The deafening shriek of heavy steel grinding against iron tracks rips through the sterile, conditioned air.
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‘The next station is, Diamond Hill.’
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The synthetic, female voice echoes through the fluorescent-lit carriage of the Hong Kong MTR. Merc blinks, rubbing his temples. A sudden trance washes over him, feeling as if a part of his soul has just been extracted. He quickly snaps back to reality, yet, maybe, along with the rumbling of train, part of him sinks into the azure lake forever.
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He looks down at his phone, putting on the headphones. His profile page flashing briefly on the screen—an ID sitting quietly beneath his avatar: Jeremy.
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The science video continues to play on the screen, the narrator’s voice calm and methodical.
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‘...but does the soul truly exist? What abstract energy drives its capacity for profound thought? Why are certain instincts, certain fragments of knowledge, seemingly innate, passed down through the mere act of living? Is the soul simply a cascading chain of chemical reactions within the flesh, or is it powered by... some unknown, external force?’
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The train rumbles forward into the black tunnel. Merc stares blankly at his solitary reflection in the limpid glass of the window.
ns216.73.216.103da2
and then Add to home screen.