Renero squeezed past through the still barren seats; side-stepping as he looked intently at his ticket from time to time to make sure he got the number right, albeit like the transfer letter; he had obsessed over it since he had gotten it, memorizing every letter and crease. The Commodore had found his seat easily, yet it seemed like they would have to spend the Voyage apart from him; both a blessing and curse, giving time for his commander to forget his slight of protocol yet at the same time, his anger might simmer and boil to a more furious state. Pushing those troubled thoughts to the side, Renero focused on the more pressing matters at hand, as it seemed like his seat was as far back as it could possibly be. Thankfully, they were among the first to board, so no shuffling line impeded him, although the slight rocking that came from the sea underneath, along with those from his own footsteps in such a cramped space, the ruff of his sidelong head brushing lightly against the arched roof, had nearly sent him tumbling down more than once. Thankfully, his luggage had been pre-loaded, as making his way with it encumbering him would have made the search for his seat much harder. Although he was far from a rich man, he owned a rather large collection of books; the only item he would spend his pay on and since this transfer was meant to be permanent, he left nothing but an empty yet tidy room behind him.

Finally, have made his way through nearly 3 different carriages, Renero found his seat, or more accurately seats. They seemed to be a bit bigger than he recalled then the endless rows he had went by and Renero wasn’t going to complain about it either way. Renero carefully folded his cape and placed it on the overhead compartment.  Removing the coat felt as if he had lifted a huge weight off him, a strange mixed sense of relief and unfamiliarity filling him. Squeezing in, he shimmied himself on both seats till he got as comfortable as he could, cracking his back. It was not a perfect fit, if he straightened his back he would hit his head, yet he was used to it, he had outgrown his peers early on and few were the times that things were completely his size. His thoughts passed onto that ever faithful day of his medical checkup and the truth it might bring out. If things were for the worst, he wouldn’t be fitting in far more things. The Doctor did his best to reassure the Minkman yet he did not lie to him either. There were no good odds, just a hope for things to be bad instead of worse.

Before he could ride the metaphorical train of thought into the tunnels of sadness any deeper, his eye caught onto the fellow passengers taking seats next to him. Although he had never seen one before, be it an illustration or in the flesh; the bulbous pale skinned figure that wobbled in was a Fishman as far as Renero could tell. Literature was limited on such subjects and even knowledge on his own race was lacking, let alone on such a varied race that was the Fishmen. With a squishing slouch, the Fishman took a seat behind him. A couple of more “Interesting” figures found their seats, which thankfully weren’t any of the four that Renero was occupying. No one talked to one another, apart from whispered bickering between two heavily cloaked, disproportionate beings who otherwise looked rather human shaped; yet there was something Renero couldn’t put his finger on. With a small rumble followed by a loud whistle; the Seatrain began to chug along. It was then he realized he forgot to take off his suit jacket. "Eh, too late now.” He grumbled lowly to himself. It not worth the hassle to get up.

Slouching as much as he could, he undid the topmost button of his shirt as the pushed the window open. He reached for the curtains, which were no more than ragged cloth that once seemed to have some pattern on them when his eyes fell upon the miserable barren land that he had stayed on for the past few days. He was glad he was leaving the heated sandy winds, yet it was the isle were he truly become a Marine. Just because a situation wasn’t perfect, it did not mean it was not good. He tugged the curtains to bring them together, a fairly easy task to keep of the sun from shining on his chest and to close a chapter of his life metaphorically, yet he accidentally ripped a chunk off, a spot of sunlight now bobbling up and down on his chest. It seemed like this chapter had a bit more to give. Hopefully, it didn’t have much sand in it.

He pulled out the book he was reading from the fold of his jacket, a rather well-kept book. It was not the most interesting book he had read, detailing the numerous known islands in the four blues; albeit this volume talked solely on the North one. Yet, as he was moving forward in his Career, he knew it would be inevitable that he would cross the Calm Belt and into the Grand Line; A sea of danger both from the pirate scum that crossed it and the hostile conditions. And that would require further knowledge; knowing what to except was the least he could after having botched his introduction to his direct commanding officer, a man who holds his fate in the palm of his hand, be it for a month or the rest of his life; all up to the preference and graces of the Commodore. He tried to focus on what he was reading yet an unbound sense of excitement seemed to take hold of his mind like an iron vice, leaving no space for the thought of reading. Eagerness, Hope and Fear, all rolled up in a tight ball that seemed to flow all throughout from his chest. It seemed only now that his mind had found quiet and forgot the incoming wrath of the Commodore, that it realized once more that Renero was off to a new part of his life, not simply a change of scenery but a revolution. Things were going to change, as they have already done for the better. New challenges, Opportunities to be an active part against the scum and villainy that roamed the waters; It might be a little part, yet even one less pirate stain on the map meant something, no matter how small, in the grandiose quest of justice. Droplets of tear and sweat welling on his eyes, he felt himself prideful of what he might do in the future. Not wanting to leave him waiting, the future was now.

