[Wake up quickly, you don’t have much time left. 】
The extremely pale white flames, dotted with stars, condensed into words in front of the eyes, like the subtitles of a black and white silent film, but burned out in a moment, leaving only a line of small numbers at the edge of the field of vision:
【00:15:00】
Hiss...who am I? where am I?
There was a faint explosion in my ears, and the orange light elegantly dispelled the darkness, hot and dazzling. The fire roared and danced, and invisible hands gently played the golden strings.
The young man slowly opened his eyes. On the base of the carriage, the gas light was like the bleeding sunset, stinging every nerve in his mind.
Shapes and shadows overlapped before my eyes, and the world was spinning. Pain raced through his mind like a runaway train, but he didn't remember drinking. The young man woke up for a moment, then moved his hands from his forehead downwards and rubbed his cheeks repeatedly.
[00:14:23] He suddenly noticed that the numbers at the edge of his vision were decreasing every minute.
Damn it, what does this countdown line and the text before it mean, “I don’t have much time left?”
Time, time...what urgent thing do I have?
His thoughts were chaotic and noisy, and his memories were like a thick liquid paste, stuck together, and he couldn't remember anything.
He lowered his head, put his hands on his forehead and took a deep breath, feeling the almost solid air slowly spreading in his lungs, until the uneasy countdown and the whispering sound of the gaslight ghost became blurry and faded away——
Let’s start with the first question, who am I?
Hmm... There is a cane placed by his left knee, and on his head is a flat-topped peaked cap, smoky gray.
He then touched the pockets of his jacket, waistcoat and trousers, a cotton handkerchief, a copper-purple pocket watch, a few odd bills, and the thing with the most information - a wrinkled work order.
Carefully unwrapping the wrinkled work order, he squinted and examined the writing: Donald Brothers Home Mechanical Repair Shop, Maintenance: Domestic Steam Engine, Technician: Edgar Waikolo, Customer Signature: Mary Boone.
Unless I have transvestism or gender dysphoria, my name is certainly not Mary. In that case, Edgar Waikolo could very well be me. Ed...this title does have a bit of an impression.
He searched again for a moment, and sure enough he found a moth-stained wooden portable toolbox under the seat, which confirmed his suspicion.
The name of the shop is engraved on it with a knife - Donald Brothers Home Machinery Repair Shop. There is no logo, it should be a small family-run repair shop. Since my surname is Waikolo, obviously the equity has nothing to do with me... Tsk, what a pity.
The copper case of the pocket watch has been worn with light brown rust marks and luster. Opening the pocket watch, the time happened to be a quarter past nine. I didn’t know whether it was day or night.
Cheap stuff, it looks like I’m definitely not a rich person.
The cane on the left hand is made of silver metal, as pure white as tin, but feels as warm and comfortable as old silverware. The carvings are simple and elegant, and the handle is carved into a crow skull, which has withstood the weather for a long time.
Generally speaking, canes are held in the dominant hand and placed on the left side. It seems that I am still left-handed? He held the cane in his left hand, and his muscles still seemed to remember the texture and center of gravity of the cane.
Turning the cane in a circle, he put the metal crow's head handle against his forehead and thought:
Why would a lower-class maintenance technician own such an exquisite cane? Since I dare to keep it next to me in public, it must not be illegally obtained...a family heirloom? Or is it someone's relic?
As for the smoky gray flat cap on his head, he reached out to take it off and turned it over to look at it: it was made of felt and was one of the status symbols of the lower class residents. Those nobles preferred to wear bowler hats or high hats.
So to make a quick guess, I... Edgar Waikolo, left-handed, maintenance mechanic (apparently educated), from a modest background - maybe once quite wealthy? A deceased elder left me a valuable walking stick. He put his hat back on his head and looked around again.
Second question, where is this?
The scene in front of me felt strangely familiar. train? No, there are no windows, I'm afraid it's a pneumatic subway.
Like the pneumatic tunnels used for postal transport, the Underground Railroad used hundreds of horsepower steam engines to drive vacuum fans that blew the subway in the tunnels around like straws.
It seems that his common sense is still functioning normally. He looked at the passengers around him...if they could still be called "passengers".
Looking up, the "passengers" in front of me were actually dark gray ghosts like thick gelatin, broken into pieces:
Some lost their arms, and some only had half of their faces left, with pale bone stubble exposed, and adhesions hanging from the broken eye sockets. But they didn't wail or groan, they just sat there, indifferent.
The cold carriage, the ghostly passengers, so quiet that you can hear the sound of fear growing, as if the picture has been frozen in this frame forever.
This is like a nightmare...wait, a nightmare?
"Wake up quickly, you don't have much time left." Ed whispered about the flame text that appeared when he woke up.
This sentence seems incomplete and does not tell me what to do within the time limit, but if what is in front of me is just a bizarre nightmare, everything makes sense——
The focus is not on the "time" at the end, but on the previous sentence "Wake up quickly"...
