-Real World-
The Sky Screen's revelations created ripples that touched lives across the globe in vastly different ways.
Some people huddled in snow caves, starving and desperate. Others wallowed in pessimism about futures they couldn't control. Still others lived in fear of conspiracies they couldn't prevent. Every thread of suffering, when traced back far enough, seemed to originate from the same source.
Everything is Buggy the Clown's fault.
The sentiment wasn't entirely fair—correlation didn't equal causation, after all. But it was emotionally satisfying to have a single figure to blame for the world's mounting chaos. A scapegoat painted in garish makeup and a red nose.
-Real World - Impel Down, Level Six-
Douglas Bullet had become a celebrity in the most literal and unfortunate sense of the word.
The Eternal Pose to Laugh Tale—that simple navigational tool tucked away somewhere unknown—had transformed him from "dangerous prisoner requiring containment" to "valuable intelligence asset requiring extraction." Everyone wanted a piece of him now. Pirates who'd previously ignored him suddenly found reasons to shout threats and promises across the darkness. Marine interrogators visited his cell with increasing frequency, their methods growing progressively more creative. World Government agents appeared periodically, offering deals that always ended with the same demand: Tell us where the Eternal Pose is hidden.
Bullet's response remained consistent: stony silence or contemptuous laughter, depending on his mood.
But the attention was exhausting. The isolation that had once provided strange comfort had been shattered. Now there was constant noise. Constant pressure. Constant reminders that the world hadn't forgotten him.
His miserable prison existence, which had at least possessed the virtue of routine predictability, had transformed into something far worse. Active torture. Psychological warfare. Sleep deprivation through deliberate disruption. The interrogators were professionals, and they had centuries of institutional knowledge about breaking even the strongest prisoners.
This is just beginning, Bullet thought grimly during one particularly brutal session. They'll escalate until they get what they want or conclude I don't have it.
-Real World - Marine Headquarters, Marineford - War Room-
Fleet Admiral Sengoku stood before a massive tactical map, his expression carved from stone. The war room—normally occupied only during major operations—had become his second office in recent weeks. Red markers indicated known threats. Blue markers showed Marine force deployments. Black markers represented unknowns requiring investigation.
There were far too many black markers.
"Frequent troop redeployments," Sengoku announced to the assembled senior officers. His voice carried the weight of exhaustion barely held in check. "Effective immediately. Our defensive posture shifts to account for the Sky Screen's revealed threats."
He gestured toward one cluster of markers. "Impel Down becomes a priority-one protection target. When the Battle of Marineford begins—and it will begin, we can't prevent that—I'm one hundred percent certain that Buggy the Clown will attack the Underwater Prison from within. He'll release the condemned prisoners. The devastation will be catastrophic."
The assessment was delivered with absolute conviction. Not speculation or worst-case planning, but stated fact. Sengoku had spent weeks analyzing the Sky Screen's information, and this conclusion had crystallized with certainty.
Vice Admiral Tsuru stepped forward, carrying a thick folder of documentation. She began distributing materials to the assembled officers—printed photographs, biographical summaries, criminal records.
"I've cross-referenced the crew composition of the Buggy Pirates shown in Sky Screen broadcasts against Impel Down's admission records," Tsuru explained, her voice clinical despite the grim implications. "The correlation is damning. Over eighty percent of Buggy's base-level crew members can be traced directly to the Underwater Prison. Most originate from Levels One through Three—petty criminals, minor threats, disposable manpower."
She began affixing photographs to a large whiteboard that dominated one wall of the war room. Images of scarred faces, bounty posters, criminal profiles—each one representing a prisoner who would eventually join Buggy's forces.
Within minutes, the entire board was covered. A mosaic of released criminals, each one individually manageable but collectively representing chaos.
"These are small-time pirates with bounties under one hundred million," Tsuru continued. "Individually insignificant. But once free, each could captain their own crew. Lead lesser criminals. Destabilize regions. The aggregate threat multiplies exponentially."
She paused, her aged face showing something approaching despair.
"And that's just Levels One through Three. The real catastrophe is Level Six."
The room's atmosphere grew heavier. Everyone understood the implication.
Level Six—Eternal Hell—housed monsters. Prisoners so dangerous that their very existence was kept secret from the general public. Pirates with bounties exceeding several hundred million Beli. Former Yonko crew members. Legendary criminals who'd terrorized entire regions before their capture.
If Douglas Bullet could escape Level Six, so could the others. And each one would become a cornerstone for whatever force recruited them. Yonko commanders. Revolutionary Army captains. Independent powers capable of challenging Marine Admirals.
"The Battle of Marineford will annihilate our elite forces," Sengoku said quietly, voicing what everyone was thinking. "And the prison break will release demons who'll reshape the balance of power. Either event alone would be catastrophic. Both happening simultaneously..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"The reborn Marine system—whatever emerges from that disaster—will inherit an impossible situation," Tsuru added. "Acting Fleet Admiral Artoria Pendragon will command forces depleted by Marineford's losses while facing empowered enemies strengthened by Level Six escapees. It's the worst possible start for any Marine leader in history."
