Chapter 1: Echoes in the Abyss
The world was upside down, painted in shades of bruised purple and grey. Detective Sergeant Jack woke to the shriek of metal, the roar of a gale, and the sickening lurch of something impossibly heavy that was very much not meant to be swaying in thin air. A dull, rhythmic throb hammered behind his eyes, a counterpoint to the sharp, biting cold that had numbed half his face. He blinked, tasting grit and something metallic on his tongue. Dry blood. He could feel it caked on his cheek, sticky and crusty. How did it get there? How did he get here? His memory was a blank slate, scarred only by the immediate, overwhelming terror of his current predicament.
His train car—a ruined, luxury sleeper compartment now —was a metallic sarcophagus, hanging at an impossible angle. One end was a ragged, twisted maw of steel, severed from whatever had once connected it. The other… the other pointed down, down into an abyss where a furious, snow-whipped glacier churned thousands of feet below. He was inside a metallic pendulum, swaying gently in the furious wind, impaled precariously on the teeth of a colossal, snow-capped mountain. Every groan of stressed metal, every creak of splintering wood, hinted at imminent, final collapse.
Jack pushed himself up, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his left leg. It wasn't pinned, but felt bruised and battered, refusing to bear his full weight. He peered through the debris-strewn wreckage. The car was collapsing around him, a symphony of tortured material. A piece of the ceiling groaned, then peeled back, revealing more of the angry, swirling sky. Another crack echoed, closer this time. He had to get out. Now.
Scrambling, his injured leg screaming in protest, Jack found a precarious path over splintered furniture and bent railings. He spotted a jagged tear in the roof, a jagged mouth spitting snow and wind. With desperate effort, he clawed his way up, pulling himself through the gap, his jacket snagging, skin scraping. He spilled out onto the roof of his train car, the wind immediately trying to tear him from his perch.
He flattened himself against the icy metal, gasping, when he saw it.
Across a terrifying, wind-whipped chasm of empty air, a second train car dangled. Like his, it was mangled and suspended, but still distinct. And within its shattered window, slumped against a crushed seat, was Inspector Black. His dark suit was torn, his usually immaculate hair was matted with grime, and a streak of dry blood, darker than his skin, ran from his temple down to his jawline. His eyes were closed, his face pale against the backdrop of the swirling storm. He looked utterly motionless.
"Black!" Jack roared, his voice ripped away by the wind. He tried again, a desperate, primal scream. "BLACK! WAKE UP!"
No response. Black was utterly still. Jack's own train car groaned, a new, deeper sound this time. The entire carriage shuddered violently. A large section of the roof near him tore away with a deafening rip, plummeting into the abyss. Jack instinctively scrambled back, his heart hammering. His car was going. It was going to fall.
He had to get to Black.
Scanning the wreckage on his car's roof, Jack spotted a long, thick length of what looked like heavy-duty electrical cable, miraculously still bolted to a stable frame section. He pulled, yanked, and then managed to snap it free from its mountings, its end sparking with severed wires. It was heavy, roughly fifteen feet long. He looked at the chasm again, then at Black's still form. There was only one insane way.
Taking a deep breath, Jack swung the cable. He didn't have enough length to reach Black's car directly. He needed to throw it, leap, and hope. He looped one end around a sturdy, rusted pipe on his train car, testing it. He then took the other end, securing it to his own waist as best he could. The car groaned again, a deep, resonant hum of impending doom. He heard a crack from below. Time was running out.
With a desperate cry, Jack ran, his bad leg protesting fiercely, and launched himself off the edge of his train car, swinging into the void. The wind tried to rip him away, the cable burning his hands as it whizzed over the pipe. His car shuddered, listing further. He barely made it. His feet scraped against the side of Black's car, and he slammed hard, sending a fresh jolt of pain through his injured leg. He clung on, scrambling, pulling himself onto the roof of Black's carriage. As he did, with a monstrous roar, his own train car, the one he had just leaped from, shuddered, snapped free from its mountain perch, and plunged into the glacial chasm below, taking the pipe and the last vestiges of the cable with it. The thunderous roar echoed for what felt like an eternity.
Jack lay panting, shivering, soaked in sweat and ice. He had made it. But now he was on Black's car, and Black was still out cold. He crawled to the shattered window where Black was slumped, peering in.
"Black! Hey! Wake up, you stiff-necked fashion plate!" Jack slapped the cold glass. "We got company! And by company, I mean gravity! You need to wake up!"
Slowly, painfully, Black's eyes fluttered open. He blinked, disoriented, then saw Jack, wild-eyed and bloody, on the roof. His gaze flickered around the ruined interior of his own car, then to the chasm where Jack's car had just been. Understanding, slow and horrifying, dawned on his face.
"Jack?" Black croaked, his voice raw.
"Yeah, me," Jack said, trying for levity, but his voice was trembling. "Now, can you move? Because this thing isn't looking much sturdier than the last one."
Black nodded, pushing himself up with a grimace. He tested his limbs, his movements stiff. "The structural integrity... is severely compromised."
"No kidding, Sherlock," Jack retorted. "Just get out here!"
A new series of cracks, louder and more insistent, erupted from Black's car. Together, they found a wider gap in the shattered roof. Black, despite his injuries, used his superior strength to push against a bent beam, widening the escape route. Jack, though hampered by his leg, used his agility to wedge himself through, then pulled Black after him. They emerged onto a smaller, snow-covered ledge, clinging to the cliff face, the wreckage of Black's car groaning below them, threatening to join Jack's car in the abyss at any second.
They stood, two bloodied, battered figures against the relentless storm, the wind whipping around them. The vast, empty chasm below was now littered with the twisted remnants of two luxury train cars. As Jack looked at Black, the dry blood on his face, the shared ordeal, a vivid, jarring image flashed into his mind:
A lush, green jungle. The air thick and humid. Jack, laughing, pushing through dense foliage, a large, ornate map clutched in his hand. Black, beside him, meticulously checking a compass, his expression serious. They were young, perhaps younger than now. A glimmer of something golden in the distance. And then, a sound – a sharp, terrifying crackle of gunfire echoing through the trees.
The vision vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving Jack blinking, disoriented. He shook his head, trying to clear it. What was that?
The present reality was a fresh, terrifying burn. They had just survived a rolling, exploding train car crash, which landed them exactly back in the location where the flashback began.
Black and Jack, battered, exhausted, and bleeding heavily, crawled from the ruined engine car onto the snowy ledge. Their injuries were severe—broken ribs, deep cuts, and the pervasive internal shock of the trauma. They walked a few stumbling steps, trying to find a way out of the immediate wreckage, but their bodies simply gave out. They collapsed onto the frozen stone.
As the world dimmed and they slipped into unconsciousness, their vision blurring, they both saw a fleeting, shadowy figure standing over them, watching.
Jack woke up disoriented, the scent of burning wood and herbs filling his nostrils. He was in a small, wooden cottage, confused. He pushed himself up from a simple cot and stumbled outside.
The sight that greeted him was impossible: a whole hidden city, carved directly into the mountain face, warm light spilling from thousands of windows, hidden from the world by perpetual mist and ancient, silent stone. He stood there, confused and stunned.