A Tale of Corporate Horror and Impossible Choices

The Summoning

In the deepest vaults of Daydream Inc., a pharmaceutical empire that masquerades as a mere maker of hair loss remedies, lies a secret darker than any follicle restoration could cure. They call it the "probationary period"—a euphemism that would make the damned laugh. For in truth, it is a summoning.

Picture this: A hundred souls, bright-eyed and desperate for employment, seated in crisp suits within an orientation hall. The lights dim. Reality fractures. And suddenly, they are elsewhere entirely—trapped within the iron belly of something that should not exist.

The Abyss Transpo.

A subway train that runs on no earthly track, bound by no mortal schedule. Its digital displays flicker with station names that chill the blood: Sorrow. Euphoria. Hatred. Serenity. Places that exist only in the geography of nightmares.

The Rules of the Damned

Within this metal purgatory, the only law is the voice—that mechanical, cheerful announcer that speaks with the authority of a god and the warmth of a tombstone. "Please pay attention to the announcements for a pleasant journey to your destination."

How pleasant indeed.

For here, choice becomes curse. Each station offers escape, but only for those who understand the terrible riddle at the train's heart. The unwary rush toward hope—toward stations named Euphoria, thinking joy might be their salvation. They step onto platforms that seem bright and clean, only to watch their feet sink into molten gold as their bodies transform into gilded statues of their own greed.

Others flee toward Sorrow Station, believing that acknowledging pain might free them. But silver tears fall from the ceiling like acid rain, dissolving flesh from bone until only screams remain to echo off bloodstained walls.

The train has claimed hundreds. The Field Exploration Team's records speak of fifty-six documented encounters. Fifty-six times this mechanical demon has awakened to harvest the desperate and the naive.

The Pattern Emerges

Yet within this chaos, a pattern emerged—whispered among the few survivors like a secret prayer. The train's riddle was not one of hope or despair, but of absence. The stations represent not what you are, but what you are not. Not what you have, but what you lack.

Colors for those who carry none of that hue. Serial killers' names for the innocent. Years for those who never lived to see them. The train's twisted logic demands that you choose your vacancy, your emptiness, your personal void.

Most profound of all: Serenity Station. Who among the terrified could claim true serenity in the face of such horror? In admitting their lack of peace, seven souls found their way to freedom.

The Viper's Gambit

But the train offers more than this cruel mathematics. Sometimes, it speaks of lost things—a left eye of a type-A male in his twenties, perhaps. Objects hidden in luggage compartments like treasures in a tomb. One man, called the Viper for his ruthless nature, thought he understood. He carved out another's eye with the corner of his phone, believing brutality would buy his freedom.

Yet the train had already provided what it sought—an actual eyeball preserved in a lens case, waiting to be found. The Viper's violence was unnecessary, his cruelty meaningless. He escaped, yes, but bearing the mark of his own savagery, while the train's true puzzle remained elegant in its simplicity.

The Price of Understanding

Knowledge, they say, is power. But in the realm of Abyss Transpo, knowledge becomes weight—the burden of watching others choose wrongly while you remain silent, calculating, alive. Kim Soleum, the coward who feared his own shadow, became the unlikely shepherd who guided seven souls to safety. Not through courage, but through understanding the train's dark poetry.

For in the end, Abyss Transpo is not merely a death trap—it is a mirror. It shows us our deepest lacks, our most honest admissions of incompleteness. To ride it is to face the question: What do you not have? What have you never possessed? What state of being remains forever beyond your reach?

The Eternal Journey

The train still runs, even now. In corporate boardrooms and hiring halls, new victims unknowingly purchase their tickets. They sign contracts in innocent ink, attend orientations with hopeful hearts, never knowing that somewhere in the depths of reality, steel wheels turn on tracks that exist between moments.

Daydream Inc. calls it quality assurance. The survivors call it hell. But the train—the train calls it nothing at all. It simply is, an eternal constant in a world that pretends monsters don't wear business suits and evil doesn't charge admission fees.

Listen for the announcements. Pay attention to your destination. And remember—sometimes the only way out is through the admission of what you'll never have.

For in the kingdom of the lost, only the honestly empty may find their way home.

"The doors are opening. The doors will close in thirty seconds. Once closed, they will never open again."

Choose wisely.

Dark Lore & Mythology

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