Steelrunners never ceased to impress Albert, no matter how many times he'd seen one in person. He'd traveled aboard some of the older, smaller versions during his youth, and even those seemed beyond imagination at the time. Colloquially, they were often referred to as "trains," though aside from their initial resemblance, they shared only a few similarities. They were more akin to ocean liners capable of traversing land than they were a common train. Trains were often built horizontally, adding car after car to accommodate passengers, amenities, freight, and crew members. Steelrunners did the same, except vertically. They were hotels, barracks, restaurants, and ballrooms all crammed into a titan of a vehicle with room to spare.

  Elles wasn't entirely versed on the exact origins and subsequent history of how the steelrunners came into being, though he was aware that they were first introduced around a century prior as a more effective means of transporting supplies and passengers from city to city through the notoriously dangerous Oliida wilds. To traverse the land between the various city-states throughout the world without a proper guide or an especially well-equipped traveling party was nothing short of a death sentence. Of course, there were the Amiq, a nomadic people group that could be found thriving in these harsh environments. But their way of life and secret to survival in the tundras had been refined and perfected over the course of well over a thousand years. What's more, the Amiq perspective on sustainable prosperity could simply not be applied to populations larger than a tribe of around a hundred people. In order for modern civilization to survive, a safe means of trade needed to be implemented. When the steelrunners finally came into being, a new era of economic prosperity surged across the globe. That is, until the war began.

  Holding the folded, half-crumpled letter in his hand, Albert stared in utter amazement at the sheer size and majesty that was the Black Glacier. At the time of its construction, nearly fifty years ago, it was the largest and most fortified steelrunner in existence. In the years that followed, there would be several that would surpass it, but the Black Glacier would forever retain its legacy as being the first vehicle to cross the entirety of the world and back again in less than a year. Albert suddenly had a rare moment of nostalgia; a memory resurfacing of a time when he was likely no older than four, rolling a minuscule wooden effigy of the train that stood before him back and forth across the living room carpet. He remembered verbally mimicking a train horn that, in reality, was a noise capable of rupturing every eardrum and shattering every window within a half-mile radius. Albert's neck began to ache as he arched his head upwards, trying to take in the entirety of the beast in a single look. This proved to be an impossibility. He was like an ant trying to observe and comprehend a common household oven.

  The land ship had clearly been constructed with equal parts style and substance in mind. The once pristine jet-black exterior, now slightly worn with time and use, still made an elegant backdrop to the gleaming gold trim that crisscrossed horizontally along the hull like large veins. The steelrunner had sixteen immense wheels, and even the smallest was roughly six times taller than Albert. The front eight were attached to the "foreplane," a mechanism which could pivot beneath the train's bow, steering it left and right. The much larger rear wheels could not be steered, but were fortified with the torque required to push the gargantuan vehicle forward. Mounted on the front of the steelrunner was a wedge made of thick iron plates, likely used for pushing oncoming obstacles out of the way, or perhaps ramming them. Elles' eye was drawn here as crew members, mounted on makeshift trellises and rope tethers, went about sharpening its point with glowing orange sparks spraying from their grinding tools. Just above the wedge, or the "pilot" as Albert seemed to remember it being called, was the engine.

  Where the common train may have been able to sustain operation fueled by coal alone, a steelrunner required much, much more. The engine was, in reality, a reactor core fueled by highly concentrated arcane energy that required careful and precise monitoring to run properly and safely. Albert squinted as something that brightly shimmered caught his eye: a glass dome sitting on the very top of the vehicle. Carousel Cabaret... Albert thought, With that kind of a view, it must be.

  Carousel Cabaret had garnered nearly as much fame as the steelrunner it sat upon. The club was often referred to as "the Shining Jewel of the Black Glacier." All manner of celebrities, intellectuals, and political figures had been hosted there, engaged in the utter spectacle of music, lights, talent, and raw, unbridled showmanship. If Albert were to land this job, he certainly would intend on spending more than a few earned paychecks there. Gods, Albert thought, I need this job.

