Mizar braced himself against the edge of the chair, knowing that if he fell down, it was going to hurt. But as he steeled himself for the task ahead, he also knew that he needed to do this, no matter what. His stomach felt surprisingly hollow considering that he’d last eaten less than twenty-four hours ago.
I don’t care how unhealthy the food is, he thought to himself. Even if it’s something like cheesecake, I’m going to eat it.
Of course, he needed to get there first. So Mizar shuffled along the length of the railcar, leaning in the opposite direction of whichever way the train jolted him. Based on how recklessly it seemed the train was being driven, the conductor might well have been deliberately jostling him around in an effort to convince Mizar to forget about his quest for food.
The Eternal Night Mine. They’re going to make us work there, I’m just sure of it. And I won’t be able to handle that work for long if I don’t nourish myself.
At last, Mizar reached the end of the first car, where a young woman of possibly Asian descent lay against the door. The woman was either asleep or trying to sleep, so Mizar tried to be quiet around her. Still, he felt a pang of jealousy as he realized that he’d never be able to rest through all this jostling.
He then glanced at the door. On one of the European trains he’d ridden, it was possible to get from car to car simply by pressing a button; this would activate the door between both cars, and you could simply step across. However, there was no such switch here, and it didn’t take Mizar long to realize what he would need to do.
I need a running start. Getting up there is going to require a lot of momentum.
Good thing he had long arms and plenty of upper body strength from the hours he’d spent running with wrist weights. He might have been dead, but Mizar still had the deep lungs required of anyone who wished to climb mountains. Of course, physical fitness was necessary but not sufficient - you also needed a lot of mental fortitude and a little luck.
Mizar took a deep breath, then backed up. Silently counting to three, he burst into a run, leaping upward just as the train rounded a corner and bounced from side to side. The young man let out a gasp of pain, but he still managed to seize the top of the wall separating one railcar from the next.
Okay. Now, here’s where all that upper body strength needs to come into play.
Mizar used his legs to pull himself closer to the rim, and it was only once he did so that he saw how far away the next car was. There was a gap of at least five feet between railings, and he’d have to make the jump when nothing but the train had momentum.
I can do this. I’ve climbed Aconcagua - I have it in the bag.
Something about how high the stakes were chilled him to the bone, however. If Mizar fell to the ground, he’d be instantly crushed by the wheels of the train as they went around and around. He wasn’t ready to move on to the post-afterlife; not yet, anyway.
I promised myself I would get food. And I intend to keep that promise.
Taking a deep breath, Mizar bent his legs backward and leaped like a frog into the next car. He landed pretty hard on the metallic floor, but that was still orders of magnitude better than landing on the track.
As soon as the jolt faded from his legs, he looked up and saw that he was probably in what counted as the “dining car.” There were picnic tables against a handful of benches, suggesting that this had once been where those fancy rich travelers ate their meals on the go. But Mizar didn’t need the cartoonish pictures of Pansage and Grookey, two monkey-like creatures, eating with their parents to know that this dining car was past its prime. Hell, the Miner’s Train as a whole was past its prime.
In any case, he might have found himself in the dining car, but it was devoid of food. Perhaps the next car was a kitchen, but any food there that hadn’t been refrigerated would likely have been spoiled, thus making anyone who ate it violently ill. Mizar might have been hungry, but he wasn’t stupid.
Okay then. Next car it is. I’ll climb all the way to the caboose if I have to.
Mizar continued this routine. Each time he reached the end of a railcar, the ride being more turbulent than a flight over very tall mountains, he would leap upward and just barely grab the rim of the car’s wall. His hands were covered in calluses before long thanks to the sheet metal used to make these walls, and he couldn’t help but grimace each time he put all his weight on his hands.
All of his pain, however, was forgotten as soon as he reached the caboose. It took one look to realize that he’d hit the jackpot.
There were crates (presumably of fruit) labeled with words like Apples, Pears, Oranges, Plums, or whatever the produce contained within may have been. There were loaves of bread, hunks of cheeses and meats to serve as a “deli drawer”, and even an ice chest containing drinks (not that Mizar was so foolish as to drink his calories). Finally, there were several backpacks that he realized he could use to carry the food back to his designated car.
For a moment, Mizar allowed himself to celebrate. However, he didn’t celebrate very long, because the cold reality hit him within seconds.
Well, I’ll probably be caught if I stay here too long. But then, won’t I be caught if I’m in the car with a bunch of fruit cores and crumbs from the bread?
