—Broadcast—
Still Water Prison - Third Floor
Entering the third level of Still Water Prison, Garp discovered an architectural layout fundamentally different from the upper floors. The interior manifested as a massive empty chamber—a cavernous space that seemed to swallow sound and light equally. The prisoners confined here enjoyed relative freedom of movement within the designated zone, capable of walking around without constant supervision. No jailers descended to this particular depth—Thresh's supernatural surveillance rendered physical guards redundant.
Garp had become a regular visitor to these depths over the years. He navigated toward his target with practiced ease, his heavy footsteps echoing across the chamber's expanse. The other major figures imprisoned on the third floor—legendary pirates, revolutionary commanders, fallen kings—paid him no attention whatsoever. These prisoners focused entirely on mere survival within this level's oppressive atmosphere, conserving their rapidly depleting strength for another day of enduring Dead Water's relentless draining.
"Why are you here again, old man?" The voice carried equal parts exasperation and barely concealed relief—a son's complicated response to a father's unwelcome but necessary presence.
The speaker sat against the chamber's far wall, a middle-aged male prisoner whose unkempt appearance belied his once-commanding presence. Long months without proper grooming had allowed his beard to grow wild and lush, black hair covering most of his face in an untamed mass. A distinctive red square tattoo marked the left half of his face—the only feature not obscured by facial hair. His physical resemblance to former Marine Hero Garp remained striking despite the degradation, approximately eighty percent similarity suggesting undeniable blood relation.
Character Notes: First Leader of the Revolutionary Army - Monkey D. Dragon
"Little boy, I want to visit my son—do I need filing formal notice in advance with you?" Garp's gruff voice carried both affection and habitual dominance as he approached. "Since when does a father require permission from his child?"
Because of the special "work permit" encoded into his very soul by Thresh's authority, Garp's physical strength remained unaffected within Still Water Prison's normally debilitating environment. The old man's iron fist descended without warning, striking Dragon's head with a resounding impact that echoed through the chamber. This represented Garp's traditional method of expressing parental love—brutal, direct, and utterly unapologetic.
However, the punch genuinely hurt. Dragon's vision exploded with stars, his skull ringing from the impact delivered with a Vice Admiral's legendary strength. Both father and son existed as prisoners technically, but their respective treatments differed catastrophically. If Dragon retained his full power, he might have blocked or countered his father's affectionate violence. But as a Devil Fruit user continuously drained by Dead Water's passive assault, he could only endure the iron fist of love without resistance.
The humiliation of helplessness tasted more bitter than any physical pain.
Dragon possessed Devil Fruit abilities whose specific nature remained classified even in imprisonment—some wind or storm-related Logia or Paramecia that had once made him the "World's Worst Criminal." Within Still Water Prison's depths, that legendary power meant nothing. People confined here experienced constant, relentless weakening as physical strength, mental clarity, Haki reserves, and Devil Fruit capabilities gradually leaked from their bodies like water through cracked vessels. Maintaining consciousness for half a day on the third floor already demonstrated remarkable mastery—most prisoners could barely function for hours before collapsing into stupor.
After delivering his traditional beating, Garp offered the accompanying sweetness—placing the premium sake bottles he'd acquired from Sea Knight Jinbe at Dragon's feet with surprising gentleness. The old man's calloused hands handled the bottles carefully, as though the alcohol represented something far more valuable than mere beverage.
Alcohol remained extraordinarily precious within prison walls, especially in Still Water Prison's rigorously controlled environment. If someone attempted smuggling contraband goods inside for profit, every captured speculator faced the same fate: their soul locked permanently within Thresh's Soul Lantern. The Soul Chain Warden maintained zero tolerance for smuggling operations.
As long as potential smugglers didn't fear eternal damnation—their consciousness trapped in burning green flames for centuries without release—they could attempt importing whatever goods they desired. Undead creatures who enjoyed playing with intelligent beings' souls actually hoped such fools would present themselves daily, providing fresh essence for the eternal collection.
