The car…
sank deeper into the ocean.
Darkness swallowed it, little by little…
and with it—
all the pride…
all the violence…
that Casimiro carried.
—
In the morning—
Lucas sat in a restaurant near the headquarters.
In front of him— a simple breakfast…
and coffee.
In his hand—
his phone.
He was editing an audio recording.
Deleting… cutting…
anything that might expose him.
Then—
he stopped.
(…I killed someone yesterday.)
He lifted his eyes slightly.
And now…
here he was—
eating.
Calmly.
Enjoying his coffee.
He hesitated for a moment…
then lowered the fork from his hand.
(Is it because… he deserved it?)
(He knew my secret…)
(He could've… reached my family…)
He closed his eyes for a second.
(I had to do it.)
He opened them again.
Picked up the fork…
and continued eating.
(And who cares?… I'm a killer.)
—
He wiped his mouth.
Placed twenty dollars on the table.
Then left.
—
(At any moment… they'll discover Casimiro's disappearance.)
(And they'll come… for the last person who was with him.)
His fist tightened.
(One mistake… could end everything.)
(And if I die again…)
(The mission will restart.)
—
He arrived at the headquarters.
—
Everything… was normal.
As if nothing had happened.
—
Miguel sat in front of the TV,
watching Scooby-Doo, laughing.
In front of him— an energy drink.
Absentmindedly, he lifted his foot—
and hit the table.
The drink tipped over…
spilling onto his new clothes.
He jumped up:
"Damn it! My clothes!"
—
At that moment—
Harry approached.
Miguel looked at him…
and froze.
His hair… was very short.
Almost shaved.
He always wore a cap…
but now—
he looked terrible.
Miguel said mockingly:
"What's wrong? Decided to join the army?"
Harry gave a weak smile,
then started scratching his hand.
"I need your help… lend me some money."
Miguel sighed, looking at him with disgust.
(Addict… always an addict.)
Harry started scratching his hand again—
but this time…
violently.
As if he wanted to tear his skin apart.
—
Miguel smiled to himself.
(Good…)
(Keep going.)
In fact—
he wished to see him dead… from an overdose.
Just to prove he was right.
—
A thought crossed his mind.
(Overdose…)
—
Harry kept scratching.
Then suddenly stopped.
He looked at Miguel.
His body trembling slightly…
drained.
"Come on… lend me."
"I know you have money."
"I'll pay you back… every cent."
Miguel raised an eyebrow:
"Really?"
Harry smiled quickly:
"Yes… I promise."
Miguel paused for a moment, then said:
"How much do you want?"
—
Harry froze.
He didn't expect that.
He started thinking fast:
"I… I mean… a thousand dollars."
He lowered his gaze.
Waiting for rejection.
(Even if he refuses… it doesn't matter…)
(I only need 500…)
—
But—
"Alright."
Harry lifted his head suddenly.
"Wait here… I'll be back."
—
Miguel left.
—
Harry slid his hand under his shirt…
scratching his skin like a madman.
He smiled.
"Th… thank you…"
—
Antonio's threat…
didn't last long.
After a few days—
He returned.
Sat with his old friends.
One was smoking…
another snorting cocaine…
a third swallowing pills.
—
He thought…
he could stop.
That he could sit with them… just sit.
Without falling.
—
But—
something inside him…
was collapsing.
—
And the irony?
His sister…
was proud of him.
She thought… he had recovered.
Harry tried to stop, but he couldn't. Every time you try to quit something, you go back to it stronger—excessively so. This is the last time… the last time.
Carl didn't know he had relapsed, and neither did Carlos notice. He was sitting, watching TV, waiting for Miguel. He looked at an energy drink on the table, picked up the bottle, shook it—only a little remained.
Miguel returned. Harry looked at him—
but didn't see Miguel.
He saw cocaine.
And the rush of dopamine flooded his body.
He stood in front of Miguel, smiled, and pulled out a crumpled thousand dollars.
He felt someone standing behind him.
He turned.
Damn his luck…
the last person he wanted to see—Lucas.
Lucas stood calmly, slipped his hand into his pocket, swallowing lightly. Harry remembered Antonio's promise to try and stop—but he had failed.
Lucas remained standing in silence, until Miguel broke it:
"Lucas, how are you today?"
Lucas placed a cigarette between his lips calmly, his eyes fixed on Harry.
Harry tensed, scratching his hand rapidly. His expression was cold, but his eyes burned with anger.
Lucas spoke quietly:
"Harry, I want to talk to you. Alone."
Miguel hated Lucas at that moment. (Why doesn't he mind his own business?)
He left the headquarters.
Lucas exhaled smoke and said:
"You know… how many times I tried to quit smoking?"
He looked toward the street.
"I couldn't… I love smoking from the bottom of my heart."
Then he looked back at him, raising a finger:
"But drugs are something else."
Harry started scratching his hand faster… harder than before, until it turned red, until blood began to show.
He lifted his face—eyes filled with raging anger—his voice loud:
"Enough!"
Lucas sighed, put a cigarette in his mouth, looking at him with pity.
Harry stepped closer, raising his fist threateningly:
"Who do you think you are? You've only been here ten days, and you come to me with your pathetic story?!"
