The sun was setting, staining the sky a dull orange as the subway carried Ren home.
He leaned against the window, watching the city blur past. Somewhere above, birds flew lazily in the sky. He followed one for a moment, tracing its glide with his eyes, letting a small, quiet smile tug at the corners of his lips.
The train rattled along its tracks, just like it always did. The rhythm never changed, and neither did the scenery. Home always felt farther than it should. Not because of distance, but because nothing ever changed. He blinked and let out a slow sigh.
He looked at the people around him. Heads down, fingers tapping over and over at glowing screens. Faces tired, gestures repeated endlessly. Did they even notice him noticing them? Probably not.
"Birds…they just fly. Not a care in the world," Ren thought quietly. "Freedom…what is freedom?" The words felt heavy in his mind. He pressed his forehead to the window and let the blur of the city smear into his reflection.
The train jolted suddenly, throwing him forward. He grabbed the edge of the seat, blinking against the sudden motion. The doors hissed open, and he barely noticed at first.
Then he saw it. An old woman stepped inside, slow and careful. Heads turned. A few people looked at her with soft pity. She walked toward the priority seating, and the eyes of everyone nearby followed her. No one moved.
A boy with blonde hair was sitting there, arms crossed, looking at her without a hint of concern. Quiet, smug. The woman hesitated, shifting her weight.
"Hey! You're in the priority seat. Let her sit!" a woman called out.
The boy snickered. "Why? Don't I have freedom of choice?"
Ren frowned slightly, his eyes closing for a moment. Freedom of choice. A joke. Was anyone really free? Was it possible to live without rules or expectations weighing you down? Everyone here, trapped in the same routines, doing the same things over and over. Was he any different?
He tilted his head more firmly against the window, letting the train's motion lull him. Maybe answers were in sleep. Maybe they were not.
When he opened his eyes, something felt off. The subtle hum beneath his feet was slower somehow, uneven, like the tracks themselves had shifted. The lights flickered faintly, dimmer than before.
He blinked once, twice, unsure if he was still dreaming. For a moment, he thought someone was playing a trick. But the people around him were gone. Not just a few seats, not just at the next end of the car. Gone. Every single person he had been watching a minute ago was gone.
His heart picked up. Maybe he had drifted too far into sleep. Maybe someone had moved them while he dozed. He called out. "Hello?" His voice sounded strange, bouncing back faintly as if the walls themselves were too big. No reply.
Ren took a slow, deliberate step forward, then another. Each step sounded louder than it should, echoing off the empty metal walls. He gripped the railing, trying to steady himself. The usual smell of the subway was gone. There was only something heavy in the air, something sharp and foreign.
He moved cautiously down the car, eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. The silence pressed in on him. No hum of electronics. No murmurs. Nothing.
The train stretched on ahead, empty and quiet, every seat untouched. Ren swallowed hard. His chest felt tight, the rhythm of his breathing too loud in his ears. He forced himself to take another step, then another. The farther he went, the heavier the air felt, as if the walls themselves were pressing inward.
He reached the door at the end of the car and looked out. The city was gone. Not a single building in sight. Only green. Endless green. Trees pressed against the windows, their branches swaying in a wind he could not feel, filtering the sunlight in strange, shifting patterns.
He took a careful step back. Something did not feel right. The light was wrong. The air smelled wrong. It was almost alive. His legs felt weak. His heart hammered faster. He gripped the nearest pole, leaning on it to keep steady.
Ren moved slowly toward the window again. The forest stretched farther than he could see. Somewhere off in the distance, a pale mountain tip barely peeked above the treetops. His stomach twisted. He tried to remember if the tracks he had been following led anywhere like this. They had not. Nothing had led anywhere like this.
He stumbled backward, nearly falling, and caught himself on a seat. His hands trembled. His throat felt tight. Cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck. He whispered, almost to himself, "No…no, this is not real."
Step by careful step, he moved down the aisle again, gripping the railing, scanning the car, every seat, every shadow. Nothing moved. Nothing changed. The air was thick, almost heavy enough to choke him. Something about the light, the trees outside, the stillness, it all felt wrong. Not just strange. Wrong.
He sat down slowly on one of the empty seats, wrapping his arms around his knees for a moment. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to check the doors, to find someone, anyone. But his legs felt heavy. His mind was spinning.
He got up again, trembling. Something was wrong, and he did not know how to fix it. The train, the people, the city outside, everything he had known, was gone.
Ren looked out the window one last time. The green pressed closer, the light shimmered in ways it should not, the forest stretched forever. His stomach tightened, his hands shaking.
"Where the hell am I?"