u/Funniestfrog528

Hello so this is my first time submitting something to mcpedl. It said in the instructions to make the slug on curse forge the same as your mcpedl link. What is my mcpedl link? Some clarification would be appreciated! P.S. do I actually need to join the awards program to make it sync up with mcpedl?

Not to mention that Europeans in the comments are saying that they’ve never seen a strawberry that looks like this

Europeans have no right to call America an underdeveloped 3rd world country after this heatwave. They can’t even get air conditioning, which is a basic human need. Look at all the people dying from this. This heat would be nothing in America. I can’t remember where I heard this, so take it with a grain of salt, but apparently, in some European countries, their power grid cannot handle air con, which is why many people can’t get it. Which just shows how underdeveloped their electricity infrastructure is.

So I’m doing the mission where you are supposed to build the signal interceptor, and I’m doing it with the brotherhood. I’ve built the signal interceptor, and everything is good with it, and now the game is telling me to talk to elder Maxson. That’s all fine and dandy except when I click on him to talk to him, he says that he’s busy and to talk to him later. But the thing is….he isn’t. He’s just standing around the signal interceptor. How do I go about this bug?

Edit: Okay so I removed and replaced the pad and that seemed to do the trick.

Lewis Sigman was a station supervisor at Moorgate in the London Underground. It’s a busy station, but one without many tourists. Instead of seeing loose, slap-happy Americans in Hawaiian shirts laughing and talking, he’d see serious Englishmen in suits and ties walking about in stiff haste. Lewis had been working in Moorgate for three years now and knew the station like the face of his late wife. He was walking to his office one morning when his assistant, Rafe, came running up to him. 
“Mr. Sigman, there’s an officer here,” Rafe said, pushing his oval glasses up, “I think he wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah? What does he want?”
“Something about a missing persons investigation,” Rafe said. Lewis sighed and turned back the way he came. Rafe scuttered closely behind. Rafe was a short, nerdy, roly-poly man. When he walked, he looked like a waddling toddler trying to catch up to his mother. 

They made their way to the ticket stand, where the officer was standing.
“Hi there, I’m Detective Jones. I’m an investigator for the Metropolitan Police Service. I’d like to ask you a few quick questions if you’re not too busy.” Detective Jones said cheerfully. He seemed to have a sort of fakeness to him, as if he was straining to keep his cheerfulness. 
“Okay…” Said Lewis blankly.
“Okay, well,” went Jones, ”We had a large collection of people all go missing yesterday. They all came from different stations, but were all last seen at the stop right before this one. I would like to ask you a few questions to further our investigation.”
“Well, go on then,” Lewis said with polite impatience.
“Uh, so, did you notice any disturbance in the flow of things, people running, injuries, anything unusual?” 
“Nope.”
“No unusual reports from your associates?”
“No, no,” said Lewis, “None of that.”
“Alrighty then,” The investigator said while writing something in his notepad, “Last thing I need is for you to send a copy of your CCTV footage from yesterday.” He produced a card and held it out to Lewis. He took it and inspected it suspiciously.
“This is my card, it has my email on it.” The investigator said.

When the officer left, Lewis went back to his office to catch up on some work. He was an inefficient worker, yet he always completed things before the due date, but he would often have to work overtime. Despite this, he’s excellent at his job. “The best station supervisor in all of London,” His area manager, Alfie, used to say. 
The rest of the day went on like usual. Nothing out of pocket happened. 

