I clutched the metallic-shiny subway card and looked toward the end of the tunnel for the 17th time. The electronic screen showed 18:47, and there was still no trace of the Line 3 train that was supposed to arrive five minutes ago.
Suddenly there was an abnormal sound of gears biting in the ventilation duct.
A sudden pins and needles chill ran down the back of my neck as I realized the sounds were forming some kind of Morse code. The last two passengers on the platform disappeared at some point. The virtual idol on the advertising screen kept a twisted smile, and pixel snowflakes exploded in her pupils.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
