The flying train continued its predetermined journey through the sky, cutting through clouds with mechanical precision. Inside the compartment, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically from the chaos of moments before. Where there had been shouting, confrontation, and sudden violence, now there was only silence.
But it wasn't a peaceful silence. It was the heavy, oppressive quiet that comes after trauma, when the mind is too overwhelmed to form words, when thoughts spiral inward rather than outward. Each of them had retreated into their own mental space, processing what had just happened in their own way.
Angela sat by the window, her forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the landscape far below drift past in abstract patterns of green and brown and blue. Her synthetic eyes tracked the movement without really seeing it, her consciousness turned entirely inward.
*That figure just died in front of us,* she thought, the reality of it still not quite settling into something she could accept. *One moment she was there, talking, explaining, and the next... gone. Just like that.*
She'd seen death before, of course. In her line of work—whatever that work had been, the memories were fragmented now—death had been a constant companion. But there was something different about witnessing it so suddenly, so violently, with no warning or buildup. One second Vera had been standing there, and the next she was falling through empty air toward the ground thousands of feet below.
*Who was that sniper?* The question circled through her mind like a vulture. *Who has the capability to track a flying train through the sky and make that kind of shot? What kind of resources, what kind of technology does that require?*
Her head was beginning to ache—not from physical pain, her synthetic body didn't experience pain in the traditional sense, but from the sheer mental exhaustion of trying to make sense of too many variables with too little information.
*Ugh, this is becoming a headache,* she thought irritably. *And what is this Tree of Hope even about? Vera said it grants powers, that S.O.W. and the Sinners got their abilities from it. But there should be an exchange, right? There's always an exchange. Power doesn't come from nowhere. What's the cost?*
She turned the problem over in her mind, examining it from different angles, trying to apply logic to something that seemed to defy logical explanation. Trees didn't grant supernatural powers. That wasn't how the world worked. But then again, she was living in a synthetic body, riding in a flying train, having just watched someone get shot by a sniper from a flying car. Clearly, her understanding of how the world worked was incomplete at best.
*Whatever happens,* she told herself firmly, her mental voice taking on a tone of absolute determination, *I will get my body. A real body, with real human skin. No matter what it takes, no matter what the cost, no matter what exchanges need to be made. I will be whole again.*
The thought gave her something to hold onto, a fixed point in the chaos. Everything else might be uncertain, but that goal remained clear and unwavering.
She was so lost in these thoughts that she didn't notice Eve approaching until the synthetic woman was standing right beside her.
"Lady Angela," Eve said softly, her voice hesitant, almost fragile.
Angela jumped slightly, startled out of her reverie. She turned to look at Eve, seeing the uncertainty written across her artificial features. "What is it?" she asked, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. It wasn't Eve's fault that everything had gone to hell.
Eve was quiet for a moment, seeming to struggle with how to phrase what she wanted to say. Her hands clasped and unclasped nervously—a remarkably human gesture for someone who wasn't human at all. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and uncertain, like a child asking questions about things too big for them to understand.
"What am I?" she asked. "Why is all of this happening?"
The questions hung in the air between them, heavy with existential weight. Angela looked at Eve, really looked at her, and saw not just a synthetic being or a tool or a companion, but someone genuinely struggling with the fundamental questions of existence and purpose.
Angela sighed, the exhaustion she felt seeping into the sound. "If I knew that," she replied, her voice softer than it had been, "I would make a plan most certainly. But I think it's something to do with your synthetic soul. That's what everyone seems to be after, isn't it?"
"Why is that?" Eve pressed, leaning forward slightly, desperate for understanding. "What makes it so valuable? What makes me so important that people would do all of this?"
Angela closed her eyes briefly, feeling the weight of the question and her own inadequacy to answer it. "Eve," she said, opening her eyes again and meeting the synthetic woman's gaze, "I don't know. And honestly, I don't want to talk about it right now. I can barely make sense of my own situation, let alone explain yours."
The words came out harsher than she'd intended, and she saw Eve recoil slightly, hurt flickering across her features. Angela felt a pang of guilt, but she didn't take the words back. She didn't have the energy for comforting lies right now.
"Oh," Eve said quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."
"You're not bothering me," Angela tried to soften her tone. "I just... I need time to think. We all do."
Eve nodded, accepting this, though the hurt hadn't entirely left her expression. She turned and walked back to her own seat, moving with careful, measured steps that suggested she was very conscious of taking up as little space as possible.
Once seated, Eve folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them, her mind turning inward just as Angela's had. *What is a synthetic soul?* she wondered. *What does it mean? Everyone talks about it like it's something precious, something worth fighting and dying for, but no one has ever explained to me what it actually is.*
She turned her hands over, examining them as if they might hold answers. They looked human enough, felt human enough when she touched things. But she knew they weren't real. Just advanced machinery, sophisticated programming, artificial constructs designed to mimic life without actually being alive.
