#angsty scenario

Risotto checked again the clock. Prosciutto and Pesci were supposed to call about ten minutes ago… after Formaggio and Illuso’s demises, Risotto had ordered his few men -god, it sounded so wrong to even think about the fact that not two, but four of them were dead- to contact him every hour, to make a brief report. Everyone, however, knew he wanted them to call because he wanted to know they were safe.

And now Prosciutto and Pesci were late. He tried to say to himself that it wasn’t weird, that they were fighting, maybe… but his guts told him something else. He was… worried. Scared, even. But he couldn’t show it… he was the leader. He had to be an example for his men. He couldn’t let himself be suffocated by the anxiety that constantly weighted on his heart since Sorbetto and Gelato’s deaths. He called Ghiaccio, telling him to be ready. He wanted to check personally how Prosciutto and Pesci’s mission was going.

Ghiaccio knew it wasn’t normal. Risotto had always been careful, hiding every step, every trace that could have led to their headquarters. And now… now he was actively ordering to leave the safeness of their headquarters, risking to be spotted by the Boss. It wasn’t normal… it was a serious matter. However, he didn’t say anything. Ghiaccio had come to respect and trust Risotto wholeheartedly long ago; if he thought it was time to step into open field, then it was the right decision.

“Melone. Go to check Prosciutto and Pesci… they haven’t reported yet.” Risotto’s words were calm and stern as always, but it seemed to Ghiaccio to hear an unusual… worry, in his voice. It made his stomach churn in an unpleasant way. Still, he kept his mouth shut, driving at high speed through the empty roads. Maybe he was overthinking… they were fewer, now. It was logical that Risotto wanted to make sure everyone was ok. It didn’t mean that… that Pesci and Prosciutto were…

Ghiaccio shook his head, angry at himself. Of course they were ok! Yes, their stands were nothing compared to his White Album, but they were still strong. Formaggio and Illuso had underestimated that bunch of kids, but Prosciutto wasn’t so careless. He was sure they were fine. They had to be fine.

The silence reigned for a while in the car. It was a tense silence, full of doubts and worry. Ghiaccio felt like it was difficult to breathe. In front of his eyes, the road was briefly revealed by the car lights and the street lamps, before being engulfed again in the darkness. It seemed to be a never ending journey… In the deepest recess of his heart, Ghiaccio couldn’t help but to hope it was so. That would have meant they would have been safe, in that car, on that infinite road… no more losses, no more sufferance. He was… tired to lose people he had come to appreciate as his friends. The only friends he ever had.

Was so bad to want to be safe with his survived comrades, his friends, his brothers?

The ring -so standard, so professional, so empty- of Risotto’s phone dragged him out of thoughts that weren’t appropriate for an assassin. Ghiaccio looked in the rearview mirror, watching as Risotto immediately answered to the phone and turned on the speakerphone, to allow Ghiaccio to hear Melone’s report too. And, hopefully, Prosciutto and Pesci’s voices.

“Melone, finally. So?” silence was the only answer to Risotto’s question. An unnamed anxiety churned again Risotto and Ghiaccio’s stomachs. It wasn’t a good sign…

And they were right. Melone was trying to speak, he was desperately trying to do it, but his voice seemed to be stuck in his throat. Low whimpers unable to turn into words were the only thing that flowed from his lips. He had to speak, to be professional and report what he was watching…

But how could he stay professional when, in front of him, there were Prosciutto and Pesci’s corpses, horribly mutilated and disfigured?

“Come here. Please. Come.” he finally found the strength to articulate few words. He couldn’t bear to… to actually say it. Saying that they were dead would have been… too much. He knew they would have found him through his phone’s geoposition. He himself had programmed it for all the squad’s phones, right after Sorbetto and Gelato’s demise. It was safer.

The bodies in front of him were continuously claiming his attention, even if he was trying to look everywhere but at them. The sight of them… and the smell, oh god, the smell, the blood…

He threw up, breathless. Few minutes later, while he was still wheezing and trying to calm his stomach, he heard the unmistakable sound of Ghiaccio’s car wheels stopping near, on the gravel. He turned around, being, for a moment, blinded by the intense light from his teammate’s car. Then, he saw their silhouettes coming nearer and nearer, and he tried to straighten his back. He had to be strong… he couldn’t crumble down now. Not when the Boss was still roaming around. Not when Sorbetto, Gelato, Formaggio, Illuso, and… and also Prosciutto and Pesci had still not been avenged.

