanging off of one of the building showed a time of 1130 hours.
The entirety of the city’s main square had been transformed in the matter of a few hours from an empty lot into a bustling and thriving market. Multicolored pop up tents, stands, and clothing racks now littered the square with all sorts of both exotic and everyday items, produce, and clothing. With the city fully alive and its citizens now fully awake, the once relatively quiet populace was out in full force, making it that much easier for Jacob to blend in and with the civilians. Choosing a red and green tent that was selling brightly dyed alpaca rugs to sit under, Jacob began slowly rifling through the assorted letters he had “acquired.” “Fuck.” Unfortunately, as Jacob rifled through paper after paper, nothing in the dozens of briefs, personal letters, or assorted and random papers seemed to indicate anything of the Devil Fruit in question or Captain Arashi’s involvement; making the entire endeavor an unnecessary risk. It would seem that Captain Arashi was completely removing himself from the transaction with the Blue Devils, not willing to risk being seen engaged in an unsavory business and refusing to let his subordinate officers know what his plan was.
Frustrated, Jacob continued rifling through the assorted letters. And the second to last in the stack, an unmarked brown letter, made the entire endeavor worthwhile. The letter itself only contained a few short sentences, but its meaning and intent were clearly stated; Ensign Harvir was to handle the transaction between the Marine’s and the Blue Devils along with two of Captain Arashi’s own Marines who would be waiting at the location to assist Harvir at the “Chic de Rosa,” which Jacob assumed to be a clothing store in the business district. And from the contents of the letter, it seemed that the only two that were aware of the details were Captain Arashi and the late Ensign Harvir…and now Jacob.
“Jackpot.”
{
1200 hours.
The market was still in full force and Jacob decided that it was time to turn his attention to Damonte Cervantes and his Blue Devils. And that would start here, in the thrift market. After all, for a group of criminals who had made their bones selling all manner of contraband and stolen goods, it stood to reason that they would need a place to sell their wares. And given that a thrift market such as this had no regulations, no barrier to entry, no overseeing commission to run the hundreds of individual stands, this place was the perfect place to set up their black market. And it wouldn’t be difficult either; place legitimate goods and items at the forefront of what every wandering customer would see, any half clever salesman would know not to place their pirated items in plain view. This would also ensure that only those wise to the black market would know which merchant to seek out. This, then, again changed the rules under which Jacob would be operating under. Though beri would be accepted at every other booth, black market merchants, criminals, and all manner of unsavory folk ran on a different currency; contraband for contraband, information for information. And the one thing that tied them all together was a common tongue, a jargon known only to those who ran in its circles.
And to someone like Jacob, who had spent the last ten years running in those circles, the common parlance had become second nature…no that wasn’t quite right; it was enveloped in every word he spoke. He was a rogue through and through, and he had the tongue to match. Now then, where to start? thought the young man, his eyes glancing over each tent, each stand, watching each merchant as they interacted with the common folk. Snaking in between the vastly different merchant booths, the “Trickster” found one that looked the part; a rather shabby looking fruit stand that was selling a variety of cantaloupes, watermelons, and honeydews. While no one would think that any business above reproach was occurring here, Jacob knew better. The stand was no more than a hastily fashioned square made from plywood with an ugly brown tarp stringed along the top posts to keep the fruit away and out of the increasingly brutal rays of the sun. And yet, this stand that was an eyesore compared to the other tents, stands, and booths that had no business attracting much foot traffic, somehow did.
Now, whether that was because this particular fruit stand was in fact in the business of selling contraband or they really were selling the best melons on Winchester Island, the former seemed to be more likely than the latter. The confirmation in Jacob’s mind? The two rather burly men, though dressed in common clothing seen among the other market goers, did not seem to budge from where they had been standing for the last hour or so; each of them had been standing on either end of the stand. Now what kind of fruit stand required burly bodyguards? None that Jacob had ever heard of certainly. There was more to this merchant that sweet honeydews and juicy watermelons. Now that he had spotted a possible target, Jacob would need to think through his approach. Simply walking up and asking “hey, do you have any illegal information that nobody should know for sale?” was a sure way to be instantly ostracized by every other merchant in this business, and therefore lose any chance at obtaining information on Cervantes.
“My, my. Look at this cantaloupe, it looks delicious.”
“Well my good sir, they are the finest Winchester Island has to offer!”
“I’d love to try them, but unfortunately I’m a little low on beri at the moment. By the way, crazy what happened at the Marine outpost this morning, isn’t it?”
“Oh I’m sure we can come to an understanding and work something out. I must have missed it, what exactly happened at the Marine outpost?”
As was the case in most business transactions, the direction and tone of the conversation lay with whoever had the better cards to play. With a coy grin, Jacob leaned in, almost beckoning the merchant to lean in to hear whatever secret was about to be divulged. “Oh I’m sure a man with your connections already knows.” Leaning back out, Jacob went back to inspecting the various fruits that were on display, knowing that anyone in the position that the merchant was in could not resist the temptation of a juicy tidbit of information. “You like that melon? Great choice. Take it. It’s yours. Now, now. The Marine outpost?” Showing his eagerness, the merchant seemed to be too quick to take the bait and appeared to be ready to trade information.
“You know, I’m suddenly not that interested in your fruit. You said we could come to an understanding, lets come to an understanding.”
