Chapter 4 – Shadows at the Docks
The search had brought everyone here. From the fields to the city streets, from CCTV screens to late-night appeals, the trail had led Sgt. Salty and his misfit crew to Dublin’s docks. The cold slap of the Irish Sea greeted them, waves lapping against the pilings, the gulls circling above as if they knew something the rest of the city did not.
And there, the unspoken fear lingered in every heart: the missing child may have been drawn toward the water.
The Docks at Dawn
The Gardaí had cordoned off an area near the warehouses, searchlights sweeping across the river. Divers prepared their gear, their faces solemn. Volunteers stood silently, waiting for instructions. The laughter and energy of earlier searches had drained away. This was different. This was heavy.
Sgt. Salty parked The Rustbucket on the quay, the Irish tricolour hanging limp in the damp morning air. For once, he didn’t bark orders or crack jokes. He simply stood on the turret, cap in hand, staring out across the dark water.
Misfits Go Quiet
Even his ragtag crew felt the weight of the moment.
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Ye Old Large Lad, usually all grins, shuffled awkwardly, clutching his flask of tea but not daring to drink it.
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WhizzAir Winky, who never stopped talking, sat quietly with his laptop closed, the CCTV work done.
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Windy, who could turn anything into a joke, folded his arms tight, staring at the ground.
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Sarah and Susan kept close to Yasmine, the three women whispering softly to the volunteers, offering blankets and tea.
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McFinleyyy, normally the charmer, crossed himself and muttered a prayer under his breath.
Salty finally spoke. “Troops, this ain’t about us today. It’s about standin’ with the family, with the Garda, with the whole community. So keep yer eyes sharp and yer mouths shut unless ye can help.”
The Press Return
Reporters gathered at the edge of the quay, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward. The Garda Superintendent gave a statement, voice sombre.
“At this stage, we are focusing our search on the river. We are not ruling anything out, but evidence suggests the child may have been near the water.”
The words hit like a hammer. You could feel the ripple of grief move through the crowd. Some turned away, wiping their eyes. Others pressed forward, desperate for more answers.
Salty’s crew stood back, not wanting to intrude. But their presence, chaotic as it usually was, meant something. The Irish flag on the tank had become a strange kind of beacon—a reminder that the whole community, misfits included, were united in hope.
WhizzAir’s Last Playback
Before the divers went in, WhizzAir replayed the last bit of CCTV again, frame by frame. The blurry figure of the child near the dock fence. A hesitation. A slip. Then nothing but darkness.
He slammed the laptop shut, eyes watering. “That’s the last of it, boss.”
Salty put a hand on his shoulder. “You did good, lad. You did what needed doin’.”
The Wait
Waiting is the hardest part. The divers slipped beneath the waves, leaving only ripples behind. Minutes passed like hours. The misfits didn’t move. Nobody did. The only sounds were the gulls and the hum of the searchlights.
Large Lad finally whispered, “If he’s down there, I hope they bring him up gentle.”
Sarah squeezed his arm. “They will. They always do.”
SEO Pause: The Reality of Water Safety and Searches
While Sgt. Salty’s story is fictional, water safety is no laughing matter. In Ireland, rivers, lakes, and coastlines are beautiful but dangerous. Every year, accidents happen—often involving children who don’t see the hidden risks.
That’s why organisations like Water Safety Ireland stress the importance of:
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Teaching children to respect open water.
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Supervision near rivers, lakes, and the sea.
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Wearing life jackets and flotation devices.
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Raising awareness in communities about local water hazards.
When a missing child search leads to water, specialised Garda units and divers often join the effort. Their work is slow, precise, and deeply emotional.
The Recovery
After what felt like forever, the divers surfaced. One of them raised a hand, signalling to the Superintendent. The hush that fell across the quay was deafening.
Salty lowered his cap. The crew bowed their heads. Nobody spoke. Nobody needed to.
The Garda moved quickly, respectfully. The family, who had been sheltered nearby, were guided forward. Cries of grief rose into the air, raw and uncontainable. Volunteers wept quietly. Even the reporters lowered their cameras, humanity briefly outweighing headlines.
Salty’s Reflection
As the scene unfolded, Sgt. Salty climbed down from the tank. He gathered his crew into a circle.
“We can’t fix everything,” he said quietly. “We can’t bring ‘em back. But we can stand with the family. We can stand with the Garda. And we can stand with each other. That’s all we can do tonight.”
For once, none of the misfits argued or cracked a joke. They just nodded.
Yasmine finally spoke, her voice steady. “Then let’s stand.”
And so they did—seven misfits and a tank, silent guardians at the edge of the quay, paying their respects in the only way they knew how.
Final Thoughts
Chapter 4 of the Misfit Chronicles takes us to a sombre place. Not every story has a happy ending. Sometimes, it’s about community, solidarity, and facing the hardest truths together.
For Sgt. Salty and his misfits, the search may be over, but the lessons will stay with them: about water safety, about the fragility of life, and about the importance of showing up—even when you can’t fix the outcome.
Next time in Chapter 5, we’ll see how the crew copes in the aftermath, as Dublin reacts to the tragedy and the misfits find themselves in an unexpected spotlight.
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