The Black Pearl kept its distance.
From a distance, she was nothing more than a dark shape against the sea, her sails lowered just enough to drift, her hull angled to blend with the glare of sunlight on water. Jack stood at the railing, hat tipped low, eyes fixed on the island ahead.
Marine warships surrounded it.
Dozens of them.
They moved with frightening discipline, sliding into position like pieces on a board that only one side was allowed to understand. Lines tightened. Gaps vanished. Escape routes closed.
Jack whistled softly. "That's a lot of ships."
Gibbs nodded grimly. "Too many."
Pintel leaned forward, squinting. "Is there a famous pirate on that island or something?"
Jack glanced sideways. "That's a good question."
He looked at Gibbs. "Is there?"
Gibbs shook his head. "No. Ohara isn't known for pirates."
Ragetti frowned. "Then what's it known for?"
"Knowledge," Gibbs said.
The word hung in the air.
Pintel blinked. "Knowledge?"
"Yes," Gibbs continued, eyes never leaving the island. "Books. Scholars. Researchers. Historians. Ohara's famous for its libraries. People go there to learn."
Pintel nodded slowly.
Ragetti nodded too.
They both stared blankly.
Jack tilted his head. "Right. So… lots of words."
"Yes," Gibbs said dryly. "Lots of words."
Pintel scratched his head. "Why would anyone need that many?"
Jack raised a finger. "Important question."
Gibbs ignored them. "It's an island respected by the World Government. At least officially. It's been around forever."
Jack absorbed that. He didn't understand half of it, but a few words stuck: respected, knowledge, World Government.
He looked back at the warships. "Then why are the Marines surrounding it?"
Gibbs opened his mouth to answer.
The sea boomed.
The sound rolled across the water, deep and thunderous, not like a storm but like something breaking on purpose. The crew turned as one.
A flash lit the horizon.
Then another.
Then dozens more.
Marine warships fired.
Cannonballs streaked toward Ohara like falling stars, smashing into the island with merciless precision. Explosions rippled across the shoreline, climbing inward, tearing through structures that had stood for years.
The ground shook even from this distance.
Pintel's mouth fell open. "They're… firing on it."
Ragetti whispered, "That's not warning shots."
Gibbs' eyes widened in horror.
"…No," he breathed. "No, no, no."
Jack stared, the smile gone from his face. "Gibbs."
Gibbs swallowed hard. "That's a Buster Call."
The words sounded heavy, final.
"What's that?" Pintel asked quietly.
Gibbs didn't look away from the island. "A Buster Call is the World Government's ultimate show of force. When they decide something must be erased. An island. Its people. Its history."
Ragetti's voice trembled. "Erased?"
"They send the full might of the Marines," Gibbs continued. "Vice Admirals. Entire fleets. They don't negotiate. They don't stop. They don't care who's there."
Another barrage hit Ohara. Smoke billowed upward, dark and choking.
Jack felt something twist in his gut. "You're saying they're flattening it. Completely."
"Yes."
Pintel shook his head. "No. They must have evacuated everyone first. They wouldn't—"
A fresh explosion tore through the heart of the island.
"They wouldn't kill civilians," Pintel finished weakly. "Right?"
Gibbs' jaw tightened.
He remembered promises made and never kept. Marines who smiled while lying. Men in uniform who talked about justice and left families in ashes.
"They're not saints," Gibbs said quietly. "They're not heroes. They're fucking bastards when they want to be."
Silence fell over the deck as Ohara burned.
The display of firepower was overwhelming. Entire sections of the island vanished under coordinated bombardment. It was execution.
Ragetti hugged himself. "This is wrong."
Jack said nothing. He watched the smoke rise, watched years of words turn to rubble in minutes.
Then Ragetti stiffened.
"Captain," he said urgently. "One ship moved."
Jack's eyes snapped to the formation.
A Marine warship had broken away.
It was turning.
Toward them.
"Damn it," Gibbs hissed. "They noticed us."
Jack didn't hesitate. "Retreat. Now."
The Black Pearl shifted course instantly, sails adjusting, hull sliding sideways with uncanny grace. She pulled back, slipping away before the Marine ship could close the distance.
No shots followed.
After a tense stretch, the Marine ship slowed, then turned back to rejoin the formation.
They were safe. For now.
Smoke still rose from Ohara in the distance, a dark wound against the sky.
No one spoke for a long time.
The Pearl drifted further away, the thunder of cannons fading into a dull, sickening echo. The crew stood scattered across the deck, each lost in their own thoughts.
Jack rested his hands on the railing, knuckles white.
Then the ship jolted.
A soft thud against the hull.
Pintel blinked. "Did we hit something?"
Ragetti hurried to the edge and leaned over. "There's… a boat."
Jack stepped closer.
A small boat bobbed alongside the Pearl, paint scorched, wood cracked. It had collided gently, as if guided by exhaustion rather than intent.
In it sat a child.
A girl. Not older than eight.
She looked up at them with wide, terrified eyes, face smudged with soot, hands clenched around the edge of the boat as if letting go meant falling into the sea—or worse.
Four pirates stared down at her.