I Am Mr. Five

She had gotten accustomed to killing.

"Miss Valentine," the sound of his voice sent a shudder down her spine. "Let's complete our mission."

She didn't trust her voice to not waver, and hence, she allowed her head speak for her. A swift bob, twice, as her heart beat faster and she did what she could to make sure her face didn't show any discomfort.

She had gotten accustomed to killing, but not to… to… butchering.

She wanted to throw up. To vomit badly at the sight and the smell of the carnage that lay before her. She could still see the entrails and blackened small intestines of one of the men, lounging around the floor next to a partially-charred eyeball and a splatter of steaming grey-matter –

She swallowed the bile building up in her throat as hard as she could. She couldn't afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now. Mr. 5 didn't have his memories, he didn't even remember that they were partners with a flawless mission record, didn't remember who he was or what his ability did, didn't remember that he usually never used explosions of such sheer caliber before –

Or, rather, was it that he couldn't?

She didn't know. All she knew, was that she'd never seen him utilize his Devil Fruit in that manner before. Usually, she was the one propelled into the air, riding on the updraft of his explosions, but she'd never seen him shoot himself forward with explosions before. She didn't even know he could –

More terrifying than his power, was his reaction. She'd seen it, the momentary second where he contemplated what he'd done, and rather than grief or rage or fear at his own power, something else flickered in his expression.

Glee.

He was pleased with himself. His lips had upturned into a brilliant smirk, and his teeth showed for just a fraction of a second, and if she had not known better, she would have claimed that he was about to let out a maniacal laugh of satisfaction.

And then he did.

He'd laughed.

Chuckled.

A thick, lax, spew of amused contentment.

She'd shuddered at the laugh, giving him momentary glances of worry.

She knew that type of laugh.

It was the laughter of a certain type of person on the Grand Line. A type of man whose name was often spoken of in dread or utter and absolute fear. That kind of laugh.

She was terrified.

Miss Valentine would admit it easily that that she was absolutely terrified of this new Mr. 5.

"Miss Valentine."

She resisted the urge to straighten up and respond with a 'yes sir?' by biting down on her lip before the instinct overwhelmed her.

"What is it?"

Under the moonlight, the jacketed, sunglasses-wearing dark-skinned explosion man turned to give her a glance. Her heart beat faster. She couldn't tell what he was thinking with those glasses on and with his expression so neutral. His hands were in the pockets of his Mr. 5 jacket, and it was at that moment she realized that she'd subconsciously been following behind him, rather than beside him.

Her mind had unknowingly changed the status quo. They weren't equals. How could they be? Not with that sheer destructive power at his fingertips. No – he was superior to her, and if he wanted to kill her, all he'd need to do was touch her.

"You're quiet."

Was she? Damn it –

"We're on a mission."

He stared at her for even longer, and she could feel her heart beating even faster than before. Was she going to have to use her Kilo-Kilo no Mi to escape?

"I'm not going to kill you."

She recoiled at the comment, cursing herself for the action. "Don't think so highly of yourself. I'm not scared of you, Mr. 5."

"Oh, really?"

Boom!

He was in front of her, directly in front of her, in a single moment. Her eyes went wide as she realized she never saw him move. If it wasn't for the sound of the explosion and the shockwave it made, she'd never have noticed that he'd moved.

His right hand lay shamelessly over her left breast, her heart, and her motion stilled as she didn't dare to so much as breathe. She realized, that her legs were shaking, quivering, and despite the relatively cool night, sweat ran down her spine and collected over her brow.

"Boom."

KA – BOOM!

XXXXXX

The moment I knew my prank had gone too far was the moment Miss Valentine dropped to the floor, shaking like a leaf, and wheezing as though she'd ran a marathon.

I hadn't actually exploded her heart – but I'd exploded my feet and made it seem like I was going to explode her heart. I mean, I wouldn't kill her for no reason after all.

But she didn't know that.

The sight of the wheezing, sharply breathing, terrified woman who was supposed to be my partner made me wince a bit at that realization.

Ah… oops?

What I'd done was essentially the same as playing an unwilling game of Russian Roulette. I was a gun, propped up against her skull, but with unknown odds about whether or not the gun was loaded.

She probably fully expected herself to die in that moment. Enough so that once her brain caught up with the realization that the explosion had not harmed her, her body was already in shock.

