Forewarning:
This chapter is a bit darker than the last few. It deals with even more bullying and with death.
Please read at your own discression.

The clock in Ms. Caldwin's classroom ticked with excruciating slowness, each second dragging like an eternity. Remi sat in the back row, barely registering her explanation of polynomial functions. The empty seat beside him where Andrew usually sat felt like a void—his friend had texted earlier about being home sick, though Remi suspected it had more to do with avoiding Shawn after yesterday's confrontation.

Through the window, he could see the parent pickup line already forming. His mother would be there soon, precisely on schedule—another of his father's new rules designed to keep him under constant supervision. No more walking home, no more stopping at the comic shop with Johnny, no more pretending he had any control over his own life.

Eddie Enfield sat two rows ahead, occasionally turning to smirk at Remi. He'd been unusually quiet today, which probably meant he was planning something. That's how it always went—the quiet days were just the calm before another storm of "social adjustment," as Shawn's crew liked to call it.

The final bell rang through the halls, releasing a flood of pent-up energy as students rushed to escape. Remi took his time packing up, watching Eddie disappear into the crowd. He'd learned to be careful about timing, about avoiding the wrong corridors at the wrong moments. It was exhausting, this constant strategic thinking, this endless calculation of risks and escape routes.

At his locker, he stood watching other students stream past toward waiting cars and buses. A group of girls walked by, Tawnee among them. She caught his eye for a moment, started to smile, then quickly looked away as Liza whispered something that made the others laugh. The sound cut through him like glass, adding one more small wound to his collection.

His mother would be arriving soon, punctual as always. He could picture exactly how the evening would unfold: the quiet drive home, his father waiting with that look of perpetual disappointment, another lecture about responsibility and living up to expectations. The computer was still gone, his phone stripped of everything but basic functions, his life shrinking smaller every day.

He should go wait by the front entrance. He knew that. Just like he knew that walking away now would only make things worse. More groundings. More lectures. More disappointment.

But the thought of going home, of facing another evening under his father's watchful eye, made his chest tight with something close to panic. Without really deciding to, he shouldered his backpack and slipped out the side door, away from the parent pickup line where his mother would be waiting.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself at the edge of town, where neat suburban lawns gave way to patches of scrubland and forgotten lots. His feet carried him past the GameStop where he and Johnny spent too many afternoons dreaming about games they couldn't afford, past the diner where his father used to take him for pancakes before everything changed, past all the familiar landmarks of a life that felt increasingly like it belonged to someone else.

The first hour slipped by in a haze of motion. His phone buzzed repeatedly—his mother's ringtone at first, then his father's more insistent tone. He could picture the progression of worry to anger, could almost hear his father's voice: "This is exactly what I'm talking about. No sense of responsibility..." He left the phone unanswered in his pocket, each missed call another brick in the wall of punishment that awaited him.

The second hour found him walking along the commuter rail line, kicking loose stones between the tracks. The rails stretched ahead like infinite possibilities, each curve promising somewhere else, anywhere else. A train roared past, the wind of its passage tugging at his clothes, and for a brief moment he imagined himself aboard, carried away to some distant city where no one knew his name or his failures.

By the third hour, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the gravel, and the metal rails gleamed dully in the fading light. His legs ached from walking, but he welcomed the pain—it was honest, at least, unlike the twisted knot of emotions in his chest. Another train passed, slower this time, its windows lit from within. He caught glimpses of passengers immersed in their phones or books or conversations, each living their own story, none of them aware of the boy watching from the tracks.

His phone had fallen silent now. Perhaps they'd given up trying to reach him. Or perhaps they were already calling the police, filing a missing persons report, setting in motion the machinery of authority that would eventually drag him back. He left the phone unanswered, knowing each minute of silence was just adding to the punishment that would eventually come.

The industrial district stretched around him, a maze of abandoned warehouses and chain-link fences. Here, at least, no one would look for him. No one would expect to find Michael Halistaad's son among the graffiti-covered walls and broken windows.

A car engine growled behind him.

Remi's shoulders tensed at the familiar sound—a custom exhaust system he'd heard too many times in the school parking lot. He quickened his pace, veering away from the road toward the relative safety of the rail yard.

"Hey, Halistaad!" The voice carried over the rumble of the engine. "Going somewhere?"

Gravel crunched under tires as the car pulled alongside the tracks. Remi didn't need to look to know who it was—one of the jocks who regularly joined Shawn's "social adjustments," as they liked to call their harassment. The kind of guy who saw a lone target and couldn't resist.

"What's wrong?" Another voice joined in. "Too good to say hello?"

