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Life was a beautiful thing, in a way. Anything was possible, including taking down a large organization. That was the goal. It had been a year since the incident happened. Since the traitor ratted them out. It had also been a year since they had begun to brainstorm. This was bound to work. If it didn't, they don't know what they'd do.
It was slightly cloudy outside, the white fluff covered the sun in the slimmest way. An old, worn down car sped down the dirt road, the tires spun against the rubble, causing dust to float and swirl through the already polluted air. The vehicle was discolored, looking as though it had been spray painted with blue, in order to cover the horrid Carmel color that bore scratches and dents. The windows were shattered, leaving absolutely no protection if something were to go wrong. Inside the automobile, sat Brenda and Jorge. The girl in the passengers seat had grown her hair out to her shoulders, a strand of hair was tucked behind her left ear, and she wore a Burgundy scarf around her nape. Just underneath her eyes, was a line of grey, that was painted on. It seemed to be a lighter shade, due to the fact that her skin was glistening with sweat. War paint.
In the drivers seat, was Jorge. He wore a nice, tan coat that had a large collar, which covered his neck. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch, checking the time before pursing his lips and releasing a sigh.
"They're late."
Brenda glanced at him from the corner of her eye before she brought her wrist up to view, releasing a sniffle, and glimpsing at the watch that was clasped around her wrist, before bringing her gloved hand to rest upon the dashboard as she looked to her father figure, a smirk threatening to tug at her lips as she heard a loud horn in the distance. She reached down and gripped her shotgun, placing it in her lap as Jorge powered on the car. Jorge drove the car to the left and sped down the hill, completely disregarding the small plants and bushes that had grown over time. As they reached the bottom, they came into view of a large train, that was zooming down its tracks. Jorge drove right up on the side of it, making sure to keep up their speed as they soon reached the front of the train, causing the pilots to glance over in confusion.
A little way away, another car came speeding down the scorch. In the drivers seat, was Vincent, and in the passenger, was Thomas. The teen boy had a walkie talkie in his hand, and he began to shout into the device, "Brenda, were comin' up behind. Keep em' busy!" He demanded referring to the drivers of the train.
The said girl complied with no complaints, standing up in her seats and sticking her torso out of the sunroof so she could aim her shotgun at the front off the train. She pulled the trigger, the window of the train cracking as the bullet flew through the locomotive. The pilots' eyes widened as they docked down to dodge the bullet.
Thomas and Vincent followed behind the train, pebbles from the track flew up and hit the rim of the car as the tires swerved on either side of the tracks, "This is crazy, Thomas!" Vincent shouted, as he snuck a glance at the teen boy, who didn't bother to return it.