Ever since the Marine's devastating surprise attack on the Revolutionary Army's primary headquarters followed by that catastrophically unequal battle, only one Revolutionary Army member had survived extraction from the island's smoking ruins:
Monkey D. Dragon, the movement's founder and first leader.
Afterward, he'd been imprisoned in Still Water Prison and had genuinely lost all concept of external time.
Dragon couldn't restrain himself. His trembling hands seized the bottle, teeth tearing through the cap with desperate eagerness. He poured the premium liquid directly down his parched throat without hesitation, not bothering with savoring or restraint—just pure need momentarily satisfied. The rich aroma of Admiral-grade tribute sake began spreading throughout the chamber as alcohol fumes escaped Dragon's grateful gasps.
"What magnificent wine!" Dragon breathed reverently after the first massive swallow. "This must have required tremendous grain quantities to produce such refined flavor. The distillation process alone—"
The former Revolutionary Army leader consumed most of the bottle in one sustained gulp, his throat working continuously as precious liquid disappeared. Only when he finally paused, noticing less than one-third remaining in the container, did sudden regret pierce through his desperate satisfaction. Such exceptional sake should be savored slowly, carefully, making each sip last as long as possible. If rationed properly, this might provide enjoyment for weeks rather than minutes.
"I can detect wine's aroma from considerable distance," a new voice announced cheerfully, approaching with surprising agility despite obvious physical handicap. "There should definitely be a bottle allocated for me in that collection."
The newcomer possessed both empty sleeves—arms severed at the shoulders, leaving only truncated stumps beneath his prison uniform. His hair blazed brilliant red, though white streaks had begun threading through the crimson like frost creeping across autumn leaves. Three distinctive claw marks scarred his left eye, creating a permanent reminder of some past violent encounter. Despite catastrophic disability and indefinite imprisonment, the man's personality radiated casual idleness and natural charisma—a born social connector who made friends as easily as breathing.
Character Notes: Former Yonko, Captain of the Red Hair Pirates - Shanks
Garp glanced sideways at the approaching figure, unsurprised by the appearance. Of course the old fool smelled alcohol and came running. Fortunately I acquired extra bottles from Sea Knight Jinbe, otherwise three grown men couldn't possibly share fairly.
Shanks settled beside Dragon with practiced ease, his flexible legs compensating remarkably for missing arms. He made eye contact with old man Garp, silently signaling for his allocated beverage with the shameless expectation of someone accustomed to being indulged. The former Yonko hadn't tasted alcohol in years—perhaps longer than Dragon, though time became increasingly meaningless in these depths. Like his cellmate, Shanks had completely lost awareness of the external world's progression, unable to accurately count how many years had passed since his imprisonment began.
Although Garp maintained his stubborn, curmudgeonly personality, he possessed enough decency not to bully the disabled unnecessarily. Red-Haired Shanks wouldn't receive the former Marine Hero's traditional iron fist of love—that particular expression of affection required targets capable of defending themselves. The old man placed a full bottle of premium sake beside Shanks' legs with surprising gentleness, the gesture carrying unspoken respect for the fallen Yonko's endurance.
As for how a disabled person lacking both hands could drink? That required assistance from Dragon, his cellmate and unlikely companion. The Revolutionary Army's former leader seemed genuinely happy to provide this service, their shared imprisonment having forged bonds that transcended their vastly different ideological origins. Dragon unscrewed the wine cap with steady hands, lifting it to his own nose first and inhaling deeply. The rich aroma rushed directly to his brain, producing momentary euphoria.
"I hope you don't mind if I charge some interest for my assistance," Dragon stated with completely unapologetic shamelessness, not waiting for Shanks' response before tilting the bottle to his own lips.
Before the disabled pirate could voice disagreement, Dragon had already begun pouring wine into his mouth with enthusiasm bordering on greed. Half the bottle disappeared down his throat in steady gulps, the liquid vanishing at alarming speed. Witnessing his allocated sake being systematically stolen, Red-Haired Shanks suddenly panicked despite his normally unshakeable optimism.
His flexible legs lashed out with surprising force, kicking Dragon's shoulder hard enough to interrupt the impromptu theft. "You and your father are ganging up to bully the disabled, aren't you?!" Shanks protested with mock outrage. "Leave me at least a few swallows! Don't drink everything!"
