Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
Somewhere outside the tavern, a cricket chirped.
Then another.
Inside, every single eye was locked onto Jack Sparrow.
He stood atop a scarred wooden table, one boot planted slightly higher than the other, swaying just enough to suggest drunkenness. A bottle of rum dangled loosely from one hand. His hat sat crooked, his hair wild, his grin lazy.
Fear flickered across a few faces. Surprise across many more. And in the eyes of the seasoned drinkers—the veterans of bad decisions and worse outcomes—there was a familiar look.
Ah.
Another drunk pirate about to die loudly.
Gibbs reacted first.
He surged forward, grabbed Jack by the coat, and yanked him down off the table with a hissed curse. Jack landed on the bench beside him with a soft thump, miraculously not spilling the rum.
"Are you insane?" Gibbs whispered harshly, eyes darting around the tavern. "Do you even realize what you just said?"
Jack took a slow sip, savoring it. "Yes."
"No, you don't," Gibbs snapped. "You just declared rebellion in a kingdom ruled by a tyrant who taxes breathing."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. That."
Gibbs stared at him like he was reassessing every moment of his life that had led him here. "You're drunk."
"Correct."
"And you're still talking about rebellion."
Jack leaned closer, lowering his voice—but there was something oddly clear about it now. "Do you remember that Dragon fellow?"
Gibbs blinked. "The one from Ohara?"
"Yes," Jack said. "Tall. Intense. Talks about freedom like it owes him money."
Gibbs hesitated. "…Yes?"
"He fights oppressive regimes, right?"
Gibbs nodded slowly. "That's what he said."
Jack straightened, swaying slightly, then steadied himself with one hand on the table. "Then why shouldn't we?"
Gibbs opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Pintel leaned over from the side, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Fight who?"
"The evil king," Jack declared loudly.
"Omar?" Pintel asked.
"Roma," Gibbs corrected automatically.
Jack waved his hand dismissively. "Same thing. All tyrants blur together after the third drink."
Before Gibbs could stop him, Jack climbed back onto the table—this time with more balance than before—and turned toward the bartender.
"You," Jack said, pointing dramatically. "Spread the word."
The bartender's face drained of color so fast it was almost impressive.
Jack raised his voice.
This time, it carried.
"People of Tapu Island," he said, stepping forward. "How long will you bow your heads?"
No one spoke. Chairs creaked. Someone swallowed loudly.
"How long will you count coins just to exist?" Jack continued. "How long will you live quietly while men with polished boots take your food, your homes, your families—your air?"
A ripple moved through the room. Uneasy. Uncomfortable.
"They tell you this is order," Jack went on. "They tell you this is law. But law that crushes people isn't law. It's theft wearing a crown."
Something shifted.
Jack's voice grew steadier, stronger, cutting through the stale air and smoke.
"You don't need permission to live," he said. "You don't need approval to breathe. And you certainly don't need a king who swims in gold while you drown in debt."
He lifted the bottle, letting the rum slosh inside.
"So I say this," Jack declared. "Rise. Rebel. Roar."
The words hung in the air.
A single clap echoed.
Everyone turned.
A man stood near the back of the tavern—lean, scarred, eyes burning with something old and painful. He clapped again, slower this time.
"My name's Jester," he said. "I wasn't born a pirate."
Jack met his gaze.
"King Roma's guards killed my family," Jester continued. "Breathing fees. Couldn't pay. They laughed while they did it."
The tavern felt colder.
Jack nodded once. "My condolences."
Gibbs stared at Jack. He had never heard that tone from him before. No joke, only sincerity.
Jack looked around the room. "Anyone else?"
No one spoke.
But no one laughed.
Jack stepped down from the table and turned back to Gibbs and Pintel. "Come on."
Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're serious."
"Yes."
"…Of course you are."
Jack paused, then added, "Also, take another bottle of rum."
Pintel grinned and grabbed one immediately.
They stepped out into the street.
Jack walked three steps, stopped, and turned back. "Jester."
"Yes?"
"Where's the royal palace?"
Jester pointed. "Past the wall."
Jack nodded. "Excellent."
Behind them, the bartender fainted.
The streets were eerily empty as they moved deeper into the city. Gold-lined buildings loomed on either side, windows shuttered tight. Jack's boots echoed too loudly against the stone.
Then he saw it.
The wall.
Massive stone, tall enough to blot out the stars. At its center stood a heavy gate—and two royal guards, yawning, bored, leaning on spears.
When they spotted Jack, their eyes lit up.
"Well," one guard said, grinning. "Look at that."
"A drunk pirate," the other added. "Handsome, though."
Jack stopped in front of them. "Where is the royal palace?"
The guards blinked.
"The other side," one said. "But no one's allowed through. Especially pirates."
"I'm not a pirate," Jack said calmly. "I'm a man fighting for freedom."
The guards stared.
"…What?"
"It's way too complex for your little brains. I need to kill your King, now let me through."
Jack stepped forward.
A hand shoved him back.
Gibbs caught him instinctively.
Jack pointed dramatically. "Gibbs! Shoot them! They hurt your captain!"
Gibbs froze. Then sighed.
"Apologies," Gibbs said to the guards. "He's drunk."
The guards smirked. "Since we touched filthy pirates," one said, "we demand compensation."
"How much?" Gibbs asked warily.
"One hundred thousand berries."
Gibbs' mouth fell open.
Jack's eyes sharpened.
He drew his sword in one smooth motion.
The guards didn't even have time to scream.
Steel flashed.
Both men slid apart at the waist.
For a heartbeat, they didn't understand what had happened.
Then they could see their legs and realized what happened.
Gibbs stared in horror.
Jack wiped the blade clean. "They should pay me for touching me."
He stepped over the bodies and pushed open the gate.
Gibbs swallowed hard.
"…We're really doing this."
Pintel raised the rum bottle. "To freedom?"
Jack grinned, eyes gleaming under the torchlight.
"To freedom."