Shanks leads the way through the laboratory corridors, Griffon's hilt warm beneath his palm. Hongo keeps pace at his side, medical bag hugged against his ribs. Beckman trails half a step behind, cigarette smoke unspooling into the stale, recycled air. Law, Bepo, Eliane, Sanza, and Jannali bring up the rear.
Overhead, the lights stutter.
Eight people freeze mid-stride.
The pods lining the walls exhale with a pneumatic hiss. Murky fluid gurgles down hidden drains. Glass panels retract. Clones step out—Uta clones, Gordon clones—eyes still shut, limbs stiff and lurching, as though their joints are only now learning how to bend.
The group tenses. Blades clear their sheaths. Feet slide apart into fighting stances.
The clones go still. Every head cants to the same angle. Every pair of eyes flicks open at once.
Then they surge past without a glance, shoulder jostling shoulder, a stampede of matching faces funneling through the laboratory exit toward the beach.
Beckman lets smoke leak from the corner of his mouth. "Sounds like Marya and Luffy are giving Tot Musica fits."
A low laugh rumbles in Shanks' chest. "Knowing those two, it's having the worst day of its existence."
---
They press deeper into the facility.
The corridors pinch tighter. The lights sink to a jaundiced murk. And the pods—the pods grow worse.
Some clones are complete, drifting in placid stasis. Others are half-built—limbs ending in stubs, faces smooth as unfired clay, eyes sealed beneath skin thin enough to show the veins. The worst are little more than sketches: rough human silhouettes hanging in amber fluid. Tubes plunge into them. Wires thread through their flesh like stitching.
Eliane's steps falter. Her silver ponytail sways, then stills. Her blue eyes go wide and glassy, and her lower lip trembles.
Sanza stays close at her side, heavy eyebrows knotted. He doesn't speak. His small hand slips into hers and holds on tight.
Jannali mutters, "Bloody hell."
A muscle jumps in Law's jaw. Bepo's ears press flat against his skull.
They keep moving.
The corridor spills into a chamber as vast and hushed as a cathedral. And there, at its heart, is Uta.
She hangs inside a towering glass cylinder, her red-and-white hair unfurling around her head in slow ribbons. A tangle of tubes and cables snakes from the pod's base to a console blinking with readouts. Her eyes are closed. Her expression is serene, untroubled, as though she is lost somewhere pleasant and has no wish to wake.
Eliane darts forward. "We found her!"
Shanks, Hongo, and Beckman halt where they stand.
They stare up at her.
Hongo's throat bobs. "It's really her."
Beckman dips his chin. He lights a cigarette; the lighter's flame shivers between his fingers. "Yeah. We let this happen."
Shanks' teeth clench. Lines carve deep between his brows. His knuckles whiten around Griffon's hilt.
"Now we are going to fix it."
Beckman exhales a slow gray stream, eyes narrowed to slits.
Law, Jannali, and Bepo have already claimed the controls. Fingers—and one set of furry paws—rattle across the keys. The displays come alive with figures, jagged waveforms, and columns of data that scroll too quickly to follow.
Bepo reads off the first screen. "Captain, her temperature is low."
Law leans in to check. "Yeah, that makes sense. She is in stasis; they would want her temperature low to keep her body preserved."
Hongo shoulders his way to the panel, lets his medical bag thump to the floor, and scans the readouts. "Her brainwave activity is stable, but we will have to bring her temperature up in order to extract her."
Law grunts in agreement. "Yeah, but it will have to be controlled and slow. Too fast and she will go into shock." He taps a monitor. "There's this, too."
Hongo leans closer and studies it. "That is not unexpected."
Beckman moves to Hongo's shoulder. "What is it?"
Hongo flicks a look at him. "Her muscles are atrophied from lack of use. She won't be able to walk out of here."
Shanks goes very still. "Does that mean—"
Law cuts in. "It means she will have to build her strength up after she is released from this thing. She will have to be carried out of this place. She isn't paralyzed, but she will need some therapy and exercise to get strong again."
Jannali swears under her breath. "Strewth!"
Every head swings toward her.
Law frowns. "What?"
Jannali jabs a finger at the screen. "Have a look at this. Am I reading this right?"
Law and Hongo bend over the display. Neither speaks, but both their faces darken.
Sanza's voice pipes up from somewhere near their elbows. "What is wrong?"
Hongo answers slowly. "This is a measure of her psyche. If this is accurate, then it is monitoring how much Tot Musica is influencing her memories or current state of being."
Eliane cocks her head. "How is it doing that?"
Jannali's lip curls. "The bloody thing's got her head messed up in some cooked reality."
Eliane's brows lift. "Isn't that kind of like what you do?"
Jannali tips her head side to side. "Yeah, nah. Me powers only last a bit. This has been goin' on for flamin' ages."
Bepo wrings his paws. "What do you want to do, Captain?"
Law lifts his gaze to the pod. His eyes harden to flint.
Shanks is the first to speak. "Get her out of there."
Law throws a look over his shoulder. "It isn't as simple as just flipping a switch. If we don't do this right, it could kill her!"
---
Beckman draws on his cigarette until the tip glows orange. "What needs to happen?"
Law's mouth thins. "Right now, her physical body is being preserved for its organic material—to make the other clones."
Hongo adds, "Her psyche is being contained separately so she doesn't have the awareness of self-preservation."
Shanks exhales hard through his nose. "So that Tot Musica can maintain control over her."
Law inclines his head. "Right. Her psyche and her body need to be in sync again while also separating her from Tot Musica so we can get her out of here."
Bepo scratches behind one ear. "How exactly do we do that?"
Law and Jannali trade a look—the wordless, weighted glance between partners who have survived this gamble once already.
The lab shudders. Grit sifts down from the ceiling. Somewhere far off, glass splinters as a pod gives way.
Jannali's voice drops. "It's dead risky, mate."
Law doesn't flinch. "Yeah, but we don't have much time. We have to get this done in order to end Tot Musica."
Hongo's patience snaps. "What are you planning?"
Jannali answers, "We can just run back what we did on Bootleg Island, only this time..."
Law finishes, "She lives."
Beckman taps ash onto the floor. "Didn't that clone disintegrate?"
Law meets his eyes. "Yeah, but she isn't the clone. And there is more than just the two of us this time."
A second tremor rocks the chamber. Every gaze jerks upward as more dust rains down.
Shanks makes the call. "Do it!"
Law gives a single sharp nod. "Right." His eyes cut to Bepo. "Start raising her temperature. I don't want her going into shock when she gets out of that thing."
Bepo snaps a salute. "Aye, Captain." One big paw eases a dial clockwise.
Law turns to Jannali. "You ready?"
Jannali rolls her shoulders. "Reckon I'll have to be, mate."
Law's gaze drops to Sanza and Eliane. "You two, be on standby."
Sanza and Eliane trade a puzzled look. Then Sanza jabs a thumb against his chest. "You can count on me!"
Eliane bobs her head. "Yeah, me too!"
---
An alarm shrieks.
Law shouts over the din. "What is it?"
Bepo's paws scramble across the console. "Her vitals are starting to crash!"
Law swears. "Dammit! We can't wait!" He thrusts his palm upward. "ROOM!"
A translucent dome blooms across the chamber. In an instant, Uta is outside the pod, suspended in midair. Her limbs dangle. Her head lolls. Her eyes stay shut.
Law barks, "Now, Jannali!"
Jannali yanks her headscarf free. The third eye on her forehead flares open, throbbing with cold blue light.
The lab dissolves. A new world sharpens into focus.