I froze in the middle of the undulating floor, staring at my double, the one beckoning from the flickering amber light. Every fiber of my being screamed to retreat, to run back toward the memory of my living room, the faint hum of the TV, the comforting beige walls and sun-faded carpet. But I couldn’t move. The faceless figures had formed a corridor behind me, a silent gauntlet urging me forward, pushing me with invisible hands. Then the train shifted. Not just forward—it bent. The rails, the walls, the floor all swirled together, warping space like molten metal. I stumbled but didn’t fall. My double smiled wider now, something knowing, almost cruel in the way it revealed my fear.