If his soul hadn't been weakened from the transfer, Maude could have shrugged off bullets. But now...
The black hole of the muzzle was a looming death knell. One squeeze of the trigger, and it would all be over.
"I mean no harm."
Facing the unblinking barrel, Maude's words tumbled out, his mind racing for any purchase.
The immediate aim after the door creaked open made it clear: whoever held the gun had sensed his movement beforehand. In his current state, feigning harmlessness was the only way. His ravaged body offered no other recourse.
Silence hung heavy outside the door, the gun unwavering.
Then, a slightly hoarse female voice cut through the stillness. "Stand where I can see you."
"Alright."
Maude obeyed instantly, stepping into the doorway. The muzzle tracked his movement.
Emerging fully, Maude saw the person behind the gun. A lean girl, dressed in roughly spun fabric. Short, choppy hair framed a face marked by three harsh scars, like claw strikes raking from her left eyebrow to the corner of her right mouth. If not for the voice, he might have mistaken her for a boy.
"I mean no harm," Maude repeated, raising his empty hands slowly, palms open.
His gaze flickered to the burlap sack clutched in her left hand. A knot of unease tightened in his stomach. The sack, more than the steady aim of the gun, sent a chill down his spine.
The girl at fixed him with a sharp stare. "Be honest. If we meant you ill, do you think you'd still be standing here talking?" Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion.
After a moment's tense silence, the girl smoothly lowered the flintlock, tucking it away. She'd likely assessed that Maude's earlier movements were born of instinct, not aggression. Otherwise, the shot would have already been fired, without hesitation.
Relief eased some of the tension in Maude's shoulders.
"Since you're finally awake, this isn't necessary." Without waiting for a response, the girl tossed the sack aside. "Seven days he's been out," she muttered, more to herself. "Sol was ready to cut our losses."
Maude's eyes followed the discarded sack. He hesitated, then asked, "If I hadn't woken up... was that for me?"
The girl's lips curled into a cold smile. "Yes. If you stayed asleep, you'd be in that sack, sold off at the black market. The 'undertaker' would have you in pieces before the day was out. Commodities for the right price."
Maude said nothing, the implications of her words sinking in. Dismantled, parts, selling… The euphemisms barely veiled the gruesome reality of the black market trade. Coupled with the earlier gunshots, it painted a clear picture: this was a place far removed from any semblance of order. He believed her lack of humor. But as she'd pointed out, if they'd truly intended him harm, he wouldn't have had the chance to wake at all. Precarious though it was, he was safe, for now. And as long as that held, he had a chance to use the Hunter's Notes, to adapt and grow.
"What should I call you?" Maude asked, seeking a small piece of solid ground.
The girl's eyes narrowed fractionally. A slow smile played on her lips. "You're surprisingly calm. Just call me Sunny. As for you… I already know."
Maude blinked, confused. He watched as Sunny pulled a tarnished bronze pocket watch from her pocket. A jolt of recognition, mixed with a strange disconnect, ran through him. It was his. No, the previous owner's. He distinctly remembered it being taken when he was forced onto the slave ship. Now, Sunny held it. Had she and her group been the ones who attacked? The thought flickered through his mind.
If his fragmented memories served, the pocket watch held two photos. One, a full-body shot of him at sixteen, an awkwardly confident smile on his face, his signature scrawled in the corner. That explained Sunny's comment. The other was a family portrait… a family of three… no, wait.
A family of four?
Another sharp throb pulsed behind Maude's eyes. He frowned, the recovered memory feeling alien, wrong.
Sunny, engrossed in the pocket watch, didn't notice his discomfort.
"This was yours," she said, flipping open the cover. "Now, it's my 'trophy.' But since we might be colleagues soon, I suppose I can return it to its original owner." She tossed the watch to Maude.
He caught it, a faint tingling sensation passing through his fingers. Opening the cover, he saw the frozen hands of the watch and the two embedded photographs. His gaze flicked over his younger self, then snagged on the family photo. A family of four, beaming with an almost painful happiness.
Four? Wasn't it just him and his parents? A sudden rush of conflicting memories threatened to overwhelm him, the throbbing in his head intensifying. Maude snapped the watch shut, a tight knot forming in his chest. He was grateful for this second chance, this new life, but he wouldn't let the lingering echoes of the past cripple him.
Sunny, though she registered his reaction, didn't press. "As someone who's been down this road," she advised, her tone matter-of-fact, "I suggest you destroy the photo with your signature. And pick yourself a new name."
Maude looked up at her, not questioning her reasoning. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll consider that carefully."
Sunny nodded, her gaze flicking to the bloodied bandage on his forehead. Without another word, she shifted her focus. "Come on. Sol wants to see you."
Maude, in his weakened state, had no room for argument. Pocketing the watch, he followed Sunny obediently.
They moved into the narrow corridor, Sunny leading the way towards the stairs at the far end.
As they reached the ground floor, a sudden, violent crash echoed from the front of the corridor – the unmistakable sound of a wooden door being kicked open with force, slamming against a wall.
Sunny stopped abruptly, and Maude halted behind her, both turning towards the commotion. As the reverberations of the impact died down, a gruff, old man's voice, like a croaking drake, erupted.
"You brat! You kicked my damn door in again! You want me to hamstring you, boy?"
"So noisy," a distinctly unruly male voice retorted. "I brought the money. Just get Keanu's gun out." The voice had a recognizable, defiant edge.
"Get lost! I wouldn't sell you that gun if I had to break it down and throw it in the sea!" the old man roared.
"Oh, then throw it away. I'll find it anyway," the younger voice shot back, laced with arrogant confidence.
"Get out!"
The sounds of their argument drifted from what seemed to be a small storefront at the corridor's end. Listening to the escalating exchange, Sunny sighed, a hint of weary familiarity in the sound. The air now carried a faint but growing scent of gunpowder.
"Follow me," Sunny said, quickening her pace.
Maude trailed silently.
The corridor wasn't long. They soon reached the entrance of the small shop where the argument was unfolding. Maude barely registered the cluttered shelves and various wares; his attention was immediately drawn to the old man and the red-haired youth locked in a heated, almost physical confrontation.
The voices had been accurate: one old, one young, both clearly volatile. Maude guessed the old man was Sol. The other…
His gaze snagged on the boy's striking, spiky red hair. Then his eyes drifted to the goggles pushed up onto the boy's forehead, and finally settled on the vaguely familiar features. Fragments of memory, triggered by the visual cues, flickered to life.
"That kid...?"
A jolt went through Maude. He recognized the unruly red hair, the defiant stance. He knew where he was. When Sunny had mentioned "pirates," his mind hadn't immediately connected the dots, but seeing this face… there was no mistaking it. This was the world of One Piece.
The Kid before him was younger, much younger than the images in his fragmented recollections, but the essence was undeniable.
Instinctively, Maude cataloged Eustass Kidd as potential prey. The very nature of the Hunter's Notes, he realized with a grim certainty, was best suited for targeting individuals whose future exploits and abilities were already, in a way, documented.