The wind on the roof was becoming unbearable. Acid rain began to fall, sizzling against the iron plating of the train cars.
"We need to go inside," Cassidy yelled, shielding her deck of cards under her coat. "Unless you want to dissolve before we get paid!"
Silas nodded. He found a maintenance hatch on the roof of the third car. He wedged his shovel blade under the rim and heaved.
SCREEECH.
The hatch flew open. A blast of warm, rotting air shot up from the dark.
"Ladies first," Silas gestured.
"Chivalry is dead," Cassidy muttered, dropping into the hole. "And so are you."
[The Cargo Wakes]
They landed in a narrow corridor. The only light came from flickering gas lamps bolted to the walls.
To their left and right were rows of vertical stasis tanks.
Inside the tanks were men. Or what used to be men.
Their skin was translucent, revealing black veins pumping thick Tar. Their eyes were sewn shut.
"The Sheriff's elite guard," Silas whispered, wiping slime off his shoulder. "Sequence 9: Warriors. Or failed attempts at them."
Suddenly, the train lurched violently as it hit a sharp curve.
The lights flickered and died.
When they buzzed back on a second later, a sound filled the car.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
It was coming from inside the glass tanks.
"Silas," Cassidy backed up, her mechanical arm whirring as it primed a piston. "They're waking up."
CRASH.
A fist punched through the glass of the nearest tank.
Then another.
Black Tar spilled onto the floor. A "Subject" stepped out, stepping on the broken glass with bare feet. It ripped the stitches from its eyes. There were no eyeballs underneath—just glowing red pits.
HUNGER, the thing hissed.
"Run," Silas said.
[The Gauntlet]
They sprinted down the narrow corridor.
Behind them, glass shattered in a chain reaction. Dozens of subjects poured out, screeching like banshees.
"They're fast!" Cassidy yelled, throwing a card over her shoulder.
Gambler Ability: Ricochet.
The card bounced off a pipe, hit a wall, and sliced the jugular of the leading monster. Black ichor sprayed.
But the monster didn't stop. It just ran faster.
"They feel no pain!" Cassidy cursed. "My cards are useless against meat-shields!"
"Get behind me," Silas stopped running.
He turned to face the horde. The corridor was only wide enough for two people. It was a choke point.
And Silas Vane was the cork.
He raised his shovel.
Corpse Collector Ability: Rigor Mortis.
He didn't cast a spell. He forced his muscles to lock into a state of supernatural hardness. He became an iron statue.
The first monster lunged.
CLANG.
Silas swung the shovel like a baseball bat.
The flat of the blade hit the monster's chest. Ribs shattered. The creature was launched backward, knocking down three others.
"Go, Cassidy! Open the door!" Silas roared, swinging again. He was a machine of cold violence. Chop. Bash. Thrust.
He wasn't killing them—they were already dead—he was breaking them. Snapping legs, crushing spines.
Cassidy reached the heavy iron door at the end of the car. It was locked.
"It's jammed!" she yelled, fumbling with her lockpicks. "I need time!"
"You don't have time!" Silas grunted, holding back a wall of clawing, biting Tar-monsters. One of them bit his shoulder. Silas didn't flinch; his skin was as cold and hard as marble. He headbutted the creature, cracking its skull.
Cassidy looked at the lock. She looked at the horde.
"Screw finesse," she growled.
She placed her mechanical hand on the lock.
Steam-Overload.
Pistons in her arm hissed. The brass knuckles glowed red hot.
PUNCH.
She punched the lock. The sheer force blew the door off its hinges.
"Move!" she grabbed Silas's coat and yanked him through.
They slammed the door shut and spun the locking wheel just as the horde slammed against it from the other side.
BANG. BANG. The metal bulged, but it held.
[The Engine Room]
They were safe.
But they weren't alone.
They were in the Locomotive.
The heat was intense. It was a cathedral of fire and soot.
In the center stood the massive boiler, roaring with green flames.
And welded to the front of the boiler was the Conductor.
He wasn't a man wearing a suit.
He was a torso fused into the machinery. His legs were pipes. His left arm was a lever controlling the steam pressure. His face was a mask of brass with a speaker-grille for a mouth.
Engineer Stoker. A Beyonder of the Savant Pathway (Technology/Machines) who had taken his devotion too far.
