Lukas slicked back his mullet with the water from the basin and looked at himself in the mirror. The possum gave himself a final check over, noting his two rear teeth which poked out around the top of his muzzle, the holes in his ear lobes where his earrings used to sit and the faint scars in his fur. First impressions were important, though perhaps one should have groomed at home, and not in the toilets of London Euston in the small hours of the morning.

As he looked at his reflection, it was his outfit that he was most proud of. Not the tatty, battered, worn leathers of the biker gangs he had spent much his life in. No, his figure now bore the uniform of British Rail's InterCity catering staff. It was smarter than he'd ever looked before. He felt his lower lip curl a tad, twitched to wipe a tear with his sleeve, then remembered the outfit and grabbed a tissue.

In leather, he was a fairly big guy, his size diminished somewhat in the smart shirt and apron he wore. But he was clearly the kind of man who could take a few hits, and his scars could cash those cheques on his behalf.

He walked out of the toilets and onto the newly remodelled station concourse. Goodness it was pretty. Lights in spires and towers twinkling and sparkling over the tiled floor. Gleaming kiosks selling tickets and offering information about where one could travel and what things there were to see and do once you get there. Truth be told, until he'd got the job, he'd never been in a train station before, certainly not a leviathan like Euston itself.

He was aware he was meandering, taking some time to pick up a few pamphlets, timetables and maps so he could keep track of where he was on his travels. Additionally, he had in his luggage case a very cheap camera, one he was given as a parting gift from his husband to document his travels.

As he meandered, he was interrupted by a sternly voiced swan in an immaculate black suit.

"Good heavens look at the state of you." He squawked. Lukas's eyes focused on a small brass badge clipped to the top corner pocket of the suit jacket, which read "Thomas L. Ditton - InterCity Chief Operating Officer".

Lukas stared up at him, his street breeding told him to swing for the neck then embed the knee to the gut, but that was then and this was now.

"That mane of hair, those teeth, good God... British Rail is supposed to look dignified and classy." The swan continued to grumble, the fire of anger dying down into a general spluttering of disgust. He turned his immaculate dress suit heels to the side and started to walk off. "First they turn Euston into a shed and now they have street rats cooking the meals..."

The possum shook himself, grunting quietly under his breath. He hadn’t come all this way, worked so hard on his outfit and smartness just to be knocked aside within the first few minutes. He took a deep breath and made his way down onto the platform.

From the large waiting area, the route to the platforms led through a thin horizontal corridor which housed many shops and food outlets, and from there were ramps down onto the cavernous platforms. Lukas's train was the 05:27 service to Birmingham New Street, scheduled to arrive at around seven o'clock and was scheduled to depart from the fifteenth platform of the vast Euston station.

Once on the platform, that fire of excitement started to kindle itself again within Lukas. There, the train sat, gleaming in its black and white colour scheme, little orange stripe down the side and the capital letter insignia of "INTERCITY" emblazoned upon it in shiny lettering.

The possum moved up along the train, first passing the driving luggage trailer at the back, with its angular pointy snout and cubic form, then passing two slightly curvy coaches, older, but with a bright, thick yellow stripe across the roofline indicating that they were for First Class passengers.

The fourth vehicle along matched the design of the cab coach at the rear; Angular and square in stature, sporting more of the first class seating and then taking up the northern half of the carriage was the large kitchen, evidenced by the red stripe which replaced the yellow one as it moved along the top of the coach.

Lukas paused and looked up the length of the train, the rest of the Standard Class coaches more like the two first class ones in design and a large, loud and boxy locomotive at the far end. He hoped that in his travels he might be able to get better acquainted with it and some of the other locomotives on the route.

The possum opened the door to the buffet car and climbed aboard. He noted the manual-opening doors with sliding windows and the public address system in the vestibule, before making his way into the kitchen. He stored his bag and started to get acquainted with the equipment.

