Borderline

1

It was easy then.

Well, maybe not easy, but certainly a hell of a lot easier than it is right now. I wasn't stuck in a freezing, bug infested cave in the middle of an unknown island with cuts from knives, rocks, falls and punches. Nor did I have more than a couple bullet wounds. The one that hurts the most is probably the one in my back; that shit almost hit my spine. I got kinda lucky, despite the sharp, stabbing pain I get whenever I try to stand up straight. I can thank my old buddy for that. He shot me and left me to die. Things have changed between me and him. Things have become a lot more complicated.

You see, back before all of this shit, I was a thief, alongside Jamie, my asshole old buddy. We would roam around the world, breaking into museums and national monuments in search of adventure and claiming wonderful treasures. Well, at least I was in search of those. Maybe that makes me really old because good ol', young, 28 year old Jamie sought for money just a little bit more than some glorious memories.

It didn't help that he was working for some shady recipients either. These "clients", he called them, owned a chain of museums based in countries such as Syria, Brazil, London, the United States, and many other locations. Jamie explained much more about this museum corporation that he had begun doing business with, but I didn't listen to him very much. In fact, many times I encouraged him to stop doing business with them. In the past, I had been sucked into doing business with a shadier organization as well, and I've been seeing too many comparisons between his experience and mine. They never wanted to meet with him in person and if they ever did, they sent someone pretending to be a civilian in a private area to exchange information, or for treasure-to-money exchange.

Now, partnerships like these usually end in one of three ways: one, when you're no longer needed, you get a bullet in your head because you know too much. Two, you begin to suspect number one is about to happen, so you get the hell out of there, change your identity, dye your hair, use your money for facial and body changes so you won't be recognized, and live in paranoia for the rest of your life. Or three, number one, but instead of getting shot, you're sent on an impossible mission to find a non-existent treasure, in some strange land that nobody's heard of, where you end up lost and never come back home. If you do come back home, they'll resort to number one. Three is used rarely, only in extreme cases, or if they just want to be a lot more hush-hush about taking you out. Number one almost happened to me many years ago, when I was a young fool like Jamie. The moment I saw someone pull a gun, I ran like hell to a fishing boat and fled the country. I think I was in Istanbul at the time.

I tried convincing Jamie to quit this kind of business, but the pay was far too high for him to just walk away. So he continued providing these companies with treasures that he usually stole from other museums, or traveled to exotic and dangerous places to collect them. This eventually lead to him entering our shared-apartment in Brazil, seeing me and my personal belongings and treasures gone. I refused to become caught up in Jamie's business, or to eventually see someone who was like a son to me die, so I left with my treasures, sold a few of them and used the money to buy a condo in Hawaii to retire. I was done. Being a thief alone is hard enough when you're 54.

So you're probably wondering why being a thief like me is any different at all than being involved in what Jamie is in. Well, it's pretty simple; I was an independent thief. I worked mainly for myself, only finding jewels, minerals, gold, or other expensive materials, by myself. Then I would sell these to clients that I know personally; people I trust. As long as they had the right price, they could do whatever they wanted with the item I provided as long as they don't mention they got it from me.
I never liked the idea of stealing from one museum and selling to another, even in the short period of tim. Not many thieves like me did. It's very frowned upon. It shows you only steal for the money rather than for the excitement, the adventure, and the glory. And it shows that you're willing to enhance an, obviously, very corrupt corporation. I might be a thief, but I have morals. Selling out to the man is unacceptable.
But Jamie obviously didn't see it that way, and after two years of putting up with the fact that this is what he's doing now, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to step out. If I hadn't, I'd probably end up a hell of a lot worse than I already am right now. I still don't like where I am though. It's me against him to find some ancient fuckin map, and based off of my experiences on this island, only one of us are leaving here alive.