UNAUTHORIZED PASSENGERS, Stoker's voice boomed, amplified by the train's whistle. TICKETS, PLEASE.
"We're auditing the cargo," Cassidy stepped forward, sweat dripping down her face. "Hand over the lockbox, Stoker."
DENIED, Stoker pulled a lever.
A jet of superheated steam blasted from a vent in the floor, right where Cassidy was standing.
"Whoa!" She rolled away, her coat singed.
"He controls the environment," Silas noted, keeping low. The heat was sapping his strength. As a Corpse Collector, he thrived in the cold. Here, he felt sluggish. Weak.
BURN, Stoker laughed mechanically.
He opened the furnace door. He shoveled pure Tar into the fire.
The green flames roared. The temperature in the room spiked.
Silas fell to one knee. His vision swam. "Too... hot..."
[The Gamble]
"Silas!" Cassidy yelled. She saw him fading.
She looked at Stoker. He was armored. He was stationary. But he was connected to everything.
She looked at her deck of cards. She had one special card left. A Joker.
Gambler Ability: All or Nothing.
It was a dangerous move. It swapped the luck of two targets.
"Hey! Rusty!" Cassidy screamed at Stoker.
Stoker turned his brass face toward her. PEST.
He aimed a high-pressure rivet gun attached to his shoulder.
Cassidy threw the Joker.
It didn't hit Stoker. It hit the Pressure Gauge above his head.
The gauge cracked.
"I bet you blow a gasket!" Cassidy yelled.
For a second, nothing happened.
Stoker laughed. MISCALCULATION.
He pulled the trigger on the rivet gun.
Click.
The gun jammed.
Bad luck.
Simultaneously, the pressure gauge reading spiked to critical. The steam pipe above Stoker—which had held for twenty years—suddenly decided that today was the day to fail.
BOOM.
The pipe burst.
A torrent of liquid nitrogen coolant (used to keep the engine from melting) sprayed directly onto Stoker.
[The Finish]
The coolant froze the Conductor instantly.
The extreme shift from heat to cold shattered his brass armor.
The room temperature plummeted.
Silas gasped. The cold air filled his lungs.
Strength returned.
He stood up. The frost on his coat crackled.
"My turn," Silas whispered.
He charged.
He didn't use the shovel. He jumped onto the boiler, grabbed the frozen, brittle head of the Conductor, and twisted.
SNAP.
Stoker's head broke off like an icicle.
The body went limp. The train's engine began to whine, losing coordination.
"The lockbox!" Cassidy pointed to a safe welded beneath the Conductor's seat.
Silas smashed the frozen lock with his shovel handle.
He pulled out a heavy, lead-lined box.
"Got it," Silas gasped.
[The Derailment]
The train screamed. Without Stoker to regulate the pressure, the engine was going critical.
"We have to jump!" Cassidy yelled.
"At this speed?" Silas looked out the window. The world was a blur of dark cliffs.
"Do you trust my luck?" Cassidy asked, grabbing his arm.
"No," Silas said honestly.
"Good. Me neither."
She grabbed a lever marked Emergency Brake.
She didn't pull it. She kicked it.
The wheels locked.
Sparks showered the night like fireworks. The train shrieked, tilting, lifting off the rails.
As the locomotive tipped over the edge of a ravine, Cassidy and Silas leaped into the darkness.
They tumbled down a steep, muddy embankment.
Behind them, the Iron-Eater crashed into the canyon floor.
KA-BOOM.
A mushroom cloud of green fire lit up the night.
[The Prize]
Silas lay in the mud, staring at the burning wreckage below.
He was bruised, bleeding, and exhausted.
But in his hand, he gripped the lead box.
Cassidy crawled over, her hat missing, her mechanical arm hissing smoke.
"Did we... did we make it?"
Silas cracked the box open.
Inside, resting on velvet, was a pulsating, crystalline organ. It looked like a heart made of grey stone.
Sequence 8: Gravekeeper Characteristic.
Silas felt the hunger roar in his gut. It was a primal, magnetic pull.
"Yes," Silas closed the box. "We made it."
He looked at the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise—a pale, sickly grey dawn.
They were miles from Blackwater.
They were in the Badlands.
"Where to now, partner?" Cassidy asked, catching her breath.
Silas stood up, clutching the box.
"We find a graveyard," Silas said. "I have a potion to brew."