2/2

And before she had any time to protest, he jammed the syringe into the heel of her foot. A garbled, choked cry wrangled itself out of Sophie's throat as electricity shot through her leg, so fierce it felt like death.

"Good. I can at least cut off your poisoned foot and run some tests on it, after you die." He calmly assessed her desperate gasps for air, like how someone might inspect a dying bug under a microscope. "It's been nice knowing you, Miss…?"

"Go get e-eaten by a Sea K-King," she panted, glaring unfocusedly at the three blurring heads of Trafalgar Law.

He just laughed and kicked the door shut behind him, lock snapping in place.

Finally alone, Sophie screamed. She threw her all her weight against the restraints, pushing, straining, overcome with desperation. Her head pounded like someone was punching her repeatedly in the face, but her mind was going haywire. Parathion metabolizes to paraoxon, oxidases replaces sulfur with oxygen, first exposure symptoms: nausea, poor vision, muscle spasms; final symptoms: respiratory arrest, death.

Gaah, she took classes on this! Didn't she have to dislocate her thumbs? Or maybe those were for handcuffs… oh, of all the classes to sleep through… She squeezed her eyes shut and finally managed to yank her other wrist from the bonds… so now she had two hands flopping uselessly next to her legs.

"P-p-pineapples!"

Her eyes flickered over to the tray with all the scalpels on it. It was near—really near.

She stretched her fingers out, urgently straining for the end of a scalpel that was scant millimeters out of her reach. "Come on… please, please, please…"

With a hiss of triumph, she grasped the blade—a line of red appearing on her palm—and flipped it around her shaking fingers so she gripped the handle. Sophie pressed sharp metal to leather and started sawing. If she could just cut through the restraint on her forearms, then she could unbuckle the rest with no difficulty. Her teeth dragged on her bottom lip.

One minute… pineapples, the leather wasn't cutting easily…

Two minutes… faint explosions boomed against the ship…the pirate might be coming back soon…

Three…

Finally, Sophie fell over the side of the table and attacked the floor with her face. She crawled over to the medical cabinets—which were locked, what brilliance—raised herself to her knees, and smashed her fists through the glass.

Her eyes bugged.

"Holy m-m-mangos, you could knock out a whale with all these drugs!"

Right. She was currently dying of parathion poisoning. This was not the time. Think, Sophie, think, parathion was a chemical weapon, she'd worked on it before and even recommended autoinjectors of the cure to be carried by the marines… and the cure was… was…

…Atropine! Of course! Even an idiot's gotta have some in his ship!

She plunged her hands in and grabbed a fistful of white bottles. Her vision swam—oh fudgeapples. Sophie leaned over and loudly emptied her stomach of the contents she had ingested earlier that morning, which basically consisted of seawater and greyish bits of expired potato. Sophie sunk on all fours, wheezing and fumbling through the bottles.

Atropine.

Her nose was less than an inch above the neat label. Atropine, one hundred milligrams a pill. Snatching the bottle up with shaking hands, she twisted the cap open and popped two pills in her mouth.

Sophie slumped against wall, gripping her trembling hands together, eyes shut.

She sat there for some time, mentally reciting all the elements on the periodic table, and when that was done, their atomic symbols, and when that was done, their atomic weight. Slowly, little by little, she found it in her to stand back up. But she wasn't out of danger yet; her foot was numb, chances of paralysis high if she didn't get the poison in it drained. And excess atropine was toxic; she couldn't rely on that…

Sophie heard distant shouts, the sounds of battle, eerily reminiscent of Vira. Good, she thought vindictively. She hoped that rotten plum got his leg blown off.

Gritting her teeth, Sophie hopped over to the desk, where (she started laughing, because she was getting hysterical at this point) all her dirty clothes had been neatly folded—unmentionables included. Didn't that mean…? Not the time, she chided herself as she changed into her Marine uniform and wrapped her foot tightly with bandages to make it easier to walk on. For precaution's sake, she also stuck the scalpel in her pocket.

Now what to do about that locked door…

A thrown desk, two flying chairs, and multiple attacks with a surgeon's saw later, Sophie belatedly realized that, no, unlike the books she's read, this was not enough to break out of a steel door.

You fail at life, said an extremely nasty voice in her head.

