"Good morning, Mr. Ross. Are you very nervous? Hurry and wipe the sweat off your forehead."
A voice rang out in the captain's cabin. An elderly man with graying hair sat in a leather-upholstered chair directly opposite the door. He was small in stature, and with the cabin so dimly lit, Ross had barely noticed him.
It was not until the man spoke, and then lit a cigar, that Ross became aware of his presence.
The old man had a gaunt face and deeply sunken eye sockets. His eyes resembled glass beads covered in dust. Wrapped in a heavy high-collared coat, he held a cigar between his withered, skeletal fingers.
He hardly had any air of life about him. He looked like a corpse, like a puppet, utterly lifeless.
If not for the rise and fall of his chest, and the faint trace of color still remaining in his face, Ross would have thought he was speaking to a dead body.
"Good morning, Mr. Anders," Ross said nervously. Though the captain's cabin was icy cold, sweat still streamed down his body.
The old man called Anders chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm not doing very well, Mr. Ross. If I'm not mistaken, you didn't bring back the person I wanted, did you?"
Ross hurriedly lowered his head. "Mr. Anders, I actually found that brat. If Hunter Rayleigh hadn't appeared out of nowhere, I would have already brought that yellow-skinned monkey before you!"
"Hunter Rayleigh."
Anders exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. "You needn't take responsibility for this anymore. From here on, I'll leave it to Mr. Hal."
"Mr. Hal?" Ross looked utterly confused, as though he had never heard that name before.
Drip. Drip.
Just then, he heard intermittent dripping. Someone knocked on the door outside, and after Anders granted permission, the