The room is suffocating in its silence. Just 4 walls and a single lamp flickering overhead.

You’re a Marine Admiral, charged with his interrogation before his fated execution.

Ace sat across from you, wrists shackled to the table with cuffs. The iron cut into his skin, bruises blooming along his wrists.

He keeps his head tilted down, his bruised wrists chained, the wounds on his body aching with each word.

“Kill me,” He mutters, voice steady. “Just kill me. Do it now.” He didn’t want the upcoming war. Didn’t want whitebeard fighting. If only his death could avoid it.