[Instructions for Travelers]
Welcome aboard the Snowpiercer Express.
Because of the special nature of this journey, all passengers are advised to read these guidelines carefully before departure:
1. This train will make several brief stops along its route.
The halts are extremely short; passengers are strictly forbidden to disembark or wander during these intervals. Anyone who misses departure time will be left behind forever.
2. (Section obliterated)
3. (Section obliterated)
4. (Section obliterated)
— From all crew members of the Snowpiercer, we wish you a pleasant journey.
---
"All three instructions… completely scratched out."
Lucas sat up slowly on the velvet bunk.
He brushed his hand across the black marks covering the last three lines of text, trying to wipe them away.
But as he leaned closer, realization struck—those weren't ink stains.
They were carvings, deep and deliberate, filled with years of dust until they appeared pitch black.
"Forcibly entering a dungeon early, huh?" he muttered under his breath. "Even the travel instructions are traps."
He sighed and examined himself.
The reflection on the brass panel beside him revealed a man dressed in a well-tailored black suit, the kind worn by nobles in old films.
His shirt was crisp, his tie perfectly aligned.
To his right, a polished top hat hung neatly from a hook on the wall, swaying gently with the motion of the train.
"The dungeon character this time…" Lucas murmured, puzzled. He turned his gaze leftward.
Through the narrow window of his luxurious private box, the outside world shimmered in wintry hues.
From the comfort of the 367-berth cabin, he could see frost swirling against the glass. Cold air from outside clashed with the warmth inside, forming delicate beads of condensation that blurred the view like breath on a mirror.
He wiped a corner clear with his sleeve.
Beyond lay a world of endless white—snow-covered villages scattered in the distance, tiny black figures trudging through the drifts, and mountains rolling beneath a sky washed in gold by the setting sun.
For a fleeting second, the sight looked almost peaceful.
Then came the sound.
Woooo—!
The whistle's cry echoed through the frozen valleys, a haunting melody that pierced the silence of the countryside.
And so, the Snowpiercer began its journey.
---
[System Initialization]
> [Loading group-stage game copy…]
[Copy Loaded.]
[Name: Thriller Train]
[Level: Unknown — No Statistical Data Available.]
[Mode: Special Copy of the Thriller Competition.]
[Main Mission: Survive on the train for nine days.]
[Note: The Snowpiercer departed from Snow Country. Its final destination is unknown.]
[Wish the players good luck.]
---
Seventeen players occupied Group 5.
On the tournament's main screen—and across seventeen subsidiary screens—the live broadcast flickered to life simultaneously.
Millions of spectators gasped. The system had triggered the stream twenty-four hours ahead of schedule.
"The game didn't start at the planned time?" a commentator shouted. "That's impossible!"
"It's true! They launched it a full day early—first time in history!"
"Maybe it's to catch the players off guard?"
Another voice cut in, more composed.
"Look closely. Except for one or two, none of the Group 5 contestants are panicking. They're staying calm."
"That's because Group 5 is stacked with elites. Anyone else would've freaked out."
"Still… twenty-four hours early. There must be a hidden motive."
---
Each player now found themselves in a separate carriage of the train, isolated yet connected through the same nightmare.
The familiar Clown Host materialized on screen—grinning, bowing dramatically before a roaring crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Viewers! Brave players trapped inside our magnificent game!"
He spread his arms wide, his painted face gleaming beneath the stage lights.
"Welcome to the grand opening of this special group-stage edition, handcrafted by the Thriller Game Association itself!"
He raised his voice until it cracked with excitement.
"Let us all celebrate together as the Thriller Train sets off!"
"Now—let the ride begin!"
---
Click.
The lock on Lucas's cabin door turned from the outside.
His eyes narrowed as the sliding panel opened with a metallic hiss.
Standing there was a woman clad in a black Victorian-style dress, the fabric heavy yet elegant. A gauzy hat half-covered her face; only her red lips gleamed beneath the lamplight. She removed her lace gloves as she entered, muttering complaints in a low, frustrated tone.
"Stupid conductor… needing superior approval just to switch compartments? Honestly! Do they not understand how dangerous it is for a woman to share a cabin with a strange man—"
Her words died mid-sentence.
She froze.
Because seated on the soft sleeper opposite her was Lucas—awake, alert, and watching her quietly.
---
> [Analyzing Modeling Data…]
[Generating Risk Assessment Based on Host's Current Strength…]
[Passenger Agatha — Low-Level Danger.]
---
The train rocked violently for a moment, and Agatha nearly lost her footing.
