Chapter 17: Rude Awekaning

Chapter 17: Rude Awekaning

Akainu ran through the narrow streets of the city. Each echoing step echoed through the empty streets.

Yet an unsettling feeling prickled beneath his skin, a faint dissonance in his relentless pursuit.

It was as if an invisible hand was pulling him forward, an unseen current he couldn't resist.

Despite the restlessness, a single purpose burned in his gut: to reach his destination.

Urging him forward was an incessant whisper, eroding some of his doubts with each step, swallowing them into the back of his mind, no longer important.

And yet it made the very air burn with his anticipation.

…

Three agents trailed behind Akainu, their boots tapping quietly against the cobbles. The minutes of chasing the admiral had taken their toll on their patience.

"Excuse me, Commander," the first agent finally interjected, halting their progress. "Would it be too much to say that the Admiral's behaviour is to say the least bordering on strange?"

The others glanced at Akainu's rigid form, a blur of determined steps ahead.

"He's not exactly known for his social skills," another agent admitted, "but not a single word? Not even a grunt?"

The first agent cleared her throat, lowering her voice to a respectful murmur. "With all due respect, Commander, are we sure it is wise to continue blindly following him? Perhaps a reassessment of our strategy is warranted."

The commander considered the suggestions for a moment before snorting. "Look, unless you've got a better plan up your sleeve, we're stuck. He saw the target last, remember?"

He squinted at Akainu's back, a furrow appearing in his forehead. Even though he was not that familiar with Akainu, he could tell that there was a strange intensity to the admiral's movements, a single-mindedness that bordered on... something else. He muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the agents, "If only we had other options..."

The insistent trill of a ringing communicator shattered the tense silence. "Purururu, Purururu, gotcha," the commander replied with a curt nod.

"We've located Marie," a voice crackled through the receiver, laced with urgency. "She's holed up in the centre of the crater, surrounded by an unknown group of pirates - probably hired help."

The commander barked orders without missing a beat. "Form a perimeter. Don't engage, but keep her in place. Use the flares if they try to escape. We'll be there shortly."

There was a beat of silence before the female agent spoke. "Sir, shall we... retrieve Admiral Akainu?"

The commander scoffed. "Negative. A dog straining at the leash serves no purpose here." His gaze remained fixed on Akainu's retreating figure, a flicker of something like apprehension crossing his features for a fleeting moment.

…

They soon arrived at the edge of the crater, joining the silent ring of agents already there.

Nearly every agent on the island was assembling nearby, with stragglers ready to join the moment the signal was given.

"Confirmed visual on Marie," the woman reported, her voice strained. "But she's just... sitting there. Even her help is getting ready to leave."

Uncertainty flickered across her face. "Should we stop them, sir?"

The commander's eyes narrowed. "Intercept them all; leave no survivors." He looked towards the centre of the crater, a cruel look etched into his expression.

At his command, dozens of flares lit up the night sky, painting the moon with an eerie crimson glow.

The commander surveyed the scene, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Soon," he murmured, "this area will be crawling with agents.

No one will escape." His gaze fell back on Marie, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. The end of his 'horrible' mission appeared remarkably close.

….

The numerous flairs in the distance halted the group's pursuit, as they realised that things were more complicated than they had planned and that it would not be easy to capture those behind them.

"Boss flares in the distance and an unbelievable amount of them... are we really going to continue the chase?" said Ponto, voicing his doubts.

Everyone looked at Leon, pondering the events. "Hmmm, let's go and see why there is such a big komotion. If it's too much, we will retreat immediately."

"I disagree; this has gone on long enough!" Andre immediately proposed the idea. "It is clearly a trap. Even if we are cautious, it won't do us much good if we are ambushed." "Let's just retreat back to the ships and not get involved in any unnecessary danger."

Seeing that no one was listening to him, André decided to highlight another point.

"While we're here, our people are holding the bay; who knows how many ships and men we've lost in this waste of time? We need to contact the other branches and plan a proper retaliation instead of this makeshift idiocy!"

Leon walked over and put his hand on Andre's shoulders. "Andre, we need your help now more than ever; this is our chance to strike back big. Remember, this 'plan' was never aimed at us, so we can retreat the moment it gets dicey."

"No, not this time, Leon; it is too risky," he said, pushing the hand away. "I'm sorry, but I can't condone this action. I say we vote to let the majority dictate our next course of action."

"All right, I vote for and you vote against, and what do you all vote for?" Leon said, turning to the group.

Norman decided to speak first: "I say we go over there and crush them. What's the worst that can happen? It's just a small operations cell, not every agent in the world."

Pelenope was visibly taken aback by Norman's vote, but she did not address him directly, instead casting her vote.

"I disagree; it is too great a risk; we should withdraw," she said, casting a sideways glance at Norman, who was visibly annoyed by his sister.

"Typical penelope," mumbled Ponto.

"Oh, and what do you think we should do, little man, walk into a trap and die, or worse, get captured?" She trembled as she said the last part, and Norman went over to her side to comfort her.