Remi broke into a run.

Car doors slammed behind him. Footsteps pounded on gravel. They were following him on foot now, probably enjoying the chase. This wasn't school, with its cameras and witnesses. This was their chance to finish what they'd started in the bathroom.

The rail yard opened up ahead—a maze of switching tracks and abandoned cargo containers. Remi darted between two rusty containers, his heart hammering against his ribs. If he could just lose them in the maze, find somewhere to hide until they got bored...

A figure stepped out from behind a container. Remi skidded to a stop, nearly losing his balance on the loose gravel. The man looked homeless, his clothes ragged, his face obscured by a wild beard. But something about his posture seemed wrong—too deliberate, too aware.

"Careful there, kid." The man's voice carried an odd accent Remi couldn't place. "These tracks can be dangerous."

Footsteps approached from behind. Remi was trapped between the stranger and his pursuers, with container walls on either side. The setting sun painted everything in shades of red and gold, turning the scene surreal.

A train whistle echoed in the distance.

The stranger reached toward him.

The stranger's hand seemed to move in slow motion, reaching for Remi with deliberate purpose. Behind him, the jocks' footsteps grew closer, their taunting calls now tinged with something darker. The train whistle sounded again, closer this time, its cry taking on an almost mournful quality.

Remi stood frozen between threats, his mind racing through options that grew more impossible with each passing second. The container walls rose like prison bars on either side. The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he shifted his weight, preparing to... to what? Fight? Run? There was nowhere left to go.

"Time to go home, kid," the stranger said, but the words held an impossible weight, as if "home" meant something far beyond the house where his father waited with disappointment and punishment. The man's eyes seemed to glow in the deepening shadows, reflecting something ancient and knowing.

The jocks were close enough now that Remi could hear their labored breathing. "Nowhere to run now, Halistaad!" one called out, his voice echoing off the metal containers. Another laughed—a sharp, cruel sound that cut through the evening air.

The train's horn blasted again, impossibly close. The tracks beneath Remi's feet began to vibrate. Instinct screamed at him to move, to get away from the approaching danger, but the stranger's hand was inches from his shoulder now, and the jocks had closed off his escape route.

Time seemed to stretch like taffy, each moment expanding into eternity. Remi saw everything with crystalline clarity: the rust patterns on the container walls, the way the setting sun painted the stranger's beard with streaks of fire, the deadly certainty in the man's eyes. This wasn't just a homeless man who had wandered into the rail yard. This was something else entirely—something that had been waiting for him.

The stranger's fingers brushed Remi's shoulder just as the train burst into view, its headlight cutting through the gathering dusk like a sword. In that blinding moment, Remi thought he saw other shapes moving behind the man—impossible shapes that his mind couldn't quite grasp. The ground lurched beneath his feet, or maybe the whole world shifted, and suddenly he was falling.

The train's horn drowned out everything else, becoming a physical force that pressed against his ears. The last thing Remi saw was the stranger's face, now calm and almost sorrowful, as if watching the inevitable conclusion of a long-planned event.

Then darkness swept in like a tide, and Remi Halistaad—the boy who had tried to outrun his life—slipped away from this world entirely. His consciousness scattered like leaves in a storm, spinning through impossible spaces between realities.

In another world, in another time, an egg rocked gently in its nest. Something stirred within, reaching for a new beginning.

The rail yard grew quiet again. The train thundered past, its wheels clicking against the tracks in a steady rhythm. The jocks stood frozen, their faces pale in the fading light, trying to process what they had just witnessed. But the stranger was gone as if he had never been there at all, leaving only questions that would never be answered and a story that would become local legend.

And somewhere, in a reality that operated on different rules entirely, a new story was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Chapter

First Note: Yes, this is the end of Remi's home world. The next several chapters will be the beginning of the Isekai portion.

Second Note: I apologize to everyone who has lived through what Remi has lived through. I know how bad these portions of life can be, many of us have lived them. Too many. It is also why I did my best to really capture the Emotion of it all, the frustration and the emotional turmoil. No One should go through this, yet it happens. It really happens. As all of us here at Big Closet likely has learned. I don't post this note in other areas I post to because those communities do not have the youth issues that most of us who have found this site have experienced. We here come from some place that is usually much harsher. We have more issues because of it. More scars, both emotional and physical. Some being horrific, some being not so much. They are there all the same.

Third Note: The story will get better now, I promise! I just needed to really set Remi up as a person before Train-Kun took him to another world (Train-Kun rather than Truck-Kun because that particular Isekai murder machine was a bit busy this time around)

I hope that this story has been enjoyable so far, more to come!!!

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