Chapter 1

SECOND WORLDWAR

POV: GERMAN PILOT

The scene unfolded just before dawn, with a faint hum permeating the frigid air. I sat in the cockpit of my Heinkel He 111, eyes glued to the instruments before me. A sense of tension and fear hung like an invisible veil over the entire squadron, a feeling that seeped into every man. We all knew this wouldn't be an easy mission. The Americans had deployed one of their formidable battleships, and our task was to destroy it—a endeavor that would undoubtedly face fierce resistance and will end with a few of us dead.

The formation of bombers flew in tight unison, each pilot focused, hands gripping the controls firmly. I could feel the engines' hum vibrating through my flight suit, a familiar sensation that oddly brought me a sense of calm. "Attention, all aircraft!" The squadron leader's voice crackled through the radio. "Enemy ship in sight! Prepare for the attack!"

Through the Plexiglas of my cockpit, I saw it: a massive gray battleship, looming like a fortress from the sea. Its gun turrets were already swinging in our direction. Adrenaline surged through my veins. It was now or never.

"Open bomb bay!" I pressed the button, and with a metallic clank, the hatch beneath me opened. Wind whistled through the gap as I adjusted the targeting optics. Even before the attack command came through, the ship began firing its anti-aircraft guns at us. Black smoke erupted in the air, and it seemed as if the earth itself was on fire. A sea of sparks shattered the dawn.

"Target acquired!" I yelled into the radio, my fingers tightening around the bomb release lever. "Bombs away!" The plane jolted as the bombs dropped from the bay. Then everything happened in a blur. The aircraft shook as a shell exploded near the right wing. I pulled a sharp turn, diving out of the line of fire. Through the side window, I watched as several of our bombs tumbled toward the ship.

"Direct hit!" someone shouted over the radio. Smoke rose from the deck, but the ship remained steadfast. Another round of gunfire erupted, this time hitting one of the planes in our formation. I watched in horror as it burst into flames and spiraled toward the ocean. The brutal reality of war struck me with full force.

But then, something completely unexpected happened. Out of the dense smoke on the battleship, a figure emerged. At first, I thought it was an optical illusion, but as the figure stood upright, it became clearer. It was a huge man, broad-shouldered and muscular, with a white navy coat draped casually over his shoulders. Across his back, in bold black letters, was the word "Justice." He looked like he had stepped straight out of legend.

I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched the man step onto the battleship and raise his hands. With incredible speed, he began picking something up from the ship's deck. "What is he doing?" I muttered into the emptiness, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

Then it hit me. In his hands, he held artillery shells—huge rounds usually fired by the ship's cannons. With superhuman strength, he hurled the shells into the air, aiming directly at our planes. "Evade!" someone screamed over the radio, and panic erupted. I yanked the control stick, narrowly avoiding a shell that whizzed past, exploding in the distance.

The other pilots also attempted to dodge the incoming projectiles, but the man was terrifyingly precise. With a single throw, he smashed the tail of another bomber, which then plummeted uncontrollably toward the sea. I could only watch helplessly as our squadron was decimated in a matter of minutes. Who or better what was this man? No human could do something like this!

"Damn devil!" I cursed, trying to maneuver back into position for another bombing run. But the man gave me no chance. He picked up another shell and hurled it with a force that defied imagination. I saw it coming, twisted the aircraft sideways, but it was too late. The shell missed the fuselage by a hair, and the shockwave sent my plane spiraling downwards. The sky spun around me as the cockpit filled with the howling wind.

"Get a grip!" I screamed at myself, struggling to regain control. In a final act of effort, I managed to stabilize the aircraft. Panting heavily, I looked back down at the battleship. The man was still standing there, calm and composed, as if this was all a mere game to him. He looked up at the sky, and I felt his gaze lock onto me. A chill ran down my spine.

"We have to retreat! This battle is pointless!" the squadron leader called out over the radio. "All remaining aircraft, abort and return to base!"

With trembling hands, I steered my Heinkel out of the danger zone. The attack had failed, and the price was steep. The few planes left in our squadron retreated, while the man on the battleship watched us go, arms crossed. He still wore that coat with "Justice" emblazoned on it. Whoever or whatever he was, he had utterly crushed us.

