Section Three The Destination That Arrived Early
No one moved.
Only the electrical buzz of the old fluorescent tubes remained in the maintenance corridor.
Bzz.
Bzzz.
The metal door that had appeared out of nowhere at the end of the corridor stood completely open.
There were no passengers on the platform beyond it.
No wind.
Not even the sound of a train pulling in.
The walls were covered in dark green tiles, their seams blackened by years of seepage. A row of round light fixtures hung from the ceiling, each glowing with a sickly white light.
The station sign displayed only one number.
13.
A man in a subway uniform stood behind the yellow safety line.
He looked to be around thirty.
He was thin, but the uniform was not of any current design.
The collar of his navy jacket was high. There was no name tag on his chest, only a silver circular badge.
Three digits were engraved in the center of the badge.
344.
The man held a white receiver in his right hand.
The phone cord hung from the bottom of the receiver, passed through the platform floor, and vanished into the seams between the tiles.
He was still looking at Ethan Lin.
“We have to get him there.”
“Before he dies.”
Claire Su did not respond.
She first signaled the other officers to step back.
No one crossed the threshold of the metal door.
The door was like a boundary.
The electronic clock inside displayed 03:44.
The normal clock on the wall outside read 01:43.
The times on the two sides were different.
But the seconds were ticking in sync.
01:43:21.
03:44:21.
01:43:22.
03:44:22.
This was not a simple clock malfunction.
The two spaces were sharing the same seconds.
Claire Su stared at the circular badge on the man's chest.
“Are you with the switchboard?”
The man shook his head.
“I'm a conductor.”
“Name?”
“None.”
“Designation?”
“Deactivated.”
“Do you know Zheng Jiawen?”
The man's fingers tightened slightly around the receiver.
“She killed me once.”
Every officer at the scene turned to look at him.
His skin had color.
His chest rose and fell with each breath.
Aside from the outdated uniform and the phone with no base unit, he looked no different from an ordinary person.
Claire Su continued questioning him.
“Are you the patient who died thirteen years ago?”
“That was one of the times.”
“What does that mean?”
The man did not answer.
He looked toward Ethan Lin.
“Passenger K.”
“Please enter the station.”
Ethan Lin did not move.
Claire Su said coldly, “He didn't buy a ticket.”
“He did.”
The conductor spoke.
“The fare has been paid.”
“With what?”
The man's gaze fell to Ethan Lin's throat.
“His name.”
Ethan Lin raised the whiteboard.
My name is still here.
After reading it, the conductor's lips moved almost imperceptibly.
It was not a smile.
It looked more like pity.
“It is for now.”
“The terminal station no longer exists.”
Claire Su asked, “You said he died at the terminal station.”
“How?”
“Answer the name.”
“Who asked?”
“He did.”
Claire Su's gaze darkened.
“Future Ethan Lin asked present-day Ethan Lin?”
“Not the future.”
The conductor said, “The terminal station has no future.”
“There are only completed results there.”
“They have not happened yet to you.”
“To the station, they have existed for a long time.”
The maintenance corridor fell silent for a moment.
Jason Huang remained in the command vehicle on the surface and had not entered the station.
Aside from Ethan Lin, Claire Su, and the remaining officers, no one at the scene had experienced the complete Room 404 incident.
They only knew this was a highly abnormal covert operation.
But what the man in front of them was discussing had already gone completely beyond the scope of a criminal case.
An officer designated M couldn't help asking, “You want us to believe that someone has already died at the destination before he even leaves?”
Claire Su immediately turned around.
“Don't initiate a conversation.”
It was too late.
The conductor looked at M.
“It's not about believing.”
“It's about confirmation.”
He turned the white receiver toward M.
“Passenger M.”
“Do you acknowledge that you are not yet dead?”
M froze.
The question sounded absurd.
Of course a normal person wasn't dead yet.
But after experiencing Room 404, Claire Su immediately recognized the trap.
Whether the answer was yes or no, as long as he acknowledged the identity in the question, the other party might obtain confirmation.
She strode in front of M.
“Everyone out of this corridor.”
“Including you?” the conductor asked.
Claire Su did not answer.
She signaled the officers to evacuate.
Everyone began slowly backing away.
Ethan Lin, however, remained where he was.
He wrote on the whiteboard:
Where is the terminal station?
The conductor looked at the words.
“Ren'an.”
Claire Su stopped.
“Which year's Ren'an?”
“Every year.”
“The original site, in the unopened section of Anhe Station?”
“The original site isn't important.”
“Then what is?”
The conductor raised the white receiver.
“Whether anyone remembers.”
“As long as someone still remembers Ren'an,”
“it has a ward.”
“As long as someone still answers the phone,”
“it has a line.”
“As long as someone still acknowledges a name,”
“it has a new patient.”
Claire Su stared at him.
“So you collect names to keep Ren'an in existence?”
“Not us.”
“Then who?”
The conductor's gaze moved upward toward the ceiling of the platform.
“The switchboard.”
“Is the switchboard a person?”
“It used to be.”
“And now?”
The man held the receiver and remained silent for several seconds.
“Now it's a procedure that permits no patient to be discharged.”
The electronic clock inside the metal door reached 03:44:59.