Maybe not. I could always throw my trash out of the train. Yes, that’s littering, but anyone who’s super-moralistic about littering should hope they never see Mount Aconcagua in person - that place is like a sewer.
Mizar didn’t think too long. He started grabbing whatever he could - a handful of apples, half a loaf of bread with which he could make sandwiches, some roast beef and cheddar, and more. While the apples would take days to rot, unrefrigerated meat would spoil within a couple of hours. Therefore, Mizar reasoned that he could keep going back and forth between the front of the train and the caboose whenever he got hungry.
There are worse plans out there. Worse ideas I’ve had, like climbing Mount Everest.
Without ruminating on his past too much, Mizar stuffed all the food he felt like bringing in his backpack. This would be more than enough to last him a day - in fact, he could probably share it with one or two of the other condemned people. But it would go bad before long, so there was no getting around the knowledge that he would need to make this trip again.
Climbing the walls was a little harder while slinging the backpack on one’s shoulder, but within a few minutes, Mizar was three cars up from the caboose. His determination to stick it to Toriel and Lucas for failing him in yesterday’s mission was enough to keep him going, as was the knowledge that he’d get a decent meal at the end of his trek.
Still, this was more tiring than he’d expected, and Mizar was drenched in sweat by the time he reached the car before his own. The train’s length was greater than he’d remembered, and it was only after he’d scaled the final wall that the unthinkable happened.
The train rounded yet another sharp bend in the tunnel, shaking from side to side as it did so. Mizar was forced to bend over to avoid losing his balance, but he suddenly felt unencumbered, almost weightless. He felt inclined to celebrate this sensation, not realizing until a moment later why it wasn’t so great after all.
But the train’s copious shaking continued, and eventually Mizar decided enough was enough. He had to jump for the next car, and then the jostling wouldn’t matter so much. He’d be safely in the first car and able to enjoy the feast he’d packed.
So he leaped forward and fell eight feet to the ground, grimacing with the impact. But the pain left quickly with the knowledge that he’d achieved his goal and could now chow down. There was just one problem…
Where’s my backpack?
Mizar glanced around the car, looking for any place where he might have put it down. But his search turned up no dice, and in the end he understood exactly what had happened.
My shoulders felt so much lighter when I was up there - the backpack must have been blown right off of me! And now it’s on the tracks, no doubt having been crushed by the wheels. I can’t go back for it - that’d be suicide even if I don’t break both legs after jumping from the train.
His only option if he wanted to eat would be to return to the caboose and retrieve more food. However, Mizar also knew he didn’t have the stamina to get all the way back to the caboose, then all the way back to where he was. And if he ate in the caboose, he’d probably get caught. But did that even matter when his limbs ached at the thought of climbing all those walls again?
Mizar’s stomach wanted one thing, but his common sense wanted another. And no matter how much he wanted, even needed to eat something, common sense had to prevail.
So he sat back on the hard floor, bracing himself against the wall so that he wouldn’t get thrown around like a ragdoll, and forced himself to accept that he wouldn’t eat for three more days.
Hunger won’t kill me. I’m already dead. In fact, unless I die in battle or as a result of something else violent, I’m invincible for the time being. But man, it sure would be nice to even have a banana right now!
If that fat cat Toriel and jackal boy Lucas are still watching me now, they’re probably REALLY satisfied that they’re breaking me down. I’ll admit it - I’m suffering right now, and it’s because of them.
In a way, as a now exhausted and very sweaty Mizar slowly drifted off, he reflected on the gaping hole in his mind (or what religious people would call a “soul”). Even after he’d been excommunicated from the Mormon church, a major liability in Utah’s still very conservative dating pool, he’d found a community on all those ex-Mormon forums online. Whenever he’d visited such forums, Mizar had felt as though he had company. Someone was looking out for him, even if it wasn’t God.
But in the absence of any way to communicate with those people on Reddit or any other forums, as well as the lack of contact with his few friends at Jet Force Isekai, Mizar knew he was well and truly alone. He’d feel it in his bones until the day (whether in the distant or near future) when he was nothing but bones.
----------------------------------------
Marie might have been on the brink of quitting last week, but if she were to believe what Sophie had told them about banishment, she was no longer sure she wanted to face that fate.
Of course, she might not have a choice. Not anymore. Toriel and Lucas stared down the quartet of Cabin Gemini, and it was plain to see that they wouldn’t leave without answers.