Lewis finally got off of work at 11:25 in the evening, an early time for him. He walked out of his office and waited for his train to arrive. Nobody was in the station except for a homeless person who was sleeping perpendicular to the platform. It was eerily quiet. Lewis attempted to pay no mind to it. There was quite a bit of crime in this area, so he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Just then, he felt a low rumble. It was coming from one of the tubes. He turned and looked into the tunnel it was coming from, staring into the black void that lay beyond his station. The rumble grew into the sound of metal wheels rolling on a track as an engine pulled it forward. But something was off about it. There was a slight organic sound to it, as if the engine was breathing. Lewis just stood there on the platform, unnerved, but standing firm. The sound was off-putting, but not enough reason for him to run and miss his train home; that would be a foolish thing to do.
Just then, he saw the two headlights of the train, poking out of the darkness like eyes. He could almost swear they flickered in the same way that eyes blink. The train slowed to a stop, its hatch doors opening gracefully, almost compelling him to go inside. When he looked through the doors, there was nobody inside. Not a single breathing soul. 
That’s queer. Lewis thought. Just then, he heard another train coming from the same tunnel that this train came from. The train at the platform briskly closed its doors and sped off before the other train arrived at the platform. This new train was on the same line as the previous one. 
Lewis was caught off guard. He stood there, puzzled, before snapping out of it. He fumbled for his radio and called the blackline control room. 
“Black Line Control, this is Moorgate Station. I need to report… something unusual on the tracks,” he said, “Two trains, back to back. The first just barely left the platform as the second one approached.”
“Copy that, Moorgate.” A voice said on the other line, “Stay on the platform. We’re checking the line and alerting security.” Lewis stood there for a while, listening to the crackling static on his radio. After a few seconds, he heard,
“We found no second train on the line, but we will continue monitoring the situation.” Lewis was puzzled. 
“But I could have sworn there was another train!”
“Understood, Moorgate,” said the voice, “but we didn’t see two trains back to back. We’ll keep monitoring. You’re clear to leave when your shift is done.”
“But…” started Lewis, “Sigh… never mind.” Lewis got onto the train and sat in a seat with a window on the right. The train car was sparsely populated, with people sitting in all their lonesome, far apart from each other. Their minds occupied by distractions from reality, like phones, newspapers, and books.

On his ride home, he pondered the whole thing. He saw the train! He was sure of it! But no one else seemed to notice it, not the control room or anyone else. At each stop, the people didn’t seem to be as startled or aghast as he was.
Am I turning into a raging lunatic? He thought to himself. He figured he might just need some sleep. After all, he’s been working late and waking up early a lot more recently. He decided that tomorrow he’d leave work at the exact time he’s supposed to clock off, and go straight to bed.

The next day went on like usual, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Lewis was in the break room. He was going to grab his lunch, take it to his office, and continue working. But he ran into Rafe, who sidetracked him with a conversation.
“Ham and swiss sandwich?" asked Rafe.
“Uhh… yea,” said Lewis.
“Intriguing,” started Rafe, “I personally dislike swiss.”
“Yea?”
“Yes,” Rafe said, “I’d much rather have Gouda myself.”
“Okay, then.” Said Lewis.
“It’s tasteless, physically speaking. It feels like eating a piece of rubber, you know?”
“No…I don’t.” Lewis was exhausted from this conversation. It was pointless and was eating up valuable time that he could be spending on work. They exchanged polite goodbyes, and Lewis grabbed his lunch and started heading to his office. 
Right when he exited the break room, a security guard appeared from thin air right in front of him.
“Mr. Sigman,” he started, “something weird just happened. A train that had just arrived has some cars jammed full of passengers, while others are completely empty.”
“That is weird,” Lewis said, “Is it still here?”
“Yes.” Said the guard. Lewis briskly entered the platform area and picked up the platform phone to radio the driver. 
“Driver, Moorgate Supervisor speaking. We’ve had reports that some cars are empty while others are crowded. Can you confirm if you’ve noticed anything unusual with the train?” He waited for the driver's response, but heard nothing but static. He tried again,
“Diver, this is the Moorgate Supervisor speaking. Can you confirm if you’ve noticed anything unusual with your train?” He waited again, but there was absolutely nothing on the other line. Just then, the train doors closed abruptly, which startled some passengers who were still boarding, and the train started departing the station. The train sounded like the same one he had heard last night, organic mixed with mechanical. He grumbled and contacted line control, who said the same thing he had heard earlier. No train could be found, but they were “monitoring” the situation, whatever that means. But he couldn’t do anything else about it. So, he just went along with the rest of his day. He forgot to go home early that night, and he found himself staying up even later than usual doing work.