Before the pirate’s messaged ended with a crackled jumble, Renero was already out of his seat. At least, he had been trying to get out of it. Then he stopped fighting the tight space and set down once more. Panic and excitement clouded his mind. He took a deep breath. Step by step. He was a fully trained marine; they were pirate scum. It was as simple as that. Renero calmly set his book on the seat next to him as he got up, this time making his way out with seemingly great ease. His hands went to the folds of his jacket, where he felt the ragged wooden grip of his revolver, it's cold steel chamber loaded and ready to dispense some leaden justice. He undid the latch of the holster, his thumb on the safety.

Primal instinct stirred deep inside him; the hair on his nape rose. Danger was close.

“A bit jumpy are we there, Luv?’” a voice came from behind him, followed by a sharp press against the small of his back. “Didn’t ya hear her? Get that snazzy suit off and show us the goods.” Another voice continued. “Don’t worry about me Luv, this lady ‘ere haz seen plenty.” The first voice replied, this time much closer, her hot breath on his ruff. “If ye shy, I can help yea a bit owt, pussycat.” Punctuating her last words with a forceful grab on his posterior, a rather unforeseen outcome to Renero, causing him to stiffen at once. Problem was, there wasn't any space for his head; causing him to bang his head with a clang against the rived roof of the train carriage, to the delight of the two delinquents, their laughs breaking the silence.

His sense of cool and collected calm seemed to evaporate, his years of training and moments of premeditation replaced with a bubbling heat in his chest, a new feeling that he could not understand, setting his fur standing on edge. It was like a primal sense of danger, but...different. For Renero, it felt as if the carriage had gotten much hotter, a heat more suited to the heated dunes of the Albasatian Desert then that of a train in the middle of the cool seas. His suit felt three sizes too small, his breath coming in short even though his collar was undone and he wore no tie. He felt a light tapping on the base of his elbows, sending shivers through his body with the lightest touch of her soft skin. His arms seemingly rose of their own volition, his pride as a Marine seemingly gone and forgotten. “Now that’s much better, big fella.” The deeper, raspier voice said, followed by hushed whispering behind him. Even though he was quite in earshot, Renero's mind was flooded with alien thoughts, loaded with foreign decadence. Sweat poured off his brow as if the weight of his thoughts was taking a toll on to him. Then slow, uneven footsteps on the metal floor, the lanky owner of the raspy voice, still covered from head to toe in a ragged and ratty threadbare cloak as he made his way to the next cartridge, the glint of steel apparent in his hands.

The want to reach for his pistol and shoot lead justice was drowned out by this mysterious bubbling feeling that seemed to have overtaken his body, his hands seemingly frozen up in the air as if holding up the roof of the carriage. He felt like a blind man on a ledge, feeling himself in danger yet unsure in which way to go; any movement possibly being his final.

“Niew, lets see what ye all aboot.”

Although Renero had spent all his life in the service of the World Government, most of those years were spent as an Errand boy and Cadet, away from combat. Even in the few times were he was lucky enough to be part of the effort against Pirate Scum, he always had the backing of his comrades, no matter how unreliable they might have proven in the past. An unprepared ambush like this though? That had put him out of his element, catching him not only flat footed but with that strange bubbling hot rush, it seemingly made him incompetent to retaliate against this scum, all his will and pride as a stalwart force of justice seemingly melting into nothingness. Yet now alone with her, Renero saw opportunity. He could take her on in a one on one fight, no matter who she was. None of the two figures were larger then him, so overpowering her should be no problem. Clarity rushed through his mind, his body standing on edge, ready for a fight.

