We stumbled into the warehouse, battered but alive after dodging death and losing one crate of Crimson Blooms. Strangely, I didn't feel cheated or like I'd lost something. Instead, it was like a spark reignited—this drive to become what I'm meant to be, to stack cash and climb higher.
Jerry's record was three crates, and we had three. A tie. No prize for me, but he didn't win either.
Jerry, lounging at the warehouse door with a cigarette dangling from his lips, spotted us and grinned, waiting till we got close.
"Lookin' rough, boys. One, two, three crates—guess you didn't beat me, hahaha," he chuckled, clearly amused we'd at least matched him.
"We had four," I shot back, locking eyes with him. "Would've smoked you, but an uninvited guest—a giant croc—showed up and nearly sent us to the pearly gates. So, what's the call? Tie?"
Jerry's grin widened, but his eyes narrowed, scanning us for any hint of a lie. "Sounds like you had a party out there. A tie it is—unless you're trying to pull a fast one, claiming four when you've got three."
"My word's solid," I said, unflinching. "Wanna see the fourth? Wade into the swamp, find that oversized lizard, crack open its gut. It's in there."
"Hahaha, that's why I like you, Olbap—and you too, Popeye. Big things ahead for you two." Jerry tossed us a pouch—3,000 beri for the three crates. "Here's your cut. We'll be in touch soon."
We trudged back to town, ready to eat, crash, and wait. Nothing to do now but bide our time until the next chance to climb the ladder.
three Month Later
The air in the room crackled with tension, thick enough for me and Popeye to feel it the second we stepped inside. It wasn't flashy—just a plain office with the kind of heavy, serious vibe that screamed "big decisions get made here." A long rectangular table dominated the space, five chairs on each side, one at the head. Dim candlelight flickered, barely enough to chase away the shadows, casting everyone's faces in a mix of light and mystery.
Eight of us sat around the table, waiting. The figure at the head didn't keep us guessing long.
"Welcome, and thanks for coming. This is a big meeting for all of us. Let's start with introductions," said the man in the center chair, his voice commanding attention.
All eyes turned to the first speaker.
"Pleasure to be here. I'm Vex," he said, short and sharp.
The rest followed quick.
"Graves."
"Marlon."
"Mot."
"Tom."
"Jerry."
"Popeye."
"Olbap."
"Rane."
"With that done, I'm Silco Barrakuda. I'm your boss, and I run this show," Silco said, his gaze sweeping over each of us, lingering just long enough to make it personal. He nodded to Jerry, who took the cue.
"You're all here because the boss called you in to offer something for your standout work," Jerry said, glancing back at Silco.
"Exactly," Silco picked up, crushing his cigarette in an ashtray. "Thanks to you , Marlon, Mot, and Tom, I've heard how you all operate. Time to shake things up for you." He gestured to Rane, who slid a stack of papers across the table to each of us.
"These outline your contributions to the organization. Starting with Vex—you've been grinding hard for three month, hauling Shadow Coral nonstop. Your years as a fisherman gave us tricks to pull them faster, cleaner.
"Same for you, Graves. You and Vex have been outpacing everyone on coral runs, boosting our production to new heights," Rane said, setting those papers aside and grabbing two more.
Vex and Graves nodded, waiting for the rest.
"Now, Olbap and Popeye," Rane continued. "You two have been the heavy hitters, dominating both coral and flower runs, plus pitching in on whatever jobs Jerry throws your way."
Silco leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "That's why you're here. You're probably wondering what this organization is, why we're after Shadow Coral and Crimson Blooms. Well, we're not just workers or merchants. We are Red Tide.
"We control what others crave: the smuggling that feeds the big fish, the poison that emboldens the brave, the weapons that spark wars. It all flows through us, and every beri lands in our pockets. The star of the show? Red Tide—a drug I created, now spreading across the seas. I'm offering you a chance to join the inner circle, to keep making fast, steady money. Questions? Speak now."
A brief silence hung until Graves broke it. "So, the stuff we collect—you turn it into a drug you sell for a fortune. That right?"
Silco nodded.
"I'm in, boss," Graves said, a grin splitting his face.