But if these cabins are indeed bugged - fixed with “audiovisual recording devices” as they say - then they already have all the information they need, don’t they?
“So I’m in a heap of trouble, huh?” Judd asked rhetorically, bringing Marie back to Nexus.
“That’s correct,” Toriel replied matter-of-factly. “In fact, all four of you are.”
“Awww, shucks,” Judd muttered.
Lucas’ red eyes glinted what was likely the brightest shade of scarlet they could possibly muster. “Well, what did you expect? Did you really think that you’d face no consequences for plotting to save Mizar from banishment?”
“Well, no,” Sophie said. “But I didn’t think we’d get caught this easily. Even if we were on a game show.”
“Well, Sophie Frey, that was incredibly short-sighted of you. But it’s not like that matters anymore - the deed has been done, and the deed must therefore be punished.”
Marie gulped. Punishment? Does he mean that he’ll banish us? But maybe banishment would have a silver lining for me specifically. Then again, it’s pretty selfish of me to think that way when the rest of Cabin Gemini would be banished with me. But THEN AGAIN, we don’t care much for each other, do we?
“Despite the seriousness of this offense,” the guildmistress told the group at large, “I am inclined to be lenient. Lucas, do you feel the same way?”
The Lucario shrugged. “It’s up to you, Toriel. You’re the boss here. But for what it’s worth, I agree - it’s a first offense, after all.”
Marie did not relax, however. Their hosts’ definition of lenient might be very different from her own, after all, and it might well involve scrubbing the dining pavilion’s floor with a toothbrush or something equally painstaking. Her back already ached at the prospect of such hard labor.
“Very well, Lucas,” Toriel told her Lucario assistant. Then, turning back to the contestants of Cabin Gemini, she continued thusly: “All four of you will be placed on probation for the next three weeks. But just because you’re not getting a more severe punishment doesn’t mean you can plot against us again, because the consequences will be far worse next time.”
Judd raised an eyebrow. “What does probation entail? Will we have ankle monitors or whatever like those on house arrest in the States?”
“Judd Asgard, you need to get over your patriotism for the United States” Toriel snapped. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, and you need to act like it.”
“Right,” Judd mouthed, scratching his head.
“But to answer your question,” the guildmistress continued, “probation means that you’ll be watched more closely for any sign of wrongdoing, just like it means on Earth. It also means that your scores will be scrutinized more heavily. In fact, if any of you score under 70 during any of the next three missions, all four of you will be banished in addition to the three lowest-scoring parties.”
“That’s right,” Lucas said. “Clearly, Sophie Frey, you’ve found out what happens to those banished. I don’t think any of you four want that to happen. That’s exactly why each of you will no doubt apply yourselves to get the highest scores possible in the next three missions.”
“We were doing that anyway,” Judd retorted. “I was able to get a 78 today even though you gave me one of the most punishing missions imaginable.”
“What can I say?” Toriel replied quizzically. “The missions become more difficult with each one you complete or accomplish. It shouldn’t be a surprise that your third mission was harder than your second, which was harder than your first.”
“Still…” Judd started, but he was interrupted by Lucas.
“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to complain about how abrupt the difficulty spike was. You don’t have to tell me that - you were an Ice-type and had to steal a sword from a horde of Fire-types. We already know what’s going on in all the missions, and so does Nexus - game show, remember?”
Marie watched this conversation as though it were a tennis match. Within the bounds of that analogy, however, it was like a tennis match in which the loser would have their head chopped off. Judd hit the next volley.
“I know,” he began, “that you assigned me that mission as revenge for calling you a loser and a sucker. For the record, I still believe those words describe you perfectly. You just want to tear us all down to create drama for your must-see TV.”
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“For the record, Judd, you don’t know that” Toriel snapped. “You think that. Have you ever considered that you might be wrong about something? Anything?”
“I’ve been wrong before, but I’m not wrong about this,” Judd replied testily. “Lucas, I’m sure you made today’s mission artificially difficult for me as punishment for insulting you. Just tell me…am I right?”
The Lucario made the same gesture that he’d made when Sophie revealed that they were in a game show. He leaned back, then let out the most horrible laugh Marie had ever heard.
“Because we already know so much about you four,” Toriel said over Lucas’ laughter, “I’ll at least be transparent about one thing. Judd, the answer is yes. You don’t insult us so blatantly and expect to get away with it.”
