The Terminal: Part 1
He was getting home late after another day at the office. He briskly walked down the subway stairs and sat on the bench waiting for his train.
The station hummed with fluorescent light and distant screeching metal.
Then the intercom buzzed.
“Train 405 arriving in two minutes.”
A pause.
“John, don’t get on this train.”
He looked up immediately.
Nobody around him reacted.
His name was John.
Train 405 screeched into the station.
John stood.
The doors slid open.
He took one step forward.
The speakers buzzed overhead.
“John, this is the last normal night of your life.”
John stepped back and started to walk away. He went up the stairs, and as he was walking, he felt the hum of his phone vibrating.
He looked at it, and it said unknown caller.
After a moment of hesitation, he answered.
As he got to the sidewalk in the chaotic New York City night, the voice on the other side of the phone said, “John, if you want to live, follow my directions.”
John felt sweat forming beneath his dress shirt.
His pulse quickened.
“Who is this?”
The voice responded.
“Walk to 42nd Street, and get into the taxi.”
As he got into the taxi, the taxi driver said, “You’re the third one for this month.”
They drove off, and he was dropped off at an abandoned subway terminal.
John descended the cracked concrete stairs into the terminal.
He noticed the clocks all stopped at the same exact time. Trains drifted through the station with no conductors inside.
Around him were symbols carved into tile walls beneath graffiti.
He opened Google Maps, but none of the stations around him appeared on the screen.
Old advertisements subtly changed wording when he looked away. The people around him wore outdated clothing and stood silently beside the tracks, never looking at one another.
The intercom chimed, “John, welcome, please board the next train.”