Chapter 2: Failures

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London was never a quiet place, but when it came to the railways, the capital city of England was loud as ever, with trains coming in and out. Diesels purred around with their trains, goods or passengers. Even at night, the trains still kept coming in and out.

That was why a locomotive moved around the yards, silent as he could be. His size could be quite noticeable, but he tried to be discreet. As the smaller steam engines followed him carefully. "Careful," he said, as they hid behind some vans, "anyone could be watching."

"Oh really?" scoffed a tank engine, "because we aren't acting suspicious at all."

"Shush Hubert," said another engine, "Papyrus can get us out of here safely and you're risking it to be a sarcastic imbecile."

"You can get us out, right Papyrus?" asked a third tank engine.

"Hopefully," smiled Papyrus, "I've done it several times before, but we mustn't worry too much, let's just focus on getting out here."

Papyrus was considered a legend by the engines, one of the big A3 Pacifics that went over 100 MPH, Papyrus was estimated to go to 108 MPH, faster than his brother The Flying Scotsman. But he was not getting more well-known with engines trapped in London, and he managed to sneak a few out every month or so away from the Warclaws that lurk in the nighttime.

The large A3 Pacific looked around carefully, scanning the darkest corners. "Alright, all is clear, follow me as quietly as possible," he said.

The A3 then moved out of the yards and headed straight down the line, the tank engines following him carefully. They were heading slowly through the city's line until at last, they were exiting London. "Good work," winked Papyrus, "we're doing well."

The tank engines smiled, even the one that was rude earlier gave a relieved smirk.

"Steam engines escaping!" yelled a diesel from out of nowhere and blew their horn loudly.

Papyrus' eyes widen in shock and he looked to see a diesel in the darkness, sitting idly by itself, it sneer at them as it watched them go by. "Hurry!" he called, and he picked up the pace, "the Warclaws will be coming for us!"

The tank engines yelped and ran behind Papyrus quickly. "Blasted diesel," said the rude tank engine, "I would love to ram it into a burning fuel tanker!"

They began to quicken the pace as they exited the city, Papyrus huffed. "There's the route!" he called. The points were set for them to race over and head to another station that was very active during the night. But as the A3 looked up ahead, he glared in horror as he saw two red dots coming straight towards him through the night on the other track.

"HURRY!" he cried, "THE WARCLAW IS COMING! GET TO THE POINTS!!"

Papyrus puffed hard, he looked back, fearing for the tank engines behind him, they were puffing their hardest, but couldn't match the Pacific's speed. They wobbled and wheezed as they went as fast as they could. The points got closer and closer, and so did the Warclaw. Papyrus' breath quickened as he realised what was going to happen.

"COME ONnnnN!" he shouted, his voice breaking slightly at the end, "HURRY!"

He swerved on the points and begin to travel down the other track, he glanced back in fear. "Are they following?" he called to his crew.

His driver looked back into the darkness and his eyes widen. "Oh good lord no," he said.

Papyrus got scared for a moment, but before he could even demand an answer, he heard the sounds of metal hitting metal, the crunch of something going straight into something more delicate than itself, and the sounds of the tank engines crashing into each other and falling on their sides was heard and echoed through Papyrus' mind as the Warclaw rammed it's claw into the first tank engine's smokebox just as it came over the points. The Warclaw, unharmed, began to brake, but the explosion of the first tank engine came with fire and destruction, with it destroying the rails and all tank engines' lives as their crews ran away in fear, cuts, and bruises on them only.

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