"If Graves is in, so am I," Vex added.
All eyes shifted to me and Popeye, who'd been quiet, taking it all in.
"What about you two? You joining the Tide?" Silco asked, leaning back.
"Was that even a question? We've been in since the start—no way out now," I said, meeting his gaze. Silco nodded, satisfied, and sank back into his chair.
With two sharp claps, the doors swung open, and five serving girls rolled in carts piled high with steaming food and drink, setting the table with a feast fit for kings.
"My treat for the new blood. Eat up—this is just the beginning," Silco said, raising a glass.
The Next Day
Back at the warehouse Silco told us to hit, everyone was there except Silco and Rane. The rest of us milled around, waiting for the word.
"Alright, everyone's here, so let's get to it," Jerry called out. "The boss and Rane are off handling deals, so I'm running the show. Vex, Graves—since you've got the most sea experience, you're leading the coral crews Marlon's rounding up. Keep things tight and make sure they produce."
"Just overseeing? No coral hauling for us?" Vex asked, clarifying.
"Yep. Your job's to keep the workers in line and boost output. You'll still get paid based on what they bring in—more is better, so figure out ways to up their game.
"Olbap, Popeye—you're on flowers for the same reason. Mot and Tom will bring you workers. We're hurting for resources—clients are waiting, so make sure they deliver big," Jerry said, handing us a map with everything we'd need for the job.
No more talk needed. Popeye and I headed for the swamp-side warehouse, but not before swinging by to grab what we'd bought with last month's savings—gear that'd give our plan some teeth. Popeye pushed open the door, and I stepped in, seeing everything prepped for the crew's arrival. Nothing to do but wait, so I plopped down on a crate.
"So, what's the plan, Olbap? We're in—how do we play this?" Popeye asked, hungry for the next step.
"We're not in yet, not fully. Right now, we're just babysitting. I've been thinking this past month, running some tests. Something's missing in how they make Red Tide," I said, leaning forward.
Popeye tilted his head, curious. "Why's that?"
"Coral and flowers alone don't cut it for a drug like this. I took some coral to a fisherman—turns out, it used to be ground up for medicine way back. Problem? Side effects. The more you used it, the less it worked each time."
"So you're saying there's another ingredient?"
"Exactly. The flowers are so toxic, one touch could drop you dead in seconds—that's why that croc backed off last time. Combine them with coral, and you'd get something unstable, likely to kill you if it's not mixed just right. But what makes a drug a drug? What do you think?"
"No clue. You know my head's not wired like yours—that's why I'm with you," Popeye said, scratching the back of his neck.
"It's addiction. The hook that keeps people coming back, emptying their pockets. That's what's missing—some ingredient or process that makes Red Tide stick. We keep delivering results, climbing ranks, and we'll get close to Silco's labs where they cook it up."
"Makes sense when you put it like that. I'll leave the brainwork to you—I've got your back. But why'd we blow all our cash on this?" Popeye asked, nodding toward the corner of the warehouse.
"Just wait and see. For now, we focus on getting these workers to haul in flowers—more crates, more money."
Hours later, Mot and Tom showed up with the crew and laid out the job. I added my own pointers—survival tips to keep them alive and harvesting. Silco and his crew's biggest mistake is letting workers die like flies. You want loyalty? Build them tough, teach them to survive, and they'll bring in what you need. That's how you grow workers.
"You've got three days to get back if you want your pay. Watch your surroundings at night unless you wanna end up croc chow," I told the workers, who didn't seem to grasp how deadly this was coming from a child saying it.
"Olbap, we're done here. Anything for Jerry?" Tom asked.
"Tell him if he hears noise from this way, it's under control. Also, bring the pay in two days—I don't like making my workers wait," I said, hoping he wouldn't push back.
"Got it. You are taking this seriously, little Olbap. Maybe I should stick around and see what happens," Mot said with a grin, ruffling my hair. I swatted his hand away with a scowl.
"Leave him be, Mot. I've got everything set—I'll check in at dawn in two days," Tom said, dragging Mot off.
"Popeye, it's time to roll."
End of the chapter.