  In the years following his time in service, Albert had attempted time and time again to find employment, with little success. Most positions he applied for either turned him down flat upon seeing his less-than-ideal physical condition or only held onto him until he had another manic mental episode. On one occasion, he had worked as a bank teller, a position for which he had been pursuing in his education before the war began. It had been a particularly quiet morning; only a few patrons had come in to conduct routine withdrawals and deposits. Albert suddenly found himself ducking for cover behind his teller station and screaming defensive orders when the sound of a mortar shell impact echoed loudly throughout the marble-tiled room. After a moment of collective stunned silence, Albert re-emerged from his shelter only to see a confused and startled-looking deliveryman next to a toppled-over filing cabinet that had fallen off the dolly. Albert was let go later that same day, with his boss citing that crazed outbursts of that nature were "bad for business." He had managed to scrounge month to month off the stimulus checks he received for his injury status, but his finances remained far from plentiful. He needed this job.

  Albert finally approached the long metal ramp leading up to the train's main entrance, where two armed guards stood on either side. They wore plain, muted colors and badges unlike any officers he had seen in the city. These men weren't Camden police; they were part of the Black Glacier's private security. Albert held up his letter, showing the men Conductor Feliz's signature. Immediately, they nodded and allowed him passage.

  He ascended the ramp and crossed through the reinforced sliding glass doors. After a few brief moments of darkness, his eyes adjusted to the warm glow of the train's foyer, which led into a grand lobby. The room was situated in the rear half of the train, surrounded by story after story of walkways and hotel rooms stretching up to a large glass ceiling. Several people could be seen lounging on the many couches and armchairs placed in semi-circles around the vast room. A number of planters filled with small ecosystems of flora dotted the floor space, which Albert imagined must have made the room appear like a sort of people-sized terrarium from the upper floors.

  Standing across the lobby beside a large musigraph player which thrummed with calming piano melodies, was a petite Aeldrin woman behind a large desk attending to a small line of guests. She had pinkish skin and a full head of frazzled black hair styled in a precarious updo. Her long, pointed ears had a pearl earring in each lobe and supported a pair of thin-rimmed, circular spectacles. She had bright red lipstick that matched her blouse. The engraved brass nameplate sitting on the desk before her read, "Kira Nightingale." A few short minutes passed, and soon it was Albert's turn for assistance. She flashed him a quick smile and asked, "Hi, what can I do fa' you today?" Her voice was squeaky, and had an odd accent that was clearly New Avilonian, though even more regionally specific.

  "Um, hello," Albert began, "I'm here for an interview with Conductor Feliz."

  "Ah, yes," she said, tracing an exceptionally sharp painted fingernail down a book filled with handwritten names and times, "Albert Elles, right?"

  "That's correct."

  "Just take the elevator to the tenth floor. Then, hang a left an' go straight toward the front of the train; her office will be at the end of the hall."

  Albert thanked her and made to walk away, but before he could take more than a step, she interrupted, "That's some impressive hardware, if ya' don't mind me saying."

  "Pardon?" Albert said.

  "Your arm and leg. They's artificial, right? You musta' served in the war then."

  "...A few years ago, yes," he said after a moment.

  "I figured..." she said, leaving Albert to stand awkwardly and wonder how he was supposed to respond.

  "You ever kill anyone?" she asked, suddenly.

  "Kira!" scolded a deeper, more soothing female voice, "Would it hurt to please have an ounce of tact? The last thing Mr. Elles needs is to be pestered about things you have no business meddling in."

  Albert turned to see a tall woman with dark brown hair wearing a two-piece suit bundled under a large, dark silver fur coat. She shook her head disappointedly and continued, "You'll have to forgive our receptionist, Mr. Elles. She'll say anything she thinks at times." The woman approached, the click of her heels echoing like the sound of water droplets. She held out her hand, "Conductor Abigail Feliz, pleased to make your acquaintance."

  Albert quickly, but gingerly, shook her outstretched palm, "Albert Elles, pleased to make yours."

  "You arrived on time," she said, "I value such things in a potential crew member."

