Putting on the combat uniform for the first time was surprisingly easy. Don't be fooled by the "belt" — the entire black jumpsuit was all one piece. The hood and mask were another, and the scarf was, well, just a scarf.
He slotted the earpiece Den Den Mushi into the headphones and pulled them on over his sunglasses.
Not really my style, but okay, Judge, go off. The ascot is a nice touch.
The mental image of Judge agonizing over fashion choices with that abomination of a mustache nearly made him burst out laughing. He bit his lip to keep it in.
After suiting up, they each grabbed their rifles from the chest. Standard issue — and mandatory to carry while in uniform.
Snapping into formation, they marched behind their drill sergeant toward the town.
It was structured in concentric circles. The outermost ring was sloping meadow and sparse trees. Just inside were hovels and shacks, worn down and crooked. Further in, a residential district with average two-story homes and narrow alleys. Past that was a cramped market zone, tightly packed with stalls, tarps, crates, and awnings. Finally, at the heart of the town, stood the upper class district — clean streets, faux-marble buildings, and manicured gardens.
"Recruits!" As always, the drill sergeant's bark dragged him out of his musings.
"Today you will be split into two groups. Defenders and attackers."
They split down the middle into two teams of twenty. 427 ended up with 341 and a bunch of other "good comrades." They swapped out their guns for… guns?
Probably paintballs. Hopefully.
"Defenders! You get ten minutes. Go!"
Not one for elaborate talks, is he? 427 thought, wryly.
Honestly, if he had to equate the clones to something, it would be ants. Without an actual commander giving them orders, they all just took off blindly into the town. There was no concept of teamwork, and no one stepped up to make a plan.
He had no plans to take that mantle either. A clone telling other clones what to do? That would probably get him a one-way trip to the meat grinder.
Luckily for him, 341 stayed behind.
"Let's move," he stated, as succinct as ever.
The town's realism was stunning. The hovels genuinely looked disgusting. Murky water dripped between worn cobblestones, each one coated in a thick layer of grime and mud.
As they pushed further in, the residential district came into view. They hadn't run into any clones yet, which meant the others were digging in deeper.
Jogging through the town, 427 spotted cameras plastered everywhere. Every alley, every angle, was in view.
1984 had nothing on this level of surveillance.
They finally ran into the others at the market level. He clearly hadn't given them the proper credit. They were instinctually cutting off narrow alleyways with rubble, forming chokepoints into the upper class district.
They really are like ants. Building the optimal structures despite, on an individual level, not having any clue what they were doing.
"I will be acquiring the high ground."
Ok Obi-Wan.
With a nod of understanding from 427, 341 took off, scaling the large, posh building like a cat. Now, it was his turn to figure out what to do.
Honestly, if this wasn't being recorded, he would hide in a hovel, and then come out when the attackers had passed. Using his team as bait might sound messed up, but realistically?
They'd probably do the same thing - if they were capable of thinking it up.
That was off the table now that people were watching him. He might just plop himself down in a chokepoint and practice being in an actual firefight. After all, it's not like their lives were on the line.
Right?
He took position behind a stone pillar - part of a wrought iron fence - and pointed his gun at the entryway. There wasn't any need to prepare an immediate reload. Guns in the One Piece world were capable of shooting multiple times, despite appearing to be flintlocks.
I don't even want to think about what kind of eldritch science makes that possible.
A horn blared, making 427 almost pull the trigger. An eerie silence settled over the town. Not a single clone made any noise. The only thing he could hear was his breathing, and the thudding of his heartbeat.
Damn it, I have to take a piss.
Wrestling down the urge, he centered the iron sights of the rifle onto the entryway. They looked like a pokeball, with the front sight making the dot in the middle. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. He focused solely on the sights, ready to shoot whoever walked through that corridor.
These are paintballs right?
Before he got the chance to ponder it any further, a flash of movement at the end of his sights almost made him pull the trigger. He didn't. He recognized it as one of the ingrained tactics the clones had.
