“Shove it,” Blair muttered.

  The Conductor’s laugh echoed, tinny and irritating. “I look forward to seeing how you adapt. If you think your old ways will carry you forward, you’re mistaken. Reinvent yourselves, or perish. Pleasant hunting.”

  The speaker clicked off, leaving behind that dull electrical buzz. I took a few steps deeper into the car, then saw a small corridor that branched to the left—maybe leading to a supply closet or a side lounge. The overhead sign said EMPLOYEES ONLY. Beneath it was a single bullet-riddled door. Could be something in there.

  “Let’s check that,” I said, pointing. “We might find something to open the checkpoint door.”

  We moved carefully toward the employees-only door. Alina pressed an ear against it and gave a slight shrug. “I don’t hear anything.”

  I pulled my baton up, braced for trouble. Blair hovered behind me with her pistol held low but ready.

  I yanked open the door. Inside was a short hallway lined with small lockers. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead. It looked ransacked—broken locks, doors hanging open, scattered trash. I felt a flash of disappointment. It was exactly like the rest of this train: tossed to hell. But a few lockers were still closed, maybe locked. Could be worth a look.

  We spread out, quietly checking for anything useful. Alina pried at one locker door, but it was jammed. Blair kicked another door until it snapped open. Inside, we found an empty holster, some loose bullets that didn’t match our guns, and a tangle of wires. No keycard.

  I spotted a battered vending machine at the end of the corridor. The brand name was half scratched off, but a bold sign read: EQUIPMENT. My adrenaline rose. This was exactly how I’d originally found my baton—a random gear dispenser that spat out items if you had the right tokens. We rummaged through our pockets, but no new tokens. We’d used the last we had in a previous car.

  “Maybe it’s jammed or out of order,” Alina said, glancing at the broken display.

  Frustrated, I smashed the side of the vending machine with my baton. “Come on, give us something.”

  A soft whir sounded from inside. Blair looked at me, eyes wide. Then a digital text crawl flickered across the cracked screen: Token error. Please insert card #02.

  “So much for that,” I muttered. Even the vending machine wanted a keycard we didn’t have.

  Defeated, we circled back to the main passenger area, hearts pounding at every squeak. Finally, we returned to the sealed checkpoint. No sign of a keycard among the seats or anywhere along the walkway. My mind kept racing—there had to be some other door or compartment. We combed the walls and found a small access panel under the floor near the checkpoint door. A thick cable ran from the panel into the keycard reader.

  Blair knelt. “We might be able to rewire this, skip the card entirely.”

  “Worth a shot.” I crouched beside her, but the moment she pried open the metal flap, a loud beep erupted.

  “Unauthorized access detected,” blared a robotic voice from the same speaker. “Please swipe keycard or remain locked out.”

  She quickly shut the panel. “Damn it.”

  Alina folded her arms and stared at the sealed checkpoint. “We can’t go back, we can’t open this. Unless we scavenge further or figure out how to cheat the system. Which means another part of this car might have what we need.”

  I nodded. “We’ll find it. We push forward, no matter the risk.”

  “But we can’t push forward,” Blair said, frustration shading her tone. “That’s the problem.”

  I lowered my baton. “I mean, we keep exploring this entire car. We must’ve missed something. We can’t just cave in to The Conductor’s game.”

  Before we split up, I heard the overhead speaker click again. My stomach dropped. That laugh. “I said this train will only accept winners, not losers. Every step you take is a chance to prove what you are. By all means, keep going.”

  I gritted my teeth. “He wants us to second-guess ourselves, waste time.” I took a few steps toward the far corner, near the rows of seats, ignoring the ominous rattle from the HVAC system overhead. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”

  My mind flickered with old questions. Who was I before? Why do I know how to handle a baton in a fight, or keep a mental track of ammunition? There must have been training in my past, but it felt like a dream slipping away.

  I signaled for them to follow as I moved to the last row of seats near a battered restroom door. Sure enough, behind that door was a small, out-of-order bathroom. In the corner was a hatch marked SERVICE. I pried it open, stepping down into a cramped storage area that smelled like chemicals and wet steel.

