[Thick ribbons of smoke recoil and extend, sliding across a desk that has seen some serious battle damage. A drawer hangs preciously from its hinges as plumes of smoke unfurl across the desk. In the thicket of it all, a hand forms, fingers stretching and hover. A pile of rocks teeters in the silvery sea; it is a towering mass without much direction, just up.]

[A torso forms; a crop of hair peaks out from the smoldering mass. Light flickers dimly in the deep blanket of logia; red and oranges flare through sheets of gray. Then, a sigh - a pulse of life. Blue eyes slowly ease themselves open before shutting back and dissolving into smoke.]

Another year.

[His voice sounds like an echo, something far off.] Another year in this damn hell hole; another missed chance. The decision to come to these seas, to sacrifice who we are for a greater sort of a good. What is it? At the end of the day, who is justice? Do we have that right to call ourselves good if all men are born evil?

[The smoke ripples, something trembles. The hand disappears and reappears with a large stone wrapped in knuckle-biting leather. The wrist rotates, turns counterclockwise so vigorously, it feels like it could snap. But tendons turn to nothing more than delicate fingers of ash and the stone gently finds its place atop the tower of its kin.]

Mariejoie - the Great Hall of Justice and another execution I am missing. An important one, one to tie everything together. His son, of all people; I should have seen it coming.

[The smoke freezes abruptly. Skin forms, a torso collects, a face pieces together and Smoker chomps on his cigar, biting through leaflets angrily.] And how many of us will end up the carpet of this insane war? How many of them will be nothing more than cannon fodder?

[Finally, Smoker forms. The edges of his body flicker, not entirely solid.]

How many people stuck here will be nothing more than the same?

Two arrests were made in the last week. One is disclosed, the other is a man named Dan Smith. Any questions, visit the docks. If you want visitation rights, you'll need to sign paperwork. We're open most -

[Static; someone lets out a string of curses even a sailor would be embarrassed by. A loud clink follows, sounds like glass rolling on something hard; it soon crashes and thick, heavy footsteps beat through the feed quickly.] What the hell?

[The feed gets louder and there is a whirling of air, like something disturbed the very area the feed is in. Smoker's voice turns to something of an echo before it returns in full force, fury in his tone.]

God fucking damnit. This is Commodore Smoker from the Task Force. Authorizing that all citizens report inside - I repeat, get your damn asses indoors. [Then, a whisper:

Blood rain. What the fuck else can go wrong?

Sergeant Major; get up here.

[The audio feed goes dead, but there is a split image that transmits through the line; the video camera is wrapped in relentless white smoke before it goes black.]

[The feed cracks to life with the usual ignition of fire. An inhale follows, shallow and gruff. There's a wet crunch that follows and the Commodore huffs dryly.]

Shifts will be dealt to those who have already signed up for the Task Force; we'll have three separate shifts - one in the morning, one in the afternoon, then the graveyard shift. If anyone has any preference, tell me in advance. Once I make a schedule, I'm not changing it.

[Smoker sounds a little labored when he speaks. He grunts something that doesn't quite make it through the filters. He breathes then, his voice turning to a low growl.]


I'll be doing rounds the next twenty-four hours if you need me.

[There's some static on the line, a huff, then two distinct thumps.] First and foremost, all those interested in getting positions better be at the docks bright and early. 0500 should give you plenty of time to organize yourselves. We'll start drills 0505 - if you're late, you'll end up on cleaning duty.

This run counts all of you who decided to stay on desk duty too - just because you're not on the field, it doesn't mean you won't be prepared. [Inhale, grunt, maybe a little sign of pain.]

I also need an artist for wanted poster sketches.

I also have a job lined up; another kidnapping scenario. I'll brief the group tomorrow after drills.

( Private to Spike; Totally Hackable. )

Anyone already signed up for the Task Force, I need you on the docks now. No questions, no nothing. I need that placed locked and secured.

[There's a harsh whirl of air; it nearly muffles Smoker's voice completely.]

Damnit, kid. Why did it have to be you?

[ooc; strikes are muffled. Smoker is raising hell by the docks and he's coming for you, Giovanni.]

In case you didn't get the memo, the Task Force is starting up again. Questions and concerns should be brought to me; bitchings should be left at the front door.

[Sharp inhale.]

Anything else should be directed at Spike. Don't mind being a desk monkey, do you bounty hunter?

( Private to Giovanni; Hackable. )

[There's a dull growl over the line, then a quick inhale. A sharp snap cuts it off and a smooth exhale follows.]

So - [The tone of the man's voice is sharp.] - who has a report for me?

MOVING TO absolute_hold! I will have another Smoker journal for warfleet!

Thanks!

The newest report shows a spike in "immigration" lately. Unfortunately, we're down to only a few people and we need to work fast. More and more are coming through the rip than the department can keep track of these days. So, I'm asking the public for help.

Don't bother applying if I know your records and don't bother applying if you have a tarnished history. I will find out if I don't already know - don't waste my god damn time.