Shit… what exactly do I do now?

Should I play up the good guy angle? Apologize? Tell her it was just a joke?

Threatening to blow up your heart was just a prank bro! Calm down bro! It's just a joke!

…That probably wouldn't end well. I'd be like one of those scummy pranksters who did shitty stuff under the excuses of 'pranking.' Not to mention it'd make me look a bit unstable if that was my idea of a joke.

Well it was, but… you know.

Should I play up the bad guy angle instead? Mouth off something? Brag? Piss on her to show dominance?

… Ignoring that stupid last stray thought, I still wasn't seeing how it would help. As it stood, there was no way we could go back to being "partners." The power dynamic was heavily skewed in my favor. I couldn't see her as someone who was my equal, just as she would never be able to see the guy who brought her to her knees with threats as her equal. Essentially the same as school-yard politics where the nerd who got the shit beat out of him by his bully would fantasize about beating up his bully and gaining the upper hand, but in reality, would always know where he was on the pecking order.

And I'd actually wanted us to be partners really. But… it couldn't work. The gap in knowledge and power was too wide for us to have been considered partners.

Ah, well.

A Secretary was fine too.

XXXXXX

She could still hear the sound of blood rushing tremendously in her ears. Her body was frozen. Despite her best efforts to move, and despite the complete and utter indignation from the realization that she'd been scared enough to almost wet herself, she couldn't bring it in her to so much as move.

I – I'm a-a-alive?

She could have sworn she felt a blinding pain in her chest when that explosion went off. Or was it her mind playing tricks on her? Her gaze managed to flicker down a bit, and noticed that her chest was perfectly unharmed. So no, she hadn't died. She wasn't even injured.

"So. Yeah. You're definitely scared of me." Mr. 5 rubbed his hand through his hair. "That's funny. The first friend I make and she's terrified that I'm going to blow her to chunky steaming pieces of flesh."

She didn't trust herself to speak. Still, she forced her lips to ask. "A-aren't you?"

"Well no," he responded dryly. "We haven't had sex yet."

The ridiculous statement was jarring enough to obliterate most of her fear. "W-w-what?"

"I said –"

"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!" she yelled. "I can't believe you were actually serious –"

"Wait, weren't you?"

"NO!"

Reward him with sex for doing his job? Did he think she was some kind of cheap hooker? He'd actually thought that she'd –

"Not even a blowjob?"

Heat filled up her cheeks. "NO!"

He frowned a bit. "Okay, what if I'm the one giving you a –"

She almost tore out her hair in frustration. "I can't believe this is what you've become! We're not, never having any kind of sexual relationship! We are work partners, strictly!"

"Then I suppose I don't have any need for you."

And like that, her breath hitched, and her fear returned.

"W-wait – you can't, we're partners –"

"How do you use your powers in a fight?"

The non-sequitur threw her off.

"What bits of memory I have tell me that you ride on the coattails and wind provided by my explosions, go up into the air, and then turn heavy and crash down on enemies. Is that right?"

She nodded rapidly. "Y-ye –"

"And how exactly do I benefit in combat from your powers?"

She opened her mouth to say something, racking her brain to think of something sharply. Something other than, 'you don't.'

"That's not partnership. That's parasitism. One person leeching off the other with no benefits granted. I don't need you by my side, but you need me to be even half as effective."

His palm slowly out stretched until two of his gloved fingers grasped softly against her skull.

"So, combat wise, you're useless to me. What other uses do you have? Information and navigation would be one, to help fill in the gaps in my memory. But – I don't necessarily need you for that. The Millions are here, and I'm an Officer Agent. I could simply ask for the best navigators on this island and assemble a halfway competent crew in less than an hour."

He could. He could, and they would listen. Well, they would listen because they feared and respected him, because he was Mr. 5, and his power and authority wasn't to be questioned.

Dread began to fill up her stomach as she contemplated how it was possible that she never once entertained the possibility that she could be discarded so easily. Honestly, even before Mr. 5 lost his memory and suddenly gained perspective on things, she was not actually bringing much to the table. They'd never failed a mission till date, but there was no denying that it was him who did the brunt of the heavy work. Falling on people could only be useful if they were too damaged to move. If they were healthy, they could effortlessly dodge her attacks again and again and again. Mr. 5 was the one who rendered them immobile with his explosions, and she delivered the finishing touches.