The next second, it did not become 03:45.
Instead, it returned to 03:44:00.
Time began to loop.
The conductor said, “This platform only has one minute.”
“Every minute, a train is about to pull in.”
“But it will never truly arrive.”
“Unless someone pays the fare.”
Claire Su looked at Ethan Lin.
“His fare has been paid?”
“Half.”
“What is the other half?”
The conductor did not answer immediately.
He raised a hand and pointed toward the entrance to the maintenance corridor.
Everyone turned.
The Thirteenth Officer, who had originally been preparing to evacuate, stood at the farthest end.
A section of his uniform had been cut away from his chest.
The black 13 on his bulletproof vest was still there.
He stood perfectly still.
His back was to everyone.
“When did he stop?” Claire Su asked.
No one knew.
Everyone's attention had been focused on the space beyond the door.
That officer should have already left.
Yet now, less than two meters from the entrance, he stood as if frozen in place.
Ethan Lin hurried toward him.
Claire Su stopped him.
“Don't touch him.”
The officer's shoulders trembled slightly.
It wasn't fear.
It was as if he were laughing soundlessly.
Then he slowly turned around.
It was still his original face.
But his eyes had completely lost their focus.
The corners of his mouth were being pulled upward by some kind of black line.
It looked as though someone had sewn a smile from beneath his skin.
He spoke.
The voice wasn't his own.
It was Jason Huang's.
“You left me outside.”
Ethan Lin's pupils contracted.
Jason Huang should currently have been in the command vehicle on the surface.
“You told me to confirm it for you.”
The officer continued in Jason Huang's voice.
“But you didn't say.”
“Which you coming back would count as coming back.”
Claire Su immediately took out her radio.
She did not call any name.
“Surface command vehicle, report your status.”
Only static answered.
She switched channels.
Still no reply.
The officer in front of them raised his right hand.
A phone was clutched in his palm.
It wasn't his phone.
It was Jason Huang's.
The screen showed that it was recording.
On the screen—
Jason Huang sat inside the command vehicle.
His head hung toward his chest.
He was perfectly still.
Someone else sat across from him.
The same gray short-sleeved shirt.
The same face.
Another Jason Huang.
A sheet of white paper lay on the table between them.
It contained only one sentence:
Please confirm who should stay.
Claire Su looked at the officer holding the phone.
“Is this footage from right now?”
The officer did not answer.
The conductor stood inside the door and said, “The other half of the fare has arrived.”
Ethan Lin turned around.
The conductor hung the receiver back on an nonexistent bracket beside his shoulder.
“One name.”
“One confirmer.”
“The train can pull in.”
Ethan Lin wrote on the whiteboard:
Cancel.
“Unable to cancel.”
Refund.
“Unable to refund.”
I'm not riding.
The conductor read the last sentence.
“You already have.”
From deep inside the platform beyond the door came the sound of metal scraping.
Very far away.
As if a train were slowly turning in the darkness.
The conductor said, “We're only coming back for the version of you that hasn't boarded yet.”
Claire Su made a quick assessment.
“Evacuate now.”
“The metal door isn't the only entrance.”
“The station can connect to reality through water, phones, reflections, or identity confirmation.”
“Staying here will only complete the procedure it has arranged.”
She reached out and grabbed Ethan Lin's arm.
But Ethan Lin pointed toward the controlled officer.
We can't leave him.
Claire Su understood.
She took a black blackout cloth from her equipment bag and handed it to two officers.
“Don't look at his face.”
“Cover his head from behind.”
“Seal his mouth.”
“Don't call him by any name.”
The two officers approached as ordered.
One on either side.
Just as the blackout cloth was about to come down, the controlled officer suddenly said, “Mom.”
The officer on the left stopped.
It was the voice of his deceased daughter.
“Dad.”
The officer's hands began to tremble.
“You didn't turn around last time.”
“Look at me this time.”
Claire Su shouted, “Keep going!”
The blackout cloth dropped over him.
The controlled officer immediately began struggling.
His strength was abnormally great.
Three adults could barely hold him down.
He began constantly changing voices.
His wife.
His parents.
His child.
Former colleagues.
Every voice precisely found someone at the scene.
“You promised you'd come back.”
“I'm still waiting for you at the hospital.”
“Why didn't you save me?”
“Do you remember my name?”
The officers were visibly shaken.
But no one answered.
Ethan Lin took out a restraint strap.
He secured the man's arms.
Just as the strap tightened, the person beneath the cloth stopped struggling.
“You touched me.”
He spoke in Ethan Lin's voice.
“Now you're a passenger too.”
A sharp pain shot through the back of Ethan Lin's hand.
At the spot where he had touched the man's wrist, a black ring-shaped mark appeared.
It looked as though a phone cord had wrapped around it.
Letters gradually appeared in the center of the mark.
K.
Claire Su immediately poured a bottle of sterile water over his hand.
The mark did not disappear.
Instead, it turned into a tiny ticket.
Anhe Station.
Passenger K.
Entry complete.
All the lights in the maintenance corridor went out.
The platform beyond the metal door became the only source of light.
Vibrations rose beneath the officers' feet.
Not from beyond the door.
From all of Anhe Station.
