Crash was looking in the opposite direction of the can that was lobbed to him but he caught it none the less and in a swift singular motion brought a hard metallic finger through the aluminum top ripping open a hole and bringing it to his mouth. When you spent the days of your youth scavenging about for food and drink, having to fight for each morsel that came your way, you didn’t really turn down the offerings of free food and drink. The mentally had already been drilled into you by a young age, and it was hard to escape those kinds of things. Some refused the drinks for understandable reasons either too cautious or not wanting to dampen their own senses but the large Australian seemingly did not. In his mind if alcohol was enough to throw him out of fighting condition than he had more troublesome things to worry about than a weak stomach.
He watched as the others began to talk among themselves and not for the first time analyzing them all once again. There was Blank, the one that had given him the drink, an unseemly man from a distance but the longer Crash looked at him the more it made his skin crawl and he had to fight the reflexive human instinct to start chanting the Ave Maria and burn him at the stake for being a demon. None the less though Crash couldn't help at least liking the man, they were total opposites it seemed he was personable and cocky, and Crash had the personality of a brick wall missing a couple of bricks. It was refreshing almost, something so totally opposite and yet perfectly understable. And him being an “old guy” like Crash always helped matters, in a world where every month new kids with their brand new toys try and be Divers it was nice to have another person that knew the beat as well as he did.
He was talking to the pale one with the red hair, what was her handle? Dame... yes Dame seemed appropriate. His father had a thing for old crime movies and novels, old paperbacks of Raymond Chandler, John D. MacDonald and the like but more importantly when the two of them came back from the sub he’d always put on some old black and white film from nearly a hundred years ago actors with strange and archaic names like Humphrey Bogart playing bitter detectives, solving crimes in big cities. Dame seemed as if she would fit in perfectly with those trenchcoated detectives. Though if Crash was a bettin man he would of wagered she was hiding something behind those little too perfect eyes, everybody hid something there that’s why he kept his hidden.
The next that draw his attention was the producer of a small voice, so small in fact that Crash had almost lost it beneath the pattering of rain and roar of thunder. Gaze, ironic name given her eyes but Divers always did have a black sort of humor to them all. She asked if Kybuashi expected some of them to die along the way. A sentence that seemed to speak of naivete that got a Diver killed quick, but no this was different. She did not say some of us, she said some of you. It was a minor detail but it spoke volumes enough to Crash, she had full confidence in her ability to survive, but she was wondering about the rest of the team. Probably asking the same question that Crash had been asking himself. Who was the cannon fodder in this situation? All in all Crash didn't write her off yet, he’d seen smaller people take down giants before and was always best to err on the side of caution.
Next was Gorgon, the one with the big old tentacle arm thing. Crash really didn't see the point in it all that much why have an arm that can change shape and the like when you could just punch things? It made things overly complicated and forced the brain to have to go over too many options during a battle. It caused hesitation and a single second of hesitation is all that stood between a Diver and the bullet that finally puts them down. But none the less she seemed to come from the same factory lineup that had produced Blank but without the safety restraints this time. Everything about the woman exerted this type of suicidal confidence that depending on the person could mean two polar extremes about their abilities. In that way she was the perfect poster child from the public’s representation of Divers: loud, colorful, suicidal and volatile. Well there is always one to the bunch.
Next was Ace, she was cybered up to the point that Crash was actually surprised that she hadn't snapped yet. Her augs were nothing to snuff at either most it looked like the top of the line high end gear that cost a small fortune to buy and another small fortune atop of that to actually get them installed properly and they appeared to be professionally done. They were far flung from Crash’s own gear that he had smashed onto him by some drunk cyberdoc in a back alley somewhere using anaesthetics that barely worked so much to the fact that they finally resorted to shoving a rag soaked in whiskey in his mouth as the surgery went on feeling every nick and incision. She held herself differently as well, higher with a different kind of walk. She definitely wasn’t from the street Crash could at least tell that.
