The months went by, and the Detective Pirates grew ever closer as a team. The crew got used to the idea of having an immortal fisherman accompanying them, as Patricia and Karnilla grew to trust their crewmates enough to talk about their past. This inspired a session wherein the crew shared their stories and it became clear what kind of person each of them was. This cleared the crew of any doubts about their cohesiveness as a team, and from that moment forward, they would be a team.
Everyone in the crew did not skimp on their training, and as a result, all of them became stronger for it. Crock reawakened some dormant potential, whilst James began learning seven-strength (though he was yet to master it). Milangelo increased his strength threshold so that he reached five-strength. Cameron, though hesitant of his ability to reach three-strength, realised that soon he might be able to unlock it. In the mean time, he became a much better shot with the bow and arrow, especially whilst moving around. Patricia attempted to understand the scope of her new Reveal powers, while Karnilla worked out how to use her Viper Chain for some deadly and unique techniques. Persimmon practiced his Flavour Fighting, and unlocked two-strength during his training. Brandon Black improved his fishing skills, though despite his training, stayed at around the same strength level.
It was the thirteenth of February, 4099, and a new chapter in the lives of the Detective Pirates was about to begin. However, as is often the case, the world seemed to move as well.
On an island in the middle of the Hephaestus Sea, a town was dealing with the aftermath of a volcanic eruption. In the market stalls, civilians bemoaned the loss of their fruits and vegetables to ash and molten rock. Through the distraught streets, a man who seemed dressed for a funeral walked. The one thing about him, however, that stood out, was his wavy, purple hair. It was so distinct, that not even a grieving merchant could look at it without wanting to laugh.
"Does my appearance please you, sir?" asked the man.
"You..." said the merchant, almost speechless, but finding the words in spite of himself. "You're Tristram Shandy, aren't you?"
"That is the crux of it, yes. The Million Dollar Gentleman, at your service. Now, was this a volcanic eruption? I had a cousin once who was fascinated by them. Then he got lost in a snowstorm. Frankly, I don't see the correlation."
"I didn't say that there was one."
"You didn't say anything, my merchant friend. And it's alright, you don't have to. You've been through a lot. I know what it's like to go through a lot. Anecdotally, of course. My grandfather invented the lot. Well, not really. He just likes to think he did. And we let him. Everybody's gotta have something, you know? My grandfather had nothing. Though, he used to have things, but age took them away. I wonder how age does that?"
This was Tristram Shandy's greatest talent, and greatest flaw: he would talk at length about the small things in life. He was easily distracted and had little to no interest in his own life. Every time a reporter would try to get his story, he would start strong, but quickly go off on tangents, becoming, quite by accident, notoriously enigmatic, yet endearing. It is for this reason, more than his wealth or charity, or any other reason, that he earned the moniker 'Million Dollar Gentleman'.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the island, a pirate known and feared throughout the Hephaestus, Redbeard, had landed.
"You, sir, is this the Isle of Mount Bastion?" he asked a man who was salvaging what he could from the wreckage of his house. "Just wanted to know."
The man nodded, due to having sustained an injury to his neck that prevented him from speaking.
"It's more polite to speak, but I can see you have an injury."
A young man was running through the streets, and a merchant yelled out for someone to stop him. The man ran straight into Redbeard and fell backwards.
"What are you doing in my way, you dressed-for-the-circus weirdo? Is that beard of yours flammable, you chubby, hoboistic fuck? You small-faced pirate stereotype?—"
"Fuck you," Redbeard said, in a tone that oozed with anger.
"Hey man, you shut the fuck up. Because of you, I'm not gonna get away with this loaf of bread. I've got a family to feed, and this is the best I can do."
"That's bullshit, and you know it." Redbeard grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him up into the air.
"Hey, let go of me!"
