Chapter 4: The First Lesson is Survival

Three weeks of training had left Rei with bruises in places he didn't know could bruise, a head full of theoretical knowledge about entities that defied rational explanation, and the growing suspicion that the Aegis Bureau's definition of "low-risk" was significantly different from anyone else's.

"Your stance is still too rigid," Agent Yano said, circling him in the underground training facility. The room looked like a traditional dojo that had been invaded by technology—tatami mats equipped with sensors, wooden practice weapons that glowed with contained energy, and wall-mounted displays showing real-time biometric data.

Rei adjusted his footing, trying to embody the fluid readiness Yano had been drilling into him. The combat techniques weren't traditional martial arts—they were designed for fighting things that might phase through solid matter, teleport, or attack through dimensions humans couldn't perceive.

"Better," she acknowledged. "Remember, most Anomalies don't follow physics as we understand it, but they do follow their own internal logic. Learn their rules, and you can predict their behavior."

"And if I can't learn their rules fast enough?"

Yano's expression was grim. "Then you die, and hopefully take them with you."

It was exactly the kind of encouraging pep talk Rei had come to expect from his handler. Despite her professional demeanor, he'd begun to sense something underneath—a carefully controlled intensity that suggested personal stakes beyond mere duty.

His meditation training had been more successful, if only because it was harder to fail catastrophically at sitting still. The Bureau's techniques were a hybrid of traditional Zen practices and something they called "Abyss-shielding"—mental exercises designed to filter the constant whispers and suggestions that seemed to flow through his Taint like psychic static.

The whispers had grown quieter over the past weeks, but they'd never fully stopped. Sometimes he'd catch fragments—"marked one walking among the blind"—or feel phantom touches at the edge of his consciousness. Yano assured him this was normal for someone with his level of sensitivity, but normal didn't make it any less unsettling.

"Today's different," Yano announced, consulting the tablet she always carried. "Director Matsumoto thinks you're ready for field experience."

Rei's stomach dropped. "Define 'ready.'"

"You can maintain basic Abyss-shields for thirty minutes, you've memorized the field protocols for Class-C and Class-D Anomalies, and you haven't accidentally amplified any phenomena in the past week." She looked up from her tablet. "Relatively speaking, you're about as ready as someone with your condition can be after three weeks."

They rode the elevator up to ground level, emerging into a Tokyo that looked deceptively normal in the afternoon sunlight. Rei still felt a thrill of unreality every time he transitioned from the Bureau's underground facility to the mundane world above—as if he were surfacing from a dream into reality, or perhaps the other way around.

"Our destination is Shimbashi Station," Yano explained as they boarded an unmarked van equipped with more electronic devices than Rei could identify. "For the past week, there have been reports of passengers boarding trains that never arrive at their destinations. Security footage shows them entering the cars, but they never exit at any subsequent station."

"Missing persons case?"

"Missing persons cases," Yano corrected. "Seventeen people in seven days, all during the evening rush hour. The pattern suggests an Anomaly that's either feeding or collecting."

Rei felt his Taint pulse with warmth—a sensation he'd learned to recognize as proximity to Anomalous activity. "What kind of Anomaly causes people to disappear from moving trains?"

"Several possibilities. Could be a Hitchhiker—an entity that infiltrates public transportation to claim victims. Could be a Pocket manifestation—reality distortion that creates spaces where none should exist." Yano's expression darkened. "Or it could be Kisaragi Station."

The name meant nothing to Rei, but the way she said it made his skin crawl. "Should I know what that is?"

"Urban legend that became real about five years ago. A phantom train line that appears on existing routes, trapping passengers in an endless journey through a distorted version of the subway system. We've had three confirmed encounters, and only one survivor." She paused. "Me."

That explained the controlled intensity he'd sensed in her, the way she moved through the Bureau's underground tunnels with the hyperaware grace of someone who'd been hunted in similar spaces.

Shimbashi Station during evening rush hour was controlled chaos—thousands of commuters flowing through the passages with practiced efficiency, everyone focused on their phones or lost in thought. Rei found himself unconsciously cataloging faces, looking for the subtle wrongness that might indicate an Anomaly in human disguise.

"Platform 7," Yano said, checking her tablet again. "The disappearances have all occurred on trains heading toward Shiodome. We'll board the 5:47 and see what happens."

"That's the plan? Get on a train and hope a supernatural entity tries to kidnap us?"

"Welcome to field work," Yano said dryly. "Most of our job is putting ourselves in dangerous situations and hoping our training is sufficient to handle whatever we find."

The train that pulled into Platform 7 looked perfectly normal—standard JR East stock, silver and blue, filled with the usual mix of salarymen, students, and tired shoppers. Rei and Yano found seats near the middle of the car, both trying to look like ordinary passengers while scanning for signs of Anomalous activity.

