The train bound for Connecticut rumbled rhythmically on the tracks.
Inside the carriage, Mr. Miller meticulously wiped a Colt revolver with an oily rag.
Frank Cole, the first supervisor of Militech's manufacturing department, sat opposite him. Frank was a man who understood machines, and he looked at Mr. Miller with both admiration and curiosity.
"Mr. Miller," Frank finally spoke, "I've always wanted to ask, why did you and Supervisor Jones choose to follow the Boss back then? I heard Supervisor Jones say that at the time, the Boss was just a small merchant living in a basement."
Mr. Miller paused his wiping.
The sound of the train wheels hitting the rail joints was monotonous and repetitive. This sound was like a key, unlocking the door to his memories.
His thoughts returned to two years ago, that winter that changed everything... 1860, Bowery District, New York.
In a foul-smelling back alley, cold rain mixed with mud, Mr. Miller dragged Jones into a cheap rented room.