"You're nothing but talk." Redbeard smiled a crooked smile and then exclaimed, "Leech Glove". The man began to turn pale, as Redbeard's hand turned as red as blood. This continued for about a minute until it seemed as if the man had no blood left, and then he dropped the man's limp body on the ground. The man's life was fading quickly, but while he lay on the ground he mustered up the strength to speak.
"What the fuck?" he asked.
"Blood Spatter," said Redbeard, as he pointed his hand at the man's dying body. His hand, which had been glowing blood red, began to shoot out blood all over the man.
When he was finished, he looked over at the merchant. "So, did this guy steal from you?"
"A loaf of bread. You went a bit too far, I think."
Redbeard gave a stern look, and after an awkward silence and forced smile from the merchant, he laughed heartily.
"I suppose I did, didn't I?" he said cheerfully. "But one less thief in the world is no harm done to me. What about to you?"
"Well, what about his family?"
"Do you really think he has a family? Anyway, do you want your loaf of bread back?"
"No, thank you. It probably has blood all over it now."
"I could remove it."
"Still, you should have it. It's only one loaf."
"Well, if you're sure." Redbeard removed the loaf from the man's pocket and drained the blood from the loaf. He then proceeded to eat it. "This is very fresh bread. Who made it?"
"My wife, she cultivates the food, prepares it, really knows how to do the things I cannot."
"Well, she has a great talent. Anyway, I thank you for granting me an opportunity to catch a thief in the act. I hate thieves."
In the Atlas Sea, a large ship was docked off the coast of the island-prison, Snyke's Penitentiary. The ship had a number of new prisoners, and all of them were being processed. Deeper inside the prison, a cell was occupied by two individuals.
"Fuck, they confiscated my mask," said one.
"I know it's hard to adjust to your new life, but all will be well," said the other. "Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to meditate."
"You seem pretty calm for someone who lost their big fish status."
The other person gave the first person a strange look.
"That wasn't intentional."
"Barracuda is a finished chapter of my life. I am in the process of re-discovering myself."
"Fuck that noise, everyone has an identity. I know who I am."
"Yeah, and who are you?"
"I'm Munge."
"Munge? What does that mean?"
"Does a name have to mean something? I just think it sounds cool."
The former Barracuda shrugged, sat down, and began to meditate. "You're going to be in here for a long time, so there's no use in being miserable."
Deep in the Terminus, the Rough-House Pirates had arrived at their destination, the underwater refuge: Merstranger Island.
"Yes, we've finally found it," said Disco, proud of himself.
"Now what?" asked Piranha.
"Now our adventures in the Terminus Sea begin. This land is but our first taste of what's to come."
On the waters of the Hephaestus, en route toward Barronym Island, the SS Psychic held eight crewmates, all of them taking some much deserved downtime. The crew had exerted a lot of their energies fighting off an invasion three months ago, and shortly thereafter learned of their new bounties. They also had celebrated the birthdays of Cameron, Milangelo, and Brandon, the former two one month after the fact, at the same time as New Year's. They also reflected on how they had previously understood the holiday.
However, after the period of celebration, things calmed down and all they could really do was wait around.
The thirteenth of February was shaping up to be one of those days, as Karnilla walked by Patricia playing video games.
"Hey Pat, did you record last night's basketball game?"
"Sorry, Kans, but watching sports is lame. Playing them on the other hand... well, maybe once I finish this level."
"But that was the game that documented the last known location of the Satchanville Copperheads. I wanted to see if there were any clues that might have–"
"They were on a flight to some country in Theminos, when the plane crashed in the Hephaestus, near Septagon Island. I found the file when I was doing some reading earlier. Couldn't find anything that I could turn into a poem, though."
"Septagon Island, I'll have to remember that name."
"Say, James has been really diligent in turning the newspaper articles into files, but it still seems like an odd thing to do."
"Without a mystery, he gets kind of lost. After hearing his story though, it makes sense. Weird that everyone else aboard this ship has complicated pasts as well."
"Kans, we should really look to the future, not the past."
Karnilla smiled and walked away, and Patricia continued to play. Karnilla walked to the front deck, and James ran up to her asking where Patricia was.