That… that brought up his point. If he was the one doing most of the work, and she shared in the credit with him… could it really have been called a partnership?

"You're not my partner. You're my lackey."

Mr. 5 had always been hot-tempered. There was rumor amongst devil fruit wielders that the devil fruit ability you gained tended to affect your personality and temperament, but it was never proven as anything more than an old wives' tale. She had always considered Mr. 5 as proof that the tale had some truth to it, although, his temper was never directed straight at her. He'd treated her with some sort of respect and professionalism, albeit limited, and she'd followed him because she liked the amicable feeling he had.

But this – this man in front of her, with all five of his fingers pressing against her temple in a thinly veiled threat to explode her skull – he didn't have any of that same sentiment. His eyes were obscured behind his shades, but there was a ruthless, almost absolutely potent air about him. An air that reeked of a form of self-assuredness and confidence she didn't believe he'd possessed. He'd gone from shaking in fear and confusion on their boat… to this?

Is this what power does to a man?

"Do you understand what this means, Miss Valentine?"

She couldn't even fight back against him. Hitting him was a suicide move. Trying to struggle could set him off accidentally and she'd end up killing herself in vain. A more idealistic, foolish person would have claimed that attempt to fight back and die fighting was worth it – but, she wasn't such a person. She liked living. She liked the easy life. Being paid a decent salary and given respect all for being a member of some organization. She wasn't about to throw it all away in some misguided notion of pride.

"Y-yes."

"Good."

The pressure against her skull eased itself, and Mr. 5 casually patted her on the cheeks like she was a pet.

"Be a good little secretary, and you'll live and be the happiest woman in the world."

Then, he turned around and continued walking as though he had not just completely and utterly shattered whatever self-worth she had.

XXXXXXX

Not exactly how I'd have liked things to go, but I didn't have charisma for shit, and I could only rely on the basics of drama class and acting that I'd remembered from my time in college.

As much as I liked Miss Valentine, there was still no denying the fact that she was canonically rather very, very useless. The more I remembered about the situation, the more I felt that relegating her to lackey role wasn't a bad decision.

She was ultimately beaten by Vivi and Nami.

Vivi and Nami.

Someone with a Devil Fruit was beaten by a princess and a thief who both had little combat experience.

If she lost to them of all people, there was no way in the world she could survive on the Grand Line on her own. Hell, how in the world would she survive in East Blue? Someone like Don Krieg or Arlong or Kuro would turn her into mincemeat and force her to become a serviceable minion. Any halfway competent pirate crew on the Grand Line could beat her, and this was the Paradise part of the Grand Line. In the New World?

HAH.

She'd be dead in seconds.

…I probably would have felt the same way about myself, but there was no denying the fact that I felt drunk on power right now. Every muscle and every single fiber of my being sung with potential for explosions of catastrophic capabilities. I wanted to know what the max kiloton yield I could put out was. Hell, I wanted to know what the max megaton yield I could put out was. Could I nuke an entire city with a full body explosion? An entire island? An entire country?

More interestingly, where did my ability as a "Bomb-Human" end? Could I add effects to my explosions? Could I make Ice Bombs or different types of 'bombs' that possessed varying effects?

There was so much to do, so much to experiment with.

Of course, there was also the problem of deciding what to do about… canon.

We'd almost reached the center stage where the Millions had fought against Zoro and lost horribly, and I was slightly conflicted about what to do in this situation. If I let everything play out exactly like it had in canon, that would mean letting myself get my ass kicked after standing around blabbing my intentions like a third-rate mook. None of which were things that I found even remotely interesting to do.

Option B was to try and steer things in a similar vein to canon. Ensure Vivi followed the Straw Hat Pirates, ensure they got to Little Garden, ensure Nami gets sick and goes to Drum Island to recruit Chopper, ensure they fight Crocodile and have Nico Robin join their crew.

Except, I didn't want to do that. That was… stressful, boring, trying to do my best to make sure things worked out exactly as they had before? Why? What did I have to gain except to 'retain' knowledge of the future? Why would I even waste so much effort trying to get these people to meet and making things remain as they had?

Nope. No way.

The name of the show was One Piece, not Luffy and Friends' Glorious Adventures.

