Lucas arrived at the headquarters…
A cigarette between his lips, smoke curling slowly before his eyes.
It was hard to believe that this…
was only his second day in the organization.
It felt as if long years had passed,
as if time itself… had fractured.
He had tasted death three times…
three times in a single day.
He breathed slowly, as if his chest refused air.
(This won't happen again… it won't…)
But—
what he didn't know…
was that everything he had lived through so far,
was just a drop… in an ocean.
He entered the headquarters.
His eyes immediately searched for Carlos.
The only person who held answers… or orders.
He opened the door to one of the rooms—
and Carlos came out, waving at him.
Lucas approached him.
Carlos paused for a moment…
watching him.
His skin tone was back to normal,
his clothes clean, tidy…
but something in his eyes—
was no longer as it used to be.
Without a word…
Lucas pulled out the gun.
And extended it toward him.
Carlos looked at the weapon…
then slowly raised his eyes.
"Is it over?"
Lucas nodded silently.
Carlos' features cooled slightly…
(He wasn't proud of this)
"Keep it… it's yours now."
Lucas froze.
He gripped the gun tighter.
(No… I don't want it…)
At that moment—
the voice returned.
"Come on, Arthur… don't deny it.
I know… you want it."
He clenched his jaw.
Ignored it.
He stepped closer to Carlos—
then pressed the gun against his body.
"Take it."
His voice was low… taut.
But Carlos didn't move.
"It's yours. These are Antonio's orders."
"I understand you well, Arthur…"
The voice returned, this time clearer.
"You're afraid… to use it again."
He ignored it again—
but his breaths betrayed him.
He stepped closer… almost touching him.
He whispered:
"I don't want it… take it from me."
His hand was tense.
Not from the weapon…
but from himself.
(I… did it easily…)
Carlos exhaled slowly…
and looked at him seriously.
"You don't understand.
Antonio… trusts you."
Lucas froze.
He stepped back slowly…
and lowered the gun.
"Only your second day…
and yet he gave you a weapon.
Do you know why?"
He didn't answer.
But the voice replied for him—
in a cold whisper:
"Because… you liked it.
You liked… when you killed him."
His fingers trembled.
The image of the homeless man—
his eyes… his voice…
everything came back at once.
(No…)
But—
he thought.
(I'm here… to expose them… to reach the big three…)
(And Antonio's trust… a chance…)
Slowly—
he returned the gun to its place.
Carlos watched him…
then smiled.
A faint… rare smile.
"You… are strange."
Because of Antonio's trust in him…
and what Harry had said about him—
Carlos began to look at Lucas differently.
Admiration… caution… curiosity.
At that moment—
two men entered from behind him.
"Carlos."
He turned to them.
"Oh… you came just in time."
He pointed at Lucas:
"This person will assist you. His name is Lucas."
Then he pointed to them:
"This is Miguel."
He was tall… almost as tall as Lucas,
with dark skin, thick black hair, and prominent eyebrows giving him a sharp look.
"And this is Jean."
A little shorter, wearing glasses,
a calm smile… yet watchful.
Carlos raised his voice slightly:
"He will go with you… to find that thief who took your money yesterday."
Lucas froze for a second.
(I… caused this…)
But he showed nothing.
He just nodded.
"You may go."
Miguel and Jean walked ahead…
Lucas followed behind.
Miguel whispered:
"Who is this? He seems important."
Jean glanced briefly… and took a quick look at Lucas.
Noticed the tattoo—
three black frogs.
Noticed his eyes—
cold… yet carrying something unreadable.
Lucas gave a faint smile.
A smile… that said nothing.
Jean whispered:
"Maybe from another team… or higher rank.
Be careful."
Lucas was about to ask—
but his gaze drifted.
To the left.
An open room.
Inside—
a man and two girls counting money.
And in the corner…
she was there.
Carl.
Her black hair fell softly,
her fair skin reflecting the light,
her lips glimmering faintly.
She raised her gaze.
Their eyes met.
And in a moment—
everything disappeared.
The noise…
the thoughts…
even the fatigue.
Only—
a strange calm remained.
