Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 50: Off the Grid

The reinforced glass of the train window is cold, vibrating with a low hum that settles deep in my bones. I press my hand against the glass, peering into the pitch black outside the wagon.

There are no snowy peaks. There are no alpine pines.

Just a heavy, suffocating darkness, broken only by the faint, bioluminescent glow of deep-sea flora drifting past the glass. The metal hull of the train groans—a long, agonizing creak of iron fighting against thousands of tons of crushing abyssal pressure.

It looks like the bottom of the ocean. What the hell is going on?

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.

This route doesn’t exist. Lunar Snow is a surface transit line.

A violent tremor shakes the carriage.

Lola lets out a sharp, breathless gasp. The heavy, claustrophobic atmosphere is too much for her. She scrambles out of her velvet seat, her small hands darting out to grab the hem of my leather jacket. She tugs it frantically, her knuckles turning white.

I look down. Her eyes are wide, terrified, darting around the dim, flickering wagon.

"The water is too loud," she whispers, her voice trembling. "It’s pressing on the glass. It wants to come in."

I kneel down so I’m at eye level with her. I reach out, gently resting my hand on the fluffy bear ear of her hood. It’s automatic. The same thing I used to do for Lili when she was scared by the sandstorms.

"It’s going to be fine, Little Bear," I say, keeping my voice perfectly steady and melodic. "The glass is thick. Nothing is getting in."

It is a blatant, absolute lie. I don’t believe a single word of it. If Chaos Theory derailed this train, the glass would be the last thing we need to worry about.

I gently guide her back into the seat next to Rhayne.

"Watch her," I tell her, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Keep her grounded. I need to see what we’re dealing with. I’ll be right back."

Rhayne nods, immediately wrapping a protective arm around Lola’s shoulders.

I turn my back to them and advance through the flickering light of the train car. The air feels heavy and stale.

That’s when I notice the shadows huddled in the back corner of the carriage. Three other cadets. They are pressed against the metal walls, completely terrified, clutching their basic Academy-issued weapons like safety blankets.

I approach them, my footsteps completely silent.

"Who are you?" I demand, my voice low.

One of them, a lanky kid holding a shortsword, looks up with wide, panicked eyes.

"We... we just wanted to farm some low-rank Shell Sharks at the Snow Station! We don’t know what’s happening! We have nothing to do with this!"

I let out a slow, cynical breath.

Collateral damage. Wrong train, wrong day.

"Keep your heads down," I advise them, walking past.

I reach the heavy metal door connecting to the next car. I grab the handle and pull. Nothing. It’s completely locked down, the electronic keypad dead.

I drop to my knees, frantically checking under the nearby seats for a maintenance hatch, an override tool, anything.

Empty.

I stand up, glaring at the sealed door. My hand instinctively drops to my belt.

If I ignite Eventide and drive it straight into the central locking mechanism, I can melt the core and force the door.

But the risk paralyzes me. If the structural integrity of the carriage is compromised by the shadow-blade’s volatile energy, the oceanic pressure outside will instantly crush the train like a tin can.

Suddenly, the train lurches forward with a violent burst of acceleration.

The G-force throws me completely off balance.

I slam hard against the metal bulkhead, sliding down to the floor. The emergency lights flicker wildly, casting strobing, nightmarish shadows across the cabin. The groaning of the hull amplifies into a terrifying shriek.

I scramble back to my feet, gritting my teeth.

To hell with it. We’re dead anyway if I don’t take control of this train.

I grip the hilt of Eventide, my thumb resting on the ignition ring. I step up to the door, bracing my legs for the recoil.

Just as I am about to strike, the screeching of the wheels hits a deafening pitch. The train violently decelerates.

The flickering yellow bulbs overhead suddenly stabilize, flooding the carriage with stark, bright white light. Outside the windows, the pitch-black ocean is replaced by blurred streaks of gray concrete.

We entered a tunnel.

I immediately release the hilt and sprint back down the aisle toward the girls.

"Brace yourselves!" I shout.

The train grinds to a heavy, shuddering halt.