“I don’t know what else I can offer; I am just a simple fruit merchant after all.”
“Well that is a shame. I guess I was mistaken about you. I’ll be on my way then, I’m sure someone else has something better to offer. After all, no reason to bother a simple fruit merchant with this.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait! Let’s not be too hasty. I’m sure there’s something I can offer you to make it worth your while.”
Leaning back in, Jacob dropped the casual and rather relaxed attitude. “Cervantes, where is he going to be tonight?” As soon as the words came out of Jacob’s mouth, the merchant was suddenly very aware of the type of man standing before him. This wasn’t some petty information peddler; this was someone to be taken seriously. Was he a Marine undercover, a rival criminal gang member, a bounty hunter? The “simple fruit merchant” couldn’t say with certainty; but anyone asking about Cervantes business was somebody to be taken seriously. Dropping his own pretentious attitude, the merchant took a quick glance around the market, making sure that no one would hear his next words, hoping that whatever information was about to be traded would be worthwhile. “From what I’ve heard around the watering hole, he’s meeting some Marines at the “Horseshoe Pub” tonight at eight. No one knows why, but rumor has it he’s cutting a deal with a high-ranking Marine that’s going to change the dynamics on the island. That’s all I’ve heard.”
Confident that the merchant was telling him the truth, it was now Jacob’s turn to glance cautiously at the endless sea of people around him. Pulling out the ornate watch he had “lifted” from Ensign Harvir’s office, Jacob slid the pocket watch across the counter. “It seems the Ensign tasked to oversee this particular city on the island had a slight accident this morning. If you were, to say, have other items for sale than your melons, you might want to, hypothetically, be careful. I’m sure the Marines might be locking the city down until they get this sorted out.” “Thank you for the heads up. If I had anything else, I certainly might have been worried. Pleasure doing business.” With a nod between the two, Jacob left, eager to not spend anymore time at the booth than necessary.
Weaving in and out of the crowd, Jacob decided on leaving the square and the market to find a bit more peace and to start putting together a game plan. The time was now 1400 hours (or two in the afternoon). All the business in the city were opened, people were out and about their business, and there was hardly a quiet corner that Jacob could claim for himself. Now was as good a time as ever to head to the “Little Hen Bakery.” Jacob was hungry after the events of this morning and this would be the perfect opportunity to satiate his hunger before he set off for the next phase of his plan.
After twenty minutes of navigating the populated city, the quaint red stoned bakery came into view, its small wooden sign hanging in front of the door inviting all passerby’s inside. Choosing a corner booth by the window for himself, Jacob expected here of all places to get a little peace and quiet while he worked. That, however, was not to be as a three resounding booms rumbled through the air, shaking the windows. The blond-haired rogue must have looked startled by the cannons in the distance, prompting the old and kindly waitress to laugh. As she poured a cup of coffee for the young man, she couldn’t help but chuckle as she exclaimed, “You must be new here sweetie. This ain’t nothing new.” “Really? I heard there was a civil war going on, but you’d never know it from inside your homey little bakery.” And that would have been true if one only took a snapshot of the scene. Hand carved chairs were sat at equally beautifully hand carved tables. Each table had a simple red and white patterned clothe spread across, an arrangement of unique flora only found on Winchester Island decorating and bringing life to each table. It was picturesque of a peaceful, small town bakery. “Oh don’t you fret. For us folk it’s normal. You learn to take the good with the bad. Besides, the fighting doesn’t really come into the city too often. Neither the Marines nor the freedom fighters want to involve us. It’s a part of life here. Anyway, give us a few moments and I’ll get your meal right out sweetie.”
With a nod, Jacob pondered what she said as he sipped at his coffee. Violence, death, treachery. None of this was new to a man who had experienced that type of violence and death from such a close and personal perspective. Hell, he had often been the one dealing out death. What boggled him was how a baker, one who had never been to war much less killed anyone, could have such a nonchalant and frankly pleasant attitude in spite of her situation. “Here you are sweetie.” Setting down a plate of crisp potatoes and fresh cod, the sweet old lady left Jacob to his meal and his business. And for the second time that day, Jacob could not help but wonder what strange creatures’ humans were.
Pulling out the map of the island once more, it didn’t take long for Jacob to find the section of the island that was abandoned business district. Unfortunately, none of the buildings were marked, and so Jacob couldn’t be sure of exactly where the “Horseshoe Pub” was; he would have to find that once he got there. Almost out of a nervous tick, Jacob patted the knapsack that contained the late Ensign Harvir’s jacket; almost as if he was checking to make sure that it was still there. The plan was fairly simple really, but that did not mean it would be easy to execute. Jacob, under the guise of a Marine Ensign, would infiltrate the meeting and attempt to pass off as Captain Arashi’s subordinate. If he could do that, he would handle the changing of promised goods as intended, leaving Cervantes to believe that the meeting had gone on as planned. After that, it was a simple matter of getting rid of his Marine “comrades” and leaving the island as quickly as possible. And though Mr. Pink had provided a small vessel that served as Jacob’s entry to the island, Jacob had no intention of utilizing the same vessel to leave. Confident he could find a vessel to suit his needs at the docks, Jacob left a generous tip and left the bakery.
