On the northern watchtower, a young Marine recruit squints through his binoculars at the horizon. He's only been stationed here three weeks. Still green enough to find the endless blue ocean fascinating.

His colleague beside him yawns, leaning against the railing. Standard shift. Nothing ever happens this far into the calm belt.

The binoculars slip from his fingers, clattering against the stone floor.

Below, the first alarm bell rings out. Then another. And another. Within seconds, the entire base erupts into controlled chaos. Officers running. Orders shouted. The clash of boots against marble stairs.

And on the horizon, growing larger with each passing second, a ship flies a flag that needs no introduction.

The pirate emperor has arrived.