A cold winter breeze gusted along through the docks. The dark sky was overcast with heavy clouds that blocked the stars from view, hidden behind their canopy. The wind would occasionally flare up with a roar before dying down to becoming a minor inconvenience and repeating the process.
The chilly waters below lapped restlessly at the hull of the freighter that was docked, two ramps extended down where men were carrying boxes, or pulling along people, dragging them aboard. Cargo containers were stacked high along the ship, creating a maze on its surface. The people being dragged along were put into these containers, sealed within. Slaves.
A man cloaked in shadows and darkness stood at the feet of the dock, staring as what appeared to be mostly children were unloaded from containers on or around the dock before being herded onto the ship.
His face was briefly illuminated by the light of a cigar as it burned brighter for a moment when he took a puff on it, its length down to a stub when he pulled it from his lips and dropped it to the ground, stamping it silently out. The smoke that drifted from his mouth was swept away in the breeze that blew about. A storm was brewing, and the freighter would take to sea soon. He had little time left to spare.
Slowly, the man began to walk onto the dock, heading his way toward the nearest ramp. He went unnoticed by most of the men, who were dressed similarly, though a few stared at him for a moment. None made to stop him as he stepped onto the ramp, stepping by a man tugging along a frail-looking girl, no older than eight.
Not his target.
He moved on, eyes darting about at the faces of children, their eyes gaunt, skin sickly pale, faces sunken. Despite his casual demeanor, he felt a little sick by it, though that was stowed away. He wasn't here for them. He was here for one.
"Privet! Ey, ty!" the man paused as he heard a voice call behind him in his native tongue. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see one of the slavers darting his way up the ramp toward the stranger, who had now reached the top.
He didn't have time to answer questions. He needed to find the shipping manifest, find his target, and everything else would fall into place. With an incredible burst of speed, the cloaked stranger darted forward, disappearing around a bend.
When the running man rounded that same corner, he stopped, aiming a flashlight beam about and seeing nothing. Another joined him after a moment. "Vy yego poymali?"
"Net."
"Mozhet, on prosto khochet poveselit'sya. My budem nablyudat' za nim, kogda prichalivayem v Somali."
At this, both men laughed before leaving, watched by the stranger who hung from one of the containers, staring down at them until they were out of sight. With silence and finesse, he climbed to the top of the stack of containers, disappearing entirely from sight.
The wind began to pick up, growing in ferocity and length as it went. Several men and children nearly fell into the water below while crossing the ramps, but managed to stay on.
These children were their profit, and losing any would detriment their operation.
The stranger had made his way down the length of the ship to the bridge, sneaking his way onto the ramp that encircled it, risen above the rest of the platform. His boots clunked with a metallic thud on their grated surface. He approached the door, peering through the window at its interior. Within stood three men wearing heavy winter coats and donning shaved heads with haphazardly-shaven beards. A fat one, a skinny one, and a muscular one. That was one of the only distinctions between them.
The stranger's eyes left the men and began to pick apart the room before he found it. Right beside a microphone sat a clipboard, a few dozen pages clipped to it. No doubt the manifest he required.
