Guido pulled his leather rucksack to his chest, slowly crawling towards the door and out of the moonlight. A distant whistle, screeching brakes and disengaging electronic locks signaled the train had pulled into a roundhouse. Guido reached into his bag and silently fished out a rusted revolver, slowly pulling back the hammer to a cocked position.  The yellow light from a military issue flashlight filtered through the corroded steel walls of the coal car, casting shadows across Guido’s pale face. The guard, fatigued and underpaid, failed to notice Guido crouched against the porous door of the train car and continued on to listlessly inspect the remaining cars. Guido listened closely. The sound of boots over gravel could be heard, stopping only briefly at each car before continuing down the length of the train.

        "All clear?" A deep voice shouted from within the roundhouse.

        "Seems t’be sir." Replied the guard, his words muffled by a yawn.

        "Okay, bring’er in and unload it, this is the last one tonight boys." Said the deep voice. The sound of a clipboard snapping closed and a slamming door was followed by a collective sigh of relief from the guards. The pull of a lever and a pneumatic hiss sent the armoured train slowly rolling forward into a well lit roundhouse. Hanging on the walls were 8 different clocks, each for the different timezones of Belgate.

        "I must be in Ironden now." Guido said under his breath, noticing a clock bigger than the others reading "1:55 am". Guido pushed his tattered sleeve up to his elbow revealing a shattered but functional watch. Turning the crown clockwise, he set the time ahead to the current hour.

        Scanning the spacious roundhouse, Guido noticed the array of lights and wires converging at a steel fuse box on the brick wall of the roundhouse. He aimed and unloaded the revolver into the center of the fuse box, eventually plummeting the roundhouse into darkness.

        "Damnit!" A guard swore, turning towards the shots. Before the backup generator coughed to life and the red emergency lights flickered on, Guido was already out of the roundhouse and sprinting towards the capital city of Ironden.

...

        Ironden was a massive and dense city. A blend of defensive military installations and classic, gothic architecture, with scars of a recent bombing evident. Cranes dotted the horizon, lowering anti aircraft guns atop any buildings still structurally sound. In the sky, grand airships loomed over the city, casting large shadows on the bustling streets below. The noise in Ironden consisted of an omnipresent thrum of jets and propellers created by the dirigibles and chants from merchants in the streets. The airships flew red and black political banners, the thick material flapping lazily in the slipstreams.

        Guido, sitting on a hill just outside Ironden, stood up with a grunt. The long ride in the coal train made his back stiff and uncomfortable to bend, limiting his movement to rigid, short bursts of motion. He waddled down the grassy knoll and stumbled into the city streets, propping himself up against a building to stretch. Guido retrieved two small pouches from his bag and examined their contents. One pouch held a rye bun, a chunk of goat cheese and a salted piece of jerky. The second pouch, noticeably thicker and more worn contained 13 crumpled dollar bills, 4 pistol rounds and a tin of tobacco. Guido loaded his revolver, ate the bun and cheese, and returned the bills and jerky to his bag in the thicker pouch. He tied the tin of tobacco in the other pouch and tucked it under his belt before continuing further into the city. Standing at the corner of a busy intersection, Guido noticed an alabaster colored propaganda truck turn the corner towards him. Guido threw on his hood and blended in with the crowd behind him.

“EVERYONE ABLE HAS THE RESPONSIBILITY TO SERVE” cracked through the loudspeaker on the roof of the truck. Guido dared not to look up in fear of meeting eyes with the soldier scanning the streets. The truck, just having passed the corner where Guido was standing, skidded on the rubble covered road to a halt. The thick steel side door flew open and two large, built soldiers scrambled out and into a crowd of people. The crowd began deterring the soldiers, bating them away with their hands in a weak, futile effort.

“Leave us alone!” cried one.

“Go back a fight!” yelled another.

The soldiers ignored the banter, pushing the frail citizens aside to grab a feeble young man sitting on a staircase.

“Come on boy, the fights’ waiting” said one of the soldiers.

        Guido noticed a crowd gathering on the opposite side of the street. He watched as men huddled together, subtly gesturing at the commotion caused by the soldiers.

The young man fought back, tugging defiantly against the soldier’s pull. The crowd surrounding the soldiers grew louder and more restless, swearing and screaming at the pair.

“I can’t fight, I’m sick!” argued the young man.

“We’ll let the doctor determine that.” the soldier responded. A kick to the stomach caused the soldier to release his grip on the young man, sending the boy falling awkwardly into a pile of bricks. The young man reached into his back pocket, retrieving a rusty, pitted skrewdriver. The young man charged the wounded soldier and forced the tool into his chest just below the ribcage.

Panicked and hurt, the wounded soldier emptied his machine gun into the young man and the surrounding crowd before stumbling backwards into the street. The bodies of women, children and the ill dropped, some screaming in pain and others falling in silence. The other soldier immediately sprinted towards the truck, whispering expletives under his breath. The group across the street pulled out an assortment of weapons from their coats and took aim at the fleeing soldier. A shot fired from a rifle struck the soldier in the thigh, another from a pistol hitting his shoulder. The soldier managed to crawl back into the truck while clutching his bleeding leg. He slammed the door closed and started the truck. One member of the crowd lit a fuse leading into a small length of pipe and rolled the device underneath the truck. The pipe bomb ignited, sending shrapnel and flames shooting up into the chassis of the truck. The group cheered. They began swarming the truck, grabbing ammunition, food rations, clothes and gear before scattering into the nearby alley ways. The sound of screeching tires bounced between the the buildings of Ironden, warning the crowd of approaching reinforcements.