//------------------------------// // Onboarding Passengers V // Story: Midnight Rail // by daOtterGuy //------------------------------// Despite what most Haven dwellers would have you believe, there were several layers to the Rust. Closest to the Haven was the Brim, a decent living area for what passed as a “middle class”. Somewhere you could attain a decent quality of living, but that would be all you would be doing: living. Hoping for the chance to ascend into a Haven and start really living your life. The next layer was the Fall. The starting position of those that lose their spot in a Haven. Those residents find their life in constant flux, their every action measured in progress toward or away from the Brim. After the Fall came the Dream. That was where Soarin had lived. A destitute place infested with crime and poverty. A lawless land ruled by gangs. Though beaten and dragged through the mud, those that lived in the Dream always looked past the smog and toward the Haven that floated just out of sight. Finally, there was the End, where hope went to die. Nothing happened there, no one ever moved on from it. Residents of that layer would never ascend to the Haven, so they gave up, indulging in basic pleasures as they struggled to survive in a place with no structure or protection. It was one step away from becoming part of the Burn Out, slowly encroaching upon the Dream. The End was where Soarin and his group found themselves in. Just outside the Crystal Haven, and considered one of the worst due to the shattered crystal amalgamations that constantly shifted and grew without the proper care of one of the Empire’s tuning engineers. The building before them was stuck between two large conglomerates of crystal that had overgrown from nearby burnt-out stores. If Soarin was to hazard a guess as to the prior purpose of the place, he would have had to guess a courthouse. Tall brutalist architecture, surrounded by the shriveled remains of rose bushes with a decrepit statue of scales weighed down drastically on one side. Despite how loud and obnoxious they could be, Soarin’s current company made him yearn for London and Bradbury. They at least were upfront with their feelings. Hinton and Leap were fine. The prior stayed close by, alert for danger, pistol at the ready. The latter trailed behind, idly paging through another unknown novel. Normally, he would be concerned by their lack of awareness, but Soarin was hard-pressed to think of an entity that could pose a threat to his employer after their display earlier with Perault. Speaking of, Perault had said nary a word since he’d joined the group. He carried a sickle in one hand and was dressed in well-worn overalls that a farmer might find comfortable. His head hung low with his hair roughly chopped off into a short messy fringe that hid his eyes. Salinger had clearly gotten over his prior sulk and had opted to criticize Soarin on every facet of his life, remarking on even the smallest detail. He had changed to something more casual, yet still blindingly white, and wielded a massive hammer of all things, shaped like a judge’s gavel. Soarin had noticed that his fingertips were blackened, either by damage or dye, Soarin couldn’t tell. The final member of their company and the most unwanted was Andersen. He hung nearby, within sight, but not part of them. He had no weapon, but the way he walked suggested that he didn’t need one. He had chosen to wear loose, washed-out clothing that served to make feel like a ghost. It only served to amplify Soarin’s discomfort. They were less than ideal, but Soarin was the leader. He would make it work as that was what he had been tasked to do. “We have arrived,” Leap announced. They did so without looking away from their book. “Like before, we shall wait here while you handle the Deviant inside.” He nodded in the affirmative and regarded his team. They waited expectantly. “Alright. Based on the structure of the building, this place is most likely a courthouse,” Soarin began. He let himself fall into his old military mindset, hoping that it would help him sound more confident. “Due to the surrounding difficult landscape surrounding the area, we’ll most likely enter through the front—” A snort. “...What is it?” Soarin asked. “Through the front?” Salinger scoffed. “What an idiotic plan. And you’re supposed to be the leader?” “Salinger—!” Hinton started. Soarin put up a hand to stop her. “What would you suggest instead?” “Searching for a back route and then taking the deviant by surprise from behind, obviously,” Salinger threw his hands in exasperation. “How would going through the front ever be a good idea?” “... How do you fight?” Soarin asked. “Pardon?” “How do you use your weapon?” “I swing it.” Salinger narrowed his eyes. “Do I really need to explain—” “Hinton uses a pistol and I use whips,” Soarin interrupted. “Based on the structure, any back room to a courthouse would be narrow and cramped between the corridors and possible holding