There was a small fridge, containing cheeses, meats and assorted perishables. The kitchen also contained two grills, assorted plates to put things on and a copy of the same menu the passengers had so Lukas knew what might be tasked of him. His workspace was rather dimly lit and only really big enough for one person to work comfortably. It was microscopic compared to the kitchens of a normal street restaurant or diner, but the possum was keen to make it work. Judging by the few people on the station and how few people seemed to already be aboard, he didn’t anticipate an intensive first shift.

In accordance with his limited and slap-dash training, Lukas began to set up the kitchen. He noted that one grill was for dairy products, the other for meat and bread, that the grills were to be left on while the train was in motion and that the draws and cupboards had labels on them to identify where all the ingredients and utensils were stored. During the training, the possum had disagreed fundamentally about the grill remaining on, though it had been stressed to him that, providing he remained in the kitchen, it wouldn’t be an issue.

The desk next to the kitchen was soon taken up by another member of train staff and at half past 5, the 05:27 service left Euston. With a bronze sky overhead, the train trundled its way out of the core of the capital and headed for the Midlands. The kitchen's lack of windows was at first a modest doldrum, a view of this bronze sky being denied to the possum, but before long it became a little more irritating, the coach's soft swaying had started to set in a bit of nausea.

"Alright, that's two bacon and egg fried sandwiches." was a call from outside the kitchen. Lucas looked across. A paw was reaching across the doorway to the kitchen and over the buffet counter, holding a small piece of blue paper with the order written upon it. Lukas nodded and took the piece of paper from the outstretched paw. Like all things British Rail, a sandwich had to be prepared a specific way. The limited training Lukas had been given included extensive rules about the aesthetic presentation of food and provided him with a guidebook for these standards. In a spot of forward planning, Lukas had brought the guide with him. Keen to knock it out of the park on his first test, he placed the order down on the counter and pulled the guide out of his pocket. His eyes tried to focus on the text, but as the carriage swayed from side to side, he couldn't make sense of it. He grumbled and put the guide back in his pocket, aware of the ticking clock.

By the time the train had made it to Watford, Lukas had finished cooking all the ingredients and had the sandwich assembled. To assess his work quickly, he pulled out the guide once again. As he looked between his creations and the picture, he could notice a lack of neatness and form. He’d plied his cookery trade in street food where perfect aesthetic form was hardly a consideration compared to making something with some zest. It seemed he’d have to learn it.

Once done, Lukas stepped out from the kitchen and placed them atop the counter. His voice crackled like an old radio as he started to speak. "Got the sandwiches here." He called, his voice a mixture of rough south London bruiser and the gleeful excitement at the fancy world he now found himself in.

The bar itself was currently unstaffed, giving Lukas an eye-watering view out of the windows at the hills of Hertfordshire near Kings Langley. "Fuck me, look at that..." he muttered, jaw sagging a tad. He'd never seen such greenery before. Fields and trees and hills for as far as the eye could see, spreading off into the distance, rolling like blankets of nature draped over the land.

"Thanks." came a voice, causing Lukas to snap out of his trance. The voice belonged to a dobermann, clad a white shirt with red cravat and black trousers. The shirt also had a small badge with the name “Francesca” written on it.

"Oh uhhh, no problem." He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head a tad, having replied a few seconds after she had left earshot. Sheepishly, Lukas disappeared back inside of the kitchen, washed his hands and prepared for the next orders.

By the time the train had made its way through Bletchley, towards its first stop in Milton Keynes, he’d already made breakfast for the few first-class passengers on board.

As the train came to a stop in what, to Lukas alone, was a new, exciting and scenic spot, the possum grabbed his camera and moved out of the kitchen, past the bar counter and around to the passenger door. He pulled down the window and peered out at the station itself.