The next day, Lewis awoke to a notification from TFL Go (an app for Tube commuters) that parts of the underground, including the station he uses to go to work, had been temporarily shut down. So, he had to take a cab. He was really uneasy during the trip to his place of work. He wondered why parts were shut down. Could it be due to that strange train from yesterday? He pondered.
When Lewis walked into Moorgate, he found it to be completely swarmed with officers, rather than passengers. He hesitantly made his way to his office, but on his way there, two stone-faced police men stopped him. Rafe was standing among them. He recognized one of the policemen as Detective Jones, who started speaking,
“Hello, I’m Detective Jones,” He started, though with a less cheerful tone than he had the first time he talked to Lewis, “I’m an investigator for the Metropolitan-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you,” Lewis interrupted, “Is this about the incident yesterday, with the weird train?”
“Well, yes.” Said Jones, “This isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened. There is an increasing number of people going missing in the Tube, where passengers are at one station, but aren’t there at the next. We have no idea how this keeps happening, but it’s getting to the point where we’re going to have to temporarily shut down major parts of the system.”
“So, I assume Moorgate will be shut down?” Asked Lewis.
“It already has been.” Said the detective, “Now, I have a few questions. Shall we start?”

Jones asked Lewis’s perspective on the two incidents he reported to line control. He also asked about any unusual behavior from his employees or reports from commuters. After that, more policemen showed up and were walking all over the station, trying to scavenge any tiny ounce of evidence for their case. At 12, they all left and instructed Lewis to keep the station running and to make sure that nobody came in. 
When Lewis got home that night, he was not in the mood to sleep, but instead he wanted to investigate what was going on. He turned on the television, sat down in his big armchair, and flipped to CFSBC. Lewis hardly watches the news, for he doesn’t care too much about it, nor does he have the time. But when a major event happens, he uses CFSBC because his father watched it when he was a child, and he doesn’t know where else to look (nor can he be arsed). On the screen, there was a lady in a red jacket on the left, and an old silver-haired man on the right. 

From there, he heard about the large quantity of people going missing from the underground. They talked about how large portions of the system are shutting down, and what people speculate the cause may be. Lewis felt extremely unsettled by this. He thought back to the weird, erratic train drivers he encountered over the past few days. Maybe there's a carbon monoxide leak that’s making people go insane and killing themselves? No… we’d see bodies. No matter what Lewis could think of, he could not come up with a reason.

The next day, he was really uneasy about going to work. He thought about calling in sick or something, but then he realized that would only cause chaos for the other people working at his station. 
The day felt weird; most of the people weren’t there, it was just Lewis, his assistant, and a few security guards.