“How aboot you take off that ‘acket of yours?" His captor said, as she daintily walked over to were her associate was standing a few moments before he left, pulling the deadbolt into place. Renero’s eyes were fixed on her, yet he went slack, his arms dropping to his side, while his brain felt as if it was on fire, all his thoughts were washed away, his being overtaken fiery electric chains seemingly holding his muscles till.  “Come on Luv, it’s just you and me.” She said, as she turned towards him, her figure still hidden under a ragged threadbare cloak, her arms on her hips, although the flintlock still in her right. What she wore was similar to what her partner worse. Maybe it was some kind of Uniform, Renero’s training slowly whispered from the corner of his mind.

A snore cut through the tense quiet between the two. And another one. They both turned to the sound. The flabby fishman was in a peaceful sleep, spread out over his seats, his head backwards as he snored away.  “Ah, golly josh, what a clutz I am.” The pirate responded, mockingly slapping her hand to her forehead in forgetfulness, walking over to the sleeping mass. Finding an opening in his perturbed state, Renero’s eyes darted all over her, in hopes of catching glimpse of a Jolly Roger or Insignia. The name Kuzon Mamezo had not rung any bells and nor had the Crew’s name; Nevertheless, Insignias were usually more unique and by that extent memorable. It was then that a rather curious conclusion came to mind. Was this some joke? A hazing by his new squadmates? Some fucked up idea of a test? It was the only reasonable explanation that Renero’s shaken mind could reach, as no pirate that would hold up the seatrain would be so…whatever the woman in front of him was.

His thoughts were interrupted by a splattering bang. As he looked back, he found it hard to keep himself from throwing up at the sight of the gore-splattered seats, the man’s blubber mixed with gore. “Ye deaf or something? Git that off, now!” she shouted, stamping her foot to illustrate her point further as she nonchalantly moved away from the already stinking corpse. “Its bad manners to keep a lady waiting for her gift.” She continued, this time raising her gun to his chest. “If ye want to learn how to talk to a Lady, ask ya Mama.” Renero’s eyes widened, his mind sobered at the face of danger. Although a ramshackle model, any gun pointed to his chest at point blank could kill him. This was no prank, this had to be the real thing? Or was it what they wanted him to think? Who was they? Pushing his thoughts aside, he slowly took off his jacket; folding it and setting it lightly on his seat. “Oh, don’t tell me I’m missin’ all that loot for nothin’!” she pouted. “That’s naw fun Luv; Gotta have a bit o’ life in ya!” she continued, in a voice a mother might use to scold her child for dropping his recently bought ice cream. With one swift movement, she threw aside her cloak. “Like that luv. You gotta do it without ruinin all the build up…the sustanc-“ she stopped. “The saucepen-“ she stopped once more, scratching her head, her brow furrowed in deep thought and confusion as she muttered to herself.

A short woman with a petite figure, a head full of chopped hair, half yellow, half dyed pink, a rounded face, her lips a shade of baby pink; a scent of cheap perfume with a linger of sweat filling the air. She wore a torn white shirt with faded flower imprints, which one day might have had been a dress; a pair of shorts hanging by suspenders, a colourful stocking adorning her right leg while a ragged black one on her left; old torn boots adorning her feet. Renero wouldn’t have thought she looked like a pirate, had he been doing much looking or any thinking much at that moment.

“Suspense?” Renero whispered helpfully, his eyes fixed to the ceiling as if trying to count the bolts that held it together. “Oh yee, that’s it! Saucepence” she exclaimed, tapping him playfully on the chest. Although Renero had imagined himself facing a pirate whilst training to hype himself up, this was not how he had imagined it would go down.

“Wow there big fella, wha' ya need 'hat for? To fight off yer admirers?” she squealed out of the blue, dashing in close and grabbing the grip of his revolver. Renero’s hand snapped onto hers, holding it down tightly, half driven by thoughtless instinct and the barrel of her gun found itself under his chin, the smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils. “It ain’t fair hitting a pretty lady. So cooter down unless ye want lead for teeth.” He relaxed his grip, before a blue blaze shot through him, primal instinct overriding his convoluted thoughts. The pirate recoiled backwards, firing a shot from her own pistol, ripping a hole through the metal roof. The surge recoiled through the minkman’s own body, its unbridled spark clearing his own mind. Prank, test, hazing or the real deal, he had to act now. The sun shone off the well polished button that lay on his jacket sleeve, having come undone in the scuffle and hanging from the overhead compartment. Taking a page of the pirate’s book, he donned it as fast as she had removed her cloak, the weight on his shoulder familiar, even though he had been wearing it for less than a week, filled him with that determination that had powered him through so much strife and hindrance. It made him feel like a marine again.

