Terror on the Train, Encountering Peril Once More

The attendants continued to soothe the passengers over the intercom, yet fear and unrest pervaded the carriages, their anxieties far from quelled. Voices rose in anger as some demanded to disembark.

"Let us off this train! I refuse to ride another moment!"

"Waaah!"

"There's a murderer aboard! What kind of operation is this? How could you allow a killer on board?"

Adults scolded children; children cried and screamed—the carriage descended into chaos.

The youth reappeared and tapped Eric on the shoulder. She turned to see him grinning broadly. "Any leads?" he asked. "I've noticed the restrooms are perilous—best to avoid going alone."

"Isn't that obvious?" Eric replied. "You should be careful too."

He chuckled softly and inquired how many ordinary missions she had completed.

Eric shook her head, offering no response.

A steward wheeled a cart laden with shelves stocked with snacks, water, instant noodles, and boxed meals. Perhaps unsettled by the recent murders, the attendant's cheerful announcements stumbled uncertainly.

With eight hours to the next stop, most passengers had brought provisions; those who had not browsed the cart's offerings.

"Give me a bottle of Coke—"

"Don't buy that! Drinking Coke only means you'll need the restroom. Skip the noodles; opt for bread instead!"

The restrooms had become forbidden zones.

Eric was not hungry and, if she were, had no worries—her supermarket supplies were ample.

Perhaps weary of her indifference, the youth ceased seeking her out, instead joining another player in the carriage. They vanished somewhere in search of clues. Eric paid them no mind. Knowing four killers stalked the train froze her into stillness. She found solace amid the crowd, wishing to be like a drop of water in the vast sea—utterly inconspicuous, evading any perilous gaze.

Another scream pierced the air. Eric glanced at the digital clock above the door—only ten minutes had elapsed. Such frequency was profoundly unsettling.

The intercom once again aimed to pacify the passengers, but its reassurances fell flat. This time Eric refrained from witnessing the grisly scene. Passengers from her carriage went instead, returning breathless and shouting, "Six more dead! Do you know how they died? Killed by a fork! An instant noodle fork! The forks slit their throats!" Her trembling voice betrayed profound terror.

The carriage erupted in exclamations.

The noodle fork? But that was a fragile plastic utensil, easily snapped with minimal force—how could it be lethal?

"Did they die together?" someone asked, voice tinged with dread.

The woman's lips quivered as she stammered, "N-No, they were in different carriages. They said they were eating noodles, and suddenly they collapsed, the fork plunged into their throats. Their hands clutched the forks; it seemed as if they had used the very utensils to slit their own necks!"

A chill ran down Eric's spine, every hair on her body standing on end.

Those still eating instant noodles in the carriage instantly lost their appetite. Someone flung a fork aside, the plastic prongs wrapped in coils of noodles tumbling twice before coming to rest. A nearby foot instinctively recoiled, as if the innocuous fork were a deadly weapon.

The aroma of savory noodles rapidly transformed into a nauseating stench.

"Hurry, throw them all out! Who can eat this now?"

Amidst the commotion, both consumed and half-eaten noodle cups were cast away.

Eric remained silent, discreetly scrutinizing her fellow passengers, searching for any hint of a lurking murderer.

"I—I need to use the restroom…" a boy whispered hesitantly.

"Th-the restroom? What restroom! Xiao Tao, you must hold it," the woman clutched her son tightly.

"I can't hold it anymore!" the boy's voice quivered, on the verge of tears.

A middle-aged man nearby offered, "Many toilets are unusable—bodies still inside. Maybe the child could use a bottle—"

"Not here! That's too filthy! Go over there; that side's deserted!" someone else shouted.

The woman understood. There was a smoking area in the passage between carriages. Embarrassed, she apologized and carried her child away.

Eric's gaze remained fixed on them until the woman returned with her son, and only then did she allow herself a breath of relief.

The atmosphere within the carriage was heavy and oppressive, though still marginally better than the other cars—at least, no one had died in their restroom, though no one dared enter it anymore. 

The train pressed steadily onward as twilight gradually descended outside the window. 

