Leon tightened the straps of his backpack as he jogged toward the train station, cursing himself under his breath. He had lost track of time again—too caught up in testing his code, trying to fix that one stubborn bug. Now he was late. Really late.
Again. Of course. Why does time always vanish when I'm coding?
The cold morning air bit at his cheeks as he raced down the stairs and onto the platform, just in time to catch the incoming train. The doors slid open with a hiss. It was packed.
He stepped in anyway, squeezing between people, scanning quickly for a seat. Nothing. Just tired faces and crowded bodies. With a sigh, he grabbed one of the overhead poles and braced himself as the train lurched forward.
Station after station passed, the crowd shifting but never thinning. He checked his phone—if he got off at the next stop and caught the bus, maybe he could still make it
on time. Just as he was about to plan his move, a loud, metallic screech tore through the train. It didn't sound right.
The lights flickered.
A violent jolt knocked people off their feet. Leon gripped the pole with both hands as the train began to skid, then twist. Screams echoed through the car.
Then the world flipped.
He was thrown sideways. His grip slipped. Something heavy struck his back, then his chest. People, bags, metal—everything slammed into him. A sharp, searing pain exploded in his side. He couldn't breathe.
Everything spun. His vision blurred. The noise, the pain—it all became too much.
No…
Darkness swallowed him.
When he came to, his head was pounding—a deep, throbbing ache that made it hard to think. His senses betrayed him; everything felt wrong, twisted, too loud and too distant at once.
Crying. Screaming. Somewhere close, someone was begging for help. The air was thick with smoke and dust, stinging his eyes and coating his throat with every shallow breath. A sharp, acrid smell clung to everything—burnt plastic, scorched metal, blood.
Leon didn't feel pain. Not exactly. Just… numbness. A heavy, frozen stillness. He couldn't move. Couldn't lift his head, couldn't turn to see where he was or how badly he was hurt. All he could do was lie there, eyes barely open, mind flickering in and out like a faulty connection.
He forced himself to focus, to remember what happened—but his thoughts were scattered, like broken glass in his skull.
Train… crash… noise… screaming…
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong. But all he could do was lie there and try to stay awake, try to make sense of the chaos around him.
His fingers twitched.
That was the first thing he noticed. A tiny, involuntary movement that broke through the fog. He blinked slowly, forcing his eyes open.
The ceiling—or what used to be the ceiling—was torn, twisted metal. Dim emergency lights blinked weakly through the haze. Dust danced in the air, catching the red glow like embers.
He tried to shift. The moment he did, a jagged bolt of pain tore through his side.
'What the hell—?'
Leon gasped. His hand moved, shaking, down his body. Something was there. Solid. Cold. Wrong.
No.
He dared to look.
A length of metal—warped and bloodied—was embedded in his abdomen. Not deeply, he told himself. Not that bad. It had to be just a scratch, a surface wound. He didn't feel anything before, right? It couldn't be serious.
But his vision dimmed as the reality hit.
It was serious. Life-threatening serious.
His heart thundered in his ears. Panic flooded his chest, made his breath come in short, shallow bursts. He tried to cry out—nothing. He tried to move—his limbs barely responded.
I'm not ready. Please—not like this. Not here.
He trembled. The panic crested, sharp and overwhelming, until his mind pulled the emergency brake.
Darkness again.
The next time he woke, everything was quieter.
A distant siren howled somewhere outside. Voices—shouting, urgent, but muted by layers of debris. Boots thudded on metal. The smell of smoke was stronger now, heavier.
He blinked the blur from his eyes and listened.
"…section C… there's movement…"
He wasn't alone.
Leon's heart stirred. They're here. Rescuers.
They're here.
He had to get their attention. Had to make them see him.
He pushed against the floor. Nothing. Tried to lift his hand—his arm shifted a little, maybe an inch, but no more.
Come on. Move. Please.
He imagined slamming his fist against the nearest wall. He imagined shouting until his voice broke. But his body didn't follow orders anymore.
Tears welled in his eyes—not from the pain, but from the helplessness.
'Please. I'm here. Don't leave me.'
His gaze fixed on the broken window. Through the jagged glass, a flicker of a flashlight passed by.
So close.
'See me. Just see me…'