"Daemon Sinners?"
He squinted through his poor eyesight. He missed his eyeglasses.
The voice carried a familiar lilt, tinged with disbelief. Daemon turned slowly, his eyes struggling to focus on the approaching figure.
The grey gown that marked them all as residents of the underworld hung loose on the newcomer's frame, but there was something in the way he moved, something in the tilt of his head...
"James?" Daemon's voice cracked slightly. "James Wong?"
The brown-haired young man stepped closer, and Daemon's heart, if he still have a heart, lurched with recognition.
It was indeed his old classmate, the perpetual truant who'd somehow managed to charm his way through school despite missing half his classes.
James's face bore the same easy grin that had gotten him out of countless detentions, though now it seemed strained around the edges.
"Well, I'll be damned," James said, then paused, his grin faltering. "I guess we both are, aren't we?"
The weight of their shared predicament settled between them like a stone.
Daemon studied his old classmate's face, noting how the grey light of this place seemed to leach the warmth from his brown eyes.
"What are you doing here, Wong?" The question came out harsher than Daemon intended, but James didn't seem to take offense.
James glanced around nervously, his fingers worrying at the coarse fabric of his gown.
"Same reason as everyone else, I suppose. I died. I'm dead as a doornail." He attempted another smile, but it died quickly. "Surprised to see you here though. Always figured you'd end up... well, somewhere else."
"That doesn't answer my question. You might have been a thug but you don't seem like the type of guy to be here."
"No, I guess you think I'm not, but everyone has problems and secrets." James was quiet for a long moment, watching two arguing guys shuffle past them.
When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Bomb went off in my apartment. Took out half the building."
Daemon felt something cold settle in his stomach. "A bomb? Why would anyone…"
"Look, can we not?" James cut him off, his easy demeanor cracking to reveal something raw underneath. "I'm here, you're here, and dwelling on the how isn't going to change anything." He gestured broadly at their surroundings. "Besides, we've got bigger problems to worry about."
"Such as?"
"Where we're all headed." James's voice dropped even lower. "Ninth circle, Daemon. Every last soul in this station is bound for the ninth circle."
The words hit Daemon like a physical blow. The ninth circle. Reserved for those who had betrayed the deepest trusts.
He looked around at the thousands of figures in grey, seeing them now with new eyes.
Oath-breakers. Betrayers of family, friends, benefactors.
He was amongst people like himself. Selfish traitors.
If treachery is the common thread here, Daemon thought grimly, then I need to be careful. Trust no one, not even Wong.
"Funny thing about this place," James continued, oblivious to Daemon's internal struggle. "A train station without any trains. Makes you wonder how they expect us to…"
A deep, resonant horn cut through his words, the sound rolling across the station like thunder.
The effect was immediate, thousands of grey figures began to stir, turning toward the source of the sound like flowers following the sun.
"What the hell was that?" James muttered, craning his neck to see over the crowd.
Daemon squinted into the distance, his poor vision making it difficult to discern anything concrete.
There was definitely something there, a dark shape growing larger against the grey horizon of the station.
The horn sounded again, closer now, and the crowd began to move with more urgency.
Voices rose in excitement, fear, confusion. Someone near them, a middle-aged woman with wild eyes, grabbed at James's sleeve.
"It's coming," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Our train is finally coming."
James pulled free of her grip, but his attention was fixed on the approaching sound. "Jeez," he breathed. "Look at the size of that thing."
The train emerged from the gloom like a leviathan rising from the depths.
It was magnificent and terrible, a massive locomotive of polished black steel that seemed to absorb the already dim light around it.
Steam poured from its smokestack in great billowing clouds, darkening the air and carrying with it the scent of sulfur and heated metal.
The locomotive was massive, possibly hundreds of cars long, each one a study. It showed no signs of slowing as it approached the platform.
"That's moving fast," James said, his voice tight with growing concern. "Really fast."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as the same realization dawned on thousands of souls simultaneously.
The train wasn't stopping. It was going to barrel straight through the station at full speed.
Perhaps it was not coming for them after all.
The horn blared again, but this time it carried a voice, coarse and commanding, amplified by some unseen mechanism until it filled every corner of the vast station.
"ALL SOULS BOUND FOR THE NINTH CIRCLE," the voice boomed, "BOARD THE TRAIN BY WHATEVER MEANS NECESSARY. JUMP, FLY, DIVE…..THE METHOD MATTERS NOT. BOARD NOW OR BE LEFT BEHIND."
Panic erupted like a dam bursting. The orderly crowd dissolved into chaos as thousands of people tried to process what they'd just heard. Near Daemon, a muscular man shook his head violently.
"Jump onto a moving train?" he shouted to no one in particular. "I may be dead, but I'm not suicidal!"
James was backing away from the platform edge, his face pale. "Whoever's running that train is completely insane. This is pure hell," he muttered. "There's got to be another way. There's got to be…."
But Daemon wasn't listening anymore. Something had shifted inside him, a cold calculation taking over.
The train was fast, yes, but it wasn't impossible.
The doors of each car stood open, dark mouths waiting to swallow the brave or foolish. He could see the rhythm of it now, the spacing between cars, the brief window of opportunity as each door passed.
Without a word, Daemon began to run.
"Daemon!" James's voice followed him, but it was quickly lost in the growing noise of the crowd. "Daemon, what are you doing?"
Others had noticed his movement. Voices called out in alarm.
However others started to steer. If someone was actually going to try this madness, then maybe it could be done. Maybe they weren't all doomed to be left behind.
Hundreds began to follow, their grey gowns streaming behind them like ghostly banners as they raced alongside the platform.
The train thundered past, each car a blur of black metal and yawning doorways.
The sound was deafening, the shriek of wheels on rails, the explosive exhalation of steam, the rumble of tons of steel moving at impossible speed.
Daemon ran harder than he'd ever run in life, his legs pumping with desperate purpose.
A car approached, he could see it coming, could time its approach. The open door seemed impossibly small, a target moving far too fast for any sane person to attempt.
Behind him, someone screamed, a sound of pure terror that made his blood freeze. But he pushed the sound away, focusing instead on the rhythm of his breathing, the timing of his steps, the precise moment when he would have to leap.
The door was almost on him now. Daemon gathered himself, every muscle coiled with tension.
The loud voices of the crowd had been drowned out. He could only hear that of those who followed him.
Now!
Daemon launched himself into the air, his arms outstretched toward the darkness of the train car's interior.
For a moment, he hung suspended between the platform and the train. He tried pulling himself up to get into the train....
He slipped.