Arcana 99: Stage One

Nerio had stepped beside the woman to get a better view of the one person in the car not obsessed with motivational marketing. The best fitting word he could find to describe her was ‘normal’. She looked like any other traveling businesswoman, and she was hiding no weapons beneath her ordinary clothing. Her clothes didn’t even have any armored portions like Nerio’s own. Either this woman was absolutely content with dying in the crash and was certain Nerio wouldn’t try to stop it, or she hadn’t planned on dying this morning.

Nerio moved his gaze to the audience behind him. They unblinkingly stared back. Some aimed their eyes towards his, others sought his legs, while the rest watched his arms and body. The ten dozen eyes each focused on an individual part of him. Mapping his form and watching each of his movements, “This isn’t exactly a tourist train ma’am. I doubt there’s a bottle of wine worth uncorking."

Like an engine spinning to life, the woman swiftly turned her head from the front of the car and it ceased its movements just as it faced Nerio. The stopped movements weren’t just that her head stopped turning; her entire body sat motionless. No breathing, no swaying. The only movements she made were with the rumbling of the train on the rails, “Look at her when I am talking to you; it’s rude to look away,” when Nerio turned from the anticipating crowd she continued, “I’m sure a passenger brought something aboard. There are only nine cars on the train and almost forty minutes until the crash. More than enough time to check.”

“No thanks, I don’t think I could handle being called a thief.”

“Oh, I am sure you could Mr. Pinkerton. I and she have more than accepted the crown of ‘killer’ you have thrust upon me and her. Besides, they won’t mind.” The woman gestured toward the people sitting behind us.

“I’m not worried about how they’ll feel after they hit the bottom. I care about those minutes in between.”

“Yes, and that was the part where they won’t mind. Unlike you, Mr. Pinkerton, the other passengers of this train have already embraced their own deaths, like me and her. They won’t stop you from taking whatever you want, so long as it makes your last minutes more tolerable.”

“What, did you rent this entire train out? That’s quite a number of tickets.”

“We have quite a number of dollars, Mr. Pinkerton.”

Nerio nodded, and opened the car door, “I’ll take your offer then,” he waved to the woman and watched the ground flow by the train. At their current speed, it was barely a survivable jump, “See you in thirty minutes when I’m good and. . .” Nerio cut himself short when he saw the truck. It was driving one hundred meters behind the train, and Nerio could barely make out the barrel of a machine gun peeking over the cab.

The woman smiled when she realized what Nerio had discovered, “As I and she have said Mr. Pinkerton, our job is only to keep you on this train until you die in the accident. Neither me nor her plan you harm. However, should you choose to escape, my partners have been planning such harm since Navajo Bridge.”

She spoke of pacifism, but her tone betrayed her words. Neiro knew that those shifting eyes behind him would shift to their feet the moment he left the car to look for Etteilla. Nerio returned to the seats beside the woman and sat across the aisle, “Why sit Pinkerton? I and she are sure there is something worth doing at the finale of your life among the other eight cars.” The woman spoke as she continued to motionlessly observe him.

“Funny thing, I just remembered I hate drink. All of ‘em.”

“Surely there exists one interesting non-alcoholic beverage on this train, no? At the least, it would be an action to distract you from fretting over the inevitable.”

“I said ‘drink’ not ‘alcohol.’”

She nodded. Either not getting Nerio’s joke or ignoring it, “Since you are intent on staying here, would you like to answer a few questions for me and her? Just something to break the ice and pass the time.”

Time was everything for Nerio right now. He needed to waste it while he thought of a way to contact Etteilla without turning his back to the people in the car, and he needed as much of it as possible to stop the train from crashing. He agreed and paid half attention to the questions as he formulated his plan.

“Alright,” the woman began, “let us start with some sentence completion tests.” Nerio cocked a brow; the woman continued, “I and she will give you a sentence and you finish it. Very simple, very informative.”

She mentioned hitting the bottom of the canyon, so the crash must occur over a bridge, Nerio thought, That likely means they are using a controlled blast to make it collapse. If. . .

