"What..."
"Cough! Cough!"
"Ha...hahahahaha!"
Inside a dark, damp cabin, three criminals sat confined in heavy iron cages, side by side like exhibits in a twisted gallery.
One huddled in a corner, shivering.
The man in the middle wore a grim, sunken expression.
And the third—lying flat on a metal slab—was hunched over in laughter. Wild, cracked, and euphoric.
He couldn't help it.
Buggy turned his head, letting silver moonlight spill through the round porthole and wash across his painted face. A white "X" was smeared across his forehead. His bulbous red nose stood out vividly, lips painted in exaggerated red, his scraggly beard making him look even more deranged.
With trembling index fingers, he tugged at the corners of his mouth into a manic grin.
"Haha..."
So happy.
How could he not be?
The world was just too strange—too funny!
Buggy pressed his face against the cold steel floor, twisting slightly as his mind spiraled between three clashing identities.
One was Brix, a college student who once worked part-time as a clown in an amusement park, desperate to make children laugh. But the kids never laughed—just frowned. To them, he was a sad adult pretending to be funny.
The second was Joaquin, a patient in Arkham Asylum. He called himself Jack, but the world had given him another name—The Joker. In his memories, Joaquin stood in front of a cracked mirror, adjusting his tie with shaking hands, forcing a smile onto a face ravaged by chemicals. Beside him, a radio played breaking news: another terrorist attack in Gotham.
And then, there was Buggy. The infamous pirate. The Clown of the Grand Line. The Star Clown.
That was the body he now inhabited.
He remembered it all—how they were searching for treasure, stumbling upon a secret Marine facility, finding familiar-looking children and a fat man wielding a giant axe.
Then came capture.
Now, the memories of three men—Brix, Joaquin, and Buggy—were mashed together like ingredients in a madman's recipe.
Two parts Buggy. Five parts Joaquin. Three parts Brix.
Stirred hard in one direction.
Pounded into a dough of lunacy.
Kneaded until indistinguishable.
He was no longer one of them.
He was all of them.
And it filled him with joy. Unfiltered. Pure. Unhinged.
The same joy Joaquin felt when he first saw that strange, twisted man on the Gotham paper.
The same joy Brix felt when he used his first paycheck to buy a Big Mac.
He had lost the joy of one city—and gained the madness of the world.
So. Damn. Happy.
"Shut the hell up, you lunatic!"
The man in the middle snapped, his face twisting with fury and panic. In the suffocating gloom of the cabin, Buggy's laughter echoed like nails scraping steel.
If he weren't shackled in Seastone and locked in this cage, the man swore he'd feed that red-nosed freak to a Sea King.
"Sorry! Hahaha! I'm sorry..."
Buggy sat up, wiping tears from his eyes. The grin never left his face.
"I just... I can't help it!" he wheezed. "We're going to Impel Down, after all!"
His voice sparkled with childish glee.
"Aren't you excited? A prison no one's ever escaped from. The first floor... the second floor... the third..."
He pointed between the other prisoners like a mad tour guide.
"The Crimson Hell! With its blade-leaf trees!"
"Beast Hell! Poisonous snakes and monsters!"
"Hunger Hell! Roasted alive and starved dry!"
He shivered with delight, as though describing a theme park.
The grim man's face darkened. His chained arms trembled—enough to rattle the iron cuffs.
Impel Down.
The nightmare of all pirates.
Endless torment. No escape.
And they were on their way. Shackled. Helpless.
"Shut your damn mouth!"
His voice cracked. Fear seeped through his bravado.
Waiting for the blade to fall... was worse than being cut.
Buggy tilted his head.
"Are you scared?"
He was perceptive. The man's tough exterior was cracking. Trembling arms. Shallow breathing. Hidden terror.
And something else...
Something hidden.
'Flat. Sharp. Tucked inside a wound, maybe?'
'Lucky me,' Buggy thought, narrowing his eyes with amusement.
This world... it was just too fun. Why rot in a cell and wait for some protagonist to stir things up?
That would be wasting this beautiful chaos.
Suddenly, Buggy lunged at the bars, face pressed against them, smiling like a devil.
"Since you're so scared of hell..."
"Why don't you hand over what you've got hidden in your arm?"
His tone turned cold.
"You wouldn't want the guards to find out, would you... dear cellmate?"
He was good at this. He had lived in Gotham.
There, words were hooks. You planted fear. Let it grow. And then—you strike.
"You... how do you know?!"
The man's eyes widened. Sweat formed on his brow.
Years ago, a deep wound in his arm. Covered up with tattoos. Concealed a blade beneath scarred flesh.
His last resort.
Buggy licked his lips slowly.
He missed the acid. Missed the blood. Missed the knife.
"Give it to me," he whispered. "Or the Marines might shoot you right now."
"We both know that blade won't help you in Impel Down. If it could—you'd be free already."
Poisonous. Soft. Deadly.
And effective.
The man hesitated, then slowly bent down... biting into his arm.
But before he could finish—
"Fifteen million berries."
A voice came from the far end of the room.
"Pirate Buggy."
The final prisoner stepped forward, and the moonlight kissed his scarred face.
"That's a bit low, don't you think?"
"The bounty for the vicious dog Musa is fifty-seven million berries!"
He grinned—arrogant and cold.
"That's me."
"So tell me..." he said, "who do you think that blade should belong to?"
His smile was confident. Cold. But deep down, even Musa had given up hope.
Seastone shackles. Solid steel cage. Their escort—a Marine Commodore.
Escape? A fantasy.
Still... the antics of Buggy and the trembling man amused him.
Though...
'Why was someone with only a fifteen million bounty sharing a block with him, the infamous Dog of Carnage?'
Either the Marines were bored—
Or this clown...
Was far more dangerous than he looked.
As for what the other man was hiding?
Probably just a blade. Or wire. Nothing useful.
But if Musa snitched...
Maybe he'd get a hot meal out of it.