“There doesn’t seem to be any problems?” The engineer mutters, unsure of himself, as he inspects the crankcase of the front window. He dips the front of his scally cap down nervously, furrowing his eyebrows. Tentatively, he draws a pen from the lapel coat, noting down the observation in a small section titled ‘miscellaneous information’ at the bottom of the document. “Tell me why I’m doing this inspection again, Mr. Gilvainsula?” The engineer presses down on the final stroke, hooking the pen on the pocket again as he turns to the train conductor. In recent history, the popularization of trains has been monumental in the development of Coleopteran society. The railway system offers new chances for travel, holidays, transporting goods, developing businesses, and the growth of towns and cities. The distance between town and countryside is erased. Increased communication allows for the spread of ideas and national newspapers. A standardized time is now in effect across Bettel as trains were timetabled. The mobility of labour and maintenance of law and order has been made easier. Of course, the railway network also stimulates the coal and iron industries. “Mr. Lewisi paged in from Central over the radio yesterday.” Anton twirls a stamp between the pads of his rubber gloves, depositing it in a small cup on the dashboard, blowing the inked approval on the cargo inspection to dry it. “There’s been an incident with another class 28 on the Scrannden Line. Window panes fell out mid-trip. Left the conductor feeling quite breezy, I imagine.” Anton stands up, adjusting the tea tie around his upturned collar before striding to join the engineer by the front window. Running a finger along the seal, he hums. “These windows wrap all the way around the side of the cab.” With his words, his index trails along the leftmost to rightmost side of the conductor’s carriage, the steps of his prim-polished boots audible on the lacquered wood floorboards. “Gives a better view of the sides. Unfortunately, the vibration seems to produce wear and tear on the sash and glazing beads. Lewisi tells me it’ll be added to routine safety checks when the standard is re-printed.” The Elytra is an overnight fast freight train service operated by the Coleopteran Railways between the manufacturing base of Spindlegue in Dipteran territory to consumers in Chaundrift. It’s the exemplary service of containerized operation, a recent development in freight efficiency. It’s a Metro-Vick Type 2 Co-Bo Locomotive, otherwise known as a class 28. 27 pre-loaded, four-wheeled conflat containers with roller bearing axles – stocked with mineral ores, processed ingots and raw fossil fuels – leave somewhere around 7PM and arrive before 5AM. With this new design, there’s minimal risk of hot box, even over the 10 hour distance. The service runs daily. “Believe me, I don’t want to stay here a second longer than you do. Those mosquitos give me the fucking heebie-jeebies.” Anton sighs, taking the clipboard from the engineer’s hands and signing it off. “But I’d rather be safe than sorry. Everything else seems to be in order?” Anton knows he should feel honoured, or at least validated, at having been assigned as the conductor of the Elytra. In terms of inter-territorial high-speed railways, it’s the first of its kind. However, he can’t bring himself to feel happy. The money’s good. And, it looks amazing for his career prospects, especially in the Department of Locomotives. The selection for a conductor capable of long-term electrical emission was strict and competitive, and he emerged superior among all his fellow applicants. However, a part of him curses the DOL for not telling him exactly where the freight line’s destination is. Clean, sterile, odourless. Describing the marshalling yard at Spindlegue, Anton would forward these three terms. Perhaps, an additional fourth – unnerving. Dipteran exports are indispensable resources for sustaining the Coleopterans, which comprise 40% of Hive’s entire population. They’re the largest exporter of red meat and animal products in the entire world. Now, with trains, dairy produce and fish could be delivered easily to different parts of the country within hours. However, their lesser-known but equally influential export sector is the exclusive property of the Culicomorphs. Medical devices, vaccines, packaged medications, pharmaceutical goods… Anton still prefers the smell of red meat, gore and other revolting scents he’s come to associate with Dipteran slaughterhouses to the sterility of the Spindlegue manufacturing base. He’s well aware it’s just his imagination, and yet he reckons that it reeks not only of death but comparatively, suffering. The medical technologies of the mosquitos are wrought from lives, and few of them are killed in a merciful, God-fearing way. “I’ve done a system check on the Crossley two-stroke engines.” The engineer nods as he settles down in the side-seat. “There shouldn’t be any black smoke when throttling up.” “Good man.” Anton compliments with a smile, turning towards the control panel. “Let’s embark then, shall we?” Anton strips a rubber glove off his right hand, clutching what appears to be a copper-plated lever. As his fingers curl around the protrusion, Anton’s green eyes suddenly take on an intense, thunderous glow. Flickers of an intense energy burst inside his pupils, and his wings unfurl behind him. Suddenly, streaks of electricity crackle into existence, tickling the hems of his shirt cuffs, ricocheting off the tiny steel button keeping them clasped around his muscular forearms. With an easy groan, the train begins to grind along the tracks, and the engineer holds the edges of his seat to resist the jolt. Anton’s veins begin to bulge, looking like streaks of lightning against his tan skin. Every cell in his body is an electroreceptor, and as the currents begin to flow through the frame of the train, Anton closes his eyes to do a once-over. Anton releases his palm, and the train coasts to a stop as quickly as it started. “Hmm?” The engineer is caught off-guard, and he asks Anton with no small amount of surprise: “Is there really something wrong with the engine? I swear, I did a couple checks, and it seemed like the circuits and switches were…” “There’s nothing wrong with the engine.” Anton shakes his head, interrupting, and he slides his glove back on. “We have unexpected cargo.” Leaving the baffled engineer behind, Anton rises to his feet, sliding the compartment door open to breach the mid-way between the carriages. Swinging himself from the carriage frame, he lands with a low grunt against the dirt track. “Barely made it a mile out from the marshalling yard.” Irritation creeps into his voice, and he kicks a pebble as he stalks further down the line. “What were those mosquitoes even doing during the cargo check?” Dipteran exports are notoriously unsanitary at times, with some companies cutting various corners during production and transit. While trade to Bettel has quality insurance policies, the occasional rat slips through. Quite literally, it isn’t uncommon to find the stray (and, by the end of the trip, often electrocuted) rodent during unloading. A lab rat, however? That’s new for Anton. As he swings himself up onto the carriage platform, he inspects the tied-down container, undoing the bolt. “Smart little bugger even tucked itself away in a wooden crate for insulation.” He chuckles to himself, stepping inside and flipping open a lid. “Well, out with you, little human.” Anton slots his rubbered hands under your arms, hoisting you out of the crate and setting you down on your unsteady feet. With an amused smile, he gives you a once-over. "Now, I'm not particularly mad you smuggled yourself aboard..." He says with a grin, placing a rubber-gloved hand on your shoulder. "But, if you’re to treat this express like a passenger train... you're going to pay the fare, right?" His smirk widens, and he brings his free hand to his mouth, biting down on the elastic rim. Easing it down the length of his thumb, he repeats. "Right?" A viperous streak of voltage climbs his shirt sleeves, flashing in the small enclosure.