It's night

Ammo check. Knife check. (Could be a stunt knife, you never know.) Then do what Nate said.

 

You take a deep breath and brush off all the pansy you've been rolling around in. Knife, sharp. Gun, loaded. Smokes, lit. You'll be the first to admit that you only smoke to look cool and try not to do it often enough to kill your lungs too bad. However, as much as your life is about appearances and what you want people to think. Your job is about results. You weren't picked to join Sour Kraut and all the other tops of the industry because you're just another pretty face. You were chosen because you're the guy who gets there. It may not be a job in front of you, but you've got to get there first. You smile. Whoever these fucks behind the door are, you're getting there.

Or not. You barely managed to avoid a shotgun blast tearing your leg off when you noticed your would be assassin in the dingy window's reflection. Your dodge puts you in a corner behind a chair with no good way to get line of sight. If you remember where he is correctly you can just-- got him. Her, rather. The woman looks to be in her early thirties at the oldest. Her vest caught the bullet, unfortunately. She'll be back up in a second. She you grit your teeth and tackle her to the ground. Your leg doth protest quite intensely against this course of action but your leg can shove it, your brain's the boss. You put your knife flush up against her jugular through the very top layers of her skin. She glares up at you and spits some kind of Russian at you. Probably insulting you. Whatever. You see that she's currently unarmed the sawn off shotgun that she was using before is just out of her reach. You check for others briefly and then ask her if she speaks English in your most polite tone. More Russian. Well, this doesn't seem to be going much of anywhere. There are still other people to attend to, so you should

[] Press the interrogation.
[] Kill her.
[] Knock her out.

 

Knock her out and try to use her as a meat shield.

 

Knock her out and continue your search.​

 

As much as you don't like half measures and hurting women, she's out cold and you've got that sweet tingling in your forearm and elbow that tells you that there's nothing left in her head but uneasy 'got my head knocked on by a large joint' dreams. Well enough. She's not going to trouble you for a good while. Next order of business. You heave her up on your shoulder. She's wearing a solid ton of gear and probably isn't much of a dainty thing without it. Still you tell your leg to kindly fuck off and then quietly shoulder your way into the last car. Two people are fighting still, only it seems that knives and fists have been taken over guns. Fun. One's clearly an American and the other looks a little Russian-but-not-really. Probably from some little place like Georgia. Anyhow the American-- the hot blonde chick-- is holding her own against the crew cut gigantor. She's even got long hair just flipping around wildly like she don't give a damn. Snowflake and Sour would hate her. You personally like people who have their own flair and ego. It's how you're remembered that counts. No one remembers that safe guy who makes sure to do everything nice and clean and easy. You remember the guy who charged up the hill and killed thirty assailants on the way and then took out the gunnery up top. Anyhow, given that the hulking monster hasn't managed to so much as catch her with a bullet while his own vest is pockmarked with lead, you're gonna say he's on the losing end. That's an oddity, really. Usually, it's the Americans that have to use numbers and tactics to win. This girl is something special.

Still, you've got the psuedo-Russian's partner on your shoulder and you figure you might as well make it your business to return her. So you do the only logical thing and call attention to yourself. Both combatants stare at you like you're some kind of retard, the almost-not-really-Russian a bit moreso. You muster the strength to one armed toss the chick onto the ground and start asking your questions, rapidfire. Don't give them a chance to think about it, don't give them room to question your existence. Put the ball in their court with a lot of speed and a little spin. The American is the first to answer you, in Spanish no less. She says something about her partner being a complete dolt and that you're dead once she finishes the big one. The big one speaks in posh English English and tell you that he'll rip your skull from your puny little head and wear it as a codpiece.

Okay, agents have never been the friendly sort, but come on. Skull codpiece? Is he joking? The American asks as much. He responds by reaching in to grab her hair. She responds by dragging a her second butterfly knife through four of his fingers and burying it in his leg. With the one she'd been fighting with so far she took his right eye and a good bit of his brain you imagine. Confirmed. He's a dead man. Well, this was hardly what you expected from your train ride. You should

[] Communicate like a civilized person.
[] RUN!
[] fight.

 

Running from her with your leg in its current shape...probably not a great idea. Try to stall her from killing you, if she tries. Be smooth.​

 

Chat the ***** up, one stylin' mofo to another.

 

[✓]

 

You can already tell that running isn't an option. She's probably out of bullets and she'll definitely finish the Russian chick before you if you get out now but you're on a train and a mangled leg. By the same token, you aren't going to fight someone who just completely trashed a spec-ops bear-man. So you ask her to kindly answer you again. You repeat your questions, slowly this time. Simple stuff like, "Who are you?", "What are you doing here?", "When did all this get started?", "Where are we anyway?", "Why are you looking at me like that?" and the classic, "How you doin'?"

She frowns at you and takes a step forward like she's about to try and gut you. You lean back and draw your gun. She shouldn't be able to get it away from you at this distance. You smile and tell her that she's being rather impatient. She stops and begins to answer your questions. Apparently she's just another government spook who's looking for a certain confidential item since this morning when she and her little playmates boarded the train to get back to civilization with said confidential item. She was also apparently born with that look and is doing fine. She may be hot, but she's a total killjoy. You ask her if she's aware of that. She says she's made it as a point of pride. You tell her that that part of her she reminds you of Snowflake. When she asks what you mean, you sit down in the nearest seat, holster your gun and motion that you want her to sit next to you. She frowns and puts away her knives. She says that from one incredibly gorgeous person to another, she probably wasn't going to kill you anyway. You thank her for that and begin recounting one of your favorite stories. The story of the first time you met Snowflake.

