[Reverie has become part of the story]
My eyes fluttered open, my hazel eyes golden under the sunlight. I did not even manage to take notice of the Narrator's statement.
"You may be all wondering why I brought you all here today…"
But there was no sunlight underground.
As baffled as I may have been, I arose slowly, still sleepy as I rubbed my eyes.
Once my sight focused, I saw a chic old man. He was the type where you could tell he was rich just by looking at him: clear, unwrinkled skin with minimal signs of aging, salt-and-pepper hair, and designer logos in his clothing. Almost like he was from another world where the apocalypse has yet to start.
A girl with light brown hair and eyes like a cat's was staring at me.
Though confused, I stayed quiet, spectating from behind the group.
Beside the old man, there were six other men and women who dressed casually and neatly.
A man who had brown hair responded, "Yes. Everyone is aware. Am I right?"
The sound of agreement rippled and the group gave simultaneous nods.
At their affirmative response, the chic old man gave a nod back, his glasses dropping slightly down his nose, then turned his back on us.
He entered the driver's compartment of the train with a loud shut.
At that point, I had stood up groggily from my make-believe bed and joined the group. A man who I did not recognize looked and greeted me with a jerk of his head. It was as though they knew me.
From the small window of the driver's compartment, I saw the old man press a fist onto a red button. Whether it was a self-destruct button, I did not know.
The train, however, had begun to pick up its speed. So it wasn't a bomb, at the very least.
I neared the window and wiped the fog. Outside, it was dark, with the occasional light from the dirt walls appearing.
There was a figure made of light once we passed by a station, but the train was so fast that I could not manage to take a second glance.
Halt. The train stopped in its tracks.
Then, abruptly, the first cart started to move diagonally. Each cart moved gradually. When it was our turn, eventually, I realized, with the help of gravity, that we were falling down a hole.
It was akin to an Al*ce in W*nderland type of experience.
As we fell, the people inside of the train did not scream as I had expected them to be. Though, neither did I.
Their faces were stoic as we plummeted.
With that in mind, I thought them to be experienced in this field. If my assumption was right, then it would make sense.
As I gripped one of the seats to keep me in place, the pressure that defied gravity pulling my hair and facial features back, I gazed out of the windows.
There were books, cabinets, and fragments of sentences falling around us and the train.
After having settled in and no longer dazed from slumber, I realized that one of them—no, all of them looked familiar.
One of them, according to his brother, was not supposed to be alive.
"Justin Fleming," I said.
Here he was, looking as though he had been alive all along. He looked aged with the lines around his mouth.
What were the chances that Lucas fooled me? What were the chances that he used his own brother's death as a way for me to pity him? Not that it worked, but still.
The dirty-blond looked at me with his blue and lifeless eyes, his body shook from the pressure and his hair looked to be blow-dried. Everyone was the same.
"What's up?"
I didn't answer.
This man was supposed to have passed. And yet, here he was.
But there was something in his eyes. Something that made me deeply uncomfortable. It was lifeless.
What's more is that, I only remembered now, he was meant to be on the moon alongside Ben.
The image of The Federation's futuristic television came back to me. The flatscreen showcased a group of astronauts known as Lucifer-180. A group of seven members. The group was formed by a flight director that went by the name George Hamilton. One of the members was Benedict Leyendecker and Justin Fleming.
It was as though the story I had written once upon a time was no longer mine.
The world I lived in was no longer the home I knew of.
I was sure that this Justin Fleming was not the one I knew back in college.
His eyes were a bright blue back then and now it had turned murky.
Like he was not himself anymore.
In fact, that may be the truth. This was not Justin Fleming, my first beta reader.
But rather, the fictional character I created out of him.
—Reverie, as though stuck in a trance, did not notice when the train had landed deep through the earth's crust.
As the Narrator's cold voice rang into my ear, I contemplated some more.
But the others—I did not know who.
That was in a subjective sense.
Because I knew that these people were from Lucifer-180.
These were people that had never been mentioned in the novel, Imperfect Knight, for they died on the moon.
Even though I say that, I don't recall how I killed them off. What happened on the moon and with Lucifer-180 remained vague.
In other words, they were extras.
Forgotten by the main story and readers.
Unnamed characters made for the sake of the protagonist's glory.
And yet…
"Reverie!" said one of the women, snapping me back to reality.
I gritted my teeth.
It was one thing when a machine or system like the Narrator called me by my full name, but a stranger that I don't ever recall sharing memories with?
This group is irrelevant to the story so why were they acting like we were comrades?
Don't call me that.
"Let's go."
[The Narrator has rewritten the story]
[The next round shall commence in:]
[35:27:59]