In the embrace of the cold, serene night, I found myself holding lifeless bodies, their weight resembling anchors for the dark moments haunting my thoughts. Exiting them from the train exposed me to biting cold, the chilly air wrapping around the scenes like a magical veil.
Returning to my seat in the carriage, the night retained its tranquil facade. The sly cold played a subtle tune, caressing the atmosphere as I delved into the enigma of my existence amidst the whispers of the wind and the stillness of the night. The train glided soundlessly, erasing traces of life beneath the cloak of darkness.
In a moment of contemplation, a scream shattered the silence, a desperate cry for help from a child. I hastened towards the source to find an elderly man lying on the ground, stabbed. The cold pierced my heart, and the winds echoed the haunting screams.
As passengers gathered to witness the scene, I noticed a man holding the deceased's phone. "What are you doing?" I inquired calmly, my voice blending with the symphony of the night. The man moved calmly and composed towards the front carriage, filling the air with an eerie silence.
I intercepted him and asked, "Why did you take the phone?" He replied, "I found this message." The message read, "Activate it before dawn." Perplexed, another man interrupted, "What are you two doing? I saw you taking something and leaving." Suspicion lingered on his face. "Who are you?" he asked, holding the phone. "My name is Peterson; I work at the next train station. And who are you?" he inquired, suspicion fixed on his face. "My name is Ethan," I responded. "My name is Patrick," he added. A strange atmosphere filled the air as everyone introduced themselves with a simple "My name is." The tension of doubt pervaded; I wanted to ask about the next station but refrained, not wanting to draw attention to my still-blank memory.
Amidst the intense silence, I asked about the time. "It's nine in the evening," Patrick answered, wearing a cold smile and a friendly demeanor. "What do we do about the deceased?" Peterson asked.We moved towards the front carriage, finding it locked and sealed. "Let's inform whoever is driving this train," Patrick suggested.
We tried to shout for them to open, but there was no response. The carriage remained utterly silent, shrouded in mystery.