The assessment hung in the air like a death sentence.
Around the war room table, senior officers exchanged glances. Some looked shell-shocked. Others seemed to be internally calculating their own survival odds. A few appeared on the verge of requesting immediate retirement.
Who will survive to serve in the new Marine? The question was written on every face. Will I be one of them? Or will I die at Marineford alongside thousands of others?
Knowing the future in advance, it turned out, was not necessarily beneficial. Sometimes ignorance truly was bliss.
Admiral Akainu observed his colleagues' reactions with mounting disgust. These were supposed to be Marine elites—hardened warriors who'd spent decades fighting pirates and protecting civilians. And they were wilting like flowers in frost simply because they'd seen troubling predictions.
Pathetic.
"Look at yourselves," Akainu's voice cut through the gloomy silence like a blade. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Just look at what you've become."
Every eye turned toward him. Some officers flinched at the contempt radiating from the Admiral.
"The future hasn't even happened yet, and you're already defeated," Akainu continued, his tone dripping with scorn. "Scared by a clown in makeup? Demoralized by predictions that we can still change? If you're this terrified of death, take off that uniform right now. Submit your resignation. The Marine doesn't need cowards who crumble at the first sign of adversity."
Several officers looked away, unable to meet his gaze. A few straightened their postures, shame coloring their faces.
"You're occupying positions—critical leadership roles—while contributing nothing but defeatist pessimism," Akainu pressed mercilessly. "If you can't handle the burden of command, step aside. Let people with courage and competence take your place. The Marine system has operated for eight hundred years, but it's become an antique. Outdated. Unable to adapt to changing circumstances."
He swept the room with his gaze, making eye contact with each officer individually.
"We need change. Fresh blood. Leaders who'll fight instead of surrender. If you can't be that, then get out."
The brutal honesty was characteristic of Sakazuki. He'd never been diplomatic, never softened harsh truths to spare feelings. But the speech had its intended effect—shame slowly transforming into rekindled determination on several faces.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku, who'd remained silent during Akainu's tirade, finally spoke: "Admiral Sakazuki is correct, if inelegantly phrased. The Sky Screen has given us something invaluable—time to prepare. Advanced knowledge of threats. We won't make the same mistakes twice."
He pointed toward the map's cluster of markers around Impel Down.
"Buggy the Clown cannot be allowed near the Underwater Prison. That's absolute priority. Even if the Eternal Pose remains hidden somewhere forever, we must prevent his infiltration. His demonstrated ability to avoid seastone restraints makes him uniquely dangerous in that environment."
Strategic discussions followed. Force deployments were debated, adjusted, finalized.
Admiral Kizaru would remain stationed at Sabaody Archipelago—his permanent assignment as protector of the Celestial Dragons couldn't be compromised regardless of other threats. Admiral Akainu needed to stay at Marine Headquarters as a deterrent against direct attacks. That left only one option for Impel Down's defense.
"Admiral Kuzan," Sengoku said heavily. "You'll be reassigned to Impel Down as primary defensive asset. Your Hie Hie no Mi (Ice-Ice Fruit) provides natural advantage in that environment, and your combat capability matches any potential attacker."
Kuzan nodded slowly, his perpetually lazy expression unchanged. "Understood. Though I should mention something relevant to this assignment."
He stood, moving to the whiteboard covered in prisoner photographs. His finger traced a path through several images—all showing variations of the same garish makeup, the same red nose, the same theatrical appearance.
"I've encountered something... unusual during recent missions," Kuzan began, his tone thoughtful. "Something I reported to Fleet Admiral Sengoku but which deserves wider dissemination given our current situation."
The room's attention focused entirely on him.
"I encountered two separate individuals identifying as Buggy the Clown. Simultaneously. In different locations." Kuzan paused, letting that sink in. "Through careful observation, I determined they represented distinct personalities. One embodied pure rage—violent, impulsive, barely controlled fury. The other exemplified lust—hedonistic, pleasure-seeking, obsessed with gratification."
He pulled down a section of the whiteboard, revealing notes he'd prepared in advance. Three columns labeled: ANGER, LUST, PRIDE.
"The Sky Screen has shown us a third variant—one called 'Pride.' Arrogant, strategic, supremely confident. Three distinct clowns, each representing a negative human emotion."
The implications crystallized slowly across the assembled officers' faces. Horror mixed with disbelief mixed with dawning comprehension.
"You're suggesting..." Vice Admiral Tsuru's voice was carefully controlled. "...that Buggy's Bara Bara no Mi (Chop-Chop Fruit) has advanced beyond physical splitting? That he can fragment his personality? Create multiple independent bodies, each one a complete individual?"