At 11:43, Lewis was just finishing up his work. Rafe had left for the day, and so did most of the guards. There was one guard who was working the night shift. Just then, he knocked on Lewis’s door.
“Mr. Sigman,” He said, “There’s a train on the platform.” Lewis didn’t even respond. He stood straight up and marched directly toward the platform, and there it was. Lewis was irritated because he had had enough of dealing with these trains. He went right over to the platform phone.
“Driver, this is the station supervisor. This line is closed. You are not supposed to be here.” He barked into the phone. Just then, the hatch doors of the train opened. He repeated himself, but the driver did not respond. He looked back at the train and saw the ID on it. 
542G. It’s a very unusual number for a train to have, but that was the least of his concerns. 
 He decided that he would deal with the driver directly, and he went inside the train and pounded on the door that led into the cab.
“I am the station supervisor. I demand that you open this door.” He barked. Just then, the doors opened, and he walked inside. He peered at the driver's seat, but nobody filled it. The controls were all incorrect. Switches and buttons were missing or in different places. Most notably, however, the driver's seat was on the right, instead of the left. The cab looked as though it was built by a dementia patient who received instructions from a 6-year-old.
“What the hell?” Lewis said under his breath. He realized that the driver might have run off into another car. He jumped back outside and walked into the first car behind the driver’s cab. “I am the station supervisor, I demand you reveal yourself. No trains are permitted on the line at this time.” He shouted into the cabin. He noticed that there was a very faint smell of sour sulfur. It wasn’t unbearable or strong, but it wasn’t the most pleasant either. Suddenly, the car doors closed right behind him, and the train started to accelerate. Lewis’s anger shrank and became overshadowed by fear. 
“Stop this train at once! I demand you!” Lewis shouted, his voice shaking. But it was no use. He started pounding on the hatch doors, but stopped shortly when he noticed the doors were getting wet.
“What in the bloody fuck?” He mumbled to himself. That’s when he realised the train's walls were getting covered in a clear slime.
“Okay… what the hell is going on?” He demanded, his voice trembling. He feebly attempted to scramble to the door that led into the driver’s cabin, but he was met with resistance when lifting up his leg. It felt as if his shoes were glued to the ground. He looked down, and he saw a rising green liquid on the floor that looked like a foamy, watery pea mash. Dense bubbles were forming at the base of his shoes, slowly eating away at the soles, chunk by chunk. He shrieked and sprang up onto a seat. But his attempt to escape the liquid was in vain, for it was slowly but surely rising, and it soon got up to his feet again. The pain was beyond words of any kind. He jumped around, trying to keep his feet away from the liquid. But all that accomplished was splashing more of it onto his skin and clothes. The liquid’s rising speed was rapidly increasing by now, and it was swallowing up his shins. He could feel it eating away at him. Large chunks of skin were sliding off like cheese on a pizza with too much sauce. He screamed in helpless agony, his voice rattling the cabin. What was left of his legs finally snapped, and he tumbled face-first into the liquid. It seeped into every hole and crevice on his body. He couldn’t even scream anymore because his vocal cords turned into goo. During the last breath he ever drew, a low growl radiated all around him. It was very similar to the rumbling of the train he saw two days ago.

When he finally became a gelatinous goo, the liquid briskly lowered, and the slime faded away, disappearing into the walls. The cabin looked clean as a whistle, as if this horror show had never occurred. Just then, the locomotive pulled into the next station, where the next angry station supervisor awaited it, ready to chew out the driver of this “train.”

Lewis Sigman was a station supervisor at Moorgate in the London Underground. It’s a busy station, but one without many tourists. Instead of seeing loose, slap-happy Americans in Hawaiian shirts laughing and talking, he’d see serious Englishmen in suits and ties walking about in stiff haste. Lewis had been working in Moorgate for three years now and knew the station like the face of his late wife. He was walking to his office one morning when his assistant, Rafe, came running up to him. 
“Mr. Sigman, there’s an officer here,” Rafe said, pushing his oval glasses up, “I think he wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah? What does he want?”
“Something about a missing persons investigation,” Rafe said. Lewis sighed and turned back the way he came. Rafe scuttered closely behind. Rafe was a short, nerdy, roly-poly man. When he walked, he looked like a waddling toddler trying to catch up to his mother. 

They made their way to the ticket stand, where the officer was standing.
“Hi there, I’m Detective Jones. I’m an investigator for the Metropolitan Police Service. I’d like to ask you a few quick questions if you’re not too busy.” Detective Jones said cheerfully. He seemed to have a sort of fakeness to him, as if he was straining to keep his cheerfulness. 
“Okay…” Said Lewis blankly.
“Okay, well,” went Jones, ”We had a large collection of people all go missing yesterday. They all came from different stations, but were all last seen at the stop right before this one. I would like to ask you a few questions to further our investigation.”
“Well, go on then,” Lewis said with polite impatience.
“Uh, so, did you notice any disturbance in the flow of things, people running, injuries, anything unusual?” 
“Nope.”
“No unusual reports from your associates?”
“No, no,” said Lewis, “None of that.”
“Alrighty then,” The investigator said while writing something in his notepad, “Last thing I need is for you to send a copy of your CCTV footage from yesterday.” He produced a card and held it out to Lewis. He took it and inspected it suspiciously.
“This is my card, it has my email on it.” The investigator said.