(…What is this?)
She smiled at him.
A simple smile.
But it—
stuck inside him.
He quickly tore his gaze away.
(No…)
Something inside pulled him back.
A memory…
his wife.
Betrayal.
Pain.
(If a snake bites you… you'll fear every rope.)
He turned his gaze away.
And continued walking.
They exited the headquarters.
Lucas paused for a moment.
(A car?)
Then he remembered—
these two… were Level C.
The lowest.
Living off the scraps of the organization.
"From here."
Jean said respectfully.
But his tone… was cautious.
Lucas noticed.
(Is he nervous around me?)
After some walking—
they arrived.
A wide area.
Scattered buildings…
faded walls…
an abandoned basketball court on the side.
The air was dry…
the silence heavy.
Lucas asked:
"Do you sell drugs here?"
A direct… strange question.
Miguel and Jean exchanged glances.
"Yes… this is our site."
Miguel spoke slowly.
Their surprise clear on their faces.
Lucas noticed that.
He exhaled:
"I know the question is strange…"
Paused.
"This… is my first day here."
They exchanged glances again—
but this time… with understanding.
After they thought he was important—
it turned out he was… just a beginner.
That alone was enough to change everything.
Their expressions relaxed…
and Miguel's tone immediately shifted.
Lighter… but with something else.
Control.
"So, then…"
He put his hand in his pocket, and smiled normally…
but his eyes did not smile.
"Why didn't you tell us from the start?"
Lucas replied calmly:
"I thought you knew."
Miguel stepped forward.
Step… then another.
Until he was right in front of him.
He raised his hand—
and lightly tapped his shoulder… yet with excessive confidence.
"Okay… listen."
He pointed toward the distant buildings:
"Go there.
Search every alley… every corner."
Then he looked at him sharply:
"White skin, brown hair…
almost as tall as Jean."
Paused—
"Eyes… hazel."
Lucas nodded.
But he noticed.
(Change… quickly.)
(Just because he thought I was a beginner?)
He understood.
(This type… bullies the new ones.)
"Clear?"
Miguel's tone was commanding.
Lucas felt slight annoyance… but hid it.
"Yes."
"Good."
Miguel turned:
"Jean and I will go there."
And they left.
Lucas remained… alone.
He looked around.
The place was quiet…
uncomfortably so.
(I don't think the thief will return to the same place…)
Time passed.
Slowly.
Steps… searching… nothing.
An hour had passed.
Fatigue began to show.
His body heavy…
and his eyes burning from exhaustion.
Until—
a car passed.
Slowly.
Alongside the road.
Then it stopped.
Lucas raised his gaze slightly.
The car's headlights—
ignited.
Twice.
Quickly.
(A signal?)
He furrowed his brows.
Looked toward the opposite building.
Suddenly—
a flash.
From one of the windows.
Twice.
He froze.
(…Understood.)
He returned his gaze to the car.
The driver's hand came out of the window—
and raised two fingers.
Silence.
Only a few seconds—
Then—
a dog appeared.
A hunting dog.
It ran swiftly toward the car…
carrying a bag in its mouth.
Full.
It stopped in front of the driver.
The man took the bag…
and placed something in the dog's mouth.
The dog disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Returned… from where it came.
Silent.
Lucas watched.
(Trained…)
(He knows what to do…)
He breathed slowly.
(Clean method…)
(If you catch the dog… it won't help.)
Just… an animal.
"What a traditional method."
The voice appeared suddenly.
Cold… sarcastic.
The dog ignored it.
"Does it matter to you?"
The voice laughed.
"You are the one who should care…"
It paused for a moment… then added:
"Isn't that right, Arthur?"
Silence.
Then it whispered:
"You're hungry."
Lucas clenched his jaw.
"All day…
you've done nothing but smoke."
A light chuckle.
"Why not… have a sandwich?"
He froze.
The image of the homeless man—
returned.
His voice…
his blood…
his eyes.
He bit his lip hard.
"Finished?"
The voice didn't stop.
It exploded into laughter.
"You are pathetic… Arthur."
Lucas pressed his hand to his head.
"Stop laughing."
