With the sun far below the horizon, and the blanket of night thick, the camp was lit faintly with parted torches. Gathered around an open tunnel, the men heaved, all thirty of them, carrying the contraption onto the long abandoned tracks of The Winter Train. As wheel and rail lined into place, the men dropped the handcar unceremoniously onto the track. The steel clanked together like a pair of cymbals, ringing throughout the snowing camp.

While I watched the rebels worked to attach the makeshift wagon behind, Amelia and John came up to me, rifle and SMG slung around their shoulders, backpack on their backs, masks hanging onto their belts, ready to leave at a moment's notice.

I turned my head and followed as they walked up beside me, inspecting the scene before them. “You don't have to come with me,” I told them. “You two have no obligations to me.”

“Don't be stupid,” Amelia reminded me. “If you die here, how are we going to face our parents later?” She turned and walked away, leaving me with her brother.

John added, “Don't take it to heart. The scolding that is. She calls everyone an idiot.”

“Yeah,” I replied, matter-of-factly. “I can see that.”

“But she's right. We're not going anywhere.” He slapped me on my metal arm, drawing his hand back immediately after in slight pain. “Get use to us.” He walked off after his sister.

I stared at their backs as they disappeared one-by-one into the armoury tents. I wondered what kind of life they had before me. If they had a family of their own. Children to love and care for. I made a mental note to ask them later.

“I'm guessing those are your grandkids?” I spun around to the voice.

Behind me stood Lindsey Gardner, Borris's sister. Wearing a hooded grey camouflage patterned coat over long sleeved black shirt, jeans, and a leather chest piece. A gas mask dangled from the bandoleer around her chest, a bag to her back. The woman looked as ready for war as everyone around us.

She continued, “I thought they'd be younger. But they look almost your age.”

“Time traveller.” I pointed to myself. “Eighty-eight this year.”

“Right...Hero of the Mist.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, confounded. “And dressed like that?”

“I'm coming with you.”

“What?” I was genuinely surprised. “No. No! You can't come with us. I'm not gonna have even more people risk their lives for me!”

“I'm sorry,” she replied sarcastically, “But when did I ask for your permission?”

“I-”

“No,” she cut in curtly. “I'm not going to let my brother's life be sacrificed in vain. If anything happens to you, I will never be able to make it up to him. Look over there.” She pointed to Jason's group of men who lifted a second wagon into place. “Every one of them is Jason's people. And as far as I know, you can't tell your grandkids about that asshole's plan. So I'm the only one who can watch your back. What are you going to do if Jason stabs your family in the back because you couldn't see behind you?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but my brain was set on stun. Blankly staring back at her, desperately trying to think of something to say with my hand stuck in mid motion, I stammered out, “Um...”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Like Amelia and John before her, Lindsey headed for the armoury to gear up. My gut clenched uncomfortably. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't feel my gut. But from the way it grumbled and churned, I would say it was uncomfortable about something.

Then it occurred to me that I was likely hungry. Like everything else, I couldn't feel hunger either. Before that day, I had been guided by Doctor Parker for all my meals and other health issues, as I can no longer trust my body's ability to warn me. The sun had set hours ago, and I had not had anything to eat since I woke up.

Approaching one of the rebel groups loading the wagon, I asked, “Hey guys, you know where I can get something to eat around here?”

The closest one, a muscular man in his early twenties, took a look at my arm and laughed. “Yeah. The garage is at the end of the camp. I'm sure there's some oil cans lying around.”

Confused, I replied, “What?”

With a smirk, he replied, “Robots don't need to eat. You just oil up. Maybe a little lube?”

Offended, I stepped forward to confront him. But before a word even escape my lips, he pushed me hard in the chest and I stumbled back. “What the hell?” I shouted.

The group just laughed. What I assumed now was the leader, the man who I had been dealing with, took a large step forward, covering the gap between us. With just one arm, he wrapped his hand around my collar and lifted me off my feet, as light as if I was a piece of paper.

“Don't forget your place, robot. You may be a legendary hero, but if you don't want your family to get hurt, you're going to be our bitch.”

Stubborn as I was, I instinctively brought my metal arm up to his, grabbing his wrist firmly. His eyes grew wide in terror as I clenched his wrist tightly. The whir of gears in my hand sounded more threatening than any angry growl.

“Let go of me, or I'll show you just how robot I am.” The rest of the rebels behind him pulled out a variety of handguns from belts and coats, wordlessly aiming them at me, but backing up with a fear that I could not understand.

From beside us, running in, Amelia, John and Lindsey approached, weapons raised in my defence.

“Drop 'em fart-kuckles,” my granddaughter ordered, her command of colourful vocabulary continued to amaze me. “Or you'll be eating lead out of each others asses for the rest of your lives.”

“Wow Milly,” John, his calm demeanour now more of a terrifying chill, commented. “I've never heard 'fart-knuckles' before. You must be pissed.”

Lindsey added, “You two are weird.”

From the command tent, Colonel Jason walked over to us, and at the top of his voice, commanded his men to, “Stand down!”

The rebels lowered their gun, and I mutually released the man holding me. Though once we were free of each other, he hastily began rubbing his pained wrist from my steel grasp.

Approaching me, the Colonel said, “I'm sorry Mister Jones, my men are not the military trained soldiers I would have preferred. They are not above outburst of gang type violence.” The man was eloquent, and sounded almost sincere. But behind his tone was a veiled threat. If I refused to follow his orders, he would set his men loose on us. “But at troubled times like these, we take what we can get.”

My throat, still slightly coarse from the vice grip, caused me to croak when I spoke. “Yeah. What you can get. Just make sure they stay the hell away from us.”

“I'll do that,” the Colonel agreed. Though whether or not he would keep his words remained to be seen. He waved for the rebels to follow, and the men trailed after their leader as they returned to the command tent. He shouted back to us, “Get yourselves ready. We leave in an hour.”

“You alright, old man?” Amelia asked, the three of them approaching me.

I replied, “I'm fine,” John lifted up my chin with no resistance from me, checking for any injury that I could otherwise not feel. “Just a little rattled.” He gave a nod of clearance once he was sure the bruise was just a bruise.

“Don't be,” Lindsey said, keeping her pistol. “We can't afford to be unhinged by that man. We don't know what exactly it is he's planning.”

I turned to watch the rebels entering the tent, Jason following in last. Before he disappeared behind the canvas, our eyes met, and he nodded to me with a smile that, though not sinister, sent my heart racing with worry.

“Let's go get something to eat,” I said, not taking my eyes of the Colonel until he vanished completely into structure.

Once, a long, distant time ago, I read fantasy books of groups of unlikely characters, brought together by coincidence of one form or another, to be thrown into an adventure of a lifetime, to stop some evil being from taking over the world.

My foul-mouthed granddaughter. Her queerly calm brother. The sister of the deceased man who saved my life. A racist rebel group. And a morally questionable officer. What an adventuring company we made. But instead of a possibly evil overlord, the most dangerous element could be right in front of our eyes.