(12/02/24 - 21:00) (Friday February 12, 1524)
The sharp, stinging scent of medical alcohol dragged me back to consciousness. I opened my eyes. The peeling yellow paint of the clinic ceiling swam into focus. A dull, rhythmic throbbing consumed my entire body, completely drowning out the ambient sounds of the room.
I turned my head. Doctor Vance stood over me. His face was twisted into a scowl of pure, unfiltered annoyance.
"You are a suicidal fool." Vance spat, tossing a blood-soaked rag into a tin bucket. "I spent two hours picking fish teeth out of your muscle tissue and resetting your shattered bones. You pushed your fragile body against an common predator of the sea. You are lucky Koro dragged your remains back here before the scavengers ate your face."
I looked down at myself. Thick layers of coarse linen bandages wrapped securely around my torso, covering the deep lacerations. A heavy, rigid iron splint encased my left arm from the wrist to the elbow. My right leg rested straight out on the cot, tightly bound to a pair of thick wooden boards.
"What time is it?" I asked. My voice sounded like grinding gravel.
"Nine in the evening," Vance growled, walking back to his desk and slumping into his chair. "You slept for three hours. The hyper-recovery is working overtime, but you are completely drained. Rest. Do not move."
I closed my eyes. The reality of my situation settled heavily on my chest. I had felt a brief surge of pride fighting the fish, thinking my accelerated healing made me something special. The pain radiating from my snapped bones provided a harsh correction. I was fodder. A baseline grunt. The lowest rung on the ladder of this world. A single, nameless sea beast had nearly ripped me to shreds. The monsters I knew from the stories would erase me with a casual wave of their hands.
(12/02/24 - 22:30)
The suffocating walls of the clinic began to close in on me. I needed to see the sky. I needed to breathe air that did not smell of bleach and old blood. Koro understood the silent plea in my eyes. The giant Fish-Man handed me a thick, sturdy length of mangrove wood to use as a crutch.
We walked slowly through the winding, dirt paths of Grove 13. I leaned heavily on the wooden crutch, dragging my splinted leg behind me. Every step sent a jolt of pain up my hip.
We entered a large, open-air tavern built directly into the crevices of a colossal root. The place reeked of spilled ale, cheap tobacco, and unwashed bodies. Dozens of pirates and smugglers crowded the wooden tables, shouting over the sound of a horribly out-of-tune fiddle.
We found a small, sticky table in the darkest corner of the room. A scarred barmaid walked over. Koro ordered a large tankard of dark ale. I ordered a glass of pressed citrus juice. The taste of alcohol made my stomach turn, and I needed my mind entirely clear.
I sipped the tart juice, watching the chaotic mass of criminals. They boasted about petty bounties and stolen cargo. It felt oddly grounding to observe the mundane scum of the archipelago.
"The Marines are pulling fleets back to Marineford," a scarred pirate at the next table muttered, slamming his empty mug down. "The New World is eating the weak alive. Even the rookies have bounties over a hundred million now."
The heavy wooden double doors of the tavern swung inward with a loud crash.
The fiddle music stopped instantly. The boisterous shouting died in the span of a single heartbeat. A suffocating, absolute silence blanketed the room.
A man stepped over the threshold. He wore a bulky, pristine white pressurized suit. A spherical glass resin bubble completely enclosed his head. The symbol of the World Government adorned the lapel of his uniform. Government guards in white armor flanked him on both sides, their rifles held at the ready.
My blood turned to ice. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. My hands began to shake uncontrollably.
A massive, webbed hand clamped down hard on my good thigh under the table. Koro applied a steady, crushing pressure. The physical pain grounded my spiraling mind. I looked at the Fish-Man. Koro stared straight ahead, his face a mask of stone.
'He is right.' I thought, forcing my breathing to slow. 'I am weak. I am completely helpless. Moving now equals instant death.'
The Celestial Dragon sauntered toward the wooden bar counter. His face carried a look of perpetual, sneering disgust.
"This establishment smells of rotting garbage," the noble whined, his grating voice piercing the absolute silence. "Bring me your finest vintage. I am parched from walking among the filth of these lower groves."
The terrified bartender scrambled over the counter, his hands shaking as he reached for a dusty glass bottle on the top shelf.