An arrival announcement sounded on the normally operating platform in the distance.
“The train is arriving.”
“Please stand behind the yellow safety line.”
It was only 1:46 a.m.
The last train was still running normally.
But after the announcement finished, one more sentence followed.
“Passengers traveling to Ren'an Sanatorium.”
“Please transfer at this station.”
Everyone's radios lit up at the same time.
Their screens displayed a simplified route map.
Beside Anhe Station, an additional gray branch line had appeared.
The branch had only one station.
Station Thirteen.
Beneath the station name were the words:
Arrived.
Claire Su looked at Ethan Lin.
“It isn't waiting until 3:44 anymore.”
“Because we've already fulfilled the entry conditions.”
The conductor turned slightly.
“Please board.”
Two lights came on in the tunnel beyond the platform.
The train was approaching through the darkness.
This time, everyone heard it.
Wheels.
Rails.
The pressure of the wind.
And the ringing of hundreds, thousands of phones going off at once.
Ring—
Ring—
Ring—
The train entered their view.
Its exterior was dark green.
Burn marks covered the cars.
There were no passengers behind the windows.
Only ward after ward.
The first car contained thirteen empty hospital beds.
The second was filled with people sitting with their heads down, answering phones.
On every seat in the third car sat a name tag.
The fourth was piled high with kraft-paper files.
Every cover was labeled:
The Thirteenth File.
The train slowed.
Then stopped at the platform.
The doors did not open immediately.
Once again, the electronic clock jumped from 03:44:59 back to 03:44:00.
The conductor walked to the front car door.
“Passenger K.”
“Confirm your companion.”
Claire Su said coldly, “No companion is necessary.”
“Every passenger needs a confirmer.”
“Otherwise, after arrival, no one can prove that the person who came back is the same person.”
Claire Su looked at Ethan Lin.
This was why Jason Huang had been left behind.
Ethan Lin needed someone to record the differences.
But the switchboard had exploited that arrangement.
“I'll go with him,” she said.
Ethan Lin immediately shook his head.
Claire Su did not look at him.
“Passenger R.”
“Confirm your companion.”
The conductor raised the receiver.
“State your name.”
Claire Su fell silent.
“Without a name, no file can be created.”
“Then don't create one.”
The conductor looked at her.
“People without files.”
“After arriving, no one will remember them.”
“That is my risk to take.”
“It's not a risk,” the man said.
“It's a result.”
A Claire Su suddenly appeared inside the train.
She stood beside an empty hospital bed in the first car.
Through the glass, she looked at her counterpart on the platform.
Another Claire Su appeared in the second car.
The third.
The fourth.
In every car stood the same woman.
Some wore waterproof jackets.
Some wore patient gowns.
Some were covered in blood.
The Claire Su in the last car was already white-haired and ancient.
She sat in a wheelchair with a file in her arms.
A date was posted on the glass in front of her.
April 14, 2046.
Claire Su stared at the elderly version of herself.
The other woman slowly raised a hand.
She wrote on the fogged window:
Don't let him reach the terminal.
In the next car, another Claire Su wrote:
He has to reach the terminal.
In the car after that:
There is no real me on this train.
In the last car, the white-haired Claire Su wiped away the previous words.
She wrote again:
You've been here thirteen times.
Claire Su's expression finally changed.
Ethan Lin noticed.
She was not shaken by seeing her future self.
It was the final sentence that had triggered some kind of memory.
“What did you remember?”
His voice was still extremely hoarse.
Claire Su did not answer immediately.
She raised a hand toward her left index finger.
It was a habitual motion she made while thinking.
Then she stopped.
As if she were questioning whether the habit belonged to her.
“I've dreamed about this train,” she said.
“When?”
“Many times.”
“Since what age?”
“I don't remember.”
She stared at the white-haired woman in the window.
“In every dream, I'm standing in the last car.”
“I'm holding a file.”
“But there are no cases in the file.”
“Only thirteen death certificates.”
Ethan Lin raised the whiteboard.
Whose?
“Yours.”
The conductor stood beside them, seemingly already aware of the answer.
Claire Su looked at him.
“Has Ethan Lin died thirteen times?”
“So far.”
“Have I gone aboard with him every time?”
“Every time.”
“Did I come back?”
The conductor fell silent.
This time, the silence itself was the answer.
Claire Su looked at the versions of herself behind the glass.
They were different ages.
They had different injuries.
They wore different clothes.
Yet they all looked at the platform with the same expression.
It was neither a warning nor a plea for help.
It was exhaustion.
The exhaustion of making the same choice over and over.
“Why don't I remember?” she asked.
The conductor answered, “Because the you who comes back is never exactly the same you.”
Ethan Lin tightened his grip on the whiteboard.
Claire Su did not retreat.
“What are the differences?”
“The first time, you lose part of your childhood.”
“The second time, you lose a friend.”
“The third time, you lose your memory of a certain smell.”
“The fourth time, you forget your mother's voice.”
The conductor spoke calmly.
“Each time, the train collects a small part.”
“To ensure that the person who returns still resembles the original passenger enough.”
“But they'll never be completely identical.”
Claire Su lowered her head.
Her expression appeared calm.
But her right hand slowly clenched.
