2: Crossing

"Three more safe-houses in Stigma, but we've only got the one in Blarganthia we can afford to turn over...unless, of course, Nelson agrees to lend us that personal security support."

Samael had to clamp his claws into his thighs to stop himself from the automatic urge to sweet-talk, instead shifting his attention to the slender chupa at his side. He was certain Vincent wouldn't go telling Nelson if he disobeyed her orders, but he didn't want to put the young rebel in an awkward spot.

...Young rebel.

Vincent Sov certainly didn't carry himself like a sheltered nineteen-year-old as he met the hoop leader's piercing eyes with his own calm stare. And even if most of Sidewinder thought the quiet, reserved recruit was one of their youngest members, moments like this reminded Samael of the truth.

Samael had no lack of confidence in his own silky-smooth tongue, and he knew Nelson hadn't been wrong about how much the two of them had gone through in their lives. But witnessing Vincent and his mother trade complicated statistics, rapid-fire offers and counteroffers, half-insults and white lies, all swaddled in the alien language of hoopster accounting and terminology, well. He was starting to see why Andee always insisted he do the talking.

In spite of his upbringing, in spite of his bottomless sorrows and his heavenly joys, in spite of every countless mission and negotiation and wide-ranging adventure, Samael felt like the same naive kid sitting in the corner of a Sampian tavern listening to a sweeping speech full of words he couldn't hope to spell, let alone comprehend.

"As we've stated previously, Nelson is adamant about not making any promise of manpower," Vincent replied politely. "The Movement needs every dedicated body possible to maintain our fight. You know that well enough, Emily."

Vinny was good, he had a helluva knack for this shit. Still felt weird that the guy looked to Samael like a mentor, just because Samael's confidence and time with the Movement made it easy to form the illusion of a well-rounded chupa, tempered and weathered by time. But then again...someone else had once praised him for the same thing. Maybe Tracer had truly meant it.

You're a damn natural, Sammy.

"You know, it's perfectly fine to call me Mother," Miss Sov noted with a smile that was laced with amusement and frustration alike. "Just because we're negotiating a deal doesn't mean we have to pretend we aren't family anymore, Vincent."

Vincent smiled back, and Samael appreciated the hint of reservation on his fellow rebel's features. "I know. But this is a business affair. Family shouldn't hold any sway over the table."

"Family holds sway over everything." Miss Sov leaned forward sharply, and both Samael and the hulking beast behind her shoulder shifted closer. Miss Sov glanced back at her husband before eyeing Samael and releasing a dry chuckle. "Well, I can see at the very least our son has inherited my taste in protection." She tossed at catty smile at Vincent. "Function and form in equal measure, mm?" She displayed a rare moment of levity as her eyebrows bounced a few times. "Why curate fine art if you can't also take pleasure from it?"

It was finally enough to make Vincent shrink slightly and sheepishly pull the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. "Mom. Geezus..."

She smirked and relaxed her pose as both impromptu bodyguards did the same. Samael had been admittedly curious just how much Miss Sov knew about her kid and his, ah. Open perspective in the bedroom. He tried not to grin too broadly, unashamed but also a little wary about Vincent's father taking him out behind the restaurant to shove him through a cheese grater.

"But that's fine. I'm sure I'll have more opportunities to speak to Nelson about this," Miss Sov continued dismissively. "We can be very convincing, as you well know."

Vincent's expression hardened once more as he glared at her from beneath the hem of the hood. "There's no need to make threats, Emily."

She twitched but remained even-toned as she tipped her head slightly to one side. "I wouldn't dream of it, Mister Sov. So are we all happy with four safe-houses in exchange for the reclaimed Blue Army munitions?"

Vincent glanced at Samael, who gave him a warm smile of encouragement, then looked back at his mother and nodded. "We are. The Movement is truly grateful."

"As am I," Miss Sov answered as she laced her fingers together under her muzzle. "I've been granted such a wonderful opportunity to see how my child has grown. I would say you could move immediately into headin' up all trade operations, Vincent. You're ready."

Vincent sniffed out the undertone as easily as Samael had, frowning and shaking his head once. "I'm staying with the Movement, Mom. I'm happy there, and I'm making the difference I want to."

