The following day found Sam journeying towards the docks.
The docks of City N were situated in the northernmost region of the metropolis, nestled along the pulsating veins of the Haite River.
This massive watercourse traced an ancient path, snaking and curling eastwards until it found its purpose in the all-consuming embrace of the Atlantic Ocean.
The bustling cityscape of City N gradually eased into the ruggedness of the docks, where the urban sounds of honking horns and echoing voices faded into the rhythmic lull of lapping waves and the distant call of seagulls.
Here, the air was filled with a different kind of life.
The salty tang of the sea mingled with the earthy aroma of timber and rope, forming a peculiar scent that hung heavily over the area.
Sam was a mere specter in the pre-dawn light, garbed in nondescript attire, his features concealed behind a black cloth mask.
Gaia's voice guided him to a secluded corner of the docks, where haphazardly stacked shipping containers slumbered.
He carried with him a package, its contents known only to him and Gaia.
He used a small spade to dig a hole near one of the rusted containers, quietly humming a tune as Gaia marked the exact coordinates.
The cool morning air was his only companion, carrying whispers of the sea and tales of maritime legends.
Once the package was securely buried, he took care to erase all evidence of his clandestine visit.
He backfilled the hole, scattering loose dirt to obscure the recently disturbed soil. He spread a handful of pebbles over the site as a final touch.
Satisfied with his work, he slipped away as silently as he'd arrived, disappearing into the gradually brightening morning.
Sam retreated from the waterfront, heading back into the city's heart after his task at the docks. His next objective was to locate a particular individual - a man once a renowned sailor captain.
A master of the sea who had been brutally stripped of his profession due to an unfortunate incident.
The public knew him as the captain who had been imprisoned for a murder onboard his ship, a crime for which no evidence was ever found.
After two years of unjust incarceration, he had been released, his reputation permanently tarnished.
But what was the absolute truth? Only the man himself could tell.
Sam had learned about this man through Gaia, who had scoured the digital universe for a suitable captain who could navigate the colossal ship waiting at the docks.
But this search was governed by a unique parameter - the individual had to resent the government or a powerful figure.
The disgraced sailor seemed to fit the bill perfectly.
This man, wronged and shunned by society, could potentially be the one to guide Sam's vessel across the treacherous Atlantic waters.
And perhaps, in the process, find a sense of purpose and redemption he'd been denied all these years.
Sam felt anticipation when navigating through the city's bustling streets. The next part of his journey was about to begin.
The pub, ironically named "Night Skies," was a hive of activity even in broad daylight.
A kaleidoscope of personalities filled the dimly lit room, their laughter and loud chatter striking a stark contrast against the sober daylight filtering in through the grimy windows.
As Sam entered the pub, he wore a mask that veiled his features from the world. His gaze, however, was sharp and discerning as he scanned the room for his target.
His eyes landed on a man at the far end of the pub, nursing a glass of what appeared to be whiskey.
Without any delay, Sam placed an order with the waitress and sat opposite the man, careful not to draw attention to himself by removing his mask prematurely.
Sam broke the silence with the scene set, his voice steady and unyielding.
"Captain William Archer. Last piloted The Silver Star on 9th November 2012. Jailed the next day for suspected murder."
William didn't look up at first, paying no heed to the masked stranger before him.
But as Sam continued to talk, the indifference turned to surprise, hidden anger, and finally into a gloom that matched the pub's sullen interior.
"Released on 31st December 2014, on bail. Lost all your hard-earned money for that freedom. Lost all your friends." Sam didn't waver, continuing his barrage of uncomfortable truths.
"Just stop!" grumbled William, his face a picture of angry exasperation. But Sam didn't yield. Instead, he moved on to his next line of attack.
"Do you want revenge?" Sam asked, his voice lowering to an almost whisper. He felt an odd sensation as if he were dangling a devil's deal before the disgruntled captain.
William's anger swiftly turned to disbelief. "Humph! How could you help me? Do you even know who I want justice from? Those bastards!" he growled, the mere mention of his enemies causing his rage to surge.
Sam didn't flinch at the outburst. Instead, he responded, "The act of finding out your information and having the guts to sit in front of you and talk to you counts? If not, then does 'Malachi' ring a bell?"
The mention of the name 'Malachi' was akin to a bolt of lightning striking the room.
It wiped away William's bravado, leaving a man trembling with fear in its wake. "How do you know? Who are you? What do you want?" he stammered, his eyes wide and fearful.
"I'm not here to harm you. I just need your help. To be more precise, I need your skills," Sam clarified, an undertone of assurance in his voice. He hoped that this assurance would be enough to bring William around.
It took a while, but the hardened sailor eventually regained his composure.
William was a man who liked to think things through, preferring rational thought over impulsive actions. His next question was evidence of that. "What's in it for me?"
Sam looked directly into William's questioning eyes and said cryptically, "Your freedom."
As he uttered those words, the waitress arrived with Sam's order.
He motioned for her to place the mocktail before William and tipped her generously.
Silence descended upon their table as she walked away, hanging heavily like an unanswered question.
The clink of glasses and the background chatter faded into a dull murmur.
After what seemed like an eternity, William finally conceded, "What do you need me to do?" His voice was low and subdued but carried a hint of resignation.
William Archer found himself at a crossroads.
His heart pounded against his chest as he weighed the risks.
The former sailor was no stranger to danger, but the peril did not come from violent ocean waves or stormy skies this time.
It was from a masked stranger who claimed to offer a lifeline.
The word 'freedom' echoed in his mind.
He had been living under suspicion and regret since the incident on The Silver Star.
He had faced the scorn of a society quick to believe the worst of him and had been punished for a crime he didn't commit.
He felt like a pariah, chained by the tarnished reputation he couldn't shake off. The offer of freedom was a flicker of hope in the darkness.
Yet, caution nagged at him. The promise could be a trap, a ploy by his enemies to ensnare him further.
But as the stranger spelled out the deal, he realized this was a chance he couldn't afford to pass up.
"I need you to sail a cargo ship out of City N just a few times. The coordinates will be sent to your phone after you set sail," Sam stated, keeping his voice low to blend with the ambient pub noise.
"Alright. But, you better honor this deal, Mr. . ." William trailed off, suddenly aware that he didn't even know the name of the man he was dealing with.
"You can call me Mr. Anon," came the response, the mysterious pseudonym adding another layer of intrigue to the unfolding.
"Okay, Mr. Anon. Secure my freedom, and I'll even work for you after we're done," William replied, seizing the opportunity to negotiate his own terms.
His eyes held a determined gleam, belying his calm demeanor.
Sam chuckled at this unexpected counteroffer. "We'll see how well you complete your task first," he replied, his tone light yet non-committal. With that, he stood, signaling that their meeting had ended. "Enjoy your drink, Mr. William Archer."
Sam felt a strange exhilaration as he exited the pub, leaving William behind to mull over their deal.
His next move was already planned. He reached his apartment and texted William, detailing the instructions to locate a buried package at the docks.
'Head to this location at the docks. You should see a red container on your left and a blue one on your right. Walk 13 strides forward and 5 strides to your left. Dig the spot in front of you. Retrieve the package and wait 3 days; I will send further instructions then.'
As he hit 'send,' a triumphant smile played on his lips. He swiveled in his chair, relishing the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
With a smug smirk, he whispered, "Let it begin."