[Joe's Bass, 7 East Anner Road | 1915 Central Time, Day 1]
The coastline of San Laureola is divided into two distinct port districts serving different purposes. To the west, spanning 4 kilometers of the coastline is Port Shelby, which primarily functions as San Laureola's main seaport where a large majority of cargo entering San Laureola is processed. To the east spanning another 4 kilometers is Port Canol, San Laureola's main beach resort district. Most of the high-end marinas and tropical resorts that San Laureola has to offer are located in Port Canol, including the one seafood restaurant Mendez and Foy are currently in right now.
"You figured out a plan yet?" Mendez asked Becks on the phone.
"Kinda," answered Becks on the other side. "Know where a man can get a boat 'round here?"
Mendez handed his phone to Foy, who answered the question. "I believe you can find one in the Port Canol marina. Looking for anything in particular?"
"Yeah, a, uh, dinghy? That what you call it?"
"Hmm, yes," replied Foy. "I saw one the other day around the marina."
"Right then," said Becks. "I think we should be good. For now. I hope."
Both Mendez and Becks said their byes and hung up.
"So, you were saying?" said Mendez as he turned his attention to Foy.
Foy shifted his attention to the restaurant's atmosphere as he answered Mendez. "Yeah, I come here all the time. They sell the best seafood on the waterfront. Me and the owner go back, so what I'm saying is we can lay low here until we make our move tomorrow."
Foy then locked his gaze on the horizon with the clear, starry night sky hanging over the obsidian waves crashing on the beachfront of Port Canol. "Can't beat the view here."
Mendez looked on the horizon, impressed but not mesmerized. "I imagine."
"Especially during the afternoons with that sweet mix of alizarin crimson and Prussian blue on the skies and brilliant blue waves curling on the shores. Looks straight out of a painting."
Foy's wording piqued Mendez' interest. "You paint, Foy?"
"Wish I could," answered Foy as released his lock. "Do you?"
"Eh, not really."
"Then how can you tell?"
"I just call colors as I see them," answered Mendez. "But you? Alizarin crimson? Prussian blue? I can tell you're on another level from the way you describe the view."
"Pardon me," said Foy. "Force of habit."
Mendez scoffed. "I don't mind. But I imagine you don't have enough time to paint, eh?"
"That, and it just doesn't feel right."
Foy shifted on his seat. "I know my heart wants it, but my mind does not. I just don't feel like knocking people out and weaving brushes at the same time."
"Eh, well," shrugged Mendez. "I say life's too short to not be doing what you like, but I get your point."
Foy didn't respond for a moment. He then got up from his seat while reaching for his pocket, which Mendez saw--and halted.
"My treat," said Mendez. "You already paid your bill when you told me about this place."
Foy was taken aback--a bit. The whole time they were eating, Mendez didn't show signs of liking the grilled whole black sea bass they ordered. "You like?"
"More like I hate myself for not trying this place sooner," said Mendez as he went for the cashier. "Now let's stretch our legs for a while. We're playing pirates tomorrow."
[27 nautical miles off San Laureola Coastline | 0430 Central Time, Day 2]
Mendez powered down the jet ski, Foy sitting behind him as the passenger.
"Here we go," said Mendez, acknowledging the ship in front of them.
Their objective appeared to be a small container ship, no bigger than a feeder-size category which holds the capacity of up to 1000 twenty-equivalent units or TEU, a measuring unit representing a standard 20-foot metal container. Due to its size, feeder ships collect containers from different ports with the objective of "feeding" the containers into a larger vessel, usually following a route along coastlines instead of crossing a large body of water such as an ocean. The ship Mendez and Foy were eyeing on appeared to be close to full capacity with stacks upon stacks of metal containers piling on the ship's deck.
"What'd Sanchez say about opposition? 20 BP personnel on board?" asked Mendez.
"Yes, said it's a 'special contraband' shipment," answered Foy. "Do you know how we're going to get on board?"
"There," pointed Mendez at a lowered staircase at the starboard or right side of the ship. "They must've just sent a boat to scout the docks, just like Sanchez said."
"And they didn't even bother with raising the ramp back up?"
"Just our luck, I guess."
"Are you certain this is not a trap?"
"Well, we're already here, aren't we?"
Mendez proceeded to drive the jet ski at the staircase, which conveniently reached the sea level where they were. Moments later, both Mendez and Foy were ascending the ladder towards the ship deck.
Two guards stood by the end of the staircase.
They had their backs against the staircase, though.
Foy wrapped his elbows around one and choked a guard out, while Mendez snapped the neck of another. Mendez dumped his guard over the rails into the ocean, while Foy dragged his towards the gap in between the shipping containers, just out of immediate sight.
Not to forget, the guns and whatever spare ammunition the guards had.
Mendez got himself a SPAS-12 shotgun, while Foy had an M4A1.
"You know how to reload that thing?" Mendez asked Foy as he stuffed the shotgun shells into his rainjacket pockets.
"Take the magazine off, put the new one in, right?"
