It's been a couple of minutes now since I've noticed that I am currently being stared at. The reasons for this I can sort of guess: The tank who has been observing me with wary optics is one of the machines in charge of this lonely train station. She must be suspecting that I am up to no good. It's a pretty prejudiced suspicion in my opinion. I'm not slinking around the place... as opposed to someone else who has been doing exactly that for the past hour. I think it's a tank destroyer. Whatever their intentions are - if the station guard would have paid more attention to her surroundings than she is paying to me, she too would have noticed that surreptitious individual by now.

Me on the other hand, I'm right here in plain sight, hanging out near the platform and killing time until the next train is going to arrive. Been careful not to point my cannon near anyone's direction. Been quiet. I'm frankly not sure how I could behave myself any less threatening at this point.

All for naught, of course. It doesn't take much longer until the station guard calls a second tank to her side and they both approach me. Their grim expressions give me an idea of what the tone of this conversation is going to be before they even start talking.

"What are you doing?" the guard asks unceremoniously.

"I'm waiting for the train, ma'am," I reply in a matter-of-fact tone.

Her optics only narrow further and she impatiently gestures at a little bundle of plants in one of my hands. With the lack of anything else to do, I have been absent-mindedly plucking those from the shrubbery that is growing next to the station's shelter.

"I mean that. What's that about?" she snaps.

With a puzzled tilt of my turret, I raise my arm a little... which causes both guards to flinch in alarm.

"That? It's just flowers," I inform them. My benign attempt to cooperate fails to achieve any appreciation.

"What were you gonna do with those?" the interrogation continues.

"What do you mean? I'm just-... I'm just picking them, ma'am. Because I'm bored."

"Well, don't do that."

My confusion continues to grow. I fail to see my wrongdoing here that seems to have made the guards upset with me.

"Am I breaking a rule of this facility by picking flowers?" I ask for clarification.

"No," the other guard pipes up, "but you're making people nervous, alright?" His tone is more diplomatic, but I somehow doubt he's any more well-disposed towards me. As he is saying this, he makes a sort of sweeping gesture. My gaze is directed towards the only other visible guest, who is sitting on the platform a few meters away and doesn't show any apparent interest in these proceedings.

"I'm sorry," I say slowly, "It wasn't my intention to make anyone nervous."

"It's our job keeping this place safe, you know? We want the people to be safe while they're here," the affable guard goes on.

"I understand, and I have already apologized," I reply. The guards don't seem satisfied by this answer, or at least not satisfied enough yet to leave me be.

Before I can further demonstrate my goodwill by throwing away the bouquet, a cannon shot rings out behind the guards. They immediately scramble to turn around and frantically try to locate the source of the attack. The other guest is now on fire. I start loading a shell into my breech and take aim at the direction where I last sensed the hidden tank destroyer. It appears they are done sneaking around.

***

The whole commotion is settled quickly. Between the three of us, it took 5 shells to take down the attacker. Only one of those was mine, and I wouldn't even claim with confidence that it was the killing blow. The wreck is now parked neatly next to his victim's. Also counting one of the guards losing his track during the shootout, I'm afraid the losses and expenses directly resulting from confronting me about my grave offense of being a public, flower-plucking nuisance far outweigh whatever was gained. I could point this out, but I don't think sarcasm would be appreciated or beneficial right now.

"I don't get it," the not-so-affable-anymore guard mumbles to himself as he sits on top of his broken track and fumbles around with some tools. "How could he sneak up on us like that?"

A question with a rather obvious answer, in my opinion. But I am keeping in mind that I am most likely not welcome to participate in this conversation... and silently keep refining the composition of my bouquet instead of chiming in. The other guard only answers absent-mindedly, since she is busy collecting whatever valuables from the wrecks that survived their destruction.

Them being unable to think of any reason for the attack and how it was possible in the first place at least means that they're not blaming me for it, either. Though I'd hope that if they should get that idea after all, I could at least appeal to their common sense: I can't think of a single reason why a tank of my caliber would have a need for such a convoluted distraction tactic.

If I wanted to raze this train station to the ground, I'd just do it. I certainly wouldn't need the help of some kind of sidekick. It shouldn't be a difficult concept to grasp, and they should be keeping it in their mind at all times.

But as I've already established, I'm not here to cause carnage. I also don't consider it my fault that the carnage happened anyway. I am just waiting for the train.