For the first three stops, nothing happened. Passengers boarded and disembarked with typical urban efficiency. Rei began to wonder if they were on a fool's errand, chasing shadows and urban legends while real people remained missing.

Then, between Shimbashi and Shiodome, the train entered a tunnel that was longer than it should have been.

Rei felt it first—a subtle shift in the quality of light, a change in the sound of the wheels on the tracks. His Taint began to burn with increasing intensity, and the whispers that had become background noise over the past weeks suddenly crescendoed into a chorus.

"Welcome aboard the last train..."

"Next stop, nowhere..."

"The conductor remembers everyone who rides..."

"Yano," he whispered, but when he turned to look at her, she was staring at the window with an expression of barely controlled terror.

Outside, the tunnel walls were wrong. Instead of concrete and steel, they seemed to be made of some dark material that moved and shifted like living tissue. Emergency lighting strips became rows of pale, blinking eyes, and the rhythmic clacking of the wheels took on the cadence of a massive heartbeat.

"Kisaragi Station," Yano breathed. "We're inside it."

The other passengers seemed oblivious to the transformation. They continued reading their phones, dozing, or staring blankly ahead as if nothing had changed. But Rei noticed that none of them were quite right anymore—their clothes were slightly faded, their faces had a waxy quality, and their movements were just a fraction too slow or too fast.

"Are they..." he started to ask.

"Previous victims," Yano confirmed, her hand moving to the specialized weapon concealed beneath her jacket. "The Anomaly keeps them as part of the experience. They're not dead, but they're not exactly alive either."

The train's PA system crackled to life, but instead of the usual announcements, a voice spoke that seemed to come from everywhere at once—hollow, echoing, filled with infinite sadness.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard the Endless Express. The next stop is the final stop. Please remain seated while we collect your fare."

Rei felt a presence approaching from the front of the car—something that wore the shape of a train conductor but moved with the deliberate grace of a predator. Its uniform was pristine except for dark stains that might have been blood, and its face was a blur that hurt to look at directly.

"Two new passengers," the thing said, its voice perfectly polite and utterly inhuman. "How delightful. It's been so long since we've had anyone capable of appreciating the full experience."

Yano stood smoothly, her weapon now visible—a device that looked like a cross between a taser and a ritual implement. "Aegis Bureau. We're here to discuss the seventeen people you've taken this week."

The conductor tilted its head with interest. "Only seventeen? Time moves differently here. It could have been yesterday, or it could have been decades." It smiled, revealing teeth like broken glass. "But they're all safe now. They're part of the route. They'll never have to worry about delays or cancellations again."

"Release them," Yano demanded, "and we'll consider non-violent containment."

The conductor laughed—a sound like steam escaping from broken pipes. "I'm afraid that's not possible. The fare has already been collected. But don't worry—you'll understand soon enough. Everyone understands, eventually."

That's when Rei realized his mistake. His Taint wasn't just detecting the Anomaly—it was feeding it. The phantom train had been growing stronger since they'd boarded, the tunnel walls becoming more defined, the trapped passengers more solid. His presence wasn't helping their investigation; it was empowering the very thing they were trying to stop.

"Yano," he said urgently, "I think I'm making it worse."

She glanced at him, saw the fear in his eyes, and understood immediately. "Your sensitivity—it's amplifying the manifestation."

The conductor's attention shifted to Rei, and its smile widened impossibly. "Ah, yes. The marked one. She said you might visit us eventually. How thoughtful of her to send such a powerful battery."

She. Kuchisake-onna. Somehow, even here, trapped in this nightmare subway car, her influence was still shaping events around him.

The train lurched suddenly, throwing passengers against each other with enough force to have caused injuries if any of them were still fully human. Through the windows, Rei caught glimpses of stations that shouldn't exist—platforms populated by figures in old-fashioned clothing, waiting rooms filled with people who sat perfectly still and never blinked.

"We need to get to the engine," Yano said, steadying herself against a seat. "Every Anomaly has a core—a focal point that maintains its existence. For Kisaragi Station, it'll be in the conductor's compartment."

"And how do we get there when the thing controlling the train doesn't want us to?"

Yano's smile was sharp and entirely without humor. "Very carefully, and with a lot of violence."

The conductor was still approaching, its movements now accompanied by the sound of metal scraping against metal. Other passengers began to turn in their seats, their waxy faces showing the first signs of expression they'd displayed since the transformation began—hunger, longing, and something that might have been relief at the prospect of new company.

Rei felt his Taint burning like a brand, the whispers in his head reaching a fever pitch. But underneath the chaos, he began to sense something else—a rhythm, a pattern in the madness. The Anomaly had rules, just like Yano had taught him. He just had to figure out what they were before those rules got them both killed.

The conductor raised its hand, and Rei saw that instead of fingers, it had tickets—old-fashioned paper tickets that fluttered like dying birds.

"Fare, please," it said, and its voice was no longer polite.