last stop.

deserving

The darkness pressed in from all sides. Hotaru's breathing quickened as he found himself once again standing on the platform of the Bound Line Express. The cold metal of the tracks seemed to hum beneath his feet, and the familiar, suffocating silence stretched around him. The air was thick with dread, as if the very atmosphere was trying to strangle him.

He was back.

Panic surged through his veins. Hotaru's hands shot out in front of him, grasping at the void, trying to make sense of the reality around him. He knew this was a nightmare—he had escaped. Yet, the stench of the train, the clanking of its rusty wheels, and the looming figures of the other conductors made it all too real.

"You can't run from us," a voice hissed from behind him.

Hotaru spun around to see the shadowed figures of the conductors emerging from the train. Their eyes, once hollow and lifeless, now burned with anger. The oldest of them, a gray-haired man whose uniform was tattered and covered in soot, stepped forward. His face was twisted into a grotesque sneer.

"You thought you could leave?" the man rasped, his voice gravelly and dripping with malice. "You, of all people? A child among us?"

Hotaru stumbled back, his body shaking uncontrollably. His heart pounded in his chest as the man's words echoed in his ears. He tried to remind himself it was just a dream, that he was in Emi's house—but the train was too realistic. The Bound Line wasn't just a mere nightmare. It was alive, and it was pulling him back, sinking its claws into him, piece by piece.

Suddenly, the shadows seemed to surge forward, and Hotaru felt a sharp pain sear through his side. He looked down in horror as blood began to seep through his shirt, staining the fabric crimson. A conductor wielding an iron rod stepped forward, slashing at him again.

"Get back in line," the conductor growled, his eyes flashing with fury. "We gave up everything, and you think you can just walk away?"

Hotaru cried out in agony as the blows rained down on him. His body convulsed with pain, each strike feeling like fire burning through his skin. The agony was unbearable, but what was worse was the feeling of hopelessness, of being pulled back into the suffocating grip of the train. It clawed at him, wrapping around his chest, constricting tighter and tighter until he could barely breathe.

"You were nothing before we took you in," another voice whispered from behind him, close enough that he felt the icy breath on his neck. "Just like all of us. The train is your home now. You belong to it."

Hotaru's vision blurred with tears. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, his fingers trembling as they pressed against the bloodied wounds on his torso.

"Please," he whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't want to go back."

But the train didn't care. It never cared.

The ground beneath him shifted, and he found himself standing on the tracks, the towering shape of the Bound Line looming overhead. The wheels screeched against the rails, and the sound of grinding metal filled the air. The train's horn wailed, an eerie, hollow sound that seemed to reverberate through his bones.

He could feel it now—the pull. Like an invisible chain tightening around his throat, dragging him back to the train. The more he fought, the stronger the pull became. His limbs were heavy, his body aching from the wounds, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't give in.

"No," Hotaru screamed, his voice hoarse as he struggled against the force that yanked him toward the open door of the train. He tried to plant his feet, to resist, but the train's power was overwhelming. Every muscle in his body strained, the agony tearing through him like a thousand knives.

The older conductors laughed cruelly, watching him writhe in pain. "You think you're better than us? We're all bound to it," one spat. "And now, so are you."

As the shadows reached out for him, clawing at his skin, Hotaru's vision dimmed. The cold, metallic scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the suffocating stench of the train. His legs buckled beneath him, and he fell to the ground, exhausted and broken.

The train was relentless. The Bound Line didn't just want him back—it needed him. The more he struggled, the more he felt the life being drained out of him, the shadows sinking deeper into his soul.

Suddenly, the world shifted again, and Hotaru found himself sprawled on the ground, his body screaming in pain. He could feel the weight of the train pressing down on him, its ghostly form hovering above, waiting to consume him whole.

The old conductors circled around him, their faces contorted with rage and jealousy. They had given up everything for the Bound Line—freedom, humanity, hope. But Hotaru had tasted the outside world. He had dared to dream of escape, and that made them furious.

One of the conductors, his face twisted with fury, lunged forward, grabbing Hotaru by the collar. "You don't deserve freedom," he snarled. "None of us do."

Hotaru tried to fight back, but his strength was fading fast. His body was battered and broken, his mind unraveling under the relentless assault of the Bound Line. He could feel the darkness closing in, the cold tendrils of the train wrapping around him, dragging him back to the place he had fought so hard to escape.

As the shadows enveloped him, Hotaru's vision began to blur, the world fading to black. He could hear the distant rumble of the train, its whistle echoing in his ears like a death knell. The Bound Line was winning, pulling him back into its inescapable grip.

But just as the darkness threatened to consume him, a flicker of light pierced through the shadows. Hotaru gasped, his eyes snapping open. The dream shattered around him, and he bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.