The train was packed—shoulder to shoulder, front to back—with people of all ages. Matt stood squished between strangers, the stale air making his head throb even worse. He hadn't eaten all day, and now his stomach growled in protest as he rubbed his temples, hoping to quiet the pounding headache.
Without warning, the train jerked to a stop. Passengers stumbled, and those without a solid grip on the handrails—including Matt—toppled into a clumsy pile. Matt winced as several bodies fell on top of him.
"Sorry! Sorry!" he muttered, trying to untangle himself as the doors hissed open. The others grumbled, barely acknowledging him as they shuffled off the train in irritation.
The subway platform was chaos. People bumped shoulders and brushed past without apology, all hurrying to destinations only they knew. It was the city that never slept and, apparently, never slowed down either.
Matt had only moved here a few weeks ago, but the crowds, the noise, the constant motion—it still overwhelmed him. Elbows brushed against him from all sides as he tried to find his way, eyes heavy with fatigue.
'You'd think with a college degree, you could just walk into a company and get a job', he thought bitterly. 'But here I am—unemployed and starving. What a waste of four years'.
He shoved in his headphones and cranked the volume, drowning out the world as he climbed the stairs toward the street. Music buzzed in his ears, but halfway up, something felt wrong.
His body grew heavy. Every limb, every muscle, felt like it had been dipped in lead. He swayed.
"Huh...?"
It was the only word he could get out before the ceiling spun into view—and then everything went black.
---
'Cold'.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not just cold—freezing. It clawed at his skin and sank into his bones. He couldn't move. Couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't even scream.
He felt the weight on his chest, his lungs struggling for air. He tried to tell himself not to panic, but the fear was overwhelming. His body refused to respond.
"Help… help," he tried to scream, his voice muffled, choked by the cold. Tears stung his eyes but never made it down his cheeks.
'Is this it? Am I dying?'
Then—light. A sudden, blinding burst of it.
A strong hand yanked him out of whatever he'd been buried in, and the brightness stung his eyes.
"What kind of dumbass gets himself buried in the snow naked? You tryna die or something?" a deep, gruff voice sneered.
Blinking through the light, Matt saw a rugged, muscular man standing over him. The man wore thick leather clothing—crudely stitched but suited for the harsh environment. His breath came out in visible clouds, sharp against the bitter air.
Matt shivered violently, barely able to speak. "Uh… wh-where are we?"
The man shook his head. "That's the least of your worries right now. Let's get you warmed up before you freeze solid."
He hauled Matt onto a sled hitched nearby. Too weak to protest, Matt collapsed into the back, surrounded by animal hides and an assortment of tools: a hunting rifle, a bow with arrows, a rusted bear trap, and a butcher knife that had clearly been used.
Despite everything, the fur was warm. Comforting, even. Matt let himself drift into unconsciousness.
---
He awoke abruptly, jolted by a rough shake.
"We're here," the man said flatly.
Matt sat up groggily, realizing he still had no idea where "here" was.
"Where... where are we?" he asked, eyes scanning the unfamiliar landscape.
"My house," the man replied curtly.
The house turned out to be a wooden cabin—small, weather-beaten, and barely holding together. Still, it looked like it had stood through more than a few winters.
Inside, it was warm. The old man disappeared into a back room and returned with a bundle of leather clothes. Surprisingly, they fit Matt well, although a little loose.
"Thanks," Matt said quietly. The man only shrugged and dropped into a rocking chair near the fire, saying nothing.
Matt sat on the floor since there was no other seat, his hands stretched toward the flames. He wanted to ask questions—where he was, what had happened, how he'd gotten here—but hesitated. One thing bothered him more immediately.
He glanced at the man, who rocked slowly, eyes closed as if savoring the heat.
"What's your name, mister?" Matt asked hesitantly.
For a moment, the man didn't respond. Then, without opening his eyes, he muttered, "Call me Lexin."