July 18, 2035, Refugee Train, Thailand
The train screeches to a halt, jarring Tatsuya and Shivansika on their hard, cushionless seats. The lurch shifts their bodies, but the packed carriage elicits only groans no complaints. Exhaustion has drained everyone's spirit.
The stench of unwashed bodies fills the air, but Tatsuya's grown numb to it. Hollow-eyed passengers slump in their cramped spaces, swaying with the train's motion, too tired to care.
Tatsuya glances at Shivansika, asleep against him. Her once-glossy black hair clings to her cheek, her brow furrowed in shallow sleep discomfort from the seat, the stifling heat, or both. They carry little, no valuables, but Shivansika, a teenage girl, is a commodity in this chaos, as is Tatsuya to a lesser degree. They know this, taking turns staying awake to guard each other.
In Singapore, such dangers were rare, but this isn't their home anymore. Their country, now a warzone under Pharazoa's shadow, is off-limits to civilians. Orphans, herded onto this evacuation train, they've accepted they'll never return.
Tatsuya shifts to ease a backache, careful not to disturb her, but fails. Shivansika blinks awake, her confused gaze meeting his.
"Sorry for waking you," he says.
She looks disoriented, then smiles faintly, fatigue and despair dimming her face. "My fault. I'm heavy, right?"
"Nah, way better than the guy across."
She glances at the opposite seat—a hefty middle-aged man leaning heavily on a tense, sleeping elderly man—and smirks, the shadow on her smile lifting slightly. They've gleaned from earlier chatter that the two aren't acquainted, just seatmates by chance. The older man seems rigid, obsessed with rules; the larger one, surprisingly decent, once guarded their seats. Neither seems predatory, unlike others who'd exploit them outright, but vigilance remains.
"Train stopped? Where?" Shivansika asks.
Last night, the train reached Padang Besar, the Malaysia-Thailand border, idling until dawn. After immigration opened, it crossed into Thailand, stopping briefly before crawling north.
"Khlong Ngae, maybe? Not sure about Thai. Small town, not far from the border. Train's slow."
Tatsuya reads the station sign's English text. Knowing the name doesn't clarify much. He wishes for a phone's map app, but his battery's long dead, and cell service vanished even in Malaysia. It won't be better here.
"I'm hungry," Shivansika murmurs.
They haven't eaten since a meager meal of bread and soup at a Kuala Lumpur refugee hub two days ago. Their water ran out last night.
Tatsuya spots shops across the platform. "There's stores. Let's try. Maybe we can buy something."
Singapore dollars may be worthless now, but they might get lucky. At least the station likely has water, though it risks illness. Dehydration in this heat, however, could kill faster.
"Can you move?" Tatsuya asks. Shivansika isn't frail, but she's not athletic either. Sticking together feels safer.
"Yeah, I'm okay."
Tatsuya opens the window wide. The platform's a meter below easy to jump.
"What's up?" the hefty man across stirs.
"Looking for water," Tatsuya replies.
"Be careful. Don't miss the train."
"Thanks."
Tatsuya jumps out, helping Shivansika down. "Let's hit the shops first. If no luck, we'll find a toilet and water."
"Got it."
Blending with other passengers, they cross the tracks and station, reaching a modest shop. A middle-aged woman rises, smiling, speaking Thai—unintelligible. Tatsuya shows Singapore dollars.
"Can we use these?"
She responds, but he doesn't understand. Noticing her hijab, he switches to Malay, common in southern Thailand. "No good. Can't use."
The rejection stings. Are the dollars worthless now? Despite pleading, she refuses. Sighing, Tatsuya leaves.
"Don't sweat it. We figured it'd be a bust," Shivansika consoles.
"Yeah. Let's find water. Station might have some."
"I'm hitting the bathroom first, okay?" She points to a line of women spilling from the station—clearly a toilet queue.
"Got it. I'll look for water."
"Thanks. Sorry."
Ensuring she's in line, Tatsuya checks other shops. Some reject his money in Malay or English; others don't understand him. A currency exchange refuses Singapore dollars too. Defeated, he focuses on water. Vending machines require cash he can't use.
Spotting a Buddhist temple nearby, Tatsuya knows clergy often share water. A monk, speaking some English, gladly guides him to a water source. Tatsuya guzzles to quell hunger, fills five 500ml bottles from his bag, thanks the monk, and heads back.
Crossing the station square, screams women's voices erupt from the station ahead.