The smooth curve of the stone above me melded down into the thick walls of the metro station. The incessant dripping from some leaky pipe made my teeth grind and my neck tense. The scent of damp moss and wet dog permeated the underground railway. It was not an unpleasant scent, though I wish it was.
The city I found myself in was far too barren. I needed somewhere fresh, bustling, and perilous. Someplace full of people in need of help. So, I have come down here in search of safe—at least somewhat—transportation.
I considered walking right through the desert on foot, but that would get me instantaneously flash-frozen then chargrilled. The underground tram networks were a lot more reliable, keyword being more. Though, if some cannibals manage to rip me apart, at least I will have helped one group of people.
No, I can't think like that. My life may be already forfeit, but that means I at least have to pay up properly. Why feed some wandering marauders once when I could work my ass off alleviating minor inconveniences for years to come?
My father shared something with me in the past: all one needs to do is chime a bell if they wish for a train. There is a cost, a dreadful one at that. My father had to offer the conductor half of his fingers. When I brought Auntie here, we had to give up all our rations. They don't need these things. The conductors always tell you that the price you pay is not what you give them, rather the suffering they can draw from you.
People like that are scum. It doesn't matter who you are. If you do such things, then you're as good as a beast. I am no hypocrite; I am a beast too, and a beast I'll stay till I'm done paying up.
I stood over the edge of the railway—one more step and I'd fall against the tracks. I reached down into my rucksack and carefully extracted a small silvery bell. Whatever the price may be, I am willing to pay it.
I blinked once. A cold chill ran down my spine. Then I blinked a second time. When my eyes opened, the black carapace of the train's central carriage stood before me.
I knew this would happen, seen it happen twice by now. It was still slightly jarring to have something so large and imposing materialize itself like that.
The train was composed solely of two segments. The metal that connected them was covered by some sort of viscous secretion. The front carriage was painted a dull grey... is it called a front carriage? I don't know much about trains. Either way, its shape was aggressive, almost pointed.
Thick ridges lined both segments. They stood up against the metal like the thorns of a rose. The front carriage had no windows. Instead, several small holes were drilled into the sides to allow a modicum of visibility.
The second carriage, the one that would hold the passengers, was roughly rectangular with smooth edges. It was painted a darker shade than the first one. Rebar and metal rods were welded to the roof. It didn't shake, nor did it surprise me that skulls had been impaled upon the rooftop's protrusions. It was a warning to bandits: attack the train and lose your head.
I knew the procedure. I slammed my knuckles against the door of the front carriage.
The door swung open...
Fuck, that thing's gross.
The conductors never looked like men. The first one I saw long ago had the head of an ox. Its arms were made of some sort of plastic; they were painted like Christmas decorations. The one I saw last time was bloated, pale, and lacked any sort of facial features.
This one was just... grotesque.
The first thing that came into view was his hands. They were long hooked talons covered in a waxy cuticle. Beneath the wax, the skin was chitinous. The hand ended in three digits. They were shaped like cricket legs.
His arm was no different, spindly and thinly armored with an exoskeleton. I couldn't see his shoulders nor his torso. At least he had decided to cover them up with the coarse layers of his hood.
His face was what unnerved me the most. If he had just been some ugly bug-man, then I could have dealt with it. But his face was nothing like what it should have been. First of all, it lacked eyes—sort of. Instead, it was full of holes, like engorged pores. Fuck, there are dozens of them, each one leaking some sort of liquid—fucking train juice for all I knew.
Secondly, the mouth was just a mouth. I expected pincers, but no. Instead, this asshole is up here giving me a smirk.
I deserve to be laughed at, though. It's not like he would be wrong for doing it. Focus, Cassiel. We have to repent, and so I can't waste my time dilly-dallying about the specifics.
"What do I have to give you?" My words came out a lot less politely than I had hoped.
"Ay, you're good. You're giving me plenty."
I shuddered—not because his voice sounded nasty. It was just a normal voice, sounded about forty, a bit gruff.
Wait, that didn't add up. The way he said it almost sounded like a confirmation, not a demand.