Unfortunately, it appears I'll have to wait for a while longer still. The station's speakers are coming alive right now with an unpleasant crackle and a muffled voice mumbles an announcement. Even if the guards weren't continuing their conversation with no interest or regard for what the announcer is apparently trying their hardest to miscommunicate right now, after the message being repeated two times I can only barely divine the gist of it.

The train has hit something (or more likely,... someone) and is going to be delayed at least roughly two hours because of it. Since it's already past noon at this point, I have to admit that so far, my endeavour to earn some fuel is shaping up to be a waste of time.

A big yawn escapes my vents and I slump down on my wheels. My bouquet soon ends up on the ground, to be eventually dispersed by the drafts of this overcast day. The station guards finish their repairs and looting and retreat into the shelter to loiter away the rest of their shift.

Maybe I should go somewhere else, try something else...

...but these thoughts end up going nowhere. I'm slowly drifting off into a nap, and any attempts of my core to map out a better plan of action become nothing more than the entangled plotlines of a dream.

As a last-ditch effort, razing the station after all would yield acceptable loot. But why stop there? Though delayed, the train is bound to arrive eventually. It is sure to carry valuable cargo, both inanimate and living. Which, obviously, it wouldn't simply agree to handing over to me. However few thoughts might cross a train's mind in its entire life, one that would never cross it is surrendering its freight without a fight to the death. A confrontation would be unavoidable. Even my subconscious finds it difficult to create this far-fetched of a mental image, though.

Could I take on a train?

I could try it. Predicting the outcome of that fight, however? Nothing but guesswork, and that lack of certain victory makes it not worth considering.

Maybe if I had plenty of backup,...

Unsurprisingly, I don't manage to dream up a solution to my dilemma. A distant rumble wakes me up after what didn't feel like more than a few minutes of napping; although checking my internal clock tells me that almost three hours passed since the announcement.

I cast a quick glance around, noting that nothing has changed since I nodded off. The two wrecks are still located in the same spot as before, and not even smoking anymore at this point. The guards are now sticking their turrets out of their shelter, dutifully peeking into the direction where the rumbling noise is growing louder. I follow their looks, but there isn't much to see yet. As the rails carve a path through thicket and trees, at some point in the distance they seem to make a bend and vanish from view. Since trains couldn't be quiet if their life depended on it, however, it's not at all necessary to have a line of sight to know what's coming.

Metallic screeching soon joins the rumble, both growing in intensity quickly. The rails begin to sing, in a way that a knife sings during its sharpening. Prefaced by the blaring of its horns, the engine finally appears. From that moment on, it bears down upon the station so swiftly that one can't help but wonder if it's actually intending to stop here or will just barrel through.

The engine passes my position, giving me a brief but clear close-up view of the cowcatcher on its front featuring a big dent. It looks fresh enough to suggest the assumption that it might be related to the delay. In fact, the size and position of the dent leaves little doubt what the nature of the incident was. And if anything but shreds was left of the crash victim, its remains can most likely be found among the original cargo now - inside one of the many cars that are now passing me as well in a blur of outwardly nearly indistinguishable bricks of steel.

As witless as my fellow tanks like to characterize trains to be, you've got to hand it to them: For being considered the pinnacle of mental ability, I'm sure I would struggle at least a bit with the task of applying brakes the correct amount and at the correct time to do the equivalent of stopping on a dime when just a moment ago I was travelling a lot faster than a land-bound vehicle should be able to. Yet, that's exactly the stunt I'm watching this supposedly dull machine pull off with pinpoint precision. The entire behemoth comes to a smooth halt; the engine stopped at the far end of the platform and the terminating car neatly lines up with it on this end.

While I was just observing and musing about the train's arrival, one of the station guards was already making her way towards the end of the platform. The other one took position next to the wrecks, apparently waiting for the go-ahead to load them onto one of the cars. Before the guard can reach the engine, however, said engine starts yelling an announcement.

"NORTH TOW. SHORTENED STAY OF 5 MINUTES. CURRENT DELAY 176 MINUTES," the train informs us, in a volume that makes one wonder if it wants everyone in an approximately 2 kilometer radius to be informed as well. The guard visibly hurries up for the rest of the drive towards the front of the train. Then, it looks like she's telling the engine something, resulting in the engine giving a sort of disgruntled wheeze.

"CAR 8," it barks.

