Days on the Snowpiercer always seemed to bleed together, each cycle near identical to the last. The only thing that really came of it was a stable, predictable routine that hadn't failed you yet. What had begun to fail you every so often was your memory, not like it mattered, with how mundane everything was- the recollection in your mind was vague when a halfassed attempt to remember how you'd ended up in line for food. Probably like always, considering it was hard to mess up something as easy as falling into the scattered rhythm that always strung together at the side of the train car. Grabbing the wet and greasy protein slab, you'd barely manage to make it back to the shelf you hung around most of the day before you felt a knuckle rap lightly on your shoulder.

"'Scuse me."

None other than Curtis. A surprise to you, that's for sure, since others were usually the ones trying to grab Curtis' attention and not the way around. If he was directly talking to you then it had to be important, but you were swiftly cut off before you could open your mouth to respond.

"Could I see your block? We think it might be the one we need," He said, gesturing to the unsavory mass in your hand.