  Alina followed me first, then Blair. The narrow crawl space forced us practically single-file. My shoulders brushed the walls. The overhead was only a few inches above my head. Dim lights flickered, revealing a small metal table in the corner with scattered tools. And there—lying in the corner—was a battered maintenance wallet with a faded ID card partially sticking out.

  My heart skipped. “Look,” I said, inching closer.

  Alina let out a soft breath of relief. “That’s gotta be it.”

  I picked it up, brushing away grime. The card was laminated, featuring a photo of some middle-aged guy wearing a train uniform. The text read: LEVEL 2 CLEARANCE – CAR #14. I stared at it. “This might be our key.”

  Blair’s eyebrows lifted. “Check the backside. Could be coded for that reader upstairs.”

  I flipped it. The magnetic strip looked intact. “Alright, let’s see if we can open that door without pissing off half the assassins on this train.”

  We climbed back out of the hatch, the weight of the card in my hand making me feel slightly more confident. Alina and Blair fanned out, scanning the corners in case we triggered a trap. I swiped the card. The reader beeped from red to green.

  With a metallic groan, the checkpoint door slid open. My breath fogged in the cold air streaming from the next car. A faint overhead light revealed another corridor. For once, it looked quiet—no immediate sign of enemies or more locked doors. We stepped inside, keeping formation. When the bulkhead slammed behind us, it was as though we’d passed the test The Conductor laid out.

  Up ahead, a giant placard reading “KEYCARD REQUIRED” glowed overhead. “Guess we’ll need more than one if we’re going to keep advancing,” Blair said, exhaling slowly.

  I ran my thumb over the card’s surface. “This is only a start. If The Conductor wants to test how we handle each challenge, we’ll have to adapt—like he said.”

  Alina stepped close, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We survive by choosing who we are now, not by who we were. Right?”

  I nodded, meeting her warm brown eyes. For a moment, that gave me the resolve to stand straighter. “Exactly. And if we’re going to prove it, let’s move.”

  A low hiss preceded The Conductor’s voice one last time, “Only winners move forward. And you have so far. Bravo.” The line crackled off, leaving us alone again in the flickering corridor, each with a racing heart.

  “Let’s see where it goes,” I told the girls. And as we advanced, I couldn’t help the faint flicker of hope that maybe soon we’d find answers—some clue about why we were here, why we couldn’t remember our pasts, and how to reach the front of this damned train to face The Conductor in person.

  Chapter 24

  The corridor beyond the checkpoint was narrower than expected, forcing us to move single-file. My breath billowed in the cold. We stepped quietly, but every footstep echoed on metal panels. Soon, we emerged into a wide car with forging-like lights overhead. Vents spewed hissing steam. Rows of cargo crates lined each side like a makeshift barricade, with a walkway down the center.

  I froze, scanning the perimeter. My instincts told me we’d walked into a kill zone. And sure enough, the moment we were fully inside, bullet fire tore across the crates. Sparks showered from ricochets.

  “Down!” I yelled. We dove behind the crates, hearts pounding, as muzzle flashes lit the gloom. I caught sight of black-clad figures perched behind the upper walkway railings, rifles in hand. Grunts—The Conductor’s foot soldiers, or maybe hired assassins. I didn’t know or care. All that mattered was taking them out or pushing through.

  Alina pressed her back against a crate, brown eyes wide. “We don’t have enough ammo for a long shootout.”

  Blair, pistol in hand, grit her teeth. “We might have to force our way through.”

  I nodded, mentally tallying how many rounds we had left. Blair carried a pistol with a single partial magazine. My baton wouldn’t help much against a firing line from a distance. “We’ll have to be smart.”

  A bullet clipped the corner of the crate, sending a shard of metal whizzing past. Blair flinched. “We can’t just wait here. They’ll flank us.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Alright, on three, we move to that next crate stack. Alina, you watch left. Blair, I’ll try to distract them so you can get a shot.” She gave me a quick nod in acknowledgment. I counted down, then we sprinted.

