The train station buzzed with life as passengers hurriedly boarded the massive locomotive that would take them to their respective destinations. Galahad, inside the train, observed two men seated near one of the compartments, engrossed in a rather peculiar conversation about the taste of bugs.

"Disgusting creatures, I tell you!" one of the men remarked, his face contorted with disgust.

"I couldn't agree more," replied the other, shaking his head in dismay. "Who in their right mind would even think of eating them?"

"Fine Lady has better cockroaches than them."

"Yeah. Once I was offered two cans of Happy Sun Cockroach Powder, and I gotta tell you, don't even bother trying to barter with them."

"Maybe you…" he alerted his friend. "Careful with that masked dude."

Galahad saw an opportunity to join the conversation, hoping it would grant him a seat near the men, despite the potential inconvenience of their topic. Besides, Galahad ate processed protein from Camelot, so he had to make up things.

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"Excuse me, may I join you?" Galahad inquired, hoping his request would be met with acceptance.

The two men glanced at him, sizing up the imposing figure standing before them. The sight of Galahad's mask sent a shiver down their spines, igniting both curiosity and apprehension.

"Who are you?" one of them asked warily.

"Just a traveler, seeking a seat on this train," Galahad replied, his voice veiled behind the mask.

The other man leaned in, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"What crime did you commit to deserve such an intimidating mask? I mean, you talk like a freaking weirdo."

Galahad hesitated only for a moment before concocting a false confession.

"I killed a woman and her daughter," he stated, deciding that such a crime would be seen as severe enough to dissuade further inquiries.

The two ruffians visibly recoiled at his response, their expressions a mixture of fear and disbelief. Killing a woman was considered a great sin in their society, as women were revered for their various skills and crafts, passed down through generations. They held knowledge of carbon fiber tailoring, bug cooking, and other essential arts that ensured their community's survival in the unforgiving wastelands.

"You... you killed a woman?" one of them stammered.

Galahad nodded, maintaining a somber demeanor.

"It was an unfortunate incident, but I had no choice," he explained, hoping they would not press him further.

The two men exchanged worried glances, their curiosity overshadowed by a newfound apprehension. They hastily gestured for Galahad to take a seat, offering him a place near them.