"I'm kind of new to this," Sophie hissed under her breath, eyes narrowed and twitchy. Great. Now what was she going to do?

She started pulling open cabinets and overturning drawers. There had to be something she could work with in one of those medicine bottles.

Think, think, think thinkthinkthink what sort of medicine would a doctor carry that could bust open a steel door… alkaline metals? No, definitely impossible—nitrocellulose? Acetone peroxide? Raw sodium? Would he have any of those? Think, Sophie, think—you spent your whole life blowing things up for fun! Nitroglycerin, ethanol… wait a minute… ethanol…

Five minutes later, she set a roll of tape, a jar (she had to dump out an eyeball), and two bottles of isopropyl rubbing alcohol on the operating table. The latter was used as an antiseptic, but it also had over seventy percent of pure, concentrated ethanol. When she finished pouring, the jar was cheerfully swishing with medicine/flammable fluid and taped to the steel door. Now she needed fire.

…Oh, as if things would ever be that convenient.

She had no way of making a spark, and besides, with all these drugs in the room, she would bet a tooth that the psycho doctor fireproofed everything.

Sophie sat down heavily on the operating table. She was so, so close… but this was it. She really was going to die on a pirate ship. Though, in all honestly, the revelation of her dying place wasn't as depressing as her next thought: she was going to die without a last smoke.

If things were going the way Sophie imagined in her mind, she would have busted out of that door ages ago, contacted Hippo, boarded one of those Marine battleships while making immature faces at Trafawhatever and the rest of his evil, pox-marked crew as they were send to the brig, reached into her pocket like so, and a beautiful box of cigarettes would appear in one hand, her favorite lighter in the other, and she'd give herself a celebratory smoke…

Sophie blinked down at her hand, which clenched said favorite lighter.

"And next, one hundred million beli will appear!" she said loudly. Nothing happened. "Okay, so I don't have magic powers…"

She hopped off the table. Right, back at Vira…

(He ignored her, and she remembered at the last moment to grab her lighter and stick it in her pocket before stumbling out.)

That brief moment of giving into her addiction had saved her!

"I love you," Sophie murmured reverently, and kissed the lighter.

Revitalized, she vehemently ripped off a long piece of cloth from her ex-hospital gown (it rather stress-reducing) and twisted it, then soaked it in rubbing alcohol and plugged up the jar. The heat and pressure combined would hopefully make the alcohol burst into flames and explode.

She flicked the lighter. A tiny flame cheerfully burst into life, greeting Sophie with the sweet smell of smoke. She waved her ring finger over it, relishing the sizzle as yet another burn mark was added to the generous repertoire of scars on her hands.

Any last words? the mean, nasally voice in her head asked.

"Shut up," Sophie said serenely, "and let's just enjoy the music."

She lit the makeshift wick and leaped to the ground.

Seconds later, a bang and an explosion of air swept through the room. Bottles and scalpels and glass crashed onto the floor, but it wasn't as loud as she expected… or was used to. Sophie uncovered her head. Through the haze, she examined what once was a perfectly sterilized operating room.

…Trafalgar Law was not going to be a happy doctor.

The steel door swayed a little, barely torn off one hinge. But that was enough for Sophie to wiggle through.

"Nicotine, oh nicotine, how I've missed you so," she sighed.

She peeked at the peculiar metal pipes that lined the walls—man, this was a weird ship. Shrugging, Sophie stuffed the lighter in her pocket with the scalpel and slipped away. A few seconds later, she sneaked back into the room, turned the IV drip so it was parallel to the other machines, and bolted off again.

—

She couldn't move.

Sophie wasn't blocked by the evil doctor, or any of his evil, pillaging minions, no. She wasn't stopped by a Sea King, or a row of spikes threatening to shred her skin to pieces.

There was… a mud stain.

A mud stain on the floor, with a turned-over bucket of water and a wet mop beside it, clearly having been abandoned when the alarm rang out. But that wasn't the point. The point was: it was a huge, ugly lump of mud. Whoever had been cleaning this filthy hunk of metal should be forced to walk the plank! Or, you know, at least fired! What a disgrace! What an absolute ignominy! Even Sophie felt pity and embarrassment for this poor—

No.

