Arthur sighed and began rereading the contract several times.
He rubbed his eyes thoroughly, then shrugged casually.
"Let's do this."
He jumped off the bed, barefoot, and hurried to the kitchen. He grabbed a knife and rushed back to the room, his nerves frayed, eager to see how it would end.
He entered the room, took a pen, and sat cross-legged on the bed.
Looking at the book, he muttered:
"You're a strange book… there's no way you're ordinary."
He played with the pen in his hand, thinking.
(Will something bad happen, like in the movies? Will I be cursed?)
Then he shook his head.
(You know what? Let it happen. My situation isn't any better anyway.)
He wrote:
Name: Arthur Will
Date of Birth: 12 / 12 / 1995
He held the knife in his right hand and slowly pierced the thumb of his left hand. A few drops of blood appeared.
He pressed his thumb onto the designated spot.
Now… only the last stage remained.
He put his thumb in his mouth briefly, then looked at the book, trying to understand the final step.
He remembered video games, where you start easy and gradually increase difficulty.
So he wrote impulsively:
Easy
That was always him… unwilling to take risks, never thinking outside the box.
He let his imagination wander, picturing what might happen next.
Part of him hoped this magical book would get him out of his predicament.
A moment later, Arthur opened the book again.
But… everything was gone.
Even the sentence:
"Can you kill a human being?"
Nothing remained.
He threw the book on the bed and started laughing.
He put his hands on his face and lay back.
Everything had vanished… the contract, the fingerprint… nothing.
The book was completely empty.
Suddenly, he heard the door open.
He sighed, adjusted his posture, and sat up.
Michael entered the room.
"Arthur."
He answered weakly:
"Don't call me by my real name."
Michael had also cut his hair short and added a new tattoo on his right hand: a heart engulfed in flames.
He placed the keys on the table and scratched his hand.
"Oh, right… sorry, Lucas."
Arthur looked at him tiredly, his eyes half-lidded.
Michael laughed.
"What's wrong? Don't like the name? Want to change it? Haha."
He continued scratching his hand.
Arthur sighed.
"Ever since I got this tattoo, the itching won't stop."
Michael lifted his head to Arthur.
"Where's your tattoo? I want to see it."
Arthur looked at him silently. He didn't even want to move or speak. The book had drained all his energy.
Slowly, he lifted his shirt.
Michael approached and touched the tattoo on Arthur's neck.
It was three frogs staring at each other, ready to fight.
The black ink was detailed and perfect… far better than Michael's tattoo.
Arthur stepped back slightly, signaling Michael to give him space.
Michael clasped his hands with a groan.
"Ugh… this damn thing tricked me. The itching won't stop!"
Arthur spoke quietly:
"Maybe you're allergic. Put ice on it… the itch will subside."
Michael smiled and snapped his fingers.
"Oh! You're a genius! I'll do that."
He rushed to the fridge enthusiastically.
Arthur wished he had a fraction of that energy.
He went to the kitchen too.
Michael sat on a chair, holding a piece of ice in his left hand, pressing it onto the tattoo.
The cold eased the itch, giving him immense relief.
He closed his eyes.
"Oh my God… I needed this. Thanks, Lucas."
Arthur wiped his forehead, thinking.
He didn't want to ask, but curiosity got the better of him.
"I want to ask you something."
Michael opened his eyes.
"Why are you so excited and happy to take on this impossible mission?"
Michael smiled slightly.
"There's no such thing as impossible."
He added,
"My grandfather used to say that all the time."
Arthur replied coldly:
"There are many impossible things, Michael."
Michael leaned back and tilted his head toward the ceiling.
Memories seemed to flood him.
"I grew up in a bad neighborhood."
He stood and walked to the fridge.
"There was a gang there that made the area even worse."
He opened the fridge and stared inside, lost in memory.
A sad smile crossed his face.
"Many people died… friends, even my family."
He slammed the fridge door shut.
Boom!
Arthur focused more intently.
Michael pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.
"One day… in the morning, the gang was arrested."
His eyes lit up as he remembered.
"After a while, we found out why."
He smiled.
"There was an undercover cop in the gang… he brought them down."
He put his hand in his pocket.
"Because of him, the neighborhood got better… cleaner… we had hope for the future."
He lowered his eyes slightly.
"Because of him, I studied hard… and I got here."
He put the cigarette in his mouth.
"Do you understand now?"
He looked up at Arthur.
"I want to be like him. I want to save people from this criminal organization, just like he saved our neighborhood."
His voice rose slightly.
"Because of them, so many people die. Drugs everywhere. Human trafficking… even children."
He clenched his fist.
"They must be stopped."
Arthur now understood his enthusiasm.
He remembered his daughter's drawing… portraying him as a superhero.
He chuckled softly.
Then he looked at Michael and said:
"Alright."
Suddenly, Michael remembered something.
"Ah! Important. I forgot to tell you."
He pulled out his phone and checked the time.
"Jimmy told me we'll meet someone in front of the hotel."
His eyes widened.
"8 PM!"
He cursed under his breath.
"Damn… only two hours left."
