With that, he ducked out of the apartment.
Under the cover of night, he headed toward the old port district.
Located on the outskirts of Penang, far from the bustling downtown, the old port felt especially eerie in the dark.
Abandoned warehouses lined the road, their walls choked with creeping vines, while rusted shipping containers were haphazardly stacked along the curb.
The air hung heavy with the pungent stench of mold and garbage. The occasional bark of a stray dog echoing from the shantytown only added to the unsettling atmosphere.
Alex stuck to the shadows, his footsteps light and soundless.
Following the route he had mapped out earlier that day, he quickly arrived outside the fire escape of the old port.
Just as expected, only two guards manned the entrance. They leaned against the wall, smoking and chatting, completely oblivious to the figure slipping through the shadows nearby.
Crouching behind a shipping container, Alex watched them for a moment. Seeing they were entirely off guard, he scooped up a rock and hurled it toward a patch of tall grass a few yards away.
Clang! The rock struck a piece of scrap metal hidden in the brush, the loud noise shattering the silence.
The two guards instantly snapped to attention. Gripping their batons, they advanced toward the noise. "Who's there? Come out!"
Seizing the brief window, Alex darted past the fire escape like a phantom, slipping silently into the heart of the district.
The layout inside was even more convoluted than he had anticipated, a labyrinth of crisscrossing alleyways.
Dilapidated single-story structures flanked the narrow streets. Faint light spilled from dirty windows, and occasional silhouettes moved through the alleys—Harold Chapman's men.



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