“Gwip… remind me again why we’re all the way out here?” Shale yelled as he dismounted heavily from the WRF-bound freight train, stumbling but landing upright on the verge.
“We’re here because of what I found in the Rustyards about a month ago, and finally have a reason to show someone.” The agile raccoonfolk alighted next to Shale, his tail swishing. “C’mon, it’s less than a kilometer of walking now.”
Shale groaned loudly, but followed behind Gwip. Cresting the next hill, he was treated… or perhaps ‘treated’ to an ominous sight in the distance: a massive shunting yard, bigger than any currently in use. It was full to the brim of rotting, broken, and generally shabby rolling stock, and, more distressingly, locomotives.
The pair were at its outermost track within twenty minutes. Gwip pulled a thundercaster from his belt, the stubby pistol-like device sparking as he armed it. This wasn’t lost on the ever-vigilant Shale.
“Tell me there’s nothing dangerous here.” Shale sounded grumpy, but also wary.
“There’s nothing… overtly dangerous here.” Gwip kept walking, thundercaster at his side but still ready. “And besides, I’m sure they fear the Rose Sword of Shell Grove a lot more than they fear one crazy raccoonfolk with a lightning gun.” He smirked back at Shale.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just… let’s find this thing you wanted to show me.”
Another eight or so minutes of cautious walking later, and Gwip suddenly grinned, pulling his head back around the carcass of a boxcar. “Alright. Cover your eyes, take my hand, and prepare to be amazed!”
Shale sighed, and did as he was requested, grabbing ahold of Gwip’s paw and allowing himself to be eagerly dragged forward.
“Alright, open em!” Gwip sounded as excited as he’d ever been. “You’re gonna love this-”
Shale opened his eyes to behold… a race locomotive. Most of one, anyway. It was rusty, battered, and had some alarmingly deep dents in her boiler. But it was a race locomotive nonetheless. “Gwip, this… is this a Renatean locomotive?”
“You… don’t sound extremely impressed. But yeah, it is! It’s a Frameshift-class loco. Think it was used in the Rally in 133?”
Shale walked around the dead beast of a machine, clambering onto its pilot at the front and walking on the catwalks to the nameplate on its boiler. He spat on the soot-covered nameplate, removing the grime with his thumb to reveal its name. “Mirage.” He scoffed. “Yeah, that fits. Mirage of an actual race loco at this point.”
“Hey, now. She runs! That’s more than a lot of the other sorry rustbuckets in this place can say.” Gwip sounded offended, and hopped up into the cabin. “I had to go to a lot of work to keep this thing inconspicuous. She woulda been stripped for parts long ago, if not.”
“What could possibly be worth stripping from this- oh.” A thought came to Shale. “A Frameshift-class-” He turned to Gwip, eyes glittering with reluctant hope. “She’s still got her boiler tubes, doesn’t she.”
“You bet your bottom spur she does!” Gwip was triumphant, the familiar unhinged grin splitting his mouth wide. “Pure adamantium alloy, and not a scratch on them. If we can get this thing to do more than a slow limp, we’ll win that rally.”
“That’s a big if. But we’ve got a loco.” Shale grinned, and clambered into the cabin with his friend.
“We’ve got a loco.” Gwip agreed. “And the loco’s still got enough water and infernite booster integrity to get us as far as…” He flicked a gauge. “My workshop, if we’re really careful and take the back rails.” He yanked a lever, and a sudden hiss and sizzle emanated from the boiler. After an agonizing ten minutes, he pulled a different lever, and slowly, at a snail’s pace, the Mirage began to move, smooth as butter, steam huffing from her pistons like she hadn’t napped a day.
An hour later, they were cruising at just about running pace across the back rails of the Woodland Raccoon Federation, and an hour after that, they were pulling into the tiny shed set on the outskirts of Steamhaven that was Gwip’s workshop.
Shale leapt off and onto the concrete floor as the Mirage came to a halt. “Gosh, this- this changes everything. We’re gonna need a crew, and parts, and a sponsor- we’ve got a chance now.”
“More than a chance. If you can get new wheels and a new gearbox, the necessary race gear, and some patch plate for the firebox… We have a spot on the podium, or as good as.” Gwip shut the engine down, leaning out of the cabin.
“Not without the rest of our crew, we don’t- but alright, alright.” Shale grinned. Things had, somehow, impossibly, managed to turn around.