This is to thank you for the 10k views. It is a pleasure to be able to write and that people take their time to read it. I have many ideas and much to write so that it is the best. Enjoy.
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The Den Den Mushi's call had come late in the evening, its Puru Puru Puru slicing through the tavern's usual din of clinking mugs and slurred bets. Silco's voice, sharp and commanding, crackled through, summoning Olbap to a meeting. Jerry would pick him up, no details spared—just be ready. Olbap glanced at Popeye, who was polishing off a plate of roasted fish, and gave a nod. Where one went, the other followed—a rule forged in the swamp's muck and Krakenport's shadows. Popeye grunted, wiping his hands on his pants, already sensing the shift in the air. Something big was coming.
By mid-morning, Jerry's cart rolled up to the tavern, the horses snorting clouds of steam into the humid air. Olbap and Popeye climbed aboard, the wood creaking under Popeye's bulk. The cart lurched forward, wheels grinding against the uneven dirt path, and Krakenport's ramshackle skyline faded into the haze as they headed toward Brackmor's forest.
"Olbap, you ready for what's next?" Jerry asked, flicking the reins, his cigarette bobbing between his lips.
"Always ready for work," Olbap replied, leaning back, one hand resting on the Flintlock at his hip. "You've been swamped, huh? What's the word?"
Jerry chuckled, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Swamped doesn't cut it. These past few months, deals have been piling up like driftwood. Thanks to you and Popeye pulling your weight, we've kept the machine running. Red Tide's moving faster than we can make it."
Olbap smirked, catching Popeye's eye. "Noticed the payouts getting fatter. And that little gift you dropped off last time? Those cannons sent the crocs scampering for cover."
"Hahaha, knew you'd put 'em to good use!" Jerry laughed, slapping his knee. "Bet it was Popeye firing those things. You'd go flying if you tried, Olbap."
Popeye grinned, flexing an arm that looked like it could crush stone. "Yeah, I handled it. Tried taking a croc down with a blade once—damn thing nearly had me for lunch. Tough bastards."
Jerry's eyes widened, impressed. "You fought a croc, Popeye? You're tougher than you were last time I saw you."
"That's what Olbap says," Popeye replied, scratching his head with a sheepish chuckle. "Thinking I could take one in a rematch, but it's not worth it. They're my training partners now—keeps the workers safe."
The three of them roared with laughter, the sound bouncing off the trees as the cart rattled on. The banter flowed easy, stories of swamp runs and close calls filling the hour-long ride. Olbap let his mind wander, half-listening, his gaze fixed on the horizon where a faint plume of smoke rose against the sky. They were close.
Sure enough, minutes later, the cart rolled into a clearing. A warehouse loomed ahead, unremarkable at first glance—same weathered timber, same sagging roof as the others. But Jerry hopped down, strode to a slab of stone in the ground, and heaved it aside with a grunt. A hidden staircase spiraled into darkness below, the air cool and heavy with the scent of earth and chemicals.
"Welcome to the heart of Red Tide, boys," Marlon said, stepping from the shadows to greet them. He was checking a clipboard, his eyes scanning rows of numbers with the focus of a man who trusted nothing to chance. "Follow me—boss is waiting."
Olbap and Popeye descended, their boots echoing on the stone steps. The underground lab unfolded before them, a marvel of hidden industry. Machines hummed, their gears grinding as workers in masks moved with quiet efficiency. Grinders chewed through Shadow Coral, spitting out fine dust; mixers churned it with Crimson Bloom venom under glaring lamps that baked the blend into Red Tide's signature red powder. Chimneys snaked upward, venting the acrid fumes to the surface, invisible from above. Olbap's mind raced—it was a fortress, a factory, a secret so well-guarded it could've been a myth. No wonder Silco's untouchable, he thought. This is genius.
Marlon led them to a heavy door, knocked twice, and a voice called, "Come in." Inside, Silco sat behind a scarred desk, scribbling on a sheet of paper, his cigarette trailing a lazy curl of smoke. The room was sparse—maps pinned to the walls, a single lantern casting long shadows. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Olbap with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
"Welcome to the lab," Silco said, setting down his pen. "Been a while, Olbap, Popeye. Take a seat."
They sat, the chairs creaking under their weight. Silco leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "I'll cut to it. Rane probably gave you a heads-up, but I'm making it official. The organization's grown—bigger than ever. You've seen the new watchposts, the armed crews around Krakenport. We're gearing up for trouble, and we need more hands. But that's why you're here."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "Olbap, you've shown more brains than men twice your age. I'm putting you on off-island deals. You and Popeye will handle Red Tide deliveries—wherever Jerry needs it sent. You'll have armed escorts, so no need to worry about getting jumped. Clear?"
Olbap nodded, his mind already calculating. "Crystal, boss. I'm in. Pay's different for this, right?"
Silco's lips twitched, a rare ghost of a smile. "Sharp as ever. You'll get a cut of each shipment's sale—same as Popeye and Jerry. We all win, like I always say."
"Works for me," Olbap said, leaning back. "Anything else?"
"One thing," Silco said, his tone shifting, more serious. "I need someone to take over the flower runs. Mot and Tom are splitting time between Coral and Blooms, but they can't match your system. Got anyone in mind?"
Olbap didn't hesitate. "I'll find someone, boss. Got a few names already—I'll let you know soon."