Lukas’s eyes fell upon a temple of vast, magnificent grey concrete rectangles, bound together by matching concrete corridors and pillars, proud and bold in their unrelenting cubism and exquisite grey and mild red paintwork. They stood as monolithic landmarks, conquering the flat landscape. Enchanted, Lukas lifted his camera, snapped a picture. He looked around, noting that many people had gotten off and on. "Cor... no wonder people come here a lot. Beautiful," He quipped, a grin smeared across his muzzle. Aware of his employment, he pulled the window back up and turned to go back to the kitchen, though was halted for a moment by the puzzled look on the face of the dobermann behind the counter.

"You're in Milton Keynes, y'know,” Francesca grumbled. “It's barely better than Slough."

"Slough?” Lukas asked, moving around to the front of the counter. “What d’ya suppose that's like?"

The dobermann paused, paw moving towards her head as the train began to move again. "You haven't got out much, have you?"

Lukas shook his head, putting his camera away. "Not really, born and raised in Brixton, furthest I've ever been is Enfield." He said. "It's why I got a job as a railway cook. Want to go see the sights." The possum smiled.

"...of Watford, Milton Keynes and Birmingham?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah! If I don't go looking at things, how will I know what they're like?"

Francesca continued to look bemused at him, then shrugged and turned back to the desk. “God I’d kill for your enthusiasm.” She grumbled. “I’ve been stuck running this counter for a couple years. Dealing with arrogant, drunk office schmucks day in, day out, tends to make you jaded.”

Lukas nodded and made his way back into the kitchen.

The possum’s journey continued from Milton Keynes through the valleys of Buckinghamshire and Northamptonshire, to Warwickshire and the town of Rugby, making more meals all the way.

Rugby featured a vast ironwork bridge constructed perpendicular across the station itself. The purpose for the bridge was long gone, destroyed on the path to progress, progress like the kind Lukas was now riding. But the vast ironwork, now more of a birdcage, still stood with chipping paint, spanning across the central island platform which made up the station, trapping it like a possum in a snare.

Once again, Lukas made his way to the door and peered his head out of the window. The train slid into the platform and the steel frame cast its shadow over everything. He took out his camera, ready to start photographing from the doorway, but was stopped by an announcement over the station’s public address system: "Passengers be advised, this train will be at a stand for 5 minutes while another train passes."

He took a glance back to make sure he wasn't needed in the kitchen, earning another sigh from the dobermann, before he reached down to the door handle, swung open the door and stepped onto the platform. He was aware that he had limited pictures on the camera and that there was a solid chance someone was going to take exception to his antics. With this in mind, he took one shot up the length of the train facing towards the front, getting in the long curve of the platform with the ironwork casting shade on it and then turned to get a picture down towards where the train had come, able to see from here the mass of junctions which lead to London and Northampton.

Lukas looked back to the door to see if he was being watched, noticing Francesca stood in the carriage doorway, arms folded, though otherwise nobody was in sight. Not wanting to try his luck too much, he turned on his heels and clambered back into the buffet car. However, Lukas's adventure had not gone unnoticed.

Once back aboard, the possum put the camera back in his baggage and moved back to the kitchen once again.

"Ahem.”

Heart shuddering, Lukas poked his head back out of the kitchen, to see a rather tall elk looking at him through a pair of expensive-looking spectacles. "I see you've got excess time on your hands." He said. “Enough time to leave the kitchen unattended and swan off on adventures.”

The possum remained silent, just looking right back at the suited figure, noting that, like the swan in Euston, he had a little InterCity name badge clipped to his suit blazer pocket which read "Clifford St. James". Lukas’s blood started to heat up again.

"In which case," The elk began, turning his head towards a small, rather rickety trolly. "Take that trolly through second class and see if your curiosity can't flog a few sandwiches, eh?" The modernisation to calling it "standard class" not "second class" was not within the elk's lexicon.

The possum moved to secure the kitchen but was stopped by the elk.

"Now." Clifford ordered.

Lukas took a deep breath, aware he was losing his nerve. He nodded and left the kitchen to take up the trolly, but the elk put out an arm to stop him. "Oh, and before you go, you won't be using that apron anymore." The elk informed him.

