...The train carriage hummed, a low-frequency vibration that rattled the bones more than the floorboards.
"Appologies...seniór Whities." The conductor gave a low bow. His accent was light, but inevitable. The first Soren had expressed from the part of the world they were heading to.
"The ride is not so smooth. See, these tracks experienced an accident only a few months ago, and the worker drones have not been able to fully clean the tracks because of the snow.
Please bare with us." He bowed again.
Soren and the others simply nodded his way.
Outside, the blurred white landscape of the territories streaked by in shades of bruised green and metallic grey—the telltale staining of high-density ectoplasm in the atmosphere.
Soren was probably one of the few people that would see such a sight—though grim— still appreciated the freedom it represented.
Soren leaned back, the leather of the seat cracking under his weight.