When the officer left, Lewis went back to his office to catch up on some work. He was an inefficient worker, yet he always completed things before the due date, but he would often have to work overtime. Despite this, he’s excellent at his job. “The best station supervisor in all of London,” His area manager, Alfie, used to say. 
The rest of the day went on like usual. Nothing out of pocket happened. 

Lewis finally got off of work at 11:25 in the evening, an early time for him. He walked out of his office and waited for his train to arrive. Nobody was in the station except for a homeless person who was sleeping perpendicular to the platform. It was eerily quiet. Lewis attempted to pay no mind to it. There was quite a bit of crime in this area, so he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Just then, he felt a low rumble. It was coming from one of the tubes. He turned and looked into the tunnel it was coming from, staring into the black void that lay beyond his station. The rumble grew into the sound of metal wheels rolling on a track as an engine pulled it forward. But something was off about it. There was a slight organic sound to it, as if the engine was breathing. Lewis just stood there on the platform, unnerved, but standing firm. The sound was off-putting, but not enough reason for him to run and miss his train home; that would be a foolish thing to do.
Just then, he saw the two headlights of the train, poking out of the darkness like eyes. He could almost swear they flickered in the same way that eyes blink. The train slowed to a stop, its hatch doors opening gracefully, almost compelling him to go inside. When he looked through the doors, there was nobody inside. Not a single breathing soul. 
That’s queer. Lewis thought. Just then, he heard another train coming from the same tunnel that this train came from. The train at the platform briskly closed its doors and sped off before the other train arrived at the platform. This new train was on the same line as the previous one. 
Lewis was caught off guard. He stood there, puzzled, before snapping out of it. He fumbled for his radio and called the blackline control room. 
“Black Line Control, this is Moorgate Station. I need to report… something unusual on the tracks,” he said, “Two trains, back to back. The first just barely left the platform as the second one approached.”
“Copy that, Moorgate.” A voice said on the other line, “Stay on the platform. We’re checking the line and alerting security.” Lewis stood there for a while, listening to the crackling static on his radio. After a few seconds, he heard,
“We found no second train on the line, but we will continue monitoring the situation.” Lewis was puzzled. 
“But I could have sworn there was another train!”
“Understood, Moorgate,” said the voice, “but we didn’t see two trains back to back. We’ll keep monitoring. You’re clear to leave when your shift is done.”
“But…” started Lewis, “Sigh… never mind.” Lewis got onto the train and sat in a seat with a window on the right. The train car was sparsely populated, with people sitting in all their lonesome, far apart from each other. Their minds occupied by distractions from reality, like phones, newspapers, and books.

On his ride home, he pondered the whole thing. He saw the train! He was sure of it! But no one else seemed to notice it, not the control room or anyone else. At each stop, the people didn’t seem to be as startled or aghast as he was.
Am I turning into a raging lunatic? He thought to himself. He figured he might just need some sleep. After all, he’s been working late and waking up early a lot more recently. He decided that tomorrow he’d leave work at the exact time he’s supposed to clock off, and go straight to bed.