He extinguished his cigarette in the sink and ran some water.
"There's still time," he said.
Arthur asked,
"Is this the same man Jimmy told you about?"
Michael answered,
"Yes… he's the one who'll get us into the organization."
Then Michael patted Arthur on the shoulder with a smile.
"Don't worry. Jimmy's a good man."
He turned.
"I'm going to take a shower."
Arthur crossed his arms.
(A good man sending two inexperienced agents on a mission like this…)
He looked at the floor, disappointed.
(No one cares.)
He then walked toward the book to see if anything had changed…
He looked at the bed.
The book he had left there had disappeared again.
He laughed out loud.
"Go to hell."
He turned and left the room.
"I don't have time to play hide-and-seek with you."
At 8 PM, Michael and Arthur—or rather Stephen and Lucas—stood in front of the hotel, their bags by their sides.
Lucas smoked a cigarette, staring at the street where the lights from the cafés reflected across the road.
In a rare quiet moment…
Boooooot!
He snapped awake at the honk of a car.
He looked toward the sound.
A red Ford F-150 SUV had pulled up nearby.
They exchanged a glance and walked toward the vehicle.
A voice came from the driver's side:
"Stephen and Lucas?"
They answered together:
"Yes."
The driver nodded, signaling them to get in.
They quickly climbed into the back seats.
The driver turned toward them.
He was a Mexican man with harsh features, a heavily tattooed body, short black hair, and a strange tattoo on his forehead:
{All girls end up in bed.}
With a mocking tone, he said:
"Where do you want to go, ladies?"
Stephen and Lucas stared at each other in confusion, saying at the same time:
"What?"
The driver slammed the seat with his hand and raised his voice:
"Am I a taxi driver?! One of you sits up front with me, and you sit in the back like idiots!"
Stephen quickly jumped out and got into the front passenger seat.
The driver muttered:
"Didn't anyone teach you anything?"
Lucas leaned forward slightly.
"Jimmy explained it to us well."
The driver honked the horn sharply.
Boooooot!
"Idiot! Don't say his name! You don't know who might be in this car!"
He then looked back at Lucas.
His eyes were lethal… the eyes of someone not to be messed with.
He slowly turned forward.
Stephen exhaled.
Lucas, however, was so tense he began to cough.
The car engine roared to life, and they began moving toward their destination.
The driver said:
"My name's Casimiro."
He put an electronic cigarette in his mouth, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
"Listen carefully… there are things you need to know."
He inhaled again.
"There are levels within the organization."
He began counting:
"C… then B… then A."
"The C level is the weakest," he said, looking at Stephen.
"Your job here is simple: sell drugs, collect money around the city, guard brothels, carry out tasks… and obey orders completely."
He suddenly changed the radio song, banging the dashboard in frustration.
"Damn! I hate this song!"
Then he sighed.
"Where was I? Ah, yes."
"Level B," he continued with a smile.
"Group leader… like me."
He then noticed Stephen's tattoo and laughed.
"Who gave you this tattoo?"
Stephen was caught off guard.
Casimiro pointed at the tattoo, laughing.
"Was he blind or drunk?"
Stephen nervously laughed.
Casimiro continued:
"Anyway… the money passes through you. You count it and send it to your superiors. You manage your area and the men under you. Some specialize in fraud, others in different operations."
They arrived at their destination.
Casimiro stopped the car and turned off the engine.
"Level A…" he continued, taking a drag from his e-cigarette.
"Hitmen… leaders of large offices… casino management… human organ trade."
Stephen tilted his head slightly.
"Okay… got it."
Lucas leaned back in the rear seat, feeling like his head was about to explode.
He struggled to breathe and wanted to get out of the car.
Casimiro sighed and returned the e-cigarette to its holder.
"And then… there are the Big Three."
He smirked sarcastically.
"But you'll have to climb the ranks to reach them."
He chuckled lightly.
"Good luck."
Then suddenly, he stopped laughing.
"Any questions?"
Lucas moved forward slightly, opening his mouth.
Casimiro cut him off.
"Time's up. Get out of my car."
Lucas quickly got out without looking back.
Stephen opened his door and turned to him.
"Thanks."
Coldly, Casimiro replied:
"Listen… we didn't meet. I don't know you, and you don't know me."
Stephen felt uneasy.
"How do we get in? They'll ask questions."
Casimiro answered:
"Yes, they will."
"They'll ask for a passcode."
"The code is 6969."
"Give them this code… and they'll let you in."
He started the car.
"Anyone with this number is accepted inside."
Stephen started to step back.
But Casimiro suddenly grabbed his hand.
Stephen looked at him.
He stared into his eyes without blinking.
In a low voice, he said:
"Advice… don't enter with him at the same time."
Stephen was startled.
He looked at Lucas, who stood at a distance smoking his cigar.
Then he moved closer.
"Why?"
Casimiro said:
"They'll discover his weakness… and he'll die."
"And when that happens, you won't know him."
He sat upright in his seat.
"Just a tip."
"Take it… or ignore it."
He closed the door, and the car drove off.
Stephen stayed looking at Lucas… silently smoking his cigar.