I looked past the noble to the entrance of the tavern. Two small figures stumbled through the doorway, yanked forward by a heavy chain held by a government guard.
My breath caught in my throat.
They were children. A boy and a girl, neither of them older than six. They wore ragged, filthy burlap sacks. Thick, rusted iron collars clamped tightly around their tiny, bruised necks. The raw skin beneath the metal wept with fresh blood. The boy possessed a massive, purple bruise covering the entire left side of his face. The girl stared at the floorboards, her eyes wide, hollow, and consumed by an absolute, shattering terror.
I bit down on my lower lip. I bit down hard enough to pierce the flesh. The hot, metallic taste of my own blood flooded my mouth.
A memory from my past life slammed into the forefront of my mind. I saw my seven-year-old sister sitting on the carpet of our small apartment back on Earth. She was humming a cartoon theme song, carefully coloring a picture of a dog with bright wax crayons. She had possessed a smile that could light up a dark room.
The juxtaposition of that warm memory against the broken, collared children standing in the tavern shattered the last remnants of my emotional control. The repressed trauma of the original body waking up in the ship's hold merged violently with my own grief. My eyes burned. The edges of my vision blurred with unshed tears.
I was powerless. I sat in the dark corner, clutching a glass of fruit juice, watching two innocent children endure the exact same hell I had barely escaped. I could not save them. I could not fight the guards.
A pirate sitting two tables away from the bar dropped his wooden mug. The cup clattered loudly against the floorboards. The pirate was trembling violently, his eyes locked on the white suit of the noble.
The Celestial Dragon slowly turned his head. He looked down at the shaking pirate through his glass bubble.
"You dare shake in my presence?" the noble asked, tilting his head in mock confusion. "Your fear offends my eyes. It ruins my mood."
The noble casually reached inside his bulky suit. He pulled out a golden, ornate flintlock pistol. He aimed the barrel directly at the pirate's face.
He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot deafened the room. The pirate's head snapped backward. He collapsed onto the floor, a dark pool of blood rapidly expanding across the wooden planks.
Nobody moved. Nobody screamed. The remaining pirates simply stared at the floor, praying to go unnoticed.
The Celestial Dragon laughed, a high, reedy sound. He grabbed the bottle of wine from the frozen bartender.
"Drag the livestock," the noble ordered his guards. "We are returning to the estate."
The guards yanked the chain. The two children stumbled forward, nearly choking on the iron collars. They disappeared through the double doors, leaving the tavern in a graveyard silence.
....
We walked back to the clinic. The journey felt like a march to the gallows. Koro remained entirely silent beside me.
We reached the small clearing outside Doctor Vance's door. I stopped walking. I dropped the wooden crutch onto the dirt. I dragged my splinted leg toward the towering, petrified root of the mangrove tree.
The rage and the grief boiled over. The helplessness consumed every rational thought in my head. I was a pathetic, weak creature inhabiting a brutal world.
I pulled my right arm back and swung my fist directly into the hardened wood. The skin over my knuckles split instantly. The pain barely registered. I swung again. Blood sprayed across the yellow bark.
I pulled back my left arm. The heavy iron splint weighed down the limb. I swung it with everything I had.
The iron slammed into the tree. The metal bent inward under the sheer force of the impact. The newly fused radius bone in my forearm snapped cleanly in half. A sickening crunch echoed in the quiet night.
I screamed. It was a raw, ugly sound of pure, unadulterated despair tearing its way out of my throat. I swung my bleeding right fist into the wood again. I punished my own body for its fragility. I punished myself for sitting in the dark and watching those children walk away in chains.
A massive shadow blocked the moonlight. Koro stepped up directly behind me. The Fish-Man reached out and placed a large, warm hand firmly on my shaking shoulder.
Koro pulled me backward, away from the bloodstained wood. He wrapped his massive right arm entirely around my shoulders, pulling my back flush against his broad chest. He held me there, offering a solid, immovable pillar of support.
The dam completely broke.
My legs gave out. Koro held my weight effortlessly. The tears streamed down my face, mixing with the blood and the dirt. I sobbed openly into the cool night air. I mourned the loss of my sister and family. I mourned the agony of the original Uma. I mourned the horrific, unforgiving reality of the Grand Line.
I cried until my throat turned raw, entirely consumed by the crushing weight of the world.