I awoke to my iPod being fully charged and the boat drifting to a halt. Gazing out of my window, I beheld a port town and heard the commotion of a boat preparing to unpack. Seizing my iPod and cable, I placed both inside my box and sealed myself in once again.
After roughly fifteen minutes, my box was removed from the cargo hold and, after another few minutes, placed on the dock amidst several other boxes. I swiftly emerged from the box, as the commotion of a ship transferring its cargo provided a lot of noise to cover my exit from the crate and my subsequent escape into the dark streets of a cold Icelandic night.
To my horror, I, after several minutes of drifting through the dim streets, heard the chants of a group of cultists. Listening closer, I knew almost immediately that these cultists were of the same group which pursued me on my way to board my ship.
"I think they might have sent cultists to every destination for every ship leaving port," I mused silently, "that's the only explanation as to why they would be so close to the port.
"Also, why didn't I think to bring a heavier coat, seeing as how I'm in Iceland and all?" I chided.
Leaning around a corner and looking into an alleyway, I saw a gathering of about six cultists partaking in some sort of ritual. Meanwhile, behind me, I heard shouting about how one of the shipping crates was wide open and devoid of all contents.
"Well, isn't that just great," I groaned. "Now I'm being pursued on both sides."
Thinking quickly, I slid into the alleyway, for none of the cultists were looking out into the street, and, seeing an old fire escape, started to run, doing a rad parkour wall-jump onto the fire escape with as little noise as possible. I then decided to fall asleep, since, wearing a black suit on black metal, I figured that I would blend in well enough to anyone looking from above and below.
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