"You got no class," A-No.-1 yelled over the roar of the engine. "You're a talker, not a rider."
The train disappeared into the horizon, carrying the only true Emperor into the mist, leaving the pretenders behind in the mud.
A-No.-1 decided to stake his reputation on it. He wasn't alone, though. A cocky, fast-talking kid named forced his way into the plan, claiming he was the next great rail-rider. A-No.-1 saw through the kid’s bravado—Cigarette had the talk, but not the heart—yet he let him tag along, perhaps to show him what the life truly cost.
The challenge was whispered around campfires: could anyone survive a full run on Shack’s train?
As the train thundered toward Portland, the stakes turned bloody. Shack began to dismantle his own train to find them, his obsession turning into a localized war. He set fire to a car, hoping to smoke them out, indifferent to the damage as long as he saw his prey bleed.