I arrived downtown after asking for directions to the Deep Blue Port. The sign was pathetic, a raggedy wooden frame.
'Looks like this is a very old port,' I thought to myself.
The sea on the other hand gave an eerie feeling that sent chills down my spine. I had been to ports before. They had stalls and were always lively alive with loud voices, whistles and clattering machineries.
But Deep Blue Port was different. From a distance, the harbour looked almost lifeless. I slowed my steps, letting the sound of my boots melt into the distant hum of engines.
I spotted some groups of men moving in and out of sight, carrying crates marked with foreign stamps and rolling heavy drums onto pallets.
Their voices carried low, muttering in a language I couldn't understand. Some laughed too harshly and barked orders.
I noticed some men at another corner talking quietly. I moved quietly and discreetly towards them to grasp the subject of the discussion.
"The boss isn't coming today is he," I heard one of them say.
"He won't. There's no major shipment coming today. We received the last of them yesterday."
"Boy am I glad. I fucking hate that guy." Laughter followed immediately after. Seems like someone has an estranged relationship with his workers.
"Yeah me too. But don't let the guards hear you. You heard what they did to the last guy," the man with a faded green shirt warned.
"Christ! Don't remind me of that. It was horrifying."
I wondered what kind of treatment that goes on around here. If these grown ass men were horrified, it can't be good.
Before long their conversation was interrupted by a guard.
"Hey, slackers! Better get some work done before I come over and make you."
"Yes sir!"
The group quickly scattered about, some walked towards the nearest cargo being unloaded while others rolled barrels to a container.
I also walked off quickly. I didn't want to get the attention of the guard. They didn't just look bulky, they were armed.
A couple times a particular guard looked towards my direction and I looked away each time, forcing my pace steady.
I adjusted my disguise, tugging once at the shirt clinging damply to my back. I decided to make myself useful. To fit in perfectly, I had to become one of them.
I bent down, picked up a box of shipment, a crate that, in my past life, would have been back-breaking.
But the new me shuffled the crate effortlessly. I shifted the box onto my shoulder and fell in line behind a man hauling the same load.
The ID clipped to my chest completed my disguise. Printed on cheap plastic, its corners bent, the name on it belonged to someone else.
I'd memorized every letter of that name anyway. Complications came easy when you weren't careful.
Up to this point, all the decisions I had made, either infiltrating, disguising, blending in, felt like muscle memory.
The owner of this body had been an agent, and not just a random one. He's good at it too. His instincts were carved into my bones now, guiding me without hesitation.
The mission is simple, I reminded myself. Observe, gather information and hike out of there. Nothing more and nothing less.
But simplicity was rarely honest.
I drifted deeper into the harbour, following the flow of other dockworkers. At the same time, my eyes recorded everything.
Which ships unloaded crates at night. Which containers remained untouched, left in odd corners. The guards that leaned against railings pretending to smoke while their eyes scanned the shadows.
Every detail mattered. I filed them away piece by piece, building a map in my mind, one I could unfold later for the agency.
I eventually strayed away from the cargo I was supposed to be unloading. Took a left instead of a right.
Then I saw it.
A container door half-open, its lock hanging loose. Pale light spilled out in thin, trembling lines, as though even it was afraid of what lay inside.
I edged closer, careful not to be spotted or surprised with an attack. My heart had already begun to beat loudly in my ears.
As soon as I opened the door like structure, what I met inside had my heart sinking. My blood ran cold.
Children. Dozens of them.
They were rammed together in the container. The air must have been suffocating in there, yet they sat still, their faces pale, their limbs limp.
Some were curled against the walls, shaking and shrinking away in fear of what was to come.
Others huddled in small groups, their tiny hands gripping one another for the smallest inkling of comfort.
Their clothes were torn, their faces streaked with dirt, tears and perhaps... dried blood.
These weren't just abandoned kids. They were taken. Kidnapped. Some looked foreign, their hair and features speaking of faraway war-torn countries.
I had heard of child trafficking in my past life. Stories hardly talked about on the news, as if the government was covering it up
It felt like my chest had been split open.
The sight hit me like a blade driven straight into my heart. My breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted.
Memories clawed at me from the depths of my mind. A flash of a dark room. A child's cry.
The images were fragmented, blurred, broken. But the emotion was whole. Raw.
My throat tightened as something old and unhealed rose inside me. Like a scar being torn open.
Why… why does this feel so familiar?
I tried breathing, it hurt like my lungs were on fire.
But before I could fall too deep into memory, reality snapped back.
"Hey!" I was jostled by the loud voice. "What the fuck are you doing in there?"
The shout came from behind. A dockworker whose voice rough with irritation.
"Nothing. I'll get moving." I forced a grin I didn't feel and stepped away from the container, my pulse racing.
Focus. This isn't the mission. Observe, gather and leave.
I repeated those words it like a mantra. Like they could keep my grounded. But then one of the guards stepped into the container.
His footsteps were heavy. His bulk form blocked the narrow doorway and he had tattoos curled up his arm like snakes slithering toward his neck.
His presence alone made the children flinch.
He barked something in a language I barely understood. When one boy didn't move fast enough, the man smacked the kid across his face.
The slap echoed, sharp and painful.
The boy fell, clutching his cheek. The others whimpered but didn't dare cry aloud.
It didn't just end there. The guard advanced, his legs raised and before I could phantom his next move, the child was kicked and stumbled upon.
And that… that was when my restraint broke.