The Arklay Mountains loomed in a damp haze as the SUV rolled to a silent stop just beyond the treeline. Jasen stepped out, boots crunching softly over dirt and broken gravel. Dense fog drifted between trunks of towering pines, but through it, he saw it clearly: the Ecliptic Express, its sleek silver cars standing eerily still on the forested railway track.
Jasen moved in silence, his breath measured, his gear secured tight against his body. His face was partially covered in a black tactical scarf, hood pulled low to shield his identity. Every step toward the train felt like retracing a memory he never lived—but remembered vividly.
He drew his sidearm and moved with precision, navigating the outer edge of the cars. Then he heard it—footsteps. Someone was approaching fast.
Jasen pressed against the side of the car, pistol raised just as the figure came into view.
Billy Coen.
His clothes was half-tattered, blood dried at the edges, revolver in his hand. He spotted Jasen immediately, posture shifting to defense as he raised the weapon.
"Stop right there. Don't move."
"Easy," Jasen said, voice calm, modulated just slightly. "I'm not here to bring you in."
"No? Then what the hell do you want?"
Jasen lowered his gun slightly, just enough to show non-hostility.
"I'm here to help you. But I need your help in return."
Billy didn't lower his weapon.
"Who the hell are you?"
Jasen hesitated.
"Call me Dante."
Billy scoffed. "Cute. Like the poet."
"Something like that."
Billy took a slow step forward, eyes narrowed.
"You said you're here to help. Why? Why would anyone help a guy convicted of massacring civilians in Africa?"
"Because I know you didn't do it," Jasen said evenly. "I know that your team fired on the civilians when you tried to stop it they knocked you out and blamed you. I know your orders were to look for an enemy encampment and all you found was a small village. I also know the dead personnel from your transport? That wasn't you either. And none of that matters, because even if you could prove your innocence, no one's going to listen while monsters are crawling through the trees."
Billy blinked, caught off guard.
Jasen continued.
"You're in a worse situation than you know. And the only way out is to play the long game."
"And what game is that?"
"Survival. And helping someone who can help you."
Billy lowered the weapon slowly. "You still haven't told me how you know all this."
"I have my ways," Jasen said simply. "Let's just say I've seen how this story ends."
Billy glanced toward the train.
"There's someone else on board. A girl. Young. Looks military."
"Rebecca Chambers," Jasen said. "She's with STARS. And she'll need backup."
Jasen pulled a black duffle bag from his side and tossed it to Billy, who caught it and unzipped it partially. Inside: spare ammo, a field knife, first aid spray, energy bars, and a sealed letter.
"What's this?"
"Insurance. Gear you'll need. And a letter—give that to Rebecca when you meet her."
Billy frowned. "What's it say?"
"Enough to help her trust you."
Billy zipped the bag shut. "So I follow this train, play bodyguard, and hope the rookie doesn't shoot me in the back?"
"More or less."
Billy looked at Jasen again. "And what about you, 'Dante'? Where are you going?"
Jasen's eyes glinted behind the shadows of his hood.
"To see a dead man about revenge."
"That supposed to mean something?"
Jasen turned away, already walking toward the forest path. Over his shoulder, he said, "It will."
Then he vanished into the mist.
Behind him, Billy Coen stood silent, holding the weight of the bag—and the weight of what was to come.
Ahead of Jasen was the mansion.
The nightmare was unfolding.