Hurrying to exit the “Little Hen Bakery,” the young man regained his target he had spotted from his windowed seat inside and made sure to catch up quickly. Easily spotting the blue bandanna wrapped around the rather skinny, redheaded man in the crowd, Jacob slowed down and made sure to follow at a respectable distance of fifteen meters behind. Jacob had spotted the man walk out of the financial building that was adjoined to the “Little Hen Bakery.” Recalling Mr. Pink’s information that the Blue Devil’s base of operations was being conducted out of the finance building, the bandanna wearing male seemed out of place in a building such as this. Following the man throughout the city only confirmed Jacob’s suspicions; the red-haired gang member soon had linked up with several more bandanna wearing men. Jacob continued to follow the now six men up to the edge of the city. Jacob knew that was the end of his tailing; following the group across the fairly flat island without the cover of the city would be too difficult a task.
Final stage.
The Blue Devils
}1200 hours.
The market was still in full force and Jacob decided that it was time to turn his attention to Damonte Cervantes and his Blue Devils. And that would start here, in the thrift market. After all, for a group of criminals who had made their bones selling all manner of contraband and stolen goods, it stood to reason that they would need a place to sell their wares. And given that a thrift market such as this had no regulations, no barrier to entry, no overseeing commission to run the hundreds of individual stands, this place was the perfect place to set up their black market. And it wouldn’t be difficult either; place legitimate goods and items at the forefront of what every wandering customer would see, any half clever salesman would know not to place their pirated items in plain view. This would also ensure that only those wise to the black market would know which merchant to seek out. This, then, again changed the rules under which Jacob would be operating under. Though beri would be accepted at every other booth, black market merchants, criminals, and all manner of unsavory folk ran on a different currency; contraband for contraband, information for information. And the one thing that tied them all together was a common tongue, a jargon known only to those who ran in its circles.
And to someone like Jacob, who had spent the last ten years running in those circles, the common parlance had become second nature…no that wasn’t quite right; it was enveloped in every word he spoke. He was a rogue through and through, and he had the tongue to match. Now then, where to start? thought the young man, his eyes glancing over each tent, each stand, watching each merchant as they interacted with the common folk. Snaking in between the vastly different merchant booths, the “Trickster” found one that looked the part; a rather shabby looking fruit stand that was selling a variety of cantaloupes, watermelons, and honeydews. While no one would think that any business above reproach was occurring here, Jacob knew better. The stand was no more than a hastily fashioned square made from plywood with an ugly brown tarp stringed along the top posts to keep the fruit away and out of the increasingly brutal rays of the sun. And yet, this stand that was an eyesore compared to the other tents, stands, and booths that had no business attracting much foot traffic, somehow did.
Now, whether that was because this particular fruit stand was in fact in the business of selling contraband or they really were selling the best melons on Winchester Island, the former seemed to be more likely than the latter. The confirmation in Jacob’s mind? The two rather burly men, though dressed in common clothing seen among the other market goers, did not seem to budge from where they had been standing for the last hour or so; each of them had been standing on either end of the stand. Now what kind of fruit stand required burly bodyguards? None that Jacob had ever heard of certainly. There was more to this merchant that sweet honeydews and juicy watermelons. Now that he had spotted a possible target, Jacob would need to think through his approach. Simply walking up and asking “hey, do you have any illegal information that nobody should know for sale?” was a sure way to be instantly ostracized by every other merchant in this business, and therefore lose any chance at obtaining information on Cervantes.
“My, my. Look at this cantaloupe, it looks delicious.”
“Well my good sir, they are the finest Winchester Island has to offer!”
“I’d love to try them, but unfortunately I’m a little low on beri at the moment. By the way, crazy what happened at the Marine outpost this morning, isn’t it?”
“Oh I’m sure we can come to an understanding and work something out. I must have missed it, what exactly happened at the Marine outpost?”
As was the case in most business transactions, the direction and tone of the conversation lay with whoever had the better cards to play. With a coy grin, Jacob leaned in, almost beckoning the merchant to lean in to hear whatever secret was about to be divulged. “Oh I’m sure a man with your connections already knows.” Leaning back out, Jacob went back to inspecting the various fruits that were on display, knowing that anyone in the position that the merchant was in could not resist the temptation of a juicy tidbit of information. “You like that melon? Great choice. Take it. It’s yours. Now, now. The Marine outpost?” Showing his eagerness, the merchant seemed to be too quick to take the bait and appeared to be ready to trade information.
“You know, I’m suddenly not that interested in your fruit. You said we could come to an understanding, lets come to an understanding.”
“I don’t know what else I can offer; I am just a simple fruit merchant after all.”
“Well that is a shame. I guess I was mistaken about you. I’ll be on my way then, I’m sure someone else has something better to offer. After all, no reason to bother a simple fruit merchant with this.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait! Let’s not be too hasty. I’m sure there’s something I can offer you to make it worth your while.”
Leaning back in, Jacob dropped the casual and rather relaxed attitude. “Cervantes, where is he going to be tonight?” As soon as the words came out of Jacob’s mouth, the merchant was suddenly very aware of the type of man standing before him. This wasn’t some petty information peddler; this was someone to be taken seriously. Was he a Marine undercover, a rival criminal gang member, a bounty hunter? The “simple fruit merchant” couldn’t say with certainty; but anyone asking about Cervantes business was somebody to be taken seriously. Dropping his own pretentious attitude, the merchant took a quick glance around the market, making sure that no one would hear his next words, hoping that whatever information was about to be traded would be worthwhile. “From what I’ve heard around the watering hole, he’s meeting some Marines at the “Horseshoe Pub” tonight at eight. No one knows why, but rumor has it he’s cutting a deal with a high-ranking Marine that’s going to change the dynamics on the island. That’s all I’ve heard.”