  Pleasantries were soon exchanged, and inconsequential questions like, "Did you find your way here alright?" were dispensed and quickly brushed aside. Finally, Conductor Feliz gave Kira a few firm, but ultimately threatless, reprimands before whisking Albert away up the elevator and into her office. Upon entering, Albert could see that a chair had already been pulled up in front of a long mahogany desk. Several scraps of paper and a small stack of books littered its surface, which contained a map of Oliida under a large plate of glass. Behind the workspace sat a comfortable-looking leather seat that hardly showed any signs of wear and tear from the hours that it had likely been used. What quickly drew Albert's eye, however, was the enormous portrait of an Underfoot (or Halfling as they had also been known to be called) man wearing a uniform similar to that of Conductor Feliz.

  He was stout and regal-looking, with a bushy white mustache that covered the majority of his mouth and billowed from underneath a fat, bulbous nose. His hands were crossed behind him, and his left brow arched above a squinting eye, giving him a commanding and inquisitive look. A plaque beneath the portrait read, "Montgomery Calushand, First Conductor of the Black Glacier."

  "You like it? I've considered getting my own portrait placed next to his; painted with the same style and background colors," Feliz said, waving a hand over the lower half of the image, "but I want the canvas to be twice as tall to show scale."

  Albert gave a slight chuckle as the Conductor took her seat. She spent a moment glancing briefly over the documents Albert had provided her, consisting of his resume and legal papers, as requested. After she had seen what she wanted to see, she brushed the papers aside and looked Elles in the eyes, her fingers pressed together. She stared intently for another moment before looking toward his mechanical appendages and then finally at the world map before her.

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  "Where were you, Albert," she said finally, "When the war started?"

  "Ma'am?" Elles asked.

  "The moment you found out the world was going to war, where were you? What were you doing?"

  Albert thought for a moment and said, "I had just finished university and had spent a few months here in Camden in search of a job. I had just picked up a load of groceries and was walking to my parents' house for supper. They told me specifically to grab a loaf of bread and a new blend of tea since they had 'grown bored' of the one they had at the time. I remember walking past a large crowd of people gathered around a paperboy, each person scrambling to grab a copy of that day's paper. When I heard the boy shouting that the Vironists had declared war and that Avilon would begin a draft, I had to buy a paper for myself to see that it was true." Albert gave another soft chuff to himself and said, "I remember when I read the front page, I dropped the bag of groceries, spilling the new tin of tea and ruining the bread. Suffice it to say, supper that night was a disaster."

  "So you were drafted?" Feliz asked.

  "No," Albert replied, "I enlisted."

  "A true patriot."

  "At the time, yes."

  "But not anymore?"

  "...War can shift one's perspective on a lot of things," Albert said, finally.

  "On that we can agree," said Feliz, "You see, Mr. Elles, we here on the Black Glacier have taken an oath. We've sworn neutrality in the Red Frost War; regardless of heritage, former allegiances, familial ties, or whatever else would hinder us from doing what we as steel runners were meant to do: be the lifeblood of Oliida. And unfortunately, some of our kind have forgotten that duty, selling their services to the highest bidder to deal out death to those whom they have been paid to destroy."

  Albert knew exactly what Feliz spoke of. Just the week prior, he had read in a paper about how a House Collective steelrunner called the Sun Raker had shelled an entire Vironist township into little more than rubble and blood. Even though the onslaught had been against the enemy, Albert considered the whole ordeal barbaric.

  "There is something that must be understood, Mr. Elles," Feliz continued, "though the tools at our disposal indeed have immense defensive capabilities, our trains are not weapons. We wield them to protect, not to punish." Albert nodded in somber agreement, though he still wondered where it was the Conductor was headed with all of this talk of the war. "I believe I've led you on long enough without even telling you what position I wish for you to fill onboard," she said, "Mr. Elles, I can tell by your qualifications and your character that you would be a very good fit for the position of Hangar Captain."

  Although he should have felt honored, Albert felt more confused. He had never even heard of a Hangar Captain before, let alone knew what the job entailed. He tried his best to keep his eyebrow from skeptically raising, so as to not mimic the former Conductor's portrait hanging behind Feliz. "Hangar Captain, ma'am?" he asked.

