The sunlight never seemed to let up. No matter how he turned his head, it always found a way to shine straight into Adam's eyes. It stung—a constant, nagging presence. But then he realized something.
It wasn't the sun.
It was his hair.
It had grown longer. Much longer.
He blinked, brushing the strands aside. Looking around, he noticed it wasn't just him. Everyone's hair had grown. Unkempt, windswept, wild.
Maybe it was this place.
They were inside the railway control center now, after leaving the Kettenkrad behind. Adam climbed those hanging chains hours ago—rusted links that groaned under his weight. He silently hoped abandoning the vehicle wasn't a mistake.
Kineki glanced over. "You look different," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Long hair, Adam."
Mino chuckled weakly beside her, still wrapped in a blanket. "Yeah… you look like… a drunkard or a hippi or something."
Yuri stood behind them, grinning as she rubbed her palms together. "Well then," she said, lifting a makeshift razor. "Let's do something about that. Don't worry—I'll be gentle."
Adam sighed and sat down.
Yoku hovered nearby, pacing back and forth like a child waiting their turn—or maybe someone with too much energy to sit still. His fingers twitched at his sides, anticipation written all over him.
The station around them felt strange. Alien. Rubble clung to the walls like barnacles on a ship. Buildings leaned against each other like drunkards holding up their friends. It was surreal—monolithic steel and broken glass, frozen in a history no one could remember.
Adam looked at it all, and wondered:Did this world ever have culture?Did anything here ever mean something?
He let the question drift, and another took its place.
Why do I fear death?
At its core, maybe it was simple. He feared it because he didn't understand it.
People fear what they don't fully know. But is that fear always justified?We don't test our food every day for poison. We eat it, trusting the pattern. So why does the fear of the unknown loom larger when the stakes are higher?
Yuri struggled with Adam's hair, frowning. "Your hair's... weird," she muttered. "It tangles into itself, and it's tough. Like it doesn't want to be cut."
She yanked, tugged, and twisted. It was a battle.
But after minutes of hacking and muttering, the job was done. Adam looked over—his reflection barely visible in a cracked mirror. His hair was short now. Sleek. Styled almost like a classic Japanese cut.
Yoku clapped. "Looking sharp, my man."
Then—clang.
Bolts rained from the ceiling.
"Ow!" Adam winced as one bounced off his helmet. Kineki cursed beside him.
"Good thing we wore these," she grunted, tapping the dented metal on her head.
Yoku only smirked. "Guess I'm always lucky."
Adam muttered, "Yeah, yeah," remembering how Yoku once bragged about never being hit in the head by falling hardware.
They moved deeper into the center, stepping cautiously through the dim station. Eventually, they found it.
A massive automaton—boxy and ancient—stood in the middle of the platform. Its eyes flickered to life as they approached.
"Hello. I am the Artificial Maker. I patrol and operate this train. Forgive me, but you cannot access it."
Kineki and Mino groaned in unison.
"Man…" Kineki muttered. "What are we even doing here?"
Adam reached into his coat and pulled out the yellow orb.
He stepped forward, slowly placing it in the automaton's hand.
The machine paused, processing. Its lights dimmed, then surged brighter. The orb was returned—transformed, like a key.
"Kanazawa Party… acknowledged."
"Where do you want to go?"
Adam didn't hesitate. "The center of this stratum."
With a low growl, the ancient train roared to life. The platform rumbled. The doors creaked open, and rust flaked from their hinges like snow.
Inside, the train was a graveyard of melted seats, torn cushions, and scorched metal. But it worked.
They boarded.
A moment later, the train shot forward.
Wind screamed past the windows. Below, ruins rushed by—blurred towers and shattered highways. The car shook, metal groaning under its own acceleration.
Mino clung to her seat. "Why are we not dead yet?" she gasped. "Our bodies should've exploded!"
Adam thought for a moment. "I… I don't fully get it either, but it's probably because we're moving with the train. The outside world doesn't push against us because we're already matching its speed."
Mino squinted. "But if we're moving, why do I feel like I'm not moving?"
Yoku grinned. "You are. You just don't notice because everything around you is moving, too."
Kineki tilted her head. "If I walk forward and backward, does that make me faster? Or slower?"
Yoku blinked. "My head hurts."
Mino let her legs dangle. "I just don't get how we can even measure speed at this level. Like… I don't even know what time it is anymore."
Adam didn't answer. He sat quietly, watching the world blur past, buildings shrinking into specks.
What's at the end of this journey?Would there be people? A city like Rixton? Could he finally escape?
He sighed, curling beneath a worn blanket.
"If it's meant to happen," he whispered to himself, "then it'll happen."
The others followed suit. One by one, they lay down together under a wide futon. Even Yoku, restless as always, finally sat still.
Above them, the ceiling flickered with passing lights—bright, dark, bright, dark—like a heartbeat. A rhythm of motion. A lullaby.
Adam stared upward.
Their hopes and dreams felt like threads—interwoven, fragile, shimmering as they were pulled along this steel highway.
Outside the window, a single cicada drifted past.
And they slept.