The stolen Marine transport sat low in the stagnant waters of the Calm Belt, its dark wooden hull painted with standard Marine insignia. For three days, the vessel had traveled its routine route from Enies Lobby toward Impel Down, carrying grain, salt pork, and ration tins for the guards. It was scheduled to report its final approach by Den Den Mushi at four o'clock that afternoon.
It never made the call.
Two miles off the supply channel, the Red-Haired Pirates had intercepted the vessel under cover of mist. Yasopp shot the communication snail before the operator could reach the relay switch, and Lucky Roux boarded immediately, knocking the deck watch unconscious with swift strikes.
Now, the captured transport rode the glassy sea beside Shanks's main vessel.
In the lower hold of the supply ship, Robin sat at a draft table with requisition orders, signal ledgers, and official clearance seals spread out before her.
"The crew was cooperative once they realized who had boarded," Robin said as Beckman stepped down the ladder. "The captain surrendered the signal book. Cargo check-in is set for four o'clock. If we use their exact recognition flags and clearance code, the gate detail should accept the scheduled delivery and clear us for inspection without raising suspicion."
"And the workers?" Beckman asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.
"Hongo and Limejuice left them on an islet with food and water. A timed distress flare goes up after four-thirty, once we're already committed inside. They can't warn the prison before then."
"Good," Beckman said, scanning the floor plan of Impel Down beside the manifest. "No unnecessary bodies, no premature alarms."
Building Snake stood at the transport's helm, testing the rudder chains. Snake was assigned to pilot the supply ship through the outer channels. Meanwhile, an experienced deckhand held Shanks's main ship on course under Yasopp's direction. Once the disguise failed and the main vessel closed the gap, Snake would cross back by grappling line to retake his proper helm.
Trailing through the haze, Shanks's main vessel followed the supply ship outside the sightline of the guard towers. Yasopp sat high in the maintop rigging, rifle across his knee, scanning for exposed relays or cannons.
In the chartroom of the main ship, Beckman gathered the core group around the table. Giovanni stood beside Shanks, his right arm resting in a tight sling while his left hand pinned down the map's edge.
"We operate under the assumption that Renji is still in Level 3," Beckman said, tapping the section marked Starvation Hell. "Shakky's contacts confirmed his intake there, and we have no reason to believe they've moved him."
"What about the rest of the prison?" Limejuice asked. "If we blow the gates, prisoners in Level 1 and 2 will try to break out."
"We aren't here to start a riot," Beckman said firmly. "We do not indiscriminately open cells. It creates chaos we can't control and risks our retreat. We extract Renji and leave."
Beckman pointed to the harbor layout. "Snake takes the supply ship through. Once exposed inside the harbor, Shanks and Gio lead the vanguard straight down the secondary maintenance shaft toward Level 3. Roux and I take support behind them to secure the stairwell. Limejuice covers Robin and Hongo in the lower corridors. Bonk Punch and Monster hold our retreat route."
He glanced toward the harbor approach. "Yasopp stays high on our ship for overwatch cannons, exposed relays, and anything I call out. If we take anyone else out, Robin verifies them, Hongo handles the injured, and Bonk and Monster get them back to the transport."
"What about Magellan?" Hongo asked, opening a medical kit containing protective coverings, respirators, and antidotes. "His poison isn't something you brush off with Haki. I've prepared for the strains we know. If he produces something different, I can't promise they'll work."
"Then the central infirmary is a secondary objective," Beckman said. "If anyone takes a hit from an unknown compound, Hongo hits their stores for specialized antivenoms."
"And if Headquarters sends an Admiral?" Lucky Roux asked. "Sengoku is Fleet Admiral. Sakazuki, Kuzan, and Borsalino are all active Admirals. We don't know where they are today."
"We plan for Marine reinforcements arriving after we're discovered," Beckman replied. "If we move fast, we hit Level 3 and get out before Marine Headquarters can coordinate a response."
Giovanni stared at the Level 3 mark until his jaw tightened. His left fingers pressed harder into the map, but when Shanks looked over, his expression had already gone still.
"You clear on your role, Gio?" Shanks asked softly.
"I stay with the lead group," Giovanni said steadily. "I don't break formation, and I don't go chasing ghosts down side halls. We stick to the plan."
Shanks clapped a hand onto Giovanni's uninjured left shoulder. "Save your energy for when we find him."
Out on the forward deck, Robin stood beside the railing as the rigging creaked softly in the still Calm Belt air. The looming silhouette of Impel Down took shape through the sea haze. A black iron monolith rising out of the water.
She closed her eyes, practicing the lesson Shanks had given her. She dropped her shoulders, breathing slowly, attempting to let her awareness spread outward.
For a brief moment, she let the faint vibration of the hull settle her breathing. Then Roux's steady presence emerged near the galley, followed by Yasopp's sharp focus high above.
Then her attention shifted toward the prison silhouette.
A sudden wave of fear spiked through her chest. The memory of Ohara burning beneath a Buster Call and CP9 hunting her through Dressrosa, and the crushing reach of the World Government. The realization of what they were about to attack pressed down on her like lead.
Instantly, her concentration shattered. The subtle awareness snapped back into darkness, leaving her cold and breathless as she gripped the railing.
"You're scared," Shanks said, stepping up beside her. "Good. Means you're paying attention. Don't let it make the choices for you. Breathe and try again."
Robin took a deep breath, unclenching her fingers. "It feels like walking into a mouth that's waiting to snap shut."
"Then we'll make sure we break its teeth before it closes," Shanks said quietly.
Before the vessels separated for the final approach, the strike team crossed onto the transport and concealed themselves among its cargo.
By half-past three, the captured transport was riding toward the harbor beneath blue Government flags.
Building Snake stood at the helm, a Marine officer's cap pulled low, his hands steady on the wheel. Down in the hold, Shanks, Giovanni, Beckman, and the strike team waited in total silence among crates of dried meat and grain, checking weapon straps and securing loose gear. Each man kept his breathing measured, adjusting to the slow roll of the vessel as it entered the restricted harbor currents. Inside the hold, every conversation stopped as the fortress swallowed the horizon.
Behind them, trailing two miles back through the haze, Shanks's main ship maintained its position, ready to close the gap the instant Beckman signaled that the disguise had failed.
Ahead, the colossal iron gates of Impel Down towered hundreds of feet over the flat sea.
A guard stepped onto the outer platform and raised a brass megaphone, his voice echoing across the still water.
"Approaching vessel! State your registry and cargo!"
Building Snake reached for the signal lantern.
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