  "Hangar Captain. It's a position unique to steel runners. Second in the chain of security command behind the Head of Security. The Hangar Captain is in charge of the orders and operations of the vehicles located in the Hangar Bay, such as the away team transport vehicle, which we call the Grizzly, the Bank Jumpers, and the tanks."

  Albert felt a chill shoot down the back of his neck and a host of goosebumps grow over his forearms. His right leg began to vibrate uncontrollably, and his throat became dry. Sweat drops beaded on the top of his forehead. The voices reemerged.

  "T-tanks?" he whispered.

  "Yes, tanks," Feliz responded matter-of-factly, "I'm sure you know how to operate such a thing."

  Tank!? Tank!?

  You'll kill them all! They'll all die because of you!

  Murderer!

  You don't have the guts!

  His breath grew short and the walls steadily closed in around him. Albert stood up suddenly and said, "I'm sorry. You'll have to please excuse me for a moment!"

  "Mr. Elles?"

  "It will only be a moment!" he yelled as he hurried out the door and into the open-air hallway overlooking the lobby. He leaned over the railing and heaved deep breaths of oxygen. Fumbling through his coat, he withdrew the pill capsule and hurriedly unscrewed the cap, dropping a pill into his palm and tossing it into his mouth. As he washed down the medication with his flask, he turned back toward the door and slowly lowered himself to the floor, leaning back against the overlook's half wall blocking him from plummeting ten stories below. He tried to calm his staggered breathing as he sat there. He closed his eyes, trying his damnedest to silence his mind. Footsteps rapidly approached him: muffled heels against carpet.

  "Mr. Elles?" a woman's voice asked, "Mr. Elles, is something wrong?"

  Albert opened his eyes to see the pale, dead face of Joséphine kneeling over him. Her neck was crooked, and her eyes were cloudy and lifeless. Her arms dangled limply at her sides, bruised and broken in several places. Blood dripped from the holes where the single repeater round had pierced through her lower chest and into her head. Her love-smudged lipstick outlined an unnaturally wide smile that seemed to claw its way past her cheekbones and kiss the corners of her eyes. Her legs stood up straight while her back bent forward horizontally, keeping her face at eye level with Albert, who still lay against the divider. Albert shuddered violently and blinked at the grim mirage. Then, as quickly as she had appeared, Joséphine vanished, replaced instead by Conductor Feliz. She looked concerned and bewildered, waving a gloved hand in front of Elles' face to see that he wasn't catatonic. A nearby security guard rushed to Feliz's side and asked what the trouble was.

  "Get this man to the medical bay," Feliz ordered, "have Tom take a look at him."

  "I'm...I'm alright," Albert protested.

  "Like Hel you are," Feliz retorted, "We need to get you examined."

  "No!" Albert cried, "No, I'm fine! I just...needed some air."

  Feliz disregarded Albert's pleas and turned to the guard and told him to bring the doctor up to her office. "This man is disturbed," Albert heard her whisper.

  Feliz helped the former Commander to his feet and supported him back into her office. She placed him back onto the chair and brought him a glass of water from a dispenser she had sitting on a side table in the corner of the room. She continued to watch over him, saying little until a mechanical whirring march could be heard entering the room.

  "What seems to be the trouble?" asked a stoic, highly monotone and electronically accented voice.

  "Oh good, you're here," Feliz said, "Mr. Elles here seems to have just had a bit of an episode. Is there anything you can do for him?"

  "I will see what I can offer," said the voice.

  Soon, Albert was face-to-face with the glowing lamp-like eyes of an automaton. It had a plain, featureless head covered in white-painted steel. It wore a light tan leather poncho decorated with the identifiable medic emblem: a pair of white wings. The poncho had pockets filled with a host of medical utensils and instruments. On the lapel was a red patch embroidered with the title: Dr. T-0M.

  The robotic doctor held out its index finger, which flipped backwards, revealing a syringe. He injected it into the crease of Albert's right elbow, puncturing the vein and retrieving a sample of blood. Once he had finished, the syringe retreated into its digit compartment. The metal man produced a cotton ball from his medical poncho and applied pressure to the already bruising entry point.

