Midnight Rail

by daOtterGuy

Call of the Wild II

Barnacles, Tartarus, and many other obscenities raced through Scootaloo’s head as she stepped off the Midnight Rail with the rest of her so-called team. They had arrived at the Dodge Junction Burn Out and Scootaloo was pissed.

There were twelve passengers on this bloody train and she was the “lucky” one chosen as the first stop. She didn’t know who she angered to secretly make her as miserable as possible, but she would love the opportunity to apologize and then tell them to piss off.

To her complete unsurprise, the Dodge Junction Burn Out, aptly nicknamed the Smoke Stacks, were exactly as she had left it. The Smoke Stacks were made up of filthy streets bathed in harsh red and orange light from overhead street lights lined by ugly squat brick buildings covered in black sludge. Smoke clogged both the air and every crevice it could reach, becoming a thick smog near the ground that one had to wade through to go anywhere. Tall chimneys fed the beast as the Burn Out’s many, many factories pumped out pollution.

Passersby from every race hurried by to finish their neverending tasks. They were dull-eyed and exhausted, but pushed through regardless, knowing that the coloured collars around their necks would notify the factory managers of their negligence. They were dressed in heavy furs that frequently caused the wearer to overheat, though that was still considered a better fate than whatever might happen due to the touch of a dangerous machine.

She hated the people, the factories, the smog, everything about the Smoke Stacks. She had hoped that she wouldn’t have to return to this Tartarus-forsaken place for a while, preferably not until the end of the line, but here she was back where she left not a week later.

Scootaloo surveyed the rest of the weirdos she’d been stuck with.

The prissy Wilde, Salinger, and Shelley acted as expected, trying their hardest to not touch anything with looks of disgust on their faces. Bradbury, the dunce, was excitedly taking in the dump around her as if it was the greatest thing she’d ever seen. The quiet loser trio of Hinton, Andersen, and Perault continued to live up to their nickname, with Hinton sticking close to Golding’s side like the suck up she was while the latter were as far apart as they could be without being separated from the group. Grahame and Poe mingled amongst them, and Scootaloo made a point to never let them leave her sight while they waited. Poe was obvious, but Grahame just unsettled her for reasons she couldn’t place.

That left Golding. The tryhard was sticking close to her and attempting to look like he was in control of the situation. How he actually came off was uncomfortable. He was one of the most awkward, spineless dorks she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting, and she’d talked to literally socially outcasted orphans.

Their employer, Leap, stood by the train. The “to-good-for-this” type that most certainly will send them into danger without having done a single thing themselves.

“What are the mission parameters?” Golding asked Leap.

Scootaloo suppressed the urge to gag. He was so unbearably stuffy. Probably ex-military or something lame like that.

“You will be making your way through the Dodge Junction Burn Out to meet our lead scout Pipsqueak at the abandoned HadGal factory,” Leap replied. “London will know where I refer to.”

The group turned toward her.

“Yeah, I know where it is.” She tsked. “Ya buncha ponces better keep close though. If you get lost or fall behind, I ain’t stopping to help ya.”

Golding nodded. “Anything else we need to know?”

“The final passenger, Verhoeven, will be waiting at the Trauma, along with several gifts to assist in the conquering of it,” Leap said. “Otherwise, how you get there is up to you. We wish you luck.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Bradbury asked.

“No. This mission is for you to do and, unfortunately, certain complications make us unable to assist beyond what we have already done. Now—” they regarded Scootaloo directly “—we would emphasize that any actions that you may be required to do in line with your inevitable success, we shall leave to your discretion. Do not be afraid to do whatever needs to be done. We shall handle the fallout accordingly. Even if it means going against the local authorities.”

“Are you saying we might be under threat from the Haven?” Grahame asked.

“No, just those damned Red Coats. They’ll be on us soon as we go anywhere in this dump,” Scootaloo said. “They want me dead for a dumb crime that ain’t my fault.”

“Were you framed?” Shelley asked.

“No, I just killed someone that had it comin’.” Scootaloo was pleasantly surprised at the lack of judgement or surprise at her declaration. “Means we’ll have to deal with’em sooner rather than later.”

“Can we avoid them?” Golding asked.

“We’re headin’ to Toy Mountain, so no.” Scootaloo sighed. “I reckon it won’t take ten steps before the wankers get the drop on us.”

“Wouldn’t they only go after you?” Wilde asked.

“No,” Scootaloo replied curtly.