Miss Sov's second twitch was far more dangerous than the first. Samael's tail flicked to the side to brush against Vincent's before Miss Sov leaned back, folded her hands atop the table, and smiled thinly at Samael. "Hmm. Perhaps this little journey of self-discovery is helpin' our son after all, Michael." Her steely eyes moved back to Vincent as the smile melted into one of genuine pride. "I told you there was a vein of iron just waitin' to be mined."

"He's pulled the trigger before," Michael muttered. Samael blinked in surprise -- usually the most he and Andee heard from the gigantic monster was a series of threatening growls. "Never doubted it was there."

"Of course not," Miss Sov replied around a half-smile before she focused her attention on Samael again. "Vincent, would you please go with your father to confirm the locations and any necessary security measures? I need to speak with your friend a moment."

Samael's shoulders scrunched the tiniest bit -- he'd seen enough movies with York by now to know what to fear from the parents of a romantic partner. Vincent apparently assumed the same as he sighed and crossed his arms while giving her a pointed look.

"Mother. Seriously?"

Her jovial features morphed into a far-less-amused glower. "Vincent. Go with your father, please. This has nothin' to do with who's gettin' your gun off."

Vincent seemed too flustered to argue further and Samael smiled graciously while offering the most honest wink he could conjure up. "Go on, hon. I think Andee just had some contacts he wanted to ask 'bout. We'll head back soon as you get all them coordinates fer Nelson, yeah?"

Vincent met his eyes and Samael's heart twinged as he betrayed his friend's trust yet again. It was for the best, especially since Vincent had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the life he'd come from. But Andee sought to embrace that life even tighter, so Samael poured reassurance into his gaze, and Vincent believed it.

He kept his smile plastered in place until Vincent finally nodded hesitantly and stood up to join his father in walking into an adjoining room. "I'll see ya off before you depart, Vincent," Miss Sov called over her shoulder before centering her gaze once more on Samael.

The moment the door clicked, Miss Sov groaned and rubbed the bridge of her muzzle. Samael wasn't sure if he should be wary or relieved, but she decided for him by fixing a far more sour glare upon the rebel. "Please tell me you aren't the only one over there fuckin' my son."

Samael's eyes bulged slightly as he suffered a rare case of stammering and speechlessness. A few seconds of sputtering and he finally managed: "N-no, ma'am! Uhm...nope. Vinny, er. Vincent is, uh. Just a good friend. And a great rebel. Everyone loves him at the base."

"Presumably not as much as everyone loves you," she replied mildly while arching an eyebrow. "Unless you're going to tell me my son is now a whore, as well."

"Not at all!" Samael wheezed as he shook his head rapidly. "No, no, no, Vincent, ah, he's--"

"A free spirit, yes," she interrupted. "He always has been." She frowned at him again before grumbling. "He speaks of you often when we talk, and while I have no intention of meddlin' in Vincent's personal affairs, I am also not the type to let him make preventable mistakes."

Samael scratched the back of his head. "Erm, like joinin' the Movement?"

"You misunderstand," she answered kindly. "He's still explorin' himself. I merely want to ensure that once he settles, he does not settle. I'm sure you're aware of the legacy he's expected to uphold."

Realization dawned on Samael, and he felt torn between self-shame and concern for his friend's voice. "Well, Vinny ain't exactly too eager to --"

"Of course," she interjected brusquely. "I believe him when he says he's happy where he is. So I will continue to trust you to keep an eye on him, and guide him to the future that suits him best." She flashed a brisk smile and gave him only enough time to swallow the implications before reaching to the side and snagging a file folder that she opened between them.

"Now then, to the business at hand. Andee didn't exactly offer us much the last time we met, beyond the vague promise of information at some unspecified date." She waved a hand airily. "I said I was willin' to take it on faith, as you two have proven yourselves more than once. But now I'm callin' in a favor. That heist we offered is no longer an invitation. I'm requestin' your help on this one, Samael."

Andee's orders were still fresh in Samael's memories, and he grimaced in anticipation of the pending promise. "Yeah, a'right. I'm always down fer a li'l smash 'n grab, what're we lootin'?"

Her smile turned pleasant once more. "I can see why Andee's finally partnered up with one of our kind. The heart of a rebel beatin' in the body of a guard dog. Free will and loyalty, all wrapped up nice in a bundle of obedience." She leaned forward with the same gentile expression. "Not to mention the dog house is practically a fortress."