"I'm with the big fish; we should go over and see what's going on. At the very least."

"Why, you little bastard, you only vote to go over to spite me!"

"Stop it! Both of you, we need to stay calm and let Ramus cast his vote." Leon broke up the argument before a fist fight broke out. "Ramus, what's your decision?"

The group turned to him, and he smiled wryly. "You know me, not one to go against the odds, so I say no."

"Tree against tree, and since I am the supposed leader of this group, I say we go check it out, but out of respect for the other voters, we will go stealthily and retreat the moment things go wrong."

This was the only concession Leon was willing to make.

"Unless you oppose, of course," he said, throwing an indefinable look towards André.

Andre had none; he also wanted to catch the Basters responsible, since most of those people died because of his mere presence on the island, but if he acted on impulse, how many more would have to be sacrificed? He wanted to say something to stop this, but decided against it. He just closed his eyes and nodded, for Leon was right; he was the leader of this mission, not him.

"Good, let's go. The wind is picking up. I think the storm is about to hit its peak. Let's not waste any more time."

…

The clash of steel echoed through the air, an inexorable rhythm amid the chaos. The unknown pirates held a temporary advantage in sheer numbers.

But their initial enthusiasm faded, replaced by exhaustion and the grim realisation that they were hopelessly outnumbered.

With each passing moment, the tide of battle turned. More and more agents and marines emerged from the surrounding areas, and their movements were trained with lethal intent.

The pirates, once brazen attackers, were now forced into a desperate defence, their disorganised formation crumbling under the relentless pressure.

The commander, a towering figure clad in white, waded through the fray with an almost casual grace. His movements were a blur of deadly efficiency, his blade flashing in the dying light as he dispatched a luckless pirete with ruthless precision. His gaze, however, remained fixed on a single figure in the midst of the chaos: Marie.

He went towards her with a slow, deliberate walk that spoke volumes of his confidence.

As he approached, the sounds of battle seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the metallic scraping of his boots on the ground.

When he reached the centre, he paused, savouring the moment of victory. "So," he said, his voice a low rumble, "it seems our little game is coming to an end. We were led to believe that you were untouchable, and after our last encounter, I would have almost agreed. But look, here you are, cornered and defeated."

Marie sat on the floor, her indifference like a dying flame. "Go ahead and end it," she rasped, her voice hoarse. "Just get it over with; everything's already finished."

The commander's triumphant grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Marie, the epitome of defiance only moments before, now resembled a hollow shell. Her posture was slumped, and her eyes were devoid of the spark that had fueled her fight. The thrill of victory curdled in his stomach, replaced by a cold annoyance.

He raised his weapon, its familiar weight a grim comfort in the face of this unnerving emptiness. His finger tightened on the trigger, and a single shot was all that stood between him and the completion of his mission.

A voice, sharp as lightning, cut through the tense silence. "Sir! Stop!" It was Vice Admiral Doberman, his face scowling with authority. "This is a golden opportunity. We were ordered by Akainu to bring her in alive if possible!"

The commander's gaze flickered between the lifeless shell of Marie and the Marine.

It was true, the power Marie possessed would be invaluable if used for their purposes.

So capturing Marie alive, especially with the mythical Fruit of Fate, would undoubtedly secure his position and shower him with honours.

But something about Marie's vacant stare gnawed at him. Was this a trap? Was her sudden despair a carefully crafted illusion? The air crackled with unspoken questions, and the impact of the decision weighed heavily on his shoulders.

"He's right, commander," another agent chimed in, her voice tinged with opportunism. "The orders were to 'capture her alive' if possible!"

The commander, determined not to be swayed, clenched his jaw and raised his weapon as he glared at the interjectors. "Your orders are to assist me," he snarled in a low growl. "So be good dogs and stand aside!"

Tension hung thick in the air, with the threat of a fight breaking out between the marines and the agents.

Just as things were about to escalate further, a new arrival caught everyone's attention.

A person landed next to John's body with a violent crash that sent dust flying.

"Captain White, explain yourself! Why are you here?" The commander roared, his voice laced with anger and a hint of fear. The gun in his hand trembled slightly, pointed directly at White's head.

White, sprawled on the ground, coughed violently, a spray of crimson staining the pristine white of her uniform. Her normally bright blue eyes were clouded with pain, but a spark of defiance flickered in them.

"♪Consortium,♫" she gasped, each word a struggle. "♫ Were... stronger... than planned. Capital... destroyed.♪"

The commander's face drained of colour, the weapon wavering in his grasp. This wasn't supposed to happen. Their mission had been a simple assassination operation with minimal collateral damage. What did she mean, destroyed? Why not tell a more believable lie?

White's lips twisted into a sly grin. "♪They should be following me here now,♫" she rasped, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "♫This is beyond catastrophic, Commander. We underestimated them.