The possum snapped. Brow furrowed, glaring straight up at Clifford. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?” He growled. “You’re firing me, right now, for that?”

Clifford simply glared back. “Are you going to do what I tell you, or am I going to have to kick you off of this train?”

Lukas looked between Clifford and Francesca, and then at the door, before sighing and tugging the apron over his head and holding it out to the elk, clutched vice-tight in his hand.

"Good, now don't disappoint me again." Clifford grunted, taking the apron and placing it on the bar top, then turning and walking back into first class. "You, follow me." The elk instructed Francesca, leading her into the first class coaches, leaving the possum alone with his punishment.

The trolly was light and on caster wheels, none of which were equal in their manner of moving, making the thing hard to steer. Lukas’s efforts to guide the trolly through the train only caused his temper to compound.

The first of the five coaches the possum had to serve was the busiest, though still reasonably quiet.

With no training in selling from a trolly and no job to lose, Lukas let his experience in the markets take over. “Good morning everybody and welcome to the snack trolly!" Lukas announced loudly, the passengers all turning sharply to face him. “We’ve got sandwiches, juice boxes, biscuits, I don’t even know what that is, bottles of cola and…” Lukas stalled, realising his performance enthusiasm was not shared by the rest of the carriage. “…and that’s about it,” he muttered at last.

The resulting silence was deafening.

Eventually, a meerkat seemed to pity him and buy one of the sandwiches, though the rest returned to looking out of the window or talking among themselves as the train gained motion again. Lukas looked at the coins spinning around the jar as he moved for the next coach along. He didn't know how much he was supposed to be earning to satisfy the elk, but a couple of pounds was unlikely to be enough.

He was dismayed to find his options for selling things in the next coach were reduced significantly as the passenger numbers seemed to dwindle. As he moved closer to the front, the sound of the locomotive grew louder, making it harder to hear himself think. While Lukas desired to get better acquainted with the locomotive, this wasn’t what he intended.

Lukas' onward progress was stopped at last by a voice from one of the seats. "Oh, hello there, I do believe you were the inquisitive chap on the platform."

The possum turned around to see a red fox in a white shirt and a waistcoat sitting in one of the forward-facing aisle seats. Seemingly cut from the same upper-middle class cloth as Clifford.

The possum nodded. “Yeah, that was me.”

"Public relations, I take it? Though, you seemed a lot more chipper on the platform, I must confess." The fox chuckled nervously.

Lukas toiled with whether he was allowed to sit down, but realised that he was likely to be punished regardless of his choices, so took a seat in the chair facing the fox, the table between them.

"Well, if pawning off sandwiches and non-descript boxes of nuts counts as public relations, then yeah, I guess that's what I am now" The possum grumbled. "I was hired as the chef but that... hasn't planned out the way I hoped."

Lukas explained the elk confiscating his apron and the fox began to ponder. "Well, if you're not the chef, then who is?"

The possum paused. "I don't think anybody is." He muttered.

The fox scoffed, turning to look out of the window. “Well, it’s a good thing I just got my breakfast then. Wonder if the stove’s warm enough to sling another egg on, hmm?”

For the second time in 15 minutes, Lukas's soul seemed to drop out of his feet. If nobody had been in the kitchen, the cookers were probably still turned on.

"Oh fuck!" The possum cried, scrambling to his feet and bolting up the train towards the buffet car.

Each carriage the possum moved between felt like canal locks. The doors between them did not share Lukas’ hurry. They parted slowly and with a pathetic squeak. Worse, the pressure plates that operated them matched the speed of the trolly movement, but not of him. He'd sprint down the aisle, stop on the pressure plate for the doors to slowly part, run through the gangway and down the next coach to another set of doors. As he got closer, he could smell burning. "C'mon, c'mon!" He growled as the fifth and final set of doors between him and the kitchen stood before him. Finally, he saw it. Thick smoke pouring from the kitchen. Nobody around to stop it.

