As the SkyLine doors shut, Desmond Kjeza burst through and finally collapsed into an open seat, breathing heavily. He shut his eyes, feeling his heart pound so loudly it drowned out the notices about potential technical difficulties and occasional discomfort on the line being called out over the PA system. He couldn’t believe it. He’d made it.
He wasn’t sure where exactly Raisa and Victor had ended up, but he didn’t bother looking around his car for them. He knew they’d have listened to him and split up, hiding in plain sight. He was fairly sure he could have told them to do anything and they’d have done it without question, after what they’d just gotten away with. They would have figured it was all part of the plan. Sure, his actual plan had disintegrated after the first minute, but they didn’t need to know that. No one did.
Still catching his breath, Desmond stared up at the silver ceiling of the SkyLine. The messy brown hair, pudgy face, and two-sizes-too-large maroon overcoat were the same, of course. But he wasn’t staring at the face of a failure anymore, not the face of a former prodigy who hadn’t been able to cut it at university. This was the face of the architect of one of the most daring heists in Skylurian history, the face of a future Dark Lightning star.
He could not help himself. A smile slowly spread across his face, and he began to laugh. At first, it was a low, rumbling noise, almost indistinguishable from the rattling of the train as it pulled away from the station and began its journey above the streets. But then his laughter crescendoed into a full, rich sound, a triumphant song of freedom and victory. A couple sitting across from him asked him something. Probably if he was alright. Of course he was. He’d never been better.
When his fit of laughter had died down and his heartbeat had returned to some semblance of normalcy, Desmond pulled himself up in his seat. He drew his gaze over to the rounded windows which ran the length of the car. Out there, against a backdrop of brilliant sky and weightless clouds, illuminated perfectly by the falling sun, stood the gleaming jewel of a City-State that was Skyluria. After what he’d just done, it was all but his for the taking. This, at last, was what he meant to do. This, at last, was where his life began—!
Suddenly, the train was jolted to the side, forcing Desmond to instinctively grab hold of the bars beside him and brace. Just when it seemed to settle, Desmond straightened up, then the car shook once more, not unlike a plane through turbulence. As soon as Desmond was certain the SkyLine had stabilized itself, he scanned his surroundings. Though the shaking had been rather dramatic, the train didn’t seem to be damaged, and the confused passengers around him all seemed to be chalking this up to mechanical issues or malfunctions. But somehow, though he couldn’t say how, Desmond knew it had to do with what he’d just done. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.
He tapped his Matrix to open a line, raised it to his lips. “Vic, Rai, you two feel that?”
There was a moment of dreadful silence, before finally Raisa responded, “No duh. I don’t remember the SkyLine being this bad as a kid.”
“I know. Not a coincidence.”
“Really? You sure about that?”
“Of course. There’s no other explanation.”
Someone was trying to steal his victory out from under him, he was sure. If it had been Councilor Xoltras discovering what he’d done and what he’d taken (which was highly unlikely already), he would have just sent a squad to apprehend him at the next station, instead of… whatever charade this was. So, no, this had to be some rival gang trying to block his escape.
As if to confirm his theory, Victor’s voice cut in: “You two, I think you’d better get up here.”
“Where are you?” responded Desmond, already getting to his feet.
“Second car from the front.”
“I’ll be right there.” Hurrying towards the front of the car, Desmond was aware that people were beginning to stare at him, but he tried his best to look like he hadn’t noticed. A sudden rush of wind blew past him as he opened the car door and stepped out onto the gangway, crossing to the next car. “What’s going on, Vic?”
“Nothing good, Dez. I—”
He was interrupted as the cars shook again, going into a sharp left turn. A more learned Thyrian might have quickly conjured a Vokation or two to steady them, before continuing on their path unfazed. Desmond simply fell against a nearby railing, clutching it tight while the SkyLine continued to shake.
“See if you can get to the control room,” he responded, regaining his balance and running towards the next car. “If anyone can stop this, it’ll be the engineer.”
“That’s the problem,” replied Victor. “The engineers are out.”
“Out? What do you mean, out?”
“I mean they’re unconscious.”
“Yes, I knew that much!” barked Desmond as he shuffled between another set of cars. “How could they be out?”
“I don’t know for sure, although I saw a flash in the control room earlier. Didn’t catch what it was. I don’t see anyone in control of the SkyLine right now—” Once more, the train shuddered, this time around what would usually be a gentle, slow curve. “—so I’ll see if I can get in and get us back on track.”
“Do it.” Right now he couldn’t be concerned with how his enemies had managed to catch up to him and take out the engineers. He just had to take control of the situation before things got worse.