The flight back to base was filled with a heavy silence. No one spoke; each was lost in their thoughts. I couldn't stop thinking about that man. A soldier, a warrior who seemed to defy the laws of physics. We had been trained to face any challenge, but how do you fight something so... supernatural?

When we finally landed and got out of our planes, I looked into the faces of my comrades. We had all seen the same thing, and none of us could make sense of it. "Who the fuck was that?" someone asked quietly, and it remained silent, as no one had an answer. War had taught us many things, but today, it had given us a lesson we would never forget.

"We definitely need to write a report..."

---

POV New York Times

German Bomber Battalion Attacks American Battleship: A Mysterious Hero Prevents Its Destruction

In the early hours of yesterday morning, a dramatic attack occurred over the Atlantic Ocean as a German bomber battalion launched an assault on an American battleship. The German air forces executed a coordinated offensive, with at least a dozen Heinkel He 111 bombers targeting the American warship. According to eyewitness reports, the goal of the German Luftwaffe was clear: the complete destruction of the battleship. However, events took a surprising turn.

The initial bombs were largely fended off by American anti-aircraft guns. The sky filled with the detonations of flak shells and the shrieks of airplane engines. The German bombers flew in tight formation and mercilessly began their assault. A direct hit could have severely damaged the ship, potentially leading to catastrophic consequences for the crew.

But then, something happened that left even the most seasoned naval officers speechless. A large, muscular figure emerged on the main deck of the battleship and faced the incoming bombs and shells in an extraordinary way. The man, clad in a naval jacket with the word "Justice" emblazoned on the back, casually grabbed several shells and artillery munitions as if they were mere toys and hurled them at the German planes with his bare hands.

"It was like witnessing a scene from a supernatural story," explained an officer who observed the attack from the deck of the ship. "This man stood there, fearless, throwing the ammunition with such precision that he directly struck the attacking planes." Eyewitnesses reported that his actions were so swift and powerful that the German aircraft had no chance to evade the attacks.

Within minutes, the sky over the battleship was filled with the wreckage of downed aircraft. The remaining German bombers turned around and retreated. The assault, which could have inflicted considerable damage on the battleship, was thwarted by the heroic actions of this mysterious man.

As of now, there is no official information regarding who this man is or how he possesses such extraordinary abilities. The U.S. Navy has announced a thorough investigation into the incident. For the crew of the battleship, however, one thing is certain: on this day, they were saved not just by the power of their weapons, but by an extraordinary hero.

Yet, one question remains: Who is the mysterious hero of the marine?

---

US BATTLESHIP

POV GARP

I gazed out from the bow of the ship at the endless waves of the sea. As always, they calmed my thoughts. Nevertheless, I couldn't suppress a deep sigh.

"So it has happened... I had to reveal my powers to protect my comrades... War is truly the greatest waste of precious lives I have ever seen."

Sighing, I looked at the swells and waves of the ocean, reflecting on my life. Born in 1895 in Queens, New York, my early years were far from easy. Poverty was everywhere. Still, I had loving parents and, under the circumstances, a reasonably happy childhood. My name was Garp Jr. Garpson, an odd name passed down for generations on my father's side. My father was a shipbuilder, and from birth, my path in life seemed predetermined. I was meant to follow in his footsteps one day.

However, like with most long-term plans, life took an unexpected turn. I wasn't like other children—or even like other humans. For one, I stood at an imposing 2.87 meters tall, the kind of height that could have earned me a spot in any circus or freak show. Additionally, I had the strength of ten men. Fortunately, my father earned a good living; otherwise, I might have been sold off.

At 14, I began learning from my father, and by 18, I was working in the same shipyard as him. Due to my size and strength, my colleagues and friends started calling me "Monkey" because according to them 'Gorilla' was a mouthful. Since my father shared the same name (Garp Garpson), the nickname stuck, and I eventually started calling myself Monkey Garp.

My life was quiet and steady until 1914—specifically, July 28th, 1914, the beginning of what we now call the First World War. Along with my father, I was drafted into the military shortly after the United States entered the war in 1917.

The war was brutal and horrifying, worse than anything I had ever experienced in my young life. The absolut worst moment came when my father was struck by a stray bullet right before my eyes. The bullet drilled straight through his brain, killing him instantly. Smeard with brain and blood i stood there with my dead father in my arms. He was one of many good men that died these days.

