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Realistic or Modern The Midnight Train

Cychotic

Cychotic

♠ sᴘᴀᴅᴇs
The Midnight Train

OUR SCHEDULE FOREVERMORE​

mon
tues
wed
thurs
fri
sat
sun​

12:00 am
12:00 am
12:00 am
12:00 am
12:00 am
12:00 am
12:00 am

The Midnight Train has been around for as long as you could remember and maybe, even before that. As its name entails, the train slows to a stop at exactly 12:00 am,
bringing on a slew of newcomers. Each one is without a face, their features covered by a black mask as dark as night. They trickle out of the train and travel down into the subway where they are never seen again. Most civilians pay the train no mind, until a group of adrenaline junkies sparked a trend that would spread fear throughout the city.

Groups of people ranging from all ages began to take the train, only to end up vanishing indefinitely. Families became distraught and cautions were placed against the newly deemed 'Midnight Travel'. And yet, the disappearances continue to occur.

And tonight, as the clock strikes 12, you return to the city you left. On your face, you bear a black mask and in your heart, an inking strand of despair settles. For the price paid for boarding the Midnight Train has never been returned to its people.

-

Clark was a coward. He didn’t know what form of torture or reason allowed him to enter the train. His memory was foggy, save for the idle quietness of his childhood, cooped up in his house because he hated going out. Hated talking to others with his dreaded stutter that everyone seemed not to mind. Everyone but him. And yet on this evening, Clark returned to the station he left. He doesn’t remember how long he’s been gone or why a mask of black has been painted over his face, covering his features save his eyes and mouth.

He does not recognize the station he has stepped into. It was not the one he used to leave. This one was older, with the lights dimmer and colder. The floor dirty from use and utterly abandoned. The placed reeked of fear and forgotten people and forgotten memories.

Clark’s senses were heightened, the lighta blinding him more than they usually did and the sound of the city echoing in his ear. Loud, so loud and yet so alone. This was his stop, he knew at least that. Yet he could not speculate why he was suddenly ejected to this place.

Why it was so quiet and abandoned, lost in the fog of his blurry memories. Something only urged him to move on and leave it behind him. Cast it away. But first, to gain his surroundings..

-

Clark has chosen. Voting has closed.
 
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2


2 | Quiet on the Tracks

Clark’s eyes narrowed, squinting to see if he had missed any detail. None. The lights flickered briefly before stabilizing once more. Despite his assumption that he was utterly alone, Clark cleared his throat.

“Is anyone here?” His voice came out raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken for far too long. When was the last time a word came out of his mouth? His hands left his pockets, carrying a small bundle of lint and brushing against what seemed to be quarters. Maybe he would use them to get water later. Clark cupped his mouth, clearing his throat once more in another attempt to speak.

“Is anyone here!” The raspiness was gone. His voice ricocheted clearly against the walls of the station, bouncing until there was nowhere left to go. A whine responded. A tired, old and snappy whine accompanied by the shuffling of fabric and paper that was only getting louder with each second. His head snapped in its direction.

Was he afraid? Yes. Yes, he was. He recognized the old emotion of fear crawling up into his spine like a crooked finger inching towards him. Clark frowned profusely and slipped his hand into his pocket once more. He took a step towards the sound, wincing as it made too much noise against the smooth floor.

The situation seemed familiar to him. What was the word for it? It scratched the back of his head. Deja vu.

Deja. Vu.

Something was arriving. Clark knew it was approaching him. He sought it out, the yearning quite strong and too tempting to turn away from. He tried, really, he did. But he found himself here countless times, always too early or always too late. Today he was too late. Much too late. And yet the feeling of anticipation did not leave him. Maybe it was not yet. Not yet?

What was he to wait for?

“You’re about an hour late, kiddo.”

Clark turned. He hadn’t noticed anyone come up next to him. His head burned, hot with fever and the regret washed over him. It always ended like this, too late, too early and too full of regrets. The man wasn’t too fond of strangers. Or of most people. They wanted too many words and words were the one thing he could not possible give. Except for the bare minimum. The polite minimum. He surmised he could wrap this conversation up soon enough.

“W-w-who are y-you?”

The stranger chuckled in faint amusement.

“Name’s... You’ve been here a long while. Everyone’s already left.” As if to make a point, they swept their hands across the station. Almost empty save for the two.
Clark frowned. Not only did he fail to notice the stranger, but he failed to notice the duration of his visit. He had never stayed this long before. “S-sorry. I’ll b-be on my w-way.”

“Not so fast, kiddo. Spare me a few coins, first.” The stranger held out their palm. Dirt lingered underneath their nails. Unclean. Unpleasant. Clark’s nose wrinkled in disdain.

“Come on, help me out. Just a couple coins.”

Clark was uneasy. The knot in his stomach grew. He remembered something, something that didn’t seem important. His past. A stranger too desperate for his coin and smelled of rot. The whining continued as if it sensed him there and his hesitation. He looked around him, to the station and to the outside, wondering why both situations gave him an uneasy feeling.

-

VOTE OPEN. Your options are below. You have two choices to make at this time. To check out what this quest is about, click here.

ONE (PRESENT) | Who is that? Or what? I should check it out.
Risk Level: Low
ONE (PAST) | Give the stranger half of your quarters. You currently have 4$ worth of coin in your pocket.
Risk Level: Low

TWO (PRESENT)| Ignore it. You’ve stayed too long.
Risk Level: Low

TWO (PAST)| Politely tell the stanger you have no money. Its time to go back home.
Risk Level: Low

 
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I bet 10 bucks it turns out our protagonist is dead ar at least, this has death undertones. All I can think of with weird homeless dude is Charon, the ferryman of the underworld.
 
BackSet said:
Ah. Coins for the ferryman.

1 and 1, if you please. That's my choice anyways.

(Am I doing this wrong?)
Click to expand...
BackSet said:
I bet 10 bucks it turns out our protagonist is dead ar at least, this has death undertones. All I can think of with weird homeless dude is Charon, the ferryman of the underworld.
Click to expand...
You are doing this correctly. Also, my plans have been foiled. Give me five more years to change the plot since its been found out. Woe is me. (We'll see LOL)

hosaki said:
Is that a nice dog, a hellhound, or something else entirely? I choose 1 and 2.
Click to expand...
The world may never know...
 
I choose option 2 for the present and option 1 for the past. :)
Whining noises aren't something easily scared people tend to go check out in my opinion (I wouldn't, at least) - though I am curious myself as to what it is. (And since most people seem to have voted to go see, I think I'll get to know, haha.) Also, path of least resistance - just give him some coins since he insists.
 
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