(P.O.V. Past)

"MOM!"

I've spent my entire life here.

I...

I can't let him win!

I watch my mother fall to the floor, and I see red.

"BASTARD!" The foul words rips out of my seven year old throat.

I snatch up a kitchen knife from the floor and charge.

"You don't give up do you?"

A scowl, even as he picked himself back up.

"Never! What you're doing here is wrong!"

A frown.

"You don't even care what happens here. So your mom's dead. What does it matter to you?"

He stands up, whipes the blood away from his chin, eyes glinting with determination.

"I HATE YOU!"

He places one hand on the blade

"Then die, brat."

Pain explodes everywhere.

(Later)

"Wake up." Grunts a man's voice.

Air rushes back to his lungs, and he vomits water.

"Gah!"

His moment of conciousness is brief, he passes under again.

(Night)

He comes to once more.

A voice, then what looks like a blue pinneaple is thrust at him.

"Here. Eat this."

He takes it without hesitation, whoofs it down-

And wishes he hadn't, as pain overtakes him, writhing about in raw agony.

"What the hell?"

A dark chuckle.

"A cursed fruit. Enjoy it, boy."

(Years later Present day Alabasta)

She hated what she had been. She hated what she had become. And as she slid on the armband, fingers lightly dancing over the raised BW logo, she realized she hated where she was going. She held herself calm and collected as the bile rose in her throat. Weakness was an enemy and she would never let them see anything of her but her best. She turns and gives him a smile as she casually finishes lacing her top. As she steps into her boots, she tries not to lace them faster than what is appropriate.

And perhaps, she only walks a little too fast out of the room. Years ago she learned not to expect anything and be ready for everything. She doesn't meet his eyes as she passes him. Even as he sits half resting against the headboard of the bed, sweat drying on his chest, she doesn't grace him with even the slightest of smiles. Even as he nonchanlantly takes a pull of toxins from his cigar and breathes it over at her, she does not wrinkle her nose or give him any indication that she is even aware of his presence. His laughter following after her tells her that he owns her body and life. That she can only achieve her goals through him. She closes her eyes, fighting the bile rising in her throat.

She has killed without hesitation. She knows it is kill or be killed. She tries not to think about what her victim's family is like. She tries not to think about their wife, their children or anything else. She knows it is better to see them as nameless and faceless. She thinks, perhaps, that is why she finds some comfort in being a Baroque Works member. Here they have no names, most are only numbers. Others are just days. She never has to shed a tear for any fallen comrade because they are just numbers. And numbers are faceless and meaningless. So when she is ordered to murder her own underlings, she is able to do it without blinking an eye. She kills without hesitation because she knows when to kill and when to let them live.

Long ago, she had realized that all the heroes had died. She has given up on any fantasies of a prince riding in on a white horse to sweep her off her feet. She doesn't believe in happily ever afters. As she crosses her arms and mutters out her mantra, she almost feels sorry for the poor bastard's neck she snaps. But the feeling is fleeting and barely there, because there are also no gods. There is no heaven and hell. There was only the here and now. And yet when he appears with his goofy grin and straw hat, she can't help but hold a shard of hope deep within her breast. She doesn't know why she pulls him back out of his deep grave in the stone. Perhaps it was his determination. Yet something deep within her tells it might be something else.

But she has given up on heroes and walks away.

She has never had a more intense desire to die than now. Now with his hook through her chest, she believes that death would be most welcomed. She smiles in a slight sadistic way as he flings her away. Tossing her aside like a piece of trash, as if she had not stood by his side for years, helping him build his empire. She leans casually against the secret room's wall. letting death's icy cold fingers dance over her body. It is now that she realizes, she has yearned for death for a long time. Fleeting, she wonders if she will be crushed by the rocks before she bleeds to death-

BOOM!

A loud explosion shakes the room now.

A snarl.

"You!"

Her own sea blue green eyes go wide, as she mistakes him for the strawhated boye.

Could he really be foolish to come back?

A calm laugh, as the intruder takes a drag from his own cigar, and lets it fall to the ground.

