The afternoon sun glazed the sky in molten gold, a steady blaze that shimmered across the sprawling plains.
The train roared through the wilderness like a black dagger, its carriages rattling in rhythm, steam bleeding into the dry heat above. Dust chased it, swirling in coils along the steel tracks.
Above, on its humming roof, six shadows clung low against the wind.
Each of them was masked—angular, silver-faced things that reflected the sunlight like blades. They wore lightweight armor beneath high-collared cloaks, matte-black and wind-swept.
In their gloved hands, polished rods clicked against their thighs, ready and trained.
"We're approaching Car Five," muttered the one in front, crouched near the seam of the car.
His voice was calm but alert—processed through a voice modulator beneath the mask.
The second closest leaned forward, surveying the roof ahead. "Alpha and Bravo are in place?"
