The rails glow faint green in the dark. The departure board flickers, frozen on: “Next Train: 2 minutes.” It blinks. Resets. Blinks again.
The hum beneath your feet doesn’t sound like wheels on steel — it’s the staccato clatter of typing, keys hammering endlessly. The tunnel ahead flickers with streams of green light, numbers and letters falling like rain.
“…stand clear of the closing doors…” The voice repeats, broken, skipping,
“cl—osing… cl0sing… c|osing…”
Some claim the train here isn’t mechanical at all It's a phantom subway that can take you out of Amberveil entirely. But once you board, no one has ever come back.