That event triggered something in me. My willpower awakened and mutated in ways no one could have anticipated. Like a tsunami, my will surged outward, knocking out anyone in its path—friend or foe—on the battlefield. I cried a lot these days. But the war doesn't wait for anyone and soon i got embroiled in the next battle. And then the next. And so on, never stopping, always raging.

In countless battles that followed, I refined control over my abilities, developing three distinct techniques using my will.

1. Observation

2. Armament

3. Emperor

I collectively named these abilities "Haki," for no particular reason—I just liked the sound of it.

And boy, was it a powerful technique. I could sense where the enemy was hiding. I could predict where bullets would strike, sometimes even before they were fired. I could make my body bulletproof by wrapping it in my Armament Haki, and with my physical strength and Armament Haki, I could reshape a tank with a single punch.

Not to mention my Emperor Haki… The name wasn't perfect, perhaps even a bit arrogant. Essentially, I could use my willpower to suppress weaker wills around me, causing the enemy to lose consciousness. Many soldiers on both sides had already lost their will in numerous battles, making my technique devastatingly effective against them. The only downside was that I couldn't distinguish between friend and foe, knocking out anyone within a 100-meter radius.

As my thoughts drifted back to my first war, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths to clear the horrific images of mutilated corpses from my mind. I served for two years in the First World War, and luckily, I was on the winning side and celebrated the end of the war as a victor. Though in my mind, there were no winners, only losers…

I remembered the day my comrades and I were shipped back home. Our eyes clouded by the horrors we had witnessed, the last flicker of hope and happiness came from thoughts of our families and friends. I, too, looked forward to seeing my mother again. She was the driving force of my will. But, unfortunately, bad news awaited me at home. My mother had died just days after learning of my father's death from a letter sent from the front lines. She had succumbed to a flu. I was alone in the world. Wandering the cold, filthy streets of Queens, I felt utterly lost. I had nothing left to tie me to this world. The only legacy my parents left me was the name I bore.

In honor of my mother, I took her first name, Danielle, into my own. From that day forward, I called myself Monkey D. Garp, a name made up of my parents' names and my own essence. I felt like a monkey—a monkey dancing for the amusement of the world's whims.

The peace I had fought and bled for gave me nothing. The war had taken my father and the last years of my mother's life.

No one would hire me. I was just another lost soldier from a god forgotten war. The world had given up on me, and I had given up on it. My once-strong will had become nothing more than a faint whisper in the wind. The purpose of my existence had faded.

And the best part?

The peace my father gave his life for lasted only 20 years. Twenty years that I spent alone, homeless on the streets of New York. A vagrant among many. Twenty years until the drums of war sounded again, and without hesitation, they conscripted every homeless man they could find for the war in Europe—including me. Once again, I had the "honor" of serving my country, bleeding for my country, and, if God were merciful, dying for my country.

My life felt like one big, cruel show, designed only to make me suffer. How was it fair that I had to endure so much pain in just 46 years of life? And so, I found myself as a member of the Navy, standing on this ship. My will broken, my body weary from life.

The only reason I fought today? My brothers and comrades, whose lives were on the line. Men who might have wives and children waiting for them. Comrades who hadn't yet been abandoned by this world.

For the first time in 20 years, the will in my heart flared to life once more. A faint will compared to before, but a will nonetheless.

As I gazed at the sea, lost in thought, I sensed through my Observation Haki that the ship's captain was approaching me hesitantly.

"Ensign... Your name according to the official records is 'Monkey D. Garp'?"

"Sir Captain! Yes, Sir Captain!" I replied with half-hearted enthusiasm.

"Ensign Garp, new orders from the Fleet Admiral. We are to return home immediately, where the Fleet Admiral will personally receive you and question you regarding today's events. Prepare yourself, Ensign!"

---

Hydra Hideout

POV THIRD PERSON

"I'll ask you one last time, Zola... Did the American succeed? Is he a Super Soldier?!" Johann Schmidt, leader of Hydra, shouted in German at a small man in a lab coat.

"We can't say with 100% certainty... our spies only lost track of Dr. Erskine for a month. But by all reports, the Super Soldier Serum is still not ready... perhaps he's a mutant? Dr. Shaw found several records of them in Auschwitz. Apparently, they're considered a form of human evolution..."

