Crocodile had barely been dragged off in cuffs before the vultures started circling.
(And by vultures, we mean the worst of the worst — pirates who made normal pirates look like kindergarten teachers.)
Among them was Donquixote Doflamingo — Mr. "I Wear Sunglasses at Night" himself.
If there was one thing Doflamingo loved more than chaos, it was cold, hard cash.
And Alabasta?
It was basically a glittering golden buffet just begging to be raided.
So of course, he started moving in like a shark that smelled blood in the water.
He wasn't dumb, either. He didn't send himself, no — he had minions for that.
Enter Violet and Señor Baby.
(Yes, that was actually his name. No, nobody knew why. No, you were not allowed to laugh to his face unless you wanted a fist there too.)
Their orders were simple:
Take control of Alabasta.
Sweep up whatever Baroque Works leftovers they could find.
Turn the whole kingdom into a giant Doflamingo-sponsored bank account.
And if they found any other towns or strongholds along the way?
They were to "liberate" them too —
Which, in Doflamingo-speak, meant turning them into outposts full of dancing marionette soldiers and very, very unhappy citizens.
As Violet and Señor Baby set sail, Alabasta's future hung in the balance —
Like a sandcastle staring down a tsunami.
And somewhere, far across the sea, Naruto — dancing under the stars, laughing with friends —
Didn't know it yet,
But another storm was already on its way.
The meeting spot was a crumbling old mansion on the outskirts of Alabasta — the kind of place that looked like it had hosted one too many haunted banquets and was now just waiting for a lightning bolt to strike it for dramatic effect.
Inside, the air was thick with dust, tension, and the unmistakable scent of "we're about to make a terrible decision."
Miss Doublefinger — the new boss of what was left of Baroque Works — stood at the head of a battered table, arms crossed, nails sharp enough to pop a watermelon from across the room.
At her side were Mr. 5, also known as Gem (because apparently naming yourself after jewelry was edgy), and Mikita — Miss Valentine, who floated lazily above a chair like gravity had personally offended her.
When Violet and Señor Baby sauntered in, looking like they owned the place, the room went still.
"You're late," Miss Doublefinger said coolly, her voice like ice water down your back.
Violet just smiled — the kind of smile that said I know something you don't, and you're not gonna like it.
She spun once for flair (because why not?) and stopped right in front of Doublefinger.
"You should be grateful we came at all," Violet said sweetly. "Without Crocodile, you three are about as threatening as a soggy sponge."
Gem bristled and cracked his knuckles, little sparks popping from his hands. Miss Valentine just yawned and floated higher.
"Listen," Señor Baby said, adjusting his shades with the slow confidence of a man who had never rushed anything in his life. "You guys can either join us and get a pay raise..."
He grinned.
"Or you can stay independent and get crushed when the real players show up."
Miss Doublefinger glanced at her teammates.
Deep down, they all knew the truth: without Crocodile, they were small fish in a sea of sea monsters.
And while none of them liked Doflamingo —
(Seriously, the guy had a fashion sense that even they found terrifying) —
they liked the idea of being crushed even less.
"Fine," Doublefinger said, her nails retracting slightly. "We'll work with you. For now."
Violet gave her a dazzling, victory-twirling smile.
"Smart choice."
--------------------
Alabasta might've been standing, sure — but if you looked closely, you could already see the cracks.
Turns out, the only reason the place hadn't collapsed sooner was because Crocodile had been pretending to be a nice guy.
And if you know anything about guys who wear giant fur-lined coats in the desert? Yeah, they're not known for their compassion.
So when Señor Baby and Violet decided it was moving day, the whole thing toppled faster than a card house in a sandstorm.
Baroque Works grunts — some of them looking like they hadn't showered since the last rainy season — flooded the streets, brushing aside the guards like they were confused mall cops. It was tragic, really. Alabasta's army had heart... but heart didn't stop a guy who could swim through solid rock and punch a mountain into next Tuesday.
Meanwhile, Violet and Señor Baby just strolled into the royal palace, looking like tourists about to leave a bad Yelp review.
Señor Baby in his full baby getup — pacifier and everything — looked absolutely ridiculous.
