I wake.
Still ill from the alcohol, my bones aching badly.
The platform is desolate. The artificial lights go out, replaced by the cold light of dawn. I sit up, avoiding the broken glass at my feet, and conclude that the hard, cold aluminium furniture may be the culprit behind the sharp pains plaguing my entire body. The morning air is cold, penetrating my hoodie, the stupor of whiskey no longer able to prevent the shivers, so I get up and walk to the end of the platform. I watch the dawn reveal a clear, pale sky as I listen to the city slowly waking up.
As trains whiz past at five-minute intervals, I contemplate my next move. I know I had settled on a plan but I can't for the life of me remember what it curtailed. Commuters congregate on the platform, sparsely at first, but as eight o'clock approaches, the lonely scattered figures turn into a crowd. I watch the individuals waiting about, some moping, others obedient to the ritual.
There's the guy with the brown leather man-bag resting on his hip, talking aloud while he waits.
An older guy in an orange 'honey bee' t-shirt sits down where I had slumbered, lucky to get a warm, damp-free spot for his arse, but unlucky to be crunching, sticky glass under his feet.
There's a weird scrawny guy wearing a yellow baseball cap pushing a bicycle.
A young lady plays loud, distorted music on her phone, oblivious to whether other commuters approve or not.
The two dudes with water bottles in their hands seem like a pair with nothing to say to each other. You'd think they have plenty to talk about, but no.
A girl with red stilettos struts down those stairs without missing a beat, crossing the platform with precision and confidence unheard of with four-inch heels. Even her long, tight black skirt fails to hinder any of her perfect steps.
The ten-past-eight to the city arrives.
I jump in, like an urban zombie, but as the doors slide shut I remember what I had planned to do today.
Connor.
Hackerspace.
Silvertroll.
Damn it.
I readjust my plan.
If anything, whoever this Silvertroll is, they travel by train and use....
...Neechat.
I find a seat, but a youngish woman, psychedelic purple striped hair hanging over her grey, almost dreamy eyes, has her slightly tubby knees blocking my access. I stand there, hoping to get her attention. When she finally notices me, she shifts her feet back, ever so slightly... but there is still not enough room to get past without kneecapping her.
"Excuse me," I say. "This ain't gonna work. Could you either get up so I can get through, or slide over." The girl seems flustered. She opts to shift over to the window.
I sit and begin to study the other commuters. Most are on their gadgets.
There's a girl, her face glossy as if rubbed with petroleum jelly, talking loudly on her phone.
A corporate dude listens to blaring music via wireless earphones. Hearing loss is the furthest thing from his mind.
A chubby youth sits facing the back, wearing a Meadows of Mourning T-shirt; and stuffing his face with what looks like... noodles... at eight in the morning?
I check my phone and open the Neechat messaging app.
FAIL. No network.
With disbelief, I stare at the screen.
"Shit" I hear the Vaseline Girl say, shaking her tablet.
"Hello! Can you hear me?" I hear another voice say.
I spot other commuters checking their phones, a sense of panic pervading the carriage. I see a hipster opposite me trying to reboot his...
Suddenly, my phone lights up and chimes.
SASAKI IS NEARBY
NOVANTRI IS NEARBY
PHLOX IS NEARBY
BRABASE IS NEARBY
The mood in the carriage returns to normal. Anxious commuters are relieved to not be subjected to an extra fatal minute of mild boredom.
[CERESTI] MUST BE PASSING THROUGH A BAD RECEPTION SPOT
I look around, then back at my phone.
[BRABASE] THANKS FOR REVIEW. GREAT TO HEAR FEEDBACK FROM AN EXPERT. ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY'RE HERE WITH GIRLS WHO ARE NOT THEIR GIRLFRIEND.
[MACHRONA] DO NOT COME CATCH MY TRAIN EVER AGAIN. LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT.
[ERICALAMB] HAVE FUN FUCKING AN UGLY INDIAN BITCH BEHIND YOUR UGLY ASIAN BITCH'S BACK YOU PUSSY MOTHERFUCKER
Shake my head, I am unable to understand how this is a social app.
I notice the purple-haired girl next to me is leaning slightly my way, screen peeking, but I can not be sure. I may be just a paranoid mad man who smells and looks like a paranoid mad man.
More messages beep into existence, so I look down to read them.
[RICKT] TO THE BLONDE GIRL IN ELECTRIC BLUE ON THE 8:14 EPPSTOWN. NOT BAD, BUT HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT ABOUT A BOOB JOB? COFFEE SOMETIME?
[PARAG97] TO THE HOT GUY WATCHING PORN ON HIS LAPTOP. THAT'S ME IN THAT VIDEO! THE BULGE SUGGESTS YOU LIKE ME. A LOT. COFFEE SOMETIME?
[BAZZA2020] TO THE SEXY GIRL WEARING HOT PANTS ON THE 3:15 SANDRINGHURST TRAIN LAST MONDAY. YOU'RE A 2/5 BUT I'M DESPERATE. COFFEE SOMETIME?
[L88Y] TO SILVERTROLL, HAVEN'T HEARD FROM YOU IN A WHILE. SORRY I JUNKLISTED YOUR MESSAGES. WHEN I TRIED TO DELETE THEM I READ THEM. ALL OF THEM. I HOPE YOU STILL FEEL THE SAME WAY.
The pains and aches disappear. Mission clarity returns. The hunt has just gone live...
...the purple-haired girl shifts closer.
What is this?
I look at her and notice she is using the Neechat app.
YOU ARE READING
Silvertroll
Mystery / ThrillerAs a grieving parent, Nathan [The Caveman] Caves struggles to come to terms with his son Julian's death, his son's online legacy, and a malicious internet troll that has wreaked havoc on his life. Determined to drown out his heartache with vengeance...