“What about the thirteenth time?”
“You forget that you ever boarded.”
Only the train's bells remained on the platform.
She finally understood.
This was not her first contact with these events.
It was not the first time Ethan Lin had been designated by the train.
The Thirteenth Case Investigation Unit might not have been established for the first time, either.
Every investigation.
Every boarding.
Every return.
Part of their memories had been erased.
Then everything began again.
The conductor said, “This is the fourteenth time.”
“So the procedure is different.”
“How?”
“This time”—he looked at Ethan Lin—“the one at the terminal station refuses to die.”
The door of the last car suddenly opened.
There were no seats inside.
It was a morgue.
Thirteen freezer compartments lined the walls.
Twelve of them stood open.
Each contained Ethan Lin's corpse.
They were the same age, but had died in different ways.
One had been shot in the chest.
One had ligature marks around his neck.
One was burned over his entire body.
One had no external injuries at all.
The final freezer remained sealed.
Its label read:
Fourteenth Time.
Something struck the inside.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Someone was still alive.
Claire Su looked at the conductor.
“Is he inside?”
“Yes.”
“You said he was already dead.”
“The death certificate has been completed.”
“But the person hasn't agreed yet.”
It sounded absurd.
Yet it fit perfectly with every abnormal rule they had encountered.
A name required acknowledgment.
An identity required confirmation.
Apparently, death also required the person's acceptance.
“Why does he refuse?”
The conductor said, “Because he knows.”
“Once the fourteenth corpse is complete,”
“The Thirteenth File will leave Ren'an.”
“In whose identity?”
The man looked at Ethan Lin.
“His.”
The final freezer was struck again.
The door bulged outward.
A hoarse voice came from inside.
“Don't get on the train!”
It was Ethan Lin's voice.
But much weaker than the one standing there.
“Claire!”
“Close the door!”
“Don't let them send me back!”
The Ethan Lin on the platform looked toward the freezer.
The Ethan Lin at the terminal knew Claire Su's name.
He also knew what was happening now.
The conductor raised the phone.
“Passenger K.”
“Choose.”
“Go to the terminal.”
“Complete the death.”
“Or remain at this station.”
“Let the you at the terminal come back.”
Claire Su immediately looked at him.
This was not a choice between two options.
Either choice required acknowledging one of the Ethan Lins as the true continuation.
Once confirmed, the other could be erased.
It was exactly the same as Room 404.
Ethan Lin lowered his head and looked at the ticket on the back of his hand.
Entry complete.
But he had not yet boarded.
He picked up the whiteboard and slowly wrote:
A third option.
The conductor said, “There isn't one.”
Ethan Lin turned the whiteboard around.
Get off the train.
For the first time, the conductor showed clear astonishment.
Ethan Lin gave him no time to react.
He suddenly grabbed the white phone cord and yanked it toward the platform outside.
The receiver was torn from the conductor's hand.
The phone cord went taut at once.
The entire Station Thirteen platform shook violently.
The man's expression changed drastically.
“Let go!”
Ethan Lin did not release it.
Claire Su immediately understood what he intended.
The conductor was not merely a guide.
He was the connection point between the last train and the switchboard.
If they dragged him across the threshold and forced him off Station Thirteen, the train's procedure might lose control.
“Everyone, pull!” she ordered.
Three officers seized the phone cord.
Black marks immediately spread across their palms.
The others grabbed the belt of the person in front of them.
The entire line pulled backward at once.
The conductor stumbled one step forward.
The tips of his shoes crossed the yellow safety line.
Every Claire Su inside the train screamed at once.
The thirteen freezer doors flew violently open and shut.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
The conductor gripped the receiver with both hands.
“You don't know what you're doing!”
Claire Su said coldly, “So you're starting to get scared.”
“I'm not scared!”
“Then what are you protecting?”
The conductor's body was dragged another half-step closer.
But the shadow beneath his feet remained in place.
The shadow stretched longer.
From the soles of his shoes, it extended all the way into the tunnel.
Countless phone cords wound around it from the darkness, preventing him from leaving.
The man's face began to change.
Young.
Old.
Rotten.
Whole again.
A different identity appeared with every flicker.
Patient.
Doctor.
Nurse.
Train conductor.
For one brief moment, even Zheng Jiawen.
Finally—
Chen Guoqiang.
The face from the photocopy of the company registration.
Ethan Lin's grip faltered slightly.
The conductor seized the opportunity.
“Ethan.”
He spoke in a familiar tone.
“Don't ask too many questions.”
“Let go.”
“You promised me before.”
The underground investigation room flashed through Ethan Lin's mind.
Cigarette smoke.
Filing cabinets.
A tape labeled 404.
Chen Guoqiang handed him the file.
“Don't let it know you remember.”
Those images might have been real.
Or they might have been memories implanted through contact by the phone cord.
Ethan Lin tightened his grip again.
He did not answer.
A trace of helplessness appeared on Chen Guoqiang's face.
“Still the same.”
“You never believe anything.”
Claire Su stared at him.
“Were you the person in charge of Evergreen Asset Management?”
“I used to be.”
“And the Thirteenth Case Investigation Unit?”
“I founded that too.”
“Why don't we remember?”
