[Congratulations! You have been selected as a contest winner!]
Emile's phone vibrated as his eyes stared at its screen.
"Huh... I don't remember applying for this. Probably a scam."
He paused.
"But... what if it's not? Might as well see what they've set up."
He tapped the notification. A simple message appeared:
[Congratulations winner! In order to claim your prize, please visit the following location.]
There was an image attached.
It showed the front of a shop. No sign. No name. Just an entrance wedged between two buildings.
The display windows were cluttered with a collection of odd things, outfits that looked like costumes, trinkets that wouldn't have been out of place in some fantasy RPG.
Emile frowned.
"What the hell is this?"
The longer he looked at it, the more it felt like a rip-off.
"How am I supposed to collect a prize from a place that doesn't even have a name?"
The shop next to it did have a sign.
Simon's.
Emile stared at the name for a moment, and then opened a search engine, typing it into the search bar, half-expecting dozens of results,.
There was only one.
The address matched the general layout of what the image showed, same narrow street, same buildings packed too closely together. It was deep in the city, near Central Station.
Emile let out a sigh.
"Of course it is."
It wasn't close. Far enough that walking would be a pain. And driving, in the city?
Much worse.
He'd have to take the train.
If he'd had anywhere else to be, Emile would have deleted the message.
He didn't.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and headed out.
---
The station was busier than usual. Or maybe it just felt that way. People flowed past him in uneven streams, conversations blending into meaningless noise. The smell of metal and dust hung in the air.
Emile checked the time, then the directions again. Everything lined up.
Platform numbers flickered overhead as trains came and went. He scanned them absently, waiting for the one headed toward Central Station.
His phone vibrated. He frowned and pulled it out, expecting another notification.
Nothing. No message. No alert.
"What?"
He glanced back up.
The platform looked normal enough. Signboards flickered overhead. Lights worked. Floors were clean.
And yet—
There was a train right in front of him .
Just one car. Dark green, older than the others but not rusted. Doors closed. Windows reflecting the station lights like dark mirrors.
A number was painted beside the door.
[1]
Emile slowed. Glancing at the electronic board.
It seemed this was the only platform that had a train headed toward Central Station.
"What are the chances that this is under maintenance, and get I screwed by the subway for trespassing?"
He checked the board again. Nothing had changed.
Emile stepped closer, keeping his eyes on the windows
Then, the doors slid open without a sound.
A faint warmth spilled out. Not hot, not cold—just…different.
The air carried a hint of old fabric and something familiar that he couldn't place.
Emile adjusted his bag and glanced at his silhouette in the window.
The platform tiles reflected in the train's windows, fragmented and distorted in the low light.
This felt like a dumb idea.
"This better not be a mistake..."
He huffed.
And then he stepped inside.