  "Retrieving data..." the automaton called Tom said. The robot's lightbulb eyes blinked a few times before he continued, "Mr. Elles' medical records indicate that he is currently in as good of health as someone in his condition can achieve. His blood pressure, however, is currently elevated. His breathing is rapid, and his pupils have dilated dramatically."

  "Tom, can you please spare us the obvious," Feliz interjected, "Anyone with working eyes can tell he's been panicked."

  Tom continued, "Unfortunately, Conductor, I do not have the authorization to access his psychiatric records. His mental condition is unknown. Though I would speculate that his trauma from his time in service has triggered some form of cognitive impairment."

  Albert reluctantly began to speak, his breathing now beginning to normalize and his brain now able to process reality more clearly. "The...the doctors diagnosed me with shell shock..." he said,

  "I'm not familiar with the term," said Feliz

  "It is a form of mental instability often seen in veterans who have come home from service," Tom explained, "Seemingly mundane or non-threatening situations or sounds can be known to trigger patients into violent flashbacks, making them feel as though they are suddenly thrust back into the moments that started their trauma."

  "It still doesn't explain the voices...the visions," Albert breathed.

  "Visions?" Abigail asked.

  "Voices speak to me in my mind," Albert said, "They make me see and hear things that aren't really there. I have difficulty sleeping because of them."

  The Conductor and doctor looked at one another, saying nothing.

  "They gave me some sort of medication to help keep my mind quiet," Albert continued, "Like a painkiller for the brain. But it doesn't always work. If I take too much by accident, the hallucinations get worse."

  Tom stood up and turned to Feliz. "I'm afraid there's little more that I can do here."

  "Thank you, Tom. You may go now," Feliz responded.

  "I wish you better health, Commander," said Tom, "It is good to see you again."

  Feliz continued watching Elles intently as the metal man strode out of the room.

  "So he was the one-" Albert said before being interrupted by Feliz.

  "Who saved your life when you were in service? Yes. Tom was actually the one who recommended you for the position."

  "Well, I hope I can properly thank him whilst I'm on the job."

  "...I'm no longer certain that will be such a good idea," said Feliz.

  Albert froze. Once again, he had proved himself to be unemployable. His mind raced, thinking of anything he could say to try and convince the Conductor that he could indeed handle the position, that he wasn't a complete basket case. "Please," he begged, "please, I promise this won't ever happen again! I assure you that I am quite capable; this sort of outburst won't affect my performance."

  "Mr. Elles, the word 'tank' sent you into a spiral of mania for nearly ten minutes," Feliz replied.

  "On my word," Elles pleaded, "I promise I won't let you down."

  Feliz, sitting on the corner of her desk, considered the broken man before her. He was erratic, a quality Feliz couldn't ignore. He was disabled, so his use aboard would naturally be limited. He was desperate, a trait which she knew was dangerous. And yet, Feliz couldn't help but feel inclined to take him on. Pity had no sway on her. As a leader, she knew that making judgment calls based on pity alone could mean death if not kept in check. Her inclination was more so based on one factor alone: he reminded her of herself.

  She remembered, during her early years aboard the Black Glacier, the hundreds of nights spent with Henry and other friends drinking and merrymaking in the wee hours of the evening, arriving on duty the next morning, hungover and practically tripping over herself. She was reckless, insubordinate, and often downright vulgar. And yet, despite it all, Calushand still chose her to take up the mantle of Conductor after he retired.

  "You're an absolute wreck, Feliz," he had told her in that gruff, curmudgeonly voice, "but I can see that when the time comes, you'll do whatever it takes to keep this train rolling. You may not think you're ready. Hel, I don't think you're ready. But ready or not, the fire in my gut is telling me it's time."

  That fire Calushand spoke of was now speaking to Feliz. Despite her reservations, she knew this shadow of a Commander was the right person for the job. She closed her eyes reluctantly and took a deep, exhausted breath. "One chance," Abigail relented, holding up a finger, "I'm giving you one chance to make me not regret my decision to hire you."

  A huge smile of relief spread across Elles' face as he let out a sigh. Abigail stood before Albert, who brought himself to his feet to meet her. The Conductor held out her hand, which was met by the mechanical grasp of the Commander in a firm shake.

  "Welcome aboard the Black Glacier."