Sophie forced her face forward. In her rather short time spent trying to escape, she figured out she was in a submarine—which foiled all her decent, half-mapped out plans. How the pineapples was she supposed to escape from a—

The mud stain was mocking her. Mocking. Her.

So close, Sophie. You are so close to the exit. Don't stop for a stupid stain on a stupid pirate ship! If you stop I'll smack you all the way to the Red Line!

She shuffled her toes forward, millimeter by millimeter.

Square numbers! Detergent! Bleach! Soap! Freshly-cut fingernails! Four! Nine! Sixteen! Twenty-five! Thirty-six! Four… oh, for the love of Sengoku, that pirate only missed one stain, how difficult is it to just mop off that one stain before running off to go kill a few marines—

"—I mean honestly, it's not that very d-d-difficult!" she yelled in aggravation, grabbed the broom, and started to vigorously attack the stain.

And once that was done, Sophie suddenly noticed how dirty the floor was around the little clean spot. Well that just wouldn't do… She pulled up the sleeves of her shirt and gripped the mop like a sword. When she was finally done, the entire passageway was sparkling—glittering, even. Sophie wiped her brow with a satisfied sigh… cleanliness was indeed a true sign of happiness.

A large shadow fell over her shoulder. Filled with trepidation, she looked up.

"Aye?" The big, fluffy polar bear blinked. "A marine?"

She slapped a hand over her nose. Get a grip, Sophie! But she couldn't. It was just—too—too—gaah, damn you nosebleeds!

"Here." Sophie handed the mop over and bowed. "I cleaned up for you."

"Ah, thanks—"

But Sophie was already limping as fast as she could limp out of the hallway, blood spewing through her fingers. The sub was at the surface! As long as they didn't pull down, she could escape through one of those hatches at the top, right? She clambered up a steel ladder, praying for the universe's temporary suspension of the seemingly ubiquitous Murphy's Law—

"We're landing at Crawfish Island tonight, ya bastards!"

Why, Universe, why, Sophie sobbed.

Hurried footsteps were heading her way. "Oi, oi, careful on the ladder!" a voice yelled. "If you get even more blood on the sub, Captain might have a fit."

Sweet son of a clamshell, was there a thing between ladders and Super Mega Bad Things Happening? Cursing herself for not noticing that the battle had already stopped, Sophie quickly slid back down to the floor and jerked open door number one.

"Gaahh!" Sophie squeaked as a tower of falling brooms appeared over her.

She ended up sprawled beneath a pile of wooden sticks, dust and cobwebs clinging to her clothes. She glared at the brooms, feeling betrayed.

There was noise like someone jumped onto the floor. "C'mon, Penguin! We're supposed to check if the patient is a corpse yet."

Muttering swears, she grabbed the traitorous brooms and whooshed inside the closet, closing the door behind her with a quiet snap. In the dim light, she could see a large, hairy arachnid dangling on a fine thread right in front of her nose. She nervously smiled at it as she dabbed her nose with her shirt.

Another person landed on the floor. "Too bad it had to be a girl. And the Captain wouldn't even let us take a peek. I mean… you know, even if she was damn ugly…"

She scowled. Yeah, thanks.

"At least we're at port now, huh?" A happy sigh. "After three weeks I'll finally get to bask in the presence of women."

Her foot throbbed in an unexpected flare of pain. Unconsciously reaching down, Sophie bashed her elbow against the wall. Her eyes bugged. "Homunnghf!"

"What was that?"

She clapped her hands over her mouth.

"What was what?"

"I thought I heard…from down the hall…"

A bead of sweat trickled down her chin. The shadows underneath the door shifted.

There wasn't any room for her to crouch down and hide! Buckets and frying pans and broken anatomical models and other random stuff that definitely did not belong in a broom closet were surrounding her. One wrong move and it would all tumble down. She dug her hands into her pocket, remembering the scalpel she stole earlier. Sophie clutched it tightly. She could pull a feint—aim at his heart, dodge away at the last second, and run as if hellhounds were snapping at her ankles. She could—maybe—probably…

The footsteps paused right outside the door. Sophie stopped breathing.

"Eh, Bepo? What the hell're you doing?"

Sophie perked up. Bepo, the bear pirate filled with adorable squishiness! She pressed her hands against the door and tried to peer through the crack of light…and felt like the weirdest pervert ever…

"The patient escaped."