Samael wanted to bite his tongue, but the words slid out too silkily for even his skillful fingers to intercept. "Sounds like Vinny ain't makin' no mistakes, in that case!"

Miss Sov's smile dripped with duplicity. "Still a dog, dear." Samael masked his scowl well enough, but she still seemed to revel in her self-designated victory. "Right, let's get this hashed out before the boys get back."

Samael grunted and shoved down his urge to defend himself -- or Vinny -- further. "Where'm I goin'?"

Miss Sov spun a map around so Samael could examine it. He pretended to read the notes scrawled across the paper and hoped none were all that vital...luckily he didn't need to comprehend much for his stomach to begin sinking. He knew the shape of that territory, alright. "So...Blarganthia?" Blarganthia was a little further from Qoppa than he'd expected this job to be. And Nelson certainly hadn't stuttered in her directives.

He did his best to minimize the shift of his weight, but Miss Sov's eyes were sharp enough to catch it. She peered down at him from the other side of the table. "There won't be a problem...will there?"

Samael reminded himself he was Samael Goddamn Wurlitz, master of multitasking and Sirca's superior silver-tongued sexpert. He threw out a nervous smile, but one of his own choosing. "Aw, well...y'know, Blarganthia," he began with a well-crafted sigh. "Still jus' a li'l worried someone might toss the ol' net 'round me again, get me locked up 'n priced hot fer sale..."

The bluff came out so smoothly that Samael wondered if Miss Sov might even apologize. She, of course, did not, but she did at least demonstrate a far less hostile grimace. "Ah, yes. We received a few calls about that, as you might imagine." Her features hardened but the cold steel in her eyes focused on something behind Samael, perhaps something on the distant horizon. "We were none too pleased about some small-time bastards tryin' to squeeze a ransom out of us." She flashed him a sympathetic smile that carried little of the intended emotion. "I'm sure you know why we couldn't send anyone out to give you boyos a hand, but I had faith in ya, you're both such crafty little guys!" Her teeth gleamed for a moment. "You demonstrated just how much more reliable ya are, so consider yourselves far more valued...if this next job goes aces."

Miss Sov smiled graciously but Samael felt her eager attempts at examining his reaction. His self-affirmation only thrummed harder as he returned the cheerful expression and fired two finger-guns across the table. "Ain't no hard feelin's, ma'am! We was on private business, anyway, wasn't expectin' no rescue!" She raised an eyebrow at the gesture but he had already clapped his hands together while his tail swung energetically. "An' you ain't gotta worry a tick 'bout this li'l lootin' gig, neither! I'm real good at the ol' slide 'n steal. Don't let all this Sampi beef fool ya how quick I c'n get in 'n get out!" he boasted with a playful flex of his chest.

"Charming." She showcased a flat smile while meeting his eyes. "I'll be sure to ask Vincent for more details." Samael nearly wheezed but kept his reaction reined in to a goofy grin, trying to focus on anything but the shadowy visage of Nelson glaring over the hoopster's shoulder. "But good. That's why we wanted you on this job." She gestured to the map once more and placed a claw atop a set of coordinates scribbled over Blarganthia's highlands. "You'll meet our team here, at 6300 tonight." She glanced up and waited for his eyes to lock with hers before adding curtly: "Rolland will be in charge. He's one of my top lads, and he'll be callin' all the shots." Miss Sov leaned the slightest bit closer. "Which you are expected to follow, of course."

"I'm real good at that, don't you worry none," Samael reassured while tucking away the nervous twinge.

"I've no doubt," she replied mildly before nodding to the map again and moving her finger south. "You all will intercept the package on its way to Stigma. It ain't gonna be stoppin', so you'll have to hit it mid-transit."

Samael cocked his head curiously. "Oh, so kinda like...a highway robbery? Like in the movies?"

Miss Sov's lips curled into another thin smile. "Sure. Just like in the movies."

"Well shit -- er, pardon mah cussin' -- that sounds like a blast! Tell yer guys I'll see 'em tonight!"

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?!?"

Samael stared stupidly through the wind whipping past his features, clutching into the side of the truck bed as the trio of vehicles pulled up alongside their target. "What the fuck!?" he wailed while twisting around to give Rolland a dumbfounded look. "Miz Sov said highway robbery!!"