She steadied herself against the wall, cheeks flushing, then hurried to close the compartment door as if nothing had happened.
With a stiff smile, she extended her hand toward Lucas.
"Hello, sir. I'm Agatha, a doctor from Snow Country."
Lucas's eyes flicked to the small nameplate attached to her trunk—it confirmed the name.
"Hello, doctor," he replied casually. "I'm Jason."
Agatha didn't even flinch at the name, though it clearly didn't fit the aristocratic tone of this world. Instead, she frowned slightly, maintaining that polite façade.
"Mr. Jason, wouldn't it be proper to return my handshake?"
Lucas's expression remained impassive.
"Sorry. I don't like physical contact with strangers."
Her red lips parted, disbelief written across her face. Slowly, she retracted her hand and sat down on the opposite bunk with a huff, muttering under her breath—something that distinctly sounded like crazy man.
Lucas ignored the insult. His gaze lingered on her for a long moment before softening slightly.
"Doctor… it's been a long time since I met someone in your profession," he murmured, almost nostalgic.
The atmosphere thickened again, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of wheels beneath them.
---
Ding-dong!
A calm female voice came through the intercom.
> "Dear passengers, this train has departed from Snow Country and will soon arrive at the next stop: Dog Town."
"Passengers disembarking at Dog Town, please prepare your luggage."
The announcement ended.
Inside the cramped cabin, silence crept back in. Agatha crossed her arms, turned her face to the window, and made it perfectly clear she wasn't interested in small talk.
Outside, the blizzard intensified. The mountains vanished behind a curtain of snow.
Soon, there was nothing left to see but an endless sea of white.
The lamplight flickered.
The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees.
---
Thud!
A sudden crash shattered the quiet.
Agatha jumped up, a short, terrified scream escaping her throat. She covered her mouth quickly, eyes wide with horror, trembling as she pointed toward the window.
"There! There—!"
Lucas turned sharply.
Through the streaked glass, something black slid slowly downward, leaving a smear of crimson in its wake.
It was a dead crow, half-frozen, its wings twisted, beak cracked. The impact had burst it against the pane, blood mixing with melting frost.
The red stain glowed like a wound against the otherwise pristine snow.
---
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Only the train's whistle cut through the still air.
Woooooo—
A sound not just mechanical, but mournful, almost human.
As if the train itself were crying.
Lucas leaned closer to the window, tracing the bloody line with his eyes.
The Snowpiercer thundered through the storm, its steel body cutting across the frozen wilderness like a blade. Each echo of its whistle carried a strange, hollow rhythm—something between a heartbeat and a countdown.
---
[Spectator Room — Live Commentary]
"Whoa! Did you see that? That crow just smashed into the glass!"
"Crow imagery always means death or bad luck. Classic Thriller Game symbolism."
"Their atmosphere work is top-notch this season. Even I feel cold watching this."
A host chuckled nervously.
"You think Dog Town will be peaceful?"
The analyst beside him shook his head.
"Peaceful? On this train? I'd bet my salary that stop one's where the first body shows up."
---
Back in the carriage, Lucas reclined once more, eyes closed.
His mind wasn't on the crow. It was on the three erased instructions from earlier.
"Rule 2, 3, and 4," he whispered. "Someone didn't just cross them out—they carved them away."
He could almost imagine what they might have said.
Warnings about passengers, about what happens when the train stops, or about who—or what—boards midway.
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
Every erased word hides a truth more terrifying than the ones left behind.
Outside, the snow thickened until the world vanished.
The train pressed forward, an iron beast devouring distance and time.
The lamp flickered again. For an instant, he thought he saw a face reflected behind him in the glass—smiling faintly, eyes dark as coal. When he blinked, it was gone.
Lucas exhaled slowly.
The rhythm of the wheels was like a heartbeat, steady but offbeat, pulsing with unseen menace.
---
Agatha, still shaken, finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
"Mr. Jason… do you think this train really has a destination?"
Lucas opened one eye, his lips curling faintly.
"Everything that moves eventually stops. The question is whether we'll still be alive when it does."
Her face paled, and she said nothing more.
---
The Snowpiercer howled through the blizzard, a lonely streak of steel against the dying light.
Somewhere deep in its countless cars, other players stirred—each unaware of what waited beyond the next stop.
Nine days of survival.
Seventeen passengers.
Only one destination—where all tracks end.
---
The whistle screamed again, long and hollow.
Dog Town was drawing near.
And the first night aboard the Thriller Train had only just begun.
---
Little readers, enjoy your ride.
"Welcome to the Thriller Train. Next stop—Dog Town."
---
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