[] Do the time warp.
[] Be the first girl.
[] Be yourself.

 

[TICK] TIME WARP, MOTHERFUSKER!

 

do the time warp​

 

[✓]

 

After you finish telling your story the hot chick is smiling a little. She's clearly the type who doesn't really smile when she's happy so much as when she's amused; even then, she's hard to amuse. But she seems to have taken enough of a liking to you to make good on her word to not kill you, at least not now. It seems she's also extending the same mercy to the Russian agent you brought in. Though, you get to remain unbound and she is trussed up tighter than a Japanese schoolgirl in one of those AV's you've seen on the internet. Better her than you.

The hot chick asks why you call her Snowflake, it wasn't explained in the story, and she is just too curious now. You explain that it's a somewhat rude nickname that another mutual acquaintance came up with and you use it because she refuses to tell anyone her real name. You feel like referring to people by pseudonym is just too impersonal and that it's better to call them something that's their own, something that isn't just borrowed for a bit. The hot chick actually laughs at you this time. She says that you remind her of her good for nothing partner. Too sentimental to be in the business of killing people. You tell her that you're not in the business of killing people. She smiles again and tells you not to lie. She tells you that you're going to be treated as a noncombatant this time, but if she sees you again in other circumstances she has more than enough orders to justify killing you and dumping the body in the nearest river. You ask her why the special treatment this time. She shrugs and says that you're a very pretty person and that she'd rather not.

At this moment her good for nothing partner shows up. She starts calling him a loser and telling him that he was supposed to evacuate all the normal riders at the last stop. He explains in the way that a doormat explains to a boot that he must have missed one person in your car because he was in a rush. You remember that there was the person you were sleeping on, too. You should...

[] Speak up.
[] Stay quiet.

 

let her know. it's good to tell pretty people things​

 

earn possible brownie points and tell her

 

[✓]

 

She blinks at you. Then she turns to her partner and starts berating him again and hitting him. Wow, what a doormat. You understand that you'd probably be one too if that chick were your partner given how kill-y she can get, but come on man, have some pride. It's at this point that the henpecked little guy looks over to you and asks if you remember what the person you were sleeping on looked like. You shrug and say you were sleeping. Before he has a chance to slap the palm of his hand to his forehead the hot chick does it for him, except to the back of his head and with a disgruntled sounding sigh. As much as you'd love to help some more and witness more trouble in paradise you're gonna have to get off this train somehow and you're not exactly liking the idea of asking them for permission. So, you choose a different tact. You offer to help the chick's partner go look for the MIA sleepshoulder. The hot chick smirks at you ans says that you guys will be staying put and she'll be checking the rest of the train since her partner not only missed Miss Spetznaz but also a civy.

Loser starts to try to defend himself but ends up just mumbling something that she ignores. You can't help but feel for the guy. Without another word you and Loser are watching her leave and you're enjoying yourself more than you should. Snowflake would probably call you a pig and Shotty would tell you to hit that. You wish that all your friends got along better and didn't want to kill each other. Loser says that you two should probably get acquainted or something since that's the polite thing to do. You say that your friends all call you Safety First, because you were the helmet. He says his name is Guy and the loser thing is a homograph of his last name. He says that he's technically not supposed to tell you his name, but since he's not important it'll slide. You suppose Loser is an okay guy after all. Maybe Doormat would suit him better?

Around this time, both of you notice Miss Spetznaz is waking up. Loser asks her if she's alright in English and again in fluent Russian without missing a beat. She spits in his face. He smiles courteously and wipes it off with a handkerchief. He then puts her up on one of the empty seats and sits across from her. He motions you over. What do you do?

 

knock the ***** out (with your helmet) first then sit down

 

See if she cooperates this time. If not, knock her back out.​

 

You frown and walk over. There's only way way to deal with Russians, beat them until they stop beating on you. If you try to be nice, they're all trained to see it as a sign of weakness. You're, quite honestly, surprised that a guy who works with the hot chick and speaks such fluent Russian would miss that. So when you walk up, you sit next to her instead of him and punch her in the arm. She grunts and struggles back at you but the being tied up thing works in your favor. Loser tells you to refrain from hitting the prisoner and that you're not savages but just people on two sides of a conflict. You ask him if he's the PR guy, or something. He laughs sheepishly and says that he's not but he does prefer to keep things civil. He repeats it all in Russian. The woman snickers. See?

He says that he was raised by a pastor so it's in his nature to just turn the other cheek. It's never been a problem because no one's been able to beat him down yet. You tell that's not how it looks with his partner. She isn't so violent as all that, he says. She likes to rag on him, but only because she expects perfection from everyone and she has to put up with less than that. This boy is so whipped, it's not even funny. Like you haven't seen someone this whipped since you were hired to raid a baseball stadium supposedly filled with assassins and found it filled with nothing but gimps getting beat up by this EGL type chick. You ask him what the safe word is. He laughs and says that she seems to stop when he says, "I've got work to do."

Miss Spetznaz seems to have calmed down a bit. Like she isn't looking for a weapon anymore. Calmed or resigned, you're not actually sure. Whichever way it actually is, she's looking at you two with a more puzzled than angry expression than she was about a minute ago. You ask if she's interested in talking, too. She turns her head away and grumbles something. She understands English. If you're honest with yourself, as nice as the Americans are being to you right now, you're in much the same position as Miss Spetznaz until you can prove to them that you're really just an eccentric traveler or escape. You should...

[] Laugh it off and continue your conversation.
[] Escape.
[] Take another nap.