“Well, I did get away with it, didn’t I?” Judd responded. “I mean, I passed today’s mission. If you wanted to get me banished to the mines, it clearly didn’t work.”
Lucas winked at Judd, and Marie grasped the meaning of that wink right away. It seemed to say this: It didn’t work YET. But your insults are going to catch up to you eventually, just you wait.
“In any case,” Toriel stated, “that is the extent of your consequences this time. You’d be well-advised not to plot against us again, or the next time you will face a more severe punishment. All of you should go to bed and prepare for tomorrow…”.
What do we even need to be ready for tomorrow? We’ve only got missions once a week! All we’ll do is bicker and gossip about one another in our interviews - I mean, CONFESSIONALS. That’s exactly what the audience wants, apparently!
“Except for Marie Emerson. Marie, you’re coming with us.”
Marie’s stomach dropped. Today had been so chaotic, like a roller coaster with loops, twists, and turns, and she wanted nothing more than to get off this roller coaster. But no, one last twist was deployed all for her sake.
“You’re not going to…” Marie began. “You’re not going to banish me right now, are you?”
Lucas raised one of his aura-sensing organs. “We already said we aren’t going to banish you four yet. But would you like to be banished?”
“No, of course not” Marie snapped before she could talk herself out of it.
“Are you sure?” the Lucario responded. “You seemed to be on the brink of quitting just last week. If you want out so badly, maybe you should rethink why you’re here.”
“I just wanna be with Clancy,” Marie blurted out.
“Well, that’s not what you chose tonight” Toriel snapped. “Even in the afterlife, your decisions have consequences. But follow us - we’ve got a surprise for you.”
Marie did as she was told, but she felt sure that the word surprise was a euphemism for something she didn’t want to experience. Toriel and Lucas led her to one of those pillar stumps on which she’d given her interviews.
Confessionals. They were confessionals, because we’re on a reality TV set, and everything I say there is broadcast to the world.
Knowing she was being watched felt akin to standing in a windowless room slowly filling with water. Sooner or later, the water would overwhelm her and she would drown. In this case, “drowning” was a metaphor for something less fatal - namely, snapping under all the pressure to perform.
“Wait here,” Lucas commanded. “Samuel will arrive shortly.”
Marie sat obediently upon that pillar stump. While she waited for Samuel to show up, she had several minutes to think about everything that had no doubt been viewed by millions of people and Pokémon. It was one thing to have an embarrassing moment, but most people’s embarrassing moments weren’t broadcast to a global audience.
On Earth, people usually have a choice in whether or not they become a public figure. I didn’t! I just wanted to live my life with Clancy - it was ripped away from me, and now I’ve been robbed of my privacy too!
As Samuel the Lucario strode toward the pillar stump upon which Marie sat, the young woman knew that she’d have to be careful what she said. After all, she’d been lied to during her previous confessionals - she’d been told whatever she said was confidential. Really, that was a lie of omission, but still a lie nonetheless. Her bunkmates were in the dark, but not the audience on Planet Nexus!
“Good evening, Marie Emerson” Samuel said once he was seated on the ground five feet from Marie. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
Marie nodded. “I am.” Mark my words: They’re going to use that against me somehow. I just don’t understand what’d be so suspicious about saying that.
Or maybe they’ll twist my words. This is a reality show, after all.
“Well, not to worry. It is merely a regular confessional you’re here for. It’ll just be one glorious and perfect conversation between the two of us, if you let it remain that way.”
“I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me?”
“Let’s start with last week’s ceremony. Even though you scored a 94 last week, you still threatened to volunteer as tribute for banishment.”
“ Volunteer as tribute?” Marie snorted. “This isn’t The Hunger Games.”
Well, to be fair, the Hunger Games were televised. Maybe they’ve got more in common with this than I’m willing to admit.
“That does not matter” Samuel stated testily. “Why did you threaten to volunteer?”
Marie felt as though her veins were filled with poison. She could extract some poison from within them, but this would come at the cost of possibly infecting Samuel. Then again, for running such a show without the contestants’ consent, maybe he deserved it.
Even now, anything I say might be used against me. If not by the production crew, then by the audience.
“At the time,” Marie began, “I didn’t see how I could handle another mission. The electric sounds were just too loud. They reminded me of… things ”.
The Lucario stared at her. “What did they remind you of?”
“It’s too personal for me to answer,” she responded, though Marie was shivering by now in the nondescript temperature of the ravine.