"I know! I know! I've read the research papers myself! But the Führer is breathing down our necks—he wants the Super Soldiers, and so do I! Continue your research and keep surveillance on Erskine! I expect results soon. How is Project Cube coming along?"

---

Auschwitz

POV Sebastian Shaw

'Hmm, perhaps another mutant? I should add him to the list of potential abduction targets... there's never enough research material...' I thought as I flipped through the latest edition of the New York Times, a privilege Hitler, that little clown, personally granted me.

'If only he knew I could crush him like a fly with one hand and my eyes blindfolded,' I mused, chuckling quietly to myself.

I turned to my latest toy—a small Jewish boy who seemed capable of manipulating magnetic forces. Using an oversized needle, which I only employed for psychological reasons, I drew some of his blood and continued with my research.

---

US BATTLESHIP

POV GARP

The past week had been incredibly dull. As ordered from above, our ship sailed back toward the home port without any complications.

My life continued as before, with one noticeable difference: the way my comrades looked at me. Their gazes were filled with a mix of gratitude and hope, but also fear. Some even looked at me with disgust, as if I carried a contagious disease transmitted through the air.

But their looks didn't bother me. They weren't new. Even in my first war, people looked at me that way. A fear of the unknown, a fear of strength. A fear so powerful it swallowed any gratitude.

'Why am I here on this earth? Why did God give me these powers? What is my purpose?'

My thoughts drifted endlessly, searching for the meaning of my life, the meaning of the world.

'God, if you really exist like my mother taught me... why do you allow war? Why? Why have you given me this life?'

Dark thoughts that I had become accustomed to since the war 20 years ago. Loneliness wrapped around me as my comrades—those I had just recently protected with my life—now turned their backs on me. For reasons unknown.

With my weakened Observation Haki, I noticed we were approaching our home port. Numerous small wills buzzed around like ants, preparing to receive our ship.

I let out a deep sigh.

'In the past, I could have sensed the port from miles away... I'm really not what I used to be.'

---

PEARL HARBOR

POV Fleet Admiral Chester William Nimitz, Sr.

It's been almost a week since I first heard of Ensign Garp, the Marine who allegedly threw ship ammunition at enemy bombers with his bare hands. Unfortunately, the news quickly leaked to the press, and now my superiors—and especially the President—are breathing down my neck.

How did a Marine like him slip under the radar? I could've had my own Super Soldier! But now I have to hand him over to Colonel Phillips and his program... Giving a Marine to that old landlubber... but orders are orders.

I watched as the battleship was unloaded and the crew disembarked one by one. The captain approached me, and behind him walked the largest man I had ever seen.

'That must be him! Ensign Garp... what a sight,' I thought as I marveled at the muscular giant before me. I hadn't believed the file when it stated he was 2.87 meters tall, but... Jesus! He had black hair with the first hints of gray, cut short in military style. His muscles looked as if they were chiseled from stone. His uniform clung tightly to his body, seeming ready to burst with every breath. His shoulders were incredibly broad, and his chest was well-defined. His arms were as thick as my thighs, and his biceps were probably bigger than my head.

His eyes were pensive and sad. His black irises seemed somehow empty.

'Maybe not the brightest? Or perhaps only another man scarred by war?' I wondered.

"Hello, Captain Sparrow, at ease! Is this Ensign Garp?" I asked the ship's captain, barely glancing at him. My full attention was on the man behind him.

"Yes, Sir, Fleet Admiral!" barked the captain, visibly uneasy as he gestured to the giant beside him.

"Hello, Sir, Fleet Admiral! SIR!" Garp said, clearly uninterested, though I didn't mind. I'd learned over my career that a man didn't need to wear his obedience on his sleeve to be a good soldier. Men like Captain Sparrow were good for following orders and passing them on.

But a man like Ensign Garp was good for thinking on his own. As long as results were delivered, I could live with both—and so far, he had delivered.

"Very well, soldier! Follow me to my office. I have a promotion and new orders for you... and I'd like to get to know you better," I said firmly, turning to head toward my office.

As I heard the heavy footsteps of the giant behind me, a small smile spread across my face.

'Power play successful.'

(TO BE CONTINUED)