Another quiet voice almost lost in the void drew his attention, a voice that belonged to one called Phantasm. Most would have overlooked the pale black haired woman as something beyond the need for further inquiry. Relatively plain and average in every way she certainly didn't try much attention. But Crash was trained to notice people, trained to consider everybody as a threat who would at any moment spring around and kill him. That old lady with the walker who feeds the ducks in the morning? Has a pistol in her pocketbook and is waiting for you to get too comfortable around her. That carpenter working in front of his shop? As soon as you walk buy his is going to bury the sharp end of that hammer into your back. It wasn’t a nice way of living but in the be or be killed business it was the only way to think. And Phantasm... well Crash couldn't really place it on his tongue, she reminded him of the big kids that used to haunt the darker parts of the Ark, laying in wait with their knives and broken bottles, waiting to strike. But Crash didn't know what her agenda was, she was a puzzle. And puzzles were dreadfully annoying because they always beckoned to be solved.
Last but not least was Jag. The afrikaner was more or less a man after Crash’s own heart. He kept to himself mostly from what Crash could tell but still carried himself with a stance that at least forced you to consider him. Crash liked the quiet types, they usually had the most interesting things to say and if they weren't mouthing off it meant that they didn't need no real sort of bravado to get their point across.
“Time to go.”
Crash nodded at Jag’s rather blunt but acute statement as he moved to board the train. The others followed suit and most of them found their way into the car ahead of the one that held the box. The last actual passenger car before the cargo section of the train, Kybuashi had bought out the two cars for the trip. The passenger car give a good enough sightline so from wherever you where you say you could maintain a sightline on the box while still retaining some level of comfort and not having to stand up in a cargo car for fifteen hours. Crash settled in a chair close to the door that lead back to box facing into the room. The others found their place as well and the small fragments of conversation continued from where they had outside. Crash didn't join them of course, there was no point in wasting the energy and it’s not like Kybuashi had paid him to talk to the others.
He closed his eyes feeling the movement beneath his feet and before he knew it he found himself drifting away to some form of restless sleep.
He knew almost immediately that he wasn't on the train anymore. The sounds had told him that it was the screams and yells of his youth that now permeated his mind as he became an observer to events long past. A barrage of language Filipino, Japanese, Chinese, and English among others some perfectly articulate while others muffled and slurred with alcohol. It didn't matter what language they were speaking it all fell into the same incoherent roar of men betting and yelling as the fights progressed. The air reeked with a strange and intoxicating smell, a mixture of smoked meat and sweat that seemed to assault and invite the nasal cavities at the same time. The lights were bright and hung far above and hurt your eyes if you looked at them for too long, and the metal cage surrounding the ring was rusted and coated with a fresh layer of blood.
A younger Crash did his best to not think of these things. He instead focused on the feeling of the concrete beneath his bare feet, the flexed tightness of his hands balled into fists and his own breathing. 1..2..3 Breathe, 1...2...3 Exhale. His eyes were locked on the opponent across from him, a large Mongolian man that they called the Great Khan. His arms and legs had been replaced with metal cybernetics that glistened under the oppressive lights. Crash was still young at this point barely a teenager, still flesh and bone. This was the fight that would change it all, the fight that would force his hands. A loud gunshot sounded off and a roar from the crowd as the match began. Crash began to circle his opponent and using his smaller frame and speed moved in close and landed a solid jab right into the left kidney. The Mongolian moved with surprising speed and drove his fist hard into Crash’s chest. As metal made contact with flesh and bone it felt as if God himself had reached down to smite him. A flash of brilliant pain and a sickening crack in his sternum as he fell backwards. He gasped for air.
