Cold, darkness, and a constant droning hum.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a metallic floor beneath him.

He had been lying on his stomach, his right arm pinned under him, now numb and feeling like a foreign object. With some effort, he rolled onto his back to get the blood flowing again. Lying there, he could feel the faint vibrations of wheels on rails as the train moved forward.

"What did they do to me?" he whispered. "Where the hell am I?"

A minute or two later, Billy Jones sat up. He was in the last car of a train, staring at the tracks vanishing behind them, illuminated briefly by the tram’s lights before disappearing into darkness. The windows around him reflected the compartment’s interior. The occasional streaks of emergency lights flashing by outside. In the reflections, he saw a dreamlike image of himself, utterly alone, standing in an empty train heading nowhere.

Was this really happening?

The reflection showed he was still wearing a surgical cap and mask. Thinking he no longer had any use for them, he tentatively touched his head like it belonged to a stranger, removed the cap and mask, and stared at an entirely unfamiliar face.

A completely unknown figure.

Tall—taller than he’d ever perceived himself—and gaunt. The overhead light glared on his bald head, casting shadows over the hollows of his eyes. He stepped closer to the train window, gripping a metal pole for balance, and as he studied the strange face that was somehow his own, he gently ran his fingertips over his cold cheeks, his forehead, and his tiny ears.

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Bony hands.

Skin so thin he could see blood pulsing through the veins beneath.

He thought he must be the most fragile creature on Earth.

Turning away from his reflection, Billy walked through the empty rows of seats toward the end of the car. An automatic door slid open, revealing the next section—just as empty.

Where was this train headed?

And why was he the only passenger?

He kept moving, passing through another door into yet another ghostly, abandoned car. Outside the windows, the darkness pressed against the glass. He must still be deep underground, he thought, as he slipped through a narrow passage. He had to steady himself on a seatback when the ride suddenly grew bumpier. Step by step, he made his way along the aisle, heading toward the driver’s cabin.

He wasn’t entirely alone after all.

The tram operator sat slumped forward, staring blankly ahead as the headlights lit up the tracks and the tunnel walls. Billy leaned so close to the tinted glass that his breath fogged it up. They were speeding through the underground tube at an incredible pace. The rails disappeared beneath the train in a blur. The operator didn’t move, except to press the dead man’s switch at regular intervals and occasionally adjust a few buttons. The whole time, his gaze stayed fixed on the tunnel ahead.

Billy wiped the fog off the glass with his sleeve, hesitated, and then knocked on the window.

No reaction.

None of the startled responses you’d expect when someone was suddenly spooked. The tram driver didn’t scream or even flinch. He simply rested his hands in his lap, as though he’d known all along someone was standing behind him. Slowly, he swiveled halfway around in his chair, turning his face toward Billy.

Billy took a step back.

His heart was racing.

His chest rose and fell with excitement.

His face was a mask of fear.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you following me everywhere?"