“Well, I suppose I cannot force that answer out of you. This is Jet Force Isekai, and we’re not going to torture you to obtain such information. We have to keep things humane.”
Samuel surely knows that we’re aware we’re on camera. He’s probably viewing the feed at all times, just like the more terminally online viewers on Nexus’ surface.
“Thanks” Marie mumbled, but she didn’t really feel that thankful.
“It’s no problem” Samuel said, but again, the way he raised an aura-sensing organ on end made it look as though he felt otherwise. “So you return to the cabin after Judd talks you out of quitting, and then what happens?”
“Well, you’ll have to be more specific,” Marie replied. “A lot happened that week, it’s just that very little of it mattered until we had our next mission.”
“I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to get to know one another” the Lucario told her in little more than a whisper, almost as though getting to know one another was an innuendo.
“We have. But we’ve fought constantly, and Sophie thought of a reason why that might be. And said reason was just confirmed back in the cabin.”
Samuel held his paws up. “Whoa, ma’am. Slow down. You’re getting a little ahead of the game, you know?”
“No. I didn’t know. But thanks for clarifying” Marie muttered sarcastically.
“So what did you fight about?”
“Well, Jessica complains a lot,” Marie replied, letting her simmering annoyance boil over just a little. “I think she’s used to getting what she wants in life - is that accurate?”
Samuel shrugged. “That’s information that you aren’t entitled to, ma’am. Unless and until Jessica decides to divulge it, that is.”
“But that’s not fair. Don’t they have laws against rigging game shows like this one? The audience knows everything about Jessica’s past, and I know nothing about it! ”
“Maybe you don’t know anything about Jessica’s past,” Samuel said, “but that doesn’t make the game unfair. As far as I’m concerned, as long as you have all the same information as one another, or have earned such information through skillful play, the game remains fair. Besides…”.
Marie glared at her interviewer. “There’s a catch, isn’t there?”
“No, there is no catch” Samuel stated simply. “But you do have to remember that you’re not in the United States anymore. The same laws do not always apply here as they do in your country of origin.”
Marie grimaced, then recoiled as she realized what Samuel was implying here. She did not want to believe her own ears, but rejecting what your eyes and ears told you was, to paraphrase Toriel, straight out of one of those novels Jessica (and probably Sophie, given how much of an intellectual know-it-all she was) read. When she neglected that “advice”, it didn’t take long for her to piece together the implication.
“So you’re telling me that you are rigging the game?”
“I’m not saying we are, I’m not saying we’re not,” Samuel told her.
Marie raised an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly a denial.”
“I’ll just leave you with this, and then we can move on to the next question: Sometimes things aren’t as they appear, but sometimes they are.”
Marie rolled her eyes. “What sage philosophical advice you just imparted upon me” she muttered. “Truly an inspiring quote, isn’t it?”
“It does not matter,” Samuel replied, this time more coldly. “What does matter is the next question. How do you feel about your bunkmate, Jessica Petty?”
With a deep sigh, the young lady tried to figure out how to field this question. Eventually, Samuel started using his claws to count upward, snapping them every few seconds like Lucas did, and that really made Marie feel compelled to answer.
“I don’t like her,” Marie stated. “But she seems to like me. I think she’s…attracted to me. And there isn’t anything wrong with that?”
Samuel raised one of his aura organs. “Why isn’t there anything wrong with that?”
“I mean, some people are straight, some are gay, some are bi or ace, I don’t care. That’s all fine. And really, I like to think I’m good-looking, but…”.
“But what?” Samuel responded. “If there is to be a showmance in Jet Force Isekai, the audience will eat it up. It always adds to the drama.”
He’s not even bothering to keep up any pretense. We’re on a reality TV set, and they’re using us to put on a show. That’s just a fact, an axiom of life.
“That’s the thing, though,” Marie responded. “It isn’t mutual. I’m sick of the flirting, and not because Jessica might really be attracted to me. It’s because it brings back bad memories.”
“What sort of memories?” Samuel asked. “Tell me as much as you’re willing to.”
“You already said you’d respect my boundaries, and now you’re trying to chisel through them again. I’m not crazy about that, Samuel.”
“Again, Marie, this is completely confidential. Nobody will know but you and I that we had this talk.”
He has the AUDACITY to say that when I know it’s not true. Hell, HE knows I know that. So why not just admit that millions of Nexus residents will see the broadcast?