“Melone, what the hell?! What happened?!” Ghiaccio’s voice was harsh and snappy, even more than usual. Risotto, instead, was deadly silent. The moment he had stepped out of the car, he had immediately smelled the scent of blood and death. He already knew, in his heart, that his men were dead. Maybe he had known it since that missed call, a life ago. Still… he was hanging on a thin, too thin thread of hope. Maybe they were heavy wounded but not dead… maybe he could still fix them. Save them. As he should have done with his fallen comrades too…

Every trace of hope, however, disappeared, when his eyes fell on the bodies behind a still half-crouched Melone. His hands shook, his breath itched. For the first time since the “special delivery” from the Boss, more than two years ago, he felt his heart trembling and his legs weak. He head Ghiaccio’s breathless curses from far, far away. His eyes were glued on Pesci’s dismembered body -do not think about Sorbetto, do not think about Sorbetto- and Prosciutto’s maimed body. How could a group of kids be able to do something like this? Still… he couldn’t force himself to be angry at them. To hate them. They were accomplishing their mission…

The real enemy was the Boss. It had always been him.

Only Ghiaccio’s low whimpers made him tear his eyes from their bodies. Melone too was watching, with teary eyes, Ghiaccio. He was on his knees, trembling and shaking, still cursing under his breath.

Nor Risotto or Melone ever saw him breaking down like this.

“Stupid... stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!! They lost to a bunch of fucking kids!! They don’t even deserve to be remembered as the Squadra Esecuzioni’s members!!” he screamed, but both his companions knew he wasn’t thinking it for real. It was just his way to vent the pain, the sadness and the anger. Risotto almost envied him; he would have liked to be able to vent too. To just crumble down for a couple of minutes, or maybe for a couple of years, and to allow himself to finally mourn his friends.

But his eyes, even if he was feeling his throat clenching and his breath heaving, remained dry, unable to shed those tears he wanted to melt in.

He silently moved forward, going past Ghiaccio and Melone. He crouched near Prosciutto -god, what did they do to his friend-, and took a little handkerchief from a hidden pocket. Silently, he started to gently clean Prosciutto’s face, revealing more pale skin as the blood was washed away.

“He would have wanted it. He always wanted to look neat even in the worst situations.” his quiet, murmured words made Melone’s eyes become glossy. He cried, silent, while Ghiaccio’s heavy sobs and curses cut the slightly cold air. The only one who wasn’t crying was Risotto. He just… couldn’t. He was beyond tears, beyond screams and sobs. He felt hollow, like his soul was being slowly dismembered as, one by one, his men -his family- were been killed. Bearing Sorbetto and Gelato’s deaths hadn’t been easy, but he had managed to keep himself and his team on the trails; he still had enough of his soul to lead them. Then, two years later, Formaggio and Illuso died in a matter of hours; that was harder to accept. And still, he went on, because four of his men were still here, and they still needed him. They were too involved to go back now.

And now…

Now there were just three of them. Prosciutto and Pesci were gone forever. He still remembered the first time he had seen both of them -to be honest, he remembered the first time he had seen every single one of his men-: Prosciutto, barely a teenager, so serious, cocky and confident with his abilities, he had become his right arm in a matter of months; Pesci, too young, too soft, too innocent, but with a strong will and desire to meet his big brother’s expectations. They knew their work could have led them to death, but now… now it was too real. Was their revenge, their mission, real worthy of all those deaths? And he, Risotto, the leader, the one who should have protect them… didn’t he betray them, in the end, by leading them in a bitter and bloody revenge?

Was he, the reason of the destruction of the Squadra Esecuzioni, still worthy of his role? Should he have ordered them to run away, hide somewhere and build for themselves a new life?

He gazed back at them. Melone was drying his cheeks, and Ghiaccio was slowly rising from the gravel. No… it would have been disrespectful to them to ask them to step back and to run away. And it would have been disrespectful also towards their fallen comrades.

They had to move forward. Maybe they all would have met their end even before the Boss’ demise… but at least they would have died fighting, like all their friends.

They were fighters, outcasts, assassins. And they would have fought ‘till the end, no matter what.

