last stop.

lost

Emi's apartment was small but cozy. The lights were dim, casting soft shadows against the walls as she unlocked the door and let the conductor step inside. He hesitated on the threshold, his eyes darting around the space, as if expecting something to jump out at him. It was a stark contrast to the Bound Line Express, devoid of the cold, mechanical eeriness he had become so accustomed to. Instead, the air was warm, carrying the faint scent of lavender.

The calendar on the wall said '2024'

"You can shower if you want," Emi said, gesturing to a door on the left. "I'll get you some clean clothes."

The conductor nodded, still silent, and made his way to the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, and he leaned heavily against it, letting out a long breath. The sound of running water filled the room as he stripped off the tattered uniform he had worn for centuries—an endless reminder of the train he couldn't escape. His hands trembled as he stood under the stream of hot water, the heat shocking his cold, stiff muscles into relaxation. It was the first time in years—no, centuries—that he felt remotely human.

The trembling, which had been constant since his arrival in this world, slowly subsided. He closed his eyes, letting the water wash away the grime and the weight of the life he had left behind, if only for a moment. But fragments of his past still clung to him, refusing to be swept away. 

He remembered flashes—stealing an old man's wallet, running through the cold streets of his youth, the taste of guilt. And then, that night, when he had found a strange ticket, as if it had been waiting for him.

The Bound Line Express.

He still couldn't recall his own name, but those memories, however fragmented, haunted him.

After the shower, he found the set of clothes Emi had left for him—old, but clean, and they smelled faintly of her father's aftershave. They fit him loosely. He stared at himself in the small mirror, barely recognizing the face staring back. 

The conductor was young, with tousled dark brown hair framing a sharp, defined jawline. His fair skin contrasted against the faint pink and purple hues of his extremities. His eyes—one a warm hazel, the other a shade darker—held a haunted, distant look that belied centuries of isolation.

He had almost forgotten what he looked like.

When he stepped back into the living room, Emi was sitting cross-legged on the couch, her eyes scanning an old book. She looked up as he entered, offering a small smile. "You look better," she said softly.

He nodded, though he wasn't sure if he truly felt it. He walked slowly toward the couch and sat down beside her, his fingers instinctively curling and uncurling as they always did, restless. Emi glanced at his hands, her gaze lingering on the scars.

"Do you remember how you got those?" she asked gently.

He shook his head, his eyes dark with uncertainty. "I don't remember much," he admitted. "Just pieces. Flashes, really."

She listened intently, leaning in slightly as if afraid to miss a word. 

There was something in her gaze, something that reminded him of the people he had seen on the Bound Line. The way they'd look at the conductor, eyes wide with hope, with the desperate desire to believe that they would find their soulmate at the end of the line. And yet, those same eyes had often turned hollow, lost, when they realized what the train truly was.

"I don't remember my name," he continued, his voice soft. "I remember running away. Stealing. And the train. Always the train."

Emi's brow furrowed as he spoke. "It's like a fairytale," she murmured, her voice filled with wonder. "The way you talk about it; like it's this magical, cursed thing."

"It's not magical," he said, his voice bitter. "It's a prison. You get on thinking it'll lead you to love, but if you don't find your soulmate, it ruins you."

She shifted, her fingers unconsciously reaching for the ticket she had shoved into her jacket pocket earlier. "And if you do find them?"

He glanced at her pinky, where the red string was supposed to appear. There was nothing there. "It's rare," he said, his tone growing dark. "Most people don't have a soulmate. People like..." He paused, unsure if he should continue.

"People like?" Emi asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked away, his mouth twitching. "Those who don't have a string."

Emi frowned, her heartbeat slightly wavering. She had heard of the red string of fate in stories, but now, hearing it from someone who had been part of this creepy, otherworldly train, it felt too real. 

The conductor continued, "I've seen what happens to people without one. The train doesn't care. It takes you wherever it wants, makes you whoever it wants. I don't remember how I ended up as a conductor."

Emi fell silent, staring at the crumpled ticket on the table, her mind racing. The Bound Line Express felt like a myth, but she had seen the desperation in his eyes, the way his hands trembled when he spoke of it. A shiver ran down her spine, but the curiosity gnawed at her.

She sighed softly, standing up to rummage through a drawer. "Does it hurt?" She asked, "let me see."

She brought back some bandages and ointment, carefully treating the old wounds on his hands and arms. His skin felt like ice under her fingers, but as she worked, he began to relax. The trembling that had plagued him for so long began to subside.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

He wasn't threatening to her anymore. One would call her foolish in rather different circumstances but the conductor looked way too pathetic to be someone who would harm her. It was very obvious that at that point in time, she had a better physique than him.

She offered a small smile but said nothing, her eyes drawn to the television in the corner of the room. 

The screen flickered to life, showing a strange, eerie news clip. A black-and-white image of an old train station, with an unsettling anchor smiling far too widely into the camera. The words scrolled across the screen: "Get on the train."

Emi's breath caught in her throat as the anchor's voice repeated, "Get on the train. Don't miss your chance. Find what you've been searching for."

Her hands froze, the ointment still in her grip, as she glanced over at the conductor. His eyes were wide with terror, his body tense again.

Without a word, Emi shoved the ticket into the nearest purse she could find.