Her time spent as Kamazo had been well spent, Kidd came to find out. When Killer was allowed freedom from her handlers to go assassinate whoever Orochi was cross with at any given the time, she took as long as she could possibly get away with, scouting and mapping out every part of Wano she could. The two of them slipped away from the Punk in the quiet morning, Killer moving through the scattering of towns and countryside like the shadow of death itself, Kidd following her lead just like the old days. They moved through Wano without so much as a second glance from the locals, even as Killer took them dangerously close to the center of one of the town centers.

She lifted food from a stall so smoothly, Kidd himself almost missed it, even as she passed the pilfered meal back to him. By the time they slipped back into the shadows, she'd snagged him a second round and was awkwardly shoving rice into her own mouth as they walked.

It wasn't just the food, Killer knew where every one of their crew was - had even known where even he was - in her time as Orochi's puppet, and had spent what sanity she'd had left pulling strings and trading favours to get their crew moved around and taken care of.

The indiscriminate killing had never been the hard part;  Killer would do it all over again for her crew without batting an eye. On the surface, it wasn't even the favours she'd done that bothered her, although they'd shaken her more than she'd admit. No, it was that her ability to compartmentalize and cope had been completely screwed once she'd eaten that fruit, and with how lost she'd been when Kidd had first found her, he knew the lucidly she had now was held in place by the barest of tethers.

But she was holding it a death grip, only the softest of chuckles escaping when she waved her free hand to the first of many work camps they would visit, just as desolate and gloomy as Udon had been. Kidd waited for her to compose herself before pulling his own hand from her, feeling out the fencing and weapons and piping that made up the compound, mapping the camp out in his head.

Killer had taken Kidd to Wire first; their tallest commander spotting them before the guards did, and immediately turning on his captors. It seemed what Orochi had forgotten was the Kidd Pirates were only placid because they believed he held their Captain's life in his hands. The sight of Kidd walking free meant all bets were off, shackles were thrown down, and Kidd walked out of there with not just some of his crew but a good number of forced-laborer locals there to help.

He was... not sure how to take that turn.

Wire got them weapons, and freeing Heat was next.

While Wire had been quick, efficient and clean in his killings, Heat took one look at his crew come to free him, and turned on Kaido's men with all the fury he'd been forcing down since they'd been subdued on their own turf. He'd been the last of the four standing against Kaido, and Apoo, the one to watch Hawkins take a knee as he himself was beaten down.

Wire had fallen first, taken out by Kaido before they'd understood they were under attack. Killer had been next, that bastard Apoo having moved like he'd watch her back, to uphold an alliance they'd just sworn to, only to step aside to let her take Kaido's club full force to the head. Heat had been frozen in place, uncomprehending as her helmet cracked and splintered in a single blow. Kidd had fallen next, blindsided by rage, even his fury no match for an emperor. Hawkins had knelt then, surrendered. Heat felt all eyes to him, both his enemies and crew alike, and had answered the only way he'd known how; he'd spit a fireball at the monster, and then knew no more.

Since waking up, he'd been with a few surviving crew mates, forced to work. He didn't know if Wire or Killer had survived, only being told Kidd lived. And would only continue to live only so long as they didn't cause Kaido's people any trouble. So against every fiber of his being, Heat had kept his mouth shut and head down. He'd tolerated their abuse, horded supplies and weapons, and waited. and waited. and waited.

And then a wild man stood at the gates, dressed only in boots and kilt and the red of fresh spilt blood. Heat did not freeze up this time. He was not even sorry to have left so few for his captain to get to fight.

Seeing Wire dressed in the same drab prison garb as himself was disheartening, but the blood splatter on them both livened it up pretty well. Heat then broke one of the biggest rules the crew had, and pulled Killer into a hug without warning. He'd not seen her face when her mask had broken, but the fact she was still bare broke his heart, and the only way to keep from staring was to put her out of his line of sight.

She gave an uncomfortable giggle, a sound so strange to him he didn't place it as her making the noise at first, as he cupped the back of her head in his hand. Solid bone, whole and unbroken, unlike his nightmares. Frighteningly more, was she allowed the embrace at all, only Kidd ever granted the privilege of being tactile because of the long history between the two. Her own hands warm against his back as she tucked in under his chin, returning the gesture.

In his panic, Heat looked to Kidd, demanding answers to what their vice-captain had been forced to endure. Kidd's face was carefully blank; Wire's pinching as he drew his own conclusions.

Kaido's men here had died too fast; Heat would be sure to make it last longer at the next camp, grinding his jaw as he rested his head against Killer's for a brief moment longer before pulling away. He kept his gaze lowered, frowning as he took in her getup.

"Boss Killer, you really do not have to indulge Captain's atrocious taste in patterns, you know." Although, she at least wore the shirt better than he did, even if it was poorly fitted for different reasons.

"You know a place I can get a good pair of jeans?" she asked dryly.