His calculations were interrupted by the woman loudly coughing, “Mr. Pinkerton, she asked you a question and I would like an answer. Just because I am assisting in your demise does not mean you can ignore me and her. Now, if you will pay attention this time, finish the sentence: ‘Most fiction magazines. . .’” Her voice trailed off, prompting Nerio’s response.

“Depict fictitious events.”

The woman scowled at him, “The people that read fiction magazines. . .”

“Like the magazines.”

She harumphed before chastising him once more, “Mr. Pinkerton, the book I am reading said that many people subconsciously mask their real answers to the questions, especially in environments where they fear they will be judged. Now, neither I nor she is saying your actions are sub conscious, but you have no reason to fear judgment from either of us. I and she both will be corpses alongside you in a little over half an hour. So open up, and die with a lightened heart.

Neiro had figured the rest of his plan out during their earlier quiz and felt it best to play along with the rest of it. He needed another four minutes, and he feared the woman would kill him if he kept giving non-answers.

“Alright, real answers this time, please. A person who does not keep their room clean. . .”

“Is undisciplined.”

“A large, flashy wardrobe. . .”

“Is a useless sign of false decadence.”

“Electrical plugs. . .”

“Should have a standardized shape.”

“Hrmph, you’re a boring one. The death of a loved one. . .”

“Is. . painful.”

The woman noted Nerio’s hesitation before continuing, “Someone’s own death. . .”

“Is inevitable.”

“Interesting. Anyone would agree with your answer, but most would call it frightening or stressful over inevitable.”

“Why would I? Death is the one thing fear is useless against. Fear exists to keep you away from danger, away from death. Your fear of heights keeps you away from the ledge, but a fear of death, the thing fear tries to prevent? That keeps you from life.”

“You walk a lot of ledges then?”

“Ledges tend to walk underneath me, really.” The train car darkened as it entered a tunnel. Nerio’s time studying the map led him to know that this tunnel was long, and consisted almost entirely of a curve. When his eyes had adjusted to the dark, Nerio reached under his jacket and pulled out a metallic cylinder.

The woman, mistaking Nerio’s portable high-yield incendiary explosive device for a flask, looked to it and spoke, “You said you didn’t like to drink Mr. Pinkerton. Might I and she inquire as to why you would lie to us?”

“Ma’am, I never lie,” Nerio said as he stood and placed the tip of the grenade in his mouth. He wrestled the ring free with his teeth and clenched them upon it.

“You say as you sip. I and she both told you that lying served no purpose but to dilute and hamper our conversation.” The train began to slow as it entered the turn. Nerio aimed the grenade at the window. As the woman was talking about how her book explains why and how people aren’t truthful about their own opinions, Nerio pulled his arm forward, releasing the pin and launching the grenade through the window and out of the car.

The grenade hit the wall and exploded into a blinding blue flash. The explosion was smaller than a regular hand grenade as the incendiary variant focused on slinging flaming liquid everywhere over destroying what it hit. Regardless, the blast (compounded by the tunnel reflecting the shockwave back to the train) was enough to instantly kill everyone in the 4 rows closest to it. Everyone else in the car was either coated in blue flames or lacerations from the flying glass shards. Everyone except Nerio who had covered his face with his leather jacket.

A normal jacket would offer only some protection from the projectiles flying into the car, but Nerio’s Catalan-issue jacket was a little different. It featured thin sheets of metal armor plating and various protective coatings throughout its construction. The result was a jacket that was bullet and blade-resistant due to the metal as well as fire and acid-proof due to the exterior coatings. All while only adding ten pounds to the overall weight and causing no noticeable difference in maneuverability. It also contained several extra pockets and was far more breathable than normal leather (thanks to a comfort-minded Catalan performing the first-ever artefact reproduction).

When the glass stopped flying and the echoes died off, Nerio lowered his jacket and minded the lingering flames as he made for the car’s front door. He used his jacket’s sleeve to grip the scalding handle, opened it, and made his way to the next car. As he opened that car’s door, he was met with all sixty people within it facing him and holding various improvised weapons. Kitchen utensils, broken glasses, full suitcases, and some even held pens. It seemed that his assailants had bought more than one car’s worth of tickets.

Nerio swore and hoped Etteilla had gotten his message.