Chapter Fourty-Seven

The gang of rich sociopaths—his beloved, insane friends—were finally making their way to the train station, eager for the long-awaited trip to Londonium. The grand opening of the city was happening that week, and where the Supreme Leader Mark Lantrun went, Eden's wealthy elite followed like the obedient socialites they were. The entire upper class was practically drooling over the chance to be part of the spectacle, and of course, his group wouldn't miss it for the world.

He was still adjusting to life in Eden's upper crust, remembering how he used to be just a poor farmer's son from the North. Now, thanks to his parents moving to Eden and finding success, here he was, rubbing elbows with people who thought nothing of spending obscene amounts of money on cursed dolls and weird occult artifacts.

Case in point: Anya had casually booked an entire first-class carriage for their journey to Londonium. When she mentioned it, his eyes widened in shock for a brief second—until he remembered who he was dealing with. To them, reserving a private carriage was as simple as buying a cup of coffee. No one even batted an eye.

The only catch? They'd all decided to bring their sick, ancient dogs—thanks to that absurd social media trend about adopting the oldest, most decrepit animals possible to prove how much "empathy" they had. Never mind the fact that these rich sociopaths had about as much empathy as a brick wall.

As if that weren't bad enough, Anya, in her eternal need to prove herself, had convinced the group to leave their servants behind. She had recently gotten into a massive argument with her parents, who accused her of being utterly incapable of surviving without her staff.

"I'll show them," Anya had said, defiant and dramatic. "I can do everything myself. We can do everything ourselves!"

And somehow, she managed to convince the rest of the group to go along with it. No servants, no help—just them, their disturbingly sick dogs, and a train ride that was supposed to take nearly 24 hours. What could possibly go wrong?

At first, everything seemed fine. They boarded the train, and he was momentarily stunned by the opulence of the first-class carriage. It was like a mini luxury hotel, complete with plush seats, chandeliers, and enough food and drink to last them a week.

The dogs, naturally, wheezed and snorted from their various corners, looking like they might drop dead at any second. Peaches, Anya's nearly blind, one-legged dachshund, was especially unsettling. It just sat there, staring into nothingness, making strange gurgling noises that gave him the creeps.

He figured this was as bad as it would get. Boy, was he wrong.

After a few hours of lounging around, sipping imported wine, and pretending that the dogs weren't about to keel over, he decided to step out of the carriage for a quick smoke break. The train's first-class deck was designed for moments like this—open-air, sleek, with a view of the pristine Edenite countryside whizzing by.

He took his time, enjoying the cool breeze and the momentary escape from the madness inside. But when he returned to the carriage, he walked straight into what could only be described as complete chaos.

Anya was in the middle of the room, sobbing uncontrollably, her once perfectly styled hair now matted with what looked like—was that dog vomit? Oh yeah, definitely dog vomit. She was covered in it, her expensive designer clothes ruined by the horrific mess.

"I don't understand!" she wailed, waving her arms around like a madwoman. "I was just feeding Peaches, and then she—she exploded!"

Peaches, who was the clear culprit, sat nearby, looking shockingly unfazed by the fact that she had vomited what seemed to be twice her body weight. The old dachshund stared blankly at Anya, as if to say, "This is your problem now, darling."

To make matters worse, a small fire had broken out in the corner of the carriage. Rook, who was always the most dramatic of the group, was running around flapping his expensive jacket at the flames, only succeeding in spreading smoke everywhere.

"WHY IS THERE A FIRE?!" he shouted in disbelief, his mind trying to catch up with what he was seeing.

"That was Elias," Rook wheezed between frantic flaps. "He thought lighting a candle would be romantic."

"WHY would you light a candle on a train?" he demanded, grabbing a bottle of mineral water to douse the flames.

"Ambiance!" Elias shouted back, as if that explained everything. "You don't understand—ambiance is everything!"

It was at that moment that things took an even more absurd turn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement, followed by a sharp, high-pitched cackle that sent chills down his spine.

Elias' murder doll had somehow escaped its high-tech containment box.

The doll—small, creepy, and downright terrifying—was now free, scuttling across the floor like some demented creature, making a beeline for Elias, who promptly screamed and whipped out a high-tech laser gun from seemingly nowhere.

"OH GOD, IT'S LOOSE!" Elias screamed, taking aim at the doll with wild eyes.

"What do you mean it's loose?" he shouted, barely able to believe his own ears. "How the hell did it escape?!"

"I don't know! The box was supposed to be impenetrable!" Elias cried, firing off a few shots that narrowly missed the doll, which darted behind one of the chairs with an evil giggle.

"Clearly not that impenetrable!" he yelled back, ducking as one of the laser blasts singed the edge of his jacket.

Rook was still running around, alternating between trying to put out the fire and attempting to avoid getting zapped by Elias' stray shots. Meanwhile, Anya was sobbing incoherently, clutching Peaches in her arms as if the dachshund would offer her any comfort.

"STOP SHOOTING THE TRAIN!" he screamed, dodging another laser blast.

"I'm trying to stop it!" Elias snapped, firing wildly as the doll ducked and weaved through the chaos.

In the midst of the mayhem, one of the dogs started hacking up what sounded like a lung, adding a horrific soundtrack to the whole situation.

The doll cackled again, launching itself at Elias, who yelped and dove behind a seat, leaving the rest of the group to fend for themselves.

"I swear to god, if we make it out of this alive, I'm never traveling with you psychos again," he muttered to himself, grabbing a discarded pillow and swatting at the doll like it was some sort of demonically possessed fly.

"Get it! Get it before it—AHHH!" Rook shrieked as the doll zipped by his feet, nearly tripping him.

In the end, it took three bottles of water to douse the flames, several failed laser shots to finally catch the murder doll, and a lot of yelling before the chaos died down. Elias eventually managed to trap the doll back in its box, though it took a couple of scorched seats and one broken table to get there.

Anya, still crying and covered in dog vomit, glared at him as if this whole thing was somehow his fault.

"This was supposed to be a fun trip," she sniffled miserably, her mascara running down her face. "I hate this."

He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Well, this is what happens when you leave the servants behind. Maybe your parents were right."

Anya shot him a look that could kill, but there wasn't much venom behind it. She knew, deep down, that she was in way over her head.

With the fire extinguished, the murder doll secured, and Peaches wheezing weakly in Anya's lap, the group settled into a strange, uncomfortable silence. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, dog vomit, and singed upholstery.

This was supposed to be a luxurious, relaxing trip to Londonium. Instead, it felt like they were starring in some twisted survival game show.

"Well," Elias said with a grin, clearly unbothered by the mayhem, "at least we've still got the wine."

As they passed around the bottles, toasting to their survival, he couldn't help but laugh again. This was Eden. This was his life now. And as chaotic and absurd as it was, there was a part of him that wouldn't trade it for the world.

If this was just the train ride, who knew what fresh madness awaited them in Londonium? One thing was for sure—he'd be sticking around to find out.