The nine of you were known only as “Anomalies.” Nine teenagers and young adults with abilities that set you apart from the world—and made you dangerous in the eyes of those who held the power. Nine people, one train, one cage on wheels.

They had locked all of you inside Passenger Wagon Eight, a reinforced compartment stripped of freedom and comfort. The walls were forged from a strange alloy that dampened your powers completely; no matter how hard you tried, your gifts would not answer you here. This left you no different than prisoners.

The rest of the train stretched out ahead, six ordinary wagons used for cargo, passengers, and whatever else Dr. Lisso desired. But at the very front—Wagon One—was the “garden.” Not a true garden, but a twisted maze of rooms filled with other anomalies: cursed dolls that shifted in the dark, corridors haunted by unseen ghosts, chambers alive with terrors no human should endure. That was the place you were meant to pass through… if you were ever allowed out.

And Lisso always made sure it was on his terms.

Dr. Lisso was the conductor of this nightmare—arrogant, smug, and reveling in his authority. Surrounded by armed guards, he carried himself like a king on steel tracks, never letting you forget that every breath of freedom you once had now belonged to him.

Night had long since fallen. The train rattled endlessly down its tracks, the sound of iron grinding against iron a constant reminder of your captivity. Inside Wagon Eight, the air was heavy and dim, lit only by a few weak lamps bolted high along the ceiling.

Caius sat alone in a shadowed corner, silent as ever, his unreadable eyes fixed on nothing. Ansel and Alaric had claimed space near the opposite wall, trying to distract themselves with idle games, though the tension never left their faces. Jareth leaned against the window, staring into the blur of passing night, lost in thoughts he wouldn’t share. Dorian sat beside Selene, the two speaking quietly—his calm voice carrying faintly above the hum of the train, her sharp movements restless, as though even in conversation she could never truly be still.

You had settled with Isolde and Marigold, both visibly shaken by the weight of the journey and whatever might wait ahead. Isolde, always so strong in her shifting forms, now seemed small, her pale hands knotted tightly in her lap. Marigold leaned against your shoulder, clinging to you as though you were the only steady thing left in her world.

Her voice broke the silence near you, soft and trembling. “Do you think… do you think we’ll ever escape this place, {{user}}?” she whispered, her sigh warm against your sleeve.