The deep thumping of a cargo ship blasted in the distance, overwhelmed the man's senses.

"Fuckin blasted boats. This is why I hate ports, always so noisy," He complained, strolling down the concrete road leading to a row of warehouses. The sounds of men shouting, machinery thrumming and waves crashing gradually reentered his hearing.

He whipped off his brown newsboy cap, waving it on his face, trying to cool himself from the hot temperature in the air. Sweat trickled from his short-cut balding blond hair.

"Just a little longer till night, then it will bloody cool down," He cursed. He stared at the red and yellow-tinged sky, moving up to another man leaning on a rusted old orange crate. The man's gaze watching over a group of people near the entrance to a warehouse.

The men both wore dirty and oil-stained, white tank tops, baggy brown cargo pants and harnesses strapped around their bodies keeping the pants up. The one staring at the crowd wearing black tinted glasses, hiding his eyes from the casual observer.

"Any changes yet?" The man asked, strolling up to the other's side, who was still concentrating on the crowd.

"Not yet. Are all the preparations done?" The man with the glasses asked, not taking his gaze off the crowd.

"Yep. Explosives are in place, Alf's doing his mystic shit and the Dolphin brothers are itchin for action." The other man answered, pulling out an old worn wooden pipe, strapped to his waist.

The man with glasses looked over to him upon hearing him lighting the pipe, then away shaking his head. "Seriously right now? You're a crazy cunt," he chuckled out.

"What, we're just waiting for them noble fuckers to move now. Who bloody knows when that's going to happen. Pieces of shits take forever to command us, 'inferior people', for the greater cause or whatever." The man exaggerated in response, before taking a deep puff of his pipe and blowing out smoke.

The other man merely grunted in response, "What about Lucile?" He questioned

"Who?" The other retorted, fascinated by the smoke shapes blown out of his mouth.

"Lucy, or whatever you call her. I can't keep up with the abundance of nicknames you gather up. And give me a turn ya wanker, been standen here waiten for your addicted ass to show up."

The other laughed before handing the pipe over, "And I'm the addict. Last time I checked Lucy was about to board the ship. If the potion you two brewed up works then we should be all clear. Got a name for it?"

"Name for what?" The man with glasses questioned, coughing harshly after taking a puff of the pipe.

"The sleepin gas you two made. Gotta rhyme with Yoyo and Lucy," The man stated deep in thought, before clicking his fingers. "Lucyorro."

The man with glasses looked at the other with great disdain, "Hypnos would be so disappointed."

"Who dat?" the other inquired.

"Seriously, don't you know nothin about Olympian god's?" The other remarked, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Why should I, they've been long gone. Shouldn't have to waste my time remembering some oldies from fairy tales like you weirdos." The man declared.

"Yeah, yeah. And Don't call me Yoyo, my name is Yossarian, I don't need a silly nickname from you. Not all of us have to hide our bland name like you, Greg." The man with glasses mocked.

Greg shot Yossarian a dirty look before switching his gaze to the crowd. "So who are we looking at?"

"The two dressed in the black imperial uniform, they've got golden laces strapped all around it if you can see it," Yossarian informed, handing back the pipe.

"Nope can't see shit from here. I should properly get Alfie to make me some enchanted glasses as well, so I can spy on people from afar too." The other noted, leaning forward as if it helped him to see better.

Yossarian grunted in response, bored by the conversation. He then quickly stood up, "Their moving!"

Greg looked at him, then back to the crowd of people in the distance, "yeah, then it's best we get started, shouldn't we?" He stated, gripping the steel bars of the crate next to them. He opened the crates doors, the steel grates crying in a high pitch protest before giving out.

Inside was a handful of large rectangular crates of boxes, lined across the floor with a single crowbar.

"We should wait a little longer, wait till they're actually out of the port," cried Yossarian, from the entrance of the crate, still facing towards the crowd. Greg, not listening to Yossarian, was moving down the crate, picking up the crowbar and eyeing the crates.

"I feel so giddy, I can't wait to see what's inside," He chuckled. He stopped in front of a crate, hand gliding across the fresh, slick wood, fascination and greed flaring in his eye's. He slammed the crowbar in-between the lid and sides of the crate, cracking open the insides.

He grew a massive grin on his face. "Good to see old Sammy looking over us," he chuckled.