"What—do you mean by that?" I tried to say the words as carefully and deliberately as possible. Best if I mask my discomfort, try to be polite so he doesn't raise the bar or decide I'm not worth the effort.
"It means normally, the people trying to take a train ain't as silly as you, little man."
I felt a surge of irritation when I caught the condescension in his tone. But before I could brook an ounce of protest, he resumed speaking.
"The engine demands your suffering. You are feeding it nicely. Something tells me you wouldn't mind giving me an arm, or a leg. So, I have no need for it."
He takes. Like all of them, he takes. He has incurred a debt too, and it's definitely bigger than mine. No good man has speared skulls propped up on his roof.
Fucker has no right to live. But I couldn't argue, couldn't lop his head off. Not only would he definitely kill me, it would also be a useless death. I am not saving anyone. If they agree to his terms and ride with him, it's their choice. It's worth it for them.
So why are my fists clenched so tight?
Why are my eyes narrow and my cheeks flushed?
I looked away from him and saw the inside of his door...
My anger, it's gone.
Is that fucking Bulbasaur?
He had stickers. Lots of them... Pokémon stickers.
My brother found a Game Boy once in a rundown store. He let me play some Pokémon. Apparently, people used to love the game back when the world worked. I wouldn't know.
He tapped a thin digit against the thin sheet metal of the door. "Are ya getting on, son?"
Though my anger had been dampened, I wasn't going to throw caution away.
"Where the hell are we headed?"
Usually, the conductors gave brief or vague explanations. My sister told me that they probably just say something cryptic in an effort to psyche folks out.
I stopped before the door of the second carriage, waiting for him to offer up the usual response.
He pulled himself partway out the front carriage, his recurved fingers digging into the dark metal.
"I'm blind as a bat. I don't got a clue."
This fucker. I bet he swindled plenty. Made idiots pay up and dropped them off at random locations.
If it's so wrong, then why the fuck am I laughing?
I must look like a buffoon, throwing my head back as if I heard the single funniest thing that anyone has ever uttered.
This is why I am disgusting. I am awful.
"A good person wouldn't laugh," I muttered beneath my breath as my chortles ran dry.
I lifted my foot off the floor and planted it firmly against the thin red carpet that lined the train's interior.
I caught sight of the mess that my boots had become. I could have taken a new pair from the mall. But I deserved the discomfort. Others should have them, not me.
I stepped into the suspiciously comfortable insides of the cabin. The seats were a deep crimson; the color was inviting and vibrant. The whirring of an air conditioner graced my ears, and my eyes fluttered shut against the cool draft of air that washed over me. Unlike the exterior, the interior walls were a rich mahogany. The dark brown offered a pleasing contrast to the saturated red hues.
I firmly planted my behind against the plush seats. For a moment, I tried to sit up straight, knowing I shouldn't allow myself the comfort. But the call of exhaustion was too strong. My limbs, weary with stress, finally found respite.
The conductor's gruff voice echoed out from the front carriage. The sound reached me even though it shouldn't have. This made me uneasy—good, I should be.
"It's a work of art, I know. Most don't enjoy it quite like you."
Slowly, I stretched myself out. A yawn escaped my lips before I replied.
"Yeah, how the hell is it still so nice?"
The conductor seemed almost jolly now. I could almost hear a smile grow over his lips.
"Well, mountains and valleys all fall to the elements. Living things tend to bounce back."
Wait... The seat's already warm. I shot up and reached for my saber. I could see it now... Behind the woods, behind the fuzzy lights. Something was moving, pulsing.
I felt helpless. I was inside the maw of some beast. The raucous laughter of the conductor only further set my nerves on edge.
"What do you mean, is this thing alive?" I tried my best to sound accusatory. But my voice sounded more like a whimper.
The laughter died down as the conductor heard my genuine terror.
"Calm down, will ya. This is just how machines work. It's only alive the same way a plant is."
I took a deep breath. My fists clenched around my sword's hilt, but I didn't draw it. I looked down at the seats—they were still so inviting.
"Listen... are you sure this is safe?"
The conductor hummed before offering a reply.