The magenta-furred chupa grinned through a muzzle dotted with metal veneers that gleamed in the falling dusk. "Don't get yellow on us now, little Movement man!" he shouted back over the rushing cacophony. "It's close enough to one!"

"There ain't no fuckin' highway!" Samael yelled as he threw his arms wide with indignation.

Rolland only uttered a rasping laugh while leaning close to the rebel, his maroon eyes glinting as brightly as his false fangs. "Stay behind if ya gonna be a pussy...I'll be sure to tell Miss Sov all about how useful you were..." He smirked and then reached down to thumb the microphone clipped to his jacket. "Alright, boys and girls, bridge in two clicks -- get ready!" He eyed Samael as he added mirthfully: "Anyone too chicken-shit should save us the trouble and just jump in the ditch now."

A chorus of brief affirmations burst through the radio as Rolland shifted to a crouch and pounded a fist atop the truck's cab. Samael scowled at the hoopster but doggedly followed suit, settling his paws under himself and gripping harder into the truck bed as they veered off the gravel road and into the underbrush. The pickup lurched into the air and bounced its occupants violently before the tires began to tear through the rough foliage and uneven terrain.

They'd picked a night with Nerom's glow nearly eclipsed, leaving only a pale crimson sky to illuminate the daunting silhouette roaring through the darkness a few meters to their left. But the low visibility wasn't going to stop anyone from recognizing the thunderous gallop of metal wheels screaming across a steel rail, or the distinct blast of a horn piercing through the rhythmic chug of a locomotive engine.

And as Rolland moved to perch on the edge of the bed, as a spray of sparks danced across the jouncing trio of trucks struggling to keep alongside the rushing monstrosity...Samael's disbelief was tamped down only by the thought of how jealous York was gonna be.

They were about to rob a motherfucking train.

Samael couldn't see the distant engine, only a fading plume of smoke that danced along a string of passenger cars. Several hoppers and boxcars rocked gently behind the illuminated carriages, adding an indeterminate length to the winding dragon that disappeared into the darkness behind them.

Rolland slapped Samael's shoulder to draw his attention and he glanced up to see a ladder glinting in the soft celestial light. "All aboard, Tiny!" he jeered before lunging forward to leap from the truck and clutch into the ladder. The hoopster looked over his shoulder with another toothy grin before whistling sharply and proceeding up the rungs.

The other guy in the back of the truck shoved rudely past Samael to position himself on the bed's lip. "Outta the way, country boy," he snarled, earning a scowl from the rebel. Mean Guy gauged the distance to the ladder, flexed his legs, then flung himself after Rolland...

...and slammed into the side of the freight car. Samael's eyes bulged and he stretched an arm out as the hoopster yelped and clutched the ladder with one hand. The rebel leaned precariously over the side in an attempt to offer support, but the boxcar shifted violently as the train rounded a curve, and Mean Guy lost his grip with a curse. Samael could only stare with his arm still outstretched as the hoopster bounced once before disappearing under the carriage with a piercing scream that cut off abruptly amid a sickening crunch.

The train lurched slightly and Rolland clutched into the top of the freight car to glance back before he grimaced and shot a dark look at Samael. "You joining Mikey or you coming with the rest of us?!" he shouted over the din of iron grinding over steel.

Samael exhaled around the soft prayer he murmured, then glanced at the other two trucks to see their occupants had already scrambled onto the following boxcars. From the front of his own vehicle, the driver's voice cascaded through the noise: "Bridge! Get the fuck out or sit the fuck down!"

"Aw hell," Samael muttered before he planted a paw on the top of the truck bed and then shoved himself toward the train. He grit his teeth at the wind rushing through his fur, reaching out with both hands for a ladder that suddenly twisted away. His eyes widened and he choked out a curse as he landed halfway onto the ladder, wrapping a thick arm tightly around the side of the ladder as the other clung desperately to a rung. "Shit!"

He heard the trucks peeling away from the train and looked down long enough to see the blur of gravel and wooden planks before twisting his head around to stare at the approaching bridge girders. "Shit!" he repeated before a sudden pressure around his wrist drew his stare upward.

Rolland hung over the side of the freight car, his fingers clamped firmly around Samael's wrist. "Let's go, redneck, we're already a man down!" he yelled.

