There was a flash and a bang, the sound of screeching brakes filling the air. Electra hadn't seen it coming, but it was too late. He couldn't stop in time. He hit the rock wheels on and derailed. Rusty saw it happen, squinting through the rain, a few hundred metres behind. He saw a wire spark and suddenly there was a scream and a loud WOOSH as Electra's slender form was lit up in flames, water seeping into his cracked casing and causing his circuitry to flatline. The race had already stopped, Joule tugging Hashamoto back, slamming on the breaks, screaming for help. Rusty could only watch as others rushed over, desperately attempting to put out the fire, but it was fuelled by Electra's internal oil and Rusty had to look away. This was bad. Really bad. He knew if an electric got water inside them it was often fatal. The fire made it worse. He pitied the other engine for having plastic circuit boards inside him instead of coal. It must hurt.

Electra died of his injuries not long afterwards.

Rusty had never seen a group of cars so broken as the ones that stood before him now. Joule was in hysterics, and no one attempted to calm her down. Wrench was crying hot, furious tears, cursing herself over and over for not being able to save him. Purse was sitting on the floor, staring blankly into space, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. After a while, a single tear rolled down his cheek, immediately smudging his flawless makeup. Volta sat with him, and it occurred to Rusty that he hadn't really ever seen her display emotion outwardly, much less the severe depression that he saw now. She was sitting next to Purse, sobbing into his shoulder, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. And Krupp... Krupp was standing above them all, keeping a calming hand on Joule's shoulder as she ranted and screamed, and tried so, so hard to keep the tears from falling. But it even got to Krupp in the end. He took off his sunglasses and covered his face with his other arm, shaking slightly as he stood silently, blocking out the world.

The funeral was short. Poppa read the service; not many others could bear to do it. Greaseball had been heartbroken. He sat at the front, unable to believe that the engine he had been with (and dare he say loved) was gone. Forever. There would be no rebuilding, and even if they could have salvaged something out of Electra's burning frame, his memory cards had been melted clean away. He wouldn't have been the same engine. He couldn't be replaced. Poppa had reached the closing speech when Joule couldn't take it any more and walked out, both hands over her mouth and pure grief raw on her face. Volta got up and hurried after her, ever worried that the fiery dynamite truck might do something stupid in her mourning. Wrench moved up the gap now left on the bench to sit next to Krupp, and rested her head on his shoulder, turning her face away from the front of the room.

Weeks passed. The components were occasionally seen around, always together, always silent. They weren't coping well. Rusty had always felt that Electra and his components had had a deeper connection than what was on the surface, but he didn't find out the extent of that bond until the next night.

In the fields that stretched out behind Apollo Victoria station, a plume of fire danced in the night, fifty feet tall, roaring at the stars. All around the yard, engines were rushing out to see what was going on. The smoke from the burning pyre concealed much, but Rusty saw. He saw the four vaguely familiar figures standing together as flames engulfed them, linking arms, faces tilted to the sky. He saw the fifth, walking back towards the others through the fire, throwing down the empty oil canister, and joining them. And, as the wind picked up and swept the smoke back just briefly before fire and ruin surrounded Electra' components once again, he could see the tears in their eyes.