Confident that the merchant was telling him the truth, it was now Jacob’s turn to glance cautiously at the endless sea of people around him. Pulling out the ornate watch he had “lifted” from Ensign Harvir’s office, Jacob slid the pocket watch across the counter. “It seems the Ensign tasked to oversee this particular city on the island had a slight accident this morning. If you were, to say, have other items for sale than your melons, you might want to, hypothetically, be careful. I’m sure the Marines might be locking the city down until they get this sorted out.” “Thank you for the heads up. If I had anything else, I certainly might have been worried. Pleasure doing business.” With a nod between the two, Jacob left, eager to not spend anymore time at the booth than necessary.
Weaving in and out of the crowd, Jacob decided on leaving the square and the market to find a bit more peace and to start putting together a game plan. The time was now 1400 hours (or two in the afternoon). All the business in the city were opened, people were out and about their business, and there was hardly a quiet corner that Jacob could claim for himself. Now was as good a time as ever to head to the “Little Hen Bakery.” Jacob was hungry after the events of this morning and this would be the perfect opportunity to satiate his hunger before he set off for the next phase of his plan.
After twenty minutes of navigating the populated city, the quaint red stoned bakery came into view, its small wooden sign hanging in front of the door inviting all passerby’s inside. Choosing a corner booth by the window for himself, Jacob expected here of all places to get a little peace and quiet while he worked. That, however, was not to be as a three resounding booms rumbled through the air, shaking the windows. The blond-haired rogue must have looked startled by the cannons in the distance, prompting the old and kindly waitress to laugh. As she poured a cup of coffee for the young man, she couldn’t help but chuckle as she exclaimed, “You must be new here sweetie. This ain’t nothing new.” “Really? I heard there was a civil war going on, but you’d never know it from inside your homey little bakery.” And that would have been true if one only took a snapshot of the scene. Hand carved chairs were sat at equally beautifully hand carved tables. Each table had a simple red and white patterned clothe spread across, an arrangement of unique flora only found on Winchester Island decorating and bringing life to each table. It was picturesque of a peaceful, small town bakery. “Oh don’t you fret. For us folk it’s normal. You learn to take the good with the bad. Besides, the fighting doesn’t really come into the city too often. Neither the Marines nor the freedom fighters want to involve us. It’s a part of life here. Anyway, give us a few moments and I’ll get your meal right out sweetie.”
With a nod, Jacob pondered what she said as he sipped at his coffee. Violence, death, treachery. None of this was new to a man who had experienced that type of violence and death from such a close and personal perspective. Hell, he had often been the one dealing out death. What boggled him was how a baker, one who had never been to war much less killed anyone, could have such a nonchalant and frankly pleasant attitude in spite of her situation. “Here you are sweetie.” Setting down a plate of crisp potatoes and fresh cod, the sweet old lady left Jacob to his meal and his business. And for the second time that day, Jacob could not help but wonder what strange creatures’ humans were.
Pulling out the map of the island once more, it didn’t take long for Jacob to find the section of the island that was abandoned business district. Unfortunately, none of the buildings were marked, and so Jacob couldn’t be sure of exactly where the “Horseshoe Pub” was; he would have to find that once he got there. Almost out of a nervous tick, Jacob patted the knapsack that contained the late Ensign Harvir’s jacket; almost as if he was checking to make sure that it was still there. The plan was fairly simple really, but that did not mean it would be easy to execute. Jacob, under the guise of a Marine Ensign, would infiltrate the meeting and attempt to pass off as Captain Arashi’s subordinate. If he could do that, he would handle the changing of promised goods as intended, leaving Cervantes to believe that the meeting had gone on as planned. After that, it was a simple matter of getting rid of his Marine “comrades” and leaving the island as quickly as possible. And though Mr. Pink had provided a small vessel that served as Jacob’s entry to the island, Jacob had no intention of utilizing the same vessel to leave. Confident he could find a vessel to suit his needs at the docks, Jacob left a generous tip and left the bakery.
Hurrying to exit the “Little Hen Bakery,” the young man regained his target he had spotted from his windowed seat inside and made sure to catch up quickly. Easily spotting the blue bandanna wrapped around the rather skinny, redheaded man in the crowd, Jacob slowed down and made sure to follow at a respectable distance of fifteen meters behind. Jacob had spotted the man walk out of the financial building that was adjoined to the “Little Hen Bakery.” Recalling Mr. Pink’s information that the Blue Devil’s base of operations was being conducted out of the finance building, the bandanna wearing male seemed out of place in a building such as this. Following the man throughout the city only confirmed Jacob’s suspicions; the red-haired gang member soon had linked up with several more bandanna wearing men. Jacob continued to follow the now six men up to the edge of the city. Jacob knew that was the end of his tailing; following the group across the fairly flat island without the cover of the city would be too difficult a task.
Final stage.
{
1630 hours.