Silco turned to Popeye, who'd been quiet, his massive frame filling the chair like a boulder. "What about you, Popeye? Any picks?"
Popeye shrugged, his voice a low rumble. "Olbap handles that, boss. I just make sure nobody steps out of line. Kid's young—some of the workers think they can push him around. I keep 'em honest."
Silco nodded, satisfied. "Good. Keep him safe, Popeye. Deals like these can get messy, but I trust you two to handle it. Find your replacements, Olbap, and I'll call when the next job's ready. Jerry'll fill you in."
With that, the meeting ended. Marlon led them through the lab, showing off the operation—grinders roaring, workers packing bricks, the air thick with the faint, dangerous sweetness of Red Tide. Olbap noticed gaps in the process, though—Silco hadn't revealed the third ingredient. Clever bastard, he thought. Keeping the recipe locked tight. They left the lab, climbing back into the sunlight, and by the next morning, they were back in Krakenport.
Olbap spent the day mulling his options for the flower runs. Five names stood out: Kael, Liro, Toro, Anna, and Vanessa. They'd worked closely, their group tight from months in the swamp. He met each in private, offering them a chance to work directly under him. Kael, Toro, and Liro jumped at it, no questions asked.
Anna and Vanessa hesitated, their twin gazes wary but calculating. At sixteen, the sisters were sharp, their red hair and striking looks drawing unwanted eyes from workers. Olbap had kept those leers in check, his Flintlock and Popeye's fists a clear deterrent. Working for him guaranteed safety, and they knew it. After a tense pause, both agreed, sealing the deal with a nod.
To test them, Olbap sent Anna and Vanessa to the Shadow Coral runs, paying them 25,000 beli each for intel on the other crews. The sisters delivered. Graves and Vex were solid, but their Coral hauls paled compared to Olbap's flower runs. Coral was easier—ground into dust, it stretched further, yielding multiple bricks per crate.
But the real gem was a tidbit about a new kid, same age as Popeye, with a strange trait: he was a ghost, fading from notice the moment you looked away. Anna, ever observant, had only noticed him after bumping into him. A phantom presence, Olbap thought, intrigued. Could slip through cracks I can't. He made a mental note to track the kid down.
For the flower runs, Olbap chose Vanessa. She wasn't as bold as Anna, but her knack for order and handling people made her perfect. Anna would back her up, keeping the teams tight. Kael, Liro, and Toro were sent to Shadow Coral, tasked with cozying up to Graves and Vex. If those two moved up—or out—Kael's group would be ready to step in. Olbap was playing chess, positioning pieces for the long game.
But a shadow lingered. Betraying Silco felt wrong, a bitter echo of his old life. Back in Florida, his boss had pulled Jacob from the streets, given him a shot, only to be stabbed in the back when Jacob saw a better play. Silco had done the same to him—handed him a ladder out of the swamp. Turning on him now felt like spitting on his own code. Loyalty to mine, he thought, jaw tight. But I thought about it a lot and I think that even if I don't like it, it's a necessary evil that I will have to commit in order to create something better. This would be his final betrayal—no more after this. He'd build his empire clean, loyal to those who stood with him.
The Den Den Mushi's Puru Puru Puru snapped him from his thoughts. He pressed the button, and Jerry's voice crackled through. "Olbap, got work. Tomorrow, first light, at the lab. We're loading a ship."
"How much?" Olbap asked, already reaching for his coat.
"Five hundred bricks. Monthly drop for Jack," Jerry replied.
Olbap frowned. "Jack, huh? Alright, I'll be there. Tell the boss to call me—I've got names for the flower runs."
"No need," Silco's voice cut in, smooth and sharp. "I'm here. Who've you got?"
"Two girls, Anna and Vanessa," Olbap said. "Young, but they can handle workers like I did. I'll step in if things go south."
Silco paused, then: "If you vouch for them, I trust it. Next run's in two days. I'll send Mot and Tom to pick them up—expect their call."
"Got it, boss. I'll be at the lab at dawn," Olbap said. The snail's eyes closed, the call ending with a faint click.
He turned to the tavern's main room, where six figures sat around a table: Anna, Vanessa, Kael, Liro, Toro, and Popeye. The air was thick with the smell of ale and sweat, the hum of conversation fading as Olbap stood.
"You heard it," he said, eyes on Anna and Vanessa. "You two are running the flowers. Keep it tight like Popeye and I did. I've left you what you need—gear, weapons. Don't hesitate to use them if your lives are on the line. Yours are worth more than theirs."
Anna nodded, her red hair catching the lantern light. "We know, Olbap. We'll keep it locked down."
Vanessa glanced at the others. "Kael, Liro, Toro—you're on Shadow Coral, right?"
Kael leaned forward, his scarred hands flat on the table. "Yeah, like Olbap said. We'll do what you do—aim to climb. Any tips?"
Anna's eyes flicked to him, sharp and steady. "Watch your hauls close. Some workers'll try to steal your take. Beyond that, learn by doing. Experiencing it yourself is the best teacher."
Olbap nodded, satisfied, and sank into his chair behind the desk. Things were falling into place. If he played it right, kept the long game in sight, he'd rise higher than Krakenport's muddy streets. Betrayal might be the spark, but loyalty would be the fire.
End of the chapter.