"Sorry…"
But the laughter was not sorry.
He turned suddenly—
and froze.
Miguel.
Standing right behind him.
Surprised.
(Since when…?)
Lucas ran his hand quickly through his hair…
trying to seem normal.
"Did… you find anything?"
Miguel asked.
But his tone this time—
was different.
Doubtful.
Tension was evident on Lucas.
He wasn't just anxious—
it was something deeper.
He had been… talking to himself.
Clearly.
Miguel smiled.
A smile… fake.
"I didn't find anything."
Then he looked at him:
"And you?"
Lucas tilted his head slightly:
"No."
A brief silence.
"All right… keep looking."
And he left.
Pretending… as if he hadn't heard anything.
Lucas remained alone.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes again.
Lit one.
Then another.
It was… the tenth cigarette.
He hadn't eaten.
Hadn't rested.
He feared the silence.
Because silence—
allowed things… to come back.
Elsewhere—
Miguel ran to Jean.
"Jean! Jean!"
Jean turned.
Miguel stood before him, panting,
trying to catch his breath.
"Did you find him?"
He gestured: wait.
Bent slightly… then raised his head.
"You won't believe it.
I found Lucas… talking to himself."
Jean froze for a moment.
Then sighed:
"And I thought you found something important."
Miguel chuckled lightly:
"You don't understand."
Jean sat down, pulled out a marijuana cigarette, and lit it slowly.
"What do I not understand? That he's crazy?"
Exhaling the smoke from his nose, enjoying it.
"Who cares?"
Miguel took the cigarette, inhaled deeply.
Leaning back against the wall.
"Do you think Carlos hires crazy people?"
Jean paused.
Raised his eyebrows.
"You mean… he wasn't talking to himself?"
Miguel smiled.
"I'm just wondering…"
He leaned closer.
"What if he was… watching?"
Jean stood immediately.
Sighed:
"I'll stop you here… before your imagination runs wild, as usual."
But Miguel didn't stop.
"When he was talking…"
He lowered his voice:
"He was looking… at the same place."
Silence.
"The sale… was happening right in front of him."
Jean froze.
Took a drag from his cigarette.
This time—
slowly.
"You mean…"
"That he was describing what was happening?"
Miguel smiled lightly.
Kept looking at Jean.
"I fear it's the marijuana talking… not you."
He tossed the cigarette to the ground…
and crushed it with his foot.
Placed his hand on Jean's shoulder:
"Trust me… I have a plan."
Time passed.
Slowly… heavily.
Seven o'clock in the evening arrived.
Lucas—
hadn't eaten anything.
His stomach screamed.
He stood in front of a restaurant.
Looking at it for a long time.
(…Go in.)
He entered.
Sat down.
The waitress approached.
A notepad and pen in hand.
"Good evening, sir. What would you like?"
"A beef burger."
Minutes later—
the food was in front of him.
Hot.
Ready.
But—
Lucas… didn't touch it.
He just stared.
Sweat dripping from his forehead.
His hands… slow.
He reached.
Grabbed the burger.
Lifted it.
Slowly…
to his mouth.
Took a bite.
Chewed.
Slowly.
Then—
a sound.
Inside him.
Broken.
Shattered.
Skull.
(Beit…)
The voice returned.
Stronger.
Clearer.
The image—
in front of his eyes.
Blood.
Flesh.
Eyes.
He stopped.
His breaths choked.
Suddenly—
he rose.
Ran.
To the bathroom.
Opened the door violently.
Bent over—
and vomited.
"Waaah—!"
A scream escaped him…
like a wounded animal.
Filling the space.
Everything in the restaurant stopped.
Eyes—
turned toward the bathroom.
The waitress approached.
"Sir… are you okay?"
He opened the door.
Came out.
Hair wet,
drops running down his face.
Looked at her.
A look—
empty.
Broken.
"No…"
Silence.
"I'm not okay."
He left the restaurant.
Paused.
Raised his head to the sky.
Closed his eyes.
Breathed.
Slowly.
"There's something… changing inside me."
He opened his eyes.
A cold gaze.
"And I don't like it."