George De Lupa
As George silently sat on his comfortable red chair within the violently rocking train, he mulled over today's lunch, wondering why he'd eaten that salmon. It was very good, but it left him with quite a violent flatulence. He sat staring out the window, watching trees run by. When the train came to an abrupt halt in the middle of this forest, he quickly stood up and made his way toward the conductor's cart, along with the rest of his hand-picked, personal bodyguards.
As soon as he left his comfortable, custom security cart, the strong smell of urine and feces hit his nostrils. George hadn't even known he was aboard such a distungingly filthy train such as this. He saw people laying strewn across the cart's filthy bottom, staring directly at him, excluding a few select individuals whom were either asleep or quite insane, staring off into a vague distance he couldn't see himself. George and his team continued forth, ignoring the eyes of the people around them. They passed through another grime-stained cart, this one containing caged livestock, among various wooden boxes labled with bold, black lettering George didn't stop to read.
Through the cart door window George and his team saw the cargo doors open, leading to the outdoors, with a select few, stuanchy men, with beards, and sweat-drenched shirts. The men had a crazed look to their eyes, like they've been hurt throughout their lives, and those same eyes told George exactly what they were: criminals.
The group held some very rusty sub machine guns, which he confirmed to be German MP40's. They also seemed to be holding a young woman very rudely, which George didn't exactly approve of. He told his squad to prepare for a fight, as each member pulled a polished revolver out of their pinstriped jackets. George kicked the door open, roostered the cold, aluminum hammer of his revolver, and shot the apparent leader of the criminal group in the side.
As the leader of the criminal group fell backwards, letting go of the young woman in the process, the rest of George's team flooded in, each member taking a shot at one of the criminals, as George took cover behind a wooden crate labeled "Fragile." As each criminal fell to the ground, blood was spewn across the already dirtied floor, where it would dry and lay for the rest of this train's existence. George rose and told his team to arrest any living criminal scum, as he made his way to the beautiful young woman laying dazed on the cart floor.
He held his hand toward her and said, "Need help?" as he put on his trademark, shining, politician grin.
