//------------------------------// // Onboarding Passengers IV // Story: Midnight Rail // by daOtterGuy //------------------------------// “So what are these new guys like?” London asked. She leaned against one of the cabin walls, staring out the window as the tunnel walls zipped past, a sour look on her face. “You will find out soon,” Leap replied. They turned the page of their book. The title read Catcher in the Rye. Another story Soarin didn’t recognize. “It is important to be patient.” “But what if they’re like those other bozos?” London said, her tone making the question sound more like a demand. “I don’t wanna deal with another loser like that big lady creep or that quiet weirdo with the gun.” Soarin was surprised to not have been included in the list. “Then that will fall to our appointed Captain Golding to handle,” Leap answered. London glared at Soarin, seeming to demand that he fix this, as if he had any control over who boarded the train. His foot began to tap out an erratic rhythm on the floor as his anxiety spiked at their expectations. “... I’ll do my best,” Soarin answered. He hoped neither of them could hear the nervousness in his tone. She huffed. Whether satisfied or annoyed, Soarin couldn’t tell, and so he returned to staring out the window. She’d become abnormally quiet since the other day, after their battle with For Want of Everything, and Soarin wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, she wasn’t threatening him with a knife every other minute. On the other, it might mean she had become quieter in her planning. Soarin was certain he was doomed either way. The whistle shrieked and the train slowed down. A new passenger would be boarding soon. Another person for Soarin to screw up with. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. He squashed down those thoughts as best he could. He needed to think more positively if he was to succeed in his new position. Rising to his feet, he waited next to the door. It slid open. This time, the new passenger was a man. At one point, he might have been described as gorgeous. Snow white skin, pale white-blonde hair, and a white suit whose only splash of colour was a bright blue rose in the lapel. In his current state, he was singed and covered in ash, the tips of his skin and hair clearly subjected to an excess of heat if not outright burnt. He was weary, the kind of weary caused by being destroyed not physically, but emotionally. Exhaustion tugged at his face and dulled his golden eyes, giving the appearance of a man decades older than he was. “Welcome to the Midnight Rail.” Soarin held out a hand. “I am Captain Golding.” “... A pleasure,” the stranger dryly remarked. He shook the proffered hand with a look of disdain. “I have been told to introduce myself as Salinger.” “As per One Big Leap’s orders,” Soarin replied. “Hm, interesting,” Salinger said, his tone suggesting boredom instead. “And One Big Leap is… ?” “Here,” Leap said, placing their book closed on their lap. Salinger was startled, presumably by their appearance, before they quickly collected themselves. “Thank you for the opportunity to board.” Salinger bowed at the hip with the practiced grace of nobility. “A phrase we have no doubt you will learn to regret,” Leap said. Salinger stood back up. A frown marred his face. “... I will keep that in mind.” “This guy looks like a total wanker.” Soarin winced. Salinger furrowed their brow and turned to regard London who glared back at him. In one brief moment, an expression of unimaginable fury and grief crossed Salinger’s face, then was promptly buried under cold indifference. Soarin would have thought he imagined it, if not for London’s startled expression. “I see that one of the passengers is a… child,” Salinger said. Soarin could hear the careful control in his voice. “And what if I am, ya knob?” London retorted. “You another one of those dingbats that think I don’t belong?” “No, hardly.” Salinger laughed. It was a sharp, dry sound with no humour in it, just desperation. “I just think there’s something inherently disgusting that we live in a world where you could qualify to be here in the first place.” To Soarin’s surprise, London had no response. Silence filled the room, threatening to burst the cabin into pieces. “... Well, um,” Soarin started, desperate to break the awkward silence. “It’s been nice to meet you.” “Quite,” Salinger said. “Where is my room? I would hope we do not share a sleeping quarters.” “Down the hall.” Soarin gestured toward the corridor leading further into the train. “I’m not sure