Sure enough, a cloth tied to a stick was fluttering in the alleyway. Unfortunately, the other clones weren't great at considering how their tactics might be used against them. With a crack, a few holes appeared in the cloth. 427's eyes bulged, and his jaw dropped.
ARE THESE NOT PAINTBALLS?
His heart rate spiked. Adrenaline flooded through his veins, making his hands shake. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.
No, that doesn't make sense. But that definitely didn't look harmless. What if they do a survival of the fittest sort of thing?
I'm cooked. I'm absolutely cooked.
He was lucky he hadn't fired. The attackers were much smarter than he gave them credit for. A few of them returned fire from a rooftop, at the defenders who had exposed their locations.
It was a chilling wake up call. He had focused so hard on his sights, that he didn't even take other factors into account.
He didn't move. The angle he was holding against the pillar protected him from their sight.
If his guess was right, the clones swinging the t-shirt stick would use the cover fire to push up.
Right about… now!
He was right, and a clone stepped out right as he pulled the trigger. A sharp crack echoed through the air, as the clone went reeling back, collapsing.
Is… is he dead?
He didn't exactly care if the clone was dead, but if he was, the stakes just got a hell of a lot higher. He locked his vision onto the clone, not wavering. To his immense relief, the clone rolled onto its side, in a fetal position.
Thank God.
The clone was definitely concussed, but that was infinitely better than his head turning into a donut.
Turning his attention back to the corridor, he refocused his sights. Surprisingly, seeing their teammate get domed made it less likely for the rest to follow him out! Who would have thought?
If only he could move to another position. They definitely knew where he was, but he wanted guaranteed cover fire. He was pretty sure his teammates were down, and judging from the sporadic popping of the gunfire, the other entryways were under siege too.
I need to contact 341 and ask him to cover me… wait…
Listening closely, he heard a faint noise. It sounded almost like…
"Zzzzzz… zzzzzz..."
Is this asshole sleeping?
His earpiece den den mushi was hitching a free ride and napping in the middle of this situation?
Honestly, that isn't really fair to it. What's it supposed to do? Shoot at the attackers?
He rapped on his headphones.
"Zzzz-snork.. Mrawwp?"
"Gary, put me through to 341." He hoped the snails didn't require him to add a "contact" to his list before calling. Luckily for him, judging from the ringing, it seemed to be working.
"Purupurpurpuru… purupurupurupuru… Gacha."
"Uhhh… 341?" It wasn't that he hadn't used a phone before, but the sheer surrealness of talking to someone through a snail was finally hitting him.
"Yes?" A dry response arrived immediately.
Wow, it really does mimic voices perfectly. Are these things intelligent?
"I'm about to relocate my position. Can you lay down some cover fire in case they pop out while I move?"
"Ok." Good ol' reliable 341.
Taking a breath, he turned around, facing away from the entrance. Just like a CS:GO match- the moment he took his eyes off the corridor, an enemy appeared. Luckily for him, 341 was on the job, concussing the clone immediately.
427 sprinted to another pillar, out of sight from the corridor and closer to the rooftop where the enemy had a vantage point.
About halfway across, the clones noticed what he was trying to do, and started spraying fire at him. He felt like he was straight out of Dunkirk for all of a glorious three seconds, until he got hit in the ribs and felt one crack.
Muffling down the scream, he slid behind the target. The adrenaline dulled the pain, so he rolled to the side and lay down some return fire.
An instant drop on the first shot, with the second and third going wide. Honestly, compared to the target practice at the range, he was doing way better than he expected. Just in time, he ducked behind the pillar. The stone splintering behind him justified his decision.
He put a hand over his ribs, which were starting to throb with a fiery pain.
Better now than in an actual fight. But damn does this hurt.
"Hehehehe…" He chuckled to himself weakly just in case there was a microphone hidden somewhere. You never knew with freaks like Judge.
Wait, am I still on call?
