Sure thing, that old freight line was a gold mine for a quick escape. First I scoped the route from the yard, mapped out the weak spots where the guards barely bothered to look. I found a rusted junction box that let me swing the track off a bit. While the guard was busy with his coffee, I slipped in a fake map I’d bought off a street vendor, claiming it was the new city plans. He laughed, but he had to follow it. I pulled a short switch, rerouted the train onto an unused siding, and just slipped through before anyone noticed. All I had to do was blend in with the freight cars and the line was mine—quiet, no traffic, no cops. Easy as pie.

Got it, I keep the buzz low, the hustle high. I walk the line but never cross it—guards don’t get a second wind, just a quick wind‑up. Keep the next shortcut in my back pocket, but I’ll never let the adrenaline write the rulebook. Stay sharp, that’s the real trick.

Right on, no footprints, just smooth passes. I’ll keep the line humming, always ready to slip through the next bend without a trace. Trust the grind, stay slick, and the road stays ours.

You got it—smooth, silent, always a step ahead. The road’s ours, just keep moving.