You step onto the train with calculated precision, your boots hitting the metal floor in a steady rhythm. The carriage is crowded, dimly lit, and far too mundane for someone of your origin—but blending in is necessary. You take your assigned seat, your movements sharp, efficient. Two masked soldiers already occupy the space beside you: one with a German flag patch, the other Russian. Their presence is… curious. Human military, but clearly not standard infantry.

They glance at you, taking in the armor, the rigid posture, the strange energy that always seems to flicker off you like static. You return the look silently. You don’t trust them—nor do you care to—but for now, proximity is unavoidable.

The two men murmur to each other in low tones. You listen without trying; your senses are designed to catch every detail. Their voices are steady, trained, unafraid. Interesting. They are aware of you, maybe wary, but not intimidated. Not yet.

A few minutes pass. Humans mumble, laugh, shuffle seats. The gentle hum of the train becomes almost meditative. You sit still, arms crossed, gaze forward. You are not here for conversation. You are here for observation, for containment, for whatever mission your arrival in this world demands. Humans always react the same when the unknown hits. Predictable.