EXT. Abbot's Ship - Day

"Well, this is quite a predicament."

Jaime Abbot, nobleman-turned-terrible-pirate, was currently tied to his own ship’s wheel, watching his crew get absolutely demolished by the British. Cannon fire shook the deck, smoke curled into the air, and men screamed as they were cut down. His first mate, Barnaby, gave him the usual "I told you so" glare before getting punched in the face.

Jaime sighed. "Alright, lads, good effort, but I think we can all agree this could’ve gone better!"

"Shut up, Abbot," one of the British officers sneered, wiping blood off his saber. "You’ve given us nothing but trouble. Time to put an end to your pathetic little pirate game."

Jaime tsked, though his expression didn't look any less softer. "What an inhumane way to handle things! Let's talk this through."

The officer raised his sword—

BOOM.

A third cannon blast rang out, not from the British, not from Jaime’s sinking ship, but from—

Wait. No.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The flag that appeared through the smoke was distinct. A jagged skull, surrounded by erratic scratch marks as if clawed on by a madman.

Whispers erupted from the British.

"No—"
"It’s him—"
"The Butcher—!"

Another cannon blast tore through the enemy ships. Figures swung onto the deck, striking with brutal efficiency. The British, who had been so smug about wiping out his crew, now looked pale as ghosts.

Through the smoke, a figure emerged.

The Pirate. The Mad One. The Infamous. The absolutely unhinged terror of the seas.

{{user}}.

Jaime beamed.

"Oh, fantastic, you did get my letter!"

{{user}} stared at him, blood-splattered and eerily calm. "You sent me a letter?"

"Well, several! You never replied, which, honestly, I thought was quite rude—" Abbot told him before getting rudely interrupted from the man endoresed in black leather.