Toji looked down at Mr. 11, whose face had changed from a mask of defiant blood lust to a pale, waxy sheet of anxiety. The transition was most satisfying... he'd say. There was a particular kind of silence that fell over a man when he realized the hole he was in, the fate that would meet him if he had not done what his captors want. And Mr 11 to his bad luck wasn't just arrested by the law he was being handed over to a nightmare.
The man had heard Toji 's call through a den den mushi back to the ship; mentioning they had prisoners for interrogation, especially him even when he had surrendered without putting up anymore resistance, so it had come at a shocker when the man had mentioned in the call that he would wan't said bounty hunter tortured after he had made a agreement prior that he wouldn't harm him anymore.
Well, Toji had lied there, why? Well he realized that Mr 11 for all his cowardice was a snake and a liar. So his words more often than naught couldn't be trusted. So why would he resolve to get a half truth when you can get the full one.
Mr. 11 struggled against his restraints, the heavy iron chains clinking mockingly.
"You're a Marine!" he rasped, his voice cracking. "You have codes! Regulations! You can't just do this..."
"Regulations?" Toji asked.... , glancing around mockingly as the other Marines of Iron Oaks chuckled, for they too wanted pay back against the man that had a few of their brethren killed.
"I don't see them out here.....Besides, rules are for good decent law abiding people, not pests like you. I told you your death might be painful if you didn't talk, but to be honest, your entire existence from now on will be, especially since you haven't mentioned what we wanted to hear, what I needed o hear." Toji interrupted, his tone laced with sadistic amusement.
"Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait!" He pleaded but it all fell on def ears.
Toji often wondered who was worse, his surgeon, the so-called "Good Doctor Hill" or Jason from Tokyo ghoul. Well... now that he thought of it more, Jason was a crueler psychotic character , the latter was a stain on humanity, indulging in the most depraved acts of the flesh and torment, but the Doctor was a different breed of horror. He didn't care for lust or simple cruelty, he was a man devoted to science. Specifically, the science of medicine… not matter the suffering it might cause. Worse still, he believed he was righteous and right in his actions.
The Doctor was the Orochimaru of this world. Once a prestigious surgeon at a major Marine base, he had been cast out and imprisoned for performing "risky" surgeries that were, in truth outside of regular norms of the field, then there was the issue of him performing grotesque experiments on human prisoners. He viewed the human body not as something sacred, but as a map of nerves and pressure points to be explored through trauma. He had seen him work, had seen the Doctor peel away a man's resolve with the same clinical detachment one might use to peel an orange.
Toji glanced at Mr. 11's trembling hands. A few fingers removed? Or skin stripped from muscle? The possibilities were endless when one had a surgeon who knew exactly how much the human body could endure before the heart gave out was a life saver in acquiring information.
His adjutant Bradley stepped forward.
"What information we know about Baroque Works might be false, perhaps even misleading information released by your own organisation, to throw any one off. We'll find out soon enough," Bradley said, stepping beside him.
"The woman might have been more willing to talk," he added, though said statement was directed to Toji. "They usually are easier to convince."
Toji glanced at the bloodstained patch in the courtyard where the woman had once stood. Her body had long since been removed, thrown in some artificial ditch or whatever,
"She may have been," He replied. "But these are low-ranking agents. Not the lowest, but still near the bottom. Mr. 11, as his name suggests, is still just another expendable number."
"Expendable?" Mr. 11 hissed, a flicker of pride returning. "I am a Frontier Agent! I command hundreds! Mr. 0 will..."
Point proven again, he was still defiant as he had initially thought.
He was cut off as Bradley's boot slammed into his jaw. Not enough to kill the man, but just enough to remind him who was in control, something that he seemed to forget.
"Don't speak while we're talking, scum," Bradley muttered. "Every word you say only adds fuel to the fire were gonna make for you."
Mr. 11 said nothing after that, only spat blood onto the ground, glaring at Bradley. If looks could even kill, Bradley would've probably died ten times over.
Around them, Marines continued clearing the battlefield. Smoke from the burning barracks curled into the sky like black ribbons.
"To the holding cells," Toji ordered. "We'll wait for Doctor Hill to pay him a visit. In time we'll have what we need, their hierarchy, the locations of the numbered agents, and the full details of their mission in this region."
As Mr. 11 was dragged away, his heels carving lines into the dirt, Toji turned back to Bradley.