Finally, the last set of doors parted and the possum vaulted over the counter, grabbing a fire extinguisher. The kitchen by now was well alight, a few boxes lying on the cookers, ablaze from the meat fats that had built up on top. Lukas was not aware of the exact fire procedures for putting out a blaze, but he wasn’t going to stand by while they all burned. He unleashed the extinguisher onto the cookers. Once the fire was pushed back enough, he stepped forth and turned off the heat. Lukas yelped and stumbled back as the controls scolded his hands.

By now people had rushed from the surrounding carriages to find out what the problem was. The extinguisher did a fairly solid job getting the flames down to the point where Lukas could re-enter the kitchen again. The fire still raged on the hob and it seemed the extinguisher wasn't going to hold it down. He needed something to smother it. Lukas turned around, seeing his apron still sat on the bar top. Without hesitating, he grabbed it and threw it over the flames, using his paws to smother them out. He winced again from the heat and then tugged the apron clear to stop it igniting too, falling back to the floor, breathless.

Lukas became aware that he had all eyes on him. His hands burned. He whimpered as he tried to use them to get to his feet, only to see Clifford and Francesca stood in the doorway of the kitchen looking back at him.

The elk's eyes darted around the room, a thick red flush on his face, with the dobermann looking over at him.

"You didn't let him turn off the hob, did you?" She said.

"Shush!" He grumbled, losing track of his words as he seemed to scramble for a magical undo button which he never found. "God, if my manager hears about this, I'll, I’ll..."

“I’ll have a fucking field day…” Francesca smirked, earning a glare from the elk, one she didn’t seem to register.

"Is the kitchen damaged?" Clifford barked at Lukas.

"Ask the chef." Lukas replied.

Clifford's rage dripped from his lips. "You are the chef!" He barked.

The possum looked back up with a grin. "I was hoping you'd say that."

At last, someone helped Lukas towards his feet, though it was neither of the staff members before him.

"Blimey, look at your hands." The fox mumbled. The vulpine grabbed some kitchen paper, wet it and then wrapped it like bandages around Lukas's burned hands, the latter whimpering a tad as they were applied.

"Where are we?" The possum asked, noting Clifford’s absence.

"Coventry, just pulled in now." Francesca replied.

Lukas grumbled in frustration. He still had the twitch of excitement to go looking around a new location but the pain in his hands and that sting of mistreatment kept his head sharp and enthusiasm subdued. “Fucking Christ, I just wanted to flip some burgers and this is what I get.”

There was a loud crackling sound coming from the centre of the carriage.

"Customers be advised." Was the voice, Clifford's, over the PA system in the vestibule. "A small fire has taken place in the buffet car. It has been extinguished but we will be pausing for a few moments in Coventry to ensure that nothing has been damaged." The crackling then stopped.

Clifford burst into the kitchen again. "Can you still cook?" He asked.

The vulpine had a double-take. "It's only 20 minutes to New Street, is someone liable to order a roast duck with honey and plumbs for that trip?" The fox asked.

The elk stared sharply at the fox and took a breath. "He will need to cook on this train when it returns to Euston or runs north to Glasgow. I need to know if I'll need a replacement chef, esquire." He snarled sarcastically to the fox.

The two smartest dressed men of the room glared at one another as Lukas composed himself. "Darlings, darlings. While I'd love to referee a street fight, now's not really a good time.” Lukas mumbled. “If I'm still the chef, then I'll cook in this train or any other one." The possum affirmed.

Clifford nodded. "Depends if they take this thing out of service." he said. "Clean this up and I'll report back to you by Birmingham International at the latest." The door closed behind the elk, leaving the fox and the possum together.

The two fell to silence as the train started to move again and they started to clean up the kitchen, putting burned things to one side, stocking what was damaged, lost or destroyed and giving things a wipe clean. The smoke that hung in the air continued to make Lukas’ nausea worse.