And somehow, that made it even more terrifying.
The palace guards tried. Really.
But one glare from Violet and a casual shoulder-bump from Señor Baby later, they were out cold.
The heavy oak doors to the throne room cracked open with a dramatic boom.
The king stood up from his throne, sputtering royal-sounding outrage, but Violet silenced him with a single look — sharp, cool, deadly.
Within ten minutes, the king was on his way to a dark, damp cell somewhere deep under the palace.
Alabasta officially had new management.
Violet spun once, gracefully taking a seat on the throne like she'd been born for it — which, fun fact, she actually had.
Being a princess back home made playing queen here almost boring.
She patted the armrest, beckoning Vivi closer.
Vivi hesitated, fists clenching at her sides, but Violet just smiled and tapped her temple.
"I can read you, sweetheart," Violet said sweetly. "So don't bother plotting any hero moments."
She gestured around the room where the few remaining royal guards were either tied up or bleeding from the mouth.
"You see? We're not here to destroy your people," Violet said, flipping her hair like a shampoo commercial villain. "We just want the mines. The gold. The jewels. You behave, keep your people quiet... and maybe they get to keep their little sandpit without any more blood."
Vivi's mouth opened, probably to say something brave and reckless — typical — but Violet leaned forward.
"And don't," Violet added, voice dropping to a razor whisper, "count on some rubber boy to save you."
Violet's power flickered behind her eyes. She knew what Vivi was thinking.
Hope. Trust. Luffy.
She gave a soft, pitying laugh.
"Crocodile would've killed him if he wanted to," Violet said. "You think some idiot pirate who punches things is going to beat us?"
Vivi swallowed, her face pale as desert bone.
Smart girl.
Alabasta's fate was sealed — not with fire and blood, but with quiet, humiliating surrender.
And somewhere far out at sea, the Straw Hats probably had no idea that the kingdom they fought so hard to save was falling without a single shot fired.
-------------------
If you thought life in Alabasta was bad before, try working in a gold mine with Señor Baby supervising you.
Picture this: sweaty, sunburned workers in tattered clothes hacking at the rocky earth, their pickaxes barely making a dent... and looming over them, a giant muscle-bound man in a diaper chewing on a pacifier and shouting orders like a deranged daycare manager.
"FASTER, FASTER!" Señor Baby hollered, his voice booming off the cavern walls. "YOU THINK GOLD DIGS ITSELF?"
One poor miner dropped his pickaxe from exhaustion.
Bad move.
In less than a blink, Señor Baby swam through the solid ground like it was a kiddie pool, popped up next to the guy, and gave him a light slap — which, thanks to his freakish strength, launched the man five feet through the air into a pile of gold dust.
The other workers immediately picked up the pace.
It wasn't that Señor Baby wanted to hurt people (probably).
It was just that subtlety wasn't really in his toolbox.
Meanwhile, Violet stood at the mouth of the mine, shaded by a silk parasol and looking about as out of place as a cat at a dog show. She tapped a delicate finger against her chin, eyes scanning the workers.
"So much inefficiency," she sighed. "No wonder this kingdom was a joke."
Still, there was progress. Slowly but surely, the mines were filling up with glinting piles of raw gold and precious jewels — the kind of hoard that would make even the Celestial Dragons jealous.
Señor Baby wiped dust off his chiseled (and very baby-oiled) arms and grinned.
"Maybe I'll build a giant gold rocking horse!" he said dreamily, flexing for no one in particular. "Señor Baby deserves the best!"
The workers shared a look — the kind of look that said we're doomed but also don't laugh, he'll hear you.
The worst part? The people had no choice. They weren't chained or whipped — that would have sparked rebellion.
No, this was worse.
They cooperated because Violet had promised them peace.
Food.
A future... if they just worked.
If they didn't? Well. Señor Baby was very persuasive.
In the end, Alabasta wasn't being crushed by violence.
It was being slowly smothered under the weight of gold, sweat, and fear.
Somewhere deep inside, Vivi clenched her fists and swore that one day she would save them.
But for now, under the desert sun and the sharp eyes of a grinning baby-faced monster, Alabasta had no heroes.