"Been with this thing for decades. It's a quality piece. Soldiers used it to carry around ammo during the Long Silence. I used to drive this thing for supply runs and it never once failed me, even when artillery started hammering away at the roof."
I took another deep breath. It came smoother than the first as my panic died down.
"But... why is it... alive?" I asked him. I felt almost naive. I didn't know this despite having ridden around on these things twice.
"Well, a bunch of scientists figured out how to put metal and fleshy stuff together. Apparently, not only does it tend to work better, it also fixes itself. That's why the inside is so comfy. It's also why I ain't ever had to run any maintenance. Son, it's been almost a hundred years and this beautiful beast ain't ever—and I mean ever—failed me." He paused, as if he expected someone to raise him a glass. "How's that for safety?"
His proud explanation soothed my frayed nerves. The now comforting warmth of the cushions as I sat down drained away the last shreds of my hesitation. I sighed to myself. The stress that I had been building up for too long began to ebb away.
I looked around the carriage and caught the sheen of a few empty beer bottles stacked in a cardboard box. My mind wandered back to the Pokémon stickers. This guy was, well... a guy. The way the train appeared the second I rang the bell, and the way he looked, may have been alien—but he offered a mundane explanation to the most bizarre part of it all.
The train being fucking alive was just standard practice.
I could feel the tug of motion pulling me to the side as the train began to steadily accelerate. The churning of those metal things that moved with the wheels and made that iconic train sound acted as a familiar, if not discomforting, companion.
I worked up the courage to ask a more personal question. I looked to the side before taking a nervous gulp.
"The other conductors usually give some inkling as to where they're headed..."
Before I could finish asking, he already began to speak.
"Well, they're all a bunch of melodramatic pansies."
The contempt in his voice was palpable now.
"There is no such thing as a destination when one is down here. There is only arrival."
This sounded more like the babbling nonsense of sages than any actual answers, though his reply did somewhat confirm my sister's hypothesis.
"So, if you're blind... how do you know where to stop?"
The voice carried a note of mischief now.
"Who said I was blind? It's simple, son. We don't need eyes to see."
I chuckled uneasily, then more rambunctiously.
I caught the bastard. First Pokémon and now cinema. Little does he know, my dad managed to set up a small television. He would play us whatever Blu-rays we could find as we grew up.
"This is not Event Horizon. You're not going to creep me out with film quotes."
He laughed in return. The echo distorted the sound, but it was unmistakably cheerful.
"You've got taste. But I meant it literally."
He cleared his throat.
"The surface sort... I don't really understand it, but... it works better."
He paused. I was glad that he was actually trying to explain things.
"It's like, down here, directions don't make any sense. I could go ten miles north here and be two hundred miles east when I leave. I don't have eyes, but I do have these funky holes all over my face. They can feel how real the air is. Cities are a lot more real than both the underground and the surface."
I took in the explanation. I couldn't pretend I wasn't intrigued.
"So... what's up with you?"
The question was nonspecific. I didn't really know what else I could ask him.
He hummed through his microphone. He took a good bit of time before he replied. I cursed myself for asking something so broad.
"You talking about the fact I'm some bug-man carrying gents across the wastelands and asking for their flesh and valuables in return, or are you asking me about the Pokémon stickers?"
I looked down at my shredded boots. I wasn't all too used to talking to people who weren't my family.
"What exactly are you?" I squeaked out.
"My name is James. I was a conductor, and I still am a conductor."
His voice began to bleed something faintly melancholic.
"I hid in the subways when the angels came. People asked me to carry them around. Some wanted to get away from the fighting. Others wanted to go back to look for their loved ones. I didn't have anyone waiting for me, didn't have anything else I wanted to do either. It was my responsibility, and I was damn proud of it."
The somber, almost nostalgic cadence struck a chord with me. I adjusted my posture till I was nearly laying down. I didn't want to miss a word of what he said.
"So, what then? There are other conductors like you—what's the deal with you?"
His voice grew an octave deeper. He made a clear effort to present the information rather than simply spit it at me.
