At A Bar Called O'Malley's #2

The dockhand points with a shaking hand at the container marked with Thorne's insignia. Beyond the fence, a forklift is already lining up the crate stack for a fast haul out.

Mara Keene squares her shoulders, eyes locked on the gate and the patrols. Scott stands between her and the fence as the nearest guard turns his head.

A guard spots the group and reaches for a radio. The forklift keeps rolling, its driver unaware that the shipment is about to become the fight.

The loading yard tightens into a trap, guards on one side, the marked crate on the other, and O'Malley's future hanging on whether Scott can break this transfer now.

Scott hits the container at a dead run, arms wrapping the cold steel corner as the forklift driver brakes too late. The crate lifts clear with a shriek of metal, and the yard lights flash across its Thorne insignia.

He heaves, boots skidding on wet concrete, and the shipment comes with him. A guard shouts from the fence line, but Scott keeps moving, dragging the marked load toward the harbor edge.

The container slams against the barrier with a heavy crack. Scott muscles it over the lip, and the first edge tips toward open water.

A blast of spray erupts below as the cargo drops out of sight. The impact rings through the yard, loud enough to make nearby radios spit static.

The dockhand recoils hard at the splash, then stares at the empty space where the shipment was. One of the guards is already running for the loading gate, and the yard turns from theft to pursuit in a breath.