The foreman scribbled something on his clipboard—probably "derailed immediately" or "useless scrap"—but I didn't even pretend to care. My giant pistons still throbbed with leftover anger, steam curling from my funnel in uneven bursts like an irritated dragon.
Percy's wide-eyed admiration meant nothing. Neither did the bitter green engine's stunned silence. "Happy now?" I snapped at nobody in particular, my wheels grinding against the rails with unnecessary force.
Despite my grumbling and the steam still venting angrily from my safety valves, I focused on shunting the trucks properly—aligning each coupling with rough precision. "Stupid buffers," I muttered as one stubborn wagon refused to connect smoothly, forcing me to reverse and nudge it harder. My wheels screeched against the rails, but the trucks finally linked with a satisfying metallic clunk.
The foreman nodded, scribbling more notes. "Not bad for a first attempt, Number 4," he said, though his tone suggested he'd expected worse. I snorted steam, my boiler simmering with resentment. Of course he'd expected failure. Everyone did. But I'd be damned if I'd give them the satisfaction.
Percy's hopeful face peered around the corner of the shed, his funnel puffing timidly. "That was jolly good!" he wheeshed, his voice high-pitched and grating. I rolled my eyes at that.
The bitter green engine—still watching from the sidelines—let out a deep chuff as she rolled forward, her expression sour. "Well, that's one trial down, now it's time for the best."
"Oh, shut your smokebox," I grumbled, steam billowing from my funnel angrily. Despite my pessimistic mood and slight anger issues, I still tried my hardest to get the job done right—even if it meant dealing with her nonsense.
The foreman tapped his clipboard. "Number 3, you're next." The bitter green engine—Number 3—rolled forward with a haughty chuff, steam curling from her funnel like smoke from a pretentious cigar. "Finally," she sneered, passing so close her buffers nearly scraped my paintwork. "Time to show them how *real* engines perform."
Despite my simmering frustration and the coal-dust anger clogging my valves, I watched intently as she coupled to the test trucks. *Crash!* Her rough shunt sent wagons clattering violently—no finesse, just brute force. "See?" she crowed, spinning her wheels needlessly. "Perfect technique." But I noticed the foreman's frown as he scribbled notes, and felt petty satisfaction curl in my smokebox like steam pressure building.
Number 3's triumphant expression faltered when the foreman cleared his throat. "Bit... forceful, weren't you?" Her face darkened like a boiler about to burst. "The trucks aren't scrap metal yet," he added dryly, making Percy giggle—a sound like a kettle boiling over.
I couldn't resist. "Guess being *special* requires more than just a green paintjob," I rumbled, steam hissing between my teeth. My anger still bubbled, but seeing her smugness derail was almost worth this entire cursed situation. Almost.
The foreman rubbed his temples. "Right. Number 2—your turn." The blue engine beside me squeaked like a startled whistle, her wheels trembling. "Oh! Oh dear!" She rolled forward in jerky movements, buffers clanking nervously against the waiting trucks. Despite my pessimism and the coal-dust temper still clogging my valves, I found myself leaning forward slightly. "Don't overthink it," I muttered. She glanced back, surprised, before giving a tiny nod.
Her coupling was gentle—too gentle. The trucks barely jostled as she connected, her funnel puffing apologetic little clouds. "There we are!" she wheeshed, voice wobbling. The foreman's pen hovered uncertainly over his clipboard. "Hmm." Percy beamed like she'd performed a miracle.
Number 3 scoffed loudly. "Pathetic."
My pistons clenched. "At least she didn't treat the trucks like a demolition derby," I shot back, steam swirling aggressively around my dome. The foreman sighed, clearly regretting his career choices. "Enough. Number 5—you're next."
A deep, rattling groan echoed from the far end of the shed. Slowly the massive (but still slightly smaller than me) black tank engine rolled forward. She was soon with the rest of us as she still seemed down. Her wheels creaked slightly, steam lazily puffing from her funnel. She didn't even say a word as she moved toward the trucks, her expression sad yet resigned—as if she already knew she'd fail.
"With the *greatest of ease*, I'm sure," the bitter green engine muttered sarcastically as the black engine rolled forward. I shot her a glare—steam hissing from my valves—but held my tongue. The black engine didn't react, her smokebox puffing slow, defeated clouds as she lined up with the trucks.
*Chuff-chuff-chuff.* Her pistons moved sluggishly, like she was already halfway to the scrapyard in her mind. But then—something unexpected. Her coupling was smooth. Not timid like the blue engine's, not violent like the green one's. Just... efficient. The trucks clicked together without protest, barely swaying. Even the foreman's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Huh," he grunted, scribbling something that might've been approval.
"That's cheating!" the bitter green engine blustered, her wheels spinning uselessly. "She didn't even *try*!" I rolled my eyes so hard my dome rattled. "Unlike your *spectacular* crash-and-burn," I snapped, steam billowing around me like an angry storm cloud. Despite my simmering temper, I couldn't deny the black engine's quiet competence—though I'd sooner admit it to a brick wall than to these idiots.
