Despite being in charge of an important base station, Haba had little formal education, and his handwriting was simply appalling.
Damon took the intelligence report and studied it for a long time before he could barely decipher it.
"The second wrench on the third row of the counter on the left side of the hardware store is the mechanism to open the basement. Turning it clockwise once will open the basement door, where half of the human slaves have been transferred to Tom's Shipbuilding Company."
Having obtained this information, the group quickly located the wrench.
"Crack!"
Turning the wrench clockwise once caused the wall behind the workbench to split open, revealing a winding staircase leading into the depths.
As they descended, the air grew increasingly foul.
Two pirates were guarding the basement. Years of a pampered life had eroded their vigilance; they continued to drink and eat, showing no reaction to the Marines entering their lair.
A drunken pirate, with bleary eyes, muttered:
"Huh, why are there people in the basement again? Didn't they just take away a batch of goods a while ago?"
No sooner had he finished speaking than a bullet pierced his skull.
The other pirate sobered up instantly at the sound of the gunshot.
However, all that awaited him was a cold death.
"Pfft!"
The pirate was shot in the forehead, his head lolling to the side as his face fell directly into a plate of food on the table.
Daddy Masterson blew on the muzzle of his gun, twirled the flintlock pistol, and tucked it back into his holster.
The basement was cold and damp. Behind iron bars, groups of slaves were imprisoned, categorized like mere merchandise.
Strong young men, children, young girls in their prime, and women chosen for their looks.
The elderly were clearly deemed worthless, as none were found in the basement.
To prevent riots, the prisoners were given only one meal a day, keeping them perpetually hungry and weak.
When Damon and his companions arrived, most of the prisoners were curled up in corners, trying to sleep to preserve their dwindling energy.
Seeing how emaciated and pale these people were, the team's expressions turned grim.
They were young, and their sense of justice was fierce. They could not abide seeing their fellow humans reduced to this state.
Hina retrieved the keys from the pirate's corpse and began unlocking the cages.
"We are the Navy. We've come to rescue you!"
A little girl woke with a start, rubbing her eyes.
"Am I dreaming?"
Seeing the child shivering in her thin clothes, Hina hugged her tightly, sharing her warmth.
"Don't worry, this isn't a dream!"
The others woke one by one, staggering out of the cells and back up toward the hardware store.
Many wept with joy upon seeing the long-lost sunshine outside.
Damon glanced around and saw Haba lying in a pool of blood, the pen he had used to write the report sticking out of his neck. His brows furrowed.
Even from this, it was clear that Doflamingo demanded absolute silence from his subordinates.
Looking at the report in his hand, Damon muttered:
"Tom Shipbuilding Company?"
"How did they get involved in this?"
The group contacted the local Navy garrison to take charge of the survivors and arrange their return home. Then, they headed straight for the heart of Water Seven.
The world-renowned Tom Shipbuilding Company sat at the center of the city.
From afar, the distinctive long-horn fish-man logo was visible.
In this world, people—regardless of race—seemed to enjoy flaunting their most striking features in their symbols.
Upon arriving at the premises, the air was filled with the rhythmic clanging of hammers as shipwrights busily constructed new vessels.
A group of fish-men, possessing ten times the strength of humans, hauled heavy materials across the yard.
Iceburg was perched on an iron ladder with a mouthful of screws, holding a hammer in his right hand. He took a wooden plank from a worker, removed a screw from his mouth, and nailed it firmly into place.
He gave a thumbs-up to a nearby worker.
"Makuro, thanks for the hand. We might have missed the deadline without you."
Makuro, a Macropinna-type fish-man, had algae-green skin and a distinctively large mouth. He wore a square scarf over his head and simple work clothes that revealed a muscular chest.
He scratched his head with a shy smile.
"You're too kind. If it weren't for Mr. Tom taking us in, we'd still be wandering without a home."
Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the entrance.
Iceburg climbed down the ladder, stretching his numb legs, and walked toward the gate.
"Is someone causing trouble?"
He thought it was a common dispute, but as he pushed through the crowd of shipwrights, he realized the situation was far more serious.
Six young officers stood at the gate. The boy at their head held up a Marine ID and spoke without emotion:
"Based on intelligence, we suspect Tom Shipbuilding Company is secretly involved in human slavery and trafficking with the pirate Donquixote Doflamingo."
The shipwrights, armed with hammers and saws, glared at Damon.
"Nonsense!"
Franky, hands on his hips, shouted angrily:
"This company operates with honor! How could we be involved in something so vile?"
"You're slandering us!"
"I'm starting to wonder if you're even real Marines!"
Franky was Tom's protégé, and his words reflected the pride of the entire yard.
The workers were incensed. Had they not been wary of the group's official status, they would have likely charged forward.
Even some members of Damon's squad felt a flicker of doubt.
They knew that Tom Shipbuilding's legitimate profits far exceeded anything they could gain from slavery. The risk didn't seem to make sense.
Iceburg straightened his clothes and approached. He examined the ID in Damon's hand, noting the official seal of Marine Headquarters. He gave a weary smile.
"Officers, I suspect there has been a grave misunderstanding."
The squad turned to Damon, waiting for his lead.
Damon hesitated for a moment. In his knowledge of the world, Tom was an honorable man. Could Haba have been lying?
Seeing the boy fall silent, Iceburg gave Franky a subtle wink.
The two brothers understood each other perfectly. Franky raised his fist and shouted:
"Navy, get out!"
The shipwrights, already seething, took up the cry.
"Navy, get out!"
The noise was deafening. The conflict quickly drew a crowd of locals and even newspaper reporters eager for a scoop.
Smoker, Drake, and Hina looked solemn. They were young and lacked experience in handling public hostility. Faced with the righteous fury of the workers, their resolve began to waver.
Seeing this, Iceburg seized the moment.
"Officers, why don't we settle this peacefully? I invite you to visit the company another day so we can clear up these prejudices."
Iceburg and Franky were playing their parts perfectly—the reasonable negotiator and the fiery protector.
To an outsider, it looked like Iceburg was graciously offering the Navy a way to retreat with their dignity intact.
Just as Damon was about to reconsider, his gaze shifted past Iceburg and landed on Makuro. In an instant, his doubts vanished.
The Sun Pirates were divided into three paths.
The first, led by Fisher Tiger (and later Jinbe), sought coexistence. The second, led by Arlong, preached fish-man supremacy and hatred.
The third, led by Makuro, followed a darker path. Having been enslaved themselves, they turned that trauma into a trade, becoming opportunistic human traffickers.
When Makuro met Damon's sharp eyes, his heart skipped a beat. A wave of unease washed over him.
Despite his infiltration skills, Makuro struggled to maintain his "simple-minded worker" facade under that piercing stare.
Damon smiled slightly, his eyes hardening as he looked back at Iceburg.
"The Navy acts in the name of justice. We do not let criminals escape, nor do we wrong the innocent."
"Mr. Iceburg, tell me—are you aware that the fish-men you've employed are actually remnants of the Sun Pirates?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Makuro's face froze.
The other fish-men lacked his composure. Seeing their cover blown, their eyes flared with a terrifying ferocity.
Two fish-men crept up behind Damon, raising heavy iron hammers to crush his skull.