Here it is, as promised! The 200+ review special that I was talking about in Across the Sands! We turn back time a few years to before Damon was thrown into the world of One Piece, but after his mother's death. A new character appears, but no one except Damon seems to remember her, and she herself doesn't seem to know anything except her name...

200 Review Special!

The Memories That Weren't There

I let loose a battle cry and whaled on my enemy, releasing a flurry of punches as fast as I could. My fists pounded forward, smashing against the head of my sister, Primrose. It wasn't actually Primrose herself, of course; just a picture taken from an old yearbook, taped to a red punching bag that hung from the high ceiling on a long chain.

Yep, just a picture. The real thing was rotting away in a jail cell.

"Prim! Prim! Prim! PRIM! HAWK BLAST!" I roared, my fists smashing one final time into the side of the punching bag. It broke inward, my fist pushing its side into its 'body.'

"You really did a number on that thing," Jason observed, glancing up from his morning coffee with a glint in his eye that said he was amused. "I bet the real Primrose wouldn't stand a chance against you now."

Anger flared in my mind, aroused at just the sound of the detested girl's name. "You shut up! Why do you think I've been training so hard!? It's so that if Prim ever escapes from her cell, I can beat the living crap out of her for killing my mother!"

"Calm down, Damon," soothed Cracked-Up Kane. Along with Jason, he sat at the only table in the place.

"CALM DOWN!? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CALM DOWN!?"

The drug-addicted man sighed. "Going after her and killing her will only make you a murderer. Even if you desperately wish for revenge, becoming a murderer won't do you any good. It'll only make you the subject of another manhunt. And I don't think you want a repeat of the past year and a half."

He had a point there. Until Jason accidentally stumbled upon the information that proved my innocence in my mom's murder, the police had been relentlessly hunting me down. They'd even used dogs and almost declared a curfew, because they thought I'd attack more people or something. Ridiculous. I only wanted the blood of one woman, and that was my ex-sister, Primrose Joyce Digger.

Let me tell you, it had made begging on the streets particularly hard. But maybe because I had painted my skin black and I was near-starving, the police didn't recognize me, though the hounds certainly did. There had been a couple of close calls.

The warehouse was silent for a moment, city noises filtering in from outside.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.

"Yeah, okay," I grunted. "I'm calm now." I took a few more deep breaths, then turned back to the punching bag and returned to beating the stuffing out of it.

Jason sweatdropped. "He's not calming down..."

"He's just a child, still," Kane said, closing his eyes and sighing. He went back to smoking crack and reading the morning newspaper. "Let him do this. Isn't it better for him to relieve his anger on that than a real person? He still has a ways to go before he becomes an adult and learns how to control his emotions."

The twenty-year-old stared at the other man for a bit, then shook his head and smirked.

"For a drugee, you're really smart, you know that?"

Kane cracked a grin. "Well, I did win Jeopardy once."

"Liar! You fought in the Vietnam War!"

"DIE, PRIM!"

The industrial-size doors to Warehouse 13 creaked open, making the three males pause in their various activities and look at their home's entrance. A beat-up woman stood there, panting heavily, wearing a denim jacket and white undershirt that fit tightly around her medium-sized chest. Her bell-bottoms were rolled up to the ankles, and her blonde hair was tied up in long, twin pigtails. She had a scar that cut diagonally from her right eye, across her nose, and down to her left cheek. The girl was panting heavily.

My eyes widened in recognition. "Phoebe! What happened to you!?"

"You know her?" Cracked-Up Kane questioned, blinking at the boy.

At the same time, the girl, Phoebe, raised her head and gasped. "You know me!?" she demanded.

I tilted my head. "What are you two talking about? Of course I know you, Phoebe. You're my best and only friend from before my mother's death, and you were the only person in my old school who believed that I hadn't killed her. Then Cracked-Up Kane found me on the streets, and a few days later, I introduced you to him and Jason. You're one of us, Phoebe."

"I certainly don't know her," Jason said, shaking his head in mystification. "Damon, are you feeling alright? I've never met that girl in my life."

"What?" I gasped, my eyes wide as I stared at him. "But you two are like, best buds! You're both nerdy - -"

"Shut up."

I sweatdropped. Jason might have had an IQ of 140, despite being a high school drop-out, but he hated being called a nerd, even though sometimes he'd randomly start spouting off stuff about prime numbers and equations and definitions memorized straight from the dictionary.

"You know me!?" the blonde demanded again, dashing forward despite the fact that she looked like hell and grabbing me by the collar of my leather jacket. "Who am I!? I don't remember anything about myself except for my name, Phoebe Bellinger!"

"Hey, hands off the jacket!" I complained, batting her away. "And wait - - you don't remember anything about yourself?"

"Not a thing except my name! It's like my mind's a total blank!"

"She must have amnesia," Cracked-Up Kane reasoned, his curiosity piqued. He stood up from his place at the table and walked over to us, looking at her closely. "Miss - - your name is Phoebe, right? - - does the back of your head hurt?"

Her hand automatically rose to the back of her head. "What? The back of my... no, why?"

"Probably not a concussion then," Jason mused, also curious. "Amnesia is the loss of a person's memory, often caused by trauma to the head or an emotionally tragic event. Usually, however, when amnesia is caused by the latter, the victim only looses his or her memories of the event itself, not all of their memories. Of course, there are special cases, but that version is usually isolated."

"Nerd," I said with triumphant smirk.