"341, you there?" He asked tentatively.
"...Yes." The tone of the response was bizarre. The pain wasn't exactly conducive to deconstructing social nuances, so he cast it out of his mind.
"Mind helping me with these two?"
"Roger."
Getting fancy, are we?
The distant pop of his suppressive fire echoed through the ghost town.
"One down. Another had his gun broken."
"Are you sure?" He had an idea forming in his head that he sure as shit wasn't going to say out loud, because he knew 341 would call him stupid.
"I'm sure."
"Good." And with that, he slung his gun across his back, and charged towards the building. It sounded stupid, but it was a very carefully thought out decision, at least he thought so. He wanted to fight while in pain, so he could push through it in the future.
Scaling the wall, though not as agilely as 341, he paused just before climbing up the ledge.
There's no way he didn't see me running over here.
He slowly climbed to the left, rotating around to the western face of the building.
"I did not expect you to realize the threat of going straight up," said 341.
Wait, why didn't this asshole say anything?
"A heads up would have been nice?" 427 stated incredulously.
"..."
"Gacha"
That dumbass just hung up on me!
Pulling himself over the ledge, he immediately sprinted towards the other clone. Despite expecting him to come up the front, the other clone adapted remarkably quickly, spinning towards him.
He didn't, however, adapt fast enough to the double drop kick, which landed with a satisfying crunch. The way his eyes bulged out almost made 427 believe he was entering gear five.
The kick pushed the clone way further than 427 was expecting, sending him flying off the roof.
I meant to do that.
Scrambling up to his feet afterwards, his burning ribs clearly told him how stupid he was. Yet, he didn't regret it. Fights at the higher levels of the One Piece world would go on for literal hours, if not longer.
Didn't Akainu and Aokiji literally fight for ten days?
Pushing through the pain would be an essential skill.
If I ever reach that point at all.
Not only that, he didn't want to get in the habit of avoiding pain. He was lazy. He knew that. Beating the pain into him now would make sure he didn't fall into the groove of the easy path.
The blaring of a horn snapped him out of his musings.
"Defenders win." The drill sergeant's voice echoed out of hidden speakers.
"Go to a medic if you're injured." With a screech and a click, he disconnected from the intercom.
Damn, they don't even take you if you're concussed or crippled? It was to be expected, and yet surprising at the same time.
Climbing down from the building, he saw the clone he had kicked staggering up to it's feet. It looked at him with a blank expression. He looked back.
What do I even say? Sorry? No, that's stupid.
"Pretty fun, right?"
I am such an idiot.
Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly now that he thought about it, the clone smiled at that and opened his mouth to respond. He didn't actually respond though, as he was busy hacking blood out of his lungs.
427 looked at him for a moment, before spinning on his heels to leave. He did feel bad about hurting the clone, but realistically helping it now would just be placing a massive target on his back.
Walking out of the town while clutching his chest, he spotted a row of scientists with various bandages and medical equipment. He walked over to one, who gestured for him to open the top of his black onesie without saying anything. As his chest was being bandaged, the drill sergeant walked up to him.
"Good work out there, recruit." 427 looked blankly back at him. This was his first time hearing the man speak at less than 90 decibels. He snapped out of it and responded with a safe choice.
"Glory to Germa!" The drill sergeant looked at him for a moment, the sunglasses and mask giving nothing away. The moment dragged on, before a response came.
"Good." With that, he walked away.
What was that about?
"You should be healed by tomorrow morning. Take these with lunch and dinner." The scientist interrupted his confusion with the abrupt statement, then handed him a pill bottle of what looked like… calcium supplements?
I mean, I guess it makes sense if Brook can just drink milk to heal his bones.
Wandering off towards the dining hall, he grabbed lunch and popped the chalky pills. The day passed pretty normally for him. Just a casual, searingly painful workout, and then dinner.
He hit the bed with a lot to think about, but overall satisfied with his progress.
Most importantly, he was excited for tomorrow: special weapons training.