*Why did I get this?* she continued to wonder. *This synthetic soul, this thing that makes me different from other artificial beings. Was it intentional? An accident? A gift or a curse?*
The questions spiraled through her processing systems without finding any solid ground to rest upon. She had memories or things that felt like memories but she didn't know if they were real or programmed. She had feelings or things that felt like feelings
but she didn't know if they were genuine emotions or just sophisticated simulations of them.
*What am I?* The question returned, as fundamental and unanswerable as before.
Across the compartment, Carmilla had pulled out a cigarette from somewhere in her coat. She lit it with a small device that produced a flame without any visible fuel source
probably another one of her inventions. She took a long drag, held it, then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl and dissipate in the recycled air of the train.
Smoking helped her think. Always had. There was something about the ritual of it, the physical act of inhaling and exhaling, that helped organize her thoughts into productive patterns.
*How does she know about the Tree of Hope?* Carmilla wondered, her analytical mind working through the problem methodically. *That's supposed to be one of S.O.W.'s biggest secrets. We've kept that information locked down for decades, maybe longer. Only the highest-level members even know it exists.*
She took another drag, considering the implications. If Vera had known about the Tree, then either she had been part of S.O.W. at some train which seemed unlikely given her apparent opposition to them or someone had leaked the information. And if information about the Tree had leaked, what else might have gotten out?
*This is a security nightmare,* she thought grimly. *If word gets out more widely, if everyone starts trying to find the Tree, trying to claim its power for themselves...*
She didn't finish the thought. The potential consequences were too vast and chaotic to fully contemplate.
Carmilla reached over to the control panel built into the armrest of her seat. With a few quick gestures, she activated a holographic display that shimmered into existence in the air before her. It was a digital virtual television, though calling it that was like calling a supercomputer an abacus technically accurate but missing the vast gulf of capability between the two.
She navigated through various channels and feeds with practiced ease, her fingers dancing through the holographic interface. She was looking for something specific, checking on conditions in various parts of the world, assessing potential threats and complications to their journey.
The screen finally settled on a news broadcast. A weather reporter stood in front of a map of Europe, gesturing to various regions as they delivered their report. The text at the bottom of the screen read: "SEVERE WEATHER ALERT - NETHERLANDS."
"There is a heavy red rainstorm in the Netherlands," the reporter was saying, their voice professionally calm despite the severity of what they were describing. "Wind speeds have reached dangerous levels, and flooding is expected in low-lying areas. Residents are advised to stay indoors and avoid unnecessary travel."
The camera cut to footage of the storm itself
sheets of rain so thick they looked almost solid, trees bent nearly horizontal by the force of the wind, streets already beginning to flood with water that had nowhere to go.
Angela had been watching the holographic display from her seat. She frowned, confusion evident on her face. "Why are you looking at Netherlands news?" she asked. "Aren't we going to land in Canada? That's where we are right now."
Carmilla didn't look away from the display, but a small smile played at the corners of her mouth the kind of smile that suggested she knew something others didn't. "Well, we will go to the Netherlands," she said casually, as if it were obvious. "You forgot what that figure said? Valenora, the Flower's Home. That's in the Netherlands."
"Then why don't we go directly to that side?" Angela pressed, her frown deepening. "Wouldn't flying straight there be faster? Why land in Canada at all if our destination is in Europe?"
Carmilla finally turned to look at Angela, her expression becoming more serious. She took another drag from her cigarette before answering. "If we go by that side if we try to approach the Netherlands from the east or south Nazi Germany would capture us immediately. I'm certain the Sinners are already looking for us, and they have significant influence with the Nazi regime. We'd be intercepted before we even crossed the border."
Angela's eyes widened. "Nazi Germany? But... I thought..." She trailed off, confusion mixing with disbelief.
"I'm surprised by one thing, though," Carmilla continued, her voice taking on a more contemplative tone. She gestured at the map still displayed on the holographic screen, zooming it out to show more of Europe. "This time, Nazi Germany is way smaller than I know it to be from history."
She highlighted various countries on the map as she spoke, each one lighting up in red to show Nazi occupation. "They've captured France, Belgium, Spain, Italy, Austria, Poland, and Hungary. But it's not like the old timeline
not like what I studied in the history books. The occupation is different, more limited. And they even captured Spain this time, which didn't happen in the original World War II timeline."
"What are you talking about?" Angela asked, her confusion now complete. "Original timeline? What does that mean?"
Carmilla looked at her for a long moment, seeming to debate how much to explain. Finally, she sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. "In the past in the history I learned
the Nazis captured the Netherlands as well during World War II. But now, apparently they haven't. The Netherlands remains independent, though barely. That's why we can use it as our entry point into continental Europe."
Angela gasp and said with uncertain
"It's impossible we can enter netherlands "
"Is it?" Carmilla raised an eyebrow. "You're sitting in a flying train, in a synthetic body, on your way to find a magical tree that grants supernatural powers. At what point does 'impossible' become a useful concept?"