what your door would have as a sigil.” “A carousel horse,” Leap said. Salinger tensed, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to keep his outwardly calm composure. “Yes, thank you. I will be retiring there to rest for a moment,” Salinger said. “Let me know if I am needed.” Then Salinger left. The train rumbled down the track, the bumpiness of the ride comforting to Soarin as his anxiety-ridden heart thumped to the rhythm. “How many new passengers are boarding?” he asked. “Two more,” Leap replied. “As you have asked us thrice prior.” “Right, yeah,” Soarin said. “Wow, that’s a lot of new faces.” Soarin eyed Bradbury wearily. London had left some time ago, and Bradbury had filled in the space left behind with a torrent of obnoxious questions and unwanted peppiness. As much as he didn’t get along with either of them, Bradbury was a particular subset of annoying that grated on Soarin’s nerves. “Yes, and we’ll need to all be able to work together,” Soarin remarked. “That’ll be easy for me!” Bradbury exclaimed. She pumped her fists. “I work great with others!” He thought back on Bradbury charging into the fray against For Want of Everything and how he had gotten drenched in tar while she had blissfully continued to uselessly attack the Deviant. “... Of course,” Soarin said flatly. Bradbury nodded in response, arms crossed in front of her with a look of pride on her face. The train whistle cried out as the locomotive slowed to a stop. The next passenger boarded. This time, a mountain of a man appeared, rivalling Bradbury in size. He was red-skinned with straw blonde hair and a physique of sheer mass — the rough kind, earned through hard labour rather than athleticism. In contrast to the man’s ruggedness, he was dressed in the tattered remains of an evening ball gown. Make-up was smeared across his face, with one particular line of lipstick scaling the full breadth of his face. His hair was an equally tangled mass of braids. His eyes were wild, like a panicked animal. Soarin was wary, as those in the throes of fear tended to be on the defensive and dangerous. He stood up carefully, approaching with measured caution. “Hello, my name is—” “Hey, nice to meetcha ya!” Bradbury interrupted. She approached the man with an eager expression, with all the cheer and aplomb of a wrecking ball. “What’s your name? Where are you from? You know, you look like you need a hug. Want one? Of course you do!” Bradbury approached the stranger with their arms as wide as their smile. The new passenger tensed, seemingly growing in size portionally to their eyes. “Bradbury, wait—” “Don’t worry about it, Cap!” Bradbury interrupted. “Just come here big guy, for your—” In one swift motion, the man grabbed Bradbury by the throat and slammed her against the wall. Bradbury struggled against the man’s grip, clawing at the hand that held her fast. The man’s eyes were wild, his breathing ragged. He was going to kill Bradbury. Soarin needed to act. However, before he could, the loud snap of a book spine being closed echoed through the room. “Let her go Perault,” Leap commanded. The room quaked from their words as it was flooded with eye-bleeding colours and skewed against the normalcy of reality. It was more than a command, but instead a sentence that went contrary to the fabric of the universe, untethering the cabin from the world proper. Perault dropped Bradbury, shaking from the full brunt of Leap’s command. The room returned to normal as Bradbury gasped for breath, clutching her throat protectively. “Your room is down the hall with the sigil of a slipper,” Leap said. They gestured toward the corridor. “We suggest you take some time for yourself.” “... I’m sorry,” Perault whispered, his voice surprisingly soft. He raced off in the indicated direction. “I, uh, asked for that, huh?” Bradbury remarked. “Yes, you did,” Soarin answered bluntly. “W-well, it was really just a one-off. I’m—” “We do not believe it is within our right to intervene in our passengers’ affairs, as that is the purpose of Golding’s position. However…” Leap looked pointedly at Bradbury. “You would do well to learn from this properly and show restraint in the future, lest you commit a mistake that cannot be undone.” Bradbury nodded tightly, her expression downcast. “Good.” Leap opened up their book, reutrning to their reading. “Carry on.” The cart was once more quiet. Bradbury had left shortly after the earlier fiasco, and Hinton had slipped in thereafter. She had settled in a corner of the cabin and gotten lost in her thoughts as she clutched at her