Marie clawed at her scalp for a while, then said this: “If you must know, being flirted with doesn’t exactly make me feel great. It brings back memories that I…that I would rather not think about.”
“Do you mind elaborating?” Samuel inquired. “What is the nature of these memories?”
“That’s a bit personal,” Marie replied firmly. “But I will say that there’s a reason I object to the flirting itself beyond the bad memories.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m taken. Or at least, I was taken during my Earthly life - maybe he’s forgotten all about me.”
“Why do you say that?” Samuel asked her.
Suddenly Marie knew why a certain person banished two weeks ago had carried himself in such a manner. Why he’d visibly shaken as he presented his torch to the guildmistress for snuffing.
“He hasn’t forgotten about me,” Marie told Samuel.
“Okay, so a total 180°. But why do you suddenly think that he remembers you?”
“Because he’s been here as long as I have. Or at least, we started at the same time - he was banished two weeks ago.”
----------------------------------------
The rest of the trip on the Miner’s Train passed at a Goomy’s pace.
Every so often, Mizar would feel the urge to check his watch - or rather, his phone, since nobody wore a watch anymore when smartphones were the norm. It didn’t matter that all such items were confiscated upon arrival at Jet Force Isekai; he would still have loved to possess one.
All he knew was that every so often, the train would swerve to negotiate a curve in the tunnel, and Mizar would be thrown against his seat. At one point, he became convinced he’d lightly bruised a rib as a result of an impact with the metallic floor. After that, he didn’t dare stand up again - it simply hurt too much to move his chest.
His stomach also hurt, but from hunger rather than any physical trauma. Over and over, Mizar pictured the moment when he’d jumped into the last car, and the backpack had slipped off his shoulders and out of the train. That knowledge was worse than any physical pain, since Mizar was well aware he could only blame himself for that.
Every so often, the train’s conductors (probably Lucario judging by their gruff, grunting voices) would announce that a dust storm was coming, so they were advised to close their eyes and mouth. And Mizar would obey these instructions, for he invariably had just a handful of seconds before the wind picked up, carrying with it enough sand to create an artificial city beach.
The tunnel seemed to slope gently upward, and Mizar tried to remember what he’d learned about the composition of the Earth’s interior. He was pretty sure there was an inner core beneath the outer core, beneath the mantle, beneath the crust, with each layer getting hotter than the one above it.
But if that’s the case, why is it getting hotter the higher we go? I guess this is Nexus, not Earth…oh boy, I must really have lost my marbles.
In his defense, it’s not like Mizar had much to do besides think. During the journey of seventy-seven hours and 45 minutes (which was equivalent to about 3.24 days if his mental math was correct), he had ample time to ponder his past and how he’d ended up here.
It didn’t take long for the topic of Mizar’s “internal conversation” to turn to religion. Now, perhaps this was only natural considering that he’d died and his consciousness had not ceased. However, he found himself reflecting on the answers he’d been given from an early age.
The sort of questions all religions tried to answer were very important indeed. Where did we all come from? What is the meaning of life? What happens after we die? Those were good questions, and one of the things the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints had offered was answers. Perhaps they were not the right answers, or at least not the ones supported by the most evidence, but they were easy answers.
Whenever Mizar grew tired of thinking about religion (or just tired in general), he nodded off into a short nap. However, any shut-eye was invariably fleeting, for the train would jolt him abruptly awake within the hour. Because he slept and woke so many times, the journey felt far longer than it really was.
I just want to get off this train. I don’t care if what happens next is worse. I don’t care if I jump out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were. I just want this ride to end.
Eventually, after so many sleep-wake cycles, the engine seemed to quiet down, if only slightly. And Mizar allowed himself to hope that maybe this was it. Maybe the Miner’s Train was about to reach its destination at long last.
I don’t believe it. I must be hearing things…there’s no way it could actually be over!
And yet the decreasing volume of the engine wasn’t the only evidence that the train was slowing down. Each bump in the tracks no longer felt quite so dramatic, and Mizar could believe that there were fewer of them.
Finally, the gruff Lucario voice sounded over the train’s sound system. “Welcome to the Eternal Night Mine, where the local time is approximately noon, not that it matters when it’s always dark. Thank you for choosing Miner’s Train Ride 1, the flagship route. Weather here is approximately thirty-five degrees Celsius, or ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit for those insufferable Yanks who insist on using Imperial units.”