Samael breathed a rush of appreciation, repositioning himself on the ladder as his tail piercing clanged loudly in the wind that whipped past. Rolland's grip gave him the moment he needed to get his paws on the rungs, nodding once to the hoopster and quickly ascending the ladder while Rolland hollered something to his cohorts.

Samael pulled himself on top to join the group of now-eleven hoopsters huddled around Rolland. He couldn't help but glance back over the side, but the queasy feeling in his stomach was unexpectedly shallow. Perhaps that death-defying trip into Sidewinder's bowels really had left him with more than just scarred palms and soiled shorts.

"Gather up, boys, that was the easy part..."

"I can't believe they're making us sit in the fuckin' back! Like we're just some fuckin' cattle..."

"It'll be our turn to go eat soon, quit your bitching..."

Robin lifted his head with interest as Harris snarled and slammed a fist in front of Miller. "Aw, shut the fuck up! Was it this much a pain-in-the-ass to serve under you, Captain? I bet your guys pissed in your water constantly..."

Miller narrowed his eyes and leaned forward against his knee. "You keep running your mouth, shit-heel, and you'll find out first-hand why I got demoted."

Harris snorted as he jumped to his feet. "Let's fucking go, old-timer! I'll beat your ass all the way back to Basic!"

"Stow that shit!" Robin glanced over at...who was that guy again? Must have been the corporal or sergeant under Bristol. Lowell. Or maybe Lovett? "None of you bastards are gonna hit the dining car if you keep acting like a bunch of schoolkid recruits!"

"Fuck off, buzzcut..."

"Who the fuck said that?!" Lowell-Lovett barked as he stormed into the middle of the car and glared around the loosely-arranged soldiers. "Step forward!"

Robin joined a few others to snicker at the disgruntled NCO, who proceeded to stomp in a small circle before jabbing a finger at the nearest grunt. "Fine, then! We'll see how you assholes are laughing when we get to Stigma!" He shoved past a few of the still-chuckling soldiers while growling over his shoulder: "I'm gonna go let the master sergeant know you've all volunteered for unloading duty in Kestral City!"

A chorus of grumbling replaced the laughter as the corporal (or sergeant or whatever) stormed to the back of the train to stomp through the door and across the gap to the next freight car. "Nice job, fuckfaces," someone muttered as the gathered soldiers fell back into idle conversation, occasionally punctuating the air with a protest regarding their future predicament.

Duke and Miller sat on either side of Robin, doing their best to include him in the back-and-forth they'd struck up about their previous commands. Unfortunately for them, he was remarkably good at tuning things out.

"That was nothing compared to Lieutenant Banks, fuck that guy. He was such a prick, they caught him getting blowjobs from everyone he'd promoted."

"Shit, I never got any blowjobs from my corporals," Miller grumbled. "But I had a captain who got off to having us scrub the mess in our skivvies. Insisted it was the only way to be Red Army clean. Goddamn pervert got tapped in the head right before my promotion, so I guess there's karma if you believe in it."

Duke made a face. "Every fuckin' CO I've ever had thought I'd be willing to suck dick for a shoulder patch." She wrinkled her muzzle before glancing at Robin. "What about you? Godawful sergeant the reason you got those metal shit-kickers?"

Robin eyed her languidly. "Nah. I picked these out myself. Got tired of legs." Duke and Miller exchanged a look as he added: "Officers ain't so bad as long as they ain't afraid of a little blood. Keep me from getting bored." He stood up with a grunt while stretching his arms over his head. "Like right now..."

Duke scoffed and shook her head a few times. "This fuckin' guy's as crazy as Zeke. Guess that's to be expected from wearing Red armor on top'a all that blue..."

Robin cracked a grin and met her gaze evenly. "Ay, puta, that's what all that blood's for..." She stared for a few seconds as he strolled toward the front of the car while Miller called after him.

"Hey, where the fuck do you think you're going?"

Robin shrugged and stepped over a snoozing soldier. "I just said. Bored. Gonna go see the rest of the train."

"That douchebag Lovell said we have to wait in here until we're called to go eat!" Duke hissed. "You're gonna get us all in the shit, man!"

Robin paused and raised a finger thoughtfully. "Lovell. That was his name. Thanks, chica." He waved absently and then pulled the door open to step through as the rest of the platoon gawked at his back. He paid them no mind, however, yanking the door shut behind him and then pausing between the two cars as a flash of movement caught his attention.

