Bullet Train Siege Omnibus

  Nick Nolace

  Copyright © 2026 Nick Nolace

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Shout Out

  Dukes of Harem

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/dukesofharem

  Club Kaiju

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/484560235438701

  Harem GameLit

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/HaremGamelit/about

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Shout Out

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  Chapter 32

  Afterword

  CHAPTER 1

  I blinked and slowly opened my eyes. My head felt heavy, like I’d been asleep for ages. The world around me rattled gently, and a low mechanical hum rose and fell beneath my seat. I was on a train. That much I could see. Rows of empty seats stretched around me, each one with the same plush upholstery and dull coloring. The overhead lights were faint, leaving sparse shadows in corners. I glanced out of the window, only to see darkness streaked with white flakes. It was night—intensely black outside—yet snow still poured past. I couldn’t see anything beyond the swirling veil of white.

  I tried to recall how I got here, but my mind was more or less empty. There were no clear memories about yesterday, last week, or even personal details beyond a single name. Asher. I repeated it in my head a few times, then said it under my breath. That word felt comfortable, like my body recognized it. I swerved my gaze around the train car, hoping for any sign of life besides myself. Everything was silent and still. The seats, the overhead compartments, the closed doors at both ends of the car—everything in perfect order, but without a single passenger.

  I stood, left hand gripping the armrest for balance when the train shook lightly. I wore simple clothes: dark jeans, boots, a plain T-shirt under a light jacket. Nothing about what I was wearing gave me any clue about who I was, aside from the name still running circles in my mind. Asher… Asher… that’s me. My belt had no phone attached. My pockets were empty. I couldn’t find a wallet or an ID. There was no baggage next to me. It was as if I’d been planted here with no personal items beyond the clothes on my body.

  I scanned above for an intercom or some speaker, some sign that maybe I could call for help. On the ceiling, I did notice metal grilles that presumably broadcast announcements, but there wasn’t a single sound coming from them. No conductor’s voice, no warnings, no instructions. It was too quiet. The only comforting thing was the consistent movement of the train. At least I wasn’t stranded in place, even if I was uncertain where we were headed.

  I started to walk, feeling the gentle sway under my feet as the train roared along the tracks. I moved toward one end, searching for a door that would lead to the next car. The sleek gray metal parted with a faint hydraulic hiss when I pressed the button. On the other side, I found a short passage that connected this passenger section to another. The corridor was tight, with a few overhead lights that flickered for a moment as I stepped through.

  I paused and wrestled with a thousand questions. Who am I, beyond my name? Why am I alone on this monstrous bullet train at night with snow pounding the windows? Who put me on board—did I board willingly? In my confusion, I half-hoped I’d spot a staff member waiting in the next car, someone to explain everything. But the puzzle pieces refused to snap together. My heart drummed faster, though I kept breathing steadily, determined not to panic.

  The next door slid open, revealing a bar car. Rows of stools lined a polished counter. Behind the counter, shelves stored an impressive selection of drinks—beers, liquors, wines—though none had brand names I recognized at a glance. The overhead lights here were a bit brighter, reflecting off the metal countertop and tile floor. Tables were scattered around, but they were empty, chairs neatly tucked in place. Napkins were carefully folded at each table setting, like the staff had prepped everything for service but then vanished.

  I stepped forward and set my hand on the bar. “Hello?” I said, my voice echoing slightly. There was no answer. I looked around to see if maybe a bartender was crouched behind the counter, but nobody was there. I walked the length of the bar, scanning each shelf. Everything was in order. Not a single sign of disturbance. I called out again, “Anybody?” just on the off chance someone was in the back storeroom. Silence.

  It struck me how bizarre this was. A passenger train usually had more than one or two people on board, especially in a bar car. And if it was absolutely vacant, then maybe the trip was canceled or I boarded at the wrong time. But the steady motion outside, the night, the swirling snow—none of it gave me answers.

  I slid around the counter to see if there was a faucet or something I could use. My throat felt a bit dry, and I needed something to ground myself. There was no bartender stopping me, so I opened a few small sliding doors at the back of the counter. One had glasses, meticulously arranged. Another door had ice, though it looked half-melted from disuse. The next door contained some sodas in cans, neatly stacked. I grabbed the top can of soda, closed the door, and cracked it open.

  The bubbled fizz was strangely reassuring. I sipped. Cold, sweet. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I drank half the can in one go. I set it down, took a breath, and tried to piece together a plan. Waking in a deserted train seemed absolutely foreign, but I had to do something proactive. Sitting still and feeling sorry for my fractured memory wasn’t going to help. I looked around for a phone line, an employee phone, or some console that I might use to talk to the conductor. If I found them, maybe I could get an explanation. But in this bar area, all I saw was standard restaurant equipment—no direct phone line.