“I hope that wasn’t too shocking.” Renero said, as he reached for his revolver, ready to bring justice and arrest this pirate scum.

It wasn’t there.

His foe lay on her knees, his revolver pointed at him. She smiled a toothy grin, the barrel pointed upwards towards Renero’s chest. “ ‘eems I can neva find a trustworthy man. Ye bunch are all th’ same.” She pouted “What a waste.” She muttered, capitalizing her words by the cocking of the hammer. Renero’s mind, now completely sober of whatever had clouded it for the past few minutes, raced through options to avoid getting his sternum caved in by a .44. Dodging was not an option, the cabin too small for someone his size. Grabbing the gun was no-

Her finger pulled the trigger.

It clicked. Twice. Yet not fatal bang came to claim Renero.

Confusion spread to both their faces. The gun was obviously loaded. Yet Renero realized the reason a split second before his foe, himself familiar with the gun. His tail shot out from between his legs, arching upwards towards the revolver barrel as her finger thumbed off the safety, sending it spiralling in the air. Renero pulled back his fist, static electro buzzing and swung it with all his might at the fallen pirate; yet she still had a gambit he had not foreseen. Pulling out her flintlock, she aimed blindly, yet for a target so close and big, it was impossible to miss. Even Renero realized that. Like it always did in these types of moments, time seemed to slow.

He knew he had two options, a rather simple dilemma. His hand or his life. The choice was obvious for Renero. A missing arm would be a heavy price. He was no legendary admiral, able to crush villainy single handedly. It was also the excuse they could discharge him permanently from service, an “honourable” discharge that wouldn’t rise any eyebrows. It was the same as death to him. Yet, unlike death, it meant he had a chance to bring an end closer to the ongoing villainy, even if simply taking down a single pirate with him. Renero’s fist grabbed the pistol by the muzzle, his claws setting against the barrel as the lead hit his paw, the sting of the burning powder turning into searing heat. Renero closed his eyes as his arm recoiled back, a spray of blood falling upon the pirate.

She grinned. 'Ye truly ‘re a fo-" Renero’s same fist smashed into her face mid-sentence, slamming her into the locked door, before it buckled and broke; the momentum of the punch sending her flying with the door.

He picked up his revolver and stepped outside. The pirate lay in a dazed heap, spread in a tangle and seemingly knocked out. Picking her up by her hair, Renero threw her in the cabin behind him. He went to lock the door, but well; it wasn’t lockable anymore. Picking up what remained, placed it against the doorway. That had to do. He tucked his wounded arm in the flowing sleeve of the coat, shifting his head to the side to avoid glancing at what deformity he might be left with. He could examine the damage later, the mission at hand comes first. Yet, the searing pain and stained red surfacing on the sleeve did not bode well.

He opened slowly the door leading to the next cabin, doing his best to make no sound. Two vagabonds were hauling loot in a sack that lay on a moving trolley, yet one was already fully aware of a giant minkman trying to sneak, alert written plainly on his face. Steadying his hand, he took aim with his revolver and fired. The shot connected, hitting the pirate in the nape, a crimson cloud where his head stood. The other pirate turned, his face painted red by the blood of his comrade, surprise turning into anger as he raised his flintlock towards the marine. Wasting no time, Renero shot thrice, yet this time his aim was unsteady, as one shot hitting the man in the chest, before he slumped over the stolen goods, his blood spilling over the glittering gold. The other two had hit a seat, yet thankfully no one was sitting there.

It was then that another moment of clarity had hit him. Fury had overtaken him; A fury at his own incompetence that put the concern for the survival of the criminal to a backseat to their apprehension, along with the safety of the passengers. The passengers cowered in their seats, many of them in multiple states of undress, which did not bolster Renero’s public speaking skills.  “Ummm...The situation is under control ladies and gentleman.” he began, awkwardly scratching his ruff as he realized that all eyes were on him.  “You can take back your valuables.” he finished as he staggered his way to the next cabin. By the amount of gore that lay on loot, they probably would rather not.