Your reward, should you be accepted to the Task Force, is simple - you get some of your powers back. That, or you're given something from home. Call it an incentive bonus. But don't think this comes lightly; everything is this place has a price. Remember that when you ask me what you want; some things won't come through - too risky.

Other than that, Winchester, Dallas - I need you to move out and collect the new batch. Roberto, I need recon, so talk to me as soon as you get this.

Anyone else hear the dinner bell? Looks like today is going to be a busy day. I'll be down at processing - no doubt, we'll have plenty of papers to go through today. Make sure names are recorded. I don't want any surprises, not with the next few days coming up.

The borders are clear, but that doesn't mean we should let our guard down.

I used to play the piano.

Captain Francis Anthony of the Loguetown Police Department frowned and swirled his scotch around in a not-so-pristine glass that had been messily shoved his way by the local bar keep. He growled and removed the white fedora from his cap to set it on the stool beside him. "Thanks," he spat as he swirled twin cigars in the corner of his mouth. He raised a hand and the bar keep nodded. "Been a long time, Smoker."

I used to be like the rest of them - I left this town for a reason.

The Captain swallowed back his booze and extended his freakish ability outward to wrap around the neck of the bottle. "Don't mind if I help myself then."

I hate this town.

Now he was stuck here like the rest, as ordered by the Brass. He was a thorn and he knew it, but he enjoyed digging himself a hole. Why follow the orders of a corrupt system? His justice was his own, his own brand. Fuck the brass and fuck the high ups and their bureaucratic bullshit. There were villains in this town raping the innocent and all they were worried about was how much money was coming in for the new police squad.

Smoker growled and sucked hard on his smokes, sending the tips flaring like hell fire.

God knows, I fucking hate this town.

The New Year's Eve, huh. I've been here that long.

And all that shit that's come with this year; hopefully, we've all learned our lessons.

I'll be on the docks the entire evening; only if there is a real issue, may you contact me.

I don't like this concept of being land-locked for this long. Shit has happened here and it's been fixed relatively quickly; this time, not so much.

Rumors about people going off, doing some sort of bullshit with the natives. I could give less a damn.

[A soft clink of glass, then a pause. If one listens closely, it sounds as if someone is slurping something on the other side. Then, a sigh and another chime of glass.]

The Grand Line is looking more and more inviting than this constant bullshit. [Another pause; it sounds like the ignition of flames and a long, drawn-out inhale this time. Then, an exhale, a click and a grunt.]

Give me news from the front, if you go it. I've been dealing with public matters and I haven't had time to keep up with the constant flow of bat-shit that this place seems to breed.

[Clink, slurp, clink.]

Oh, and Giovanni? Count on a visit sometime real soon.

[It's obvious that the Commodore is pacing; there's a rhythmical thumping noise on the other side of the line.]

First and foremost, the issue with the sky. The hole and the burning ball of whatever-the-fuck; any leads?

Second, Giovanni seems to have gone dormant for the time being. Make sure not to let your guard down.

Third; Harvey Dent turned himself in last evening. He is being held in my office. There has been no sign of Two-Face from him. If you need a private visit, you're welcomed to come by. Be warned - I'm not dealing with any pent up aggression bullshit. Mr. Dent seems to be whole, at least, for the time being.

I will be taking care of his arraignment.

[Sharp inhaling.] I don't blame those bastards for staying dead. This place is going to hell in a pretty little hand-basket. Let's see how things play out before the panic.


( Private to Spike. )

[A deep inhale.]

Do we still have reports from when the Joker was around? If so, I'd like to take a look at them.

[There's a whirling noise; it sounds like air is rushing about on the other side of the feed.]

He had help. Someone fucking helped him.

[Pause; another deep inhale.] This is why you don't play with mad dogs.

[ooc; Smoker has been running around like a god-damn madman, trying to hunt down Giovanni and Two-Face at the same time. So, that's why he hasn't been saying anything.]

[There's a snarl, followed by a loud crash.]

I need a search party; two search parties, actually. We have two different attackers striking the public, I want them found.

The first is a man by the named of Two-Face. It has been confirmed that, sometime last evening, he shot and killed an individual that will not be named at this time. No doubt, he's looking to pick up where he started last time he was here. I already had a man interested in hunting him down, but he is currently on bed leave. This brings me to the second.

Giovanni has struck again. Find him and keep him locked down in a secure area. Do not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to visit him.

[Inhaling.] I'm going on my own hunting trip.

I want to know who we have and who we don't have. I want to know who's willing to help rebuild the task force. I also need someone who can work with metal - the prison needs to be fixed.

I also need an artist; preferably a realistic artist for profile sketches.

Get it done quick; I'll be checking supplies to see what we have and what we can use, so leave me a message or come find me. I'll take all the reports that have been written up in the last few weeks; I want to know what the fuck has been going on since I had my leave of absence.

[Inhaling.]

And if someone finds some cigars and there may be a gold star in his or her future.

[Sharp inhale.] I should probably thank the reset on my Den-Den Mushi. Then again, I'm not exactly in the thanking sort of mood.

[Grunting.] That's a really sick trick, you know. Giving a man his freedom, then taking it away so abruptly. I don't think I'll play so nice the second time around.