A synthetic voice spoke. "Voiceprint confirmed. Retinal pattern confirmed. Guest status acknowledged. Enter."
The door dilated open with a hydraulic hiss.
The room beyond was vast, circular, and surprisingly organic compared to the rest of Egghead. The center was dominated by a large, round table that seemed grown from polished, dark wood.
The walls were lined not with screens, but with books, real, physical books, and chalkboards covered in frantic, genius scribbles.
The lighting was softer, warmer, emanating from glowing orbs that floated near the ceiling. It felt like the study of a mad, timeless wizard.
And around the table, the Vegapunks had gathered.
At the head sat the original, the source: Dr. Vegapunk, Stella. His appearance was as bizarre as Ragnar remembered from the plot.
His body was that of a small, elderly man in a simple lab coat, but where his head should have been, a floating, apple-shaped apparatus, the "Stella Housing" in miniature form here.
A comically large tongue lolled from his mouth, and two expressive, eyes were on his face. He sat on a tall stool, his small legs dangling.
Flanking him were his other satellites, each a facet of his genius given physical form.
Shaka, the embodiment of Good and logic. He radiated calm authority. Pythagoras, the facet of Wisdom, and knowledge. He clutched a book in his hands and looked upon the newcomers with intense, scholarly curiosity.
Atlas, the facet of Violence and strength. A muscular, towering woman with spiky pink hair and a fierce expression, wearing a tank top and pants.
She stood with her arms crossed, her gaze critically assessing Zoro and Kuro, a competitive spark in her eyes.
Edison, the facet of Invention and creativity. He was practically vibrating in place, tools clinking in his many pockets, his eyes darting over Ragnar's group as if trying to mentally disassemble them.
And then, there was York, the facet of Greed.
She was not sitting at the table. She was bound tightly to a heavy chair off to the side, thick polymer restraints securing her wrists, ankles, and torso.
Her appearance was the most overtly sensual of the satellites, giant voluptuous curves accentuated by a tight, purple outfit, long blonde hair, and full lips.
But now, those lips were twisted in a mixture of fury, fear, and petulant arrogance. Tears streamed down her face, smudging her makeup.
"You fools!" she sobbed, her voice hiccupping. "You're dooming us all! He'll scrap us! Or the Elders will! They promised me a Celestial Dragon's life! Eternal privilege! You're throwing it away for… for pirate promises!"
"Silence, York," Shaka said, his voice calm but firm. "Your avarice has clouded your judgment and endangered the collective."
"My judgment is the only clear one!" York shrieked, straining against her bonds. "Power is with the World Government! They rule the world! This… this upstart will be crushed, and we'll be labeled traitors and dismantled!"
It was at this moment that her tear-blurred eyes landed on the new arrivals, specifically on Ragnar as he stepped fully into the chamber. Her tirade cut off with a choked gasp. All the color drained from her face, leaving her makeup stark and garish.
Her body, already constrained, began to tremble violently. The arrogant bluster evaporated, replaced by raw, primal terror. She had seen the footage from Marineford.
A fresh, louder wave of tears burst forth, and she began to weep in earnest, great heaving sobs of despair, her threats reduced to incoherent whimpers.
Ragnar spared her only a glance, a look of mild distaste as one might give a buzzing insect, before turning his attention to the assembled Vegapunks.
He ignored the tension, the drama. He exuded an aura of calm, unshakeable certainty.
"Dr. Vegapunk," he said, addressing the apple-headed man in a polite tone. "And facets. Thank you for agreeing to see us."
The politeness threw them. Shaka's eyes blinked. Edison's fidgeting stopped. Atlas's scowl deepened in confusion.
They were prepared for demands, for threats, for displays of force. Not this… courtesy from a man known for obliterating islands and humiliating Admirals.
Stella's eyes widened. "Ah! Yes! Well! One must be hospitable, even to unexpected guests who bypass all security, hahaha!" His laugh was nervous, but genuine curiosity quickly overrode it.
"Lilith has told me… fascinating things. And she has made a grave accusation against one of my own. This is a day of many shocks."
"Truth is often shocking," Ragnar said, stepping further into the room. Kuro and Zoro flanked him, standing at ease but unmistakably vigilant.
"Lilith has seen a glimpse of what I can offer. But seeing is different from hearing. Doctor, you are the greatest scientific mind this world has ever produced. Yet you are stifled.
Your budget is controlled by men who fear progress. Your projects are censored by those who wish to maintain the status quo. You are asked to build weapons to enforce a peace that is really just oppression."
He gestured to the room, to the books, to the chalkboards brimming with unrealized potential. "This lab and island are a prison of the mind. A beautiful, well-equipped prison, but a prison nonetheless."
Vegapunk's tongue waggled. "It is… true that the World Government's priorities are often short-sighted. Their fear of the Ancient Kingdom's technology makes them paranoid of any advancement. But they provide stability, resources…"
"Barely sufficient resources," Lilith cut in, stepping forward, her eyes alight.
"Stella, he showed me things. A self-sustaining fusion reactor the size of a fist! A material that regenerates its own structure! Theoretical models for faster-than-light travel! It wasn't holograms or theory, he manifested them, from pure conceptual energy! The science behind it… It's generations ahead of anything in our databases!"
The other satellites leaned in, their specialist interests piqued.