A shadow loomed in the stained glass that stood in the door separating cabin from cabin and Renero didn’t wait to find out what it was before he rammed whole bodily on the cart in front of him, laden with loot. Shots rang out, the shattering glass showering Renero as he hunkered down as best as he could against the cart. It seemed that the ruckus had attracted the attention of the looters in the next cabin. He swung out the chamber of his revolver, dumping the spent cartridges on the side, still hot from the shots. The pain was making all his limbs leaden, even keep his head upright was becoming a chore, the red stain on his coat getting larger by the minute. Tucking the revolver under his armpit, he took out a fistful of bullets. Eight is all he had. He was not one to engage in firefights, being more of a brawler than a shooter, yet he didn’t have much space to brawl in such a tight space.

He could feel the boot of his foe slamming against the door, wild shots ringing out across the cabin. It had to be two pirates outside, if not more. “Stay down and be quiet!” he shouted at the passengers, the crying and moaning of children and adults filling the cabin. It was hard to think, the painful headache jumbling his thoughts. He was taking too long to load the chamber, his large hand shaky and his sight blurring. He had to do something and do it now. The guns of the fallen pirates were nowhere to be seen. He looked up, the gleam of the sun catching the steel bars that lined the seats. A foolhardy plan but it was the best he could think of.

Locking in the chamber with four bullets inside, he grabbed its grip with his tail.  As he waited for the shots to subside, static electro charged into his good fist. A pause to the shots.  He leapt out, his fist seemingly shimmering in the dusty air of the cabin as it hit the bar full force, bending it and breaking it off the top. As he pulled off the damaged, the distinctive ping of a loaded bullet sounded. It was going to close. He threw the bar with all his might, the electro buzzing from his fist to it as it hit the one-eyed pirate in the chest, half-way through sending a kick to the door. He stumbled unsteadily on his feet for a moment, tripping his partner and sending his rifle’s shot wild before tumbling off to the side with a splash. Renero’s tail brought up his Revolver to his outstretched hand. Although the pirate was no more than a few meters in front of him, he emptied the chamber, his shaking hands and unsteady sight proving an obstacle to even the most basic things he could do. Luckily, some of the shots grazed him and he followed his co-conspirator to a wet descent. From the shouting that seemed to be coming from further onwards, there was little hope for much needed respite for the wounded Renero.

He feebly stepped over the cart, stumbling clumsily with every step. The world seemed to be getting narrower than he remembered, his last gambit having taken most, if not all of his already failing strength. Resting against the cabin, he slowly emptied the spent cartridges, filling two thirds of the chamber with the remaining bullets. The lull of the cool calm sea backend, a for a moment, he felt himself step closer to the edge, yet duty beckoned. His white sleeve now a crimson mess, dripping blood with every step; Renero could feel the world slipping from him. He was no doctor, able to patch himself, let alone doing that in the middle of a fight. But he was no stranger to desperate measures either. Electro hummed in his claws, sparking arcs forming in his hand before plunging it into his own bare chest.

The tips of his claws brushed against his furry chest, sparks arching on it; yet he found himself unable to shock his body. Hesitance rose in his mind. He had never did something like this to himself, the closest being lightly shocking himself to keep awake on those long night watches after a long day of hard training, half dozing as he read by the moonlight.  Raw electro pulsated into Renero, his claws sinking to the tips into his chest, his will and sense keeping him from sinking them deeper. The sensation spread like wildfire, the pain searing in his muscles and diving deep into his bones. He sure was not going to himself the utmost of his power, especially with his state already limiting the intensity of his Electro.

His body was already at a stage of damage and fatigue unlike it had ever suffered, yet his hesitation clashed with his sense of duty. His sense that told him to just do it, to give it all, even if in the end he would drop dead. At least he would drop dead in the service of the world government. As his eyes lulled over the moving sea, the waves brought his mind eye back to a time long ago, were he was still a cadet. They were taken to a sea very much like this one, vast and filled with waves, yet it was dry, its waves of stone. Each wave had a thousand names inscribed in it, set in them in fine print, so small that they themselves seemed to form waves of their own. That day was a grim reminder to all fresh-faced cadets that duty required both life and death. Not all deaths will be as a glorious last stand against a horde of pirate low life, a story fit to be sung by the fire of taverns across isles far and wide. Some would come creeping and painless, others might be long and drawn out. Yet the cause moved further nonetheless, each little victory, each day of work from every marine moved the world to a better place. A place where their death, the death of those that died alongside them, before them and afterwards would be not in vain. Although that visit was meant to shake the reality of the possibly short marine life into each of them, it also gave them purpose, a drive to strive harder for a world that many had died for. A world rid of such villainy and scum were simple things like a train ride wouldn’t be something of fear and risk but a pleasure cruise.