If my interference changed events… so fucking be it.

So, what exactly am I going to do?

As of now, Mr. 5 was a relative nobody. I wasn't even sure if I had a bounty yet. I could choose to remain as a Bounty Hunter, get fame and money that way by hunting down notorious pirates. I could choose to join the Marines, probably work my way up to Vice-Admiral. Or, I could choose to go down the life of piracy.

Bounty Hunting would get me money, but it would mean constantly engaging in life-or-death duels with dangerous opponents just to earn a paycheck. Even worse, the higher the bounty, the more dangerous the opponent. I might be a bomb-man, but I wasn't a suicidal one.

Being a Marine would suck because I was not down for a militaristic lifestyle, nor did I entertain the thought of being a lackey at someone's beck-and-call.

As a Pirate, however, my major concerns would be fighting off Bounty Hunters and Marines… and other enemy Pirates. Benefits, of course, included the freedom to steal and pillage and ransack as much as I wanted and live as bullshittingly frivolous as possible. No one to tell me what to do, where to go, who to work for, or anything of the sort. I'd just… be doing whatever I wanted.

Like a bloody maniac.

The freedom of the sea…

Just the promise of freedom alone was enough to make me go for that option. It was something I'd had very little of in my life. Working a tireless 9-5 job as a lackey for the CEO of my company's spoilt brat of a son. Going back to a small apartment and scrounging myself something half decent to eat from the fridge or ordering takeout. Sitting down and streaming anime, reading manga or playing FPS and RPG Games through the night, before waking up the following morning to do it all over again.

I hadn't contacted my friends since we graduated college and went our separate ways. I had a few work acquaintances, but they wouldn't go into a depressed state if I suddenly went missing. I hadn't had a girlfriend since college, almost five fucking years ago, and hadn't gotten laid in over three… four years now?

To go from living the life of a cog-in-the-machine to suddenly finding myself in a world that emphasized freedom via the fast fucking ocean and legions of pirates…

It was too good to be true.

A part of me wanted to thank the bastard that was my boss for letting me follow him unto that yacht for his birthday celebration. If I'd never fallen into the ocean, I doubted I'd be here. Assuming, of course, here is real, and I hadn't somehow found myself in my own weird, twisted version of the afterlife.

If this was the afterlife, would this be considered hell, or heaven?

"Mr. 5."

I was drawn from my thoughts by Miss Valentine's voice, and it only now occurred to me that I was heading in a different direction from where I was supposed to go.

"Yes, Miss Valentine?"

"Our target is –"

"In that direction." I nodded. "I am aware."

"But we're –"

"Scouting." I said simply. I turned to face her, blonde hair and green eyes and all, and I was glad for my shades which obscured my eyes otherwise she'd have noticed my eyes trailing over her form. Her gown was a bit on the short side, but I wasn't complaining.

There were no 'nudity-standards' in this world. No oppressive religion shoving down rules of 'decency' and 'modesty' down people's throats, and very little cultural biases towards the showing of skin. I also wondered how sexist or unsexist this world was when it came to women's roles.

"Lift yourself into the air, high enough to scout over the town and tell me what you see."

She gave me an odd look, but didn't complain as she opened her umbrella – parasol? – and leapt into the air. I clapped my palms together, generating a small explosion of thick smoke and fire that echoed with the ring of a gunshot, and the winds sent Miss Valentine soaring higher and higher into the sky.

"… Does she know I can see her underwear from here?"

Probably not. I sighed. Really, the one attack and move you could think of to use with your Devil Fruit… and it flashes everyone who looks up at you. Maybe she didn't care? Did she? I mean, in a world filled with giant monsters, vicious pirates, a crazy, erratically-changing ocean, a corrupt Marine force, and 'Celestial Dragons' who supported and partook in institutionalized slavery, what was a little flashing of some underwear?

… Now that I thought about it, if I'd been born here or reincarnated here as a normal human being… then yes, this would be hell. Definitely hell. Christ, there were so many damned things here out to kill you, and the 'good guys' weren't actually the good guys, and more or less "morally-grey/ambiguous guys."

Miss Valentine landed back on the ground without so much as a sound and without remotely disturbing the earth. I took note of that. Her power was to either increase or decrease her weight at will, wasn't it?

