At Margaret’s proclamation, Balto stopped, the big-nosed Fishman turning his head towards the woman with a slight grin. “Oh right, you said something like you could sense folks, huh? What? Got a problem with how we operate?” Balto asked.

Ivor blinked, wondering, “Eh? What’s going on?” Dara simply watched wordlessly, not following either.

Balto turned away shrugging, “Give the cargo a look if you really care, but your debt ain’t gonna pay itself you know.” Glaring over his shoulder, he added, “And you don’t want to have a debt with Raining Sunny, trust me.”

Getting worried, Ivorio said, “Worth a look...” The Captain led the way below decks, Dara following, her curiosity not waning. Heading down to the storage room, they found it: a room with a number of people, huddled up together, half asleep, or tense, wearing only dirty rags and chains as they coughed or shivered.

Slaves.

Gritting his teeth, Ivorio grunted, “What the hell is this?”

Dara ignored him, moving forwards, drawing a mask over her face and donning it, before going to the closest one and giving him a look. After a quick examination, she quickly concluded, “He’s sick...stay back, it’s contagious. They’re all sick.” Standing, she gritted her teeth, clenching a fist at her side, muttering, “This is...this isn’t of life is supposed to be lived!”