"All leather here I'm afraid. But," he nudged the wooden sandals she was balancing on, "that does include shoes. Lets find you something better?"

As the prisoners raided the supplies, trading out ragged linen for furs and leathers, and even if it wasn't quite their style, Heat and Wire made it work for them. Killer also got boots, but - with Kidd's blessing and don't think Heat didn't catch that look he gave her - stayed with the clothes she had. Kidd also passed on clothes, and admittedly, he looked fearsome enough as is, so it worked for him too.

"I do have one last thing," Heat admitted, as they made ready to leave to march on to the next camp. Some of the locals would go with them, but most had gone their own way already. As long as it caused chaos and a headache for what passed as authority on this island, Kidd didn't care either way.

Heat's camp had been mostly responsible for metal work, and that was both the ore being mined on the island, and the melting down the scrap from other projects. Or other ships.

He and the few crew mates that had been assigned here and been slowly salvaging little bits that they knew had been taken from the Punk. Enough for Kidd to build a respectable new prosthetic. For Wire to have a trident that would work for his taller frame. Older punishers that had been retired; not because they were broken but because Kidd and Killer had perfected a new design. Still perfectly functional, and between Kidd, the weapons on hand, and the camp's tools, new blades had been procured and affixed easily. The strange new smile that never seemed to waver on Killer's face seemed genuine the first time as the machine spun to life in her hand.

"Don't say thank you yet," Moai grinned, before hoisting up a wooden crate that had clearly been buried in the ground until recently.

Most of the crew had never heard Killer laugh before, something she'd stopped doing a world ago, long before they'd given up trying to kill each other instead of turning their ire to bigger targets. So it took them by surprise to hear her burst into both tears and cachinnations. Kidd's look to them was a clear and present warning not to react, as he took the helmet from the open crate in Moai's arms, who worriedly looked at him to make sure he'd not done something wrong.

Kidd loosened the latches on the spare helmet, before holding it up for Killer. Heat could see in his eyes he was furious about the situation, but was doing an admirable job in acting like nothing was amiss. Killer lowered her head to let him put it on, the Captain pausing only to ask, "Bangs?"

"Don't care right now," she laughed back, little mirth in her voice despite all. And despite the laughter and tears, the moment the metal was carefully latched back into place, her whole body eased just a bit, relaxing enough for all to see just how tense she'd been up to that point.

All told, they hit eight different labor camps that night, before all that was left was the most delicate extraction: getting the last members of their ranks from the pleasure district.

The locals show them where to sail to keep the Victoria Punk out of Kaido and Orochi's prying eyes. They told Captain Kidd to give them a few days before they can get the ship refitted with more of the day to day necessitates.

What they can do now, is give the Kidd Pirates a ships worth of fishing nets and someone even finds her main sail, enough to maneuver her to safety. Temporary main top-gallant and Mizzen-mast have also been secured. The promise of food and hopefully enough pieces for Kidd to rebuild the water filter to come with the night's sun set.

For the time being, the crew were camped out in the lower deck, reworking the nets into new hammocks. Attacking the labour camps would take some time for word to get back to Kaido and his men. A similar approach on the pleasure houses would not work, would get all eyes on them before they were ready for such a confrontation. The plan was for them to sneak into the Flower Capitol to get the last of their people, but they can't do it running on fumes like they are. They will rest the daylight hours away, and start out at dusk.

Those of them that have been sailing with Kidd since the start know their way around mending nets; Killer practically lived on the docks before her and Kidd starting running together, and twenty years hadn't lost the muscle memory of knots and weaving as she worked.

She was second only to Wire - a man who's fibrecraft skills had kept them clothed and stylish for the last decade. The two are working back to back at the moment, deft hands having already finished four hammocks apiece.

When suddenly Wire froze, looking around the room in a panic.

Kidd noticed immediately and started looking around to see what the man had spotted, only for Heat to let out an soft, "oh...."

Kidd looked between the two in confusion, before Heat motioned him over. Killer had drifted off at some point, hand in mid knot, slumping back against Wire. Now the taller man was the only thing keeping her upright, her breath soft and steady from under the helmet.

Some of the other crew had taken notice, chatting dying off and movement easing until the room was comfortably quiet. Jaggar took one of the finished hammocks and strung it up in Dive's usual place; top placement, in the middle of everything, yet out of everyone's way. Safest place in the room. Heat took one of the few blankets they had and lined the netting with in, knowing first hand the nightmare the coarse rope would do to one's hair.

Kidd lifted Killer up, the new prosthetic he'd assembled since they got back to the Punk taking her weight with ease. Disk J helped hold her hair out of the way when he settled her down, making sure it didn't pull or tangle, setting in the safety of the blanket Heat had put down, before going back to his own work.

"Is it safe for her to sleep in the helmet?" Compo worried, looking over but carefully keeping their line of sight under the hammock level. Kidd did not like that they had a point, looking down at his partner.

"Nobody's gonna go peeping." Gig assured him, "We wouldn't think of disrespecting Boss Killer like that."