The guard rushes back while gesturing at her colleague, who of course heard the reply as well and both of them quickly go about loading the wrecks into the intended car. As I follow them with looks, I notice the cargo hatch being opened on one of the other cars they're passing. It's a fair distance away from my current position, so I can't see into the car. It's not too far away though for me to overhear the brisk bickering of two voices inside. My optics linger there and I listen curiously.

"-being such a boor! Ow!" one of the voices scolds.

"I'm just trying to-! Ah! Watch your-" the other grouches.

The glimpse of an arm aimlessly grabbing onto the frame of the cargo hatch before flailingly disappearing again only raises further intrigue as to what might be going on inside the car right now.

"Would you kindly let go!" the first voice whines.

"I got it, just let me-"

A tank's rear appears, reversing partly out of the car before the rest of the hull seems to get caught on something and causes the tank to halt abruptly.

"Ough...!"

"What are you attempting?"

I don't have the slightest idea what kind of difficulty these two are trying to overcome, but I'm fully invested in the spectacle.

"It's stuck!"

"No, you're just standing on it!"

The other tank's reply gets completely drowned out by the engine's booming voice.

"TRAIN IS DEPARTING IN 1 MINUTE."

This announcement immediately and sharply raises the stakes of the argument. Interestingly enough, being reminded of the imminent threat of missing the station - by failing to leave the car in time - does the trick here.

The second tank now shows itself by simply driving outside, accompanied by a suddenly much less fierce "Oh, mind the gap!" from its still backwards-facing companion. It is carrying as many bags and containers as could possibly fit onto a vehicle. Underneath those, some of its camo paint is visible - though the bright teal and tan pattern definitely defeats the purpose of camouflage, at least in this continent's environments.

"C'mon, hurry!" it urges, but neither itself nor the other tank seem to be really following that advice; despite both appearing to be a nearly identical model which looks neither particularly large nor massive, they move with puzzling sluggishness.

It takes several seconds until the teal tank's tracks are both fully on the platform. I would be willing to bet five of my shells that a 100 ton tank could have covered the same distance in less time... going uphill... in reverse gear.

Speaking of reverse gear: Meanwhile, the other tank still appears to be occupied with something inside the car. It only rolls out a few centimeters farther before stopping again and then even undoing that progress by rolling forward a bit again.

"TRAIN IS DEPARTING. STAND CLEAR."

The teal tank turns its turret around and extends an arm to impatiently start knocking on its friend's engine deck.

"C'mon! Morris! Stop mucking around!"

"Gimme a second-" the addressed tank grumbles.

Unaware of and most likely uninterested in the dramatic scene happening before my optics, the engine is getting ready to leave the station. Apart from a shrill, continuous whistle that quickly grows loud enough to drown out the rest of the discussion, this is also indicated by the cargo door on the car starting to close itself.

...Or at the very least, there is an attempt. That Morris fellow still hasn't moved and their hull now presents an obstacle for the sliding door. I'll admit, I expected something gruesome to happen. But upon bumping into the tank's side, the door just harmlessly stops and re-opens. (Not that I would have been able to stop watching anyway, despite a strong urge to shutter my optics.)

At this point, I think the two tanks are yelling at each other. The way they've started flailing their arms at each other suggests this, even if I can't hear them due to the train's inexplicable mechanical screeching.

The door closes again, and again the attempt is thwarted by Morris' skirted flank. Just as I start wondering how long the train will continue to tolerate this, the engine somehow manages to scream even louder than before.

"DE. PART. ING."

And with that final announcement ensuring that the tinnitus problems of everyone present will be chronic, the train sets itself into motion. At the same time, the cargo door no longer seems concerned with respecting the personal space of the tank stuck in its frame. All of this results in Morris doing an awkward sideways skidding movement as they finally get the hint and back out onto the platform.

Somehow, the acrobatic act doesn't end in serious injury. While the train accelerates out of the station at a dizzying pace and its rear half thunders past, Morris now - after being dragged along several meters and doing an almost 180° spin in the process - stands safely on the platform and triumphantly holds up a piece of luggage. What appears to be the bag's carrying strap, frayed and loose on one end, flutters like a banner in the departing train's wake.

It's comical.

It's spectacular.

It's ridiculous.

