Welcome to the City of Dreams!

The overhead speaker said it with an unsettling happiness as the train jolted to a stop, jostling the passengers aboard. It was easy to pay the voice no mind, the conductor seemed happy to point out EVERY stop, and it got a bit grating after being on board for 4 hours.

However, as everyone riding the train collectively shivered at that quote, the voice behind the low-grade speaker repeated it gleefully.

"Welcome to the city of dreams!", she began. "In Vaizeir, the only limit to your potential is the limit of your imagination! Please approach the doors carefully, and--"

Murmurs filled the silence and as the doors slithered open with a rusty wail, it took a few seconds before anyone took a step out of the train. With a voice as eager as the conductor's, you'd think anyone would be foolish not to seize the day in the city. The train's inhabitants knew better, and as the intercom sharply cut off, you could almost hear an empathetic sigh. The train's cramped and starchy air, its seats like a leathery concrete, and puce-colored carpet stained by the mud of hundreds of shoes never felt like more of an oasis to the ongoers than in the seconds they had to get off.

It's REALLY the best of first impressions when the first thing that hits your senses isn't a beautiful mountain view, or a wonderful testament to architecture, but a raindrop. Followed by another. Raindrops from a gray sky hanging over you like shoulder demons judging your actions. The sky seemed like a massive suffocating nothing, and the dilapidated rust-colored buildings lining the station exit practically reached up and disappeared into them. Taking the first steps away from the train made that anxious void feel even hungrier when it's a step onto a discarded coffee cup filled with cigarette butts.

And as the train dragged off with an ear-bleeding squeal, the acceptance had no choice but to sink in. They were in Vaizeir, and there was nothing they could do about it.