On The Transantarctic Rail, somewhere in the Commonwealth Territory

67°30’57.0”S 106°26’47.1”E

19.05.2024 – 03.30 Local Time

I collected my thoughts. Whatever caused the train to stop and then proceeded to hypnotize the crew, must have been of Cursed origin. Was I simply fortunate enough not to be affected by it? Were there others that were as confused as I was?

Before I could even refocus myself and stand up, everyone started talking again, and the comms grew full of worried chatter. Electricity was back and it seemed as if everyone had ignored my warning about a Cursed threat.

“What the hell?” I asked the agents in the room. They were no longer fascinated next to the windows, instead, they were chatting worried about the train’s stop.

The train started slowly moving, and the door to wagon 5 opened.

“Miguel, what happened with the hostiles?” I yelled at him, as soon as he exited.

“There were people outside the train, approaching,” he explained “One moment they were there, the next moment they were gone.”

“The next moment? We were waiting right outside for you to respond!”

“Aw, were you worried Ela? See Ricardo, some T-3s care,” Miguel joked. The bearded T-3 that was standing unexpressionless a moment ago, who apparently was named Ricardo, laughed.

“Compose yourself, Elena. At worst, this was a failed terrorist approach. We are all safe and accounted for,” said Ricardo.

I looked at Miguel, then Ricardo, and then I looked at everyone around me. I expected any moment now for someone to admit to this being a sick joke.

“What are you talking about?” I barked back as the train was picking up speed “You were all…”

Ricardo interrupted me arrogantly.

“All that matters is the cargo is safe. And we will reach N.T. in a few hours to announce the good news,” said Ricardo.

They don’t remember, I realized.

“The cargo?”

“Yes, nothing was stolen! Elena, snap out of it and join the T-3 channel. We have all the gifts from London.”

What? What gifts?

“Can you relax?” Miguel said with an annoying hint of condescension, pointing at my arms. I was so tense that I was still holding my firearm in both hands. I relaxed my grip over it, trying to piece things together. I changed my earpiece’s frequency to the T-3 channel.

“What about the prince?” I asked.

The agents looked at me confused.

“Am I the prince?” Miguel said jokingly, assuming a mocking aristocratic posture. Some agents laughed; Ricardo looked at me worried.

“Prince Marcelo Trastamara – Ricardo, I hear nothing about him in the channel.”

“I am not sure what you mean Elena,” Ricardo admitted “Prince Marcelo is in Santiago with his mother. Why would he be on the channel? Maybe you need to lie down a bit?”

I decided to stop listening to their nonsense. Whatever had happened in the last ten minutes, it had messed up with their memories.

I started running, ignoring their surprised yelling. I passed through wagon 5 and went inside wagon 6, which had a few private rooms. I started forcing the doors open with my pass-card. I looked at every single room: no one was there. Not even that – there was not a single sign of anyone using these cabins. No signs of struggle, or a breach from the windows. It was as if Marcelo had never been there, to begin with. Could it be that he had lied to me? Was he in another wagon? Did someone extract him safely? Or was he abducted?

My mind raced through all possibilities.

“Ela” I heard Miguel’s voice behind me. He had run behind me following me. “You are creeping me out. Is it the travel lag? Changing so many time zones is tough in Antarctica.”

I turned around ready to yell at him, but I saw him – for maybe the first time ever – genuinely concerned. As the train continued accelerating and piercing through the snow of Antarctica, some big chunk of ice was hurled into the window, resulting in a loud thump. I almost jumped and pulled my gun out, turning towards the window.

All I saw was my reflection, and I looked like a crying mess.

I hated that of all people Miguel was seeing me like that. I tried to compose myself.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“There is no one here Ela,” Miguel said worried, and I know he meant well. But that was the problem. There was no one there.

The final day of the trip felt like a hazy dream. No one among the agents dared mention the perceived mental breakdown I had. It was easier for me to pretend in front of them that this was all it was: a woman losing it in the middle of the action, “but now I am fine, thanks”. I despised myself for allowing it, but I had no way to explain to my colleagues what really happened, and if I leaned further into my story other T-3s would find a reason to report me as unfitting to serve.

So, instead, all I did was observe everyone’s behavior and, occasionally, space out in Marcelo’s secret comms channel. There at least, I was met only with silence.

In the briefing with the T-2 responsible for the operation, I did not even dare to mention the Prince’s name. During meetings, I could see T-3 Ricardo looking at me, ready to comment on whatever I was going to say, but I did not fall for it. All I needed was to get to Santiago and prove Marcelo was missing.

To my surprise, Marcelo’s absence was not the only thing that had changed collectively in everyone’s memory, confirming further my theory of Cursed interference. The mission’s purpose, outcome, and all the reports we had submitted had changed. Instead of us paying a royal visit, it was the Queen’s most trusted Trastamaran envoy who had called us over on the other side of Antarctica in London, to collect gifts and antiques donated by the Commonwealth to the Spanish Colonies. This was seen as a major improvement in the two nations’ relations, and the Spanish Colonies decided to give it the royal treatment, meaning a full train with T-Agents.