Usually, an automated, pleasant voice announces the arrival at a Procedural Station. Instead, the carriage speakers erupt in a deafening, ear-splitting burst of radio static. It sounds like a chorus of metallic screams.

Lola instantly slaps her hands over her ears, curling into a tight ball against the seat. Rhayne wraps both arms around her, shielding her as best as she can.

"Seven... four... two... nine..." Lola mumbles frantically under her breath, a rapid-fire string of numbers trying to drown out the horrible noise.

"We need to get out of this metal box," I say.

The hydraulic doors hiss and slide open.

Rhayne stands up, keeping one arm tightly wrapped around Lola’s shoulders, guiding her forward. Lola keeps her head down, her free hand dragging the massive, heavy metal case of Lullaby behind her.

I step out first, my senses dialed to maximum, ready to draw my blade at a microsecond’s notice.

I scan the environment.

It’s an underground subway station. But it looks completely abandoned and unfinished.

The walls are covered in grimy white subway tiles, though half of them are shattered or missing, exposing the raw, weeping concrete underneath. Trash and rusted metal debris litter the platform. The air smells of mildew, stale urine, and old iron.

At first glance, it is completely deserted.

I gesture for Rhayne and Lola to follow me onto the platform. The three terrified cadets scramble out right behind us, sticking close to my shadow like lost ducklings.

The moment the last boot hits the concrete, the train doors snap shut. It doesn’t wait. It accelerates instantly, disappearing down the dark tunnel and leaving us in the dead silence of the ruined station.

I flick my HUD open, looking for the geographical tag to orient myself.

[Current Zone: ????]

[Zone Rank: ????]

[Danger Level: ????]

I stare at the glowing text, my blood freezing in my veins.

Across ten years of diving Thirstfall, through the absolute worst corners of the Trench and the Abyss, I have never seen the Ocean’s Law system fail to identify a zone.

I take a slow, deep breath, fighting the cold knot tightening in my throat.

"Rhayne," I whisper, not looking away from my interface. "Check your HUD. What does the location status say?"

She blinks, pulling up her own screen. "Nothing. It’s just... question marks. All of it."

Perfect...

We are completely off the grid. The train won’t cycle back to this platform for at least six hours, assuming the schedule even exists down here. Standing around the platform is a tactical death sentence.

"We move," I order, taking the lead.

We don’t even make it fifty feet toward the exit turnstiles before the shadows at the end of the platform shift.

A group of six people steps out from behind a row of ruined concrete pillars. They aren’t trying to hide. They walk with the loose, arrogant swagger of predators who own their territory.

I don’t need time to feel the heavy, rotten karmic energy radiating off them. Their armor is mismatched, scavenged junk. Their weapons are drawn and resting casually on their shoulders. Their eyes are sunken, desperate, and entirely malicious.

"Get behind me," I order the girls, my hand dropping to Eventide.

But the three random cadets behind us panic.

"People!" the lanky kid shouts, his voice cracking with relief. He breaks away from our group, sprinting toward the six thugs. "Hey! Help us! Where are we? The train just—"

He doesn’t even finish the sentence.

The leader of the group—a massive, scarred brute wielding a two-handed warhammer—doesn’t say a word. He just swings.

CRACK.

The heavy iron head of the hammer catches the naive cadet directly in the mouth. The sound of his jaw shattering echoes sharply through the empty station.

The boy is instantly lifted off his feet, spinning in the air before hitting the dirty tiles in an unconscious, bloody heap. His jaw hanging at a grotesque, unnatural angle.

The other two cadets scream, scrambling backward until they hit the train tracks.

The brute rests the bloody warhammer back on his shoulder and spits on the unconscious boy. He looks up at us, a predatory, yellow-toothed grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well," the leader chuckles, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "Supplies finally arrived. And just in time... we were running real low on OXI, boys."

I stare at the six thugs, the cold, pragmatic veteran inside me taking the wheel.

There are no instructors here. There are no rules.

I step forward, placing myself squarely between the thugs and the girls. I unclip the broken hilt of Eventide from my belt.

There are no instructors here. There are no rules.

Good. I work better without them.