After leaving Prezzo, Galahad arrived at the train station. Its once-proud structure now weathered and worn by time was bustling with activity. Merchants busied themselves with transporting their goods to Mostauk, their faces lined with exhaustion and desperation, while armed men guarded and protected them.

While walking towards the train, Galahad saw different banners and posters of Lord Mortis. Galahad could read the messages of "We are recruiting" or "Join us and become rich!" He couldn't help but laugh in his mind. He doubted anyone who could be a recruit could read. In the wastelands, if you can read, usually that meant an easy job with monitors and stations.

Once near the train, he saw its old structure. It was composed of fourteen wagons, most of which were filled with various items for trade. Galahad observed how they moved more metal and plastic crates, brimming with ammunition and weapons, as well as other merchants carrying barrels of bug dough, a staple in those harsh times.

One of the wagons was dedicated to recruits for Lord Mortis's army. It was there that Galahad spotted a young man, no older than eighteen, with a look of innocence and naivety on his face.

"Give me your knife," bellowed one of Lord Mortis's minions as he snatched the polished steel knife from the young man's hands. "It's your payment for joining the ranks."

"But...I was told there was no payment required!" The young man almost shouted. His voice quivered as he spoke. "This knife has been in my family for generations."

A wave of cackles spread throughout the wagon. The soldier stepped forward, sneering down at the man.

"What's your name?"

"Mimi," he muttered, gazing down at his boots.

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The soldier guffawed, mocking Mimi as he played with the blade.

"Again!" Mimi exclaimed. "I was told there'd be no payment for recruitment!" His voice quivered. "My mom gave me the knife!"

"Mimi? What kind of a name is that?!" one of the men sneered. The others erupted in laughter, drowning out Mimi's voices.

"My mother gave me that name," he was at the brink of tears. "She served Lord Mortis for years, in the bug factory."

"Be glad she didn't tried to kill you, like mine," he looked at the knife. "It seems you are a spoiled rich kid. What are you doing here?"

"She died, and the guildmasters exiled me."

"Hey everyone!" the minion shouted, grabbing everyone's attention. "We have here someone who lived under the shadow of those female pricks from the factories! Throw him anything you have and let him taste the Wasteland!"

Mimi crouched, as some rusty cans were thrown at him. Galahad approached, his heart aching with sympathy, but he remained silent, knowing that any intervention could put them both in danger.

The minions turned their attention to him, demanding payment. In response, Galahad simply shook his head, refusing to comply.

"Let him in," one of the minions whispered at the boss, who was busy contemplating his new knife. "Look at his mask."

His eyes scanned Galahad. He looked like a regular recruit, until he noticed the handle of the staff.

"Give me that."

"You have the knife," Galahad said without fear. "Let me in. And stop harassing the kid."

They laughed at him. One of the larger men attempted to teach him a lesson by force.

"Give us that!"

The brute tried to grab his neck, but with swift precision, Galahad broke his arm, bending in his elbow, causing him to crumple to the ground in agony.

"Just let me in. And the boy," Galahad demanded, gesturing to Mimi. "He and I can replace your fallen comrade now."

The rest of the recruits stepped back as the tension scratched the brief moment of laughter with mimi. The minion who had stolen the knife hesitated for a moment.

"Name?"

"Alain."

"Mmmph… You can go."

Galahad helped the boy entering the wagon under the curious gaze of everyone. They boarded the train while the other minions murmured, helping the injured man.

Mimi turned to Galahad with an apologetic look on his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "They won't forget this anytime soon."

Galahad gave him a grim nod making sure to keep his eyes locked onto the fleeing hordes

"Neither will I," he replied quietly.