Ed suddenly bit his finger and hissed - it hurt! There was absolutely no sign of waking up.
Well, it seems that it’s not that easy to wake up. I thought about things too simply.
【00:13:19】
There isn't much time left, I have to act. He clenched the handle of his cane and stood up, only to find a thin piece of paper falling lightly on the ground.
A card?
The rectangular shape resembles the playing cards that come with cigarettes, but the way the corner is cut off reminds him of the punched cards used to read and write in the differential engine.
Leaning over to pick up the card, he saw a familiar-looking young man standing with a stick in the flowing portrait. His figure was lean and tall, and his eyes were as dark as eternal night.
"Edgar Waikolo"
"Death is not the end of the story." The ink on it is moist and sticky, as if it had just been printed, but it did not stain your fingers.
Humph, these words are so confusing...a promotional card for a fortune-telling club? But why is my portrait painted on it?
Ed knew the deceptive trick, where the fortune teller said something incomprehensible and then dared to open his mouth and accept two coins.
After hesitating for a moment, he decided to put the card into his vest pocket, stood up and walked over. The human-shaped gray mist around him was shattered into a wisp of dust...
…
At the end of the carriage, the steward in front of him had a head-sized ticket machine on his waist. The copper parts were shiny, but his appearance was creepy——
The skin on the face seemed to have been melted by acid, revealing scarlet muscles and pale fat. The bloody features were intertwined together, like a frog that had just been peeled off.
"How can I help you, sir?" There was a click, and the steward's jaw opened like a puppet, making a hoarse voice like a blade cutting across a metal plate.
"Ahem...did the train stop?"
Calm down, Ed, you must have had scarier nightmares than this. Ed only felt that the pair of eyeballs were staring at him, and he faked a cough uncomfortably, and asked while holding back his fear and nausea.
"Well, yes, please be patient. Maybe it's just a machine failure in the control room. You have to know that the pneumatic subway is a very sophisticated modern machine, and it is inevitable that mistakes will be made while busy." After saying that, the conductor gave him a bloody Scary smile.
Mechanical failure, and I happen to be a repairman. Is there such a coincidence in the world? This is a good excuse to leave this hellish place.
"Otherwise, you see, I'm a mechanic."
Ed didn't want to stay any longer and took out the work order from his vest pocket: "Anyway, waiting is just waiting. Why don't you open the door of the car and let me go over and take a look. Maybe I can help. "
Probably - I wish I remembered how to fix things. Ed suddenly felt that this conversation sounded familiar, as if this situation had happened before.
"Hmm... I'm not sure..." The flight attendant, whose nose only had two bloody holes left, squeaked and replied hesitantly.
At this moment, the blank "passengers" around suddenly turned their heads and stared at the flight attendant with cold and empty eyes.
"Ah, okay, okay, since this is your request...but all actions are purely voluntary by this gentleman. If any accidents occur, I and the Doyle Underground Railway Company will not be responsible."
The flight attendant took out a printed handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Blood and skin instantly soaked into the handkerchief. He took out the key from his waist and opened the door while mumbling.
"Click, click, click" With the mechanical sound of the keyhole turning, both the car door and the pipe hatch opened. The underground world was dark, with only a few dim gas wall lamps like fireflies crackling from time to time.
"Do you have a lantern?" Ed lifted the tool box with his right hand, stopped at the door with the fingers of his cane, and turned around awkwardly to ask the scary flight attendant.
The steward took out a whale oil lantern from the cupboard. It is made of glass, shaped like a high-waisted vase, and covered with a shield made of thick wire. It has the unique fishy smell of low-quality whale oil.
Quite rudimentary, but sufficient for temporary lighting. Ed adjusted the smoky gray flat-topped cap on his head and hooked the lantern on his cane.
【00:10:58】
Staying here is definitely not an option, I can only bite the bullet and move forward.
He took a deep breath and stepped out...
…
Walking along the direction marked "Control Room", the tunnel looks like a hole left by a giant worm. The darkness extends inward, and the iron-green scaffolding that has not yet been removed shines with rough wrinkled lines under the light, like metal vines growing wildly.
The footsteps echoed in the long and slender tunnel, and disappeared in the darkness in an instant. His ears vaguely heard the rustling noise, and Ed only hoped that it was a rat.
[00:07:24] The time imprinted on the lower left side of his vision is passing by every second.
The gas lamp in the control room was not turned on for some reason, and an ominous premonition flashed in his mind.
"Is anyone there?" he called through the door.
There was dead silence.
At this time, only the unlucky guy in a third-rate horror novel would insist on opening the door. Ed planned to leave here without looking back. He would rather spend some time in vain than make fun of his own life.
The moment he turned around, the dim firelight reflected a deformed face like a leper——
The collapsed and perforated snake nose, the cracks full of fangs that look like a smile but not a smile, extend to the base of the ears...
A pair of blood-red slit pupils covered in cotton-like mucus and torn apart stared at him eerily like a ghost...