"She's playing a video game."
"How long has it been since she observed the horizon?"
"About a week, why?"
"We're heading up on land, that's why! We can't use mapping tech unless we want our every move tracked, so we need a look out doing their job at least twice a day."
"We're not going to crash, are we?"
"Crock assures me that he can steer us away from a collision, but that it will be close, and that the waters may get bumpy."
It became clear that the habit of relaxing to the point of neglecting duties was not one that any of the crew wanted to fall into again. Brandon was almost caught by a rock formation because he had been fishing as there had been no statement the day before about land on the horizon. Persimmon got burns in his chest shaped like fried eggs because he was cooking when the waves of the shallower waters began to rock the boat. Patricia was in a lot of trouble for not doing her job. Thankfully, that was the extent of it, and no-one else was hurt.
The crew sailed around to the nearest port, which housed an eerie, derelict pier, with a sign that read 'any Island is better than our island'. This was spelt from the letters that remained, though given the spaces, it would not be hard to imagine that it once read 'Barronym Island is better than your island'.
"Well, this inspires confidence," said Karnilla.
"It should be a days' journey to the Kingdom proper from this pier. Also, be careful, I've heard there are strange creatures on this island," said Crock.
"I heard there were dinosaurs," said Persimmon.
"If only there were dinosaurs..." said Karnilla.
"Hey, be careful what you wish for," said Cameron.
Patricia cracked up laughing. "I can't believe you just said that. Those were actual words that came out of your mouth."
"Yeah, alright. I get it; you see something so often it loses its impact. But I'm not going to let your little games dictate what I can and cannot say."
"Who said they have to? Be trite and one dimensional if you want, just know that we're going to laugh at you if you do."
"Where did that come from?"
"Easy there, Camen, Pat is just giving you a hard time," said Karnilla. "It's how she responds to unwilling participants."
"And who said I was a participant?"
"You're playing a game right now. It's called 'I don't want to play your games anymore: the game'."
Cameron got a bit flustered but decided to laugh it off.
Meanwhile, in the dungeons of Fort Barronym, the main castle of the Barronymous Kingdom, the organic androids, Halberd, Amperes, and Bolster lay against their cell wall, defeated and miserable.
"Boy, who could have seen that coming, am I right?" asked Amperes, in a futile attempt to lighten the mood.
"Hey, Bolster, how many times has this clown tried to cheer us up? One million?" asked Halberd.
"Sounds about right, but I'm too tired and hungry to care," said Bolster. "Besides, what harm can it do to be positive?"
"Harm is irrelevant, we're in a fucking prison! My King has betrayed me, and thrown us in a dungeon without charge or trial. I have questions, and I will not be satisfied without getting some answers!"
It was as Halberd finished his sentence that the bars on the cell dissolved, as if they had come in contact with acid.
"Wait a moment, do not touch the bars. Please allow time for the dissolvent to be absorbed by the stone surrounding the bars, and then quickly follow me," said a voice.
The three androids looked, and saw a man dressed in a cloak and carrying a shovel.
"You're the undertaker..." said Halberd, his voice weak.
"Joneas Demafred, at your service. The King has been hypnotised by the magician that leads the circus."
"So where do we go from here?" asked Bolster.
"The only place we can go: the Rebel Forces."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Halberd.
"Well, couldn't hurt to try," said Amperes.
"Actually, you two should get out of here," said Halberd.
"They aren't from around here, are they, Halberd?" asked Joneas. "How do you know them?"
"Associates from another line of work. Anyway, Amperes, Bolster, I want the two of you to find Selma, and take her to you-know-who."
"Speaking in code? Well, it's fine, I'll let you have your secrets, Halberd. But you owe me for this," said Joneas.
And so, as the four of them escaped the dungeon, Amperes and Bolster left to find Selma and flee the island, while Halberd and Joneas would make their way to the Rebel camps, and attempt to join their ranks.