He didn't go down yet, he couldn't go down yet. He pushed past the pain as the adrenaline kicked him and got to his feet his legs feeling like straws beneath him ready to crack. The Great Khan was looking away from him putting on a show for the crowd flexing his muscles and pounding his muscular chest as the crowd chanted his name in approval. Khan, Khan, Khan, Khan. Crash took his chance, he rose to his feet and charged at the man and with a leap clambered up his back. With one hand wrapped around his neck for his support he bit down hard on the Mongolian’s ear and torn upwards as he drove his other fist over and over again into the man’s opposite temple. The crowed cheered in excitement and Crash felt blood fill his mouth as his ripped the ear from it’s perch. The Great Khan roared and buckled hard as he slammed his head back and up into Crash knocking him off of his back. Before he could even recover in a fury of retribution. A heavy metal foot slammed into Crash’s left arm splayed out in front of him. A crack and a snap as bones give way as the arm was grounded into the concrete. Crash yelled and squirmed, he tried to get away but could not. He felt himself being lifted into the air and slammed into the metal cage, the sharp and jagged wire digging into his back.
But a choir of small voices reached him, chanting the name that the premotor had given him. The other kids, the ones he was fighting for back when he used to actually fight for something bigger than himself, before he became addicted to the rush and the augs. Their voices reached his ears pushing him to go forward, pushing him to fight back. Crash, Crash, Crash, Crash, Crash....
“Crash!”
Crash eyes shot open from underneath his cranial helmet as a voice yelling in his ear rose him from the land of speech. He looked around and realized quite quickly that he wasn't in any underground fighting ring anymore. The job, the box, the train, Kybuashi it all came rushing back to him as he looked about. The others were sprayed about some talking, others just relaxing. He didn't know how much time had past but looking out the Window Strasburg had disappeared, replaced with rolling european countryside. The voice... Ghost. That was here name right?“Mhmm yeah Ghost?”
A sigh of exasperation on the other side. “Thought you’d never wake up. I need you to go check on the box.” She whispered to him even though Crash could tell that she was speaking to him over a private channel. Force of habit he guessed. Sighing the Diver, leaned over the edge of his chair and peered through the window which lead into the other car. The ominous black box remained where it was sitting alone in an empty train car.
“It’s exactly where we left it. No big surprise there.” Crash muttered under his breath so that the other’s didn't think that he was a crazy man talking to himself, since Ghost obviously didn't want anybody else to know this conversation was happening.
“No you lumber giant. Actually go check on the damn box.” The whisper had a half sense of urgency to it and sighing Crash raised to his feet and give a nod to his fellow Divers before opening the door and crossing the small gap between the two cars. He approached the box and it was the same as it was before, black and alien the straps still secured from the last time he had checked. It looked exactly like he had expected it to be.
“Well it didn't grow legs if that is what you are asking.” Crash responded with a sigh as he ran a hand over the box. “Now why couldn't you have gotten one of the others to do this?”
“Because I haven't checked their files yet. I don’t know if their trust worthy A girl can only read some many surveillance records and police reports before wanting to shoot herself.” She spoke with an annoyed tone as if her answer was the most obvious thing in the world and that Crash was some sort of mentally deficient simpleton. “Besides? You remember that weird chatter I mentioned before?”
“Mhmm” Crash responded not liking where this was going already.
“Well, I managed to isolate it and filter out the interference from the Storm. Something is coming your way quickly.” Crash’s heart stopped as he cursed under his breath. Of course it wasn't going to a be a cakerun.
“How fast?”
“You’ve got under a minute.”
Crash cursed as he sprinted towards the door back to the car where the rest of the team was as he crossed the gap between he looked into the sky and saw them. Two large black shapes moving in quickly partially hidden by the dark gray storm clouds above. He bashed the door to the car opened. Eyes came up as Crash looked up as unsettled as he could be at the moment.
“We got company.” And as if almost on cue, there was the sounds of large engines pulling away and the heavy thump of footsteps on the roof of the train, probably magnetized so that they would not fall off at the speeds they were going. Then a dull explosion in the passenger car ahead of them as screams pierced through the door and another dull explosion coming from the cargo section at the car directly behind the one with the Box in it. They didn't want to risk damaging it, he supposed. Crash looked back towards the box but cursed under his breath as he heard the screams of women and children coming from the passenger car. Without thinking he pushed past the rest of them towards the passenger car leaving them to decide for themselves which way they would go as the sounds of gunshots began to fill the train.
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