Lucas kept smoking calmly and replied:
"Don't mind me… but your sister—"
Harry grabbed his shirt with one hand, pulled out a knife with the other, pressing it against Lucas's throat:
"She's my sister! Not yours! I love her, and I'd do anything for her!"
He shouted in his face:
"I'd die for her! Can you do that?!"
Lucas's expression remained cold, his eyes almost… sorry for Harry.
"Do you sleep with my sister? Is that why?"
He pushed him back, placing a hand on his forehead. Lucas restrained himself, closed his eyes, then exhaled, rubbing them.
"No… I don't sleep with your sister. Do whatever you want. It's your life."
Harry put the knife away, his gaze sharp:
"Mind your own business. If you tell anyone about this…"
Harry returned to the headquarters, throwing the cigarette aside.
Lucas wished he had hit him…
but his mind was elsewhere.
A storm was coming.
And if he didn't prepare—
it would swallow him.
—
Harry searched for Miguel to get the money in one of the rooms.
Carl came out with him—angry.
Miguel lowered his head and whispered:
"Sorry, Harry…"
After Lucas exposed him, something changed.
Miguel used the situation to get closer to Carl. He liked her—but she had never noticed him, or cared before. Now, he was trying to help her, believing he had become, in her eyes, a hero… someone dependable.
(Anyway, telling Carl was better than giving the money to Harry.)
He smiled to himself.
(Now she'll remember my name… and thank me.)
Then he decided to ask her out.
He started laughing internally…
but couldn't look at her directly.
—
Harry felt ashamed of himself.
"What Migoul said… is true."
He froze when he realized he said his name wrong. He clenched his hand, brought it near his mouth, whispering:
"I mean… Miguel."
"No… that's not true."
She tilted her head, refusing to believe it.
Harry looked at her.
"Look at me… look at my face… and tell me that."
Carl let out a soft, broken sound, trying not to cry:
"Did you forget what Antonio told you…?"
Miguel raised an eyebrow.
(What does she mean…? Don't tell me…)
He understood everything.
Why Lucas was worried about Harry.
Why he refused to tell Carlos that he was the one who tipped off the informant.
Carl grabbed Harry's hand.
"Come with me."
They walked through alleys near the headquarters. He listened to Lucas's recording, so he wouldn't forget anything.
He heard footsteps.
He looked toward the sound—
and suddenly, Carl and Harry hid behind a wall.
He didn't know why he did that.
Carl touched her brother's face, trying to help him:
"Don't give up… we can still get out."
He laughed bitterly:
"How?"
She hesitated.
"We pay our debt."
Harry turned, laughing, covering his face.
"We can do that… all these years, I've been saving. I have about 215,000 dollars."
He was shocked by the number, whispering:
"215 thousand…"
A heavy number.
One born from years of suffering.
He stepped closer, his face red, words struggling to come out:
"200… all that money… and you still think we can get out?"
She knew… he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.
Harry placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Our father was caught… for a while. Not long after he escaped."
She started shaking her head, refusing to believe it, stepping back:
"No… impossible… then why didn't anyone tell us?"
He grabbed his neck tightly.
"After I heard, I asked Peter… he confirmed it."
"He said we could leave if we wanted."
For a moment—
hope returned to her.
She breathed again, asking in confusion:
"Then why didn't you leave?"
He took her hand.
His palm was cold… strange, compared to Miami's heat.
"The way he looked at me… was enough to understand."
"We know too much about the organization."
"There's only one way out… as a corpse."
Carl collapsed.
With her—
every last piece of hope shattered.
But she didn't give up.
Despite the money… despite everything…
she still clung to the idea of a normal life.
Something beyond this despair.
But it was taken from her—again.
Tears poured out.
Years of them.
Harry hugged her… in silence.
—
Lucas left after hearing everything.
Head lowered.
Eyes fixed on the ground.
He pulled out a cigarette—
but wasn't even aware of it.
His grip tightened…
crushing it between his fingers.
He wanted to help.
But didn't know how.
He was just a spy working for the government.
At any moment—
he could be exposed.
Recently…
he had killed one of the organization's leaders.
And he was still weak inside the headquarters.
—
Inside a room lit in red—
a sharp color that gave off a strange feeling.
On the wall—
a picture of Elliot, the protagonist of Mr. Robot.
In front of it—
a gaming PC with three screens.
Park Jong sat in a chair,
wearing a mask.
Beside him stood Carlos, staring at the monitor.
"So this is where… he sent all his money."
Park's fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard,
speaking fast, without catching his breath:
"Yes, all his money… he's an idiot."
He pointed at the screen.
"There—his bank account number."
Park Jong's role included tracking "B-Harbin" and laundering money—anything related to finances.
He was extremely skilled at hacking.
Not only could he access your bank account—
he could know your underwear… even its color.
—
Then someone entered the room.
"Carlos… Luka is here."
Carlos frowned.
"Why is Luka here?"
Park turned.
"Luka… isn't he Casimiro's older brother?"
Carlos tilted his head.
Something about this sudden visit felt wrong.
He stepped out of the room—
There stood Luka.
Black hair with white streaks.
A thick beard.
A face less sharp than his brother's.
A medium-sized cross tattoo on his forehead.
Black eyes.
He looked around slowly.
Everyone… was quiet.
He rubbed his lips slightly, then said:
"Is there a man here named Lucas?"