Though he was not able to follow the six Blue Devils from the city across the island directly, Jacob was not dismayed. “Are you sure? There’s nothing there ya know? Alright.” Choosing to hire a stagecoach to traverse the island, Jacob choose to leave the city just as evening was beginning to fall. Learning that the trip would take approximately two hours, Jacob was starting to get the “pre-performance jitters” that often came before a job was executed. Unfortunately, there was nothing for it but to sit and endure the bumpy ride across the island. With the cabin to himself, he was at least free from having to constantly watch his back and those around him.
Recalling the words of his waitress at the bakery, Jacob couldn’t help but be somewhat mesmerized by the flashes of light that periodically and sporadically popped up along the horizon. Each hole and crater that had been created by a cannonball served as a reminder to all that came to the island of the war that continued to rage. And Jacob also noted, mentally, the lack of wildlife he saw as they traveled slowly. Maybe it was due to the war that never seemed to sleep, or possibly the natural predisposition of the island itself, but the lack of even a single jackrabbit or coyote bounding across the island was jarring.
“We’re here.”
Paying the man his fare, as well as an extra guarantee to keep the stagecoach waiting for his return, Jacob exited the stagecoach, map in one hand and his knapsack in the other. Quickly orienting himself to the abandoned business district, Jacob set off into the twisting and winding roads that had once been the gateway to the very heart and soul of Winchester Island prior to the start of the civil war. Banks, brokerages, businesses of all sorts littered the large sprawling district. This had been the epicenter of the island in years past; now it was nothing short of a ruin. And befitting of a ruinous town, each business, every building was starting to crumble as upkeep had fallen to the wayside.
It was now 1845 hours, and Jacob had spent the last fifteen minutes wandering the vast number of businesses looking for the “Horseshoe Pub.” Each turn he took, however, yielded no results as of yet. Impressive loan offices, beautifully ornate banks, but no bar or clothing store that signaled he was close. Time was starting to become an issue and Jacob would need to find his mark quickly. Another fifteen minutes had passed, and Jacob was now coming into the center and very heart of the business district.
Rounding a deteriorating brokerage office, Jacob had to backtrack back behind the building, praying he wasn’t seen. As he had come around the brokerage office, the “Chic de Rosa” had come into view. And just as stated in Captain Arashi’s message to the former Ensign Harvir, two Marine soldiers were inside waiting for their special detail. Risking a peek back around the corner, Jacob’s breath slowed once more; the two Marines had not spotted him. Changing back into his stolen Marine officer’s jacket and uniform, Jacob stepped back out into the street, turning himself back into Ensign Saifer. As he pushed open the glass doors into the high end clothing store that had been tragically abandoned, Jacob knew he’d have to play his cards right to sell his being there.
“Who are you, where’s Harvir?”
As is often with most deceptions, a hint of the truth was often needed in order to sell the lie. And so, “Saifer” decided that the truth was his best cover story. With nothing more than a shrug of the shoulders, Jacob simply stated, “Dead, as far as I’ve heard. I was told to take over.” Though both of the Marines were right to be suspicious of this new Marine neither of them had ever seen, this wasn’t the time or place to question a Marine officer. As far as they were concerned, they were simply told to accompany the Ensign into a meeting that was to be kept quiet. They weren’t meant to know the details; they were meant to obey. Shooting each other a quizzical look, the two Marines shrugged, indicating that though this was an unexpected change, they would go along with it.
“Are we ready, then?” With a nod from his new “subordinates,” the party of Marines were ready to move out. Grabbing the promised 25,000,000 beri, the taller of the two Marines, a Marine Seaman named Bangirou, led the way through the district, clearly having a grasp of the layout and where he needed to go. The shorter, much stockier Marine, a Seaman by the name of Hisagi, was behind Bangirou, his eyes peeled for an attack from another. It took everything in Jacob to not chuckle at that thought; that the danger would come from within the group, not outside. Raising his hand to signal a halt to the procession, Bangirou motioned for the others to stop. Pointing to a block of four buildings that formed a rectangle, the tall Marine pointed to the shortest of the buildings. “That’s the one.”
As Bangirou and Hisagi kept their eyes peeled on the bar, observing whatever little movement they could make out through the dark green paned windows, all they were waiting on was their commanding officer's order to proceed forward. Feeling an arm drape across both of their shoulders, both Marine Seaman assumed that they were about to be given that very order. However, what they were met with was cold, hard, silver steel at their neckline; the sensation of cold steel leaving them stunned. With a clean sweep, the daggers were drug across the necks of the shocked and rather confused Marines. “Thank you gentlemen, that’ll be all. You’ve been relieved, hehehe.” A backstabber and opportunist by nature, Jacob decided to cut out the two loose ends here and now; after all, if you’re enemy is going to be willing to give you their back, why deny his generous offer? And though he had planned on keeping the two Marines with him for an extra level of security throughout the meeting, the opportunity was too easy to pass on. As was often the case in these kinds of jobs, improvisation and confidence was more important that two hired lackeys.
Picking up the rather large bag of beri, Jacob stepped over the two gurgling Marines, knowing he would not have to worry about hiding the bodies in an abandoned section of the island as this. Confidence, confidence. Let’s do this. With a deep breath, Jacob pushed back out into the street, walking into the “Horseshoe Pub” fully knowing that he had been watched every step of the way by whoever was inside the pub. Pushing the deep brown, wooden doors open, he was greeted with a “Wassup?”