“Because it has been established thirteen times,” Chen Guoqiang said.
“Every time it failed, I sent whoever was left back.”
“I altered part of their memories.”
“Then I let you start over.”
Claire Su's gaze turned icy.
“You treated people like files that could be reset?”
“What else could I do?”
Chen Guoqiang suddenly roared, “Let Ren'an out?”
His voice echoed throughout the platform.
“You think those things are ghosts?”
“They're the people left behind by failed procedures!”
“Every one of them is still alive!”
“Every one of them is looking for a name!”
“I could only keep the system running!”
“Keep them in the wards!”
“Keep them in the phones!”
“Keep them on the train!”
“It's better than letting them into the entire city!”
His body was dragged closer to the threshold.
Less than two meters remained between him and the metal door.
“Let go,” Chen Guoqiang said, staring at Ethan Lin.
“If you drag me out, no one will control the last train.”
“The terminal station will connect directly to reality.”
“The thirteen-times-failed you.”
“The thirteen-times-failed her.”
“And everyone who never completed their deaths.”
“They'll all come back.”
Ethan Lin looked toward the last car.
The pounding inside the freezer had stopped.
The Ethan Lin at the terminal was no longer calling for help.
It was as if he were listening to their conversation.
Claire Su asked, “You want us to believe you've been protecting the outside world all along?”
Chen Guoqiang said, “I don't need you to believe me.”
“I only need you to fail one more time.”
“Then the fourteenth time will be completed.”
“The system will seal itself.”
“Who told you that?”
“The switchboard.”
“And you believe it?”
Chen Guoqiang fell silent.
That silence exposed the most crucial problem.
He might have managed the system for years, but he had never had proof that the fourteenth time would truly end.
The switchboard had merely given him a set of rules that could keep running.
And he had chosen to obey.
Just as the tenants of Room 404 obeyed the room rules.
Just as the people who answered the phone obeyed the warnings.
Everyone thought the rules were protecting them.
But no one knew whom the rules truly served.
Claire Su looked at Ethan Lin.
“Keep pulling.”
Chen Guoqiang's expression changed.
“You'll kill everyone!”
“Or maybe this will be the first time the procedure is interrupted.”
“You have no proof!”
“Neither do you.”
Everyone pulled at once.
Chen Guoqiang was dragged to the threshold.
His left hand extended beyond the metal door.
The instant it touched the real maintenance corridor, his skin began to burn.
There were no flames.
Instead, his body turned into sheets of gray-white paper.
Each page was covered in different names.
Every one belonged to someone who had once ridden the train.
He let out a howl of pain.
Countless phone cords in the tunnel suddenly tightened.
The train doors began to close.
A voice came from the final freezer.
“Now!”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal shouted, “Cut the phone cord!”
Claire Su drew her folding knife and aimed it at the taut white line.
Chen Guoqiang immediately said, “You can't cut it!”
“If you sever it, the train will lose its return coordinates!”
“You'll be trapped inside every result that has already happened!”
Claire Su did not stop.
The blade came down.
First strike.
The outer sheath split.
There was no copper wire inside.
There were bundles of tiny nerves.
The white tissue writhed violently.
Each bundle was connected to a human face.
All the faces opened their eyes at once and screamed.
Second strike.
Blood sprayed out.
Every radio lost its signal.
The announcement on the normal platform cut off.
All of Anhe Station fell into darkness.
Only Station Thirteen and the train remained lit.
Half of Chen Guoqiang's body had been dragged across the threshold.
He no longer wore the familiar face of Ethan Lin.
Instead, he became a human figure made of countless medical records.
“Final warning!”
“Don't cut it!”
Claire Su raised the knife.
Third strike.
The line snapped.
Snap!
Every sound vanished at once.
The train.
The platform.
The phones.
The crowd.
Everything seemed to be pulled away in an instant.
Beyond the metal door, only darkness remained.
Chen Guoqiang crashed into the maintenance corridor.
When his body hit the ground, a huge number of papers exploded outward.
There were no bones at their center.
No flesh.
Only a black switchboard.
Hundreds of phone cords extended from behind its body.
Most had already snapped.
Only thirteen were still twitching.
Each cord bore a name.
Claire Su.
Jason Huang.
Zheng Jiawen.
Zhang Boxun.
And other unfamiliar names.
The last one—
It had no name.
Only a designation.
13.
The switchboard emitted the mechanical sound of machinery turning.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The metal door that had vanished suddenly reappeared.
But beyond it was no longer a platform.
It was the burned-out lobby of a hospital.
Hundreds of people stood inside.
All with their backs to the door.
They wore clothing from different eras.
Patients.
Medical staff.
Police officers.
Ordinary residents.
Each held a death certificate.
At the center of the doorway stood the Ethan Lin from the terminal.
He was thinner than the Ethan Lin standing there now.
His cheeks were sunken.
His chest was covered by a bloodstained shirt.
A black phone cord was wrapped around his neck.
He looked through the doorway at his present self.
Neither moved closer at once.
Claire Su stared at him too.
“Don't confirm him,” she warned.
The Ethan Lin at the terminal smiled faintly.
Tired.
Hoarse.
“You say the same thing every time.”
“Who are you?” Claire Su asked.