The humming buzz rose, a surge spreading at once, yet it was only a warm fuzz at first, barely beating out the numb pain, Renero still hesitant to charge himself further. Then the warmth slowly turned into a rising tide of searing pain that awoke the numbness, even in his left arm. He found his hand balling in a fist, a splutter of blood dripping into the sea below. He stopped himself there, bringing the pulse of electro to a close. The pain he felt was still there, yet his mind was no longer clouded, his muscles free from the weight of fatigue and ready for an other battle, albeit hopefully a short one. He dipped his bloody arm in the passing sea, bloodied coat and all, the salt fiery as it intertwined and slithered into his wound, the water straining crimson, rippling as a streak as the water rushed by, the train steaming along. “This blood…will be pretty tough to…clean out.” He whispered to himself. He looked down onto his chest. “Oh man…I even have blood on my new suit. Less than a day…huh.” Even in such a morbid and possibly fatal time, Renero could not help but smile a bit. Here he was, cleaning out a wound after trying to stop a bullet with his hand point blank. Straight out of legend that was, some foolhardy shit that only someone who was desperate for personal glory would do. Something he promised he would not do when he was sworn in as a Marine. But he also had sworn to be ready to lay down his life in service of justice. So it was a pretty good comprise all in all. Steadying himself on the rung of the ladder that stood built in the face of the carriage, he rose; ready to face the next challenge.

Challenge came to face him. “And no funny business, you hear me? Or else I’ll come back and-” the gruff man stopped mid sentence as he found himself face to face with the Tiger mink. He was pushing a cart full of stolen loot, musket haphazardly strewn over a pile of jewelry their hand wrapped lazily around the stock. Their gaze met, Renero sizing up and down the yellow haired pirate, him doing the same to the marine ensign. Both of their hand’s shot out, the pirate’s hand wrapping around the trigger whilst Renero grabbed the barrel. He wasn’t going to let it get as bad as it did with that woman. He pulled one handedly towards him, sending the muzzle to the side, the shot grazing the side of the carriage behind him, before slamming it back, a dealing a gut wrenching blow to the pirate. Using it as a makeshift club, he beat the scum’s head down into the hard gold, the wood chipping at every blow, slamming their head over and over, a bloody wedge forming in the man’s head as gurgling groveling filled the air. The man was dead a couple of blows before Renero had stopped, due to the musket breaking in half, Renero holding the steel clad muzzle while the stock lay splitting the pirate's head in twain, like some kind of makeshift log splitter.

“I think Ron’s dead.” a voice said from above him, followed by a sharp whistle. ”Quite a number you did on him there. He sagged your wife or something?” A knife struck the floor behind him, having grazed Renero’s wounded arm, a fresh cut staining his already ruined sleeve.The amalgamation of numbing pain in his arm was so dense that he didn't even feel it, only noticing after it hit the ground. “He always was like that, trying to get himself down with anythin’ that moved.” He laughed, juggling a knife in between his hands. “Called him Shagger Ronny, we did. Yea.” With a swift motion, another knife sprung from his hands, this time embedding itself in the meat of Renero’s bloodied arm. "There was this time we at where at this place called Ring Port or somethin', we had been on sea for months since that numbskull of navigator bought a dud log pose." He stopped himself there, erupting in a burst of laughter, his massive gut seemingly turning into jelly with every laugh. An other knife cut through the air, Renero narrowly dodging the blade. The man's hands never left the knives. "Yea, Chippy wasn't one with loose purse strings, I tell you that." He burst once more laughing. This time Renero wasn't as lucky. The Knife hit him in his broken hand, a wave of pain from the numbness. The man kept droning on and on about Ron's misadventures and Chippy's purse strings whilst Renero tried to find a way to engage his foe without getting stabbed to death. His jolt of energy and numbness from electro was wearing off and pain was coming to the forefront once more, the edges of his visions blurring and darkening as he lost more and more blood from all the cuts and wounds he had suffered. He had no time to spare, yet his mind's thought came slurred and his body was becoming sluggish and heavy. He found his gaze going towards the horizon.