“Melone, follow the train. Ghiaccio, you’ll go to Venice. I’ll go to Costa Smeralda. Vinegar Doppio was spotted there.” he murmured, while the two men grew paler. Vinegar Doppio… the Boss’ mysterious right arm. So, Risotto wanted to face him…

“Do not die.” his last words surprised them, but they quickly nodded. They couldn’t lose even a second, even if it meant leaving their teammates’ corpses there, among the bushes. It was so wrong…

“You too.” Melone whispered, picking up his motorbike and speeding away. Ghiaccio went back on the car, waiting for his leader. Risotto glanced one last time to his teammates -his friends-, and then got in the car too.

Nor Melone or Ghiaccio were able to follow Risotto’s last orders. They both died, leaving Risotto alone, leader of a team of ashes and bones.

Sabaody Island - two weeks before the Marineford’s Summit War,

He’s the only one. The last man standing after the tragedy of the White City. There’s nothing in the world which testified that the town has existed once. Everything is trapped inside Law’s memories, and honestly, those are just wrecks. The traumatism was too harsh, too profound, and somehow Law’s mind has slowly started to heal, in such a way that today, he can’t truly remember all the faces he once knew. He doesn’t really want to remember, in fact. It’s still a deep wound in his heart ; he has lost so many things back then, so many friends, so many loved ones… It’s easier to forget. Easier to move on with a few blank in his mind than all of those awful nightmares he would be forever trapped with.

There’s a few things he still despites in this world, though. Tenryyubitos are certainly one of those things. He hates seeing them walking in the streets of Sabaody, with large metal chain restraining so different kind of slaves. He often clenches his fists, and tells himself to remain focus, insensitive, because otherwise, he would be able to kill every of them ; every of those nobles who think they are so much better than everyone else. He patiently waits, leaned against the doorway of a shop, as a family of Tenryyubitos is walking down the street. It’s quite a massive one, with six children, and almost fifty slaves escorting them. The cortege is long, they have a slow pace, and it doesn’t really suit Law’s plans. Yet, he needs to remain patient ; the situation is tensed in this island since the “worst generation” has been identified, his name puts on the top of list with various other pirates. He knows they would all be around any time soon, so it’s not necessary to provoke the world government at the moment. Not now. He’s not ready to strike, yet.  

“We’re moving once all of this is done.” Law comments, looking at the sinister show in the middle of the street.

Penguin and Shachi nod, pinching their lips. They know they have to wait until the end of the cortege, even if it’s barely possible to watch those poor creatures being treated worse than animals. Law is about to turn his back, heading in a dark alley, when something catches his attention. There’s some nervousness among the citizens, obscurs whispers of panic he perceives and would like to understand.

“Oh poor girl…” he clearly hears coming from a woman near him.

Law doesn’t really understand why they all seem so sorry. They are used to the Tenryyubitos’ behaviors, they shouldn’t be so surprised to witness something violent. He sighs and turns his feet, making his way between the crowd until he can have a proper view. There’s one of the slave on her knees. She has her head down, her messy long hair tousled around her skull. Her clothes are made of nothing ; her top is teared and her skirt is covered with mud, she doesn’t even have shoes. One of the children of the Tenryyubito is pulling on her chain, trying to get her back on her feet.

“Move, pig!” The kid hisses, ignoring the fact that she’s already bleeding because of the friction caused by the metal on her fragile skin.

“I...I can’t walk…” she whispers, shaking from her head to her feet.

Law furrowed his eyebrows, concerned by the whole situation. His eyes travels on her body, as he tries to understand why she doesn’t stand up right away. Her life is in danger and she must know it ; is she too weak to fight for her existence anymore? After a few seconds, he spots something strange on her ankle ; a sort of red and purple area, and clearly her bone below with the wrong angle. It’s broken. She’s crying silently, her face still hidden behind her hair, her hands up in the air, like she would try to protect her head from a punch. Law doesn’t need to examine her to understand that she has broken her ankle a long time ago and they have certainly forced her to walk on it.

“I said move!” The child yells impatiently, raising a horsewhip in the air to violently slap her shoulder with it. “Papa! Papa! The ugly white slave doesn’t want to move! Papa! I think she’s broken! Give me the gun, eh!”