"Pain grounds you. Back in the army, the instructors spent a whole lot of effort teaching that. Sorcery became a lot more common during the war. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to wrap the grips of their rifles in barbed wire. A grisly wound a day keeps the wizards away."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Despite my impatient interruption, I hung on his every word.
"Simple. To travel underground, you have to be properly grounded. You are stressed out enough to keep this place steady without me needing to ask for any of your bits. Think of it like a shield against whatever dark forces linger around here."
"So what's with the whole 'the engine demands your suffering' bullshit?" I crossed my arms.
"I wanted to sound dramatic. It gets a little boring if you don't tease the guests a little."
The mocking, playful edge in his voice made me feel strangely... welcome.
I didn't dislike talking to him. He reminded me of Dad. Dad also used to play silly pranks.
"Why are you a bug?" I tilted my head. I nearly forgot the elephant in the room.
"It's the rules of the trade. We can't exactly ground ourselves without guests. Our bodies pay the price over the years."
He didn't sound displeased. I wondered if the conductors treated their disfigurements as a point of pride.
"Like the calluses of a guitarist, huh?" I replied. My well-timed comment made him giggle.
"What's with the Pokémon?"
He sighed, nostalgia now overtaking any sign of melancholy.
"I used to like it a good bit when I was little. My nana got me a box of Pokémon stickers for my birthday. Never opened them. Lo and behold, after the war I found them in a drawer. I decided to take them to work and stick them around."
He took a long pause. I could hear him take a deep, almost preparatory breath.
"It's a good reminder."
He took another short breather. "So, why are you traveling? With all the grounding you're lending, I'm sure the baggage you carry is far from light."
I couldn't answer that. I knew why, of course. I was traveling in search of redemption—it was a pilgrimage of sorts. But saying that would make me sound crazy. Most people don't get it. They don't strive for goodness the way I do.
I sat up, straight now. "I'm trying to change things. I can't do that without going somewhere else."
He laughed again, but it wasn't humorous. It felt critical... he was laughing at me. Then, he coughed. I could hear his clothes ruffling. He exhaled slowly before responding. "Change, I'm happy that you are looking for it. I like you, kid... don't end up like me, stuck in the past."
I understood his laugh then. It wasn't mockery, nor judgment. It was self-deprecating. The edge of warning in his voice made it seem like he was prophesying doom rather than simply giving advice. "Kid, people come to me for many things. But all of them are ready to move on. It's ironic, yet I'm proud of it. This is my train, and I have never and will never abandon it. I wouldn't wish such a curse upon anyone. Don't cling to some empty duty, or some twisted purpose. Live selfishly. Can you do that for me, son?"
I was resolute when I answered, "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."
He sighed in disappointment. "Good luck then. We will be arriving soon..."
He stopped. Not paused, but rather suddenly went silent. For whatever reason, my chest became tight—painfully tight.
Panic rose up in my voice. Something slick was in the air. Dense and half-fluid. "James... James, what's going on?"
His voice shook. I recognized the faint flickers of fear within it. "Something... something wicked is onto us."
"Something wicked," I repeated.
"Ay, something so unreal and faint. I can't see it... it's like an empty spot." There was still uncertainty in his voice. But he had clearly been in rough spots before. I could hear it, and I could feel it. James knew what to do... whatever was happening.
Silence—vast, sharp, and sudden. The air was still. The churning of the train's gears was gone. A terror I had never felt before hit me like an asteroid. I felt the muscles in my stomach flutter. I was seconds away from retching.
The carriage I was in—the door at its end was closed. There were no other carriages. There shouldn't have been. But now the door was open. Wide like the maw of something vast and unknowable. Something that made my hair stand on end and my heart beat within my chest with all the ferocity of a jackhammer.
Behind the door, the same carriage I was in was repeated endlessly. I could see the same box with the same beer bottles in the same arrangement. The seats were identical... God damn it. It was sickening. Evil—yes, it was evil. I don't know how else to describe it.
The spontaneous density of the air only grew thicker. I turned to face the other end, and the same infinite corridor stretched out before me.
I was alone... and I wish it had stayed that way.