"It's pathetic. The Millions are scattered around everywhere. Many of them are dead, others are bleeding out from sword wounds. 'Miss Wednesday' and 'Mr. 8' are down as well."

So, it was the moment then. This was the moment Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine were supposed to make their debut.

"I also noticed…" Miss Valentine continued. "The Swordsman is sitting on a roof, drinking, and there is a girl skulking around, hiding behind a wall."

Zoro and Nami. Yep.

I took in a deep breath.

Meet them, don't meet them, meet them, don't meet them –

Ah fuck it.

"Miss Valentine," I said simply. "We're going to make a nice entrance."

XXXXXX

The Swordsman was stronger than they expected.

Too strong.

What sort of monster could take on a hundred men on his lonesome without so much as to stop in hesitation? What sort of person could handle their best attacks and shrug them off without care?

She'd always known that the Grand Line was host to different varying types of monster wearing the thin veneer of men, but she had no idea that such things were capable. Throughout her entire operation instigating herself into the folds of Baroque Works, her journeys and missions had not crossed her against the path of such monsters.

Worse, there were probably monsters stronger than this swordsman in Baroque Works. None of the members knew anything truly about each other, but, she knew, the Officer Agents from rank number 5 and up were truly disastrous. Rumors about their abilities and strength were exaggerated enough that it was hard to tell which was true and which wasn't.

She however, did not expect, that they would be capable of something like… this.

He came from the sky. Dropping straight and center into the alleyway like a bird diving into water. His landing brought along with it a shockwave of air and pressure and an echoing boom that made her eardrums ring from the sound. The ground where he landed on was reduced to a small, smoldering crater, even as the tall, dark-skinned, sunglasses wearing man landed in a soft crouch, his knees bent, and his head bent low.

She noticed, there was a woman lying comfortably on his shoulders, as though she weighed very little, and it was only until the thick, echo of cracking bones rung out from his body that the woman shifted off, moving to his right side, and the man straightened, his visage a calm, stony one as his thick shades obscured his eyes.

Even with the glasses, she could tell that he was looking straight at her.

"M-Mr. 5! M-Miss Valentine!" she heard Mr. 9 exclaim in shock. She could not blame him. Officer Agents, here? In Whiskey Peak? In the Front Lines? It was unusual.

A slow dread filled up her stomach.

Do they know?

"T-the swordsman –"

"Shhh."

The cold, shushing voice of Mr. 5 cut off Mr. 9 effortlessly. Shivers ran down her spine as she took in the appearance of Mr. 5. His posture, his look, his air.

Dangerous.

Every single thing about him spoke of danger. Strength. Power.

Miss Valentine didn't give off that same vibe. No, if anything, the blonde woman was submerged in Mr. 5's intimidating aura. She seemed small, standing beside him, in more than just the physical sense. Her posture and stance did not speak of people who were equals and partners as per the rule of Officer Agents being assigned a female partner. No, she was a subordinate.

Mr. 5 hadn't spoken, he hadn't made any threatening moves or gestures, and he had done nothing other than shush Mr. 9, but she could feel sweat building up in her palms and her heartbeat getting faster. She noticed she wasn't the only one who was unnerved by the man's stoic expression and silence. After appearing from the sky in such a manner, only to stand and stare at them –

"Miss Wednesday."

She went ramrod stiff at hearing her codename being called out. "Y-y-yes? Mr. 5?"

"Mr. 8."

At hearing Igaram's codename, she knew that they'd been exposed.

"Y-y-yes?"

"Mr. 0 has a task for you both."

He knows. He knows –

Igaram's gaze turned to her, a look on his face that she knew. No, don't – you'll –

"W-what about the Swordsman, and the p-pirates?" he was trying to buy them time.

Mr. 5 tilted his head slowly. "I have no business with them."

"B-b-but, one of them has a Thirty Million Beli Bounty, and the s-swordsman –"

"Are you refusing a direct order? Mr. 8?"

Igaram wavered. "No – of course not, I'm only saying, he – he knows about Baroque Works, the swordsman, and secrecy is our –"

"Miss Valentine." Mr. 5 called out suddenly.

"Y-yes?"

"Kindly silence Mr. 8."

Silence?

She grit her teeth as she wondered how Miss Valentine would –

The woman began floating up into the air, only for her to stop when Mr. 5's hand outstretched and grabbed her ankle. Vivi noticed how Miss Valentine seemed to freeze and go white and the action.

