The Dock's "Welcome Ceremony"
The sound of the fishing boat's motor finally stopped, replaced by the dull thud of the hull rubbing against something hard, accompanied by a not-too-violent rocking. In the dark cabin, the previously oppressive silence was broken by this noise, and people looked up, staring blankly or warily at the cabin door hidden by the tattered curtain.
K slowly opened his eyes at that moment. The darkness didn't affect his vision much; he could see the tension, anticipation, and unease flashing across the faces around him. Having traveled together on the same boat, though silent, subtle body language and occasional glimpses of their presence had given K a preliminary understanding of his "fellow travelers": some had shifty, cunning eyes, seemingly looking to make a living through illegal means; others had troubled faces and rough hands, seemingly just looking for a different kind of manual labor; and a few exuded a sinister aura, their silence carrying a ruthless edge, clearly on the run with criminal records. The troublesome middle-aged man who had tried to whisper to his companions on the boat, complaining about the poor conditions and boasting about his "connections," now shut his mouth, craning his neck to look towards the doorway.
The curtain outside the hatch was suddenly flung open with a "whoosh," and a head popped in. It wasn't the previous smuggler, but another unfamiliar man with nearly shaved short hair, dark, shiny skin, and eyes filled with impatience and a condescending scrutiny. He growled into the cabin in broken, heavily accented Mandarin:
"We're here! Hurry up, all of you! What are you dawdling for?! Grab your things and get off the ship right now! Quick!"
The voice echoed in the cramped cabin, carrying an unquestionable air of command.
The passengers inside the cabin snapped out of their daze, hurriedly getting up and bending down to retrieve their meager belongings—nothing more than worn-out backpacks or woven bags stuffed with changes of clothes and dry food. A jostling and pushing ensued in the cramped space, mixed with suppressed complaints and groans.
K stood up, slung his unassuming backpack over his shoulder, his face calm and expressionless, but a faint hint of seriousness flickered deep in his eyes. His keen senses caught some discordant details: the dock was too quiet; apart from the sound of the waves and the wind, there was almost no movement from other ships or people; the person who came to meet him had a rough demeanor, and his eyes lacked the slickness of a smuggler's businessman, instead resembling more of... a thug. Most importantly, there was a faint, almost imperceptible smell in the air, beyond the stench of cheap cigarettes and sweat—a metallic and tense odor.
The situation might not be as expected. But the die was cast, and he silently followed at the back of the slightly flustered crowd, bending down and crawling out of the low hatch.
Contrary to expectations, the area outside was not a bustling or secluded smuggling pier, but rather a desolate black sand beach. The night remained dark, with sparse starlight and the occasional faint beam of light from an unnamed lighthouse in the distance barely outlining the surroundings. Fishing boats lay aground on the shallows, with shadowy bushes and low, tangled tropical plants in front, and indistinct mountain silhouettes further away. The air was thick with a complex mixture of salty, decaying plant odors and seaweed, and the wind carried the sticky, warm humidity characteristic of the southern seas.
"Hurry up! Go that way! Line up!" The thin, dark-skinned man stood on the beach, waving his arms and pointing towards a muddy path worn into the bushes.
The stowaways trudged down the gangplank, stepping into the cold, slippery seawater and sand. They formed a loose line as instructed and moved aimlessly toward the unknown future. The atmosphere was oppressive, with only heavy breathing and the rustling of their footsteps on the sand and stones.
K walked at the back of the group, his gaze subtly scanning the surrounding darkness. From behind the bushes, there were more than one heavy breathing sound; further into the darkness, there seemed to be the faint clinking of metal objects.
Just as the entire group stepped off the beach and onto the path leading into the bushes—
"Whoosh!"
From behind the bushes and rocks on both sides of the road, more than a dozen dark figures suddenly sprang out, instantly surrounding the small team of less than ten people!