The train hummed like it was dreaming.
It had that too-smooth, too-quiet glide that came when most of the city was asleep. The lights overhead flickered gently — never too bright, never too dim. Just enough to let you know you weren't alone… even if you were.
Thea Quinnell sat slouched against the window, her arms crossed, earbuds in, one boot planted against the opposite seat. Her head bobbed with every turn of the tracks, tangled curls brushing against the fogged-up glass. She looked peaceful. Mostly.
Next to her, Igor Zelinsky had propped his feet on a gym bag stuffed with snacks and glowsticks. He had an ice pack taped to his ankle, a result of trying to crowd-surf during a lo-fi metal set three hours earlier.
He was holding a half-eaten churro.
He had no memory of getting the churro.
"I'm just saying," he mumbled, "if we die mysteriously on this train, you should know I forgive you for not catching me when I fell."
Thea didn't open her eyes. "You fell backward into a pit of inflatable alien heads. You're fine."
"I twisted something."
"You twisted your pride."
"I think I cracked a rib."
She cracked an eye open. "You don't have a ribcage. You're a Dorito."
Igor grinned. "Spicy Nacho."
Thea turned back to the window, a small smile tugging her lips. Outside, the world blurred into shadow — the edge of town giving way to the black hum of trees and stars. Streetlights became rare. Civilization faded behind them.
She pulled one earbud out. "When's the next stop?"
Igor glanced at the screen above the door. It blinked slowly:
NEXT STATION: ARRIVING SOONESTIMATED TIME: UNKNOWN
"…That's not ominous," Igor muttered.
They both stared at the screen a second longer.
Then Thea reached up and flicked the overhead light off. "Wake me if we get abducted."
Igor leaned his head back, took another bite of the cursed churro, and closed his eyes.
The stop jolted them awake.
Not with the grinding screech of brakes. Not with a thud or a slam.
Just a gentle, quiet stop. Like the train had come to rest… willingly.
Thea sat up, squinting. Igor rubbed his eyes, churro crumbs raining onto his hoodie.
They were at a station.
A… perfect station.
The tiles were spotless. The columns gleamed. Soft instrumental music played overhead — some smooth, lifeless melody that sounded like it belonged in a futuristic spa.
No graffiti. No dirt. No smell.
Just sterile perfection and silence.
The train doors opened.
No one entered.
No one exited.
No conductor. No announcements.
Just a soft mechanical voice overhead:
"You are right where you're meant to be.""The experience will begin shortly."
Thea stood. "Where the hell are we?"
Igor followed, limping slightly. "Pretty sure this isn't on the regular line."
They stepped onto the platform. The doors slid closed behind them — soundlessly.
The train glided away.
They both turned.
No sign.
No map.
No exits.
Just a white tiled wall where the train had been, as if it had never existed.
Igor looked around. "Okay. So… either we're dead, or this is one of those immersive theater things where a guy in a bowler hat is gonna offer us tea and trauma."
Thea walked toward the glowing wall panel. "No signal. No WiFi. Everything's… locked."
Overhead, the voice returned:
"Thank you for participating.LEVEL ONE: Orientation will now begin."
A section of the wall shimmered… and then folded open like paper.
A hallway stretched beyond it. Too bright. Too clean. Too… intentional.
Thea muttered, "I'm not liking the vibes."
"Yeah," Igor agreed. "This place feels like if an Apple store and a psych ward had a cursed baby."
"Come on," she said, moving forward. "Let's find out what kind of corporate hellscape we just landed in."
He followed, grumbling, "This better not be an escape room. I hate team-building."
The wall closed behind them.
Silently.