Mizar snorted at that, and jubilation filled his veins as he got to his feet in order to disembark the stopped train. No matter what happened next, he’d gotten his wish. Of course, he would soon learn that you must always be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it.
Along with the seven other banishees, Mizar climbed off the train. Admittedly, staggered might be a better word here, because his muscles were simply not used to the effort after three days of being allowed to atrophy as he lay there. Additionally, his bruised rib still cried out in protest with each step. It would be painful for some time.
“Everyone has arrived!” a booming tone exclaimed. “I’m glad to see that the journey went smoothly!”
Mizar, as well as the other banishees, turned in the voice’s direction. The source appeared to be a hulking Emboar who wore a hard hat and carried a scythe. Despite the equipment he carried implying the risks of the job, the Emboar smiled brightly from ear to ear.
“Who…are you?” one of the banished, a young woman, wondered aloud.
“I am Master McGann!” the Emboar announced, as though introducing himself as a famous actor. “I am the owner of the Eternal Night Mine!”
“This doesn’t look like much of a mine,” Mizar remarked. There were no signs of industry here other than Master McGann’s equipment. Except for the light created by the Emboar’s flame, there was no way anything else could be seen in the deep, dark cavern.
Master McGann snorted. “That’s because the mine hasn’t started yet! It’s about a mile through the tunnel, and I won’t waste any time leading you there! And remember - speak only when I speak to you first!”
Noted. Honestly, I don’t know if I have anything else to say to this Emboar.
“So I’ll give you all some background. Because I am your boss in this mine, I can be either your best friend or your worst enemy. The choice is yours. And I don’t mess around - I’m sure one of my assistants could tell you the story of Jim Goff. Hell, maybe Jim himself could tell you.”
Well, what happened to this Jim Goff chap?
“The job entails digging atop these platforms of rock and dirt within the main cavern. Every so often, the ground will give way and the worker will fall to their…”.
“D-death?” another young man asked worriedly. “They die?”
“They fall to their belay point!” Master McGann bellowed. “Again, don’t say anything unless I address you directly! In any case, the rope catches them, and they are belayed down to the floor of the next cavern like they’re in what you humans call a climbing gym. And once they’re on the level below, they must find their way back here. And if they don’t, they’ll be taken and ex…I mean, brought back to the mine!”
He really wanted to say “taken and executed” there, didn’t he? Come to think of it, we’ve already faced death once before. I did it without any expectation of an afterlife - as far as I’m concerned, the last twenty months have been a bonus.
“Anyway, one day, as Jim Goff was shoveling his way through the dirt, he ran across a premature hole and fell through. We let him down, but it took an hour for that clueless Jim Goof to find his way back! And then when I gave him his next meal, he was a cracker short - do you want to know why?”
“Why’s that?”
“I docked him for the time after he fell from the sky. Of course, there is no sky down here, but you get the idea.”
Wow. That’s just gratuitous cruelty right there, isn’t it? You dock the poor guy some of his pay after he falls through the hole?
The Emboar led the former members of Jet Force Isekai through a series of tunnels. Every so often, there would be a torch or flashlight to light the way. (Of course, to someone from Britain those words’ meanings were one and the same.) Aside from that, the only source of illumination in these caverns was Master McGann’s flame, and for such a portly creature, he could move pretty fast. Even Mizar practically had to jog to keep up.
Eventually, they reached a cavern roughly the size of a football stadium, where the sounds of grunts, shovel impacts, and more could be heard, but very little aside from the walls could be seen.
“Your goal,” Master McGann stated, “is to dig up as many precious metals as you can find. It doesn’t matter what color they are - amethyst, ruby, sapphire - whatever it is, just polish it off and place it in the bucket. You’ll work six hours before a ten-minute breakfast break, six hours before a ten-minute lunch break, and six hours before a ten-minute dinner break.”
“Correct my math,” a young lady inquired, “but does that mean we only have five and a half hours to sleep?”
The Emboar scoffed at that. “ Sleep? You can sleep when you’re dead!”
“Uh,” Mizar remarked, “aren’t we already dead?”
“I suppose you are. I guess that saying doesn’t make sense here. I’ll let you guys have a quick lunch - ten minutes. Then you have to harness up and start working!”
Mizar looked at the leather harnesses on the ground. Normally, strapping into one of them would have felt freeing. It would have been a reminder that he was in the mountains, an environment in which he felt he belonged, since he had to wear one for technical climbs. He associated it with what he enjoyed most.
For obvious reasons, this was quite the opposite.