“...Then we’ll play it safe,” Golding said, then louder, “Stay close and have your weapons ready.”

Everyone readied their individual weapons, looks of anticipation and worry scattered across the assembled group as they awaited the order to enter the depths of the Stacks.

“We wish you well and eagerly await news of your success,” Leap said.

Golding nodded, then directed the others to move forward, with Scootaloo in the lead. Brandishing her knives with a glare in his direction, she walked back into the wilds of her prison, ready to destroy whatever tried to keep her there.

---

“Why is it called Toy Mountain?”

The group had been traveling for a few minutes and naturally spread out as they did. Hinton, Golding, and Bradbury had opted to stay close to Scootaloo, with the others within roughly a meter of their location.

Scootaloo regarded Bradbury out of the corner of her eye. She had been surprisingly quiet most of the trip thus far, taken by the new sights around her, but had presumably gotten bored and decided to start on a barrage of inane questions.

“It’s where all the toys were manufactured before the factories moved up to the Haven proper,” Scootaloo answered. “Now, it's just a pile of rottin’ toys and husks of old machines that the local Burn Out kids use as a hideout.”

“Oh, neat! That sounds super fun!” Bradbury said, sparkles in her eyes.

“It's a rusted out factory. It ain’t that fun,” Scootaloo grumbled.

Ignoring Scootaloo’s gloom, Bradbury asked, “Why did HasGal leave?”

“Just told ya. Cuz they got transferred to the Haven. Try and listen with those ears, ya knob,” Scootaloo snapped back.

Bradbury’s face twitched to a scowl before returning to her usual smile. “W-well, I just thought it was weird that no one decided to reuse the factories.”

“Oh.” Scootaloo rubbed the back of her head. “That’s… fair. It’s cuz a Deviant called Joy to the Children moved in after HasGal left.”

Golding’s gaze sharpened as he directed all his attention on Scootaloo.

“There’s a Deviant at our destination?” Golding asked. “Why didn’t you or Leap mention that?”

“Cuz it only attacks the Red Coats,” Scootaloo replied. “Or anyone that bullies kids. It’s why we hung out there since the adults didn’t wanna be anywhere near the thing.”

“We’re adults,” Hinton stated. “Would we not be in danger?”

“Nah, long as you don’t punch me in the face or somethin’,” Scootaloo said. “Though, we definitely shouldn’t stick around too long since it starts gettin’ antsy round anyone thirteen and up.”

“That’s someone else that doesn’t like these Red Coats. They don’t seem to be very popular,” Bradbury remarked.

“They’re the law, and they follow whatever the jerks up top tell ‘em.” Scootaloo pointed up with one finger, a sneer on her face. “No one up top rightly cares so long as their precious junk is still gettin’ made in the factories.”

“So, the Red Coats are only here to make sure the workers keep working,” Hinton stated.

“Got it in one, pistol,” Scootaloo replied. Hinton mouthed the nickname with displeasure. “The Red Coats and especially the Haven don’t give two licks about anyone down here.”

“They sound kind of mean,” Bradbury said.

Scootaloo rolled her eyes.

“So what do they—” Bradbury started.

“We have company,” Andersen interrupted loudly.

A humanoid entity came out of an alley ahead of them. It was an amalgamation of flesh and machine, its head replaced with an insular metal box with a red headlight embedded in its surface. It wore only a long, crimson coat that did little to cover the gory stitched-together details of its form.

“Is that…?” Bradbury started.

Several more appeared from behind and to the side of them. They dove off of rooftops and came out from the natural shadows of buildings. The locals were long gone, making themselves scarce so as not to be caught in the crossfire.

“Yeah, it's the stupid Red Coats,” Scootaloo muttered.

“Fugitive sighted,” the first Red Coat intoned mechanically. “Charges: murder of factory owner. Punishment: death alongside known accomplices by any means necessary. Die.”

The Red Coats withdrew various weapons from the depths of their coats, brandishing them at the group.

“...How far are we from Toy Mountain?” Golding asked.

“Five minutes if we run like Tartarus,” Scootaloo replied.

“Will the Red Coats follow us inside?”

“Yes, but Joy will handle’em.”

“Then that’s our goal,” Golding said, then shouted, “fight them off, but keep moving! Follow London! We’re making a charge toward Toy Mountain!”

A collective affirmative rippled through the team as they prepared for the worst.

The Red Coats descended upon them.