Angela had no answer to then now," Angela said instead, getting to the main point, "what are you thinking about? What's your plan?"
Carmilla's expression shifted, becoming more focused, more animated. This was her element planning, strategizing, thinking three steps ahead of everyone else. She leaned forward, her hands moving as she spoke, gesturing to illustrate her points.
"First," she began, ticking off points on her fingers, "we will land in Canada as planned. The train's destination is locked in, so we have no choice about that anyway. Once we're on the ground, we'll need to change our identities new IDs, new documentation, new everything. That will take some time, but I have agents already working on it. They're very efficient."
"Then?" Angela prompted.
"Then we travel by underwater car," Carmilla continued. "I have a modified vehicle that can travel beneath the Atlantic Ocean. It's completely undetectable by conventional means no radar signature, no sonar reflection, nothing. We'll be ghosts as far as anyone watching is concerned."
She pulled up another holographic display, this one showing a route traced across a map of the Atlantic. "We'll enter European waters near the coast of the Netherlands. There will be an ID check at the border checkpoint the Netherlands is paranoid about maintaining their independence, so security is tight but my forged documents are perfect. They'll pass any inspection."
"And then?" Eve had been listening quietly, but now she leaned forward, drawn into the explanation.
"And then we go to the place that figure mentioned. Valenora, the Flower's Home. We find out what this Tree of Hope actually is, and we get what we came for." Carmilla's voice was confident, assured. "Angela gets her human body, Eve gets answers about her synthetic soul, and I..." She paused. "I get whatever comes next."
Angela studied Carmilla's face, trying to read the confidence she saw there. "You think this will work?" she asked skeptically. "You really believe we can just waltz into Nazi-controlled territory, slip past all their security, and find this mysterious location without anyone stopping us?"
Carmilla's smile was sharp and self-assured. "I've already thought about every outcome," she declared, her voice ringing with absolute certainty. "Every possible variable, every potential complication, every way this could go wrong I've considered it all and planned accordingly. Don't think about it. Just trust me."
The confidence in her voice was almost infectious. Despite all her doubts, despite everything that had gone wrong so far, Angela found herself wanting to believe. Maybe Carmilla really had thought of everything. Maybe they really could pull this off.
The train began to descend, the change in altitude making their ears pop. Through the windows, the landscape below was growing larger, more detailed. They could see individual buildings now, roads, vehicles. They were approaching their landing site.
"Everyone prepare for landing," Carmilla announced, stubbing out another cigarette she'd lit at some point during her explanation. "Once we're on the ground, we move quickly. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Understood?"
Angela and Eve both nodded, though Angela's nod was more reluctant than Eve's.
The train touched down with remarkable smoothness, barely a tremor running through the compartment despite the complexity of transitioning from flight to ground travel. The mechanical hum that had accompanied them throughout the journey shifted in pitch and intensity, settling into a lower, more grounded rhythm.
As soon as the doors opened, Carmilla was on her feet and moving. Angela and Eve hurried to follow, stepping out onto a platform that looked like any other train station—if you ignored the fact that it was specifically designed for aircraft that masqueraded as trains.
Waiting on the platform were three figures. They stood in perfect formation, their postures identical, their movements synchronized. As Carmilla approached, Angela got a better look at them and realized they weren't human.
Agent robots. Advanced models, designed to pass for human at a distance but clearly artificial up close. Their faces had that uncanny valley quality almost human, but not quite, something indefinably off about the proportions and movements. Their eyes reflected light strangely, and their skin had a faint artificial sheen to it.
"Welcome, Lady Carmilla," they said in perfect unison, their voices emotionless and flat, like audio recordings played through speakers. "We have already completed the tasks you specified. All documentation is prepared and ready for your departure."
"Good," Carmilla replied briskly. "Efficiency appreciated. Any complications?"
"None, Lady Carmilla. All parameters were within acceptable ranges."
Carmilla nodded, satisfied. She turned back to Angela and Eve, her expression serious. "Be careful," she said, and there was something in her voice that hadn't been there before something that might have been genuine concern. "If we die, well... we can't blame anyone if we die. This is the choice we're making."
"Shut up," Angela snapped, though there wasn't much heat in it. The constant reminders of their mortality were wearing thin.
Eve stepped forward, her synthetic features arranged in what might have been a hopeful expression. "Miss Carmilla," she said softly, "I hope your plan works."
Then, more quietly, so quietly that Angela almost didn't hear it, Eve added: "I hope I could have known her more."
Angela glanced at Eve, realizing she was thinking about Vera. Despite everything
despite the suspicion, despite the unclear motives, despite the fact that Vera had been involved in attempts to steal Eve's synthetic soul Eve had felt some connection to her. And now Vera was gone, fallen from the sky with so many questions left unanswered.
Carmilla was already walking toward a vehicle at the edge of the platform presumably the underwater car she'd mentioned. The agent robots moved to load their minimal luggage, their movements precise and mechanical.
None of them noticed the two figures standing in the shadows at the far end of the platform.