  I hopped back around to the front of the bar and spotted a panel on the wall. It was small, about the size of a paperback book, with a screen and some buttons beneath it. I examined it closely. The screen was dark, but it looked like it might be some sort of built-in system to request a server or ring for assistance. I pressed one of the buttons. Nothing happened. I tried them all, quickly, with no luck. It either had no power or was offline.

  “Fantastic,” I muttered to myself. “Wherever the staff went, they decided to leave me out of the loop.” I tried to maintain a calm perspective. If the entire train was empty, that meant nobody was around to explain anything. But maybe there were other passengers in different cars. There had to be someone operating the train.

  I finished the rest of the soda, hopped off the bar stool, and returned the can to the counter. The best I could do was move on. The train had multiple cars, presumably. I would see what else there was. If the first passenger car had all seats empty, maybe the next ones would have a clue. Or a person. Or something.

  I popped open a small side door next to the bar that led into a storage closet. It contained cleaning supplies, some extra crates of unopened bottles, but nothing helpful. No keys, no passcodes, no staff uniforms. Exhaling, I left it behind.

  As I threaded my way between the tables, I decided to check the other side of the bar car. At the far end of the car, there was another set of sliding doors with a large rectangular window in the center. I approached and tried to peer through the glass. The corridor beyond was dark. The overhead lights were dim or off. I could barely make out any details. Between the reflection of the bar car lights behind me and the darkness in the next area, I could see only my own faint reflection: a tallish man, short dark hair, wearing a somewhat perplexed expression. No new clues there.

  With a firm step, I pressed the door release button. The door slid open with that quiet hiss. Now I was in a darker coupling corridor. The floor was metal plating, the walls scuffed a little. Still no sign of anyone. The door behind me eased shut, leaving me standing in near darkness. I tried the next door. It slid open automatically, giving me a glimpse into another passenger seating section. Rows of seats again, but not as well-lit as the original car I’d come from. A few overhead lights flickered. I took one cautious step in.

  “Hello?” I said once more, pausing as if expecting to see a head pop up. No response. This new car looked just as empty. I noticed tiny LED panels near the ceiling that displayed a route or something, but they were blank. Maybe they’d never been turned o
n. It was eerie.

  My mind started racing. was I in danger? Why else would the train be abandoned at night, with no staff? Then again, everything was so orderly that it felt more like an intentional arrangement than a dangerous meltdown. Either way, I decided I’d keep my guard up. I looked around, searching for anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon if it came to that. But the seats seemed clean, and the overhead compartments were all shut. No items lying around. There was an urge in the back of my mind to rummage through them, but I hesitated. Breaking them open might lead to more confusion. And if, for some reason, the staff returned, it might look like I was vandalizing the train.

  Instead, I kept walking further into the car, scanning each row, hoping maybe a passenger was slumped asleep. But each seat was empty. The faint overhead lights accentuated the vacant rows. Eventually, I reached the middle of the car, where a wide door on one side led into a small rest area or perhaps a bathroom. I tapped the door button and it opened. Inside were a couple of closed stalls, sinks, mirrors. Nobody in there. When I was done checking it, I let the door close and returned to the aisle.

  The stillness was unsettling. I also noticed something else, the movement of the train was smooth, unnaturally so for a typical commuter route. There was no normal rattling or jostling around corners. It felt like we were on a straight path, at high speed. Maybe that was normal for a bullet train, but I wished I knew its destination. Sighing, I continued until I reached the far end of the car.

  Another door to pass through. I pressed the button. It slid open, revealing another short corridor. Again, it was dim, overhead lights sputtering uncertainly. Before stepping through, I paused. Something about this entire environment was too quiet, as if it had been set up as a stage rather than a living, breathing train. My instincts told me to keep going, but to remain sharp for something unexpected.

  I tried to see if the door on the opposite side had a window. It did, though it was grimy or tinted, making the next car look even darker. Suddenly, a small speaker on the right side of the corridor crackled. I spun around. It was quiet again—maybe a static pop. I listened for a moment, hand hovering near the speaker grill. Nothing else came. No voice. No announcements.

  That random burst made me more anxious to see if the train had an actual conductor operating from an engine car. If so, maybe I could get an explanation. But I had no sense of how many cars separated me from the front. The train felt massive, like it was made of a dozen or more compartments.

  The door to the next car finally slid open for me. Cold overhead fluorescents flickered, stuttering the entire interior in and out of brightness. Another passenger car. No people. Empty seats. As I stepped inside, I found the same pattern: everything in place, no luggage, no jackets left behind. It was like the train was prepared for a route but nobody boarded except me.