skirt. Normally, the quiet would be unbearable, but there was something comforting in Leap’s and Hinton’s presence. The prior had hired him on for his potential, while the latter had professed to some form of dedication to his leadership. It reminded him of his days back in the Cloudsdale Haven during his time with the Bolts, when they were all just enjoying the afterglow of a long hard day. A positive experience amidst all the trauma. But, as his anxious mind was prone to do, a worrying question came to mind. “Will we be doing another mission after the next passenger?” Soarin asked. “Yes, a Level 2 called the Queen Wants Your Head,” Leap replied, paging through a new novel titled Den lille havfrue. “It is a rather powerful Deviant, but I believe in yours and, by extension, the other passengers’ capabilities.” “Will he be going with all of this, or just a select few?” Hinton inquired. “Due to Golding’s station, he must be present. However, to grant a reprieve from the ordeals of the last mission, you, Bradbury, and London may stay behind. Salinger, Perault, and Andersen will go with Golding to handle the Deviant.” Soarin felt cold dread grip him at the thought. He couldn’t speak for Andersen, but Salinger and Perault had already both proven difficult in different ways. He wasn’t sure how he would manage either of them, let alone the unknown third. “I would request to accompany them on the next mission,” Hinton declared. She stood up, her posture rigid and gaze determined. Soarin turned to her startled. “That is not up to us, but rather your Captain,” Leap remarked. She turned toward him. “... Yes, I would like you to accompany us on our next mission,” Soarin said. At least one guaranteed constant in a group of unknowns. She nodded and sat back down. A few seconds thereafter, the whistle announced the arrival of the next passenger. Soarin immediately wanted nothing to do with him. Another man this time. He had a placid smile and dull blue eyes framed by a rat’s nest of short blue hair. He was lean and muscular, marred by crisscrossed red welts and scars on his bare chest that shone brightly under the intense overhead lighting. The missing article of clothing that was supposed to be on him was held tightly in one hand, the veins in his forearm threatening to burst with the deathgrip he had on it. Though difficult to make out from the stains and crumpled insignia, Soarin would recognize the colours of the Order of the Sun from anywhere. None of this was what caused Soarin to want to never engage with him. All people demanded space. Even the quietest and most meek sought out a small corner for themselves to simply exist in the world. This man wanted nothing. He carried himself as if he might disappear at any moment and was content to allow it to happen. It wasn’t from a desire to die, but rather a simple disinterest in anything that might be or will be in the world. It was a slap in the face to Soarin, who struggled everyday to just retain the meager allotment he had garnered for himself. By Hinton’s expression, he presumed she felt much the same. “Andersen,” the man introduced himself as. His voice was oddly melodic and lazy. Like he could burst into song, but he couldn’t be bothered to muster the energy to do so. He held out a hand, “Golding?” Soarin, against his every instinct to spurn the offer, shook it back. “Yes. Welcome to the Midnight Rail.” He smiled. It was nice, if vapid. “Is there a place I can rest for a moment?” “Down the hall.” Soarin gestured toward the back of the train. “I’m not sure which door.” “It is—” Leap began. “A pair of feet… right?” Andersen interrupted. “... Yes,” Leap relented. They stared intently at Andersen, their novel laid on their lap. “Are you familiar with your motif?” “I know what you are going for,” Andersen replied. “Though, I fail to understand how I have any hope of achieving what you seem to believe I am able to.” “... You can never know what the future may hold,” Leap said. “Please return after thirty minutes. You will be joining Golding, Hinton, Salinger, and Perault on a Deviant hunting mission.” “As per your command,” he replied, then began to walk to his room. As he did, Soarin felt himself tense as he took in Andersen’s back. A mass of lines carved into his flesh to look like the face of a god-like entity in the sun. The blood congealed and stuck, sliding down only a fraction of the distance it should. Andersen stopped just before the corridor. “... It is penance,” he declared. “A burden I will and have borne.” Then he continued his walk down the aisle.