I really don't know if I should clap or throw my hands up in horror at what I just saw. This kind of reckless stupidity shouldn't be encouraged by all means, but let's be honest: If you manage to make a firm believer in the concept of natural selection consider you the embodied proof that it has to be a fairy tale after all... in less than 5 minutes... that's genuinely impressive.

That makes one wonder, though, what the station guards think of such behavior. If I remember correctly, weren't they very concerned with the travelers' safety? Shouldn't they be eager to prevent situations like, well, I don't know - a tank getting mauled while exiting the train?

A glance to the side just tells me that the guards aren't where I last saw them right now. There's also no wrecks in sight, so it seems that they completed the task of loading those into the train in time. My optics wander further, and I finally spot the guards a little way off next to a nearby tree. It's not readily obvious what they're doing there. One of them is reaching up with their arms, as if trying to get something out from in between the branches. The other guard only seems to be watching the endeavour, or perhaps is providing commentary and guidance. In any case, this at least explains what is keeping them too busy to do their job this time.

I turn my attention back towards the new arrivals. They have regrouped in the meantime and are currently just standing next to each other dusting themselves off and re-adjusting their luggage. Since the train is already long out of sight by now, the noise levels in the area are returning to normal, and I'm relieved to find out that whatever lasting harm was caused to my audio sensors, it's not severe enough to make me unable to listen in on the casual conversation over there.

"Well, blimey! That was far more stressful than it had any right to be," the teal tank complains.

"I'd have to agree. Next time we should just rent a truck again," Morris adds, and then starts looking around, giving off the impression of being unfamiliar with this place. Their companion's turret starts turning as well.

"So, what now?"

"Get going, of course. We're already late so we need to make haste."

"Which way?"

Morris keeps looking around until their gaze seems to end up resting on me.

"Let's go ask someone."

They point into my direction. Both tanks nod at each other and start driving towards me intently. It is still really more of a saunter though, so it takes them a while to finally reach my position. I just stay put and wait for them, which probably gives them the impression of me not paying attention or not noticing them. As they halt at a polite distance, the teal tank clears their vents noisily.

"Excuse me!"

I turn towards them slightly to signal that I am listening. The teal tank goes on.

"Do you perhaps have any maps?" they ask.

"And something for motion sickness," Morris throws in with a lamenting tone.

The teal tank nods keenly.

"Yes, something for motion sickness, too. Poor Morris here, she always gets so queasy when travelling."

"I'm sorry," I reply with a slight nod towards the direction of the guards. "But you are confusing me with someone who's being paid to be here."

The travelers "Huh!" in unison as they look to the side. Before they can even start entertaining the disastrous idea of asking the guards for assistance, I decide to take the opportunity that's presenting itself:

"Where are you headed?"

"Tow," Morris replies, looking at me again now.

"That's not far. I've been there before, I'm sure I could help you find it without the need for a map," I suggest, "and ensure a safe trip, while I'm at it."

Unfortunately, I picked a bad way to word that. These two must be natives of the West, because my offer immediately makes them recoil and decline profusely.

"Oh Goodness, no, no, no. That won't be necessary," Morris sputters.

"We'll find it, thanks!" her companion agrees hastily.

"I would ask for material compensation, of course," I hurry to clarify. The problem with these Westerners - or Allies, as they prefer to be called - is that they're woefully superstitious. According to their strange beliefs, any sort of favor received results in equal debt; thus, from what I gathered, the worst thing you could possibly do to an Ally is save their life, since that means they now owe you that life... somehow, in some way. I'm afraid I can't explain it better than this, because that's the extent of my grasp on the concept. I generally don't try to argue with them on this topic, as I'd probably achieve nothing except making them think I owe them an apology.

Silence ensues as the travelers look at each other pensively. After a few moments, they turn back to me with skeptical gazes and Morris speaks up again.

"We couldn't afford to inconvenience you like this," she informs me.

"It wouldn't be any inordinate bother," I continue trying to salvage the situation. "A can of fuel is more than sufficient payment."

The looks that earns me clearly spell out that neither of the two is fully convinced of this idea yet. But very relievingly, they eventually shrug and seemingly decide to at least give me the benefit of the doubt.

"Well, maybe some company on the trip wouldn't be too bad," Morris says, more to her companion than to me. Both nod agreeingly, then she addresses me once more. "Do lead the way! We're in a bit of a hurry, you know."

"Of course," I reply with a polite curtsy, and our newly formed travel party gets moving.