Winston Johnson sat in the lower hold of a cargo ship. The vessel was old and worn, its bottom deck crammed full of stowaways hoping to sneak into Japan.
The air was thick and foul, saturated with the stench of excrement that made one gag. Wedged tightly among the others, Winston could barely move. Some of the weaker passengers, suffering from seasickness, were vomiting uncontrollably, making the stifling air even worse.
Two people had already died on the journey, their frail bodies tied to stones and thrown into the sea. The remaining stowaways had gone numb; the only thing keeping them going was sheer desperation.
Winston simply sat quietly, his hair dyed black, his features slightly altered. He looked the part of a Filipino-American mixed-blood refugee.
He trusted the capabilities of the CIA and S.H.I.E.L.D. implicitly. That's why he had first crossed the U.S.-Mexico border illegally, then flown from Mexico to the Philippines, where he found a smuggler specializing in transporting people to Japan.
By taking such a roundabout route, mixed in with so many others, he was confident that the CIA would never be able to trace him.
Late that night, the cargo ship finally arrived at Yokohama Port. Though a few cranes were still unloading containers, most of the docks were pitch-dark, lit only by a few scattered lights.
The smugglers' vessel eased toward shore. The crew shouted in a mix of Tagalog and English, driving the stowaways out of the hidden hold, then hosed down the filthy compartment with high-pressure water.
Those daring enough to risk smuggling themselves into Japan mostly had relatives already settled there. Once on shore, the exhausted stowaways scattered like startled birds. Winston blended in seamlessly, slipping away at the first chance. A few swift steps into the shadows, and he hotwired a car from a nearby lot, speeding toward Fukushima through the night.
Midway, he stopped at a gas station—but froze when he saw three Type-13 Wheeled Assault Guns and five Type-96 Infantry Fighting Vehicles lined up to refuel. Dozens of armed Self-Defense Force soldiers lounged outside the station.
Even Winston's hardened nerves faltered. For a moment, he thought the Japanese authorities had discovered his infiltration.
The battle at the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant had been completely sealed off by U.S.-Japan joint command. No media outlet reported it. Online discussions about Fukushima were censored instantly. Even the mushroom cloud visible from Tokyo had been officially dismissed as a "hydrogen explosion inside the plant." A few TEPCO executives were trotted out to bow in apology—and that was the end of it.
After the cover-up, Japan immediately redeployed the 1st Division and 12th Brigade to seal off the roads surrounding Fukushima Prefecture, forbidding anyone from entering the area.
The troops refueling at the gas station were part of the 1st Division.
All the way down the road, Winston saw only vehicles heading out—none going in. That alone set off alarm bells. He stopped at a convenience store to buy food and water, but the shelves were stripped bare. Even the cashier was packing up to flee.
After the Fukushima incident, the locals no longer trusted government statements. The reconstruction had stalled; many refugees were still living in tents and shacks, with no proper resettlement in sight.
Those who had witnessed the explosion firsthand knew that mushroom cloud was no "hydrogen blast."
From the cashier's brief account, Winston pieced together the truth almost instantly. Norman Osborn must have clashed violently with U.S. forces over the Fukushima reactor core—and even after deploying nuclear weapons, the Americans had failed to subdue him.
The thought sent a thrill of excitement and fear coursing through him.
Within minutes, several F-15s screamed overhead, followed by Apache gunships skimming low across the horizon.
Fukushima was close now. Winston abandoned the stolen car and decided to go on foot. The Japanese lockdown might stop ordinary people—but not him.
He had undergone rigorous Navy SEAL training and had even served as an instructor for Japan's Self-Defense Forces and South Korean special units. To his eyes, the SDF's perimeter defenses were riddled with flaws.
Silently, he bypassed one checkpoint after another, evading both sentries and hidden patrols until he finally slipped into the outer zone of the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant.
Inside the exclusion area, the guards grew lax. The defenses were little more than a formality.
Winston stared at the scene ahead—countless craters overlapping in tangled rings, charred streaks burned into the earth by radiation. From this devastation alone, he could imagine how fierce the battle must have been.
Norman Osborn's power had clearly surpassed his expectations.
A thunderous boom shook the ground. The soil in front of him rippled like waves—an earthquake reborn.
Norman Osborn burst out of the ground, a cascade of sand and gravel pouring off his massive frame. His cold, slit-pupiled eyes locked onto Winston, and his deep, resonant voice made Winston's bones tremble.
"Where's Freddy? He didn't come?"
He sensed no trace of Dr. Rada's presence.
"I tortured your plan out of him," Winston said, forcing himself to meet Osborn's gaze. "Then I killed him."
Boom!
Osborn's exhale hit like a hurricane, slamming into Winston and nearly blowing him away. Winston barely managed to anchor himself by transforming into his lizard form, claws digging into the dirt to keep from rolling across the ground.
"Good. Very good," Osborn rumbled. "You've got guts—to still dare face me."
With a flick of his massive tail, he coiled it around Winston and lifted him effortlessly into the air.
"You don't dare kill me," Winston said, his voice taut with defiance. "If you do, you'll forever be trapped in that puny body—never becoming the true Godzilla."
The oppressive weight of Osborn's biological aura made Winston's entire body tremble, but he held his ground, staring straight into those reptilian eyes. "Before coming here, I implanted three kilograms of TNT in my chest cavity. One thought from me, and I'll blow myself to pieces."
Osborn inhaled deeply, restraining the killing intent rising within him.
"Then tell me," he said at last, voice low and cold. "What is it you want?"
Winston's heart finally steadied. He knew he had gambled correctly. Despite devouring the nuclear core, Osborn's body had stopped growing—he'd clearly reached his limit.
"I want a share of the eggs you produce," Winston said. "I want to fuse with Godzilla's genes too. Otherwise, I detonate the bomb, and we both go up together."
Osborn's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. Winston's demand was more than he had expected. After a long pause, a twisted grin crept across Osborn's face.
"…I agree."
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(End of Chapter)