Law feels the terrible need to grab the kid by the shoulders and throws him against a wall. Yet, he can’t help but find something...familiar in the shapes of the woman on the ground. This hair color reminds him someone, yet, he can’t really put a name or a face on it. Then, as she slowly raises her desperate face, to implore her owner to spare her life, Law’s heart skips a beat. He feels suddenly numb, unable to speak or to move a finger. This face. Those eyes. He remembers someone like her. Younger. In better shape. Someone he has known once.

“Please…,” she begs, her fingers gripping the dust on the floor, her voice almost inaudible. “Please, don’t…,”

“Did someone give you the permission to speak, pig?”

A man is now standing beside the kid, watching her with a disgusted face, a transparent bubble protecting his head from the general atmosphere ; certainly the father of this family. He holds a gun in his hand and points it in front of her face.

“Sorry butterfly, I’ll buy you another one at the auctions,” the man says, patting his child’s shoulder with an almost sorrowful face.

“I hate her!” The young one shouts. “I hate her! Kill her! Papa, I want her dead now!”

He suddenly crushes her broken ankle with his shoe, extracting a painful groaning from her throat. She tries to grip her wounded leg, her voice muted, only hurtful moans coming out of her mouth. Law can’t accept it anymore. He’s definitely sure it’s her, and this show breaks his heart and his soul on so many levels. He knows he shouldn’t get involved. He knows he could have so many problems with the world government as he’s not ready to face them all at the moment. But it’s her.

“Kill her papa!” The kid yells as he shakes his father armed arm, throwing dark looks to the girl. “Now!”

Law clicks his tongue, and as the father is about to pull the trigger, he lifts his hand in the air.

“Room!” Law says, in front of the desperate eyes of his crewmates. “Shambles!”

He twists his fingers, and as the bullet is shouted, ready to hit his friend in the middle of her forehead, it finds nothing but a rock on the floor. She suddenly appears in the middle of the air, a tiny gasp coming from her throat, right in front of Law. He catches her like a bride with one of his arm, pressing his free hand on her lips to silent order her to remain silent. She’s still destabilised, tears falling on her cheeks, but as soon as she meets Law’s gaze, she widens her eyes. Now that he’s carrying her, he has no doubt ; it’s clearly this dear friend he has once known in his childhood.

“Could you stay quiet for a little bit?” Law asks, his heart racing in his chest as he throws a concerned look on the street.

Everyone is panicking. The Tenryyubitos are accusing the citizens of Sabaody, unable to understand what just happened. They can’t stay here anymore ; it’s too dangerous. Law runs far from the crowd, followed by the Heart Pirates. He holds her tightly, his lips pinched, feeling her stare on him. She must think she’s dreaming and that she’s already dead. Her body is heavy and harder to carry than he would thought, certainly because she has absolutely no strength anymore, near to lose conscientiousness.

“Stay with me Name-ya…,” Law suddenly says, looking at her blank face while he’s still running. “Don’t give it up yet.”

“Is this...really you?” She painfully whispers, her head bobbing on her shoulders like a puppet.

He grips her slightly stronger, unable to answer at the moment. He feels overwhelmed by all those feelings. He turns one last corner before he eventually stops his race, gently kneeling on the floor as he keeps her against his chest. He’s out of breath, his forehead covered with sweat. He’s nauseous, his eyes locked on her multiple scars all over her body and her thin shape. She has changed so much. She has been through hell and he knows it.

“Law…,” she calls softly, raising her weak hand in the hair to grab the side of his hat, a tiny smile growing on her dry lips. “I thought you were dead.”

He wants to answer, but no words can cross his sealed lips. His vision is blurry as he holds his tears, lowering his head, closing his eyes.

“I’m not,” he manages to say, sniffing loudly before he looks back at her. “And you’re not either, Name-ya. I’ll take care of you.”

He points out her broken ankle with his head. She laughs softly, her hand falling back on her belly, like she’s finally cleared from all of this awful life. She sighs and smiles, a for a second, she looks exactly like she used to be in her childhood.

“Thank you, Law.” She murmurs, eyes slightly closed, until she passes out, her head falling against his chest.

Law remains still for a moment, looking at her like she would vanished instantly. He can’t believe she’s still alive. It hurts how much it feels so comforting and heartbreaking at the same time. Law slowly raises his head, watching his crewmates with an expression they have never seen before.

“We need to get back on the sub.” He simply orders.