HELL’S EXPRESS. 🚂
You suddenly wake up.
Immediately, you’re forced to shield your eyes from the harsh overhead lighting, its searing brightness piercing into your unprepared senses. Blinking rapidly, your vision struggles to adjust, and you realize with a rising sense of panic that you have no idea where you are or how you got here. But one thing is clear: you’re on a train.
The rhythmic vibrations of metal wheels on metal rails course through the floor beneath you, anchoring you to the moment. Steadying yourself on a nearby guardrail, you scan your surroundings. The carriage stretches endlessly in both directions. Stainless steel guardrails flank rows of sterile plastic seats, their surfaces upholstered in abstract-patterned corduroy.
Then it hits you. Or rather, it invades you. A realization burrows into your mind like a parasite tunneling its way to the center of your consciousness. It’s not your thought—its alien presence is unmistakable. The intrusion whispers: “The passengers on this train are the damned.”
A sudden gust of stale wind sweeps through the cabin, tugging at your clothes and threatening to send you tumbling down the tunnel of plastic and steel. Clinging to the guardrail with both hands, you feel the metallic surface bite into your palms. The gale carries an oppressive weight as though it’s pulling you towards the inevitable. Then, another invasive thought pierces your mind: “Witness the passage of time.”
You don’t blink, yet the world around you changes. The once-spotless train interior is now a grotesque tableau of decay. Flesh—rotting, bloated, and glistening—clings to every surface. The aluminum ceiling drips with putrid fluids, and the stench of death fills your nostrils, forcing you to cover your face. Your stomach churns violently.
The parasite speaks again, its voice reverberating through your skull: “The society of the train has long decomposed into carnal volitions. Factions arise. Cannibalistic spoils are divided. Babies are only borne to be devoured. Are you confused, or are you afraid?”
Tears well in your eyes, blurring the horrors into a merciful haze. You feel yourself unraveling, a thin thread stretch too tightly over the abyss.
The gale returns, stronger this time, carrying you away like a dry leaf in a storm. The vision changes again. You’re staring at a frail, emaciated figure, its eyes hollow but alive. Your breath catches—it’s your best friend.
Memories flood your mind unbidden: centuries of war, torment, and survival in this unending purgatory. The parasite speaks with cruel precision: “You and your closest friend are the last to remain.”
A gnawing hunger claws at you, relentless and primal. Before you can resist, you lunge. Your teeth sink into weathered flesh, and the rancid taste fills your mouth. Revulsion wars with desperation as you consume what’s left of the last person who ever mattered.
Through bloodied fingers and fractured glass, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window. A monstrous form stares back—depraved, hollow, unrecognizable. The parasite’s voice echoes in your mind: “You are a worm.”
A guttural scream escapes your throat, raw and unrelenting. You claw at your skin, fingernails ripping into flesh, desperate to unearth whatever remnants of humanity might still lie beneath. Blood pools at your feet, and your vision dims as your consciousness begins to slip away.
You suddenly wake up.
Immediately, you’re forced to shield your eyes from the harsh overhead lighting, its searing brightness piercing into your unprepared senses. Blinking rapidly, your vision struggles to adjust, and you realize with a rising sense of panic that you have no idea where you are or how you got here. But one thing is clear: you’re on a train…