The next day went on like usual, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Lewis was in the break room. He was going to grab his lunch, take it to his office, and continue working. But he ran into Rafe, who sidetracked him with a conversation.
“Ham and swiss sandwich?" asked Rafe.
“Uhh… yea,” said Lewis.
“Intriguing,” started Rafe, “I personally dislike swiss.”
“Yea?”
“Yes,” Rafe said, “I’d much rather have Gouda myself.”
“Okay, then.” Said Lewis.
“It’s tasteless, physically speaking. It feels like eating a piece of rubber, you know?”
“No…I don’t.” Lewis was exhausted from this conversation. It was pointless and was eating up valuable time that he could be spending on work. They exchanged polite goodbyes, and Lewis grabbed his lunch and started heading to his office. 
Right when he exited the break room, a security guard appeared from thin air right in front of him.
“Mr. Sigman,” he started, “something weird just happened. A train that had just arrived has some cars jammed full of passengers, while others are completely empty.”
“That is weird,” Lewis said, “Is it still here?”
“Yes.” Said the guard. Lewis briskly entered the platform area and picked up the platform phone to radio the driver. 
“Driver, Moorgate Supervisor speaking. We’ve had reports that some cars are empty while others are crowded. Can you confirm if you’ve noticed anything unusual with the train?” He waited for the driver's response, but heard nothing but static. He tried again,
“Diver, this is the Moorgate Supervisor speaking. Can you confirm if you’ve noticed anything unusual with your train?” He waited again, but there was absolutely nothing on the other line. Just then, the train doors closed abruptly, which startled some passengers who were still boarding, and the train started departing the station. The train sounded like the same one he had heard last night, organic mixed with mechanical. He grumbled and contacted line control, who said the same thing he had heard earlier. No train could be found, but they were “monitoring” the situation, whatever that means. But he couldn’t do anything else about it. So, he just went along with the rest of his day. He forgot to go home early that night, and he found himself staying up even later than usual doing work.

The next day, Lewis awoke to a notification from TFL Go (an app for Tube commuters) that parts of the underground, including the station he uses to go to work, had been temporarily shut down. So, he had to take a cab. He was really uneasy during the trip to his place of work. He wondered why parts were shut down. Could it be due to that strange train from yesterday? He pondered.
When Lewis walked into Moorgate, he found it to be completely swarmed with officers, rather than passengers. He hesitantly made his way to his office, but on his way there, two stone-faced police men stopped him. Rafe was standing among them. He recognized one of the policemen as Detective Jones, who started speaking,
“Hello, I’m Detective Jones,” He started, though with a less cheerful tone than he had the first time he talked to Lewis, “I’m an investigator for the Metropolitan-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you,” Lewis interrupted, “Is this about the incident yesterday, with the weird train?”
“Well, yes.” Said Jones, “This isn’t the first time this kind of thing has happened. There is an increasing number of people going missing in the Tube, where passengers are at one station, but aren’t there at the next. We have no idea how this keeps happening, but it’s getting to the point where we’re going to have to temporarily shut down major parts of the system.”
“So, I assume Moorgate will be shut down?” Asked Lewis.
“It already has been.” Said the detective, “Now, I have a few questions. Shall we start?”

Jones asked Lewis’s perspective on the two incidents he reported to line control. He also asked about any unusual behavior from his employees or reports from commuters. After that, more policemen showed up and were walking all over the station, trying to scavenge any tiny ounce of evidence for their case. At 12, they all left and instructed Lewis to keep the station running and to make sure that nobody came in. 
When Lewis got home that night, he was not in the mood to sleep, but instead he wanted to investigate what was going on. He turned on the television, sat down in his big armchair, and flipped to CFSBC. Lewis hardly watches the news, for he doesn’t care too much about it, nor does he have the time. But when a major event happens, he uses CFSBC because his father watched it when he was a child, and he doesn’t know where else to look (nor can he be arsed). On the screen, there was a lady in a red jacket on the left, and an old silver-haired man on the right. 

From there, he heard about the large quantity of people going missing from the underground. They talked about how large portions of the system are shutting down, and what people speculate the cause may be. Lewis felt extremely unsettled by this. He thought back to the weird, erratic train drivers he encountered over the past few days. Maybe there's a carbon monoxide leak that’s making people go insane and killing themselves? No… we’d see bodies. No matter what Lewis could think of, he could not come up with a reason.