"Yeah, but don't forget to tap this when you're reloading on empty," said Mendez as he pointed towards the rifle's bolt catch.
With Foy's acknowledgment of Mendez' little tutorial, the two men advanced towards the ship's bridge, sneaking past stacks upon stacks of metal containers and arriving in front of the accommodation area until...
"Shit, guard," whispered Mendez after he peeked around a corner.
The pair backstepped--only for Foy to notice that another guard is approaching the corner behind them!
"I'll take the front, you take the back," instructed Mendez to Foy quietly.
Mendez crept on the corner ahead of him. He can see it from the shadows in front of him--the approaching patrolling guard is literally just around the corner.
He saw the guard's boots as he walked by.
That's when he sprang into action.
Grabbing the guard by the shirt, Mendez spun 180 degrees--and slammed the guard's head against the metal container he was leaning against earlier!
Seeing the guard stunned, Mendez went for the final blow: hitting the butt of his shotgun against the guard's head. He's out.
But what about Foy?
BANG!
Mendez' turned to his back in reflex. Clearly, something went wrong on Foy's end.
That's when he saw Foy swinging his rifle's stock against his guard's face to great effect, as the guard went down. The guard's gun must have gone off during the initial struggle, he deduced.
Foy turned towards Mendez. "I'm not good with guns."
"Doubt we'll find a paintbrush on this ship though," said Mendez as he started walking. "Not to worry, they haven't found us--"
Only for Mendez to lock eyes with another guard standing by the door leading into the crew quarters!
"--yet."
Mendez fired first.
The guard flew backward, revealing more guards nestled in the crew quarters!
"Tch, here we go," remarked Mendez.
Foy fired full-auto into the crew quarters, forcing the guards into cover. Mendez looked to the right, saw a guard charging with a monkey wrench, fired, then turned back to the crew quarters as the two men lean beside the door.
Level one: food court and crew kitchen.
Gunfire rang the entire room as bullets bounce off the metal walls and ship decks. Mendez and Foy leaned against their respective covers, the former looking unfazed by the deafening sounds of bullet hell chaos unfolding around them.
Then there was a moment of silence. The guards are reloading.
"Now?" asked Foy. Mendez nodded.
With that nod, Mendez spun out of his cover and slid towards the next one inside--a long counter to store plates and cups for the crew--while Foy provided a fully automatic covering fire!
However, as Mendez slid towards his cover, he noticed a guard standing on the right side of the counter aiming at him!
Luckily, Mendez' shotgun went off first as Mendez fired at the guard from a prone position at his cover!
"I'm out!" shouted Foy from his cover as he stopped firing.
Don't tell them you're out, criticized Mendez silently. They'll use it to advance on your--
--wait.
Mendez heard steps from beyond the counter covering him. The guards were indeed making their move as soon as they knew Foy's magazine was empty.
That's it, he thought.
Without skipping a beat, Mendez vaulted across the counter and landed on one of the guards!
Kneeling on the guard's chest, Mendez shot two other mercenaries in the room.
Two thunderous gunshots rang the cabin as Mendez' shotgun pellets found their targets.
And not to forget, the one below him.
BANG!
Floor clear.
Foy came up beside Mendez, having just inserted a new mag into the M4A1.
"It's this one, right?" asked Foy pointing at a small button on the side of his rifle.
"Yep," confirmed Mendez, to which Foy tapped the button with his palm.
"Let's go then."
Mendez began loading shells into the shotgun as he ascended the stairwell. One, two, three, four, five.
Level two: crew quarters.
The crew quarters consist of a hallway filled with cabins on either side of the hallway as well as another stairwell going up at the other end of the hallway, which Mendez presumed leads to the bridge that houses the ship's controls.
As the pair approached the hallway from the stairwell, something rolled up to them from the cabin rows.
A live grenade.
Mendez counted at most five seconds to detonation.
He threw his shotgun and ran towards the grenade.
Four.
He bent down and picked the grenade up.
Three.
He dove across the hallway entrance and tossed the grenade mid-dive.
Two.
A bullet whizzed past his right leg.
One.
The grenade exploded.
An explosion shook the entire ship. Some pained shrieks were heard.
Mendez pulled himself up as Foy pulled next to him with his shotgun.
"Hold that for me please," said Mendez as he pulled La Mutilar.
Foy dropped the shotgun to the floor. "I need two hands to my gun now, do I?"
"Hmm, fair point."
Mendez peeked out, and--
BANG!
Enemy down.
Mendez noticed Foy putting suppressing fire from his right, to which he rolled forward under Foy's line of fire and fired at a guard under Foy's fire to his left in one of the crew cabins!
BANG!
And another one to his right!
BANG!
Before advancing to Mendez' left, Foy tossed Mendez his shotgun.
Mendez walked past a cabin row, looked to his right--
--when another guard lunged from the cabin with a knife, pinning him against the wall behind him!
And to the right corner of his eyes, more guards are approaching the stairwell from the food court!
Mendez retaliated by kicking the guard on the diaphragm--which worked--and swinging the SPAS-12 across the guard's right cheek.