"Shut up," the sandy-haired man grumbled.

I looked at Phoebe, who was now standing in front of me, very confused and uncertain. She kept glancing from me, to Cracked-Up Kane, to Jason, and back to me to start the whole thing over again. I frowned, wondering what had happened to her. The Phoebe I knew was more like Jason - - not so much a nerd, actually, but more of a video game geek. They were friends because Jason loved video games, too, and he'd use his connections in the black market to get games and game stations for them to play. Phoebe was always obliviously happy and cheerful, sort of like Misaki-senpai from Sakurasou No Pet Na Kanojo.

Damn it. Why had she lost her memories, and how come neither Jason nor Cracked-Up Kane seemed to remember her, either? Why was I really the only one who remembered her?

My anger towards Prim forgotten, I asked my friend and mentor if Phoebe could stay here. She had never had a very good home environment, and had already been practically living with our little family prior to everyone's memory loss regarding her anyway.

After a short discussion, they agreed to let her stay with us. I led both Phoebe and the men to her room, and they were all surprised to see it. We didn't notice the man watching us from behind the still-open warehouse door.

Later that night, after Phoebe had retired for the evening, a meeting was held at our table.

"All evidence supports Damon's theory that she was once one of us," Jason mused thoughtfully, shadowed in the night. "However, neither Cracked-Up Kane nor myself remembers her, and she doesn't know anything about herself other than her name, Phoebe Bellinger. This meeting is held to determine who she is, and why this phenomenon may be occurring."

I sighed. "I've told you, she's one of my best friends, and she's your best friend too! Phoebe is one of us!"

"It is strange that we don't remember her, though," Kane said. "When someone looses their memories, it's not like everyone looses their memories of that person, too." He coughed violently. "It's almost as though someone has stolen her memories and our memories of her."

"That's ridiculous! Stuff like that is only in books and anime!"

"But it's happening right now," Jason pointed out.

I frowned. "Yeah, and I don't know why. But saying that someone has stolen your memories of her is like saying Darth Vader isn't Luke's father - - it's just stupid! Things like that simply don't happen in real life! There has to be a logical explanation for all of this."

"Someone stealing our memories is perfectly logical."

"Yeah? How?"

"I'm older than you, just accept that what I say is true."

"...Really?"

"Boys, boys," Kane spoke up. Jason and I stopped bickering, looking at the floor shamefully. "Fighting amongst ourselves won't help us discover the solution to this problem."

"You're right," I said reluctantly. "...Sorry, Jason."

"Yeah... sorry."

We were silent for a moment, thinking up possible scenarios. Had Kane, Jason, and Phoebe herself been drugged to forget her? That seemed likely, although I hadn't ever heard of a drug that could erase a person's memories. Could God have caused the memory loss for some reason? That wouldn't make sense at all, though. I couldn't come up with a motive for either scenarios. Phoebe was one of the nicest, most outgoing people I knew. What could she possibly be involved in that would make someone want to cause us all to forget about her, and her about everything?

"It was me."

My head snapped up, and suddenly there was someone standing on the table's center. He was tall and lanky, with an afro and a strange coat that seemed almost hypnotic. His eyes were so bright of a yellow that they almost glowed, his face was angular and sharp, and I could see everything about him clearly, even though it was 10:00 at night and there were no such thing as working lights in Warehouse 13.

"Who are you?" growled Kane.

"What do you mean, it was you?" I added, narrowing my eyes.

His smirk widened. "My name is Morphicent. I am the demon of memories and sleep, and I am simply following orders from my higher-up, one of the Senshi." Noticing our confusion, he laughed maniacally and crowed, "Ah, don't worry about it! I've only stolen Phoebe Bellinger's memories, as well as the whole world's memories of her! Strangely, however, I seem to have failed to erase one person's, which must be why she still exists in this world despite my efforts. But after I finish the job, she shall no longer be a threat to our cause and shall be flung to the far corners of the multiverse!"

"...The hell are you talking about?" I said, tilting my head.

Jason stared. "I think he's a bit messed up in the head."

Kane sweatdropped. "Maybe I really should stop smoking crack..."

"You see," the weirdo continued, pacing in circles around the table like a professor of something strange, "my powers revolve around the mind. I can put people to sleep simply by touching them, I can knock them unconscious with a single incantation, and I can erase the existence of any given person from the memories of anyone who met him or her! When this is done, it is as though she no longer exists in this world, and a portal will open to suck her and all her belongings to a completely random spot in the multiverse. For all I know, she could end up in the Natsuverse, or the Narutoverse, or the Seireiteiverse."

Jason looked at me with complete bafflement. "Do you know him?"

"Nope," I deadpanned.

"TOTAL MEMORY ERASE!" cackled Morphicent, and I felt my mind go fuzzy.

What? Wait, what was going on? I felt sleepy... so very sleepy. Some inner instinct screamed at me to not fall asleep, that I had to protect something, but I found myself unable to remember what it was I had to protect. The man on the table vanished, and a second later, sleep took over.

In another part of Warehouse 13, a swirling vortex of purple and black lightning-like energy opened up like a helix. Its gravitational pull was inescapable, and a single, blonde, pigtailed girl was sucked in and thrown to a random place in the multiverse.

When I woke up, I had completely forgotten Phoebe Bellinger's existence, including the strange events of the previous day. Kane and Jason did, too.

And a certain blonde eventually remembered everything about herself, slowly growing to hate us all for forgetting her...