Sitting atop the cracking granite top bar was none other than Damonte “Blue Devil” Cervantes himself. Grinning, kicking his legs like a giddy schoolgirl, the imposing former Marine was the picture of jovial. A large man, six feet and ten inches tall, Cervantes dwarfed the “regular” sized Arlott and looked every bit of the part of a criminal overlord. Sporting an impressive handlebar mustache, glaring green eyes, the turncoat Marine’s predominately blue jacket was a stark contrast to the white jackets of the World Government’s military arm; the seagull on the back replaced with a devil’s head, horns and all. And of course, the mark of any good thug boss, a crew of underlings. The six men Jacob had tailed through the city were in the pub, with another ten taking their place at the rusted tables. Each of the subordinates sported a familiar blue bandanna, whether on their arm or head, that were also lined with the same devil’s head emblem.
“Got the goods, kid?”
“Got the goods, old man?”
This was the perhaps the most dangerous moment of the day for Jacob. He had walked into the proverbial lion’s den alone. And when there were such valuable items that needed to trade hands, this was the prime opportunity for either party to back stab the other and renege on the deal. But Jacob, using the information provided to him by Mr. Pink, knew that though 25,000,000 beri was a sizable amount of “pocket change,” the real prize for Cervantes was the free ability to travel the West Blue. And as long as Jacob had that card to play, he knew he was safe…for now.
“Bahaha, Mattias, kids got some balls coming in here alone. And with the entire bag of beri in hand, bahaha. I guess we could just kill him and call it a day, right? Bahaha.”
With nothing more than a dismissive shrug, Jacob simply replied, “Sure, go ahead. By the way, how many ships do you have in the West Blue that could be stopped and inspected at any moment?” An awkward moment passed between the two, as Cervantes was no doubt contemplating his options; take the 25,000,000 beri but make himself an even bigger enemy of Captain Arashi, or complete the deal as initially agreed upon. Even the underlings and subordinates of the Blue Devil seemed to understand the gravitas of the situation, eagerly fingering their pistols, knives, and sword handles as they awaited their boss’s decision. “Bahaha. I like this kid. Give him his fuckin fruit.” A quick change of hands, and the two bags were traded with nothing more than a handshake between Jacob and Damonte. “If Arashi fucks me, there’s going to be hell to pay, ya understand kid?” Giving the much younger “Marine” a final, hard squeeze of the hand, Cervantes watched the boy leave the pub; a mistaken glee across his face as he had incorrectly assumed he had just come out the winner of a very lucrative deal.
“Where to?”
“The docks, urgently please.”
Back in his stagecoach, Jacob couldn’t help but finally let loose a hearty laugh. He was in the homestretch; all he needed was to make it to the docks. Of all the jobs he had taken on in the last ten years, this was perhaps the most dangerous and he was about to pull it off. Marines, a criminal gang network, and a still mysterious shadow group. All three were about to lose out on what they had bargained for, and only Jacob was coming out the victor. Though he had come out on top through deception and quite literally backstabbing, it was in his nature and exactly who the “Trickster” was and even truer, it was the nature of his profession. And while it had been an extremely long day for Jacob, and he wanted nothing more than to relax, he was still at least two hours out from being “home free.” Luckily for Jacob, the driver heeded his customer’s request for urgency, driving his two-horse team as hard as possible for the docks.
Eager to make it back across the island, Jacob was forced to sit and simply wait. As much as he wished for it, he could not force the horses to move any faster than they were already going. The waiting was becoming as unbearable as the jitters he had felt prior to starting the job. There was a danger in letting the stress and worry of waiting build, and so Jacob was in serious need of distracting himself. Reaching into the brown leather bag he had been entrusted with, Jacob pulled out the strange Devil Fruit, admiring its unique design. He had never seen a Devil Fruit in person, only in pictures, and could not help but notice how the fruit vaguely resembled a dragon fruit. The colors, however, were very different. A sky-blue hue was washed over the fruit, contrasting the five bright red tufts that graced the fruit. As was typical of every Devil Fruit, this mystery fruit had small, yellow concentric swirls on the skin of the fruit. How strange, thought Jacob, wondering what strange power this particular fruit could grant. More importantly, he began to weigh out his options; eat the fruit himself or sell it for an even higher price himself?
“We’re here, sir.”
Paying the driver his final fare, Jacob was glad to leave the stagecoach, only taking a quick moment to stretch his legs that had become numb from sitting for so long. With bag in hand, and curiously a Marine officers jacket left behind in the stagecoach, Jacob moved quickly, eager to leave Winchester Island for good. It was now 2100 hours, and the moon was fully overhead, lighting the cobblestones that lined the pathways of the docks. No, no, not that one. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Aha! Here we go. Searching for the right vessel, Jacob had passed multiple ships in his search for the one that was to be his getaway. Marine vessels, large merchant galleons, small personal ships; all were passed up. One, however, struck Jacob as the correct ship that he could utilize; the ‘Dawn’s Kiss,’ a large civilian ship that served as transportation between all of the islands of the West Blue. Paying the 500 beri fee, Jacob was granted passage aboard. And as the vessel slowly pulled away from the island, an audible laugh was heard from the ship. He had done it; he had pulled it off. He had successfully robbed three separate parties and come away unscathed.
He had pulled off a hat trick.
The Heist
}1630 hours.
