Glass Dolls

Crazy Train - 4

"Those who knew her quickly became estranged after that. All she cared about anymore was her research."

From Leonne Anima Velvette, A Documentary.

Level of Refraction: -72 degrees.

"You stupid-" Mold slams the unconscious Author back into his seat.

The train's gunman puts away the weapon, switching to one that much more closely resembles a gun designed for bullets. The orchestral symphony blares on underneath the sound of the train. It roars along next to the car as Mold transfigures part of her bangs into a strand of rope.

After straightening the car's path out again she ties the steering wheel into place before a bullet whizzes through her throat. Letting out an enraged gurgling howl she leaps high off of the car and toward her assailant.

Her wound heals by the time her fingers sink into the side of the train, rending the metal into a jagged hold. Her other hand grabs the masked gunman by the throat. She's about to throw them off of the train, however the unconscious creator's ideals echo in her head, and with a growl she satisfies herself with bashing their head against the wall of the train.

Stepping over the body, the inside of the train is cramped, but clean. Smooth white corridors stretch out before her, branching out. The Jötunn locates the path that leads towards the head of the train, and takes a step forward.

Before she can take the second, another figure rushes out from the entrance to the other end of the hall. He's just a bit taller than Mold, maybe about 5'10" or so, with dark, dark skin. His dress impies status, as the two people with medium-sized guns crammed in behind him are dressed with the same plain, masked uniform as the gunman Mold took out.

The man, on the other hand, has no face covering. Additionally, as opposed to the white button-ups of his underlings, he has on black, ornate regalia. The deep blue collar of his jacket reaches up to his defined chin, downturned though it is.

"Hey buddy." Mold says. "You in charge around here?"

"I'm nowhere near that important." He runs a hand through his pure white, waved hair. His fingers anxiously fiddle with the holstered gun on his hip. "You on the other hand... Well, that man you're with really should be alone. Pray tell, who are you? And how do you know him?"

"Alright, you're giving me nothing, I'll find it myself." Mold still doesn't like the feeling of this train, everything about it feels unnatural, like a revolt against the proper order of things. However, this was the first time she's seen the Author be bested like this, so she can bear with it until she gets some answers.

The gunmen behind the man raise their weapons towards Mold as she continues her advance, but their commander waves them down; "You could cross me, of course. However, do you really want to leave your friend like that?" The man gestures to the hole behind Mold.

She peeks back behind her, letting out an old nordic curse. A squad of four motorcycles has been deployed from the bottom of the train. They're keeping the car steady, and the lead driver has begun to drag the Author into the accompanying sidecar.

"For one, that's not my friend!" Mold hisses. She means it too, but she really does need that key that he has around his neck if she wants to get anywhere... And losing her only company might not be the most enjoyable thing either. "However I gotta ask, why come here to... capture him? I assume? And then right away ruin what will likely be your one chance to do so by letting me go and save him."

"Oh, don't remind me!" The man lets out a shrill whine. Mold takes it in stride, it's not like she hasn't encountered stranger characters before. "I'm sure she's going to chew me out something awful, but... Well, the thing about family is that you have to do what's right for them, even if they can't see that it's right in the moment."