Then he saw it.

“To make matters worst, Bibzo had forgotten the Rum, so you can imagine us four, pissing away the time, half drunk on lemon juice with sake and trying to convince the captain that we didn’t sleep with his daughter.”  The Fat man laughed, unaware of the impending doom, as tears streaked from his wobbling cheeks onto his even wobblier gut. Renero did his best as to not attract his foe’s attention to the ever closing wave, yet his eyes seemed to be constantly finding their way to the side, eying the impending doom that approached unrelentingly, seemingly growing bigger every inch it gained. His limbs leaden, even with his foe too preoccupied with recounting his stories to throw any more knives at him, Renero could barely formulate any coherent thought, the pirate’s words nothing more than a distant slurred buzzing, even when faced with the danger anger and awe of the massive wave coming towards them.

“So, you know, there we are, three blokes trying to blow up some smoke up his ass but this man is not biting, he seemed weary from the start and he was driving a really hard bargain there, you know how the Skypians are, tighter than a Conch when it comes to this kind of stuff...” The Pirate continued, still unaware of the looming doom, his joyful yet keen eyes fixed on Renero as he lazily juggled his knives.

The mink seemed to be fading from consciousness, slumped on his knees with a bloody skid on the door behind him, proving little threat to him; so he was taking his time with him, his eyes enjoying the marine’s suffering under his smiling visage. He would have loved to jump down and carve him up, but that marine had already killed a couple of his crew mates and rumour was that his kind could transform into a giant form when cornered, as if they weren’t already freakishly big.  He wasn’t going to get too close and risk his hide to confirm any fireside spook story, that was for sure. Still, nothing wrong with cracking a few laughs with some old tales and watching a man die, he always loved taking it slow and easy after all.

Although semi-conscious at best, the residual electro had kept him from slumping into darkness completely, his eyes still half open and his mind still somehow working. He had lost a lot of blood, the pool around him now dripping into the passing waves and time was quickly running out for him. The incoming Wave was big, but not as big as he thought, just big enough to hit two train carriages, yet nothing more.

Still, if he would get caught in it, there would be no way he could summon up any strength to keep himself afloat, let alone swim. He had to time his last gambit just right; Too soon and he might get skewered; too late and a watery grave for him.

“…you should have seen her face mate as we popped out of the barrel. No sheet could ‘ave covered up what we were up to, I tell you that.” He burst up laughing. Renero pushed up the cabin wall, focusing all his strength. The time for action was now.

“You seem to have gone through a lot, yet I’m surprised none of your stories mentions the part where you got that pig’s gut. Maybe your mother was a pig?” Renero weakly grinned, as his tail slowly wrapped around the handle of the door behind him. His legs were threating to give out any moment, yet he held himself up with his hands, trying to make it look like it was a last stand. It might very well be if he messed up the timing.

The pirate wasn’t smiling anymore. “Ah, you think you are some joker uh? Picking up on a man’s shortcomings, are you? Well, at least I'm not dying in a pool of my own blood on a shitty sea train while serving as a lapdog to some prick officer. Should have stayed at the Zoo, you fil-“ He had heard the roaring wave too late, the puffing engine combined with his jeering stories having drowned it out. When he looked back down, The Mink was gone, a trail of blood leading into the carriage door.

“Oh fuck, he got me good.” Those were the last words of Fat Fingered Forrest.

Renero pulled the door behind him, putting all of his weight against it and bracing for the worst. He found himself facing an astonished half-dressed cabin of passengers, the cart full of loot still untouched, laying spilt on the floor, the light from the hatch above making it look like some prize, waiting to be taken.

"Brace your...selves...wave...coming...hitting...this...cabin." Renero said weakly, his throat feeling incredibly dry, his mind barely able to connect the words together. His hand wrapped around the hilt of one of the knives sticking into him, another burst of strength lost with the blood that burst from the wound, the cabin silent as all eyes were on the wounded marine. Renero lifted his gaze once more, the shadow of the wave blotting out the light for a moment. “Windows..." he slurred before slumping down.

