Henry's blood boiled as he watched the workman walk away. Not a care in the world for having decimated and executed the fate of Number 3.

After weeks of tracking and sleuthing to uncover the whereabouts of Number 3, Henry had been staking out the yard where the husk of the engine had been sanctioned. Ever vigilant as he racked his brain in an attempt to think of a plan to salvage and save his engine.

Recovery had been hard. After the boiler explosion on Gordon's Hill, Henry had been hospitalized with concussive symptoms and herniated discs in his back from the whiplash force. He'd served his two weeks of physical therapy. Diligently following his regiment of exercises that had been scheduled for him as his clouded mind was fixated on one thing.

Once discharged, Henry had quickly been able to sublet his flat in Wellsworth for extra income as he attempted a venture to finance buying the scrap remains of Number 3, but to no avail. Sir Topham had been honest and given a fair estimate for what the hunk of engine would cost, and no bank on the Island would provide a loan large enough for Henry to make the purchase.

And even if he could, The Controller refused to provide Henry the location where Number 3 had been sent. He recalled the foggy sensation of his rage at having been called 'brash' and 'impulsive.' Yet he had to laugh at himself as the impulsiveness resulted in an on-the-spot, indefinite, leave of absence.

And now here he was a month later. Camping on an outcrop overlooking the very yard where his once proud engine huddled, mangled and decrepit. Weeks of pillaging old railway records through his connections and casually asking the common worker whom he trailed to pubs after hours had led him here.

"That's it. Just keep moving down the line."

Henry watched with bated breath, tool kit in hand as he remained motionless, at the ready.

The workman who'd designated Number 3 for scrap retired up the line to the sheds and comfort of the flood lights illuminating the central part of the yard. Creeping through the brush in the darkness, Henry slunk carefully down the incline as he made his way to Number 3.

"Just the drive wheels, ponies, and crank pins. If I can replace and repair those then I can at least move it to a more secure spot to bide time." Henry thought.

Once upon the remnants of the old Black 5, Henry froze, eyeing the entire length of the train in admonished shame.

While the smokebox remained in tact, the boiler had ruptured through the dome. The entire cylinder looking monstrous from where the rivet holes burst and twisted the steel. The firebox was non-existent as it had absorbed the bulk of the blast. This left the cab frayed at the frames. The outlines warped but not unrecognizable. The 54 ton tender remained pristine. Only the green paint suffered a smattering of burn marks and residue.

"It's a start."

Henry cracked his knuckles and ran a hand along the running board as he meandered to the front drive wheel.

Sweat pooled in his tear ducts as he lay uncomfortably on the track bed. Wood and ballast jabbing at his inflamed muscle tissue as he held a lighter up to the chassis' undercarriage.

Despite the gravity of the explosion, the axles remained solid. No cracks, no bends. The only real issues Henry saw were the rivets and casings surrounding them that would need to be replaced in order to maintain structure.

He ran his jacketed sleeve across his brow and heaved himself out from under the engine.

"Can I help you?"

Henry fell back over a sleeper in surprise. The darkness engulfed everything around him as a hulking figure hovered over him. An undetermined shadow couldn't hide the fact that this deep voiced response came from a giant.

Henry scrambled to his feet and began rolling up his sleeves, fisticuffs raised in defense as he accused the stranger.

"I'm well off thanks. Nothing to see here."

The figure raised an arm and Henry winced as he shielded himself with his forearms. The sound of a match striking prompted him to let his guard down as he dropped his arms and gazed at the man now holding a lit oil lamp.

Henry recognized now that it was the workman he'd seen writing on the scrap engines earlier. Only up close he could now get the full breadth of his size. While Henry wasn't scrawny by any means, this man was big. With broad shoulders and a square jaw. Thick hair slicked under a driver's cap. His orange flannel trapped under the straps of dark overalls. Boots the size of Henry's head. He spoke again in a deep, but calming voice.

"I see plenty here. Interested in this engine?"

"You might say that."

"I'm afraid this one isn't ready to run."

