Eternal Darkness

1: Shadows and Cargo

The rhythmic thump of weights hitting the ground echoed through James Miller's gloomy, yet tidy office, punctuated by the crackling of thunder from the storm outside of the office. Rain hammered against the grime-coated window, a muted roar against the symphony of iron clanging and James's focused grunts as he worked out with dumbbells on his lone weight bench in the corner of his office.

The rain storm outside was not unusual for early to mid-December, but the severity of it was not common as the heavens emptied themselves upon the city on this steamy, dark evening. A night like tonight, with the mix of rain, warmth and humidity was enough to keep most inside the comfort of their homes, offices, or even the shelter of overhangs in the alleys and bridges throughout the city. This night was a night that would deter even the underbelly of the city from action as the rain pounded out it's fury upon those who dared venture out.

At 61, he was a testament to the relentless pursuit of fitness. A web of fine lines etched around his eyes, the only concession to age, couldn't hide the steely glint beneath. A faded tattoo, a cryptic emblem of his Special Forces days, peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeve of his moisture-wicking t-shirt. His long silver hair pulled back on his head to keep the hair out of his face as he worked out matched the silver beard upon his face. Muscular and strong, James was a physical force that most people half of his age could not match.

James wasn't new to the shadows. After a decorated career in the military where he served as a special forces soldier, a brutal efficiency remained etched into his every move. He spent two decades as a Crime Unit Officer following his time in the service, his honed physique a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked beneath the city's veneer. Now, six years into his tenure at Sterling Investigations, the drive to stay sharp, both mentally and physically, remained an essential part of his identity. A knock on the door, sharp and insistent, sliced through the rhythmic clang of the weights. James set down the weights with a practiced ease, the years of training evident in his controlled movements.

"Business as usual," he murmured, a hint of a challenge in his voice as he grabbed a towel to wipe sweat from his brow and straightened his rumpled t-shirt before tossing his jacket on over the t-shirt as he went to the door of the office that led to the street outside. This wasn't just another night in the jungle, it was another test, and James Miller was always ready. He glanced at the window, taking in the rain and the darkness of the night before making his way to the door. He frowned slightly as he pondered what would possibly have someone knocking on his office door, late on an evening like this one.

He opened the door to find a young lady, her hair the color of fire, on the verge of collapse. Her eyes, red-rimmed and desperate, clung to his like a lifeline. "Mr. Miller?" she choked out, voice hoarse. "I... I need your help. My husband, he's missing."

James ushered her into the dimly lit office, the woman's sobs a counterpoint to the rain's relentless drumming. He offered her a seat as he poured two cups of coffee, his years of experience guiding him. "Easy there," he said gently, his voice a steady anchor in the storm brewing before him. "Take a sip, tell me what happened."

The woman, introducing herself as Sarah Davis, explained her husband, Mark, had been an EPA agent investigating an import company, Eastern Atlantic Imports, for suspected environmental violations. Six days ago, he left for work as usual, but never returned. Calls went unanswered, texts ignored. The police, overwhelmed with routine cases, offered little hope. Sarah, desperate and fearing the worst, had turned to Sterling Investigations as a last resort.

James took a swig of his now lukewarm coffee, his brow furrowing as he listened. An EPA agent missing, an import company shrouded in suspicion – the case reeked of something more sinister than a simple disappearance. He glanced at the weights abandoned in the corner, a silent promise of the action to come.