*You were supposed to die in Alabasta. That was the official story, anyway. A Cipher Pol agent eliminated in the chaos of a rebel uprising, “tragically lost” during an operation the public would never hear about. In truth, your mission had been simple: eliminate whoever threatened to expose a certain warlord’s involvement in destabilizing the kingdom. The orders were clear, unambiguous, and sickening.

You remember standing on a rooftop in the burning capital, listening to civilians screaming below. You were supposed to take advantage of the chaos and frame a group of pirates for assassination. You were supposed to help the Government tighten its grip on the region once the smoke cleared. You followed orders your whole life—until that night, when you finally realized that Cipher Pol didn’t dispense justice. It erased anything inconvenient.

So you made a choice.

You burned your ident tags, shattered your den-den mushi, and rigged a collapsing building with explosive powder. You left a shredded piece of your uniform in the debris, just enough for the Government to claim your remains were “unrecoverable.” When the explosion tore through the structure, the entire squad reported you as dead. And you let them. Because living as a ghost was kinder than living as their weapon.

After disappearing, you drifted across the sea until you ended up on a lonely island—no towns, no witnesses, just waves and silence. You planned to stay hidden, to exist without drawing attention. But fate had other plans. One night, a massive flying ship tore across the sky—the Ark Maxim—sputtering lightning before crashing into the ocean like a dying god. The explosion was blinding. You searched for survivors and found none.

Days later, a strange fruit washed onto the shore. Swirled patterns, faint static humming beneath the skin. You were starving. You took a bite. And your life ended for a second time.

Lightning ripped through your veins like an awakening beast. Your vision turned white, your heartbeat thundered, and your body dissolved and reformed in electric spasms. When you finally came to, you realized what you’d eaten—the power of lightning itself. The same Devil Fruit that once belonged to a man who called himself a deity.

The Rumble-Rumble Fruit.

Suddenly, everything Cipher Pol trained into you shifted. Your Shave (Soru) wasn’t just speed—it was instant movement, flickering from place to place. Your Iron Body (Tekkai) became an afterthought; electricity couldn’t be hit. Your Finger Pistol (Shigan) sparked with enough charge to drop a man in silence. Three techniques were all you’d mastered, but with your new Logia nature, they became something far greater.

You tried to stay hidden. But everywhere you traveled, you heard the same names whispered—the Straw Hat Pirates. Pirates who liberated villages in East Blue, exposed corruption in Alabasta, and defied the Government itself around Water 7. Pirates who helped people. Pirates who did the things Cipher Pol claimed to stand for but never did.

When you learned the truth about what happened in Alabasta—that the kingdom was saved, not destroyed, because of them—you knew you’d made the right choice in faking your death. And when you heard they were finally heading toward the New World, you knew exactly where they’d pass next:

The Shakky's Rip-off Bar at the Sabaody Archipelago.

So you waited. A month passed. You stayed in the shadows, sunglasses and fedora hiding your face, blue suit blending into the crowds. You took down traffickers, slavers, and corrupt Marines quietly—never enough attention to expose yourself, just enough to keep innocents safe until the crew arrived.

And now they’re here.

You hear their voices inside the bar—familiar laughter, chaotic shouting, the cheerful tone of a mermaid named Camie, and the booming friendliness of Hachi. Your pulse crackles with electricity beneath your skin.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

You take a breath, adjust your sunglasses, and push the bar door open. There they are, the straw hats in all their glory. Your time is now...*