The Marine Detention Prison sat on a wind-scoured, unforgiving island. Around its jagged shores, several Marine warships lay anchored like silent sentries.
Inside the prison walls, Navy sentries posted every few paces watched for even the faintest sound. It was not Impel Down, but the place was still an unbreachable fortress. Countless violent pirates and hardened criminals were held here, and some who should have been sent to Impel Down were temporarily detained in this remote lockup.
Deep within the Detention Prison, in the lowest section, a large iron cage held dozens of men crammed together.
Bang.
A towering prisoner, easily four meters tall and bound with iron manacles, had been thrown to the floor. Blood streamed from his nose. He groaned and twitched on the stone slab.
"It hurts… it hurts so much…"
Around him, the other inmates closed in with predatory interest.
"Kid," one sneered.
These were hardened men, faces carved by violence. They crowded the fallen man with contempt.
"I heard you killed a lot outside?"
"Get lost, trash! I'm Nathan, the 'Gourmet Killer,' bounty twenty million Berries!"
The giant tried to roll over with effort, every movement marked by pain.
"Twenty million Berries? That's some strength," the prisoners scoffed. In this cell the lowest bounty already sat around twenty million; they treated it as normal.
"Who did this? Who hit me when I just came in?" Nathan roared, flailing his chained arms.
"He dared to challenge our cell boss," one growled.
"Another show for us," muttered someone else, eager for the spectacle.
The inmates parted and made way. Two figures stepped forward into Nathan's view. One sat against the wall, head lowered and wrapped in shadow—his face unreadable. The other stood like a guard, loose and unimpressed as he scanned the room.
"Did I hit you?" the shaved-headed man said coolly to Nathan, his voice flat.
The giant narrowed his eyes. He noticed two heavy chains binding the shaved man. One chain in particular was unusual—Sea-Stone links, the kind used to restrain Devil Fruit users in Marine prisons.
"A Devil Fruit user?" Nathan's bravado faltered for a heartbeat. Rumor had it such chains nullified Devil Fruit powers. He smirked again. "No matter. They're useless with Sea-Stone on."
"Kid, you're a Devil Fruit user, aren't you?" Nathan asked, licking his lips in a grotesque display of hunger. He appraised the shaved man as if he weighed like a cut of meat.
Around them, people recoiled.
"You actually eat people?" someone whispered, horrified.
The shaved-head man stepped out of the dim and answered slowly, "Human flesh tastes ordinary. I don't care for it."
Nathan's face lit with ravenous enthusiasm. His voice took on a manic edge: "I've eaten hundreds. If it weren't for me eating—well, one woman who'd swallowed sedatives, those fools would never have caught me."
"Why would she take sedatives?" the man who had been leaning against the wall murmured as he rose. His presence was quiet but heavy. A horizontal scar cut across his face, and his slicked-back hair caught the torchlight. When he walked forward the cell fell still.
"Oh no, the prison boss is up," someone hissed, and the others pressed themselves against the iron wall, trying to disappear.
Nathan grinned and offered his own grotesque theory. "Maybe she came for revenge. Maybe I ate her daughter or lover. I don't bother with the old—they're tough."
The scarred man stopped before Nathan and looked up at him without haste.
"Have you ever eaten your own flesh?" he asked.
Nathan bared his teeth in answer. "Do you mean you want to taste mine? I have the blood of a piranha—strength beyond men!"
He raised his chained arms and swung at the scarred man with brutal intent.
The scarred man stood his ground.
Wham.
The cell shuddered under the force. The other prisoners felt each impact in their bones.
Out on the prison compound six Marine jailers who had been talking nearby felt the tremor and looked toward the cells.
"They're fighting," one said, trading a glance with another. "Will the new guy die?"
"Not likely," another replied. "A pirate with a twenty-million bounty shouldn't die on his first day—unless these beasts go too far." Someone suggested they might place a bet, voices hushed and eager. "I'll bet a thousand Berries he's dead." "Three thousand he's alive, barely." They laughed without shame.
Back in the cage, Nathan lay broken. His spine had been snapped—his body collapsed in a grotesque tangle, blood pooling beneath him. Prisoners gagged at the sight.
"So he was part fish, part human?" the scarred man asked casually, kneeling to kick the corpse's head so it rolled away.
"Let's add the head to our meal later," another joked, though their laughter turned to retching at the image.
Only the shaved-head man crouched near the corpse and examined it with a critical eye, shaking his head. "No, this head is still mostly human. Not ideal."
Then came a voice, low and wicked, breaking the brief silence.
After a stunned pause the former Shichibukai, Sir Crocodile—known as the "Desert King"—let a grin curl into a laugh. He threw his head back and let the sound rumble through the cell.
"Shirogai San, you finally remembered me. I thought you'd forgotten." Crocodile's amusement was raw and dangerous, and it hung in the stale air like a challenge.
The words cut through the cage—an acknowledgement of someone unseen, or perhaps of past deeds that lingered in memory. The assembled prisoners shifted uneasily, the moment stretched tight as a drawn wire.
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