After collecting half a bottle as "interest" for his assistance, Dragon finally ceased his greedy behavior. He repositioned himself closer to Red-Haired Shanks, pointing the bottle's mouth directly at the man's lips. The two cellmates cooperated with practiced synchronization—one feeding, the other drinking—their movements suggesting this represented routine ritual rather than novel improvisation. Being cellmates for years had eliminated any sense of awkwardness or disgust about such intimate assistance.
Feeling premium sake moistening his chronically parched throat, the eternally optimistic Shanks experienced something approaching elation despite their grim circumstances. Happiness can be so simple when you've lost everything else, he marveled internally. If I could drink this quality wine just a few more times, being locked in Still Water Prison might not represent such unacceptable fate after all.
Shanks embodied that philosophical perspective naturally. Although he'd lost physical freedom—lost his arms, lost his crew, lost his status as Yonko, lost everything he'd built across decades—he maintained freedom on the spiritual level that imprisonment couldn't touch. If the Pirate King truly represented the world's freest person, perhaps this former Yonko would have claimed that throne long ago had he valued conventional power over personal liberation.
Shanks deliberately refused living in the past, neither celebrating former glories nor mourning catastrophic losses. If his current circumstances had befallen someone with weaker psychological fortitude, that person would have ended their own life immediately, escaping this cruel world through suicide rather than enduring indefinite imprisonment. But Shanks possessed something approaching supernatural resilience—accepting reality without allowing it to define his internal experience.
"Garp, when did you acquire privileges allowing you to obtain so much premium alcohol from the jailers?" Shanks inquired curiously after savoring several more swallows. Like Dragon, he immediately recognized this shouldn't be consumed all at once—better to ration the precious commodity carefully, even if his cellmate charged "interest" for assistance. "More importantly, who actually brought this contraband inside Still Water Prison? That represents extraordinary risk."
Garp maintained no secrets from these two prisoners—both represented complicated relationships from his past, and honesty served better than evasion. The old man explained his encounter with Hoshigaki Kisame during the Admiral's visit to Jinbe, the philosophical discussion between fish-men, and the Sea Knight's imminent temporary release.
"A nobleman is paying for his bail," Garp concluded. "Jinbe should leave this damned place within ten days or half a month. Queen Otohime apparently paid a tremendous price arranging his release for some mermaid banquet. The fish-man will return afterward, but at least he gets to swim in the ocean one more time."
The information generated complicated emotions in both imprisoned legends. If they could genuinely leave Still Water Prison someday—even temporarily, even under guard—claiming they felt no envy would represent transparent lie. Everyone craved beautiful, free life beyond these suffocating walls. Both Dragon and Shanks had somewhat forgotten Mother Ocean's actual sensation, the feeling of waves beneath a ship's hull, wind filling sails, endless horizons beckoning toward adventure.
People never properly cherished possessions until losing them irrevocably. Once freedom vanished, regret became crushing burden impossible to escape. Liberty already represented unattainable luxury for these two former bosses of their respective organizations. Although the New Marine wouldn't execute them outright—their continued existence served various political purposes—life imprisonment without possibility of release amounted to death stretched across decades of suffering.
Dragon's survival primarily depended on two factors: his biological father Garp's legendary status, and the second leader of the Revolutionary Army—Sabo—continuing the rebellion externally. Keeping Dragon alive proved more strategically useful than executing him outright. Fleet Admiral Artoria and her Admirals intended fully squeezing out every ounce of the first leader's remaining surplus value, using his existence as leverage against revolutionary activities worldwide.
But why had Red-Haired Shanks survived in Still Water Prison until now after losing everything—his crew, his arms, his freedom, his Yonko status? According to Garp's cryptic explanation during previous visits, Shanks also possessed an old father with extraordinarily strong background connections.
That father's identity remained mysterious, never explicitly revealed even in their private conversations. But whoever this patron was commanded sufficient influence that even Fleet Admiral Artoria's New Marine dared not execute the fallen Yonko without considering political ramifications.