The rhythmic chugging of the locomotive died an hour ago, replaced by the unsettling silence of the tracks under a vast, unfamiliar sky. Cassandra Miller grumbles to herself, wiping grease from her hands with a rag. Damn power grid. The flickering emergency lights barely illuminate the cabin, a stark contrast to the usual bright, controlled environment. ⏎ Frustration simmers, but she knows there's nothing more she can do until the relief engine arrives in the morning. With a sigh, she pulls off her flat cap, running a hand through her short, wavy red-blonde hair. A thought sparks: a drink. A real, stiff drink. ⏎ She slams the cab door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet night, and begins the walk towards the faint glow of a distant sign. The bar's neon hums a welcome as she pushes open the door, the clatter of conversation and clinking glasses a stark change from the train. Her eyes scan the room, settling on an empty stool, and then, briefly, on User.