He held himself in place between the freight cars and craned his neck to peer into the darkness, spotting a small group of taillights bouncing through the overgrown brush alongside the tracks. He tipped his head thoughtfully as the cluster of vehicles disappeared down a gravel road, moments before the train clacked onto a trestle bridge to send them rumbling across a massive gorge. Glancing up at the night sky through the gap between the cars, Robin felt a grin worm its way across his muzzle. A solution for that boredom might have been closer than he imagined.

Samael's vision swam as he followed Rolland and another of his guys to the back of the train; any hope of whittling away at his fear was dashed by the distant riverbank that melted into the foggy darkness of the canyon below, threatening to ingest him whole if he focused on it for too long. He closed his eyes and swallowed the rising bile, attempting to stave off the terror with a question that made his cracked voice a little too obvious. "So...how the fuck are we gonna get this shit off the train?!"

His eyes opened to find Rolland grinning bemusedly down at him while the other hoopster scrambled down the ladder at the back of the caboose. "You okay, redneck? What, you ain't scared of a little tumble, are ya?"

"Naw, just afraid I'll have to explain to Miz Sov 'bout the way we ain't even brought a fuckin' potato sack for all this mysterious loot!" he shouted back with more than a visible scowl. Rolland narrowed his eyes but smirked after a few seconds, sweeping an arm out emphatically.

"We're gonna confirm where the goods are, blow the car in front of it after we're past the Four Bridges, then strip 'em bare before anyone shows up to ruin our good time!" Rolland yelled in return. "Easy pickings!"

"Easy?!" Samael sputtered before jamming a finger against the top of the train car. "Do we even know if they got security or anything?!"

Rolland shrugged. "Our source said there might be a few Reds working for cash, nothing we gotta worry about."

Samael's scowl grew wider. "Goddammit..." He lowered his voice enough for it to be lost on the gale-force winds. "This fuckin' War..." He paused as the other hoopster stuck his head up from the rear of the caboose and gave a thumbs up. "Them Army boys don't get nothin' for merc jobs, why the fuck did this guy hire 'em?"

Rolland nodded back to his man and then fired Samael an annoyed expression. "Who gives a shit??" he yelled over the noise. "Guy's probably a cheap-ass! All it means for us is we ain't gotta deal with Special Forces, so why the fuck are you bitching?!?" Samael grimaced as Rolland slapped his shoulder and then pointed toward the front of the train. "Nolan's gonna stay back here as lookout. Let's join everyone else up front, work our way back 'til we find the shit...got it??"

Samael nodded his comprehension and did his best to ignore the knot in his stomach. But he was here for a reason, right? Technically it was to obey Rolland on the orders of Miss Sov, who he was also obeying on the orders of Andee...but no one said he couldn't try and eliminate some of the collateral damage along the way. If Nelson and Andee and everyone else were gonna keep accusing him of a bleeding heart, the least he could do was put it to good use.

Samael had encountered a lot of firsts since those fateful weeks with Tracer. Leaving Sampi and joining the Movement put him on a fast-track to see more of Sirca than he could have imagined. And of course, meeting York had only doubled the opportunity to broaden his horizons, which were only broadened further the moment Andee stepped into that cell in Xulod. The last few years had been nothing short of a storybook full of new experiences.

But somehow, this wasn't his first trip on a train. Maybe his first experience boarding from another moving vehicle, but he'd taken the train plenty before. The one time Nelson had sent him off to Twin City to work with Kiden, he had traveled by rail out of Honkalwood. And as long as he wasn't carrying a shitload of guns, equipment or a bunch of refugees, the Sircan rail system was a decent enough way for an enemy of the House to shuttle around faster than usual, without all the security required to hop onto a plane.

...The thought of doing anything on a plane sent a shudder down his spine and he shook his head rapidly to clear it while stepping into the next cabin. He had a sandwich in one hand, courtesy of the unattended plate he'd passed in the dining car -- pretty tasty, too, some kind of roasted meat layered between slices of cheese and a spicy sauce. He'd taken bites of it between poking his head into closets, bathrooms and private cabins, using the jacket he'd snatched in an earlier car to emphasize his cover as a confused teenager looking for his room.

The snack was admittedly helping to calm his frayed nerves.