  CHAPTER 2

  Halfway through this car, I spotted a small control panel near the ceiling that seemed different from the ones in the bar car. This one had a microphone attached below a black screen. I craned my head up, investigating. It might be an intercom unit for normal passenger announcements. If I was lucky, I could press a call button and speak to whoever was controlling the train. It was mounted about a foot above my head, so I lifted an arm and pressed the only visible button next to the microphone. An electric beep sounded. I cleared my throat.

  “Hello? Is anybody up front? My name’s Asher… I… I don’t know how I got here. If you can hear me, please respond.” I let go of the button and listened. No immediate response. I tried again. “If someone can hear me, I’d appreciate a reply. I’m alone in the passenger cars.” I released the button and waited a few more seconds. Nothing but the hum of the train. I quietly cursed under my breath and stood there for a moment, half-hoping someone would speak up. Of course, there was still no response.

  Fine, I thought, glancing around. I may as well keep going. Maybe further up I’d find a staff lounge, or the locomotive area, or something that could give me direct contact with the train crew. Any explanation would do: mechanical glitch, freak accident, or an elaborate practical joke. If it was a joke, it was in bad taste.

  The flickering lights overhead started to irritate my eyes, so I proceeded more quickly toward the next door. I reached it, pressed the panel, and stepped through to the coupling corridor. This corridor was better lit, at least. A sign overhead read, “BAR CAR,” with an arrow pointing behind me, and “LOUNGE AHEAD,” with an arrow pointing forward. I paused. So the train was definitely laid out in sections: passenger seating, bar, lounge, presumably more seating, maybe a dining car. That felt normal for a long bullet train. Still, the emptiness was not.

  Trying to maintain focus, I spoke in a low voice to myself, “Just keep moving. There has to be an answer further on.” Preparing for the possibility of an intruder or something equally strange, I clenched my fists. Disoriented or not, I still felt I could defend myself, at least enough to run if needed.

  When the next door slid open, I expected a lounge area, but surprisingly, it was a small staff corridor with a supply closet on one side. The overhead sign must have referred to an upcoming lounge. The corridor itself was short, leading toward a heavier sliding door at the far end. The supply closet was locked with a keypad. I pressed the handle—no luck. I glanced at the keypad: it was blank. No lights, no power. So I continued onward. The next door looked more reinforced. A sign next to it read, “Lounge Car,” confirming I was headed in the right direction.

  I pressed the panel. The door slid open with a slightly louder hiss than before. At once, warm lighting poured out from the lounge area. The space was reminiscent of the bar car—tables, chairs, plush seating. But it was slightly rearranged, more casual, with couches instead of stools. Tall windows lined both sides, though I still saw nothing except swirling blackness and flying snow. The lounge was equally as silent and empty as the bar. Not a single soul was inside.

  Stepping carefully across the threshold, I checked corners, behind couches, behind a short partition. All clear. I let out a long exhale, feeling the emptiness again. The only difference now was that the lounge had a small stage area at one end, complete with a microphone stand and overhead lights that pointed to where a performer might entertain passengers. The seats were arranged in a semi-circle around that stage, facing it. I moved past the rows of small tables designed for folks to set drinks on while they watched a show. Everything was neat, no sign of a struggle.

  My eyes drifted to a side wall, where a large digital clock was mounted. It read “20:02,” presumably meaning it was just past 8:00 p.m. There was no calendar date visible. And if the train was traveling at that hour, it was presumably a late route. That might have explained the darkness, though that still didn’t help me figure out the overall situation.

  I sat on one of the lounge sofas, pressing my palms against my knees, taking stock of myself. All I had was my name and the knowledge that I was alone on a silent bullet train. “It’s not much,” I whispered. “But it’s a start.” Maybe if I kept moving forward, I’d find answers. I briefly shut my eyes, trying to recall any memory that might come if I forced it, but my mind was blank. The only stable thing I had was the sense that my name was Asher.

  Without turning up anything else in the lounge, I decided to keep going. I got up, walked past the stage, and found another door in the corner that likely led to the next train car. The sign on it read, “Transition to Next Car.” It was unremarkable, just like the rest. I pressed the door button. Nothing. I felt a pang of anxiety. Maybe it was locked, or powered down?

  I tried again, jamming my thumb into the button. A mechanical click sounded, and the door parted, though only about six inches. A rush of cold air swept in from the next corridor, making me shiver. I stuck my hand around the door’s edge and tried to slide it further. It slowly gave way, as if the mechanism was partially jammed. Finally, after a bit of effort, the door slid open enough for me to step through.

  On the other side, the lights were mostly out. A single flicker or two as the overhead bulbs tried to stay alive. The corridor was short, same as before. Bundles of wires lined the corners, partially exposed. It seemed like a maintenance area, not designed for passengers. The floor was a grated metal walkway. “Lounge Car” was behind me, according to the sign. Ahead looked like a door leading back into normal passenger territory. I took slow steps forward, scanning for any movement.