The sea was calm, but the tension aboard the ship could be cut with a knife. Under the grayish light of dawn, the vessel advanced steadily toward its destination: the enigmatic and feared Isla de Muerta.
On the deck, Jack Sparrow held his compass in one hand and an apple in the other, watching the horizon with that mix of cynicism and disordered genius that defined him. Beside him, the Doctor walked with measured steps, flipping through an old notebook recovered from his belongings, a quill scratching relentlessly across the paper.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Doc?" Jack asked with a tilted grin, not looking directly at him.
"Much more than you, I can assure you," the Doctor replied without lifting his gaze. "Your plan, if it can be called that, involved running in, waving your sword, doing a few tricks with your hat, and hoping everything worked out. Mine, on the other hand, has a solid theoretical base and a higher probability of success… with less stupidity."
Jack let out a sarcastic laugh.
"I do love your compliments. Truly warms my heart."
Their conversation caught the attention of the crew gathered near the helm. Stella stood silently, arms crossed. Gibbs pretended not to listen, though his raised eyebrow gave him away. Kaminari and Komatsu were near the railing, speaking in hushed tones, while Endeavour stood nearby, arms folded, wearing a severe expression.
"Everyone, pay attention," the Doctor called out, his voice carrying authority. "The curse of the Aztec gold isn't broken by simply returning the coins. We must perform a deliberate act—strip the immortality from those who possess it, and that requires balance."
"Balance?" Komatsu repeated, frowning. "What do you mean by that?"
"Each coin taken from the chest must be returned along with a drop of the taker's blood," the Doctor explained patiently. "If each of us takes a coin for ourselves, we enter the same state they're in: immortality, total resistance to damage—even if we're wounded badly, we won't die."
Kaminari stepped forward, visibly uncomfortable.
"You're saying we have to… become monsters like them?"
"Not exactly," the Doctor replied. "It's temporary. Only while we resolve this. Then we return the coin, spill our blood, and the curse lifts from us as well. It's a way to gain an advantage without paying the ultimate price… if we're careful."
"That's playing with fire!" Endeavour exclaimed, his voice roaring like a flame. "The curse exists to punish greed. And now you propose using it as a tool?"
"It's a strategy," the Doctor replied without changing his tone. "Unlike charging in with fire and brute force, this is calculated. Precise. Sometimes, to beat a monster, you have to think like one… without becoming one."
Silence fell over the deck. Everyone was processing what was being asked of them.
"I don't like it..." Komatsu muttered, staring at his hands. "I don't want to become immortal just out of convenience."
"It's not convenience," Kaminari said, stepping in. "It's survival. If they can't die, then neither should we. Not until this is over."
Jack clicked his tongue and smiled, amused by the tension.
"And what if one of us chooses not to take a coin? Do they stay vulnerable?"
"Exactly," the Doctor answered. "It's a free choice. But those who don't will have to stay on the sidelines, or they'll risk dying from a single blow. I won't force anyone… but it would be foolish not to consider it."
"So we're idiots if we do it… and fools if we don't," growled Endeavour.
"That's what makes this decision… interesting," the Doctor replied with a faint smile.
Jack turned toward him.
"And how do you think this will end? With a civilized conversation between us and the skeletons?"
"No," the Doctor admitted. "But once we take from them what makes them strong—the curse—many will surrender. Others, maybe not. But they'll be weakened. And then… it will be a matter of choosing, with justice, who deserves pardon and who does not."
From the crow's nest, a shout cut through the air:
"Land ho!"
Everyone rushed to the railing. The fog twisted like a living curtain, and from within its dark folds emerged an island with sharp outlines, shadowy jungle, and cliffs of black stone. Isla de Muerta, final refuge of the damned, awaited them.
And this time, the visitors carried a curse in their pockets… by their own choice.