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Chapter 002 - The Infinite Train 02

  Chapter 002 - The Infinite Train 02

  As I once again attempted to make my way to the very end of the carriage, a voice called out to me.

  A man’s voice.

  It carried an air of casual curiosity, yet I sensed an underlying sharpness, a quiet calculation behind it.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be a player too, would you?”

  I stopped, turning to face him.

  He was younger than me, though not by much. Lean build, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the kind of guy you might pass on the street and forget the next moment—except for the way he watched me, eyes dark and observant, picking me apart like a puzzle he was halfway through solving.

  Seeing my guarded expression, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I’ve seen you pacing back and forth at least four or five times these past few days. No one else on this train does that—except the staff.”

  I didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I crossed the narrow aisle, pouring myself a glass of vodka from the half-empty bottle on the table. The burn of the liquor was a welcome contrast to the stale, recycled air of the carriage.

  “What day did you board?” I asked.

  “Twenty-five days ago.”

  I swirled the vodka in my glass, keeping my expression neutral. “What a coincidence. Same here. I woke up to the damn mechanical voice dumping me into this place, like a bad joke with no punchline.”

  His brow lifted slightly, as if gauging the truth in my words. “Do you remember your name?” he asked. “Or did that damn robotic voice just throw you in here without one?”

  I smirked at that. “Good question. What about you?”

  He seemed to consider for a moment before answering. “The system initialized and gave me one.”

  “Oh?”

  “Elliot Vance.”

  I repeated it under my breath, testing the weight of the syllables. “Sounds deliberate. Like it means something.”

  Elliot let out a short chuckle, rolling his shoulders. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just another label. Either way, it’s mine now.” He tilted his head. “And you?”

  “Sylas Turing.”

  Recognition flickered across his face for the briefest moment, gone almost as soon as it appeared. We both knew names could be meaningless here—or they could be everything.

  We exchanged information. Fragmented observations. Small, strange inconsistencies we’d both noticed but hadn’t yet pieced together into a coherent answer.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The train began slowing, the rhythmic clatter of metal against the tracks shifting into a dull hum as we pulled into another station.

  Elliot suddenly asked, “Have you ever stepped out when the doors open?”

  I glanced toward the carriage entrance. The station beyond was barely visible through the frosted windows.

  “I’ve looked,” I admitted. “Never stepped out. You?”

  Elliot hesitated for just a second before replying, “Once. Just to see.”

  His fingers tapped absently against the tabletop, a slow, methodical pattern.

  “The platform is isolated,” he continued. “No roads. No paths leading away. Just an endless snowstorm stretching in every direction.”

  A cold weight settled in my gut. “That’s it?”

  He shook his head. “There’s a slaughterhouse. And a kitchen.”

  The weight turned to ice.

  Elliot reached out, clasping my shoulder in a firm grip, his fingers like iron. “Don’t eat the meat the attendants bring you.”

  As if on cue, a cheerful voice interrupted our conversation.

  “Gentlemen, your lunch for today.”

  A train attendant stood before us, all polite smiles, setting down two meal boxes with an almost robotic efficiency. The label on mine read: Steak and potato rice bowl.

  Elliot watched me carefully as I peeled back the lid. A fragrant, familiar scent greeted me—savory, well-seasoned, perfectly normal. But the meat...

  It looked wrong.

  Something about the texture. The color. The way it glistened under the dim overhead lights.

  Elliot didn’t touch his.

  After a brief pause, I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite.

  He exhaled sharply. “Huh. Doesn’t disgust you?”

  I pushed his meal toward him. “It’s for warmth. We need to keep our strength up. You should eat too.”

  Elliot didn’t move.

  I turned toward the window, watching the endless flurry of snow rush past. White. Unbroken. Swallowing everything in its path.

  A boundless winter meant no roads. No travel. No civilization.

  No way to survive.

  I chuckled, low and quiet. “Do you think this is real?”

  Elliot’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  I took another bite, chewing deliberately, tasting the weight of the moment more than the food itself. “If this isn’t real, then what’s there to be disgusted by? What’s there to fear?”

  Elliot’s grip on his chopsticks tightened.

  I met his gaze, unwavering. “Let’s focus on finding clues. We need to get out of here.”

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