The Iron Fog

Into The Depths

The fog thickened as Ethan continued his journey deeper into the island of Sodor. His railcar rattled along the worn, rusted tracks, the sound echoing eerily in the oppressive silence. Emily's ghostly form had long disappeared into the mist, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the overwhelming sense of dread that seemed to grow with every passing minute.

Knapford Station was now far behind him, swallowed by the dense fog. Ahead, the tracks stretched into the unknown, vanishing into a wall of mist that seemed to writhe and pulse like a living thing. The farther he went, the more the fog seemed to cling to him, seeping into his clothes, his lungs, his very soul. There was no escaping it.

The radio in the railcar crackled to life again, the same distorted voice echoing through the speakers.

"All units... report to the Fog Controller... Surrender to the fog..."

Ethan's grip on the throttle tightened. That voice—Sir Topham Hatt—haunted him. He hadn't been seen in person since the fog came, but his presence was felt everywhere. The survivors spoke of him in hushed whispers, calling him the Fog Controller, a twisted, unseen force driving the engines deeper into madness.

Ethan pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. He had a destination now—Vicarstown, the old mining town on the far side of the island. Emily had mentioned it before she disappeared, whispering about a hidden machine, buried deep beneath the island's surface. According to her, that was the source of the fog, the origin of everything that had gone wrong. If he could reach it, maybe—just maybe—he could stop this nightmare.

But the journey to Vicarstown wouldn't be easy.

The fog was alive, and the engines that prowled through it were worse.

As the railcar clattered along the tracks, Ethan noticed the landscape changing. The trees on either side of the railway were twisted and blackened, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The fog swirled around them, hiding their full forms but revealing just enough to unnerve him.

Then, out of the mist, a sound broke through the silence. At first, it was just a distant rumble, low and almost rhythmic, like the heartbeat of the island itself. But then it grew louder, and more distinct—a familiar, mechanical sound. The pounding of large wheels on old tracks. An engine was approaching.

Ethan's stomach twisted into knots.

It wasn't Thomas or Percy this time. The sound was heavier, deeper—an engine far larger than the others.

Gordon.

His mind flashed back to the stories he'd heard from other survivors, tales whispered in the shadows about the Iron Tyrant, a name that sent chills down the spine of anyone who heard it. Gordon, once the proudest and most powerful of the engines, had become the Fog Controller's greatest weapon. He was relentless, unstoppable, his body a mass of jagged steel and rust, his whistle no longer a proud blast but a deep, echoing howl of anger and despair.

And he was coming for Ethan.

Ethan could feel the vibrations in the ground before he saw anything. The tracks beneath his railcar trembled, shaking with the force of Gordon's approach. The fog ahead began to shift and ripple, parting slightly as a massive shadow loomed into view.

Gordon's form slowly emerged from the mist, and Ethan's heart skipped a beat.

The once grand, streamlined engine was a monstrosity now. His sleek blue paint had long since corroded, replaced by jagged patches of rust and dark, oily grime. His face, once proud and determined, was cracked and twisted, one of his eyes hanging loosely from its socket, glowing with the same sickly yellow light as the others. His front grill was bent and shattered, exposing the brutal, grinding gears that churned beneath his scarred metal skin. Thick black smoke billowed from his funnels, mixing with the fog to create an even more suffocating atmosphere.