Though he was not able to follow the six Blue Devils from the city across the island directly, Jacob was not dismayed. “Are you sure? There’s nothing there ya know? Alright.” Choosing to hire a stagecoach to traverse the island, Jacob choose to leave the city just as evening was beginning to fall. Learning that the trip would take approximately two hours, Jacob was starting to get the “pre-performance jitters” that often came before a job was executed. Unfortunately, there was nothing for it but to sit and endure the bumpy ride across the island. With the cabin to himself, he was at least free from having to constantly watch his back and those around him.
Recalling the words of his waitress at the bakery, Jacob couldn’t help but be somewhat mesmerized by the flashes of light that periodically and sporadically popped up along the horizon. Each hole and crater that had been created by a cannonball served as a reminder to all that came to the island of the war that continued to rage. And Jacob also noted, mentally, the lack of wildlife he saw as they traveled slowly. Maybe it was due to the war that never seemed to sleep, or possibly the natural predisposition of the island itself, but the lack of even a single jackrabbit or coyote bounding across the island was jarring.
“We’re here.”
Paying the man his fare, as well as an extra guarantee to keep the stagecoach waiting for his return, Jacob exited the stagecoach, map in one hand and his knapsack in the other. Quickly orienting himself to the abandoned business district, Jacob set off into the twisting and winding roads that had once been the gateway to the very heart and soul of Winchester Island prior to the start of the civil war. Banks, brokerages, businesses of all sorts littered the large sprawling district. This had been the epicenter of the island in years past; now it was nothing short of a ruin. And befitting of a ruinous town, each business, every building was starting to crumble as upkeep had fallen to the wayside.
It was now 1845 hours, and Jacob had spent the last fifteen minutes wandering the vast number of businesses looking for the “Horseshoe Pub.” Each turn he took, however, yielded no results as of yet. Impressive loan offices, beautifully ornate banks, but no bar or clothing store that signaled he was close. Time was starting to become an issue and Jacob would need to find his mark quickly. Another fifteen minutes had passed, and Jacob was now coming into the center and very heart of the business district.
Rounding a deteriorating brokerage office, Jacob had to backtrack back behind the building, praying he wasn’t seen. As he had come around the brokerage office, the “Chic de Rosa” had come into view. And just as stated in Captain Arashi’s message to the former Ensign Harvir, two Marine soldiers were inside waiting for their special detail. Risking a peek back around the corner, Jacob’s breath slowed once more; the two Marines had not spotted him. Changing back into his stolen Marine officer’s jacket and uniform, Jacob stepped back out into the street, turning himself back into Ensign Saifer. As he pushed open the glass doors into the high end clothing store that had been tragically abandoned, Jacob knew he’d have to play his cards right to sell his being there.
“Who are you, where’s Harvir?”
As is often with most deceptions, a hint of the truth was often needed in order to sell the lie. And so, “Saifer” decided that the truth was his best cover story. With nothing more than a shrug of the shoulders, Jacob simply stated, “Dead, as far as I’ve heard. I was told to take over.” Though both of the Marines were right to be suspicious of this new Marine neither of them had ever seen, this wasn’t the time or place to question a Marine officer. As far as they were concerned, they were simply told to accompany the Ensign into a meeting that was to be kept quiet. They weren’t meant to know the details; they were meant to obey. Shooting each other a quizzical look, the two Marines shrugged, indicating that though this was an unexpected change, they would go along with it.
“Are we ready, then?” With a nod from his new “subordinates,” the party of Marines were ready to move out. Grabbing the promised 25,000,000 beri, the taller of the two Marines, a Marine Seaman named Bangirou, led the way through the district, clearly having a grasp of the layout and where he needed to go. The shorter, much stockier Marine, a Seaman by the name of Hisagi, was behind Bangirou, his eyes peeled for an attack from another. It took everything in Jacob to not chuckle at that thought; that the danger would come from within the group, not outside. Raising his hand to signal a halt to the procession, Bangirou motioned for the others to stop. Pointing to a block of four buildings that formed a rectangle, the tall Marine pointed to the shortest of the buildings. “That’s the one.”
As Bangirou and Hisagi kept their eyes peeled on the bar, observing whatever little movement they could make out through the dark green paned windows, all they were waiting on was their commanding officer's order to proceed forward. Feeling an arm drape across both of their shoulders, both Marine Seaman assumed that they were about to be given that very order. However, what they were met with was cold, hard, silver steel at their neckline; the sensation of cold steel leaving them stunned. With a clean sweep, the daggers were drug across the necks of the shocked and rather confused Marines. “Thank you gentlemen, that’ll be all. You’ve been relieved, hehehe.” A backstabber and opportunist by nature, Jacob decided to cut out the two loose ends here and now; after all, if you’re enemy is going to be willing to give you their back, why deny his generous offer? And though he had planned on keeping the two Marines with him for an extra level of security throughout the meeting, the opportunity was too easy to pass on. As was often the case in these kinds of jobs, improvisation and confidence was more important that two hired lackeys.
Picking up the rather large bag of beri, Jacob stepped over the two gurgling Marines, knowing he would not have to worry about hiding the bodies in an abandoned section of the island as this. Confidence, confidence. Let’s do this. With a deep breath, Jacob pushed back out into the street, walking into the “Horseshoe Pub” fully knowing that he had been watched every step of the way by whoever was inside the pub. Pushing the deep brown, wooden doors open, he was greeted with a “Wassup?”