"Yes," Kuzan confirmed simply. "And if each fragment possesses combat capability comparable to a Marine Admiral—which preliminary assessments suggest—then we're not facing one opponent. We're facing an army of clones, each potentially as dangerous as the original."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Admiral Akainu felt his recently healed injuries begin throbbing. His skull remembered the devastating impact of Haoshoku Haki (Conqueror's Haki) coated attacks—spiritual pressure so overwhelming it bypassed his Logia intangibility entirely. That technique was a natural counter to Devil Fruit users like himself. Fighting one Buggy wielding that ability had been brutal. Fighting multiple simultaneously?
Unwinnable.
"How many negative emotions exist in human psychology?" someone asked quietly.
Kuzan shrugged. "Dozens? Hundreds? Depends on how finely you categorize them. Pride, wrath, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, sloth—those are the classical seven. But anger can be subdivided into rage, irritation, resentment, fury. Lust encompasses desire, obsession, addiction. Each could potentially manifest as a separate entity."
He met Sengoku's eyes directly.
"We have no way of knowing how many clowns exist. Or could exist in the future. The Bara Bara no Mi's potential appears... limitless."
Admiral Akainu's mind was working through tactical implications. "The clown I fought at Rogue Town didn't display obvious personality traits. He seemed... balanced. Calculating but not cold. Confident but not arrogant. Dangerous but controlled."
Realization struck him like a physical blow.
"That was the original. The real Buggy. The others are fragments split off from his psyche, each taking a portion of his personality and amplifying it to extremes."
Kuzan nodded. "That's my working theory. Which means the 'real' Buggy—the one who makes strategic decisions, who commands the crew, who possesses the full scope of his abilities—is somewhere else. The fragments are powerful but specialized. The original is versatile and complete."
Akainu's fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked audibly. He'd been so close at Rogue Town. Had the original Buggy in his sights. One more attack, one decisive blow, and the threat could have been eliminated before metastasizing into this nightmare.
But he'd failed. Buggy had escaped. And the window of opportunity had closed forever.
Damn it.
His gaze shifted toward Admiral Kizaru, who'd been characteristically quiet throughout this discussion. Borsalino lounged in his chair with that perpetual expression of lazy disinterest, apparently unmoved by revelations that had shocked everyone else.
Akainu's jaw tightened further. Kizaru had been the one who'd reinforced him at Rogue Town. Had arrived with his light-speed movement, positioned perfectly to cut off Buggy's escape routes. And had somehow, inexplicably, allowed the target to slip away.
Was that incompetence or deliberate sabotage?
The thought was treasonous. Suspecting a fellow Admiral of being a pirate mole went against everything the Marine represented. But Sakazuki couldn't shake the pattern he'd noticed over years of observation.
Kizaru always seemed to fail at critical moments. Let enemies escape when capture should have been trivial. Arrive late to battles where his presence could have turned the tide. Take lengthy coffee breaks during emergencies.
Individually, each instance could be dismissed as bad luck or timing. But collectively? The pattern suggested something more deliberate.
If Kuzan had reinforced me instead, Akainu thought bitterly, Buggy would be in Impel Down right now. Or dead. Either would be acceptable.
But dwelling on past failures accomplished nothing. The situation was what it was. Multiple Buggys existed or could exist. The original remained at large. And the Marine's resources were stretched too thin to adequately defend all high-value targets.
"We need to prioritize," Sengoku said, returning to practical matters. "Accept that some locations will receive minimal protection. Regional Marine branches will need to handle local threats independently without requesting reinforcements."
Translation: Abandon the periphery to protect the core. Let outlying territories suffer to preserve headquarters, Impel Down, and Sabaody Archipelago.
It was brutal calculus. Civilians in those abandoned regions would face increased pirate activity, higher casualties, reduced security. But the alternative—spreading forces too thin and losing everything—was worse.
"Even landlords run out of surplus grain eventually," Sengoku said with dark humor that didn't reach his eyes. "We're asking the branches to make do with what they have. No additional personnel. No emergency reinforcements. They're on their own."
Around the table, officers nodded grimly. Understanding but not liking the necessity.
The Marine system, which had maintained global order for eight centuries, was contracting. Pulling inward. Preparing for catastrophic losses by surrendering secondary positions preemptively.
This is what decline looks like, Tsuru thought, though she didn't voice it. Powerful but overextended. Knowledgeable but unable to act on that knowledge. Seeing the disaster approaching but lacking the resources to prevent it.
The Sky Screen had been both blessing and curse. It revealed threats—but also revealed how inadequate their forces were to address those threats. Showed the future—but showed a future where they failed despite their best efforts.
Knowledge without power was its own special torture.
"Dismissed," Sengoku said heavily. "Implement the revised deployment schedule immediately. And someone contact Impel Down's administration—inform them Admiral Kuzan will be arriving within the week to assume direct command of security operations."
Officers filed out slowly, their shoulders burdened by more than just their justice coats. Each carried the weight of foreknowledge, of inadequacy, of futures they couldn't prevent.
Only Akainu remained behind, still staring at Admiral Kizaru's empty chair with undisguised suspicion.
One day, he thought darkly, I'm going to find proof. And when I do...
...Borsalino will learn that Absolute Justice applies to Marines too.