Chapter 2: The Fortress of Eternal Light
The rain began to fall. It wasn't a natural storm; the clouds above glowed with an eerie, orange sickness, reflecting the millions of artificial lights from the city below.
Captain Buggy sprinted down the sidewalk, his oversized shoes splashing through puddles that shimmered like oil. His breath hitched in his throat, not from exhaustion—a great pirate never tires!—but from sheer sensory overload.
"Curse this island!" Buggy hissed, ducking behind a metal dumpster that smelled of wet cardboard and something chemically sweet. "No wind... no stars... just endless lights and iron beasts."
His stomach gave a violent, treacherous roar, louder than the distant sirens.
"Quiet, you traitor!" Buggy slapped his midsection. "I haven't eaten since the Grand Line! If I don't find a tavern soon, I'll wither away into a pile of dry bones!"
He peeked out from his hiding spot. Across the slick, rain-lashed street, a building stood out. Unlike the towering glass cliffs around it, this was a small, squat structure. But it was radiating a blinding, holy white light.
Huge glass windows revealed rows of colorful treasures inside. Above the door, a glowing sign hummed with a strange energy, displaying three distinct stripes: Orange, Green, and Red. And the numbers: 7-11.
Buggy narrowed his eyes, rain dripping from the brim of his hat.
"Seven... Eleven..." he whispered, his mind racing. "Coordinates? A date? No... it's a code. The number of treasures hidden inside? Or perhaps the number of guards?"
He watched. A man in a grey suit walked up to the glass wall. He didn't push. He didn't pull. He didn't even knock.
Swish.
The glass wall split apart in the middle, vanishing into the walls with a soft, pneumatic hiss. The man walked in. Swish. The wall sealed itself shut.
Buggy's jaw dropped. "Invisible doormen? Or... wind kineticism?"
He had to get inside. A place that guarded its entrance with invisible spirits surely held the highest quality rations. It was a fortress of the elite.
Buggy adjusted his orange coat, checked his daggers, and marched across the street. He stood before the glass barrier, puffing out his chest.
"Open!" Buggy commanded, waving his hand.
Nothing happened.
"Hmph. Stubborn spirit." He took a step forward.
Swish.
A blast of air hit him in the face—not the humid air of the outside, but dry, frigid air. Artificial winter.
"Sorcery..." Buggy muttered, stepping into the light.
The inside was overwhelming. The floor was so clean he could see his own reflection. The air hummed with the sound of a thousand trapped bees (the refrigerator units). And the smell... it smelled of sanitation and processed sugar.
Buggy walked down the aisles, his eyes darting left and right, treating every shelf like a booby-trapped chest.
He stopped in front of the chip aisle.
"By the Pirate King's beard..."
Rows upon rows of inflated silver and gold bags. He grabbed one. It was light as a feather. The picture on the front showed a potato, but it was sliced perfectly thin, almost translucent.
"Dried tubers," Buggy analyzed, shaking the bag. "Sealed in alchemical foil to preserve their crunch for centuries. This is provisions for a long voyage!"
He moved to the next section. Refrigerators.
Bottles of neon blue, radioactive green, and glowing purple liquids lined the shelves.
"Mana potions," Buggy whispered, grabbing a blue bottle (a sports drink). "Restorative elixirs. This city is preparing for war."
He grabbed a handful of "Meat Buns" from a heated glass case near the counter. They were warm, soft, and smelled like savory heaven.
"Hey."
The voice was flat. Dead. Devoid of a warrior's spirit.
Buggy froze. He slowly turned his head to the counter.
The Guardian of the Fortress stood there. He was a teenager wearing a green vest that matched the sign outside. But his head... his head was a jagged, grey boulder. No nose. Just two dark pits for eyes and a crack for a mouth.
A Golem! Buggy's mind screamed. A Stone-Human created by a Devil Fruit user!
"You gonna pay for that, or are you just gonna hug the pork buns all night?" the Rock-Headed clerk asked, leaning his chin on his stone hand.
Buggy's eyes twitched. The disrespect!
"I am Captain Buggy the Star Clown!" Buggy slammed the buns and the blue potion onto the counter. "And I am commandeering these supplies in the name of the Buggy Pirates! Stand aside, Golem, or I shall turn you into gravel!"
The clerk blinked. Stone eyelids scraped over stone eyes. Scrape. Scrape.
"Total is 850 Yen," the clerk droned, pointing at the register. "And I'm not a Golem, I'm a mutant. My quirk is 'Granite Skin'. Can you hurry up? My shift ends in ten minutes."
"Yen?" Buggy scoffed, leaning over the counter, his red nose inches from the clerk's rock face. "I don't know what this 'Yen' is! I pay in terror! I pay in steel!"
He drew a single dagger, the metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Give me the loot!" Buggy shouted.
The clerk didn't flinch. He just sighed, a long, weary sound that spoke of minimum wage misery. He reached under the counter.
"Look, buddy. I don't care. Just take it."
BEE-OOP. BEE-OOP.
A soft, rhythmic chiming sound echoed through the store. The clerk held up a phone.
"Silent alarm," the clerk said, looking at his screen. "Dispatch says Eraserhead is two blocks away. You know him? The guy who erases quirks just by looking at you?"
Buggy paled. The color drained from his face faster than water down a drain.
Eraser... Head?
"He erases... people?!" Buggy shrieked. "He wipes them from existence?!"
"Uh, sure. Let's go with that." The clerk waved a hand. "You better run."
"You'll never take me alive!" Buggy yelled. He grabbed the plastic bag of chips, the blue potion, and the buns.
The clerk reached out a stony hand to grab Buggy's shoulder. "Hey, wait, you dropped a—"
"Bara Bara... EMERGENCY ESCAPE!"
SHUNK.
Buggy's arm detached cleanly at the shoulder socket.
The clerk yelped, jumping back as he was suddenly left holding a limp, severed arm clad in orange cloth.
"GROSS!" the clerk screamed, dropping the arm.
The arm didn't fall. It hovered in the air, fingers twitching. It floated up, slapped the clerk on his rock forehead with a hollow thwak, and then zoomed back to Buggy, reattaching with a wet snap.
"Gyahahaha!" Buggy laughed, manic and terrified. "Witness the power of a true pirate! Tell your 'Eraser' that he can't erase what he can't catch!"
He spun around and kicked the automatic doors. They were already opening, but the kick made him feel better.
Buggy burst out into the rainy night, clutching his bag of alchemical chips and mana potions to his chest. He ran into the dark, wet streets, the neon lights of the 7-Eleven reflecting off his back, leaving the confused rock-boy alone in the silence.