"Well I can see that."

"Why are you here?"

Henry faltered as he chewed his tongue, eyes focused on the deep set ones before him. He couldn't gauge whether the man was merely curious or hiding something beneath the surface. Henry noticed a walkie clipped to the man's hammer loop in his overalls. If he hadn't reported him by now, then maybe honestly would get him farther.

"I have a history with this engine…"

"Rough go of it by the looks of that boiler."

The man held his lamp aloft and ran the light across the length of the body. The new shadows cast by the sharpened points of the shrapnel looked monstrous as Henry saw Number 3 with fresh eyes.

"That was my fault. It always had trouble steaming and I pushed it too hard."

"That's no surprise. The firebox is a small prototype. Should have been overhauled with the rest of the class in '42."

Henry's eyes widened. Not only was the man knowledgeable, but he had inspected Number 3 and determined the cause of failure as well. Only then did it dawn on Henry.

"How could you know that? There's no firebox here."

"It's in the shop. I was hoping to repurpose it when the right candidate came along."

Henry ran a hand through his hair and grinned in spite of himself, manic energy flickering in his eyes as he tried to calm himself down.

"So that's just it then. You're going to harvest parts until there's nothing left."

The man set the lamp on Number 3's running board and crossed his arms indignantly as he sized Henry up.

"It's nothing personal, It's just what we do here. Revitalize engines who can be and repurpose those who can't. Surely even sentimentality can't blind you to the fact that this engine is irreparable?"

Henry said nothing. His heart dropped as he lingered on the smokebox next to him. The one part of the main body that seemed to have remained intact.

"Revitalize huh? All this engine needs is a new boiler and firebox and it's back on its way."

"And fittings, and casing, and gauges, and tubing, and…"

"Alright alright! It's more than a patch job!"

Henry waved his hands annoyed as the scope of the project was brought more into light. His brow furrowed as he softly thumped a fist on the running board in thought.

"It's over mate. This engine just can't be saved."

The man clapped a heavy hand on Henry's shoulder that nearly buckled his knees. Henry shrugged the gesture off and sharply turned his head to the engines in front and behind Number 3 that were boxing it in. His mind racing as he hurdled ideas on the spot.

"Look, that's a Royal Scot right, and up there is a Patriot? The axle box and chassis structures are literally identical to a Black 5 in build and make. Give me an hour and I'll at least have this engine here ready for relocation. Then it's just a waiting game until the right replacements file into this yard right?"

Henry's gesticulations were wild as he described the beginnings of his long term plan. The man watched him cautiously before feeling his own grin broaden at the ambition.

"We've got 4 hours until sun-up. If you can get it mobile, I'll clear a path and we can shunt it right in there. No one uses that bay siding anyway."

Henry felt his jaw drop as puzzlement drained the color from his face. Leaving him only able to utter one word.

"We?"

"Well you'll need help carrying the casings. They're about 130 Kilograms on their own. Give me a few minutes to grab a handcart."

As the man turned eagerly toward the shop entrance, Henry shook himself from surprise with enough gusto to call out.

"Thank you…"

"Call me Murdoch!"

Yay! I finally feel comfortable enough with where the story is heading that I can introduce my B plot! Henry is back! Still doing my version of Henry things, but he's back!

I appreciate the comments. Y'all are amazing =) But to the individuals who have DM'd me with requests, please let me say this without any ill intent.

I'm writing the story in a way where I'm hoping each character can have their own agency. My first story I realized some characters really only existed to have a dynamic or relationship with other characters and couldn't stand on their own. I'm hoping to try and rectify that here by exploring new dynamics and fleshing out individual ambitions. I will not be writing the story in an effort of wish fulfillment or with the sole intent of characters existing to accommodate another's journey.

All these individuals carry their own narrative weight, and while thus far the small scenic shots of exposition I've given just allow glimpses into where everyone is, I'm hoping I can get several of them into arcs where change will be apparent. So please, bare with me =)

With all that said, Thank y'all so much for reading! Always appreciate and all the best! -REN