Oliver stumbled down the city streets, struggling to keep his head up under the weight of his intoxication. It was the heat of summertime and sweat dripped down his brow, burning his eyes. They watered both from the sting and an overwhelming swell of feelings brought on by the liquor. Steadying himself he pulled his hat down low over his face, trying to hide his shame. He had missed her funeral in his drunken stupor, but was now making his way to her grave. It was his fault she had died and he knew it. He thought he would be able to protect her. Now she was gone and he was alone. Oliver felt his chest tighten as the crushing press of grief sought to overwhelm him. Stopping in his tracks, a surge of anger took hold of him, and an intense rage began to burn behind his eyes. He may not have been able to protect her, but now he had nothing to lose. A smile started to creep it’s way onto his face, as the thought sank in Oliver said to himself “to forgive is divine, but vengeance is mine.”

With the inferno no inside him, he knew what he had to do, where he had to go, who he had to kill. Walking briskly through the cities slums, human waste piled high on the sidewalks, Oliver lit a cigarette. The bar he was headed to was a frequent for many unsavory magical types and was run by an old acquaintance of his, the djin Barbatos. He would have the information Oliver needed. It was a long walk and yet it did little to silence his inner demons. They fed the flames of his turmoil, to the extent that when he arrived at the bar he nearly tore the door from its frame. Storming into the establishment that reeked of stale beer and urine he roared “Show yourself Barbatos! I need answers you slimy little shit!”

Ganesh, the bartender, attempted to appease him, but Oliver was blinded by his own wraith. With a solid left jab, followed by a punch to the Indian man’s stomach Oliver had him on the ground. Ganesh was no fighter. Oliver pulled his revolver, pointing it at the bartender’s head. Screaming “Barbatos! I swear on my immortal soul I’ll shoot. Show yourself or your man gets it.”

In a puff of red smoke, a sleek man with slicked back black hair and a burgundy suit appeared, a sly smile playing across his lips. The djin spoke in a voice layered with charm and smooth as honey “My friend, Straw-Hat, please. There is no need for such violence. I’m sure you and I can come to an understanding.”

There was magic in his words, and Oliver could feel it pulling at the threads of his thoughts. Clamping down on his mind, he spat at the man’s feet. Saying with a snarl “She was the only reason I had at all for playing nice.”