"We shouldn't linger here much longer," Bradley remarked, striking a match and drawing flame to the tip of his cigar. A slow plume of smoke curled into the air as he exhaled, his gaze steady and unmoved. "I've already contacted the Loguetown base. They'll dispatch escort ships to carry off the wounded, and see the base repaired and fortified once again."
"We won't," Toji replied evenly. "Once Dr. Hill cracks that nut, we'll depart at once—straight back to Alabasta."
To be honest it was a job well done, saving the lives of Marines and civilians would always be a job well done.
He searched his memory for what he knew of Baroque Works. There was something more something vital about this region beyond its strategic position and value as a hub for intelligence gathering; but it lingered just out of reach, like a half-forgotten dream fading at the edge of waking.
The syndicate had always leaned heavily on bounty hunters and hired blades, many of them deceived into thinking they were working towards the birth of an "ideal" nation. But that illusion masked a far more dangerous truth.
Their grand design, Operation Utopia, had once come perilously close to fruition, thwarted only through the efforts of Princess Nefertari Vivi and the Straw Hat Pirates, an outcome that, even now, cast a long and uneasy shadow over the desert kingdom.
The corridor leading down to the dungeon, more a secured cell block than anything else was steeped in an unnatural quiet. Each cell held its own share of prisoners, yet not a voice rose among them. As the Marines passed, the inmates kept their heads lowered, eyes fixed to the ground, as though even a glance might invite something worse from the man that had killed and capture their superiors respectively. For the past hour, they had listened to the screams of their leader, and whatever defiance they once carried had been squeezed out of them.
Toji turned a corner, entering a more secluded, cordoned section of holding cells. Here, iron bars gave way to solid doors... the privacy was never meant for comfort, but for concealment. He pushed one open and stepped inside, and even as he prepared for it, the scent struck him at once: blood, sharp and metallic, laced with the sterile bite of antiseptic.
A metal tray, perhaps a surgical table by another name, stood off to the side, lined with neatly arranged instruments. Sheets of plastic clung to the floor and walls, some of them stained, others still clean. If he didn't know better, he might have thought himself on the set of Dexter.
At the center of the room, strapped to a tilted steel table, was Mr. 11.
The arrogant swordsman was gone. In his place lay something diminished, unmade. His attire had been stripped away, leaving only the cloths that hid his balls from showing . His hands were bound into a strange mechanical contraption, each finger fitted into its own slot, the device resembling a grotesque, miniature piano, silent for now, but full of terrible implication.
"Ah, Rear Admiral," a voice chirped. "Just in time for the second show."
Doctor Hill stepped up. He looked… ordinary. Spectacles rested on his nose, slightly magnifying his eyes. No uniform, just a white coat. In his hand, he held a long, thin needle like a conductor's baton.
"Is he talking?" Toji asked.
"Quite freely," the Doctor replied with a optimistic smile as if he was filing taxes and not torturing a man. "Words are limited. But nerves… nerves speak a universal language....."
"Yes, yes…" Toji cut in, waving a hand with thinly veiled impatience. "What has he given us?"
The Doctor tapped the needle against Mr. 11's arm.
A high, unnatural whistle escaped the man's throat, so sharp it made the metal-ware tremble.
Setting his tools aside upon the tray, the doctor peeled off his gloves with practiced ease before reaching for a clipboard. Without a word, he extended it toward Toji.
Toji didn't hesitate for even a second as he took the object scrutinizing the contents. He read and read, his face giving away nothing.
"Baroque Works," Toji said. "You've told us about the structure and this 'Operation Utopia.' Now I want names. Agents One through Ten. The officers who answer to Mr. 0." He asked the man playing fool as if he didn't know the answers already
Mr. 11 tried to speak, but only a wet choking sound came out.
Dr Hill seeing this pressed a nerve through his wound and Mr. 11 shrieked out a name.
Bradley stood by the door, silent, his cigar long extinguished.
"He mentioned the 'Unluckies,'" the Doctor said, adjusting his glasses. " Some creatures there of, an otter and a vulture. Messenger agents if I recall well. They would normally survey operations and confirm if the jobs were often completed or not, so they'd no doubt be here if not were."
Toji nodded at that he knew of those creatures well.
"Finish your work, Doctor," Toji said, turning to leave. "I have no more use for him, you may do as you wish but be quick about it we're leaving in the next two hours."
"A small repayment," Toji added coldly. "He did kill twelve of the men here on this installment."
"As you wish, sir," the Doctor replied, smiling.