The foreman sighed, rubbing his temples. "Right. Last one—Number 1." Percy's face lit up like a lantern, his tiny wheels squeaking excitedly. "Oh! Oh goodness!" he wheeshed, practically vibrating off the rails as he rolled forward. The bitter green engine groaned. "Here we go..."
I braced myself for disaster—but oddly, my anger felt... thinner. Like boiler pressure dropping after a long run. Percy fumbled his first attempt, buffers bouncing off the trucks with a pathetic *clang*. Yet his second try? Perfect. The trucks settled together like they'd been waiting for him.
"Jolly good!" Percy beamed, steam puffing happily from his funnel. The foreman actually smirked. Even the black tank engine gave a small smile—though she quickly hid it behind another lazy puff of smoke.
"See?" the bitter green engine snapped, her wheels grinding against the rails. "Luck. Pure luck." My boiler bubbled with irritation. "Oh, shut your smokebox," I growled, steam hissing between my teeth. Despite my pessimism and the coal dust still clogging my valves, I had to admit—Percy's cheerful persistence was almost... admirable.
If kinda annoying.
Then was the next test, going uphill with all the wagons. Percy was first, but he struggled badly, puffing and wheezing like an overworked kettle. "Oh dear—oh bother—oh *steam*!" he whimpered as his wheels slipped on the rails. The bitter green engine—Number 3—rolled her eyes so hard I heard them clank. "Hopeless," she muttered.
Despite my pessimism and the anger still bubbling in my boiler, I focused ahead. *Just get it done,* I told myself as the foreman waved me forward. My pistons pumped hard, grinding against the rails with stubborn determination. Steam billowed around me in thick clouds as I tackled the incline, every chuff echoing my frustration. The trucks groaned behind me, but I hauled them upward—slowly, surely—even as my boiler screamed in protest.
Number 3 smirked when I finally crested the hill. "Took you long enough," she sneered. My response was a violent hiss of steam right in her face, making her cough. "Oh like you could do better."
"Oh I'll do just fine," Number 3 sniffed as she rolled up to the trucks with all the grace of a sack of coal dumped down a mineshaft. Her pistons pumped aggressively, her wheels screeching against the rails like fingernails on slate. "Watch and *learn*." With a mighty chuff, she lurched forward—only to immediately stall halfway up the incline, her wheels spinning uselessly. Steam erupted from her funnel in furious bursts as she slid backward, nearly crashing into Percy.
"BLASTED RAILS!" she bellowed, her face twisting into such a comical grimace that even the usually gloomy black engine snorted steam through her funnel. Percy squeaked and rolled hastily backward, his tiny green wheels clattering in panic. "Oh dear oh dear oh dear—"
I couldn't help it. My pistons clenched as laughter—actual *laughter*—bubbled up my boiler like an overheating safety valve. Steam jetted messily from my dome in uneven spurts. "Oh, *that's* rich!" I wheezed, my buffers rattling with suppressed mirth. "Watch and learn, eh? More like *watch and burn*!" The bitter green engine's face darkened to a shade that nearly matched her paintwork as she struggled to regain traction, her wheels kicking up sparks against the rails.
"Number 3, you're slipping!" Percy squeaked helpfully, immediately regretting it as she rounded on him with a snarl that could strip paint. I rolled forward before she could retaliate, steam puffing smugly from my funnel. "And *I'm* the one headed for the scrapyard?" I rumbled, tilting my smokebox just enough to emphasize her pathetic slide backward.
Despite my simmering anger and the coal-dust frustration still clogging my valves, seeing her fail so spectacularly was sweeter than fresh grease on a squeaky axle. The foreman's whistle cut through our bickering like a brake shoe clamping down. "Enough!" he barked, rubbing his temples like they might explode. "Number 3, you're making more smoke than sense. Get those trucks moving *properly* or you're switching to yard duties."
Her face twisted into a scowl that could curdle milk, but she finally managed to haul the trucks uphill—albeit with more wheelspin than dignity. Steam jetted from her funnel in furious bursts, her pistons pounding like a drummer with a grudge. "This is *ridiculous*," she hissed under her breath, her buffers twitching with every chuff.
The blue engine—Number 2—was next, her wheels trembling as she rolled forward. "Oh dear oh dear," she wheeshed, steam puffing in nervous little clouds. But to everyone's surprise (especially mine), she tackled the incline steadily, her pistons pumping with quiet determination. The trucks barely protested, clicking along behind her like docile ducklings.
Number 5—the black tank engine—followed with the same resigned efficiency, her deep chuffs echoing like sighs. She didn't falter, didn't rush—just *did it*, hauling the trucks upward with a grim, smokebox clenching focus that even I had to respect. Percy, ever the optimist, cheered weakly from the sidelines. "Jolly good!" His voice was met with a contemptuous snort from Number 3, who was still fuming like an overstocked firebox.
As I watched them, my anger simmered lower—not gone, but banked like a fire waiting to reignite. The foreman's clipboard was filling fast, his pen scratching out our fates. Whether I liked it or not, we were all in this together—scrapheap or not. My wheels creaked as I adjusted my stance, steam curling from my funnel in thoughtful spirals.
This wasn't over.
Not by a longshot.