MCYT Oneshots And Other Random Stuff

Welcome To The Final Destination

Ding-ding!

"We are nearing the final destination. Please hold on."

Tommy blinked open his eyes.

He was on a train. In the Underground.

The smooth metal walls of the shuttle train were broken up by sleek black-paned windows that revealed only the concrete walls of the tunnel beyond.

Where was he?

Tommy twisted in his seat.

There was no one else on the train.

Not a soul.

A chill wracked his body.

The train car was lit with harsh red lighting that threw crimson shadows along the chrome walls. When had Tommy gotten onto this train? The last thing he remembered was darkness.

It struck him he should find this odd. Yet his mind was a blank, questionless void.

Suddenly, the train halted.

Ding-ding!

"We have reached the final destination. Please mind the gap."

Dark steel doors soundlessly slid open.

And then Tommy was walking up the aisle, walking out into the beyond.

His feet touched down on a tiled floor of black marble so polished his face was reflected perfectly. The walls were the same dark chrome and steel, with a sloping stairway leading up a chute.

Benches made of solid ebony stone were placed at even intervals. It was lit with the same hostile scarlet illumination as the train, tinting the world a harsh vermillion.

A train station. This was a train station. Of course.

Smoky, indistinct, vaguely humanoid shadows flitted around, muttering words in a tongue both foreign and familiar.

Ghosts.

This was a world of ghosts.

The final destination.

Tommy glanced down to see his own flesh, needing reassurance he was here, he was alive.

He saw his hands beginning to fade to nothing more than inky darkness.

No!

His soul began to drift from his body, not that he had a body. He had no name. No identity.

He was a ghost, a memory, no one at all.

His instincts told him to fight it, but fight what? The tug of the shadows on the little that was left of him? Why resist?

Soundless oblivion, an eternity of empty chattering with the other derelict spirits. It beckoned.

Until a low sound strummed at the corner of his consciousness, a lifeline before he slipped away.

He knew that sound. It brought back memories of a van, of bubbling liquids in glass beakers and a book on the wall.

There it was again.

The lifeline pulled him closer.

Then a voice joined the sound, whispering a song of memories in his ear.

"I heard there was a special place..."

That voice. He knew that voice, so well.

"Where men could go emancipate..."