  Gunfire roared. My lungs burned from the effort of running in the cold air. I dove behind the next stack of crates, baton clutched in my left hand. Blair took position a few feet away, popped up, and fired three shots toward the shooters above us. Once again, we had to duck to avoid their barrage. They were peppering the crates relentlessly.

  “These guys are chewing through our cover,” I said, eyes darting for a better approach. “We need to force them to reposition.”

  Alina pointed to the far side of the car. I followed her gesture to a maintenance cabinet mounted on the wall. “If there’s something in there—like a keycard—it might trigger an alarm,” she said. “But we need it, right?”

  A string of bullets hammered the metal overhead, cutting off any easy route. I grimaced. “There’s got to be a reason that cabinet’s so obvious. The Conductor might have set a trap.”

  Blair risked another shot, but one of the grunts fired back, forcing her down. “Yeah, but we don’t have enough ammo to search the whole damn train for a safer option. We have to grab that card.”

  “Conserve ammo or search for an untrapped card,” Alina said, repeating the debate out loud. “But we’re pinned.”

  It was a direct reflection of what we’d faced before. Wasting time rummaging around a train car we already left behind wasn’t possible. Retreat seemed impossible. We had to keep moving.

  “Any bright ideas?” Blair asked me, not unkindly, just frustrated.

  I took stock of the situation. The longer we stayed pinned, the less ammo we’d have. We had to do something. “We risk the alarm,” I said, forcing confidence into my voice. “We grab the card, and we fight through the response. Better we pick the terms than be stuck here.”

  “Agreed,” Blair said firmly.

  We formed a quick plan: I would dash to the cabinet, yank it open, and grab whatever I could. Blair would lay down cover fire from behind the crates. Alina would watch for flankers. Once I had the card, we’d fall back into the narrow connector behind us. We could set up a choke point from there, forcing them to come to us.

  I took a deep breath, readied my baton. “On my mark.” Blair lifted her pistol, took aim. “Mark!”

  She popped up and fired several rounds, drawing the attackers’ focus. I bolted from cover, heart hammering. The distance to the cabinet felt endless. Bullets pinged around me. Adrenaline surged. I slid the last few feet, catching the metal handle of the cabinet and flinging it open. Sure enough, a keycard dangled from a small chain inside, labeled CAR #15. My eyes flicked to a blinking red light at the top of the cabinet—an alarm device. The second I grabbed the card, an earsplitting klaxon blared through the car. Red lights strobed overhead.

  “Warning! Unauthorized removal detected. Security response engaged.”

  Like clockwork, a door on the far side slid open, and I saw a squad of black-armored assassins stepping out. They carried heavier weapons, including riot shields. This was the Conductor’s real muscle, drawn by the alarm. “Go, go, go!” I shouted, clutching the keycard.

  I sprinted back to Blair and Alina behind the crates. Blair fired her last two shots, forcing the new arrivals to slow momentarily. Then we retreated to the door leading back out—a narrow connector we’d passed. The moment we got behind that door, Blair and Alina slid the latch from our side. It likely wouldn’t hold them off for long, but it created a short barrier.

  A deep pounding against the door told me the security squad was already on us. I turned to the corridor behind us. It was the same one we’d used to enter the cargo region, a tight space with no alternative path for them to flank. Perfect. “We set up here,” I said. “Force them into a funnel.”

  Alina nodded, pressing herself against the corridor wall. Blair ejected her spent magazine, rummaging for a spare. She looked panicked for a second, then Alina fished out a half-full mag from her jacket pocket—one we’d scavenged earlier. We loaded it, hearts pounding.

  “Thanks,” Blair said quietly. Alina just gave a faint smile.

  Cracks sounded from the door’s hinges, and I stepped up front with my baton. “I’ll handle close-range. Blair, pop them as they come through. Alina, keep reloading when needed.”

  A metallic crash. The door flew open, revealing the first assassin in black ballistic gear, face shield down, brandishing a shock-stave that sparked with electrical arcs. He lunged, and I met him with a swing of my baton. My heart pounded to the base of my throat.

  This was it—we either adapted or died.