His vision blurred into blackness as his head became too heavy for his own neck to keep up, his sentence left unfinished as the cabin disappeared from his sight, distant shapes taking form instead and floating in the black filling his view. The face of his commander, the pirates, the broken head that he had just beaten in, all passing by him as he fell deeper and deeper, into a pit that had no hole and no bottom. He felt as if he was on fire, his skin turning ashen as it burnt away into embered cinders. His life, turning into ashes in front of him. Did he die? He didn’t feel dead. He slammed into icy waters, the nonsensical voyage taking a more physical turn as he felt s vision exploded with color once more.

He awoke to himself out of breath, on his hands and knees, his upper body soaked through, a chill cutting to his bone the screams of the half-naked passengers ringing in his ears. Then they seemed to quiet down, as he slowly moved.

Although the wounds he had taken were not something one could easily shrug off, at the end of the day, he was a large Mink. The trauma of the pain had slowly taken a mental toll on him, a toll he felt yet did not know was actually lulling him into a forceful rest. The blood loss did not help, but he had plenty of blood to spare, yet his mind had other plans, having reached the apex of its tolerance. The rushing wave, having come in through an open window, had slammed him into an empty seat, the same trauma of pain that had lulled him into senselessness, waking him once more; that little nap seemingly having resorted the battered remains of his will, at least partially.

Water had sprayed all over the cabin, yet the passengers were wise enough to all move to the other side and the sea train was built to take such waves, a slight bump and little splash being the apex of the wave’s effects; with the only one being injured in the slightest being the Mink Marine. Now washed back into reality, he pulled himself up, taking a look at himself, as he coughed up to the taste of salt.

All the cuts were flaring up with pain thanks to the sea salt, made more painful as Renero pulled out the knives with a splash of crimson, recoiling with pain yet he knew it was something that had to be done. His bleeding arm had not gotten better and avoiding treating it had only made the pain worse. His eyes fell on the bundle of loot, most importantly, the clothes that lay strewn amongst the gold and jewels. The reality was, the wounded arm wasn't going to go away simply by magic; Even the most rudimentary of bandaging from his clumsy hands would be able to staunch the flow and minimize the damage. Hopefully, his commanding officer was doing fine. Slowly, he peeled off his Marine Jacket. He braced for the sight of his mangled arm, shredded and torn out of its socket.

Renero let out a groan, both a sign of relief and pain. His wounded hand looked bad yet not it was not the broken, mauled and shattered limb he excepted to find. Nevertheless, it was hard to distinguish wounded from untouched, apart from the searing pain of the salt since his whole arm was shaded in crimson all across. He had to get it cleaned up before anything else. He lifted himself alongside one of the empty seats, before making his way to the pile of loot in the middle of the carriage. Apart from his uneven footsteps, silence filled the room, two dozen eyes staring at the shambling figure, seemingly all holding their breath. He pulled out a garment that lay under some jewels, dipped it in a puddle of seawater and gritted his teeth as he ran it up and down his wounded arm, as tenderly as he could. A gasp broke through the silence. Renero’s gaze shot up, half excepting a hidden pirate to pop up from the fearful crowd. Yet, all he was faced with was a woman clutching her chest, a heartbroken gaze, her arm outstretched. Renero looked behind him, thinking maybe it was a sign for an ambush; yet the door behind him was still locked. “Emmm..Do not worry, the situation has been…emmm…defused and all your belongings will be returned to you once we arrive at Water 7.” Renero said, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. Gasps of relief responded to his claim, seemingly a burden taken off the collective minds of the passengers.

It was then that the voice of his commander rang behind him.

He had been so engrossed in his own “speech” that he had not heard the man unlock the heavy steel door and enter. It seemed the toll of the fight had also affected his senses. Standing up to attention, he raised a salute, bloody rag in hand. He surpassed the wince of pain, his wounds bleeding once more; though at least his arm was still capable of movement. “Yes Sir, unfortunately, I was unable to subdue the criminals without taking an injury myself. It’s nothing too-“ It was at that point that he noticed the lacy and rosy tint that was the now ruined undergarment, which he quickly disposed of as discreetly as possible, with new found strength. Then shockingly, his commander, took a rag himself and helped him clean up his arm. Renero was stunned by such an action, only find himself able to mutter a few words of thanks. This man, a commissioned officer of the World Government, his direct superior and a man that he had shown major disrespect to, was now helping him patch up his wounds. Was this the calm before the storm? A gambit to make him feel at ease only to punish behind closed doors?

Or was it simply a sign of goodwill, of bygones being bygones? Renero was unsure if to be scared or relieved. So he settled on being both.

[EXIT]