"♫They moved faster and struck harder. The capital... gone.♪" Her eyes fluttered shut, and her breathing was shallow. Whether from exhaustion, pain, or if she was faking, it was unclear.

The tense silence left by White's report stretched, thick enough for someone to choke on it.

Nearby Marines, drawn to the commotion, stood frozen in disbelief. Among them, Vice Admiral Doberman reached for a Den Den Mushi. With a flick of his wrist, the familiar snail came to life, projecting a likeness of Jonathan at the other end.

"Doberman," Jonathan greeted, "this may not be the best time for a chat. We've only just arrived, and the situation... well, it's beyond disastrous."

Doberman hesitated, his gaze lingering on the fallen White. "Jonathan, give a brief report."

"Fine, I'll tell you," Jonathan explained the scene, the eerie lack of resistance, and the disturbing silence that hung heavy in the air. "There's no sign of fighting, not a single survivor. The whole capital seems... obliterated."

The silence fell again, heavier this time.

Finally, Doberman's voice crackled through the Den Mushi. "Is there any sign of those responsible? Did they leave a clue?"

"None." sounded the voice on the other end.

"Vice Admiral Johnathan, gather all troops and return immediately; the suspected perpetrators are on their way to my location."

The Denden Mushi frowned but complied anyway: "Understood... We will arrive shortly."

The story seems to fit, but... why?

The Consortium isn't known for this kind of brutality. They focus on... well, economic power, not mass murder.

And with the massive support they had from the people, why would they...

Why would the Consortium, champions of the people, commit such a terrible act?

Something about the story seemed wrong.

With a surge of frustration, Doberman whipped back at the crumpled form of Captain White. "Explain yourself, White!" he barked, his voice laced with suspicion. "How on earth did they manage that? There's no sign of a struggle, no bodies of attackers, just... death. How did the Consortium achieve that?"

White, however, seemed oblivious to the rising tension. Her forehead was furrowed in confusion, and her blue eyes were glazed with displeasure. "♫What?♪" she muttered, her voice weak. "♫ I don't understand the question, dear Vice Admiral.♪"

Doberman's jaw clenched. Was she delirious? Playing dumb? One thing was for sure - this woman's report was incomplete! He clenched his sword until his knuckles turned pale in an attempt to control himself.

The commander couldn't help but roll his eyes. This already disastrous situation was about to get much worse: White, their only source of information, was pretending to be an idiot.

And if she did not stop pretending, Doberman would actually try to kill her.

Marie, who overheard the entire conversation, couldn't help but burst out in laughter.

An unexpected burst of laughter broke the tense atmosphere. All eyes snapped to Marie, who was slumped against a nearby piece of rock, a morbid amusement twisting her features.

"So you're the fool who tampered with the island's fate," she cackled, her voice raspy but laced with dark humour. "Well, let me offer you some wisdom, since you've managed to make me laugh at the end."

Her eyes darted between Doberman and the fallen White. "The more you tamper with fate," she rasped, her voice rising, "the greater the blowback. You've tampered with the natural order, little girl, and the price will be high." Marie gestured at White with a bony hand. "And for you, this interference will probably be your last. Make sure your affairs are in order, child. You won't live past the morning."

A cold fear washed over Captain White. Knowing Marie's reputation as 'The Farseer', she understood the weight of her words. There was no deception in her eyes, only a chilling certainty.

A sharp realisation set in that she was going to die while she loved toying with people; she was not ready yet.

Scrambling backwards, she tripped and stumbled over a body, a sickening thud echoing in the sudden silence. Her scream died before it could form, replaced by a gasp as she realised the source of the obstacle - John's body.

Shame flooded her face as the absurdity of the situation sank in. Afraid of a dead man. She lashed out in a fit of childish rage, kicking at the lifeless form with surprising fury.

"Oy, stop that!" A low voice rasped, heavy with disapproval, and White froze, her eyes snapping up to meet Marie's. The old woman's forehead was furrowed in a deep frown.

"♫Stop what?♪" White asked back, defiant even in her humiliation. Her foot kicked again, this time at John's head, expecting it to release her anger.

Twisting for another kick, she braced herself for the sickening thud.

Instead, a hand shot out, an ethereal glow emanating from behind it. Her foot was caught in mid-air, inches from John's skull. A gasp escaped her lips as the world spun around her.

Suddenly, she found herself staring up at John, who had inexplicably risen to his feet, his eyes glowing with an eerie light.

"You do know," John's voice echoed, a chilling whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "That hurts?"

It was the voice that sounded haunted, almost as if joining by the voices of the restless spirit of the island.

The world blurred as John's hand slammed White to the ground with a nasty thud.

The air whooshed out of her lungs, and for a terrifying moment, she couldn't even muster the energy to turn into smoke to absorb the impact.

Pain far worse than she should have felt from hitting the ground tore through her. Dazed, she looked up at John, his form continuing to shift at random.

His eyes, once lifeless, now burned with an ethereal fire.

"Is it you?" Marie gasped, a shred of hope flickering deep in her eyes.