Each turned back to their own work, giving Captain and First Mate their privacy, even in the middle of the room. Didn't judge either as Kidd fussed over the netting and the blankets before removing the metal shielding. Kidd tucked her helmet in her arms, frowning as his right hand brushed her forehead when he smoothed down her bangs. She was warmer than he'd like, and he pulled the edge of his shirt down to check her bandages. He needed to get her stitched up properly still, the skin red and splotchy where he could see. They didn't have clean supplies to rewrap her; if infection was setting in then they were in trouble.

Living in the Heaps - packs are focused on survival first, comfort a distant thought that rarely made top five things needed for energy to be spent on. Kidd and Killer had gotten their foot hold in one of the fallen buildings by the old lighthouse when the last pack that laid claimed had died off - even if between the two they wouldn’t be able to defend a stake in the main building, they held their own on the old mechanics shop.

Maybe the split chemicals from the broken tower and the fumes of rot that roiled in the sea buried under the trash that covered the shore made it less appealing for other packs from testing the Pup’s territory.

But Kidd and Killer made their nest up in the broken mezzanine of the attached building, rusted staircase dismantled to build a somewhat sturdier ladder up into the little balcony. Papas fit in with them just right, and for three is was perfect.

Three of Papas’ heats later, and they have a dilemma. There is a stranger at the shore, bigger and older than all of them. An omega that smells so sad, staring out to where the sun reflects of the poisoned water of the sea, their face distance. Killer takes the plunge, approaching first. He’s a waif next to the other; an omega by smell, but as large as imposing as any alpha next to his teenager self.

Compo is twice Kidd’s age, and had failed once again to win an alpha’s attention. Their family pack is fed up, and they were not welcomed back this time. Compo is lost in every sense of the word, no where to turn.

So Killer brings them home.

Compo is too big for their pup nest - and they are very adamant that it would be inappropriate for them to enter one anyway. Papas looks uneasy at that, but with Killer and Kidd’s blessings, the two make an omega nest on the floor under the mezzanine.

Kidd finds it a delight, hanging over the edge - often upside down - to chat with them, while their little pack grows. Compo is much stronger than the rest of them - and they are knowledgeable about the Night Market that exists outside the city walls on the far shore. Kidd has a nose for good scrap, and soon they are loading Compo up with their treasures to sell.

The thought that Compo might rob them itches the back of Papas’ mind, but Kidd tells him not to worry. Compo is Pack.

Compo brings food and clothes and blankets with them when they return. Soon - the sad little shop with its broken windows and crumbling walls is a nice little home. The wind doesn’t bite, the sun doesn’t scorch, the rain can’t soak them bone deep anymore.

Then the girls arrive.

Genders are funny things - they don’t really matter, just a label taken from the fish and giant folk with their dimorphic genders from birth. Those folk had puberty but it didn’t change the gender, there was no presenting or uncertainty while waiting for it to happen, just emphasized the differences between them more. But the words had worked themselves into even Kutzk vernacular; boy and girl, he and she. They‘re just words, but in same measure they mean so much too, for those who make an effort to pick ones for themselves. Compo may have opted out, but the other three were all very comfortable being called boys.

They’d never really met people who felt the other way. Who dressed in bright colours and soft fabrics, and painted lips and carefully styled hair.

Not long before it was time to ring in the New Year - two strangers tried moving into the LightHouse - two 18 year old girls who introduced themselves to the Pack as a bonded pair who loved each other, and don't anyone dare try and split them up!

They had declared themselves bonded a few months back, but while Hop is an omega, Hip is not an alpha, but a beta, and neither of their packs saw the bonding as real, and demand the girls stop seeing each other. When Hop refuses an alpha replacement offered by her pack, the two ran away instead, realizing their packs will never stop trying to break them up.

Only an alpha and omega can bond the traditional way; alpha’s have a secretion in their mouths - a gland just for bonding that reacts to the gland on the back of an omega’s next. An alpha will only taste their omega as long as they are bonded, everything tinges with the reminder of the one they sworn themselves too. Bonded alpha’s will remark that it effects their sense of smell too, making other omegas smell off. Once bonded, an omega will smell like their mate, a mix of their own scent with the secretion left by a bond, a hands off to other alphas.

Betas and omega lack this gland in their mouths, no scent to leave on a bite. Betas and alphas lack the gland on the neck, no way to hold the smell of their bonded to seep into their own smell. The best they can do is rub - exchange oils like pack does. To wear tokens of a beloved as a claim, regularly scented to remain potent. Beta smells are weak, but that didn’t stop Hip from wearing wristbands regularly, constantly swapping them out for Hop to wear. For her then to wear hairbands scented by Hip.

They were a pair, sold as a set - do not separate.

Killer and Kidd could have chased them away - the girls claim of territory far to close to their own Pack. Instead, the boys opened the doors between them, inviting them to their growing pack, to join forces as one family.

And thus they became a pack of six.