"I never did catch your name." The fox said. "I'm Elliott, pleased to meet you."

"Lukas." The possum said. "I would shake your mitt but, y’know…" the possum raised his bandaged hands.

Before long, the kitchen had been cleaned, with all the burned boxes and ruined food placed in a pile and the burn marks had been mostly cleaned off. From here it was down to electrical worthiness, a field neither Lukas nor Elliott were qualified in. Hence, they moved to the bar counter, leaning on it and watching the world go by past the window.

As he did so, Lukas began to reminisce on the adventure of all of this. He was miles away from anywhere he'd ever been. The large open fields had become small nested towns which grew more and more built up as they went. As the burning of his hands began to ease, the fire of adventure began to rekindle again.

"Have you been to Birmingham before?" Lukas asked.

"Yes, this is my commute. From Rugby, you see." The fox replied.

"I'd love to travel like this every day, seeing the hills and the trees and the fields go by.” The possum sighed. “It’s why I took the job really. Sick of sitting around the same scraps of London all my life.”

“You never stretched your legs before?”

Lukas shook his head “No, not really. I never had the chance, the money, the ability to go adventuring before now.”

Elliott laughed. "I suppose you'll be traveling a lot with your work now. Think Birmingham sounds exciting, wait until you see Glasgow or Carlisle." He smirked.

At this point, the kitchen door was opened again by Clifford. "Alright, they're going to take this train out of service at New Street. Get your belongings together, we should be through in about 10 minutes." The elk said, the train rushing through the rather new Birmingham International station, signalling their impending arrival to their terminus. "There'll be a half hour break before the next train you can work on will come in, if you report to the station office at seven-thirty, they should point you in the right direction."

Lukas nodded. "Alright, will do." The possum said, starting to gather his things.

There was a pause, the elk still stood in the door.

"Lukas." Clifford said, the possum raising his head. "I'm sorry."

Lukas stopped dead, speechless, Clifford looking right back at him. Before the possum could say anything, Clifford slammed the door closed and moved back to the public address, informing the passengers of their impending arrival into Birmingham New Street.

With his belongings packed up, Lukas moved towards the carriage door, pulling down the window and feeling the air rush against his face. He watched tracks mingle and merge, the city of Birmingham expanding all around the train as it entered its heart. Different little trains would worm around, appear and disappear, passing by the other way or being overtaken, arteries and veins feeding the city.

The train slowed to a crawl and began to ease down a gradient as it slid underground, through a long dark tunnel, and popping out again into the bright crystal blue light of a brave morning. This proud sunlight soaked the protruding platform tips of Birmingham New Street station; the rest hidden under a large box-like structure on the top.

As the train came to a stop, Lukas, with his camera around his neck and bag in hand, stepped out of the train and onto the platform of a place far, far from home. His eyes darted from the dark cavernous station centre which people made their way towards, to the uncompromising pillars holding up the massive and featureless concrete slab of a roof, to the hundreds of little wires which carried the electrical cable powering some of the trains, which to his eyes was just a knotted web of magic.

His trance was interrupted by a hug from the fox.

"Be safe. I hope I'll see you again someday." Elliott said.

The possum gulped. "I... I hadn't clocked that this was goodbye."

"Well, for now. That's the thing about the world, you always end up bumping into people again." The fox said, unwrapping his arms from around the possum and then stepping back, moving further down the platform towards the exits.

The two waved farewell to one another, Lukas doing so a tad limply, watching as the fox disappeared into the throng of people.

The possum took up his camera again and started to document his new surroundings, the gleaming new trains, the rickety old ones, the wires, the concrete slab architecture, the view of the city above, and then he'd make his way up the platform, seeing Francesca stood waiting for him.

And as he did so, it brought a tear to Lukas's eye to realise that, what had felt like the ride of a lifetime was really, only the start of something much, much bigger.