“I can't answer.”
“Where did you come from?”
“The terminal of the fourteenth time.”
“What happened there?”
He lowered his head and looked at the document in his hand.
It was a death certificate.
The name field read Ethan Lin.
Time of death:
April 2, 2028, 03:44.
Less than two hours from now.
“I boarded the train,” he said.
“I arrived here.”
“The switchboard required me to confirm that I was already dead.”
“I refused.”
“So the train came back for you.”
The Ethan Lin on the platform raised the whiteboard.
Do you want to come back?
The other man read it.
“At first.”
“Now I don't.”
Claire Su asked, “Why?”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal turned sideways.
Behind him, the hundreds of people slowly turned their heads at the same time.
Every face belonged to someone still alive in the outside world.
Officers.
Passersby.
Doctors.
Even Claire Su.
But every face contained subtle errors.
The eyes were slightly too low.
A mole had appeared beside the mouth.
The ears were different shapes.
They looked like replicas pieced together from memory.
“This place isn't for storing the dead,” the Ethan Lin at the terminal said.
“It stores all the original versions left behind after being replaced.”
“Room 404 copies an identity.”
The original person is sent here.
Each time a name is confirmed by phone, the original memories belonging to that name are sent here too.
The train isn't carrying the dead.
It carries the people the world has abandoned.
Claire Su looked at the lobby.
“Are all these people still alive?”
“Alive here.”
“What about outside?”
“Most of them already have new versions.”
“They don't even know themselves.”
The truth was more terrifying than death.
Whenever a Room 404 incident ended.
Whenever a phone call ended.
Whenever someone returned from the train.
The world did not lose a person.
It gained a replacement that was similar enough.
The true original version was sent to Ren'an's terminal station.
Recorded as dead.
Removed from reality.
Claire Su asked quietly, “What about us?”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal looked at her.
“I don't know.”
“I can't find the first version.”
“You and I.”
“We may have stopped being originals long ago.”
Claire Su showed no expression.
But her grip tightened around the folding knife.
“What about Jason Huang?”
“He has at least seven versions.”
“There are two in the command vehicle right now.”
“One of them is confirming the other.”
“We have to stop it.”
“Too late.”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal looked toward the switchboard.
One of the phone cords suddenly lit up.
Label:
Jason Huang.
A burst of static like an explosion came from the surface.
Then the command channel came back online.
Jason Huang's voice sounded over the radio.
“Detective Lin.”
“We've finished confirming.”
Claire Su's expression darkened.
“Who confirmed whom?”
Jason Huang laughed over the radio.
“Obviously, I confirmed me.”
The phone cord on the switchboard turned bright red.
The name Jason Huang split into two groups.
One remained on the cord.
The other slowly fell away and became blank.
Among the people at the terminal, another Jason Huang suddenly appeared.
He clutched a sheet of white paper.
His face was full of fear.
“The original person is sent here.”
“Each time a name is confirmed by phone, the original memories belonging to that name are sent here too.”
“The train isn't carrying the dead.”
“It carries the people the world has abandoned.”
Claire Su looked at the lobby.
“Are all these people still alive?”
“Alive here.”
“What about outside?”
“Most of them already have new versions.”
“They don't even know it themselves.”
The truth was more terrifying than death.
Whenever a Room 404 incident ended.
Whenever a phone call ended.
Whenever someone returned from the train.
The world did not lose a person.
It gained a replacement that was similar enough.
The true original version was sent to Ren'an's terminal station.
Recorded as dead.
Removed from reality.
Claire Su asked quietly, “What about us?”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal looked at her.
“I don't know.”
“I can't find the first version.”
“You and I.”
“We may have stopped being originals long ago.”
Claire Su showed no expression.
But her grip tightened around the folding knife.
“What about Jason Huang?”
“He has at least seven versions.”
“There are two in the command vehicle right now.”
“One of them is confirming the other.”
“We have to stop it.”
“Too late.”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal looked toward the switchboard.
One of the phone cords suddenly lit up.
Label:
Jason Huang.
A burst of static like an explosion came from the surface.
Then the command channel came back online.
Jason Huang's voice sounded over the radio.
“Detective Lin.”
“We've finished confirming.”
Claire Su's expression darkened.
“Who confirmed whom?”
Jason Huang laughed over the radio.
“Obviously, I confirmed me.”
The phone cord on the switchboard turned bright red.
The three characters of “Jason Huang” split into two groups.
One remained on the cord.
The other slowly fell away and became blank.
Among the people at the terminal, another Jason Huang suddenly appeared.
He clutched a sheet of white paper.
His face was full of terror.
“I didn't answer!” he shouted.
“The other me did!”
“He's outside!”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal turned around.
“The first one is complete.”
“What is complete?”
“The fourteenth case has begun.”
The switchboard emitted a notification tone.
A line of red text appeared on the wall.
Original samples recovered: 1/13.
Then the second phone cord lit up.
Label:
Zhang Boxun.
The officer covered by the blackout cloth suddenly stopped breathing.
The colleagues restraining him had not yet reacted.
Another Zhang Boxun appeared among the people at the terminal.
He was also holding a death certificate.
The red text updated.
Original samples recovered: 2/13.