cells. It's gonna be a tight squeeze for five people.” “And?” “How do you feel about getting ambushed inside one of those corridors, then getting shot in the back of the head or electrocuted because we don’t have adequate room to fight?” “... Not ideal. But—” “We also have no idea if the Queen is alone, just that she’s our target. There could be something lurking nearby that we aren’t aware of. Plus, look at those crystal growths.” Soarin gestured toward the massive spires that wedged the courthouse. “We have no idea how much area they cover or if it's even possible for us to go around without a huge detour.” “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try!” Salinger retorted. “The benefit of a surprise back attack could very well work in our favour!” “Except for one, we don’t know what this Deviant does, and, frankly, I want some distance between us and whatever it is. For another, it has a name like Queen. Pretty sure it's gonna be sitting in the judge’s seat when we go in.” “Then all the better to take the back route!” “And then we end up coming out of a narrow passageway single file right next to the Deviant in question.” Soarin crossed his arms. “Do I need to explain why that is a terrible idea?” Salinger looked ready to argue. Instead he looked away with a huff, scowl on his face. “Does anyone else have any concerns about this plan?” A unanimous shake of heads. “Then we’ll be entering through the front with our main hitters Andersen and Salinger. Don’t charge in recklessly, and stay close. We’ll want to get a feel for the Deviant before we engage if possible.” He could feel the pressure crushing him from the inside out. He needed to breathe, to take a moment to center himself, but he couldn’t afford the momentary weakness. Not when Salinger was questioning his command. “Plan’s sound, Captain,” Hinton said. “Sounds good to me,” Andersen added. Perault nodded his head. Salinger continued to sulk. “Then let’s move in,” Soarin said. The entry to the courthouse went smoothly. They entered through the massive double doors, crossed the corridor and reached the main entrance to the courtroom without trouble. Their first snag happened at the courtroom proper. Laying on the floor, caught between the doors was the decapitated corpse of a mostly decayed body. Its head had rolled a ways away from the body, staring up at the group with hollow eyes. “Gristly,” Salinger remarked. Perault knelt down and examined the body. “... This guy’s from the Order of the Sun,” Peurault said. Soarin and Hinton turned to Andersen, who looked back at them with his consistently easygoing grin. “It is bold of you to presume I would know anything about this,” Andersen replied. “I didn’t presume that at all,” Soarin said. “I just wondered if you would know why a member of an Order that infamously doesn’t do any of their own Deviant subjugation is halfway across the continent.” “And if they would have come alone,” Hinton added. “Well, I can at least tell you that they would have come along with at least two or three others. Rarely do members of the Order leave the Sanctuary unaccompanied.” He regarded the corpse with cold indifference, uncaring toward the fate of someone that he had once been able to call a comrade. “As for why they would be here, I could not begin to hazard a guess as any groups involved with Deviants were not ones I was involved with. Unless they were exiles, but there would be other indicators if that was the case.” “Wait, Andersen is a member of the Order of the Sun?” Salinger looked at Andersen in disgust. “Why would you allow one of those filthy cultists onto the Rail?” “I do not decide who boards onto the Rail. That is Leap’s decision,” Soarin said. “Also, an ex-member. I have been excommunicated for various reasons,” Andersen replied. “Those reasons being…?” “Sacrilege.” Andersen smirked. “Quite a lot of it actually.” “For—?!” “We should continue on,” Andersen interjected. “The presence of the Order and my past are irrelevant to our current mission.” “... He’s right,” Soarin said. “We need to carry on.” “Alongside one of those—?!” Salinger started. “Ain’t none of us here got some nice happy past,” Perault said. “If we did, we wouldn’t be here. Don’t go throwing hay bales into a rickety loft.” Salinger looked ready to argue his point, but instead held his tongue. “If we’re ready, let’s move in,” Soarin said. As one, they moved through the doors and into the courtroom proper. The dead Order’s companions were strewn about the pews on either side of the room. As predicted by Soarin, the Deviant was inside. Queen Wants Your Head sat upon a decayed throne of justice. The back was nearly tall enough to reach the ceiling. Most of the abomination’s humanoid-like body was covered by a massive red and black ball gown. The kind that would be found amongst the out-of-touch elite. Two jagged pieces of black metal, roughly in the shape of axes, were laid against the banister separating the throne from the rest of the court, well within