"Not in your usual flashy manner." Mr. 5 said. "I said silence, not obliterate."

Vivi shuddered at that tone. Was she that powerful?

"A-ah, yes," Miss Valentine dropped to the ground. "I'll –"

"Ensure your hands aren't too heavy. I don't want him dying by mistake."

Her hands?

"M-my hands?"

"Yes. Just your hands." Mr. 5 said. "I know it's one of your weaker techniques, but we don't need to go all out on small fry."

The fact that Mr. 5 seemed to be the one giving all the orders didn't instill Vivi with any confidence. Even more so, she was less confident when Miss Valentine strode forward, moving in front of the prone Igaram –

"W-wait, I'm – GAH!"

She punched him.

Except, it didn't look so much as though he'd been punched, and more as though she struck him with a heavy iron club, straight to the side of his head.

"IGARAM!"

He was knocked unconscious in one blow.

Miss Valentine momentarily stared at her palms, as though seeing them for the first time, causing Vivi to wonder if the woman miscalculated how much power she'd used into the blow. The Princess of Alabaster desperately hoped the woman had used too much, rather than too little.

"How much was that?" Mr. 5 asked the woman.

"O-one thousand kilograms." She said, sounding breathless.

"Ah. So you held back. That's good."

That was holding back? Vivi grit her teeth as she forced herself to stand to her feet. She couldn't die here – and – and she couldn't leave Igaram here either –

"CARUE!" she called.

"SQUAAACK!"

In a blur, the animal appeared by her side, giving her enough time to climb onto it, as she stared down Mr. 5.

"He sent you didn't he?! He sent you to kill me, Mr. 0!"

Mr. 5 tilted his head. "Do you really have to ask such an obvious question?"

She grit her teeth at the response. "You – do you even –"

"Shhhhhh."

He shushed her.

"At this juncture, a lesser man would mock you. Insult your pride and purpose. Demean your existence. Gloat about his superiority. State the futility of your struggle." Mr. 5 said in a bland tone. "I'm not a lesser man."

Again, she shuddered. Heat, scorching heat seemed to emit from Mr. 5's form in such a manner that defied explanation.

"Attempt to run or attempt to fight, and you will die. That is all."

The words held so much conviction in them, that she believed it.

Mr. 5 was not like the rest of Baroque Works. He was a consummate professional. He wasn't here to joke, or to waste time, or to brag or gloat or do things which Vivi had long since associated with those who were deluded in their power. There was an eerie, unnatural conviction about him that evocated a sense of danger and authority.

Regardless of what it was about him that made him so dangerous, she knew that she would die if she remained here. She would die if she attempted to run. She would definitely die if she fought against him. Against such odds, the least she could do was try.

"Wait, I don't understand, Miss Wednesday, why are they trying to kill you? What is going on?!"

Mr. 9 spoke up, confusion adamant on his face. Vivi had almost forgotten about him, in lieu of Mr. 5's appearance.

"Miss Valentine. Kindly silence Mr. 9."

Mt. 9's eyes bulged. "W-wait! S-silence me? Why would you – "

Miss Valentine was upon him instantly, her ferocious right hand slamming against his cheek and echoing with the sound of breaking bones before he crumpled to the ground in a defeated heap.

"Mr. 9!"

"Can I silence her as well? She's starting to become an annoyance." Miss Valentine asked, a large smile on her face.

Mr. 5 casually shrugged. "As you will."

Miss Valentine rushed towards her, and she grit her teeth as she bucked her hips, gesturing to Carue. "We need to save Igaram! Hurry!"

"QUAAA!"

He blurred past Miss Valentine, moving closer and closer to Igaram's prone form –

"Allah Akbar."

The horizon went white.

XXXXXX

Here's an interesting question. There's a man whose boogers are capable of creating massive explosions that can leave a wake of devastation through buildings and solid rock, destroying them in seconds. His breath can be blown into a gun and shot out with the equivalent force of numerous simultaneous hand-grenade explosions. His kicks are explosive enough to utterly wipe out three men within close vicinity, and leave their bodies as charred remnants of meat and flesh, with the residue of the explosion being a crater the size of an Olympic swimming pool.

