(V/O): The train's always had these fluorescent lights. Bright. Uncomfortable.

(Cut To a low angle shot of the tattered chin-line of Steve Jackson. Steve "Axion" Jackson. アクション-さん. Stubble. Scars. And determination. Eyes closed, hood up, straight backed in his seat while waiting for the Fullerton Brown Line stop.)

(V/O): *chuckling* Only two years in Tokyo and Nagoya, and I'm already spoiled. Cleaner cars, softer lights.

(Axion opens his eyes, looks up at the Chicago El Map, and glances across the train car as he loosens up his shoulders from the grip of his hoodie and the aged leather over top of it. An older man sitting half the car down, clearly of Hasidic Jewish persuasion, catches Axion's glance. He stares. And Axion stares back.)

(V/O): It's funny. I forgot what it felt like to be judged. It's been awhile since anyone looked at me without respect or nerves. Maybe that's why I'm back here. Back "home".

(The Jewish man removes his gaze and stands up to exit the train, after an uncomfortably long moment of connection. The contrast between these men couldn't be more stark. Or could it? Staunch in their beliefs. Solid in their commitment to a lifestyle. Separated from the crowd due to their appearance... Axion looks down towards his feet, as he shuffles his gear bag on top of his lap.)

(V/O): Who the f*** am I kidding. This was always the plan. "Home" was always the plan. It all started here, and it's here where it's all going to start again.

(Axion clenches his fists, and cracks his knuckles. The slowing fading letters that spell out "HOPELESS" show themselves, as Axion readies for his stop.)

(V/O): *chuckling again* I've actually always loved these trains. There's an attitude about them. Especially at this stop.

(The train intercom blurts out...)


(V/O): Transfer to Red Line... at Fullerton.

(Axion stands up from his seat near the trains doors, and hoists his bag on to his shoulder.)

(V/O): And so... the axe falls again.

(Fade to Black)