The money arrived that same night.
There was no call or prior message. Just a sharp knock on the apartment door, three short taps and one long one. Derek took a few seconds to react. David, who was sitting on the floor dismantling an old pistol, looked up and shook his head before Derek could move.
"I'll check."
He opened it just enough to see a delivery man in the gray jumpsuit of the Sea of Ships Control Company. The same logo Derek had seen all his life on posters, trains, and institutional ads: a stylized ship surrounded by a blue circle.
The man said nothing. He extended a sealed, heavy envelope.
"Sign," he grunted.
David stamped a scribble without reading and closed the door.
"The Company?" asked Derek, frowning. "What the hell is the Company doing here?"
David tossed the envelope onto the table. Inside were physical bills, used, non-sequential.
"It does everything," he replied. "Welcome to the real world."
Derek didn't smile. Something fit too well, and that made him more uncomfortable than any direct threat.
"I thought we worked for... other people."
"We work for whoever pays," said David. "And the Company always pays. Only they don't always do it publicly."
He sat across from him and lit a cigarette, not worrying about the broken smoke detector.
"Listen closely," he continued. "The Sea of Ships is a legal business, clean in the reports. Material recovery, recycling, state contracts. But what they don't tell you is that only a part of what is found goes through the official warehouses."
Derek remembered his brother emptying the bag onto the wooden table, waiting for a price.
"The rest," David went on, "moves through another circuit. Forbidden components, unregistered technology, remains of projects that officially never existed. The Company looks the other way... as long as they get their cut."
"And the criminal network?"
David smiled, humorlessly.
"The criminal network is the Company. Or, rather, its immune system. We do the dirty work so they can keep looking legal."
Derek remained silent. The room seemed smaller.
"Why me?" he asked finally. "There are people with more experience."
David looked at him for a few seconds, as if measuring how much he could say.
"Because you have something that can't be learned," he replied. "Instinct. The same thing your brother had."
The name fell between them like a fragile object.
"Don't mention him," said Derek, his voice low.
"Sooner or later it'll come out on its own," David retorted. "In this business, the past always collects its debt."
Over the following days, Derek discovered what it meant to truly work for the machine. Small jobs at first: transporting parts, watching exchanges, acting as a decoy while others went down into the crater. There was always someone in a Company uniform nearby, always a legal excuse ready.
He learned when to run and when to stay still. He learned not to ask unnecessary questions. And, above all, he learned that David never lost control, not even when things went sideways.
One night, while returning on the bike after a particularly tense job, Derek realized he had started trusting him in a dangerous way. Not like you trust a partner, but like you trust someone who, if they let go, you break.
He said nothing.
The Sea of Ships kept calling him. Every time he descended, he felt a strange pressure in his chest, as if walking on ground that had already been his before. In one of those descents, he thought he recognized a route, a hidden access he had never consciously traveled.
"Have you been here before?" asked one of the seekers.
"No," lied Derek.
But he knew it wasn't entirely true.
That night, upon returning to the apartment, he found David sitting in the dark.
"We have a problem," he said.
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind that bears the Company stamp."
He showed him a tablet. On the screen appeared a blurry image, taken from high up in the crater: Derek, from behind, descending toward a specific ship.
"They are watching you," said David. "And when the Company watches, it isn't to protect."
Derek felt a chill. He thought of his brother, the police report, the word accident.
"Then," he said, "there's no turning back now."
David turned off the screen.
"There never was."
Outside, somewhere between the rust and the darkness, the machine kept turning.
Episode 4: The Weight of Mistakes
The crater of the Sea of Ships dawned with a gray mist that seemed to rise from the metal wreckage, embracing every fallen ship and rusted structure. Derek adjusted his backpack, where the box he had delivered days ago still held a special place in his mind. It wasn't its physical weight that worried him, but the sense of responsibility that had settled in his chest since crossing the first line: a world where every mistake could be fatal.
David started the bike without a word, and Derek held onto his back. This time they weren't heading for a routine transport job; there was a new package, bigger, heavier, and with a warning that had put them on alert: "Watch for active sensors. No second chances." The warning wasn't exaggerated: the Company watched every move, and the criminal network didn't hesitate to eliminate those who messed up.
As they advanced along the broken highway leading to the crater, Derek surprised himself by observing David's movements: the way his hands gripped the handlebars, how his eyes scanned the road and structures on both sides, calculating every shadow and every corner where someone could be watching. The admiration he felt for him wasn't that of a common friend: there was something in the way David moved, in his calm and control, that made him want to imitate him and be close to him at the same time. Derek closed his eyes for a moment against his back and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the heat rising to his face.
They reached the drop point, a warehouse almost invisible among towers of scrap and collapsed ships. There was no one in sight, just the echo of their boots on the metallic grass mixed with dust and forgotten tool remnants. David got off first and checked every corner, every shadow. Derek followed carefully, the box in his hands, feeling that every step resonated too loudly.
"Remember," whispered David, "don't look to the sides, don't talk to anyone. Just drop and exit."
Derek nodded, but he couldn't help getting distracted for a moment by a blue glint among the remains of a fallen ship. It was small, barely a shine in the darkness, but something in his instinct told him it wasn't a coincidence. He had to ignore it. He turned his head toward David, but the young man was completely focused on the path, evaluating escape routes.
They reached the drop point, and Derek extended the box. But just as the contact took the package, a metallic noise made Derek move too fast, tripping over a piece of structure. The bump caused the package to hit the ground. David reacted immediately, shoving him to the side and raising his hand to cover him, but it wasn't enough: a sensor near them blinked, signaling that someone was watching.
"Shit!" said Derek, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm sorry..."
David looked at him, eyes fixed and hard. For a moment, Derek felt he couldn't hold the gaze. There were no shouts, no verbal punishment; just heavy breathing and a few seconds of silence that made him understand that this mistake could cost them dearly. The contact recovered the box, the sensor stopped blinking, and in an instant that seemed eternal, everything went back to normal. David said nothing, just leaned down, pulled Derek up, and pointed the way back.
As they walked back to the bike, Derek noticed David was worried, tense, and something about the way he looked at him made him feel a mix of guilt and strange relief: they were still alive. But fear had settled deeper than before. Derek's first mistake wasn't just a slip-up; it was a reminder that the Sea of Ships does not forgive.
When they finally started the bike and returned to a safer point, David spoke:
"There are things you can't learn with theory. What you saw today is just the beginning. Every move is paid for, every careless act leaves a mark."
Derek nodded, aware that the world that had once seemed like a game was now closer to devouring him. But it wasn't all just death and risk: among the wreckage and rumors, something new was beginning to circulate. A mysterious substance, dark in color and with properties everyone wanted, had leaked into the city streets.
The other seekers murmured about it: "It hit the black market," "it's expensive but gets people hooked," "only a few get it before it disappears." Derek heard these conversations while David silently negotiated with a contact for another job. The name of the substance wasn't clear yet, only the rumor and intrigue it was starting to generate.
"What is that?" asked Derek, pointing to a small package someone else was leaving at an exchange point.
David shrugged, with just enough of a smile not to alarm him too much:
"Someone is already selling it in the city. For now, it only moves between certain contacts. But soon... it could be our next job."
Derek remained silent, thinking about the amount of things he still didn't understand, the weight of mistakes, the surveillance of the Company, and the possibility that he and David would end up involved in something much bigger than a simple job.
And as the crater of the Sea of Ships disappeared behind the mist of the night, Derek understood that the world he had inherited wasn't just testing him... it was molding him.