Sophie squinted. Pineapples.

"WHAT THE HELL, YOU TALKING BEAR?"

"I'm sorry…"

"SO WEAK!"

"S-stop! This isn't the time! We have to tell Captain about this!"

"Ah! Right! Bepo, where did you last see her?"

"Down over there. She was cleaning."

"Like… cleaning blood off a knife or something?" one pirate asked slowly.

"Nope. She was mopping the floor."

There was a long, befuddled silence. Sophie felt strangely mortified. So what if she enjoyed cleaning? It was perfectly normal to want to eradicate every single bacterium in existence, wasn't it?

The other pirate sighed pityingly. "Poor girl. What experiment did Captain do to her head?"

Sophie glared at the door, fuming.

"Okay, Bepo, Captain's in the kitchen, alert him about the patient. Shachi, let's go check the operating room."

The footsteps pattered away and all Sophie was left with was a hurt ego and the smell of dank mold. After waiting a few seconds, she tentatively peeked out into the deserted hallway.

It seemed escaping from the top of the submarine was out. But Sophie got a better idea…

Beyond the porthole was a cerulean sky speckled with thin streaks of white. If she craned her neck enough, she could see the tide rolling onto the beach and a clump of tall, swaying trees running along the curve of land. This was what she left G-13 to see. And now here she was, seeing it behind the porthole of a pirate submarine. Life was ironic.

Sophie inspected the glass pane. This would be a bit unorthodox, but…

"There's a first time for everything," she muttered to herself, running her hands along the latch.

It took three bleeding fingers and one hangnail, but Sophie somehow managed to pry the porthole open. She grabbed hold of the rim and shoved herself through it, legs first.

Inch by inch, arm cramp after arm cramp, Sophie shimmied her way out with a pop, inhaled quickly, and dropped into the ocean. The splash was instantly muffled. Bubbles followed her descent and the sea wrapped her feverish skin in a cool, calming blanket. Her hair rippled and swirled like a golden cloud, almost ethereal against the blue depths.

Sophie opened her eyes and kicked upwards.

The air was salty and fresh, and it tasted of freedom. She took in the squawking gulls, the sunlight sparkling on the waves, the island just ahead. She could see a town right at the edge of the beach; she could find help there, and safety, and life was wonderful.

A large smile breaking across her face, Sophie started swimming towards shore.

—

Law tossed an apple up and down as he surveyed the damage.

Glass, medicine bottles, and atropine pills were scattered across the floor. Cabinets had been broken into, chairs tossed clear across the room. A revolting smell wafted from the puddle next to the sink. Oddly enough, the IV was the only thing that looked untouched.

After a very long hush, Law took a step forward and kicked away a bloody eyeball. It knocked against the wall with a wet squish.

"That girl," he said quietly, "took my favorite scalpel."

"Maybe she drowned?" one pirate piped up, "After all, the poison—"

"The patient found the antidote and broke free using my rubbing alcohol. She cut through leather in her malnourished state on pure desperation alone." His assessment was coldly detached, as if he was simply stating the results of a diagnosis. "I'm certain she's already reached town."

"Well, why the hell're we standing around?" another pirate growled. "Let's find her, damn it!"

"You can't rush the perfect dissection," Law responded with a small smirk. "There's a method to this madness, after all, and it's been so long since I found such a curious specimen."

"Whoooa, Captain, you're so cool," the Heart pirates cheered from behind a corner.

With one last glance over the wreck of his operating room, he said, "Someone clean up this mess. Someone else get me a brain. I feel like burning something."

Law munched on the apple as he left. Shachi and Penguin eyed each other behind their captain's retreating back.

"I'll take the floor, you get the cabinets, and we'll leave Bepo the… brain?" Shachi proposed.

"Deal," Penguin agreed quickly.

to be continued

trivia

strangways sophie: named after the "gentleman" pirate henry strangways, who historically had many friends in high places. sophie comes from the greek sophia, the personification wisdom. she probably doesn't seem wise at all in chapter one, but she'll get better.

charaka hippo: charaka was an ancient indian figure who contributed science and medicines to ayuverda. hippo is short for hippocrates.

ship with the dragon-shaped figurehead: dragon the revolutionary's ship. we'll learn who's been fighting on vira in later chapters.