"Manifestation from concept?" Pythagoras asked. "That violates the Law of Conservation…"
"A regenerative alloy?" Edison whispered, his fingers twitching. "The applications for robotics…!"
"Fist-sized fusion?" Atlas muttered, calculating destructive yields in her head.
Shaka remained silent, his eyes fixed on Ragnar, analyzing his every micro-expression, the truth of his words, the intent behind them.
Vegapunk was practically vibrating on his stool. "Hahaha! Fascinating! The energy requirements alone for such a stable manifestation would be… incalculable! The underlying physics must be…!"
He caught himself, his face adopting a more serious expression.
"But… resources. Even with such knowledge, the material cost, the infrastructure… The Revolutionary Army's leader, Dragon, once made a similar offer. Join him, change the world. A noble goal! But… he is, forgive me, quite poor. Vision without funding is just a dream."
Ragnar chuckled as he heard that. "Poverty," he said, the word was foreign to him, "is a concept that does not exist in my vocabulary. My domain, the Heavens Dimension, is not just a hideout.
It is a nascent universe, with its own laws, its own resources. Mountains of unclassified ores. Rivers of energetic plasma. Forests of crystalline bio-circuitry. And what isn't there…" He met Vegapunk's gaze, his golden eyes holding the certainty of a conqueror.
"…we take. From the uncharted depths of the sea, from the territories of Emperors who won't miss a few asteroid belts' worth of material, from the secret vaults of the World Government themselves. Resources are not an issue. Your ambition is the only limit I recognize."
He paused, letting the scale of that promise sink in. Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a confident one.
"And the knowledge I offer is merely the beginning. There are powers in this world, secrets buried in its history, energies that flow through the Lineage Factor and the very stones, that your current patrons would kill you for even suspecting.
The Void Century, the Ancient Weapons, the true nature of Devil Fruits… these are not myths to me. They are puzzles to be solved, tools to be understood." His gaze swept over all of them.
"With me, you wouldn't just be scientists. You would be pioneers of a new age. Archaeologists of forbidden truth. And you would do it without looking over your shoulder, without fearing a Buster Call for discovering something inconvenient."
The chamber was utterly silent, save for York's muffled weeping. The Vegapunks were frozen, a council of geniuses confronted with an offer that spoke directly to the core of each of their aspects: limitless discovery for Pythagoras, boundless invention for Edison, supreme strength through technology for Atlas, pure logical progression for Shaka, and for Stella, the ultimate satisfaction of a curiosity that had been shackled for decades.
Shaka finally spoke, his voice measured. "You speak of overthrowing the existing order. This will cause immense conflict. Suffering."
"The existing order is suffering," Ragnar replied without heat. "It is a machine of stagnation and control built on lies. I am not proposing mindless destruction. I am proposing a controlled demolition, followed by building something better. Your technology, guided by a vision of true progress, could alleviate suffering on a scale you cannot imagine.
Imagine curing all diseases with targeted nanites. Providing clean, limitless energy to every island. The World Government doesn't want these things because a hungry, sick, divided population is easier to rule. I do not have that weakness."
Edison was practically glowing. Atlas was nodding slowly, a fierce grin starting to form. Pythagoras was clutching his book so hard the cover creaked. Lilith watched them, hope blazing in her eyes.
Stella's apple-head tilted. He looked at Shaka. A silent communication passed between the logical facet and the original, a torrent of data and probability assessment happening in a nanosecond.
Vegapunk sighed, a long, weary exhalation that made his small shoulders slump. He scratched the side of his apple-head with a tiny hand.
"I have spent my life in service to an idea of progress, only to have it weaponized and restricted. I have seen my creations used to hunt and oppress. Dragon's path was one of righteous poverty. The Government's path is one of wealthy tyranny." He looked at Ragnar, his projected eyes sharp.
"You offer a third path. One of… sovereign abundance. It is a terrifying gamble."
"All great discoveries are," Ragnar said softly.
Another long moment stretched out. York had stopped crying, watching with horrified fascination.
Finally, Shaka gave a single, slow nod.
Vegapunk's tongue lolled out in a smile. "Very well. We accept your offer, Lord Ragnar. The collective intellect of Vegapunk places itself at your service. For science! For knowledge! For the future that has been denied to us!"
A wave of palpable relief and excitement washed through the satellites except York, who let out a moan of utter despair. Edison whooped. Atlas cracked her knuckles. Pythagoras smiled. Lilith pumped her fist.
Ragnar's smile was one of genuine, triumphant pleasure. He extended his hand towards the small, bodiless form of the old genius. "This will be a decision you'll never regret, Doctor."
Vegapunk reached out his own small hand, shaking Ragnar's hand. "I hope so," he sighed, the weight of his centuries of compromise still evident, but now mixed with a new, thrilling anxiety. He scratched the apple on his head again.
"For all our sakes, I truly hope so. Now… what is our first order of business? And… what do we do about her?" He gestured with his thumb towards the bound and weeping York.
Ragnar's gaze finally turned fully upon the traitorous facet. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by a glacial, evaluating calm. "First," he said, his voice now carrying the finality of a judge, "we secure our new assets. Then, we deal with the corruption within."
He then took a step towards York, whose sobs hitched in terror. "Greed is not inherently evil, York. It is a motivator. But greed that betrays its own family for the empty promises of her decayed masters… that is simply stupidity. And I have no use for stupidity."