___Lumen___
Dunk nodded, slipping the old shotgun from its makeshift harness and readying it. He moved up behind you, ready to follow you in.
The heavy bulkhead door squeaks obnoxiously as you pull it towards you a bit, hoping against hope that the engine noise would drown it out
It hadn't worked. Two well built blokes stood chatting, surrounded by boxes and crates of varying sizes.
One of them had clocked the movement of the door in his peripheral vision, the orangey lighting reflecting off the metallic sheen off his cybereyes.
The other bloke was dressed in full day-glo waterproofs, holding onto a chain suspended from the ceiling of the container. Its frigid cold air hit your nostrils as you peeked in, the smell of fish assaulting your senses shortly thereafter.
You could hear the whimpering and sobbing more clearly now, coming from the far side of the container, out of sight behind a row of boxes. Those you could see had all sorts of writing on them, squiggles like Chinese or Japanese or something. Not exactly what you'd expect in the catch-hold of a small French trawler at any rate.
___Scawire___
The spirit world had shunned you.
Whether it was your exhaustion or a lack of will on their behalf, you just couldn't manage to complete the ritual.
Your head ached, well, even more than it did already. Knives and Dunk moved up to the doorway, readying their weapons in preparation for a strike.
You figured it would be wise to do the same.