I plunged into the depths of the port. Around me, shipping containers rose like impassable walls, forming a labyrinth of rusted metal. The ground was slick, coated in marine humidity, and the shrill cries of gulls echoed between the steel partitions. Here, daylight seemed to die, suffocated by the stacks of scrap iron looming over me.

  At the turn of a dark corridor, I finally spotted movement. In the distance, a group of men was busying themselves around an open container. There were five or six of them. I approached, heart pounding, my footsteps echoing on the wet asphalt.

  They all froze when they saw me.

  One of them a wiry man in his forties with a scar cutting through his eyebrow stepped forward with a friendly smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. To his right, a slouching individual with greasy hair began to slip toward my flank, gripping a crowbar between yellowed fingers. A third, massive, with a shaved head and hands as wide as mallets, cracked his knuckles while staring me down. Behind them, two others in dark coveralls remained in the background, their gazes void of any emotion.

  "Well, good morning, Officer. What brings you around these parts?" the scarred man called out, his honeyed voice contrasting with the aggression of his accomplices.

  I tried to keep my voice firm despite the sweat beginning to bead on my back.

  "Good morning. Just patrolling the sector. And you? You work here, I assume?"

  "Yes," he replied, never stopping his smile. "Just checking the contents of the boxes."

  I took a few steps toward the gaping container. In an instant, the atmosphere shifted. The smiles dropped, replaced by murderous glares. Inside, I saw stacks of rectangular plastic bags filled with white powder. Drugs. Tons of them.

  Silence became absolute, broken only by the wind. Behind me, I felt a displacement of air. The greasy-haired man had raised his crowbar with both hands, ready to shatter my skull.

  BANG!

  A detonation tore through the silence of the port. I pivoted by reflex, my heart in my throat. The man who was about to crush my head collapsed, dropping his crowbar with a metallic crash. He was screaming, hand pressed against a bloodied shoulder.

  At the end of the container aisle, a familiar silhouette emerged from the shadows. Tanashi held my service weapon, smoke still drifting from the barrel.

  "Shit! Who is this psycho?!" one of the guys yelled before bolting toward the exit.

  Panic spread like wildfire. The other thugs tried to flee, but Tanashi was surgically precise. He fired methodically. The first was cut down mid-stride, hit in the leg. The second collapsed, clutching his thigh. He took them down one by one, without missing a single target, as if it were a simple target practice.

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  I rushed toward the man with the crowbar to cuff him. Despite the pain, he tried one last desperate move, grabbing my ankle to trip me. I didn't give him the chance: I landed a violent kick square in his jaw. His head bounced off the damp ground. Unconscious.

  "Tch... You should have stayed still," I growled, my nerves on edge.

  Tanashi gathered the wounded fugitives and dragged them unceremoniously into a corner, stacking them like common sacks. I brought the last one over to the group. I took a deep breath to steady my shaking.

  "I almost died... Thanks, man. But tell me... are they the ones? The guys from the photos?"

  "No," he replied coldly. "They aren't here."

  "Then why are we here? I mean, okay, they're criminals, they were going to kill me, but I don't get your plan at all."

  He stepped closer and handed me back my weapon. The barrel was still burning against my palm.

  "You ask too many questions, Kenji. You will soon understand why we came here."

  Suddenly, he seized one of the bandits by the collar and lifted him off the ground with one hand, with disconcerting ease. Before the man could even beg, Tanashi delivered a punch of phenomenal power straight to his plexus. The sound of cracking ribs was followed by a deathly silence. The man lost consciousness instantly, his body limp like a rag doll.

  Watching him go at these guys, a shiver ran down my spine. I was seriously starting to wonder if I should stop him before he committed a slaughter. How did he know they would be here? And why now? My thoughts drifted back to the discussion we had a few hours earlier..

  FLASHBACK:

  The sun hadn't yet risen when we left the house. Tanashi walked ahead, his stride heavy and determined.

  "We’re going to a port where trafficking activities take place," he muttered without looking back.

  "What?" I asked, incredulous. "Trafficking? You mean illegal stuff?"

  "Yes. And I’ll need you to be a diversion."

  I stopped dead on the sidewalk.

  "Wait a minute... how could you know that?"

  "Because I’ve crossed paths with these individuals before. I’ve gathered information on them. It’s highly possible that Kenta is at the center of this entire network."

  "Him again... one of the guys from your photos."

  He didn't answer. Silence fell again as we got into his car. He took the wheel and drove toward the port area, his eyes fixed on the misty horizon.

  [END OF FLASHBACK]

  I let out a long sigh, internally begging for this nightmare of a day to finally end.

  "Fine, and what do we do with these criminals once you're done questioning them?"

  He slowly turned his head toward me, his bandages masking all expression.

  "Questioning them? I haven't even started the interrogation."

  To my great surprise, he pulled my cell phone from his pocket. My eyes widened. Without hesitation, he dialed the police.

  "What?!" I cried out.

  He placed a gloved finger over his lips to intimidate me. I fell silent instantly.

  "Hello, police? I'm listening," a trailing voice replied on the other end. I immediately recognized the tone of one of my colleagues, a guy who spent his days watching videos at the office instead of working.

  "Hello, I wish to report large-scale drug trafficking at the port," Tanashi stated in a calm voice.

  "Very well, give me the precise address, we are sending a patrol."

  Tanashi gave the coordinates, hung up, then turned off the device before tucking it away carefully. I stood there, in shock. He had used my phone. Even though he might have masked the number, I knew how the precinct's tech worked: they would eventually trace it back to my line.

  A small hope, a spark of joy, lit up in my chest. This is great! I thought. They’ll see it’s my phone, they’ll localize me, and I’ll be saved!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!