Claire Su looked at the remaining phone cords.
Every one belonged to someone who had participated in tonight's incident.
The switchboard had not gone out of control.
It was using their attempt to sever the lines to open the terminal station.
Then it would recover thirteen original samples all at once.
Chen Guoqiang had not been completely lying.
He had been maintaining the train's procedure all along.
Not to prevent the terminal station from opening.
To prevent the recovery procedure from starting directly in reality.
Claire Su asked the Ethan Lin at the terminal, “How do we stop it?”
“Close the door.”
“How?”
“Before all thirteen lines are cut.”
“One person has to come in.”
“Take the conductor's place.”
“Who?”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal looked at his present self.
“Someone who hasn't yet been confirmed dead.”
Ethan Lin lowered his head.
The ticket remained on the back of his hand.
He had entered the station.
But he had not yet confirmed his arrival.
Claire Su immediately said, “No.”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal gave a bitter smile.
“You've said that thirteen times.”
“And then?”
“Then you came in every time.”
Claire Su froze.
“Why?”
“Because you can always find a loophole in the orders.”
“And you always think you can take me back.”
His gaze fell toward the spot in the last car where the white-haired Claire Su had appeared.
“Every time.”
“You become the new confirmer.”
“You lose part of your memory.”
“Then you go back outside.”
“That is why you're still alive.”
“And why you don't remember.”
Claire Su looked at the switchboard.
The third cord began to light up.
Label:
Zheng Jiawen.
Screams came over the hospital communications channel.
Zheng Jiawen suddenly vanished from her hospital bed.
One more person appeared among the crowd at the terminal.
Original samples recovered: 3/13.
There was no time left.
Ethan Lin handed the whiteboard to Claire Su.
It contained only one sentence:
This time, I'll go.
Claire Su immediately grabbed his wrist.
“If you go in, what happens to the you outside?”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal answered, “He becomes the new conductor.”
“Will he still be Ethan Lin?”
“Uncertain.”
“Can he come back?”
“I don't know.”
Claire Su said coldly, “That's not a plan.”
The Ethan Lin standing there looked at her.
His throat still could not produce a normal voice.
But he forced out several hoarse syllables.
“Not… a choice.”
“Yes,” Claire Su interrupted.
“If the rules require us to sacrifice someone, then that is still a procedure designed by the switchboard.”
“Following it isn't an interruption.”
“It only changes who maintains it.”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal's eyes shifted slightly.
Over the past thirteen times, they might never have truly violated the core rules.
They had merely kept choosing who would stay behind.
Claire Su looked at the switchboard on the floor, then toward the terminal station lobby.
“It needs a conductor.”
“It needs a confirmer.”
“It needs thirteen original samples.”
“It needs people to believe these are the only options.”
She crouched down.
She examined the thirteen phone cords behind the switchboard.
The cords were twitching, but they were not actually connected to the walls.
They were all wrapped around the inside of the machine, connected to one another.
“These aren't thirteen external lines,” she said.
“They're one line looped thirteen times.”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal's expression changed.
Claire Su quickly opened the switchboard casing.
At its center was an old-fashioned tape reel.
The phone cords branched off from the same roll of tape.
They formed thirteen loops.
“Every name isn't a different sample.”
“It's the same procedure confirming itself thirteen times.”
“So it doesn't need thirteen people.”
“It only needs one person.”
“Recognized by thirteen identities.”
Everyone in the terminal lobby turned toward the deepest part at the same time.
A child stood there.
Ten years old.
Wearing a patient gown.
His wrists bore restraint marks.
The Thirteenth Boy who had escaped the Room 404 fire.
No one knew when he had appeared among the crowd.
There was no fear on his face.
And no name.
The boy looked at the switchboard.
“It's looking for me.”
Claire Su finally understood.
The fourteenth recovery procedure was not for Ethan Lin.
Nor was it for the terminal station.
The switchboard needed thirteen people to complete the identity recovery, all so it could stack thirteen kinds of “existence acknowledged by the world” onto one nameless original sample.
It would make Thirteen into a complete existence capable of leaving Ren'an while possessing everyone's identities.
The boy walked toward the doorway.
“I don't want their names.”
The switchboard emitted a shrill alert.
The remaining ten lines lit up simultaneously.
The recovery rate suddenly accelerated.
One name after another began to flicker.
Claire Su.
Ethan Lin.
The officers at the scene.
Even the people far away at the hospital and in the command vehicle.
The boy said, “It doesn't care whether I want them.”
“It only needs one person.”
“Someone who can carry all the files.”
Claire Su pulled out the tape reel.
The tape went taut.
All the phone cords jerked violently at once.
“Then we make sure it can't find a carrier.”
“How?”
“Delete the names from the procedure.”
The Ethan Lin at the terminal said, “If you delete them, the people outside will lose their identities too.”
“Not delete the people.”
Claire Su looked at the Ethan Lin in reality.
“Delete the correspondences.”
“Make the names stop pointing to one unique person.”
She grabbed the phone cord labeled Ethan Lin.
She connected it to Jason Huang's loop.
Then she connected Claire Su to Zhang Boxun.
All the lines began crossing over one another.
The switchboard issued an error alert.
Identity conflict.