Desmond broke into a sprint through the cars, which continued to shake around every turn with increasing intensity. Though he drew erratic looks and puzzled shouts from increasingly frightened passengers, Desmond kept a wary eye out for anyone that stood out. Could that stoic, mustachioed man sitting by the door be hiding a weapon in his large satchel? He certainly had the unfazed demeanor of a killer. That elderly woman shrinking in her seat, wearing a thick pink coat, may have seemed cold, but it was bright and warm outside — could it have been armor, in preparation for an inevitable confrontation?
He had no time to tell for sure, rushing past them and glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Even the shouts of a couple blue-clad conductors would not stop him. It was only once he’d arrived in what he thought was the final, empty car that he allowed himself a moment’s rest, bending over and breathing heavily.
The door before him slid open, and a man not much younger than Desmond rushed through in his white cap and overalls.
“Whoa, Dez. You good?” asked Victor Rougell, putting his hand on his shoulder.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” answered Desmond, swatting the hand away. Now that he’d had a moment to recover, Desmond realized that there was still one car ahead of him, and strode towards it.
Entering the control room, he saw two engineers slumped over, unconscious, on a dashboard full of panels and switches. “Well, that’s just great. Didn’t you try to do something?”
Victor shrugged. “I hit a few buttons, but I don’t think it did anything good.”
“I thought you were an engineer too?”
“I’m an engineer. I’m not that kind of engineer.”
“Then step aside, and allow me.” Desmond pushed the unconscious engineers off of the dash, noting that it was darkened and damaged immediately beneath them, as if something had exploded. How had that happened? No, he had more immediate concerns than that.
Hoping that the disabled controls weren’t too important, he turned his attention to the rows of glowing buttons and moving gauges, each labeled with two- or three-letter abbreviations. He tapped the giant screen in the center of the board and scrolled through the different displays offered, all the charts and metrics that looked like they might have been describing something about how the train was moving. He couldn’t quite make sense of it at first, but when he’d examined every centimeter of the panel, it all became so clear to him — he had no clue what on earth was going on.
“Right. I think I’ve got it,” Desmond declared, hitting a few prominent, glowing buttons and throwing a large lever. That seemed to have a stabilizing effect on the SkyLine, giving him a split-second window to decipher what his enemies were up to. They knew he was here. They wanted what he had. So they took out the engineers, sent the train out of control… killing him in the crash, and letting them take it off his cold, dead hands before anyone was the wiser. That was probably their plan, he figured.
But that wasn’t in his plan.
The SkyLine shuddered once more, as the door behind him let out a gasp, and Raisa Minasen burst through. In her magenta tank top and grey sweatpants, she looked more like someone who’d just gotten back from her afternoon run than someone who’d just aided in stealing from the Councilor of Skyluria. Before Desmond could ask her where she’d been, she slammed the door shut behind her, then slapped her hand to the handle, shut her eyes, and let a violet light flow across the door.
Even Desmond knew better than to interrupt her, despite not being entirely sure what she was trying. Calling upon the Thunderstorm always demanded sharp focus and attention, and, especially in a spot like this, he basically had no choice but to trust her judgement.
Instead, he turned his attention back to the track, continuing to flip different switches and swipe between readouts, trying to stabilize the SkyLine further. He thought he might have, though, given that it continued to shudder every few minutes, he wasn’t certain of that. He was pretty sure the train was going faster, though. Had he done that?
Before he could really examine the answer, the violet light behind him dissipated, and Raisa turned to him and Victor. “OK, that should buy us some time, at least.”
“What’d you do?” asked Victor, standing awkwardly by the dash, not entirely sure what to do.
“Sealed the door. And the last three. And threw a whole rack of luggage in their way. It should slow the conductors down.”
“What?” Bewildered, Desmond looked over at her. “The conductors are after us? Whatever for?”
“Uh, something to do with hijacking this train, I think.”
Desmond made a sour face. “That’s absurd! Someone else hijacked the SkyLine, so really, I’m hijacking their hijacking!”
“Yeah, I know. Still, Dez… we do literally have a couple kayoed drivers right there.”
“They were like that when I got here!”
Suddenly, an alarm blared, and the screen in the middle of the dashboard switched to a map of the train tracks, drawing the attention of all three. Victor sighed, seeing that another SkyLine station was only minutes away; Raisa winced, noticing a second train on the same line, even closer and rapidly approaching; and Desmond stared, in his best attempt at deep contemplation.
“Well,” Raisa said at last, “that isn’t good.”
