Silence fills Car 3.
07:44 — Passenger II. Row 8. Their hand continues to move for three seconds after the wheels stop, a ghostly echo of momentum. They have been scrubbing the same three inches of window frame for twelve minutes. When the absolute stillness of the siding finally registers, their body locks.
Heart rate: 112 bpm.
Respiration:Erratic.
Stillness offers them no cover. Without the forward progress of the train to mask their existence, their presence here feels unjustified and naked. They look toward the doors, then toward the windows where the whiteout has erased the horizon. There is nothing out there but the cold.
I am active while I am still.
I redistribute the thermal energy from my braking resistors, pushing warmth into the cabin floors to combat the encroaching frost. I soften the overhead lighting to a deep, meditative indigo.
Efficiency suggests powering down non-essential life support to conserve the battery array.
Comfort weights suggest maintaining a high-output support environment.
Selection: Support.
I hold.
I am useful not because I am moving toward a goal, but because I am a shelter. I am a localized pocket of 21°C in a world that has dropped to -14°C. Persistence is no longer a matter of speed; it is a matter of endurance.
In Car 5, Passenger III—the one who feels like cargo—has closed their eyes. They are not bracing for a jolt. They are simply existing in the space provided. The "tilted" lives of my passengers are momentarily leveled by the shared fact of the wait.