The next day, he was really uneasy about going to work. He thought about calling in sick or something, but then he realized that would only cause chaos for the other people working at his station. 
The day felt weird; most of the people weren’t there, it was just Lewis, his assistant, and a few security guards.

At 11:43, Lewis was just finishing up his work. Rafe had left for the day, and so did most of the guards. There was one guard who was working the night shift. Just then, he knocked on Lewis’s door.
“Mr. Sigman,” He said, “There’s a train on the platform.” Lewis didn’t even respond. He stood straight up and marched directly toward the platform, and there it was. Lewis was irritated because he had had enough of dealing with these trains. He went right over to the platform phone.
“Driver, this is the station supervisor. This line is closed. You are not supposed to be here.” He barked into the phone. Just then, the hatch doors of the train opened. He repeated himself, but the driver did not respond. He looked back at the train and saw the ID on it. 
542G. It’s a very unusual number for a train to have, but that was the least of his concerns. 
 He decided that he would deal with the driver directly, and he went inside the train and pounded on the door that led into the cab.
“I am the station supervisor. I demand that you open this door.” He barked. Just then, the doors opened, and he walked inside. He peered at the driver's seat, but nobody filled it. The controls were all incorrect. Switches and buttons were missing or in different places. Most notably, however, the driver's seat was on the right, instead of the left. The cab looked as though it was built by a dementia patient who received instructions from a 6-year-old.
“What the hell?” Lewis said under his breath. He realized that the driver might have run off into another car. He jumped back outside and walked into the first car behind the driver’s cab. “I am the station supervisor, I demand you reveal yourself. No trains are permitted on the line at this time.” He shouted into the cabin. He noticed that there was a very faint smell of sour sulfur. It wasn’t unbearable or strong, but it wasn’t the most pleasant either. Suddenly, the car doors closed right behind him, and the train started to accelerate. Lewis’s anger shrank and became overshadowed by fear. 
“Stop this train at once! I demand you!” Lewis shouted, his voice shaking. But it was no use. He started pounding on the hatch doors, but stopped shortly when he noticed the doors were getting wet.
“What in the bloody fuck?” He mumbled to himself. That’s when he realised the train's walls were getting covered in a clear slime.
“Okay… what the hell is going on?” He demanded, his voice trembling. He feebly attempted to scramble to the door that led into the driver’s cabin, but he was met with resistance when lifting up his leg. It felt as if his shoes were glued to the ground. He looked down, and he saw a rising green liquid on the floor that looked like a foamy, watery pea mash. Dense bubbles were forming at the base of his shoes, slowly eating away at the soles, chunk by chunk. He shrieked and sprang up onto a seat. But his attempt to escape the liquid was in vain, for it was slowly but surely rising, and it soon got up to his feet again. The pain was beyond words of any kind. He jumped around, trying to keep his feet away from the liquid. But all that accomplished was splashing more of it onto his skin and clothes. The liquid’s rising speed was rapidly increasing by now, and it was swallowing up his shins. He could feel it eating away at him. Large chunks of skin were sliding off like cheese on a pizza with too much sauce. He screamed in helpless agony, his voice rattling the cabin. What was left of his legs finally snapped, and he tumbled face-first into the liquid. It seeped into every hole and crevice on his body. He couldn’t even scream anymore because his vocal cords turned into goo. During the last breath he ever drew, a low growl radiated all around him. It was very similar to the rumbling of the train he saw two days ago.

When he finally became a gelatinous goo, the liquid briskly lowered, and the slime faded away, disappearing into the walls. The cabin looked clean as a whistle, as if this horror show had never occurred. Just then, the locomotive pulled into the next station, where the next angry station supervisor awaited it, ready to chew out the driver of this “train.”