Leon walked along the rail tracks, following behind Tracy. It didn't take them long to reach the East Rail Yard.
Rusty railroad lines spread across the ground like a complicated web woven by a spider, all converging toward the massive yard. Rows of rail carts and steam engines lined the sides as night-duty workers, drenched in grease and oil, ran around to repair them. The whole yard roared with the sound of steam engines rattling. Clangs of metal hitting metal echoed loudly every second. Workers rushed from one rail to another as their superiors shouted just to be heard over the roaring engines.
Tracy didn't stop. She entered the yard like she owned the place, and Leon followed, looking at the big steam engines with fascination.
Their black metal bodies loomed like sleeping beasts, covered in soot and rust, yet still humming with a strange kind of life. Pipes coiled around their sides like veins, and their great wheels were half-buried in grime, still wet from last night's rain.
Leon had seen steam engines before—but only in books, old photographs, maybe once in a documentary back on Earth. He remembered staring at his screen, fascinated by the black-and-white images of smoke and steel.
But this… this was different.
Here, the scent of oil burned in his nose. The faint heat from an idle boiler tickled his skin. The sound of pressurized hissing, the distant clank of a hammer against steel—it all felt real. Alive.
These weren't just machines.
They were monsters.
Big, breathing monsters of metal that had carried empires, moved armies, changed the course of history. And now, here they were—broken, repaired, bent into service once more in a crumbling part of the city.
Leon walked slowly alongside one of them, running his fingers along the cool metal surface. It was dented and scratched, its nameplate long rusted over.
He couldn't help but whisper to himself, "I never thought I'd touch one."
Tracy, watching from the side, raised an eyebrow. "What's so special about that thing? Just a train."
Leon looked back at her, almost amused.
"Not just a train," he said.
"… These are the start of everything," Leon muttered.
And for the first time in a long while, something in Leon felt small—not weak, but humble.
He was standing at the feet of history.
Tracy looked at him funny.
"Yeah, big brain in a small body. We'll come admire these trains later, but for now, let's find that old man, shall we?"
Hearing Tracy's remark, Leon spun. He pulled his left foot back and, with his right touching his chest, bowed slowly.
"After you, my lady," Leon said with a smirk.
"If only you were a little older," Tracy muttered through a smile as she walked forward.
As they walked through the iron beasts and greasy workers, they spotted Old Garry standing with some men. He too wore a worker's uniform, grease-stained all over. In his left hand was a still-burning cigarette, its smoke dancing in the air like a snake.
Leon and Tracy walked closer.
"Look who we have here," Old Garry said, spotting them. "I wasn't sure you'd come, short stuff and young lass."
Garry pointed toward his group.
"Let me introduce you first—"
But just as Old Garry was about to continue, a voice came from behind him.
"Introductions can wait, Gramps. We gotta go. Everyone's already there."A youth, who seemed in his twenties, came running.
Garry looked at Leon and Tracy. "You'll get to know them eventually," he said with a shrug.
Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, Garry followed behind the youth, leaving a cloud of white smoke behind.
Leon had been a smoker himself in the past, so it didn't bother him much. But Tracy covered her nose as both of them followed behind Garry.
They soon left the rail yard behind, walking alongside a very old and rusty train track that looked like it would crumble into dust upon a single touch.
It led to an old train yard just a little distance away from the previous one. Although it was common for iron trains and tracks to get rusty due to the environment, this was on a whole other level. It was territory claimed by flora and fauna as vines and moss crawled onto the rusty surfaces of the old train coaches.
The center of this old yard was relatively clean, and that's where Leon saw around thirty to forty people in multiple small groups. Some individuals stood alone on the periphery.
"Took you long enough, old man," a tall man with a blond mustache and bald head came forward. He was part of the biggest group that stood in the center.
"Shut up, Bladdy, I was busy, you know," Garry shouted back.
"Hmph! The hell you were busy, you old coot. Did you think we weren't? Everyone's busy here, you senile old man," the bald man with the blond mustache shouted even louder.
"Now, now, calm down, Uncle John. And you too, Gramps," the youth from earlier interjected.
"Hmph."
"Hmph."
Both Old Garry and Bladdy snorted.
'He must be the leader,' Leon thought.
Although the youth was younger than Garry and the bald man, they still respected his words. Even though the two men were loud, they didn't attract that much attention. But the moment the crowd heard the youth's voice, their heads turned.
The youth made his way to the center as the crowd gathered around him.
"There are many new faces among us today, so let me introduce myself first."The youth looked around, his eyes scanning the new faces. He locked eyes with many, including Leon and Tracy.
"My name is Morgan. I am a laborer, a daily wage worker just like you. You're here because of a reason many of you have already guessed. But still, let me put it out in the open."
Morgan took a pause. His bright blue eyes moved, looking at each and every one gathered around him. His deep voice reverberated through the air again.
"Workers die here daily—due to accidents, hunger, killed by the very machines they operate. But still, even though we put our everything into our jobs—we sweat, we bleed—for what?"
Morgan's voice grew louder.
"For the measly pay that can barely feed one mouth. We live in constant fear of being thrown out. No matter how long you work for them—ten years, twenty years—they don't think twice before replacing you. Our lives here are more miserable than pigs headed to slaughter. At the very least, they fatten the pig before killing it. But here, they squeeze us dry of every bit of strength we have to offer—turning us into a dry husk of leather—just to throw away and replace."
The crowd was silent.
"And that's why we are gathered here. Remember, we are not here to fight just to live or to survive—but to live like humans. God says we are all equal. And that's why we fight—not for glory, not for victory—but for equality."
Morgan took a deep breath.
"First, we will gather more people like us. People who are not pigs to slaughter—but humans, with the will to live."
"I know you may have doubts and questions. And I'm here to answer."