###Impel Down
The depths of Impel Down stank of misery—a mix of salty water, mold, and the faint smell of old blood stuck in the stone walls. Level 6, a dark pit where no light or hope survived, held iron cells built to trap the wildest souls of the sea. In one of these cells, Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King, sat chained by his hands. The damp air clung to his rough, weathered face, but his grin shone bright—wild and unbroken—as if the chains and darkness were just a game. Only nine days remained until the Navy would end his life, yet here, in this deep prison, he still felt like the free king of the seas.
A weak torch flickered on the wall, its light barely fighting the darkness, casting sharp shadows across Roger's face—his thick mustache twisted like storm clouds, his eyes burning with a spirit no cage could kill. The silence hung heavy, broken only by the drip of water somewhere hidden and the far-off cry of a broken prisoner. Then came the sound of boots—loud, steady steps that shook the stone floor. Roger tilted his head, his grin growing as a figure appeared beyond the bars.
Monkey D. Garp stepped into the torchlight, his large frame filling the cell's narrow opening. His justice cloak, marked with salt and the scars of old battles, fluttered slightly in the damp air. His wild gray hair stuck out, and his arms crossed over a chest as solid as rock. His eyes, sharp like a knife, met Roger's, a storm brewing within them. For a moment, they just stared, the weight of their past—fights that broke ships, punches that split islands—filling the space between them.
"Garp!" Roger's voice boomed, rough and warm, breaking the quiet. "I'm gonna be a father! But I'll be dead by the time it's born!" His chained hands rattled as he leaned forward, his grin softening into something real—maybe hope, maybe a challenge.
Garp's face wrinkled, a grunt escaping him. "Garp! I'm gonna be a father!" Roger repeated, his tone lighter but firm. Garp's brow furrowed, his stance steady but tense. "Why are you telling me this, you fool? I'm with the Navy!" he barked, voice rough with frustration. "We're set to hunt down anyone tied to you—wife, crew, all of it! You think I'm your errand boy now?"
Roger's eyes didn't waver, cutting through the dim light. "That's exactly why I'm tellin' you this," he said, his chained hands straining against the sea stone cuffs, a small grimace hidden by his resolve. "The Government will retrace my steps for the past year! They'll find her, Garp. In Baterilla, South Blue. And they'll kill her! Her and our unborn child. But our unborn child is innocent, Garp! No sins, no crimes—just my blood."
Garp's jaw clenched, his hands dropping to his hips as he paced tightly in front of the bars. The torchlight danced, stretching his shadow across the cell floor. He'd chased Roger across the East Blue to the New World, their battles a legend carved in broken wood and bloody fists—enemies, yet linked by something deeper. Old rivals, hardened by years of life-or-death clashes. Garp stopped, glaring through the bars. "Stop talking nonsense!" he snapped. "Why me? I'm no babysitter for a pirate's kid!"
Roger's grin faded, his voice steady and low. "We've been fighting each other for years, Garp. Life on the line, every time. I trust you as much as any of my shipmates! We've been fighting each other for years! You're the only one I know who'd defy orders to do what's right. Save my child!" His chained hands shook slightly, emphasizing his plea.
Garp's scowl deepened, a growl rumbling in his chest. He kicked the bars hard, the clang echoing like a gunshot down the hall. "Stop talking nonsense!" he roared again, fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. "You think I'm some soft fool? The World Government's watching—Mariejois, the Admirals, Kong—they'll hang me if I step out of line! Give me one reason not to walk away!"
Roger leaned closer, his chained hands pulling tight, his gaze unbreaking. "'Cause you know me, Garp. You'll do it. That kid's got no part in my mess—no sins, no wars. Just a life waiting to start. I ain't askin' you to raise a pirate. Take care of my child! Keep 'em alive. That's all. I know you'll do it," he said, his voice firm with trust.
The cell grew quiet, only the torch's crackle and the distant drip breaking the stillness. Garp breathed heavily, rubbing his temples and muttering curses that bounced off the walls. Roger's words dug into him—duty fighting honor, a promise pulling at the man under the Vice Admiral's cloak. They'd faced each other in storms that sank fleets, their fists shaking the sky, and now, two old fighters stood bare in this iron trap.
Finally, Garp turned, his glare fierce but shaky. "Damn you, Roger. Fine—I'll do it. But don't think this makes me weak! I'll watch that kid, make sure they don't turn into a fool like you. Maybe I'll even train 'em into a Navy soldier—how's that for a twist?" His voice growled, but a small smirk slipped out.
Roger's laugh rolled out—deep and loud, shaking the cell and rattling his chains. "That's the Garp I know! Raise 'em how you want—just keep 'em breathing. That's enough for me."
Garp huffed, turning to leave, but Roger's voice stopped him at the door. "Garp—one last thing. When the time comes… tell 'em their old man went out laughing. No regrets."
Garp froze, his shoulders stiff. He didn't look back, but his gruff reply carried. "Yeah, yeah, you're a pain to the end, Roger." His boots stomped away, fading into the dark hall, leaving the Pirate King alone with his grin and the flickering torch.
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Days later, the Navy moved him. Chained by his hands and guarded by a dozen Vice Admirals, Roger was dragged from Impel Down's depths—the heart of the sea's darkness—to a warship headed for Logue Town. The journey was tense—orders shouted, chains clanking, the prison's towers disappearing as the East Blue stretched out. In Logue Town's naval fortress, they locked him in a new cell—stone walls, rusty bars, with the shadow of a scaffold growing closer each day. Garp's promise hung in the air, a fragile thread in the storm, as the world waited for the Pirate King's final laugh.
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