The trio had been walking for a little over half an hour along the rusted train tracks when two blinding beams suddenly tore through the darkness ahead.
The light was so intense it washed over the wasteland, illuminating the cracked rails and shattered earth. Instinctively, Dracula shut his eyes, hissing in irritation, while Sunny and Lilith merely stared into the glare with cold, unflinching eyes.
Out of the dazzling light, the shape of a massive train emerged — its steel body humming with life. The screech of brakes echoed through the silent ruins as the train slowed to a halt before them.
From the metallic beast, three men stepped down, their heavy boots thudding against the gravel. The echo of their steps mixed with the faint hiss of steam escaping the train.
Each man carried an AK-47, weapons raised, fingers tense on the triggers. Their leader, a broad man with a scar running across his cheek, barked out in a harsh voice that carried authority and arrogance alike.
> "Hands in the air! Now! Any sneaky move and I'll blow your damned heads off!"
— March, the thug leader.
Sunny, Lilith, and Dracula didn't move. Their expressions were unreadable — calm, detached, as if looking at the walking dead.
---
Inside the first cabin, the control center glowed faintly under dim red lights.
A man in his forties — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a once-white shirt now stained with oil — sat lazily in the captain's chair. A cigarette hung from his lips as he watched the confrontation outside through the reinforced glass window.
> "Sir," said a younger man beside him nervously. "Are we not… overreacting? They were just passing by. Isn't this assault?"
The older man chuckled without turning.
> "Hmm… I suppose you're right. Come closer, Mantis."
Mantis hesitated, taking small, cautious steps forward. But before he could react, the older man's hand shot out — gripping his head with unnatural force. With a sickening crack, he slammed Mantis's skull into the control panel.
The first impact left a red smear. The second shattered the console.
By the fifth, Mantis was no longer breathing — his face an unrecognizable ruin. Yet the man did not stop until blood splattered across the cabin walls.
> "Haaah…" he exhaled, letting the lifeless body drop. "Did he really have to ruin my mood?"
He wiped a streak of blood from his cheek, took another puff of his cigarette, and reclined back in his chair. The glowing name tag on his chest read Vanguard.
Outside, the "show" continued.
---
March's patience was fraying. The veins on his neck bulged as anger surged through him.
> "I said HANDS UP! This is your last warning!"
He fired a warning shot into the air. The echo bounced through the empty wasteland.
Sunny didn't even flinch. Dracula leaned lazily on his greatsword, smirking.
Lilith's expression remained unreadable — eyes half-lidded, almost bored.
> "Look at this clown," Dracula sneered. "Are you just stupid or just pretending to be one?"
Dracula asked with sicasim.
At this monet march's fury snapped like a wire. He gave a curt, savage nod, and the three men opened fire. Bullets stitched the air, shredding grit and loose ballast, slicing through the silence toward Sunny, Lilith, and Dracula.
Sunny felt the impact of fearless calm — not because he was not afraid, but because fear had long since been catalogued and filed away. He took a single step, then none. Dracula shifted, long shadow falling across the track, greatsword balanced in one hand as though it were a casual cane. Lilith did not move — instead, she blurred.
The three attackers never saw the motion that killed them. One heartbeat they were firing; the next their bodies dropped, clean and still, heads separated from bodies with surgical precision. The gunfire stopped mid-rattle. The only sound was the thud of corpses against gravel.
Vanguard — the man who had sat enjoying the violence like a play — was not built for surprise. Sweat carved pale tracks down his jaw; the cigarette trembled between his fingers. He fumbled at the train controls, fingers skittering over buttons, intent on crushing the trio under steel and speed. The metallic beast shuddered as systems engaged.
Before the train could lurch, a shadowed pressure pressed coldly to the back of Vanguard's neck. He froze. A whisper of breath, a promise of death. He knew in that instant: one wrong move and his life would be finished.
"Please… please — we can talk," Vanguard stammered, voice frayed, eyes frantic. "I can— I'll hand you the controls. I'll give you anything. Don't—"
Something moved at his throat; steel kissed skin. His pleas broke into a sob that ended in a rattle. Warm blood spilled and slicked the console. His head collapsed forward, and the cigarette fell, extinguished in a small, pathetic puff.
A moment of stunned silence followed — then a screen lit up before Sunny's vision, as if someone had torn back the curtains of the world and let him glimpse the machine beneath.
A robotic voice, neutral and unhurried, announced:
> [Congratulations. You have killed a train owner. Authority over this train will now be transferred to you.]
Another window snapped into being, lines of data scrolling like the readout of an operating system awakening.
> [Name of Train Achieved: Apocalypse — Doomsday Train]
[Tier: Six]
[Necessary Description: Doomsday Train runs on iron ore mined from designated deposits. Every 1,000 iron ore units mined allows the host to continuously upgrade the train while providing sustenance for up to 1,000 slaves. Reaching Level 15 awakens a special train system — Dominant. The higher the train's tier, the more advanced its technology; at the highest upgrades, life aboard can mimic the modern world before the Collapse. Upgrade to erase threats in its path.]
[Current Configuration: 10 cars total, including main control center; four mounted machine guns (roof and sides); reinforced side cutting blades; remote neural control enabled.]
[Global Users: 50,000,000 active train users. Host's train is not yet ranked.]
Sunny's lips twitched into a small, mischievous smile as he read. The cold, robotic cadence of the message did not offend him; it informed him. To him, it was an inventory, a promise, a map.
"Ain't you being a little harsh?" he asked the empty air — or perhaps the train's AI itself. He felt the thrill of power like a new coin in his palm.
There was no reply. The screen winked out. The world narrowed again to the hiss of the dying air, the metallic tang of blood, and the three bodies on the track.
Sunny exited the control cabin at a measured pace. Outside, Lilith and Dracula still held the remaining thugs pinned — not with ropes or guns, but with an authority that bent even the living to stillness. The surviving men lay sprawled, eyes rolling with the aftertaste of fear.
Dracula's grin was slow and predatory. "Next time," he drawled, "try not to die in the captain's chair. It ruins the ambience."
Lilith's stare cut through the thug nearest her, and he whimpered so softly it was almost a sound of apology. She released him only when Sunny reached their side and rested a hand on the top of the nearest carriage. The train hummed beneath his palm, alive in a way that made his bones sing.
He had questions — more than a single cabin or a database could answer. How many iron deposits were left? Who had mapped them? What dangers came with hosting a Tier Six train? But for now, the freshly acquired authority was an intoxicant; the promise of movement, of resources and men and a mobile fortress, had a weight sweet enough to taste.
"Good work," Sunny said, voice low. "We'll need manpower, supplies, and—" He paused, looking up the long length of the train, imagining what each car could become. "—ambition."
Lilith simply nodded. Dracula chuckled softly and sheathed his sword with a metallic whisper. The train's lights flickered as if acknowledging their resolve.
Far down the track, a silhouette watched from the ridgeline — a small figure framed by dying light. Whether ally or threat, Sunny could not tell. But the world had just shifted; power had changed hands. The rails hummed as if to mark the turning of a wheel.
Sunny stepped aboard his new domain and felt, for the first time in a long time, the satisfying certainty of purpose. Behind him, the wasteland exhaled; ahead, the rails gleamed like a possible future.
And somewhere, buried in the train's bowels, an unspoken program began to tick toward awakening.