Just survivors.
---------------
Vivi knew it was a stupid plan.
A desperate, reckless, one-chance-in-a-million kind of plan.
But when your kingdom was being mined into oblivion by a man in a diaper, you didn't wait around for perfect plans.
She slipped through the palace corridors with Pell beside her, his hawk eyes scanning every corner.
The message — a scrap of paper no bigger than a playing card — was tucked into Pell's belt. If he could just make it to the sky...
"Go!" Vivi whispered, heart hammering.
Pell nodded once and in a flash, wings sprouted from his back. His Zoan powers flared to life and he took off with a powerful leap, soaring into the desert sky.
For about three seconds.
BLAM!
The explosion cracked through the night like a god snapping his fingers.
Vivi gasped as Pell's form twisted midair — spiraling, smoking, feathered wings limp — before crashing into the dunes with a thud that shook the ground.
"NO!" she cried, sprinting toward him before a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
"Wow, Princess," Miss Valentine said, her voice as sweet as poisoned honey. "You really thought you were gonna pull a fast one, huh?"
Vivi jerked away from her, but Valentine just giggled, twirling her yellow parasol like this was all a cute joke.
Behind her, strolling casually across the sand, came Mr. 5 — Gem — holding a sleek new rifle. It gleamed under the moonlight, ugly and mean, smoke still curling from the barrel.
"New toy," Gem said with a lazy grin. "Señor Baby hooked me up. It's made special for my powers. Shoots little explosions like popcorn." He wiggled his fingers. "Pell's lucky I didn't feel like making fried hawk tonight."
Vivi clenched her fists, fury and despair boiling inside her.
Miss Valentine leaned in close, her breath smelling like mint and malice.
"You really don't get it, do you, sweetie?" she whispered. "Violet already knew you were gonna try this. She read it right outta your head. Nothing you think is secret anymore." Her smile widened. "Did you really want to see Pell become fried chicken? 'Cause that's what would've happened if she hadn't been feeling merciful."
At the edge of the dunes, Pell groaned weakly. He was alive — somehow — but grounded, beaten, broken.
Vivi felt something inside her snap, like a rope stretched too tight.
Miss Valentine patted her on the head like she was a naughty puppy.
"Good girls stay quiet, Vivi. Good girls live. Think about it."
Then she walked away, parasol spinning, leaving Vivi standing under the cold desert stars, fists trembling, heart shattering.
-------------
From her place on the palace balcony, Violet watched Vivi move through the courtyard like a ghost — silent, brittle, like one wrong word would shatter her into dust.
The desert wind whipped Vivi's cloak around her, tugging at the frayed edges.
A kid trying to play queen in a kingdom already carved up like a holiday roast.
Violet sighed and leaned on the railing, her sharp eyes following the girl's every step.
She wasn't supposed to care.
She wasn't allowed to care.
Doflamingo's orders were clear: Keep the mines running. Keep the gold flowing. Break anyone who caused trouble. Smiles optional.
But still...
Watching Vivi like this — clutching her grief like a lifeline — something twisted in Violet's gut.
She remembered being Vivi's age. A princess, too. Wide-eyed, dreaming about saving her people, standing up to monsters bigger than her whole world.
And she remembered how that ended.
(If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the chains.)
"Don't do it, little girl," Violet whispered under her breath.
"Don't be stupid. Don't be brave."
Because if Vivi pushed harder — if she tried another escape, another rebellion — Violet knew exactly what would happen.
The towns would burn.
The rivers would run dry.
And the people, the ones Vivi wanted so badly to protect, would pay the price first.
Violet straightened, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress like she could iron the guilt out of herself, too.
Not that it mattered.
These people weren't her allies.
Baroque Works was a gang of rats looking for the biggest crumb.
Senor Baby? He was just another killer wearing a diaper, smiling as he kicked kingdoms into graves.
Violet didn't belong here.
She didn't belong anywhere anymore.
But she still had her eyes.
And for now, she would keep them on Vivi.
Not to help.
Not to interfere.
Just... to remember.
Because in a world like this, memories were all that rebels like her ever really got to keep.