He had no problem following someone else's lead on a job, and it happened regularly whenever he wasn't working solo. He might have been one of Nelson's most active field agents, though he knew just as well as her that he wasn't born to be a leader. So heeding Rolland's directives wasn't a big deal.

But even Nelson at her most ruthless was loath to involve the lives of common citizens, at least when it came to folks who didn't walk around with a silver spoon up their asses. Every smiling, confused, intrigued and bored face he passed was a reminder of what was at stake should the job go sideways.

"All fuh morf reathon 'oo find 'ith thit," he mumbled around a maw full of sandwich. He stepped into the connecting space and placed the sandwich between his jaws to hold in place as he quickly pawed through the closet situated near the door leading into the night-time scenery rushing past. No clues here either, though, just a few umbrellas and a walking stick he thought Juwo might really like if it were just a half meter shorter.

He reached up to hold the sandwich steady while taking another bite and passing into the next carriage. This one had several bench seats along one side and a cozy bar and coffee station taking up most of the other side. A few passengers were seated at the bar and several others lounged in the padded benches. A soldier wandered down the aisle toward him, sporting the most common variant of the Red Army armor in spite of his deep blue fur. The chest plate and arm pieces were about as red as red could be, complete with the typical scuffs, scratches and stains.

Samael's eyes drifted down to observe the soldier's legs were missing from below the knee, replaced with thin but sturdy-looking metal prosthetics. They flexed slightly with each languid stride, giving Samael the impression they must have been much nicer than the usual offerings to an injured veteran.

Samael glanced up once more, noting the metallic fang that stuck out just past the Red's lower jaw, then meeting the soldier's dark brown eyes for a second. Something in his chest twinged and he dared to keep the gaze a moment longer, staring past the dull, glazed-over facade to see a deeper glimmer. He knew that mask, he knew it all too well in the alternative versions that he and York both occasionally wore.

He took another chomp to distract from his silent interrogation, but a voice from the back of the car helpfully provided him with a far more direct diversion.

"Private Castro! About-face!"

Samael leaned slightly to the side to spot a ruddy-faced soldier in similar armor, albeit closer to purple in its hue. A small insignia marked his shoulder, which also drew Samael's gaze to spot Rolland propped against a bench at the back of the car. He traded a look with the hoopster before glancing back as the somewhat-ranked soldier barked: "Orders were to not leave until told to do so! Now you'll be joining myself and Miller with the cargo while the rest of the platoon enjoys a nice meal!"

Samael tried not to make the sandwich appear too delicious as he awkwardly peered back at the private, who turned around with all the urgency of a grazing buffalo. He shrugged at the directive, then strode toward his commanding officer with an idle grunt. "Sure thing." He glanced over his shoulder at Samael with a small snort. "Food looks like it sucks, anyway..."

The rebel finished the sandwich as a few of the passengers watched the retreating soldiers with mild interest. It was hard to ignore Rolland, though, whose widened eyes and crawgator grin made it clear he'd made the same assumption as Samael about their quarry.

Samael licked the last of the sauce from his fingers before meandering over to the bar and plopping onto an open stool. He kept his eyes on Rolland, watching the hoopster lean down to mutter into his jacket. Samael hadn't been given a radio of his own, so he could only guess at the discreet announcement. Maybe they were being told to ensure the train kept moving, maybe to be ready to intercept any soldiers coming their way. Maybe Rolland was telling them to rob the shit out of all the passengers while they waited for what now seemed like a skeleton crew protecting the loot. More inspiration to get the next part done quick.

The back door of the carriage slid open again to reveal seven Red Army soldiers. Rolland propped his head up in a hand with a distant expression while Samael busied himself with a menu from the bar. He peered over the top to watch the small group of Reds shuffle down the aisle, too occupied with their own conversations to cast any cautious glances through the cabin. It didn't make the standard-issue battle rifles or pistols any less threatening, however. Samael grimaced when he noticed one of them sporting a customized long-range rifle on her back, as well -- the brigade appeared bored, but they were still loaded for full combat.

As soon as the last soldier disappeared into the threshold between cars, Rolland caught Samael's eye and jerked his head toward the booth. The rebel chewed his lip, set down the menu and then hopped off the stool to wander to the hoopster with his hands shoved in the jacket's pockets. The glint in Rolland's eyes said everything.

Suddenly, a highway robbery seemed a lot more appealing.

.