the Deviant’s reach. In exception to the Deviant’s human-like appearance, its head was a massive pulsating heart grossly out of proportion to the rest of its body. It was bloated like a balloon, its ventricles overflowing with blood that dripped onto the stained floors below. It was attached to the rest of its body by a jagged lump of flesh that was in the approximation of a neck. The Deviant regarded them coolly from its throne, seemingly content to wait. “Now what?” Salinger asked. “We found the abomination, do we charge in and hope for the best?” “... No,” Soarin said. He scanned the room. Both sides were taken up by balconies and pews, but the tops were all cleaved off, presumably by the abomination’s axes. “But we don’t really have any avenues of surprise,” Soarin continued. “Then we’ll take it on directly? Feel it out as we go?” Andersen asked. Soarin nodded reluctantly. “May I volunteer as the point of attack?” “Yes, excellent. Send the cultist first.” Salinger sneered. “I fully approve of this plan.” “... Cold,” Perault said. “... I’m not sure about that,” Soarin said. “We don’t really know what it does yet.” “But the axes suggest it prefers getting into the thick of things,” Andersen said. “I can start things off, Hinton can provide cover, and the rest of you can jump in when you see an opening. Worse comes to worse, Leap revives us.” “Let the man die if he so chooses, Golding,” Salinger said. Perault levied a glare at him. “... Can you provide cover, Hinton?” Soarin asked. “Yes,” Hinton replied. “Fine.” Soarin wasn’t fond of the plan, but didn’t see an alternative. “On your mark, Andersen.” Andersen strode confidently toward the center of the room. Queen Wants Your Head stood up, grabbing its axes. It raised one ax to point at Andersen. “Give me your HEAD!” It screeched. A red band appeared around Andersen’s neck, tightening around his throat. He winced. A laminated paper label rolled out from the collar, displaying three small lines in the center. Queen leaped forward, bringing one of her axes down on Andersen’s head. He caught the blade with his hands, holding both the Deviant and axe up in an impressive display of strength, an easygoing smile on his face. “How aggressive,” Andersen remarked. The abomination screeched incoherently. It swung its second ax sideways at Andersen’s neck. Perault stepped in and caught the blade on the edge of his sickle. He pushed the ax away, then swung at its neck. Queen quickly swung the blunt end of its ax at Perault, throwing him against the jury box. Following up quickly, Salinger swung his hammer at the Queen’s head. There was a sickening crunch as the Queen was knocked back, a massive dent in the front of its head. Salinger chased after it, with the Queen backing up toward their throne. It readied to slice into Salinger, but was stopped by two shots through the metal of the weapons. The Deviant screamed as it continued to get away from Salinger. It raised a hand and made a slicing motion along its neck. “Give it!” It screamed. In one quick motion, the band tightened around Andersen’s neck and decapitated him. “Shit,” Soarin muttered, then louder, “Keep on the pressure!” “Give me your HEA—” Another shot fired. The Deviant’s head was punctured by the bullet. Despite the interruption, another band appeared around Hinton’s neck. Soarin rushed in, throwing his whips in a loop around one of the Deviant’s axes, pulling it out of its grasp and throwing it across the room. While partially disramed, Salinger smashed it again in the face, breaking more of its head and the podium behind it. “We need to cut the neck!” Salinger cried. “Give—” Queen started, making the slicing motion with her hand. Hinton fired another shot. A hole appeared in Queen’s head, leaking blood onto the floor and beginning to deflate. A quick look back showed that despite the interruption, the band still decapitated her. “Perault!” Soarin shouted. Perault looked to him as he got out from the wreckage of the pews. “When I say go, cut through her neck!” A nod. “Hold her down, Salinger!” Soarin said. “How am I— Fine!” Salinger growled. Salinger grabbed both ends of his hammer and pressed it against the upper body of the Deviant, pinning its arms up near its head. The abomination struggled against his hold, screeching all the while. “Give me your HEAD!” It screeched. Soarin could feel the band appear around his neck, digging into his skin and threatening to cut off his breathing. Knowing he was running out of time and pushing through the panic gripping his mind, Soarin lassoed the Queen’s head and leaped onto the podium. He tightened the loop then pulled up, leaving the Deviant’s neck exposed. “Go!” Soarin shouted. Perault charged forward, his sickle ready. “Give it!” Queen screeched, managing to free one arm enough to make the necessary motion. Suddenly, Soarin found his vision flipped upside down, obscured by a fountain of blood. As his vision faded to black, he thought himself lucky that it had been so quick.