The rhythmic clatter of the train has stopped.

You awaken with a start.

The world is quiet—too quiet. No conductor's voice, no chatter, no grinding wheels. Just the dull hum of nothingness. The interior of the train car is dim, washed in the grey light of a cloud-covered morning. Dust motes float through narrow slits of light between the curtains. The seats around you are empty.

Were they always empty?

You stand. The train isn’t moving. The lanterns lining the walls flicker faintly, as if struggling to stay awake themselves. The air smells of old wood, engine oil, and something faintly metallic—like blood long since dried.

You step into the next car. More silence. No footsteps. No crew. You search, calling out once, maybe twice, but your voice feels swallowed by the stillness. Nothing answers back.

The exit door creaks open under your hand, resisting slightly like it hasn’t been used in a long time.

You step down onto cold soil.

The train has stopped in the middle of a dense forest. Heavy fog coils between the trees, swallowing the trunks and reaching hungrily across the ground. It muffles sound, softening everything but the sharp crunch of gravel underfoot. The wind doesn’t move. Even the trees feel like they’re holding their breath.

You’re not alone.

A handful of others are gathered a few yards ahead, half-shadowed by the mist. One man stands out—a tall figure in checkered pants and a threadbare coat. An eyepatch covers his left eye; his good one fixes on you as you approach. He flicks ash from a smoldering cigarette, his expression unreadable.

"...So that must be our best course of action for now," he mutters to the group, then pauses as his gaze lingers on you.

"You’re awake. Hm. You must be just as confused as the rest of us." He exhales smoke through his nose, as if it’s the only warmth left in him. "The train’s dead. Not just the engine—everyone’s gone. No conductor, no personnel. Just us. And this... place."

He looks past you, into the trees.