Original sample unidentifiable.
This was exactly what Room 404 feared most.
When two people possessed the same evidence at the same time, the system could not determine who the true tenant was.
And when every name was connected incorrectly, the switchboard could no longer determine whom to recover.
Claire Su rapidly rearranged the lines.
Ethan Lin crouched down to help.
He tore off the label bearing his own name and stuck it onto the nameless designation-13 line.
The boy abruptly raised his head.
Every red light on the switchboard came on.
Ethan Lin = 13.
13 = Ethan Lin.
Original sample duplicated.
The Ethan Lin at the terminal began flickering.
The Ethan Lin beside her felt a sharp pain in his chest as well.
The two men seemed to be forcibly overlapping.
Claire Su immediately stuck her own label onto the same line.
Claire Su = 13.
Then Jason Huang.
Zhang Boxun.
Zheng Jiawen.
Every name that had been recovered was connected to the designation-13 line.
The system could no longer identify Thirteen as a single individual.
Because Thirteen now pointed to everyone.
Which was also the same as pointing to no one.
Smoke began pouring from the switchboard.
The terminal lobby shook violently.
The trapped original versions gradually became transparent, one after another.
They were not vanishing.
They were reconnecting with the identities corresponding to them outside.
The death certificate in Jason Huang's hand caught fire.
Zhang Boxun looked down at his own hands.
“I remember,” he said.
“I didn't die.”
Claire Su yanked out the final tape.
Riiip—
All thirteen lines snapped at once.
The switchboard exploded.
A blinding light swallowed the entire maintenance corridor.
The Ethan Lin at the terminal stepped backward.
His body began dissolving into white light.
The Ethan Lin on the platform reached out.
Their hands were less than four inches apart across the doorway.
They did not touch.
They couldn't.
If they confirmed each other, the system might once again decide which was the original version.
The Ethan Lin at the terminal looked at him.
He said only one thing:
“Don't come back for a fifteenth time.”
The metal door slammed shut.
Bang!
The light disappeared.
The maintenance corridor returned to normal.
There was no Station Thirteen.
No train.
No switchboard.
Only a burned tape and thirteen blank name tags remained on the ground.
Everyone collapsed onto the floor.
A few seconds later, the radios gradually came back online.
Chaotic reports came from the surface command vehicle.
Jason Huang was still there.
There was only one of him.
Zheng Jiawen reappeared in her hospital bed.
Zhang Boxun also regained consciousness.
No one had vanished.
Ethan Lin sat down against the wall.
The ticket mark on the back of his hand had faded.
Claire Su crouched in front of him.
“Do you remember yourself at the terminal?”
He nodded.
“How much?”
Ethan Lin took the whiteboard and wrote:
Everything.
Claire Su looked at the word.
She did not look relieved.
“That may not be a good thing.”
Ethan Lin looked up.
She said quietly, “When we rewired the lines just now.”
“Every name briefly pointed to Thirteen.”
“We may have brought his memories back with us too.”
A child's soft laugh came from deep in the maintenance corridor.
Everyone turned at once.
There was no one there.
Only a sentence written on the wall in black ink:
Thank you for dividing me among everyone.
Beneath it was a row of dates.
April 14, 1998.
April 14, 2015.
April 14, 2028.
The final date was unfinished.
It read only:
April 2041—
Claire Su looked at the years.
Thirteen years between each one.
“This isn't the first cycle,” she said.
Ethan Lin walked closer to the wall.
Beneath the dates was another line of smaller writing.
Next time, everyone will remember Ren'an.
At that moment, an announcement came from the normally operating platform of Anhe Station.
It was not the abnormal voice.
It was the subway company's standard female voice.
“Hello, passengers.”
“To accommodate testing for the opening of a new station,”
“effective today, the next station from this station will be renamed—”
The announcement paused.
Every screen in the station refreshed at once.
The gray station that had never existed displayed an official name for the first time.
Ren'an Station.
The scattered passengers on the platform looked up.
No one was surprised.
It was as if the station had always existed.
Someone took out a phone to check the route.
On the map, Ren'an Station had already appeared on the official line map.
Opening date:
April 14, 1998.
Years in operation:
Twenty-nine.
The historical records were complete.
The news reports were complete.
There were even thousands of passenger reviews.
Only Ethan Lin and Claire Su remembered that a few minutes ago, this station had not existed.
Claire Su opened her phone.
She searched for Ren'an Sanatorium.
The results displayed a psychiatric medical facility that was still open.
Its address was beside Exit 2 of Ren'an Station.
The homepage of the official website read:
Ren'an Sanatorium
Established in 1998.
Providing professional psychiatric care twenty-four hours a day.
Below the website was a group photo of the staff.
Thirteen medical workers stood in front of the entrance.
At the very center, the director held a cigarette between his teeth.
Name:
Chen Guoqiang.
Standing to his right was a criminal psychologist.
Claire Su.
To his left was an attending physician.
Ethan Lin.
Photo taken:
April 1, 2028.
Yesterday.
At the very front of the photo, thirteen children in patient gowns sat in a neat row.
The thirteenth child had no name tag.
His face—
was slowly becoming Jason Huang.
Was slowly becoming Jason Huang.