The train has been traveling through nowhere for a while now. Since the small station Mike set off from, there have been no other villages or towns near the route.

"I'm finally out of this miserable mess...", he hisses to himself internally. The small town he comes from is, like everything here, cut off from the rest of the world. Only the goods train, which comes every week and then disappears again, connects the cities and villages. In between there is just an uninhabited wasteland. Endless grassy steppes, deserts or forests, but no inhabited settlement for hours. It was the right decision to leave the sleepy no-man's land to try his luck in the big city. Mike tilts his head back, bored. The seats are uncomfortable and are probably more for practicality than comfort. Apart from the train driver, he is the only person on the train and he cannot talk to him. This is how Mike has been eking out his loneliness for disgustingly long hours. He nervously strokes his dark brown hair. The nagging feeling of boredom burrows deeper and deeper into his head, but the big city is worth taking a few hours to travel. He looks sleepily out the window again - finally! In the distance you can see the high, dark gray city walls, the skyscrapers and clouds of smoke from the factories. But at second glance, Mike takes his breath away. "The Big City" is more literal than one would expect. The city stretches seemingly endlessly into the horizon. The further you see, the bigger the city becomes. The train passes the east wall and follows the tracks along the south wall. Mike rocks excitedly in his seat. But unfortunately he is not really aware of the dimensions of the city, as the distance from the east to the west wall is roughly two hundred kilometers - if not more. It's still more than an hour's drive to the big city's train station, as it's located in the middle of the southern wall. With every minute he has to wait, Mike becomes more anxious. So restless, in fact, that he starts pacing up and down in the wagon.

After another hour the train stops. With his right cheek pressed firmly against the glass of the door, Mike waits for the door to open. Eager for what awaits him, he licks the window. Suddenly an announcement sounds in a bored, female voice: "Dear passenger, due to technical problems the door cannot be opened. Our technical support will take care of this as soon as possible. Please be patient. It will probably take forty-eight hours. Thank you for understanding, even if you do not."

Mike's forehead takes on the shape of the Grand Canyon and figurative steam flows from his ears, while literal steam flows from his nose. He lifts his leg and kicks hard, whereupon the train doors appear several meters away at the station.

Another bored announcement sounds: "We wish you a nice stay in the city. Please leave my train. I hope you die before you book a return trip... the beautiful door..."

He leaves the train quickly.

There he stands now, at the gates of the city. Except for Mike... and the broken train doors... there's no one at the station. Mike runs his fingers through his dark, bouffant hair and pulls his leather jacket, which he had lying next to him during the journey, over his white shirt. He then checks whether his wallet is still in his pocket and finally walks towards the archway. He's finally here! Excitedly, he runs into the city through a dimly lit tunnel that runs through the wall and ends up in a scrapyard -

"What is that!?" Mike asks himself angrily.

The big city with the skyscrapers and everything and the first thing you see when you come in is a garbage dump full of wrecked cars, dilapidated houses and scrap metal.

"Where did I get to?" Mike whispers to himself, confused.

He trudges a few steps through the waste, but he has the feeling that he is being watched. He stops and listens nervously for footsteps. This city is scarier than he expected. The train station is outside, everything here is devastated and someone seems to be following him. Mike turns his head forward again, but as he's about to take his next step, there's a loud rumble behind him. A pile of scrap metal has fallen over, and in the middle of the scrap metal stands a damn polar bear in metal armor, a ninja in a silver robe and a long-haired man dressed in a loose white coat, that reaches almost to his knees who also has a sword on a black belt and carries another on his back. The bear first receives slap to the back of the head from the white dressed man, causing a pressure wave to pass through Mike's body. This blow shook the air! Mike took a step back. These guys must be unnaturally strong if a simple slap builds up so much pressure that you can feel the air shake!

"Polar, you useless flea rug. Now this stranger has noticed us. You are an unparalleled oaf!" the sword master shrieks angrily.

"Sorry, boss!" the polar bear replies, ashamed.

"I'm SoRrY BoSs..." he mocks, "don't even bother apologizing, you amateur."

The ninja remains silent. The swordsman clears his throat.

"Well then, what are you doing here, you imbecile," he asks Mike scornfully.

"I'm new in town, and what do you clowns want from me?"

The swordsman gives a wide, devious grin.

"I am Wolf, the leader of the 'White Fang' and you are in one of our neighborhoods. We do not tolerate strangers - unless you join us, in which case, you would be no longer a stranger..."

"No thanks, I don't really care to join up with you freaks" he hisses.

"It's a shame..." he smiles and looks at the polar bear, "Polar, you get a second chance, kill the disrespectful stranger."

The bear nods and runs towards Mike. He pulls a metal rod from inside his leather jacket, which extends three times its length at the push of a button. The bear swings its paw at Mike, who jumps into the air with a grin, knocks the bear's paw away with the stick as he jumps and then kicks it in his mouth as he moves. The bear falls backwards, but Mike lands on his feet, twirling his staff provocatively and grining victoriously.

"Polar, you are so pathetic... defeated by a newbie... Get out of my sight..."

Wolf shakes his head in disappointment. Sobbing, Polar retreats to the ninja on all fours.

"Well then, stranger-"

"The name's Mike!"

"Well then, Maaaaiiiiik," he mocks, grinning again, "Now I'll show you what the city USUALLY does with amateurs like you."

With his right hand he slowly pulls the sword, whose blade shines gold in the sunlight, from its belt and points it at Mike in a challenge. The latter just smiles back boldly.