Except that story was the complete opposite of what I had experienced in London. We were the ones bringing gifts, and Marcelo was shunned and ridiculed. I wondered if this whole “re-writing” was an attempt by the royal family to hide their failure, or maybe an attempt by European agents to maintain the peace in Antarctica. I did not care about politics, to be honest – all I wanted was to find Marcelo, but in order to do so, I had to figure out what exactly had happened.

My first attempt failed quite dramatically: disproving the “gifts from London story”. I could not even believe it when I saw it, back at Wagon 24. Gold bars and gems, pieces of art – among them even a framed oil painting of the Queen. For all intents and purposes, this was a train full of wealth heading successfully back to the royal family. Someone had gone into big trouble to make sure that this new story tracked. After that quick attempt at sleuthing what happened that night, I stopped actively searching and chose to simply observe the other T-Agents, hoping at least one of them would exhibit any unexpected behavior. I had days until the train reached Santiago anyway.

Or at least I thought so.

“All agents on comms, we are approaching Nuevo Trujillo and you are expected to disembark in an hour” I heard from the comms, while I was trying to rest in my room.

“Fuck!” I cursed as strongly as I could, standing up.

“The royal family has agreed to lend assistance to the border-based population hit by the recent attacks. Please join the Briefing room for details on your new assignment, in ten minutes.”

I sat still in my room. This could not be a coincidence – me being one of the few pulled out from the direct train to Santiago and left on a stupid side quest. I scoffed. Tied my hair in a quick braid and packed my things.

Calm yourself Ela, I said to myself, almost how I knew the Prince would say.

In the room, there were only two T-3s, me and that idiot Ricardo, and only a handful of T-4s, among them Miguel. I had no doubt my luck would have it that he disembarked with my team.

The T-2 of the operation, Azura, a thirty-plus-something-year-old with already graying short hair and a tall build, was standing stern and right in the middle of the room. We were at Wagon 1, the driving wagon of the train, with wide windows on the sides revealing the harsh white of the Antarctic.

“I will be honest with you, this is not a humanitarian mission” she said, as doors behind us closed. No one else was in the room besides our team, not even her secretary or right-hand lieutenant. “This is now a mission with T-2 clearance. Your chips are all upgraded now. You hold your rank but will get access to information that is confidential for normal agents. If you share anything said in this room, it will be considered high treason and you will receive no leniency in martial court”

I remained still and held my breath.

Is this it? Will she admit Marcelo was taken?

I saw Miguel and a few of T-3s moving uncomfortably. My comms started spiking with noise as the clearance was downloaded via satellite through to our T-Agent chip, at the back of our neck. Once the noise stopped, T-2 Azura pressed a button on the control deck.

Images and footage of a destroyed city and people frozen played on the screen. Footage from Nuevo Trujillo. I tried to keep my eyes from rolling – of course, it would not be as easy for me to focus on my goals.

“Approximately thirty-six hours ago, the northern part of the Spanish Colonies was found under an attack, presumably of terrorist origin, using the ice of the Antarctic to obliterate ten percent of the city’s livable area. This far everyone knows.” Azura started explaining “However”

She paused and turned to Miguel, who was quite disgustingly smirking.

“The fuck is wrong with you son? Thousands died.”

“Oh no, yes of course. It is just such an honor to be in such an important mission.”

Azura did not try to respond and continued.

“However, the Sagrada of Trastamara have confirmed indeed that this was not just any extreme attack. The Trastamara Domain itself has been breached, and it cannot be reconstructed. A similar attack could continue devouring Nuevo Trujillo, and possibly the South.”

No one said anything but we understood what this meant. Hundreds of thousands could die if this happened again, and we were heading exactly there.

“We have issued no evacuation notice. Trains from Santiago and Santa Ines are preparing to head North if needed, but there is nearly not enough space to support the population” Azura continued to explain “So time is of the essence.”

“Permission to ask,” Ricardo said.

“Granted”

“Time to do what? If the Domain collapses, everyone is gone”

“Tsk” I said almost angry at his incompetence “Ricardo, if the Domain is down, it means someone Cursed is holding it down. The Queen’s Domain cannot just be torn down like that. There is a Cursed individual with equal or perhaps stronger Domain powers than even her.”

Azura nodded.

“Correct” She clicked her controller again, filling all screens with various low-quality pictures across a devastated neighborhood of Nuevo Trujillo. In them a figure could be seen, clearly walking through the streets, inexplicably unharmed, among broken bodies and frozen statues of people.

“Across the entire area, there was only one Survivor. This person somehow is keeping the Trastamara Domain down and is a walking nuclear bomb. Get in the city, find them, and neutralize them”

Ricardo nodded, looking at me. I tried to look as smug as I could, and kept my focus on the pictures on the screens. And, exactly as I felt during the attack when I lost Marcelo, I could not shake the feeling something was terribly, terribly off.