London City Airport.
Autumn, 2011
Julian stood at the gate holding his boarding pass. His other hand was tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket, completely still. Behind him, Tomasz was dragging a roller bag stuffed with notebooks, a trench coat, and two portable hard drives. He looked visibly tense.
Greg had asked what this business trip was about.
Julian had replied casually, almost offhandedly,
"Berlin. A few early‑stage clients and some wellness leave. HR calls it burnout prevention."
He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
"Still work. Just with better lighting."
Because of Emma's betrayal, Julian had deliberately picked Tomasz for this trip.
A moment passed.
"What exactly is this business trip?" Tomasz asked quietly.
Julian didn't answer. He simply handed his boarding pass to the security officer and adjusted his collar.
The official entry in the company system read: Post-Crisis Liquidity & Innovation Panel.
They sat in business class. The cabin was half-empty.
Tomasz shifted nervously in his seat, his eyes flicking around. "This… is quieter than I thought."
Julian didn't look up from the news feed.
"That's why we fly from City. No tourists. No kids. No excuses."
Outside the window, London slowly disappeared. The in-flight safety briefing began in German.
Tomasz frowned as he flipped through the itinerary Julian had sent him two days earlier, trying to figure out which clients they were supposed to meet, what products they were discussing, and why it only listed three words:
Berlin. Labs. Trust.
Julian had his eyes closed, as if napping, or rehearsing some unspeakable script. He said softly,
"Did you bring your laptop? They might want to see a model. Or… just see you."
Tomasz didn't quite understand, but he nodded anyway.
By the time they landed in Berlin, it was just past three in the afternoon. Sunlight slanted across the roof of a converted art warehouse. There were no taxis in sight, only a row of Uber-like black cars and a few private shuttles labeled "Founders Summit."
Julian looked out the window. The warehouse wall was covered in pink skulls and a string of near-indecipherable German street graffiti. He squinted slightly.
"Welcome to beyond compliance," he said.
Tomasz was about to ask something when he saw a man in a hoodie and mirrored sunglasses, clearly a tech bro laughing and high-fiving a VC at the door. Behind them, a DJ was already fading in some vintage '90s techno as the event's theme song.
Julian stepped out of the car, his stride steady. He turned back to Tomasz, his voice as calm as a weather forecast.
"Don't worry. Everyone here is on payroll."
Berlin. 11 PM. An unmarked underground warehouse.
The air was sweet and cold. The speakers thumped. The floor was raw, chipped concrete. Old nail holes dotted the walls, and the ceiling lights flickered with an inconsistent rhythm.
It had started as a serious conversation. They had been speaking in long, incomprehensible buzzwords, but it was all unraveling.
Julian sat on a black leather couch, one hand resting on his knee, the other supporting his cheek. He could smell the powder in the air, trailing from his nose to behind his eyes. He hadn't taken much, but in this room, just breathing was enough.
Across from him, three tech bros were talking in turns, their pace switching between frantic and slow.
"You know the world is softening, right?"
"The rules are fake. What we're building is a penetration protocol."
Julian didn't respond. He ran his fingers along his teeth. Then he nodded slightly and said,
"You lot have the pool. I'll bring the water."
They paused half a beat, then burst into laughter.
"This guy's in."
Glasses clinked. Hands slapped. Someone scribbled a strange diagram on a napkin—circles and arrows forming what looked like a cyber-occult ritual map. Powder dusted across it, shimmering like snow.
The music cut in and out, just enough to hear the tech bros breathing and the scratch of paper.
Nobody at the table was speaking normal language anymore. They spoke in phrases like,
"Assets on the run."
"Flows unobserved."
"Love that can't be archived."
Julian's eyes wandered, but his posture leaned forward. He was listening intently, like a man attending a summit only madmen could understand.
Suddenly, one of the founders' nose rings, glassy eyes, grabbed Julian's wrist.
"If I die tonight, can you carry this signal out?"
Julian didn't laugh. He nodded with the seriousness of someone accepting a dying wish.
"If you die, I'll take your phone and run."
They slapped hands again. In that moment, inside a room that would never be documented, a deal was made.
No contracts. No compliance. No oversight.
Only a drop of drying blood, a line of madness, and a look.
3 AM.
Berlin. Rooftop after the party.
There was no railing on the rooftop. Just two rows of plastic chairs and an old projector left to die. The wind slapped their faces like a blade.
Julian stood near the edge, a freshly lit cigarette in his mouth. The wind creased his shirt in sharp folds, but he didn't seem to care. He was staring at a slip of paper in his hand. The powder had already smudged under his fingerprints and the night air. Only three lines remained:
Julian
Passage
Thursday
When he handed the paper to Tomasz, he laughed a little to himself.
"This counts as a contract?" Tomasz frowned.
He was sitting on the steps, holding his head in his hands, unable to believe that just yesterday afternoon, he had been at a panel, and now it was this.
Julian didn't answer.
He was still replaying the scene in his mind.
"I'm not sure what I signed.
I don't remember when that Berlin Labs intent letter was even sent.
I just remember it was late, and we were sitting in a basement. I couldn't understand half of what they were saying.
Then someone handed me a pen.
I thought they wanted me to write a message for the guest book."
8 AM. Outside the hotel.
Their bags were packed. Julian held a dark grey carry-on. The plastic wristband from last night's event was still wrapped around his arm. Tomasz dragged his own suitcase behind him and asked in a low voice,
"What did you actually do last night?"
Julian looked at him, eyes vague, like he wasn't fully awake yet, or didn't care to be.
"Just some talking.
Maybe… signed something."
By the time they walked into the terminal, the Berlin Labs homepage had already been updated.
The headline read:
"Berlin Labs announces sandbox pilot with UK trading desk"
An anonymous settlement framework for soft liquidity environments.
Julian's name was listed in the fourth paragraph, right next to two tech founders. The scanned draft of the agreement had been uploaded at the bottom of the page, labeled "Memorandum of Intent."
He stood at the gate, finished his cigarette, and ground out the butt with his shoe.
A breeze slipped through the gap beneath the glass doors and blew away a scrap of paper from his coat.
10 AM.
Flight to Amsterdam. Cabin.
Tomasz sat silently by the window.
Julian was next to him, eyes shut. His headphones were on but playing no sound.
"You know we could've taken the train," Tomasz muttered.
"Yeah. And wait three hours for Deutsche Bahn to remember it's a transport company?"Julian replied.
The crew announced the flight time over the speaker. The two of them sat there, side by side, like people returning from another world.
The plane lifted off.