"I've finally found you, Mr. Zero, or should I say...Crocodile."

But it is not him, as blond hair reflects in the light, hanging over one cerulean eye, the light reflecting off his whiskered cheeks.

She stiffens, as a whie Navy cape billows in the wind, and the figure wears the attire of one of the highest branches of the sea army.

Over his right eye hangs an eyepatch, connected by several strings, that hold it to his face.

At his back hangs a massive cleaver.

Crocodile seems wary as well.

"You...You're not that straw hat kid, are you?"

The sandy atmosphere thickens becoming hot and humid.

"No. I'm much worse."

"So, you're from the navy, huh?"

The man gives a nod.

"You're assumption is correct."

"What do you want?" Hisses the evil man. "Surely you didn't come here to mince words."

"I've come to take you in, and the bounty on your head." States the nameless figure, stalking forward as the shadows begin to deepen. "You can either surrender or die."

Crocodile laughs aloud.

"So, you Navy idiots finally figured me out huh?"

A wicked grin crosses his pale face.

"You never should have some here."

He pounces!

The attack is caught by the massive blade.

"I suggest you surrender." States the figure, not a trace of effort shown upon his face, even as the ground quakes beneath their feet.

"Surrender? I'm about to create a Utopia! Why would I surrender to you?"

A faint smile.

"Then I shall give my superiors your corpse."

He turns to fog, becoming one with the mist that has suddenly enveloped this crumbling chamber.

"Tell me, can you kill what you cannot see?"

"Cheap tricks."

A laugh, and suddenly he is behind the hooked man.

"Tricks you say?"

Crocodile feels steel against his back, tries to turn into sand-

But is unable to do so, and the cold blade rakes across his back briefly, before he can spring away.

"What? How did you-

A chuckle.

"I've partaken of the cursed fruit. The Mist Mist fruit to be exact."

He turns his arms into steam for emphasis, still clutching the giant cleaver.

Crocodile stares at him in disbelief.

"Still don't believe me?" Sighs the blond, somewhat annoyed."Perhaps a demonstration is in order?"

Again, the man turns to mist.

Crocodile braces himself, but in the fog, cannot see where the next attack will come from.

A hard right hook rocks his face, then another and another, as if the very air itself is striking him from all angles.

"I'm water. Your ultimate weakness." The voice echoes from all angles, mocking him as he is hit from all sides.

"C-Curse you!" The wicked man growls.

"I shall give your recorded confession to my superiors."

"D-Damn it!"

"Fog of Fate."

Crocodile is suddenly stabbed from all sides, blades impaling his body at every angle.

The blades are removed, allowing the lifeless corpse to slump over.

Dead.

The fog returns into the man, giving him shape again.

He walks over to her.

"Let me die...She murmurs.

He shakes his head.

"No. You are not meant to die here, Nico Robin."

Her faces blanks for a moment, but then twists into rage upon the mention of her name.

She slaps his hand away, but still he grabs her by the waist, slinging her over the shoulder, as the catacomb begins to crumble, and dragging Crocodile's body with them.

"I'd rather die than go to prison!"

"If you confess to your crimes, I will clear you of all charges." He states simply, pulling her along, ignoring the giant shards of stone falling around them.

Indignation twists her face.

Confess? She has nothing to confess for!

She was just trying to stay alive!

"And how do you intend to do that?"

He flashes her a toothy grin.

"I have... connections."

She cannot help her curiosity.

"What's your name?"

"Will you confess?"

Like any navy officer, he holds the cards close to his chest, she muses to herself.

"Your name for a confession, hmm?"

"If that is what it takes."

She sighs, as they emerge into daylight, it is blindingly bright.

"I'm going to live either way, aren't I?" This comes out as a groan as he sets her down, but binds her hand to his in a handcuff.

"Yes. And if you use your cursed fruit powers upon me, I cannot guarantee you immunity."

"Why are you so interested in saving me?"

"I have my reasons."

'I'm not going to ge any answers from him until I 'confess'...She realizes.

"Very well. I confess."

"My name is...

He looks over his shoulder, so he can meet her eyes.

"Uzumaki Naruto."