Half an hour into Eric's immersion in the game, evening fell, and the train's lights flickered on, bathing the interior in an eerie pallor. 

Secretly, Eric nibbled on a chocolate ball to replenish her energy. Beneath the table, her feet shifted periodically to stave off stiffness, striving to remain alert and vigorous.

"I really can't hold it anymore. I—I have to use the restroom. Can someone come with me?" a timid female voice quavered. Eric glanced over and saw the girl clutching an empty plastic cola bottle—evidence that before the ordeal she had drunk plentiful soda and now desperately needed relief. 

Her eyes pleaded imploringly with fellow passengers until at last a short-haired girl volunteered, "I'll accompany you. Don't close the door; I'll keep watch so no one else enters. Once you're done, I'll wait for you."

Ecstatic, the cola girl nodded, "Okay, okay! I won't close it. You have to keep an eye on me—I'll be quick! Then you get your turn, and I'll wait for you too!"

Hand in hand, they ventured toward the restroom, followed at a distance by several passengers, vigilant and apprehensive.

The cola girl stepped gingerly inside, eyes wide with anxiety, her breath taut with tension.

Step by step, she recognized the familiar fixtures and found no lurking menace within. She exhaled softly, stepping entirely inside.

"Ah!"

The passengers erupted into screams of terror.

Half of the girl's body was violently flung outward, the other half crushed within the lavatory. The short-haired girl nearest to her staggered from shock, eyes wide and dilated, mouth agape but voiceless, collapsing to the floor.

Only when her gaze met the eye belonging to the severed half did she release a guttural scream.

"Ahhh!" She fainted from fright.

Chaos erupted in the carriage, cries and screams reverberating endlessly, no one able to reconcile such a horrific spectacle.

Numerous passengers bolted from the carriage, shouting for aid.

"Stop the train! Let me off!"

"Come on, let's find the security officers, together!"

Eric remained motionless, forcing herself to stay calm and seated.

She judged that with such turmoil, it would be unwise to frantically join the crowd.

Amidst the fleeing throng another scream shattered the air. Eric sat up sharply, peering toward the disturbance—panicked passengers scattered wildly as one person fell motionless to the ground. His severed head rolled several times before settling.

She swallowed a scream deeply stifled, her mind a blur of confusion.

No understanding, no clues.

She knew the restroom was forbidden and instant noodles were off-limits, yet the murderous threats were utterly erratic! One had to stumble upon catastrophe to discern what was forbidden. Thus, Eric sat rigidly, avoiding attention, so as not to mark herself an "outlier."

But why, amidst the fleeing mass and clamorous dread, was one solitary man beheaded? What manner of death had he suffered?

Could her own immobility condemn her as an "outlier"?

Her swirling thoughts settled into icy dread; her face drained of color suddenly.

What use were these conjectures? None whatsoever.

The imperative was to fathom how he died. She had seen no killer. Where was the assassin? How could one sever an adult man's head as cleanly as one might pluck a melon?

Was such a feat even humanly possible?

Eric shuddered to her core.

Was this truly a mere ordinary quest?

Others trembled in equal terror, the air heavy with the stench of urine.

The intercom crackled to life, urging passengers to maintain composure and await instructions at their seats.

The voice carried a strange, electric undertone that sent a shiver through the crowd.

Gradually, passengers drifted back to their seats; the carriage fell into deathly silence. The stark white lighting cast an uncanny pallor, compelling anyone who dared to speak to be stifled. Children were muffled by their guardians' trembling hands.

Someone prodded Eric's back. She did not turn her head.

After a moment, the prod came again, the finger lingering. Behind her sat the youth player. Irritation flared; what was his intent? At such a time, should he not speak plainly instead of persistently poking?

Slowly, Eric turned, her upper body pivoting as well, determined to discern his purpose.

Her eyes locked with the boy's mischievous gaze. Clearly, his repeated prodding concealed some impish scheme.

A sudden flash of white light flickered before her eyes—too swift to grasp or anticipate.

She watched, horrified, as the youth's head, still adorned with that fresh, vivid expression of slyness, unexpectedly slipped from his neck.

It fell directly toward her face.

Time seemed to freeze; Eric's mind emptied utterly.