And as if on cue, more guards appeared at the end of the hallway, just as Mendez straightened the guard he hit earlier and turning him into a human shield!
"Hold still," said Mendez calmly as he rested the shotgun on the guard's right shoulder.
Mendez fired away, taking out the guard at the end of the hallway--and the human shield's ears!
Mendez then proceeded to push-kick the discombobulated guard at the two advancing guards, which knocked one of the guards over like a bowling pin.
And that's when he unloaded his shotgun at the stumbling guards, all of which went down.
That leaves Mendez with one remaining guard--
BLAM-BLAM-BLAM!
--that Foy shot with his rifle.
Smoke billowed from the end of Foy's rifle as he stood and watched the carnage.
"You okay?" asked Mendez.
Foy nodded, but his expression said otherwise.
That was his first kill. It became apparent to Mendez that Foy had never taken someone else's life before. Roughened them up, sure. Beaten them into a pulp, just another day for Foy. But to snap someone out of existence with the work of his own hands? Never. Mendez saw the dawning realization in Foy's eyes, which he didn't see in Becks the day before. It deflated Foy's posture, making his chiseled frame look like it was made from rubber.
"Look," said Mendez as he tapped Foy on the shoulder. "I'll do the dirty work from here. Just stay put and watch your trouble, yeah?"
"Y-yeah," said Foy dimly.
Foy's grip on his gun seemed frail. It's a miracle the gun hasn't fallen off his hands yet.
"Your gun please," said Mendez dropping his gun while gesturing for Foy's gun.
Mendez took the magazine off and peeked inside it. Half full. Half-empty too, though.
"Magazine please," instructed Mendez to Foy, to which Foy complied.
Now Mendez is the one with a fully-loaded M4A1.
"It ain't easy crossing that line, so you just take it easy from this point forward."
After seeing Foy nod, Mendez marched to the stairwell leading to the next level.
Level three: the bridge.
Hope no one has the bright idea to throw grenades this time, thought Mendez.
The now-lone Mendez ascended the stairs, pointing his gun through the stair railing.
Mendez made out a couple of legs.
Suddenly, the wall beside him clanged. A bullet barely missed his hairline. Mendez retaliated.
BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM!
The legs crumble as the guards tumble into the ground.
As Mendez climbed over the last step, he noticed the fruits of his results: three injured henchmen lying on the bridge, which he stepped over to get to the ship controls.
Mendez was trying to figure out the controls of the ship, when he saw something at the corner of his eye.
To which Mendez turned to see one of the downed guards pointing a pistol at him!
BANG!
Mendez shot second.
But the guard missed. Mendez didn't.
After a while of silence, Mendez peeked to the stairwell. "Clear!" he yelled, beckoning Foy to join him.
Moments later, the two men were staring at the ship controls.
"So, uh, have you ever navigated a ship before?" asked Foy.
"Only ones smaller than this," answered Mendez as he analyzed the navigation deck. "I think it's on autopilot now, but I don't think it should be that hard."
"If I may ask, what is this 'special cargo' Sanchez told us about?" asked Foy again.
Mendez shifted his attention away from the controls. "I'll show you."
Minutes later, the pair opened one of the containers being transported on the feeder vessel. Mendez had a flashlight in his hand.
The flashlight shone through the dark container revealing a narrow hallway flanked with cardboard-brown walls filled with medium-sized holes. The holes weren't scattered like sponge cavities; they were rather symmetrical and evenly-distributed into discernible rows and columns.
Foy was puzzled. Mendez whispered to him, "Where's the shipment from again?"
Why is he whispering? thought Foy. "Uh, Mexico?"
Mendez straightened up and said, "Saca tus manos."
And with that command, hands--human hands--appeared out of every hole in that container.
Not even a word, a wail, or a whine coming out of those that pulled out their hands, just a pure sense of surrender and despair radiating out of the limp hands sticking out of the holes in the container. While those in the container were undoubtedly breathing, they were lifeless in spirit.
The 'special cargo' are humans. The hands belong to humans about to be trafficked by BP.
Upon seeing what's inside the container, Foy gagged and vomited out of the deck.
"My God," said Foy to Mendez. "We-we have to do something!"
"And we are going to do something," said Mendez. "Oakley's waiting for us at the docks and until we can get rid of him, there's nothing we can do to these poor souls."
Foy paused for a moment, his eyes flaring with determination. His posture hardened, the same way it was before that kill. "And what happens after we take care of Oakley?"
"If everything goes according to plan," explained Mendez, "we set free all that we can set free, take 'em to your warehouse, and call the cops.
"Until the cops arrive, they are our problem."
"And rightfully so," chimed Foy as he walked to one of the hands, grabbing it gently in comforting.
"Don't worry," Mendez heard him say. "I promise I'm going to get you out of this."
As Foy took his time with the trafficking victims, Mendez leaned on the deck to take in the horizon as the San Laureola coastline loomed in the distance. Corny as Foy's attitude was, Mendez couldn't really fault the guy for acting like so.
What do you know, he mused. Turns out the big guy has a soft spot after all.