What happens when this man decides to simultaneously explode his entire body?

The answer would normally be the complete and utter carnage of every living and non-living thing in the vicinity.

Normally, however, because this man is also capable of controlling his explosions, and, hence, is capable of making an explosion within an explosion. The first, being an explosion of nothing but pure shockwaves and concussive force, sending objects and people soaring away like as though they'd been FUS ROH DAH'd. Then, the second, main explosion, being all the good stuff, like the wall of sheer heat and fire.

I'd been standing on an island before. A nice, large island, and I'd been on a street, a nice, cool street, filled with dozens and dozens and dozens of houses. Now?

Now, I was standing in a smoky plain. A savannah of smoldering ash and thick debris. A nice grassland with neither grass nor land, and no building in sight, literally, with no building within my range of sight.

Being at the epicenter, I was, of course, in a bit of a rather large crater, kind of like the ones we see in pictures of mars or the moon. I couldn't even begin to estimate its size, but if I were, I'd wager about a dozen soccer fields… somewhere close to one or two fucking kilometers.

The best part of it?

It didn't feel like my maximum output.

I wasn't really focusing.

Trying.

I'd used more effort clenching my butt-cheeks or making my dick dance while it was erect than I'd used to make that explosion.

I stood in the middle of the crater, patting myself, and ensuring, that there wasn't a single hair out of place on my body.

…Actually, there wasn't anything out of place on my body. How had I not noticed this before?

Why didn't my clothes blow up?

Come to think of it, devil fruit wielders never went naked when using their powers, otherwise fangirls would have squealed whenever Ace got fired up, because his clothes would be gone when he went back to normal.

Oh – oh – this has potential.

My gaze flickered upwards, to the sight of someone floating down softly with a yellow parasol – umbrella? – and I blinked at the realization that she was still alive.

I took it back. My powers worked excellently with Miss Valentine's. Reducing her mass and floating like the breeze, she could and would always be able to get out of the truly devastating effects and ranges of my blasts without much harm. No one else, short of some logia-wielders, would be capable of doing the same.

Of course, I wasn't exactly endearing her to me, and no doubt, from high up, she'd have a truly unique view and scale of the carnage… and if she was terrified of me before…

The truth was, I hadn't known or expected my full body explosion to have that much power. Like I said, it was almost effortless. Somehow, a full-body explosion felt more effortless than blowing up individual body parts or focusing on my sweat or feet.

Was it this way with all devil fruits? Using your fruit abilities on your whole body at once being natural and easier than focusing it on other parts or other functions? If so, it would explain why Miss Valentine seemed to have preferred to simply just focus on using her devil fruit ability to modify her weight and not her arms or legs. It was just… easier.

Miss Valentine eventually landed beside me, and she was definitely more terrified of me now than she was not too long ago.

"Our mission is complete." I said to her simply. "We're heading back."

She didn't have it in her to complain, and she merely nodded her head sharply. No doubt, she thought that Vivi, Igaram, and the Straw Hats (along with everyone else on this island) were dead by now.

It was a possibility, but I knew for certain that Luffy would still be alive. Rubber doesn't explode very well. Zoro, through sheer grit would probably survive. Nami – not so much, but, there wasn't really much I could do in that aspect. Seducing her would have taken too much effort, and kidnapping her would have made me too much enemies.

Vivi however?

The odds were 50-50 to her survival. Another shame, such a damn fine woman gone to waste, but – when you're an indiscriminate bomber, these things tend to happen.

I placed my hand casually in my pocket and began a slow march for wherever the sea was, and wherever our ship was docked.

For now, I was a loyal employee of Baroque Works. Right up until Crocodile's plans paid fruition, in which case, if I didn't like what was being offered, I'd grill a croc, nab a flower, and find myself with a kingdom of my own.

Not bad at all for a serial suicide bomber.

"E-erm, M-M-Mr. 5…"

"Hmm?"

"O-o-our ship is the other way."

"Oh." I said simply. "Thank you."

"Yes, sir. N-not a problem."

"Sir?"I asked, turning to look at her. She froze up.

"I-if you don't like it, I'll –"

"No, no," I shook my head. "I like it just fine. But, when we're alone, you can call me something a bit more casual."

"W-what do I call you?"

I tilted my head a bit, before smiling.

"You can call me… V."