  Chapter 25

  The first assassin’s shock-stave hissed with bright blue sparks. I brought my baton up, deflecting the staff to the side. Electric discharge crackled across the metal, and my teeth rattled from the force. Pain shot up my arm, but I managed to twist the stave away from my torso.

  From behind me, Blair took advantage of that opening, landing a careful shot into the assassin’s shoulder—where the vest ended. The assailant staggered, giving me time to bash him across the helmet. He crumpled, and we dragged him aside so he wouldn’t block the doorway.

  But there were more.

  The next one stormed through with the same shock-stave approach. I braced for the strike, listening to the sizzle of electricity. I shifted my stance, flicking my baton up from below. The tip caught him in the wrist. He yelped as the weapon dropped, and a single shot from Blair’s pistol ended the threat. This synergy among the three of us felt good—the sort of tight teamwork that had become second nature.

  Alina, kneeling at my side, rifled through the downed assassin’s vest. “Got a few extra mags,” she said, tossing them to Blair, who almost fumbled but recovered gracefully. “And—here, another keycard.”

  I looked down and spotted the small plastic card with some cryptic ID. “We’ll figure out which door it opens,” I said, grabbing it. “Keep it safe, Alina.”

  “The next one’s coming!” Blair warned. Another black-clad figure surged through, but this time armed with a compact shotgun. She fired a quick shot that grazed him, but he raised the barrel. My pulse hammered as I realized we didn’t have good cover in this narrow corridor.

  Without hesitation, Alina shoved me aside, pressing herself tight to the wall. I lunged forward, baton high. Before the assassin could pull the trigger, I cracked him across the face shield. He stumbled, and Blair’s pistol barked again. He dropped.

  With them down, the corridor briefly fell silent. My arms shook with adrenaline, sweat trickling down my temple. After a few heartbeats, no more came surging in. I exhaled in relief.

  The final count: three well-armed assassins, neutralized. The cargo car behind them still echoed with the klaxon alarm. We had maybe seconds before more reinforcements arrived or the door sealed. We regrouped, panting.

  Blair checked her pistol. “I’m almost out again.”

  Alina knelt to loot the bodies. “We’ve got a little more ammo, some basic gear.” She looked uncertain. “No sign of— Wait, here’s something else.”

  From one of the assassin’s pouches, she pulled out a small, sealed package of snack bars. I almost laughed at how mundane it looked. “Food,” she said. “At least it’ll keep us going for a bit.”

  I grabbed the package, tucking it into a side pocket. “Any more keycards?” She shook her head. Right—just the single one we took from the second assassin.

  “Think we can open the next door with these two cards?” Blair asked, looking between me and Alina.

  “Only one way to find out.” I took a step back to the corridor’s end. The door that had originally led us to the cargo hold was now locked with a red light. I frowned, searching for a slot. Didn’t see one. “Maybe further in,” I said, pointing to the direction the assassins had come from. “We keep heading forward.”

  We crept back into the cargo area, stepping over the battered door. Our fight had scattered crates and left shell casings across the floor. Overhead, the alarm was still blaring. I looked for some control panel or door. Instead, I saw another exit on the far side: a heavy double-door with two card slots on opposite sides. A digital display read: TIMED LOCK – SWIPE BOTH CARDS TO OPEN.

  Alina pursed her lips. “That’s new.”

  We approached. The sign was clear, someone needed to swipe a keycard in the left terminal and someone else needed to swipe a second keycard in the right terminal, simultaneously. Then the door would unlock. Another twisted game from The Conductor.

  Blair tested it. She placed one keycard in the left slot, but the display flashed WAITING FOR SECOND CARD. The locks didn’t release. “We have to do it at the same time,” she muttered. “And once we do, I bet we only have a few seconds to get through.”

  I looked at the two terminals, spaced maybe fifteen feet apart. “We can coordinate, but we need to be fast.”

  Alina gestured behind us. “They’re going to send more assassins any second. Meanwhile, that alarm is still going.”

  We huddled next to the door, practically shouting over the klaxon. “Alright,” I said, “Alina, you take the left side. Blair will do the right. I’ll stand in the middle with the baton, keep an eye on the hallway. The moment you both swipe, we all sprint through.”