Sitting atop the cracking granite top bar was none other than Damonte “Blue Devil” Cervantes himself. Grinning, kicking his legs like a giddy schoolgirl, the imposing former Marine was the picture of jovial. A large man, six feet and ten inches tall, Cervantes dwarfed the “regular” sized Arlott and looked every bit of the part of a criminal overlord. Sporting an impressive handlebar mustache, glaring green eyes, the turncoat Marine’s predominately blue jacket was a stark contrast to the white jackets of the World Government’s military arm; the seagull on the back replaced with a devil’s head, horns and all. And of course, the mark of any good thug boss, a crew of underlings. The six men Jacob had tailed through the city were in the pub, with another ten taking their place at the rusted tables. Each of the subordinates sported a familiar blue bandanna, whether on their arm or head, that were also lined with the same devil’s head emblem.
“Got the goods, kid?”
“Got the goods, old man?”
This was the perhaps the most dangerous moment of the day for Jacob. He had walked into the proverbial lion’s den alone. And when there were such valuable items that needed to trade hands, this was the prime opportunity for either party to back stab the other and renege on the deal. But Jacob, using the information provided to him by Mr. Pink, knew that though 25,000,000 beri was a sizable amount of “pocket change,” the real prize for Cervantes was the free ability to travel the West Blue. And as long as Jacob had that card to play, he knew he was safe…for now.
“Bahaha, Mattias, kids got some balls coming in here alone. And with the entire bag of beri in hand, bahaha. I guess we could just kill him and call it a day, right? Bahaha.”
With nothing more than a dismissive shrug, Jacob simply replied, “Sure, go ahead. By the way, how many ships do you have in the West Blue that could be stopped and inspected at any moment?” An awkward moment passed between the two, as Cervantes was no doubt contemplating his options; take the 25,000,000 beri but make himself an even bigger enemy of Captain Arashi, or complete the deal as initially agreed upon. Even the underlings and subordinates of the Blue Devil seemed to understand the gravitas of the situation, eagerly fingering their pistols, knives, and sword handles as they awaited their boss’s decision. “Bahaha. I like this kid. Give him his fuckin fruit.” A quick change of hands, and the two bags were traded with nothing more than a handshake between Jacob and Damonte. “If Arashi fucks me, there’s going to be hell to pay, ya understand kid?” Giving the much younger “Marine” a final, hard squeeze of the hand, Cervantes watched the boy leave the pub; a mistaken glee across his face as he had incorrectly assumed he had just come out the winner of a very lucrative deal.
“Where to?”
“The docks, urgently please.”
Back in his stagecoach, Jacob couldn’t help but finally let loose a hearty laugh. He was in the homestretch; all he needed was to make it to the docks. Of all the jobs he had taken on in the last ten years, this was perhaps the most dangerous and he was about to pull it off. Marines, a criminal gang network, and a still mysterious shadow group. All three were about to lose out on what they had bargained for, and only Jacob was coming out the victor. Though he had come out on top through deception and quite literally backstabbing, it was in his nature and exactly who the “Trickster” was and even truer, it was the nature of his profession. And while it had been an extremely long day for Jacob, and he wanted nothing more than to relax, he was still at least two hours out from being “home free.” Luckily for Jacob, the driver heeded his customer’s request for urgency, driving his two-horse team as hard as possible for the docks.
Eager to make it back across the island, Jacob was forced to sit and simply wait. As much as he wished for it, he could not force the horses to move any faster than they were already going. The waiting was becoming as unbearable as the jitters he had felt prior to starting the job. There was a danger in letting the stress and worry of waiting build, and so Jacob was in serious need of distracting himself. Reaching into the brown leather bag he had been entrusted with, Jacob pulled out the strange Devil Fruit, admiring its unique design. He had never seen a Devil Fruit in person, only in pictures, and could not help but notice how the fruit vaguely resembled a dragon fruit. The colors, however, were very different. A sky-blue hue was washed over the fruit, contrasting the five bright red tufts that graced the fruit. As was typical of every Devil Fruit, this mystery fruit had small, yellow concentric swirls on the skin of the fruit. How strange, thought Jacob, wondering what strange power this particular fruit could grant. More importantly, he began to weigh out his options; eat the fruit himself or sell it for an even higher price himself?
“We’re here, sir.”
Paying the driver his final fare, Jacob was glad to leave the stagecoach, only taking a quick moment to stretch his legs that had become numb from sitting for so long. With bag in hand, and curiously a Marine officers jacket left behind in the stagecoach, Jacob moved quickly, eager to leave Winchester Island for good. It was now 2100 hours, and the moon was fully overhead, lighting the cobblestones that lined the pathways of the docks. No, no, not that one. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Aha! Here we go. Searching for the right vessel, Jacob had passed multiple ships in his search for the one that was to be his getaway. Marine vessels, large merchant galleons, small personal ships; all were passed up. One, however, struck Jacob as the correct ship that he could utilize; the ‘Dawn’s Kiss,’ a large civilian ship that served as transportation between all of the islands of the West Blue. Paying the 500 beri fee, Jacob was granted passage aboard. And as the vessel slowly pulled away from the island, an audible laugh was heard from the ship. He had done it; he had pulled it off. He had successfully robbed three separate parties and come away unscathed.
He had pulled off a hat trick.